A/N: Close to something big?

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Chapter 36: Of Taking a Step in One Direction

Barty Crouch Sr.'s office was a rich array of deep ebony wood furniture and the smell of polish. While Rowan's father's office had been a display of pride and power – bedecked in deep scarlet and rich leather – Crouch's was minimalistic, full of sleek surfaces and hard angles. Even his belongings seemed to express a harsh disdain for frivolity. Rowan felt even more uncomfortable in her already stiff dress robes than before.

He invited her in civilly with his mouth in a tight line, and she noted that, despite being in his own space, he was even more on edge than he'd been when they'd spoken at Delacroix Manor. She wondered how anyone could submit himself to so much tension even in his personal space.

"So what brings you here, Ms. Delacroix?" he asked brusquely. "I have an appointment in about fifteen minutes, so if you don't mind, I'd like to make this brief." Rowan felt a familiar twinge of annoyance but pushed it aside.

"I've heard that Karkaroff is talking," she said simply, eyeing him carefully.

Karkaroff had undoubtedly heard the news of the intense blow to the Death Eater forces, and he was a bottom-feeder if there ever was one – Kingsley had informed Rowan that Karkaroff had begun giving names, clearly betting on the Ministry's side against his old allies. It made Rowan sick with disgust. She wanted to tear the man's throat out.

He nodded. "Yes, he's listed several names, including his accomplice in your master's murder – Evan Rosier. Coincidentally, he was found dead in Wigtown the other night," he said smugly.

Rowan nodded and hid the scowl from her face – this man was insufferable. She wanted more than anything at that moment to tell him that she had been the one to kill him. That would wipe that damned smirk from his face.

"Will you be offering him a bargain?" she asked. She gazed at him with a hard look.

His face darkened slightly at her bluntness. "Yes, we will probably offer him a lighter sentence for his cooperation," he said, staring her down.

Rowan felt the fire flare from her chest up her neck. She knew she was probably turning red in the face and fought to keep her temper under control.

"But Evan Rosier is dead," she said bristling. "What good does the name of a dead man do anyone?" Her blood was boiling.

"He's given some more names, ones that are more useful," he said smartly. "I'm afraid I can't discuss them with you at this time, but we will release them soon enough after the arrests have been made."

She glowered and held his gaze. The air was heavy in her lungs.

"Does your son know about all of this?" she asked lowly. His eyebrows furrowed, and his gaze darkened slightly.

"He is aware," he answered simply. She felt the understanding between them.

"I see," she said. She stood from her chair and glowered. "I'm afraid that I have no further business with you then, Mr. Crouch. I'll see myself out and let you continue on with your day."

He stared hard at her, assessing her carefully before speaking. "I was just telling my son how unfortunate it is that you never sought a position at the Ministry. I would have liked having someone like you in my department," he said. He eyed her carefully. "A witch of your credentials and pedigree would be highly sought after. I think you'd climb your way up the ranks as fast as your father did. You'd certainly have great influence over policies made here."

Rowan's conversation with Barty Jr. from the week before suddenly sprang to mind. The dark expression he'd worn was so similar to his father's, and she finally understood how right Mina was – they were very much alike. She realized that she had forgotten to mention her anxieties with the Order about the younger Crouch but knew with great relief that it wouldn't be a concern for her much longer.

She eyed him carefully with slight disdain. The underlying offer in his words boiled a lingering anger in her chest.

"Thank you, but I must say that the idea of working for the Ministry is entirely unappealing. I don't negotiate with murderers," she said haughtily. He leaned back in his chair as if impressed, though she wasn't sure of what since it clearly wasn't her morals. What a strange man.

"Good day, Mr. Crouch," she said, turning and walking out of his office.

"Good day, Ms. Delacroix," he called after her.

Rowan made a stop at Barty Jr.'s office next. It was smaller and wasn't of the same cold minimalism that his father's had been, but it was still quite stark. She thought it looked very much like a bachelor's space. He seemed extremely surprised but pleased to see her there.

