Fathers and Sons

Fathers and Sons

Chapter 8: Cornerstones

History is no mystery. History is never a mystery! If it is a mystery, you've not been taught properly -- there's a clear progression of events, a cause and effect, and for every event there is a cornerstone on which it is built by the people involved. Ultimately, people make history, but there is always that foundation. Introduction to A Magical History of the British Isles

June 1978

Amycus couldn't say that he was extremely pleased to be doing it, but over a year after he first visited Fenrir Greyback's pack house with his sister, he was returning again. This time he carried an order from the Dark Lord himself, and his first reaction was 'finally'. The halfbreeds were being utilised, and his sister's above and beyond and even freakish attention to this project would not be wasted.

As per his order, Amycus went straight back to the pack house and calmly knocked, as he had before.

"Do your job or I'll make sure Fenrir hides you so hard that you can't lay down for a week," Laurel spat at Wesley, further vitriol halted by a knock on the door. She was spared the vicious glare of an angry Wesley as she stalked towards it. "You heard me," she shouted, and ripped the door open as violently as she could.

Laurel forced a bitter smile. Things only got better, just before they lost the witch they were to gain a wizard. Perfect. "Come in, wizard, you're welcome."

Amycus was not fooled, although the badly masked contempt in her smile was preferable to having his face ripped off. "Thank you," he said, entering and letting the door shut behind him. "I bring an order from the Dark Lord," he stated plainly.

"Oh, well, that's not my business," Laurel said, her smile's bitterness seeping into her tone. "No, your sister will have to hear that, but she's too busy -- " She couldn't get the words out, and forced out a harsh breath, calming herself. "I'll find where she's -- whoring and bring her."

He blinked at the werewolf for a moment, wondering if he should even try to piece that together. Was there anything to piece? Alecto certainly wasn't... just wasn't. He wasn't thinking about this. Ever. He took a breath and said coldly, "You do that, then."

Laurel barked a laugh and stormed up the stairs, leading down a ruffled-looking Alecto and an undeniably irritated Fenrir Greyback. "Amycus! AMYCUS." Alecto hurried down the steps, throwing her arms around him with a beaming smile. "There you are, oh, tell me that you've brought good news, the Minister's dead and our Lord's at the front?" she joked.

He gave a short laugh, embracing his sister in kind and taking his time in letting her go. "I wish I could say such a thing. I think you'll like what I have to say, anyway," he told her; she looked different, but still undeniably his sister. "Good evening," he said, turning his attention to Fenrir with as much formality as the situation called for. "I've brought you orders from our Lord."

Fenrir didn't get a chance to react, as Alecto laughed and clapped her hands like an excited child. He ignored her, and replied to her brother just as formally, "Good to hear, what do you have for us? We'll do our best."

"We'll destroy 'em," Alecto added, gleeful, nudging her brother in the ribs. "Who is it, a Mudblood, a traitor? This is exciting, we've only been taking down any halfblood families we can find."

"Yes, we've heard, the Ministry is at a loss," Amycus answered, amused at his sister's reaction, but began to seriously reiterate the orders. "In MLE, there is a man who is talking about a major overhaul in the Auror program. He's having just as much clout as Crouch these days, and could give them even more power in fighting against our Lord."

He took The Daily Prophet out of his inner robes pocket and handed it to Alecto. "Page three, outlines his whole damn plan," he told her. "His brother's family is the ones who will be targeted for attack, however -- I understand that there are children, they are to your liking, yes?" he finished with a dry smile.

Alecto rifled through the paper, past a picture of the Minister in the midst of a grim speech and a picture of the Dark Mark, until she found the article. "Oh, Scrimgeour, he's the one who dragged Wilkes in for questioning but didn't get anything, what a twat -- "

Fenrir abruptly snatched the newspaper from her. "Scrimgeour," he repeated, almost overwhelmed with amusement. He knew Scrimgeour, the Auror who sneered at him and called him a madman, who now talked about taking a "firm hand" with any and all threats to wizarding society. The picture showed him unchanged, stolid and gesturing, the self-righteous and smug warrior -- now Fenrir had a chance, with the Dark Lord's protection. He grinned.

"You could have just asked," Alecto reminded Fenrir, but got no response more than a snort of laughter. "Children, Fenrir," she added, gaining his attention a bit with that. "You can bring them to the pack, Fenrir, we can always use more children."

Laurel made a noise of disgust and shoved past Alecto on her way to the back of the house. Alecto just shrugged, hiding a smile, and waved her hand in front of Fenrir's face, finally catching his attention. "We'll teach Scrimgeour a lesson," was Fenrir's only reply to that. He folded the newspaper and handed it to her, catching her gaze in his. "Now, where were we?"

Alecto shook her head, unconsciously stepping closer to Amycus. "Afraid not, I'd like to reminisce with my brother, it can wait," she promised, sighing as he stalked off. "He gets grumpy," she excused him, looking up at Amycus with her best innocent look.

"I can see that," he answered, pleased with how relatively easy that was -- not that he'd really been expecting trouble. "How are you, Alecto?"

Alecto struggled to find something to tell him that wasn't about the pack itself. "I'm... oh, well, that's the thing, I'm on my way out of here fairly soon -- I forgot you haven't heard every bit of everything, there's a lot going on."

"Out of here? Not back home," he said. It didn't seem as if that was the thing, but he could hope for it. Though her stay with the pack had a purpose, all this time among savages could not possibly be healthy.

She looked at him as though he was mad. "No! I'm taking a werewolf to go catch or kill Curenton's brat. Hopefully kill," she added, blithe as anything. "Either way I have to disguise myself and go along, so says Fenrir, so it will be done." She rolled her eyes.

He raised an eyebrow. "You look so pleased about that."

She just shrugged. "I'm hoping for a kill. If not, it's a waste of my talents and I'd rather be here."

"Here," he echoed. No matter how much he wasn't thinking about it, Laurel's earlier words were in his brain. Was it something, or a ramble of a jealous, displaced second-in-command?

"Here," she repeated, amused. Of course, he couldn't possibly comprehend that she'd actually want to stay here. "Where I'm needed, not at some bleeding-heart werewolf-neutering sanctuary."

"Well, get it done quickly, kill or whatever you need to and then leave. Speed and efficiency, your usual," he said.

She rolled her eyes. "I have dead weight with me, it'll take longer than I want. Come on, let's sit, I'll make you tea."

"Well, you know how to deal with dead weight," Amycus replied ambiguously. "Lead the way."

~*~

It was the wolf's fault, Jeremy decided. After all, it was well-documented that the wolf was naturally restless and claustrophobic; his father knew that. If it wasn't for the wolf pacing back and forth and then forcing him to pace his room (which, for the first time, seemed far too small), he wouldn't have ever figured out how to climb out the window without breaking his legs and ran for it. Terrible affliction, being a werewolf, really.

He had to get out, though, or he'd really start losing his mind.

There was a public Floo somewhere in Hogsmeade, he knew that. So he had to sneak into a house with an open door to Floo... well, they'd never know the difference, would they, just minus a few logs and a pinch of powder? Three minutes later, he was stumbling out of a fireplace and into Hogsmeade village.

Jeremy stared, stunned, at the teeming village, and could find no reason not to take advantage of his current situation. He was free and it was time to explore; the smile he wore was more the wolf's than his.

