Promises Mistaken
The Alternate Unbroken Universe.
Day One
James opened his eyes groggily, and the first sensation he registered was pain. His body ached everywhere, wanted to shake and tremble in exhaustion. The second thing he sensed was the darkness and dank despair of Azkaban. His soul cried out in terror immediately, responding with an Auror's instinctive despair, yet his intellect fought the feeling, and rejoiced. He'd done it. Head of the Auror Division and member of the Order's Inner Circle he might be, but he had done it. He had successfully infiltrated the Wizard's prison, had entered Voldemort's stronghold and had brought weapons inside. Impossible, most had called his risky plan; foolhardy, all had named it. But against all odds, he had succeeded.
The deep breath that he meant to banish his lingering fears, though, did not quite work as planned. He was too cold.
James blinked, trying to focus on his surroundings. It was hard, and very dark; again, he shivered, colder than he ever remembered being. His mind knew enough to attribute that feeling to the Dementors' effects, but even then, there was no fighting or denying the cold. James had never before been in a Dementor's presence without a wand, and it was frightening. He was too cold.
Finally, his vision cleared, and he quickly assessed the situation. He had a week in which he had to survive before he could act, and he knew that wouldn't be easy. Perhaps Arabella had been correct in thinking that his coming was far too much of a risk, but then again, James knew he was excellent bait. Voldemort hated him with a passion that was surpassed only (perhaps) by his loathing for Albus Dumbledore. Their enmity was personal, now, after James had been leading the Aurors' efforts against the Dark Lord for so long. And perhaps it was natural, too: it seemed only fitting for the Heir of Gryffindor to fight the Heir of Slytherin.
Those thoughts were banished in order to gage his position. Peering around his small cell (it couldn't have been more than six feet by six feet in size) and through the small barred doorway, James quickly realized that he was in one of the prison's highest security cells. In fact, if memory served him correctly, he was the current occupant of Cell Number 2, which was the second most protected cell in the entire prison. Once, it had been home to Bellatrix Lestrange after her capture in 1981. Now, apparently, it was his own. Temporarily, James reminded himself. He tried to smile, but failed dismally as he shivered again.
Slowly, he struggled to his feet, stumbling and reprimanding himself for being so foolish. Of course, he knew better than to try and stand right away; the aftereffects of the Cruciatus Curse made him weak and unbalanced in addition to the pain. He couldn't exactly remember how many he'd been struck with before he finally passed out, nor could he remember how long he was under, but James knew it would be bad. It would be hours before the results passed—assuming, of course, that he didn't encounter something far worse during that time.
The thought brought coldness, and as James shivered, he instinctively backed away from the huge steel door that guarded his cell. Shadows moved outside, and he heard a rasping breath. It was the sound of death approaching.
Bracing himself didn't help.
"Sirius is gone, James—"
"What?" The question exploded from him, but he already knew what it must mean.
Every word seemed to cause Remus pain, and the haunted, frightened eyes made a lie out of Remus' usual calm. "There were signs of a struggle—it was Death Eaters, it had to be—I've told Dumbledore, and we're trying to—"
"No!" His heart broke. Snapped in two. Shattered. He'd led his best friend to his death.
Cold hands grasped him, and his mind reeled. Memories assaulted him, overtook his consciousness and denied him the ability to remember where he was, who he was, or even what he might bother fighting for. Lily.
Unconscious. Bleeding and near dead. Death Eaters had tried to capture her, had almost succeeded, no matter how hard she'd fought. They had wanted her because Voldemort wanted her, needed Lily to get him. She was meant to be the bait, and nearly died because of it… St. Mungo's still didn't know if she'd live. James felt his world shattering as he held a three-year-old Harry in his arms, who cried because he didn't understand why his mother would not answer.
And in the next bed over was Remus, with whom she'd been sharing lunch, and who had very nearly died to save her life.
In James' nightmares Remus always died. In his nightmares, he lost them both.
Just like he'd lost Sirius.
Was he screaming? A cold voice almost made him aware for a moment, but there were cold, cold hands lifting him—a rattling breath sounded in his ears, and James struggled to focus. Even as the Dementors dragged him forward, he heard Voldemort laugh.
