27 July 2010 @10:14am
The morning after the night of a full moon.

"We'll see you again next month, Mr. Greyfriar." 

"Hmm."

---

CRACK!

Knox Apparated to the sunny spot in the nearly-abandoned lane that ran nearby his little house in a thicket.  He looked every bit the wreck he became every 28 days.  His hair was matted and uncombed, his clothes were wrinkled, and he looked like he might die on his feet.  You see, he hadn't slept. Not a wink.  Because he had spent the night a raging beast pacing in a nicely decorated cell. 

At least it was sunny. 

He made it all the way to his front door before he noticed it was open. And as soon as he did, the old bear of a wizard re-animated and stumbled back. His wand was out in a breath and the rest of the strength summoned to the surface for immediate expenditure.

He took a deep breath and another.  Then he bellowed so that the birds evacuated the trees.

"Who's in there, for by my bloody beard, I'll burn the house down around you!"

There was a darkness inside Knox Greyfriar that rarely surfaced,  But with all his humanity nearly stripped away, and a possible home invasion standing between him and his bed, all that could be found was fury. 

Uncle Lawrence was upstairs trying to find anything to help and his niece was lying in Greyfriar's huge chair,Lawrence's oversized and tattered coat draped over her body. Her skin was colourless and with dark circles around her eyes. Matted hair was bodied and hung limply around her face and her whole body looked worn and weary. Beneath the coat the true extent of the mess Hannah Bombay had become was concealed as she slowly slipped in and out of consciousness.

"Who's in there, for by my bloody beard, I'll burn the house down around you!" a voice boomed from outside of the hut and Hannah's eyes shot open. She glanced around, waiting for eyes to focus before she recalled where she was. Knox was home. He'd found his door left open and jumped to a rather unpleasant conclusion.

With a great lack of strength Hannah managed to pull herself to her bare feet. Stumbling with a weakness she'd never before experienced, she gripped the wall and made her way to the door. She gripped the doorframe tightly and her friend came into view. While normally taking more of his appearance was something she did with a critical glance, today she was just relieved to see someone she'd honestly thought she never would again.

"I need you..." She'd intended to say his help but the effort to reach the door was causing her to sink against the doorframe and grip on to save from passing out.

There were more things than could be listed on the length of an arm that Lawrence considered himself good at. In the past twenty-four hours that now included sourcing quality Muggles who could wield an axe, fighting werewolves in the least violent way possible, and breaking and entering while a semi-conscious, barely clothed witch hung onto him for dear life.

However, in the longer list of things he couldn't do very well, there was healing axe wounds, successfully rehydrating a recently transformed werewolf and thinking of anything funny to say in retaliation to
"… I'll burn the house down around you!"

In the reflection of the bathroom mirror, Lawrence froze, his hand inside one of Knox's cupboards, searching for any potion that would provide pain relief, or fight infection. His reflection had seen better days. The dark shadows beneath his eyes gave the impression he'd taken a punch to them, and his skin was greasy from perspiration and effort. All in all, he looked as if he'd just broken out of Azkaban last night.

He strained his ears for sound downstairs and thought he heard footsteps. He left the bathroom cupboard door open and slid his wand from the pocket of the jeans. They were smeared with dirt and blood, and the hem of the tshirt above the waistline was gone where he'd tried to use it to stem the bleeding from Hannah's arm.

He pointed his wand as his feet and closed his eyes a moment as he muttered the incantation to quiet his footfalls so he could creep to the head of the stairs. Slowly, cautiously, he began to descend the steps one by wand, his wand drawn, not sure if it was Greyfriar until he clapped his eyes on him.

"Hannah!"

Seeing his beloved friend looking within an inch of her life, Knox's fury changed its object, and his face fell.  Something had happened to her that was well worse than their usual cursed existence.  He rushed to her and easily took over for her legs in holding her up.  He'd have picked her up entirely if his instincts hadn't instructed him that Hannah Bombay would resent being carried like a child.  (Although, with his help, her feet barely touched his assorted and cozy rugs.)

He took her directly to his big chair and then was immediately at his hearth to start water to warming.

"Hannah, what's happened!"  For the coat, which he didn't have the space to notice it was not one a witch would wear, he couldn't see any grave wounds.  But there was blood in her hair and she appeared to be drained of nearly all her life.  "What happened to you? Where were you last night?"

