Fathers and Sons

Fathers and Sons

Chapter 21: Rocking the Boat

Each month we sit, waiting for a reprieve from the terror shown us from the most willful of beasts: feral werewolves. But no reprieve comes. It's not a very promising thing to say that the best you can do the morning after the full moon is thank Merlin that this month, it wasn't your child, wasn't your family, but parents around Britain all think it. "What Will The Ministry Do About The Werewolf Problem?" The Daily Prophet, 31 July 1981

July 1981

It had been days since Fenrir had cut open Laurel's throat to be an example to others who would seek to overthrow him. But of course, she hadn't been part of the real plan. Just a cog. A dead cog. And Remus still felt sick over it.

He shouldn't have felt anything. They'd agreed that it was something necessary in order for their plan to work like it had to. It was improvised from the moment Wesley threw Jeremy into that meeting of the inner circle, but it worked out. Amazingly, it had worked. Jeremy's arse had been thoroughly kicked into next month, and while he was going to live, you wouldn't have known that to look at him. It was just another price one of them had to pay to see this through -- or at least that's what Remus figured Jeremy would say. It sounded like something he would say.

He still felt wretched, and he supposed that was something unlikely to change. While he didn't want to appear as though it bothered him as much as it did, or the reason for it, or his worry for the other saboteurs... it was a lot to keep contained in himself. He stood at the window in the upstairs corridor, and he watched the children in the yard with Wesley. His arms were crossed in front of his chest, as though he could keep it all in.

Fenrir sat alone in his room until he couldn't stand the silence any longer, and forced his heir to come to his side. He lashed out over the tie against both Remus and Wesley, shoving the chair back as he stood and stalked out of his room, only to find Remus standing there. "What are you doing?" he demanded.

Remus kept from crying out at the discomfort that hit him over their tie. He didn't want to care about it but it was immediate and painful. "Nothing," he answered honestly.

"Not much to do, is there," Fenrir sighed, putting his hand on Remus's shoulder as he looked out the window as well. "There's... there's things to do. Damage control. People will always try to steal any bit of power they can get, it's just a matter of showing them you're the best one to wield it, and that's what we've got to do."

Ironically, he was right. There was not much to do, not until their brain of the outfit was up to operating. That wasn't what he meant, though, obviously. "It's certainly left an impression," he replied neutrally.

"Well, there's still the bastards to handle. She had a nice conspiracy going, judging by Curenton." Fenrir watched Wesley sweep one of the kids up and over his shoulder, and gave a short laugh. "I think you might be the best to handle that situation," he added to Remus.

He immediately nodded. "I will," he answered. It would be an easy enough thing to go to the unnameds, and then tell Fenrir that he'd successfully scared them all into submission.

Fenrir leaned against the nearby wall instead, ignoring the window and his son outside. "She helped me save you, you know. I thought she believed in the same things, but just like the rest, she fell victim to her nature."

Yes, because the way you saved people was by breaking into their houses and dragging the four-year-old boy out of his bed. Saved. "Maybe we are all nature and nurture makes no difference at all," he said, still looking out the window.

Fenrir considered that. "You were raised as a wizard, and you came to me. She was raised with me, and she betrayed me. All the more reason you should be grateful you are what you are and not what your wizarding father meant you to be."

Remus didn't know if that was true or not. He wasn't sure what Alexander Lupin may have intended or hoped, except that Remus not be what the father's hasty words had done to the son. And that had never been so much as outright stated. "That may be true," he allowed, although not for the reasons Fenrir had assumed.

"I should have named her, but I was too young, and she nearly died -- I nearly broke her in half, my Father said, but she lived. I'd worried I'd killed her. If I'd known that naming her would have kept her from becoming this..." He shook his head. "Always name them. Always. Wesley's always had a talent for it, he does it without even an effort. On occasion..." He shrugged. "I forget. It's fate, I figure. If they were meant to be named, they would be."

"Fate seems to play a part in a lot of what happens here," he replied. He wasn't sure how fate was reconciled with the effort that had gone into obtaining and naming him.

"Fate plays a part in everything, Remus," Fenrir answered, raising his eyebrows.

Remus didn't reply to Fenrir right away, and looked at his shoes instead. "But ultimately, our actions are our own," he finally said.

"I was saved by my Father so I could rule this pack, I heard one conversation that told me I had to save you -- and the Curenton lived so he could reveal Laurel for what she was and save the unified pack. Fate leads us to the actions that have to be taken by those who make history," he concluded, with a sigh.

Except it wasn't fate. It was a set of decisions made by people who weren't Fenrir himself -- which, Remus supposed, could be the definition he was working with. Not to mention saving the unified pack was the exact opposite of what Jeremy was doing. How could fate, if such a thing existed, be the tool of a lie? "Outside forces impact your decisions," he conceded.

Fenrir enjoyed this more than he should have, but Remus was a quiet boy -- a two-sided conversation where his heir shared his real opinion was rare. He didn't press or pressure, but just felt along their tie, the wolf giving its son an encouraging nudge. "Do you think I had a choice in what I did?" he asked easily. "Do you think I could have left Laurel alive?"

No, because they'd manipulated it. They'd spread the rumours, planted them in every ear from unnameds all the way up the chain to Wesley. Their plan had worked perfectly and the only end to that was her death. "You could have," he said, and then made himself add, "It was a choice -- an easy choice, you knew that leaving her alive left you weak and possibly in danger. But it was still a choice."

"The wrong choice isn't a choice, it's a mistake, I always think," Fenrir said casually. "There's the right choice, and failure. Only rarely do you get a second chance."

"But sometimes you don't know a mistake until you make it."

"That doesn't change the fact that it's a mistake."

"And until you realise that, it's just a choice that you made."

Fenrir grinned. "So they're just choices, not right or wrong. But if it's the realisation later that makes the difference between the right choice and a mistake, not ... reason or wits or knowing better, then the only reason you made the decision in the first place was the outside forces impacting you. Fate," he concluded.

It still didn't account for what you believed to be true actually being false. But as though standing in the upstairs corridor and debating philosophy with Fenrir Greyback wasn't absurd enough. "Fate," he echoed wryly.

"I overheard a conversation in 1964," Fenrir said after a moment, amused. "Only a little of it. But it was enough. Some bastards were talking about a man named Alexander Lupin, some comments he made. None of them could have done what I did -- Owen Curenton couldn't have -- but Alexander raised a werewolf as his own after calling them animals, all because I took the chance to show him the truth."

His father -- no matter what the wolf wanted, or what he insisted, Alexander Lupin remained his father -- had done that. For any other fault he had, he had kept him in his house. Others had not been so lucky, he knew. Remus nodded slowly. "Outside forces imposed on a child who knew nothing of it. I guess that is fate."

"You went to Hogwarts -- thanks to Dumbledore. Help to the poor and needy so long as they're convenient," Fenrir sneered. "Gives help to the Muggleborns..." He dismissed that. "You went to Hogwarts, you saw firsthand what wizards can be like. You're lucky to be one of us, to have a pack. Fate had me save you."

Remus had no answer to that. Wizards could be awful, people could be cruel, there was no changing that. They could also be amazing. There was no other word for people who would become Animagi to keep you company on a full moon.

"You should go settle the pack, the unnameds. Report back to me at your leisure." Fenrir clapped him affectionately on the shoulder, his wolf giving Remus's an appreciative push. "If you see Conor, tell him I want him up here. No rush."

It was, at least, something to do. A reason to speak to Skylar directly without fear of suspicion, and to find Briony. "I shall," he said, turning away from the window.

"Good." Fenrir shut the door, closing himself into solitude until Conor arrived.

