LFAM52
Disclaimer: Harry Potter & his universe aren't mine, just having some fun.
Chapter 52
Rita buzzed away from the Riddle House as fast as her wings would go, until she reached the border of the fidelus, then transformed quickly. She could hear the yells of the werewolves, distantly, and shuddered. She and Delores had been held for two days, tormented and taunted by the Death Eaters.
She gulped back a sob. She'd never endured a Crucio, before. Even the brief ones left her shaking and hurting for hours. She still ached in her bones from them. Greyback had told her he intended to turn the both of them when the full moon arrived. Delores had wept and pleaded, but that just made them laugh harder. The room they were in prevented any magic, even her animagus form. She had waited, terrified, and they had finally pulled Delores out.
She shivered, and apparated to her house. The screams from Delores when Greyback had bitten her made her cringe in remembrance. The horrible laughter from the werewolves had been almost as bad. Being told that the Death Eaters and the werewolves that bore dark marks enjoyed their killing and torture was one thing. Hearing their glee at the misery they were inflicting was another.
How did people live with such reckless cruelty in their hearts?
She had been pulled out next, and the moment they had loosened their hold she had transformed and raced away. They had chased her, sending cursed nets and hexes at her. She was certain she had gotten away mostly on luck, but she had gotten away.
Rita showered and changed, numbly wondering what she should do, now. It was slowly dawning on her, now she was safe, that they had most likely ruined a carefully planned out Ministry raid. Her job, at least, was now gone. She was not surprised at a knock at her door, and someone yelling.
"This is the Ministry, open up."
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Severus and Lily had dragged home after Frank's funeral and huddled together on the sofa. They hadn't known Frank well, but Moody, Sirius and Remus' anguish had been wretched. And James – even Severus had been a bit concerned by his guilt-riddled grief.
Lily had agonized over the fact that she had all but abandoned Alice's husband and child after her death. She hadn't meant to – none of Alice's friends had really thought about Frank and Neville. Frank had buried himself in work, and had seemed to be coping alright. Augusta had taken over the care of Neville, and all had seemed well. Now Neville was an orphan.
Lily sighed; at least she hadn't stuck another knife in James at the wrong moment. She had written a thoroughly hateful and vicious letter, telling James to keep his social – climbing bitch kenneled. Severus had gleefully helped her fine-tune the insults. He was good at making them sound even more clever and cutting.
She had been about to call for her owl, when the firecall from a tearful Rosemerta had come through about Frank. They had all gone to help at the ministry. Taking care of Frank's body and comforting Augusta and Neville.
They both had seen how devastated James was. Frank was dead under his command. This was, of course, a part of being a Team Leader – the least glorious part. The part that had broken more Aurors than taking curses had.
When that horrible day had finally ended and they got home, she had torn up the letter with a few tears dropping on the scraps.
Instead, at the funeral, she had cornered Sylvia in the ladies room, with Rosemerta and Narcissa at her back – Sinistra and Molly were guarding the door from potential intruders. Sylvia had paled at the sight of them and had swallowed hard.
"So you think you can use my son to make yourself look good in social circles, Sylvia?" Lily had hissed. "James has made it clear to anyone asking that Harry is no longer his, and Severus has let everyone know Harry is his son by giving him his name. The Potters have no claim on Harry, and you certainly don't. If you even breathe a word about seeing Harry I'll see to it that you're hexed so badly no one will look at your face again without flinching."
Sylvia cowered back, but had had a few last words. "You know, sometime in the future Harry and Charlus will attend Hogwarts together – it's inevitable that they will know they share the same father. Harry is likely to want to know him, and he might be curious as to why you kept him from his half-brother."
"He's not Harry's brother!" Lily had shouted.
"Saying it won't change the boy's genetics." Sylvia had answered slyly.
"Well, if they ask why they haven't met, I'll just tell them both that I wouldn't let my children near a scheming, social-climbing, gutter slut of a stripper. And then you can explain that to your son." Lily had left while Sylvia's mouth still hung open in horror.
Lily now curled in misery in Severus' arms. She couldn't actually hurt a child – even verbally, on purpose – not even Sylvia's brat. And what if she was right? It was true the James had totally rejected Harry and didn't consider him connected to him or his child. But what if there was a day that Harry and Charlus stood in front of her and asked why she had not let him know his brother?
She grabbed a calming draught-laced headache potion and downed it. She would ponder all this later. She had to be perky for Harry's birthday party in the morning. The party would be small compared to what she had planned for, but Harry was three, and he didn't care – as long as he and Draco got to race around with their kneazles.
