Chapter Eighty-Two

Family Reunions

Remus was still laid curled on sofa where he had been for the past couple of hours ever since Minerva had left him. The weight of everything he had found out, everything he had done, everything Sirius had said, was crushing him. It was like losing Sirius and James all over again … except almost worse because at least then he had been able to blame Voldemort and Sirius. But this time it was only him who was the blame.

That was when the crack of somebody Apparating into his home came. Remus didn't even bother to look up. It was probably Voldemort coming to kill him. Honestly, that didn't seem so bad after everything he had done.

'Are you done feelin' sorry for yerself?' a growl of voice came out.

Now that had Remus sitting up sharply – he recognised that voice. Looking around he saw the familiar face of Fenrir Greyback – his father – staring at him. After everything else it just was too much, and Remus just began laughing hysterically whilst tears streamed down his face.

Greyback knelt down beside him, 'Remus, breathe with, out and then in, out and then in.'

Eventually Remus calmed, 'are you here to kill me?'

'Would you like that?' Greyback said softly.

Remus looked down unsure how to answer that question.

'Because, no I am not,' Greyback said. 'You are my son … if I had protected you and Romula better … you wouldn't have been hurt and groomed in the manner you were.'

'It doesn't make it better,' sniffed Remus.

'No, it doesn't,' agreed Greyback sadly. 'And had it been someone involved in your kidnapping and Romula's death, I would have torn them apart.'

Remus shuddered at the casual reminder that Greyback may not exactly be what he was pictured as. However, he was still Fenrir Greyback the most notorious werewolf of their times. And he was Remus' father which set Remus off again.

'Remus, you can't stay here,' Greyback said. 'The Dark Lord has agreed not to touch you on my behalf but that is on the condition that you remain away from his family and the Wizarding World. So, you will be coming to the pack … and you will be staying there! Do you understand me?'

'Yes,' Remus said softly feeling so lost it was just easier to let Greyback take charge.

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Fenrir Greyback apparated his son back to the current location of his pack. It was clear to Fenrir that his son was on the edge of a breakdown. All the lies and indoctrination he had suffered through and told himself over the years was breaking him.

Remus was far from the only werewolf he had taken in who had a multitude of traumas, self-hatred that was so deeply ingrained into them and depending on what had happened during their transformations a guilt complex. He knew how to handle these issues and help his pack heal from the impact of humanity. However, this wasn't just a new werewolf, this was his son which changed everything.

Fenrir got Remus unpacked in Fenrir's own tent, not complaining just allowing himself to be led. That worried Fenrir because he knew Remus had been raised to be compliant and submissive. To unlearn those negative behaviours would be hard.

Fenrir had wanted Remus to choose to come here himself, but his actions and the Dark Lord's ultimatum had changed that. The Dark Lord had made it quite clear he wanted Remus nowhere near his son, him or the Wizarding World.

Fenrir knew that the only reason the Dark Lord hadn't killed him himself is because he valued Fenrir's alliance. And that more than anything was the reason that Fenrir followed a human wizard. After all, most other wizards only concern about werewolves was for them to be as far away from "decent" society as possible. The Dark Lord, however, agreed not to enact revenge for Fenrir's sake.

'Come on, you should meet the pack,' Fenrir said gruffly.

There were twenty-four adults and twenty-two children between the ages of four months (little Stacey was unlikely to take human form until next spring) and fourteen years of age. Currently it was Mabella, Constantine, and Ksenia turn to cook which they were cooking the venison over a fire. Jez, Darcey and Sybille were attempting to wrangle the gaggle of younger children.

Fenrir led Remus over to Regan who before he had been turned in his mid-twenties had been a junior Healer. He was one of the six of Fenrir's pack who had had a proper job before they were turned and suddenly found them jobless and kicked out by their family. And Regan had been infallible to them with their mortality drastically reducing since they had a proper Healer rather than bits and pieces they had cobbled together mostly through trial and error.

'Alpha,' the young werewolf smiled. 'Ah … is this … your son. Fenrir, if you would leave us alone, I would like to talk to Remus alone.'