In such a state, he knew that she couldn't have been at a safe house.  And he didn't need to ask why she was here instead of St. Mungo's.

As the water heated, he began pulling dried herbs down from where they hung and breaking them apart for the mortar and pestle.  But he couldn't keep from glancing at Hannah between every blink.  Not knowing yet what had happened, he was setting to work to brew a warming, fortifying tea with basic magical healing properties. 

Before she knew it Hannah was back in the chair, slumped against the arm. The blood loss was making her feel dizzy and she closed her eyes, resting her head back in the comfort of the oversized chair. Around her she heard Knox bumbling about, his voice asking her questions yet there was no sign of the uncle that she was certain had brought her here.

“I don’t know…” Her response came quietly as her breathing began to slow down. She fidgeted in the chair, wincing at the pain in her arm before settling again. Eyes opened to look over to her friend as she tried to remember past waking up in agony, drained and sickly. There was blood, she remembered frustration and anger, fear, hunger. The hunger! Why was the hunger not ruling her now? Why was she not ready to eat and entire cow? Now she felt that if she looked at any food she might vomit. But she’d been starving. Not eaten in...

“Days. Days in a cage.” She breathed as she watched Knox busying about the small room. His movements seemed amplified, louder and larger as she swore she could feel his steps on the floor. “He kept me in a cage. No food.” Tears may have trickled down her cheeks at this thought but she didn’t have the energy for such things. She just sat still, beaten. “My wand. I don’t…my wand, Knox.”

Lawrence was relieved to see that Knox wasted no time in springing into action with the fire and what looked like herbs. Hannah would be in good hands. He had half a mind to leave her where she was, creep away and leave. He didn't know how long he would be safe outside alone, with nowhere to rest. He had spent nights at hostels, or tried to beg a night elsewhere, and even slept rough some nights with a roaring belly. He wouldn't get paid for finding the Muggles last night, which was what he was relying on to get him by.

There would be angry people from the previous night who lost money on bets because he had blown Wolfgang into the fight, had caused the abrupt end. He was running on empty, but it was nothing as to what Hannah had been through. Her explanation of no food, the cage tore at what little energy he had. He'd searched the swimming baths high and low for her wand, and the clothes she must have worn on arrival, but there had been nothing.

The stairs creaked beneath his feet as he reached the foot of the stairs, and sank down to sit on the third step. Slowly, he raised both arms. His wand held loosely in his right hand, and the left visibly missing from the end of the arm. The t-shirt he wore was filthy. His position, gesture all indicating surrender. He didn't have any more nervous energy to fight Knox.

From beneath the mop of greasy, straggled dark brown hair he stared desperately at Knox.
"I don't care what you do to me," he told Knox, raising his head slightly to be seen better beneath the mop of curls, "but you have to help Hannah. Her arm…"

A cage? Days? The few words Hannah was able to utter were horrific and Knox's hands involuntarily faltered and he dropped the marble pestle.  It clattered loudly and rolled to hit the smooth stones of the massive hearth.  He didn't immediately move to fetch it, consumed for a few seconds by the horrible state of Hannah Bombay, his mind working to decide how to proceed.  He was so weary of this.  All this violence.  There was no time to breathe.

And then he was startled well out of his skin by the creak of his steps and a voice.  He whirled and he saw a man on the bottom steps, hands (correction: hand) above his head.  There was only fire and lamp light and Knox couldn't tell who it was. 

Just as the man had anticipated, Knox became inflamed once more.  In the small room, his bellow and bulk must have filled the space.  His wand was into his hand like a reflex and in two steps, he was upon the intruder.

"Who are you! What have you done!" he shouted, he pleaded. He took a step back and glanced at Hannah in his chair.  His rage and hesitation were playing out a battle and it was clear to anyone who looked.  He didn't know what to do.  But the intruder had said something, that Hannah must be helped.  He frowned deeply with resolve and then snatched the man's wand from his hand.

He had to help Hannah.  He left the man where he sat and went back to the water, which was not hot enough for the herbs.  He looked at Hannah again.  There was too much to do and he only had two hands.

"Well?" Another angry plea.

"Who are you! What have you done!" Lawrence's wand flew from his hand, but he did not resist. It was better than Knox disarmed him, felt safe in his own home, he'd be more at ease to help. Lawrence raised his head, his nose sliding out from the mop of brown hair.
"Well?"

