Chapter 25: Salazar's Balls

[LUPIN]

Remus Lupin's hands shake in his lap, so he clenches them harder. There's blood still visible in his cuticles and in the finer lines of his fingers. The smell turns his stomach. The wave of ill feeling is only mental, as the scrabbling creature constantly pacing in his soul is anything but deterred by the smell of fresh blood.

Luckily for him and for Fleur, this month's full moon was two nights ago, so Greyback was not transformed when he attacked. Poppy and Minerva are treating her wounds still, behind the relative safety of Hogwart's walls.

Mrs. Weasley appears to have suffered an anxious break – she refuses to leave the young witch's side. She bares her teeth and scowls at anyone who even remotely looks upon Fleur's wounds with horror. Despite the usual even temperament he inherited from his father, Bill was eventually sedated and placed in an adjoining infirmary bed.

A damp dishtowel flops against his wrinkled shirt. Lupin looks up to see the muggle Finnie standing in front of his secluded perch on the second-floor hallway stairs – her arms crossed and foot tapping. Her gaze is as direct as ever, flitting between the towel and his hands with impatience.

"Clean up," the frankness continues, "The smell is distracting."

Lupin silently complies and begins wiping his hands clean of bloodstains. "Because you have heightened senses-," he asks softly, looking up at her, "-or because it's the blood of your friend?"

Her body is tight with anxiety – as if anticipating verbal or physical blows; but her face is eerily vacant of expression. The sight somehow simultaneously raises the hair on his neck as it pulls at his heartstrings. Remus takes a deep breath as he checks his line of thought – he hates when people show him pity, and its likely Fin the Muggle would feel the same.

The blonde woman quickly turns her head to one side, sending her haphazard plait flying. In a sudden attempt to shift the conversation, she bites out, "Why aren't they back yet?" Not that Remus is not also wondering the same, but Tonks and Sirius have hardly been gone four hours. There is no telling how long it will take for them to return with information. Alastor had sent them on a mission as soon as he'd arrived, only ten minutes after Harry and Ron's harrowing appearance.

What was that mission, one might ask? Nobody told Remus. But context and experience makes him confident that he will never be able to fathom a guess as to their whereabouts or eventual return. There is no point getting escalated over details one cannot possibly change. Details like Moody's militaristic approach to anything more strenuous than making tea; or the fact that Sirius and Tonks share some of their most irritating personality traits: unbelievable arrogance and poor planning instincts.

No, Remus is determined not to dwell on the bloody details of their current situation.

"I'm sure hiding your secrets must have been terribly exhausting, but at some point-," Remus clears his throat, "- surely, you must have realized that you count a cursed werewolf, a steadfast animagus, and a lonely metamorphagus among your friends…"

He can tell he's surprised her.

"What ails you?" He presses, determined to make the most of this rare moment alone with the newest addition to their team. "Is it a gift in the form of a birth defect? A hard-earned skill? A curse?"

"It's all of that," Her voice is so soft she may not have intended to speak.

Remus waits. There's only so much pushing that can be considered constructive.

Finnie holds his gaze for another few moments, clearly struggling to continue.

"I was dying," her voice is stronger now, more decisive. She clears her throat, "-uh, years ago. Before I got time-sucked here."

"Not to critique – but that's a jarring beginning to your autobiography."

She shrugs. "Nothing before that really matters anymore. I had friends once, and a job. It was interesting sometimes but never as much as I thought it'd be—"

"You don't have friends now?" Lupin quietly interrupts.

"Uh-," Finnie stumbles, "- I mean, no. Not like then."

With that hanging between them, she hurries on. "My family was dying off, piece by piece, and when I became one of the next pieces to go-," Fin clears her throat again, clearly uncomfortable, "- I took a calculated risk. Um – I mean, medically."

Lupin raises one academia-laced eyebrow but offers no further suggestions. She responds anyway, "Shut your damn mouth, I'm excellent at speaking."

Finnie sniffs, averting her eyes from the calmest listener she has encountered in a long time. "I had to sign away a lot of my legal rights in order to get an experimental treatment, which I hoped could work on the rest of my family if it worked on me," her eyes are distant, choosing her words carefully. "But I was tricked and fucked over in a way I never thought was possible outside of a Bond movie."

