coyotegoth (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
coyotegoth) wrote2009-05-04 09:53 pm
coyotegoth) wrote2009-05-04 09:53 pm
Chapter 10- Like a Handful of Stars
TITLE: Like a Handful of Stars
CHARACTERS: Harry; Arthur; Charlie; Stebbins (minor GoF character)
RATING: PG
WARNINGS: references to genocide
FEEDBACK: welcomed
ARCHIVING: please ask
This is the latest chapter of my Harry Potter story. Contains Half-Blood Prince spoilers. (Please note also that this series is not Deathly Hallows compliant in the least.)
Chapter 10- Like a Handful of Stars
“Harry...?”
“Go away,” Harry said numbly; he was sitting on the floor, outside the door to the cafeteria. Charlie tried putting a hand on his shoulder, but he merely shook it off, and resumed staring blankly. “I’m going to go find Dad,” Charlie finally said; he started off down the corridor. Harry had no idea how long he sat there; finally, he became aware of a Ministry worker standing in front of him.
“Mister Potter...?”
“Go away.”
“It’s Mister Weasley, sir- he sent me to fetch you.”
Harry paused, and then slowly lifted his head to look up at the Ministry worker, who looked vaguely familiar. “Arthur did...?”
“Yes, sir- he asked me to come find you.”
After a moment, Harry silently pushed himself to his feet, and followed the Ministry worker down the corridor. The worker turned into an empty corridor, and said, “Sir?”
“What.”
The Ministry worker paused, and looked up and down the corridor. “I just wanted to say... well, I was a year ahead of you at Hogwarts; I had Professor Lupin as a teacher.”
Harry’s eyes flickered to the worker’s for a moment. “You did...?”
“Yes, sir.” The worker checked the corridor again, and whispered: “They shouldn’t have done that- to the werewolves, I mean. A lot of us feel that way; Professor Lupin would have never...”
There came the sound of footsteps; the worker instantly stopped talking, and kept walking down the hall. They turned a corner; Arthur was standing in the middle of the hallway, Charlie right behind him.
“It’s all right,” Arthur said to Charlie, who nodded and walked away. Arthur turned to the Ministry worker. “Thank you, Stebbins.”
The worker nodded, and hastily walked back down the hall. Arthur looked at Harry.
“Harry...” Arthur said, extending his arms.
“Don’t,” Harry said sharply, taking a quick step backward. “Don’t, Mis... Arthur.” Harry shook his head. “I... people who try to be fathers to me... it doesn’t turn out well.”
Arthur winced. “I’m not your father, Harry- only your friend.” There was an awkward pause; he looked at Harry silently. “I’m going back this way,” Arthur finally said. “Would you care to walk with me for a moment?”
*
The children laughed, and clambered over the toys and equipment, as Harry and Arthur stood at the side of the Ministry playground.
“A new security idea,” Arthur said. “Workers can bring their children here; it helps everyone with the long hours, and lets people have more time with their children.”
“Yeah,” Harry said flatly, “or, if anyone doesn’t feel like jailing bus conductors or murdering werewolves, Scrimgeour can always say, ‘Now, now- remember little Timmy...’”
“You shouldn’t joke,” Arthur said, looking disquieted; Harry saw a witch who was monitoring the children glance their way for a moment.
“No, of course not,” Harry said; he glanced at a large portrait of Scrimgeour, hanging on the back wall of the room, that was watching them intently. “I think it’s wonderful that Scrimgeour’s keeping an eye on the little ones.”
Arthur sighed. “I know,” he said quietly. “I... well, I like to come here sometimes, when work is getting especially bad. I like to see the children, and remember that not everyone is... not everyone has had to make the same compromises.” Arthur turned, and looked at Harry for a long moment. “Will you come with me for a bit, Harry?” he finally asked. “I feel like... like I could use some time away from here.”
*
The afternoon summer sun was warm as they exited the phone booth, dressed in Muggle clothing; the breeze was fresh and cool upon Harry’s face. He stood still, and closed his eyes for a moment, and thought of walking out onto the Quidditch pitch. Arthur was standing beside him, eyes closed, face turned up to the sun.
“Merlin, it’s good to get out of there,” Arthur finally said. “It feels like I’m just out of prison.”
“Just like Stan,” Harry said flatly.
“Yes,” Arthur said seriously. “I know... I know this has been hard for you- but getting Stan out of Azkaban was a good thing, Harry. Sometimes, you have to hold on to things like that, very tightly.”
Harry shook his head and said nothing, as Arthur led them to a nearby coffee shop. They sat by the window; Arthur looked both ways out the window before sitting down. Harry ordered coffees, as Arthur gave the television in the corner a longing look. Harry paused for a moment, and looked at his reflection in the window, with his newly cut hair, neat and short. Arthur caught a glimpse of Harry’s face, and sighed. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I just... I really am pants at this sort of thing. I wish I knew what to say.”
“It’s all right,” Harry said. “It’s just that... this- all of it- it isn’t what I thought it would be.”
“What do you mean?” Arthur asked.
“Well- when my first Hogwarts letter- letters- arrived, it was like- it was like a game, or something. Uncle Vernon chasing them all over the room, and trying to nail the mail slot shut with the fruitcake... and then Hagrid showing up, and giving Dudley a tail, and telling me I was rich, and a wizard...”
Arthur nodded silently; Harry went on, “And... well, I could eat anything I wanted for dinner, and there weren’t any spiders, and I got to fly, and play Quidditch... and I had friends, actual friends. I think that was the most, well, magical part of it all.
“But then things started to happen,” he went on, after pausing for a swallow of his coffee. “Suddenly, it was- well, I killed that Tom Riddle from the diary, and Quirrell. I met Sirius, who was like actual family to me- and then he died right in front of me. I met Remus...” Harry made a choked sound. “If you had seen his face...”
“Don’t,” Arthur said, wincing.
“That’s what I mean,” Harry said after a moment. “Cedric... Sirius... Dumbledore... sometimes it feels as though all being a wizard means, is that you see bad things happen, and watch people die. And wizards live longer than normal people, so you see more people die. My luck, I’ll live as long as Dumbledore, and see everyone...” He stopped, and took a deep breath, before continuing, “Did you see that Prophet article?”
“Yes.” Arthur sighed. “Yes, I did.”
Harry frowned. “The things Scrimgeour said- he made them sound like nothing more than bloodthirsty monsters...”
