Promises Defended

Chapter Forty-Five: As Such We Remain

4:08 pm, Hogwarts.

“Go to my office!” Remus snapped, already in motion. “I’ll meet you there.”

He did not break stride to see if the others complied. He just flew, racing towards the Gryffindor Common Room and praying the Misfits would be there. They had to be there. Dinner was approaching, and their days of detention cleaning the courtyard were over. There was no where else, logically, that Harry and his friends would be.

Remus did not want to think about what would happen if they were not there. He must not let this history get so far forward that changing it would have dramatic consequences—Let the battle not start before we can go back. If it is not already underway, we have a chance of changing everything. If not—well, everyone knew that disastrous things happened to wizards who played with time. World-changing events could not be altered without horrible consequences.

What was it that Dumbledore had said to him the other day about how one choice could change everything?

“Headmaster, what are you doing?” the Fat Lady inquired delicately.

He did not know the password. He often didn’t; Ted had forgotten to tell him, and Remus had not thought to ask.

“Let me pass,” he panted, semi-out of breath. This was no way to go into a life- and world-altering battle, but it was the only way he had.

“I ought to ask you the password, but as you’re the headmaster—”

“Just open the portrait!”

4:06 pm, Southeast of Kingston upon Hull, Approaching Casa Serpente.

The wind picked up, threw his robes out behind him like a possessed cloak out of olden tales. Sirius was approaching the fortress, now, stride by stride. Alone.

It is better this way, he told himself. I will not endanger my friends.

Even though he would have given anything to have just one more moment with them, just to explain. They deserved better than he’d done to them, but it was the best Sirius had. I’m sorry. A silent apology was all he could offer, but he meant it.

He could sense the wards, even from here. From a hundred yards away, power radiated from Casa Serpente.

Yet all was quiet. Too quiet.

A shiver ran down Sirius’ spine.

He’d thought that, if his friends accompanied him, at least one Marauder would not be returning from the Dark Lord’s fortress. He’d been right, but he’d been wrong. At least they’re with me in spirit. Sirius took a deep breath. He’d not be coming back. Not like this.

He knew that, now.

4:09 pm, Hogwarts.

James had found the letter.

Tucked away under the bottom edge of the portrait’s frame, it hadn’t been there when they unveiled the painting—and he knew that he was meant to see it. And James didn’t need the folded note to be addressed, or even sealed. He knew Sirius had left it there, for them.

No need to go to Remus’ office, then. James reached for the letter with trembling hands, part of him aware that it didn’t have to be this way…yet so certain that it did. That nothing would change, no matter what they did. A Time-Turner could only do so much, regardless of what people thought. Going backin time was not the same as turning back time (James had always thought that the device was poorly named), though most of the Wizarding World seemed to forget that major events could not be changed because time worked as much circularly as it did linearly. The ramifications of trying to change were indescribable—but in this case, one word described the situation rather well: disastrous.

Why, Sirius? Why like this? James wanted to scream. He wanted to cry. He didn’t want to read the note—but he did, as Peter came close, leaning over James’ right shoulder to see better. They stood closely, barely touching, and barely daring to hope.

Not once did it enter either wizard’s mind that this might all be part of some cosmic joke. Not this time.

To My Friends,

I couldn’t think of a more engaging opening, and I wish I could say that I spent all night puzzling over how to start this letter, but this is a ten minute labor of love. (Sorry, Moony. You never could get me to do my homework any other time than the last minute, hard though you tried.) This time yesterday, I still thought I was going to keep my promise to you.

I know what you’re thinking. Really, I do. And I’m sorry. More than words can express, though I will try—

I promised you that we’d go together, and I’ve broken that promise. I wish I didn’t have to, or that it didn’t hurt so badly, but I have. And I do. But this is my fight, and we’ve known that for awhile now.

I know Voldemort. I know that he’ll target the three of you just because you’re my friends, because you’re the one thing I can’t bear to lose. Change the world? You got it. Take on a Dark Lord? I’ll even do that on an empty stomach! But risk my friends when don’t have to? No. Not in this lifetime. No chance.

