fic for lupinslittlesis: Chasing Bill (Remus, Arthur, G)

[genficsanta]

Title: Chasing Bill
Recipient: lupinslittlesis
Rating: G
Characters: Remus Lupin, Arthur Weasley, and other Order members
Author's Notes: Thanks to Teja for the beta read, and to the mods for the extensions

--

"I still need you to chop the carrots for the soup, Arthur. And where has George taken the peppershaker? I caught him making the house-elf sneeze with it yesterday, can you imagine? I still think leaving the twins with Uncle Bilius when we went to Morocco is what finished them off for honest society, no matter how much money he leaves us for it. Careful! Impedimena! Whew! There was your head gone- the chopper would've taken it clean off. How Muggles manage without magic is beyond me."

"I expect they make do with electricity," a hoarse voice said.

Arthur looked up from his newspaper and pushed his glasses down the bridge of his nose. Stood up hurriedly to divest Dumbledore of the enormous rolls of parchment he carried, and looked curiously over his shoulder at the man he'd brought with him- worn-looking clothes, perhaps in his fifties, carrying a tatty old suitcase with peeling letters on its side Arthur couldn't see. He was tall but walked with a stoop, and thin in a way that would have Molly tutting over him in five minutes by the clock.

"I can never say that right. Eklectricity," Arthur said carefully, "Was that right?"

The man shut the door with a smile, and Arthur wondered if he was related to the Headmaster, his eyes creased round the edges in just the same way. "Almost."

"Hello, Professor," Molly said, turning around. "I just thought I'd start in on dinner- even Orders have to eat." She bustled to the sink and turned on the tap, filling a bowl with water. "How many shall I expect? I'll make some extra anyway, but a rough idea . . ."

"I'm not sure everyone will stay for dinner, my dear Molly," Dumbledore said, conjuring a couple more torches for the dimly lit room. "But there will hopefully be fifteen in this room tonight." He hung the torches on the walls and turned around. "Oh, allow me to introduce Remus Lupin," he said, placing a hand on Lupin's shoulder with a quiet, but very distinct pride. "Remus, this is Arthur, and Molly Weasley."

"Oh!" Molly said, not moving from where she stood with a wooden spoon held against her chest, eyes wide. And Arthur just knew the next words out of her mouth would be, 'you're a werewolf!'

"You taught . . . five of our children," he said at once, shaking Lupin by the hand. "Ginny spoke of you all the time."

"Did she," Remus said, his lips twitching upward. "Ginny was a wonderful student to have in class. Never a dull moment." He paused a moment, and a corner of his mouth crept up again. "So were Fred and George, come to that."

"Oh!" Molly repeated, cheeks flushed. "Were they very troublesome?"

Remus laughed. "Not at all." And Dumbledore chuckled too, pulling out a chair and conjuring a tray of tea things, just as the door opened and a crowd of witches and wizards shuffled in.

"Remus has plenty of experience with pranksters, Molly. Welcome!" he said toward the doorway. "Would anyone like some tea before we begin?"

By the end of two hours they'd made quite a lot of progress, Arthur thought. Sirius Black's innocence had been established, as well as the trustworthiness of his werewolf friend, and living (and hiding) arrangements for the pair of them. Voldemort's return had been proven to everyone's satisfaction, and plans had been made to speak with Amelia Bones about joining the Order of the Phoenix. Also with Andromeda Tonks, Hestia Jones, Terrence Williamson, Clara Jakobson and Everard Derwent.

They'd decided to trust Severus Snape and Mundungus Fletcher, to try and gather information from their social and occupational circles without letting those hostile to the Order hear about it, and to use their Patronus to contact other Order members, if need be.

"The Ministry is under surveillance," Snape warned them "The Dark Lord very likely has spies there. I can't imagine what he thinks to find out that way- Lucius Malfoy already has Fudge in his pocket."

"I actually have an idea that Voldemort might be more interested in the building," Dumbledore said mildly. Everyone stared at him.

"What?" Snape snapped.

"Do we know anyone in the Department of Mysteries?" Dumbledore asked no one in particular. Then he turned leftward. "Arthur?"

