Fathers and Sons

Fathers and Sons

Chapter 12: Where There's Smoke

The rise in attacked families with children gone missing can't be coincidental. It gives rise to the question: what is the MLE going to do about it? Trenton Williamson, "Month By Month; Attacks Rise," The Daily Prophet, 22 September 1979.

July 1979

Jane was too terrified to try and Apparate immediately from the house of her pack, certain to end up splinched if she did. Instead, once she was sure she was going to be able to run away fast enough without any interference, she shot out from her hiding place in the bushes at the side of the house and ran. She nearly stopped and turned back when she heard another scream ring out, but made herself pick up speed instead. You must run, she told herself. She darted into the trees - if she was being followed, she could lose them there.

She checked behind her for a second - just a second - and her sprint came to a dead halt when an arm reached out and snatched her from behind a tree. Her back slammed into the trunk, and she barely managed to keep hold of her wand, it jarred her so. "Let me go, I'll kill you, I swear I will - "

"It's me, it's Patrick, Jane, it's me!" Patrick released her, backing up only slightly so he remained under the cover of the tree. He raked his fingers through his light hair and dared to look out where war raged at the pack house that Geoffrey brought him to seven long years ago, where his pack was now falling. "Can't you do something?" he demanded of her.

"There's too many of them. There's... four," she faltered, breathing hard as she leaned back against the tree in momentary relief. She was just arrogant enough to think that she could have handled one, if she had a little luck and the element of surprise, but not more. "We have to run, Patrick, as fast and as far as we can."

He could only recall what Geoffrey said only a few days before his death: When this war begins - not if, when, there will be a war - the pack must continue. He had to save himself. If Conor was dead, and he was assuredly dead if Fenrir had anything to say about it, Patrick was the heir, next in line to rule what was left of the pack. "Let's go," he said, and tried to slow his breathing. "Now."

"This way," she said, and took off in the direction she'd been heading.

She heard Patrick running behind her the entire way. They sacrificed stealth for speed, crashing through the underbrush and weaving in and out of trees. Jane's legs eventually cried out in protest, her muscles burning and rubbery from exertion. As she took in deep breaths of the warm, slightly humid air, she looked around at their unfamiliar surroundings. There was no sound except the chirp of crickets and the rumble of a car on a nearby Muggle road. "Do you see anyone?" she asked him, gasping for breath and unable to properly focus.

It took Patrick a moment to recover from the adrenaline crash, and he looked around, wide-eyed, and saw nothing. "No," he said. "We're... I don't know where we are."

Jane paced back and forth, still catching her breath. "Good." That much was good. How far had they run? It was difficult to judge. It was dead silent, they must have gone far. They thought they'd been prepared, but she didn't know that her uncle had counted on four Death Eaters coming. Four. She tried not to think about it, and instead concentrated on where she would have to go. She held a hand out to him once she was sure that she could take both of them. "Okay. Come on."

He stared at her hand, confused. "What?"

"I have to Apparate," she said, trying not to sound as distressed as she felt. "We're going to Ben Skoll's, and I have to have a hold on you to take us both."

"Ben Skoll's?" His voice rose. "I'm not going there!"

She grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him down to her level. "Yes," she said. "You are. Conor told me to go there, to warn him. He thinks Fenrir will go after Skoll next."

Patrick scoffed. "What do we care, he's a Father-killer!"

Jane wasn't going to stand here and argue with Patrick. She held on to his shirt even more tightly and concentrated to Disapparate. They disappeared with her inexpert crack and reappeared in the woods, downhill from where Ben Skoll's pack lived.

"This is not a good idea," Patrick muttered, but removed Jane's hand from his shirt and started towards the pack's house.

It didn't really matter what Patrick thought was a good idea or not, Jane had her orders and she was going to follow them. They went up the hill and without a moment of hesitation, Jane knocked on the door with a fist until she hit air. "I need to see Ben Skoll," tumbled out of her mouth without further explanation.

Skylar blinked down at the girl, and the taller boy behind her. The girl had a wand clutched in her hand, which was curious. She kept the door mostly shut and asked, "Who's it that wants him?" she asked.

Patrick spoke before Jane could - it was his right. "Patrick and Jane of Conor's pack," he said. "We - we bring bad news, I'm afraid, news you'll need to hear."

"I've been here before," Jane added quickly. "It really is urgent."

Skylar remembered her. She was the witch who lived with Conor, and while he didn't look familiar, he acted like a typical male in the line of succession. "He's around," she said, stepping back to admit them. "Come in and wait."

Jane and Patrick both stepped in, while Skylar left to fetch Ben. Even though she knew they hadn't been followed - there was no possible way they could have been - she stared out the grimy windows near the door. Listening closely, she heard the sounds of mealtime and a lull in the conversation as Skylar spoke.

Skylar stepped back in. "I'm supposed to take you upstairs. Ben will speak to you there."

Patrick tried not to be insulted that they were being handled by a female, high-ranking or not. It was easier, he supposed, for a member of Conor's pack, who saw Briony favoured (though the wolf ached to think of the pack, so he stopped). "Thank you," he made himself say.

Skylar nodded, and they trekked up the narrow staircase to an upstairs room. Jane and Patrick entered where Skylar showed them to. "Wait here," she said needlessly, and closed the door behind her when she went.

