Fathers and Sons

Fathers and Sons

Chapter 11: Lamp of the Wicked

For some of us there came a point when we realised that the lives we were living, with the constant fear, anxiety, and impending sense of doom... it wasn't normal. There were billions of people out there in the world living without fear, some of them your own neighbours. When you realised that you were stuck in a war, and they all knew nothing of it, it made you feel cheated. Bitter. Lonely, even. And sometimes --sometimes -- you just had to wonder if the bloodshed would never end. Stewart Cauldwell, A Shadow Cast By Green Light: A Wartime Memoir, 1984.

May 1979

Things were tense in the house of Conor's Pack, but at least they were quiet. Everyone was uneasy, but at least they were reassured that their Father had a plan and would be back soon enough to enforce it. For now, the combined efforts of Geoffrey, Briony, and Jane to keep the pack at ease were successful. Geoffrey hadn't expected to have a peaceful night with Melinda, but here he was, with his girl tucked close to his chest in his narrow bed. As his eyes drifted shut in sleep he only vaguely recognised the sound of the window opening.

The intruder ripped the blanket off of them and Melinda shrieked, her wolf in a panic and clinging to its Father; Geoffrey pushed her out of the way and got out a shout of "SOMEONE DOWN HERE, NOW!" before being choked into silence, scrabbling for some sort of hold on the attacker while being pinned to the hardwood floor. In the darkness Geoffrey didn't recognise the face above him with lank hair hanging in its face, or the blank expression adorning it, but he did recognise the other werewolf's intent. "Die," the young man said, and pain burst before his eyes. He jerked and clawed but even the worst wounds he could inflict didn't seem to spare him a moment's relief.

Briony was half-asleep in her own bed when she heard Geoffrey yelling and rather felt the terror, her heart speeding up almost immediately. She jumped out of bed and ran into the hallway, nearly colliding with Jane. "Stay back, keep that thing ready," she said, nodding to the wand clenched in the other girl's hand. Without waiting another second, she pushed against the door and let it burst open.

As fast as her heart had been beating, it stopped when she saw the intruder that had Geoffrey at his non-existent mercy. She blocked out the pain and fear she could feel vibrating in the air of the room itself. "NO," she shrieked and jumped on the only vulnerable part of Wesley, his back. She held on for dear life, scratching and pulling on his hair, anything that would get him away from Geoffrey.

Wesley fought her off with the single-minded determination of a servant hell-bent to do his duty, trying to get back to his prey, who still choked and gasped despite being freed. "Off of me," he grunted, elbowing and shoving her off of his back to the ground, doing his best to incapacitate her. "He's dead, Briony," he spoke loudly over his attack. "Dead."

No, he wasn't. She could hear him breathing (trying to breathe?) over the ringing in her ears. She kicked and lashed out with her hands, grabbing a hold of his arm and intending to pull him down with her, but she wound up pulled back to her feet instead. He was too strong. "You are not touching him again as long as I have any life left in me," she shot back harshly.

Wesley considered that and said mildly, "All right," only to grab her by the collar to pull her closer and sink his teeth into the weakest part of her neck as hard as he could. If a living Briony was going to get in his way, a dead one would clear the way to the one he was meant to kill.

Briony yelped and reflexively tried to back away, but she was suddenly acutely aware of exactly what kind of trouble she was in. Fingers clawed into her clothing, teeth in her neck, frozen on her tiptoes. One drip of blood spurred her into action, scratching any place she could reach and shouting nonsensical things, twisting like a rodent caught in the jaws of a snake all the while.

Wesley just shoved her away to let her bleed and went back after the male only to see that he was dying, near dead, bruises rising around his neck and blood blooming on his lips. The window was still open and he scrambled for it, willing to harm himself, to reach the pack scratched to ribbons only to return with news of success.

As quickly as it had all started, it was over, and she was on the floor, dumbfounded. He bit my neck. She touched it gingerly, wincing, and was drawn out of her shock by the sound of choking. "Geoff," she realised slowly, and sat up, regaining her bearings. "Geoff!" she added, more urgently when no answer came, scrambling over to him.

Though his wolf was panicking, Geoffrey's head was too light and thoughts too disjointed to even acknowledge its fear. Breathing was a challenge enough, and it struck him out of nowhere, too late: I'm going to die. He closed his eyes as the wolf said, Yes, you are. He heard Briony speaking, her wolf reaching out to touch his, and opened his eyes again, attempting to speak -- there were orders to give -- but it hurt, god, it hurt.

She could feel him slipping away. "No," she said through clenched teeth. Her wolf accepted it immediately; it was the way things were. But Briony was not willing to part with her brother, her closest friend. "You're not allowed, Geoff. You're not."

He reached for her hand and caught her fingers, tangling his fingers with hers, feeling too cold and distant to find any other way to say I love you and I'm sorry. He took a last grasp of strength to squeeze her hand and then he felt himself beginning to choke.

Briony squeezed his fingers back and laid her head on his chest. "It's okay," she murmured, trying to comfort him, touching wolves and keeping calmer than she actually felt.

The terror of death, of leaving her and the pack alone, lessened at that, and Geoffrey held onto her hand until he couldn't anymore. His grip on her hand loosened, slackened, and the wolf accepted the pain. He closed his eyes and just let go, leaving it to her.

She remained there until she could no longer hear his heart beat and there were no more attempts at breathing. He was gone. She swallowed all of her own hurt and anger to back away, placing his hand respectfully on his chest. She'd forgotten they weren't alone in the room until a short sob came from the corner, and she looked up. "Melinda."

At the sound of the first's voice, Melinda looked up without hesitation, immediately swallowing her tears. She averted her eyes from the other girl's face, and managed to stand though her knees felt like liquid. Her gaze fixed upon her dead lover and she froze like prey, unable to look away even if the first of the pack was looking right at her.

She couldn't stand to be in the room anymore. She jumped up and turned to the door, seeing Jane with a similar look on her face to what Melinda had, although she looked to Briony. "Bri," she said slowly.

"He's dead," she blurted out.

