Fathers and Sons

Fathers and Sons

Chapter 5: Those You've Known

Growing up in a war is difficult. I'm not saying being an adult is easy, but we cannot minimize the effect that being a teenager in the "You-Know-Who" years has had on an entire generation. We weren't children and couldn't go back to toy broomsticks every time a Dark Mark flew into the sky, but neither were we adults. Our small dramas became our refuge, distracting us from the terror, death, and men in masks we were made to believe laid in wait around every corner. Just like young marriages and reckless living, it was a symptom of the times not all of us managed to survive. Stewart Cauldwell, A Shadow Cast By Green Light: A Wartime Memoir, 1984.

July 1977

Remus left the Hogwarts Express home for the summer as fast as his feet would carry him and Disapparated just outside King's Cross, making for his home in Pembrokeshire. The unspeakable anger towards Sirius started to fade into an ache of betrayal that reached into his bones, one he could push away, ignore, maybe even forgive, at a distance - but the betrayal awoke anger in the wolf. The wolf's anger fed his own anger, which kept the wound fresh, and began a vicious cycle. Remus might have thought he could forgive, but the wolf knew betrayal, which was exactly what Sirius had done.

Being kept at home was not much of a cure. Things were tense there, and Remus was certain there was something his parents were not telling him. His mother did her best to keep him at home with her, and Alexander was even more terse than usual. The wards were augmented considerably, from what Remus could glean, and upon questioning his father simply said that they were living in dangerous times. He understood that well enough, with a Muggle mother, but the feeling that he was the reason did not fade.

Remus spent a week not talking to his father aside from things such as "pass the salt," but that was just not awkward enough. He was reading (what else?) when his mother called him down from his room, and he stopped on the landing when he saw who was in the foyer.

Whatever deity watched above for a good laugh at his expense arranged the next debacle of the very screwed up life and times of Remus Lupin.

Sirius Black stood there, elegantly aristocratic even in denim trousers and a t-shirt, with a smile at something Nichole was saying. Remus caught a flash of - was it fear? - in Sirius's grey eyes when their gazes connected, and the wolf reacted - not with violence, as it did with Alexander, instead with dismissal, as though saying oh, it's you.

Though the wolf moved from hurt and anger to indifference, Remus couldn't. In the past week, he buried most of his feelings away, but the betrayal still burned. Despite all hopes that it would fade before he saw Sirius again, here he was and here it was, unearthed and raging again with a vengeance.

His mother speaking ended the awkward reverie. "Would you boys like anything, tea, biscuits...?"

"No thanks, mum. We'll be in the sitting room," Remus answered, before the off colour flirtation that he knew was coming could tumble out of Sirius's mouth. Sirius muttered a thank you to Nichole and followed him into said sitting room seemingly aware that this was no pleasant chat and not looking forward to it. He began looking around the room with interest, and Remus closed the door.

When he turned around to face Sirius, Sirius was holding up the aura glass that his father kept on his desk and studying him through it. "What do you want?" Remus asked with his tireless patience, although there was a note of coldness to it.

"You're yellow, Moony," was his reply. Indeed, Remus's aura was a mingling of yellows from the dark to the pale, tinged with black. If he'd been any sort of Divination student, Sirius would have known that yellow was a colour of optimism and cheerful people, darker yellows indicated intellect and according to other sources, shyness. Black was indicative of illness or a secret to hide.

But of course he didn't know this, he only took the class because it was too entertaining to not take it. The Hufflepuff girl who liked to flirt and had nice legs didn't hurt his decision either.

The look Remus gave him in return was most definitely not amused in any way, and Sirius lowered the aura glass and replaced it on the desk, as Remus would stand there until Sirius stated his business. He slid his hands into his pocket and leaned on the desk in an attempt to look nonchalant. "James reckoned I was being a prat about what I did, and should apologize."

Remus blinked at Sirius, then let out a harsh, mirthless laugh. "James reckoned," he said, unable to do anything but stand there and keep himself from shaking with rage.

"He did." Sirius came to the Lupins at the very strong suggestion of James Potter, if by 'strong suggestion' one meant 'the biscuits were not being shared until this was settled'. Still, Remus was Remus and he'd be over it soon enough.

Sirius seemed nowhere near apologetic or even interested in what was going on, and Remus somehow doubted he even grasped the gravity of what he'd done. That made him angrier. The wolf paced mentally, agitated and - ready to pounce? He pushed it down - this was for him to deal with, the wolf didn't know the difference between plain anger and being wronged. "So if James reckoned it was a good idea for you to eat Doxy eggs, you'd do it?"

"Damn it, Remus, not the same," Sirius snapped. "I came, I saw, I apologised. I heard all the sodding bloody details from Dumbledore and had to apologize to Snivellus too, so d'you think you can stop being thick about it? I get it."

"You haven't actually apologized." Remus advanced into the room for the first time. "You said James said you should apologise and I don't think you get it at all. What you did was reprehensible and dangerous not only for Snape but me as well!"

"Kind of the point," the taller boy replied as if to say duh. "Moony, he was watching us, trying to see where you headed every month. If he wanted to know that badly -"

"So you thought you'd just go and tell him?" Remus raised his voice over Sirius's protests. "He mightn't have ever found out, just suspected, but you right out told him where to find me and he knows and thinks I was in on your little trick." Speaking the words out loud had a worse effect than merely thinking them.

Siriuis was becoming irritated as well, and ignored the part of him that was bothered by the normally mild-mannered Remus Lupin was now yelling at him. "Nothing happened," he said. "And even if it had, the slimy git'd deserve it."

"Don't say that," Remus hissed. If he yelled anymore, his mother was going to investigate, and he'd have to explain or make up an excuse, and he really wasn't up to either right now. "Don't - don't you ever say something like that. You have no idea what you're talking about, this-"

"Moony, listen to yourself for a minute," he interrupted. He and everyone else seemed to be missing one key thing: nothing had happened. "Nobody got hurt," he added, adopting a calm and rational tone in lieu of his usually excitable one.

"I got hurt," he ground out in return. The wolf was beginning to share his agitation and wanted control, but Remus again pushed it down. "You used me for your own selfish revenge purposes, don't pretend to have done otherwise. You weren't protecting me or my secret, you wanted to hurt Snape."

"So what if I did?" Sirius snapped. "He's not exactly your biggest fan, Remus, why are you making this such a big deal? It's over, dealt with, done, he's been forbidden by Dumbledore to say anything."

Remus could do nothing but stare for a second, his mind literally frozen with outrage and unable to formulate a response. There was no point in denying how much Snape disliked him - all of them - and Remus wasn't really fond of him either. Still, there'd never been a personal problem, until now. Even so, his "furry little problem" as James would have put it was not something he would have wished on anyone, a worst enemy or otherwise.

Not even Snape.

There was no sane way to explain the affliction. The wolf bristled at the term that made it sound like an illness (I am not a sickness to be cured, I am you), but the wolf was what made it tricky - what would he say, there was a wolf with him all the time and he could sometimes get rid of it when he really, really wanted to? That was a one way ticket to any locked, rubber room in the country. It sounded insane. "That's not the point," he finally managed evenly to Sirius.

"What is the point?"

"The point is that you weren't thinking. What if I'd bit him? Or killed him? Do you think they bother sending werewolves to Azkaban? Let me tell you that they don't," he snapped. "It is considered negligence and intent to murder if a werewolf is not properly restrained from doing so. There is a brief trial which is more of a nicety than an exercise of the judicial system, after which the Dementor's Kiss is implemented."

For the first time in their conversation, Sirius appeared abashed. Maybe even slightly ashamed as he wrapped his head around the fact that if Remus had bitten Snape, he wouldn't be there now. "Oh," he finally mumbled in a very un-Siriuslike way.

"Yes, oh," Remus said with a new calm, somewhat satisfied in that at least Sirius appeared to be grappling now with the enormity of what he'd done. It was almost a sadistic pleasure to see him examining the pattern of the rug, struck into silence. "That's why the big deal. And really, just knowing is going to be enough power for him. He might not tell anyone but it's bad enough, especially after - " He cut himself off, pursing his lips.

"'specially after what, Moony?" Sirius asked casually, attempting to minimize the inquisitiveness of the question by picking up the aura glass again and looking at himself through it by way of the mirror over the mantle. A violent shade of red - high energy, inner vitality, and good health. He put it down again and glanced at Remus.