And that was another thing that made Regan a godsend – his dedication to healing both the mind and the body. Of course, he was no trained Mind Healer or Therapist, but after Torsten had come to them after a violent mauling that had left him almost dead and taken his dominant arm. Only to be compounded by the fact his husband had kicked him to curb leaving him homeless, jobless and worse of all having no rights to his daughter. Of course, not one family member or friend tried to help him. Torsten had given up and was trying very hard to die when Fenrir had found him.

Regan had journeyed into local mixed town, close to where they were staying and picked up as many therapy and Mind Healing books as he could so that he could help this young man who had been so hurt. And now Torsten was doing well and his daughter would be seventeen soon so he hoped that she would be amenable to meeting him when it was no longer up to her father.

Fenrir hoped that Regan could do the same for Remus now that he was here and ready to listen. Because from the looks of Remus today he too had given up and wished for death. And Fenrir would die before letting his son be taken from him, again!

-0 0-

Vivian Prince stood in the doorway of her manor as the casket containing the body of her grandson. The Ministry official who was responsible for releasing the body had handed her a form that Vivian was dutifully filling out. The short witch looked bored as the casket was levitated into the living room.

'If you have any issues about the nature of the treatment of you or your family member please report to the DMLE office of complaints,' the witch said sounding as though she had said the same thing a thousand times before. 'If there is anything else?'

'No, thank you, Official Pewsey,' Vivian said. 'If you wouldn't mind leaving, so I can put my grandson to rest.'

Officially, Vivian was doing a traditional burning on the lake on her property. This was, of course, meant that there would be no body or ash to identify if questions were asked at a later date because any remains would be at the bottom of lake or blown to the four winds. That was, of course, the idea because as soon as Eliza Pewsey left, Vivian opened the casket. Severus Snape was still, cold and very dead.

But he was not dead.

No, he had taken the Draught of Living Death, that despite being a relatively well-known potion was very difficult to brew successfully and if brewed incorrectly would really kill you. And it was very difficult to differentiate from true death as it puts you in a deathlike slumber. Most of the ingredients are taken into your organs or neutralise each other. The one exception to that was the snakeweed which was broken down in the blood. A Potions Master would have been able to guess, but most Healers would just see the snakeweed and just think poison. It was still a risk, all it took was one Healer more read up on Potioneering and they were caught, or a slightly mis-brewed potion and Severus was dead.

But Severus knew far too much about the Dark Lord and his plans to risk having him questioned under Veritaserum. The only two choices were for him to flee, die or fake his death. Thankfully, as Severus was the only one aside from her who carried the Prince name the Dark Lord had gone down the latter root when it became clear that the Severus was under mounting suspicion.

Vivian was never a Death Eater. And after how things had ended last time around Vivian was glad to have made that decision. But things did seem to be different this time around. But at a hundred- and four-years old Vivian was too old for revolutionaries.

But she did sympathise and agree with the cause especially after what had happened with her only magical daughter and only grandchild. Vivian had hated her Heir having chosen to run off with that Muggle boy. And when things had turned out the way they did felt it was justified. There was a reason that they shouldn't mix with their sort.

Vivian took the pale pink antidote and tipped it down her grandson's mouth. Severus had brewed it prior to being arrest after he and the Dark Lord had hatched this plan. Although, she (as most Princes were) was a talented Potions Master, her grandson refused to drink any potion that he had not personally ensured was correctly brewed because as he liked to say few understood the subtle art of potion making. Vivian had given Severus a stern look at that point, reminding him who had taught him much he knew about potions making. Still, she respected his wishes and used the potion he had prepared earlier.

Now to see if it had worked.

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Severus Snape opened his eyes slowly and tiredly blinking at the bright candle lights.

He groaned.

His whole body felt heavy and lethargic.

Severus just wanted to close his eyes and go back to sleep.

'How long has it been?' he asked weakly.

'Two and a half days,'

He looked up to see familiar black eyes and the long silver-grey hair of his grandmother. Vivian was giving him an awfully unimpressed look. His grandmother had always had awfully high expectations of him. It was no wonder that his mother had run off with the first Muggle who was kind to her. And look how that turned out Severus thought bitterly.

'What has happened?' asked Severus.

'Dumbledore has yet to be found, but Arthur, Molly and Ginevra Weasley have been arrested,' Vivian said crisply. 'The Prophet ran quite the article on it.'

'That is to be expected,' Severus said. 'Dumbledore is no fool, he will not be found until he wants to.'