Arthur shook his head. “I don’t know, Harry; other than that chap at St. Mungo’s, when I was bitten by the snake, the only werewolf I’ve ever actually seen or heard about is Remus.” His hands clenched. “And Greyback.”
“Yeah- I mean, Greyback, well, he was with the Death Eaters, wasn’t he? Even wore their robes.” Harry shook his head. “Besides Remus, I don’t know much about werewolves, other than that stuff Snape taught us, or old stories.”
“Mmm, yes- becoming a werewolf by drinking from a werewolf’s pawprint, or putting on a wolf pelt and dancing under the full moon- all that rubbish. I remember James once saying he was going to do that, and prancing about in an old fur coat...” Arthur sipped at his coffee. “Remus and I used to smile about that sometimes- about the idea of some mad Muggle trying to become... what Remus was. Is. I don’t think Muggles can become one, even if... well.” He broke off, and stared out the window. Outside, the sunlight had dimmed somewhat; Harry could see clouds thickening.
“I remember,” Arthur finally said, “I remember after Remus left Hogwarts, and your parents had passed on... there were times I’d run into him, and invite him home for supper. Molly was after him to stay at the Burrow, but he’d give excuses, and I’d see the robes Sirius had given him becoming more threadbare and torn.
“I remember sitting up with him once, one November first, and talking about what would become of the Order- the Lestranges had just been captured, and that seemed fairly well the end of it. I remember Remus smiling, and saying that the Order would probably become a supper club or some such, but later, when he was drunk... he said that he was almost too good at surviving. That this- all of it- was like his own version of Azkaban...” Arthur broke off. “He never said anything like that again, and I never mentioned it. After that... if we owled him, he'd send back a polite note, but he never did come round again. I don’t know what he did between that and teaching at Hogwarts.”
The waitress came to refill their cups then; Arthur smiled at her, and said something polite, as Harry watched the clouds continue to gather. The first circles of moisture began forming on the sidewalk, as Harry quietly said, “I keep... I can't help wondering what life was like for them.”
“Werewolves?” Harry nodded; Arthur shifted uncomfortably. “I used to hear bits of it from Remus in odd moments, back when he was spying on Greyback’s pack,” Arthur said. “He said- well, he said that unless you were like that poor chap at St. Mungo’s, you were probably bitten as a child, like he was. Children couldn’t Apparate away, couldn’t use spells to defend themselves- easier prey.
“From there- it depended on the werewolf’s family, from what I gather. Some, like the Lupins, continued to care for their child, but..." He sighed. “Werewolves are- were- almost impossible to kill: silver; other werewolves; starvation, perhaps- but they're completely immune to most spells- even the Avada Kedavra."
"They are?" Harry asked.
Arthur nodded. "It's one of the reasons we valued Remus so highly in the Order," he said. "I can't think think how many times Sirius, Lily, and James were saved by it... well."
Harry thought about this. "I guess that makes sense," he said finally. "I mean- I always used to wonder why Dumbledore used to lock Remus in the Shrieking Shack, instead of just putting him to sleep or something- where in the Shack, he might have broken free, and bit someone..."
Arthur nodded. "Albus willingly took the risk, so that Remus could have a chance at a normal life," he said quietly. "Much good it did, in the end..." He seemed to collect himself. "At any rate, so far as families who had a werewolf child... well, not all families were as understanding as the Lupins, not by a long chalk. Some parents... well, some families tried to end the curse, permanently. Silver knives, and the like. If the child survived... it was condemned to a feral existence, away from Wizardkind. It wouldn’t have attended Hogwarts, so no real spells; no Apparating; couldn’t even ride a broom... it wound up finding other werewolves, if it was lucky. Huddled with its pack in a drafty cave somewhere, barely enough magic to start a fire, knowing that any wizard who came across it would be likely to call for the Aurors...”
Harry sighed. “Maybe... I don’t know... Dumbledore was trying to negotiate with them; maybe he could have...” He broke off. “Umbridge,” he finally said, his voice thick with anger.
Arthur nodded. “She didn’t start it- wizards have always feared werewolves- but... fear and prejudice. They were her weapons.”
“Remus told me that she was the reason that Dumbledore wasn’t able to negotiate a settlement with the werewolves,” Harry said, hands clenched into fists. “Every time they turned around, she’d passed a new law, making it illegal for them to...” He broke off. “Small wonder Fenrir was able to bring them over to Voldemort; not like they could do anything else, once they'd been bitten,” he finally said.
“Yes; there are rumors- well, you mentioned Greyback wearing Death Eater robes; allegedly, Voldemort was going to make them all into fully fledged Death Eaters. You'd think he'd want nothing to do with them, but... an invulnerable army, trained in the Dark Arts by Lord Voldemort himself, killing or infecting everyone they came across... Or, for that matter, if they had bitten Voldemort himself, making him immune to magic...”
“He was? Then- are you saying what Scrimgeour did was right...?”
“I don’t kn... no. No, it wasn’t. Things should never have gotten to the point where even one werewolf had to embrace that as an option. That was our fault- the Wizarding UK's fault- for allowing it to happen in the first place. For allowing the Ministry to make choices based on fear, rather than...” He stared down at the coffee spoon he was twisting in his hands. “Murdering three thousand human beings, without even giving them a proper chance to- to find a better way; that can’t ever be right.”
There was a pause. “The Prophet said that they’d covertly put a Locator Charm on a spy who’d infiltrated their pack,” Harry said quietly. “Do... do you think they meant Remus?”
Arthur bowed his head. “I’m afraid so,” he said. “Remus would never have knowingly had any part in this, but Scrimgeour...”
“Yeah,” Harry said bitterly. “Yeah, he’s clever, all right- bringing Stan in when I asked him about the speech. And that article- he even used the fact that Dumbledore had to sneak Remus in as a teacher..." He broke off, and looked up. “Wait- do you think McGonagall might hire Remus back? Defense, or something?”
Arthur winced. “In this political climate... it’s doubtful. From what I understand, it’s all Minerva can do to keep Hogwarts out from under Scrimgeour’s thumb.”
“Scrimgeour.” Harry shook his head. “Remember when it was Voldemort we had these conversations about?”
“Oh, he’s been busy, too,” Arthur said. “There was an attack on the Ministry’s main storage facility yesterday, but Scrimgeour had Aurors waiting. That’s what makes this... Scrimgeour really is brilliant at what he does, and he really is working against Voldemort... it’s just...” He broke off, and shook his head. “I keep thinking of Remus,” he said quietly. “Lying in a Ministry cell right now, surrounded by his kind’s murderers, knowing that he’s the last...”
