Fathers and Sons

Fathers and Sons

Chapter 10: The Dark Lord's Hand

As the New Year dawns, we are also approaching the ninth year of this war against the faceless terror of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and his Death Eaters. On first glance, this is disheartening, even devastating. This is a war that has touched all of our lives in one way or another, but as your Minister, I entreat -- no, implore you to not let this war rule your lives. You have the best and the brightest that wizarding Britain and Ireland has to offer working to protect you wherever you are. Don't live in fear. By living in fear, you have consented to let the evil that would seek to divide and destroy us do so. Be safe, but live your life. To avoid doing so is a crime against yourself. Caius Beamish. "Minister for Magic's New Year Address," from London, England, January 1, 1979.

September 1978

Alecto Carrow had a luxurious bed in the flat she was still paying for, despite that she hadn't been there for so long she couldn't remember what colours the walls were. Back home in London, she had everything. Now, here at Fenrir Greyback's pack house, she no longer had a bedroom now that Laurel had taken back her place in Fenrir's bed. On Alecto's part, she was almost grateful to be torn away from the wretched beast, as he had seen her beaten into a pulp and said nothing; part of her still held a dark jealousy and called for vengeance against the skinny girl who now lay beside the Pack leader. All of her hurt.

The sun was rising and she had fallen asleep on the floor of the main room, where everyone ate, slept, and met to hear Fenrir speak. Her eyes opened but she didn't want to move, because there would only be plans to make and she had taken no pain potions after the beating. Three days later, it still hurt; eventually she stretched out and heard footsteps, tensing once more.

Remus was more than certain that he had no idea what he was doing. He never could quite work out the pack politics, nor did he really have a desire to. He'd wanted a place that was... no, really, for the first time in nearly nineteen years he honestly had no clue of what he was doing. He didn't know what he wanted or what he was doing. As a result, he didn't feel relaxed, his brain was running overtime, and he wasn't sleeping well. It was not optimal.

He left his room -- he was still baffled over this -- and went down the stairs as quietly as possible, which was not very quiet at all, considering the state of the house itself. He didn't know what he would do down there at this early hour, but it certainly beat just sitting up there. Perhaps. A little more unsure shifting on his feet, and he sat on the bottom step.

Alecto made herself stand, body aching, and slowly went from the threshold to the foyer. She leaned against it, seeing a boy on the step... no, not quite a boy, but not as tough as those who endured long stretches of pack life with Fenrir Greyback. "You're his first, aren't you," she said, muting her voice. "You're Remus, the new arrival. The wizard. I've heard a lot about you, you know."

Remus glanced up sharply, and tried to still his wildly beating heart. "That's me," he said cautiously. He was slowly learning that the wolf acted as a sort of hyperactive sixth sense about people. And right now it was telling him that she was no werewolf. "I must say likewise. You must be the witch."

No harm in being friendly, so she approached with a slow, painful gait until she sat a step up from him, considering him with a sober look. "I'm the witch. My name is Alecto, and I... am here to lead Fenrir's pack into better times and better places. Consider me a missionary. You've returned home to your kind, then?"

"I suppose." He couldn't really consider it a home, but neither was the house where he had grown up, or anywhere else. It was close enough. "Four walls and a roof, anyway."

"What house were you in? I know your last name, but you abolished your ties to your adoptive wizarding father the moment you walked in that door, didn't you?" It was smalltalk, yes, but this boy could ruin everything. Fenrir and his sons, the whole pack hierarchy was waiting for an excuse to collapse.

Remus didn't flinch as her words, that was how wizarding parents were talked of here. Everything ran back to the Pack's father, not your biological parents. But so many years were not gone in a matter of weeks. Nor was he certain he would have wanted it to be. "Gryffindor," he answered her question, to avoid considering it further. He'd loved school.

Ah. Alecto should have known, he had the look about him. "I was a Slytherin, class of 1973. Not too much older than you." She leaned back on the stairs, resting her elbows on the steps behind her. "I consider myself a sort of advisor to Fenrir. I am no werewolf, but I've been living here for some time, long enough to understand you werewolves and your politics." She exhaled sharply and cast a curious gaze on him. "So. Why are you here? He's overjoyed, blinded by finally gaining you, and he doesn't even realise he has a Gryffindor in his midst. A hero. Why are you here?"

A hero. He gave a quiet, derisive laugh. The word caught him off guard after her bombast, and he was unsure of how to respond. Being with someone who had no wolf after being surrounded by them day in and day out was unsettling, like climbing a staircase in the dark and expecting one more step than there actually was. It probably unsettled him more that he now found that jarring. "I didn't know where else to be," he finally said, afraid to reveal too much to her.

She didn't like his quiet, or the look of him at all - and like any good Slytherin, Gryffindors made her wary. This was all too appropriate; leaving school, returning to his pack, but why? Hogwarts provided a place in the sun, if nothing else. "I'm sure you've heard this more often than you like," she said, voice smooth, "but if you betray this pack, you will die. The wizarding world and its politics are a second priority. If you compromise the pack for that, you die." She smiled, slid the sleeve off of her arm, and bared the Dark Mark to his vision. "Do you recognise that, Remus Lupin?"

He'd opened his mouth to reply sarcastically that strangely enough, he had heard that said, but the words stuck in his throat at the sight of the Dark Mark on Alecto's forearm. It took him right out of this small microcosm of pack and back into the world. "I know what it is," he answered.

Alecto had her gauge. She ran her fingers over the Mark lovingly, remembering hoods and masks and Morsmordre. Sometimes the memories faded when in Fenrir's house, but the Mark that kept her the Dark Lord's property always brought them back. "The Dark Lord means to help the werewolves through their difficult times and draw them out of their suffering state. If you interfere, you have not only the pack's fury, but the Dark Lord's." She smiled, a baring of the teeth. "You see what you're fit to inherit, Remus? A pack that will one day be unified with all the rest. A kingdom of all werewolves. It's a fantastic idea."

No matter what the wolf wanted, the kinship and community of wolves or whatever, Remus himself balked at it. He'd wanted and asked for none of it. If that was a product of staying with his parents and attending Hogwarts, he would still change nothing. He was what he was. "And Fenrir thinks that.... this," he gave a delicate glance at the Dark Mark, "is the best way to go about building his unified pack."

"The best way? No, just an opportune way." Alecto gave a quick shrug to dismiss it. "Some of your sort seem to worry that the wizards will crush any unified pack that forms. When the Dark Lord takes over, he will have mercy on the werewolves, and that's why we have stretched our hand out to aid them now. Why help build such a thing only to destroy it?" She caught the Mark in the sunlight, smiling at it. "Does it make you uncomfortable? The idea of being helped by the Dark Lord, I mean. If it does, I assure you, His work to help the werewolves requires little compensation by the pack."

