Georgette's Explosive Attitude Brought A Small Smirk To His Lips. With Everything Else Going On In His

Being an auror meant working unusual and irregular hours and days, and Kingsley wouldn’t change it for a thing. Much of his spare time was now filled with Order business, but he was determined that at least once a week he would try and see his sister and his nephew. The war was important, but not so important that he would toss his family aside for it. His battle injury that had left him near to death had solidified that importance – and it was that injury that made him so scared of Sade increasing her involvement. Kingsley had never truly struggled for words, but he wasn’t sure how to express to his sister how scared he was of losing her to the Death Eaters. And what would happen to Jasper without his mother?

Shooting his sister a sheepish smile at her surprise, Kingsley threw himself down onto the couch with a heavy sigh. “I’ll knock more than once next time, sorry. I probably should’ve sent an owl too,” he said, kicking his shoes off to make himself comfortable. “Not so urgent that I can’t wait for the kettle. I’d be glad of a cup of tea, I don’t mind making it if you want to stay sat down.”

A long day rounded up with a seamless bedtime for Jasper and a cup of tea had become the norm for Sade in recent months. While other twenty-seven year olds were thankful for a wild night, Sade's evenings were made with a book and a warm beverage. Evidently, her intention to be a bit more independent as Jasper grew had faltered slightly, but Sade wouldn't change it for the world. Sade was just about to embark on a new chapter, to engrossed in her book to notice a brief knock at the door. Sade jumped slightly in surprise as her brother made his way into her living room.

"Merlin, Kings." Sade exclaimed in surprise, although her tone remained quiet. "Unexpected visits are always welcome, but perhaps a louder knock next time." She teased, setting her book down on her coffee table. "Too urgent for a cup of tea? Or can it wait until the kettle brews?"

Staring at Andromeda in a state of something almost akin to shell-shock, Regulus didn't quite know what to do with himself. Finishing his sugar quill quickly before stuffing his hands into his pocket, Regulus could practically hear his mother's shrill voice shrieking in his ear that he should take this opportunity to make Andromeda regret ever leaving them. He'd never had much of a taste for violence, especially not for an older cousin that he had once cared for...and he certainly couldn't bring himself to harm a child, even if that child was a half-blood with shocking green hair. The dark mark burned into his forearm was itching in her presence, a burning reminder of what ideologies he had signed his life away to...and yet, there was something that held him back.

He took a small step closer to them. In all these years, he'd never seen Nymphadora Tonks in person - he'd only heard the bitterness of his family's curses when the birth was announced, and if he'd spotted someone that looked vaguely like Andromeda in the past, he'd quickly turned and gone the other way like a coward. Not this time. With a quick glance to ensure there were no eyes watching them, Regulus nodded curtly towards the small child. "It's nice to meet you, Dora. Do you like sugar quills? I have another if your mother will allow it," he said, eyes drifting up to Andromeda. Maybe it was a poor imitation of a peace offering, or maybe he simply couldn't bring himself to be a dick to a small child that shared his blood. "It's been many years, Andromeda. I was beginning to think I might never see you again, privately or publicly. Do you...still see Sirius?" He asked rather pathetically, with the small voice of a boy that still ached at the loss of his big brother.

A day free from work at St Mungos was rather rare for Andromeda. She tended to work her usual hours along with more on top of it. However her bosses had decided it was necessary for her to take time off, lest she end up exhausted or sick due to neglecting her own needs. Most would have taken the opportunity to spend the day at home. She however had seen it as an opportunity to spend the day with her daughter in Diagon Alley. They’d just finished their ice cream at Floreans when Dora had begged to go and see the owls. Unable to say no, she’d held on to Dora as they made their way down the cobblestone street. While she knew Dora was capable of walking on her own, it made her nervous when her daughter was prone to change appearance at will. As seen by the way her daughter had already changed her hair to a brilliant shade of green to match the ice cream she’d just ate.

She didn’t know what made her look up from her daughter, only the sense of eyes on the two of them. She looked up and her eyes immediately found Regulus, her heart clenching in her chest. Years ago, she may have chosen to just leave, take Dora and head in the opposite direction. But she’d long ago refused to stop running. So instead she continued to guide Dora in that direction, her eyes not leaving her cousin. “Hello Regulus…” Perhaps he hated her like the rest of her family, but there was no knowing unless she tried. So she motioned to her daughter, running her fingers through her mess of green hair. “Dora….this is Regulus.” Her uncle, but she wasn’t prepared to use that title on someone who may not deserve it.