"Just... nothing." Remus dismissed it. Nothing, and yet everything. After all the trouble that his family had gone through to keep his condition a secret... His parents hadn't liked that his roommates had found out, creating three more unnecessary risks that the family didn't need to take. To be ruined... Remus still feared that something could happen and he would not be invited back to Hogwarts in September.

Sirius shrugged. "Nothing nothing?"

"Nothing nothing," Remus confirmed. "But that's why I am upset. I cannot be friends with a person who plays with my life and... and uses me like that." Remus really wished that he were better at holding a grudge than he was, instead of forgiving at the drop of a hat. This was one he'd like to hang onto for the next twenty years, even after the already hazy details had long disappeared.

Sirius nodded slowly, pensively. Remus waited for some smart rebuttal, but instead Sirius said, "Well, apology made - "

"You haven't - "

"In spirit, Moony. I... I get it now." Remus could believe that he 'got it' this time, with no such show of levity in his expression as usual, that look of a puppy waiting for affirmation. Remus merely nodded and like that, the apology was accepted.

To cover his relief, Sirius clapped his hands and rubbed them together briskly. "Excellent! Now with that done, the invitation has been extended to you from James's household, because he needs to be teased mercilessly about writing Lily Evans and I can only take so much of that onto my shoulders."

"A heavy job for just one person?" he asked dryly.

"A bloody burden, we'll have to get Peter involved as well," was his answer.

Remus cracked a smile. "I'll have to tell my mother, but it shouldn't be a problem."

"Oh, please, allow me, the lovely Nichole Lupin cannot go without seeing my lovely, shining face - "

"Stay," Remus said sternly, pointing at Sirius in mock threat. Sirius broke into a wide grin at that, and the corners of Remus's mouth tugged upwards as well. "Try not to break anything in here, will you? Some of this is quite old."

"Ha, anything in here is a bloody infant compared to what lines the walls of my parents' house."

He left the room without answering Sirius, taking the mention of his family as a signal of a détente being reached. Sirius rarely spoke of his family, and only to the three of them, the three he trusted most and felt most comfortable with. Remus also felt better, lighter, and a bit happier. He could only hope that Snape intended to keep his word to Dumbledore, but that was a bridge that could be crossed later, if it ever came.

~*~

Julia paced in front of the fireplace in the Frobisher house, making a rut in the rug. Her nerves were getting the better of her, just when she'd resolved to make the journey to go see Jeremy. She'd picked up Floo powder and returned it to the dish twice now, and it didn't seem to get any easier. She caught sight of her reflection in the mirror over the mantle. Why are you so nervous? she asked silently, and found she didn't have an answer - at least, not one she liked.

Maybe this was just the anxiety one felt when one hadn't seen a friend in ages. Since December, even. She was really glad she hadn't mentioned the possibility of an excursion to the Curenton house to Gilly or anyone else, or there would have been no end to the badgering or the questions, questions that possibly had answers she wasn't certain of yet. She nearly chickened out, but felt a small body pushing against her leg. She looked down and Odysseus, her cat, was pushing his head against her leg, almost urging her to go -- or begging to be petted. Either way, it was not a sign that she was going to ignore.

She stepped up and took some Floo powder and threw it into the grate. "The Curentons," she announced before stepping in and letting the network carry her along. Soon enough, she arrived, although was not yet admitted into the house. She hit her head sharply on the grate, rendered senseless for a moment before she yelped, "OW," which she immediately regretted. Her lungs filled with soot as she began to cough, while the grate held fast.

There were reporters sending owls, knocking on the door, and invading the Curentons' Floo, and finally Brighid Curenton had seen enough. Being a pragmatic woman, she sealed the house thoroughly, from the door to the windows to the fireplace grate. She had, however, not thought this through entirely, and halfway through preparing a very involving stew there was a crash and a cry from the fireplace. She stared at the intruder, who didn't look like a Prophet reporter, but there was really no telling these days. As the girl began to cough, Brighid stood and opened the grate, a bit guilty but still cautious and ready to oust the intruder.

On a boring summer day, a thump and a yelp from the kitchen was too interesting a twist for Jeremy to give into his parents' paranoia of werewolves, Death Eaters or worse and hide. Instead, he peered into the kitchen. "What the hell is going on, Mum?" He stared at the scene, and took a step back at who he thought the new arrival was. "Julia?"

Brighid stood, awkward, and snatched a towel from a nearby rack to hand to the girl. "Jeremy, watch your language." She went to attend to the stew, eyeing the two carefully. "I'm so sorry, dear, are you a friend of Jeremy's? I never meant to lock out friends of Jeremy's, it's only the press..."

Jeremy only shifted awkwardly for a moment, frozen to the spot at the realisation that Julia Frobisher was in his kitchen. Though he'd received some post from her, she was here and that was different, for reasons he couldn't (or didn't want to) explain. The wolf nudged him, uncomfortable and aggravated at his nerves, and gave him a push to speak. "Er, hi."

Her throat burned and her eyes watered as she coughed into the dishtowel that Jeremy's mother handed her. She tried hiding her face in it, but that only worked for so long. She pulled herself off the tile, and after one last, full-bodied cough, said, "Hi, Jeremy," towel still clutched in her hands.

Jeremy shot his mother an insolent look, and, with more courage than he'd had in some time, walked both up to and past Julia. He indicated that she follow with a gesture with his head as he unlocked the door, glancing past her at his mother. "We'll be outside. On the porch probably, but might show her around, is that all right?"

Brighid set her ladle down with a clunk, looking more than a little exasperated. "You can go up to the Den but try not to wander around town, will you?" With all of the notes and talk of Fatherhood, she couldn't risk him much. "There's not much to see, anyhow."

He propped the door open with his foot, impatient, the wolf almost wholly at the helm now. "Yeah, right, Mum, we'll behave, Julia, are you coming?" His brash expression faded to worry as he turned to her, before he finally looked away. He could feel his mother's eyes on him, he knew that look, but he didn't want to see how Julia was looking at him.

"I -- yeah. Yes," she answered, placing the dishtowel on the counter, not sure of what else to do with it. She wanted to apologise for her grand entrance, but there didn't seem to be appropriate words. Instead, she backed out of the kitchen awkwardly and followed him outside. "Sorry," she blurted out.

"You don't have to apologise." Jeremy checked to make certain the door was unlocked before closing it behind her. "I should be apologising. She should be, really. I'm sorry," he concluded, and called up the courage to look her in the face, hoping she wouldn't see the wolf and run for the hills right away. "I'm glad you're here."

Julia concentrated on his face, somehow the same and different all at once. She hadn't counted on this, the realisation of exactly how hard it had been for that face to not suddenly appear across from her at a table in the library, or not have him jabbering Quidditch at her for an entire Herbology period. She swallowed, aware of how red her cheeks must be, and said, "I'm glad I came."

I missed you was all that came to mind, but it was too pathetic and too obvious all at once, so he made himself think of something. Anything, so the conversation would go on and he wouldn't just look at her for the rest of the afternoon. "It, ah. It must be good to be on hols."

Right. Talking. "It's -- yeah. It's a nice change from... " From what? Anything she said was going to sound trite, she was willing to bet. "It's good to be on hols," she agreed. "How are you?"

The wolf wanted him to walk away, but he couldn't look away from her, like it had been years instead of months, and through the mental noise of that struggle he could barely think up an answer. "I'm -- I'm all right. Besides the paranoid parents and the whole full moon thing, it's all right. You didn't have to come," he added upon realising he'd pointed directly at the hippogriff in the room. "I'm... fine, really, it's all right." You don't have to pity me. The wolf gave him a distinct impression of disdain at his cowardice.

She smiled slightly, taking him at his word. "Okay," she said. Hearing it from his mouth really made her feel better. "I... I'm really glad to hear that."

The corner of his lips tugged into a smile at hers, almost automatically, while he tried to remember what they were talking about. "Yeah," he said. "Hey, you want to see the Den?"

She hesitated slightly for no real reason, and she said, ""Well... yeah. Okay, that would be good. Is it far?"

"Not at all, it's just up the hill." Jeremy sent her a genuine smile. "My parents won't let me far enough to make a real break for it, after all."

"Don't worry, mine won't either," she said, dry. She busied her hands by tying her dark hair back, unsure of what to do with them once that was completed. "Up the hill, eh," she said conversationally as they started off.

