At 3AM the streets of London were not as empty as one would expect if they weren’t local. Muggles didn’t seem to sleep in the city, the females dressed up in tight figure hugging dresses and tall shoes, war paint covering faces as they entered dark clubs on the arms of suited muggle men, exiting hours later drunk and stumbling over. People tried to sleep in doorways, surrounded by cardboard boxes and cars whizzed past, blaring horns loudly.

Hannah had become used to this sight. Oftentimes in the past year she had found herself unable to sleep on the lead up to the full moon.  Her brain had been too alert, refusing to stop ticking over as she tossed and turned in bed. She’d given up an hour ago and dressed in a baggy jumper and trousers before leaving her flat to wander the streets alone. When dressing she’d caught the reflection of her haggard and sleep deprived image in the mirror. Small dark bags were forming beneath light brown eyes and her skin was pale and blemished. Due to the lead up to the full moon her thick hair had taken on a wiry texture, protruding from her scalp in wild curls that she had struggled to clip back from her face.

Leaving the continually bustling muggle London streets behind her, Hannah Bombay was glad to approach Diagon Alley. As she walked up the winding alleyway she was contemplating the night that awaited her tomorrow. Witches and wizards who didn’t suffer from the curse of lycanthropy tended to presume a werewolf should get used to their monthly plight within the first few instances. Hannah, having now experienced a transformation fourteen times since being bitten, would completely disagree. The lead up to every cycle saw Bombay consumed by a raging hunger, a ferocious temper and a trail of sleepless nights. Her dread of the looming agony when the full moon rises impeded logical thoughts and her ability to ward off a merciless insomnia.

Dim oil lamps still lit up the narrow alley as a group of wizards stumbled out of the leaky cauldron, arm in arm and singing boldly. The words to the Chudley Cannons’ chant were slurred in their deep, drunken voices. They meandered past, barely noticing the lonely witch in the shadows.

A vacant bench sat under a lamp beside the closed owl emporium and Hannah lowered herself to sit on it. She sat back, stretching her legs out in front of her and pulled the sleeves of her jumper down to cover her hands in the cold night air. Here she watched the wizards continuing towards Gringott’s bank and around the corner.

It wasn’t clear how long she’d been sat on the bench watching the few night owls walking down the street. Her thoughts and irritation faded into darkness as she fell asleep on the bench.