Gilly waved a butterbeer frantically as she told Julia the story of her uncles' FANTASTIC win against the Arrows for what was probably the thousandth time, and nearly dropped the bottle. "Fuck!" she cried, wiping at the butterbeer that now soaked her thigh, then closed her mouth tightly as she saw Professor McGonagall not a hundred feet away. She grinned at Julia and glanced away to the window... and all signs of merriment dropped from her face. "Holy shite, Frobisher!"

Julia was using a screwdriver to tighten the cover back on to her Nikon, only half listening to Gilly's tale interjecting at the appropriate moments, which she knew by heart. The sudden break caught her attention and her head snapped up. "... What?" she asked, prompting.

"Were you listening? You weren't listening to me," Gilly accused, a little hurt (but not really), then remembered the point. Yeah, Frobisher would want to hear this. "Just -- I think I just saw Curenton outside, all right?" she hissed with some urgency.

She was about to point out that she had been listening -- the first twenty times she'd heard the story, but stopped when Gilly told her that interesting detail. "What? Really?" She turned around to look out the window behind her.

Gilly snorted. "Er, yeah, why else would I say it? Am I the one who's been fantasizing about him showing up and doing the sweeping-off-the-feet thing? Sorry, that's your thing -- I'm serious, anyway!" This was really girly. Her reputation would be ruined. "He was heading that way."

Julia twisted back around and made a face at Gilly. "Okay, ignoring everything you just said, I'm going to go see if he'll let me chase him down or if this is just a figment of your imagination." She packed her camera in her bag and lifting it over her head to rest on her shoulder. "I'll see you back at school."

Jeremy stared through the Honeydukes window and the people inside before he realised that they could see him as well. It only occurred to Jeremy now, at least ten minutes into his runaway adventure, that there were a lot of people here might potentially recognise him. He looked around, behind and around him. For once, he was more wary than the wolf.

He tried to relax and lean against the window, but nearly slipped on the surface when he saw Julia walking towards him. Owls were one thing, but seeing her in person was going to be worse. He averted his eyes, stuck his hands in his pockets, and left it up to her.

Though she'd kept her promises to write, and he'd written back, it was different seeing him. She steeled herself and walked up to him at the shop window. "Hi," she said, and cleared her throat nervously.

This was by far one of the stupidest situations he'd ever managed to get himself into. His parents were going to kill him if they found out, he had no clue how he was going to sneak back into the house, and now he was facing his best friend who he'd happened to reject -- and he was completely unprepared. "Er, hi," he said, doing his best to look casual. "It's... good to see you."

Well, it was better than she'd feared. "It's good to see you too." She sent him a smile. "You didn't say you were going to be here or anything."

"That's because this was sort of on a lark," he admitted, having the decency to look a little abashed. "Out the window and into the Floo, that kind of thing. Didn't even know it was Hogsmeade weekend."

She couldn't help it, she laughed. "I guess that's a good reason to not say," she said. "On the other hand, I probably should have guessed."

"Probably," he said. "I took a tip from you and your sneaky ways. What my parents don't know won't hurt them."

"My ways are sneaky," she was forced to admit. "Well. I'm glad you did. Saved me from listening to the Broadmoors' brilliant defeat of Appleby for the millionth time, if nothing else."

Jeremy couldn't help looking amused. "That story again? Wasn't that three years ago? I remember that story word for word and I haven't seen her in ages."

Julia grinned and started, "Well, according to her it was their most recent victory, but it sounded suspiciously like last time. I'm starting to think she's just recycling these stories."

"The Falcons can do no wrong. They're saints wielding bludgeons," he quipped. "But don't let me ruin your plans, I'm just here to get some chocolate and fresh air."

"Oh, I didn't -- I mean," she stammered, and hoped this wasn't going to come out wrong and she would make things bad and weird. Again. "Gilly and I weren't doing anything. There weren't any plans."

"Oh." Well, that bollocksed up his chances of a getaway. "Well, I could use some company."

On one hand, if it was going to be awkward, Julia didn't know how long it would last, but on the other, she really wanted to see him. So she smiled at him and said, "I'd like to join you."

Despite how badly he'd fouled things up before, he had missed her. "Let's go then," he said, and smiled back.

Her smile widened and she said, "So. Chocolate?" she started.

He held the door open for her. "Chocolate. I'll even buy you a bar."

"See, free chocolate. I knew I made the right decision." She entered Honeydukes, which was still doing land office business even at an afternoon hour.

Jeremy had not exactly thought about how many people would be there, including other people he knew, but he chose to ignore that and get his business finished as soon as possible. "And what would be your pleasure today?"

"Hm. I think just a bar," she said, picking one up but taking her time looking at other things. "These are great." She held up a package of their newest product, Peppermint Toads. "They really hop, kind of like chocolate frogs. Gilly ate a dozen and then she vomited in Defence."

He started to laugh. "A dozen? Was it on a dare, or was she just hungry?"

"... Well, I'm pretty sure there wasn't a dare, I think she was just scribbling her essay right before class and the professor was showing a slide of Inferi or some such, and BLEGH." Her arms swept in front of her body to indicate projectile vomiting.

"These are the moments I actually miss Hogwarts." He considered the Fizzing Whizbees. "You know, when mass chaos would break out. Or Quidditch. But now I get to go to pros, minors, you name it, so..."

"So what do you need with Hogwarts Quidditch?" she supplied with a smirk.

"Not much, besides one of its Chasers," he answered promptly.

"Slick answer," she said, and picked up some Drooble's while she was at it, being that she was nearly out. "Which one?"

"I always thought that Annie Peakes, with the legs, she's fit. And nice," he added.

"Yeah, when she's not grabbing the tail of your broom," Julia replied, arching one eyebrow.

"You said that then and you say it now, but I didn't see it," Jeremy said, all innocence.

"Yeah. I said it then and I say it now because it's the truth," she said with as much dignity as she could. "The only reason you didn't see anything was 'cause you won your bet over the match."

"It's not cheating unless you get caught, and if it gets you a win, it's just good strategy," Jeremy said, mostly joking, "not that I think she did it or anything." He browsed through some more expensive sweets, considering something for his mother in case he got caught coming back home.

"It's your voice, but it's the captain of the Falmouth Falcons' words coming out," she said.

He put his hands up. "Oh, there is no way you just said that."

She turned to face him, her hands on her hips, chin lifted, and smirk on her face all the while. "And if I did?" she retorted loftily.

Suddenly it was like they were back in the bookstore, because he was wearing the same stupid look while trapped in an aisle with her. This time, he had sense, though -- but the wolf inexplicably lurched in some sort of craving reach. It was too strong; he gave in, closed the distance between them, and said, "Then I'd have to shut you up."

The change of look on her face happened so quickly, she imagined, that it had to be somewhat comical. For a moment, she was dumbstruck but managed to regain her powers of speech. "Uh. Really," she floundered nervously.

"Yeah," he said, to stall, to consider briefly the voice that reminded him how this ended the last time, then went to kiss her. He abruptly stopped not an inch away from kissing her properly and muttered, "No way, no way -- "

But he'd recognise those voices anywhere, and in the surprised silence, he had to do something. He moved away from Julia, turned around, and faced his old roommates. "Hey," he said, exhaling.

"I told you prats it was him," Dirk Cresswell declared triumphantly, with a large grin, and added brightly, "and with Frobisher, too,'s just like old times around here!"

