Absit Omen RPG

Sylvain sounded very much like a lover of the outdoors. To be expected, she supposed, when one considered his career choice. Beast handlers and CoMC professors needed to have an appreciation of nature, after all. Hannah? She had an appreciation from inside a book. She certainly wasn’t about to ask, however, what a potager was.

Walking along the path through the Hogwarts grounds, Hannah wondered how uncomfortable it would be if she bumped into Knox while hand in hand with one of his staff members. Would he hug Sylvain with a great overbearing bear hug before congratulating them both and inviting them for tea? Would he try and scare Sylvain off with a ogrelike roar and beat his chest?

"You live in the city, so you must be considering urban ones?" Hannah was broken from her vision of a green Greyfriar beating his chest with his fists by the question. Why did everyone need an array of hobbies? If your work was fulfilling, was that not enough?

“I read books about herbs.” A small smile crept onto her lips. “I’ve been embracing the quiet life.” She wondered how much of the Daily Prophet this wizard had read. How much did he know about Hannah’s recent past?

"The Aurors recovered the bodies of those kidnapped werewolves two days ago," Bagnold finally began to explain why he’d wanted her to follow. This was information that Hannah knew. She read the Daily Prophet and she certainly had her ear to the ground. but what did this have to do with her? The night they’d been kidnapped, she’d been in her own safe house, as was usual. The following evening, she’d spent at Greyfriar’s as he spiralled in panic.

“I didn’t have any work mates.” The pedantic witch pointed out. There’d been colleagues, never work mates. Hannah Bombay had two friends in her life. The first was a curmudgeonly fat old wizard with too much facial hair and too loud opinions, and the second was a lanky tall german linguist with a fiancé who’d been in a relationship with a murderous psychopath. There wasn’t room in her life for any more friends, if you asked Hannah.

“I don’t know anything about these brothers, if that is what you are trying to ask.”

It was perplexing to Hannah that Knox took such opposition to her idea of gaining dating advice from a book. Hannah had gained most of her knowledge from books, and spent her head in them whenever she wasn’t working. Clearly, her friend and fellow werewolf didn’t value books as much.

Before his litany about the failures of books could begin, they were disturbed by the appearance of the cat she’d gifted him a several months before. Instead of reaching over to fuss the aptly named Hannox, the witch pondered her friend’s question.

“150 things to do and say to look like a master of romance on your first date by Gillian Concussion. She’s a dating expert. Apparently, she has an office in Knockturn Alley.” She gave a shrug. “I don’t want him thinking I’m completely inexperienced.”

After one of her two example questions was answered, Hannah relented and allowed Sylvain to pull her back to walking towards to looming castle. She wasn’t surprised he had a dog. A wizard that taught Care of Magical Creatures had to love magical creatures. She’d need to tell him her own healing speciality when she worked at St Mungo’s. Hell, there was a lot to share if they had more than one date together. Enough to probably make him run back to France.

“I’ve had pets.” She said quietly as they crunched old snow and branches beneath boots. “I used to have a boa constrictor called Clifford. He was pretty magnificent but people were a little wary of him.” Johann had been really quite scared, she remembered fondly. “I had him for a few years from being a snakelet. He came with one of the bodies they brought into Level 2. Found in the wizard’s robe pocket when I did the examination. He was burned in a fire in my flat though…” she trailed off, remembering the fire damage in her flat from a couple of years ago. Clifford had been one of the casualties. Sylvain didn’t need to know all of that yet. “I have Herbert now. A ginger moggy. Not the same as a snake though.”

“I’ve not really thought about hobbies much, recently.” If ever. As a child, Hannah’s hobbies had including experimenting with magic and potions. Now, she spent her spare time hiding in her flat with her cat and a book.

Somehow, it seemed that Hannah had now irritated Knox. She’d come at his request and listened to his woes and it would appear that she’d made it worse. He told her she could go, even indicated where the floo powder was kept. Was that what friends did? Did they just leave when the other one was stressed or agitated? She recalled all those times Greyfriar had shoved his big hairy face into her business. He didn’t just go and avoid her. He always came back. Maybe it was what friends did.

As such, the only movement that Hannah made was to reach for the bottle of firewhiskey and refill her glass. She then sat back, pulling her slippered feet up onto the small couch.
“I have a date in a couple of days.” She spoke, choosing a different topic. “At least I think it’s a date. With a wizard.” A wizard Knox happened to know. “I bought a book to help me. I I’ve had dates before, but they’ve already been uncomfortable or ended badly. And books always help, don’t they?”

Hannah wouldn’t outwardly admit it, but there was something decidedly soothing in the manner that Sylvain talked and the words that he chose. His French accent was…attractive? and his manner was calm. This wasn’t a wizard telling her what to think, or explaining the dangers of werewolves as if she were yet another creature. He wasn’t trying to impress on her his point of view. He wanted to talk and he spoke of how these young werewolves needed support and friends.