Jane paced momentarily, shaking off any nerves that remained. Nerves would show, even if she didn't have the wolf that was ordinarily relied on in these situations to gauge reactions. When she finally felt like she managed to calm herself down, she sat on the floor, in the deferential position, put her wand out on the floor in front of her, and pushed her sleeves up. She looked up at Patrick. "I know nobody necessarily likes dealing with Ben Skoll," she started, "but please behave."

"I'll behave," Patrick retorted. Of all the people to talk down to him, the witch dared? "I'm the presumptive heir, and I don't appreciate you thinking so little of me."

She was unmoved by his display. "Then act like it," she said. "In this house, Ben's the Father. Don't get shirty."

"Better to get shirty than commit murder."

Jane really hoped that he wasn't going to say these things in front of Ben Skoll, and gave him a pointed look. She would Disapparate far, far away and leave him behind to let Skoll do whatever the hell he wanted with Patrick. She settled for another sharp look before she heard footsteps on the staircase.

Ben didn't want to keep Conor's people waiting for long, his witch and another boy. It had been years since he'd had nary a sign from them, not since Conor had visited years ago after he'd taken over the pack. Then, he'd brought his first, his heir, and the witch. He tried not to take it as an insult, as Skylar had said they came with bad news, but it was hard not to be curious. He opened the door to the upstairs room where Skylar had left them, and entered.

Patrick stood the minute the door opened, the epitome of the respectful guest. "Thank you for your time, and we appreciate your hospitality. I'm Patrick of Conor's pack, his heir."

Ben examined him with a careful stare. This wasn't the boy who had come years ago, although if the rumours that had been spreading were true, that boy no longer lived. The witch was the same, if older - seated on the floor with her wand in front of her. "I'm Ben Skoll, welcome," he said courteously. "I presume Conor has sent you here on his business."

"It's - sort of," Jane stumbled over her words. She was going to string together a sentence now because she had to, and if she didn't, Patrick might. "I don't know what kind of rumours have been spreading," she started, "but the Greyback pack is finally putting plans into motion to build their Unified Pack."

The wolf regarded her curiously, even though she had no wolf in her. "There have been rumours," he said carefully. Not many, but enough that curiosity was piqued.

"Well. They - Fenrir started with us." Jane didn't want to lose her calm, dignified front, but panic was beginning to well up inside her, and she was wringing her hands as though she could squeeze the words she needed from them. "We were expecting it, waiting for it, but - " She cut herself off when she realized with some horror that she was on the verge of tears.

"But they brought four Death Eaters," Patrick completed, clearing his throat after his voice came out strained. "Even now our pack is falling to them, to the slaughter."

The pieces were starting to come together. "Fenrir killed Conor's heir to goad him into war he might have had to declare himself otherwise," Ben said, mostly to himself, looking at each of them with his brain moving faster and faster with every second.

Patrick gave a curt nod. "Our pack is lost. Dead, or absorbed into the Greyback pack's absurd 'unified pack'. You would do best to make preparations before he does the same to yours."

"Because I'm the unnamed who flouted pack law when I took over," Ben said dryly.

"We didn't say that," Jane added hurriedly, before Patrick could say anything.

"You don't have to." He waved a hand to indicate that it didn't matter. He made the choice to build his reputation on the tragedy that surrounded the circumstances, and it was a price the pack had to pay. An unnamed who would dare to murder a pack's true heir was one that you had to watch out for, after all.

"You're the fearsome Ben Skoll, father-killer, we remember," Patrick said curtly. "We respect you and your pack, we need your help, and there are more important things to be discussed."

Jane made a small noise of what might have been annoyance and covered her face with her hands. The corner of Ben's mouth quirked upward at the absurdity, but said nothing. "You are right. I need to speak with my pack," he said, moving towards the door. "You may stay here, you'll be safe."

"Thank you," Jane answered, her face still in her hands. This was just about too much.

He nodded. "If either of you require anything, please ask. You are guests of my pack."

Patrick nodded once again and turned away before he could bring himself to accept the aid of Ben Skoll.

"Yes, thank you," Jane added hurriedly. Once Ben Skoll left the room, she let herself go limp. She laid with her forehead on the bare wooden floor, and wished the floor would swallow her.

Now that there was no Ben Skoll to distract him, Patrick's exhaustion and panic caught up to him, and he knelt and gave in, praying that Jane wouldn't judge him. The silence was a reprieve from the events of the day, and they welcomed it.

~*~

September 1979

Mondays were not Bartemius Crouch's favourite days, especially not this particular one. It was a Monday of the rainy sort where all sorts of bad news ended up in your lap the moment you arrived at work after a long weekend, although in recent months, that went for any day of the week. Still, the Death Eaters seemed to relish their freedom on weekends just as anyone else - too much, sickeningly, he decided, flipping through the casefile and pictures the Aurors prepared.

As industriously as Magical Law Enforcement worked, the Death Eaters worked even harder, it seemed, every day of the week, striking in different places in different ways. Two families were murdered over the weekend, one in their Sunday clothes prepared for church before they were slaughtered one after the other, the other murdered in their beds, the blood spattering the walls. Another child from a noted pureblooded family had gone missing, a broken window and a trail of blood the only clues.

Crouch looked up. "Emily!" he called, waving her in.

She approached the door without hesitation, notebook swiftly in hand. "Yes, Mr Crouch."