Sometimes, Fenrir wondered how simple and foolish wizards had to be to miss the signs of a werewolf that were right under their nose. He knew that Remus Lupin tried to keep his condition under wraps, to live a normal life - as if he could ever be normal whilst resisting his true nature, his true self. Yet it was plainly obvious to Fenrir that the other man was a wolf, suffering with the after effects of the full moon. How the younger man had made it through seven years worth of schooling and now several years of adult life without his condition being realised, Fenrir was not quite certain.

It bolstered him though, knowing that he could continue growing his pack, and the wider population of werewolves without too much ministry attention falling on his head. If they could hardly see what was plainly at the end of their noses, then they would not see what happened in the Scottish highlands, or the New Forest. Before they knew it, Voldemort would be the least of their concerns.

Remus' refusal to look at him riled Fenrir, but he continued to keep his hand firmly on the other man's shoulder. "That's a shame. It's not meant to be difficult, Remus. It's a beautiful thing, what we are. We are the supreme species...we should love the moon, not fear it."

The full moon always took its toll on Remus. He had been through numerous months of the struggle but still had difficulty. He couldn't get over the fact that he was a werewolf. It had destroyed who he felt he was -- or who he should be. Life would have been so much easier if Fenrir had never changed him. It wasn't fair that the young child had been afflicted because of his father's actions. Little Lupin did nothing to deserve it. With being five years old when he was changed, one would think he would be used to it but he always felt the pain, both physical and mental. It was terrifying each month.

The days following the full moon left Remus feeling unlike himself as he was still healing but it didn't stop him from going to the bookstore. At least he had an easy job. It was one where he could relax among the books and the most help he had to do was talk books. And he had to organize, dust and just keep the store in order. He was able to do such tasks while reading in between.

However, on this very day Remus was going to open Flourish and Blott's when a hand reached his shoulder and a familiar voice chilled through his bones. Fenrir Greyback. "Difficult night. Yeah," he responded not turning around.

Settling his own mask over his face, Fenrir offered Thorfinn a curt nod. He fell silent for the rest of the time until the shift change, though the beast under his skin was practically whining to be let free. As the patrol began to apparate away leaving the thinnest window of time with less guards, Fenrir apparated straight to the front door that had just been vacated and walked straight in.

In the first reception room was a sole guard, taken by surprise by Fenrir's sudden appearance. With a vicious curve of his wand, Fenrir disarmed the other man and snapped his wand. A lazy silencing charm prevented the other man from calling for help, before he smiled cruelly behind his mask. "Diffindo," he cast as he slashed with his wand, watching a cut appear nearly down the front of the man's torso. The man's mouth was open in a pained scream, though no sound came out as the floor was painted with blood.

He could feel that buzzing energy begin to spread from his finger tips and down his arms. The sudden need to let go and allow the real him to come out, who what he was truly capable of. His head slanted side to side. "Shift change is in ten minutes." They were earlier than he expected, but hidden nonetheless.

"I can manage the mark." It was one he had flashed into the air plenty of times, satisfaction hitting him each time. His hands rubbed together, pulling out his mask. "Are you ready for this?"

It wasn't like he set out this morning to darken the shelves of the Apothecary with his mood, but he couldn't help it. He wanted to be in and out efficiently, and he'd been pushed and shoved and bothered. Any reasonable person would be grumpy about it, though he did quietly admit that it wasn't the woman's fault that she'd been shoved into his back. Perhaps this was what he should expect from society these days.

Handing the bottle over, Regulus wondered how bad one had to be at potions in order to need to buy bottled potions from the Apothecary instead of brewing them at home. "People generally have lost all sense of common courtesy, never mind when you add the busyness of the festive season in," Reg grumbled, turning his attention back to the shelves before Sophia spoke again. "Yes, gurdyroot, it will add some depth and make the whole thing a bit stronger. Crush it in a pestle and just add a pinch in and it should work a charm," he offered. "I find some peace in brewing potions. It's methodical, just like cooking."

Crowds didn't overly bothers Sophia, but it was the lack of care of consideration towards others that did bother her. Yes, she understood the streets and shop was busy, yet, she knew there was never any need for the pushing and shoving some of them had resulted too.