Travel to the interrogation room was a blur. It was dark and pain, coldness and memories. Every inch of the way, James struggled to regain control of himself, knowing that he'd need every bit of awareness and courage that he could muster to face down the Dark Lord. Voldemort would expect him to crack, to break, but he couldn't afford to. He had to be strong, to protect the Order's secrets…not to mention the brave witches and wizards who worked for him in the Auror Division. He couldn't betray them. He had to be strong.
He was struggling to regain control of his breathing when the Dementors forced him down into an interrogation chair, and before James could even think about fighting, burning hot chains wrapped around his legs, arms, chest, and neck. He choked once, trying to breathe around the sudden tightness in his throat, but the high-pitched laughter coming from before him reminded James that he had much bigger problems to worry about.
He forced his eyes open.
"James Potter," Voldemort whispered. "The invincible, unconquerable, and indomitable James Potter. Welcome to Azkaban, Gryffindor."
The red eyes were very hard to meet, but he did so defiantly. He'd be dammed if he'd break. Not now; not ever.
"Nothing to say, Potter?" the Dark Lord mocked him.
"No."
Laughter filled the room, and that was when he realized that they weren't alone. Standing at opposite corners of the room were Bellatrix and Rodolphus Lestrange, Voldemort's two sickest and most loyal adherents. Their presence, he knew, was a very bad sign, especially where his future health was concerned. Voldemort smiled, though. "I suspect that will change soon enough."
"I'm sure you'd like to think so," James replied before he thought the better of it. As much as he'd like to be defiant and brave, he knew that doing so could only make this week the longest and most painful one of his life—
"Crucio!"
James screamed as his body writhed and buckled in pain, held fast by the chains and with nowhere to go. Immediately, his vision went red, and it felt like every nerve ending in his body was exploding. He knew time was passing, but he was beyond caring now. All that mattered was the pain. He could think of nothing else. James had been subjected to the Cruciatus Curse before, it had never been so bad; he had never been under so long. His body convulsed in a desperate effort to escape the agony, but the chains kept him from even that way out. All that existed was burning pain.
Finally, it ended, and he slumped in exhaustion, shaking. Before his vision refocused, though, Voldemort spoke. Somehow, the hissing voice seemed as if the Dark Lord was speaking right inside his head.
"I know you're not ready to give in yet, Potter," Voldemort whispered. "This was just a lesson in manners." The virulent chuckle sounded more like a hiss. "Remember, though, that everyone breaks. It is only a matter of time and method."
James forced his eyes open and found himself staring directly into the monster's red eyes. Voldemort's face was only inches away from his own, and despite himself, James recoiled. Still, he tried to project strength into his voice. "I don't care what you do to me," he replied. "I will not betray my friends."
"I've heard that before," Voldemort chuckled. Suddenly, a cold hand patted him gently on the left cheek, making James struggle to pull away even though he knew that the chains wouldn't let him. "And in the end, James, I think you will betray them. In fact, you will do everything I ask, including serve me."
"Never." But fear stole into his gut. He had been offered this power once, and had refused—what could possibly make Voldemort think that he would accept this time? What was he missing?
"Never is a very, very long time…" Cold, stale breath blew on his face.
"Not long enough," he growled. Yet something was wrong, and James felt truly afraid now.
Voldemort smiled. "Perhaps." He stepped away, turning to face the door. "But then perhaps not. Bring him in."
James blinked in confusion as two Dementors entered the room, knowing that the torture curse's aftereffects were slowing his brain. Between them, the Dementors half-carried, half-dragged a limp wizard, whose robes were tattered rags and whose emaciated form was covered in blood. As they dropped him to the floor, James caught a glimpse of tangled and filthy black hair that framed a gaunt and bruised face—but he would have recognized the tense and pained features anywhere. Even though his mind could hardly believe it, his heart cried out the truth.
"Sirius!"
Pale blue eyes flickered open, and James saw cracked and bleeding lips start to move, but he was never given the chance.
"Crucio!"
Sirius screamed hoarsely, and his body jerked off the floor in pain, landing hard on the concrete with a sickening crunch. James, too, was screaming, shouting desperately for Voldemort to stop, yelling obscenities and insults at the Dark Lord in the vain hope that Voldemort might focus on him instead—but Bellatrix Lestrange's Silencing Charm hit him, and even as his mouth moved furiously, no sound came out. After a moment, James stopped trying, and could only watch helplessly as his best friend screamed in pain.
