The owl had been received at least two hours before Hannah finally knocked upon the rickety door of Knox Greyfriar’s rickety woodland shack. If he needed her so much he would have come to St Mungo’s himself to solve his little emergency. As it was, Hannah had received his owl and fully planned on paying him his urgent visit just as soon as she’d been finished with work. She was presently broke and unable to pay her bills without the worry of losing her job to placate a bearded old wizard with an inferiority complex when he owled demanding her presence.

Unfortunately she’d been held up working and as a charge she hadn’t been able to leave until the matter had been fully resolved. In addition to this, her uncle had shown up missing a hand. This left the witch feeling drained, frustrated and not exactly in the best mood to deal with Knox Greyfriar. Yet here she was, stood at his door, wrapped in her muggle coat awaiting the wizard’s welcome. It was dark and cold outside, wind blowing furiously between the trees yet fortunately this time Hannah’s apparition had been almost completely accurate, meaning she hadn’t had far to walk, navigating the muddy ground in her impractical shoes.

From the shack came no answer. Despite herself, Hannah grew more anxious for her fellow werewolf the longer she waited at the door. He wasn’t her favourite person in the world but she didn’t wish him dead… Who would be suspected, after all? It was no secret these two weren’t exactly bosom pals.

With an uneasy hand, Hannah pushed at the wooden door to find it creaking open steadily. She stepped a heeled foot within and looked around. No sign of him. But upstairs she heard something. A groaning and a creaking floorboard. Hannah’s heart froze as she listened out for any more sign of Knox’s presence alone.

“Greyfriar?” Thin fingers slowly withdrew her wand from the coat pocket and Hannah stepped further into the tiny shack that Greyfriar called a home, her voice this time louder; “Knox?”

A clatter from upstairs was the first noise Hannah Bombay heard and response, and then immediately after, a bellowing and what sounded like a rhinoceros coming down the narrow, steep staircase.  Knox Greyfriar thundered down and appeared on the stairway landing.  He looked a fright! His long black hair was halfway tied away from his face, which was wet with perspiration.  His sleeves were rolled up and - Merlin's Bones, he was elbow deep in what looked like blood! 

"Hannah!"  He bellowed at her again, looking shocked, utterly surprised to see her.

"Hannah, you took your time, didn't you! I wrote 'triple urgent'! What does it take!?"

A moan from upstairs interrupted him, and his gaze snapped back up the way he'd come.  Then back again to Hannah.

"Hurry!"  His eyes fell suddenly upon her shoes - what was she wearing? That was not Triple Urgent footwear. 

The flustered old bear lit back up the stairs again assuming the Healer would follow.  In the room that had been Devlin's and had since become his study again, there was a wizard - perhaps in his 40s - sat in a chair and oozing something from his middle.  The poor man looked to be in a great deal of pain and from between his fingers, there was some kind of angry wound below his ribs that had been ignored too long.

The room was no bigger than many bathrooms Knox had seen, and had a double slanted ceiling making it feel even more tight.  Knox seemed to take up most of the space not occupied by bookshelves and his guest.

"Horatio, I've got a proper Healer here.  She'll help you, just like I said," Knox said with surprising gentleness as he carefully guided the man's hands away from the wound.  Then, he handed over a cup of steaming hot tea and put that in his hands instead.  "More of this.  Help with the pain."

He turned then to the doorway, hoping to see Hannah Bombay's look of understanding and readiness to pip pop into action.

“I can’t just abandon work at your…” brown eyes swept over the wizard’s face “perspiring whim”. He appeared rough, stressed. The wizard’s breathing betrayed his emotions as did his eyes and face, dripping with beads of perspiration, thick dark hair sticking to his wet warm skin. His arms were covered in blood and as Hannah’s analytical eyes surveyed her fellow werewolf, it become clear the blood was not his. It belonged to whoever was moaning up in the room above them.

"Hurry!" he ordered, agitated and worried. Hannah kept her expression fairly calm as she lowered her wand and decided to follow him. He seemed to take the stairs of the cramped house three at a time. Despite his rushing, Hannah took each one at a time, making her way up behind him, her wand tightly gripped between shaking fingers.

The great beast of a man blocked the doorway for a few moments before he further negotiated the tiny room and left space for Hannah to approach. The clicking of her heels on the wooden floorboards would have been heard if they weren’t drowned out by the moans of agony from the person slumped in the leather seat, his body bloody, face pale and sweaty, eyes watering in distress.

Knox spoke to the wizard as Hannah came in closer, gaze dancing over the body, the wound, a scar across his tormented face.
“You need to get him to St Mungo’s.” She quietly informed her former professor. Next she started to unbutton her coat. Her movement was quick but unhurried, not panicked. This was laid over the banister on the landing before she stepped further into the room and glanced over Knox. “I need your robe. Quickly.”