"With Frobisher or with Frobisher?" Will Chambers asked, grinning ear to ear. "I always said -- "

"Hey, she's right there!" Bastian Derrick nudged Will with one of his massive Beater's arms, nearly moving him an inch to the right. "Anyway, it was obvious."

Julia was still considerably off centre from Jeremy's recent proximity and the arrival of his roommates. Her sweets seemed to fall right out of her hands and instead of answering, she occupied herself by kneeling down to pick them up.

Jeremy glanced down at her to stall again, honestly speechless. "Hey," he said, just to say something, then finally said, "And here I thought you three would look smarter and better-looking without me to make you look bad, but it hasn't helped."

"Oh and you, you are just as hilarious as you always were." Dirk eyed the shelf of sweets in front of him before casually nicking a package of gum and slipping it into his pocket. "And we may not be smarter or better-looking, but we certainly are richer," he added with a good-natured smirk.

"Oh, enjoy it while you can, I'll rob you blind on pro pools once you're out of here," Jeremy said with a casual wave. "Oh, and five points from Hufflepuff, really, Cresswell," he added with his best McGonagall imitation.

"Five points? Bah, easily made up. Businesses plan for a certain percentage of shoplifting anyway, I am merely doing what is expected of me," he said with a flourish.

Will snorted. "Oh, I bet Professor Sprout would love that defence. You're a prefect!"

"So?" Jeremy asked, backing subtly one step to be closer to Julia. "It's a badge, not a cabinet appointment."

"Dirk, in politics," Bastian sniggered.

"Fine. Next time one of you asks if I have any gum, I'm not going to share," Dirk sniffed. "Laugh while you can."

"He can manage to nick a pack of gum and can string a sentence together, he can be a politician," Jeremy said, amused. "That's about all the skill you need."

"Oh, not politics again, we even had a few months away from politics," Will complained.

"Sorry, Will, I know you can only think about one thing at a time," Dirk said in a deadpan.

"Hey, that's not true," Will protested. "I can do two things at once all the time -- "

"Chew gum and walk at the same time, good job," Jeremy interrupted.

"I forgot how it was having two of you," Will sighed.

"Yeah,'s too bad," Bastian finally spoke up, as the conversation had slowed a little.

"That's us, one 'Who's On First' short of a quality comedy act," Dirk said. "It's probably just as well, I don't get baseball. Never did. Say, should we leave you two alone? You looked like you were... involved," he added suggestively, motioning between Jeremy and Julia, who hung back.

"You know the thing about the hippogriff in the room, it really doesn't need to be pointed out since everyone knows it's there anyway, but thanks, Dirk," Jeremy said, wearing a good-natured smile although punching Dirk for bringing it back to that seemed like a great idea. "Yeah, you lot go on, I'll see you next Hogsmeade or something. I have the best pro Quidditch pool in Wales if you want in, it only takes one owl," he added with a grin.

"Not on your life," Will swore, hand to his heart. "I'm finished with Quidditch betting."

"Just because Tutshill's losing now? There are other teams, I know Hufflepuff's got the loyalty thing but really, it takes a hell of a team to beat Tutshill and you saw the Arrows plow right through them, an Arrows bet is a sure thing -- comes down to point spread, really," Jeremy said, opening his hands wide.

"No way it's the Arrows, my money's on the Wasps," Bastian said, "I'd put money on that."

"What is with your thing for the Arrows?" Will demanded of Jeremy. "Really, I'm curious. They're not that great, not good enough to beat the Harpies -- "

"Oh, I dunno about that," Jeremy said, sticking his hands in his pockets. "I just have a feeling about the Arrows, and this is what I know. Don't think too hard on it, Will."

Will exchanged a nearly identical look with Bastian. "Right, whatever you say," he said skeptically, though his expression said something completely different.

"Like you've ever known him to be wrong," Dirk said. If he had a sickle for every one that Curenton had won off Derrick and Chambers, he... well. He would have a lot of sickles. "Cheers, Curenton, we'll see you around; I'll drop you a line sometime!"

"Can't wait to hear from you." Jeremy watched them go before finally able to close his eyes and wince at the way the wolf reacted to being held back for the sake of his old friends. "Julia."

Julia pushed her hair out of her face and looked up at him. Alone again. "Yeah," she replied mildly with a slight smile.

"I'm sorry," he said. "For... what I did."

"You.... you had a reason for everything that you said," she said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "I just -- I didn't like feeling like things weren't okay between us."

Jeremy raked his hair back, and restrained a cynical laugh into a scoff. "It's not you and me that's the problem."

She couldn't keep from frowning slightly. "Well. I just... didn't enjoy feeling pushed away. Flat out rejection aside," she added, self-deprecating.

"We have to leave," he said, taking the sweets from her and replacing them onto the shelf at random, agitated. "I can't talk about this here, there are -- " it was loud, and it was bad enough trying to handle his own head without an audience talking at the top of their lungs.

"Okay," she agreed calmly, and willingly left Honeydukes with him. They walked down the High Street, away from the crowds of students and Saturday regulars. She waited for him, somewhat anxious.

Jeremy paced -- a trait of his father's which annoyed him, but now he was too agitated to stop himself. "Look," he said. "If I was here -- at Hogwarts -- with you -- fuck, you think I wouldn't date you in a second? You're -- you're my best friend, you're one of the only people I trust. But this, it isn't fair to you, it isn't fair to you that you're here and I'm there and I'm this and -- it's not how this thing works. Even in the best of worlds, even in the world my dad hopes for, this would never work." You can't understand, he almost said, and recognised it as the wolf.

She was silent for a long time, organising her thoughts. "It's not fair," she agreed. Where Jeremy felt the need to pace, she felt the need to be totally immobile and wished she could sit somewhere. "Things are never fair. If people waited for things to be fair for something they wanted..." She looked up at him, unsure of how much was making it through.

"This isn't just about this separation," he said, his frustration starting to show. "This is -- I'm a werewolf, you're a witch. We're not just us. This isn't about us. This is about what we are."

Of course, it couldn't be ignored. She nodded, and swallowed. "It's important," she said finally. "I guess it comes down to whether or not you think what separates us is bigger than... you know. What brings us together."

He stopped pacing and just looked at the ground. "I think there has to be someone who can give you what you want and more, and all I'll do is drag you down."

The fact that he wasn't looking at her hurt, but it made it easier to look at him when she spoke. "I want you."

That hurt worse than any rejection. "I might as well have died on my front lawn that night, that's not me anymore, I'm not Jeremy the Hufflepuff anymore. That's who you want, and he died a year and a half ago."

She could feel her heart beating faster, her chest getting tight, and she felt like she could have been sick. "What do you want," she asked flatly, swiping at her cheek hurriedly.

He didn't even have to think, didn't think before he answered. "I want you."

The breath she didn't realise that she'd been holding couldn't have rushed out of her quicker if he'd hit her in the stomach. "I don't know what else I can say."

"It would be great." His voice sounded hollow, but he felt even moreso. "We'd be great. Perfect. I'd be here every month to see you until a bad month, and then I'd be bloody and bandaged and I'd lose all control and brood and yell, and then you'd realise I was right, that this isn't what you wanted. And then you'd move on."

Or you'd finally hear how screwed up my life really has been, and you'd resent me because you thought I was doing things for all the wrong reasons. "Give me some credit here," she said wearily.

"I would if I thought you were hearing a single word I was saying," he snapped off.

