Awaiting Thorfinn's Appearance, Fenrir Had Begun Sizing Up The Cottage In The Distance. If He Had To

Reg shot Caradoc a disapproving look, reaching for his wand with his free hand. Under his breath he muttered the few basic diagnostic spells he knew, checking him over for his own peace of mind. "You should make sure you're checked out properly, especially when you're messing with curses. I'm no healer, but I think you're okay," he said, setting his wand back down on the side before he leaned over to press a kiss to Caradoc's temple.

Leaving the ball in Caradoc's court was making Regulus feel a little sick as he waited for a response, but he knew it was necessary. If it was too much, he didn't want to burden Caradoc with knowledge that may put him in further danger. He didn't want to lose Caradoc, who had become so dear to him so quickly, but he would rather lose him than put him at unnecessary risk if the other man wasn't willing. As Caradoc confirmed that he was all in, Reg took his hand, tangling their fingers tightly. "Thank you," he whispered gratefully.

"I'm not really sure where to start. Over the last few months, but particularly the last few weeks, I've grown more and more uncomfortable with my position in the war. I've kept it glamoured whenever I've seen you, but....well, it speaks for itself," Regulus brought their joined hands to his sleeve, drawing it back to reveal his Dark Mark. "I've been marked since I was sixteen. It's what was expected of me, especially when Sirius left. They got me in front of the Dark Lord as soon as they could, to establish me as a proper pureblood. But I have to admit....I've never been much good at it, and recently I've got so much worse. I was questioning things, questioning everything I've grown up believing."

"I guess I've always ached to be good enough, but I was trying to be good enough for the wrong people."

Caradoc closed his eyes for a moment, comforted by Regulus’s hand running through his hair. “Umm, I checked my head?” He said, knowing that that probably wasn’t the answer that Regulus was hoping for. He shrugged. He’d taken a potion to dull the pain, so that was good enough for him. It wasn’t supposed to wear off for about another hour.

He got more serious as Regulus continued to talk. He couldn’t lie, the words “life-threatening risk” did little to keep him calm. Caradoc tried to remind himself that technically, every Order member and every Ministry mission did put his life in jeopardy, so it wasn’t that different . . . Right? But, Caradoc had seen what Death Eaters had done to wizards who disagreed with them. He’d seen what they’d done to muggle-borns and muggles.

But this was what war was — taking risks. And Caradoc trusted Regulus. He trusted that deep down, Regulus didn’t align with his family’s twisted beliefs. He trusted that Regulus wanted a different life, hopefully a life they could build together.

“I don’t want out,” he said resolutely. “And I’m good at keeping secrets. You can tell me.”

Casting a disapproving glance in the direction of the man who'd disturbed him, Regulus' eyes remained trained on him until the man slunk away. He heard the man cursing under his breath, and Reg couldn't help the victorious smirk that spread on his lips. "I don't think I'm particularly well known for being nice...unless something has drastically changed since I last left the house," Reg shot back to Val, shrugging his shoulders. "Guess I'm tired of being bothered...I'm feeling a little grumpy today, and I was hoping Diagon Alley wouldn't be this busy."

Val had watched the interactions between Regulus and the party that wanted to look at the same shelves as him. The other seemed a bit insulted but did turn away after all. “Regulus Black, that wasn’t very nice of you, was it?” She said to him as she stood next to him, looking at the shelf next to the one he was watching. Stock of the shop had been running low and they weren’t going to make it with all ingredients until the next shipment of the Apothecary would be delivered, so Val had made her way over to the location for the emergency ingredients. “Is there a reason for the short reaction?”

Since Lucius had settled himself in front of her and remained unmoved, Cassie had practically been waiting for him to ask for her healing services. "I'll send you my contracts and my pricing via owl when I get home. With how difficult pregnancy can be, I will be on call whenever either of you need me," Cassie assured him, though that of course would come with a hefty price - one she was certain the Malfoy vaults could spare. "Lots of protein and calcium. I have a list at home of some recommended dishes to meet the intake, I can send you that as well. It just helps promote Narcissa's health, and healthy growth of the baby," she mused, pulling some parchment from her bag to scribble down a list of things she needed to send Lucius. "Keeping your wife happy while she grows your child is probably the best thing you can do for your ongoing health. Massages, anything strange she's craving, sensitive gestures...it will mean a lot," Cassie said with a small grin.