Knox obeyed the Healer without hesitation, peeling off his outer robe and handing it to her.  But even as he did so, he advised her with great urgency.

"Not Mungo's.  We can't."

"Not... registered...," choked Horatio from the chair, his ears keen to Knox's statement if not Hannah's.  Knox studied Hannah's face, worried what he'd see.  It was extremely illegal to exist as an unregistered werewolf in Britain and Ireland.  For many there was no forgiving and the law was clear.  Registration was mandatory, full stop.

But Horatio Higgins - "I can't...! Lose ... my job." 

Knox knew the only reason Horatio would admit it was because of how much work it had taken Knox to convince Horatio to allow Knox to send for help.  All morning, Knox had fumbled with the wound, and it had become more and more clear that something needed to be done.

"It's an injury from transformation.  He had no Wolfsbane Potion - had to lock himself in his own cellar.  It's been weeks like that, festering," Knox explained. He didn't need to tell Hannah what transforming without Wolfsbane Potion was like.  The savagery, the violence.  Trying to contain that in a small space was extremely risky for the werewolf.  Poor Horatio had nearly clawed his own guts open.

"Can you help?"  Knox looked worried, desperately worried.  Horatio was white as a sheet and looking green about the gills. 

Thin fingers grasped around the robe offered her and Hannah began to tear the material. It came apart, frayed at the edges before the witch who was much stronger than she looked pursed her lips in disapproval. Knox had dragged her into his shack after work to help an unregistered werewolf. He wanted to help waifs and strays and now she was being dragged into the same thing by the wizard who so enjoyed riding his high unicorn and looking down his nose at her.

Greyfriar asked if she could help and Hannah glanced at him. She seemed calm but her eyes revealed how unimpressed she was with the situation. It was illegal for her to help this werewolf when he was unregistered. Healer regulations dictated a member of the werewolf capture unit must be present to take the unregistered individual into custody as soon as they were able to travel. Knox was asking Hannah to break the law.

Instead of immediately replying to her comrade, the witch remained silent, instead stepping closer to the wizard slumped in the chair. A smaller amount of the fabric was ripped off with difficulty and Hannah passed it back to Knox.

“Stuff this in his mouth. He doesn’t need to bite his tongue off as well.” Next she began to press more of Knox’s torn robe against the wound. Higgins let out a cry of agony and the material very quickly became socked with blood and infected puss.

“No one else hears of this, Knox.” The healer withdrew her wand, pulled the fabric from the wound and whispered a charm. A mixture of blood and puss began to fly up, into her wand. “You can’t just drag me into whatever illegal mess you have going on. I have a healer’s licence to protect.” Despite Hannah immediately helping the injured wizard without a second thought, her tone made it obvious just how irritated with being placed in such a position she was.

Higgins clutched at Knox's sleeve and prepared himself for the pain.  He all but helped Knox with the improvised stopbite himself.  He bit down on the soft cloth bundle and pinched his eyes shut as Healer Bombay worked quickly, doing what she had to do. 

"Not a soul," Knox assured Hannah, who's reprimands came like those from a scolding parent.  Hannah, as usual, was more worried about herself than someone less fortunate than her.  She was worried about her career, even as this wizard clung to life? A wizard who did not have the luxury of registering safely? Who did not have the luxury of a professional position?  But Knox bit his tongue for he moment, forswearing lecturing her in kind while she bent her will towards cleansing the accursed wound.  There was something vile in a werewolf's claws and fangs...

Knox left the room once on Hannah's command, to conjure more hot water and to get more scrap fabric.  His cloak could be repaired, but the clean linens from the closet provided cleaner, more ample swabs and bandages.  While Hannah worked her wand and applied her salves and essences, Knox kept Higgins calm and sedate with gentle charms meant to settle the mind. 

The sun was low in the sky by the time the two could leave Knox's guest safely on his own, resting in Knox's bed.  Downstairs, Knox pulled the kettle of the flame and poured it into earthernware mugs. 

"You did a good things today," he told Hannah firmly.  "Whatever the law says, you saved a life.  No one else would have helped him, but he can go home now.  Get on with his life in privacy.  As we all deserve."

He looked at her with a calm steady gaze, knowing she wouldn't believe his perspective on things. 

“The ministry wouldn’t see it that way.” Hannah Bombay bluntly responded to what should have been reassuring words, affirming how she’d helped the man in need now lying in the bed upstairs. She looked considerably less well put together than when she’d arrived at the wizard’s small shack. Now her hair was scruffy, strands dyed with blood and the infected puss from where she’d brushed it back. Her once white blouse was now stained, a reminder of why healers wore robes. She would sort that later but now she needed to clean her hands, spells were never quite as adequate as a running faucet and soap.

