Fathers and Sons

Fathers and Sons

Chapter 16: Men Plan, God Laughs

Martine: My family. My love. My home. My sisters, my brothers, their husbands and wives -- if the evil Lucien has his way, we will all perish while grows fat off our misery and heartbreak and the once noble family of Saint Croix will be no more! Maman, how can this be in a balanced universe?

Adel: Have heart, Martine. God laughs at the great plans of men and strikes them down, repaying them hardship for hardship and evil for evil.

-- Phoenix Tears Heal Nothing, by Malecrit, 1414, in a 1977 English translation.

December 1980

The few wizards who lived in or near Swansea kept to one street north of the city, but they had certainly never seen the like of the Den. Werewolves were an epidemic of Pembrokeshire, further west, but when Owen Curenton decided to rebuild the Den, they took notice. They rebuilt in a large, old house not all that different from the one that had burnt to the ground. There was room between the houses: far enough that activities couldn't necessarily be observed by anyone who should glance through their curtains, but close enough to be of concern to anyone who knew what the house was really meant to shelter.

They were officially open come November, but in December the house was still mostly empty. There were a handful of old Den regulars who had managed to run fast and far enough away to not be pressed into Fenrir's mass Pack, and those Owen had managed to contact and convince that it was safe to return. It wasn't easy, as wolves usually stuck to the edges of cities if at all. Owen had to hope that the new Den was far enough away from Swansea proper that werewolves would come, but close enough that it would discourage Fenrir Greyback from returning.

Owen had been known to have many projects on his plate at once, but he was approaching his limit - which wasn't what it used to be. He theorised that his attention span had dwindled with time and age, but not his ability to get interested and obsess. He looked up from about the millionth Prophet article about the Wolfsbane Potion he was reading for about the twentieth time, and Julia was staring expectantly at him, a few of the photographs from the stack sitting in front of her in her hand. "Sorry?" he said.

She sighed. "You know, trying to help you with this would be a lot easier if I didn't have to repeat myself. We would literally save half the time."

"Dunno about that," he said, resolutely putting the article down. "What is it?"

It still escaped her as to why she'd actually agreed to help Owen. It wasn't as if he weren't capable of photographing the house for insurance purposes himself, he'd managed to do it with the first one well enough. "These are total rubbish, they're too dark. All they're going to tell you if you have to show them these is that you should have installed more lights," she said, holding a few out to him.

"Well, I don't know about that, let's see," he said, taking them from her, and holding them at an appropriate distance to glance at them. "They are a trifle dark," he admitted.

"I overexposed an entire roll of film and then developed them anyway at your insistence, which you loved, so you will forgive me for not trusting your judgment," she said dryly. "These are crap, they're no good."

Owen looked over Julia's shoulder at Brighid, who sat behind the writing desk scribbling away intently on the parchment in front of her. "D'you hear the way she's talking to me? Merlin's back hair, I thought you were a mute the first six months we knew you," he said, going back to the photographs.

Brighid crossed her t's and dotted her i's and sent Julia a faintly discerning look. "She's got a lot to say, and with some fire behind it," she said, not hiding her immediate smile. "I think we've been a good influence on her, Owen, without a doubt." She returned her eyes to the letter at hand, wanting the night's work finished while her train of thought was still fresh in her mind.

Julia's face burned pink and she ducked her head, letting her hair hide her face. The Curentons seemed to think if you used two or three words when you could have used ten, that you simply weren't trying hard enough. "You stick to prose, I'll do your photography," she murmured, plucking the photographs out of Owen's hand.

Owen grinned at Brighid and looked back at the photographs spread out on the floor in front of her. They all jumped slightly as a chime went off, indicating that someone had crossed into the perimeter. "Wards," he sighed needlessly.

Brighid sighed and finished her sentence with a flourish. "That might be the reporter, I wrote back to her for the twentieth time but she seems very persistent."

"I'll send her away without so much as a hey or hello," Owen said, pushing himself up off the floor with a groan. He was starting to get old. He left the room in anticipation of a knock and threw the door open a second later, mentally started the brief Turning Away Journalists speech. "I'm sorry but my wi - " He cut himself off when the last person he would have ever dared to hope see stood there. He was startled stupid.