Please don’t—In fact, be angry with me. I deserve it. I’ll admit that, because you three deserve better than me lying to you. My only defense is that I made the promise in good faith, and I break it in the same. I’d rather die facing him than lose any of you—and face it. I’m ten years out of my time, anyway. I don’t really belong here.

Tell Julia that I’m sorry. That I love her. That I’m an idiot. Anything you like—and Moony, it’d best be you. You’re the smart one when it comes to saying the right thing.

Speaking of saying the right thing, I’m sorry that this letter isn’t more poetic. Or more fitting. Or even dramatic. But I mean every word—

James—thank you for being the brother my family wasn’t, for convincing your parents to let me (uncontrollable and undisciplined me!) live with you that summer. Thank you for being my partner back when we were just junior Aurors, and for all the scrapes you got me out of. Thank you for letting me be your Secret Keeper, and letting me help you when you needed it most. And don’t let this politics stuff go to your head.

Remus—thank you for pushing me to be better than I was. For making me think before I acted and opening my eyes to so many things. Before you, I had no idea what it was like to accept others for what they were—oh, I thought I did, but I was wrong. You taught me better, just as you’re teaching the kids at Hogwarts. We didn’t call you Professor Moony for nothing, did we?

Peter—most of all, thank you for making me learn to help people. To protect those who couldn’t do it for themselves—that kind of thing came naturally to James, but I had to learn it. And you showed me the way. You also taught me courage, taught me that to overcome fear is the hardest battle of all. Oh, and same to you on the politics thing. When you replace Prongsie as Minister of Magic, don’t say I didn’t tell you so.

I’ve always been bad at writing down words that meant something (all three of you remember my essays!), but here goes: Thank you for being my friends. My brothers. For being the only family that ever really mattered, and for sticking by me until the end.

Your friend,

Sirius Black

4:10 pm, Hogwarts.

That was the Headmaster standing in the doorway to the common room. Rather, that was the Headmaster exploding through the door and tripping over a book Ron had thrown at Hermione (and missed) just a few seconds before. Remus stumbled, skidded, and then slammed to a halt upon running into the back of a sofa.

“Headmaster, are you—” the Head Girl was a Gryffindor this year, and she’d been reading quietly in the corner, but now she was up and jumping in his direction.

“I’m quite all right, thank you, Miss Clemens.” He straightened quickly, and Harry noticed that his eyes were on Hermione. “Miss Granger, if I might have a word, please?”

He’d not even looked at Harry, but the lines of worry around his eyes were standing out more than ever.

“Umm—of course, Headmaster!” she rocketed off of the couch she’d been sharing with Ginny (trying to read, as Hermione had pointed out to Ron earlier) and followed him out the Portrait Hole.

The other Misfits exchanged confused looks. Something was up. Harry could feel the chill in his spine.

“What was that about?” George asked, uncharacteristically quiet.

Harry swallowed. “Whatever it is, it can’t be good.”

4:07 pm, Approaching Casa Serpente.

He stopped.

Inexplicably.

He stopped.

Sirius had to. Had to just…think. To be certain. He’d made his decision, but the enormity of it had just come crashing down on him, hard enough to make breathing difficult, to make his mind want to shut down. For the past year, Sirius Black had defined himself by the choices he made and the promises he kept. Was this worth it? Could he break those promises now, after fighting so hard to keep so many?

Can I really do this?

Sirius glanced up at the stormy sky and wished it had an answer. Wished…well, wished for everything.

He didn’t want change. He just wanted everything to be all right, and to be assured that he’d see his friends again, before the end. Before…everything.

James had written the poem. Why was it coming to mind now?

True friendships never really die.

That was true. Their friendship hadn’t died, and never would. No matter what stupid things Sirius did.

And family isn’t defined by blood.

Hadn’t he proved that?

It’s made strong by bonds that won’t break.

Except that he was breaking them. Just now. Not completely, but maybe enough—enough to do damage. Irreparable damage.