She sensed the annoyance from him, though chose to ignore it, after all she could hardly blame him, she'd feel pretty irritated too if someone had been shoved into them.

"Yes" she nodded, taking the bottle from him. "Thank you, and sorry again. This time of years seems to send people into a frenzy." She paused, thinking to herself that perhaps she was simply talking too much. She went to turn away, but he spoke again, he focus back onto the man.

"Gurdyroot" she repeated. "I hadn't heard of that, clearly" she chuckled. "Thanks, I'll grab some. Looking at how chaotic it is out there, I think I'll need all the extra help I can get. Potions never was my strong point."

Moodboard Aesthetic: Pandora Nott and Fenrir Greyback ( @battle-scvrs )

Timothée Chalamet for Rolling Stone magazine, December 2024

Edgar remaining seated was an indication that all of the power lay with him at the moment, while Regulus stood before him like a naughty child. Still, he would not sit - it was far too casual while he was being questioned on such matters. He stared down at Edgar, his jaw set firmly as he considered the man's words. Clearly, they did believe they had enough evidence to link the heirloom and it's recent use to Regulus, otherwise he wouldn't be called back.

But if that were the case, why was he here instead of simply being arrested and carted off to Azkaban?

"Mr Bones, I appreciate that you yourself have not been raised with strict, ancient family values. I know what is required of me, and that has shaped who I am. My words, and what is required by my parents, are one and the same. There used to be two boys to share the burden between our demanding parents, now there is only one...I manage as I must," Regulus said, his tone sharp. Those who had been raised outside of a Sacred Twenty-Eight upbringing could never hope to understand the demands and pressures that their parents put on them. "I'm not sure what my conscience has to do with this, Mr Bones," he said, though his eyebrows furrowed as Edgar mentioned his internal conflict that had grown so loud he could almost hear it roaring in his ears.

Staring silently at the photo of himself and Sirius, Regulus shook his head. "Sirius made his choice. He chose his friends, and he left me behind...he left me. He knew what our parents would do to me, and he left me anyway. He left me to rot," he said bitterly, though he reached for the photograph anyway. "Your idea of family, and my own idea of family, they differ. I have nobody, Mr Bones. I am alone in this world - and if I wanted to run to Sirius, I couldn't. I don't know where my own brother lives."

Frowning once again at Edgar's offer, Regulus paused. He'd been gearing up to leave, but the offer seemed genuine. There was another beat of silence, before Regulus finally took a seat. In a very quiet voice, he asked "what protection could you offer me against the Dark Lord? People do not simply leave the service of the Dark Lord. They serve, or they die. How can you guarantee protection, and safety?"

"And what would you ask in return? I take it this offer is not from the kindness of your heart."

"Stand if you must." Edgar did not care too much for what the boy did, there were more pressing matters at hand and he knew this situation had to be dealt with in a certain manner to work in their favour. He remained seated in his chair, hands clasped together in front of him.

Being meant with resistant was expected and he could appreciate how hard it appeared family ties were instilled in the boy, but that also would also aid his words. No matter how dire Regulus wished to keep his composure, there was always a truth written within the eyes.

"Were those your words, or words required of you?" A beat. "At times it can feel hard to free oneself of shackles so tightly encompassed around us. The weight of our conscience a constant struggle on what is right or wrong." Edgar leans back in his chair. "I see the conflict in your eyes Regulus." He was throwing all his cards out on the desk.

"Family doesn't force you to believe in what they want you to. A real family, they accept you for who you are." He pulled out a picture from underneath the one, a smaller one, of two boys together, one he had brought to him. "You have a brother who would accept you for who you are."

Edgar went to stand up, hands resting on top of the desk. "If you have nothing more to share, then I will not hold you." A pause. "But what I can offer you, if you decide to do the right thing, is protection outside of these walls, not within the ministry." Half of the people he didn't trust. "And I have a feeling you know what I mean."

Fenrir turning Remus had been nothing other than revenge for the vile way Lyall Lupin had treated him. As a young adult, he had known that turning Lyall would not be enough suffering for the older man - no, it would do more damage to turn his young son and watch that boy become everything that Lyall hated. Lyall quickly changed his tune - Remus, as far as Fenrir knew, was not on the werewolf register and his condition had largely been kept secret. So much for his allegation that werewolves deserved nothing but death, for Remus stood before him, in adequate health.