"All the convenience of home with a few werewolf packs or packless werewolves for flavour," he joked. "It's five minutes if you run fast enough." I used to race Erin. Even the thought made him ache. "I'd race you, but we both know who'd win."

"I am a pretty fast runner," she said in a mock boast. She settled for putting her hands in the pockets of her shorts, and walked along. "You're a pretty fast runner when the occasion calls for it, though," she added casually.

He laughed, and hard -- he couldn't remember the last time he'd laughed like that -- and went on with mock indignance, "Mrs Norris does a great Slytherin's Monster impression, I can hardly be blamed."

God, she had missed this -- missed him. "Better not to take chances when we're being confronted with a possible Slytherin's Monster," she agreed finally.

"That's my general strategy. Speaking of Slytherin's Monster, any new Isabelle stories to tell me?" he asked, deadpan.

"Eugh. Miss Queen of the Backhanded Compliment?" she asked dryly. "We played in the Quidditch final a few weeks ago and we won against Gryffindor, of course, Gilly didn't speak to me for three days, but that's not the point, right. There was a celebration and I wasn't 'round long or anything, but of course she finds me. So I'm standing there, right, and she walks up and says to me - " She stopped long enough to take her hands out of her pockets and adopt a posture that mocked Isabelle's. "'Oh Julia, you all just played fantastic today! I could never manage such a thing, but it really takes a... special kind of ah, girl to play like that in a man's game." She made a face, dropping her arms. "As if one of the leading chasers in League history isn't a woman."

"Well if she's using herself as a model for women, naturally her sort wouldn't be up for Quidditch. Half-transformed Veelas can't quite catch the Quaffle what with their claws." He imitated a Veela in bird form grasping with its claws, face squinting up in full animated imitation.

Now it was Julia's turn to laugh hard. "Isn't that the bloody truth," she gasped, holding on to her stomach. "'Evil bitch' isn't exactly a subspecies known for their throwing and catching, either," she added.

"Oh, I bet the only thing she could catch on the pitch would be the clap," he said with great cheer.

"Ew," she said with a grimace, but laughed again.

"You know, that's one thing I miss, mocking Davis with the two of you," he said. "You and Broadmoor and anyone else who had the bollocks, to be fair." He paused, but went ahead and said it, though it certainly changed the tone of the conversation. "And you. I missed you."

The words struck her so suddenly that she was forced to look up at him, but she immediately looked away again when there was no hint of irony or untruth. "I missed you," she made herself admit, since he said it first.

He looked in the direction they headed, where the Den would soon come into sight, and damned himself for bringing the conversation to this anxious point. Situations like this only brought the constant uncertainty of the wolf to a fever pitch, and now he was fucked. "Julia," he said, and reconsidered what he was going to say once, twice, three times. "Thanks. For this."

"Yeah?" she said faintly, and gave a smile to match. "I thought -- I don't know. You might not want me here, or..." She cut herself off, burying any other thoughts deep into her brain. She shrugged and let her fringe fall in her face to serve as a conclusion.

"That's. No." Jeremy was genuinely astonished. "That's not it at all. Uh. Consider yourself officially welcome, despite the... fireplace grate thing. We've had reporters."

"Ah. Say no more," she said and looked up as she approached the house that had come to be known as the Den. "This it?" she asked casually, but undeniably interested.

"This is it." He couldn't hide his proud grin. "The Den, a sanctuary or a nest of chimaeras, depending on who you ask."

"It's a little... enclosed for a nest of chimaeras, I should think," she said, suddenly feeling shy again.

"Also, it's still standing," Jeremy said mildly. "After ... what is it, thirteen years now? Something like that. I barely remember anything before it, anyway." The wolf wanted to run, but he forced it back, tensing. "It's better than it looks, I swear."

"That's a long time," she said, returning the tone. "And it isn't -- well, it doesn't look that bad or anything."

"It's not exactly the Shangri-La is all I mean," he amended, and before he could stop his rebellious hand, it was resting on the small of her back. He let it drop the instant he felt her move and realized, going on to look at the house and speak as though nothing happened at all, though his voice rose: "It's growing on me now, though."

She jumped slightly and looked up at him, and away quickly again. It was probably an accident. "Yeah?" she said, and cleared her throat. "You spend a lot of time here, then?"

"Yeah," he answered, and crammed his hands into his pockets to avoid a situation like that again. "It's the only place I'm allowed to go, really. Since Dad's usually here. We'll have to dodge him unless you want an autograph," he added with a smirk.

"Um." She went a little red again. "I did read the book," she muttered under her breath.

He looked at her finally. "Sorry, what?" he asked.

Julia leaned against the railing of the stairs to the porch. "Your dad's book. I, um, read it."

Jeremy looked back at her with surprise and completely genuine admiration. "You did? That's great, I'll tell him, we're always glad to know that there aren't a thousand copies with unbroken spines in bookshelves across the UK." He opened the door for her. "And now a personal tour from one of the Den's own werewolves to cap off your reading, aren't you lucky."

She laughed, and ducked inside past him. "I suppose I am a pretty lucky girl, at that," she said, looking around the foyer. "It looks... just like it's described," she added, poking her head around the corner into the front room.

He looked in as well. "...Except for one thing," he said, and called into the room, "You'd better not have any stakes on that game, no gambling here, come on!"

"Aren't you running a pool in town?" one of the card-playing werewolves called back, clearly skeptical.

Jeremy shook his head. "In town's in town, you know the rules -- is that a bottle?" Three months of being a prefect and now he was policing werewolves. "Get rid of it."

"What bottle, I don't see any bottle," a second werewolf said, trying to keep his cards hidden while passing said bottle to the third werewolf at the table.

Jeremy wished that they hadn't pulled this while Julia was here. "Two rules in this entire house and you can't follow either of them? No drinking, no gambling, you can do anything else."

"There's nothing else to do, little Curenton," the third werewolf returned, unashamed to take a long drink from the bottle. "Better figure that one out sooner than later."

Julia looked between Jeremy and the three of them as the conversation continued, quiet and trying to be inconspicuous as possible. The second was examining her in a way that she wasn't exactly sure that she felt comfortable about -- then again, she didn't much like it when anyone stared at her, for whatever reason. "Eh, forget it," he said. "He's got a witch with 'im, he'll get it eventually."

"Leave her out of this," Jeremy said in a flash, heated. "Just count yourself lucky if my dad doesn't kick the three of you back into town for this." He left the room again, going into the corridor to ignore the wolf as it seemed to try to reach out to its brethren. It's not worth it, he told it, and exhaled when that didn't help at all.

She left in a hurry after him, leaving the three to whatever vices they may or may not be engaging in. "It's fine, no big -- are you okay?" she started, but immediately became concerned.

He looked up at her more by instinct than anything else, but barely registered it -- he was struggling too hard for control, while the wolf stubbornly reached out to Julia and Jeremy tried to regain some ground in his head. "I, uh, yeah, I'm fine. My dad's office is over here." He pressed on, ignoring it, but it only made it worse.

"Oh -- okay," she said, but still it nagged at her. "Are you sure? You just -- "

"Jeremy? Is that you?" Owen called from inside the office.

"Yeah, I'm here." Jeremy answered vaguely, leaning on the wall outside of the office with his hand clenched in his hair as though he could rip the wolf out of his skull. He turned his eyes back to Julia, tried his best at an apologetic look and mouthed, Sorry.

She shrugged slightly, still more concerned than anything. Owen appeared in the form of a mixed blessing, peering at them from the door way. On the one hand, she didn't have to think of something else to say to Jeremy and on the other... she was going to have to talk to his dad. "Jeremy, hello... Jeremy's friend," he greeted them.

"... Hi," she said, wincing when it came out in a squeak.

Jeremy could think quickly but not in a situation like this, where things kept on conspiring to make this day harder. "Dad, this is Julia, Julia, this is my dad, Owen Curenton," he said in a bit of a rush.

There was no usual easy rhythm to Jeremy's introduction; he spoke quickly. Owen looked him over once before looking back at Julia. "Nice to meet you," he told her genially. "So, Julia... I didn't catch your last name, sorry."

"Um, he didn't give it," she said, twisting some hair around her finger. "Frobisher. Julia Frobisher."

"I see," he said slowly, contemplating her. She quickly glanced at her shoes and he felt slightly guilty for the realisation. "We're glad to have you, at any rate," he added.

The pressure cleared by just a little and Jeremy managed to step through the fog. "Ah. She read your book," he added to his father.

"Tattler," she said, pulling a face.