"Yeah," Jane replied quietly. "But... you're bleeding, come on -- "

"It's fine, it's nothing," Briony interrupted her, but touched the bite. Blood still trickled on her neck, and she was sure there would be a scar. A constant reminder of this awful night. "That was Wesley. A... a monster, but now at least Fenrir's intentions are clear. I -- damnit, I'll have to go see Conor." She squeezed her eyes shut against her racing thoughts.

"We'll figure it out," Jane promised calmly.

"We will," she said, and moved past her, into the hallway. "Come on. We have decisions to make."

~*~

Briony's trip back to Fenrir's was worse than her trip home. She was exhausted and walking back into the lion's den. Who knew what had happened? If Wesley had been sent to kill Geoffrey, then maybe they'd killed Conor. And then she would be next, and they would take the pack. She tried to not concentrate on that part, and instead tried to think about how she was going to break the news of Geoffrey's death to Conor. No matter how she rehearsed it, there was no way to make it palatable.

She stopped not thirty feet from the door, fear overwhelming her. She did not want to knock on that door. Instead, she looked at the windows and hoped to see her Father. She reached out the best she could and waited for a flicker of recognition from him. When there was one, she waved, beckoning him outside. Please, come out.

Conor looked out to see Briony standing outside of the window, but any comfort her presence brought was tempered with the possibilities of why she'd returned. He didn't even close his stilted conversation with Fenrir's second, Wesley, and simply left the house to greet her. He first looked her over, appraising her recovery, but when the wolf reached out to hers, he knew something was further wrong. "What happened?" he asked.

She took a small bit of comfort that he asked, and that he could ask, rather than having to simply say it. "Geoffrey -- he's dead, Conor."

At his own pack, his instinct as Father would have been to comfort her, but so much time with Fenrir's pack left its mark. His instinct as pack leader won out, and he seized upon their connection to force an answer out even before he asked. "Who killed him?" was all he could manage to get out past the fury, the despair. God. Geoffrey was dead. His son, his heir was dead.

"Wesley," she answered in a panicked rush before he'd even finished his question. The connection was stretched to the limit, almost painful in its ferocity and she felt the flush of anxiety creeping up her neck. "He came in the night, and -- " She cut herself off, swallowing how much it hurt to think about it.

Conor shot an immediate look to the window, where Wesley still lingered in the same spot, now surrounded by the children of the Pack. "Wesley," he said, his voice ragged, and his grief combined with hers sent him into a rage. He couldn't just handle it, not now, and he threw a punch at the nearest thing, a post. Anything to keep from being sick, or doing the most practical thing, rushing in and declaring war, to avoid all that meant. "What ... did he say? What did he say, if anything?"

Briony cringed and closed her eyes before she could see the punch connect. She shook her head. "Nothing. He just said he was dead and he..." Her fingers grazed the place where his teeth had made their mark, and she shook her head again. "Nothing."

"But did Fenrir order him to do it?" he demanded, too loudly, and the buzz of conversation inside the house halted for a minute. "Did he?" He leaned on the post, exhausted, aching, and wanting more than anything to return home to his own pack. "Wait here."

She didn't want him to go back in there. Not alone. But she was not moving. "Yes," she replied quietly, taking deep breaths.

A minute passed, while Conor stared at the door and flexed his hand, and he finally looked Briony in the face for the first time since she delivered the news. "No. You come with me. Be prepared to fight, who knows what tactics they may resort to after this." He drew her close, gentle to almost apologise for the earlier onslaught.

Briony nodded. "All right. I'm ready."

"I hope you are." Conor released her and entered the house without hesitation, speaking loudly with a flourish as he entered the busy common room full of eating werewolves. "Fenrir, Fenrir Greyback," he began as he spotted the pack leader in the corner, approaching him, "whatever it is you're calling yourself to soothe your ego. We need to have a talk." He slowed a few steps away from Fenrir as he spoke: "A nice, long talk."

Fenrir first looked to Wesley who appeared beside him in an instant, always the vigilant guard and faithful warrior. Only then did he look to Conor. "Do we? Well, I like a good chat as much as anyone, brother," he said with a mild, toothy smile. "Oh, your first is back, welcome," he added, greeting Briony with warmth.

"Hi," she said coldly with no real salutation to her greeting, focusing instead on Wesley.

Conor ignored Fenrir's smug posturing, instead noticing Briony's attention, and gave Wesley a scrutinising look. A werewolf with few scars who was a fighter nonetheless, a loyal second outranked by a newly-returned first. "I demand a death for the death of my second, Geoffrey. He was my heir, so I could take your first, but he was also my second, so I could also accept the death of his murderer."

Fenrir continued to eat, seemingly unfazed and unimpressed by Conor's bold words. "Wesley, did you kill Geoffrey?" he asked his second casually after swallowing a mouthful of meat.

Wesley gave a quick nod, his hands at rest near his knives as always without a task or food to occupy them. He looked only at his Father. "If that was his name, the ginger-haired boy, he was dead or dying when I left him."

"You came to kill him," Briony shot back with a heavy glare.

"And he succeeded. Good." Fenrir made an impatient gesture for Laurel to stop lurking behind Briony. "We're ready for war unless you'd like to surrender," he said to Conor, nonchalant. "The Dark Lord will be merciful to those who submit. Those who don't will get what they deserve."

"You survived," Wesley noted, now staring at Briony, his hands clenching white at his sides. They released, his hands grew warm, and he smiled at her, his gaze over her shoulder at Laurel. "You're the first, you should have died, but you don't matter, you're just a girl."

"Wesley, you two can continue this somewhere else, can't you?" Fenrir cut in with some irritation. "Kill her if you must, she'll die along with the rest at some point in the war."

"With his hands or with a wand, Fenrir?" Conor snapped off, also eager to get the bloody war talk on. What did Fenrir think he was doing? "Should I expect Death Eaters to come out of the closets and slaughter the pair of us so you're free to take all of my werewolves and collar them for the Dark Lord as well?"

Laurel sent an impatient gesture at Wesley, caught the knife he tossed to her in a practised motion, and held the knife to Briony's throat. "We can make it quick," she whispered to the other girl.