It most certainly made him uncomfortable, although not necessarily for the reason that Alecto thought. The least of these reasons not being the Order of the Phoenix -- he'd been afraid to even think the name of their organization, certain that his very thoughts could be read. He was supposed to be fighting Death Eaters, helping the Order, and he'd done nothing, not even made contact with them since he'd left Sirius's. As soon as it was opportune to do so, he vowed to send a message along. For now, it wouldn't do to appear overly nervous. A fair bit of fear might be all right. "A little," he said, a lie. It made him very uncomfortable. "But, if Fenrir thinks it opportune..."

Alecto's smile grew wide and she patted him on the shoulder, movement hampered by the sleeve hiked up to make the Dark Mark visible. "Racial loyalty. I admire that, the trust in only those outsiders who will further your kind. We're much the same in that." The house was beginning to stir, the upstairs bedrooms; Fenrir, Laurel, Wesley. She didn't want to meet with any of the three at this time in the morning. "Watch your step, Remus," she advised at last. "And if you require the Dark Lord's hand at any moment, do call on me."

Remus was fairly sure that he was not going to require the Dark Lord's hand, foot, or whatever other body part he was willing to offer any time soon. Probably ever, actually. "Thank you," he managed to force out before the wolf compelled him to move and his feet had to obey, moving towards the back of the house, away from the Dark Lord's servant in his midst.

~*~

November 1978

Keith's instincts were usually correct, and in this case, he was of the continued opinion that he was at the very least not wrong. A handful of wolves from the Ben Skoll pack stayed at the Den with any sort of frequency and a few more went there on a few occasions. When Jeremy Curenton began asking after his pack, Keith's instincts told him that taking him to meet Ben Skoll, his Father, was a good idea. Although, he was having second thoughts by the time he landed on his back from his inexact Apparation.

He jumped to his feet, blushing, and dusted himself off. He looked at his surroundings, got his bearings, and saw the back of the house up the next hill, twenty or thirty meters away. "Just up there," he spoke to Jeremy, pointing.

Jeremy stood up straight, fixed his cloak, and followed Keith's indication to see the pack house not too far away. He sent Keith a wicked half-grin and raked his hand through his hair. "Great," he said. "Thanks. Any warnings? I know some pack leaders are... specific in what they ask from visitors."

"Ah, well," Keith started, looking back up at the house again as they started walking. "I guess not. Ben's not exactly average amongst pack leaders, you know, but um. Sky will be there at least, she's the first. They might ask you questions in return, so if you're uncomfortable with that or have any reason to be anything less than honest..." He let end of the sentence hang in the air.

Jeremy nodded and took note of the terrain over Keith's shoulder and all around them, prepared to again Apparate back to Skoll's house if this went well. "I'm a Curenton. We're honest to a fault," he quipped, hoping the namedrop wouldn't be lost on him. "Any taboos?" He paused, but went on and asked. "Is it true that Skoll seized the pack against pack law?"

Keith sent him a dry smile -- the name was not lost on him. If there was one thing Ben's pack did it was make sure they were keeping their eyes on all directions. "In a manner of speaking. I'll let Ben answer, he will tell the better story."

Jeremy grinned, and knew if the leader was anything like his free pack members, this was going to be a fun trip. He wasn't counting on it, though; he still had his wand in his pocket. "I'm honoured," he said.

"Well, good," he answered, and looked at Jeremy before making the final steps to the door and twisting the doorknob open. "Then you are welcome."

No sooner had he actually opened the door than he was, for lack of a better term, attacked by a girl of no more than ten with a long black plait down her back. Even as she knocked him down in surprise and sat on his chest, she began talking to him with irrepressible excitement. "KEITH you were gone for ages, Rory thought you were never going to come back but I told him you would be, just wait. Where were you? Were you at the Den again -- "

"Gemma," he cut her off with a breathless greeting once he had his breath back. "Rory never thinks I'm coming back. Want to let me up?"

"Okay," she agreed easily, and for the second time in about five minutes Keith pulled himself up off the ground while Gemma examined the man -- the werewolf, even -- that had obviously come with Keith. "Who's he?" she asked, experimentally reaching out to him.

"Gem, this is Jeremy Curenton. He wanted to meet the pack," he said, putting a hand on her head.

The wolf responded instantly to Gemma's touch, and Jeremy offered his hand to her. "I'm Jeremy," he said. "I've heard a lot of good things about your pack, I'm just... interested to see it in person."

"Hi," she greeted him, shaking his hand.

"We're going to talk to Ben. Is he here? Or Sky?" Keith asked her.

"Yeah. They're both here," Gemma answered and as abruptly as she'd appeared, turned on her heel and ran back inside. "RORY. HE'S BACK. I TOLD YOU. HE EVEN BROUGHT SOMEONE."

Keith sighed, as if he were winded all over again. "Gemma. She's Skylar's, and Rory's mine," he explained shortly. "Come on inside."

Jeremy stepped inside. It was like the Den, with its sense of community, but completely unlike it in how very werewolf it was. If he reached out with that slight sense of pack he could remember feeling when he'd touched Briony, he could feel an undertone, a sort of sixth sense of communication among the pack. "Thanks," he said belatedly to Keith.

"Sure," he said. "Now that the house has been alerted that we're all here -- "

"KEITH."

"Aha. That would be Skylar. Just call her Sky," he told Jeremy, before they met her in the doorway to the next room. "Sky," he greeted.

"I know that you are male and in some packs that means you would be entitled, but it's never worked like that here," she told him pointedly, hands on her hips. "You should at least have the courtesy to tell us where you're going when you go there, instead of just letting us guess -- "

"Sky, please. He's a guest," Keith said, jerking a thumb at Jeremy without looking too abashed.

Sky glanced quickly at Jeremy, and then back at Keith. "Still. You could have asked."

"Better to ask forgiveness than permission, Skylar." He smiled mildly at her. "So can he meet Ben or not?"

"I'm harmless," Jeremy explained, with a wide smile. "I'm a bastard of a pack I've never met. You can trust me for a few hours."

Skylar chortled. "You're him, the activist's son. I've seen you before," she said, but kindly. "Ben... actually would probably like to speak with you," she relented after a moment, and tilted her head. Follow me.

"See? No trouble," Keith told Jeremy, slapping him on the shoulder and pulling him along.

Jeremy liked this place already, having very little trouble just relaxing -- and neither did the wolf, because everyone, or at least most everyone, seemed to be fairly open here, a definite change from most of the werewolves he knew.