Remus' ongoing resistance towards Fenrir was understandable, and yet he felt sorrow that the younger man continued to choose suffering. Werewolves were pack animals, they were not meant to be solitary creatures. When they were alone, they would turn on themselves and rip themselves to pieces as Remus appeared to be each month.

Letting his hand drop as Remus shoved it off, Fenrir crossed his arms as he let the other man shout, not bothering to interrupt. He let him run his course, staring calmly at the other man's explosion of anger. "Look at me, Remus. Do I look like I'm covered in scars? Do I look like I'm suffering? The full moon was two nights ago, and I am in perfect health. I don't need to take healing potions the following morning, I wake up and I can get on with my life. My five year old son copes better with the changes than you do, because you are resisting who you truly are. You make this so much worse than it needs to be. I have control over myself when I turn, the pack helps with that. We're not meant to be alone, Remus. A sole werewolf suffers, but one with a pack...it's beautiful. You may think I'm demented, you may think I've lost my mind...maybe I have. But I am not the one suffering needlessly every month. I live a full and happy life. My son has a better existence than you appear to - because he has accepted his species, and runs free each full moon. There is a pack that will accept you. And if you don't want to be in a pack under me, there is a pack in Scotland that would accept you. You don't have to live like this."

Remus had nothing but hatred for Fenrir and hatred wasn't something he took lightly. Fenrir was the only one in that class. Even Voldemort was something different. He didn't understand how anyone could think it right to curse a young child to become something he would be his entire life. It was cruel and selfish. That's all Fenrir was. That's all he ever had been. Remus was living proof if he had ever dared reveal what he was to the masses. The people who knew were the only ones that needed to know.

Remus felt his broken bones and scars flare up as the older werewolf touched him. His body shivered and shook. He tried to hold steady, not wanting Fenrir to know he had such an effect on him but his body was letting him down. But there was something else in the shaking -- anger. He clenched his fists wanting to hurt the werewolf. How dare he touch him. He had already done enough to ruin Remus' life. He didn't deserve to touch the younger man.

He finally turned around, red with fury and shoved Fenrir's hand off his shoulder. "Not meant to be difficult?! Are you out of your bloody mind? Our bones tearing apart each month? Scars showing up and not knowing where they came from? Internal injuries we can't go to the hospital for because we have no good excuse? Our bodies rejecting us? Attacking the innocent? How is that not difficult?! How is that beautiful?!" Remus took his clenched fists and punched them together. "You're demented to think we're a superior race. We have no control of what we are! We're -- we're -- we're freaks of nature."

Fenrir had a feeling that they would end up circling back to the subject of Anders Greyback later on in the evening. He'd expected further questions immediately, but equally he wasn't surprised that Pandora wanted to go straight from business to pleasure. "Oh, he deserved it all and more," Fenrir growled out, his heart black and bitter. Anders had shown Fenrir how not to be a father, and he was grateful that the man would never have a chance to know Magnus.

With hands firmly on Pandora's hips, Fen took the opportunity as she bared her neck to him to press hot kisses down her jawline. He was preparing to apparate them, wanting to get into the privacy of his own home otherwise they would end up just staying here - which, honestly, he wouldn't mind too much either. "My darling, what do we need to do? Can it not be done at home? I'm an impatient man.."

When it came to Fenrir, she had no desire to tame the beast that he was, she fully accepted all that he was. Body flushing against his, like two magnets drawn to each other, touch one of the ways they were able to express what they meant to each other. In moments like these, all around them faded into darkness, leaving the beast that enthralled her entirely at her mercy. Pandora did not miss the flash of desire that burned in his eyes. "Good," a single word that held his promise of what would come.

Pandora had made a mental note, tucked away in the back of her mind, to ask him more about his father. She wished not to spoil the moment they were sharing, but felt there was more to his story that perhaps he would share with her. The stories he would tell her about his life and pack, she could listen to endlessly, finding his voice soothing.

"Then he deserved to get what he had coming." The witch could only assume something terrible happened and she already had a hatred for the dead man. Her head lolled back against the tree trunk, wild hues drinking in the beast in front of her, breaking away from the heated, passionate, kiss. "Yours...." Desperate to find release for the growing anticipation of what was to come building inside of her, but at the mention of the clock, realising she had to protect him.

"We must do one thing first." She glances over to the clock.