"Oh, clever. Can't we give it a rest on my neck?" Briony snapped, annoyed and plenty frightened but still unwilling to try any sudden movement. Instead, she looked at Conor. We are in trouble.

Laurel pressed the knife closer to the first's throat. "Fenrir, can I kill her?" she asked keenly, leaning to look directly at her beloved Father if he gave the order.

Fenrir looked to Conor, who was staring hard at him, and said, "Not now. She's more useful alive. Conor will do anything for his little Briony." He walked past Conor to speak directly to Briony. "And doesn't he, every night, repay you for your obedience?" He leaned over Briony's shoulder to steal a kiss from an expectantly thrilled Laurel.

Briony honestly felt as though she were going to be ill, if not from the insinuation then definitely from their proximity. "Not all of us have to open our legs to feel cared for," she snapped.

"There's nothing wrong with loving your Father," Laurel scoffed. She withdrew the knife with an eyeroll, tossing it to Wesley again.

"You've made war unavoidable." Conor spoke rapidly, out of nerves and to get that subject out of the way, in hopes that it would be quickly forgotten in favour of the threat of war. "You attack, you bait me constantly, you kill my heir and then threaten to kill my first, Fenrir, if it's war you want it's war you get, I only ask that you fight as a werewolf and not as a pet -- "

" -- War is war," Fenrir interrupted with a smile far too wicked for any topic this serious. "No rules in any fight, not in Greyback's pack, you must remember, bastard that you were. And war will be war until all submit to me as they should. Submit and your precious pack is safe."

"Let's go, Conor. All they want is a fight." Briony backed away from where she was still trapped between Fenrir and Laurel. Her skin crawled when she looked at everyone - she wanted out.

Conor couldn't find even a fraction of the Fenrir he had once known in the man that now stood before him. "You don't deserve to use your Father's name." His voice remained low, controlled, civil. "Call yourself whatever you please but don't insult the memory of your Father that way. He knew where to draw the line."

All civility and pleasantries ended there for Fenrir. "I inherited this pack rightfully and it's not your place to question that," Fenrir snarled, "you and your pack are rightfully mine, Conor, you and your bastard pack are separate thanks to my mercy."

"War it is," Conor said quietly. "Reclaim us if it's as you bawl at us now and we're truly yours. If I win, this pack of yours may finally get the leadership it deserves." He seized Briony by the arm and began to pull her out from this house and away from these werewolves, and hopefully, from this war.

"Protect your children, Conor, they won't be yours for much longer," Fenrir shouted after him.

Briony hardly needed dragging away from that house. They were across the grass and far enough way that the wolf presences of Fenrir's pack faded before she spoke. "I don't believe him," she seethed.

Conor continued to lead her along, his eyes on the horizon and his mind far from her words. "It's unbelievable, all right," he said, grim as though Death lingered right over their shoulders. "Now it's time to go home."

She exhaled steadily, and briefly touched his wolf with hers. Home. "They're all waiting for you," she said.

~*~

July 1979

Julia had undoubtedly never been so happy in all her life. She could say this without any reservation, because she would never again have to see Isabelle Davis or any of her hags again. They would never again do anything in her presence, be it eat, sleep, giggle, or slather more cosmetics on their already done-up faces, and that was a great thing. It was, in her opinion, the very best part of being out of school forever. No more playing Quidditch bummed her out (she was nowhere near as good as Gilly was, who already had tryouts lined up), but it was well worth the price.

Of course, another upside would be getting to see Jeremy more often than holidays from school and the occasional predetermined Hogsmeade weekend when he could get out from under the watchful eye of his parents. Hopefully, anyway. Unlike the visit nearly two years previous, she owled ahead of her arrival, and was going to Apparate. She liked Apparating, it was fast, clean, and less likely to end with her hitting her head on a locked grate. Not that she blamed his mother at all, but that did not change the fact that it had hurt.

Before she had so much as seen a member of her family for a hello, she slung her camera bag over a shoulder (landscape around the house and the Den was beautiful, she'd not managed to take a single picture yet), and Disapparated, reappearing only seconds later in the semi-familiar landscape near the house. There were wards, but they were considerably weaker than they once were. Maybe they'd finally relaxed security a little? She resolved not to think anymore about it and approached the front door of the house, deciding to take the chance that he was there rather than at the Den. She raised herself on her tiptoes, straining to see in the small window along the top of the door.

Jeremy was well aware of what day it was, and that this date was the day when Julia was coming over, but he hadn't exactly correlated the two yet in his own head. A year now he'd been waiting for Julia to be out of school and free to see him whenever, so a congratulatory snog was definitely in order. There was also his new plan and purpose, one he didn't dare tell his mother and was holding off telling his father about until he could create a proper manifesto, and someone had to hear it. It was important.

Now that he thought about it, she probably wouldn't be very interested in it: mostly a series of notes, paragraphs here and there, but largely unorganised details on a long roll of parchment, with diagrams, scribbles, all about the packs and their politics. After an interview here and a discussion there, a trip to Ben Skoll's pack and then another and another, it had escalated from curiosity into obsession. Even if he would never have a pack, he was going to understand it.

And so he found himself buried in his notes, slumped in his bed in a pair of torn and unimpressive old robes, when his mother stuck her head in his doorway and said, in a frankly unimpressed tone, "Your girlfriend is looking to get inside, if you'd like to greet her. I'm busy with the laundry."

Jeremy could only blink at her. "But. Mum, it's. Are you sure? It's -- " He paused, the realisation finally sinking in. "Oh."

Brighid snorted at the familiar expression on his face; by God, her son acted more like his father every day. "Yes, that's right, now go get her!" She smiled fleetingly as he threw aside the scroll and elbowed past her, only then returning to her laundry.

He opened the door and (though he had hoped for something impressive or smooth) just ended up grinning at the sight of her. "Hey, I was expecting you in the grate," he teased.

"I know better to come in that way, remember what happened last time? I thought I would expire on your mother's kitchen floor," she replied, unable to keep a grin off her face. Completely unrestrained in that moment, she threw her arms around him.

"Glad you didn't," he laughed, pulling her close. He shut the door with a casual kick and kissed her at the first instant he could.