"Ben, we've got company," Skylar called out ahead of them, and when she stepped aside, roughly half a dozen other werewolves watched as Keith brought Jeremy into the room.

Included in these was Ben Skoll, the pack's leader. He watched his son bring in the stranger, immediately feeling him out with the wolf. "Keith," he said, slightly chiding.

"Ben," he replied urgently, but immediately deferent. Just listen. "This is Jeremy Curenton. He's come a long way to meet you and speak with you about the pack."

"I see," Ben said slowly, rising and stepping around Gemma who was gathering up a beat-up pack of Exploding Snap cards to approach Keith and Jeremy.

Jeremy paused and felt the situation grow tense, the wolf withdrawing somewhat. Instinct pressed him hard and he took the moment to take his wand and throw it onto the ground. "You've nothing to fear from me, Skoll," he said.

Ben watched the wand clatter to the floor and felt Curenton withdraw. Not panicked yet, but alarmed. He briefly touched Jeremy's wolf. Likewise. "So, my son says you desire to speak with me about my pack," he said gently, throwing a look at Keith. "Why?"

Jeremy exhaled at the acceptance and formulated this response as well as he could. "I need to understand," he said. "I've never known a pack, and -- one day I mean to rejoin mine. And if there's any pack I should be able to understand, it should be the most misunderstood one I've ever heard of. I'm fairly misunderstood myself."

Ben exchanged glances with Keith and then Skylar -- her glance confirmed it. This boy is exactly who you think he is. "Yes, misunderstood," she said with a light smirk at Ben.

"Oh, shut up, Sky," he returned with a playful push at her wolf.

"So are you going to answer his questions or not?" she asked back.

Ben eyed Jeremy again. "Misunderstood... might be the correct term. Although with that said, why don't you tell us what sort of words get passed around about us amongst the packs these days. What have you heard?"

Jeremy didn't let his confidence be shaken by the obvious scepticism of the pack. "I can't get an exact story on how exactly you came to power. Your Father was in control of this pack one day, and then the next, he was dead and so was his first. And you, an unnamed, were at the head," he said, considering Ben Skoll. He looked like the kind of man who could seize power like that. "I've heard a lot of criticism on your female first having more power than your males, how you've overthrown the patriarchal system. How your pack is everything that's not pack. I didn't believe it, and I especially don't after seeing it for myself, even this much. You are a pack. But you're also misunderstood."

"Nice to know they're still mostly passing around the truth," he said dryly, and gave a short, relatively humourless laugh. "Go ahead and have a seat, Curenton. You're here, you may as well hear. Have you ever heard of patricide within the pack?"

The wolf recoiled at the idea, although Jeremy wouldn't pretend he hadn't considered the idea for his Father. "I didn't think anyone would dare," he said honestly.

"Hardly anyone does," Ben said. "It... takes a person who can overcome their wolf's deepest instinct, and a dastardly and power hungry one at that. Skoll's first was this sort of man." He focused on the floor and felt Sky nudging at him lightly. It was not his favourite memory, nothing pained him more than to remember how he'd come to be head of the pack.

"Gareth murdered Skoll, and I attempted to interfere. My father was not... precisely a forthcoming man, but he was a good leader that certainly didn't deserve to be deposed. Well. I let my affection for the man get in the way of the pack's inheritance. Gareth killed my heir in retaliation - my male, you understand, females hardly being worth a warm bucket of spit in your traditional packs -- and I killed him. It was... all very fast. But I created a power vacuum and had to fill it, out of self-preservation."

Jeremy took the story in, considered the faces of the werewolves around him, and nodded. "I understand," he said. "You're a better leader than the first might have been, but you're also even more dangerous. I'm not sure if I'd rather count you as an ally or an enemy, Ben Skoll."

"You and everyone else," he said. "Don't worry, we have people keeping an eye on us. An upstart of an unnamed like me would certainly take over another's pack if I had the chance, after all," he added, and shrugged. "Unified pack is not my ideal, shouldn't be anyone's. Be certain of this: I'm only a danger if my pack is being threatened."

Jeremy indicated where his wand lay on the floor. "Then we should be fine, Ben. I'm no threat to you or any of your pack. I just have questions." He paused to formulate the exact idea, to explain exactly what he meant to do so as not to offend, now that he'd proven he wasn't a real threat. "I want to know about all of the packs. As much as you can tell me."

Ben regarded Jeremy for what seemed like a very long time, when Gemma broke the silence that was slowly becoming tense. "Other packs are boring, you should talk about ours more."

"Well, true as that may be," Ben started slowly, slightly amused, "I have to ask. Are you compiling the information as a matter of... personal reference?"

Jeremy raised his eyebrows. "If you're asking if I'm a reporter, no, I'm not," he said, laughing.

"Yeah. Because Ben hates people who need to know things just because. Hypocrite," Keith broke in jokingly.

"You know, all the editorial is making it hard to have conversation with the guest," Ben returned in a similar tone.

Jeremy looked around with a slight smile, though it fell as he realised he would do best to be candid. "I want to understand," he said, "so I can enter my own pack at some point, and figure out how to end my Father's reign. Not patricide, just... an end." He tensed, the wolf disliking the squirming feeling of betrayal. "You may be dangerous, but Fenrir Greyback is worse."

A brief, but uneasy silence settled over the room, and Ben finally recovered and said, "Your father certainly is out to make a miserable time of it for our sorts. You should have mentioned that much in the first place."

Jeremy couldn't quite believe what he'd heard, but it made sense, so he slowly grinned. "You're the first pack I've visited," he said. "I have a lot to learn and I ... think I know how to use it once I've got it. If you're willing to help me."

"Well then," Ben answered, "let us talk, Jeremy Curenton. If there is an answer I can give, it will be yours."

Jeremy took a seat on the floor, withdrew a scroll of parchment from his pocket, ink and a quill, and looked up at Ben as he prepared everything. "Tell me who you know and what you know about them," he said simply. "Who's related to who." What is pack. What the hell is it?

"Broad category," he said.

"So start with us," Sky suggested, and prompted Jeremy to start. "Skoll."

"Skoll," Ben echoed. "A man of few words and a contemporary of Greyback - Fenrir's father, that is. Not a supporter of the unified pack."

"Explain unified pack to me," Jeremy said after a moment. "I've heard about it but no one wants to explain it. They're afraid of it."

"Not without reason," he said. "It's a theory that werewolves would be stronger and better as a race if instead of several, smaller packs, there was one large mass pack. The implicit idea is that if werewolves banded together in such a way, they would be better off standing against wizards -- or could even become strong enough to overtake them."