“Perhaps.” The witch relented with a shrug as they trudged up the slope, Hogwarts castle coming into view. “I can expect development, though. Policies are outdated and opinions are bigoted. The entire system is heinous and now a former werewolf hunter is leading the crusade.” Was this too deep a conversation for a first date? Sylvain had asked and, as a result, lit the fire.

“Did you invite me here to discuss werewolves, Sylvain?” She stopped, pulling him to a halt in front of her. “I’m not an expert, but, I confess, I read a book. There was a list of suitable first date questions. Shouldn’t our topics include ‘what do you do in your free time?’ and ‘what pets have you had?’.”

“Is it?” Hannah asked with a frown. What friends do. Friends call other friends to their homes to listen to their woes? Friends prattle on and don’t taken and of the advice given?

“I’m not sure I’d know.” Her words were directed to the cushion she’d been hugging. Hannah, if pressed, would probably say she had two friends. Knox Greyfriar and Johann Storm, although she hadn’t seen much of the latter for a while. His choice in fiancé was distinctly off-putting considering his previous choice of procreation partner.

“So I sit here and listen while you spiral?”

As she sat there on the small couch cuddling the cushion, Hannah wondered why she’d been called to Hogwarts this evening. Greyfriar had already made up his mind on these issues, and had clearly decided against her advice, to pop into the Ministry during this fallout. Had he only asked her here to be a sounding board and a witness to his spiralling?

“They forget about us up here, you know.” Greyfriar said with a shrug. A shrug!

“That, I can imagine, is for the best.” What Hannah wouldn’t give to be forgotten about.

A moment later, Hannah frowned and looked across at her friend. “Why am I here, Knox?”

No words came from Bagnold’s lips. Nothing to explain why he’d summoned her over from the slowly moving queue at the werewolf services desk. Instead, he turned and headed down a corridor, silently expecting her to come to heel like a good doggy. A surge of irritation balled up inside her gut at his expectation that she obey and follow with no explanation. Hannah Bombay had worked alongside the werewolf hunter in her past life as an examiner for Level 2. But she knew his reputation with werewolves, and it made her feel sick.

Despite this, the small witch found her feet carrying her down the corridor and into the office behind him. Werewolf Capture Unit the sign had said on the desk. The home of professional werewolf hunters who didn’t go easy on their prey.

Begrudgingly, Hannah pushed the door closed behind her. She lingered, facing the door for a moment before turning back to Kurby Bagnold.

Still saying nothing, the witch simply stared across at him, expectant.

There was a strange warm glow when Sylvain squeezed Hannah’s hand and informed her of the chance that it would be worth the risk. It was certainly a glow that she’d never felt before; and it felt juxtaposed with the current topic of the flier and the full moon issues of the past week.

“SAWS?” She asked as they winded slowly down a path surrounded by barren and frosty trees. Leaves and trigs crushed under the soles of her heeled boots, but she was rather more distracted by the conversation and the fact that she was holding the hand of an almost stranger whom she’d met in a book shop. “I’ve not heard of it.”

After Sylvain’s comment about this student group’s leadership, Hannah let a silence settled for a few moments, listening to the wind rushing through the branches and biting at their exposed skin. She dipped her chin into the scarf around her neck, thinking on the prospect of any group out there about werewolf rights with no actual werewolves as a part.

“Not necessarily a recipe for disaster or success, if you ask me.” The healer finally said quietly. “We’ve hardly flourished so far with a werewolf head of the werewolf wing, have we? Besides, what can a group of students accomplish that generations of werewolves haven’t?”

It was instantaneous, realising how she sounded, and Hannah frowned deeply, coming to a stop. She looked up at Sylvain, a thoughtful expression creasing her brow. “I don’t intend to sound so negative. It’s complicated.”

Hannah was here to finally free herself of the pointless werewolf mentor sessions she’d been forced to attend since Azkaban. Well, to request it forcefully. Whoever had thought that the wild idea of talking through problems with others who knew would actually help, clearly hadn’t met Hannah Bombay. She’d chosen to spend most session in silence, unwilling to engage. Yes, of course she had her skeletons and problems, but no one needed to sit there and listen to them. As she’d pointed out to Adrestia Gamp, all the witch had to do was read the prophet articles that accompanied an unflattering picture of the healer.

This was why, on a Sunday afternoon, Hannah Bombay was stood in the queue at the Werewolf help desk. She’d rather foolishly believe it may be quieter now. In the aftermath of the January full moon, however, it was quite the opposite.

"Bombay!" The bark came from behind, and Hannah span around on the spot to see none other than grumpy and equally unsociable Kurby Bagnold looking directly at her. Oh no. Him needing a word was trouble. Anything to do with the Werewolf Wing was trouble. She’d heard stories about Bagnold, even before her turning.

Reluctantly, Hannah stepped out of the queue to towards him, her expression revealing the irritation she felt at having been pulled up by him. What had she supposedly done now?