“I know,” Harry said. “I... I keep wondering if Remus really is the last, and... in a weird way, if that’s good, or bad. Not how it happened, but...”
“I know,” Arthur said. “Do you remember that conversation we had in the living room, about werewolves and the Ministry, the night that Bill...”
“Yeah- I’ve been thinking about it a lot.”
“So have I. The Ministry... when I was growing up, and Bagnold was still minister, it seemed as though- as though the Ministry was actually making a difference, for the better. There were wizards undoing curses that had been in effect for hundreds of years; Muggle covert relief programs, just after the Second World War, when London was still in ruins; charities set up to aid victims of Grindelwald and their families... Under Bagnold, it really did seem as though the Ministry was a place for wizards to believe in, like Hogwarts- a center of a culture that was ours. A place that could make things better." Arthur looked sad. "Minister Bagnold saw England through the dragon pox epidemic, when we nearly lost Percy and Bill; she saw us through the currency negotiations with the goblins, when they were threatening to shut down Gringotts and undo the molding spells on all the Galleons; she saw us through Grindelwald, and Voldemort- she even delivered the eulogy for James and Lily herself.
"She never did have much truck with werewolves- that was one matter she and Albus could never agree on- but she did set up the safety cages, back when some werewolves would still willingly enter the Ministry, during the full moon. I keep thinking about those days, and I can’t imagine what she'd have to say about all this...” He sighed. “And what did we follow that with? Fudge. Sometimes, I wish that Albus could have been persuaded to take the position.”
Harry briefly imagined Dumbledore offering a foreign delegation Fizzing Whizbees or lemon drops. “Yeah- I suppose he just preferred working on his own.”
“That he did- and mind you, he did great things for England,” Arthur said. “I was thinking, when we were at the playground- those children will grow up never having known him. Hard to imagine anyone in Wizarding England not knowing him.”
There was a silence; rain spattered against the windowpane. “Arthur?” Harry asked.
“Yes, Harry?”
“What... what do you think I should do?”
Arthur sighed. “About the Ministry, you mean?” At Harry’s nod, he replied, “I wish I knew, frankly. It... it simply isn’t what it once was. What I thought it was. It makes me think of Umbridge, forcing my children out of Hogwarts. Or Hagrid, with the Chamber of Secrets being opened. Or Stan Shunpike: Scrimgeour needs to look as though he’s doing something, so he imprisons someone... and does he arrest Draco Malfoy, who probably is a Death Eater? No- he goes after Stan Shunpike- some poor, weedy little chap whose family doesn’t have the ear of half the Ministry.”
Harry nodded. “And that was when Dumbledore was still around to slow him up,” he said bitterly. “Just like he did Voldemort. Now, with Dumbledore gone...”
“Yes,” said Arthur quietly. There was a pause.
“What happened, anyway?” Harry finally asked. “Do you know how they...”
“I asked Alastor about it,” Arthur said. “He...”
“Moody? Did he- was he a part of it?”
“Merlin, no- Alastor was always known for bringing Dark wizards in alive; he would never have been a part of this. At any rate- he couldn’t go into detail, but from what I understand- well, you know how a” -he lowered his voice- “a Horcrux acts to tear a human soul in two? Well, from what I understand, the Ministry’s new weapon- well, it uses the energy of the victim's own soul to destroy the victim, completely and utterly. Now, most curses- even the Avada Kedavra- won’t work on a werewolf, but...”
“So werewolves do have souls,” Harry murmured. “I mean, I’m sure Remus does, but Fenrir Greyback...”
“Even Tom Riddle had a soul, Harry.” Arthur was quiet for a moment. “It makes me think of the Muggles, and their churches, when I think about it. I always imagine the soul as- well, as a sort of pure, unwavering light, like a star, by which you navigate your heart, and your life. A beacon for what we are, and what we can become, and what we need to demand of ourselves.” He looked into his coffee cup for a moment, before continuing, “Sometimes, I think that the very worst thing that Voldemort ever did was to take that eternal star from within himself- from within a young boy- and to willfully tear it into pieces. To knowingly extinguish that light, just so that...” He shook his head. “Imagine it, Harry- one of the most brilliant wizards ever born, whose power rivaled that of Dumbledore himself- and what does he do with it? He rends his immortal soul to pieces, just so that he can spend eternity cowering within bits of rubbish- all because he’s frightened to die. I mean, he might as well be in this coffee cup.”
Harry forced a smile. “Be an easy day’s work if he were.”
Arthur smiled back. “Yes... seriously, though, Harry- what’s the possible point of living life in such a fashion? I mean- are you afraid to die?”
Harry hesitated for a long moment. “No. I’ve come too close to it already, too many times to be afraid of it; I even remember telling Dumbledore that if it happened, I just wanted to take out as many Death Eaters as I could- and Voldemort, too, if I could manage it. I mean... mostly, I’m afraid that if I die, the prophecy will... well, that Voldemort really will win, and live forever. There are many things- many people- I’d miss, but most of all, this can't have all been for nothing. That’s the single biggest thing for me.” He looked over at Arthur. “Are you?”
“Merlin, no- might as well be frightened of breathing. I don’t look forward to it, and I’m certainly not seeking it out, but- well, it’s just there, and someday, it will happen.” Arthur shook his head. “For me, I think the worst thing- well, I’d willingly lay down my life rather than see something happen to Molly, or the children. Or you.”
Harry winced. “I’ve already had too many people die that way.”
“I know; I just...” Arthur paused, and shook his head. He stared out the window for a minute before continuing, “You know what I still can’t get my head round?”
“What?”
“This.” Arthur drew his wand, and placed it on the table. “Just a secondhand bit of wood- an old stick, with a unicorn tailstrand running through it. But...” Arthur shook his head. “The things these wands could do,” he said softly, turning the wand in his fingers. “Getting rid of pollution, or healing the sick, or fixing the hole in the nozone layer- every time I think about it, my heart feels as though it’ll break, and I have stop myself myself from snatching up my wand and doing something... Every day, on my way into the Ministry, I see Muggles lying on the sidewalk, or I watch the news on the television, and I think, I could be fixing this. I could be making things better. But I don't; I just walk on by, because I don't want to be thrown into Azkaban, by... by people like me. Ministry people. It's a crime: such power, such potential, and we use it just to keep ourselves hidden away, all because our ancestors were frightened by a bunch of torch-waving Muggles. Such a sad, strange way for us to live, as though we were frightened of the bogey man. And then, when we do do something with them... well.” He shook his head, and tucked his wand back in his belt loop. “Like a handful of stars- all snuffed out, in a trice,” he murmured quietly. “They really will do absolutely anything, for power’s own sake.”