They were in the process of find a suitable healer and Cassie Borgin came to mind. "I have spoken to my wife, and we would like you to be our healer." With her reputation, she could be trusted, her family a long history within the cause. Lucius listened carefully to what she had to say and nodded his head. "Is there a list I should be giving them?" He wanted to make sure this was done correctly. "I can give massages." He could try at least. "This is all note worthy information."

No matter how hard he tried, Regulus knew that he was a disappointment. He knew that his parents wished that Sirius was still here over Regulus, because he was the stronger of the two boys. He knew that Bellatrix believed Sirius would have made a better Death Eater, and privately, he agreed. The further they got into this war, the more obvious it was becoming to Regulus that this was not the right path for him. Torture turned his stomach, he couldn't cast a strong unforgivable to save his life, and Regulus didn't dare to think about his changing opinions on blood purity in Bellatrix's presence. Even with his occlumency firmly in place, Regulus didn't dare to think even a single thought about Caradoc Dearborn. He had a sinking feeling that whatever Bellatrix had called him here for could not be good, and it was not merely a friendly catch up.

Holding his cup tightly in his hands, Regulus was about to lift the drink to his lips when Bella dropped her spoon and he flinched again. Trying to brush it off, Regulus leaned back into his chair with a practiced air of casual nonchalance. He was, after all, a pureblood. He had been acting his whole life, and though Bellatrix had keen eyes and an iron-clad will, Regulus would not let his cousin trip him up.

"He is more than adequate, he is great. You are the best, and I know you are - you and I both know that. But you are too important to the cause to busy yourself with my inability to cast lasting unforgivables. Let Rabastan deal with that, while you honour the Dark Lord," he said, playing on Bella's absolute devotion. He held her gaze firmly, not wanting to shy away from it no matter the fact he felt she may be piercing into his very soul. "Cousin, I cannot ask that of you," he protested again, before Bellatrix revealed the true reason for her owl. "Ah, so you and Rabastan have been gossiping about me," he said, his tone holding a hint of fury. "That was supposed to be private. It was fine, Rab dealt with it. They didn't even come close to hitting me, because the Order are shit. They are unruly and undisciplined, they have no hope," he said, setting the cup of tea down so firmly that some splashed over the side onto the saucer. "Whether or not I die is nothing to do with you, Bella. You have done your best, but I need you to respect my wishes. I do not want you to teach me." He didn't have the stomach for whatever Bellatrix's teaching would look like, and he knew it. "I appreciate the offer, I do. Truly."

A little fear did wonders - in everyone, not just her enemies. Friends and family were treated equally to her charming personality, though they benefitted from her loyalty and never-ceasing protection, as smothering as it could sometimes be. These days, Bellatrix was acutely aware of the effect she had on those dearest to her. She was fuelled by a desperation to bind them to herself, outraged by both Sirius and Andromeda and the hurt they had ripped through the Black family - through her. So she clung to Cissy and Regulus, trying her hardest to make their lives both worthwhile and worthy. Yet she knew that this approach was not always welcome, and that it had pushed Regulus elsewhere. She was truly and wholeheartedly trying to temper her behaviour. But it was not easy to moderate Bellatrix Lestrange. The witch was too unruly even for herself.

Scoffing at his statement on avoidance, she dropped a few sugar lumps into her cup and stirred it. The spoon swished silently, avoiding the delicate china surround with fine-tuned accuracy. Then it clattered down onto the saucer, undoing all of her careful attention to avoiding jarring noises - speaking of which, while she would ordinarily and happily have soaked up compliments, in this instance she saw right through them. So she raised her cup to her lips and took an indulgent gulp, her eyes remaining centred on him all the while. She did not miss his grimace.

