The explanation did not go down well to say the least. Greyfriar's hand around his neck was agony, the old bear had a grip like one. Lawrence's hand and stump flew to his neck as his tattered boots scraped across the floor, trying to make purchase to stand and twist away.

He landed with no grace and dignity against the front door which he had broken wards of not long before to gain entry to Greyfriar's home.

The other wizard was huge, his shoulders raised, stance far apart and he had his wand, which was far more than Lawrence had. He looked past Knox to Hannah a moment, face twisted into an expression of regret and horror, and then finally defeat.

His feet came back beneath him, and he slid up the door to his feet wearily, eyes on Knox. His hand raised as if to ask for his wand, and on seeing the reaction he raised it in surrender.

Seizing the door handle behind him, still facing Knox, he squared his shoulders, repeating what he had spoken earlier before being disarmed.
"Help her. I don't care what you do to me."

With that he turned the door handle, throwing Greyfriar's front door wide open, and left before he had a chance to charge or throw a curse.

He had to procure a wand and find somewhere to lay low, and hope that the aurors didn't find him first.

Exit Lawrence

She needed to purge but there was nothing in her to do so. She gripped the arm of the chair tightly as a cold sensation started to take over her mind, as she tried not to think about what she may have done last night. The metal taste in her mouth made her wish she could rip her own tongue out, not to be reminded of the taste of blood. Was it all her blood? Did it belong to someone else? A muggle?

Light brown bloodshot eyes shot up to the action, to Knox bodily hurling her uncle at the front door, a fury she’d only seen once taking him over. The last time he’d been like this she’d caused that as well, goading a caged animal in his cell the morning after his transformation. Now he was yelling at Lawrence, roaring at him to leave and obeying, the one handed wizard flew out of the front door after once more insisting upon Knox’s help.

The pain hardly registered over the revulsion at what she may have done during the night, the revulsion at the thought her own uncle who she’d given a home after his release had been involved in the fights. He’d brought her to safety but he’d just very nearly told her that she’d murdered innocent muggles.

“Knox…” Hannah’s eyes were watering, she was ghostly white and she tried to push herself up from the chair. “I need to go to the ministry.” Her words, sounding clear in her mind, came out slurred and weak. “I need to speak to them.”

Lawrence was soon out of sight and Knox felt all the air go out of him.  He might have slammed the door shut, but he gave it only a tap so it swung home on its own.  He didn't wait for the click of the hinge before moving quickly to Hannah.  The mending was only half done.

"Of course. Whatever you want." Knox knew better than to clutter up the conversation with cautions and coddling care-giving. Truthfully, he would be very reluctant to let Hannah out of his sight until he was sure she was sorted, but he didn't think it was constructive to say at the moment.

So despite him promptly agreeing with her, he made no move to prepare for departure.  Instead, he made busy gently cleaning the gash in her arm.  "It's stopped gushing. Hopefully not for loss of supply..."

Inside, Knox was reeling with confusion.  His imagination was all too vivid and he was beginning to have little doubt about the nature of the atrocity and could feel the trauma over Hannah like a lethifold. But he didn't dare ask, too afraid of the nightmares made real with words.

For years Hannah had treated crying, delirious and agonised patients, completely lacking any sympathy for their plight. She’d been cold and detached, doing her job and nothing more. Hannah had never been successful at empathising with people and she’d never cared how they’re found her touch sometimes a little rough.

Yet as Knox Greyfriar gently tried to clean the wound in her arm, the witch who was still reeling from the visions whirring through her head of a wolf ripping innocent muggles limb from limb, was fighting to stay conscious. She was fighting against the pain trying to drag her under. Her hunger had vanished in replace of an overwhelming nausea and a cold sweat still covered the parts of her body not bloodied.

Despite the further agony caused by Greyfriar’s touch, the younger werewolf didn’t pull away from him. She sat lifeless staring at his face, at the pallor of his skin and bushy facial hair protruding in a mess she’d always criticised. He’d transformed last night as well. Could he, too, be capable of taking a human life? If locked in a cage for days, would he also rip apart a human being for dinner?

“What have I done?” The thoughts of leaving had vanished, her head spinning and unable to remain on one thought train for long enough to act upon it. Her uninjured arm grabbed at Knox as blood shot eyes filled with tears and her breathing, previously having steadied, started to be heavy and loud. “I’m not a killer Knox. I’m not a killer!”

In the minutes that followed, Knox slowly but surely, basically but thoroughly did what needed to be done so that Hannah Bombay didn't perish in his stone cottage.  There were a pair of Devin's trousers up in the spare room, and a shirt, and they were better than the rag she had become to exhausted to clutch at.

And all the while they spoke quietly.

"No, no, you're not," he told her.  "We're trapped. We're stolen away. Kidnapped when we close our eyes."

Knox would never know, but it was a very real possibility that during last year's Ides of March tragedy, he'd killed a witch called Ramona Flickwick.[1] But then...that was when he'd met Hannah Bombay for the first time...

"There's Dark Magic in this world, Hannah Bombay, and some of it's at home inside us. It thieves our eyes and feet, wrecks us inside and out. Leaves us for dead at sunrise."

"How could we possibly choose all that?"

Sun streamed in the hovel's tiny windows, casting emerald shadows as the light dodged his houseplants.

1.	The Ides of March Aftermath