Fathers and Sons

Fathers and Sons

Chapter 7: Undertow

The investigation into Fenrir Greyback's escape from MLE is ongoing, but closely, even jealously guarded by the Longbottoms. The young, crack pair of Aurors have been publicly commended for their competent handling of what was becoming an impossible cold case, though much of their headway has been kept quiet. No small feat, considering the very public and very contentious nature of events that have lead to the case. Trenton Williamson, "Fugitive Fenrir: No News is No News," The Daily Prophet, 29 May 1978.

May 1978

The main thing that Briony had noticed about the Greyback pack was how ineffably rigid it was. Packs contained a certain rigidness, but if there was such a thing as a textbook example of a pack, Fenrir's was such a one. That much hadn't changed in the years since she lived with Conor before their pack's split with the Greyback pack, when Fenrir's Father Greyback was pack leader. It struck her how easy it was to fall back into the pattern of obedient pack female, letting Conor do all the talking unless she was spoken to, like she was supposed to, contenting herself to look around and observe. The shift was jarring and uncomfortable.

She sat casually as she could in the main room doing what she did best, more observation. Hours ago, Conor disappeared into one of the upper rooms with Fenrir, and she tried not to appear nervous about it, though it had been quiet since. She watched a group that she learned was unnameds where they sat in a corner not so far off, talking quietly with one another. Briony regarded them with tempered interest, and their wolves held back, at a respectful distance from a guest of the pack. Some things did not change, it seemed.

She turned back around, so as not to stare, and found Wesley looked right back at her. She jumped and tried to slow her quickening pulse. "You again," she said carefully.

Wesley gave a nervous smile and stuck his hands into his pockets. "Me again," he replied, stepping back to give her personal space. He looked down, determined not to be ashamed at being caught at following an order from his Father. "Just making sure you have everything you need. Checking on you."

"Hospitable of you," she said. It was difficult to not appear nervous when she was alone, and the problem was only exacerbated when speaking to Wesley. "But I'm fine, thank you."

"Well, we don't want anyone to be... uncomfortable. And since, you know, our Fathers have been talking practically since you lot got here, well, not much for any of us to do, really." He lingered without words for a moment, and was about to speak again when someone else spoke up.

"Skip the niceties, Wesley. They don't trust you, girl." Alecto walked in briskly, and kissed Wesley on the cheek, patting him on the other before she turned to Briony. "I don't blame them. It's suspicious that you come and stay here right when Fenrir's Pack begins to grow in strength. Is it jealousy, or conspiracy?"

Briony narrowed her eyes slightly. She knew that this was the witch that had made herself comfortable with Fenrir's pack, but they hadn't spoken. That was probably for the best -- what Briony saw of her she was a typical witch, which annoyed her. She ignored Alecto and spoke directly to Wesley instead, emboldened by the witch's presence. "Conor isn't interested in any trouble. We're just looking out for interests of the packs, is all."

"My Father has no interest in any trouble either, for your pack or any others," Wesley agreed without hesitation, sending a worried look to Alecto. "Under Greyback we were very close packs -- "

"Oh, were you, and here I was thinking Conor was a bastard," Alecto said with mild surprise.

"Conor is deserving of the same respect that you give to Fenrir," Briony snapped at Alecto. "We're our own pack, and we have been for many years."

Alecto gave her a bemused look, touched Wesley's shoulder and inquired, "What's this I heard about a unified pack, then?"

"It's one of our pack's founding ideals." Wesley chose not to elaborate much more on that. "Conor has proven himself a worthy pack leader in recent years, our Father Greyback, God rest his soul, gave him permission to leave. Our connection remains, though -- "

Alecto cleared her throat. "I thought bastards have no connections?"

"A metaphorical one," Wesley said abruptly, now looking nothing less than uncomfortable.

Briony chortled openly. The witch wasn't showing herself to be particularly knowledgeable, and she was unimpressed. "There's still a line of descent. There's no denying that Conor was an unnamed of the Greyback pack, but we built our own." She wasn't even touching unified pack.

Alecto stared at the ragged girl. There were more similarities than she would admit, as she grew as thin as the werewolves with the scarcity and danger of going into town for wizarding food. Even so, she was still a witch, and had no fear stepping closer to Briony. "Are you laughing at me, girl?"

Wesley pushed Alecto back with more force than either expected, nervously looked away from the flash of rage in her face, and released her. He turned to Briony. "Just make yourself at home. Conor's pack is a trustworthy one, we know that."

"I was," Briony replied blithely to Alecto, though she knew she probably shouldn't have. Though she was a witch, Alecto was Fenrir's guest the same as she and Conor were. She turned to Wesley instead. "It's all pack, I don't know how you can expect a witch to understand it."

"Apparently I can't understand. If Conor's a bastard, why isn't the pack equally bastard?" Alecto wondered aloud, pacing around to the other side of the annoying bitch of a werewolf. "Why would you give power to someone who wasn't made to wield it? I thought a Father rules with his connection to his pack members -- his named pack members."