~*~

Julia sat back on the couch in the Den, watching as Jeremy and his mother were... she wouldn't precisely call it an arguing, but it was an unusually animated conversation, even for the Curenton family. They'd been at it for fifteen minutes straight and the conversation didn't sound like it was likely to come to a close anytime soon.

She sighed quietly and glanced at Owen, who caught her eye over the top of The Daily Prophet. He gave her a sympathetic glance and attempted to break in, but he was unable to fit in a word edgewise.

"I don't care about the wedding," Jeremy burst out finally, irritated, and stood despite that his mother was staring at him in that critical way that made him feel like a bad person. "That's -- it's hardly the part that matters, Mum -- "

Brighid's mouth dropped open at this, but she shut it abruptly and stood to speak. "You're being ridiculous, just wait another month, Jeremy, it won't kill you to plan ahead a little and do something nice, will it?"

Jeremy gripped the sleeve of his robes in his hand as he spoke, forcing himself to sound a bit more civil, but it came out in razor tones. "I'd like to get married before I die, that's all."

Julia took in a sharp breath, clenching her hands and feeling her fingernails dig into the heel of her hand. "Jeremy," she let out the breath, her stomach clenching. Just because it was the undercurrent of the moment didn't mean she wanted to hear it.

"I think," Owen started calmly before they could go for round twenty, putting down the paper, "that this can be discussed calmly. Jeremy, your mother is just thinking of the two of you. Brighid, they're adults and perhaps you could be a bit more... open to what he's suggesting."

One week ago, Jeremy had been certain he was going to die, and he'd waited a week past that to even attempt the journey back to the Den because he looked too much like death to even return, and he couldn't stand to wait any longer. He wasn't safe. They weren't safe. It had all gone too well. "Mum," he began, but then turned to Julia. "It's not too late, the proper Ministry departments should still be well open. We'll have to go to Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures first, deal with the waivers and all the paperwork, but it shouldn't take too long. Let's go."

She hesitated for only a second, but it was only her habit that made her do so. She nodded quickly and stood as well. "Let's go, then," she repeated.

"Jeremy," Brighid snapped out once she realised what was going on, but softened when he looked at her in anger. "I -- " She pulled him into a brief embrace. "I'm sorry, go on."

Jeremy exhaled and patted his mother's back, kissing her cheek when she released him. "It's fine. We should go," he added to Julia. "Who knows how much paperwork they've added since I last checked."

"Well, you haven't given them time to come up with more, so having the element of surprise on your side may work for the best," Owen said lightly.

Julia cast a quick glance at Brighid. She didn't look angry anymore, neither of them did, and she tried not to worry about it. They were getting married, now, tonight. With any luck she'd be Julia Curenton in some time. "I'm sure it'll be no time at all."

Jeremy took Julia's hand and twined his fingers in hers, trying a smile on, then genuinely smiling. This was going to be good. "We'll be back soon," he added to his parents, still looking at Julia.

"Sooner you go, sooner you can return," Owen advised them as he gave Brighid a smile. She looked fit to burst all the same, but it was a look that he undeniably loved.

"Okay, we're going!" Julia gave a short laugh, and began to pull Jeremy out of the room with her. She had a hard time believing exactly how things progressed.

They walked in silence until they reached the door and Jeremy finally said, "Sorry," just a touch contritely.

He need not have said anything. "You're not allowed to make that face on your wedding day, Mr Curenton," she said, kissing him briefly.

"I don't deserve you," he said, now smirking.

"Now's not the time for cold feet," she returned, opening the door and exiting as she talked.

"If I have any faults, getting cold feet isn't one of them." He kissed her hand, released it, and Disapparated.

She rolled her eyes and followed behind him, Apparating into the Ministry atrium. It was mostly empty in the mid-afternoon, most people well at work in their respective offices, and Julia took his hand again as the crossed the tile to the lifts. "So, exactly how much paperwork do we get to look forward to?" she asked casually.

"There are five forms that I know of," he said. "You won't want to know the details of what they're saying, so just sign 'em, basically it's the quick route of stepping through the loopholes in the law that makes it impossible for a beast like me to marry a nice witch like you."

"Okay," she said, calling a lift. "Ignore the details and sign. I can do that."

"I had to punch something after I finished my research on it, personally," Jeremy went on, a bit distracted by this now.

She squeezed his hand and leaned her head on his shoulder, silent until a lift arrived for them with a ding. "It's awful and unfair. But it'll be worth it."

He nudged her gently and ducked his head away from some memos that joined them when the lift door opened at Level Six, Department of Magical Transport. "You know they can set these to explode if someone who isn't Ministry touches them?" he said conversationally to Julia.

"I didn't know that," she said, glancing up at them as they fluttered around above their heads. "Probably smart, though, depending on what's in them."

"Learned all about those charms from Mum, she used to work at The Daily Prophet, so did Dad, you know that, anyway, she said that she got a nasty burn from one like that once."

"I've heard some stories," she said. "A lot about the coffee fetching."

"Or coffee-spilling, I've heard that one once or twice," he said, just as the door opened and the lift announced, "Level Four, Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures."

"Or coffee-spilling." Julia's hand tightened around his as they stepped out onto the floor. "Well," she said.

Jeremy squeezed her hand. "It's okay," he said quietly to her. "It's nothing. They don't matter."

She nodded. She kissed him on the mouth. "Then let's get this over with and then go do the fun part," she joked.

He gave her his best stupid grin and glanced around to orient himself to the Department, finally conceding to speak to the secretary. "Hello," he began politely.

Nettie Fenwick thrust her copy of Witch Weekly underneath the desk, embarrassed at having been caught with it. "Good afternoon," she hurriedly recovered. "Em, how can I help you?"

How to put this. "I need to speak to someone at the Werewolf Registry, there's some very particular forms I need as soon as possible."

Someone wanted to speak to the Werewolf Registry? That was unusual for the smallest division of the Department. "I'll have to go see... didn't see 'em leave for the day, but no telling, you know." She seemed to mostly be speaking to herself, but looked up at Jeremy and Julia, smiling genially. "I'll be right back," she said, pushing her chair back and leaving them at the desk.

"Great," Julia murmured to herself, but instead of following up or looking to Jeremy, she looked at the edge of the sizeable desk, one finger tracing over the back of his hand.

The secretary returned sooner than either of them thought she might, and she was still wearing the smile. "I've got someone comin' out to see you, you can take a seat if you'd like," she said.

"I told you that these were to go directly to Miss Umbridge, Kenneth, and if you can't be trusted with one simple errand then perhaps you don't deserve to be working for someone so accomplished," a tart, girlish voice could be heard coming in their direction, and Isabelle Davis arrived at the desk just in time to hit Miss Umbridge's assistant with the paperwork he'd forgotten. She rolled her eyes at him as he scrambled to pick all the parchment up, and ordered, "Now go. Fenwick, what is it?" she added without looking up from the parchment she held.

Nettie opened her mouth to speak but was interrupted as Julia's jaw dropped and she choked out, "You!"

Isabelle turned at the exclamation, and her lipsticked mouth fell open in surprise, but it wasn't long before she wore a smirk. "Oh, how lovely to see you, Julia. Still letting the dog sleep in your bed, I see. Some things never change."

This had to be some horrible, awful, cosmic joke. Julia was getting married today and Isabelle Davis was not going to be involved. At all. She ignored the bait and spoke to Nettie. "Is there anyone else back there we can speak to? Anyone?"

Nettie looked betwen Julia and Isabelle, genuinely confused, but decided to speak to the scary younger girl that she at least knew could possibly get her fired. "Em, they was just wantin' to see you about some forms," she said to Isabelle.

