A/N: PUBLIC SERVICE ANNOUNCEMENT: I got a job! It's in a different city though, so I'll be packing up and moving in the next 2 weeks; however, I've got a lot to do before then, so my updates will be irregular. Once I get settled in, my usual update schedule will resume, but I just wanted to let you all know. Please leave me a review or a PM in the meantime! Thank you, and enjoy!

Also, thank you to misslak, S38, and saramichellgellarfan1 for the awesome reviews! You guys are the best! Where did everyone else go...?

jjr797: Hahahaha no, no, no, I will just say now that there will be no little Lupins running around anytime soon. I think we can assume that Rowan is on wizarding birth control, whatever that may be. Thank you though for the compliments!

WRITE ME A REVIEW PLEEEEASE!

Disclaimer: I own nothing!

Chapter 47: Of Ambitious Endeavors

Rowan stood in the basement of the Ministry's Department of Wizarding Examinations Authority at a long counter with a set of cauldrons and various ingredients in front of her. About ten other wizards and witches stood at identical stations, mostly wizards, all looking extremely nervous. She was the youngest by far – the youngest individual besides her was a young wizard in his mid-20s. They'd all shot her wary looks as she'd walked in and taken her place among them, but she didn't have the energy to consider their opinions. Her stomach was already churning enough without dwelling on what her peers thought of her.

It was five days after the Order meeting, and Remus had left two days before to act as Dumbledore's emissary to the werewolf communities in the north. The night before he left, he'd made love to Rowan slowly and gently, and they'd held each other tightly throughout the night. He left quietly in the early morning hours, just as yellow and red hit the horizon, and he'd kissed her goodbye like a starving man. She had done her best to ignore the sharp ache in her chest as he'd closed the door of her flat behind him.

His mission couldn't have come at a worse time. Two days after he left was the day of her Potioneer Accreditation Test, and she desperately wanted to focus on her last minute studying, but to no avail. She spent the entire day before going through her notes half-heartedly, retaining absolutely nothing, and then giving up and going to bed early, though she laid awake for hours in bed, simply staring up at the ceiling and missing Remus' presence next to her.

But she didn't have time to worry about that now. A tall, gaunt man with downy light hair and a receding hairline stalked into the room, his arm carrying a small stack of parchment. Once he reached the head of the room, he turned and gazed around at them briefly with tired eyes.

"Good morning," he greeted calmly. His gaze was even, his voice mellow and clear. "You will have three hours to complete the practical portion of the exam. You will then have a 15-minute break before beginning the written portion, which will take two hours. Your test-taking quills should be provided, as well as spare notebooks for notes during the practical portion. My name is Isaac D'Este. Please let me know if you have any questions."

He looked up at the clock. Rowan's eyes followed and saw the second hand ticking quickly. 9-8-7…

"And you may begin… now."

With a flourish, he released the cover over the chalkboard in the front, revealing a list of four potions: Draught of Living Death, Shrinking Solution, Veritaserum Antidote, and Amortentia.

There was a sudden flurry of movement with the test-takers around her groping for asphodel and sopophorous beans. She heard one of the witches moan painfully as she reached for a squishing sloth brain and smiled to herself. Cool relief filled her lungs, followed by the familiar flare of excited heat that she recognized from her victorious moments in Potions lessons with Slughorn. She could do this. She reached for her jars of asphodel and wormwood, setting two cauldrons in front of her at once – no point in wasting time doing one potion after another. She could brew both the Draught of Living Death and Shrinking Solution with her eyes closed. She caught Ministry Official D'Este eyeing her strange setup warily, and she smiled.

Just watch, she thought.

"Quills down. Time is up."

Rowan dropped the enchanted exam quill as the parchment shot from her desk and towards D'Este's hands. She let out a large breath and slumped over her desk, the muscles in her neck and back suddenly very sore. She closed her eyes and stretched her arms out in front of her, dropping her head and biting back a groan. She'd definitely need a hot shower later to work out the kinks in her back.