"That's... not the way the system works, Alecto. A bastard can name, but it's a rare occasion that one gets to break away from a pack. Conor merely proved himself worthy," Wesley explained to her in a strained whisper, gaining a disconcerted look as she just grinned at his panic. "Each pack is accepted with its own Father, and if he can build a pack as an unnamed, all the more impressive -- "

"Conor has named pack members," Briony retorted. "And so on."

"Well, I don't think I'm alone in wondering why you and Conor are here, no matter what the status of your pack is," Alecto said, with her best haughty look. "Quite a time to drop in, just as Fenrir's pack makes its own plans."

Plans that could destroy us. Luckily, she managed to shut her mouth before that thought left it. "Unfortunately, that's only Fenrir and Conor's business until Fenrir decides to make it yours," she answered.

The knowing expression dropped from Alecto's face as she eyed Briony and thought quickly, tucking her hair behind her ears. "Fenrir's business is my business, as I'm here to lend the Dark Lord's support to him," she said, condescending. "My Father wants the best for your kind and so do I. Of course, since we carry wands, you won't have it, will you?"

Briony was floored. "Your Father?" She'd never heard such a gross misuse of the term.

Alecto's hand automatically went to her wand, but she thought twice. "We're not so different," she began casually. "We're both women and will likely gain nothing for our labour, we both have unwavering loyalty nonetheless, and we both... well, carry our scars." She yanked up her sleeve and bared the Dark Mark. "It may mean nothing to you but this Mark, this means everything to me. I serve, as do you. And now we're in the service of your kind, can't you appreciate that?"

Briony looked at the snake and skull that adorned the older woman's arm. She had an inkling of what it was, what it meant -- but she hadn't been able to make herself be overly concerned. "You're right. It doesn't mean anything to me."

Colour rushed to Alecto's face and she opened her mouth to speak, but soon enough Fenrir and Conor were descending the stairs. Fenrir stopped, halting Conor as they happened upon the scene. "Carrow, put that thing away," Fenrir ordered in the briskest, most offhand tone he could allow. "It's impressive but Briony's scars are just as impressive, so I've heard."

With her Father in the room, Briony lit up and grew more confident. She tried to decipher the look on his face, but it was a puzzle. She pulled at their tie in gentle questioning, and mostly for something to say said, "Scars don't mean much."

Conor drew away from Fenrir to greet Briony with an affectionate, fatherly kiss on the cheek and a nudge of their wolves. "Scars," he said, "are paraded by the proud, hidden by the ashamed, and ignored by the humble, and from what I can see the Death Eaters' main fault is pride." He was certain to speak so the others could hear. "But we're not immune to that ourselves, always. I can't say I'm surprised to see you here, Miss Carrow."

So this was Conor. Alecto looked Fenrir's way automatically until she recalled that she was here on the Dark Lord's terms. He was not her Father, no matter how much he hoped. "Pretty words," she shot back, her most dangerous smile on. "I don't think my Lord would be very pleased to hear them either way."

"Your Father would undoubtedly disagree, if he gives his followers Marks like that," Briony put in.

Alecto stepped forward but Fenrir gestured at Wesley, who had her restrained within a split second. "Let me go -- "

Fenrir shot her a dark look, which was returned in more than kind, but he ignored that. "No petty fistfights in my house, Conor and his first are welcome here as are their opinions, so long as there's no interference."

"Don't be naive, Fenrir, this wasn't a friendly visit from a family member." Alecto forced Wesley to release her with a glare and muttered curse, ignoring how quickly and painfully he'd subdued her. "They're trying to end your rise to power before it starts, and -- "

"No," Conor said simply, speaking over the babbling witch. "No interference at all."

Fenrir clapped Conor on the shoulder, all brotherly. "We agree on the important things, and... if things go as planned, our packs will be as close as they once were. There are plans," he mentioned.

Briony wasn't convinced she liked the sound of that. She made herself play the paragon of obedient pack female and deferred nervously to Conor, who nervously repeated, "Plans," and touched his wolf to Briony's in an attempt to calm her. Wait. "What sort of plans, Fenrir, I don't believe we discussed any particulars - "

"We agreed that a pack should stay unified - that remaining a Father to your pack and keeping them safe in a pack environment is the main duty of a pack leader. All that." Fenrir waved it off, as they'd conceded those points long ago. "So, I need some help in unifying my pack, and your Briony's a clever one, I know."

"Wouldn't be too sure of that," Alecto muttered to Wesley, who pretended not to hear.

Briony knew that she didn't like the sound of that. Even though Conor was urging her to have patience, she remained apprehensive and actually looked up to him. "Guess so," she said cautiously. "And?"

Fenrir put one hand on her shoulder and the other on Conor's as he explained, very casual. "Owen Curenton still has his son, and he thinks he understands pack and werewolves. As Jeremy Curenton's Father, I have to bring him into pack to teach him what it really is to be a werewolf. As a werewolf and as a member of the Greyback pack, he doesn't deserve to be out there being corrupted by wizards, no matter how good they claim their motives are."