"Rowan!" he greeted happily. "Please come in! To what do I owe the pleasure?" he asked. He leaned against the edge of his desk casually as she sat in the chair in front of his desk. She felt uncomfortable being at a lower vantage point for some reason.

"I just met with your father and thought I'd swing by on my way out," she said casually. She was nervous, guilty for some reason, though she couldn't be sure why. Their arrangement had been purely platonic, after all – she had every right to this decision.

"I see," he said cautiously. "I suppose you've heard about Karkaroff then." His expression was darker than she'd seen in a while. The anger she'd seen flicker in the quiet moments was there again. She felt even more uncomfortable.

"Yes," she said bitterly. "He made it quite clear that he'll be making a bargain with him." The heat flared in her chest again.

Barty assessed her quietly for a moment before speaking again. "I suppose there's no need to continue our act then, is there?" he asked carefully.

Her throat tightened momentarily, but as she opened her mouth to begin apologizing, he spoke again.

"Would you consider making it more… official?" he asked.

Rowan felt her heart stop for a moment. She looked at him searchingly. He was gazing at her earnestly, the fire still in his eyes. Was there a sense of desperation there? Longing? She couldn't read it. She'd never seen him look at her that way before, but it wasn't anything like the hungry look that Remus gave her. It made her uneasy.

"Despite our agreement, I've enjoyed getting to know you over the past few months. I think you're brilliant and engaging, and I could see us being together for a long time," he said earnestly. He knelt in front of her and took her hands in his. His hands were warm, and she suddenly felt uncomfortably hot.

"I know I'm not Lupin, but I can be twice the man he was for you. Be with me," he said heatedly. His gaze burned through her.

Rowan looked at him, feeling lost and overwhelmed. How had this happened? His thumb ran over her knuckles in a slow, scalding line. She was thankful that she'd finally healed her hands before coming. She wanted to scrub her skin off.

Barty was everything she should want – intelligent, kind, and handsome. He checked off everything on her father's list in terms of connections and blood status, and if things were to continue smoothly, she'd probably lead a very affluent life with him. And really, hadn't she been coming to terms with the idea of marrying comfortably, even if it were without love?

"I'm sorry," she said quietly. Her chest filled with shame as she thought of her father, but she knew her decision even without thinking. "I really like you, Barty, and I've enjoyed all the time we've spent together." She supposed it was half-true – most of their dates had been fun until the last. "But I can't see us as anything more than friends. I'd like to stay that way if you're willing, but I'm afraid I can't be with you in the way that you're asking." His expression was unreadable. "I'm really sorry," she added again, rather pathetically.

He held her hands, completely still, but the intensity in his gaze deepened. A chill settled into her bones, and she suddenly wanted to get away from him. His features didn't contort, didn't tense, but there was something there that was dark and violent, and she desperately wanted to leave, to put distance between them.

"I see," he said quietly. His eyes burned into her. "Is there really nothing I can do to convince you?" His hands tightened around hers slowly. She thought of a snake slowly wrapping around a victim. She imagined them clenching around her throat.

"No," she answered. She hoped that the fear she felt wasn't evident in her voice.

Barty assessed her for another moment quietly. She held his gaze firmly, determined not to lose to him, though she wasn't sure for what they were competing. Finally after what seemed like a short eternity, he released her hands and stood silently, staring down at her, suddenly very cold.

But then his expression was that of a different man. It was kind, gentle even. Every part of her was lost. There's no way she could have imagined it.

"Well, I guess it was always a losing battle for me, eh?" he said jovially. He smiled. Her stomach lurched.

"I'd also like to remain friends," he said warmly. "I hope that we can still go out, platonically of course. I think I'll miss having you around otherwise." He smiled at her, and she forced a smile back automatically. She wasn't sure if she was more afraid of this man or the one she'd just seen.

"Yeah, of course," she said casually. "We should still hang out when you're free." She hoped that she sounded sincere.

"Yeah," he said smiling. "Sounds good."