"Er . . . the Unspeakables keep to themselves, mostly," Arthur answered, thinking furiously of a way to not mention Uncle Bilius. "Or to each other. I know Bode, of course." He nodded at Molly. "He came to dinner that one time- remember? "When Fred turned his umbrella into- . . ."

Molly flushed again, frowning.

"We could use Polyjuice," Lupin suggested quickly, and Black nodded alongside.

"If Arthur doesn't know Bode well enough, we can't really trust him not to run to Fudge, can we?" he asked.

"And what happens if the real Bode runs into our mole, or somebody figures it out anyway?" Moody growled. "Impersonators of Aurors and Unspeakables go straight to Azkaban." There was an ugly pause, in which everyone almost-looked, but didn't-look, at Sirius Black. "And why's You Know Who interested in the DoM anyway?" Moody continued. "They say there are so many rooms in there that once you get lost you never come out."

Dumbledore sighed a little. "I was hoping this question would not come up, but you will all be risking your lives for the Order, and it is only fair that you know what for."

"We already know," said Minerva McGonagall, her lips thin. "It's for defeating You Know Who. That should be enough."

"Thank you, Minerva, but I prefer to tell the whole story unless it is necessary for me not to," said Dumbledore, tilting his head toward Moody, who was scowling. "Voldemort is convinced he must destroy Harry Potter, before he achieves definitive success."

"What?"

"He's just a kid!"

"Where did You Know Who get that idea?"

"How do you know, Dumbledore?" Moody asked.

Albus hesitated. "There was a prophecy," he said finally. "I have heard it. One of Voldemort's spies heard part of it, and took it to his Master."

"What was it?" Molly asked at once. "The prophecy?"

"The part Voldemort heard prompted him to expend all his considerable energies toward finding an infant Harry Potter fourteen years ago, Molly. I prefer not to risk his discovering the rest of it. Besides, I have not yet told Harry, and it would be iniquitous of me to tell someone else first."

"How do you know the spy didn't hear all of it?" asked Sturgis Podmore, scratching his thatched head.

Dumbledore turned to him, mouth suddenly less tense. "If he had, Voldemort would have known better than to attack Harry."

Snape snorted, but Dumbledore ignored him. "A replica of the prophecy is stored in the Department of Mysteries," he said. "I'm quite sure Voldemort would like very much to obtain it. I suggest that we retrieve it before he does," Dumbledore said, flicking his wand at the roll of parchment that rested in the centre of the table. It unrolled to reveal floor plans for the entire Ministry, and almost everyone leaned forward a little for a look.

Sirius stared at Dumbledore, his face transformed with awe. "You want us to steal something from the Department of Mysteries?"

"Not you, Black," Snape said waspishly. "Someone might mistake you for a murderer. Oops." He sneered. "That's what you really are, isn't it?"

Sirius sneered back at him, bloodless as a ghost. "Careful when you get there then, someone might mistake you for an oily, treacherous, sneak-thief. Oops," he said nastily, "that's what you really are."

"There are unplottable rooms in the DoM," Lupin interrupted them, speaking to Dumbledore as everyone else turned to stare at the bickering men. "We won't see everything here."

"No," Dumbledore agreed. "We need someone inside the Department to be able to find the Hall of Prophecy. But till we do have someone, we need to at least know who enters and leaves the DoM- we need to know if someone more intrepid than us is risking Polyjuice to enter, or if one or more of the Unspeakables has been placed under the Imperius."

"So definitely no Polyjuice, then?" Doge asked Dumbledore. "If we could put Bode out of commission for a day with a Soporific or something equally harmless . . ."

"Unspeakables undergo tests for the Polyjuice," Arthur said, then added quickly, "Bode told me that once. The danger to the prophecy is really just someone under an Imperius, or someone working for the Death Eaters."

"We'll need background checks on all the DoM workers, in that case," Moody grumbled. "Bloody dull work. See about getting those new Aurors of yours in with us quickly, Shacklebolt, I don't fancy doing all this sniffing around dustbins and sneaking around the Ministry by myself." He groaned, stretching his leg and rubbing his good eye with a gnarled finger as the other span crazily in its socket. "I can't bloody believe we have to do this all over again."