"And Greyback believed in that," Jeremy said aloud, as he took furious notes on the unified pack idea and then the story of Ben Skoll's ascension to power, what they'd mentioned of his Father. "And Fenrir believes in it, I know that, he's ... wouldn't the main question of a unified pack be who leads it?"

"You would think," Ben echoed dryly. "But if you think Fenrir would let anyone else take that chance, then you've certainly got another think coming."

"Not very keen to share power, Fenrir," Skylar said, with Gemma settled at her side.

"Unless we're talking about the witch," Keith murmured.

"Rumours," Ben reminded him.

Jeremy looked up immediately at that. "A witch?" he asked. Though it sounded impossible, it would explain a lot. "What's this about a witch?"

"It's hard to say. The rumour is that a witch has been staying with the Greyback pack, and that Conor went himself to check things out. But we haven't heard anything recent, so what she's doing there is hard to say," Ben said.

"Who's Conor?" Jeremy asked, then amended his question a split second later upon remembering. "He's another unnamed pack leader, I know that much, can you tell me anything else? They seem secluded, for lack of a better word."

"Well, he is that," Ben said slowly, trying to figure out how to phrase it. "Conor... was an unnamed of the Greyback pack, and took his wolves to start his own pack. It was... before I took over the pack, at least. They've become quite strong, and they're not your average pack, either."

"Oh?" Jeremy really didn't want to show his ignorance, but it was... difficult not to, when you were ignorant. He stressed what knowledge he knew. "I supposed an unnamed would run a pack differently."

"Don't make such a face, Ben, they were perfectly charming while they were here," Skylar said with some amusement, and spoke to Jeremy. "They came right after Ben became the pack leader."

"Conor and his trinity of support," Ben added, not having felt particularly charmed by the visit. "A female first, his heir, and a witch who lives with them. No one is sure why, they don't share that detail and considering they came to see if I was a threat, I didn't think it was a good idea to be aggressive with the questions."

Two witches, and hadn't Conor been mentioned as having ventured out to talk to Fenrir? A witch had attacked him, and there was Briony. If that was even her real name. Jeremy nodded at Ben absently. "Do you know any werewolves named Briony?" he asked, point-blank.

Ben studied Jeremy for a moment, wondering if he was kidding, and Skylar began laughing. Keith coughed to cover his amusement. "Briony is Conor's named first," he said over the laughter, "I take it you've had the pleasure?"

Jeremy released a short breath, not sure what to feel at that revelation. "She tried to kidnap me and take me to her pack, and then my guess is one of those witches tried to kill me."

As Ben remembered her, he somehow doubted that Jane could have attempted to kill a cockroach let alone another human being, but then again who knew? "Interesting," he remarked. "Well, Conor's witch has been with them for many years. She's part of their unusual pack. Fenrir's witch is a recent development, and of all the packs in Britain, he would have been the last to let one become part of the pack."

This was all so impossible. Could he ever really understand this, or get out to this and the other packs enough to get his mind around it? Jeremy bit the end of the quill and stared at his notes. "Then why did he let one in?" he asked, failing to hide his confusion. "If he believes so much that werewolves are superior, why would he allow a witch into his pack?"

"Nobody knows for certain," Ben said. "Everyone's keeping an eye on it, like a box of dynamite."

There was a short silence in the room. "There is a rumour," Keith spoke up, and heads turned to look at him. "It was said that... she could be working with You-Know-Who. Just a rumour," he added quickly.

The wolf squirmed at such a revelation -- such a possible betrayal -- but Jeremy ignored its fervid racial loyalty and said, "You-Know-Who has the giants on his side, so... no surprise if they're trying to get us. And Fenrir being Fenrir, well." He made a face to indicate his opinion of that.

"I suppose You-Know-Who could do worse when it came to that," Ben said slowly, skeptic, still trying to wrap his brain around it. "But still..."

"No kidding," Keith echoed, before repeating hurriedly, "Just what I heard."

Gemma reached out and pulled slightly on Jeremy's sleeve. "There's more on our tree," she pointed out, looking at the names he'd written so far.

Jeremy was startled, but nodded. "Tell me more, then," he said, drawing what he guessed the correct lines to be.

"KEITH!" an urgent call came from the corridor.

Keith started at his name, although there was no doubt in the room who was behind the call. Keith cast a glance at Ben, who gave him an expectant look in return. "Here, Rory," Keith called back.

"Keith's?" Jeremy asked Gemma, a little wryly.

Gemma nodded quickly. "Whenever Keith goes somewhere Rory makes like he's not coming back ever."

Rory rushed in and sat next to Keith. "They're saying there are Death Eaters out at the Den and that's where you said you were going," he said, "but you're here so they must be lying."

The combination of agitation and relief practically emanated off of Rory and his wolf. Keith tried to calm him down, but his excitement was more contagious than not. He chortled in return. "Who told you that, Cort? No, I think the Death Eaters have disappeared," he said. "Never fear." I told you I'd be back.

"The Den's safe," Jeremy spoke up. "I promise you that." He looked up at Ben after that, and added, "I'm going to figure out what's going on and I'm going to fix it, if you'll help me."

Ben eyed the younger man -- although he thought that was a somewhat generous designation, Jeremy was no more than eighteen if he was a day. But there was no wolf out there with half a brain and an ounce of loyalty within them who would want a Death Eater in their ranks, bringing more trouble than they were surely worth. "Why don't we just keep talking, Jeremy Curenton. We'll see what is of help to you and what is not," he said slowly, wanting to trust, but not too much too soon.

A careful alliance, that was more than Jeremy could have asked for. He'd come to the right pack, he was sure. "I'll be back in a week if you'll have me," he said.

"Who's that?" Rory whispered to Keith.

Keith's mouth was crooked upward in a half-smirk. His instincts were always right. "He's the one I went to see, Rory," he whispered back. "He's going to be a friend."

"Then we have an agreement," Ben said to Jeremy, giving a reassuring smile.

Jeremy dropped his quill and rose to offer his hand to Ben Skoll. "I'm honoured."

Ben resisted the urge to laugh, even a bit. He clasped his hand to seal their newfound, tentative friendship. "Then you are welcome in this pack house."

Jeremy sent him a grin before going back to get his parchment. "Hey, Gemma! Do you want to give me some help here?"

Skylar rolled her eyes. "She'll never leave you alone," she warned Jeremy, giving Gemma's plait a light tug.

Gemma wrenched her hair from Skylar's hand, and ignored her. "Yes. I will," she told him with as much dignity as she could. "It'll be easy," she further promised.

Jeremy tried not to think of Erin. "I bet," he said, ironically. "Well, let's get a start." This was going to be the least easy thing he'd ever done in his entire life.