Jeremy looked up at his father, and despite being in Swansea, so far from the house he grew up in, he felt at home for the first time since he could genuinely recall. The wolf leapt to control him when his nerves struck up at meeting his father's eyes, but he controlled himself and squeezed Melinda's hand and nudged her wolf with his. "Good job restarting, Dad," he said, leaning back to look at the house. "This is pretty damned remarkable."

Once Owen was sure his heart wasn't going to crash through his ribcage, he decided that he would actually say something. "Jeremy," he said in a hushed tone, and then took another breath. "Come in, both of you. Please," he added, and stood aside for them both to enter - his son and the girl. Then it could be real.

Jeremy didn't move at first, as he tried to wrap his mind around the life that had involved this sort of father. After all the efforts he'd made to try to tell the unnameds what was normal and remind them of how a "father" was really supposed to act, even he had forgotten how things really were. He finally stepped inside, holding the door open for Melinda. "Dad, this is Melinda, a ranking named in Conor's pack, a fine friend and ally. Melinda, this is my father, Owen Curenton, activist for werewolf rights and owner of the Den. The new Den, I should say."

"Hello, lovely to meet you," he told her with an irrepressible smile. He could have leapt for joy, but forced himself to be somewhat dignified about it when he spoke to Jeremy again. "You - you're here," he said, taking Jeremy by the shoulders and holding him there for a moment.

Jeremy had done a fine job of not showing any real emotion thus far, but looking his father in the face nearly did him in. "I'm here for a reason," he said. "But, I mean. It's... it's really great to see you."

"Of course," he made himself say. "Of course," he repeated, "please, if we can help ..."

"Thank you. Thank you for restarting the Den, it's exactly what we need. I'm taking him down, Dad. We're ending him." Jeremy gave his most confident grin. "And we need you."

"We didn't know what else to do," he said. This was his work, his life, just as important as it always had been, if not more. "What I have is yours to use."

"How many can this one hold?" Melinda was wandering now, he saw, eyeing the place with some curiosity, but he wasn't worried.

"About the same as the old place - probably maxes out at forty, at the minute, not that we're near that at all," Owen said. "We have some time before we have to worry about that."

"Not if I can help it. I need to bring some people here, a lot actually," Jeremy started, but stopped as Melinda interrupted.

"A good half of the unified pack," she said, turning to Owen with a smile. "I hope you can find the space."

Owen raised an eyebrow at Jeremy. He should have guessed there would already be a plan in place. "Oh really," he said. He could sort of see where this was headed - maybe.

"It's been a year, and you know me - I figured it out within a few months. Fenrir's pack is half made up of unnameds, one quarter's nameds of various packs, and then there's the ranked nameds, and that last bit's the only one he actually cares about. If we cut down his numbers..."

"He'll look back at his pack and find he has nothing," Melinda completed. "And there's nothing worse for a pack leader."

"And you need somewhere to put them," Owen said. "I understand."

"Owen, you've been out here awhile, we're wondering who - " Julia stopped in the doorway the second she got there and could see the scene in the foyer. Her heart seemed to stop and she wasn't at all sure that she didn't just walk into a dream.

Of all the people Jeremy expected to hear or see at the Den that day, she wasn't one of them, and he had to turn and see her to make sure she was real. "Guess you have your answer then," he said, his tone lightened of its usual confidence.

If there had been a doubt in her mind, the pithy comment got rid of it. "It really is you, isn't it," she said, dazed.

"Yeah," he said, and gained the start of his typical stupid grin. "It's me all right."

"I - " She swallowed, her throat tightened. She wanted to move but she wasn't sure if she could make herself do it. "Come here," she said, it came out more of a plea than she meant for it to be.

He wasn't sure if he could at first, but after one step and then another it was easy enough to walk right up to her and kiss her like he'd dreamed about more than once since leaving her.

Melinda approached Owen easily, her hands tucked behind her back. "I haven't told Jeremy this, but I'm going to stay here, if that's all right with you." She spoke with confidence, but her flush overtook her face nevertheless. "We're bringing unnameds from some very orthodox packs to the house of a wizard, and we'll need someone here to... set them straight on the way of things, I suppose?"