She looked up to see D'Este thumbing through the exams before straightening them out and peering over the group of test-takers once more. Rowan could have sworn that his eyes lingered on her for a brief moment, but she'd probably been mistaken.

"We will have the results of your exams ready by the end of the day. Please come see me at my office on the Second Level at 4 p.m., where we will post the results. If you have any questions, please feel free to come see me after."

Rowan took the moment to assess his face. He was lean and tall with a tuft of wispy strawberry blonde hair. He was perhaps in his late 30s to early 40s. He wore small wire-framed oval glasses on the end of a long narrow nose. She thought that he looked very kind, but very tired. Perhaps organizing these exams took just as much work as studying for them.

With a final nod, he dismissed them. There were a few quiet murmurs from a handful of her peers, who seemed to have been schoolmates at Hogwarts. She vaguely recognized the youngest out of them as a former Ravenclaw. She couldn't remember his name, but he'd been a Seventh Year when she'd first arrived at Hogwarts. It was surreal to see him again, now as a potential peer and colleague. She felt a small pang of insecurity as she realized how much more experienced and knowledgeable the rest of them probably were. She tried very hard to push the empty feeling in her stomach away – the test was over, and it would do her no good to worry about it now.

Rowan walked out of the Ministry into the biting January afternoon with a great sigh of relief. The sun was painfully bright, and the air seized her lungs with ice. She closed her eyes for a moment and allowed the cold winter sun to soak into her skin. She wondered achingly where Remus was.

Remus looked up blearily at the bright January sun, which reflected blindingly off of the white snow around him. It was so much colder than London, and the chill in his bones hadn't left since he'd arrived the evening before. He'd spent the long day prior hiking through the woods of northern Scotland, finally coming across the werewolf tribe of Gladaman.

The word that had immediately come to mind was "gray." The people were gray. The terrain was gray. Even the sun seemed strangely gray. Each individual had deep lines and scars and heavy expressions, hair peppered with flecks of silver and white. For the first few hours, he'd been nearly frozen with fear at the sight of his tired face on every person he came across, including the children.

And the children! How could there be so many children? Dumbledore had told him that the majority of children who lived with the Gladaman were not actually offspring of the elder tribe members, but rather children who had been bitten and then abandoned by their parents. He thought of his own parents with an overwhelming wave of gratitude and warmth – they could just as easily have left him to a community like this instead of taking on the burden of a cursed child. He could just as easily have been one of these gray children.

The tribe itself was composed of a motley assortment of individuals, mostly older men, and very few looked as if they were related. The hierarchical system of the tribe was sketchy and often violent, with the stronger men frequently fighting over leadership of the group. The children who were raised here often died young, and although many of the tribe members looked older, he knew they were probably all relatively quite young. He could only be grateful that the current leader was a seemingly reasonable and kind man.

"How ya doin' today, lad?" growled a deep but warm voice. Remus' head jerked up and he looked behind him quickly. Speak of the devil.

Ulfred, a man of about 50, was one of the oldest and most respected members of the tribe. He had surprisingly dark hair for a werewolf of his age, though it was peppered heavily with silver and blonde. His skin was tight and tanned from long exposure to the sun, and two large scars ran down the right side of his face from brow to jaw, just barely grazing the corner of his eye. His jawline was square and jutting, and his eyebrows were thick and bushy and black. A thick, dark, unruly mustache curled around his mouth. Remus thought he looked the very definition of a warrior.

The tribe leader clapped a heavy, thick hand on Remus' shoulder as he approached, shoulders covered in heavy furs. Remus marveled at how starkly this place contrasted to London – it was like a different time, a different world. He smiled thinly at the older man.

"I'm doing well. Thank you, sir."

Ulfred laughed heartily, a booming bark. It reminded Remus of Sirius' laughter, yet somehow even louder and grittier.

"Nothing like London, is it?" he grinned. Remus smiled sheepishly.