Molly stood up, scraping her chair back against the uneven floor. "Well, do stay for dinner. There's Yorkshire pudding." She paused. "Is the meeting over, Professor?"

"It seems so," Dumbledore said, amused. Half the members of the Order were standing up, stretching limbs and popping joints, or pouring glasses of water for themselves or each other. Snape gathered his robes and swished out of the room without a word to anyone, and McGonagall excused herself as well. Arabella Figg looked around with uncertain awkwardness, thinly veiled with more obvious irritation till Diggle and Podmore took one arm each and lifted her clean off her chair.

"We'll have dinner at Figgy's," Diggle squeaked, winking at Molly as he ducked a blow from Arabella's walking stick. "Her chocolate cake is to die for."

"What chocolate cake, you old coot?" Arabella asked in a ringing voice as Sturgis held open the door for her. "I haven't had any at home since the corner store stopped selling the one that came in the orange wrapper." Mrs. Black's portrait started to yell as Arabella disappeared up the stairs still arguing with Dedalus, and Sirius hurried out after them with a muttered curse.

After a minute's wrangling with Molly about helping with the food, Kingsley, Elphius and Moody retreated to the sofa by the cold fireplace covered in a decade's grime and soot. Albus levitated Dung- who had collapsed in his chair in a sodden pile- over to the sofa next to them, and turned to Arthur.

"I have a favour to ask of you." Lupin began to rise, but Dumbledore gestured for him to sit back down. "You might be able to help, Remus. If Arthur requires your assistance."

"Yes?" Arthur prompted, but his stomach was already clenching with premonition. What else could he need a werewolf around for? Especially this werewolf?

"I thought that perhaps you might contact your uncle Bilius." There was a pause, during which Dumbledore looked at him expectantly. What? Arthur wanted to ask. What am I supposed to say?

He settled for asking, "Why?" though he knew the answer to that too.

"He knew Voldemort."

"He doesn't like to talk about that," Arthur said, lowering his voice and looking around instinctually. Remus was looking at him, face entirely blank.

"Yes, he refuses to speak with me, or with you about it, but he might speak with . . ."

"No."

"You named your son after . . ."

"No."

Dumbledore leaned back in his chair. "Why not?"

"I don't want my children involved in this."

Lupin's eyebrows rose fractionally, then fell, but he didn't speak. "Ron is already involved," said Dumbledore quietly, frowning.

"What is Ron involved in?" Molly asked, looking between the three of them suspiciously as a cauldron of mouth-watering stew made its way to the centre of the table. "I won't have him prancing into danger again, Headmaster! Not now, with You Know Who about!"

"I wasn't suggesting Ron be involved in the war, Molly," Dumbledore said placatingly.

"He wants me to take Bill to Uncle Bilius."

"I would prefer that you went, actually." Arthur stared.

"You just said you thought he'd speak to Bill!"

Dumbledore raised his brow. "Did I? I meant to say he might speak with Remus. Or with you, if Remus were present."

No, you didn't, Arthur thought, looking straight into the Headmaster's eyes. You meant that Bill should go, but you know Molly will allow it even less than I will, and you don't dare go to Bill behind our back. Remus Lupin is just a back-up plan. He has nothing to do with anything.

Arthur wondered when Dumbledore had started believing him foolish, the way his colleagues at the Ministry did. The way Percy did, apparently. He looked away.

"Why would Uncle Bilius speak with a werewolf?" he asked hollowly, knowing he was playing a losing game.

"You know why."

"No, he doesn't," Molly said at once. "And neither do I." She looked from Dumbledore to Lupin to Arthur- three stone-faced men sitting around her stew. "What's going on?"

Lupin glanced at Arthur, and Arthur sighed, in tacit permission. "Bilius Weasley is a werewolf," Remus said. "Has been, for going on thirty-two years."

Molly laughed for a moment, then dropped down into the nearest chair, her hand held over her heart. "And how would you know?" she asked with a bite in her voice that would have sent the twins scurrying for cover. Lupin didn't seem to notice.

"I thought the name was familiar," he muttered to himself, lips thin as Molly's, eyes distant and cold. They snapped to the present. "I met him in the Registry, once," he said to Molly then, with perfectly restored equanimity.

"The Registry?" Molly nose wrinkled.