"You deserve more than 'adequate', Regulus. You are the last of the Black heirs. You deserve the best." Her stare was truly like a pair of daggers, sharpened and primed to carve her message home. Sirius was a waste of space and she would not permit Regulus to become the same. He would be great, even if she had to drag him through fire and brimstone to get him there herself. And oh, how she hated Sirius for bringing this fate into Regulus's life. Sirius should have been the Death Eater. She was not a fool - she knew Regulus was not truly suited to it. But it was now his duty and he must fulfil it. They all had duties. He was not exempt. "I will help you. You cannot freeze during battles, cousin. You could have been killed. If that had happened-" She paused, hesitating over her words in the most uncharacteristic manner. Then she continued, practically slicing the words across her tongue, reluctant to express their truthful sentimentality. "I would never have forgiven myself."

Whether the Wyvern was a dive bar or not, Fenrir took pride in his work. He wouldn't serve standard pub grub just because that was what was expected, like the shit that they served at the Leaky. He worked hard at the small menu they offered, and all of the kitchen staff knew how to make each dish. Being called out of the kitchen his natural assumption was that it was to be a question about the food, so when the blonde woman started talking about how to reach him, Fenrir straightened his spine and mentally prepared for whatever was coming next. "I don't mind. It's my job after all, to be available for questions. Thanks," he accepted the praise, tone full of curiosity as to whatever was happening here.

Fenrir reached for the proffered clothing, eyeing it with an analytical gaze. "Protection you say? What sort of protection does it offer?" he asked, his gaze darting to the tables either side to ensure they weren't being watched. "I assume you know my name, Leta, otherwise you wouldn't be here," he said, loathe to introduce himself unless absolutely necessary. He shook her hand firmly, before he turned his attention back to the clothing. "Do I owe you for this?"

Whether it would seem silly to the one in question or not, Leta felt a visit was long overdue. The White Wyvern was a place the witch could be found only rarely, when occasion would strike. It was convenient such a moment had come; the blonde had found her way there. In fact, for the first time she’d even tried the food there. Somehow the establishment had always given the impression of being a simple place, more for the drinking type than those wishing to dine. “I hope you don’t mind me calling you out here, but I’m not entirely sure how to reach you.” Of course, Leta could have sent an owl. That seemed too harsh, impersonal. “First of all, since it seems rude otherwise. The food was nice.”

Slender hands reached to take a quick sip of the wine in front of her. “That aside, I came to give you this. Whether you wish to use it is entirely up to you.” It was simple clothing. Not the usual cloaks she’d have handed other death eaters. Given that she wasn’t all that familiar with the one in front of her, it seemed like the most basic of things. “I have made these for all that have joined. Simple protection against the unwanted.” The former Slytherin could only hope it would make sense to the one in front of her. “Oh, Leta Rosier. I work at Madam Malkin’s. If I feel like it.” Wasn’t that the truth. Dedicated, yet growing more and more accustomed to just working in her own workshop. The blonde offered her hand. Least she could do. - @battle-scvrs

Alecto's shuffling betrayed her discomfort, regardless of the lack of expression on her face. Fenrir was no fan of the woman in front of him, but he wasn't entirely heartless and he didn't want to see a heavily pregnant woman sit in discomfort in his home. "The couch is softer if you want to swap. Or I have some duck feather cushions that I can offer you," he said, offering them as a truce between them. "You won't find it to be necessary, Carrow. Yes, we can be done with that topic."

Fenrir tried not to get involved with the Scottish werewolves where possible. Managing his own pack was enough work without being dragged into the internal politics of another pack - never mind that when two werewolf alphas in the same room usually led to vicious fights. But to hear that Angus had wandering hands...Fenrir wanted to apparate to Scotland and rip those hands off. It was unthinkable to him that the leader of a pack should behave in such a way. "If you were to want to depose Angus in the future, or if you wanted to teach him a lesson...I would offer my assistance," Fenrir said carefully. "I will save that favour for the future."