"I was actually just thinking that," he admitted. He looked back out and saw a pair of children rolling a large ball of snow down the street together. One had a scar up the left side of his jaw not too different from his own.

"Well, it has its charms, though I can't say the girls around here really compare," he joked. He grinned at Remus. "Ya gotta lass back home?"

Remus smiled as he thought of Rowan's bright eyes. "Yeah, I do," he said fondly.

"Didn' wanna come along?"

Remus smiled awkwardly. "Well, she's not a werewolf, so..."

Ulfred's eyes widened. His bushy eyebrows shot up his forehead with surprise.

"Really?" he exclaimed. He guffawed and slapped Remus on the shoulder hard. Remus' knees buckled slightly. He was reminded of Sirius for a moment. "I wanna hear 'bout that later. Sounds like a keeper. Bet she's a pretty lil thing, by the look o' yer face," he teased.

Remus nodded and couldn't help the proud grin that spread across his face. "She is," he admitted. The two men shared a smile.

But then Ulfred's face melted into something much grimmer. "Are ya ready fer tonight? I know Dumbledore's got the right idea, but I can't say the same fer me men. Yer gonna have to make a strong case."

Remus nodded solemnly with a slight grimace. He had never been a particularly strong debater or quick on his feet with sharp words. He suddenly wished James or Sirius were here to help him. He might have the support of the chief, but that didn't mean the rest of the tribe would listen to what he had to say. Voldemort certainly had more incentives to offer, regardless of how false they were. He could only hope that he could convince them of that.

"Don't look so glum, boy," Ulfred growled, slapping Remus again on the back. His body jerked slightly under its force, the palm of Ulfred's hand echoing through his ribs. "I'll be there to see that they play nice. Ya just gotta make yer argument. Ye'll be fine."

Remus smiled gratefully at the older man. His situation could certainly be much worse. He just hoped that the rest of the tribe was as reasonable.

It was 3:52. Rowan stood in the Second Level hallway at the Ministry with the other test-takers waiting for the results of their exams. She had been strangely calm while walking around London in the interim, but now that she was back in the Ministry building, her stomach was a mess of knots again. She was leaning against the wall farthest from Mr. D'Este's office door. The rest of her peers stood or sat around with a few speaking in hushed tones. A couple shot her a few strange looks again as she'd entered the hallway, but none said anything to her. She was desperate for the next eight minutes to pass quickly. She imagined that they wouldn't release the results until 4 o'clock sharp.

She was right. Eight minutes had never felt so long. Finally, a slight click from the clock on the wall indicated that it was finally time, and not even a second after, the door slammed open – jolting the potioneer candidates with shock. Tired, blonde Isaac D'Este stood in the doorway with a piece of parchment in his long fingers. He gazed around at them with an almost bored expression.

"Marco Abbey," he called.

The young man whom Rowan had recognized from Hogwarts jumped to attention from his seat nervously. D'Este gestured into his office, holding the door open for Abbey. The young man scurried in quickly and D'Este closed the door behind him. Silence refilled the hallway, and the butterflies in Rowan's stomach returned tenfold. She thought she might vomit at any moment.

Another eight minutes passed before the door creaked open again. Marco Abbey reappeared looking pale and ashamed – he clearly hadn't passed. Rowan felt a pang of pity as she watched him hurry down the hall for the elevator. She could certainly empathize – it must be devastating to work so hard for this exam only to fail. She desperately hoped she wouldn't face the same result.

"Rowan Delacroix."

Rowan's head jerked up as the even voice brought her out of her brooding. She straightened almost robotically, facing the tall, thin man. His gaze was much heavier on her than it had been on the previous candidate. She felt as though he were sizing her up, though for what she wasn't sure. He stood aside to allow her to enter his office, and her cheeks reddened with some embarrassment. She rushed forward and past him, making sure to not to make eye contact with any of the others.

His office was spectacularly simple, but not like Barty Crouch Sr.'s. Despite the sleek lines of the furniture, it was very comfortable with warm tones. The wood of his furniture was uniform and deep red, contrasting nicely with the dark green walls. It somehow reminded her of her father.

