8:15pm, Wednesday May 19, 2010
Outside Flynn Hughes's building.

The element of surprise.  The large figure of a portly bearded wizard cast a long shadow down the seedy Brixton street.  Behind him, the houses seemed respectable enough, but there were youths afoot. On bicyles, loitering.  The former professor paid them no mind even when they shouted at him some comment meant to be disrespectful.  Unimaginative, evaluated Knox.

The home of Healer Flynn Hughes looked very muggle.  Indeed there were very few signs around to paint this part of Brixton as very magical at all.  But he was sure of the address.  And so he approached.  As he did there was a very aggressive chittering and as he walked under the overhand sheltering the bottom row of apartments he had to hold his cap!  A squirrel had given him a drive by, nearly knocking it off!

"Blighter...!" And the sound of his voice set off a small dog to barking.  (Who in turn inspired another to speak.)

When he found the right door it turned out to be the one belonging to both Hughes and the first inspirational yapper.  "Mr. Hughes! Open the door!" he called out cheerily as he thumbed the door bell.

Flynn was in his office, which had been rebuilt into a very sterile, clean, research station—full of different caldrons and potions and only one plant in particular. It was a rather cramped area, but it worked.  Luckily, he wasn’t in the middle of anything time-sensitive when the doorbell rang. He didn’t expect company, so he wondered if it was one of his neighbors, stopping by to ask him to help repair their sink. Or their refrigerator. Or their stove. Those kinds of requests were frequent in this apartment complex, but he didn’t mind.

He made his way through his forest-of-a-living room—he thought the voice behind his door was a familiar one, though he couldn’t pinpoint it.

Flynn gently pushed Henry to the side with his foot, the dog yapping loudly while her tail wagged so hard it was practically invisible. Mildred was sure to be hiding in one of the taller plants, watching the scene from afar. He so hoped she wouldn’t jump on his company.

He finally opened the door, and a giant smile burst across his face as he realized who was there. “Mr Greyfriar!” Flynn exclaimed enthusiastically, holding the door wide open for Knox to enter. Too wide, unfortunately. A fuzzy brown thing practically flew through the air and disappeared in one of Flynn’s plants.

The healer didn’t notice.

"Welcome, welcome! Come on in, sorry the place is a mess--" It wasn't really a mess as much as it was full of plants, and there was a small seating area with one chair, a couch, a small end table and a bookcase (with plants on top, of course). There were family photos on the wall, but most of them were barely visible.

Knox's smile only got bigger as the door opened and he was given a cheery welcome by the unsuspecting Mr. Hughes.  He looked even younger than when they'd met at the Yule Ball.  The two had immediately taken a liking to each other, so Knox wasn't entirely surprised that his barging in was being received so well.  He wondered if the welcome would wear thin when he'd made his purpose here known.

"Lovely home! You've clearly made the most of it," Knox said boisterously and clapped Flynn on the back.  "Put the kettle on, won't you?"  Knox filled the living room as he paced the edges casually inspecting Flynn's knick-knacks and nettles.  Plants and photos, books and more plants, and look there, another plant.

He looked at Flynn again and nodded sagely.  "You look good, Flynn.  Been busy?"

Flynn closed the door behind Knox and locked it,  he had grown to be extra cautious after his prized research plant had been stolen and battered back in February. He had lost his pants and dignity. Luckily, due to Fauna, he had the auror connection and was able to get the plant back in his possession. It was safely in his lab, perfectly healthy. It’s parts were being extracted for experimental potions that may-or-may-not have an influence on werewolves.

“Watch out for that plant, it likes to nip— don’t worry, it won’t do any harm, but it could snag on your robes…” the healer said, making his way into the small kitchen and getting the kettle ready for tea.   Flynn himself, wasn’t much of a tea drinker—he preferred coffee. However, he kept some around for the occasional guest. “I have some mint, ginger… Ginseng..?” And that was all he could find.  He hoped that Knox would be satisfied with the selection.

MRRRROOOOOOOOOOWWWWWW

A fearsome beast in the form of a tabby lept from one of the hanging plants, launched herself off of Knox’s head, and flew down the hallway. She landed heavily. The dog, on alert, started yapping and followed the cat’s lead. Their footsteps pattered into Flynn’s room.