'Now, take the purging potion to fully clear any remnants of poison from your veins,' Vivian said crisply – bedside manner was not something their family was known for. 'Then take eligetibi potion – I have already added your grandfather's hairs … and I am sure the Dark Lord will wish to see you.'

Severus nodded not bothering to argue with his domineering grandmother. He drank the thick red potion gritting his teeth as his body was wracked with tremors as the Draught of Living Death and the Veritaserum he had been dosed with was purged from his body. Naturally, his grandmother offered him little in the way of comfort.

He took the second potion that was sitting on the desk and downed it. His body shifted so that he now resembled his grandfather – Pyrrhus Prince nee Davies. He looked in the mirror, his hair and eyes were a couple of shades lighter and his hair had a distinctive curl to it and his skin was a little darker so it looked like he actually had seen sun in his life. But it was his facial features that had completely shifted – his nose had shrunk, and his jawline was now more solid than the high cheekbones of the Princes. Severus wouldn't say he looked better than before … but he certainly looked different. One might see similarities, but any similarities would be attributed to being first cousins.

'Did you set up the appropriate backstory?'

Vivian just raised her eyebrow, 'Neos Pyrrhon Prince … born Matthew Neos War on the 20th of June 1961 to squibs Rachel Prince and Matt Ware in Quebec.'

Rachel Prince was his Aunt who was a squib … who had been sent to Canada when she did not receive a Hogwarts letter. It had been of great shame to his grandparents that their firstborn was a squib, so they had put all the pressure on their younger daughter. Severus' mother had of course delighted the family by running off with a poor Muggle boy. Severus was sure if they had any other heirs Severus would not have been accepted into the family.

'Attended Ilvermorny gaining NEWTs in Charms, Defensive Magic, Healing, Herbology, Latin, Potions and Mind Magic … achieved a working apprenticeship working as a Potions Assistant at Mortensen's Brewery which you have remained since then. The Dark Lord informs me that he has provided sufficient cover that it will withstand any probing.'

That meant Obliviation charms.

Severus knew that people would assume that the only reason that Neos Prince had been reaccepted into the family was that it was that or let the Prince line die out. Not that different to when he was seventeen and had been proclaimed the Prince Heir despite being the son of a Muggle. Just like then Severus was sure he would be expected by his grandmother to marry a proper Pure-Blood to re-purify his line. Maybe now that he was not so hung up on Lily Evans and so beholden to Albus Dumbledore he would think about doing just that … or not (he was not a fan of children).

That brought Severus a happy thought – he would never have to teach again.

XXXX

Bill Morant found himself and his four brothers sitting in a drawing room of very fine castle of an Ancient and Noble family. They were meeting his grandmother and aunt (by blood but not by law) for the first time. They had received the letter a few days ago inviting them for afternoon tea.

Naturally, Bill had pushed for his brothers to wear their best non-ball robes. Easy for Percy who had to look professional daily. Less so for the rest of them who rarely needed to polish up. Not even Bill as goblins cared little for wizard sensibilities.

After this meeting they would be meeting up with Fred and George's friends to go and see Harry. Fred and George were excited, but Bill was nervous. He had made up his mind about confronting Harry's father, but he would be lying if it did not fill him with dread.

'I am delighted to finally see you again after all these years,' Isolde Prewett said primly. 'And in the case of Fred and George meet you.'

'You knew us then?' asked Percy surprised.

'You wouldn't remember, you were only a couple weeks old when … when my sons were killed,' Isolde said sadly. 'Even William was only five-years-old.'

'I … don't really, remember,' Bill said.

'We wouldn't expect you to,' Isolde said kindly. 'You were very young. I did try to get access to you when you were children … but your father refused after what we had done to Molly!' Isolde snorted loudly. 'But we did keep a track of your progress – Elaine get the photo.'

Elaine was quick to bring a very familiar framed photograph. It was the one that appeared in the Daily Prophet a couple of summers ago when Arthur had won the prize draw and they had their one and only family holiday. Bill didn't miss the fact that his mother had been cut out of the picture.

'But you didn't contact us when we were adults,' frowned Percy.

'We were … unsure … of how much an influence Molly had on you,' Elaine said.