Before she could stop herself, she commented with some awe, "Your office is beautiful."

Almost immediately, her face turned nearly as red as the wooden furniture she was complimenting. She froze, mortified, and realized that D'Este was looking at her with a peculiar expression, as if trying to determine if she'd actually spoken and he hadn't just imagined it. She sat quickly in the chair across from his at his desk and stared down at her hands. She wanted to curl up and die.

D'Este cocked his head to side and stared at her for a moment with a searching expression, thoughts flickering across his face, before moving back towards his desk and sitting.

"Thank you. I am quite fond of it as well," he said slowly. His voice was very calming. He appraised her for another moment. She dared to look back up at him, and he held her gaze evenly. "Are you interested in wood types or design?" he asked curiously.

Rowan wasn't sure if she should feel relieved or more nervous. "Um, no, not in design really, but I have an interest in wood types and wandlore, I suppose. My father was partial to cypress. Your office reminds me of his somehow," she said nervously. She tried to smile weakly, but she felt very stiff.

D'Este nodded knowingly, but his face still held little expression.

"I have always been quite partial to redwood myself," he said calmly. "Your father – I met him a few times over the years at Ministry events. He was a good man. I was very sorry when he passed."

Rowan perked up at this. She nodded and smiled softly, feeling a bit more at ease. "Thank you, sir. I'm sure he'd be very pleased to hear that."

D'Este nodded again vaguely and then opened a folder on his desk. He leafed over a few pieces of parchment with that peculiar almost-bored expression. Rowan sat up very straight in her seat with her hands in her lap. Her palms were sweating nervously. She wiped them as discreetly as possible on her thighs, heart racing. Her mind was speeding at a million miles per second – loud but too fast to comprehend.

Finally, he looked back up at her with a strangely concentrated look. He seemed to be scanning through her mind, and she wondered if he was a Legilimens like Dumbledore. She tried to recall the basic Occlumency training the Order had given her, but she'd always been pretty rubbish at it. Her nerves certainly didn't help. After a moment, she felt her mental walls coming up, but D'Este continued to stare at her. She didn't feel any inner prying, so he must have simply been thinking. She wasn't sure if she should feel more or less anxious.

"How old are you?"

Rowan blinked. D'Este's mouth had barely moved, and that concentrated expression remained. She almost thought she'd imagined it.

"Twenty, sir."

He gazed hard at her for another moment before setting the papers back down on his desk without breaking eye contact with her. He folded his hands on his desk in front of him slowly, fingers sliding over each other elegantly, almost like bird wings. He gazed at her for another moment in silence.

"You were Belby's girl, were you not?"

Rowan blinked in surprise again.

"Y-yes, sir. Did you know him?"

Again, he seemed to think for a moment before answering.

"Yes," he said simply. He thought for another moment. "You were involved in his research," he said. It was a statement, not a question. Rowan nodded slowly.

He stared hard at her again. She wondered if he was naturally like this or if this was some sort of interrogation strategy. Perhaps this was another aspect to the exam that they kept secret? But then, how had the man before her failed so quickly?

"I heard some of it was saved from the fire at his apothecary. Do you have it?"

Once again, Rowan was taken aback. She considered lying – why would he need that information? Was he for anti-werewolf legislation? She felt a small spark of defiance but held it back.

"Yes," she answered slowly. "I've been slowly recovering the work we'd been doing right before the fire. I was hoping to apply for some research grants soon to start testing again." She wanted to shift uneasily, but she held his gaze, keeping very still. She watched his face carefully for any sign of a change in expression.

His brow twitched – almost unnoticeably, but she caught it. She saw something flicker across his face – was it relief?

He held her gaze again for another long breath before looking back down at the folder on his desk. Rowan let out a quiet sigh of reprieve. She had no idea what just happened, but it felt significant. Somehow, she felt as if she should catch her breath and prepare for what felt like another long sprint.