It was important to ask without emphasis or concern, as offhand as he could. "When is the full moon this month?"

Emily flipped back a few pages and raised her head again. "It was Friday, Mr Crouch."

Fenrir Greyback. One more month of this kidnapping nonsense, and he would address it. It was entirely possible that these children were not being snatched by a werewolf, instead by the Death Eaters, hostages perhaps. Not a pattern they had seen yet, but it wasn't as though Greyback left a calling card of any sort. "Thank you, Emily."

She cleared her throat in her usual polite way, and folded her hands. "Mr Scrimgeour is still waiting for you, sir."

"Still? I told you to send him off."

"He wouldn't leave, Mr Crouch. He chose to wait until you were less busy."

Crouch scoffed and closed the file. "Then he'll be waiting forever."

"Would you like me to send him off again, sir?" Emily took a step back.

He gave an impatient gesture. "Just send him in."

She left the door open, and Crouch observed Scrimgeour standing outside with the idle stance of a lion waiting to spring, only to look up after Emily's murmured invitation and meet the gaze of his superior with something resembling amusement. Unamused himself, Crouch gestured him inside, having no time to waste.

"Close the door," he added curtly to Scrimgeour as he entered. "What is it you need, Auror Scrimgeour? You're acting... curiously."

"I supposed you'd be busy dealing with the events of this weekend." Scrimgeour looked very much like he wanted to smirk - triumphant, in a way. "I thought I would wait - "

Crouch sat back, not about to dignify the typical Auror superiority complex with close attention. "If it's urgent, then I would like to hear it. If it isn't, then you can schedule an appointment. In your many years here and general common sense, I had thought you might have noted the procedure."

Scrimgeour shook his head and looked uncharacteristically pensive. "It isn't life and death," he said after a moment of thought. "But it is urgent. It is something we need to consider as early as we can. Something that I think we need to implement."

"Ah." What a world it was when Aurors brought him ideas to be implemented. Still, Scrimgeour was hardly the usual sort, if fallen from grace. "Yes. I have some time now, go on, explain yourself."

"The full moon was Friday." He hesitated to go on, but the most powerful man in wizarding Britain was looking at him, and it was important, so he did. "Theodore Urquhart's daughter went missing."

Crouch thought he would have no problem spending the rest of his life without ever hearing a mention of werewolves or the full moon ever again. "I understand that you ... are personally invested in the issue of Fenrir Greyback," he said, "but you must admit that it is a bit of a stretch to presume that the girl was kidnapped by the werewolf."

"If you're suggesting that I'm biased because Greyback stole two of my nephews and killed the other, you may be right," Scrimgeour said frostily, but determined to press his point. "That doesn't change that Greyback is still out there, and that the werewolves are on the side of You-Know-Who. Something must be done."

"I assure you that we're looking into many possible avenues into dealing with this problem." Crouch opened the file again to glance at the Auror's notes - the Longbottoms, of course, always a dependable pair.

Scrimgeour said nothing for a long moment, until Crouch glanced up to prompt him. "I believe I have a solution, Mr Crouch, if you'll listen."

There were no real solutions when it came to this war or any war, but he supposed he could humour the old dog. "I'm intrigued," he said. "Go on."

"There are certain people within the Department for Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures," Scrimgeour began, but was cut off by his superior's scoff.

"Newt Scamander..." Crouch tried not to roll his eyes. Newt Scamander was impossible to deal with, but that was hardly something to say to just anyone. "He has a different vision of this war. Not to mention, a different view of werewolves."

Scrimgeour was unmoved, undeterred. "There are people who think differently than Newt Scamander. Proactive people, who are aware of the danger that werewolves pose and want to address the problem."

Just like that, Crouch saw where this was going. "How thoroughly have you researched this, Auror Scrimgeour?"

"I was at the right party with the right people. She approached me, sir." Scrimgeour drummed his fingers on his leg, determined to seem as unconcerned with this as possible. "Surely you know Dolores Umbridge."

Crouch gave a wry half-smile. "A good friend to my wife, I believe they're second cousins; isn't she an undersecretary of a sort in Magical Creatures? And of course she lobbied for that centaur bill, years back."

Scrimgeour made himself return it. "Sir, her political mind is second only to yours, and I have never met a more effective woman in my life, with so many close friends."

"I understand." How couldn't he? An opportunity to deal with Magical Creatures without dealing with Newt Scamander was one he could not resist, especially if it came with a pureblooded political genius who knew the right people and was more than eager to work with him. "Thank you, Auror Scrimgeour, on the behalf of this Department and the people of wizarding Britain. You've done both a great service today."

"Thank you for the opportunity, sir." Scrimgeour rose and went to the door, but paused. "What happens when Newt Scamander catches wind of this?" he asked, his hand on the doorknob.

Crouch looked over his glasses at the Auror. "I suppose we'll see then whose vision is clearer."

For just a moment, Scrimgeour wore a genuine look of amusement before he returned to his professionally reserved expression and said, "Best of luck, sir," and left.

Emily leaned into the doorway the instant he left. "Your nine o'clock is here, Mr Crouch."

"Send her in. And please contact Dolores Umbridge in Magical Creatures, schedule an appointment with her within the week. Thank you," Crouch added to her briskly as the press secretary, Beatrice, entered past her. As the door shut behind Emily, he looked to her and leaned forward, his hands clasped together, prepared to face both a Monday and a press conference. "Onward, I suppose."