Tempered and tested by trials and pain.

Ten years proved that much.

What we are is brothers, and as such we remain.

Did they? Could they…after this? No. Not with what he was doing.

Loyal to one another until the end.

Deep breath. I am so sorry.

And no matter what happens between this moment and then.

He meant the words he would never speak to them. Meant them so badly that it hurt.

I shall be always thankful to have had such friends.

Sirius felt the tears on his face even as the wind whipped them away, but he looked back at the horizon, and started walking.

4:12 pm, Hogwarts.

“Professor, you know that you can’t really change anything in the past with the Time-Turner, don’t you?” Hermione asked hurriedly. “I mean, you can change things but what you’ve done was already done, and time works more in a loop than anything else—I’ve studied the phenomena a lot since the Minister left me the Time-Turner and it doesn’t work the way people think it does—”

“I know, Hermione.” It was all Remus could do to keep his voice level. “I don’t need to change anything…just to arrive in time to stop something else. Something that hasn’t happened yet.” He was breathless with worry. “But I need the Time-Turner now. Please.”

She frowned at him, poor girl, struggling to do the right thing. She knew that she wasn’t supposed to have the Time-Turner at all (per Ministry guidelines, anyway)—yet at the same time, the owner of a Time-Turner could be held responsible for any and all actions taken with the instrument. “I’m not…”

“I understand your worries,” he reassured her carefully. “But believe me, I’m not going to do anything illegal with it.” Or at least nothing that the Minister of Magic can’t declare is legal after we do it. Or before. Either one works for me.

“But it’s dangerous, Professor. And—and I’m not supposed to loan it to anyone!” Hermione looked anguished. Heartbroken.

“Would you use the Time-Turner to save a friend’s life?” Remus asked quietly. “One of the other Misfits?”

She nodded mutely.

“Then please understand what I’m doing.” His tone was urgent, now; his calm was threatening to flee. Hurry up! his mind screamed at him, and Remus struggled to keep his voice level. “If I don’t use the Time-Turner, one of my best friends is going to die, and every hope the world has will go down with him.”

“Sirius Black?” Hermione gasped, her eyes the size of Bludgers.

“Yes.”

And she was gone, rushing to get the Time-Turner out of her trunk before it was too late.

Remus held his breath.

4:15 pm, Nurmengard Prison.

Grindelwald stared at the board. He’d brought it, his favorite chess set, all the way from London to Switzerland just for this purpose. Frank Longbottom had given him a strange look when “Mr. Bishop” had carefully removed the pieces—too many for just one set—from the velvet-lined box, placing each meticulously on the table as though placing them on squares on a board. Not in their starting positions, either—he was setting up a game in progress.

He’d memorized their positions long ago, because this was the Greater Game. The only game that mattered. It didn’t have to be the same pieces (they’d taken those away long ago), and it didn’t have to be the same game. The Greater Game always continued; only a fool thought there was ever an end. But this day might be the final move—oh, not the final move forever, but at least for this generation. Perhaps even the final move the minor red king ever made.

But not just yet. There was more to come.

4:19 pm, Hogwarts.

Remus had found his office empty, and then had wasted precious minutes running back down to the Great Hall, praying that James and Peter were still there (then again, if they weren’t, then this was all part of some horribly cruel nightmare and he might wake up in the morning and find everything all right). Breathing hard, he burst through the staff door and flew across to the painting.

They were still there.

Remus had been half-hoping that they wouldn’t be, and that he could just live through this nightmare in peace and do it all over again when he woke up on the real day. Maybe then things might be different. No such luck, Moony. This is reality. Nightmares are not so awful.

“I thought you were going to be in my office!” Anger made the question sharp.

“Sorry—” James started as Peter tried to explain.

“We found—” the smallest Marauder was holding up a note of some sort, but Remus waved it away.

“I don’t care!” he cut Peter off. “I’ve got the Time-Turner. If we go back an hour, will that be enough?”