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Damon Fletwock walked around the outside of the Granian pastures, testing the warding. His Aunt Laurentia raised racing Granians, and the last few summers she had hired him for a few weeks to test and strengthen the warding. He had been quite proud that she had trusted him with this. He knew he was doing it for less than if she had hired from outside of the family – but he didn't mind. It was still good money, and he wanted it for his apprenticeship.
He would be entering his seventh year, and he had been thrilled to receive the letter confirming that he would be a prefect for Slytherin, as well as one of Headmaster Dumbledore's assistants. The worth of that was incalculable, he could learn a great deal from Albus. Of course everyone knew he was looking to tap someone as a new apprentice, and his four assistants were the most likely candidates.
Damon noticed that the Granians seemed restless, and he spoke softly to soothe them. He breathed in the scent of the apple and pear trees planted along some of the paths beside the paddocks. He loved this time of evening, just getting dark and the moon starting to rise.
A yellowish and malevolent pair of eyes was watching the young Slytherin. Fenrir had been very busy tracking down the older Hogwarts students for likely recruits. This one was quite talented. In the past they had gone for much younger prospects – they were more malleable. However, with the raid taking eight of their number they needed wizards that were old enough to be of use.
He chuckled, even if these youngsters weren't willing followers they would do as they were told. After being bitten, they would be subdued and after they killed a few people on raids while under Imperious, they would believe they had no choice but to stay with the pack.
Night was falling quickly, and he knew the boy would continue his casual stroll along the paddocks. Fenrir walked parallel to him, back in the trees. He could feel the moon rising, and his barely hidden wolf awaken. He had taken the Wolfsbane – he hadn't always bothered with it, back when Voldemort was still around. He sighed; there hadn't been a good bloodbath in years. But, Rastaban promised that Voldemort would return, and all would once again be as it should be.
The moon rose, and he felt the transformation. There was a time when it had made him scream in pain. Now, with his total acceptance of his wolf, he spent most of the time partially transformed, and the transition was smooth and any pain there was he could shake off.
He scented the boy, just ahead of him and growled in anticipation. The Granians, however scented him and went crazy in fury. Damon looked around in confusion, just as Fenrir struck. He barely had a chance to scream before Fenrir's jaws closed over his left arm and his claws scored deeply into the boy's chest.
Two of the larger Granian stallions crashed into the fencing. The warding prevented flight, but really wasn't built for the crushing weight of two infuriated stallions out to defend their turf. They were still prevented from flying, but they could get through the fence and attack the werewolf attacking a member of their guardian family.
Fenrir saw the charging Granians and almost cowered in terror. One Granian was bad enough – but two? The stallions reached them and reared, striking at the werewolf. Their ears laced back and teeth bared, ready to rend his flesh if given the chance.
Fenrir fled, howling his fury at being unable to take his prey with him. The Granians watched him run, torn between guarding the injured boy, and finishing off his assailant.
They could hear others coming, alerted by the warding on the fence being broken. They were soon led away to be patted and rewarded for their bravery.
Damon woke up in St Mungo's, and realized by his parent's tragic looks, that it hadn't all been a horrible nightmare.
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James glared at the Daily Prophet and the Quibbler. Their raid had been hailed a success, and that just made him angrier. He knew that on a raid this dangerous that losing one Auror - and just fixable injuries on a couple others was considered acceptable damage. During training they had talked about the trauma of losing team members and what they called 'survivor guilt'. He hadn't known it could weigh so heavy.
They certainly hadn't mentioned how infuriating it was to have the newspapers celebrating your tragedy. Eight of the rogues were caught. They had known they wouldn't catch them all in their net, even without interference. The rogues were now down to one bastion, and they knew its approximate location.
It still seemed a poor trade for Frank Longbottom.
He looked back down at the spread of several days papers. Both papers had extolled Larkin, Remus and Andrew's cleverness and courage. The ministry felt it imperative that the wizarding world know that werewolves were working as hard to be rid of the rogues as anyone else. Andrew's tale of living on his own had become something of a legend, already. Hundred of letters from witches who were 'touched by his bravery' had bombarded both the newspapers.
Frank had lengthy articles extolling his exploits as both an Auror and an Order member. James looked at the wedding picture of Frank and Alice that the Quibbler had run pensively. Albus had talked to him at length – he was familiar with losing men under his command. It had helped, a little. Albus had said that it would take time.
Sirius ducked his head in. "It's the end of shift. Need a drink?"
Did he ever.
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A/N This is short, I know. Working on how long a sentence to Azkaban Rita needs.
