The Marauders - Order of the Phoenix Part Three

CXIX: Jurisdiction

"Hello, Mr. Lupin. I have been looking positively everywhere for you."

Chase Volsung smiled as Remus Lupin's eyes darted toward the door that led back to the International Disapparation Line floor. He chuckled. "Oh Remus, come now, you can't possibly think I didn't lock that door before making myself known." He turned to the nervous looking witch at the reception desk. "Thanks, Gretchen, I can take it from here." She hurried to grab her things and she ducked out the door behind Chase, giving Remus a brief peek of the underground platform in King's Cross before she closed it back up. Chase smiled and with a flick of his wrist, that door locked, too.

Remus took a step back, knocking his knees into the edge of the chair, accidentally forcing himself back into a seated position, eyes wide as he stared up at Chase Volsung.

Chase sighed, "You act as though I'm something to be afraid of, Mr. Lupin, but honestly, I'm only trying to help you out."

"Help me out?" Remus asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Yes," Chase said emphatically, "C'mon now, it's not like I'm going to kill you or something. I'm not like those other chasers have been in the past, you know that. The Ministry was way, way out of bounds back in the 80s with all that experimental stuff. We've really turned around lately. Have you seen the pamphlets?" He held up one of the cheerful-looking pamphlets the Ministry had been sending out, advertising a Full Moon Containment Complex that they pushed as though they were trying to get folks to sign up for a country club. It was the same one he'd been given months before, when he'd sat in the Office of Support at the Ministry's Magical Interspiecies Liasion Department. "There's even clubs to join."

"Yes, I heard. A Club for Werewolf Motorcar Enthusiasts, yeah?" Remus said, brows pinching. He paused, then added, dryly, "I can't explain how much I want to know how Werewolf Motor Club became a thing."

Chase frowned and shrugged, "Well... come back with me to the Ministry, get registered, and I'll bring you out to the meeting myself and we can ask them."

"I don't want to know that much," Remus answered.

"Come on, Remus, it's honestly just a quick form, a couple thumb prints, chomp down a mo' so we can make a mold of your teeth, and just like that - lickety-split - you're registered and you can get that compensation cheque rolling into your account every month like clockwork."

"Yes, thirty-seven whole galleons. Oh the things I could do with the Ministry's pocket change!" Remus's voice was dripping sarcasm. "I could eat once or twice a month. Maybe do my wash. But not do the wash and eat, of course, just one or the other. Oh. Or - I could pay for a tenth of a shitty one bed flat. Think the roaches would split the other 90% with me?"

Chase laughed, "You've always had such a good humor, Remus."

"Not as good as the Ministry if they think anybody could live off thirty-seven galleons a month."

"See that's what jobs are for."

"A job?" Remus chuckled.

"Yes, you've had one of those, haven't you, Remus?"

"Why... yes, yes I have. I've just been sacked from one, actually; my dream one, in fact. Do you know why that is, Mr. Volsung?"

"Heard you quit," Chase Volsung shrugged.

"Because in a matter of less than twelve hours enough owls had been delivered from parents threatening to poach me and string up Dumbledore flooded the Great Hall to the caretaker's ankles. You might've seen the article in the Daily Prophet? Werewolf on the Loose, No Student Is Safe Until He's Sacked?"

"Then maybe you could ask your husband for some financial support?" Chase hissed, suddenly stepping up very close to Remus.

Remus flinched back. "I - don't know what you mean," he lied.