Lyall Lupin and his son Remus sat in their old home's living room after a quiet dinner that evening. Remus had been making it a priority to spend more time with his father over the past few months. Lyall had lost a bit of weight since Leanna's passing, so Remus occasionally paid him visits and cooked elaborate meals for him, insisting that he eat more. He mused that he sounded very much like his mother. Lyall found it all very amusing and humored his son as well as he could.

It was still insufferably humid as the last days of August died down. Remus' clothes clung to his skin, which in turn seemed to stick uncomfortably to his bones. He felt like he was in constant need of a shower, and it only added to his general level of discomfort.

Would you be able to live with yourself if something happened to her and you never said anything?

Lily's question still echoed in his head deafeningly from the night before. The thought had occurred to him countless times, but for months he'd kept it from his mind, silenced the dark voices that had whispered such terrible fears. He'd told himself that he'd be able to prevent any harm from coming to her, but the mission in Wigtown had proved otherwise. She'd been covered in blood, a mess of rage and terror. For a moment, he hadn't even been able to recognize her. He'd never seen such wrath in her, hadn't even known she was capable of it.

The truth was that even before speaking to Lily, the question of what he wanted from Rowan had been heavy on his mind. He'd left Rowan's flat with her still asleep days before because he couldn't think clearly with her so close. His nose had been filled with her familiar scent, her skin so warm against his. He didn't know how long he'd laid there admiring the delicate curve of her cheek, the troubled line of her mouth. He could stare at her for hours without thinking about anything. It terrified him how weak she still made him. He didn't understand how someone so small could render him so useless.

But she wasn't small, he countered mentally. Something howled distantly in him. That night, her fire had roared burning and blinding. He wanted to protect her, to be afraid for her, but he couldn't. That distant voice responded to her darkness overwhelmingly. A part of him wanted to pull it from her again, test his own against it. It both thrilled and terrified him.

He'd been prepared to walk her home that night again after the Order meeting dumbly without knowing what to say to her. Even without her near, the dark presence in his gut had roared so deafeningly that all of his thoughts regarding her had been drowned out for days. He just wanted to be close, to feel that resonation between them. He wanted to tear apart anyone who dared come near her. He'd nearly fought James when he'd insisted he take her home instead. She hadn't looked at him as she'd left, and he'd wanted nothing more than to grab her and make her face him, to tell her how very sorry he was for leaving her that morning.

And now, after speaking to Lily and thinking it over another day, he wasn't any closer to knowing what to do. No, he knew what he should do – what he was going to do. He just hadn't accepted it yet.

"How are your friends doing?" Lyall asked suddenly, breaking Remus from his dark thoughts. He looked up jerkily at his father, who was still reading The Daily Prophet. It almost seemed as if he hadn't spoken at all.

"They're fine," Remus said stiffly. He still didn't feel as comfortable discussing his friends with his father as he had with his mother. Lyall had grown to love the Marauders and their respective girlfriends over the years, but Remus' condition had always presented a dark shadow. He felt rather defeated at it – if they couldn't convince his father that he could find genuine friendships despite his condition, then no one would.

Lyall nodded vaguely. He turned a page of his newspaper. "I heard about the Death Eater massacre in Wigtown a few days ago. They say the one who murdered Belby was found dead," he said carefully. He glanced towards Remus pointedly, and Remus felt his chest tighten. "Is Rowan okay?"

Remus had to suppress a grimace. "Yeah, she's all right… a little shaken, but all right," he said quietly.

Lyall nodded again. "I imagine she'd be quite angry," he said knowingly. Remus almost wanted to laugh - could there be a greater understatement? Images of her fury filled his mind, of her limbs thrashing wildly at the collapsed Death Eater's body. He felt something tearing at him from inside with a muffled, righteous roar.

"I heard from some coworkers that he was beaten quite badly when they found him. Someone must have held a grudge," Lyall continued.