She followed that guidance, idiotic smile on her face all the while. Yes, maybe this was the best part of being out of school, never seeing those harpies again a close second. She broke the kiss when air became more important, and pulled back only slightly. "Well hi," she said belatedly.

"Hi. All right, so we can stand here and I can snog you senseless, or I can give you your present." Option #1 was winning for him, but he was willing to go with Option #2, because then they'd end up in his bedroom. "I suppose your third option is we go up to the Den and you kick my arse at football but I like my ego too much to allow that again."

"If you were better, I wouldn't have to kick your arse," she said innocently, unable to help herself. "And of course I'd like my present, what am I, daft?"

"Somehow I knew that'd get you. You girls and your affinity for presents... it's in my room, come on, I swear it's not even a total rubbish heap like you'd think." Jeremy took her hand lightly and headed down the corridor. Back at Hogwarts, he'd had the only clean bed, but that wasn't saying much... maybe that was why he'd received prefect?

"Well, you certainly can't blame me. And even mentioning it makes me curious and unable to concentrate on anything else," she said, readjusting her bag which had fallen off her shoulder since her arrival. "If you hadn't even mentioned it, we could be back in the foyer."

"Yeah, too bad, now I'll just have you in my bedroom," he said glibly, with a quick check for his mum's presence before he pulled Julia into his room. "For whatever nefarious boyfriendly purposes I'd want you here for," he added, though clearly his intentions weren't that impure, as he went immediately into the chest of drawers beside the bed.

"Do I need to close my eyes to be surprised? Is it wrapped? Is it smaller than a breadbox?" she teasingly pestered him.

"Oh, stop being such a killjoy, here I'm trying to be thoughtful and romantic," he sighed, and raised the gift in triumph upon finding it, then quickly withdrew it from her sight. "Right, so there's a story behind this, so bear with me, right?"

Julia tried to wipe the Yes, I Am Laughing At You smile off her face, but had absolutely no luck - quite pleased, but at least trying to hide it behind amusement. "All right, I'm listening."

"Keep laughing and I'll keep this for myself, you know, and we'll count another round of snogging as your gift." Even he couldn't keep a straight face at that.

She laughed and then covered it with a cough, going as somber as she could let herself. "All right. Totally serious and listening completely," she said.

He couldn't even manage a serious expression at this, but palmed the gift again and took a seat on his bed. "All right, so, picture summer of 1975, the Quidditch pitch at Bangor, big pro match. Caerphilly and Tutshill. I had two Galleons down on the match, and of course I won," he added with a smug nod to his own skills, "but more importantly, that day, I got the first ten signatures on this thing." He tapped it with his wand and tossed the now full-sized Quaffle, covered with signatures, at her. "Long story short, it's not too hard to get past a cadre of bodyguards if you time it right. Fifty-two signatures."

She reflexively reached out to catch the Quaffle with her dominant hand and simply stood stunned and half-listened while he completed his tale. Turning it over, she read some of the names -- some of them she wasn't even sure that she recognized. There was no doubt, though, a lot of work certainly had gone into this. "I don't -- seriously?" she asked incredulously, glancing up at him.

Jeremy shrugged. "I'm done with it, I can't fit any more on there. Maybe between Ludo and Broadmoor there," he squinted and pointed at the area near her right pinky finger, "but it's a long shot. No, I figure I should pass it on to another fan who can really appreciate it." That, and too many memories of Erin, who'd put in more than half the work by being cute or distracting or her exasperated huff as he talked her into it. He didn't need reminders. Her silent and dusty room, still packed into boxes, was enough of one.

"I'll get Gilly to sign it once she gets a team to sign her. I'll make her fit it on there," she said, tossing it in the air experimentally. Dammit, she really missed playing already. She looked back to him, and smiled. "Thanks. This really is amazing. I think you've also given me a gift-giving complex." Without further words, she leaned over and kissed him thank you.

Just like that his mind was right on track. "Yeah, that was my goal," he said dryly, and stood. "So, ah, what now?" He noticed the parchment holding his notes on the floor and snatched it up, returning it to its spot by his bed. "Why did you bring your camera?"

"Because it is attached to me at the hip. That, and since it's actually quite beautiful around here this time of year I thought maybe I could take some landscape photos before I went home. But of course if you're intent on having me in your bedroom, I can see that not happening. What d'you have there?" she asked without missing a beat.

He looked confused for a moment before catching on and picking up the scroll. "Oh, yeah. Er, I'm doing some research. Werewolf stuff. Politics, family tree sorts of things, it's... not much, really. Boring. Though I did some illegal stuff to get it." He ran a finger along the well-worn edge, gaining an absorbed sort of look. "Might write a book of my own."

"Yeah, maybe you should," she said, slinging her bag on the bedpost, setting the Quaffle on the floor, and lighting on the nearest space she could find, at the foot of the bed. "I mean, that might turn out great. Or at least interesting... what sort of things?"

He sat again, unrolling the parchment in a practised movement. "It's not very organised, but at least I can read it and that's all that matters." He touched the area where a sprawl of lines showed the pack leaders and the descent of inheritance of the packs of Britain. "It's not complete. At all. Here's the sort of family tree I'm working on, all the packs are at least vaguely related... the marks by the pack leaders lead up to as much information as I could gather on the leader and their pack, and then over here there's the breakdown of political views. A lot of this is hearsay and I have to go straight to the packs to find out if anything's true, but it's a lot of fun."

She strained to look at it, upside down as it was, but she wasn't sure that it would have made any more sense if she had been looking at it right side up. "This is an amazing piece of work," she said, unable to deny that fact. She read some of the names in Jeremy's quick handwriting, tracing a line that ended abruptly. "You... you just go? They let you? This is something new."

"Well... no." Jeremy focused on his notes on Ben rather than that part. Individualised ideas, female inheritance, leadership by merit, it said. Very appropriate. "Ever since I was nearly kidnapped and killed, they're not big on me running off, but it's not as though that's ever stopped me."