"And she's well-read too. How about that, Jeremy," he said dryly, unable to keep from being somewhat amused. "I hope you didn't find it too... daunting."

"Compared to the assigned readings for O.W.L.s, it was light," she made herself answer.

"She listens to me talk for hours on end, anything you write can't be too daunting, Dad," Jeremy joked, ignoring how faint and pale as he felt. "I'm going to, er, give Julia a tour of the place, then we're going to go into town, do you need anything?"

Owen gave Jeremy a mild look. "Does your mother know about your perfect plan?"

Jeremy raised his eyebrows in return. "Do you really think she'd let me go off on my own?"

"I asked you first," he returned, although they both knew perfectly well what Brighid would say if Jeremy brought up going into town. He sighed. "No, I don't need anything. But keep your eyes open and be home for dinner. In time for dinner, your mother's likely to blow a screw if you're late."

Jeremy put a hand to his heart. "I swear I'll be there. Early, even. This way, Julia -- I'll see you later, Dad, thanks."

"Be careful," he reminded him. "Nice to meet you, Julia."

"Yeah, um. You too," she said, and followed Jeremy.

As soon as they were far from his father's office, he spoke firmly. "I'm fine."

"Okay." She glanced up at him. He looked a little better, colour returning to his face -- and it returned to hers for no reason at all. "So then," she started with a little sigh.

Right. He stopped and pointed up to what they could see of the stairwell. "Not much upstairs -- there's the reinforced full moon rooms for, well, the full moon." He swallowed before he went on. "We didn't bother building anything for me at home when we have these, so I spend the night here. It's not bad. They're dull, but the point isn't to be entertaining."

She looked up the staircase -- he was right, not much to see up there. Nothing out of the ordinary, anyway. "I guess so long as it works," she said, and looked back to him.

"It works." He didn't want her thinking of him like that, so he kept her moving. "Uh. There's a football pitch set up in the back. Kitchen's over here."

She grinned. "You have football here?" she asked him, unable to hide her delight.

"Of course we have football here," he said, feigning offence. "I'm here. That and we have to entertain ourselves."

"We-ell then." She edged towards the back door. "Fancy a go? I'll let you win," she teased.

"Oh, don't do that, I can kick your arse without your help." She was fit when she was competitive, but he just sent her a smirk and led the way through the back door.

"If you're sure about that," she said, bouncing down the back stairs. It really was the best day for football, she reflected. It wasn't too hot, and only a little breeze.

"Great day, isn't it?" he asked rhetorically as he fetched the football out of the bushes, and gave it a small kick to make sure it was good. "I'll take it easy on you because you're a girl."

Her jaw dropped as she emitted a small, offended noise. "Just for that, I'm not taking it easy on you and you can just deal with it," she said, taking her place between the two goalposts, on top of which a crossbar was precariously balanced.

"Striker's game, of course," he reasoned, bringing the ball in. "What, no ladies first?"

"Sod ladies first. You worry about getting the ball past me, Jeremy." She shook her arms out and loosened up. Keeper was not her position in any sport -- she was going to have to get ready to move.

"No problem," he said with more confidence than he actually felt, squinted at her, then started towards her goal.

She wished she'd worn different trainers. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other while she watched him approach, trying not to anticipate. He finally made his shot and she lunged for it, and cursed when it sailed neatly through the hole about three feet to her left.

Jeremy punched a fist into the air and sidled towards the goal, trying not to look as pleased as he was. "So that's why you don't play Keeper," he teased.

"At least you didn't have to watch me jump pathetically for one that went over my head," she retorted, chasing after the football and handling it with her feet for a moment to get used to it before taking it back out.

He settled between the goalposts and eyed her; she was distracting, but he wasn't going to be distracted. "What're you waiting for?" he asked.

"The perfect moment," she answered, and suddenly broke into a full run, taking the ball and faking once, twice before she took her shot.

It sailed right past him, and he stared at the ball as it rolled behind him before turning to her and saying, "By just that much."

Julia smirked, just a bit smug. "'That much' is apparently enough," she said. "Come on, your go."

It was hard not to look at her without outright admiration. "Slytherin," Jeremy called back, as he took the ball out and considered his next move.

"So?" she answered, shifting her feet and watching, waiting.

"What do you mean, so?" He started to move closer, but remained slow, thoughtful.

"What do you mean, Slytherin?" she asked.

"You got that Slytherin look. Like this." He put on a laughably arrogant look and tossed his head disdainfully in a clear imitation of any number of the Slytherin ponces in their year.

Julia outright laughed at that and covered her mouth. "I don't get that look," she protested. "No one who knows how ridiculous that look is wears it."

"Oh, but it doesn't matter what people think of Regulus Black," he went on, adopting a smoothly egotistical tone. "Because he's purer than me, and therefore superior in every way."

Her smile changed back to the smirk. "If he were any purer, he'd evaporate," she said. "Not that it'd be any huge loss. Were you going to actually play football or stand there all day?"

"And Barty Crouch Junior, he's got that little swagger," Jeremy went on, imitating it and giving the ball a brief kick at the end. "It's like he's trying to balance that huge head of his and not quite getting it, or something."

"And your traitorous feet, like they want to be able to kick the football and score again, but... they can't."

He sent her a genuine, wide smile, put his hands in the air, then kicked the ball right past her without any further delay.

"HEY," she yelled, and jumped for it. It deflected off her fingertips but still went by. She landed on her feet and looked at him. "You, sir, do not play a fair game."

"And what do you plan on doing about it?" he asked with a grin.

"If I told you, that wouldn't make it a strategy," she said, retrieving the football and jostling him slightly as she passed.

He watched after her, only ducking into the goal once she'd turned back towards him. "Let's see this strategy, then."

She looked at the space between him and the crossbar of the goalposts, trying to decide if she could put enough height on the ball. "Okay. Whatever you say," she said, took it back a few more feet, and made a short sprint towards it. She swung her foot and the ball had height, all right -- it hit the crossbar and neatly ricocheted back towards her.

Jeremy couldn't contain his laughter, but had the decency to muffle it with his hand. "Wow," he commented finally.

"Shut up, you couldn't hit it if you were trying," she shot back.

"Oh, is that what I was supposed to be doing?" he asked, deadpan. "No one told me about the rule change." He paused. "But I bet I could."

"Care to place a serious bet on that?" she asked with a smirk. Experience told her not to bet with Jeremy, so she normally didn't, but this could be a win for her.

He raised his eyebrows. "You're going to place a bet with me?"

She made a show of shrugging. "If you don't think you can make it and want to play it safe, we can make it a gentlemen's bet."

"No, I know I can make it, but you'll need that money," he said, with exaggerated nonchalance.

"Right, of course." She passed him the ball. "Well, put up or shut up."

He eyed the crossbar, then added, "Seven sickles, do we have a deal?"

"Seven sickles," she agreed, and made an "after you" motion.

Little did she know how many times he'd inadvertently hit that goal. Jeremy backed up, braced himself, and sent the ball flying up in a straight shot towards the crossbar. The ball hit its target, but the crossbar went flying off of the posts and fell to the ground with a pointed clunk right behind Julia.

"...Told you I could," he said, at a loss for anything else to say.

Julia was dumbstruck for a moment. She stared at the crossbar, and giggled. "You broke it!" she accused him.

And just like that, colour quickly came to his face. "I uh. I did, didn't I?"

She laughed again and backed away from it, towards him. "Are we going to be in trouble?"

"I think we may have to run for it," he stage-whispered.

"I'm game," she told him, and took off around the side of the house, pulling on his arm for him to follow.

He laughed and let her pull him, managing to keep up. "You owe me seven sickles," he said seriously.

"Okay, okay," she said, slowing their descent down the hill slightly. "I only have four on me, I'll owe you the other three -- where are we going?" she asked.

The wolf was enjoying this, which was a welcome respite. "Sharp as a tack, you are," he said. "Good question. We're going into town."

"I have those sharp moments every now and then," she breathed, still running.

He stopped at the edge of a hill, taking her arm to stop her. "Wait a minute."

Julia stopped at his touch and swallowed, still breathing hard from the exertion. "Yeah?"

Jeremy released her arm and pointed off the hill down at the view of the town. "Look."

And she looked. She kind of wished that she had her camera now, the view in the late afternoon sun was spectacular. "It's nice," she remarked, and looked back at him. "Or were you pointing to something specific?"