Harry nodded silently; he happened to glance at the back of his hand, with the words I must not tell lies permanently scarred into it.
Arthur followed his gaze, and nodded. “Yes- and really, that's the least of it,” he said simply. “And then... I tried to make myself think that Scrimgeour was doing the right thing, at first. Voted for him, even. Most of us did; and after Fudge and his idiocy, he seemed... I don’t know; perhaps I should have listened to Fred and George. As it is, one of the only things that's been keeping me there now, aside from trying to find out about Bill, is simply... well, there are still a good many people there- good people, who are trying to pull together, while they look for a better way. Who fall asleep over their desks at night, because they’re working so hard, trying to keep up with this war. With everything. People who want to make it all be better somehow. I can't possibly condone what the Ministry has done- there's no question about that- but... “ He fell silent, and stared down at his own clenched hands. “No,” Arthur finally said. “No- there is no ‘but.’ This is... I can’t be a part of this anymore. I'm leaving the Ministry.”
“Are... are you sure?” Harry asked uncertainly. “I mean... I understand how you feel- but Bill...”
Arthur’s fists clenched tighter. “Bill.” He stared out the window for a long time, then back at Harry. “Tell me honestly, Harry- do you think I’m going to find any answers about Bill there?”
“Not... not unless Scrimgeour felt he could get something by telling you,” Harry said. “Something from me, probably. And I... I’ve given him too much already.”
“So have I,” Arthur said quietly. There was a long pause.
Finally, Harry cleared his throat and said, “That worker who came to get me- he actually said that what the Ministry did to the werewolves was wrong.”
“Stebbins? He’s a good lad- not one to lead the fight, but a good heart. I’ve been having things like that happen to me; Perkins, my old office mate, told me over drinks in the Leaky Cauldron the other night that he and his family are going to try Apparating up the coast to France. He begged me not to turn him in- as if I ever could.” Arthur was silent then, as the waitress came to refill their coffee cups; he then turned back to Harry.
“You know, Harry...” he began, before breaking off.
“Yeah?”
“No, I just-" Arthur looked out the window for a minute, before continuing, “It’s... it’s just that business with Stebbins, and Perkins. People are afraid to talk about it openly, but...”
“You think that... that there might be more people- more Ministry workers- against what the Ministry is doing now?”
“Well, I- I don’t know for certain. The Wizengamot are terrified of Voldemort; just think how many Death Eaters want revenge, for being sent to Azkaban- they’re all for Scrimgeour. As for the average wizard in the street, all that they know is rumors, or what they read in the Prophet...”
“...which Scrimgeour is signing off on...”
“...if not actually writing, yes. The point is- people within the Ministry- well, they’re talking about these things, when they can, and a lot of them don’t approve of how things are going. They’re looking for a better way.”
Harry paused. “And you think that, me being ‘the Chosen One’ and all, that people might... might want to listen to me?”
“I... well, it’s possible. You know what you mean to the Wizarding world.”
Harry was silent for a few minutes. “I wonder... maybe Hermione would know what to do about this, or Abador; maybe we could do something with the Order.” He rubbed his face with his hands. “I wish I could ask Remus.”
“I know. Remus- well, he’s a good man; all of this... it’s been a lot for him. Bill’s being taken... it obviously hit close to home for him. And now...” He paused awkwardly. “I’m sure he understands that you had nothing to do with what happened...”
“Yeah.” Harry sighed. “And now, he’s locked in some cell at the Ministry, which... I wish that there was more that I could do for him. For all of them. I guess... I guess all there is, is to do everything I can to make sure that nothing like this ever happens again, whether it’s Scrimgeour, or Voldemort, or anyone.” He broke off, and pushed the saltshaker around the tabletop with a fingertip. Outside the window, the drizzle had abated to a mist. “Arthur?”
“Yes?”
“I’ve been thinking- when you get home, will you ask Hermione if she’ll help me look up their names?”
“The werewolves...?”
“Yes. I don’t know what I’ll do with the names, but I feel like- like they should be remembered, somehow.”
Arthur made a face somewhere between a wince and a smile. “I’ll do that, Harry.”
Harry nodded. “And I guess... I guess I’ll keep doing what I’ve been doing, at least for now, while I try to figure out a plan,” he said. “If I'm lucky, I can find out what Scrimgeour's up to- and maybe I'll even find a few more Stebbinses along the way. Scrimgeour may just find out that having the Boy Who Lived underfoot isn't such a blessing after all.”
Arthur nodded; he looked sad, and infinitely weary. “Well, then- it’s going to take me a few days to get the paperwork for my leaving processed; until then, I’ll do the same. Perhaps, if we're lucky, we can do something...” He got to his feet, and seemed to steel himself. Harry stood, and touched his arm.
“Arthur? Why don’t you go home for the day- I can say you’ve taken ill. Scrimgeour won’t argue; he’s... he’s happy with me right now.”
Arthur put a hand on his shoulder. “Thank you, Harry,” he said simply. “I’ll do that.”
“My love to Molly,” said Harry; he settled their bill, and left a five-pound note under his cup. They walked out into the damp afternoon; Harry glanced around the corner, and saw Williamson standing by the phone booth, looking up and down the street. He turned to Arthur, and lifted a hand in farewell as Arthur lifted his face for a moment to the misting afternoon sky; then, Harry started back toward the phone booth.
***
A/N: Canonically (as of Half-Blood Prince, that is), the business about curses not working on werewolves is somewhat debatable; Harry stuns Fenrir during the attack on Hogwarts, and Remus mentions barely being missed by a Killing Curse. (Not to mention Remus’s being bound by the ropes from Snape’s wand in Prisoner of Azkaban- tangible objects which, in any event, cause him no harm.) However, I figure that any wizard who grew up knowing about the Killing Curse would be frightened of it, whether it actually worked on them or not; for my purposes, I’m saying that Fenrir was simply a lucky shot on Harry’s part- Felix Felicis, perhaps. (As mentioned in Chapter 6, there has to be some reason people don’t simply use magic to subdue werewolves until the full moon has passed.)