So as Hannah scrubbed her hands, getting into the finger nailed where dried blood had settled, she tried to bite her tongue and not berate Knox about the situation he’d dragged her into.

“Informing me how I’ve saved a life is pointless, Greyfriar. I do that almost daily.” She scrubbed harder, possibly relieving some of the built of frustration as her skin began to redden. “You should have brought him to St Mungo’s. If anyone finds out about this, Knox, I won’t be allowed to heal people anymore.”

“He needs to register.” Knox may well have believed in the wizard’s privacy and his ability to lead a life without the ministry breathing down his neck but that certainly wasn’t a privilege the rest of them had.

"Of course he needs to register," Knox conceded drolly, "but other things kept him occupied today, didn't they.  There's no help in a lecture when a wizard is being consumed by infection from the inside."

He sipped his tea and leaned against the work surface, watching Hannah scrub away like Lady MacBeth at his sink. 

"It was an emergency and I wouldn't dare Apparate him in that state, and especially not against his wishes.  He needed help.  I won't apologize for seeking every avenue to do so.  Rather surprised you're so cavalier about your oath as Healer."

This was rich coming from Knox Greyfriar, but would be no surprise to the very few people who knew about his first choice of occupation back in the 1970s.  He'd been an apprentice Healer to a skilled Londonwise crone who taught him everything she knew, and he'd been on the road to mastery.  And young Knox, he plied his trade wherever it was needed.  Even to the wounds of wizards who were very likely Death Eaters.  That had been how he justified it then, and that was how he was justifying now.  There was no time for lofty moral arguments when a human being lay dying.

"But don't worry.  I won't ever put you in the position to ply your trade honorably again, since it seems to offend you so greatly," he said petulantly into his teacup.

Knox Greyfriar was one of the only people that could truly irritate Hannah. Regardless of her seeming dislike of him, she had ended up actually caring what he thought of her. She actually listened to him and respected him despite her unwillingness to. This was why she was getting fairly irate as he doubted her dedication to the job and tried to make her out to be a heartless witch only bothered about the galleons earned at the end of the month.

“Come down from your pedestal, Greyfriar. It might cave in from the colossal weight of your judgements.” Hannah had hoped his higher than thou attitude around her would have at least ebbed by now, after what they’d been though but he still seemed of the opinion that his fellow werewolf was a selfish child.

The tap was finally turned off and Hannah dried her hands on a nearby towel before grasping the spare teacup and taking a sip.

“If I were so cavalier I would have refused to help.” Bombay looked mildly insulted as she placed the teacup down and bent down to remove the shoes that were now causing her feet to ache. She would have to return home to greet her uncle[1] but she would need to check on the patient once more before leaving Greyfriar to watch over him. Uncle Lawrence would have to wait.

1.	No Cap in his Hand

"And I'll thank you for that and think you a good person for it no matter how much you disagree," he said with a shrug.  She was taking her shoes off, settling in.  That was curious to him; he assumed she'd rush off considering she'd been against this whole business anyway. 

He followed suit and left the paving-stone area and settled into his chair with a creak.  The space seemed made for his distinct shape, the clutter and bits surrounding him like a just opened cocoon, perfectly fitted.  Almost as an afterthought, he found his wand in his sleeve and muttered "Accio Robe".  A rustle from upstairs and the robe he'd torn for Hannah's Healing flew down the stairs and into his waiting hand.  He handed through it until he could hold up the turn hem to the light.

"Hmm..."

He looked at it again through his spectacles.

"Hmm..."

Reparo wasn't the ticket since there was a whole swath missing.  He'd have to use some tailors' transfiguration to reproduce the missing strip.

"You can count on Higgins to be discreet," he said finally.  It seemed an obvious thing to say, but he did realize now that Hannah's apprehension about her own job security were likely founded.  While it was certainly no crime for a Healer to practice outside of the Hospital, she could very well be fired for assisting and unregistered werewolf, especially with her history.  They were, apparently, flagrant law-breakers.

With the slight hostilities over, Hannah stood before the spare chair. Knox’s clutter dumped upon it only revealed his lack of regular guests. Hannah’s lips pursed as she reached down, removed his books and other objects, placing them on the floor beside the furniture. As she did questions of why they’d ended up in this situation came into her thoughts and as the witch lowered herself into the seat with the tea cup she watched Knox with curiosity.

Confounded over his robe, the wizard studied it carefully. Hannah glanced back at the steps, frowning, her lips still pursed tightly. He’d have fun trying to rectify her tearing. But she’d needed the material. Obvious other material had probably been available but Hannah had derived the tinyest amount of pleasure from destroying his clothing.