Jeremy subtly stepped in front of Julia and held a piece of parchment out to Isabelle. "I have the numbers if you'd like to just pull them for us." He couldn't resist, though, and added in a deadpan, "And you're wrong, she makes me sleep on the floor." Seeing Isabelle had put Julia right out of the mood for jokes. Without changing her expression, she whacked him on the shoulder once.

The corner of Isabelle's mouth lifted at the face the werewolf made, and she pushed the piece of parchment away with a dismissive flick of her hand. "No, I know which forms you want. I wondered when you'd finally come here, come along."

Jeremy stuck the parchment in his pocket, containing his anger and squeezing Julia's hand hard. "There isn't anyone else working there?" he asked the secretary calmly.

"Em. No," she said, abashed, almost apologetic. "Smallest staff in the entire Department."

Julia tried not to be annoyed, especially with the secretary who clearly had no idea what was going on, but it was difficult. "Fine, thank you, let's just do this," she said.

Isabelle tucked her parchments close to her chest and gave them a wide smile. "Of course! Just follow me." She turned around with a flounce and walked in the direction that she'd come from.

Jeremy leaned over to whisper in Julia's ear, "It's awful and unfair, but it'll be worth it, remember?"

There was awful and unfair, and then there was semi-torturous, this was quickly shaping up to be the latter. "Right," she forced back. She kissed his cheek and pulled him down the hall after Isabelle.

Isabelle glanced back to see if they were following, and smiled when she saw they were. "The werewolves are all over the papers these days," she said to them. "Every full moon, more people dead or missing. I don't know why you'd want to marry a murderer, Julia."

Jeremy was the one to snap now, struck too hard by the truth of the statement. "That's enough," he said, the wolf reacting violently and his hand gripping Julia's hard.

Julia saw the reaction, felt it intensely, even, and kept his hand firmly wrapped in both of hers. "Don't tax your brain cell over it, Isabelle. Just get the papers for us."

"Of course, darling, right away," Isabelle said, barely hiding her disdain, and opened a drawer to pick through the folders there. "We don't usually have to pull these papers; it's why they're so memorable, only the complete madpeople want them."

She forced a dry smile at Jeremy. "Well. She's finally got one thing right."

He opened his mouth to respond, but Isabelle continued to speak as though Julia hadn't said a word. "Because it's illegal," she said, pulling one form out with a flourish. "For good reason." She pulled another.

"That's why these are loopholes, sadly," she replied caustically.

"We're only trying to protect you. Who knows, you might be his next victim!" Isabelle yanked the next parchment out with emphasis.

Now she remembered why she didn't just dislike Isabelle Davis, but hated her. "The editorial is unappreciated."

"The laws are in place," and she pulled another form, "because they are just." She flicked through the files and pulled another. "Otherwise, they wouldn't be laws, now would they?"

"That should be all of them," Jeremy said, toneless for fear of biting her head off.

Isabelle looked back at them and tapped her lip. "No, one more." She glanced through the folders, peering into the drawer closely. "Ah! Here it is." She added it to the stack. "Here you are." She hesitated when Jeremy held out his hand to take the forms, and looked to Julia. "Are you sure this is what you want?" she asked, in her best patronising imitation of sympathy.

She glanced up at Jeremy. Even looking so serious, her stomach jumped and her heart began to race at the sight of him. She'd never wanted anything as much as she wanted to be married to him. "Have a quill we can use?" she answered, afraid to hold a hand out for one because she was sure it would be shaking.

"Just give me the forms," Jeremy interrupted, gesturing for them. He had to see what that sixth form was.

Isabelle tutted, not taking her eyes off of Julia as she handed the werewolf the forms, pointedly avoiding any physical contact. "It breaks my heart to see good purebloods behave like this."

"Half," Julia snapped. She supposed it was nice to know she'd played the part convincingly enough while she was in school, but Isabelle certainly hadn't been speaking of Jeremy. Did Jeremy know? Had she ever told him? She couldn't remember, and she didn't care. "I'm half. What is it, Jeremy?"

Jeremy looked at the form as though he couldn't quite believe it. "They passed a procreation bill while I wasn't looking. It figures."

"Oh, you're barking mad if you think that law hasn't been on the books for years," Isabelle said, with more of a smirk than ever at the pun. "Now that werewolf savagery is rearing its ugly head in the worst way, of course, we have more reason than ever to enforce it. We wouldn't want little Fenrir Greybacks running around."

"Quite fortunate it's not Fenrir Greyback I'd be procreating with," Julia snapped. Children were so far beyond her mental limits right now, but now that Jeremy had the form in his hand, she was pissed off. "Jesus Christ."

Jeremy did not see this going anywhere that was promising, and he needed to stay calm if only to make sure the wolf didn't get any more agitated. "A quill and ink if you would," he said, very polite.

"You can write? I thought you might have forgotten, what with -- well, I presume living with the savages," Isabelle said, sounding much like she just wanted to laugh as she went to fetch ink and a quill. "You're all the same, I don't doubt there's blood all over his hands, Julia, they're vicious carnivores, haven't you read Fantastic Beasts?"

If she were a less stubborn person, Julia might've cried. Or screamed. Or both. Maybe later. Instead of that or indeed saying anything at all, she pressed her face into Jeremy's shoulder for a moment until the quill and ink were delivered to them.

Jeremy touched her back in comfort, kissing the top of her head and sending Isabelle a cool look. "Institutionalised racism, that's what I like to see," he said. "Let's get this over with."

Isabelle gestured to the ink and quill she'd set out on the nearby desk, and tucked her hands behind her back innocently.

"Lets get this over with," Julia echoed, picking up the quill and inking it. She hesitated for only a second, but recalled Jeremy's words to not even read it and just sign. And so she started, confidently, proud to sign her name next to his.

"Oh dear," Isabelle commented, crossing to lean on the other side of the desk. "Now you've agreed that you know the danger of living with a werewolf..."

Jeremy signed the next one and pushed it over to Julia, sending her a smile. Soon they'd be finished with this. She smiled back, and she tried to keep herself from hearing Isabelle's words, although it was difficult. She didn't care. She didn't care. As if to make this point she dotted her i's with extra force.

"And now you've agreed that you know the danger of possible infection," Isabelle explained. "Because they've not bothered to study all the different ways he could turn you into one of them -- so few witches and wizards lack the sense to stay away, you see."

"Careful on that one, it wants middle name, not just initial," Julia told Jeremy, pointing out where she'd written Patricia.

"Oh, thank you," Jeremy said, eyeing Isabelle before emphatically writing Sean into the space his wife-to-be had indicated.

"You've now agreed to tell us everything you know in the event that your husband goes feral," Isabelle said, lowering her voice.

God, she couldn't breathe. It hurt. Keeping in mind the ultimate goal, she again signed her name.

Isabelle drummed her fingernails on the desk and watched them. "I suppose we can't expect anything less from the daughter of a werewolf, can we, Curenton? She must have been raised a savage, just like you."

Of all the things that Julia would have expected to hear from Isabelle Davis, that wasn't even on the list. Memories sharper than anything assaulted her, and the part of her that remained six years old and aware that she'd forever lost her father -- not just her father, dad, was suddenly twenty and intensely angry. She slammed the quill down on the desk, lifted her bag over her head and dropped it to the ground. Before Isabelle or even Jeremy could react, in a moment of uncharacteristic rage, Julia had jumped the desk, tackled Isabelle to the floor, and began landing every punch she could manage.

"What the f -- " Jeremy got out before Isabelle released a piercing shriek of "SECURITY!" He moved quickly to pull Julia off of the evil racist bitch, not because he necessarily wanted to. Yeah, he wasn't getting married today, not by a long shot. "Julia!"