"Nowhere else to go," Beatrice said, more optimistically.

"True enough," Crouch sighed, and reached out for the statement she held in her hand. The rain and the weekdays varied, but every day was as full of death and politics as any other. There was nowhere else to go but onward, and he could only hope that they would soon proceed with some speed after aid from a new ally.

~*~

November 1979

Remus never felt safe anywhere, anymore. Out of the pack, even with his friends and the other Order members, it felt like there were always eyes on him, doubting looks, suspicious whispers. He was willing to bet that was more paranoia than anything else -- maybe. He was never quite sure, and that doubt that caused all of his stress.

In the pack, it wasn't any better. Eyes were still on him and the discomfort was even worse, because even after a year of his frequent disappearances -- had they been noticed? He didn't think so. It seemed like Fenrir was more preoccupied with consolidating wayfaring members of the Greyback pack. That had included himself at one time, but not now. Fenrir had the heir to his pack, his first named male, whatever that was worth to him. The fact that he might leave every once in a while to see wizard friends so long as he returned was either inconceivable to him, or ignored. Either way, not a word had been said.

It was two days after the full moon until Remus was finally lucid enough to heal himself, which he did in his upper room. New scars were nothing after an entire lifetime. He felt a pull at his wolf, and tried to calm the oncoming dread -- there was only one person in this world who could pull at him like that, and the dread it brought to Remus confused the wolf. It's your Father, it reminded him. He knew it. God, but he knew it. He left the room and let the wolf take him to where Fenrir waited, and he knocked.

Fenrir casually let the wolf reach out to Remus, pleased that it wasn't Wesley with his reports and concerns, but his first following orders. Whatever Laurel and Wesley dared to imply to him, Remus obeyed like a good son when he was given reason to. "Come in," he called.

Remus did so, turning the doorknob and letting himself into the room. He tried to let the wolf be in the forefront, being that it felt more confident and sure. "You, um... called," he said for lack of a better term.

Fenrir accepted that with a smirk and let his wolf do as it wanted, giving his son a brief, affectionate nudge. "Right, right. Are you coming tomorrow? Alecto would appreciate another wand, but if you'd rather not get drawn into wizarding affairs, I understand that well enough."

Oh. That. Remus should have guessed. "I... no. I think not," he said, possibly the easiest answer he'd given anyone since arriving.

"If you change your mind, we're leaving after breakfast, once Alecto brings the Portkeys, or whatever you call those." Fenrir shrugged. "Tomorrow'll work out. There's more important things to consider." Without any effort whatsoever, he locked onto his tie to Remus and forced him into easy obedience. "I've orders for you, are you ready, Remus?"

It jarred him slightly -- not physically, too used to it to be physically affected by it any longer. But he definitely stood a little straighter and was prepared to listen a little closer. "Yes," he answered -- but did he really have a choice?

"Things are going to change, and for the good of the pack, I need your wits focused on keeping everyone in line. You're observant, you're smart, use it. Don't let Alecto or Wesley get in your way, use them if you want." Fenrir sighed, thoughtful, and released the tie. "Conor is an old friend of mine, but I don't trust him, or his first. Watch them."

Remus remembered Conor, easily -- not that he was a man who was difficult to forget. He decided he wouldn't blame Fenrir for not trusting them, it wasn't as though Conor had given him reason to. The first he wasn't quite as certain on. "The blonde?" he questioned.

Fenrir laughed to himself, not quite pleasantly. "The blonde," he said. "Briony. She likes to think she's an heir, mad, isn't it? Just shows you why we had to bring Conor back. He went completely over the edge."

It offended every sensibility that he had, but he also knew better than to say so. "I'll watch," he said instead, nodding.

"You should consider coming along tomorrow," Fenrir said, eyeing his son. "It would do you good, to see the pack as it's meant to be."

He looked back, considering. "You'll be taking everyone else with you," he said. "Someone should stay."

"You and Conor." He snorted. "Perfect. Make sure he doesn't try to take over, or run. He has too many allies like him. Women, father-killers, bastards."

Remus was pretty sure if Conor was going to overthrow while Fenrir was out wreaking havoc with the Death Eaters, armed with a wand or not, there was probably not much that Remus was going to do to stop him. "No. Of course not," he said.

"Then you're free to go. Just... don't be afraid to take what you want or need, Remus." Fenrir smirked. "My house is your house, especially when I'm not here."

Had Alecto not said much the same to him, of the Dark Lord's resources? "I... thank you," he said with what he hoped was the proper amount of deference as he backed towards the door.

Fenrir gestured for him to go, and shared a look of amusement with Laurel as he left. "Come in," he said, in much a different tone than he used with his heir, and smirked as she shut the door behind her.

~*~

Jeremy Curenton had never felt more like a Curenton than now, with a scroll of research notes up to an inch thick and a topic he knew better than anyone in all the British Isles. Of course, he had no O.W.L.s or N.E.W.T.s, but he was a fully-grown wizard, a werewolf with fine control, and the role of activist was starting to fit well. As each pack opened up to him, one after another, his pride was bolstered, his knowledge augmented. He was nearly prepared.