“Why come to you?” She quietly asked, brown eyed gaze once more having returned to Knox

 “Why did this wizard come to you for healing help? You’re not capable of doing anything for him.” Knox wasn’t a healer. He was a pompous Wizengamot member and ex headmaster who thought the world of himself. He wasn’t the healer type. "And he was desperate. Another few hours and the infection would have killed him. Why you?"

Knox wasn't a Healer.  Anymore.  Or some would say he'd never been in that he'd not quite finished his training or practiced the art officially.  And he would be the first to admit that his skills had become outdated and atrophied over the decades. 

So Hannah's question made sense.  But it had a complicated, possibly incriminating answer.  He hesitated before answering, apparently occupied with finding a spellbook on a shelf. 

"Horatio and I are acquainted, and my um, status and position are well-known.  He knew I was someone he could trust," Knox said, perhaps someone less verbose than he usually was.  Because he was less sure of the goodness of his actions this time, still conflicted with what he'd endeavored to do.  Especially the part that he'd asked Hannah to play.

Knowing the answer wouldn't be satisfactory to his perceptive, pressing friend, he continued.  "He's a hand at O Morain Farms.  Single father of a peck of young ones.  I met him," he paused again, "through a friend at the Werewolf Registry."

And this was the problem.  Knox had quietly inquired about how the Registry detects unregistered werewolves and had discovered an unlikely friend who was atrociously in violation of his duties and very well criminally so.  A friend who'd sent him Higgins.  Truth be told, this was the first time he'd ever met him.

"He was at end," he justified again.  "I had to call you."

Hannah’s expression betrayed her suspicion as she listened to Knox’s explanation for this particular injured werewolf being in his bedroom upstairs. Sure the Wizengamot member, convicted rogue werewolf had no friends within the werewolf registry. Almost every member of that department saw Hannah and Knox as problem animals. Whatever Knox was saying was highly suspicious and Hannah was not keen to believe him. Neither was she keen to leave the subject lie.

“Regardless of you being trustworthy or not, Knox, why did this wizard think you could help him? Your status and position can’t even help you, why would it him? You’re not a healer. Unless…” the young witch’s eyes widened and she lowered the tea cup to stare at her companion in mild disbelief at the new possible explanation that had come to mind.

“You haven’t been telling unregistered werewolves that you- that I’ll help them have you?” It was a preposterous idea but why else would an unregistered werewolf come to Knox if they’re simple met through a friend? “Have you put some idea in their heads? In your friend’s head? Telling them it’s reasonable for them to break the law and transform outside of a safe house because you’ve got a friend stupid enough to help them?”

It wasn't Knox's joy to antagonize Hannah Bombay, but he winced as she looked at him with a pitiable disappointment.  It stung all the worse because Knox had been having his own doubts about what he'd been quietly fomenting. 

He removed his glasses and wiped his face with his hand down to the tip of his short beard.  The Practical Spellbook for Household Toil[1] was open on his lap, forgotten for the moment. 

"No, no, absolutely not.  It's nothing like that."  Well, it was sort of like that. 

"I'm not doing that.  I... I'm not advocating anyone break the law.  You know as well as I that even being suspected of breaking werewolf regulations is an astonishing ordeal.  I'm not doing anything of the sort.  But..."

But.  There was always a but because there was nothing that simple, especially when it came to werewolf law.

"But, things aren't that cut-and-dried.  The system doesn't - can't help everything.  There are cracks and witches and wizards are falling through.  I have to help if I can, even if it's not... tidy."

He set his jaw and sighed through his nose.  If he'd been unsure when he began explaining, he was certainly more assured now.  It wasn't enough to wait for reform - Higgins needed help today.  How many others were in his predicament?

1.	By Beatrice and Robert Hearthwell, written 1977, and at a whopping 347 practical spells for the home, it is a commonplace reference in many magical homes.

Knox’s first words were mildly reassuring. Unfortunately they were succeeded with a ‘but’. Of course there was a ‘but’. Knox always seemed to find relief in adding his two penneth into a conversation. He always had to dictate his own opinion; something that either irked or impressed Hannah. She had a feeling this ‘but’ would greatly irk her considering the situation he’d presently dumped her in.

Somewhat surprised by what came next, Hannah took a long gulp of her tea and shuffled in the chair, trying to get comfortable in a chair that practically demanded it. She wasn’t used to such giving cushions, favouring instead harder, firmer furniture that didn’t have the sole aim of swallowing her whole self.

“I thought your aim was to keep your head down; to get through your own problems without causing a stir and trying to change the law. You were the Wizengamot member that wanted to follow the legal system to the very letter, a concrete belief that it would help him. Yet one injured unregistered werewolf has changed your opinion where I couldn’t?” He’d still failed to answer her question in as detailed a manner as Hannah would have liked but for now she was more intrigued by the wizard’s long awaited realisation of the ministry’s faults.

“How do you expect to help these wolves as they fall through the cracks?”