"Of course," he said, and nodded in understanding. "They'll need some help acclimating."

Julia found it all too easy to fall into his arms again like an old habit. It was him, and she felt better about everything than she had in a long while. "Love you," she murmured into his ear, resting her cheek against his.

"Love you too," Jeremy said, if faintly. "I'm... I'm going back. Tonight."

There was the catch. The bottom of her stomach dropped out and suddenly, it was all too real again. She didn't want him to, but she nodded. "Tonight," she repeated.

"I have to, they'll notice if I'm gone, I'm suspected enough," he whispered. "I'm doing something, I'm taking Fenrir down, Julia. Don't worry. I'll be back."

She nodded, having to understand even if she wanted to keep him there. "Okay," she made herself say, and pulled back only slightly so she could see his face - probably her favourite sight in the whole world, even though she hated to see him look like that, almost worried.

"Later," he said after a soft moment of silence with her. "I'll leave later. Do you want to... I don't know, go somewhere? I don't mean go - you know what I mean. Melinda?" He raised his voice.

"I have it handled, Jeremy," Melinda said with a patient tone, but sent Owen an amused look. "We're ironing out the details."

It made Owen's heart light to see Jeremy and Julia again. "Go on," he told them. "I'll take Melinda into my office, talk this over. You have some catching up to do. Just make sure you see your mother before you go?"

Julia put a hand to his cheek. "I very much want to go somewhere," she said simply.

With one gentle touch, she'd made him feel less a general and more a human. The wolf reached to her, and he allowed it to guide him to take her hand. "Then let's go," he said, and led her away from Melinda, his father, and all semblance of plans and strategy.

~*~

January 1981

Amycus did his best not to think about it, because it was well known that even your thoughts were not your own around the Dark Lord. It was also an accepted and unavoidable truth of the universe, though, that Important Things came up at inconvenient moments. Like being Summoned once you'd stepped out of the shower.

It was his master's convenience that mattered rather than Amycus's, of course, but there was a certain degree of absurdity to it. He rushed to dress as the Mark burned in his forearm, and Disapparated as soon as he was decent and able.

Alecto arrived an instant later, already practically breathless with excitement at the prospect of seeing her Lord again despite the inconvenience of having been called away in the middle of her time with Fenrir. Seeing Amycus there was a welcome surprise. "Amycus!" This meant no singular punishment for her (a long-time fear of hers) but hinted at something else, something that also excited her.

"Alecto," he greeted her with a rare, fond smile. Summoning the pair of them usually only meant one thing, and if that was the case... he tried not to think about it prematurely, but they were not the Persuaders for nothing. "All right?" he asked her.

She sent him a slight smile and answered without hesitation, "All right." She was too busy preparing to see the Dark Lord, tensed and ready for the sign that they should enter His presence. Bellatrix Lestrange flung open the doors from inside and looked down upon the two with smug disdain, a flush in her pale cheeks. Alecto's head lowered as she walked inside and fell to her knees at the first sight of her master.

Amycus mimicked her position without hesitation, his head lowered deferentially. "My Lord," he greeted respectfully.

The Dark Lord gestured impatiently for them to raise their heads, admittedly pleased at their deference. "Amycus, Alecto. I need your particular talents once again. Go to Azkaban and deal with the dementors, bring them to our side. We have found a way and you will bring it to them."

Dementors. Soul-sucking fiends that Amycus definitely would have preferred to never meet, but the back of his brain was already working on plans. Alecto seemed to be struck uncharacteristically speechless, but he only continued to examine her through his peripheral vision. "We understand, my Lord, thank you."

"The warden has been handled. All the preparations have been made, so handle them and do not fail me. Go now," the Dark Lord commanded.

Alecto couldn't make herself say the words in rare fear of torture from the master's wand, but eventually forced them out. "What about the werewolves, my Lord? What about our mission there?"

The Dark Lord lashed out at her with a cold flash of pain as he invaded her mind and made her fall to her knees once again. "You will follow your orders, Alecto, do you understand?" She cried out as he punished her again. "Your precious werewolves are in capable hands, not as though our halfbreed pets should be of any great concern to a faithful Death Eater. Leave us!"