"So you want Lupin and I to chase him down, from wherever he's hiding these days, and ask him what You Know Who was like in the old days?" Arthur asked to loudly, with a side-long glance toward Remus, just as Sirius Black flounced back into the room looking just about as bad-tempered as the ugly house-elf in his arms.

"Here," he said, and thrust the creature at Molly, who shrieked. "He'll obey you if I . . . Kreacher, you're to obey Molly!" said Black sourly, shuffling off toward a cobwebbed doorway that led to the wine cellar. "If he misbehaves, tell him I'll give him clothes."

Molly rubbed her forearms, grimacing distastefully at the elf. "You let me leave Fred and George with a werewolf, Arthur?" she asked, not looking up.

"Molly!"

"We could have been delayed, we could have . . ."

"He wouldn't have hurt them."

"Not knowingly," said Molly, sweeping off to the cabinet and waving her wand. Plates and cutlery arranged themselves on the table with neat, angry thumps. Arthur looked at Remus hopelessly. Lupin smiled back at him with an almost imperceptible shake of his head, warm and uncomplicated.

They found Uncle Bilius in a shack up north, enthusiastically stocking up for the winter. There was no snow on the ground yet, but the skies were grey and the air crisp with miniscule ice crystals and pine. Uncle Bilius stood in the centre of a clearing, his arms spread wide and his face turned up toward the still non-existent snowfall. He didn't seem at all surprised to see them.

"Arty! Come and have a look at this," he said, pointing at nothing in particular. "The hoarfrost is setting in." He wore smooth leather boots- not dragonskin but a soft, supple, brown calfskin, that couldn't have been very warm. His head was uncovered, and his hands, which were white with the cold. His jacket was the colour of his hair- a dull, coppery brown.

"Hallo, Mr. Weasley," Lupin said comfortably, blowing at his own thinly gloved hands. "Might we have a spot of tea?"

Bilius's broad forehead creased with innumerable lines, even as he smiled widely and waved them into his wooden cabin, falling apart at the seams, with walls as perforated as a sieve, or so it seemed to Arthur, when he stepped in. It was almost colder inside than out.

"Make yourselves comfortable," Bilius said, waving his hand at the cold fireplace. Arthur immediately cast an Incendio.

"It's freezing in here, Uncle. Here." He took the kettle from the older man's hands and set to making tea. "This is Remus Lupin. He's from . . ."

"The Registry," Lupin supplied. "You may not remember me- we met at the Registry a few months ago. Arthur offered to introduce me properly."

"And what might you want with me?" Bilius asked, sticking a pipe into his mouth. Immediately, a thin stream of smoke began to curl up from it. "I don't do causes, and if you're here about support for that werewolf legislation . . ."

"I just wanted to meet you. Arthur said you've been a lycanthrope long." He eyed the old man critically, his eyes clearly unbelieving.

The old man stared at Remus for a moment. "Must be the mountain air," he answered, turning his back, and extending his palms toward the fire. The back of his hands were criss-crossed with scars. "How long have you been one?" he asked in a deceptively casual voice. "A lycanthrope?"

Remus glanced at Arthur as a hovering cup of tea nudged his shoulder. Arthur shook his head fractionally, and cleared his throat. "Tea, Uncle? I made it the Muggle way- I've told Molly ever so often it never tastes the same with magic, but she doesn't see it. Or taste it, rather. I put in plenty of sugar too- it's never tea without the sugar."

The room was almost silent as they took their first sips- the fire crackled a little, popped, and was quiet. "Bill wrote from Egypt a few days ago," Arthur said after a bit. He didn't look at Lupin. "Said he might come home to England for a while- I think he's getting too old for the pyramids."

Bilius stilled, stared at Arthur over the rim of his cup. "Did he? I'd've thought you'd have told him to stay put for a year or two." The fire sent the shadows scurrying like giant spiders into the far corner of the room. A hulking shape withdrew under the table- black and insubstantial.

"Well, Molly did, but you know children," Arthur said with an uncharacteristically wan smile.