"No, just. There it is," he said, with a gesture. "It's... I can think of worse places to be stuck for the rest of my life, right?"

"Yeah. Like London," she quipped. "I like it. Not as big as Haverfordwest, but it'll do."

"We can't all be Haverfordwest," he said dryly. "Come on, there's a great bookstore in town. When do you have to be home?"

"Well, uh," she started as they began down the hill. "I don't have to -- that is, they don't... any reasonable hour?" she ended sheepishly.

Jeremy gave her a bemused look. "You snuck out, didn't you," he teased. "Sneaking out to run around with werewolves, losing money on bets, really, Julia."

"I did not sneak out!" she protested, turning red. "To sneak out you have to be, you know, told not to go somewhere and then circumvent the rule. I just... went and didn't really leave a note or anything."

"Ah, expecting to be grandfathered in with this one time, I see," he said, giving her a stern eye and tone.

"I didn't sneak out," she insisted. "You can't break a rule if there is no rule to break."

He gave a wry smile. "That's politics."

"That's common sense, my friend."

"Would your mum see it that way?"

"Probably not," she was forced to admit. "But she can't deny that she has never not once told me I wasn't allowed to come and see you."

"Politics," he joked. "Twiddle uses the same argument. So does Crouch. No offence, it's a good argument, but... I don't even know why I'm talking about politics. It's more interesting than any of the homeschooling my mum tries, though."

"Good argument for going to see your best friend, not such a great argument when trying to run a government?" she guessed dryly.

"'Well nothing on the books says the Werewolf Registry needs to be running at its original capacity, so why should I do it?'" Jeremy imitated Maldwyn Twiddle and his dull tone, then went back to his own voice. "Bastard."

"Perfect instance of where it's not a good policy," she said, kicking a rock on the path they'd found. She didn't know much about it.

"Somewhere in the Ministry," he said, sounding less the disgruntled citizen and more thoughtful, "in the Department for Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, there's a huge, shifting map of the UK. The charms on it must be amazing -- there's werewolves all over, of course, and every single one of them who was treated at St Mungo's long enough to merit notice by the Ministry has a number and a little dot on that map. Including me. Right now, they know exactly where I am right to the coordinate."

Julia looked around as if there was going to be some indication of what he had said, and immediately felt foolish. "Tracking charm," she said, understanding -- and remembering at least that much. "I mean, um -- it's an advanced charms thing is all."

"Right." Jeremy chose to ignore the part about Hogwarts. "That wasn't the purpose of the Registry, you know. It was built in, the map's been there since 1947, but now it's considered more of a tracking system for werewolves as potential risks to the wizarding community. It was supposed to be a help, a way to keep track and send people out to the werewolf packs. Now the Den's just about the only wizarding place that any packs really come. It's too bad you came on a quiet day, sometimes we get half a pack or more and it's... well, it's something else. My dad's book in action."

"Yeah?" she said, with a slight grin. "Maybe I'll have to come back, then. Get the full experience, you know," she added seriously."

"Whenever you like, we'd love to have you," he replied with great cheer. "We'll even have the grate open next time."

"Oh, good, I'm not sure if my head could handle that again. I know your mother didn't mean to or anything," she tacked on hurriedly, "but it kind of... hurt."

Jeremy tried not to laugh. "Well, I think if we got another Prophet reporter she'd have had no problem leaving them in there to figure out a way back into the Floo system while trapped inside our fireplace, but no, she didn't mean to hurt any visitors of mine."

"Bloody reporters," she murmured. "I mean -- I don't know," she finished her interjection lamely. But she'd read everything anyone at the paper had had to say about the Curentons since January, and very rarely was it complimentary or veiled.

"No, you're right, they're real bastards. They've been mocking us since they could find a reason, it's what you get for being a radical. I still think Dad asked for it what with starting a riot and everything."

"Wait, wait. Your dad started a riot?"

He looked at her, surprised. "I haven't told this story before?"

She tried to remember this ever being mentioned to her in the many, many conversations they had ever had, and she was forced to say no. "I... don't think that you have," she said.

"I was about seven, Erin was really little, suddenly Mum got an owl when we were all home and took us over to Aunt Nell's," he said as the town came closer into sight. "We had no idea what was going on until a lot later, once Mum had bailed Dad out. He'd started a riot on Ministry property -- right outside the Department for Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, actually -- because of a proposed ban on werewolves living in cities. It was a tiny thing, they expected nothing of it because, you know, packs don't go through cities, but... you read the book, you met him, you can guess how my dad reacted."

"Yeah. I can definitely guess," she replied, unable to keep from being somewhat amused -- it was a little funny. "That's..."

"Absolutely insane? Hilarious?" Jeremy outright grinned. "He actually had people backing him."

"Well, that's always a nice feeling," she had to admit. "I was going to say amusing, but hey. What do I know? Where's this bookstore you were mentioning to me?"

"Oh, right, this way," he realised, and took her hand to guide her through a surprisingly large group of people crowding the street, and towards the bookstore.

Because he was busy leading them through the street, she didn't bother to try and hide the blush that crept up her neck, and let her hand tighten around his. "So. Good bookstore?" she asked as they approached it.

"Great bookstore," he said, correcting, then laughed. "I won't bore you with the books! They have a great Quidditch section, though, loads of biographies and playbooks and things like that -- and they have old Quidditch Weeklys."

Julia perked up visibly. "Okay, I'm sold," she concluded happily.

"I knew it," Jeremy said, released her hand, and opened the door for her. "My lady." He added a short butler's bow.

She shook her head and rolled her eyes slightly at him. "I'm the easy sell when it comes to Quidditch, you know that," she said, dropping her hand back to her side. It was dimly lit in the bookstore, but not too dim. "Wow, lots," she said, looking around and letting her eyes adjust.

"Lots. Well, they have to have something to do besides football and drinking and throwing rocks at our windows here," he said. "The magazines are this way."

"All exciting pastimes," she remarked, following him past the front counter where a bored twenty-something was reading and watched them pass without a word. They turned the corner and the aisle was filled with more of the written word concerning Quidditch than she could have shaken a stick at. "Oh," she said.

"I told you, isn't it -- this is my afterlife, right here, when I die it's going to look like this," he swore, a hand to his heart. "Wait until you see the magazines."

"You could do worse," she immediately decided, and looked at the shelves displaying not only Quidditch Weekly but Which Broomstick and other recent publications. "Show me magazines," she demanded finally, pulling on his arm.

He took her arm and led her a few units back, with shelves packed full of worn copies of Quidditch magazines that had survived the test of time, and some that hadn't. "I'm back here all the time, I've still not gone through all of them."

"... This better be your after life, you'll need it to get through them all," she said, eyeing the bookshelves that went well over her head.

"Look." He pulled one of the magazines out. "Look, Ludo Bagman was just a rookie at this point, I remember this one." He flipped to an article and held it out. "'Promising new Beater,' ha."

She leaned in to look at the spread of the article -- as a photographer she couldn't help but feel like it could have been done better, but as a fan (yes, a fan) she just looked on in awe. "Wow," she said. "This... is a relic."

"He won't sell them, that's the worst part, I swear I've offered half of my dad's old money to the old man for just one issue, and he wouldn't move an inch." He turned the page. "Wow. Look how young the Broadmoors look."

"Yeah," she agreed. "Of course, if you listen to Gilly, they've only gotten better with age... that I'm not sure about. Their stats are pretty steady, sure..."

"But steady isn't better, although considering it's pretty remarkable. Also, Gilly would say the Broadmoors could fly without brooms if she thought she could get away with it," he said, continuing to look through.

It was hard not to be amused. "That's true," she said, leaning against the bookshelf.

"Well, you can look if you like, there's loads of time until dinner and maybe you can even get away with having some of my mum's food, she's an amazing cook."

"I'd like to stay." She still wasn't able to make herself look at magazines, Quidditch or not. Whatever it was they had -- friendship, or something more -- hadn't diminished any with time or distance. She hadn't come to visit with a motive, or even so much as an expectation of much of anything. "Jeremy," she said suddenly, but bit her lip to keep more words from escaping. Who knew what might come out next.

He looked up at her, and the way she was looking at him startled him out of the sudden moment of clarity, himself and the wolf in total unison -- and it took control for the briefest, panicked moment he had at realising how close they were. "Yeah?" he said half a second later, dazed and tense.