Before she could say another word, in defense of her beloved animals or otherwise, Amycus quite literally lifted her sister from the floor by her elbows and took her outside. "What the hell was that?" he demanded.

"What?" Alecto spoke faintly as she pulled herself from her brother's grasp. "Nothing. Dementors, hm? That should be fun. More fun than the giants, at the very least."

"A challenge we haven't seen before," Amycus had to concede, although it still felt odd to him. He gave Alecto a discerning glance, and said, "I know that you have a fondness for the..." dogs "werewolves, but your orders -- our orders are clear. This is our talent!" Now that the order had been given, he was giddy with the prospect.

Alecto was not thinking about the werewolves, not anymore. This would be more comfortable, she was sure, less involvement, less diplomacy, mere persuasion in its purest form. Her brother's giddiness was catching; oh, she did miss the art of persuasion. "But the dementors. We're supposed to persuade dementors? I hope you've practiced your charms," she teased.

That just went to show that there was no predicting what was going through his sister's head at any given moment. "I suppose we'll have to practise, won't we?" he smirked slightly.

"Exactly! Just like that we have our plans for tonight! Let's get started now," she said, giving his arm a tug.

He resisted only marginally, and only for a split second. "Yes, all right," he said.

"Excellent." She Disapparated from that very point.

He looked at the spot for only a moment before he followed. There was no doubt that this is what they needed, a chance to return to the capacity where they'd been of the most use to their Master, and the whole set of challenges that came with it. It was... exhilarating.

~*~

Robert Yaxley knew that the Carrows were excited at their new assignment -- persuading the Dementors to do anything would never be any small task. They had always been a bit mad, and this only proved it to him, but everyone under the Dark Lord's command had a purpose. Currently, Yaxley's purpose was to deliver the werewolf's (Fenrir Greyback's, he could hardly even stand to give the beast a name) purpose in Alecto Carrow's absence -- orders, he was assured, that would be to his liking.

Why his job, he could hardly understand, but he was also not going to complain. He readily admitted that he lacked diplomacy, let alone the Carrows' particular brand of it, but then again, there were none like the Carrows. But knocking on the door of what sounded like a rather full pack house was not a bad start, he reasoned, and did so. If nothing else it would give him a few more seconds before he was forced to talk to any of them.

Remus was busy with the bastards, Alecto had vanished days ago, so when there was a knock at the door, Fenrir was forced to grab a wand, shove it into Wesley's belt, and make him answer the door. Wesley ignored the wand, loathing the feeling of the useless stick anywhere near his body, and opened the door with a dull gaze for the man who stood there. "Hello," he said, intently considering the man as an enemy.

Yaxley might not have had diplomacy, but he was not an idiot. He cleared his throat authoritatively and said, "I've come to deliver orders from the Dark Lord to Fenrir Greyback. Is he here?" he asked in a way that wasn't so much a question as a strict formality.

Another one of them. Wesley gave a short nod and a brusque look to the wizard and marched away to find Fenrir where he likely sat with the majority of his pack. Yaxley trailed behind him and tried not to appear as though he was faltering in his steps -- this was a lot of werewolves. How Alecto found this in the least bit appealing or endearing was a mystery to him. He stopped short of the main room, very visible but silent.

A path cleared around Fenrir as he walked towards the entrance to greet the wizard. "Who are you?" he asked, not bothering to welcome him any further.

Yaxley eyed him in return. He considered not giving a name for a moment, but decided that this definitely didn't need to be any more involved or distasteful than it already was. "Robert Yaxley. I have orders from our Lord for you," he said.

"Yaxley. You're one of Alecto's. Fine. Remus, Laurel!" Fenrir barked to call them forward. He didn't like how the two were starting to lurk back, although at least Remus had reason. "It's the usual thing, of course," he said to Yaxley.

"The usual," he repeated, glancing at the boy and the girl as they came to stand, but giving neither a second thought. "There are children this time. I find them fairly useless but I understand that they're to your taste, so to speak."

"Children." Fenrir gave an approving nod as he glanced back at his subordinates. "Blood-traitors? What's the crime?"

"Yes," Yaxley said, almost sounding bored. "The man is Smith, he's been found to be behaving in a manner that is less than becoming of someone with blood as pure as his."