CHARACTERS: Harry; Arthur; Charlie; Stebbins (minor GoF character)
RATING: PG
WARNINGS: references to genocide
FEEDBACK: welcomed
ARCHIVING: please ask
This is the latest chapter of my Harry Potter story. Contains Half-Blood Prince spoilers. (Please note also that this series is not Deathly Hallows compliant in the least.)
Chapter 10- Like a Handful of Stars
“Harry...?”
“Go away,” Harry said numbly; he was sitting on the floor, outside the door to the cafeteria. Charlie tried putting a hand on his shoulder, but he merely shook it off, and resumed staring blankly. “I’m going to go find Dad,” Charlie finally said; he started off down the corridor. Harry had no idea how long he sat there; finally, he became aware of a Ministry worker standing in front of him.
“Mister Potter...?”
“Go away.”
“It’s Mister Weasley, sir- he sent me to fetch you.”
Harry paused, and then slowly lifted his head to look up at the Ministry worker, who looked vaguely familiar. “Arthur did...?”
“Yes, sir- he asked me to come find you.”
After a moment, Harry silently pushed himself to his feet, and followed the Ministry worker down the corridor. The worker turned into an empty corridor, and said, “Sir?”
“What.”
The Ministry worker paused, and looked up and down the corridor. “I just wanted to say... well, I was a year ahead of you at Hogwarts; I had Professor Lupin as a teacher.”
Harry’s eyes flickered to the worker’s for a moment. “You did...?”
“Yes, sir.” The worker checked the corridor again, and whispered: “They shouldn’t have done that- to the werewolves, I mean. A lot of us feel that way; Professor Lupin would have never...”
There came the sound of footsteps; the worker instantly stopped talking, and kept walking down the hall. They turned a corner; Arthur was standing in the middle of the hallway, Charlie right behind him.
“It’s all right,” Arthur said to Charlie, who nodded and walked away. Arthur turned to the Ministry worker. “Thank you, Stebbins.”
The worker nodded, and hastily walked back down the hall. Arthur looked at Harry.
“Harry...” Arthur said, extending his arms.
“Don’t,” Harry said sharply, taking a quick step backward. “Don’t, Mis... Arthur.” Harry shook his head. “I... people who try to be fathers to me... it doesn’t turn out well.”
Arthur winced. “I’m not your father, Harry- only your friend.” There was an awkward pause; he looked at Harry silently. “I’m going back this way,” Arthur finally said. “Would you care to walk with me for a moment?”
The children laughed, and clambered over the toys and equipment, as Harry and Arthur stood at the side of the Ministry playground.
“A new security idea,” Arthur said. “Workers can bring their children here; it helps everyone with the long hours, and lets people have more time with their children.”
“Yeah,” Harry said flatly, “or, if anyone doesn’t feel like jailing bus conductors or murdering werewolves, Scrimgeour can always say, ‘Now, now- remember little Timmy...’”
“You shouldn’t joke,” Arthur said, looking disquieted; Harry saw a witch who was monitoring the children glance their way for a moment.
“No, of course not,” Harry said; he glanced at a large portrait of Scrimgeour, hanging on the back wall of the room, that was watching them intently. “I think it’s wonderful that Scrimgeour’s keeping an eye on the little ones.”
Arthur sighed. “I know,” he said quietly. “I... well, I like to come here sometimes, when work is getting especially bad. I like to see the children, and remember that not everyone is... not everyone has had to make the same compromises.” Arthur turned, and looked at Harry for a long moment. “Will you come with me for a bit, Harry?” he finally asked. “I feel like... like I could use some time away from here.”
The afternoon summer sun was warm as they exited the phone booth, dressed in Muggle clothing; the breeze was fresh and cool upon Harry’s face. He stood still, and closed his eyes for a moment, and thought of walking out onto the Quidditch pitch. Arthur was standing beside him, eyes closed, face turned up to the sun.
“Merlin, it’s good to get out of there,” Arthur finally said. “It feels like I’m just out of prison.”
“Just like Stan,” Harry said flatly.
“Yes,” Arthur said seriously. “I know... I know this has been hard for you- but getting Stan out of Azkaban was a good thing, Harry. Sometimes, you have to hold on to things like that, very tightly.”
Harry shook his head and said nothing, as Arthur led them to a nearby coffee shop. They sat by the window; Arthur looked both ways out the window before sitting down. Harry ordered coffees, as Arthur gave the television in the corner a longing look. Harry paused for a moment, and looked at his reflection in the window, with his newly cut hair, neat and short. Arthur caught a glimpse of Harry’s face, and sighed. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I just... I really am pants at this sort of thing. I wish I knew what to say.”
“It’s all right,” Harry said. “It’s just that... this- all of it- it isn’t what I thought it would be.”
“What do you mean?” Arthur asked.
“Well- when my first Hogwarts letter- letters- arrived, it was like- it was like a game, or something. Uncle Vernon chasing them all over the room, and trying to nail the mail slot shut with the fruitcake... and then Hagrid showing up, and giving Dudley a tail, and telling me I was rich, and a wizard...”
Arthur nodded silently; Harry went on, “And... well, I could eat anything I wanted for dinner, and there weren’t any spiders, and I got to fly, and play Quidditch... and I had friends, actual friends. I think that was the most, well, magical part of it all.
“But then things started to happen,” he went on, after pausing for a swallow of his coffee. “Suddenly, it was- well, I killed that Tom Riddle from the diary, and Quirrell. I met Sirius, who was like actual family to me- and then he died right in front of me. I met Remus...” Harry made a choked sound. “If you had seen his face...”
“Don’t,” Arthur said, wincing.
“That’s what I mean,” Harry said after a moment. “Cedric... Sirius... Dumbledore... sometimes it feels as though all being a wizard means, is that you see bad things happen, and watch people die. And wizards live longer than normal people, so you see more people die. My luck, I’ll live as long as Dumbledore, and see everyone...” He stopped, and took a deep breath, before continuing, “Did you see that Prophet article?”
“Yes.” Arthur sighed. “Yes, I did.”
Harry frowned. “The things Scrimgeour said- he made them sound like nothing more than bloodthirsty monsters...”
Arthur shook his head. “I don’t know, Harry; other than that chap at St. Mungo’s, when I was bitten by the snake, the only werewolf I’ve ever actually seen or heard about is Remus.” His hands clenched. “And Greyback.”