D'Este leafed through the papers again quickly and then looked back up at her. She made sure to match his even gaze.

"Well, Ms. Delacroix, I am very surprised to say that you passed – almost with a perfect score at that," he said. His tone was very even, though she heard another strange note to it that she couldn't identify.

Relief hit her like a cold wave of ocean air followed by a surge of heat up her spine and into her cheeks. She let out a breath she hadn't known she'd been holding and couldn't stop the grin that burst across her face. A flicker of surprise flashed across D'Este's face briefly, and her smile broadened. A bubble burst in her chest.

"Almost perfect? Master Belby would've killed me!" she gushed, laughing lightly. She sat up even straighter than before. There was a fire swirling in her stomach, and she wanted more than anything to punch something with joy. She couldn't wait to tell Remus when he got back. She couldn't wait to continue Belby's work.

D'Este nodded quietly again as if she'd just commented on the weather and then looked hard at her. He seemed to be thinking again.

"You are the youngest," he said quietly.

Rowan cocked her head quizzically. "Candidate?" she asked.

"Potioneer - you are the youngest to ever pass," he said. Rowan's eyes widened. Prideful glee swelled in her chest. "When I saw you, I was sure you would fail, especially when I saw you brewing two potions simultaneously – very reckless," he said evenly.

Rowan smiled sheepishly. "Yeah, Master Belby probably would've had my neck for that, but I've been brewing those two for years now. He had me doing those pretty frequently in the apothecary," she admitted. She felt guilty for bragging, but it was the truth. She also mused that she must sound like quite the gushing apprentice - she hadn't spoken so much about her late master in ages. She smiled at the thought.

D'Este nodded again. She was reminded of a crane, bobbing his neck back and forth over a river for fish. He looked over her calmly, taking in her form it seemed. She shifted slightly under his scrutiny.

"Will you open your own apothecary?" he asked.

Rowan frowned. She hadn't thought that far ahead. "Um, I suppose so. Legally, Master Belby left all of his estate to me, so I was planning to reopen his old apothecary sometime in the future, though I was hoping to publish before then. I don't think I can maintain a decent inventory while trying to complete my research," she said thoughtfully.

This, somehow, surprised D'Este. His eyes widened slightly, as if seeing her in a completely new light. He seemed to lean forward even more, chin jutting forward. His pale blue eyes pierced straight through her. She had to stop herself from recoiling.

"So you are close then - with the research?" His tone was soft, conspiratorial almost. Rowan's breath caught in her chest. She searched his face for a sign of malevolence or distaste but found none. She couldn't read him, but his expression seemed very neutral. Surely, she'd be able to sense if he were against her work, right?

"Err… yes," she admitted quietly. "I think so at least. Provided that I get the proper funding and research subjects, I think I could publish a treatment within a year. It's not a cure though."

His eyes widened even further, and a muscle in his forehead twitched. He released a breath quietly from his nose. His hands were gripping each other tightly.

Finally, he seemed to lean forward even further. Rowan wasn't sure if she should lean forward to meet him or backward to avoid him.

"How soon could you begin testing?"

Rowan's eyes widened this time. She couldn't believe her ears.

"Testing?" she echoed. He nodded slowly. Her palms were sweating again. She gripped her thighs tightly. "Um, I'd say in a couple of months or so. I'd need to find human subjects though, which I understand can be difficult." She couldn't remember the last time someone had looked at her with so much fervor.

D'Este exhaled shakily and leaned back into his chair, covering his face with his hands. Rowan exhaled as well and slumped into her chair slightly. She watched him carefully still, noting how human he seemed now. He'd almost appeared robotic before, but suddenly, it was as though all of the emotions he'd held in for the past fifteen minutes were rushing out of him. His hands seemed to be gripping onto them, hiding and holding them as they burst from his mouth. She wondered what he was thinking.