Julia had no words, just a frustrated cry. She desperately wanted to hit Isabelle again and moved to do so, but Jeremy had her firmly around the middle and she wasn't going anywhere. Her head began to clear again as Isabelle pulled herself off the floor and his hold didn't loosen. Holy shite. She'd just done that. "I'm sorry," she said, ostensibly not speaking to Isabelle but to him. "I ruined it... I'm sorry..."

He just held onto her, afraid to let her go for fear of the situation getting worse. "It's okay, it's fine, just -- "

There was a sudden shriek of "WHAT is going on here?" and Jeremy turned only to see Dolores Umbridge standing there, pink and looking uncharacteristically fit to be tied. "Well. I suppose I don't need to ask what went on here, do I? Let go of the girl," she ordered.

"We're leaving," Jeremy said, fiercely protecting her -- even though there was no point, they were in trouble.

"That's right, you are. But the girl is coming with me, and you will leave the Ministry." Umbridge offered a sweetly dangerous smile. "Come along, miss, it's not far to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement!"

Julia swallowed, leaning back against him. "Fine," she said, cleared her throat, and said it again. "Fine."

Umbridge gave a short little laugh. "Good! No time to waste." She drew her wand and turned as someone passed by. "Hem, hem! Miss Davis needs medical attention, could you attend to that? Thank you, Kenneth." She looked to the girl, with a smile that was more of a challenge than anything else. "Come along, miss."

"I'll bail you out," Jeremy murmured, and kissed her cheek, only then releasing her.

She turned to look at him and kissed him again before she could help it. "I'm sorry," she apologised again, and began walking away with Madam Umbridge.

Jeremy honestly felt like he could spit, but the bloke Isabelle had earlier been slapping around was now gathering a woozy Isabelle into his arms and attempting to transport her. He considered helping, for a minute, but just left for home before he took a shot at her himself.

Going home without Julia wasn't exactly how Jeremy had pictured this day ending, and the lift felt horribly empty, but he ignored it and Disapparated the minute he got to the Atrium. He didn't even stop after arriving on the doorstep, flinging the door open and entering the Den in search of his parents. "DAD. MUM."

"Brighid!" Owen called back from where he was working in his office. He pushed his chair back and stood, meeting Jeremy in the hallway. He looked behind Jeremy, down the hallway. "Er. Jeremy, you seem to have forgotten someone," he said.

Jeremy opened his mouth to speak, rethought it, then finally just said it. "I need bail money."

"You need what?" Brighid asked loudly, hands on her hips.

Jeremy sighed. "She's right behind me, isn't she."

"It's her talent. You need bail money," Owen repeated, just to make sure that he'd heard his son correctly.

Jeremy stood aside so his mother could enter the room and leaned heavily against the wall. "Isabelle Davis is the sole worker at the Werewolf Registry."

"Sole worker. That is somehow unsurprising," he answered derisively.

"Where have I heard that name before?" Brighid wondered. "Davis?"

"Her Death Eater father was killed by Fenrir when they helped him escape from the Ministry, but on top of that she's made it her life goal to make Julia as miserable as possible, and ... well, Julia punched her. So now she's going to be locked up and I need bail money," Jeremy concluded.

"Julia? Our Julia?" Owen raised his eyebrows.

"She actually tackled her," Jeremy amended. "Bit of a rugby thing, I think -- "

"Oh lord," Brighid sighed. "That makes her one of you now, doesn't it?"

Jeremy was more amused than affronted, but still. "I've never gone to jail."

"Give it time, give it time," Owen sighed. Julia, who hardly said boo, had tackled a Ministry worker and was now going to be spending time in lockup. "Well, if she's one of us, we'll be getting her out, then. Not what I was hoping to give for a wedding present, but..."

"We're not married yet. We got through four of six forms and then she said something about Julia's dad." He paused. "Dad, did you know there's an anti-werewolf procreation law on the books?"

"Of all the trashy - in incredibly poor taste -- " He stopped himself, focusing on Jeremy's question. "I've never seen it, but I'd heard there was such a thing. It's old -- centuries, at least," he answered, setting his jaw.

"Well, it's back. To, how did she put it, make sure we don't have little Fenrir Greybacks running around." He gave his father a withering look.

"She's like to have to spend the night in there," Brighid spoke up before they'd forget about the girl entirely.

Owen exhaled heavily, taken back to the subject at hand. "Right," he said, and looked back to Jeremy. "They are liable to keep her."

"But I have to check. Right?" Jeremy leaned his head back against the wall. "Fuck. ... Sorry, Mum."

"Of course," Owen agreed, and he pulled out his wand and took the hex off the bottom drawer of his desk where a certain amount of emergency cash was kept. "It depends on what MLE is doing, and how on the ball they feel about processing a baited young woman instead of, you know, doing things that could actually help society... How much was it when you had to bail me out, B? I've quite forgotten."

Brighid crossed her arms over her chest. "I don't remember the exact number, Owen, I had other things on my mind," she said, with a pointed look. "A riot, really -- "

"Mum, please," Jeremy interrupted with a sigh. "We know, Dad started a riot and he's an idiot, any idea how much? Please?"

She gave her son a warning look, but went on explaining to Owen, "I don't know if it'll be the same amount but it was about 100 for yours, Owen."

"Thank you, dear," Owen said mildly. He lifted the sack of galleons out of the drawer and placed it on the desk, closing the drawer. "I suspect it won't be quite that much. If more is needed, then we'll get it."

Jeremy came forward to take the money, tucking it into his pocket and stepping back in a bit of a daze. "We're still getting married as soon as I get her out of there," he added, looking between his parents. "I'll be back. With Julia. Even if I have to bribe." He tried a grin.

"Of course, you can't expect a little setback like being taken into custody to stop a Curenton from something like getting married," his father replied firmly, and smiled back slightly.

Jeremy looked at his mother. "See, it's a good thing we didn't have a wedding, because right now she'd be in there ruining a nice white dress."

Brighid had to smile at that, but shooed him out. "Go and bail her out," she insisted. "Go get your wife."

"Oh!" Owen said, reaching into his breast pocket, signaling for one more minute. "I know that this is hardly at the top of the list as far as things we're considering right now, but these were my parents'." He pulled out a pair of rings, a man's and a woman's. "For the two of you, if you'd like."

Jeremy hadn't thought a moment about rings. Then again, he recently had more disturbing things on his mind than wedding details. He went to look at them, then he realised. "You're sure?" he asked. They were his grandparents' rings, by god.

"I'm positive, take them," he said, placing them in Jeremy's hand. "There might be no white dress but, well. A little tradition won't kill you, I promise."

"Just take care when you go back," Brighid said, hesitant to interrupt as her son stared at the rings.

Jeremy closed his hand and put the rings in his pocket as well, "I'm always careful," he said. "Thanks, Dad. It's -- thanks."

Owen smiled, placing his hands on Jeremy's shoulders for a moment. "Go get married."

Jeremy didn't have to be told twice, and bolted out of the room and the Den, eager to get her the hell out of a Ministry cell and back with him as soon as possible.

Brighid glanced out of the door and watched her son practically sprint out of the door, only turning back to her husband with a smile once he was out of sight. "I can't believe she was imprisoned before he was, to be honest," she said.

"Me neither," he admitted, approaching her slowly. "I didn't think Julia knew how to hurt a fly, let alone tackle and punch a person." He shook his head. "Well. It certainly seems like she's marrying into the right family, anyway."

"I didn't doubt that for a second," she chided him, and took his hand in hers. "Well, she's talking and gravely offending Ministry officials ... she's a Curenton now, all right."