“Yeah- I mean, Greyback, well, he was with the Death Eaters, wasn’t he? Even wore their robes.” Harry shook his head. “Besides Remus, I don’t know much about werewolves, other than that stuff Snape taught us, or old stories.”
“Mmm, yes- becoming a werewolf by drinking from a werewolf’s pawprint, or putting on a wolf pelt and dancing under the full moon- all that rubbish. I remember James once saying he was going to do that, and prancing about in an old fur coat...” Arthur sipped at his coffee. “Remus and I used to smile about that sometimes- about the idea of some mad Muggle trying to become... what Remus was. Is. I don’t think Muggles can become one, even if... well.” He broke off, and stared out the window. Outside, the sunlight had dimmed somewhat; Harry could see clouds thickening.
“I remember,” Arthur finally said, “I remember after Remus left Hogwarts, and your parents had passed on... there were times I’d run into him, and invite him home for supper. Molly was after him to stay at the Burrow, but he’d give excuses, and I’d see the robes Sirius had given him becoming more threadbare and torn.
“I remember sitting up with him once, one November first, and talking about what would become of the Order- the Lestranges had just been captured, and that seemed fairly well the end of it. I remember Remus smiling, and saying that the Order would probably become a supper club or some such, but later, when he was drunk... he said that he was almost too good at surviving. That this- all of it- was like his own version of Azkaban...” Arthur broke off. “He never said anything like that again, and I never mentioned it. After that... if we owled him, he'd send back a polite note, but he never did come round again. I don’t know what he did between that and teaching at Hogwarts.”
The waitress came to refill their cups then; Arthur smiled at her, and said something polite, as Harry watched the clouds continue to gather. The first circles of moisture began forming on the sidewalk, as Harry quietly said, “I keep... I can't help wondering what life was like for them.”
“Werewolves?” Harry nodded; Arthur shifted uncomfortably. “I used to hear bits of it from Remus in odd moments, back when he was spying on Greyback’s pack,” Arthur said. “He said- well, he said that unless you were like that poor chap at St. Mungo’s, you were probably bitten as a child, like he was. Children couldn’t Apparate away, couldn’t use spells to defend themselves- easier prey.
“From there- it depended on the werewolf’s family, from what I gather. Some, like the Lupins, continued to care for their child, but..." He sighed. “Werewolves are- were- almost impossible to kill: silver; other werewolves; starvation, perhaps- but they're completely immune to most spells- even the Avada Kedavra."
"They are?" Harry asked.
Arthur nodded. "It's one of the reasons we valued Remus so highly in the Order," he said. "I can't think think how many times Sirius, Lily, and James were saved by it... well."
Harry thought about this. "I guess that makes sense," he said finally. "I mean- I always used to wonder why Dumbledore used to lock Remus in the Shrieking Shack, instead of just putting him to sleep or something- where in the Shack, he might have broken free, and bit someone..."
Arthur nodded. "Albus willingly took the risk, so that Remus could have a chance at a normal life," he said quietly. "Much good it did, in the end..." He seemed to collect himself. "At any rate, so far as families who had a werewolf child... well, not all families were as understanding as the Lupins, not by a long chalk. Some parents... well, some families tried to end the curse, permanently. Silver knives, and the like. If the child survived... it was condemned to a feral existence, away from Wizardkind. It wouldn’t have attended Hogwarts, so no real spells; no Apparating; couldn’t even ride a broom... it wound up finding other werewolves, if it was lucky. Huddled with its pack in a drafty cave somewhere, barely enough magic to start a fire, knowing that any wizard who came across it would be likely to call for the Aurors...”
Harry sighed. “Maybe... I don’t know... Dumbledore was trying to negotiate with them; maybe he could have...” He broke off. “Umbridge,” he finally said, his voice thick with anger.
Arthur nodded. “She didn’t start it- wizards have always feared werewolves- but... fear and prejudice. They were her weapons.”
“Remus told me that she was the reason that Dumbledore wasn’t able to negotiate a settlement with the werewolves,” Harry said, hands clenched into fists. “Every time they turned around, she’d passed a new law, making it illegal for them to...” He broke off. “Small wonder Fenrir was able to bring them over to Voldemort; not like they could do anything else, once they'd been bitten,” he finally said.
“Yes; there are rumors- well, you mentioned Greyback wearing Death Eater robes; allegedly, Voldemort was going to make them all into fully fledged Death Eaters. You'd think he'd want nothing to do with them, but... an invulnerable army, trained in the Dark Arts by Lord Voldemort himself, killing or infecting everyone they came across... Or, for that matter, if they had bitten Voldemort himself, making him immune to magic...”
“He was? Then- are you saying what Scrimgeour did was right...?”
“I don’t kn... no. No, it wasn’t. Things should never have gotten to the point where even one werewolf had to embrace that as an option. That was our fault- the Wizarding UK's fault- for allowing it to happen in the first place. For allowing the Ministry to make choices based on fear, rather than...” He stared down at the coffee spoon he was twisting in his hands. “Murdering three thousand human beings, without even giving them a proper chance to- to find a better way; that can’t ever be right.”
There was a pause. “The Prophet said that they’d covertly put a Locator Charm on a spy who’d infiltrated their pack,” Harry said quietly. “Do... do you think they meant Remus?”
Arthur bowed his head. “I’m afraid so,” he said. “Remus would never have knowingly had any part in this, but Scrimgeour...”
“Yeah,” Harry said bitterly. “Yeah, he’s clever, all right- bringing Stan in when I asked him about the speech. And that article- he even used the fact that Dumbledore had to sneak Remus in as a teacher..." He broke off, and looked up. “Wait- do you think McGonagall might hire Remus back? Defense, or something?”
Arthur winced. “In this political climate... it’s doubtful. From what I understand, it’s all Minerva can do to keep Hogwarts out from under Scrimgeour’s thumb.”
“Scrimgeour.” Harry shook his head. “Remember when it was Voldemort we had these conversations about?”
“Oh, he’s been busy, too,” Arthur said. “There was an attack on the Ministry’s main storage facility yesterday, but Scrimgeour had Aurors waiting. That’s what makes this... Scrimgeour really is brilliant at what he does, and he really is working against Voldemort... it’s just...” He broke off, and shook his head. “I keep thinking of Remus,” he said quietly. “Lying in a Ministry cell right now, surrounded by his kind’s murderers, knowing that he’s the last...”