Gemma went with Jeremy to the window where there was plenty of light for writing by, narrating their pack's family tree like a little parrot as he obediently began taking everything down. Skylar and Ben looked at Keith expectantly. "Well?" Keith demanded quietly. "Was I right, or was I right?"

"I expect the day that you are wrong, there won't be enough of us left for it to matter," Ben said dryly. "But bringing someone here is a serious matter, Keith."

"I know that." He spoke as seriously as Ben did. "But if I hadn't believed his intentions were anything less than honourable or thought it wasn't going to end well, he wouldn't be here. I would have brought him to you."

"I'm sure he wouldn't," he replied back, but still gave Keith a further significant look before turning to answer Gemma's first call for help filling in the blanks.

~*~

December 1978

Damocles left The Leaky Cauldron after interviewing yet another excited, recent Hogwarts graduate for the small team he was allowed to put together in order to supplement his potion-making team -- a small one, but small ones were usually the best, he'd found. He wasn't sure whether he was going to hire this one yet or not, she'd been bright and eager, but they might be able to get on with one assistant. It would have to wait for the next meeting, they'd had several already.

He arrived at the hospital shortly thereafter, just when he said he would. "What today, Shelly?" he asked the trainee, picking up two files.

"A man with a bite, won't say what gave it to him. Might be illegal," she replied. "And a visitor in your office, at your first convenience."

Owen, again? "We can let Mr. Illegal Breeder sweat for a few minutes," he replied, turning towards his office. "If he stops breathing, come and get me."

Shelly took a minute, hesitated, and then hurried after Damocles. "I should warn you, the visitor -- "

"I can take care of it, Shelly," he said in a Don't Argue With Me tone. She made a vaguely apologetic gesture and went back down the hall. He made the rest of the walk to his office and pushed open the door, "Owen, I have a flat you know, you don't have to visit me at -- " Sitting in the chair on the visitor's side of his desk was most ostensibly not Owen. "Good afternoon, Miss Umbridge."

Dolores Umbridge turned a welcoming smile towards the Healer, despite what she'd just heard. Of course there had been rumours, all substantiated, and she had hesitated for far too long before picking the man, but he was a genius and he had accepted, so no harm. Hopefully. "Ah, Mr Belby. Please sit! I've been waiting for some time, but it was no trouble. I hope you're not disappointed, perhaps Mr Curenton is busy with his charity work."

"My apologies for your wait, then, I was meeting with a possible final team member." He went to his desk and placing the patient file on the corner for later. "I'm - well, no, I am simply not used to many others making themselves at home in my office." Shelly had tried to tell him. He was going to stop cutting her off mid-sentence.

She clapped her hands girlishly and placed them neatly in her lap. "Oh, good, so the project is moving forward? I had to come check on you, we're all so very interested to see what you have planned, if anything."

"Research is being conducted, and the team is being put together, we need to put together a plan of attack so to speak." Just thinking about how this needed to progress was giving him a bit of a headache, but there was also an element of excitement to it. "We want to start experimentation with actual potion-making shortly after the New Year."

She frowned fractionally, giving Belby a curious look. "The New Year? Well, we were hoping for something to report to the press soon, you know, but if you're certain you can't move things along, it can wait."

"Depending how fast we can put things together," he said. "A lot of preliminary work, concurrent research, and we're trying to account for red tape." That was the problem with working for the government: plenty of time-consuming red tape to go around.

"Oh, yes, the paperwork." Dolores seemed to try to look something near apologetic, but since it was all necessary, she couldn't bring doubt against her Ministry, and of course couldn't dare go that far away from a smile. "I do know many people who share my interest in this project who may be of help, so if you're interested, I could share a few names. The end of this scourge is of course a common goal."

Damocles finally sat down, just as the part of his conscience that sounded scarily like Owen a lot of the time began yelling and hopping around. "I don't know that I would use the word scourge, Miss Umbridge. But you are correct otherwise."

"Then you support the freedom of the wild werewolves, as they run about and attack children, including those of your questionable friend Mr Curenton? The savage instincts are naturally to blame," she said in her best sweetly apologetic tone, the one to soothe and smooth disagreements. "You and I and those of the same mind, our aim is to calm or eliminate those instincts."

He thought of Erin and Jeremy, and how he'd brought them up in conversation that day when Owen had come to visit him in his office. "Yes, of course," he said quickly, anything to get the subject closed. "Another matter is test subjects." That was a thin line to walk if Damocles had ever seen one.

"Oh, yes. We should have no trouble with that," Dolores dismissed with a wave of her hand, smiling. "There are many desperate werewolves who would do anything for some relief from the burden of their condition. We had hopes that a deal could be worked out with St. Mungo's, for newly infected werewolves to receive a dose..."

"With compensation and their permission, of course," he added, as though there wouldn't even be a question about that, but he wasn't so sure.

That was not what Dolores Umbridge wanted to hear. "Would there be a question of their permission?" she inquired, at her most innocent. "It would be questionable to not give these new werewolves relief from their condition."

"It's... legality, medical. Giving a medicinal potion, especially an experimental one to someone who hasn't given permission isn't legal. Not to mention ethical. Besides, offering monetary compensation is substantial motivation, and they would have consented. Overall less messy and more agreeable for all parties involved."

"Yes, yes. Once you explain the nature of the treatment, no sane person would choose anything different -- and of course you'd advise them to choose the treatment, as once it's perfected it would be madness to let them leave without it."

"Ideally, yes," he agreed with as congenial a smile as possible. It began to occur to him that there might be no combination of potions ingredients that could calm the wolf in transformation. Not the greatest time for doubt to strike. "We're hoping that constructing the basic potion will be the easy part, refining it will take a little more time. But that was in the first report we composed, so excuse me for repeating myself."

"I just wanted to make absolutely certain that things were going well for this project and that you didn't need any further... funding, or personnel. The Department is more than willing to offer resources for you, as we're most eager to see the results." She smiled at her last words and stood. "Now I have other business to attend to, but I hope you'll keep in contact, Mr Belby!"

He stood as well out of habit -- well, and he also had that possibly illegally-animal-breeding patient to see to. "We shall, certainly. Have a pleasant day."

"The same to you," Dolores conceded, nodding obsequiously and withdrawing from the room in seemingly girlish good spirits.

Damocles released the breath he hadn't realized that he'd been holding and slid down in his chair. Shelly poked her head in the door and cleared her throat. "If you're going to tell me that you tried to tell me, then please save yourself the trouble. Just verbally run me over next time."

"I will do that, thank you, but actually I was coming to tell you that our friend's bite is turning black and purple around the wound," she replied.

"Oh dear, that can't be good news," he said, picking up the file and coming around his desk. Time to get a move on.