Remus eyed his father warily. Damn his Ministry connections. He often forgot how quickly information spread through the Ministry, even across departments. It was growing more and more difficult to keep news of the Order's movements from his father. He knew about his involvement, but he didn't need to worry Lyall any further than he already did.

"You two have been broken up for nearly a year now," he said quietly.

Remus felt a cold trickle run down his back. Had it really almost been a year? Yes, it had nearly been a year since his mother had passed as well. It had been particularly long. Time moves slowly without the people one loves most.

"Don't you think it's time you asked her to take you back?" Lyall asked bluntly.

Remus gaped at his father, who acted so casually, like he'd just asked Remus if he'd like a cup of tea. Was everyone in his life conspiring together to push him to be with Rowan?

"But you've never approved of me having a relationship with anyone," he said a bit more bitterly than he'd intended.

Lyall sighed and lowered his paper. He took off his glasses, pushing them up onto his forehead, then rubbed his eyes tiredly. He suddenly looked very old. A small twinge of fear rang through Remus' chest.

"I used to think that," his father admitted. "But Rowan proved to me a long time ago that if there's an exception to any rule, she's the exception to all of yours." He looked up at Remus and smiled thinly.

Remus' hands tightened.

"Don't you think it's what your mother would've wanted as well?" Lyall asked.

Remus' chest clenched painfully at the thought of his mother.

"Mum would've wanted me to be with anyone who accepted my condition. It wasn't exclusive to Rowan," he said lowly. He pushed the image of his mother's face from his mind. It was too bright, too painful.

"Your mum was a bit of an airhead, but she was no fool. She knew Rowan was special," Lyall said fondly. He smiled gently at the thought of his wife. "You should've seen the way her face would light up whenever Rowan's owl showed up here. It was quite amusing, really – like she was some teenager getting love letters."

Remus looked at his father with confusion. Lyall seemed to read his face.

"You didn't know?" he asked cheekily. Remus glared at his father, who smirked at him. "Oh yes, your mum started writing to her while you were still in school. I think it was your last summer… You were going through that angsty phase of yours – Rowan was much more forthcoming than you were with explanations," he said smartly.

Remus felt his ears burn. Memories of his mother hugging Rowan fiercely at Platform 9¾ flashed in his mind – it suddenly made much more sense. He marveled at how he could have never noticed. Half of him was impressed at his mother's sneakiness, though another was quite angry at the thought.

"So what if Mum loved her?" Remus asked sourly. He didn't want to think of the two most precious women in his life. He didn't want to think of Leanna. "That doesn't solve anything for me."

"Do you love her?" Lyall asked simply.

Remus' brows furrowed. "Of course I do," he answered plainly.

"Well then, there you go," Lyall declared.

Remus' brows furrowed deeper, and Lyall sighed in exasperation.

"Why does anything else matter? If you love her, then why can't you be with her? What's stopping you?"

Remus thought his skull might implode. Lyall Lupin – his analytical, anxious, serious father – was telling him to throw all reason to the wind and follow his heart. Into what strange alternate reality had he fallen?

"Stop making that face. I know that face," he said, scolding Remus. "But I mean it. Really – can you afford to waste time away from her? What if it hadn't been that poor McKinnon girl who died? What if the next is Rowan?"

Remus' stomach churned at the thought. His face darkened.

"Lily said the same thing last night," he said quietly.

Lyall hummed in approval. "Smart girl, that one," he said. "Maybe you should listen to her."

Remus gaped at his father disbelievingly. He still couldn't understand how all of his conversations recently seemed to revolve around Rowan.

"You used to be so uncomfortable at the idea of me being with anyone," Remus said suspiciously. "Am I to really believe that Rowan has somehow changed all of that?"

Lyall assessed him carefully. Remus forced himself to not shift uneasily under his father's gaze.

"Sometimes when the universe keeps pushing us in one direction, that's where we need to go," his father said cryptically over his paper.

Remus considered the words slowly, letting them drip over his heart. Perhaps. Perhaps he would think about it more. Perhaps the universe just needed to give him one more push.