“I know,” Harry said. “I... I keep wondering if Remus really is the last, and... in a weird way, if that’s good, or bad. Not how it happened, but...”
“I know,” Arthur said. “Do you remember that conversation we had in the living room, about werewolves and the Ministry, the night that Bill...”
“Yeah- I’ve been thinking about it a lot.”
“So have I. The Ministry... when I was growing up, and Bagnold was still minister, it seemed as though- as though the Ministry was actually making a difference, for the better. There were wizards undoing curses that had been in effect for hundreds of years; Muggle covert relief programs, just after the Second World War, when London was still in ruins; charities set up to aid victims of Grindelwald and their families... Under Bagnold, it really did seem as though the Ministry was a place for wizards to believe in, like Hogwarts- a center of a culture that was ours. A place that could make things better." Arthur looked sad. "Minister Bagnold saw England through the dragon pox epidemic, when we nearly lost Percy and Bill; she saw us through the currency negotiations with the goblins, when they were threatening to shut down Gringotts and undo the molding spells on all the Galleons; she saw us through Grindelwald, and Voldemort- she even delivered the eulogy for James and Lily herself.
"She never did have much truck with werewolves- that was one matter she and Albus could never agree on- but she did set up the safety cages, back when some werewolves would still willingly enter the Ministry, during the full moon. I keep thinking about those days, and I can’t imagine what she'd have to say about all this...” He sighed. “And what did we follow that with? Fudge. Sometimes, I wish that Albus could have been persuaded to take the position.”
Harry briefly imagined Dumbledore offering a foreign delegation Fizzing Whizbees or lemon drops. “Yeah- I suppose he just preferred working on his own.”
“That he did- and mind you, he did great things for England,” Arthur said. “I was thinking, when we were at the playground- those children will grow up never having known him. Hard to imagine anyone in Wizarding England not knowing him.”
There was a silence; rain spattered against the windowpane. “Arthur?” Harry asked.
“Yes, Harry?”
“What... what do you think I should do?”
Arthur sighed. “About the Ministry, you mean?” At Harry’s nod, he replied, “I wish I knew, frankly. It... it simply isn’t what it once was. What I thought it was. It makes me think of Umbridge, forcing my children out of Hogwarts. Or Hagrid, with the Chamber of Secrets being opened. Or Stan Shunpike: Scrimgeour needs to look as though he’s doing something, so he imprisons someone... and does he arrest Draco Malfoy, who probably is a Death Eater? No- he goes after Stan Shunpike- some poor, weedy little chap whose family doesn’t have the ear of half the Ministry.”
Harry nodded. “And that was when Dumbledore was still around to slow him up,” he said bitterly. “Just like he did Voldemort. Now, with Dumbledore gone...”
“Yes,” said Arthur quietly. There was a pause.
“What happened, anyway?” Harry finally asked. “Do you know how they...”
“I asked Alastor about it,” Arthur said. “He...”
“Moody? Did he- was he a part of it?”
“Merlin, no- Alastor was always known for bringing Dark wizards in alive; he would never have been a part of this. At any rate- he couldn’t go into detail, but from what I understand- well, you know how a” -he lowered his voice- “a Horcrux acts to tear a human soul in two? Well, from what I understand, the Ministry’s new weapon- well, it uses the energy of the victim's own soul to destroy the victim, completely and utterly. Now, most curses- even the Avada Kedavra- won’t work on a werewolf, but...”
“So werewolves do have souls,” Harry murmured. “I mean, I’m sure Remus does, but Fenrir Greyback...”
“Even Tom Riddle had a soul, Harry.” Arthur was quiet for a moment. “It makes me think of the Muggles, and their churches, when I think about it. I always imagine the soul as- well, as a sort of pure, unwavering light, like a star, by which you navigate your heart, and your life. A beacon for what we are, and what we can become, and what we need to demand of ourselves.” He looked into his coffee cup for a moment, before continuing, “Sometimes, I think that the very worst thing that Voldemort ever did was to take that eternal star from within himself- from within a young boy- and to willfully tear it into pieces. To knowingly extinguish that light, just so that...” He shook his head. “Imagine it, Harry- one of the most brilliant wizards ever born, whose power rivaled that of Dumbledore himself- and what does he do with it? He rends his immortal soul to pieces, just so that he can spend eternity cowering within bits of rubbish- all because he’s frightened to die. I mean, he might as well be in this coffee cup.”
Harry forced a smile. “Be an easy day’s work if he were.”
Arthur smiled back. “Yes... seriously, though, Harry- what’s the possible point of living life in such a fashion? I mean- are you afraid to die?”
Harry hesitated for a long moment. “No. I’ve come too close to it already, too many times to be afraid of it; I even remember telling Dumbledore that if it happened, I just wanted to take out as many Death Eaters as I could- and Voldemort, too, if I could manage it. I mean... mostly, I’m afraid that if I die, the prophecy will... well, that Voldemort really will win, and live forever. There are many things- many people- I’d miss, but most of all, this can't have all been for nothing. That’s the single biggest thing for me.” He looked over at Arthur. “Are you?”
“Merlin, no- might as well be frightened of breathing. I don’t look forward to it, and I’m certainly not seeking it out, but- well, it’s just there, and someday, it will happen.” Arthur shook his head. “For me, I think the worst thing- well, I’d willingly lay down my life rather than see something happen to Molly, or the children. Or you.”
Harry winced. “I’ve already had too many people die that way.”
“I know; I just...” Arthur paused, and shook his head. He stared out the window for a minute before continuing, “You know what I still can’t get my head round?”
“What?”
“This.” Arthur drew his wand, and placed it on the table. “Just a secondhand bit of wood- an old stick, with a unicorn tailstrand running through it. But...” Arthur shook his head. “The things these wands could do,” he said softly, turning the wand in his fingers. “Getting rid of pollution, or healing the sick, or fixing the hole in the nozone layer- every time I think about it, my heart feels as though it’ll break, and I have stop myself myself from snatching up my wand and doing something... Every day, on my way into the Ministry, I see Muggles lying on the sidewalk, or I watch the news on the television, and I think, I could be fixing this. I could be making things better. But I don't; I just walk on by, because I don't want to be thrown into Azkaban, by... by people like me. Ministry people. It's a crime: such power, such potential, and we use it just to keep ourselves hidden away, all because our ancestors were frightened by a bunch of torch-waving Muggles. Such a sad, strange way for us to live, as though we were frightened of the bogey man. And then, when we do do something with them... well.” He shook his head, and tucked his wand back in his belt loop. “Like a handful of stars- all snuffed out, in a trice,” he murmured quietly. “They really will do absolutely anything, for power’s own sake.”