“He left here less than an hour ago, so that’ll have to be,” James replied quickly; Remus was grateful to know that he wasn’t the only one thinking of the consequences.

“And if we go further, we risk changing too much,” Peter added. “The last thing we want to do is have to try to unravel any messes we make or create a paradox—”

“Exactly.” Normally, Remus was a stickler for letting other people finish a sentence, but he was too impatient. “So, if we go back now, and we go back only an hour…”

“It should be just right,” James finished for him. “Sirius won’t have left yet, and if we’re lucky, he hasn’t run into Voldemort yet now—”

“Stop,” Peter interjected. “Stop thinking about it and let’s do it. Now.”

He was right. If they were going to beat Sirius, if they were going to prevent his meeting up with Voldemort without them, they had to move. Fast.

Remus pulled out the Time-Turner, shaking the chain out to its full length. It was barely long enough to fit all three of them, but the chain would just fit—perhaps it was always just right? Was the chain always long enough?

“It’s raining,” Peter said quietly, suddenly, making the headmaster look up. He remembered:

Lightning split the sky, illuminating a face that was not only wet with droplets of rain. Washed out blue eyes never even glanced upwards; one man simply began to walk.

“Do it, Remus,” James ordered, and Remus began to turn the dial.

One choice.

Everything began to change.

3:20 pm, The Great Hall, Hogwarts.

James, Peter, and Remus stood in the Great Hall as if they’d not moved at all.

“You shouldn’t be here,” the Remus in the painting pointed out, speaking for the first time. Oddly enough, the Marauder’s Portrait had not spoken until then. Perhaps it had been waiting?

“Where’d you come from, anyway?” Portrait-Sirius asked.

“One moment you weren’t here—” Portrait-Peter started.

“And the next you were,” Portrait-James finished.

James had to crack a smile. “Were we ever this annoying?”

“Worse,” Remus and Peter replied together, grinning briefly.

“We’d best get out of sight,” the headmaster continued on his own. “It wouldn’t do the other me any good to see the three of us standing here—or for Sirius to notice us before we want him to.”

“How are we going to handle this?” James wondered as the threesome slipped into the passageway beyond the Staff Door. The Portrait-Marauders pointed and laughed at the trio as they went, not understanding at all. “Are we just going to walk out and tell Sirius that his plan isn’t going to work? That we’re going with him?”

“I don’t think we can,” Peter replied quietly. “What if we change something? Something seemingly minor that becomes important and then suddenly everything is wrong? We weren’t here before when he left, and if we had been, he’d have seen us and so would Severus—who then wouldn’t have said he left alone. So, we can’t be here. Not now.”

James frowned, struggling to follow the twisted logic. Judging by the look on his face, Remus was doing the same and acquiring a headache. The headmaster bit his lip in concentration before speaking slowly. “We have three basic choices. Either we join Sirius, precede him, or follow him. The second is not really viable because we don’t know how to get where he’s going—Snape could take us to Casa Serpente, but what if we wind up on the north side when Sirius has gone to the south end? We’ve only got one chance to redo everything, and we can’t afford to take a chance like this.

“Following is equally problematic—tracking someone when they Apparate is well-nigh impossible unless you’ve grabbed a hold of them before they disappear. So…” Remus trailed off, searching the others’ faces for answers.

“But it isn’t impossible,” James replied. “Aurors have been doing it for years. Get me in sight of Sirius before he Apparates, and I can trace him. We can zero in on that trace and go wherever he goes—he’ll know that he’s being followed, but that doesn’t really matter. We’ll arrive only seconds after he does.”

“And seconds is all the time we want, right?” Peter asked quietly.

“Definitely no longer,” Remus agreed, nodding. He sucked in a deep breath; James could see how nervous he was and how well Remus was hiding it—all the action of the past half hour had allowed all three to forget how, well…frightened they were, but now they had time to think. To wait. To wonder.

3:50 pm, The Marauders’ Portrait, Hogwarts.