~*~

January 1979

Commotion of one sort or another at the pack house was fine with Remus, so long as it didn't concern him. It probably should have, given his supposed status within the pack. He still didn't want it, but apparently you didn't just abdicate within a wolf pack. Still, commotion made it easier to come and go unheeded, or hopefully unheeded, at least. That was his hope when he left for the Order meeting that had been called. The message had come earlier that day, luckily while Remus was alone. He began to wonder when his luck would run out.

There was a small house in the east of England near the sea, so close that you could smell the salt on the breeze. It was here that the Order of the Phoenix convened to discuss their business as a large group when necessary, and it seemed as though everyone was there once Remus arrived. The door let him in when he placed his hand on the latch (a very difficult and advanced form of a sentience enchantment, he understood, the door would only open for Order members; apparently Lily had done it herself). The cosy warmth and dull roar of several people talking at once in pre-meeting conversation hit him at once, and he hung his cloak on the coatrack before entering.

It seemed as though he was indeed the last one to arrive. He gravitated away from where Mundungus Fletcher was trying to sell something that was moving to Gideon Prewett, who shook his head while his brother Fabian poked it eagerly with his finger, and towards where Lily Evans sat on the end of a bench along the wall beside James, who chattered about something to Sirius while Peter listened in. "I hope I've not kept everyone waiting," he greeted her.

"Don't be silly, Remus," she smiled up at him, and then nudged James in the ribs with her elbow. "Move over you lot, Remus is here."

"I told you that we'd -- Moony!" James exclaimed, slinging an arm around his wife before addressing her seriously. "I see him, Lily, no need for fiancé abuse. Haven't seen you in ages, Remus, what's going on?"

"You aren't abused, you big baby." She patted his cheek affectionately and began nudging with her hip instead.

"Yeah, for ages, the couch still has a dent in it, you know -- okay," Sirius said when James began to scoot at Lily's continued insistence. "Thought you'd dropped off the face of the earth."

Sort of wish I had, Remus thought as he dropped onto the end of the bench beside Lily. "I've just been around," he said vaguely. He couldn't bring himself to outright lie, and the truth didn't seem like an option, either. "I'm fine."

Dumbledore finished a short conversation with Alastor Moody and turned to greet the Order of the Phoenix all assembled, from what he could see. "Good evening, all, everyone's here, I see?" he called loudly above the many friendly conversations.

Alice raised her hand to get his attention. "I'm not sure Marlene is here yet, sir," she added, with a glance around to make certain her assessment was correct. "Or Mr Dearborn."

"I'm here, Mrs Longbottom." Caradoc looked rather amused at being overlooked, grinning at the girl's embarrassment and quick apology.

"'swhat you get for skulking," Benjy Fenwick told Caradoc smartly, tipping back on the back two legs of his chair.

The door opened again and slammed shut as the remaining member, Marlene McKinnon burst in. She looked as all eyes turned to her and she said, "Oh sod it, I'm late amn't I? Sorry everyone, Headmaster." She inclined her head as she named each party.

Dumbledore smiled and directed her into the room. As a more serious mood settled over the group, he began to speak. "I believe we are all here now, so let the meeting commence. What progress has been made since our last meeting, what have we learned?"

Frank raised his hand to just get attention before he began to speak. He would not be so insistent, except this had been pressing the back of his brain since the pieces began putting themselves together. "As some of you know, Alice and I have been heading the investigation on the break out of Fenrir Greyback. We've found..." he hesitated, "there is an extensive amount of Death Eater involvement. At least two in MLE and one in the Werewolf Registry, who knows if there were any more, and there's reason to believe that he's still working with the Death Eaters." He looked at Alice if there was something that she had to add.

"It's... been difficult and most of what we have is hints," Alice said honestly, her voice halting. She hated any semblance of speaking in front of an audience of her peers. "But we've concluded that there's likely Death Eaters ... with him. Working with him. Our witness has insinuated as such, that that was their intent in releasing him, and another witness has only led me to believe this is still the truth. Now Greyback's pack doesn't hold substantial power," she added, "so this isn't as bad as it could be, but we might have trouble on our hands in a few years."

"It's been miles of guesswork," Frank admitted, "but very educated guesswork, and it's something that we need to pay attention to before it blows up in our faces."

While Frank and then Alice spoke, Remus was putting together a few pieces of his own. It's Alecto Carrow, she's part of all this. She's the next link in the chain to Greyback. "This is bad," he muttered to himself.

Unfortunately, it was just enough to catch Lily's attention. "What is it, Remus?" she whispered.

He hesitated just a little too long to be convincing. "It's nothing."

"Remus," she said in a tone that he recognised as the tone she'd used when taking points from students, "if you know something, speak up."

James recognised the tone, too. "Hey, Remus, stop talking during class," he joked in an undertone.

Alice caught a glimpse of the conversation and took pause at the realisation that Remus was actually a werewolf right there in the room with them. If he knew something... She shifted, uncomfortable in pointing this sort of thing out right in front of a group even as accepting as this one. "Excuse me?" she asked, instead of anything more intrusive.

This was exactly what he hadn't wanted. He glanced to his friends down the bench, all watching him with the same expectant look at everyone else. With a deep breath he steeled his nerve and began to speak. What were Gryffindors for, anyway? "I could perhaps fill in some of those blanks," he said. "I've -- for awhile I've been living with Greyback's pack and -- there's a witch. She's not a werewolf, she's a Death Eater. Alecto Carrow." The name brought up noises of recognition in some of the younger Order members.

Dumbledore silenced everyone with a wave of his hand. "Has anyone been looking into Alecto Carrow's whereabouts or actions, and can help Remus or Frank and Alice with their missions?" he asked.

"She and her brother are the persuaders," Caradoc spoke up, a bitter tone in his voice. "They brought the giants to You-Know-Who's cause and there's suspicions that they were involved in the shift of the goblins as well. I wouldn't be surprised if Greyback and half his lot already serve You-Know-Who."

"She's -- well, bloody mad," Remus said. "I've never seen her brother at the house, but he has been mentioned so I would assume that he's been there."

"Has a Vow been mentioned?" Frank broke in.

Remus racked his brain and then shook his head slowly. "No, nothing."

"A Vow?" Dorcas Meadowes balked in going on, not entirely certain if her instinct in this was right. "You don't mean an Unbreakable Vow, do you? You mean we have a chance to stop him?"

"I'm afraid I don't know what you mean," Alice responded, her tone cool. "Yes, it is an Unbreakable Vow, and yes, we know the terms. But using this information for anything more than what we have would be unethical."

"Alice is absolutely right," Frank said.

"Oh yeah, because mass genocide is so ethical, Death Eaters are very worried about that," Benjy said. "Kill the bastards before they kill you, what sort of soft Quaffle game are you playing?"