Voldemort held him under the curse for a long while. When it finally ended, James had eyes only for Sirius, who lay shaking sickly on the floor, his breathing ragged and strained. James' mind still hadn't caught up with his eyes, but he knew that this was no lie. Sirius was almost unrecognizable: he was as thin as a skeleton, bruised, battered and bloodied beyond anything James had ever seen before. His arms were bound behind him, but the right was bent at an odd angle, obviously broken. Likewise was his right leg, which James could see was swollen unnaturally and bleeding badly from the knee down. A deep cut covered the back of that shin, and James thought he caught sight of the bone sticking out.
"You bastard," he whispered.
Somewhere in there, the Silencing Curse must have been withdrawn, because Voldemort turned to him with a smile, having clearly heard the anguish in his voice. "Is 'never' long enough to watch your best friend suffer even more?"
On the floor, Sirius coughed weakly, moaning softly in pain. James felt so helpless, bound in the chair and unable to move, to act—and this was his best friend lying on the floor in that puddle of blood, the best friend he'd sent to death ten years before…Oh, God… I can't do this! Sirius… He stared at his friend, scarcely able to believe that he was even there, that Sirius had lived for so long… Voldemort has kept him alive, and for ten years he has suffered. Tears clouded James' vision, but he was incapable of caring. How could we not know? How could I abandon him to this hell?
"Do you really want him to go through more?" Voldemort asked quietly, standing very close to him once again.
"You know I don't," James whispered painfully.
"Then agree to serve me." He made it sound so simple, and James felt his heart buckle under the onslaught of choice.
He blinked, and a tear trickled down his cheek. "I can't…"
"Crucio."
Again, the curse was aimed not at him, but at Sirius, who shrieked weakly in agony. James saw red, and the mixture of worry, pain, and anger made his temper spring loose. He struggled blindly against his chains, not caring about the pain, only that he had to do something, anything, to help Sirius.
"Goddamn you!" he shouted furiously. "Leave him alone! What the hell do want me for anyway? Leave him alone!"
At Voldemort's nod, Bellatrix Lestrange raised her wand and spoke in a cold voice. "Crucio!"
Her curse struck Sirius as well, and James had never heard a man scream the way his friend was screaming now. His body leapt off the floor as the second curse hit, twisting in midair and flipping him over to his face. James' first instinct drove him to howl further at the Dark Lord, but desperation stopped him in time. Sirius' body was already writhing and jerking under the influence of two Cruciatus Curses; James was terrified what would happen to him if Voldemort signaled Rodolphus Lestrange to cast a third. He knew enough to know that much more or much longer would kill any man, especially one in Sirius' weakened condition.
Hours seemed to pass before it ended, but James knew it hadn't really been that long. Wet tears stung his cheeks as he watched his best friend tortured, hearing as Sirius' screams faded from weakness until they were only soft cries issued from his convulsing form. Finally, though, Voldemort exchanged a glance with Bellatrix, and both turned their wands aside. On the floor, Sirius was barely breathing, and James could hear the agony each gasp for air caused.
"Don't do this," James pleaded.
"Ah, but I can do whatever I please," Voldemort replied, strolling towards him. "Surely you have realized that by now?"
James remained silent, struggling to blink the tears away. He had eyes only for Sirius, who lay still now aside from his body's erratic shaking, breathing in pained gasps. Voldemort stopped immediately in front of him, bending over so they were face to face once more.
"There is a thin line between torture and insanity," he said softly. "However, we have had ample time to practice on your friend. I have kept him alive, Potter, in preparation for this day. He will live as long as I desire, and suffer for every moment that you defy me." The Dark Lord smiled. "I know that you do not care about your own pain. But what about someone who is more important to you than your own life? Will your principles survive watching him tortured?"
James could only stare past Voldemort at Sirius' shaking form. So many questions warred for precedence in his mind, which whirled madly under the pressure. A part of him still couldn't believe that Sirius was alive; it had taken James years to accept his best friend's death, and a lifetime had seemed to pass before he could come to terms with the fact that Sirius was gone. But now his world had been turned upside down. Sirius hadn't died—Voldemort had kept him alive. But was he truly alive? Was he whole? Could any man survive a decade in the Dark Lord's hands without shattering completely, breaking in heart and soul?