The note wrinkled slightly as Sirius tucked it under the portrait’s bottom edge, whispering a spell to make it stick until one of three people came along to retrieve it. All four Marauders looked at him strangely for doing so, but surprisingly, none of them spoke. Sirius spent a half second wondering if someone had already jinxed the painting to remain silent (Snape, perhaps?), and then let go of the letter.

Forcing his fingers to do so was harder than he’d expected.

So was walking away. Turning his back, Sirius forced himself not to look over his shoulder, to make one foot fall in front of the other and walk away—out of the Great Hall, and through the school. He kept to silent and dark passageways, avoiding students. Most of them were probably holed up in their common rooms as the storm approached, anyway.

He glanced out a window. It’s going to rain. How…appropriate. Sirius had never been one to attach terrible significance to the weather, but the dreariness surrounding Hogwarts reminded him of how he felt inside.

It’s time. He sidestepped Filch on his way out of the castle, ignoring the caretaker’s shout. Sirius didn’t need a lecture about wandering the hallways now, and didn’t care what Filch thought. The caretaker followed Sirius for several long moments, but fell back after a bit, allowing Sirius’ long strides to open up the space between them. Crossing the grounds seemed to only take moments; before Sirius knew it, the Forbidden Forest opened up before him, waiting.

He checked for his wand and the map as he walked, his strides easy and confident, his breathing steady. For a short moment, he allowed his fingers to touch the Dark Mark on his left forearm, relishing the sudden tinge of pain that raced up his arm. Remembering. Once, Sirius had been ashamed to bear this mark, to have the proof that he’d not fought hard enough branded on his soul for all to see. But no longer. Now he knew better.

3:58 pm, The Forbidden Forest.

They watched him walk, quiet and confident, eyes straight forward and ignoring the rest of the world. The other Marauders knew this Sirius well: the focused and bull-headed Sirius, determined to act regardless of the consequences. But he wasn’t exactly an observant Sirius, so they followed him easily enough.

Peter watched Sirius touch his left forearm and frowned with worry; not too many months had passed since he’d had his own Dark Mark removed, and he well remembered how awful of a reminder it had been. Why had Sirius kept his? The explanation his friend had offered had never satisfied Peter, but he was sure Sirius had his reasons—and he was doubly certain that those reasons would matter today.

A chill ran down Peter’s spine as Sirius stopped, glancing at the steel-gray sky in silence. Peter stumbled into James when the ex-Auror halted too quickly for Peter to react, and he sensed Remus almost doing the same. They slipped quietly into a clump of trees, and then James led them just a bit farther forward—right past Hogwarts’ Anti-Apparation wards. One of the first thing the Marauders had learned upon turning seventeen was where those wards started and stopped, and there was the purple-looking tree to the right that they’d always used to mark the boundary.

The Forest was strangely quiet, and Peter was struggling not to shake. No matter how hard he’d worked to overcome his fear, it was always there. Always lurking somewhere just beneath the surface where he couldn’t forget it.

But I won’t forget my friends, either, and they’re far more important to me than being afraid.

4:00 pm, The Forbidden Forest.

Sirius raised his wand—

James copied him quickly. Peter and Remus each put a hand on his shoulder, ready and waiting.

The map was held loosely in Sirius’ left hand, and the ex-Auror could see his friend concentrating. Projecting location from the map into his mind and focusing on his ultimate destination. James knew Sirius so well that he could pinpoint the exact moment before he Apparated, when Sirius blinked one last time and sucked in a slightly deeper breath of air—he did it every time. Aurors called it a telltale, and they studied their partners’ and enemies’ manically. One never knew when it might matter, after all.

There was the blink—

“Appexecutus,” James whispered.

And Sirius was gone.

They followed him into nothingness.

Ye Old Other Author’s Note: Here we go! (The grand total, by the way, is 49 chapters and an epilogue, which FFN will call 51 chapters total). Please do review and let me know what you think! Also, stay tuned for Chapter Forty-Six: “To the Ends of the World,” in which curses begin to fly and the battle truly begins.