"The Curentons claim they're doing you good, but they only make you look pathetic and helpless, by showing the werewolves that are pathetic and helpless. Criminal, it's no wonder that wizards look down on you if that's the best help you've got. You're lucky we're here to help," Alecto finished, matter-of-fact.

Conor's eyebrows raised, but he said nothing on that. "So you want us to fetch your Curenton for you, since you failed to keep him yourself? Can I consider this a favour? "

Fenrir shrugged that off, unwilling to recognise the weakness Conor prodded at. "Send for someone else if you're concerned about her. And go on, consider it a favour, but don't be stingy, brother." He grinned at the last word.

Conor couldn't send for anyone; he had been too cautious, and now Briony was bound to danger no matter which way he went. To send for someone would tell Geoffrey and Jane to prepare for a war that was probably deserved and inevitable, but possible to avert. To go himself would leave Briony in the hands of these madpeople. To send her into Fenrir's plan was a guarantee of danger, but at least she wouldn't be in Fenrir's hands. "We'll be even if you send someone along with her. Who could you send..." He looked to Alecto after a moment. "Yes, no one knows you have a witch, do they? And she's from a fine family, she'll know how to speak well."

Alecto didn't like this werewolf at all. Insolent, pithy, and too smart for anyone's good. "I would be glad to," she said curtly. "I don't see why I would be necessary unless you don't trust this little girl of yours."

"I'm not a little girl" almost left her mouth, but Briony stopped it, realising exactly how it sounded. "Fine," she said. "I'll go if Conor sends me."

Alecto made a face at Briony and crossed her arms over her chest, thinking hard. "Why not just kill Curenton?" she asked Fenrir directly. "No one likes his sort much anyway, and I can throw in a Dark Mark so that it's not blamed on the lot of you, naturally... it's not as though they're actual purebloods, after all."

"Don't mind our witch -- all she knows are curses and hexes, nothing of pack." Fenrir took obvious pleasure in the nasty response and the flash of rage in Alecto's face. "No, we have to make him ours, and soon." He glanced at Alecto, but she didn't meet his eyes for a moment before turning heel and storming out the door. "Witches," he said to the others in exasperated explanation.

"Witches indeed," Briony muttered, trying not to take pleasure in the witch's dramatic exit. It didn't exactly make her feel secure about leaving the pack and going to be with wizards - not that she would have been comfortable with it, anyway.

Fenrir gave Conor a brotherly slap on the shoulder and looked after Alecto, who was probably far gone. Now he needed her, though, so he'd have to find her. "Soon," he said to Briony, "you'll leave here and go to Owen Curenton's Den. You'll find it... comfortable." He sneered. "Conor, prepare her."

Conor barely held his patience, as no one spoke to his Briony like that. "I'll prepare my first, you prepare your witch," he nearly snapped. "We both have things to attend to. Briony, come along." He strode upstairs to the room that had been reserved for them without further comment to their host.

Briony followed close behind her Father, grateful for a reason to leave. "I don't trust her at all," she told Conor flatly, once they were in the room alone.

Conor sank into a chair, only then allowing his exhaustion to settle in. "Good." He managed a wry smile just for her, though a day of petting Fenrir's ego had been draining. "I trust you can do this on your own, Briony. We just need to get the witch away from this pack. She's turning Fenrir's head."

She returned the smile, but it was strained. She touched her wolf to his, a better expression of her thoughts anyway. "Good. She shouldn't be here, anyhow. I don't know what she thinks she's playing at."

He tapped his foot on the wooden floor in an even rhythm. "It's strange, like I said. Fenrir was never the sort to allow wizards or witches anywhere near his pack unless necessary, but now he welcomes one. And the Death Eaters..." He raised his head to look at her. "Observe everything you can. When you return, we have no option but to lay down an ultimatum - the witch and the Death Eaters go, or we declare war."

The only road left open, if they wanted a hope of preserving what they had. "I will," she said, still not liking the prospect of the witch, and the need to watch her back constantly.

Conor looked at her, his expression softening just momentarily. He rose from his seat and went to her again, kissing her on the top of the head. "If you get the chance," he murmured, "kill or reveal the witch for what she is. You might save us all."

Scars she had, but from fights and she'd never killed anyone. Revelation would be easier, she was already trying to formulate a plan and getting ahead of herself. "Okay," she agreed, straightening her back.

"Okay," he said, and smoothed her hair. "We can bring an end to this, you and me and our pack. We have everything we need. Just come through this in one piece."

"I'll try," she said dryly.

"You will," Conor said firmly, his actions affectionate but his expression set, determined. "I'm sure of it."

~*~

Compared to most of her companions, Death Eaters or not, Alecto Carrow tended to be in control, prepared, on top of the world, but now she was fuming and angry. It was Fenrir's fault, she swore to herself, sinking against the façade of the pack house. Fenrir was impatient and nasty and she'd been spending too much time here, with these beasts. Only logical, after all, that you could catch a beastly temperament off of a beast.