But if he's broken, why haven't we seen him before now? a small voice inside his head asked. Surely, Voldemort would have used him if he were able… Could anyone, even Sirius, ever be that strong? He'd always known that Sirius had died without breaking, had never betrayed him—yet this was something else. Something frightening.
"Make your decision quickly or watch him suffer more."
James blinked. He was staring at Sirius, praying for any sign of life, of proof that his friend remained more than merely physically alive. But even if Sirius was utterly crushed, could James bear to see him hurt more? He swallowed hard. "But why do you want me so much?"
"You know the answer to that, Potter," Voldemort hissed. "Do not try to stall."
And he did. Arabella's argument came quickly to mind, and James knew she was right. Even though he had never desired to be one, he was a hero to the Wizarding world. He, and a few other key figures—like Dumbledore, Arabella, and Remus—were symbols now as much as they were human. They were looked to as an example, expected to lead by not only power but also by example…and if he turned to serve the Dark Lord (publicly, no doubt), it would shatter confidence and destroy hope.
That, and he knew almost everything there was to be known about the Order of the Phoenix, and could almost single-handedly destroy the only chance that the light side had in this bloody war, which had been going on for over twenty years.
But Sirius… Voldemort was right. He could not bear to watch him suffer, and Sirius' breathing was becoming more and more strained.
The Dark Lord began to smile. "I…" James whispered, swallowing hard. He'd hate himself for whatever he did, but Sirius was more than his brother, and he'd already abandoned him once. "I—"
"James…" The rasped whisper made every head in the room turn to stare. Sirius coughed up blood. "Don't…"
"Crucio!" Bellatrix shouted even as James howled in protest.
"No!"
Sirius screamed weakly, and James' heart hammered into his throat. Sirius was in there, somewhere, surviving against all odds, and somehow he was still sane enough to understand what was at stake—and refuse it. An irrational part of James wanted to scream at his friend in fury, wanted to tell him that he didn't deserve this and that James didn't care what it cost to free him…but he couldn't. Sirius had always fought for the same cause he did, and James knew that they would both willingly die for those beliefs. Now Sirius had taken the choice out of James' hands.
And was suffering for it.
He was too weak to last long, now, though, and thirty seconds hadn't gone by before Sirius passed out. James started to sigh in relief, but then Voldemort spoke to
Bellatrix over his shoulder, while his red eyes remained focused on James. "Revive him."
"Damn you," he whispered.
The Dark Lord smiled. "There are many ways to make him suffer," the monster said softly. "Ones with less risk of insanity than the Cruciatus Curse and yet still as much pain. He knows them all…and if you think that you have never seen your friend afraid, I will prove you wrong."
James closed his eyes. Bellatrix was on her third effort to revive Sirius, and it still hadn't worked. Still, though, a corner of his mind rebelled. You're wrong, he thought distantly. I have seen him afraid. Once. But it had been a long time ago, and never of pain. He didn't want to believe it, but any man, after ten years—ten years like this—he swallowed hard.
"How much will you have him suffer?"
His heart wanted him to give in. This was his friend lying on the floor, a fellow Marauder, his brother. Sirius was slowly regaining consciousness and was moaning in pain…James could see him shaking already in pain, and watched Sirius flinch as Bellatrix kicked him over to his back. He so wanted to give in.…but he couldn't betray Sirius that way. Not after he'd fought so long against such odds.
James bit his lip, but remained silent.
Fury blossomed on Voldemort's face, and a cold hand reached out to grab his chin. "You will regret this," the Dark Lord hissed. His grip tightened until pain flared up James' jaw and he could hardly breathe. Suddenly, though, both Voldemort and the chains released him, but before James could react, two Dementors grasped his arms and pulled him upright. His world swirled and James went cold, hearing screams and memories echo in his ears. Still, though, he could make out the hissed command. "Put him in his cell. He can listen to his friend scream."