"Father." Wesley spoke urgently, and got a nod from Fenrir after a questioning look. He turned to Yaxley. "Where has Alecto gone?"

"The Dark Lord has seen it fitting to send her and Amycus on a mission," Yaxley replied shortly.

Remus remained unflinching and quiet, but not inattentive. It would have been far from the truth to say that he had been fond of Alecto Carrow in any way, but he had the feeling that he'd do well to stay far ahead of Yaxley. "But where?" he asked mildly.

"If it had been of any sort of importance to you I'm sure you would have been told," Yaxley snapped back to the werewolf.

Fenrir stepped directly into Yaxley's personal space, so close he could smell the wizard's breath. "You do not speak to my first like that. That is a good question, Yaxley, and you'll answer it while you're in my house. You don't give us orders." He shoved Yaxley back and into Wesley, who suddenly had a knife in his hands and at Yaxley's neck.

It actually seemed to Yaxley like he was ordering -- in his master's stead, if nothing else. But surrounded by wolves who were loyal to Greyback and only him, and with a knife at his neck, he was hardly going to argue any further. "Alecto and Amycus have gone north to reason with the Dementors."

Fenrir accepted that with a nod and gestured for Wesley not to move as he looked back to Remus. "Are you satisfied?" he asked his first.

"I am," Remus said, his mind spinning. He allowed himself and the wolf to feel pleased with the information, so it surely wouldn't be interpreted as suspicious or out of place.

Fenrir could sense the satisfaction Remus's wolf felt with the news -- the boy was always pleased when wizards were around, and even if it was a fault, he could allow his first some mistakes -- and also the bloodlust of Wesley's wolf. "Wesley," he snapped. "Down."

Wesley skimmed the flat edge of the knife along the skin of Yaxley's neck, leaving no question to whether or not he would have preferred Yaxley leaving the pack house as a corpse. "Yes, Father."

Distasteful, the lot of them. Yaxley kept the contempt off his face the best he could, but it was difficult. He stepped away to regain some personal space and dignity before speaking again. "I will return at the appropriate time, do whatever it is you do to prepare," he said. How could Alecto stay here? He truly doubted her sanity sometimes. "Unless there are more questions..."

"None," Remus responded blithely to Yaxley's pointed look.

Fenrir turned away from Yaxley and gestured that his ranked werewolves should follow him, using the blood tie to tug Remus and Wesley along specifically. "We know our mission, you're free to go," he said to Yaxley, over his shoulder.

Wesley stared at Yaxley as he scrambled after Fenrir, his wolf eager and frightened and ready for blood.

Remus tried to keep the wince inside, he was still not used to the specific pull that Fenrir had on him. He stayed behind long enough to make sure Yaxley was leaving; he couldn't see that man's back fast enough. He then followed Fenrir and Wesley.

"Smith," Fenrir said aloud as they walked to a more isolated corner of the room, and then he genuinely smiled, his wolf ablaze with pleasure, at Wesley. "My son, we will have more children for you."

Wesley slid his knife into his belt and smiled silently in response.

Children. Fenrir's proclivity and even pleasure towards biting children - a trait that seemed to have passed to his second son - never failed to sicken Remus. He remained a blank slate. "That's in five days," he said, mostly for something to say.

"Not soon enough," Fenrir said with a tone that rather resembled cheer. "Wesley, go fetch dinner. Remus... go about your business." He couldn't have been more pleased with how well Remus was monitoring the pack.

Remus nodded and let Wesley brush past him on the way out before he left himself. He wondered how soon he dare try and send a Patronus message to the Order. His wolf balked at the thought of the treacherous group, and he pushed back at it without too much force lest it incapacitate him as it had at the meeting all that time ago. News about the Carrows would be welcome; they'd disappeared off the radar.

But the Smiths. What could he say? How much would it affect the plot that Curenton had already set in motion? What he needed was distraction, and unfortunately this was exactly the kind of distraction that would never fail. He would have to consider it, and that it had come to that made him quite uncomfortable, but it was something he would have to think about.

He moved to seek out a couple of the children. Perhaps even for just a little while, they could help him forget the Smith children could soon possibly be in the ranks among them.