"Oh right, I do remember you mentioning that." She also remembered being ever so slightly more than worried and having to get Potions notes from someone else. Driven to distraction, her? Not at all. She gave a quirky smile and reached up to touch his temple, where she knew he bore a scar from the experience. "This book thing, with the packs and all, I think you should do it."

Though he shouldn't have been surprised, he was, and directed the conversation in a different tangent. "There's something going on," he said, voice dropping a little. "Here, in the Greyback pack -- " he turned the family tree so she could see -- "there's something going on in this side of the line and it's disturbing everything else. Not many of the werewolves will talk to me but of the few who will, they say either this pack leader, Conor, is dead, or there's some sort of war." He released a short breath, gaze flicking to the line of vague werewolf laws he had dared to write down. "Either way, I'm betting Fenrir Greyback has better things to do than chase me around. So I'm going to do it, though they'll all hate me for it."

Julia looked at the family tree and listened as he continued to talk. She glanced up once he'd finished. "I really hope so," she said. "Because... I mean, I know that you're going to do what you're going to do and I don't want to be just another person saying you can't or whatever but it's pretty obvious he plays for keeps, Jeremy." She didn't realize what was going to come out of her mouth or how it sounded until it was long gone and probably into his brain. She sounded worried, and stupidly girly. "I'm sorry, I probably shouldn't even be talking right now."

Jeremy moved closer to her, slid an arm around her, and thought seriously before speaking (a rarity). "Even if he gets me, Julia, he'll regret it. I'd give him hell. No one pulls something like he does without payback." He wanted the chance to spit in Fenrir's face, he couldn't deny it. "But I've always been as good at running like hell as giving hell."

People did pull what Fenrir had done and got away with it all the time; people getting away with things in the short term was all over the newspaper. Maybe they didn't get away with it in the long run, but Julia wasn't sure she believed in an afterlife substantial enough to give punishment or reward for deeds done in life, or any kind of force that made sure such deeds caught up with one in the end. Like she'd said, either way, he was going to do what he was going to do. Resigned, she leaned against him and gave a slight sigh. "Whatever you're doing, just be careful. Sleep with both eyes open, whatever works."

It wasn't anything he hadn't heard before, and usually the warnings just made him want to run towards danger instead of away, but he stopped that train of thought before it could progress. He rolled up his notes absently and set them aside. "Congratulations," he said with a similar sigh. "You're dating a hopeless activist. If you can tolerate me being thrown into prison or being generally ridiculed, we'll be fine."

Julia smiled slightly in amusement. Not that there was anything inherently funny in the statement... well, maybe it was a little bit funny. "It all sounds like old hat to me," she said. "Well, okay, except maybe for the jail thing, that's new territory." She had to hope it wasn't going to happen for any reason. Merlin knew that the Ministry did not waste Azkaban cells on werewolves when they did not have to.

"Oh hey, that's hilarious," Jeremy laughed, just a little insulted, but pushed the image of derision from his old mates at Hogwarts from his mind - if it was happening, he didn't want to know. "Good, because then we're set for some time, fuck knows my occupation's not going to improve any." He leaned into her as well, silent for a moment before sharing a brilliant realisation: "You know, we're on a bed."

Julia decided that she could definitely go along with that. She didn't really care about much else right then. She looked down at the bed cover. "Oh," she said, as if she'd just realised it herself. "You know what? I think -- I think you might not be wrong about that," she added.

"I'm fairly sure I'm right about this... it is my bed." He placed an affectionate kiss on her temple. "On a completely different train of thought, you're looking exceptionally fit today," he said offhand.

"You're sure that's a different train of thought?" She gave him a smirk that was a touch devious, not fooled in the least. "Sounds like it's the same train to me."

"Oh, a bloke can't even compliment his own girlfriend anymore," he said, falsely indignant. "You are looking fit, you know. It just so happens that you're looking fit on my bed."

"That is certainly very convenient," she said, unable to keep a genuine smile off her face. "So. Were you going to kiss me or... something, or keep commenting on your furniture or how I look on it? Either way..." She leaned back on her hands, ever so casually.

"Oh, shut up," Jeremy muttered but his cross tone was clearly contradicted by a smile as soon as he kissed her a bit aggressively. The wolf tensed something in his stomach and complained, but he ignored it as a matter of course. A quick nonverbal spell led to the soft click of the door closing and locking, and ah yes, he did enjoy when plans fell into place.

Julia was so far gone that she was only slightly aware that the door had shut and now they were completely alone in a closed room. Her breath caught in her throat when she felt how much pent up energy was behind his kiss. She shifted slightly to get in a better position, and returned it with what she hoped was equal vigour, all the while suppressing her instinct to find a witty comeback.

The stupid thing was that fighting the wolf let it win, and he found himself acting too hard, too fast, too aggressive just like the cursed thing always did. So he pulled himself away, just barely, releasing his grip on her with an almost guilty look. "Sorry," he said, "sorry, it just..."

One hand was on the back of his neck, fingers threaded through his hair, and the other joined it, gently holding him there. "Don't be sorry," she insisted. She had the feeling that if she let him apologise this was going to turn into another moment like their first kiss in the bookshop.

He had been a werewolf too long to let this happen. Control was all about balance, and he was good at that if nothing else. "Stop me if I hurt you," he said in a rush, almost inaudibly so he could get back to kissing her. Control. Of all the things to require at this moment.

She was able to give only the briefest of nods of assent before his mouth once again covered hers, and it all came crashing in on her. Her shoulders hit the mattress and she pushed all else from her mind.

They had no time, they could be discovered, the wolf was railing at him and in the best case scenario she was going to see his scars. He forced himself into balance, control, and simply told her in all honesty, purposefully hushed, "You're brilliant." The silence of the wolf in the moment led him to shut up and kiss her again. For the first time since he could remember, Jeremy was really, truly enjoying himself.

~*~

Remus thought that the wedding was lovely, as far as weddings went. He had never really been to one and probably wasn't a good judge, especially these days, but it could not be said that the Potter wedding had been anything less than a success. Lily looked radiant, and James certainly never looked happier, and the magic of the moment had been more than literal. It had been a perfect moment.

When he really thought about it, he wasn't sure what he was doing there.