He smiled at her. "It takes a certain sort," he joked affectionately.

She tried to keep a somewhat serious expression, but failed and smiled, kissing him fondly. "He's nearly finished," she said, leaning against him. "Then this'll all be over."

He sighed, kissing her cheek and rubbing her back. "I really hope so," he said. "But first they're going to come home, tonight."

"Right." She moved away, excusing herself with, "I have to work on the cake. A little tradition won't kill them, after all."

"I somehow doubt anyone in their right minds is going to turn down a little cake regardless of whether they were just married or not," Owen said. "Of course, I suppose it's debatable who is actually in their right mind around here..."

"Even the mad appreciate my food, though," Brighid reminded him, then grinned. "If you join me, you get frosting."

"Temptress," he accused, and hexed the appropriate drawer again before seizing her around the waist.

She laughed and kissed him again, informing him as she pulled away, "And no more silliness like last time."

"That was not silliness, I happen to take cake frosting extremely seriously," he said, keeping hold and letting her pull him after her.

"Melinda had just better not walk in on your extremely serious frosting misconduct," Brighid chided, and gave him a kiss to shut him up before hurrying to get the wedding cake done in time for her criminal daughter-in-law and son to arrive home.

~*~

Time dragged on at Hati's pack house. Each day seemed longer as minutes wore on and they waited for word from Curenton, or worse. It was as though they half-expected Fenrir and his pack to show up on their doorstep without any kind of warning, so they were always ready. It was an exhausting state of paranoia, but necessary for their preservation. It had never failed them yet, at least.

Tom was not the sort of man to worry until worry came to him. His wife was always busy and thinking forward down every possible path, enough for the both of them. She was in such a heightened state now, although understandably so. She'd retreated to an upper room of the house, as was usual for the afternoon, and he was in the front sitting room in an armchair near a window, reading the most recent edition of the Prophet. Rather, he was ignoring what looked to be a rather obnoxious editorial, What Will The Ministry Do About The Werewolf Problem? Tom personally thought that if ingenuity were frosting, the Ministry wouldn't have enough to cover a teacake, but it was obviously not at the top of their list at the moment -- not that that was a terrible thing.

He'd settled into the serenity of the late July afternoon, the silence for once in the house being calming rather than eerie, when the window beside him shattered with a crash and he felt a hex whiz over him, ruffling his greying hair. Once he'd recovered he looked out the window and perhaps just as he should have expected, saw Adam, David, Edward, and Jane staring back at him with identical looks of sheepish surprise.

David was the first to recover from the surprise, lowered his wand, and gave his father a big wave and cheerful smile. "Hi, Dad!"

"How're things inside?" Adam asked in an identical tone with a big grin.

"Breezy," Tom answered wryly, crossing his arms.

"To be fair, there was good reason for that." Edward stuck his hands in his pockets, grinning.

"Dueling! We're practising in case the Death Eaters show up," David said, gesturing emphatically with his wand.

"Don't think if, think when," Edward said, sounding just as severe as Hati often did. "That's what Hati says and that's what we're going by."

Tom glanced at the mark on the wall behind him. "Ah yes," he said. "Well, your aim could be better," he called back to them. "You could start with that."

Adam looked at Jane, the guilty party. "Well. It usually is," he said.

Jane's cheeks blushed crimson. "Sorry," she called.

David sidled away from Jane before he said, "Apparently her aim is only perfect when she's got a Curenton in her sights."

"At least I can take a Stinging Hex," she shot back, brandishing her wand again.

Adam grinned. "Oh come on, Janie, there's absolutely nothing undignified about rolling around in the grass going, 'Ow, you wee bitch, that hurt -- '"

"She cheated!" David pointed out. "I hadn't quite got my wand out yet but there she was, hexes a-flyin' -- "

They were back in their own world, dueling, defending, and breakneck speed at both. Tom shook his head and calmly Reparo'd the window before turning to see about removing the hex mark from the wall.

"You're not going to get any different treatment from Death Eaters in a duel," Jane returned, easily blocking David's own Stinging Hex. She saw movement out of the corner of her eye and before there could be any further reaction she turned in the direction. "Expelliarmus."

"PROTEGO!" Julia was not used to casting a Shield Charm, and definitely not with that sort of lightning reflex and half-panic. Jane's Disarming charm bounced off the shield harmlessly as the force of it pushed Julia back off her feet and she landed on the ground. Jeremy had been right, keeping prepared had proved better than not. "It's just me," she called back experimentally, hands up.

"It's Julia," Edward said to the other three at the sound of her voice. "Don't kill her, Hati's orders," he added to Jane with a smirk.

"I wasn't going to kill her," Jane returned.

"THAT WAS AWESOME," Adam declared with a laugh as Julia picked herself off the grass and got steady on her feet again. "No vivisection here, Edward, I think we're safe from mam on this one."

"Well. At least you're quick," Julia muttered, red-cheeked and brushing herself off.

"Is this business or pleasure, do you have a message?" David asked, curiously watching the girl approach.

"Business," she answered immediately, showing him the parchment before replacing it in her pocket. "So, ah, if I may..."

Edward hopped onto the porch and opened the door for her. "She'll want to see you. I'll get her," he added.

"Thank you," she said, passing the others (warily, despite the fact that a shot had already been taken at her for this visit) as she entered the house.

He passed by her and ascended the steep stairs without hesitation, giving the slightest indication he could over his tie to Hati that he was on his way.

David entered the house before his brother and Jane, and considered Julia before spotting something in particular. "Is that a ring?"

Julia's attention broke from watching Edward climb the stairs as she had been, to the three who now considered her intently. "Oh." She looked down at the ring she wore on her left hand, the ring that had formerly been Jeremy's grandmother's wedding ring, now hers. "I -- yeah, it is."

"Jesus. Curenton wastes no time," Adam said, peering at it.

"I'm amazed that he has time to get married, let alone find a ring," Jane answered.

"Well, honestly he didn't, it was his grandmother's," Julia said. "And... well, we made time."

"Somehow I'm not surprised," David said wryly. "Trying to take down the unified pack isn't challenge enough, he's got to get married."

Julia gave a small laugh. "Well. They've each got their own little challenges."

"Oh, this is fantastic. Ben needs to hear this," Adam added, and Jane nodded in agreement.

"Er, well, I didn't really mean to interrupt things around here - " Julia started.

"I'll get him," David volunteered, and went to go track Ben down.

"Oh, trust me, it's not just you. You just happen to be something new to focus on, we're just basically sitting on our hands," Jane told Julia.

"Yeah, we get bored of teasing Janie here," Adam agreed, and jumped when Jane poked him in the ribs. "I mean, there's only so many times we can make the jokes about Curenton -- although I have to say you lot take it very well -- "

"I guess it just goes with the name," Julia replied dryly.

"What, the target for your front?" Adam joked.

"The one for my back as well."

Ben came in from the back of the house with David close behind him. "All right," he said in his serious business tone once he spotted Julia, "did David tell me right or is he pulling my leg?"

"Er." Julia was beginning to be overwhelmed, she wasn't used to this much attention from anybody. Not even from her new in-laws. "Depends on what he told you?"

"May I present to you, Mrs Jeremy Curenton," David announced, looking past Ben.

"Last chance to deny the whole thing," Adam grinned at her.

"Oh, no, that part's true," Julia said, and then showed the ring again without another word.

Ben smirked slightly and then shook his head. "I swear, I don't know how he does it," he said.

"A lot of balls and no sleep," she muttered, putting her hand back down.

David grinned. "That's how we do things here, too!"

"Yeah, but I don't remember any of us getting married recently," Ben said.

"Well. Of course not, we're busy people," Adam scoffed.