Flynn paid no mind to the meowing, and had turned around a bit too late to see Mildred use Knox’s head as a launching pad.

“I am good! I’ve been working on my research,  I’m still at St. Mungo’s… I'm busy enough, I suppose.” Iris Nollett had written an article about Flynn’s werewolf research not too long ago, though it hadn’t made it to the front page. “What about you? How are you?” He didn't even think to ask why Greyfriar would show up at his flat in the first place.   

"Stars-!"  Knox's reaction to the wee beastie landing on his great head was of course too slow.  He ducked and put up his hands at the assault, but quickly saw the source.  A large cat was racing off and the little dog after.  Knox had never had any indoor pets and with the biting plants he had to wonder how young Mr. Hughes was able to find any peace at all! The little flat seemed like a den for manic ado.

"Mint!" he responded and found a space on the left side of the couch.  He shifted until he was comfortable, removed his hat, and set it on the coffee table. 

"I'm well! Enjoying the spring coming, been in the garden a great deal.  Tell me, do you know Hannah Bombay?"

Innocent enough, right? Abrupt segue but perhaps he wouldn't notice.

Flynn poured some hot water into a mug and dropped in a bag of mint tea. As chaotic and noisy as his flat was, he rather enjoyed it. He was at piece with action all around. His ability to focus when there was noise and chaos all around was probably part of what made him a good healer—the Spell Damage floor could be rather rowdy at times.

 “Ah, I’d love to see your garden sometime!” Flynn commented, handing the mug of tea to Knox before taking a seat in a rather squished looking chair. He wondered if Knox had anything unique or exotic, or if his plants were the usual beauties that gardeners tended towards.

Hannah Bombay was mentioned, and his features brightened.

“Oh! Yes, I know Hannah! We work together!” The healer exclaimed, “She’s quite lovely. Her mind is as sharp as her words~” He had no idea how much he actually annoyed her. “She’s bloody good at her job, too.” The abrupt subject change was totally lost on Flynn.

"Yes, hm, she is that," Knox said with a strange lack of commitment to what he held closely as many of Hannah Bombay's finest qualities and her boundless benefits to all she  met. 

"You must also be aware that she, like myself, share a noble and ancient affliction - that is to say..."  the great man paused and looked unsure of how to proceed."...we're loud.  Speak our minds, prone to hyperbole.  Well, that and we're both cursed to be werewolves for the rest of our days."

He chuckled, pleased with himself.  "We tend to draw attention, Mr. Hughes!" he emphasized with enthusiasm, and then sipped his tea.  "There are things we could do, sure. Perfectly legal things.  Perfectly normal tasks.  But in doing these things, being who we are, people would talk.  Someones, a body would prefer some privacy, Mr. Hughes.  Even during perfectly legal, pedestrian errands."

He paused again, dramatically, so accustomed to being listened to listened to that he had no worry of being interrupted.

"And that errand would be...purchasing large amounts of Healing potions and sundries."

Knox leaned in his seat, and set his fingers to his jaw line, regarding Hughes with a professorial stance.  He raised his eyebrows. 

He admired that Knox was able to be as positive about his rather furry condition as he was. Not many werewolves that Flynn had met faced their disease with as much humor as Greyfriar did.  The way that werewolves were treated, even by the professionals (incuding healers) who were assigned to help them, was often…. Infuriating, frustrating, and completely undeserved. It’s not like they chose to be attacked by a werewolf, and it wasn’t as if the werewolf had chosen to bit them. It was only when the wolf took over that werewolves were dangerous, and all too often deadly.

Knox was right, of course, a werewolf couldn’t simply walk around and do normal tasks—especially if they were registered and known. It was as if they had a giant flashing sign above their heads that said: Beware! Werewolf here!

Flynn listened, and waited for the werewolf to finish speaking.

There was a long silence as the healer tried to put together what the other man was communicating.

“So what you’re saying…” He said cautiously, “Is that you need a large amount of healing potions and materials?” It was hard to get to the point when Knox had covered it all up with a rather lengthy preface. “I’ll make some, of course.” Flynn clasped his hands together, “But I need to know why I’m making these. If it's a large amount, I doubt that it's just for one person.”