Remus had left behind a pack that was so ready to shed blood, it was practically palpable. He felt like it had been part of the very air he breathed while there, and it left a film on his skin that couldn't be removed, one he carried with him even now.

It wasn't easy, but he broke away from his friends momentarily in order to quiet his wolf and grab a drink of champagne. It was pushing against him: Back to the pack. They need you. Go, now, GO. He refused it, and surreptitiously loosened his borrowed tie. He took a swallow of champagne and unexpectedly choked on it when he received a brotherly slap on the back from Sirius, who'd managed to sneak up on him. "Moony, you can't get away from us now, not when we've hardly seen you!"

"I would -- answer -- " Remus coughed so hard tears came to his eyes. "But -- I can't -- breathe."

"Ah, who needs to breathe?" Sirius asked, picking up a champagne glass for himself. "I am the best man, and I say that you are not getting away from us that easy."

"Us who? You and the frog in your pocket?" he asked, finally managing to get his breath back and coughing under control.

"Don't talk about him like that, he's a very sensitive little amphibian," Sirius chided jokingly, and waved to James, who was talking to Mary MacDonald while Lily took a spin on the dance floor with Peter.

James waved, evaded and ducked away from a nice but actually dull conversation with Mary because Remus had bothered to show up and that was more than worth ditching a boring conversation. He fixed his tie again and walked up to his mates with the sort of swagger he always got when he was in dress clothes. "Look what the dog dragged in," he said, grinning at Remus. "Hey, Moony."

Remus made a concerted effort at smiling. "Hey," he said. "Congratulations, James, it's all... amazing," he finished.

"I know, I'm kind of amazed myself." Sirius grinned widely. "You should have made the stag night, Moony. I swear your wedding experience is not going to be complete without it."

"All thanks to you, Sirius, I swear it, you did something right for once," James laughed at Sirius, then nudged Remus. "A bit of champagne, you need to loosen up, mate!"

"I'm working on it," Remus assured him, half-raising the glass in mock toast fashion. "The last time I took a drink, though, Sirius sneaked up on me and I inhaled half of the glass."

"I did not sneak. This is not an occasion for sneaking," Sirius said. "Look at these shoes. These are not sneaking shoes."

"You have overcome the handicap your shoes have presented with amazing proficiency," he answered dryly.

"Not practising your constant vigilance, are you, Remus?" James said, just as dry, and picked up a champagne for himself.

Oh, if James only knew. "Auror Moody would be disappointed, I know," he answered, and took a drink to avoid further banter.

James drank in avoidance as well. "Hard man to please," he said, flippant.

"Oh come on. No business today," Sirius said. "Or I'll... well, I don't know what I'll do but you probably won't like it. No business," he repeated, menacingly.

"Oh yeah, what'll you do, limp over at me in your dress shoes?" James challenged, smirking.

"Yes. And you will be terrified," Sirius said solemnly.

There was a silence over the three for a moment. Remus was desperately trying not to laugh. It wasn't that funny, it was stupid if anything, but maybe he thought it would be nice to laugh at anything. The dam broke and he snorted, dissolving into laughter.

James bit the corners of his mouth as he glanced aside at Remus, then he started to snigger into his hand.

"... Well okay, I didn't think that it was that funny," Sirius allowed.

Remus sighed and forced himself to calm down. "No, you're right," he said. "It wasn't funny. Just lame."

James shrugged, but flung his arms open at the sight of his gorgeous bride. "Look at you," he said, "I swear you get prettier each time I see you today."

"He knows she's stuck with him now, right?" Peter checked with Sirius, sending Remus a nod and no other greeting.

"She could still up and leave if someone better looking comes along," Sirius said matter-of-factly. "I mean, I think we all know there's only one bloke in the room who fits that description, but..."

"Sirius, shut up," Lily said good-naturedly, giving James a kiss before turning to look at Remus. "Remus! I'm so glad you made it," she added, and moved to kiss him on the cheek and embrace him. "I was so afraid you wouldn't show, and that simply wouldn't do, would it?"

He embraced her in return, one hand on her back. He released her quicker than he would have liked to -- he felt more out of place standing beside Lily than by anyone else in the room. "I'm glad I could come," he said. "You look wonderful, and congratulations."

"I suppose we clean up all right," she said, and looked back to James with a grin.

"I cleaned up, you always look this great," James swore, a hand to his heart as he grinned back.

"Must be really afraid of the competition," Peter said barely under his breath.

"Well, look at her and look at him. He should be scared," Sirius joked.

"Stop it, all of you!" Lily scolded them without any real malice. "No competition left, and he knows it."

"There, from the bride herself, you can't do much better than a Potter," James concluded.

"And there's no arguing with the bride, it's my day," Lily added brightly, kissing him again. "And I say that Remus is going to come dance with me. Come on, no arguments!" she added when she practically saw the beginning of a protest forming in Remus's brain.

"Well, if it's no arguments," he had to say, and he swallowed the rest of the champagne in his glass before setting it down.

"No arguments. Let's go," Lily repeated, reaching for his hand and pulling him along, and they left James, Sirius, and Peter standing there.

"No arguing with the bride," James echoed, and took another drink.

Peter spoke quietly, blended back between them with a glass of champagne in his nervous hands as well. "He could've been dead, we didn't hear from him for months," he said under his breath.

"Might've thought that a time or two," Sirius said in agreement, pensively tapping the side of his glass with one finger. "Keep wondering if I'm going to wake up one morning and he's just going to be passed out on the couch, but..."

"But all we know is..." Peter shook his head and took a drink instead of going on.

"We know he's one of us, Dumbledore trusts him, and it's not easy for people with his problem," James said in a quick attempt to fill the awkward silence Peter left.

"Well, yeah," Sirius said, as though that should be evident. "But does that mean that he can't talk to us? I mean, who's avoiding who, here."

James entertained the thought for a moment, but it went somewhere he didn't dare think about, not today. "Not at my wedding, mates, not here, anywhere else but here."

"But come on, Prongs," Peter said, voice strained. "He's dancing with Lily."

"I said, shut it, just a few hours, get it, Peter?"