"I'm hearing, it's the processing that's getting it jumbled," she said. Her face was burning and she still sort of wanted to be sick. "I hear you. I do. And I know when it's going to be bad, it'll be -- " She clammed up and her arms crossed in front of her chest in a protective measure.

"Too much," he completed, closing himself off by turning away. "So."

"Not what I was going to say," she said impatiently. She wanted to kick herself -- she never learned. "I know what it looks like. I also know you like to be right and -- and I don't know what you want. I know you said me but you're pushing me out again."

"I want to take the NEWTs," he said. "I want to get a job. I want a lot of things, and Fenrir Greyback made them impossible."

Julia nodded, but he still was not facing her. "Yeah," she said quietly after a long moment of silence between them. "There's always a list of things we want."

Jeremy shook his head, but took his time to say it right. "At least -- maybe I can give you what you want." His voice came out more strained, more tense than he cared to hear it. "When you're back home. Let's try."

She felt like she should be able to smile, but it didn't come. "Okay," she said, nodding. "Okay. Once I'm out."

He looked back at her, then approached her again; finally he kissed her on the cheek. "We should both get back."

"Yeah," she said and kissed him briefly, just because she could. Then she impulsively threw her arms around him and hugged, tightly. "I do hear you. And I always listen," she added.

Though feeling very much like he'd missed something and a little bit in shock, he put his arms around her. "Sorry," he muttered again.

She was blushing again -- she supposed that was a sign that things were moving towards some kind of normalcy. She hoped. She released him and shook her head. "Don't apologise," she said. "I'll be home in three weeks. I'm going to think about what kind of trouble we can get into."

"Good idea, we'll both think some things up and have a brilliant summer," he said, with the start of a smile. "Still want that chocolate?"

"Sure," she replied, mirroring the smile. "And the gum, don't forget the gum, it's the only thing that keeps me awake in history some days -- "

"Just no Peppermint Toads," he agreed. "Come on, I bet we'll be safe from any hecklers, Dirk and the blokes are probably at Zonko's by now."

"Yeah," she said as they started walking, and then she smirked up at him. "Derrick's just mad he can't catch me on the pitch, you know."

"One day," Jeremy swore, and put his arm around her. "One day I'll get an owl four or five words long bragging about how he finally took you out in Hufflepuff versus Slytherin, and then I'll have to find a bat and redefine the word 'beater' for him."

"Uh, and then we'll all wake up because it's never going to happen," she returned. "But thank you, I consider that a totally proportional response."

"It's always good to have a contingency plan," he said sensibly, and opened the door of Honeydukes for her again.

~*~

One of Newt Scamander's least favourite parts of his job was the quarterly budget review. The previous Department head had an overly complicated system in place, and Newt liked to think of his system as one that benefitted the Department in terms of time spent and letting division heads feel as though they had a modicum of actual control.

Naturally, there were always some who perhaps should not have been trusted with control, given that they had neither the common sense nor the compassion that God himself had given a goose.

Nettie at the Department's front desk had confiscated his cricket bat on the way to see the head of the treasury committee in the Minister's office. She'd said that it was one thing to carry it into Department meetings if he felt like he needed to get his point across quickly, but quite another to go shake it at a higher up. Newt liked Nettie. She wasn't half as stupid as most people made her out to be, and she was blunt to the point of being nearly abrasive. It was endearing and refreshing.

The budget figures for the next quarter came back to him, and unsurprisingly, the Department's budget had been cut slightly - again. The Department of Magical Law Enforcement was reaping the benefits, what with the war and everything. Admittedly, Newt supposed that nobody preferred having the war on, and would simply cry politics if one particular part of the Department hadn't taken a hit harder that the rest of them - but the Werewolf Registry was run on a shoestring budget as it was. The new budget didn't even really qualify as a shoestring.

The Registry had been his own brain child, many years ago, when it had been praised as a progressive body that would bridge the gap between the wizards and werewolves of Great Britain. And so it had been - until the Beast and Being divisions of the Department began to shunt the Registry between them, successfully eroding any sort of effectiveness that it had. Programs to aid in poverty relief, counseling for families, it had been there and it had all fallen away as the division decayed over the years from lack of care and lack of funds. The employee turnover rate had been high, and it was joked that the position of Head of the Werewolf Registry was not worth a warm bucket of spit. The fact that the current head, Maldwyn Twiddle had been demoted into the position (from the Centaur office of all places) and his picture was in the dictionary beside the word 'apathetic' did not help the image any, and it certainly did not help the Registry.

Unfortunately, it was a full time job on its own getting anyone else to give a damn, and Newt already had a day job. But this new budget was almost an insult.

With a nod from the secretary he went to the treasurer's office. The treasurer was a middle-aged witch who looked up from her paperwork when the door opened. "Mr. Scamander," she said, clearing her throat nervously. Luckily, he seemed to have left his legendary cricket bat elsewhere.

Newt liked it when the people he needed to talk to were his children's age. It made yelling at them somewhat harder. "I need to have a discussion with you," he said, brandishing the summary of the Department's budget. "I realise that there's a war on and that manpower as well as resources are being shunted to Magical Law Enforcement. But why take money away from the one division in my Department that's already running on the bare essentials?"

She sighed, and rubbed her forehead. "This is awkward. Okay, how do I say it..." She looked for the words.

Newt was, as ever, not into pleasantries. "Out with it, ducky."

"I gave the division head exactly what he was asking for."

Interesting. "Really," he said, pacing in front of her desk.

"Yes," she replied. "I asked Twiddle too, but he said he'd worked the numbers and was absolutely sure -"

So he was in the wrong office, preparing to shout at the wrong person. Good to know. "Great, thank you," he said, and turned and left.

He was upstairs and in the Registry in two minutes flat, stopping long enough to collect his cricket bat from Nettie. He pushed the door open, and took it all in. The two desks, the long row of filing cabinets, the large map of the United Kingdom and Ireland on the wall with clusters of dots, showing tracked werewolves hadn't changed - well, all right, the map was an addition since its founding in 1947, but he wasn't going to be picky.

The girl who sat at the desk looked up with him with wide eyes, and he asked, "Is Mr. Twiddle in?" She wordlessly pointed at his closed door and he nodded to her, advancing and pushing the door open.

Twiddle was seated with his feet up on his desk, doing the Prophet's crossword puzzle in pencil, and completely unperturbed by the interruption, even when Newt asked dryly, "Working hard or hardly working?"

"You can make an appointment with Nancy out front if you need to speak with me," he answered laconically.

"I'm here now and you're looking for thirty across, so I think we'll just talk until your next appointment comes in," Newt growled. "This division isn't going to have two knuts to rub together if you keep reducing and cutting."

"Consider it my part of the war effort, since I'm hardly fit to run around waving my wand at Death Eaters."

"I'm hardly considering you fit to handle safety scissors right now, are you trying to destroy the division? Are you, really?"

"Strong words," Twiddle chortled.

"I'm feeling strong today." Newt again brandished the financial summary as though he weren't holding his cricket bat in his other hand. "What is your problem?"

"Even when this Department had the money, nobody used it," Twiddle said. "It's all good money after bad in here. The Registry is more useful in its current capacity, and it can run at this capacity at that number," he finished, pointing at the paper.

Newt glowered. Heavily. Twiddle quailed slightly, and coughed. "Mr. Scamander," he started. "You know that it's true. The Registry may not be acting as, I'm sure, you had originally conceived, but for what I inherited when I came to this position you can hardly blame me - "

"Blame you?"