"I am Lawrence Anthony Musgrave." He addressed Knox, his tone weary. He lowered his hand slowly and pushed away his hair from his forehead, turning his neck, showing Knox for a moment his Azkaban tattoo. "I am no harm to you, Greyfriar, my niece needs your help." He tried to meet Knox's gaze in the firelight, his brown eyes shining from the hollows they had sunken into. They said you had power over a man until he had nothing, but however cornered Lawrence was at that moment, it was nothing compared to Hannah.

"I have brought my niece here as soon as her transformation was over. I cannot take her to St Mungo's. Not only has she not reported for full moon incarceration, in a few hours I will have failed to appear for parole registration for the first time since my release." He licked his cracked lips and watched Greyfriar closely for signs he would attend.

"Help her. I don't care what you do to me."

Knox's face screwed up in disgust.  "What the bloody hell do you expect me to do to you!" Musgrave, it was, had said it twice.  "Who do you think I am?"

Merlin, he wasn't a bloody monster. The great old bear was stung at the implication. Who was in whose house now? Of the two of them, who'd been to Azkaban?  What was this awful mess! He had half a thought that Hannah had, even in her mortal distress, managed to poke him with a stick.  Lawrence Musgrave he'd heard of, of course, and apparently he was Hannah's uncle.  Merlin, he was tired.  Merlin, he was terrified.

"Don't just sit there.  We need to clean the wound so we can find it."  He placed a large bowl of water and a rag on the corner of the work surface, the corner nearest Musgrave.  "You were an Auror. Must have first aid."

He left it here, assuming Musgrave would obey, hoping he would.  Knox's eyes were back on the herbs he'd been working at.  He poured in some of the hot water and a plume of steam welled up in his face and he drew back with a sputter. It was strong! He felt like he'd been slapped awake, jolted with strong coffee!  It would bring someone back from the brink if they weren't already dead.

He moved round with it, holding the steam well away from his face.  He held in front of Hannah, letting the steam gently make it's way to her nose.

"Who do you think I am?"
"A good man." Lawrence replied with haste. Unlike what you must think of me. Awkward greetings exchanged, Lawrence was ordered into action. Potions had never been his forte, but he'd got by well enough to qualify as an auror applicant all those years ago.

Lawrence pulled himself to his feet again without a further word and clasped the edge of the bowl with his remaining hand. He knelt beside Hannah, eyes full of apologies to her. None of them were in great shape, tempers were fraught.

His coat slid from her enough for him to get at her arm and he dipped the rag, squeezing it out as best he could with his fingers before wiping away from the middle of the bloodied area. He kept a watch of Knox out of the corner of his eye as he did.

"The wound's deep," he told Greyfriar, still cleaning. He skirted round the edge as he felt instinctive flinching of pain from his actions in his niece's arm muscles. "Muggle swung an axe at her." He explained and blinked purposely, wiping his hair away with his left arm as the steam sank down to his head height.

"Have you any food?" He asked Knox, and realised without context it might appear he was enquiring for himself. "He'll have kept her hungry." He looked back to Hannah. "You didn't get as far as eating last night. I made sure of that." He gave her hand a gentle squeeze with his damp, calloused hand.

As the two men met and discussed the witch slumped inelegantly in the seat, Hannah found herself losing consciousness. The darkness and warmth of another place started to envelope her and cloak her senses, subdue the pain and the hunger. Heavy, her eyelids closed and her breathing began to steady and slow down. The words of the two wizards faded far into the distance and Hannah let herself be carried away from it all.

As sudden as a whip would crack flesh, Bombay was brought back to consciousness. The steam reached her nose and jolted her back, eyes shooting open and she gasped for breath, coughing and attempting to lift her arm to cover her mouth.

Yet despite the jolt to consciousness, words were garbled, lacking sense. Hannah failed to make out what Lawrence said as he stared at her but she felt the touch of his hand and it was welcome. With a strength she was lacking elsewhere, her fingers wrapped around his, squeezing tightly.

“You were there.”  Her voice was weak and croaky, a lack of water for the time she’d been there. But he own words registered and Hannah pulled her hand back, eyes wider. “Why?” Her breathing increased in vigour and she tried to pull back. “Why?”

"Thank Merlin!" Knox's voice boomed in shaking joy as Hannah sprang back to waking.  There was still enough life in her to snap her up.  She'd survive, he was sure now.  He quickly set the potent tea to the side, it's job done.  Now to see if he could be of any further use.