The best of all this was the evening he arrived at the Den and found Ben Skoll, his consistently helpful (if controversial) friend and pack leader, in the common area. "What the hell, Ben," he called to the older werewolf in disbelief, only then recognising Skylar and second, Diana, as well as many others of the Skoll pack members, laying about the area as well. "You're here?"

Ben Skoll was not precisely pleased to say so, but indeed, he and his pack were in the Den. "We are. I suppose it'd be a fair bet to guess that your next question would be why, would it?" he added with a wry grin.

Jeremy dragged a chair in and sat on it backwards, fixing a terribly curious look on Ben. "You're in my pack's house now, my rules," he joked. "Don't suppose you're here to talk political theory? I hope you're not staying long, I'm not sure we could fit you lot here over the next full moon..."

"Far more serious than that. Good evening, Jeremy," Owen said in one breath on his way through to the kitchen, Skylar and Gemma (who waved enthusiastically at Jeremy) following close behind.

"If I want to talk political theory, I wait for you to come to me," Ben joked, and ran a hand over his hair, once Owen had passed. "We'll be out of here by then. By god I hope we'll be out of here. There's a lot of really weird shite going on out there right now, Curenton, and we can't be too careful. ... We'll figure something out if we're not. It's the least of our concerns."

Jeremy didn't even have to ask full details, because the more he'd researched, the more the trouble came clear. "News on Conor and the Greyback packs, I suppose?" he asked, trying to force his stomach to release the tension that naturally came when discussion of his Father arose. "Elaborate, you can trust me."

"The last we'd heard, nobody knew what was actually going on," he replied. "There've been some really... interesting developments. Conor's not dead, so far as we know, but that's not all good news. There isn't hardly anything left of Conor's pack, and the few that remain are now under Fenrir."

It didn't surprise Jeremy, but it still hit him hard. Conor's pack was well-known to be equal opportunity, fair, even a plausible threat to Fenrir's, and maybe for a few weeks he had actually hoped Fenrir would lose. It was inevitable. Fenrir always won. "Conor's working for him," he inferred. Ben nodded. "I might be missing something here, but I don't think you've answered my question yet -- why are you here?"

"The unified pack movement's been given new life, so to speak. Conor's new heir and the witch came to me, and we're going to see what's what -- go see Hati. I'm taking Keith with me because he's the only way that little so-and-so will be civil, named sons my arse... Anyway, until we can find out more, this is neutral ground for the rest of them, at the very least." With any luck, it would also be safe ground for his pack. "Which is why I hope it won't be long."

Shit. Unified pack was just a theory, but now it flourished, in a pack led by a fugitive madman who was hardly fit to represent the whole werewolf community. Jeremy said nothing as he miserably absorbed this news and the idea of impending war. "You're safe here for however long it is," he said simply, rising from his casual seat in the chair. "Except for a few memorable occasions, this is neutral ground, and Conor or Fenrir himself would have to have some real bollocks to come walking in here talking about unified pack."

"Fenrir doesn't need bollocks, he's got a witch who serves the Dark Lord and she's got friends," Ben replied, his tone clearly indicating what he thought of that. "Although he's got them in spades. At any rate, I'm at least glad to hear that. Good news, finally."

"Well, for as much as the Ministry cares, I think they might even take my father seriously if he reported an appearance of the fugitive Fenrir Greyback," Jeremy quipped, replacing the chair where he found it. "You have things to do, I won't distract you further. Once this all blows over, though, I have a thousand and one questions for you as usual."

"I don't have a doubt about that," he answered, and thought for a moment before adding, "I have to get going. Since your dad's busy shuffling things around accommodating the disruption we've just caused, just tell him Sky and Diana have instructions and if there are problems, they're extensions of me. I'll return as soon as possible. Pass that on for me?"

"You'll be back, talk to Sky and Diana if there's trouble, I'll tell him." Jeremy sent a vague salute and grin to Ben on his way out of the common room. The kitchen, Dad was in the kitchen, and even if he wasn't, the Den was small enough that it wouldn't be too difficult to find him. Oh, good, he was still in the kitchen. "Dad," he said at a convenient moment, "Ben's on his way out, says that if any problems come up, talk to Skylar and Diana, they have instructions."

"Thank you," he said, glancing up at Jeremy, and indicated to Skylar the grand tour was over. She in turn, began to reign in Gemma who'd begun to scavenge through the cupboards. Owen turned back to Jeremy. "This is easily the most people we've ever had here at one time."

"Ben's fifteen plus our fifteen makes for a full house," Jeremy conceded, shifting to look around for all or any action that could distract from that comment. Even if his father knew about his exploits to the packs, Jeremy wasn't going to acknowledge it. "He'll be out soon enough, but I know in this climate I'd want to stay in neutral territory as long as possible. Anything I can do to help?"

"I expect that if something comes up and you can help, you'll know it," he said dryly. "I think we're just going to be playing this one by ear. Just help them feel at home and do what you can." Jeremy had a degree of familiarity with Skoll's pack, he knew, but suspected it was more familiar than he thought.

"Understood. It's about time for dinner," Jeremy noted, backing up to eye the clock and see if there were enough people around to be conscripted into kitchen duty. "And we'll need extra hands for it, I'll root out volunteers. You should go keep Mum company for dinner, I can handle things here."

It was a very tempting idea. He nodded. Jeremy knew how things ran as well as he did and between him and Skoll's two, surely nothing they couldn't handle would come up. "All right. I'll come back later to make sure things are still going smoothly," he said.