"Too busy to go to the Ministry, at any rate," David said, but straightened when he heard the distinct sound of someone coming down the stairs.

There was a shift of energy and decorum in the room, and Julia prepared herself mentally for business as she turned to face the stairs again. She lowered her head in a respectful greeting, giving Hati or anyone else the chance to speak to her first.

"You have a message." Hati appraised the girl as she approached. "Yes?"

"Yes," she answered quickly, and pulled the parchment out of her pocket. "With his greetings, etcetera," she added, holding it out to the pack leader.

Hati pulled Edward closer with their tie and had him read the note with her. After a pause, she looked up. "His plans are going well, he says, the unnameds are making a smooth transition from the unified pack into the Den and into the Muggle world."

"Into the Muggle world," Jane said sceptically.

"It's -- it really is working quite well," Julia said. "It's... in simple jobs, but enough that they can be independent." She glanced back at Hati and fell silent, embarrassed. Interrupting and talking too much in general was not usually a problem she had.

Edward's hand flew over his mouth as he read the parchment, but he lowered his hand quickly as Hati struck him with the power of the tie. "He projects that it'll be a few more months before they'll consider having the unified pack declare war, and -- " he stopped, staring at the parchment.

The silence was tense for a moment, and Ben cleared his throat. "And what, Edward?" he prodded calmly.

Edward hesitated, but Hati nudged him to go on. "And two weeks ago, Fenrir executed Laurel," he said, a bit shaky.

Jane clapped a hand over her mouth, and Adam's eyebrows jumped into his hairline. Julia swallowed but said nothing. The silence was shocked. Ben shook his head. "I can't believe it."

"He -- he said he would," Jane recovered.

"He wouldn't lie?" Hati said shortly to Ben.

He shook his head. "Not about something like that," he said. "Certainly not to you, and not with -- his wife delivering the message for him."

Hati looked back at the parchment and reread the words a few times; the blood rushed from her face and she said, "Well. He's proven himself and I'll no longer doubt him. That's all, everyone go back to what you were doing, girl, you're free to go when you like."

"Julia," Edward said softly, urgently to Hati. "Her name is Julia, you might do best to -- "

"Julia," Hati said tersely, cutting Edward off as she looked at Julia. "Your -- ah -- husband is a cunning man. You should be proud."

Her cheeks warmed. She might get used to the word one day, but it wasn't going to be today. "I am, thank you."

Hati gave her a stiff nod and put her hand on Edward's shoulder, leading him to the front room to find her husband. "Have to keep an eye on Curenton," she murmured to him.

"Never let him stay overnight," Edward muttered in response, amused to draw a smile from her.

"Aw, she likes you," Adam winked at Julia.

"Stop teasing her," Jane said. "She tied the knot with Curenton, I think that qualifies her as 'passed' for whatever messed up initiation ritual you boys come up with."

"So he really got Laurel killed," David repeated, still a bit surprised. "It's a good thing he's on our side."

"A man like him with all the knowledge he has is a dangerous man," Ben acknowledged, "and he actually bloody well did it." There was a part of him that still couldn't believe it. He shook his head again and looked at Julia. "Will you be staying?"

"No, I... should really be going," Julia answered. "It's been a busy couple of days and... well, I'll have to go back to work and things'll be back to -- where they were." Not normal. Things wouldn't be normal until she could have Jeremy with her all the time.

"Whenever you're ready, Jane will give you thirty seconds to reach the perimeter," Adam deadpanned.

"That joke is never going to get old," David said, giving a contented sigh.

"I'll give you two five seconds to get out of the house," Jane said, drawing her wand, and before she finished 'one-one thousand,' Adam took his brother by the wrist and dashed back out through the front door.

Ben looked as Jane sprinted after them and the door banged shut. "Just duck when you're leaving if you need to. They won't even notice you've gone if the duel gets heated as it usually does."

"All right," she said, a little amused, but grew serious again. "He was -- " She searched for the words that she wanted to use, and he waited patiently for her. "He said he was going to bring more people, more often. I'll... I guess I'll come when he sends me," she finished lamely.

He searched her face for a few more telltale signs to what she might have been thinking, but found nothing that was not already apparent. "We look forward to more visits from you, Mrs Curenton."

Julia gave a small laugh. "I... goodbye, Ben. I hope I have more good news next time."

"As do we." Especially since good news was going to come increasingly hard to come by. "Goodbye."

She nodded and left by the front door and stopped just short of being run over by Adam, who was chased by Jane and David ran to catch up. She left the house behind her, relaxed since her first visit had been a success (or at least not a dismal failure). She Disapparated once she could, leaving them behind.

Hati watched the girl leave their territory as she leaned against her husband on the couch, breaking the silence only when she went out of sight. "Tom," she said, "I'm beginning to wonder if my allies are more dangerous than my enemies."

"Well," he sighed, considering it and glancing at the spot on the wall from earlier that had not quite managed to come off. "In that case, I suppose you should thank god they are your allies."

"If they are in fact my allies, and remain so," she returned, idly playing with the hair at the back of his neck.

He kissed the top of her head. "Ben trusts him implicitly; he's a good judge of character, Ben," he started. "And really, what other choice is there?"

"I was afraid you'd say that," Hati said wryly, and kissed his cheek. "If he can kill her," she added, reflecting, "he could kill me. That's all."

"Then the last thing he'd see is the business end of my wand," he promised, and thought it through. "Doubt you could keep Adam and David away from him, either..." It was also doubtful that if that were to happen, there would be enough of Curenton left for his pretty young wife to bury. Fortunately, it didn't seem as though things would go that way.

She nodded, and sat up. "I have to talk to Ben about this. I'll see you later."

"See you," he echoed, squeezing her hand.

Hati kissed him quickly and sent him a fleeting smile, which quickly vanished into her usual formidable look as she went to go look for her counterpart pack leader. There was far too much to discuss, grim things and good things, and even more plans to make with the now steadily approaching war.

~*~

Anyone who knew Newt Scamander knew that he did things his own way, without apology. But it wasn't as though he'd been trained for this sort of thing -- he wasn't a politician of any kind, he was a magizoologist who had followed his philosophy of "If You Want Something Done Right..." right into the Magical Creatures office of the Ministry, eventually rising to the top as their Head. Even with all that, there were certain things that were not his strongest points. Speaking to the press, for instance.

Normally, he avoided it. To him, the press was like a swarm of gnats. Very large gnats that talked and sniped and had low standards, but gnats nonetheless. He'd hired a very smart press secretary who managed to take no crap but give none, and usually he let her handle them. But he somehow managed to wind up with Mary Brookstanton on his schedule for the day, anyway. Nettie had taken his cricket bat for safekeeping and he was doing busy work while he waited.

Mary Brookstanton laughed as she left the office of Dolores Umbridge, giving her assistant Kenneth a playful nudge before she checked her watch. She would be a few minutes early to her appointment with Newt Scamander, but the extra time would likely be needed to get him off of the defensive.

Upon being allowed into his office, she tucked her hands behind her back and smiled. "Mr Scamander, good afternoon, it's a pleasure as always."

"Miss Brookstanton, good afternoon," he replied, signing a parchment quickly before looking up, warily. "Please, sit."

She took a seat across from him and within an instant had her quill, parchment, and polite smile ready to go. "I hope that this isn't an inconvenience to you, sir, but the wizarding public is very curious to hear from you, Mr Scamander, and I'm grateful that you allowed me this opportunity."

"I'm sure they are," he deadpanned, sitting back in his chair. The sooner she asked her questions and got flippant, insistent answers from him, the sooner she could get out of there and tell everyone at the newspaper what they already knew about him.