Irritated and overstimulated from the busy shopping street, Regulus wasn't trying to be a pain to anyone else and yet the other woman's attitude immediately got his back up. Drawing on every inch of bitterness his mother taught him, Regulus stared at Georgette with a cool stare. "You're not the only one in a time crunch, so you can wait your turn politely," he said, his gaze dipping to the mess of her hands. "You can't brew in that state, surely. You might be better going to Mungos for a pre-brewed potion. These ingredients are going to do nothing for you," he said haughtily, before reaching for a vial of Jewelweed.

While working with her hands and the splinters that lived in Georgette's fingers was something she lived for, there were times that she had to get some of the wood out of her skin. Normally she had a brew set up for such occasions but had realized, while bleeding, that the last drop wasn't going to do what was needed to repair her skin. Damn. She hated leaving the store but she couldn't work well if her hands were to the point they had found themselves -- she had gone a little too far without healing herself properly. It would be great to say it was the first time but when it came to her work that wasn't the case nor would it be the last.

She washed her hands with soap and water then gathered her things to run to the Apothecary, rushing between people, trying to get the errand done as quickly as possible. Unfortunately when she got into the store someone was standing just where she needed to be. If Georgette had it her way she would have just shoved him out of the way and not thought twice about it but there were too many people around and she didn't want to deal with attention from others. "I don't know who you think you are but some of us are in a bit of a time crunch so if you could --" she motioned for him to shove off while trying desperately not to shove him herself.

As he approached the table, whatever the patrons had been muttering ceased and their conversation dried up. With a cool stare, Fenrir asked them again if there was anything he could help with, and was greeted with silence. With a shrug, he turned to head back towards the kitchen to get back to cooking. He'd made half a step in that direction when his eyes met those of a woman who he didn't seem to recognise, but the woman was evidently trying to stare a hole through his head. "Can I help you?" he asked curtly.

This was not Aurora's usually spot, but she had a request for a certain star chart from a client. Walking through knockturn alley left her a little on edge. Finding her seat at table four, she sat with a mug of coffee, taking a sip, sort of entertained by the table in front of her, listening to them complain. Though, that amused feeling instantly shift to dread when she saw who came out approaching the table beside her. She knew Fenrir Greyback, the stories told of the one who turned Remus. The table in front of her instantly ceased any complaint. There was a chance he would turn and not notice her, but their eyes met.

Aurora had a few run-ins with Fenrir, this strong part of her wanting to make him feel the pain Remus did.

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.

He hadn't set out with the intention of trying to find Pandora that evening, after all he had picked the woodlands to apparate to from random chance. He had a list of preferred haunts, and the chances of her being there at the same time without them discussing it beforehand were slim. Still, he should've anticipated it the moment he realised there was a human in the forest. There weren't many wizards who would roam about alone at night in dark woods these days.

Stepping closer towards Dora, Fenrir slipped his wand back into his pocket and smirked in her direction. "Maybe you should be afraid of the creatures...I hear some of them are quite wild," he crooned, coming to a stop by the nearest tree to Dora. Leaning against it casually, Fen narrowed his eyes briefly at her question before shaking his head. "Nance has him tonight. I was just coming for a walk, and here you are. How's your magic coming along?"

Pandora had no rhythm or reason for how she conducted herself. Besides her routine shifts at Cobb and Webb's, the witch marched to the beat of her own drum. The care for her safety usually her last thought, or in most cases, no thought in general. When an idea popped in her head, she fixated until it was sorted, usually a success or a disaster, most times the latter. Tampering with spells and magic had its cost and she cared not for what it, her aim to manipulate to her will.

That is what brought the witch to the woods, in a small clearing by a pond, illuminated lights flickering around to aid in seeing her parchment. Ever since Bellatrix came into the shop and how close her spell came to doing what it was supposed to, she fixated on pushing the strength of her magic to complete the spell. The effort placed in twisting the threads of magic, exhausting herself, that she did not sense another close, forgetting to set up her wards, that Fenrir startled her.

The sudden arrival of Fenrir illicit a small squeak, turning to face him with a huff and her arms bridging over her chest. "I'm not afraid of the creatures that prowl in the woods. Most are merely misunderstood and leave me alone." A beat. "Shouldn't you be at home with Magnus?"