~*~

February 1981

As much as Frank liked for things to go smoothly, he knew that the probability was high they would not go in such a way - but damnit, the Smiths. One of the last decent Pure families, one branch taken out by Death Eaters and their weapon of choice, werewolves. That struck hard, and it was more than a warning to only the younger Smith brother. It was not the first time wolves had been used by the Dark Lord, but it was the first time such a prominently pure family had been attacked and intimidated into silence. Silence almost sickened him more than loud opposition. What he didn't understand was how the Order had a werewolf in Greyback's pack and things like this still managed to happen.

Despite that it had been a brick wall everytime they'd tried, Frank and Alice had decided to corner Elliot Pittiman of the Werewolf Registry one last time in hopes that he would give them something, anything they could work with. The Longbottoms were never ones to leave at five o'clock on the dot, even now that their son had been born, but it was their best chance of catching Pittiman so that he could not avoid them. "Ready?" he asked Alice at her cubicle.

Alice looked up at Frank from her seventeenth reread of the Smith file, and surreptitiously closed the folder as she forced herself to smile. "I'm ready," she responded, setting the file aside and rising to her feet with the help of the arms of the chair. "Even if we're overestimating that man's conscience too much... well, I'm an optimist."

"You always are," he told her, letting her lead the way to the lift. It hadn't worked so far, but that made them all the more certain that he was the man that they needed to speak with. Fear was, after all, one of the most powerful silencers known.

"He should be in the office," she said half to herself as they entered the lift. She hit the button for Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, and glanced at her husband. "Do you think Neville's all right? I mean, he's with your mother, of course he's fine," Alice went on. "But he's so ... little, Frank." And children were definite targets in this war, and with their standing in the Order... "I worry. Rightfully so, I should think." She sought his hand and smiled.

He let her take his hand. Yes, children were very large targets in this war, and having children was supposedly a stressful event at the best of times. "I worry too," he told her simply as the lift stopped and the doors opened. "That's why this ends now."

She nodded and entered the Department, knowing that their faces and purpose might be known, but not caring. The Werewolf Registry was deep inside the Department and they both knew well how to get there after the amount of visits they'd paid Mr Pittiman.

Alice knocked on the surprisingly closed door, only to be startled back a step as it opened nearly instantly. "...You?" Elliott Pittiman said, his eyes narrowing at the sight of the two Aurors. "I thought I told you I know nothing." His hand tightened on the doorknob.

Frank got a foot into the door, just in case he decided to close the door on them. It had happened before. "You've told us, Mr. Pittiman, but we've hit a little snag and we can't do this any longer," he said.

"Don't look at me. Look at the Smiths," Pittiman said with a scoff. "Just. Go do your job and leave me alone. I can't help you, I don't know anything."

Instead of answering right away, Frank looked around the Registry office. Whoever had said that it was barely more than a filing cabinet and a map on the wall was right. There were a couple of desks in addition to those two items, but all in all Frank could see that it made a Department office hardly worth it. "I am looking at the Smiths, Mr. Pittiman. I'm sure that I don't need to tell you what sort of fiasco that is."

Alice clasped her hands in front of her and endeavoured to look exactly like the bright young mother that she was. "It's a tragedy, Mr Pittiman. The whole family, by all indications, murdered -- the children missing -- "

Pittiman gave a snort of laughter and cast the charm on the map to reveal the numbers of the roving dots that represented the tracked werewolves. He spoke without looking at them. "I am more aware of the Smiths' situation than you could imagine."

"Then are you ready to help us?" Frank asked. "This is not isolated, it's bordering on pandemic. That I'm sure you also understand."

"I have three children," Pittiman said darkly. "You can't ask me to talk."

Alice pursed her lips and went to close the door, the buzz of the Department cut off behind them, only then walking up to Pittiman to ask him directly, "Would you sacrifice the lives of countless innocents? Would you watch these others die -- these children, just like your own, Mr Pittiman -- with full knowledge that you could have done something about it?"

Such as he was, Frank sometimes forgot that there were others who were not quite so ready to place life, limb, and family on the line as he and Alice were. He tried not to let it irk him, and it worked. Most of the time. "We have an infant son, Mr. Pittiman. We understand the instinct to protect. It would be a great thing to protect others as well."