"Light some candles, make it romantic," Jeremy added with a smirk. The prospect of long-deserved responsibility in the Den was yet another ego boost. "God knows you and Mum haven't been out on a date since before the founding of Hogwarts."

"It's because we got married and had kids, so thanks for that," he returned, mirroring the smirk. "Smart arse." He clapped him on the shoulder before moving past him and out of the kitchen. He made a detour into his office before he made it all the way out the door, however -- just a couple quick things that he wouldn't have to do later if he did them now.

Jeremy did his best to gather volunteers beyond the usual set, co-opting Rory and Gemma from Skoll's pack just because he could, and observed the progress and chatter in the kitchen with amusement. He took his usual spot in the window seat, greeted the sunset with a smile, and was only startled from his relaxation with a shout from the other side of the house. "SOMEONE'S COMING!"

Oh, no way, not right when he'd had everything in order here. Jeremy ordered the kitchen volunteers to keep on as he walked through, his brisk step stopping dead as he saw the cause of the shout. Sure as hell, someone was coming, there were a lot of someones coming, and it didn't take much imagination to jump to the most logical conclusion. "Upstairs, the full moon rooms," he first ordered and then added, "if you like" before darting off to check to see if his father was still in his office -- and of course he still was. "Dad. Dad, there's trouble. I think."

It would just figure. A full house with all ages and there was real fucking trouble coming. Jeremy wouldn't have bothered otherwise. "What sort of trouble?" he asked, coming out.

He hated this, just standing there again like a useless kid on a porch while a werewolf murdered his sister. "There's a group of people approaching. Twenty or so, from the east. Two minutes away, at most."

"Do we know who they are?" The numbers were admittedly worrisome, and it was highly unlikely that they were coming in a group that large for something peaceful. At least, he supposed, it wouldn't be something they'd find uninteresting.

"I don't, and I doubt anyone else d -- where are you going?" Jeremy shouted. The regulars of the Den were now ascending the stairs without hesitation, but the Skoll pack lingered back. "It might just be another -- who says it's even a threat, do you know who it is?"

"Who else comes with a lot of wizards?" Cort, one of Skoll's werewolves demanded of him. "So much for neutral bloody territory!"

"How do you know they're wizards?" Owen asked in return, moving past a number of them to one of the window in the front room. In the dying light, he could see that many of them did have wands at the ready. They were that close.

They were, in a couple words, pretty screwed.

"Upstairs," Jeremy barked at the lot of them, entirely on instinct, perhaps to banish the knot in his throat. "They'll never bloody get in those rooms." He reached for his own wand and went for the door.

"As he says," Owen said with a nod to Skylar, at a glance from her. "The doors are very secure. It will be tight, but everyone can fit in those rooms."

"Right, you all heard him," she echoed, and it seemed as though everyone snapped into action at once towards the stairs. Owen steeled his nerves and followed Jeremy, his wand in his hand.

Alecto tossed her head to get her hair out of her face, damning the wind with a series of unladylike curses and lifting her lit wand to get a better look at Curenton's cute little Den. "Can't we just get it from here?" She mocked shooting a spell, trying to draw a smile from Fenrir who had been far too quiet on their way there. "Come on, I can take them out screaming."

Fenrir scratched his chin as he stared at the Den, the haven of tame werewolves. Yes, he'd enjoy his time, now that he had the strength of four wizards and the best fighters in Fenrir's pack to do as he pleased with the Curentons... but not that. "Be patient, Alecto, we're nearly there," he said, patronising her.

On Alecto's other side, Amycus smirked slightly. Even after all her time among the wolves, she was still the one who would talk to fill the silence. "Yes. Patience, sister," he said, enough levity in his tone to indicate he was teasing.

Alecto nudged her brother in the ribs, continuing to speak to Fenrir in her sweetest sing-song. "Fenrir, we get to kill some of them, don't we? A majority. I mean, they're not going to join you, are they? They're the weaklings and bastards." At a glare from Fenrir, she balked. "What, did I say something wrong?"

"We're here," Fenrir said without answering her. The porch was mere feet away. "Wesley, Laurel, with me, Alecto, choose your best two, we -- " He stopped, startled, as a spot of grass at his feet burst into flame.

"Not a bloody step further!" Jeremy shouted from his spot by the door, wand brandished. "You want to go to Azkaban, Fenrir, you want the Ministry to have you? Then what for your unified pack?"

"Jeremy," Owen warned under his breath before addressing Fenrir. "We don't have anything for you, Fenrir. The chances are that they won't bother with Azkaban, you know that, not after all that you've been responsible for."

Fenrir tilted his head to look past them, to see if he could see any werewolves from where they stood, but they were likely hidden away upstairs, the same tactic that Conor's pack had tried. How predictable. "You have more than you think, Owen. Those werewolves of yours, they'll prefer life in my pack to your charity, believe me."

"You didn't hear me, did you? They know where you are now!" Jeremy's instincts, the wolf's instincts, told him to run, but he couldn't, he couldn't freeze again in front of Fenrir. "And they'll give you the Dementor's Kiss, you'll be dead."

"Oh, there's the son, my son. Send your son to his real home, Owen, with his wolf and with me," Fenrir said with a grin, which turned to a sneer as he leaned over to Alecto. "Torch the house."