Pain rose in her chest and pricked at her eyes, a scream on the tip of her tongue and tears starting. This wasn't like her at all, to be provoked to anger, nonetheless rage and tears. She choked out self-aimed laughter and stared at her worn shoes. No one was going to look for her, especially here. She had other places to be. Home, or Diagon, or just London. She could go see Amycus, but he would be insufferable and tell her that she ought to have expected this, and probably mock her for thinking so much of the werewolves in the first place.

"Bastard," she muttered into her hands, and wiped at her eyes. As she drew her knees to her chest and rested her forehead on her knees, only then did the one observing her speak.

"I'm starting to think you're trying to embarrass my pack, Carrow."

Her head shot up, and she stared at Fenrir with entirely genuine malice; she gave her face a last swipe just in case as she got to her feet. "Don't you dare speak to me like that, Fenrir. Without me, you would have been caught months ago -- "

Fenrir descended the stairs to speak to her face to face, not at all intimidated at her childish anger and tears."Go on. Think whatever makes you think we need you." He stepped into her personal space, staring down at her from their clear difference in height. "If you think we need you."

Alecto gave him a vicious shove, and took a step back, directly into the house. She felt herself shaking; the worse the anger, the angrier she grew that she was getting angry. By God, she was wretched. "You say the word and I'll leave!" She drew her wand and advanced on him, making him step back. "All this time and you let me stay here, I didn't have to, I have a home, a life, a family, I had a job, but I sacrificed all for your Pack and look at the improvements..." Her voice faded as she saw Fenrir's glare sharpen, the wolf's presence more obvious than ever. "Deny it! Tell me you can deny that!"

It was a rare occasion -- he was losing control, and the wolf drew his eye to her, her one bared shoulder and the vicious look in her face. Enough was enough, and he had denied himself enough, not about her effect on the pack but her effect on him. Fenrir roughly seized her and shoved her against the house, pressed her to the façade, allowing a moment for her to struggle before kissing her.

It should have been foul and disgusting to be kissed by a halfbreed but all Alecto could think was a delirious finally, her hands on his rough stubbled face and into his unkempt hair. His hands pulled her closer and she opened her mouth to him, desperate to keep it going at almost any cost. If she released this opportunity, the next time could no longer be a mistake, which this clearly was, no matter how weak she felt in his arms.

Fenrir tore himself away, suddenly several steps away from her, wearing a completely astonished look. The wolf was now controlled, settled. He wiped his mouth with his sleeve, silent for a long moment before he spoke in measured words. "Why are you here?" he asked, tone deliberately cutting. "What were your Lord's orders?"

Alecto had to swallow hard in order to speak, sticking her hands in her robes' pockets. She was no romantic, but this wasn't what she would have hoped for after a kiss like that. "We were supposed to secure your loyalty and services, and give you His orders when we received them. Those were my Lord's orders to me and my brother."

Sanitised, but honest words. Finally he'd broken through her quick wit, but it didn't seem so much a triumph now. "So this is how you, how did you put it, secure my loyalty? Didn't take you for that type."

She looked at him with an eyebrow cocked, and strode up to him, in his face. "You kissed me," she retorted. "You forced me down and kissed me. I have nothing to do with... however you satisfy your beastly hunger, Fenrir, whether it's the meat of a child or, well, me. And whatever it takes to show you that we want the best for you, I'll do it."

Fenrir seized her by the hair and kissed her, releasing her only when her hands on him provoked the wolf at one of the few basic instincts it knew on its own. "Go upstairs," he forced out. "Or never come back, do you understand?" He shoved her away and stalked into the house, not looking back.

Alecto sank to the ground, pressing a shaky hand to her chest. Her head and body ached at his treatment, but all she could do was pick up her wand where it lay orphaned by the first kiss and make a quick decision.

Within a minute she was up the stairs and throwing the door of Fenrir's personal room open, pressing herself against the wall and breathing deeply in hopes of gaining some self-control back. By the time she gained control of her breathing, he was closing the door. Swallowing again, she raised her wand and locked it behind him. Once, she promised herself. Just once and it's a mistake. Amycus won't ever have to know.

"Call me Alecto," she whispered impulsively as he slipped off her now too-large robes. He only grinned in answer.

~*~

It was a rare day that Twiddle actually left the Ministry for business. Normally he left the Ministry at the end of the day, went home, and poured himself a glass of scotch. He might see his girls - on appointed days when his ex-wife would let him, anyway. But today he had an appointment to speak with Damocles Belby, Britain's best Healer for treating lycanthropy, and by all accounts a brilliant potions enthusiast.

Belby was also the longtime friend of the self-appointed rock in the Ministry's shoe, Owen Curenton, but Twiddle supposed that everyone had their faults.

Twiddle sat in Healer Belby's office waiting for him, and glanced around. Bookshelves lined the walls (which he probably should have expected) and a small cauldron simmered on one corner of his desk (which he definitely had not). He shifted in the chair uncomfortably while he just waited.