She didn't know what to say, so she did something instead. Straightening from where she leaned against the bookshelf, she closed the distance left and raised herself onto her toes to kiss him on the mouth. He had to kiss her and he wanted to but the wolf lashed out -- stupidly, he spited it and kissed her back like he'd wanted to the entire afternoon.

She pulled back to breathe, although it was nearly terrifying to look back up at him and wonder what he was going to say next. She bit her lip again, even more nervous than she had been before she kissed him.

"Erm," was the really intelligent thing he managed to say, after all the blathering he'd done already. "Wow."

If there was a shade of red darker than crimson, Julia was going that colour. "I, um," she replied, and swallowed. "I... wow," she agreed in conclusion.

To save them both from further crippling embarrassment, he kissed her again, letting the prized magazine fall forgotten to the floor. She gave a small noise of surprise, her arms wrapping around his shoulders as she returned the kiss. "Brill," she breathed as soon as there was a need for air.

He was speechless, but because the wolf was pressing, scrabbling, flailing out for something and he had no idea what it was or what to do about it. He rested his forehead against hers and tried to just exhale, and enjoy the fact that she was here and kissing him. "We should go," he said.

She couldn't move. Her knees had turned to something far less substantial than jelly and the only reason she managed to remain upright was because she was hanging on to him. "Go?" she asked a bit stupidly.

Jeremy didn't depend on people; he wasn't a burden, he earned his keep, his place, and his dignity and he had no right to any of that now. He had no right to be a burden. "I can't." Still the wolf pushed with desperation, tried again and again at its pointless unknown task and failed. He swallowed.

Julia relaxed her hold and let her heels hit the ground again. She tried not to let her disappointment show, but she had always been awful at hiding any emotion that might have crossed her face. He still had his arms around her and it made her feel... she couldn't say. "You can't," she repeated.

"There's blokes at Hogwarts," he said, trying to sound confident and utterly failing, dropping his voice to a flat tone. "There's -- I can't."

You're not, she thought to herself, but that was something they both knew and it wasn't something that was going to change. "None of them are you," she said instead and on a last ditch attempt to change his mind, kissed him again, with more force than the first time.

He wasn't strong enough to deny that kind of argument. When they parted again he touched her face and raised her eyes to his. "Julia," he said. "Just. Look at me. And I know this sounds mad. Can you see it?"

She knew what she had to be looking for; his father's book had described it as the wolf, but description didn't seem to do it justice. "I..." She faltered, unsure of what she should be looking for and more uncomfortable at looking into his eyes. But then she saw it -- almost imperceptible if she hadn't been looking but it was there, as sure as anything. She nodded, unable to look away.

He was such an idiot to fight her on this, but he had to do what was right. "Things are different now. I'm different." The problem still defied description, frustrating him more than the situation itself. "You should go home."

"I -- " she started again, and found she didn't really have the proper words to protest. But she made herself drop her arms back to her sides. "I'm not going home," she concluded.

"What happens when your family finds out you're snogging something out of Fantastic Beasts?" he retorted.

The blush rising now in her cheeks wasn't her being demure, it was her temper. "You don't even -- I came to see my best friend, I didn't know what was... I know I'm not exactly the sort who says exactly what she thinks all the time, but I don't actually care that much, you know," she said, flustered.

He moved away from her. "You should. It matters. It's not just once a month, Julia, it's every day -- forget it, let's get out of here."

She felt like someone had pulled a rug out from under her, and she had just landed flat on her back after falling through the air. "Pretty sure I won't," she said, somewhat blankly.

He hesitated, then stuck his hands in his pockets. "I'm sorry," he said, and turned to quickly walk away.

Julia reached out to touch his arm to stop him, and dropped it quickly. "I'm sorry too," she replied. "I shouldn't have... you know I don't have too many friends, and none that are... well, I just... I didn't have any designs on today. I wanted to see you. That's all."

For how great things were ten minutes ago, Jeremy couldn't believe how badly he felt now. The wolf sat sullenly, not bothering him at all, and he forced himself to nod to her. "It's... thanks for coming. I mean it."

She nodded back, and decided it wouldn't do to vomit in the bookshop. On the other hand, it would be a spectacular end to the day. "We can walk back. And if you still want me to go, I will."

"Do what you want." He hated the expression on her face, that it was his fault. "I. Yeah, whatever you want."

She couldn't do what she wanted to do. Not really. She picked up the Quidditch magazine he'd dropped and placed it back on the shelf before she walked past him to the end of the aisle.

This wasn't only what he had to do, it was what he deserved. He followed her, caught up, and said nothing as he led her through the town back to his house.

~*~

Owen was a man of many talents, but keeping time was not usually one of them. He'd long ago given up on berating himself for not going home at a wholly reasonable hour -- Brighid's looks usually said plenty, so there seemed to be no point. He'd made more of an effort since Erin's death to be home earlier, but old habits died hard. He heard Brighid in the kitchen and surmised Jeremy must still be out and about with Julia -- Julia Frobisher. He tried not to worry, but it was a law of the universe that everytime you told yourself not to worry, that only became harder.

There was no reason he shouldn't be worried. There was another note from Fenrir Greyback in his bloody pocket -- another one to add to the stack of unveiled threats sitting in the hexed drawer of his desk where they sat, a source of ever growing anxiety and tension in the house. He sank into the chair at his desk momentarily to read it once more before dropping it in - another of Fenrir's promises to claim his son. His temper flared and he left it on the pile, slammed the drawer shut and replaced the hex. My son, never yours, he swore.

He pocketed his wand and left his office, leaving the door ajar. He entered the kitchen and put his arms around Brighid from behind, where she stood at the stove. "Hi," he said.

"Hi," she said, with a surprised but pleased glance back at him. "You're early, usually I've at least had to warm the food once."

"Felt like a good day to come home early," he said, straightening and moving so he could kiss her hello.

She gave him a fond kiss. "And Jeremy, when is he planning on coming back? Usually he's home before you are. It's curious."

"He'll be along," he replied somewhat evasively, leaning against the counter.

"Oh, I'm sure he will, eventually, if he isn't having too good a time with that girl. Did you see her? I think she must be the one he's mentioned, the Slytherin girl. Came right into our grate, very forward, I should say."

"Yes, they... dropped in," he said, and contemplated saying something to Brighid about his suspicions, but decided to leave it for now. He grabbed a glass and filled it with water for a drink. "Forward? You think? She struck me as... well. Then, I suppose actions do speak louder than words."

"I hope that's not why he's late," Brighid said primly, giving the pot an idle stir.

He swallowed and gave her a wry smile. "You're worried our son is out there being seduced by a wily, pretty Slytherin?" he asked, unable to keep from being amused.

"Don't you smirk, he's too young to be left alone to snog girls," she chided, poking at him with the ladle. "He's not ready for that kind of thing."

Owen squirmed away from the ladle. "He'll be seventeen in October, I'd be highly surprised, B," he replied, safe out of the reach of her cooking utensils.

"I know my son," Brighid said, staying firm. "And he's not ready. Even if he is, he won't be going back to Hogwarts with her, and what then? I should hope he has sense enough to see that."

"Well. That's true," he was forced to concede, and stared out the window as he finished his water. "She's a friend, though. Everyone can stand to have more of those, no matter where they are."

There was nothing to say to that -- just as well, because the alarm bell started to chime as someone entered their property. "There he is," she said, more relieved than she'd like to admit.

"Indeed," he sighed. "I suppose we'll see how they filled their time," he added to her, and jumped out of the way of her ladle again.

The door opened, and Jeremy entered first, slumped and avoidant, ignoring even Julia who still followed him. He went past his parents and looked back at Julia for a moment. "I'll see you," he said, and didn't hesitate to go directly to his bedroom and shut the door.

"Bye," she said weakly as he went, left standing awkwardly in the kitchen with both of his parents. No one said anything for the longest time, and she shifted from one foot the other. "I should... I should go. May I use the Floo?" she asked.

Brighid tried not to stare at her as curiously as she wanted. "Of course, dear, I'm terribly sorry about what happened earlier. Go on."

She took some Floo powder from the dish and held it. She turned and looked at them, "Um, I'll owl, can you tell him that please?" she asked.

"Of course we shall," Owen answered, and exchanged a slightly worried look with Brighid.

Julia nodded, turned back to the fireplace, and threw the Floo powder in before calling out, "Frobishers," and letting it take her back home.

The fire died down, and Owen looked back at Brighid again. "Well," he started.

"I suppose I was wrong." Brighid looked back into the pot to examine the stew. "Do you think you should -- well."