Pittiman at last actually looked at Frank. "Can you protect me?" he asked the Auror.

There was a part of him that said he should not make promises, but this was important, and the Order could help. "We can."

"Frank," Alice said urgently, going back to his side to take his hand. This was unwise. No promises could be made, especially during this sort of war.

Pittiman looked around the office, rightfully paranoid, and spat the word out. "Fine."

"I know," he said to Alice, a bit shorter than he'd meant to. The 'how' would come, for now he needed to focus on the long term result. If the MLE couldn't do anything, the Order surely could. Half in apology and half in reassurance, he squeezed her hand briefly before turning back to the matter at hand. "Then... as you will," he added, unsure of where to start now that they'd gotten an agreement to talk.

Pittiman nodded to himself and picked up his briefcase, walking past the two Aurors. "You know where I live," he said. "You can meet me there. You can understand why I don't want to be seen with you."

Frank nodded in return. He did understand. "We shall," he replied.

Alice watched him leave and looked back to Frank, her eyebrows raised. "That was too easy," she said.

"Scarily so," he agreed. In a moment of curiosity, he moved to examine the map. Small dots marked the tracked werewolves, and some of them flickered like a candle in a breeze. "But we don't have any other road open to us right now."

"We can't promise him anything, Frank." Alice wrapped her arms around herself. "I wish we weren't right. I wish he wasn't... he has three children."

"I wish we weren't right either," he said, beginning to truly regret having said a word. There was no telling what could happen now, but he was determined to not go back on his word now. "When he tells us what we need to know, I'll... arrange something." He wracked his brain.

She lowered her voice, leaving it barely audible, in case of voice recording charms or detection of other sorts. "The Order would be willing to help, if nothing else. We have to find a way." She checked her watch. "We should be able to go now," she said, tensed and ready to get to it.

"Yes," he said with a slight sigh. He straightened again and turned back to face Alice. The Order should be able to stay that far ahead of the Death Eaters, at least. "It's... it's doable. This is too important to let go," he added, moving for the door.

Alice let him open the door, stepped outside again into the bustle of the Department, and released a breath she'd apparently been holding. When Frank came out of the office behind her, she said, "We need to hurry. He might try to run."

"Right. Pile the wife and kids onto the family broomstick and make a dash for it," he said dryly, although he felt incredibly humourless. He called the lift and let Alice step in first and pressed the button for the Atrium before anyone else could pile on board and they lost precious seconds.

They were out of the lift, out of the Atrium and to the door of the Pittiman house within minutes. It was a nice, average house for a nice, average family, and Alice felt a little ill as she saw the garden and the football hidden in the bush. They had been a happy, normal family before the Death Eaters had stepped in to complicate everything. She set her jaw and squeezed Frank's hand before she knocked.

Pittiman opened the door with an abrupt yank within a few seconds of the knock, greeting them with an urgent, impatient hiss of "Come in, come in." He ushered them in and glanced outside, although it was fruitless; the Death Eaters and their spies were invisible, and that was the true danger.

The abruptness of the answer had jolted Frank (he wouldn't have said startled) but at Pittiman's prompt, he let Alice in first, and they waited in the foyer as Pittiman checked. "Thank you again," he said, drawing Pittiman back inside, "for agreeing to speak with us."

Alice followed Pittiman's gaze outside until he shut the door just as quickly as he'd opened it, and she saw nothing. "We're Aurors, Mr Pittiman. We haven't been followed."

"You can't guarantee me that," said Pittiman, but he relaxed somewhat in his own home. "Would you like tea?"

"No thank you. Let's just talk," Alice said with the kindest smile she could muster. The poor man's nerves were shot, there was no helping it. "Shall we sit?"

Pittiman nodded and led them into a sitting room, nudging a football out of his way with a fatherly sigh. "I have been aiding the Death Eaters," he said. "This November it'll be three years. I've been breaking the Registry tracking charms and relocating the packs into abandoned properties when the houses get too full."

None of that precisely surprised Frank, but he exchanged a look with Alice at that. The obvious terror he felt for his family suggested this was not a choice he'd willingly made, to put it mildly. "How did they contact you? The Death Eaters, I mean."