Damocles was a busy person, by choice rather than circumstance. That normally came with being married to your work, but there was no doubt that the choice was, at times, inconvenient. He hurried into his office and dropped his clipboard on his desk before looking up at Twiddle. "Hello." He extended a hand. "I'm Damocles Belby."

"I know," Twiddle said, shaking it. "Maldwyn Twiddle, from the Werewolf Registry."

"Ah." Damocles wasn't quite sure what Owen had to complain about -- Twiddle just looked like an innocuous bureaucrat with a stain on his tie. Then again, that was likely Owen's problem. "I didn't know that you would be coming yourself, I just presumed - "

"Unforeseen circumstances being what they are, I had to come myself," he interrupted. 'Unforeseen circumstances' in this case meant his one office worker quit yesterday and left, leaving no one to keep the appointment but himself.

"I see." He found himself taken aback by the lack of social graces Twiddle was displaying, not that Damocles was a stranger to sticking his foot in his mouth. He finally took a seat at his desk and looked back at him. "So. How can I help you, Mr. Twiddle?"

Twiddle shifted again. This was why he went into Magical Creatures, not being particularly comfortable with people per se. "Well, Healer Belby, I'll try and give you the short version," he stalled. "In light of recent... werewolf-related tragedies, the higher-ups in the Ministry and in development here at the hospital want to look at the possibility of creating a potion that might prevent such a thing from happening again."

"You mean the fact that Fenrir Greyback purposely targeted the Curentons?" he asked flatly.

He waved his hand in return, dismissing it. "No one really believes that, Healer Belby. Werewolves are not in their right mind during the full moon."

Owen really believed it. Damocles knew that Owen really believed it with both his heart and mind and based on what he knew, the evidence was overwhelming. "Of course," he said dryly instead.

"Anyway, considering the tragedy," Twiddle continued as though they were discussing nothing more consequential than the weather, "they were looking into the possibility that some kind of... medication could dull some of the less pleasant side effects of the werewolf transformation."

"Such as," Damocles prompted.

"Such as losing their minds which results in biting or death if they manage to escape. Werewolves hunt humans, Healer Belby."

Damocles bit his tongue. He'd read Owen's book and was more willing to trust his friend's opinion on the matter and the words of werewolves themselves than those who, he doubted, had bothered to look at them. A werewolf out of control was, ironically, a wolf in full control - the human was lost entirely - the implications of which he wasn't quite sure of yet. He held the question in his mind, already thinking it over. "So - I have to ask, exactly how much of this purported medication is based off research already conducted on the physiology of a werewolf?"

Twiddle stared at him blankly for a moment. "I can't precisely say. If you're talking about your friend Owen Curenton's work, I... am not even sure they've bothered to look."

"Of course not," he said, but thought about it. It was the wolf who took over, and according to Owen, only when there had been an imbalance, an internal struggle between man and wolf. What they spoke of could, theoretically, weaken the wolf around the full moon and give the human the upper hand. Just a thought. He shook his head to clear it. "What sort of backing - "

"Full, complete backing," Twiddle answered immediately. That should have been enough for anyone to agree. "The Ministry is behind this and so's hospital administration. They're allowing you to hire a team, and - look, they want something to show people. If you can make this happen there's probably nothing that you couldn't get. They don't want another Erin Curenton, right?"

It wasn't Erin that came to Damocles's mind immediately, however, but Jeremy. He loved the boy as he might his own - if he had a son. He'd Healed him for transformation related injuries many times in the last year, once even mending a broken arm. He could only imagine how difficult it was for him from month to month. He knew Owen if perhaps not Jeremy himself might be offended by the implications of the word, but for lack of a better one, Damocles hated to see his godson suffer. The pain left after a bad full moon was certainly one sort of suffering or another.

If he could prevent that for the people who needed it - why shouldn't he? Healers healed.

Twiddle wasn't sure what Damocles Belby was thinking about, but he had a faraway look in his eye that was peculiar to people who did a lot of thinking, or had time to space out for no particular reason. He knew that look very well. He cleared his throat. "Healer Belby?"

Damocles was snapped out of his thought process. "Yes, right. Of course," he said, and was silent for a moment. "I'm sorry, what?"

Genius was scatterbrained. It figured. "I'm sure that you must have a busy schedule, and I... must return to the Ministry." To sit at his desk and clock the minutes until someone walked in looking for a job or he went home, one of the two. "I don't mean to press, but do you have a response I can give them?"

"Right," he said. "I... will have to consider it."

Whatever. He could work with that. "As you will," he said, and cleared his throat. "I suppose I don't need to add that this is a somewhat limited offer. You were the first choice, but understandably they want this underway..."

Damocles would consider and reconsider it, but there was already a corner of his brain that was being cleared away and reserved for figuring out the mechanics of this challenge. "Of course. Thank you, Mr. Twiddle."