-----------------
There was no way of judging how much time passed, but this time it was hours. Throughout it all, James sat in the back corner of his cell with his knees drawn up to his chest and his arms wrapped around them. His own lingering pain went unnoticed. He didn't even notice the distant cold of the Dementors. All that registered upon James' consciousness was Sirius' screams.
He almost wished that he was still there so he at least might know what was happening. Sitting alone and clueless in the dark was pure torture; knowing that Sirius was being hurt and not even able to be there for his friend was the worst feeling he'd ever experienced. James had never felt so helpless in his life. He'd never felt so heartbroken or guilty, either.
After an eternity, the screams quieted, and finally died out all together. James shivered and swallowed, wondering if Sirius had passed out and they were simply reviving him again to cause him more pain. But there was nothing for a long while, and he began to hope they'd finished. A part of him wanted to fear the worst, but he knew that if Sirius had died, he would have been one of the first to know. Voldemort knew how that would break his heart… James closed his eyes. Just a week, Sirius, he thought desperately. Hold out for one more week. His heart began pounding in his ears. Surely Sirius could last a week. He'd made it ten years, after all… But James was afraid. He didn't know how much longer Voldemort would keep his friend alive.
The cell door creaked loudly on its hinges, making his eyes fly open and his head jerk up. Immediately, a freezing cold started to creep in on him as two Dementors entered his cell—but it almost vanished behind emotion and shock as they dropped their burden onto the floor. Sirius hit with a sickening crunch, barely breathing and shaking madly. He was curled up painfully on his side, and his features were tight and drawn. Just as before, he was struggling for air, and James watched him flinch as one of he Dementors seemed to drift closer for a moment. James held his breath, waiting and wondering, trying to understand why in the world Voldemort would have Sirius brought here—
And then the Dementors left, and James ceased to wonder about any of the Dark Lord's motivations. All that mattered was Sirius, and James quickly moved forward to kneel at his friend's side.
"Sirius?" he whispered, carefully placing a hand on his friend's left arm. But Sirius shuddered and tensed, flinching away from the gentle touch.
For a moment, James stared, horrified and not understanding. He'd hardly started to wonder what was wrong, though, before he realized what the problem had to be. His heart sank painfully. How long has it been since he hasn't had to equate human touch with pain? James thought sickly. He's been so alone for so long… It's no wonder that he assumes he'll be hurt.
"It's okay, Sirius," he whispered over the lump in his throat, desperate to break past ten years of hell. "It's me. It's James."
A long moment passed in which he began to fear Sirius couldn't reply. Finally, though, his friend coughed weakly. "Ja…"
"Don't try to talk, mate," he whispered quickly as Sirius winced. Speaking clearly caused him pain.
"James…" Again, he coughed painfully. His voice sounded like he hadn't used it in a long time, too—Ten years. Oh, God…ten years—"Don't…give him what he wants…"
James swallowed. "I won't," he whispered.
"Promise me." Sirius' blue eyes finally flickered open and met his with something very close to desperation. "I didn't come this far…to watch you give up everything."
"I'm not letting you die," he whispered, then swallowed again. "But I promise."
Sirius coughed again, and shuddered in pain.
"Can I do anything for you?" James asked quietly.
"No…" Pain was still etched into his features, and James had never seen eyes so haunted. "But it's nice not to be alone."
"You're not alone." James wished he could do or say something more, even grasp his friend's hand, but Sirius' arms were still bound cruelly behind his back. He bit his lower lip then spoke again, the words coming out in a giant rush. "Sirius…I'm so sorry. I never meant for this to happen to you. I'd have gladly died if it would have saved you this pain."
"Don't." Sirius shuddered. His breathing was coming in wheezes.
"But—"
"Please," the rasping whisper cut him off. "I made my choice. I don't…hate you for it."
"You ought to," he replied glumly.
"I can't." Sirius coughed. "I won't."
"I'm so sorry we didn't find you sooner, that we didn't know…" James voice cracked. "I thought you were dead."
"Not…yet."
And there was nothing he could think to say to that. Nothing at all. Lost, James shifted to a sitting position and gently pulled Sirius' head into his lap. He had to do something—and although his friend tensed at first, seemingly out of habit, after a moment, Sirius relaxed. "Not yet," James whispered fiercely. "Not ever."
