Knox and Hannah hadn’t really communicated since her birthday. He’d shared with her a dark secret he’d held on to about his past and she had, in no kinder words, told him what a fool he was for beating himself up about it. She’d belittled his dark secret and once more reminded him what a high and mighty moron he was and he waved her off cheerily, having graciously accepted that sometimes his friend did this. It was as if her words had bounced off him easily and this she hadn’t liked. Knox’s refusal to take her opinions seriously always got under Hannah’s skin and it was as if he knew and played off it.

So since this day there’d been no more visits with wine or cake, no more joint healing session for werewolves. They’d basically ignored each other.

Until this morning when an owl came through her window with a familiar scrawl addressed to her. She’d been tempted to leave it, ignored upon her coffee table. Curiosity, however, had gotten the better of the healer and she had opened it just to see what the wizard had to say or what he wanted help with.

Now this letter wasn’t detailed. Scribbled on the parchment there was an address and a time. It was as if Greyfriar knew this would stir up the witch’s inquisitiveness and would cause her to attend. If he had taken a guess at this, he was most certainly right.

So at 13:05 Hannah was walking up the blistery highstreet in Hogsmeade towards Puddifoot’s for some unknown reason. Anyone looking at the witch would have thought it was winter. She wore a pair of brown boots up to her knees, a set of long winter robes and a hat to cover her matted and unbrushed hair. This framed her bare, pale face. Cradled in her hands was a cup of coffee.

When entering the teashop Hannah was greeted with a bustle of patrons but no sign of Greyfriar. It took a moment to find someone who worked at the shop who then guided her through a door, down a set of stairs and into a basement where Greyfriar waited eagerly.

“This has better be exciting, Greyfriar.”

Knox looked very pleased with himself, his big grin even bigger in the confined space. He had to duck under a low-hanging support beam as he moved forward to meet Hannah.

"Attempt to calibrate your expectations, Madam Bombay.  If I'm right, this could mean our lives could finally be relieved of excitement all the while maintaining our obsession with revolutionary meddling."

He was referring, of course, to their clandestine occupations as Healers of fellow werewolves who'd come upon the hardest luck, picking where St. Mungo's could not attend.  But the venture was becoming more and more risky and Hannah's burnt-out flat and Knox's tiny cottage were no place to harbor fugitives or provide any proper care.

The space was as pleasant as was possible.  There was a ring of mismatched chairs and a tiny wood burning stove.  The floor was wooden, but cracked and worn and wobbly in places.  Knox turned to stand beside her so they could both look at the space.

"Pandora's a lovely witch.  Werewolf, like us.  They use the basement for a support group.   Not at all my scene, as you can imagine, but I think it could serve a completely different purpose."

He looked over at her, trying to gauge her response, to see if he'd have to do more convincing.