"-- The treasurer asked me if there were corners I'd be willing to cut. For the Aurors, you understand."

They were playing him like a bloody fiddle. "You're right, I can't blame you, it's the damned bureaucracy and the results oriented mindset of the bloody government. I am keeping my eye on you and the division," he added, brandishing the bat at him. "I want you to rethink this budget plan very carefully for the next quarter, do you understand me?"

Fat chance. Goblins were going to take up all the damned time again, Registry would be pushed back as sure as anything. Not that he really cared, the public only cared about the Registry when it failed to do something it wasn't equipped to do. Twiddle resisted the urge to shrug. "Sure," he said.

"Good," Newt said, turning and leaving the office and with a "good day" to Nancy at the desk, leaving the Registry.

Twiddle sat back in his chair again, and rubbed his forehead. It wasn't even noon yet. He pulled his hand away and saw Nancy in the doorway, fidgeting. "What is it, Nancy?"

"Um, well, Mr. Twiddle, you said that I should speak to you today - well, yesterday you said tomorrow, but that was today - that is, is now a good time to talk about giving my two weeks' notice?" she asked.

He sighed. "Sure. Come in."

~*~

Alecto Carrow was not easily mistaken for anyone else, from her very individual looks to her personality even down to her quirks. Covering up her identity was not something she had any great desire to do, but she was a generally unmistakable person, and any recognition would thwart this plan, which was an extension to her part in the Dark Lord's cause. Any course of action was justified in persuading the werewolves, even charming her hair and eyes different colours.

The werewolf, Briony, seemed unamused, but Alecto had her pegged as a brat from the start. She wasn't from Fenrir's pack, which somehow made putting up with her during the travel actually worse. After a quick Apparation and a long walk, they finally came near to the town where Curenton foolishly set up his Den. "Do you know your way around, little werewolf, or do you hate wizards too much to even comprehend their geography?" Alecto wondered.

Briony became even more irritated with the witch, if that was at all possible. She'd been hoping that the further they got from Fenrir's pack the less annoying she'd be, but that sadly did not seem to end up as the case. "I know where the Den is," she answered shortly.

Alecto should have backed off, as they were due to be working together for an extended period of time, but she couldn't resist. "Oh, do you? Are you one of the tamed werewolves, then? I did think that your Conor was a touch too soft to be a real werewolf."

She wanted to tell her to shut her mouth, as at this rate she'd likely kill Fenrir's wand before they even made it to the Den. "I didn't say I'd been there," she said tersely. "I said I knew where it was."

If Fenrir hadn't threatened her with death against killing the bitch, Briony would be dead, she decided. She turned her glare away and looked towards the hills. "There," she said, pointing towards the house on the hill with some glee. "There. Let's get a start on this so we can just get back home with the brat."

That was something they could agree on, at least -- not that Briony would have ever said that out loud. They climbed the hill and approached the house, and she wondered how the witch would fare in a group of werewolves whose sense of pack and niceties was somewhat limited. She stopped to glance into a window before going to the door. "So this is the Den," she murmured.

"Here it is. Curious, isn't it, just like any other pack house, but no pack." Alecto put away her wand. "All right then, I suppose we'd best go in and find him." She raised her eyebrows. "You're about his age, aren't you? It shouldn't be too hard for you to lure him out."

"About there, I guess," Briony said, not certain she liked the implications of that statement. She pulled the door open and walked right in.

Alecto collected her thoughts and upon forming a plan, she entered the house, trying not to look as amused as she was.

Briony looked around, sticking her head into the main room. A small group of werewolves sat around a table, but they didn't concern themselves with her. Their wolves felt... different. Excitable, but not in a good way. Their control was lacking. She looked back at Alecto and shrugged.

Owen heard the door to the Den open, but didn't check immediately. He thought Jeremy might go, but when he looked up he saw Jeremy engrossed in one of his legal philosophy tomes, tipped back on the back legs of a chair with his feet up on the corner of the desk.

With a slight sigh, he pushed back his chair and went to his office door, which was half-closed. Opening it revealed two young women standing in the foyer. "Hello," he said to them.

Startled, Alecto turned to him, tucking her now dark hair behind her ears nervously. "Hello -- we've got to the Den, haven't we?"

He looked at the two of them, at the one who spoke to him paying close attention and the other seemed to be looking anywhere but at him. Nervous, perhaps, but that wasn't exactly uncommon. "Yes, you have," Owen answered, leaving the office completely. "What can I do for you?"

"We were just looking for somewhere to stay, it's been a long trip and, well, it's too close to the full moon for us to go anywhere else, you know?" Alecto smiled sadly. "If they'd even take us. Is there room?"

Briony looked at her sharply. She didn't have a wolf, there wasn't a person in this house who was going to be fooled at that level. She looked back at Owen. Don't be fooled, she silently warned him, but there wasn't a way to do so verbally. "Yes. That's what we're looking for," she said.

Owen nodded. "Well, we do have room," he said. "Ropes are pretty easy to learn, here. No drinking or gambling, use your common sense. There's not usually trouble in the house."

"And I don't suppose there's any place in town for me to stay." Alecto twirled her wand idly, and tucked it behind her ear. "I'm looking after Briony -- " she gestured to her -- "after all, best to be wary around most wizards these days, don't you think, with the, ah, popular sentiment?" She made a face.

Of course. Briony was forced to reassess the witch, looking at her carefully for a moment before she looked back at Owen and forced a smile.

"Indeed," Owen agreed. "If you head into the village there's a... bed and breakfast sort of place at the other end of the high street. I don't know that business has been particularly well lately, what with the war on and all, but you could look into it."

Jeremy glanced around the doorway, still carrying the heavy legal philosophy book. "New arrivals?" he asked, mostly rhetorically. "It's been slow." He eyed the wand sticking out of the brunette's hair.

"Well, one," Owen replied, stepping aside to let Jeremy into the conversation. "It sounds as though -- Briony, was it? -- will be staying with us for a time."

"Yes." Briony looked at the boy in the doorway. That had to be the Curenton boy that Fenrir so desperately wanted. His hair was dark where Owen's was light, but otherwise he was a dead ringer for his father.

"Well, welcome and all," Jeremy leaned over to set the book down on the floor. "If you need anything, have any questions, I'm usually around. I'm Jeremy." He stuck his hand out to her.

Alecto looked between the two and paused, as though realising. "Oh, you're Owen Curenton! Could I, erm, could I speak to you for a minute? Briony, do you mind if I just go ahead and...?"

Briony looked back at her, her hand still clasped in Jeremy's. She kept her wolf carefully restrained and guarded, and found it unnecessary. She dropped Jeremy's hand and said, "Al -- I don't know if that's such a good -- "

"Jeremy can show you around," Owen said, looking back at Jeremy, "and I imagine -- your friend will see you before she leaves. I'm sorry that I don't think I caught your name?" He looked at Alecto.

"Alexandra, but you can call me Alex." Alecto tucked her hands behind her back, a bit shyly. "So -- well, I've read your book, Mr Curenton -- "

Jeremy grinned at that, but looked to Briony with as much curiosity as he considered polite. "Well. If you want the tour, or at least a place to put your things, come on. Briony, right?"

Briony hesitated again. The witch talked too much, and she didn't like the idea of not being there to hear whatever it was she was going to say. "Okay," she said. "Great. Grand tour while Alex here feeds your dad's ego."