His gaze met Sirius' and their eyes locked; James tried to communicate every sense of urgency, tried to burn his purpose into Sirius' eyes so that he could be understood without speaking. One week. Just one week…
"Promise me you'll hold on, Sirius," he asked desperately. "Just a little bit longer."
His best friend stared at him with haunted and pain filled eyes. Finally, he replied, "I'll survive…"
James opened his mouth to demand a promise, but the anguish in Sirius' voice stopped him.
"I always do."
He felt empty. There were no words to say to the flat and pained despair he heard, nothing that he could do to lessen his friend's pain. He'd never felt so helpless, so guilty. Bitter self-reproach welled up within him. "This is all my fault."
"No, it's not." He hadn't realized that he'd spoken aloud before Sirius answered. "Don't blame yourself."
"Then who should I blame?" James asked bitterly.
"Please, James…" his voice was growing weaker and there was something downright frightened in his eyes. "I don't…have the strength to argue with you…now."
It was the eyes that got him, and James saw Sirius' desperate need for companionship, recognized the loneliness that he'd lived with for far too long. They didn't need to have this argument. There shouldn't be anything between them. What Sirius needed now wasn't someone to blame; he needed someone to help him survive. "I'm sorry," he apologized, feeling stupid. "I'll shut up."
"Thanks." Once, Sirius would have smiled. Now, there was only pain in his eyes.
"Just hold on for me, Padfoot," he replied quietly. The old nickname, however, didn't have the positive effect he'd hoped for, and a deep shadow crossed over his friend's face. Suddenly, Sirius shuddered.
"No…"
"What is it?" James touched Sirius' shoulder worriedly when there was no immediate reply; Sirius' body was shaking madly, and his eyes were tightly shut once again. "Sirius?"
"Dementors…" he rasped.
"You can feel them all ready?" James knew that Sirius had always possessed a feel for Dark Magic, but he'd never heard of someone growing more attuned to Dementors' presence over time... He didn't feel anything yet, but James could feel Sirius growing cold.
"No…"
Sirius shuddered again, and James searched desperately for some way to help him. He could not help but pray that his friend was wrong, but he knew in his heart that Sirius wasn't, and that he had to do something. Anything. Finally, as he began to feel the approaching coldness himself, James took a chance. Carefully lifting his friend, he wrapped his arms around Sirius from behind, pulling him close to his chest as Sirius struggled to fight back a decade's worth of nightmares.
"Stay with me, mate," he whispered.
Sirius' body was shaking so hard that it was nearly convulsing. "No…" he repeated, caught in the memories already. "Don't…"
"I'm here for you, Sirius. You're not alone." Desperately, James fought his own demons back. Screams and voices echoed in his mind, but he couldn't afford to face them now. Sirius needed him. "Can you hear me, Sirius? You're not alone."
There was a moment of hesitation before Sirius seemed to recognize his presence. "James?" he gasped.
"It's me, mate. I'm here." He tightened his arms around his friend. Coldness was creeping in on them both. He could hear the rattling breathing, and it was close—
"Oh, God…" Sirius shrank back against him as the door slid open and three Dementors entered the cell. James tightened his grip as his friend shook harder and harder; Sirius was lost now, trapped in the memories locked inside his own tormented soul. James had never seen someone react so badly to Dementors, but then again, he'd never known anyone to survive so long…especially with their sanity intact. But no matter how strong Sirius was, the creatures had obviously scarred him deeply.
James heard screaming as Sirius convulsed, and he was certain that some of it was his own. Still, though, he wouldn't let go, and he poured all his strength and his consciousness into his best friend. Sirius was too weak to fight them off; he was shaking and shuddering against James, reacting helplessly with pain and fear. He had to be strong for both of them, he knew, and James clung to Sirius, determined not to let go.
They rode the storm together.
-----------------
James regained full awareness when the Dementors finally retreated, somehow defeated by the bond he and Sirius still shared after so many years apart. He could feel his friend shaking and shuddering against his chest, struggling for air, and James relaxed his grip on Sirius with a concentrated effort. He was almost afraid to do so; he was terrified that the Dementors would return and take Sirius away while they were both too weak to hang on a second time. One look at the shaking man in his arms told James that his friend was still trapped in the hell of his own mind, and a small and frightened corner of his mind wondered how Sirius had lived so long. But he pushed the thought aside, knowing that they didn't have much time. Gently, he brushed tangled and dirty black hair way from his friend's sweat covered forehead.