"The one where I can look at myself in the mirror in the morning," he replied dryly. "We can't use that information for that sort of resolution."

"I think," Remus interrupted, "that it hasn't been expedient for Fenrir to try and break his Vow, yet. They haven't asked him to do anything that compromises the pack or that he wouldn't do otherwise." The wolf was balking, and it was giving him a headache.

James sent a look of disbelief at Remus -- their Moony wasn't this secretive or this accepting of monsters like Greyback. "So why can't you make him break it? You're smart, you could talk him into it."

"No one is making Greyback break that Vow," Alice said in her loudest, most commanding voice. "It's underhanded and unethical to murder someone in that fashion -- in any fashion." We would be as bad as them.

Short of the Death Eaters, there was nobody who made Fenrir Greyback do anything, least of all Remus. The power that the tie gave Greyback over Remus could be affected in the opposite direction, wolves did it all the time with each other with varying degrees of effectiveness, but the imperium Fenrir held trumped all. "It's not a matter of trickery, James," Remus said, and looked away.

"Well, that's bloody peachy, we've got a very dangerous werewolf bound to Death Eaters on pain of death, what's next?" Sirius asked rhetorically.

Questions of Remus's motives aside, there were other things to address. Alice forced herself to be calm, Aurorly, and focused on Remus. "Where is Greyback living?" she asked, firmly kind. Whatever reason he had to be there, he was there, and that was further than she and Frank were after all this time. "Where is Greyback?"

Remus was sure that Alice didn't mean to make him feel like he was on trial. She was rather nice, as far as he could tell a decent human being, and a top notch Auror on top of all that, but he felt like he was about to go on a witness stand in his own defence. He forced the words out of his mouth, tripping over his tongue as they went. "I -- I can't say."

"Why not?" James asked too loudly considering his proximity to his friend, suspicion tingeing the words. "Maybe they can do something about him if they know."

"Get off him, Potter, he's not a Death Eater," Dorcas cut in. "Headmaster -- "

"Does anyone have anything further to say on the subject of werewolves, Carrows, or Fenrir Greyback?" Dumbledore said, with a nod towards Dorcas.

"The Carrow bitch spat in my NEWT potion at the practical exam," Benjy muttered.

"I think what Benjy means to say is no, Headmaster, we're finished," Marlene interpreted without even looking up from where she was taking notes on the meeting in one dead language or another - or, supposedly dead.

When Dumbledore nodded to him, Moody gave his wooden leg a thump loud enough to catch the attention of the group and went on to gruffly speak. "There's a Dementor loose on the edge of a Muggle city, any volunteers to clean it up before it gets worse?" He sent a challenging look to the group.

Alice took Frank's hand and squeezed it, sending a smile his way and a more focused look on Remus Lupin, the new witness to break. If anyone could do it, they could. For now, there were other concerns outside of their current case, a detail sometimes easy to miss as an Auror.

~*~

March 1979

Morning crept up quietly on the house of the Greyback pack. Few of the werewolves woke until the morning was bright, but Fenrir was both an early waker by nature and a vigilant Father by instinct. Conor had never been lazy, no bastard pack leader could ever be called that, so it hardly surprised Fenrir to find him awake in the empty common room, staring at the vision of the sunlight in the hills.

"A coincidence to find a refuge this remarkable while a fugitive," Conor said, without turning to face the younger pack leader.

"It's nothing." Aesthetics and scenery were a waste of time. Fenrir approached him without hesitation, unimpressed by the whimsy Conor was displaying. The old man got softer every year. "This is my pack's house, I've never had to move, and I never will. Our house is safe."

"Thanks to the witch, I'm sure." Conor spoke softly, still not facing Fenrir. It was best to speak to him at times like this, when he was simply Fenrir, the werewolf and friend Conor had known for the past eleven years, not Fenrir Greyback, the fugitive and Death Eater ally. He wasn't so bloodthirsty on one-on-one terms, without his women whispering plots and bloody inspirations into his ear.

Fenrir remained unimpressed, taking a seat beside Conor on the floor. "You can't tell me you wouldn't do the same to protect your precious pack. Fight wizards with wizards. And when they win this war..."

Conor turned his head to look at Fenrir at last. "When they win this war? When did you gain an interest in the affairs of wizards? It hardly matters who wins any of their wars, because no sides are on our side."

Fenrir's wolf refused to accept the insult and his ego was more than willing to accept that as an excuse to fight. "None of us have ever promised to make ourselves useful," he defended. "We have to make sacrifices to make progress, Conor, how far have we come in all this isolation of ours? Nothing! We gain nothing! We cower in fear -- "

"So instead of cowering in fear, we cower in servitude, making concessions for the sake of the entire race?" Conor grew exasperated, rude, spoke in razor tones. The hypocrisy was blatant and yet Fenrir was blind to it. Do something, his wolf urged in its usual impatient way, and for once he heeded it. "Isolation might not be working, but cooperation never has!"

Of course, now his pack brother's true opinions came out, what Fenrir knew the other man was thinking the entire time. "I am no wizard's servant," he spat in order not to yell and wake his werewolves. "We stand side by side, you've seen the witch and her devotion to us, unlike any of the wizards or witches before -- "

"They'll throw you aside like every wizard has thrown us aside," Conor said. He glanced back to the beautiful scene outside, but even that couldn't distract his mind from the ugly truth now being revealed. The wolf wanted to run, but from the restlessness of being caged, not the fear of death. Soon enough, he would be home. "You're a fool to think otherwise. Maybe your precious witch cares for this pack alone, but wizards will never understand or consider us equals. The Dark Lord doesn't want you."

"On the contrary," a third voice cut in. Fenrir's head snapped in the direction of Alecto's voice to see her standing there, gaunt and nearly entirely depleted of her usual wicked energy. "The Dark Lord wants you now," Alecto went on. Her fingers jerked as her hand clenched more tightly over her left forearm. "He's called me and He wants you to come with me. Now."

"Now," Fenrir repeated, his eyes meeting Conor's for a single second before he looked back to the witch with slight amusement. "What if I say no? I have my own business to take care of."

Alecto showed no amusement at the apparent joke but just set her jaw. No jokes, no flirting, no affection in these times, it seemed. "You refuse, you die. Your orders are clear. Come with me, Fenrir."

"Your orders are clear, Fenrir," Conor said under his breath, giving his head a disbelieving shake. When Fenrir sent him a warning look, Conor's wolf flared and he gave Fenrir a light shove that might once have been brotherly. "Your master calls for his dog."