Unconsciously, she begins to twirl the ring around her thumb.

"I woke up learning that I was the only survivor. Ever. I have no idea why," there's a noticeable current of self-loathing in her tone – something Remus can easily identify. "I blame consuming too much Emergen-C in high school…" She trails off.

It takes a few seconds to pick the tale back up, "Anyway, I was told that I had signed away more rights than I thought. I was kept somewhere post-treatment for at least a year. They called it training, but it was unsupervised, high-stakes combat and survival coaching by what I assume are ex-Nazi's and gulag gym teachers."

It is a skill, Lupin thinks to himself, to give both new information and yet barely at all.

"Long story short, if I had to compare it to the likes of you, Tonks, or Sirius -," Finnie's lips twitch, "- I'm more like a… voluntary werewolf with instincts to perform violence where pointed."

This blunt assessment is clearly expected to disgust or alarm Remus, as though his delicate sensibilities of morality would wither in her presence. He smiles ruefully instead, "And now you're here…"

"…waiting for The Order of the Phoenix to point," she finishes.

Lupin doubts that Sjofn is the type of person with the ability to relay abuse or suffering inflicted upon her person. Her pride holds it on her back, away from her eyes and attention. Her distrust and ill will towards the most senior Order members illustrates a history of reluctance, maybe even coercion.

"Do you know where Sirius and 'Dora have gone?" Lupin lets the subject shift with a twist of sarcasm.

She considers it for a long time before shrugging, "I guess all we know is they couldn't trust you or I to do it."

As if on cue, Kingsley Shacklebolt abruptly turns a corner, unsubtly seeking them out. His strides don't slow as he approaches.

"Come with me," his eyes flit disdainfully over them both, "Our team has returned with a subject for your questioning." He sounds regretful and angry to be saying so. Remus flits a look to his stairwell companion, and Finnie looks as tense as ever despite the forced boredom on her face.

Lupin stands quickly, used to the Head Auror's withering looks. For all his progressive politics, Kingsley is no more comfortable near a werewolf than the average first-year. Finnie looks at the imposing wizard stubbornly, like she's restraining herself from blowing a raspberry.

"Your weapons are waiting at the Three Broomsticks," Kingsley is impatient with the apathetic woman.

Her eyebrow lifts sardonically, high on her forehead. "I thought I wasn't allowed in your precious Hogsmeade—"

"You won't be able to cross the threshold into Hogsmeade, being a muggle," Kingsley has spun and is beginning to stride away, the midnight purple robes swirling at his feet. "There is a temporary floo channel to Rosemerta's, but we need to move quickly to make it -"

Finnie and Lupin pick up their pace behind the grumpy auror. Haste and fear quickens both their hearts as they fly down stairway after stairway to reach the kitchen fire.

[FINNIE]

Jesus fuck.

Is it possible to floo, literally ONCE, and not eat shit? Once.

I finish coughing against a worn, dingy armchair and peek up through hectic, dangling hairs. Everyone is waiting politely for me on the far side of the room, against a charming, dark-wood paneled pub that might have been more inviting if half the chairs weren't upside down on tables.

Sirius and Tonks are both smirking, and Kingsley and Moody appear to be ignoring me altogether. Remus stands two steps away, hesitating in case I need help. Its then I notice a honey-ginger head circling from behind the bar. A woman with soft-looking hair, artfully falling around her face and shoulders, watches me like I'm a bug at the bottom of a jar. Her skin is golden, with eyes painfully blue, heavily-lashed, and beautiful – holy shit HOW is she so pretty? Who. The. Fuck-

While my brain short-circuits between my ears, Miss America Hogsmeade reaches in front of her body to clasp Sirius' arm, and I notice how close they're standing. Next to the bar. Her bar

"Who is that, Sirius?" The lovely barkeep leans to speak into his ear, pressing her front along his arm in the process.

Holy shit she has the highest voice in the entire fucking world.

She is also pressing her tits against Sirius.

Fascinating.

I sniff, hoping to appear as chill as I definitely feel, "Oh, I just came in for a drink – is that cool? Do you keep any IPAs on draught-"

"She's wit' us," Moody interrupts me with a growl, "Don' speak to her if you can help it."