And then Hughes showed his shrewd side.  The clever, methodical, reasoning side of him that was likely a large part of his career success.  Of course he wanted to know why and Knox was prepared with an answer.

He sat forward on the couch, elbows on his knees and wearing a soft expression. 

"There are many who do not enjoy the full hospitality St. Mungo's offers to others.  Those whose privacy means more than modesty, but could mean the difference between earning a livelihood and not, the difference between freedom and incarceration.  Life and death.  Hannah Bombay and I... we seek to act as the net to catch those who ... fall through the cracks, so to speak."

"Actually, I should correct myself.  We have been doing just that for quite some time now and well, we're finding ourselves lacking in the necessary accouterments."

He straightened his back and re-iterated his main point. "There's nothing illegal or morally corrupt about the purchase of these supplies.  We'd not ask you to provide anything that isn't freely available over counters and I can assure you they'll only be put to good use.  The only reason we can't do this ourselves is because our afore-mentioned affliction of being conspicuous."

"We've already helped a half-dozen of our kin to heal and get on with their lives.  I'd hate to have turn someone away."

Like St. Mungo's does.

It was no secret that Flynn was sympathetic to the werewolf plight. He was not at all surprised that Greyfriar would approach him for this. Rather than surprised, he was flattered. He felt like the other man had a certain respect for him. The healer couldn’t imagine Hannah being too pleased about his involvement. She would just have to deal.

Two people was not enough, not even a little bit.

“If I buy these ingredients in large amounts, that will draw suspicion too.” Flynn said firmly, “I will not do that.”
He leaned back in his seat thoughtfully.

“I don’t know where those ingredients are from, how they’re grown—and if someone were to find out what I was doing, who’s to say the ingredients wouldn’t be laced with something… Dangerous. It’s too risky.” Flynn’s gaze did not leave the werewolf before him. “What I absolutely do not need to buy, I will grow myself. I will provide all the plants I can. I have a greenhouse on my father’s property as well, with plenty more than what you see here.” Flynn had gotten that greenhouse for his fourteenth birthday—at an age where most boys would prefer broomsticks or Zonko’s products.

“I will grow most of them myself. I will brew them myself. If you or Hannah are mistrustful of that, you are more than welcome to watch. But I promise you, that I will not cause anyone harm.” 

His research may be held back because of that, but this was a worthy cause.

"I would like to help, in any way I can. That includes helping them directly."

Knox set his jaw but forced himself to listen when Flynn was not immediately and completely in agreement with the request.  He had hoped - expected - total and eager compliance for the young man he'd thought admired him wholly.  A disappointment owing all to his own bearish hubris.

But disappointed he was for only a very short time!

Not only was Flynn Hughes dedicated to the cause, but had an even more nuanced plan of action to accomplish the goal in even better measure.  In the space of but a few paragraphs more, any hesitation or worry had vanished from Knox Greyfriar and was replaced by his unbarred enthusiasm.  He beamed and clapped his hands.

"My boy, if we were to deny ourselves of any or all what Hannah Bombay mistrusted we'd find ourselves without owls, olives, and most of the Ministry of Magic," he laughed. 

"Oh you can't know what a relief it is to have you, Mr. Hughes," he said rising from the couch.  "I've no gift for this sort of thing and Hannah is Hannah and I was just sure that someone so esteemed by Fauna Blake would be worthy to the task.  I am not let down in the slightest."

At some point, he found opportunity to clasp and shake Hughes's hand, and also he found room to pace.

"We've need of nothing exotic, really, just a diverse array.  Dittany. Asphodel. Black nettle. Armadillo bile, sweet talc, oil of moonwort, flea paper, white water, beetle eyes, did I say dittany? And you said you can brew? That'll save us the trouble and frankly the risk of my hand at the cauldron.  Can you do wolfsbane? Silly question - of course not.  Wouldn't dare impose."

"But could you?"

He narrowed his eyes, a thought occuring.  He'd never yet had need to administer the closely controlled potion, but he could imagine that they'd only just been lucky.  Unregistered werewolves came by it underground or sadly not at all.  Wouldn't hurt to have a bit around...