James was right, Sirius quickly realised. This was a wedding, damnit. "Absolutely right!" he said, immediately back to being the jovial best man. "Happy occasion and all -- who needs more alcohol? I think everyone does," he answered his own question.

James held up his empty glass. "Bring me the finest booze," he declared.

"Me too," Peter added, holding up his own glass.

"The best man lives to act like a House Elf, or something," Sirius said, with a ridiculously elaborate mock bow. "Not to mention, that bartender has a set on her, am I right? No, don't answer that, Prongs, we don't need Lily to be overhearing that when you're not twelve hours wed," he added.

"Only one set in the room I'm looking at," James said cheerfully.

"And for that we pity you. Kind of," Sirius said mischievously, leaving his meaning ambiguous. "I'll be back."

"You stop looking at her rack, that's an honest woman," James called after him.

"And you made her that way!"

Several feet away, the honest woman and her rack were dancing with Remus in a friendly, comfortable silence. They had exhausted small talk -- or as much as he felt like he could. She was far too happy to hear even a sanitised version of what Remus had been up to, if he could even make himself say it. He didn't even like thinking about it. Deep in his thoughts, he trod over Lily's foot and he saw her wince. "Sorry," he said apologetically.

She smiled at him. "It's okay. The only reason my foot is so tender is because Sirius kept stepping on it."

"I am in very good company, then," he said, smiling slightly before falling silent again, more mindful of where her feet were.

Lily grew quiet in the face of Remus's silence, and she finally asked, "Remus, are you all right?"

"I'm fine," he immediately answered, inwardly cringing at the sound of his own voice. It was his stock answer for everything these days, one that he was growing even more uncomfortable with. "I'm okay. Things have been worse."

She raised her eyebrow at him. "How much worse?"

Upon reflection, his lie really had sort of been a lie. He'd never really lived with a criminal who was prepared to take over other groups one by one, let alone one that considered him heir to the entire operation. "Well," he said, unsure of what to say to that.

"We're just wondering where you get to," she assured him and he recognised the lilt in her tone. She was trying to keep it light, but worry weighed it down.

He pushed down the guilt. "I'm all right, I promise," he told her whole heartedly. She shouldn't have to worry on her wedding day.

She shrugged. "We're glad we were able to get a hold of you for the wedding, is all, I mean," she said, and smiled. It looked mostly genuine, he thought, but after spending so much time with the pack and being able to tell their mood off their wolves, where sometimes reading facial expressions was less necessary than optional for a conversation, it took Remus a moment. "We even went to your parents' house."

"Oh," he said, a little surprised. Thoughts of his father, and especially his mother, washed over him even when he tried to keep them back. His first thought was to ask how they were, but that might raise more questions than it would answer. "What did they say?"

"Well, your mum was lovely, as always. James behaved himself, I was quite proud," she said with a grin that was unmistakably smug.

"How did you manage that?" Remus joked weakly.

"Told him that he was marrying me and if he wanted to challenge your dad for your mum he was welcome to, but I always had a soft spot for the underdog, and maybe in the case that he was victorious, you'd have a new stepmum..."

"Agh," Remus winced, but laughed. He laughed hard, and it felt good to do so. "Oh, my -- Lily, I don't care if it is your wedding day, I am not going to stand here and listen to that."

"I'd be a good stepmum, and very lenient," she told him innocently, grinning as his laughter died down. "They said they hadn't seen you for awhile."

He didn't say anything for a long moment. He knew exactly the last time he'd seen each of them, the night that he'd run out. "That's true. They haven't," he said.

"Just... something to think about, Remus? Go visit," she urged him gently.

Not a chance. He wasn't sure he could face his father, Alexander, whatever his brain and the wolf wanted to call him. His father. But his mother... "I'll think on it," he promised her.

Lily nodded, and they became silent again. The song slowed and ended, and she kissed his cheek and embraced him. "We're your friends, Remus, please don't stay away," she said, squeezing tightly.

He stroked her back gently, careful not to screw up her dress or anything. "I will try not to," he promised her. He pulled back from her and asked, "Shall I return you to your husband now? He looked like he hardly wanted to let you out of his sight."

"Absolutely not, I have to go home with him," she joked. "You and me, one more dance. Come on."

"As the bride wishes," he said, and twirled her clumsily as a new song began.

~*~

Royce Wilkes liked nothing more than a spot of old-fashioned hunting, and their current hunt was surprisingly good and old-fashioned, considering the usual result he experienced thanks to an invitation from Alecto Carrow. His old friend from Hogwarts and fellow Death Eater was a fun girl, but her sense of fun was often matched with negligence regarding the moving of dead bodies that inevitably ended up with blood on your shoes. There was nothing worse than blood on your shoes, Wilkes thought.

But this hunt? This hunt, an invasion of some werewolf pack's current kennel, lived up to the glowing promise Alecto had earlier provided.

There was a scream and a sob from the next room, but it didn't keep Wilkes from firing off curses at every panicked and running werewolf he lay eyes on. "Come on, Wilkes, I told you, watch who you're hitting," Alecto complained as he shot a curse at the nearest halfbreed, a middle-aged man spiriting away two preteens and a child; this being the first break from her vigilant spot at the window, picking off any fleeing werewolves right on the lawn. "This is Fenrir's operation, not ours."

Wilkes rolled his eyes at her only since she wasn't looking, far too busy giggling as she added another body to the bloody heap on the lawn. "Mr Greyback can take it up with me and my wand later if he likes," he said, taking particular pleasure in stopping a panicked young werewolf's thundering steps down the stairs with a swift and painful amputation to the ankle. Wilkes couldn't keep a snigger down at the creature's cry of pain and the crunch as he fell.

"Oh what fun is that? Now he can't run away anymore, which means we can't chase them," Amycus put in, entering from around the corner. He had to hand it to his sister, this was a lot more fun than they'd ever had in their service to the Dark Lord. Giants you had to worry about not being stepped on or having your head bitten off, vampires wanted to drink blood, anyone's blood, but werewolves? Currently, they scurried like mice.

He was about to come further in but had to jump back in order to narrowly avoid being hit with a teenaged girl who had sailed down the stairwell. "Damn it, watch where you're throwing those!" he shouted.