"I know Bill," said Bilius. He set his cup on a rough-hewed table that stood crookedly on three legs beside a stool shaped like a unicorn's back. "He's never done anything without a reason." He pursed his chapped lips into a thin, hard line. "He's coming for Dumbledore, isn't he?" Bilius looked at Remus, and his mouth twisted into an angry scowl. "And that's what you're here for?" He turned his glare toward Arthur, whose cup had stopped halfway to his open mouth.

"You brought a werewolf to convince me talk about the Dark Lord? Didn't Dumbledore tell you I'd said 'no'? I'm finished with all that," he said wildly, waving his hand toward the window, the now softly falling snow on the peaceful world outside. "I left them all to come up here and you won't let me be? Get out." He hissed the last words through clenched teeth, his suddenly lowered voice a shock amidst his rage. He crossed the room in four giant strides and opened the door. "Out."

Outside, the sky had deepened to an indigo hued with lush purple, and the stars were cold and bright overhead. "Shall we leave?" Remus asked.

"No. He'll come around." Arthur huddled under a tree, his breath expelling precious warmth, and his thinning hair sorely inadequate cover. "I wish we had one of those Muggle 'hot-pads' or whatever they're called," he said mournfully. "And I wish Dumbledore hadn't sent us here. I hate getting him upset. Uncle Bill."

Remus peeled off his glove and snapped his fingers; a handful of bright blue flames filled his palm like an overblown tulip. "Here, I don't feel very cold." Arthur looked down, surprised, and accepted the fire gratefully. Remus's brow creased.

"Why Muggle heating pads?" he asked. "What's wrong with magic?"

"Nothing wrong with magic, but nothing wrong with Muggle heating pads either." He looked up. "If I didn't have magic I don't think I'd survive. I don't know how Muggles do it."

"They've had practice," Remus said, blowing snow off a fallen log and sitting down. "Magic is the shortest way to do a thing, but usually not the only way."

"I've heard they take walks on the moon," Arthur said, words stumbling over each other because his lips were going numb. "And they're ingenious with their toys. Those are my favourite things- the toys. And airplanes," he added, then looked up as a shower of snow rustled down from the topmost branches of the tree beside them. A broad-winged bird squawked and flapped past. "I just think we're missing something, in not watching them at it," Arthur said.

Remus wasn't sure he agreed- he'd seen Muggles walk on the moon, and didn't think he was the better for it. In some ways Arthur was the better for wanting it, though. "Why doesn't he talk about Voldemort?" he asked, feeling inexplicably guilty when Arthur flinched.

"Oh, too many reasons to count. He was engaged to Minerva McGonagall, for one thing."

Remus stared.

"She wanted You know Who, apparently," Arthur explained.

"What?"

"He was a year younger than McGonagall and Uncle Bilius. Uncle Bilius was the consolation prize, for a while. Then he got bitten and . . ." Arthur paused, pursing his lips and looking at Remus from beneath his lashes, and over the rim of his glasses. "And he stopped seeing her."

"As simple as that?"

Arthur laughed, and Remus heard the cabin door creak open behind them. "Did you think it would be complicated?"

They sat in the cabin quietly for a while, getting warm and nodding to the soft, almost inaudible fall of snow and the crisp, gummy sound of a controlled fire.

"I don't know what good Dumbledore thinks this can possibly do. I never saw him do anything he shouldn't have been doing."

"Who was he?" Remus asked.

"He was just a boy. One of those incorrigible pretty boys anyone who plays Quidditch hates, and no one can resist, or even find in himself to trap in the trophy room and hex unconscious." Bilius scowled. "We were all in the Slug Club- me because I was the Minister's son, Minny because she was brilliant and him because he was himself. He lorded himself over all of us and we let him, either with pleasure or with resentment, but he didn't seem to care or notice, which it was."

"And the teachers? They never noticed anything either?"

Bilius rose from his chair, pacing the worn carpet (Gryffindor red and gold) restlessly. "I don't know. No. Yes. Perhaps. Why don't you ask Dumbledore?" Remus didn't say anything, stared unblinking at the fire, and Arthur stoked the fire unnecessarily with a metal poker he transfigured from an unmagical broom leaning against the rough-grained mantelpiece. Bilius waved his hand in front of his face as smoke filled the room, and opened a window to let in the refreshing, wet winter air.