"I made an attempt in 1977 to find Fenrir Greyback or any werewolves attached to him. He wasn't registered, but there was a noticeable collection of werewolves in an area nearby the Den, and I thought they might know. I personally went to this place and I met a nice young woman there." He gave a dark laugh. "Not so nice when she pulled her wand on me and threatened to kill me unless I did what she and the pack wanted."

Aha. "Alecto Carrow," Frank said, more to Alice than to Pittiman.

"Yes," Pittiman exclaimed the instant the name left Frank's mouth. "Yes, Alecto Carrow, that sadistic bitch, and that lumbering idiot brother of hers. She's gone, I don't know where she went, but I know where the werewolves are, all of them."

"Yes," Frank said, every bit of disdain he had for the Carrows showing. He was silent for a moment, letting his brain work on the information. "So. By making you work on all that... they've effectively screwed the MLE."

Pittiman stayed silent for a long moment, looking at the clock, eyeing the window, before he stood. "Yes, until I give you all of the details I just described."

Frank gave a quick, solemn nod. "We'll hear it all."

Pittiman shook his head and left the room with a brisk walk. He called after a moment later, as Alice peered after him curiously, "I have something better! Much, much better!"

Alice sat back, unable to shake some restlessness. "At least he seems to have calmed down," she said, keeping her voice hushed in case he came back.

"Unless he's rushing out the back door," he replied, scratching his jaw thoughtfully. "Do you think this is going to be a full disclosure?"

"I think with the risk he's taking, it's going to be all or nothing." She couldn't help but be somewhat excited at the prospect of real, useful information outside of oblique, outdated hints. But then it struck her. "Frank," she said urgently.

He nodded slightly as she spoke, and glanced at her. "Alice," he replied.

"What if this isn't real information?" She spoke in a soft tone, not revealing the panic that had her paling visibly. "What if this is a trap?"

If this were a trap... he tried not to think about it. His instincts told him not, but there was always a chance. "I don't think it is," he said quietly. "But keep a hand on your wand."

"I mean -- the information, Frank, what if he gives us the wrong -- " Alice looked up, her cheeks flushed as Pittiman returned to the room with an envelope in hand. "Oh! Is that it, Mr Pittiman?"

"Yes it is, Auror Longbottom," Elliot said with an undeniable note of slightly manic cheer, and held the envelope out to the married couple.

Frank shot her a look that she hoped he caught -- they could talk about that in their own home that they knew was at least a secure location. "Thank you, Mr. Pittiman," he said.

Alice accepted the envelope, uneasy at his smile, though. "Thank you, Mr Pittiman. Thank you very much for your help."

"We can set up a temporary antiapparition ward -- we can get Marlene to help us with something more permanent," he said in a sidebar to Alice. "Thank you," he repeated.

Pittiman nodded. "My son should be getting home soon, just make sure he can get home," he said. "My wife and I will do whatever we can to be of help."

Alice just nodded and stood, already making mental notes on what sort of wards they could put up for the Pittimans' safety, because they would need it.

"Keep playing your part, and we'll do ours -- we'll do that now," he nodded at Alice, and stood.

Pittiman sent them a triumphant sort of smile and exited abruptly without a further farewell, perhaps too frightened of the implications of what he'd just done.

"Well," Alice said, once he was presumably out of hearing range, and her head had stopped spinning from the sheer luck that a direct witness to this brutality had actually come forward after so long. She smiled. "This is ... a start."

"A good start," Frank said. He was already conjuring the arithmantic map that would create the ward, and poked around with it for a moment. "An incredible show of fortitude on his part."

Alice looked through the information in the folders again. "We should visit Miss King soon," she said after a reflective moment of taking in as much of the information as she could.

"It has been awhile since we've talked with our favourite hostile witness," he answered dryly, and glanced back at her with a crooked smile.

"Susanna King turned hostile witnessing into an artform," she said, smiling back at him.

"That she did," he said, and poked around in the map again before closing it. "That should be that. They can get out and in, and we can get back in to build up the wards, we'll just have to side-along Marlene in. Let's get home."

Alice slid the information back into the folder. "At last," she said with mixed weariness and relief.

"Yes," he agreed. "We'll look at it more at home. Ladies first," he added, and followed quickly after her when she Disapparated.