'It's more than that,' Isolde said. 'Molly was my daughter, Elaine's sister, we loved and trusted her with our lives. It is why we ignored her rants about the so-called prophecy.'

'It wasn't until I found the bodies did, we take her seriously,' Elaine said heavily.

'After being betrayed in that manner it makes it almost impossible to trust anyone ever again,' Isolde said darkly. 'And you had been raised by Molly – if I let you in would I lose the only child I had left?'

Bill let out a sigh and thought about it from their perspective. What would have happened if Ginny had killed Fred and George for that reason? Would they have been willing to reach a handout to Ginny's children?

'What changed your minds?' asked Bill heavily.

'The news that you had done what we should have and walked away,' Isolde said. 'Maybe, if we had done so Fabian and Gideon would still be alive.'

'It wasn't your fault,' Bill said softly.

Isolde gave a sad smile, 'Fabian and Gideon were my children – I should have protected them. And I was Molly's mother I must have gone somewhere wrong with her.'

'No,' Elaine disagreed vehemently. 'You raised four children and only one of them thought murder was the answer! It wasn't your or Dad – there was just something deeply wrong with Molly.'

There was an awkward pause with the Morants unsure what to say to that. Quite frankly Bill thought he agreed with Elaine. Ron and Ginny's … issues for lack of better word may have stemmed from their mother but from looking at his kind faced blood aunt Molly Prewett did not have that excuse.

'So, what do you do, Elaine?' smiled Percy politely.

'I was a Healer at St. Mungo's but over the last few years I have been managing the estate and seats,' smiled Elaine.

Bill nodded reading between the words that she was looking after her frail mother. It seemed awfully lonely just these two women in this massive castle alone. He wondered what it would have been like had Molly not done what she had with his grandparents, uncles, aunt, all of them and any children or partners that his uncles may have had.

Bill's face twisted at the realisation of everything that Molly Weasley had taken from them.

Well, no longer!

'I think Molly has dominated us for too long, don't you,' Bill said. 'But she's in prison where she cannot hurt anyone anymore, so let's not let her control us anymore!'

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'Is it true?'

Lord Marcus Flint heard the shout echo across his manor. Marcus sighed; he should have really been expecting this. His eldest may be an idiot but he was selfish enough to not want to compete for the lordship with two far younger siblings. Not for no reason, because Marcus had no plans to leave his lordship in the incapable hands of young Marcus.

'Good morning, Marcus, how was Paris?' asked Marcus.

Marcus had naturally been keeping an eye on his son and heir's travelling plans and knew that his son had spent the last nine months in Paris, after his money had run out. Honestly, six thousand galleons was enough for a small family to live on for a year and Marcus didn't need to worry about bills or place to live because he was living in the various Flint properties around the world. Yet, Marcus had run out gold in three months.

Marcus scowled, 'is it true? Did that blood traitor bitch commit line theft?'

Marcus raised his eyebrows at that, 'I think you know the answer to that?'

'Then why in the name of Merlin did you not demand that she get rid of it?' demanded Marcus.

Of course, he could have done that. As a foetus conceived due to non-consent it was his right to either disown, claim or force abortion. Of course, those rules became harder to enforce the closer to the due date and certainly after the due date it was either disown or claim.

'I think given how the Flint House has drastically dwindled in the last two hundred years I cannot afford to lose members of my bloodline – no matter how they were conceived,' Marcus said coolly.

Marcus snorted and sneered, 'don't think I don't see what's going on, Father, you're planning to replace me!'

Marcus raised his eyebrows – he wasn't wrong, but Marcus knew better than to tell his son that. An angry, jealous, scared teenager could do the great harm if left to his own devices. And if he came in contact with Weasley then he would have two unstable teenagers – one who had already shown she was willing to harm herself to get rid of his children and the other one who would have great cause to get rid of the babies.

'If you that you are so unworthy of your inheritance that you think I would replace you with two ill-begotten whelps then don't you think you should do something to prove your worth!' Marcus said sharply.

Marcus scowled skin flushed, 'fine.'

Marcus scowled and stormed out of the manor – probably back to his French whores. Marcus breathed a sigh of relief that his son was not going to insist on remain. He really did not want Ginevra Weasley and his son anywhere near one another.

Yet, at the same time he felt … concerned that he had just made an enemy.