"I'll -- " Owen started as he straightened, and nodded. "I'll go," he agreed, and squeezed her arm as he passed. He left the kitchen, climbed the stairs, and passed one closed door to approach the other and knock, asking, "Jeremy?"

"What," he answered flatly through the door.

He pushed his hair back and sighed. "May I come in?"

"Door's open."

Owen twisted the knob and let himself in. He eyed Jeremy and tried to decide how to start. "You all right?" he asked mildly.

Jeremy stared at the ceiling above his bed as though deep in thought. "Yeah," he said. "Is dinner ready yet?"

The contrast between the Jeremy in front of him and the Jeremy he'd seen an hour previous with the girl struck him, and he nodded. "Nearly," he said. After a short pause, he added, "She said she'd owl you."

"Oh yeah? Thanks," he said vaguely, ignoring the absurd urge to laugh at the situation. "I'll. Yeah. She's nice, isn't she?"

"She seemed that way, yeah," he agreed, leaning on the dresser. "Quiet, but nice."

"You're an intimidating figure, of course she was quiet," Jeremy said, deadpan.

Owen couldn't help but to smirk a bit. "Oh yes, I, the eminent author and troublemaker, professional rock in the Ministry's collective shoe."

Jeremy returned the smirk. "I told her about the riot."

"Oh, so she's heard all about me. Wonderful."

"And she still spent the day with me. Shocking, isn't it?"

"Well, you're a Curenton. We're devastatingly charming and good-looking."

His good mood crashed to a halt and he felt the wolf's resentment, until he shook it off. "To a point," he said.

"Well, charming at least, then," he said dryly.

All evidence was to the contrary, so Jeremy said nothing. Owen tilted his head at him. "Whatever it was... you two will make it right," he said after a moment of silence, putting his hand on the doorknob. "We'll call up when dinner's ready."

"Thanks," Jeremy said faintly, and closed his eyes in order to retreat entirely from the days' events, hoping for sleep.

~*~

August 1977

To say Alecto Carrow was brimming with excitement tonight would be to underestimate just how thrilled she was. Some shied from the duties that were given to her and her brother Amycus, and though monsters and halfbreeds weren't the usual company of Death Eaters, they were something different as well - strong, united, and vicious - and it was truly an honour to bring their strength to the Dark Lord's side.

Tonight the Carrows were going to meet Fenrir Greyback, the werewolf that The Daily Prophet couldn't go days without speaking about, and possibly the first of his kind to gain such notoriety in such a short span of time. He was rumoured to enjoy the taste of children, a concept that highly amused Alecto and made him a target for persuasion that she couldn't wait to meet. She allowed a skip into her step as she approached the door of her brother's flat and gave it a brisk knock.

Amycus was just as ready as his sister for their work. He was honoured to work beside her in their Cause, and while he failed to see how the werewolf -- a nasty halfbreed race if he'd ever heard of one -- would be of use to them. He kept the question out of his mind, though, equally certain that their Lord had his reasons for seeking the fugitive Fenrir Greyback in the Welsh countryside.

The knock he'd been expecting came, and he opened his door. Alecto stood there, and he eyed her critically. "You look... excited," he said.

"...Aren't you?" She couldn't help but look surprised. "Of all the things we've done, the tasks we've been given, the things we've met -- we're about to meet a legend! A halfbreed legend, but nonetheless. They say half of Wales locks their children away in fear of Greyback and his pack! Not bad for a stupid beast, right? No surprise that our Lord wants him, and no better for him to send. Better now than later, who knows what werewolves do at the dead of night?"

"Take the children whose mothers have neglected to lock them up?" Amycus suggested dryly as he closed his door behind him and locked it -- not against Death Eaters as most did, but against your run of the mill crooks. "Let's go."

"There's my fearsome brother and partner," she said wryly, "they'll all cringe at the sight of your hexes, that or your five o'clock shadow -- really let's go!" She screwed up her eyes and Disapparated.

He'd opened his mouth to respond, but instead followed her quickly, landing in what he presumed was Wales. The sun was setting, but twilight was far off yet. "Right," he said, getting his bearings. "Which way are we headed again?"

Alecto straightened, shut her mouth, and scanned the surrounding landscape and hills. After a pause she nodded and pointed between two hills. "There. Used to be a village there, Dad said, until a Welsh Green from an old reserve nearby got out of its pen and burnt the damn place to the ground. I wager the wolves are living in one of the old houses there, that or our Magical Creatures informants are for shite."

"Why rule out either possibility," he said dryly, before setting off in that direction.

Alecto bounded after, taking a huge, cleansing breath of air and heaving a sigh. "Wonderful evening for a hike, don't you think? Out in the Welsh countryside. Werewolves! Do you think they'll be much more difficult than giants?"

"I suppose that depends on the werewolf," he said, looking behind them to check if they'd been followed. There was nothing there, and he turned back around. "I suppose with werewolves we can always try and outrun them if things really get hairy."

"Susanna King and Bradley Davis probably tried to run," she reminded him, and followed his gaze, paranoia now setting in. "And look at them now, imprisoned and dead. No need to underestimate them! This could be big."

"We never underestimate," he reminded her. "And Davis was a prat who -- well." It wouldn't do to speak ill of the dead, no matter how true what he'd intended to say was.

"Deserved it?" Alecto finished his sentence, tucking her hands behind her back. "You know, they may already know we're here. Giants are stupid, but werewolves are nearly men, and could have allies. Who knows who Greyback could've lured to his service?" She drew her wand, surprised that her own hands were steady.

"Well, you're ready as always, I see no reason to worry," he replied, keeping his hand on his own wand in his robes pocket.

She turned around and kept pace with him, thoughtful. "Think I'll get to break some heads?" she asked with some glee a moment later. "I hope I do. I've heard that werewolves are vicious fighters."

"They haven't wands to defend themselves, I imagine they have to compensate somehow," Amycus said, wishing his sister could do anything quietly.

She frowned at him. "Oh, look at you, all terse. If you like, we can just march silently towards the fate of King and Davis, contemplating a brutal death by the hands of a vicious, child-eating beast," she said.

"Alecto, I don't think that you've ever done anything quiet," he replied as they reached the crest of a hill. Just beyond, there was an old house that seemed abandoned and still -- except for signs of a light in a downstairs room. "Do you suppose that's it?"

"No, I'm sure there's another abandoned house with people hiding in it," she said, deadpan.

"Very funny, let's go," he said, starting down the hill.

Alecto followed, breathless as they approached the house, and she kept an eye out for snipers -- perhaps, she thought, overestimating Fenrir Greyback. But it was best to be prepared. "You knock," she whispered to him.

Not wanting to seem cowardly for delaying, he lifted his hand and rapped smartly on the weathered door without hesitation. Niceties had to be observed while on their Lord's business, after all.

Dinner was a quiet time in the house of Fenrir's pack, which was why the knock on the door seemed so loud. Fenrir tensed and stared at the door, his face twisting into a nasty, panicked fury as his anger rose and wolf reacted until Laurel touched his arm. He looked to her, into her concerned yet firm gaze, and stood, towering over the other werewolves of the pack.

Fenrir, head of the Pack, walked away from the fire they'd built for warmth in the old fireplace, with Laurel lurking behind, and he opened the door.

Alecto stepped away instantly, staring up at the much taller man and lost for words. "What do you want?" He spat at their feet angrily. "What could witches and wizards want from me now?"

Amycus stopped Alecto from moving further with a hand on her arm. "There's no need to be so belligerent," he said first. "We've been sent here by our Lord to recall you. You made a Vow, and He asks that you begin to fulfill it."

Fenrir sent them a slow and dangerous grin, and Laurel took it as a sign to stand beside him, prepared to do what she had to for her Father. "The vow is gone, made with the dead," he pointed out, sounding very pleased. "Or has your Father forgotten that?"

"No." Alecto spoke clearly, looking into the werewolf's face, and though he stared back, she was unmoved. "You're still in our Lord's service. Let's talk about this inside, shall we, it seems you've a nice fire in here."

Satisfied that his sister wasn't going to be running back the way they came, Amycus dropped her arm and looked steadily at Fenrir as well. "It would be to your advantage to allow us to do such - after all, if you resist and we're right, well. That's that."

"I killed them both," Fenrir shouted as he stepped forward to drive the Death Eaters back. "They're both dead and I'll hear no more about it, do you understand? Now leave and never come back!"