"So Dumbledore noticed?" Arthur prompted.

"I don't know. We never thought about what the teachers noticed or didn't notice- we didn't know we were noticing anything. Old Slughorn certainly didn't notice anything. He told T- . . . You Kno- . . . him that he'd be Minister of Magic within ten years, or some such rot."

"Horace Slughorm told You Know Who he'd be Minister of Magic?" Arthur asked. "Was he out of his mind?"

"I think he began to see, that night," Bilius said thoughtfully. "I used to stand around waiting for Him- I had fantasies about bludgeoning his head in, but somehow I never could. In the end I always stopped- I stood around dark corners and behind pillars and statues and tapestries, hid in shadows, hiding from moonlight and torchlight, but at the last moment I just stood frozen as he passed me by."

Bilius stood staring into the night-darkness, hand extended, fingers curled slightly, as though hoping to find a throat caught between them when he awoke from his daze. He shook himself and set about pacing again, briskly. "I think toward the end Slughorn began to realise something was wrong. He began to stay away, cancelled club meetings, stopped being the last to leave the room when he did call them, so that You Know Who couldn't catch him alone again . . ."

He began to trail off again, and Arthur stood up, leaned against him gently, his hands resting on his Uncle's forearms, and Bilius slipped docilely toward a single, unmade bed in the corner. "I might catch ninety winks, eh, lad?" he muttered, suddenly looking almost grey with exhaustion. Remus frowned- it was almost like a post-transformation crash. He ambled over to where Bilius was sitting down unsurely, not really going to bed but not resisting Arthur's hands on his shoulders holding him down, keeping him from standing up. "What is it?"

"What is it?" Bilius asked vaguely.

"It's the mountain, Arthur muttered. Or the Muggle place yonder," he gestured with one, quick flick of his fingers toward the window. "Uncle Bill chose to live here because it killed Muggles, once." The pain in his voice was obscenely raw. "It does odd things, with his magic."

"It didn't let lycanthropy age him," Remus said, picturing a steel structure, many-chimneyed and belching foul smoke, and fouler sludge into the river. His mother had brought home waterfowl once, when she still worked at the Muggle magazine. It had been covered in green, acidic-looking slime, and Mother had been furious.

"No," said Arthur with a twisted smile. It added pages to his word.

"Are we going to leave him here?"

"I haven't told you what Dumbledore wanted to know, yet," Bilius said, his eyes suddenly lucid, though he was swaying slightly. He retreated to lean against the wall, and pulled the covers over himself. Arthur sat down at his feet on the bed, and peeled off a piece of bark from the wall next to him.

"But you did," Lupin started to say. "We wanted . . ."

"A story about the boy You Know Who?" Arthur asked incredulously, withdrawing his hand from the wall. "Not likely. We need to know about the Department of Mysteries," he said, turning to Bilius. "There's a Hall of Prophecy; You Know Who wants to . . ."

Remus gave up. He went to sit down by the fire again and let the Weasleys get on with whatever game it was they were playing, whatever game they'd been playing with Voldemort and Dumbledore all this time, with Remus as some kind of inconsequential proviso . . .

He thought of Wormtail, riding on Prongs's horns as they descended the tunnel toward their werewolf friend, or clutching at Padfoot's fur fearfully as he loped through the Forbidden Forest. He shuddered, and lowered his head into his hands, fingers buried deep into his scalp, trying to lessen the pounding headache that was developing right behind his eyes, and his temples . . . the ache familiar, and twisted, and insidious, and complex.

"Why did you even send me there? They didn't need me."

"Perhaps they did, and didn't know it."

A deep sigh. "I'm very tired, Headmaster. I'd like to know what I was doing, trekking halfway across the continent . . . Why does he live there? He has no peace; what is he punishing himself for?"

"He's a werewolf, Remus. What do you think he's punishing himself for?"

"He bit someone? They would have executed . . . Ah. He was the Minister's son." A pause. "Who was it? You knew I would ask you this. Who was it?"

"If I knew you would ask me, I must have thought you ought to know the answer."

"He didn't bite me- Fenrir Greyback did. He came for me right after he was bitten because Father fired him. I know it was Greyback . . . Oh!"

-fin-