Olives? Hannah Bombay mistrusted olives? The logical side of him said that obviously, Knox was joking… But what if he wasn’t? It was safe to take it literally, wasn’t it? Flynn had a tendency to take certain things literally that really weren’t meant to. Now he had the urge to by a jar of green olives, just for Hannah. He’d even put a bow on it and draw a smiley face on the label for her. The chances were high that she wouldn’t appreciate the gesture, but who knows if she’d even understand why her coworker would buy her olives.

He returned Knox’s handshake firmly, though his smile was much more professional than anything else.
The ingredients that the werewolf listed off were… The basics. The very basics.
 
“Of course I can make wolfsbane.” Flynn replied, “I’ve been—I’ve been making variations on it for the past year. I can make it in my sleep, now.” Wolfsbane potion was notoriously difficult to craft and easy to muck up, but by now.. He was good at it. Besides, he’d crafted wolfsbane for new werewolves before, in St Mungos before their first transformation. They were always registered though.

Flynn wasn’t sure what his feelings were regarding the registration, but he definitely felt like medical attention shouldn’t be refused if someone was unregistered. He also felt like the punishment for not being registered far outweighed the crime itself.

"How much do you need?"

Hughes had asked him a very good question, a vital statistic that would surely bring their business to near close, but something distracted the old bear.

"Variations? Variations on Wolfsbane Potion?"  He narrowed his eyes and some of the levity vanished and was replaced by a streak of skepticism and concern.  The very recent development and perfection of a potion that would sate the murderlust and ease the agony of a werewolf's curse had been monumental.  It was even better when a sustainable stable version had been settled upon so that its effects were predictable and its quality could be controlled.  Knox didn't have to imagine what it felt like to transform without the stuff.[1]

Any attempts to tamper with Wolfsbane Potion set his teeth on edge.

"You aren't really, are you?"

Suddenly he began to doubt who he'd just let in on their dangerous little secret. 

1.	Knox was among those administered faulty Wolfsbane Potion during the Ides of March tragedy.

Flynn hesitated for a moment—the words had not come out the way he intended them to.

“I’m working on a cure.” He said softly, “The potion so far isn’t coming from wolfsbane alone, but a hybrid plant. Wolfsbane is the starting point.” That he and his father had created together, years of work went into this. A generation’s worth of work went into this. Only one werewolf had ever been tested on-- his father's old friend, Daniel. A fellow potioneer. But now he was deceased due to completely unrelated causes. A spell gone wrong on his end. This was top secret information-- for the werewolf's confidentiality and out of respect for the man himself. Without him, things were slowing down. It didn't stop Flynn from trying.

 “But—if a cure isn’t possible, then I can only hope I can create a better… Alternative. A less painful alternative. Maybe a way for them to not transform at all. I don’t know. But what we have now—while it is so, so important—isn’t enough.” Flynn shook his head.

“It’s as if everyone gave up on finding a cure, or making what we have better. We’ve settled. And I can’t settle for less. Not when I know there’s a chance for something more. We just need to put the work into it, the fundinginto it. The complacency is unacceptable.” He had no intention of stopping now. He hadn’t even gotten to test it on any werewolves other than Daniel. The most recent stages hadn't even been tested on anyone other than Flynn himself, to ensure nothing was poisonous.

In some cases, it had been, and a bezoar or two had been necessary.

“Would you feel more comfortable if you saw my notes?” Copies, of course. There was no way Flynn would let anyone touch the originals.

The tension had risen beginning with Greyfriar's accusation and Hughes's impassioned justification.  Knox's next words followed the arch: "I'd be more comfortable if you kept your experiments away from our endeavor!"

He set his jaw and puffed out of his nostrils like a disgruntled bear.  His little eruption had been his apex, it seemed, and having had it out was able to raise a hand and say more calmly.

"I admire your ambition, Healer Hughes, but you'll understand if we - for now - prefer the regular stuff."

He decided to have a sit again and rested his fingers against his whiskered chin.  So Hughes was seeking a cure was he? And he'd made enough progress to want to show it off, at least here in this clandestine parlay.  St. Mungo's was conservative as an institution and it really had to be.  But the downfall, of course, was that there was simply no room for risk because the lives of witches and wizards were at stake.  But then, the lives of witches and wizards were at stake.  How could they afford not to take risks?  Perhaps Hughes would be the light-bringer of his generation. 

Still quiet, Knox shrugged.  "I'd have a peek."