Fenrir stalked away from him and towards Alecto, yanking her hand away from its grip on her arm. "What are you whimpering at? You're always bragging about your scars -- " She let her hand fall and he finally saw the Dark Mark black, livid, angry on her arm. He stared at it, all insults driven from his mind.

"His call," Alecto said, with an indication that this was nothing new. "Until you began this little spat, Fenrir, He didn't question my loyalty or yours, but now His eye is on you. You had better please Him."

"Take me there," Fenrir snapped with a harshness born of fear and the wolf's anxious edge. "Take me there with your magic, witch, make yourself useful for once."

Alecto let her hand rest on his arm, and he tried to catch her eyes at the familiar touch, but she didn't respond. He opened his mouth to speak but then found himself thrown into the damp darkness of the witch's magic -- Apparation -- and their arrival into a room that was too bright after that dark place of transit. "Is that Fenrir Greyback, the werewolf who's served me so graciously these past years?" a high voice questioned.

"It is, my Lord." Alecto removed her hand from him and strode out to kneel, cower before her master. Fenrir set his eyes directly on the creature, a half-man with white skin and strange eyes, long fingers and a thin body. What monster had these wizards pledged themselves to, what sort of creature had Fenrir had pledged his life and faithful service to? "This is Fenrir Greyback, your faithful servant, who will soon deliver the entire race of werewolves to your service."

Fenrir averted his eyes from the Dark Lord at this with an angry start at her words, her self-serving words. Betrayal, the wolf knew that bitter taste. Of course her words had all been the true bewitchment, the promise of an equal alliance, and all she wanted was to deliver a trophy to her leader. "In return for -- " he began in a snarl that made men cower, but Alecto shot him a frantic, angry glare that struck him dumb.

The Dark Lord seemed unaffected by either of his servants' words, set upon getting his own purpose across now that introductions were done and the stage was set. "You think of me as a monster, Fenrir Greyback, but I am your Lord, and disobeying me will mean your death," the man said, his thin hand raising in a gesture of how easily that could be done. "I am immortal. I am a god, werewolf, I am your god. Kneel."

It was an order. He could not disobey, not with this wizard creature who could see into his head and kill him without a second thought. The wolf resented it, screaming and struggling all the while, but Fenrir fell to his knees beside Alecto, hair hanging in his face and brushing the stubble of his cheek. This was no wizarding father who could shout all he liked about obey me, Jacob, I am your father and you will respect me, this was no Greyback, the leader who disciplined out of love for his pack, this was a god, terrible and full of wrath. "My Lord," he said.

"You call me a monster?" the Dark Lord said with an amused sneer. "I mean to cleanse the world of those who are inferior. Weak. I am no monster, Greyback. My Death Eaters call you a monster, a half-breed. Personally, I think you're an animal, just like the rest of your kind."

Dangerous creatures, Just like Alexander Lupin. Animals, as dangerous as chimaeras. "We're definitely not wizards, my Lord, I can say that much," Fenrir said as loudly as he dared or even could with his head bowed in such discomfort, the wolf snarling and rippling along his mind to tear Alecto and this supposed god to shreds.

The Dark Lord's laugh came again, thin and high and chill-inducing. "You think we are beneath you?" he said. "You think you can defeat the wizards. We'll see about that. You serve me and do what I tell you, and my Death Eaters will offer you protection. You will rule your fellow animals, and be my pet." There was a pause. "You find this amusing, Alecto?"

"Not at all, my Lord, I take your honoured pet very seriously."

The Dark Lord gave a scoff and gestured violently. "Stand, Fenrir Greyback, and approach me!" He continued to speak as Fenrir got to his feet and took the steps, dragging his feet all the way. "You've served my purpose, but on pain of death. Today we make an agreement."

Fenrir stared at the bony chest of the Dark Lord, his new god and master, a direct refusal (or fear?) to meet the eyes that could see right into his thoughts. "Yes, my Lord," he said, toneless to promise no real allegiance to this half-man. His allegiance was to his Father and his race only. "I'll do as you order and Alecto will keep the wizards out of my way."

The Dark Lord made an amused sound and suddenly Fenrir hit his knees as a conscious like the Dark Lord's long fingers reached into his head and the wolf fought. He jerked on the floor, barely recognising his fingernails gripping into the carpeting. Stop, the wolf snarled. Out, out, OUT!

"Animals," the Dark Lord muttered. "Truer than I thought."

Remus. He's mine. Laurel sobbing helplessly into his shoulder as Greyback mended her wounds. Blood in Erin Curenton's fair hair. He's Amycus. I'm Alecto.

God but it hurt, it hurt, and he had forgotten how it was to have no control at all --

Let your Father in, like a good son.

"That's right, Greyback. Let your Father in."

"No," Fenrir hissed into the carpeting. Anything but that. His allegiance was to his Father and his race only. "No."

His Father. No. Now he could see him and hear him and so could the monster whose wand was raised right in front of him. Once our numbers are enough, Fenrir, we can overcome them. Their wands will do them no good. All we have to do is infect, gather, and wait. The unified pack will be the salvation of werewolves --

"Ah."

And just like that, he was free. He panted and fell to the floor in a heap when the Dark Lord released him, and the wolf took control and comfort until Alecto's hands were on him again.

"You are my wolf, Fenrir Greyback, and your ambitions had best not get in the way of that. Alecto, take him away."

He was being dragged from the room like a child; the wolf held full control still and stared through his eyes at the witch who dared to mother it, but Alecto only released him when they were in a dim corridor. "It gets better," she said offhand, dropping to a crouch beside him. "You get used to it."

"What does this mean," Fenrir breathed to her as he gained control once more, the pain, confusion and humiliation still aching deep in his bones.

She sat beside him and pressed a cold hand to his cheek. "It means that the legendary Fenrir Greyback," she began in her usual sing-song, "has now been collared, and the Dark Lord has him at His beck and call."

He licked his lips, tilted his head back, and thought about it. "It's for the best," he said after thinking about his Father for a long moment. He would have approved of this. This was the natural progression of things and Fenrir was the only one who could do it. Though he was collared, it was for the best, and fuck Conor and his happy, comfortable sense of Pack if he meant to get in the way of Fenrir Greyback, the Dark Lord's pet wolf.

"That's what I say." Alecto shared a faint, unhappy smile, then leaned to kiss him. He pulled her into a kiss as eager and determined as he had once felt, and only released her from this re-energised moment when he regained full control.

Alecto chattered on as though nothing had changed since their last comfortable moment, and it was a dark instant of transit before he saw the sun high over the hills at his pack's house in Wales. Aesthetics were a waste, he reminded himself, and there were things to do. Fenrir walked loudly up the steps like the confident leader he was, the destined leader of all packs, and flung open the door of his home.