Robert Yaxley was at the top of the stairs, lazily brandishing his wand. "Well, if you didn't stand there like this is a bloody Gobstones match..."

"Can't take all the fun for myself, can I?" Amycus smirked.

"He's crawling, it's funny," Wilkes said defensively. He nudged Alecto in the shoulder, jarring her shot to Stun a running child. "Hey, stop hanging out that window and let's have some fun! Hit him with a Cruciatus, he'll be good for a bit of fun yet."

Alecto pushed herself up and gave Wilkes a shove. "Oh, shut up, Royce! I'm trying to kill people here, if you haven't noticed. If they get loose, then what do we do? We have witnesses, you idiot!"

"Ah, that's my sister, always thinking about damage control," Amycus said, stunning one that tried to scurry away unseen. He smiled when he hit the wall head first with a satisfying crunch.

"Witnesses? For what?" Yaxley demanded. "Who's going to believe halfbreeds, and who's going to care?" If Alecto wasn't going to Crucio him, he certainly was going to.

"Other halfbreeds'll believe halfbreeds, you idiot," Alecto said acidly, sending a hex at the feet of someone who dared to even consider coming down the stairs. It missed. "There are probably more hiding up in the full moon rooms upstairs if we want to finish them off."

"Well, Alecto, you do know a lot about day-to-day life as a halfbreed, don't you," Wilkes said, uncomfortably moving away from her and giving the nearest Stunned werewolf a nasty kick in the ribs.

Yaxley chortled in addition, and Amycus said, "In the service of the Dark Lord, and don't you forget it." He hadn't liked it when Alecto had decided to stay with the pack after their first meeting with them and still had misgivings, but had grown used to it. "Now are we going upstairs to finish this off or not?"

Alecto hesitated and Wilkes seized upon that. "Oh, getting close to the little bastards now, are you? Don't worry, we'll be gentle," he cooed, shoving past her and stepping over fallen werewolves to be the first up the stairs.

Alecto started after him, sending a vicious curse his way and eventually resorting to a shout of "I'll fucking kill you if you touch me again, Wilkes!" She turned to Amycus. "If we kill them all, there's no net gain for Fenrir. Besides the bragging rights."

"Stop," Amycus said, and with a flick of his wand stuck Wilkes' feet to the stairs when he did not do so. "This is a matter for Fenrir and his pack, then?" he asked his sister.

"It's the look of the whole thing, a slaughter will gain respect because of fear, a takeover would gain respect out of politics, but a slaughter followed by a takeover'll get the most respect of all." Alecto released a tense breath. "Someone has to pay attention to all this, if we just come in here and kill everyone we could end up with a whole army of them attacking us."

"Not if we kill them all," Yaxley pointed out. "Won't be anyone coming then."

"These are complicated matters, Yaxley, and my sister knows the best of us all," Amycus snapped. He turned back to Alecto and gave her an expectant look. "And so what do you suggest?"

Alecto normally loved the spotlight, to be called upon like this, but now it just felt like she was being scrutinised by her peers. "We've had our fun, we torture those who are left here, whoever remains up there can be left to Fenrir's discretion. I didn't realise they'd fall so easily."

"Amycus, take this hex off or when I get down there I'll hex your bollocks off," Wilkes called down from his spot atop the stairs, as congenially as he could manage.

"With that sort of incentive, why shouldn't I leave you there?" he raised an eyebrow, but undid the hex. "You both heard her. Those who are already down are ours. The rest are to be left for Fenrir to deal with as he sees fit."

Wilkes strode down the stairs with the wounded swagger of one who took a clear hit to the ego. "Where is Greyback?" he asked, accompanying it with an eyeroll. "With his group of -- "

Alecto cut him off with an elbow to the ribs, not nearly as jokingly as it once might have been delivered. "He's... damn it, fuck it!" She sent a frustrated kick into the head of the fallen, now footless werewolf. "I think he's torturing the pack leader of this unfortunate lot. I'll talk to him. You three have fun."

Yaxley gave a dangerous smirk. "Come on, you both heard her. Let's have some fun," he purposefully echoed Amycus's earlier words. He was thinking the halfbreeds that laid outside would be best. "Ta, Alecto."

"Sister, remember, this is a matter for the wolves," Amycus warned her before he left. Despite that she clearly knew more than any of them, he did not trust Fenrir Greyback to practise discretion if she got in the middle of it.

She brushed off Yaxley with a distracted nod, glad to see Wilkes follow him outside, and let her focus set on her brother. "What do you mean?" she asked, her hand insecurely drifting to her hair.

"That at the end of the day, you are a witch. That is all," he said with a significant look, following Yaxley and Wilkes outside.

She released an unsteady breath before seeking out Fenrir, hoping for some screams from Conor to make the tracking even easier. Unfortunately, she found Conor in a nearly unconscious state, with Fenrir just talking and goddamn Wesley sitting by the side awaiting orders. "We've won," she reported. "Some of the pack is in the full moon rooms upstairs."

Fenrir stared at Conor, past frustration, but finally looked up at her. "That's all?" he asked of Alecto. "No advice, no opinions? No orders from the Dark Lord's hand?"

"This is your domain, Fenrir, I'm no werewolf, what do I know of your politics?" she asked rhetorically, her hands clasped modestly behind her back.

"Wesley, you go upstairs and deal with whoever's left. If they refuse to submit, make them." Fenrir sent a curious look up to Alecto as she stepped aside for Wesley. "You'll help me here?"

Her lips lifted in a strained smile. "I think you have this handled. More than handled. You've won this one. I'll be off enjoying the spoils."

"Go on, torture the halfbreeds," he said, expressionless, and shook Conor awake to continue their talk. "No more torture, this ends now. You will submit."

"No." Conor's voice was rough, but clear. "I'd die first."

Alecto took that as her cue to leave the increasingly more uncomfortable situation and went outside to find her brother and the two men she'd once counted as friends, united in a cause that grew more alien with every minute passed in the company of the pack. A witch first, she repeated to herself, and even smiled at the laughter of her fellow Death Eaters as she approached.