"Getting on our good side immediately, I see," Owen said as he grinned. "We'll see you, grand tour shouldn't take that long."

"Not much to see, but don't let that fool you, there's things to do," Jeremy promised her. "I should know, right? I'm here every day."

"Go on, I just have a few quick questions, you know, for the book," Alecto said to Briony with a broad smile, then turned to Owen, her smile going humble.

Owen stepped back. "Well, let's step into my office..."

It took great effort on Briony's part to not roll her eyes, but she managed to hold it in. She looked back at Jeremy for a moment. "So."

"So," he echoed, and started towards the stairs. "There's the bedrooms upstairs, it's a bit of a dormitory situation, but you're likely used to that. Most of our pack werewolves don't mind. You're from a pack, right?"

"Yeah," she answered, soothing the wolf's agitation. It might be easier if she knew Conor was back with their pack instead of with Fenrir. He could more than handle himself, but not having that contact made her wary. "I mean -- yeah. I am."

She seemed agitated, and usually there was a reason for that kind of thing. He relaxed, and opened the door to the women's room. "This is where you can sleep -- across the hall, the full moon rooms. I hear this is the usual setup." He leaned against the doorway. "You can stay here as long as you need, so you know. There's more than enough space."

Briony went into the room and dropped her bag on one of the beds that appeared unoccupied. "Yeah," she said, and added a bit awkwardly, "Thanks."

"Well." Jeremy felt uncharacteristically awkward, but she was making it difficult to be casual. "You look like you've come a long way, I'll leave you be, but -- like I said. I'm always around. Nowhere else to go, really."

"I just... never saw myself coming here," she answered him honestly.

He smiled a little wryly at that. "I bet. We hear that a lot, here. People know we're here, but it's never going to be them resorting to a stop in, right? Dad prefers to think of this place as a bed and breakfast or something instead of a last resort, but I'm more realistic."

She had a pack, a Father, brothers -- family. She didn't belong here. She looked up at Jeremy, still carelessly leaning in the doorway. "I didn't mean -- "

"Well -- I did," he said. "Pack is like family, and I would do anything to be with my family. I would never want to leave them."

This would be almost too easy. They couldn't screw this up, she decided. But not too soon, she needed to buy some time and keep the witch away from Fenrir. "Yeah," she agreed. "I know what you mean. Things are... they're just complicated right now."

He sent her a slight smile. "Well. Like I said, we're here for you as long as you need. You, er, want to see the rest of the place? Or you can just wander, there's no problem, hell, Dad doesn't even mind people coming into his office, really."

"Okay," she said. "Show me."

He awkwardly straightened, but kept the smile on. "Then follow me." Give the Den a few days, he knew, and they usually won over the least enthusiastic visitors. Getting Briony comfortable wouldn't be any trouble at all.

~*~

July 1978

Seven years had gone by. Seven eventful and wonderful years at Hogwarts that Remus maybe should have never had the chance to have, but was blessed with all the same. Now he was a fully qualified wizard with exceptional NEWT scores under his proverbial belt, and no clear indication of what to do with himself. His mother suggested university in preparation for teaching. He'd gone over it in his head, and some parts worked. Muggles didn't believe in werewolves, not outside of cinema or things like comic books and gothic novels, anyway, so being uncovered was unlikely. It wasn't unheard of, other wizards and witches had gone to university for whatever reason, but there were always other issues related to going, attaining proper accreditation and whatnot.

It wasn't such a terrible idea, teaching. There was something appealing about imparting and conveying knowledge about anything and everything to children, not always eager to learn but unable to prevent some bits of information from sticking. Muggles, of course, would have required a degree. Wizards only liked a wide knowledge base, although given his condition (the wolf jumped again, it despised that word), it wasn't likely he'd keep any job for long. People always eventually put two and two together. With that in his mind, he sent letters of inquiry to any place he thought he could have a chance in.

Unfortunately, until something came through, there was precious little for him to do but sit and wait. Waiting was not one of the wolf's favourite things to do, another thing that Remus knew well. Remus was usually able to keep it under a sort of control, but that had been at school when there was always something to do and something to keep his mind busy. Now it seemed even more restless and willful, irritating Remus himself. Physically alone in the house but being mentally accompanied wasn't any picnic either, he reflected, moving from one room to the next.

Then the detection ward sounded, registering only minimally in Remus's brain. It was less sensitive than it once was, after his mother complained enough about rabbits and field mice traipsing through the yard. Even he had to admit his annoyance, no matter what his father's intentions had been. Now he had to wonder if he hadn't been right, as he checked through the curtains of the sitting room. His stomach clenched when he saw the cloaked man walking up the front pathway.

His heart was beating wildly in his chest when the knock came. He instinctively drew his wand, and tried to make for the Floo grate in the kitchen.

Door, the wolf seemed to compel him. Not even compel -- demand.

Remus stopped with his hand on the doorknob. This was not what he should do. He should back away and Floo somewhere else, tell someone. Instead, one effortless turn of his wrist opened the door of the Lupin home to Fenrir Greyback.

Fenrir's first reaction was surprise. The boy looked like a wizard, trim, well-fed, and overconfident, but it was still the Remus he'd named years ago. He took a moment to compose himself before drawing his hood back. "Remus," he said, with a faint smile. "Let your Father in, like a good son, yes?"

Remus could only respond to the request with a blank look and silence, but the wolf's reaction was so immediate and violent that it caused him to pale, and he gripped the side of the door until his knuckles were white. Perhaps more frightening still was the only thing he could come up with to describe the wolf's sudden burst of... joy.

Finally. It's you.

Fenrir genuinely smiled and stepped past him, gently pushing him aside and looking around the house. The edges of his smile hardened into a sneer. "Is Alexander home? Close the door."

So immediately that he didn't even think about it, Remus pushed the door closed and he flinched when the latch clicked. "Dad's not -- he's not here," he answered, hurriedly correcting himself without knowing why. "You need to go. Really." The wolf would not let him beg for it further.

Fenrir took a slow breath and nearly trembled at the feeling of pack along their tie. This boy was his, there was no denying that. "If I leave, Remus, you're coming with me." At that, he set his eyes upon Remus's and seized him along the tie as his Father taught him years ago.

It was a double, amazingly clear assault on his senses. His wolf was... it was cringing, in pain, but still eager. This was something new, and definitely frightening. His back hit the door and he rested there, his breath coming shorter and shorter. "Who are you?" he managed to get out.

Fenrir looked at him and felt old, experienced, and proud. "I was named Fenrir by my Father, but the newspapers call me Fenrir Greyback. You might have heard of me," he added, with a smirk. "They mention me a bit."

Now Remus really felt like being sick, but the wolf kept him silent, wanting its Father. Its will was overcoming his, and he didn't like it at all. He fought against it. "You have to go. Please, just -- "

Fenrir saw the struggle in his tensed shoulders and his eyes, and grabbed Remus by the shoulders roughly. "Remus," he snapped. "You're no wizard, you've never been, you belong with my pack. Soon you won't be able to resist, you'll have no choice in the matter. You are a werewolf -- you can't deny the wolf or your pack."

Underneath his clothing, Remus's skin began to crawl and he struggled to find a reaction he could give, would be allowed to give. He didn't know anything, it now seemed. "I don't -- you must have the wrong -- " The wrong what? Teenaged werewolf? He couldn't be right. There were so many reasons he just couldn't be. "I'm not who you think I am," he protested quietly.