She tapped her quill on the page, looked thoughtful, then asked, "More than any conflict the wizarding world has seen before -- besides the clashes with goblins, of course -- this war against You-Know-Who and the Death Eaters has seen activity and aid from magical creatures. Why do you think that is?"

"Well," he said, looking for an answer that wasn't going to be considered boorish. "While I'm not privy to the inner workings of You-Know-Who's machinations, I would guess that it's going by the adage of 'the enemy of my enemy is my friend.'"

"You think the magical creatures view the people of the wizarding world as their enemies?"

"I think that our history of rocky relations and no real inclination as a whole to change or remedy that has left them feeling some animosity, yes," he said calmly.

"And what have you done or plan to do to bridge that gap?" she asked promptly.

"The Department is finding our hands tied because... certain personnel in other certain Departments are making our jobs impossible to do by doing them for us," he said.

"Oh? What would you be doing, if that wasn't posing a problem for you?"

It doesn't much matter, everyone would be too busy trying to replace Crouch, because he'd be dead or removed. "It's hard to say," he admitted. "The fact is that our offices are finding ourselves understaffed and underfunded. If there weren't a war going on, I'm sure that would be different. Ideally, we would like to make it so siding with Death Eaters wouldn't be the more attractive option for them."

"You're... underfunded," Mary repeated from her notes. "One would think you would receive any funding you asked for, Mr Scamander, if I may be so frank."

"One would think," he repeated wryly.

"Couldn't you have done something about this before the war? Isn't it the concern of your Department to, well... control and regulate the magical creatures, to make sure that the wizarding public is safe from any magical creature who strays, and to make those magical creatures content with the wizarding world? One would think a decorated, educated man like yourself would have seen a problem like this coming."

"We were controlling and regulating," he said flatly.

She finished what she was writing and had an immediate answer. "Not very effectively, if they can be so easily led to turn against the wizarding world, I must say. What do you have to say to the people of wizarding Britain, who cower in fear at every full moon in case Fenrir Greyback turns his rage on them next?"

Lock your doors and hope that you didn't do anything to piss off a Death Eater this month. "At the request of and in conjunction with Magical Law Enforcement, we've sent out pamphlets to the public detailing how to protect themselves and what to do in case of a werewolf attack," Newt answered blandly. "And I would just add that living in fear has never helped anyone -- doing something to overcome the fear or prevent the dreaded outcome is the best way to handle it."

She raised her eyebrows at him, expression purposefully blank. "Isn't that your responsibility, Mr Scamander?"

He needed his cricket bat. Damn Nettie for taking it. "If I could be everywhere at all times, I suppose that it would be," he replied. "Good day, Miss Brookstanton."

Mary stood, tucking all but one sheet of parchment back into her bag. "Thank you for the interview, sir, I appreciate the time."

I appreciate the yellow journalism. "I trust you can find your way out from here," he told her.

"I know my way around," she said wryly, and left.

Newt closed the door to his office with a curt flick of his wand and put up his feet on the edge of his desk for a moment, reflecting that it could have gone a whole lot worse.

~*~

August 1981

The kitchen in the Den was too small, Brighid knew, but that didn't matter. By sheer force of will, she could teach all of these werewolves how to cook. This was the Plan, as she and Melinda had taken to calling it, and it was working, even if the kitchen was too small and one of the girls had been burned by a saucepan. "We're going to make three basic meals," she began, her tone as bright and friendly as her smile. "The three most basic meals that any restaurant in the United King -- "

There was a sudden crash, and Brighid had the presence of mind to duck as a rock with a note tied to it flew through the window. It landed next to one of the unnameds, who jumped, and Melinda -- who sat nearby -- said serenely, "Please pick that up, Christopher, and don't read the note."

"OWEN!" Brighid shouted at the top of her lungs, stepping over one of the werewolves to find her husband.

Owen had heard something that could be loosely defined as a commotion from his office, and was already on his way to investigate. "Brighid?" he answered back questioningly.

Brighid nearly ran into him attempting to turn a corner. "Owen," she said, a bit breathless, then reminded herself of the situation. She immediately frowned. "We have another rock to add to the collection."

His look immediately changed to match hers as he grimaced. "Honestly? That's the third one this month already, just like clockwork."

She gestured impatiently. "Right through the kitchen window this time! I'm trying to do some good, I'm standing there like Professor Binns droning on and thank heavens I knew it was coming, it would've hit me right in the back of my head. Three just this month and it won't be the last, Owen. Gutless thugs, all of them!"

Christopher held it up. "I didn't read it," he said immediately, as though he was about to be accused of such a heinous crime.

"They don't get to read the rocks," Melinda said, with an affirming nod, and took the rock from Christopher. "Here you are, Owen. The spectacle's over," she added. "Go on, Brighid, I have it handled."

Brighid's eyebrows reached for her hairline. "Are you sure?" she asked. "It's not as easy as it looks -- "

"I've seen you do it a thousand times, no worries," Melinda said, flashing a smile. "Go on, talk to Owen, we'll still be here -- don't touch anything yet!" she added firmly to one of the unnameds, who immediately withdrew her hand from reaching for the pot, and turned back to the Curentons with a smile.

"Just as well, only one of us needs to be righteously angry at a time. Thank you, Christopher," Owen sighed, taking the rock. "Come on, B, you heard the woman. She's got things handled."

Brighid appraised Melinda, who was already continuing the lecture expertly, and only then chose to walk away. "I'm being usurped," she said to Owen.

"Only in the kitchen, darling," he said, already in the hallway and looking at the note. "Curentons," he read in a half-murmured deadpan. "Take your Dark Creatures and get out, you bleeding heart -- oh dear, there's a word that's not fit for mixed company..."

"Is it anything like what you've called Ministry officials?' she asked, amused, as she followed him.

"I have to admit, I've not used this one. I might have to steal it, though," he said, reading it again. "Terrible sentence structure, though."

"It's hate speech, not editorial," Brighid reminded him, and looked up at the sound of a slamming door. "Oh no, what now -- "

Jeremy stormed into the room, an open copy of The Daily Prophet held above his head like it was an explosive. "What the hell is this? Am I the only person who read this, or are people just choosing not to tell me what's going on? I'm fighting a war out there and people don't even have the decency to tell me that the Ministry is practically declaring war on us? And what the fuck is Wolfsbane?"

He stopped, finally took a breath, and said, "Hi, Mum, Dad."

Owen stared at Jeremy for a moment, rock in his hand, openly bewildered. "I'm sorry, you lost me in your tirade. Good evening, Jeremy."

Jeremy exhaled, looked at the rock, then turned back to the unnameds who were still just standing at the door. "Come on, go find somewhere to sit or something, we'll have someone in to talk to you soon enough," he said as patiently as he could manage, and waited for them to leave before he spoke again.

"We'll talk about Wolfsbane some other time," Brighid said before he could start another tirade. "What are you talking about, Ministrywise? I haven't read today's Prophet yet."

Jeremy held out the copy he'd found abandoned in the street, folded to the right article. "Here, where Bartemius Crouch goes on one of his usual impressive rampages, except instead of Death Eaters -- well, he might as well have replaced every reference to You-Know-Who to Fenrir Greyback and every reference to Death Eaters to werewolves. That's right -- we're now a Law Enforcement priority," he completed, and threw the paper onto the ground. "I need a fucking drink."

Owen gave his son a severe look, and continued into the front room. "You should know we don't keep alcohol in the house, and please watch your mouth." He stopped in front of the fireplace mantle and contemplated the rock in his hand before detaching the note and adding it to their collection of rocks previously thrown through their windows or otherwise at them. "Much good may it do them. They don't have any resources, they don't have any personnel, and they certainly don't have any sort of reliable tracking system."