Food. Food he could do.  There was cold soup in his icebox. The old bear was on his feet and back on the kitchen paving stones soon enough and worked quickly to heat it and thin it.  If she'd been starving, he knew she'd only be able to take in a few sips or risk losing it all on his rug.

He'd have thought the more Musgrave spoke, the more sense he'd make and that he'd learn what had transpired to bring them both to his stone cottage in this condition.  But every passing word only muddled the narrative.

Uncle or not, Musgrave was involved.  And his submissive behavior could all be a ploy.   So Knox kept both eyes on Hannah, watching her reaction to Musgrave intently.  Her gestures would tell him friend or foe.

"Hannah," his deep baritone was soft and protective.  "Hannah, you're safe, but I need your help.  What's happened?"

Knox was off away from them at the mention of food. Undoubtedly all three had empty bellies. Lawrence glanced round beneath his dirty hair to check on what was going on around him.

The hand in his squeezed back tightly, and Lawrence looked back to Hannah with both surprise and delight that his niece was more awake.
"You were there." She suddenly let go again. "Why… why?"

Knox was reassuring her in an instant.
"Hannah, you're safe, but I need your help. What's happened?" Lawrence sank down, changing from crouched on his knees to cross-legged on Knox's floor. His legs were tired and kneeling was sending them to sleep.

"Give me your arm," Lawrence asked Hannah quietly, but firmly. "I need to apply pressure to stop the bleeding." He had seized more clean rag and outstretched it in his hand, temporarily ignoring the questions.

Once clamped to her arm with his hand firmly, he blinked slowly and exhaled.
"They wanted you to fight muggles." He winced as he said it, knowing that neither of them were going to receive that at all well. "I had no idea it was you. They said the werewolves were volunteers."

He held his left arm up as if raising his hands in self defence, his remaining hand was still clamped around Hannah's arm to try and stop any further bleeding. His explanation sounded weak and as if Lawrence had been complacent at that explanation. He was somewhat lying through his teeth and implying it was a one-off. He hadn't been involved for too long, but once was too long really. He couldn't deny he had enjoyed the thrill of the chase the previous full moon, it was just how he was.

"Hannah, you're safe, but I need your help. What's happened?" Knox’s voice was softer than usual, meant to calm his friend but Hannah continued to stare at her uncle, eyes watering in pain, dizziness and fear. He’d been there. The only way he’d have been able to help her and free her from the cage was if he’d been there when she transformed. If he’d seen whatever horrors she had performed on others in her wolf state. He’d been there to see it all because he was a criminal.

Despite her new fear of the man kneeling beside her, she failed to summon the energy to pull away again. Instead she lay slumped in the seat, complacent and staring at him as he began to explain what had happened the night before.

His words didn’t bring comfort. His words brought pain and her eyes began to well up as the memory of being trapped in the cage, of Wolfgang telling of the feasts she would have reared themselves and she launched forward needing to vomit. The thought that she’d ripped apart human beings, feeding on them made her physically sick but all she could do was wretch. Wretch and grip onto the chair in pain.

“Get out.” She finally breathed, her voice having taken on a venomous edge. “You had a part in this. Get out.”

There were very few times where he'd heard words so vile, words that had conjured up images so harrowing.  He breathed deeply behind the island filled with drawers where he ground his herbs and made his meals, breathed to try and still his shaking knees and keep his rage at bay.  Something in him still didn't know if Musgrave should even be the target of his ire.

Knox feared to move as if it would break the spell that would connect Musgrave's tale to Hannah's response. 

And the response came.

That was all Knox needed.  He was a bear of an old man and used every bit of it to storm at Musgrave and take hold of him by the back of the neck.  He nearly threw him at his front door (which wasn't, at the moment, open).

"Out! Out by your own feet or my wand, Musgrave! You - !"  Knox was nearly lost for words, he was so torn apart and full of wrath.  It felt sometimes that Hannah Bombay was the only person in the world who understood him and although they shared the same affliction, the horrors of the world seemed to rain down on her sevenfold.

"You filth. Your only salvation is that you brought her here."

He didn't imagine the Aurors would need any help finding a one-handed ex-con without a wand.  He needed to see to Hannah who was shaking from some kind of revulsion he couldn't at the moment imagine, but he stood solid, a bulwark between Hannah and Musgrave.