"Rude," I mutter as I approach, keeping a safe observational distance from Rosemerta and, subsequently, Sirius. Their celebrity couple name would be something stupid like Serta. I catch myself focusing on her hand, which still lays on his arm, defying all logic.

I realize Sirius has been talking, "-took two weeks to even find him. After that it took weeks just to keep up with him, 'til he finally settled a few days ago. Tonks and I were lucky he believed her to be Bellatrix—"

"I just can't get her eyes right," Tonks complains, "They're so shark-like and dead."

"Mm…I've heard that. Tricky eyes. Yep." I can't tear my gaze away from the small golden hand resting on Sirius' leather-clad bicep. Such a tiny hand. Delicate. Feminine.

I wilt just a little, internally. No poor fuck would ever mistake me for delicate.

Kingsley's voice cuts in past my inner flagellation, "Rose – I'm sorry, I don't mean to be rude—" Who cares? Be rude. Fuck her up. Right here right now. But he keeps to the subject at hand, "-it will be safer for you to excuse yourself from our – er – meeting. Presently."

The smile she unleashes could blind a diabetic fruit bat. "Of course, Kingsley," she turns just a little so that her body flush against Sirius gains his attention. "You know where I am upstairs if you should need anything—" Oh shit, that was fucking direct. Her high, whispery voice grates my ears, "—It's been great seeing you this week, Sirius. Say goodbye before you leave."

She winks at Tonks and I, then bestows a small wave to Lupin. She avoids Moody altogether, which gives me a strange pang of satisfaction.

My chest is burning with the familiar sizzle of mindless hatred. I have nothing against having Eskimo sisters, but I don't do real-time sharing. My eye twitches as the tidal wave of insecurity and rage floods and dissipates just as quickly.

I'm a grown-ass woman. I don't need that shit.

Clarity and pain war in my brain as I strive for control. I take deep, repeated breaths while Rosemerta ascends the stairs, and everyone resumes the buzz of strategic conversation. I struggle with a silent mantra of stupidity from claiming my emotions:

He can be with whoever he wants.

Yes, yes he can. As can I.

He barely knows you.

Right? Who even gets worked up over strangers? Fucking dumb people, that's who.

You rip people's dicks off.

Harsh, but also true.

What if she's seen his dick?

ITS FINE. I mean, it wouldn't be unheard of.

Was he staying here while he was gone?

Why should it matter where he spent that time? He was busy doing Order bullshit. Its just that maybe he was here at the bar while I didn't hear from him for weeks and was pining like an idiot.

Did she see his dick while he was staying here?

I'd kill them both, then maybe light the bar on fire. Totally healthy. Totally fine.

"Noticed that, did you?" Tonks' voice is soft and only for me. She hovers at my side, having migrated at some point. The room's other remaining occupants are also paired off and speaking urgently, but I notice Sirius sparing me glance after glance. It's as though he can't help himself, but I can't allow any of that shit to permeate right now.

"I did, believe it or not," my voice is even and cold. Tonks snorts but I keep my voice low and for her ears only, "Why didn't she just whip her dick out and pee on his shoes? Would've been less annoying, probably."

The choking sound coming from Tonks did not go completely unnoticed as both Remus and Sirius pause in their whispers to glance our way. I attempt to appear as though I'm patiently awaiting further instruction.

Violent instruction, yes. A prospect which suddenly appeals more than it did ten minutes ago.

"Try not to think too hard about it, love," my loser heart lurches, but Tonks plows forward, "They had a thing when they were younger…pre-Azkaban, obviously."

Obviously.

Sirius and Lupin have stopped talking altogether, and I flit curiously to Kingsley and Moody, who are having a much more high-energy – albeit quiet – discussion than any of the rest of us.

Call it intuition, but it's about me.

Tonks murmurs even softer, "I haven't seen or heard of him dating since he's been back –"

"It's fine—"

"No, seriously, he's been a bloody depressed nightmare before y—"

"Woman, hush. It doesn't matter."

She claps her lips shut, but exhales in a huff as though I'm somehow making things more difficult than they need to be.

"SALAZAR'S BALLS, ALASTOR, IF I WANT TO SAY SOMETHING I'LL BLOODY WELL SAY IT—," Kingsley's booming timbre genuinely gives me brief hiccups. The rest of us in the well-loved pub stand wide-eyed and still, waiting for Moody to bite back.