Fenrir stared down at him, fingernails pressing into Remus's shoulders. "Alexander Lupin," he sneered. "Your birth father. Hasn't he told you? Reminded you, at least? You were young. I had to make you mine to save you from what he would turn you into. He stole you from me, but you were still mine, I claimed you, and you belong with me and my pack. You know this."

"He hasn't done anything." Remus winced, twisting under Fenrir's hands. "I'm not -- it was an accident, it had to be," he continued, too far gone to stop himself from talking now.

Fenrir began to smile, then laughed, not quite happily. "That's what you said then," he said. "In fourteen years, we've both come so far. Will you stay here, then, with these wizards who loathe the very idea of what you are? Or with the only ones who can understand you, with your pack?"

"I can't -- I can't just go." He was becoming even more panicked, if that was at all possible. He could hardly just up and go with a stranger who came to the door, and he certainly wasn't going to go with a criminal, no matter what he said happened or was supposedly meant to be to him.

Fenrir released him, and took a step back to examine his son with something that almost resembled paternal pride. "You're clever, I can tell," he informed his son. "So you'll understand that this... this was your birth father, the wizard, this was his idea. To lock you and your wolf away and pretend as though you aren't what you are. He doesn't understand. Well... we do, and we all accept what we are, Remus. We relish it, because it's what's right."

It felt like the wolf was banging against the insides of his skull, more awake and unrestrained than Remus ever remembered it being. It understood, it agreed with Fenrir Greyback. He did his best to ignore it. "I have a life." Or, he would, at least. Time was all it would take. "I can't," he repeated.

Fenrir watched the wolf in his first son's eyes. Of course, it made too much sense. "It's violent, isn't it? Restless. You always end up bit and scratched and bloody. He's locked it away," he hissed. "You're locking it away for the wizards' sake and locking it inside yourself. Do you want to live every transformation for the rest of your life like that?"

"Nothing is, we're fine," he said, now angry with Fenrir and angry with himself, insofar as the wolf was him. It was a blatant lie, and they all knew it, but he could not do this. "You just -- you need to go." His wand! ... His wand was laying on the ground, a few feet away, he must have dropped it. He couldn't reach for it, he reached for the closet doorknob instead, grasping it firmly.

Fenrir felt the immediate flush of disdained fury and seized the boy's wand. "They're pathetic," he spat at Remus. "They need words and wands and potions to get them out of every situation. Rob them of that, and they have nothing." He snapped the wand entirely in half, throwing the pieces to the ground. "Is that all you are, Remus, a wand-waving coward?" He turned away, towards the door, forcing himself to leave. "If you can even change your mind, you... brainwashed would-be wizard, you'll be able to find my pack if you try."

"Leave," Remus said emphatically, but it came out more a plea than an order, as he'd hoped. Some wild, reserved part of his brain idly wondered how he was going to explain a snapped wand, but the rest had to deal with the wolf, increasingly unhappy that his -- its Father was leaving.

Fenrir grabbed the doorknob and tore the door open, slamming it against the opposite wall. "Werewolves weren't welcome here, everyone knows that," he pronounced. "At least, not until I saved you, but I didn't finish the job. This isn't a life, what you've got. Pack is how things should be, must be. But Alexander was selfish and chose a wizard's life for you." He leaned against the doorway, with a wry smile. "If you had the choice, would this be what you want?"

He yanked the hood over his head, only then making his way back down the walk, on the way to his loyal pack. Soon, they would have one, two, many more, just as his Father predicted.

Remus fell into the wall, feeling like his heart was about to fly out of his chest at any second. He clenched his eyes shut and willed his legs to stop shaking so badly. It was more unnerving that the wolf had gone silent again, silent in an I'm-not-speaking-to-you sort of way.

That was fine. The wolf had just done more speaking than it had ever done in fourteen years and he was lightheaded from it. When he opened his eyes again, his gaze fell on the broken pieces of his wand. He regarded them dispassionately for a moment, before he swallowed a cry rising in his throat and picked both of them up. A wand could easily be replaced, it was just an object, but something else had been broken, something that Remus wasn't sure could be fixed so easily.

~*~

The first thing that Remus did on the day after Fenrir Greyback's intrusion was gather the last bit of whatever money he had and gone to Ollivander's to replace his wand. His new wand was eight inches long, birch wood, with a phoenix tailfeather for its core. This was no surprise, since the wand that Fenrir Greyback had snapped in two had the same core and wood. Despite Mr. Ollivander's assurances that accidents happened and sometimes getting a new wand was a blessing, a better fit than the old one, even, Remus was left unnerved and disconnected. It was frightening how easily and quickly it had happened.

Fenrir Greyback's words had made their mark in his brain. Let your Father in, like a good son... You were mine, I claimed you... That's what you said then...

What 'then'? Remus couldn't remember a when. He barely remembered a time when he wasn't transforming during the full moon, and he didn't remember when he'd been bitten. He knew a date, but no event. There was only 'werewolf' and a very short, young span of memory that was 'not werewolf'. No memory of the time that Fenrir Greyback -- Fenrir Greyback -- thought existed was in his brain. Remus didn't like it. This went beyond his natural tendency towards finding answer and reason; the fact that there was an apparent hole in his memory bothered him like it never had before. They'd never spoken of it; it had never mattered.

The wolf's recalcitrant silence was only a temporary reprieve. It had seen its Father (the wolf's word, not his, how could he ever?) and become emboldened, even arrogant. There was nothing Remus did that the wolf didn't protest or keep calm over. It plagued him unlike it had ever been before. To top it all off, a week passed without a single reply to any of his inquiries. The wolf rejoiced as though it was karma, or some sort of divine retribution, to Remus for its suppression all these years.

"Stop it," he told it one day, right out loud, and looking his reflection in the bathroom mirror. There was a moment where he saw it -- something -- moving behind his eyes, and he felt it dangerously close to the surface. Was that what other people saw when they looked at him? Could people really tell just by looking at you what you were? The idea frightened him, made him ill, but pleased the wolf.

His mother was beginning to notice that Remus was not himself, and the concerned glances and questions were almost more than he could bear. His father, however, noticed nothing, or if he had, he said nothing. Remus couldn't help but think, a little bitterly, that was hardly unusual for his father. He always stopped himself after that. He had wonderful parents, he had gone to Hogwarts, what did he have to complain about? Whenever Remus looked at his father, long glances when he wasn't looking and quick, short ones when he was, he couldn't fathom anything that could have possibly offended the elder werewolf so deeply. He had to be wrong.

But you don't know that, was the constant argument thrown back in his face. He didn't know for sure.

He had no plan of attack on how to approach the subject. How could he? It wasn't something that came up in conversation. One attempt ended up with them in the study talking about something horribly vague, like whether it was supposed to rain or not that night, one of the most horridly awkward conversations that Remus had ever had, and there had been plenty of those in the last eighteen years.

In the end, the full moon came and it was one of the worst transformations Remus could remember. The wolf was excited and wanted out, almost on a sensory overload. He awoke in the shed that looked like any other tool shed from the outside, used for his transformations while he was at home. He felt the usual sickness all over, stronger than it had been in ages, left tired and bleeding from the head. He slowly and carefully made his way into the house once he was clothed, and his mother's jaw dropped and she dropped the plate she had been drying. It shattered with a head-splitting crash. "Oh, Remus..."