"Sure." Twiddle stood from the chair and checked once more around the office. "Goodbye, Healer Belby," he finally said, simply.

"Goodbye," he replied and immediately began searching for his copy of Owen's book.

~*~

Frank liked things to run smoothly. As Head Boy, that had been his main concern, that things in the student body ran smoothly as possible, and that had carried over into everything he did in Magical Law Enforcement. As it was, Susanna King made things not run smooth. They'd received the investigation after he and Alice had made headway in the interrogation, but Susanna had gone back to being tighter than a clam with all of her knowledge, leaving Frank and Alice to chase every lead and avenue that sprang to mind.

It was, in one word, annoying.

As it was, the Department's best interests were coming to a standstill. They met with dead end after dead end, and Susanna King was sitting in the interrogation room again, waiting for him and Alice. They went over what they needed before going in, and then Frank exhaled and looked up at Alice across the table. "Think that's everything?" he asked.

Alice released a sharp breath, ignoring her exhaustion to once again run the list of priorities through her head. "...Yes. That's everything. We're prepared." She cast an uncharacteristically dark look in the direction of the interrogation room. "That woman. This case. Even the Werewolf Registry's been duped, how is that possible?"

"Something very big and very bad at work," he answered with a bit of black humour. With another tired sigh, he pushed his chair back and stood. "With any luck this won't take long and we can go home and sleep." Because sleep was, honest to god, about the only thing on his mind for after this got done.

"Sleep," she said in weary agreement, and dragged herself out of the chair to follow him to the interrogation room. Alice straightened and opened the door to slip inside, sending a bright smile to the convict bound across the table. "Hello, Miss King, a pleasure to see you again. We have a few more questions for you."

"I hope they aren't the same you keep asking." Susanna gave a delicate yawn and fiddled with the scraps that were left of her fingernails. "Because this game is growing more tiresome each day, Mrs Longbottom."

"A bit different," Frank said. He did not have the words to describe how tired he was of her utterly bored tone. Without a thought, he pulled out one of the two chairs across from Susanna for Alice before sitting himself. "We want to know a bit more about the Unbreakable Vow you and Mr. Davis made with Greyback."

"The Vow? Perhaps my memory fails me but the Aurors do learn about that sort of thing, don't they? Or what do you spend those three years learning... more advanced trip hexes?" Susanna wondered. "Or these interesting interrogation techniques I keep experiencing -- "

"That's enough." Alice cut her off automatically, already too used to the woman's pokes and prods to get their tempers riled. "You agreed to help us and that is certainly no help. Now we would like to know what the terms of the Vow were, the ones that would lead to his death if he would break them."

"Do you intend to make him break it? ... Well, no, you couldn't, you don't know where he is, forgive me. That and your sort are too honourable to kill, aren't you? Whether it's a direct murder or not." Susanna wasn't sure she could stop picking at their nerves even if she wanted to. It was the only thing keeping her from losing what little remained of her previous life, God help her.

The debate on whether or not Aurors should be allowed to use Unforgivables in apprehending Death Eaters was one that continually raged around them, and Frank found it difficult to believe that as an erstwhile member of the Department, that she didn't know at least something about that. It left a bad taste in his mouth, either way. "Knowing the terms could give us a better idea of what You-Know-Who wishes to achieve in employing such a... man and his methods."

"I'm shocked you haven't concluded that much already," was all Susanna said with some satisfaction as she sat back uncomfortably in the wooden chair.

Alice's face grew ruddy with annoyance as the woman lounged back, and she snapped off, "The terms, Miss King. You named them, you know them. You placed the wording. We would like to know what it was. So don't be shy, go on, tell us. Unless you're afraid."

"The fact that your specific terms have been left unsaid leaves many of our questions unanswered, and in the event that we do find the out, the wording can be important. Semantics, unfortunately, seem to be everything," Frank put in, a tad more wearily than he'd meant.

"It doesn't matter if I tell you." Susanna's voice went flat, tone muted. "It doesn't matter if I lie or tell the truth, because no matter what happens or what you try to do, he is in their grasp and he won't be stopped. Now it's merely a curiosity, what he would agree to, I think."

"Nonsense," Alice said the minute Susanna fell silent. "Even if you are right that he's in the grasp of the Death Eaters, there's always something to be done. You have nothing left to lose, you've already told us enough to put yourself in danger. Why stop now?"

"Our reasoning for why we want it shouldn't matter to you anyway," he said shortly. Intimidation didn't work with her, so saying more, unless the words were chosen carefully, would make no difference.

"I had supposed you would want useful information, but if you want bits of trivia, I'll supply them." She adopted her bored tone once more. "He pledged his life and faithful service to the Dark Lord, that he would follow the Dark Lord's every command until the day he died, and that he would never tell things he knew and would learn about the Dark Lord and His servants to anyone except those who also served the Dark Lord. A common oath. I've heard as much as you, Mr Longbottom, of Fenrir's activities. He's already ours, no matter if I'm dead or not."