"Sirius?" he whispered. "Can you hear me? Sirius?"
Silence.
"Sirius?" James swallowed worriedly. "Padfoot?"
His friend shook against him, gasping for air in the quiet. Carefully, James tightened his grip on Sirius, shaking him as gently as he dared. Finally, a ghostly voice whispered, "Don't…"
"The Dementors are gone, Padfoot," James said with relief.
"Hurts," his friend rasped.
Abruptly, James realized that Sirius was talking about his having shaken him, not Voldemort's frightening creatures. "I'm sorry."
"S'okay…" Sirius whispered hoarsely. Fear and old doubts filled his voice. "They're gone…?"
"Yeah," James reassured him. "Are you going to be okay?"
It was a dumb question to ask, and Sirius' shaky nod was equally stupid, but for all that, both were completely truthful and well intentioned. "They're gone, Sirius," he whispered as his friend's shaking began to calm. "They're gone."
Emotion caught in James' throat as he spoke, still holding his lonely and tormented friend. What kind of hell had to live in Sirius' mind? How could he bear it for so many years and not die inside? Just looking at him made James want to crumble, and he knew deep down that this was all his fault. The blame for Sirius' skeletal thinness and the blood staining his tattered robes could be laid solely at James' feet. He wouldn't mention it because Sirius had asked him not to, but James knew the truth. This was his fault, and the only way to make it right was to save his friend once and for all—to end this hell forever.
The only problem was that he couldn't hope to do so for another week. "Can you hang on a little while longer?" he asked without thinking.
"James…" Sirius stiffened. "I live through this…every day."
He swallowed. "I'm sorry. I know."
"I don't think you do," his friend replied harshly, but James could hear the fear underlying his words. "They'll be back, James…and you can't fight them forever."
"What? I—"
Sirius was shaking again, and he could feel the terror that warred with his friend's natural strength. "You have to choose your battles…" Sirius coughed. "Save resistance…for when it really matters."
James stared. For a moment, he did not understand what he was hearing, and then he couldn't believe that he was hearing those defeated words from Sirius. Sirius, who had ever been the defiant one, the one who had always fought back, no matter what the cost. He'd always erred on the side of recklessness rather than caution, and to hear him speak so hesitantly was alien to James' ears. "This does matter, Sirius."
"Not enough." The other must have heard his shock and continued in the same quiet and haunted voice. "You can't win this time, and losing…" he winced. "Losing costs."
"What's happened to you?" James craned his neck sideways to stare at his friend, truly fearful for Sirius' sanity for the first time. He couldn't believe, wouldn't believe… But that was the wrong question to ask, and he realized so immediately when his old friend tensed again. Sirius didn't need to be judged. Not now; not ever. He'd been alone for too long in darkness and pain. After a long moment of uncomfortable silence, James started to apologize, but Sirius' shattered whisper cut him off.
"After a while here, you learn… You learn to keep the resistance inside so that they can't suck it out of you." He shuddered. "If you don't…you die." Sirius closed his eyes, and suddenly James thought he saw the glimmer of tears. "I can't fight all the time, James… I just can't…"
"I'm sorry," he replied quickly, knowing that words could never be enough, and hating himself for how wrong he'd been. Ten years, he reminded himself furiously. How can I even presume to understand what he's been through, what he's withstood? "I don't expect you to—God, Sirius, I'm just glad you're alive. But I'm just worried… I don't want to lose you again."
Sirius' eyes opened slowly. "You won't," he said softly. "I can't promise you much, but I can promise you that."
Before James could answer, they both felt the approaching coldness, and high-pitched laugher reached their ears. James' head snapped up so quickly that his neck cracked, but he already knew what he would see.
"Promises, Black, are made to be broken," Voldemort declared, standing in the cell's doorway.
James tightened his arms protectively around his friend as Sirius tensed. The Dark Lord, however, must have seen both reactions, because he laughed again, completely unaffected by the Dementors lurking at his back. On the other hand, though, Sirius' shaking had worsened as the soulless creatures drifted nearer. Swallowing back his own terror, James pulled his friend still closer. "I'm here, mate."