"You dropped a plate, mum," he said a bit stupidly, and collapsed in a chair.

"Never mind the plate," she replied, immediately getting a dishcloth and wetting it with water.

By the time his dad got home from work, his mother was in a full tilt tizzy because he wouldn't go to the wizarding hospital, and wouldn't let her take him to the Muggle hospital not too far away, even though it clearly needed stitches at the very least. As she gave him tea, she angrily muttered something about being just like his father.

Remus wasn't in a great mood either, because she hadn't let him go to sleep for fear of a concussion, and he ended up in his father's study for monitoring. "You fix him," Nichole spat at her husband once he'd arrived at home, nearly shoving him inside -- clearly upset, which hurt Remus more than the severest head wound. The study door slammed behind Alexander, and father and son could hear their wife, their mother dash up the stairs and away from the both of them.

Alexander had long been healing whatever wounds his son managed to inflict on himself while transformed, making this almost routine, but neither moved for the longest time. Remus sat and waited for his father, who seemed thrown off by Nichole's reaction, until he broke the silence when he said, "Up here, then," to Remus.

Remus pulled himself out of the armchair and sluggishly moved to the edge of the desk as Alexander summoned his book of first aid charms. He wondered how many times he'd seen it, laying open on the desk, just like this. "Let me see," Alexander said gently.

He pulled off the cloth that his mother had insisted be pressed there, looking at his father's tie instead of into his face. "What did you do?" Alexander asked, flipping a page in the book.

I was transformed and trying to run through a wall, was the reflexive and painfully truthful answer. Remus himself had no real will to answer, but the wolf was ready and quick to be snappish -- its annoyance and full-blooded hate of Alexander had certainly not faded. If anything it held a renewed contempt. "What did you do?" he asked in return.

"Sorry, what?" was Alexander's distracted answer. "This is a smaller charm, but it should work here. I don't think you'll be doing anything to reopen the wound, will you?"

The rhetorical questions were irritating. "No." He felt the charm take effect; the skin on his forehead cooled momentarily, and it did feel better. But he couldn't do this again. It was unbearable, and he finally repeated his question. "What did you do?"

"What did I do when?" Remus could feel his father building the wall again, which meant that he had something to hide.

He couldn't back away from this one. "I was bit. He said that you did something." His head was still hurting and he felt like he was making very little sense.

There was no mask on Alexander Lupin's face now. Remus looked up at him and saw a man who was frightened of something. "Who told you that? Who said it?"

"Fenrir Greyback," he uttered emotionlessly. He still hadn't completely wrapped his mind around the fact that he had been there.

Alexander's hand tightened on his son's shoulder, as if he had suddenly been rocked violently. Remus supposed he had; fine, it was his turn anyway. "He was here and you told no one?"

"He was telling the truth?" he demanded in return, ignoring his father's question.

He hesitated to make a reply, but knew that he had to say something. "You have to understand," he started, "this is... it was my fault, and never should have happened. Adults -- " he stopped. He'd been the only adult in this mess, with Remus so young and Fenrir no more than half the age Remus was now -- still in his mind dirty-faced and yelling that Remus was his. "It just never should have happened," he finished tightly, taking the book back to its place on the shelf.

"You're not answering me," he said.

Alexander was still facing the bookcase behind the desk when he began to speak. "I offended him. Spoke words that I shouldn't have, and he took them to heart and committed a crime. Then, they came to claim you."

"Claim," Remus answered flatly.

"Claim. They came here to take you away from us."

Remus's visceral reaction to that was dread. Away to where? The idea hurt a little, but not nearly so much as it might have once. There was still nothing, just vestiges of memories, parts he could glimpse, but he couldn't get the whole thing. The wolf was not interested in what his human could remember, however. "I still don't know what happened. I remember... I remember mum being with me, upstairs. After."

Alexander looked back to Remus. "If that's all that you remember, then you should be grateful. That night is not one that any of us should be forced to relive. Downright horrific."

With those words, it was the oddest thing ever. It was as if his father had pulled him back from the keyhole, and turned a key to open the door. His expression must have changed, because Alexander's did as well. "What is it?" he asked.

"He came in." Remus's throat was very dry. "He came in, and -- " The memories, absent as they were only seconds ago, came back in full, terrible force. The hand over his mouth as he was told not to scream, the yard underneath his feet slick and wet with dew, the terror, the bite itself, and the hazy trip back in the early morning light. He was overwhelmed.

"Owen Curenton was the one who brought you home, but he also said that you were - named." His tongue tripped over the words that he hadn't thought about for years. It had meant little to him, he'd had his son back and that was all that counted.

A name. Remus couldn't honestly say that he knew what it was, but it sounded right, and felt real. Pack is how things should, must be, the wolf echoed at him. A wizard's life had been chosen for him. For them. "You kept this from me." He slid off the desk and walked, to the window, away from the window, around the desk in an erratic pattern, just needing to take the edge off the agitation he was feeling. He eyed his father, waiting for an answer.

"What would the benefit have been?" he asked. "Who's to say things would have been better? You were ours, mine, not his. I wasn't going to give you up."

The inside wasn't enough anymore. It was stifling, he wanted to run and be away from here. "I have to go," he said suddenly, moving for the door.

"Go where?" Alexander demanded.

"Away. Gone." The wolf didn't care, it didn't care that he wanted to stay in his house, with his parents, it wanted to find elsewhere, maybe with its parent. Totally selfish, and totally in control.

Alexander stopped Remus with a hand on his arm, a tight grip that held no malice but all urgency. "Don't go to him." It wasn't a plea or an order, too calm to be either. It confused even Remus, and most powerfully angered the wolf.

"DON'T TOUCH ME," he yelled, and immediately completely regretted it. He wasn't a yeller, and had certainly never raised his voice at either of his parents. Alexander slowly removed his hand, either having nothing more to say or unable to say anything. Remus didn't quite trust himself to speak, he felt as though his voice might break and that would be it.

He moved past his father and made it to the door until Alexander said in a last ditch attempt to get him to stay, "Remus." He remained; it was so jarring, he could not remember the last time that his father had used his name.

He didn't trust himself to speak. He felt as if his heart were in his throat, his stomach where his heart should be, everything else jumbled up and where it shouldn't be, and why shouldn't he? Everything had just changed. He turned around to look at Alexander, and he couldn't help but sound small and hurt when he spoke. "I told -- I told him that he was wrong, that you hadn't done anything. Twice."

Remus had never seen his father look so old, or so guilty. "I made my bed, and then I had to lie in it. I'm sorry that I had to bring you and your mother down as well."

He didn't want to hear more. His feet were moving away. Out the front door, down the steps, and into the yard. It was so disturbingly close to the night he'd been dragged from his bed and taken in retribution for mere words. He turned to look back at the house, lights shining in the windows even in the sunset light of the summer evening. He saw his mother's face in the upstairs window, his parents' bedroom. She merely looked at him, a bit sadly. For a moment, even the wolf seemed to falter. It liked his mother, inexplicably, although that was something to be thankful for. She was comforting, and calm, and as much of a victim in this as Remus.

Even so, it wasn't enough to make him stay. Nothing would have been enough. He kept walking, but to where? Not to the pack, he sternly told the wolf. To a friend, any friend. He Disapparated as soon as he was able. At the very least, James and Lily would have a couch he could occupy until he had an idea of what to do with himself.