He doesn't. His magical eye meets his physical eye and they both stare at Shacklebolt with steely intensity. Without breaking the hard-breathing, taller man's stare, Moody replies in a voice that's quiet but ringing with aggravation, "Well then get on with it, ye ninny goat. An' once you've had yer say, you clear out. I'll report back what needs reportin'."

In a move that was clearly anticipated by no one but me, Kingsley wastes no time in marching closer and getting in my space. I refuse to flinch or step back – but keeping my head and body steady means straining my eyes to look up at his no-nonsense face. The lines in his dark skin look more pronounced than I remember. His dark eyes look desperate and feral.

"Restrain yourself. This is the only lead we have – do not fucking kill it."

I struggle not to roll my eyes, "Believe it or not, Kingsley, I'm not looking for reasons to piss you off—"

"And yet you continue to do so—"

"Well then you should probably request another party vote, because you're the only one who takes a few chimney'd arms so damn personally—"

"According to you-," Kingsley hisses, the desperation in his expression shining through more than ever, "-most of my party colleagues won't be around long enough to deal with the fallout of your actions—"

I growl, uncomfortable with his line of thinking, "No one knows that anymore, everything is different—"

"AND YET NOTHING HAS CHANGED," the normally-composed auror finally loses his tenuous grip on his emotions, and I see from the corner of my eye that Sirius has approached by several steps, watching Kingsley with a mixture of fury and confusion.

He reels himself in just a little, "One of us went down to a werewolf, now the Weasley boys are likely hurt or dead – you kid yourself if you cannot see—"

"None of this shit is foreseeable – you're worrying about societal recovery when you haven't even won the war-!" I'm seething. How can he put any of this on me? I told them everything.

"Just leave me something to work with," Kingsley snaps with finality. I do finally roll my eyes. What a douche-canoe. With another scowl for me, and a quick nod to the rest of the room, the barely-collected wizard marches purposefully to the main threshold of The Three Broomsticks. With a quick tug of the handle, I lose sight of him in the muggle-repellant fog beyond.

I heave a great big sigh before turning back to the room's remaining occupants. Tonks and Remus are standing near one another now, slightly scandalized looks on both their faces. Sirius looks sexy and irritable – still glaring at the now-closed door. Moody looks like a cat who's been getting brushed the wrong way all day.

"Politics…bah," Moody grunts with noticeable distaste.

"Are we going to discuss that?" Tonks looks around disbelievingly before her eyes narrow on me, "You're responsible for dismembering miscellaneous Death Eaters and traumatizing their households with body parts?"

"Mmm," I hold her eyes and vaguely affirm, "Si."

Her blank look dominoes until Remus and Sirius wear matching expressions. As much as I'd like to reintroduce myself properly to them, we really don't have the time.

"I thought it was funny," I say lamely and shrug.

After a few short seconds all three of them – Sirius, Lupin, and Tonks – hastily respond:

"—I thought that, too—"

"—The arm seems much funnier than a leg, really—"

"—Funny, like 'ha ha'? or Funny like, 'fuck this bloke'?—"

I sigh again. This is only going to get weirder, so we might as well get started. I respectfully divert subjects, and face Moody, "Who are you introducing me to, tonight? Where are they?-" Tonks snorts, I'm likely not off the proverbial hook, "-Magicked into a martini olive?"

Instead of answering me, Moody's magical eye swivels to look down at his boots – no, past his boots – through the floorboards. The interviewee must be in the cellar.

"Remus and I will be talking to him with you-," Sirius got a lot closer without me noticing, goddamn it, "—he's our responsibility." His molten silver eyes are assessing every flinch and turn of my features, and I feel a small fracturing in my chest where so much hope for him had been living. Between meeting wizarding -world-Aphrodite and laying out my recent behavior for him to assess – those fantasies have started crumbling around the edges. I have a sudden, desperate wish to fall asleep on the spot and just go back to dreaming about him instead.

All this in-person shit just means I'll disappoint him sooner.

Fack.

Before I can get a grip on my mood, Sirius finishes, "His name is Wormt—well, actually, its Pete. Uh, Peter. Pettigrew."