Instead of asking the question, Hannah stood in the doorway, not yet following him. She stared at him, eyebrows raised and arms crossed.

Sat alone on Knox’s sofa as he circled the room restlessly, Hannah grabbed a cushion, cuddling it to her stomach. It was a strange sensation to see a wizard she so deeply respected and, dare she think it, love in such a state. Seeing him like this only heightened her already simmering vulnerability. Greyfriar wasn’t supposed to buckle, he was a stalwart. Even in his most trialling moments, he blustered or stood firm. He dragged her kicking and screaming from courtrooms. He didn’t spiral helplessly.

“I wish I was.” What she’d give to be wrong about the world’s attitude to werewolves…

Why would he go in? Now, Hannah was realising that she needed to play the calm one, measured one.
“To do what, Knox? I am never going to presume to doubt your capability and stretch, but what can you do there that they aren’t already doing? You are more use here, surely? Here, present and calm.” Calm being the important word.

“Sit down and breath, for Merlin’s sake.”

To Hannah, her Uncle Lawrence had always deserved a second chance. He’d broken the law during the war, and he’d paid the price for his acts and his weakness. Azkaban was surely punishment enough without losing his family over it as well. It was why she’d offered him her sofa immediately after his release. Her mother, however, had been far less forgiving; and they all knew where Cynthia got many of her traits from.

Quite content to let Lawrence talk about his father and suggest the photos, Hannah stabbed and bit into a few more pieces of potato and turkey. Mid bite, she stopped at the mention of Lawrence’s trial. It was surprising, but Hannah had rather forgotten that her uncle would still have to sit a trial when he was done here. He wouldn’t remain in St Mungo’s forever. They’d finish doing what they needed to inside his mind, and he’d return to Azkaban. Would this time be for life?

The thought made the turkey sit heavy in her stomach, and Hannah deposited her cutlery on the unfinished place of Christmas dinner.

With a frown, the witch pulled her hat off her head, eyes dancing over Lawrence’s face. He’d saved her life, freeing her from Almasy. Now, thanks to her and all of this drama, he might never see the outside world again.
“Can’t you plead temporary insanity?” She muttered, clearly distracted now, “When they’ve fixed you, well, you didn’t do those things with a sane mind, did you?” Hannah Bombay, not one to clutch at straws, was clutching at straws.

It was quickly becoming clear to Hannah that she’d been summoned here to watch Knox spiral out of control. Knox, who had so often reprimanded her for freaking out. Knox, who was convinced that panicking would only serve to exacerbate the impressions people already held of them as werewolves. He danced between concerns over protecting the two young werewolves in the school, to feeling like threats were levelled towards him. Hannah, with her distinct lack of any real emotional intelligence when it came to judging how to handle people’s emotions, felt rather uncomfortable. She’d never modelled herself on being the person to stop someone spiralling.

“I don’t know.” She took a sip of whiskey, unsure how Knox expected her to insert her own input here. The werewolf attack of Carter, she could just about comment on. The missing werewolves, maybe. But Ira Almasy’s secret love child and his being dragged into this whole thing? That was a little too much.

“More than a handful of witches and wizards hate us, Knox. The hate crimes have always been there, you’ve just awoken to it now.” She couldn’t help herself, in truth. Hannah wasn’t one for holding back her opinions, and her opinion was that Knox Greyfriar was of a privileged position. As a Wizengamot elder, the Hogwarts Headmaster, and merlin knew what else, he wasn’t in a position where this happened to him. Now, his eyes were opening, and apparently, it was all a bit much.

“That psychotic bitch has gone,” She couldn’t bring herself to say Almasy’s name, “there will have always been someone waiting to step into her shoes.”

It was a bizarre thing, to be walking hand in hand with a French wizard on the way to his hut. Hannah only hoped that this hut of Sylvain’s wasn’t as claustrophobic and cluttered as that of Knox Greyfriar. The last time she’d probably held anyone’s hand, Hannah pondered, must have been as a child. This was different, and it wasn’t wholly unpleasant. In fact, as they started to head off down the path, she may have even relaxed into it.

“I’ll still here.” Hannah said flatly, glancing sidewards at Sylvain after he’d asked his question. Strangely, he didn’t appear to have asked to pry, rather out of consideration. “Candidly? It’s been harrowing. You’ll have read the news, I presume?”

As they started to pass some of the smaller shops leading to the edge of Hogsmeade, Hannah wondered briefly if they’d hold the hands the entire walk to Hogwarts castle. Would Greyfriar be there? Did she want him to be? This was a date. People dated.

“In one fell swoop, it’s been reinforced that you need to pity and fear werewolves at the same time. Did you see the flyer?” Everyone had seen the flyer by now. “Are you sure you want to hold my hand, Sylvain? I might infect you.” It was almost impossible to tell if Hannah was joking or being perfectly serious.