Harry nodded silently; he happened to glance at the back of his hand, with the words I must not tell lies permanently scarred into it.
Arthur followed his gaze, and nodded. “Yes- and really, that's the least of it,” he said simply. “And then... I tried to make myself think that Scrimgeour was doing the right thing, at first. Voted for him, even. Most of us did; and after Fudge and his idiocy, he seemed... I don’t know; perhaps I should have listened to Fred and George. As it is, one of the only things that's been keeping me there now, aside from trying to find out about Bill, is simply... well, there are still a good many people there- good people, who are trying to pull together, while they look for a better way. Who fall asleep over their desks at night, because they’re working so hard, trying to keep up with this war. With everything. People who want to make it all be better somehow. I can't possibly condone what the Ministry has done- there's no question about that- but... “ He fell silent, and stared down at his own clenched hands. “No,” Arthur finally said. “No- there is no ‘but.’ This is... I can’t be a part of this anymore. I'm leaving the Ministry.”
“Are... are you sure?” Harry asked uncertainly. “I mean... I understand how you feel- but Bill...”
Arthur’s fists clenched tighter. “Bill.” He stared out the window for a long time, then back at Harry. “Tell me honestly, Harry- do you think I’m going to find any answers about Bill there?”
“Not... not unless Scrimgeour felt he could get something by telling you,” Harry said. “Something from me, probably. And I... I’ve given him too much already.”
“So have I,” Arthur said quietly. There was a long pause.
Finally, Harry cleared his throat and said, “That worker who came to get me- he actually said that what the Ministry did to the werewolves was wrong.”
“Stebbins? He’s a good lad- not one to lead the fight, but a good heart. I’ve been having things like that happen to me; Perkins, my old office mate, told me over drinks in the Leaky Cauldron the other night that he and his family are going to try Apparating up the coast to France. He begged me not to turn him in- as if I ever could.” Arthur was silent then, as the waitress came to refill their coffee cups; he then turned back to Harry.
“You know, Harry...” he began, before breaking off.
“Yeah?”
“No, I just-" Arthur looked out the window for a minute, before continuing, “It’s... it’s just that business with Stebbins, and Perkins. People are afraid to talk about it openly, but...”
“You think that... that there might be more people- more Ministry workers- against what the Ministry is doing now?”
“Well, I- I don’t know for certain. The Wizengamot are terrified of Voldemort; just think how many Death Eaters want revenge, for being sent to Azkaban- they’re all for Scrimgeour. As for the average wizard in the street, all that they know is rumors, or what they read in the Prophet...”
“...which Scrimgeour is signing off on...”
“...if not actually writing, yes. The point is- people within the Ministry- well, they’re talking about these things, when they can, and a lot of them don’t approve of how things are going. They’re looking for a better way.”
Harry paused. “And you think that, me being ‘the Chosen One’ and all, that people might... might want to listen to me?”
“I... well, it’s possible. You know what you mean to the Wizarding world.”
Harry was silent for a few minutes. “I wonder... maybe Hermione would know what to do about this, or Abador; maybe we could do something with the Order.” He rubbed his face with his hands. “I wish I could ask Remus.”
“I know. Remus- well, he’s a good man; all of this... it’s been a lot for him. Bill’s being taken... it obviously hit close to home for him. And now...” He paused awkwardly. “I’m sure he understands that you had nothing to do with what happened...”
“Yeah.” Harry sighed. “And now, he’s locked in some cell at the Ministry, which... I wish that there was more that I could do for him. For all of them. I guess... I guess all there is, is to do everything I can to make sure that nothing like this ever happens again, whether it’s Scrimgeour, or Voldemort, or anyone.” He broke off, and pushed the saltshaker around the tabletop with a fingertip. Outside the window, the drizzle had abated to a mist. “Arthur?”
“Yes?”
“I’ve been thinking- when you get home, will you ask Hermione if she’ll help me look up their names?”
“The werewolves...?”
“Yes. I don’t know what I’ll do with the names, but I feel like- like they should be remembered, somehow.”
Arthur made a face somewhere between a wince and a smile. “I’ll do that, Harry.”
Harry nodded. “And I guess... I guess I’ll keep doing what I’ve been doing, at least for now, while I try to figure out a plan,” he said. “If I'm lucky, I can find out what Scrimgeour's up to- and maybe I'll even find a few more Stebbinses along the way. Scrimgeour may just find out that having the Boy Who Lived underfoot isn't such a blessing after all.”
Arthur nodded; he looked sad, and infinitely weary. “Well, then- it’s going to take me a few days to get the paperwork for my leaving processed; until then, I’ll do the same. Perhaps, if we're lucky, we can do something...” He got to his feet, and seemed to steel himself. Harry stood, and touched his arm.
“Arthur? Why don’t you go home for the day- I can say you’ve taken ill. Scrimgeour won’t argue; he’s... he’s happy with me right now.”
Arthur put a hand on his shoulder. “Thank you, Harry,” he said simply. “I’ll do that.”
“My love to Molly,” said Harry; he settled their bill, and left a five-pound note under his cup. They walked out into the damp afternoon; Harry glanced around the corner, and saw Williamson standing by the phone booth, looking up and down the street. He turned to Arthur, and lifted a hand in farewell as Arthur lifted his face for a moment to the misting afternoon sky; then, Harry started back toward the phone booth.
A/N: Canonically (as of Half-Blood Prince, that is), the business about curses not working on werewolves is somewhat debatable; Harry stuns Fenrir during the attack on Hogwarts, and Remus mentions barely being missed by a Killing Curse. (Not to mention Remus’s being bound by the ropes from Snape’s wand in Prisoner of Azkaban- tangible objects which, in any event, cause him no harm.) However, I figure that any wizard who grew up knowing about the Killing Curse would be frightened of it, whether it actually worked on them or not; for my purposes, I’m saying that Fenrir was simply a lucky shot on Harry’s part- Felix Felicis, perhaps. (As mentioned in Chapter 6, there has to be some reason people don’t simply use magic to subdue werewolves until the full moon has passed.)