They'd figured as such. They'd figured as such, but damn it, why couldn't they make this into what they needed? "All right, fine. There's that," Frank said. It hardly seemed like something to put a bump in. "Freedom in servitude. Sounds like a great idea, right."

Alice sent him a look of distracted worry, her own mind on the semantics that Frank had brought up. "There's something to this, Frank." She bit her lip and looked at Miss King, who was considering her with interest. "You're still hoping the Death Eaters will win this, aren't you?"

Susanna gave as much of a shrug as she could in her restraints. A tough question, but an easy answer. "I have my loyalties, and they can't be wiped out merely by my capture. I would like to survive most of all, however. Any more psychoanalytical questions?"

"We ran face first into a brick wall when we went to the Werewolf Registry, such as it is, when we went there looking for help and cooperation." And everywhere else for that matter, but there was no reason for her to know that much. "Are there more Death Eaters to this?"

"You expect that I know about Death Eater involvement since I was arrested," Susanna repeated, weariness creeping into her voice. "Mr Longbottom, I would suspect that we are involved in many sectors, but I'm not certain which. They don't allow us to know each person who is on our side of this, of course, or someone in my situation might just write up a list and hand it over."

No one was that lucky. "I thought you may have been involved in further aspects and planning, my mistake." Of course, that was presuming that there had been a further plan at the time. "The only way we can get all these road blocks out of the way is currently, and debatably, through you."

Susanna began to speak and paused, adopting a contemplative expression. "We had no contacts in the Werewolf Registry when I was involved. We did, however, have plans to release the tracking charms set on werewolves once we returned Greyback to his pack. Bradley was the one set to break those charms, and I believe he had talked to a man who worked in the Registry about those charms. I have no clue what the plans are now, but odds are that much hasn't changed. Especially if you haven't found him."

"The man," Frank immediately looked at Alice. "The one you talked to, who gave you such a run around. He was a Charms specialist there, wasn't he?"

"Pittman," Alice said with a nod, noting the sudden tilt of Susanna's head. "Is that it? Elliot Pittman? I knew something was off about that man! There's avoidance and then there's -- " She regained her composure. "Thank you for this information. We appreciate it. Is there anything further you're willing to divulge?"

Susanna looked a little surprised at the quick deduction. These two were good. She dropped any sign of fear from her expression and talked. "My job was to make certain that the Department was empty, discover the possible whereabouts of his 'pack', and make the necessary preparations to get there. There's no information I can give you there. It's too bad Bradley's dead, he'd have spoken days before I did and told you much more."

"If wishes were horses..." Frank trailed off dryly, and then sighed. "Okay, then," he added, making a note on the parchment in front of him in his somewhat illegible handwriting and then looked to Alice.

"I think we're done here," Alice said, phrasing it as half a question. "Thank you, again, and ... we appreciate your courage in doing this."

Susanna tossed her head at that as though to scoff, but made no sound. "Goodbye, then, until tomorrow," she said, with a forced amiable tone.

"Thank you," Frank echoed, finishing his note, and let Alice out of the room first. When the door clicked shut, he leaned against the wall next to the door. "This is getting bigger by the second," he finally said.

Alice resisted the urge to move closer to her husband and leaned against the other side of the door. "We can only hope it doesn't get too out of control... Frank, we need to talk to the others." The Order. "We need to figure this out before it becomes a danger to the public beyond what it already is. I'll talk to Pittiman, do you think? He already knows me."

He nodded. "You talk to him, I'll message Dumbledore to call a meeting at the first chance I have. We need to figure out what's going on and we need to do it soon."

She nodded and pulled him into a quick, affectionate kiss. "I can't wait until this is over," she admitted. "Because I'm starting to get tired of pub takeout. Who brings it home tonight?"

"The price we pay for finally hitting the big time and getting to run an investigation," he sighed, letting one hand rest on her waist. "I'll get it. Usual?"

"The usual," she said with a sad sort of smile. She pulled herself away with a sigh and straightened his robes. "I'll see you then. I love you."

"Love you too. Good luck with Pittiman," he said, straightening his posture, and going to find a place he could send a Patronus message to Dumbledore.

~*~

James Potter wasn't two months from taking his NEWTs and leaving school, but he still found the time to be Head Boyish -- not exactly one of his top priorities, but it couldn't hurt to make a few worthwhile friends by at least pretending to care about them, right? He smiled and ruffled the hair of a frazzled fifth year after helping him with OWL preparation for Transfiguration, then sat back down at his table with his mates and leaned back in the chair. "It's hard work being James Potter," he said, as though in conclusion.

"Yes, we noticed. Will you be taking time from snogging Lily to help the little old ladies cross the Hogsmeade high street next weekend, or d'you reckon you'll both just disappear and implode from the pressure of being Head People?" Sirius asked dryly.

James grinned. "Oh, the snogging. The snogging is necessary, without the snogging my head would explode. All the pressure, NEWTs, duties, being a leader to every student in the school..."

"Are you even studying?" Peter spoke up in the rare interruption, even questioning. "Because -- well -- " He looked down at his own copious notes. "We should probably be studying."