"Fire," Alecto shouted, though whether it was in glee or as an order, there was no telling. Either way, she was the first to send flames shooting at the side of the house.

Normally, Owen was calm in emergencies and tense situations. The tenser, the calmer, it was what made him good at what he did. But at those words, he momentarily froze. That was thirty people, and his work. He made a fast move to disarm the witch, but instead found himself without a wand with one "Expelliarmus!" from the man at her side.

Jeremy ducked behind the door and thanked God for the time the kitchen caught on fire. "Centonis!" he shouted, casting the extinguishing curse as best he could from that angle - but he couldn't get it all. "Dad -- shite, what do we do?" The werewolves upstairs... but if they let them loose, the witch and the wizards would most likely start picking them off.

Owen jumped out of the way just in time to avoid being hexed into splinters along with the door. He threw the nearest chair out of the doorway to buy them a few more seconds. "If we leave them up in the rooms, they're dead anyway. Running, there's a chance." With the ten or so wizards and witches, it wouldn't take long for the house to go up like Greek fire.

The answer was obvious. Unfortunate, but obvious. The worst that could happen was it wouldn't work, and he'd even make that work to his advantage. "No, wait. Wait. You get them out." Jeremy shoved the chair aside and ran outside, ducking with his sleeve over his face to keep from inhaling too much smoke.

There was no time to act otherwise. He turned and took the stairs two at a time to the second floor, and reflexively twisted the doorknob on the first door that he could reach. Locked, of course, and without a wand he couldn't undo it. "Please, it's me, you have to open the door," he yelled, banging on it with his fist.

The door opened slightly, stopping with only a few inches of clearance. Once of the Den's regulars stared back at him. "What's going on down there," he demanded flatly.

"Please, everyone needs to leave, and quickly," he replied.

"Leave? Why?" Skylar asked from the second door, a couple of heads peeking around the corner at Owen, with glances as inquisitive as hers.

God, there were children. The children would never run fast or far enough. He instead moved down the hall, urgently knocking on doors that had not yet opened. "They've set the house on fire, and you can't stay here. You'll die."

"We may die anyway," a voice from one of the rooms called, and there was a sudden rise in voices of general confusion. Questions. Fear.

"LISTEN TO ME," Owen shouted above everyone. "They have come here to kill and hurt you, this is your life, why don't you fight to protect it?" he demanded. "Those who are ready to fight and yes, maybe die, go, and run. But if you stay here you will surely die."

There was tense silence for only half a second more, and Skylar stepped out of the second room. "Show us which door to leave by and where to go. Ben Skoll's pack will go."

Good enough for him. "Follow me," he said, moving back to the staircase, with the pack close on his heels.

Jeremy ducked a series of hexes as he stumbled down the stairs, badly deflected a last into a second-story window of the Den, and put his hands and wand up. "STOP BLOODY -- stop hexing me! I'm here to make a deal!"

"A deal?" Alecto laughed, throwing another hex at him to send him scrambling to avoid. "What do you have to offer, boy?"

"I'm his, aren't I?" Jeremy shouted over the yelling of curses. The life's work of his father was burning down mere feet away but there was a possibility he could bring this to a halt. He got to his feet, dusted himself off, and shoved his wand in his belt. "I'm of Fenrir's pack, even if I'm a bastard unnamed." He tried not to look at the door, to see if anyone was about to escape, especially because he'd just caught Fenrir's attention. He was right. A Father would do anything to regain a son.

Owen's heart leapt to his throat to see his son so close to them, to be speaking as he was. He forced his paternal instinct down, there were thirty or so people behind him who needed to make a run for it, and today wasn't the day for miracles to occur. He turned to Skylar behind him and said, "Follow the porch around the side, this way," he pointed to indicate, "and climb over the rail. And then run as fast as you can. Some of you, go the opposite way, that will split their focus." God, he hoped this worked, even a little.

Jeremy forced down his fear at approaching Fenrir, his Father, the man who killed his sister and ruined his life. "It's a weak pack leader who attacks other packs without even consolidating his own," he pointed out, ludicrous as his reasonable tone sounded among the chaos of a battle.

Fenrir's ranks burst past the two of them as Skoll's pack ran out of the house. Alecto shrilled out her orders, few of which were even followed, but the shower of Dark Arts continued; Wesley took a more proactive approach, leading an attack on the fleeing werewolves head-on. Jeremy tried to focus past the crackling of the fire and the screaming of the victims as Fenrir approached him. God, this was his worst nightmare. "Fenrir. I -- "

"You didn't owl the Ministry." Fenrir looked out at the chaos after the boy shook his head. "You couldn't have, we would have seen an owl go out. So you and the crowd of bastards are here alone, defenceless. And you think I'll spare the lot of them and let them free just to get a bastard?"

"I'm the bastard who nearly got you the Dementor's Kiss and will again if you give me the chance." The words came easily; he suddenly understood how his father could be so calm in situations like this. "Might be me, but I think one bastard that dangerous might be worth controlling."

With hell breaking loose all around him, Owen was scarily calm. The pack was out, running and fighting for their lives if they could. There wasn't anything more he could do for them, he accepted. Jeremy was still with him, and there was something in their postures that left him more than uneasy. He started towards them, but no sooner had his feet hit the grass than he was tackled to the ground. His first instinct was to fight back, of course, but he realized that whoever was pinning him to the ground was not being any more aggressive than that. He forced himself to stop and looked. "You?"