"Don't…" Sirius whispered almost inaudibly.
"What?" Fear seized up in his throat; he dared to take his eyes off of Voldemort long enough to peer worriedly at his friend.
Sirius was almost convulsing under the Dementor's influence, and it was obvious that he was struggling to remain in control. "Just let him, James," he whispered shakily. "It's not worth—"
"No," he hissed fiercely. "Some things are worth fighting for."
"Prongs…" It was the first time that Sirius had used the old nickname, and James did not miss the significance of it. But a cold voice interrupted Sirius before he could gather the strength to continue.
"You'd best listen to your friend, Potter," Voldemort sneered. "You never know what it might cost you."
The Dementors edged still closer, until they were stopped by the Dark Lord's signal. Feeling Sirius shudder in terror, James brought his head up to glare defiantly in Voldemort eyes.
"I don't abandon my friends," he snarled.
"Perhaps you should." The answering cold smile sent a chill down James' spine. "Crucio!"
"No!"
Sirius screamed, and while the fringes of the curse struck James, his friend's body buckled and jerked in his arms. His own pain dimmed in comparison as Sirius shrieked weakly in agony—and all James could do was hold him. Desperately, he tried to twist his body in between Sirius and the curse, but too much of Sirius' weight leaned against him, and he couldn't move. Cold. Suddenly, the Dementors were there and horrors rose in James' mind as he listened to his best friend scream. Before he could resist, they tore Sirius away from him.
"No!" James howled again, struggling to his feet. The edges of his vision were fading and he was near blacking out, but James could see Sirius' body convulsing as the Dementors dragged him away while Voldemort kept him under the curse. Without thought, he bolted forward, wandless but desperate to do anything to help his friend. A second set of Dementors seized him, though, and their cold hands filled his mind with nightmares, stealing his vision and threatening his consciousness—but all the while, Sirius' screams echoed in the background.
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He awoke and found himself chained to the Interrogation Chair again. James' body was shuddering uncontrollably—the Dementors were close, too close. It was almost impossible to breathe, and with every breath he smelled the stale air the Dementors exhaled and their foul stench of decay. James shuddered.
"Not my parents, no—"
"James, it's Lily and Remus. They might not live…he tried to save her, but—"
"Daddy, I don't understand—"
"It's Sirius, James. He's gone—"
Sirius.
High-pitched and tormented screams of agony. A cold voice commanded the Dementors: "Back away. I want him to see."
Sirius. Screaming and held down to a table by three Dementors, his body was jerking wildly and James could see the terror and pain etched into his gaunt features. Not far away, Rodolphus Lestrange was grinning manically and holding him under the Cruciatus Curse. Voldemort only smiled.
"As you can see, James, resistance is worthless."
He couldn't even find words to express his anger or disgust. James could only stare as one Dementor clamped its gray hands around Sirius' face, eliciting a wail of mixed agony and fear. Despite the foul creatures' tight grip, the skeletal wizard was writhing in pain, but James could see him weakening quickly. The combination of the torture curse and the Dementors was draining whatever little strength Sirius had, and his breathing was coming harder and harder with each passing moment.
Finally, Lestrange withdrew the curse, and the long silence was filled only by Sirius' soft moans of pain while the Dementors continued holding him down. For what seemed like an eternity, James could not bear to look away from his friend's sickly trembling form—he could not stop remembering that this was his fault. Sirius had warned him, but James had assumed that he would bear the consequences of his own actions. Not Sirius. He could withstand any amount of pain on his own, but James could not bear to see his friend hurt more. Not after so long, and not when he was to blame. Over Sirius' ragged breathing, the Dark Lord commented coldly:
"I see that you are beginning to learn what resistance may cost you."
Slowly, James brought his eyes up to meet his enemy's. "I see that you've only got the courage to harm those who can't fight back."
"Oh, well done." Voldemort laughed unexpectedly. "You're smarter than you look, Potter, trying to divert my anger to you instead of your friend." Suddenly, though, he stepped close, leaning over James. "But I'll let you in on a little secret, young man. I know that you love him like a brother.
"And I also know that you'll give anything to save his life." The red eyes blazed. "So fight it all you want. I'm willing to wait. In the end, you'll break."
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