Alecto found herself quivering, rooted to the spot, and only two steps away from the beast; she took them. "Ready to stake your life on that?" she asked wryly, staring up at him, right into his eyes, and recognised something else in his eyes.

Fenrir sensed Laurel tensing beside him, her glaring at the witch, but the wolf approved of the witch's forwardness. He drew back and inside, yanking Laurel behind him roughly by the wrist.

Amycus tried to focus on the situation at hand and not the fact that something very weird just happened, and said, "Ladies first," after managing to get beyond it.

Alecto took a slow breath before walking in, head high. Her nose immediately wrinkled at the smell and sight of the room -- a room that had once been a modest sitting room but now served as a dining room where a good twenty-five or so werewolves sat around the fire and ate what appeared to be raw meat. She stared openly, utterly amusement -- were they really beasts?

"Go on," Fenrir Greyback said, gesturing widely at a cracked china plate where three more pieces of meat sat. "This is my pack, and you're welcome."

It was times like this that Amycus honestly questioned his diplomatic abilities, because quite frankly this was just this side of disgusting, but he kept as neutral an expression as possible. "Thank you," he said generically. "Now, as for the matter of your Vow, while I doubt Susanna King is ever going to think of a headache the same way again, you failed in your attempts to kill her."

Alecto looked at the werewolves; more children than she would have expected, even for a werewolf now notorious for biting children. "The Unbreakable Vow stands," she added to her brother's statement, impulsively snatching up a piece of the meat. "And so the deal with which you bought your freedom. As I see it, you have two choices, and you'd better choose wisely."

That was enough, and soon the wolf was snarling and so was Fenrir, who was only kept from leaping up at the pair by the pressure of Laurel's hand on his thigh. He sat straight, but still stared at the witch. "I don't fear death," he said acidly, "your Lord will learn that." He took a rebellious bite of fresh meat, staring at the wizard as he chewed, then commenting. "He better keep his side of the bargain or my pack and all of the rest will turn against him. We don't care much for wizards."

"Our Lord has kept his side of the bargain so far," Amycus reminded him civilly, "and he will continue to do so." The werewolf seemed to forget that he was the only reason the escape had not gone as they'd planned it, and the only reason they were there now.

"So far, and so far all your Father's done is watch as the Ministry sends their wizards after me." Fenrir took a bite and chewed thoughtfully, Laurel taking the moment to add coolly, "Your Lord needs us, but we don't need you."

Alecto flashed a wicked grin at Amycus before taking a bite of the meat as a show of bravado. It was mostly uncooked, it was disgusting, and she choked on it, but she didn't let her discomfort show. "You think you'll last long in an abandoned house where any wandering child could find you, nonetheless Aurors and all the strength of the Ministry?"

Amycus had to stifle his older brother instinct that consisted of Stop Putting That in Your Mouth and instead concentrated on looking like he didn't feel like gagging himself. "It may not seem that way now, but you will find that there will be long term benefits."

Alecto stretched her legs out by the fire, tired of standing. "Such as the protection of all the wands of the Death Eaters in the protection of your Pack. You won't be threatened by a single wizard while in the Dark Lord's service."

Fenrir lost his composure and shoved Laurel aside as he stood to intimidate the insolent girl, and flashed a glare at the wizard. "Protection? Your kind fears mine! Wherever we go we're driven out, we're murdered when we act as nature intended, you fear us, you can't deny it!"

Silence followed, and as if to prove a point, Amycus made no move other than to shift his weight from one foot to the other. "You weren't the easiest... person to find, but you were eventually found. The Ministry, inept as it may be at times, will eventually track either you or one of your Pack back to here."

"I expected better from you," Alecto remarked directly to the oh-so-fearsome Fenrir Greyback, taking a hearty bite of the nearly-raw meat again. The place smelled, the meat tasted like mold, but after all the sorts that she and her brother had persuaded to the Dark Lord's service, wizards and halfbreeds, she could tell who had talents that could be put to use. Fenrir Greyback was an investment worth working on personally. "You're a legendary figure, a Ministry fugitive, eluding the Dark Lord, but at this rate you'll die in the next six months by the hands of the Ministry."

Fenrir tensed to approach the insolent witch, but Laurel turned to Amycus with a rather unbecoming scowl. "Shut her up," she snarled at him, "she's yours to command, so control her. This is the Father of our pack, and he deserves respect!"

No one had been able to control his sister's words or otherwise since she had learned how to walk, and it wasn't going to work now. Amycus did turn to her and, ignoring the nearly raw meat in her hands, said, "Alecto, these are our comrades and we are here on our Lord's business, representing Him. You needn't be so blithe."

Alecto continued to play with it after the idle realization that the meat could easily be Muggle or worse, and managed a straight face for a few moments before outright sniggering at Amycus. "Yes, right, I forgot," she laughed. "We have our Lord's business to achieve. So, Fenrir, will you die or will you serve?"

"We don't serve wizards," Fenrir snapped off, pulling Laurel aside with the resolve to not heed any more of her nonsense peace measures. This situation needed the strength of a pack leader. "Just like wizards to think that any non-wizard -- "

Alecto shrugged, raising her index finger to reserve his attention. "I serve Him," she said, once she was certain he would stop glowering and start listening. "My brother serves Him. We're from an old family, a pure family, but we serve. There's no shame in serving the man who embodies a Cause, because it's no different than serving that Cause itself."

Amycus very nearly stopped his sister before she even started, being no talent at Divination, but still knowing that naturally she was going to voice what was on her mind, damn the consequences. He opened his mouth to interrupt her -- except the beast seemed to be listening, idly if not attentively. "There is much to gain," he managed to add once his sister completed her thought.

Fenrir silently paced a few steps, scratching at his unshaved chin. The burden of responsibility was never something that he regretted, but it was once again a matter of his life. And there was no telling what wizards would do to his pack if he crossed them, and was no longer there to protect them. "When you need us, we'll be here, if you can find us so easily again."

Alecto, meanwhile, had tossed the last of her little werewolf snack into her mouth, and swallowed hurriedly to speak as the great orator, Fenrir Greyback, finished his little speech. "You won't be found again if I can help it. I'm staying here," she told Amycus with a confident wink.

Amycus arched an eyebrow when he looked again at his sister, surprised but not showing it. She was capable of taking care of herself, even if these were half-breeds who presented a real danger. Still, the Dark Lord would be getting what they'd been sent to find, and maybe the half-breeds would consider it a gesture of good faith. "Very well," he said nonchalantly.

Alecto genuinely grinned at him and dared look over at the head of the beasts, in the corner. "If you'll have me," she added, as casual as anything. "But whatever the Ministry tracks you with won't be easily broken by any tool you've got. I'll break them all for you, consider it the first favour from our Lord."

Fenrir considered this. "I'll accept it," he said, "but the Dark Lord should think next time about sending a witch who can keep her mouth shut." His smile was encouraged by Laurel's snigger. "We hope to hear from you, Carrow."

"Amycus," Alecto supplied, and got to her feet. "He's Amycus. I'm Alecto." As though it was completely natural and surprising even herself, she threw her arms around her brother in a hug.

He accepted the gesture -- no, returned it even, if only for the opportunity to whisper covertly in her ear, "You better know what you're doing."

"I'll win them over," she promised, feigning a casual tone but betraying some of her fear. What if she couldn't? Death by the hands of inventive werewolves didn't exactly top her list. "So. Where am I sleeping?" she asked Laurel, who simply scoffed and brushed past on her way to do real work for the pack.

Fenrir similarly stepped past Alecto, with only a vague curious glance, to stare down Amycus. "You'd best return yourself. I'm slow to trust. Bring only a few others if you must."

"I shall," Amycus promised, tearing his glance off his sister. "Whether another comes will depend on what our Lord believes is required," he added with a smile that could be best described as professional.

Fenrir gave a terse nod and seized Alecto by the arm, yanking her along harshly. She flashed a worried look at Amycus, but eventually returned her attention to Fenrir, who was saying, "We'll see how good you are with that wand before you start using it on my pack."

Every nerve in Amycus's body protested to that treatment, but he reminded himself that Alecto had volunteered to stay. To protest now would be ruinous to what they'd been able to achieve. Instead, he firmly placed his hands in the pockets of his robes and began to back from the room. "I bid you all good night," he told the assembled Pack, leaving the way he and his sister had entered, waiting as long as he could stand to Disapparate.