Briony had picked up the deposited wand unsure of what she thought she was going to do with it, but she knew immediately when she saw the wizard advancing towards his son and Fenrir. He was going to need it. "The bastard who took it dropped it in the grass," she said, clumsily handing the wand to him, unnoticed. "Use it well."

His hand wrapped around it, familiar with the feel of every grain of wood. With a last look that may have been a silent apology, she pushed herself off of him to rejoin the fray. He pushed himself up as well, rolling his shoulder that now protested the contact it had made with the ground. He was getting a bit too old for that. He continued his way, blocking a stray hex.

"You think you're dangerous?" Fenrir allowed himself a smug grin at feel of the blaze of the Curentons' Den burning against his face, at the sound of screaming werewolves who dared to defy destiny. "You're a bastard, an unschooled wizard, and your father is an idiot."

"My father is no idiot," Jeremy shouted at Fenrir without even a second of thought. "My father only wanted to help you and look at what you've done, you've ruined everything! You need to th -- "

Fenrir grabbed the boy by the neck and choked him for a moment, enjoying the fear in his eyes as Jeremy tore at his captor's hair and clothing for some sort of release, before shoving him to the ground. "Very dangerous," he scoffed.

"Jeremy!" Owen cried out as he saw him hit the ground, only feet away. He wanted to pick him up, as any father would a son, but it would have left them at a severe disadvantage. He pointed his wand instead, and shot off the first hex he could think of.

Fenrir tried to evade the hex but was grazed, his cheek bloody and raw from its path. The fury of the wolf and the man came immediately. "A fine bloody pair of fools you are, father and son," he snarled, and stalked to face Owen personally. "Go on, hex me again, wizard, I dare you, it won't be the first!"

"You destroy without a thought or a care, you always have! You deserve whatever justice comes down upon you!" he shouted. A smarter man would have bound him, stunned him, and figured something else out, but Owen gave in to his pent up anger and desire to see Fenrir bleed. He did as the other man dared, and hexed him again.

Fenrir was done with talk, and allowed the hex to hit him, more set on grabbing Owen by the throat and doing what he'd always wanted to do to the activist -- rip it out.

At once, Owen was wishing that he'd bound Fenrir, and reflected on this with a certain amount of absurdity as he twisted in a purely instinctive attempt at getting away. Again his wand lay abandoned in the grass to free both his hands to tear at the ones around his throat.

Jeremy had no choice, not at this point, no matter if it'd muck up his later plans; saving his father's life was definitely on the top of his list of priorities. He sent a very nasty electrifying hex at Fenrir's back, scrambling to grab his dad's wand before either of them landed on it.

Owen's lungs flooded with air the instant he was released -- dropped, maybe, everything was a little fuzzy around the edges and it hardly seemed to matter anyway because he could breathe. He laid still on the ground, unable to expend any more energy than that. He could hear screaming, the Den was fully in flames, and he knew that he should do something. "Jer -- Jeremy," he croaked out, still short of breath.

Jeremy crawled over to his father, coughing at the smoke now permeating the area, and held out his wand. "Dad," he whispered urgently. "Dad, you need to -- "

There was a loud crackling sound from the flaming roof of the Den, and a split second of uncertain silence before the roof collapsed in on its left side, the weight tearing through the second floor. A shaken Alecto shouted "OUT, let's get out of here! To me, you fucking animals, to me!"

Owen knew his son, and could see the gears spinning in his head at an alarming rate. He did not have a good feeling about this. "What?" he asked, demanding Jeremy's attention with a firm hand on his chin.

Something deep inside him reacted to that, a son's reaction to a father's command, and even his wolf reacted with the strongest yearning for pack since he'd first touched Briony. "I... I have to go. With him. I have to go," he blurted out. "It's what I have to do, Dad, it's what I've been doing this whole time, I'm ready..."

"FENRIR," Alecto shouted, but the stupid bloody werewolf wasn't listening. Was he unconscious? "Fenrir, get your arse up, we have to get out of here before MLE gets here!"

Owen understood. He wasn't sure why, his instinct said to stop him, protect him, but Jeremy was right. "Use your head," he managed around the distress rising from his gut. "I -- I can't make this okay for your mother if you turn up dead." It was going to be hard enough as it was.

"I always use my head," Jeremy said with a quick, reckless grin. "Trust me. I know what I'm doing." He waved his wand at Fenrir, cast an "Rennervate," and began to drag him with a spell towards where Fenrir's pack and wizards had gathered, with captives on hand.

Alecto couldn't help but be a bit surprised that their one of their most troublesome quarry was helping Fenrir to his escape, but she wasn't about to complain. "Get his hand on here," she snapped at him, pleased when he obliged. "NOW!" All three Portkeys immediately activated at the touch of each hand of Fenrir's pack, and they left the Den in flames, bodies in the grass.

With the departure of Fenrir's pack, the noise died down and things went eerily silent. Whatever was left of the Den was crackling with a devious ferocity, and Owen exhaled, heart heavy and feeling defeated as ever. He sat up slowly, taking in the full image of the house burning for the first time, and closed his eyes when he couldn't stand to look at it any longer. He forced himself to stand and make his way home as fast as he could. There was too much to do to dwell on the loss and destruction.