"It doesn't matter, they're sure as hell going to try, and the last thing I need right now is for Fenrir to be laying low. It's not that I want him out there biting people the Death Eaters don't like, but I can't do what I'm supposed to be doing if he's got the MLE leash around his neck. It's not going to end if they arrest Fenrir," Jeremy insisted. "If it was as simple as that we could've just killed him and that'd be it. This is Barty Crouch, he's speaking out against werewolves, he'll find something." He paced, infuriated, too much so to think straight, then stopped on his way back and looked at the rocks. "They're attacking you," he realised.

"They always have been, Jeremy, even in Pembrokeshire, you know that," Brighid said, keeping her tone low and reasonable. "And we established ourselves in a city, we had to expect it -- "

"But since the attacks, there are more, am I right?" Jeremy asked, and snatched a rock from the mantle, tossing it into the air and catching it to feel its weight. "I would get the victims out if I thought anyone would take them."

And you're preaching to the choir. "May," Owen said, putting his finger on one of the rocks. "A note in June. Two more in July," he added, pointing them out in turn, "and three this month."

Jeremy replaced the rock and stared at the collection for a long moment, and brushed his mother's hand off when she tried to touch him. "Terribly ironic," he said. "They turn on all of us when we need them most. Typical, I think. Isn't someone going to tell me what the Ministry's doing with wolfsbane? I can't possibly be more disappointed than I am now."

"You say that now," Owen replied dryly, wondering where to start with the subject of the wolfsbane potion to his son. His understandably irate son. "The wolfsbane potion... was developed by St. Mungo's with Ministry funding with the idea that they could use a combination of wolfsbane and neutralising ingredients and variables to keep werewolves supposedly in their 'right minds' during full moon transformations. It poisons the wolf, essentially."

Jeremy looked at his father in nothing less than shock, and felt the anger of the out-of-control wolf hit him full-force like one of Wesley's kicks to the ribs. "I need to sit down," he said, choosing to be halfway dignified about this as he took a seat and tried to breathe. "Let me get this straight, they're marketing Wolfsbane as a substance to help werewolves be nonviolent during the full moon. Well, let's practise this on Death Eaters, feed them some belladonna drops, see how violent they're feeling." He winced and sat forward, head in his hands. "Christ."

"Yes, precisely," he said, neatly leaving out the part about the man who had died, and who the hospital administration, in their infinite wisdom, had seen fit to name head of the project. He was temporarily spared more questions as he heard the front door open and close.

Julia, as she ever did, first looked into Owen's office and then the front room. She took a breath and said, "Hi. ... What's going on?"

Owen gave her a small smile in greeting. "Jeremy's just heard about the wonder that is the wolfsbane potion, and we got a new rock through the kitchen window."

"Another one?" She frowned, dropping her bag near the chair where Jeremy was seated, where she now routinely left it.

"Barty Crouch promised to deliver up some werewolves, so no doubt he will," Jeremy said, lifting his head. "I know the Werewolf Registry is all but defunct, but they might just come looking for us, I'm not underestimating the importance of this. It's going to stop Fenrir right in his tracks, and that's the last thing I need." With that out of his system, he looked up at his wife. "Hi."

"Hi," she replied, tenderly pushing some hair back off his face.

He looked at her as though seriously considering talking to her or just snogging her senseless, but he went on, "And if I were Newt Scamander, this is the time I'd take to put more funding into the Werewolf Registry before Madam Umbridge and her worshippers could get in my way. I hope I'm wrong, but this -- it matters, Dad." He looked at Julia's left hand and ended up with a bit of a grin.

Even though Jeremy was clearly not checked in anymore but somewhere else with his wife, Owen answered. "I know, Jeremy," he said. "I'm not counting on it happening, but I do know. As for what Crouch promises and what Crouch can actually deliver and put resources into, we'll see. We'll be keeping him honest."

"Always better to be prepared for the worst, is what I say," Jeremy said, calming the wolf with a slow breath and only then taking Julia's hand. "I'll. Yeah. I'll be back. Tell Melinda this'll be a stubborn lot," he added, standing very carefully, a bit shaky.

"Oh, I'm sure she's more than ready for them," Owen said. "But I shall." Brighid took his hand and gently pulled him from the room, not leaving without casting a worried look in her son's direction.

As Owen and Brighid left, Julia gave him a similar look. "Are you okay?" she asked, squeezing the one hand she had in hers.

"I'm -- I'm just starting to wonder if this is a world worth trying to save, that's all," he said. "Barty Crouch, Madam Umbridge, Isabelle Davis, they're busy tearing us down because of Fenrir while I'm doing my best to make sure we even survive Fenrir, what's the point, I could be here with you for all it's really going to mean."

"Come on, sit down," she said, taking him to the couch and literally pulling him down next to her. "It's going to mean something."

He let himself be pulled down. "We'll struggle back to the status quo," he said. "Not an inspiring battle cry, that." His mouth opened, closed, and he added, "Wolfsbane, do you believe it? I wonder how many werewolves died to make that potion work, I wonder how many self-loathing werewolves do die from overdosing -- it's just typical Ministry bollocks, I shouldn't be surprised."

"Just the one, from what I understand," she said, running a finger over the back of his hand. "I don't know much about it, just what your dad's said." She contemplated it for a moment. "Obviously, they tried to shut it up, but it still got out. Your dad was... angry, to put it mildly."

"I don't doubt it." Jeremy could've kept talking about politics, but -- no, he couldn't, not when they were this close. "It won't be long now, I'll be back soon," he said, before kissing her.

"I know," she said, and she could be patient. She could. "Don't worry about it."

He wanted to tell her about the sickening façade he'd taken on, the lies, the murder. He didn't, and just took her hand. "I love you. I really do." The corners of his mouth tugged into a slight smile. "Julia Curenton."

She just smiled, and curled up against him. She could feel everything that still bothered him, it was in his muscles and how she fit against him. She ignored it. "Love you," she answered.

He kissed her forehead, brushed her hair away from it, and went on. "I'm sorry, I just like the way it sounds." He considered that, and added, "Your family may not, but I do."

"They'll get used to it." She hadn't even told them about the actual marriage yet. There had been so little time between when she finally announced the engagement to them and when they'd gotten married, that she hadn't been able to stand the thought of handling another reaction in that amount of time. It had, predictably, not gone very well.

"I don't get any less of a werewolf each year," Jeremy reminded her, "and I definitely won't get any quieter. If they hate me now it's not going to get any better."

"And I don't get any less sure of what I want," she said, not moving a bit. "They don't hate you. If anything, they hate me."

He smiled a little. "Is that supposed to make me feel better?"

"Fine. They can hate both of us."

"They probably wouldn't hate you if you weren't with me," he reminded her. "If you were running around with a Quidditch player..."

She didn't answer for a long time, unsure of why she was even participating in this conversation. "If I were running around with a Quidditch player, I'd probably also be doing something incredibly stupid and self-destructive," she said, absently twisting her ring, as had become her habit.

"At least they wouldn't be throwing rocks at you," he concluded, kissing the top of her head. "It doesn't matter. Soon I'll be able to yell at them myself."

Frobishers don't yell. We are quietly stubborn until our sisters flip out, our mothers cry, and the men get silently contemplative. "Yeah. You will, I'm sure," she answered.

"I don't yell that much," he added. "Only when it matters."

"You don't," she conceded.

He looked at her for a moment, then said, "I'm going upstairs. You can come with me, if you like."

She sat up and straightened herself out, before leaning back over to him and lightly kissing his cheek, jaw, throat... "Can't think of any place else I want to be."