"You know he's not." Remus looked at Sirius's Charms notes, which were part actual information, part doodling. "Really, Sirius, do you expect to pass anything with that kind of information?"

Sirius shrugged carelessly. "It's all up here anyway," he said, tapping his head. "That's where it needs to be, right?"

"That bit's not right," Peter said, squinting at Sirius's notes. "And that's not even a word."

Remus snatched the parchment to look at where Peter was pointing. "'Triangulation Constant: the three way balancing act of powerness between wizard, charm, and object -- powerness?" He looked up at Sirius over the top.

Sirius took the notes right back. "I know what it means, who cares what word I use in my notes?" he said. "Powerness can be a word."

"No," Remus said patiently. "It really can't, Sirius."

James sniggered. "You can't just make up words," he said. "That's against the rules, or something."

"We'll see who's laughing when I have the NEWT," Sirius said.

"Not like you need it," Peter said under his breath.

If Sirius heard it, he made no sign of it. Remus gave Peter a sidelong glance, and though he wasn't going to say it out loud, he agreed with Peter. "Well, okay, 'powerness,'" Remus allowed skeptically. "I wouldn't write it in the exam booklet is all I'm saying."

James looked up from his actual revision at realising something. "We should be working on Defence. It's the only thing that's actually worthwhile."

"There's the way of it!" Sirius said.

"But we have to take all of the tests," Remus said reasonably.

"Yeah, but the one test I don't want to fail is dueling a Death Eater," James pointed out.

"Well if you don't pass the tests you won't have to worry about it anyway," Remus said, a bit more shortly than he'd meant for it to come out. "I mean. If you didn't pass you'd have to come back, right?"

James scoffed, sceptically amused at Remus. "We'll pass, Moony, we could pass in our sleep, the lot of us," he dismissed. "We've proven ourselves cleverer than most, even Dumbledore's noticed." He raised his eyebrows.

"Watch your knickers, Moony, I think they're in a bunch," Sirius said with a slight grin.

The full moon was coming. He blamed his annoyance on that, even though the wolf barely stirred until the day of. "That may be," he said, looking to see if they'd been heard by someone else, "but we still have to pass NEWTs."

James leaned forward, and pushed his glasses up, making sure that everyone was looking at him before he said, "We'll pass. Even Wormtail will!"

"Well, most likely Wormtail," Sirius added offhandedly with a teasing laugh.

Peter's quill snapped in half at that and as James snorted in amusement at him, he just said, "Can we -- can we get on with revision, then, I really have to get on this soon."

"Yes, indeed," Remus said, back to business as he paged through the notes. "Well, the Triangulation Constant... we covered that, I guess, did you need that again?" he asked Peter.

Peter looked in hopes that he could just carry on, but... "Can I just see your notes, Moony, I just need another look -- "

"Whatever, Peter," James yawned, and put his feet up on one of the empty chairs. "We're over here whenever you're ready." He raised an eyebrow at Sirius. "So... think we all got an owl from old Albus?"

Remus gladly relinquished his notes to Peter, and Sirius looked to James. "What, all of us all of us?" he said. "I hope so. Now there's a next great adventure for us, am I right?"

"Well, if you did, then that's three of us," James said, keeping his voice down.

"Yeah I did," Sirius answered. "You and... ?"

James gave Sirius a significant look.

"Well, I had to ask," Sirius retorted.

"Right. Me and Filch," he said with a snigger.

"He of the fearsome dust mop, doing battle with evil."

"And Mrs Norris, his sidekick?"

"She's the true terror, you know. He takes them out with the mop and she tears their throats out!"

"It's funny until she's chasing you down the hall," Peter said under his breath.

"And then it's hilarious?" Remus added with a slight smirk.

"Exactly," James said, sending Remus a big grin.

"I got one," Peter decided to mention just then.

Remus finally looked up from his parchment. "Me too."

Sirius looked at James, and grinned. "There you have it!" he said.

"That's bleeding fantastic," James exclaimed in an undertone. "All of us, I told you we didn't have to worry!"

The Order of the Phoenix is not a NEWT, Remus thought to himself, but didn't give the thought voice. "Well, that I'm not sure of," he answered.

"He doesn't take stupid people," James said, as though that concluded the debate. "So we'll be fine. Can we keep going, Wormtail?"

"Yeah," Peter said, pushing Remus's notes back at him. "Yeah, let's go."

"Of course," Remus said, all business again and taking up his notes. "Sirius?"

"I'm listening," he said with a small, put-upon sigh.

"Go on, Professor Lupin, do your thing," James joked, leaning forward and taking up his quill.

Remus chortled, and looked back at his notes for their next subject at hand. "Okay. Substantive Locomotion as it applies to inanimate objects..."

James made a face at Sirius across the table and looked over his notes as Remus spoke, taking notes and choosing the rare option of paying attention and being responsible, like a Head Boy would be. After all, it was very difficult being James Potter.