Finally, his hands slid from his face, though his eyes remained closed, face upward. She watched him apprehensively, almost expecting him to kick her out of his office at any moment. What could have caused this reaction?

His eyes opened, though they remained on the ceiling. His chest rose and fell slowly through his light gray robes; arms limp at his sides. Rowan wondered vaguely if the other license candidates outside were getting impatient.

"I am a werewolf, Ms. Delacroix."

Rowan nearly choked on her own spit. Her chest seized and jerked forward slightly with surprise. D'Este's gaze remained upward, but his face was completely slack. Had she misheard him?

"How…?" she started weakly. "How are you working here? You don't have any scars…"

"I have not had my condition long… about five years or so. I am fortunate enough to have connections with some influential figures at the Institute of Charms and Enchantments. I undergo a very serious ritual of protective charms every month during my transformation. It essentially restrains me so that I cannot hurt myself," he explained slowly. He looked back at her finally, slowly. His gaze was once again even. There was no indication that he'd had even the slightest lapse in poise.

Rowan's eyes widened again. She had read about such rituals, but they were so extensive and long… They took hours to apply and were very exhausting on those who performed them. This man must certainly have good friends very high up.

"That's incredible," she breathed. "You're very lucky."

D'Este nodded in his crane-like way again. "Yes, indeed. I owe a great debt to my friends at the I.C.E., as they have not revealed my status as an undocumented werewolf. Therefore, you must understand why I am very interested in this research of yours."

Rowan nodded eagerly. "Yes, of course," she rushed. She was astounded that he'd entrust her with such a great secret. How was this happening?

He held her gaze, assessing her. She felt that strange scrutiny again.

"I would be willing to act as a test subject when the time comes."

Rowan's jaw nearly dropped.

He nodded knowingly, as if hearing the question screaming in her mind. "It can be very difficult to find willing lycanthropic test subjects. I am sure you can understand why. In the case that you cannot find enough – and I will do my best to ensure that you do – I would be willing to serve as a subject."

Rowan's chest tightened with a wave of gratitude. How could she be so fortunate?

"But why?" she breathed. "You don't even know me. You haven't seen any of my work or know anything about my character, and I'm so young-"

"It does not matter," he said plainly. "You received the top score on this exam, and Damocles Belby saw enough potential in you to take you on as an apprentice. Age is insignificant." He shifted slightly, averting his gaze back down at his desk and then back up at her. "Doing something to help you is better than nothing."

Rowan's throat constricted. She felt heat at the back of her eyes but blinked it away. How fortunate was she to have met this man? How fortunate was she to have met Belby? Even in death, he was still determined to see his research come to fruition. She wished desperately that she could speak to him again.

"Thank you, sir," she said quietly. She hoped that her gratitude could be felt, but she couldn't find the words.

He nodded again. She was beginning to equate it to Belby's old grunting affirmations. It left her with a warm heat in her chest.

"Here," he said, scribbling a bit of information down on a piece of parchment. He wrote neatly in almost school-perfect script and then tucked it into the folder on his desk and handed the entire package to her. "This is all of the documentation you need to prove your licensing. Contact me when you are ready to apply for funding and subjects. I will be prepared."

Rowan accepted the folder gently, handling it like as if it were a precious gem. It felt so solid in her hands. She had really passed. She was a Potioneer – the youngest of all time!

She left his office in a daze after shaking his hand with heart clenching humbly, fingers clutching the folder to her chest. She didn't hear him call the next name or see the other candidates eyeing her with surprise and confusion. She stepped out into the cold January evening and seemed to wake as the orange sun hit her face.

She had so many questions! She'd been in such a stupor that she hadn't thought to ask him anything! How did he know Belby? How did he know so much about his research? About her? There were so many things she still wanted to know. She gingerly opened the brown leather folder he'd handed to her. In the front pocket was the small piece of parchment with his neat handwriting:

Isaac D'Este, Head of the Ministry of Magic Research Committee

She smiled and closed her folder, looking up at the blood red sun on the horizon. She needed to begin working right away.