The cell door had slammed well over an hour ago. Hannah sat helplessly on the stone bench, finding herself wondering what Azkaban would look like and if it would be similar to this. She’d heard things. Uncle Lawrence had come out as a dirty wreck and one handed. Hannah looked down at her hands, rubbing them together nervously.

On the way out of the court she’d acted on Knox’s advice from a year ago. He’d bodily hauled her out of court for yelling at the Wizengamot and officials. He’d claimed it set them in a worse positon. He wasn’t the person sat in a ministry cell, he’d acted properly. She was facing never having her life normal again. It had turned from the moment she’d been bitten.

The perfectly presented, socially incompetent witch had suddenly come to depend on her new best friend, saviour and confidant. She’d had the lowest moments of her life, had her dignity ripped from her and nearly been killed. Sitting in the cell highlighted to her that she had not reached the end of the horrific journey.

Breaking the silence, Hannah heard the lock clicking out of place on the cell door yet she didn’t move from the bench. She remained against the wall, legs pulled up to her chest and head down, hair spread over her shoulders and arms.

The door opened, and she heard the voice that made her look up through a mass of messy hair. Eyes began to water as she stared across at her only real friend in the world.

“He wasn’t supposed to die.”

"Thank you."  The voice was, of course, that of Knox Greyfriar, and it was nowhere near gracious an utterance that he gave the guard.  He had lost Hannah Bombay in the frenzy only to find out she'd been taken to a cell.  He behaved atrociously to find out where and by whom and I am a member of the Wizengamot!.

Et cetera.

Knox got what he wanted when he had a mind.

The door closed behind him and he was at Hannah's side in a second this time not sparing a single hesitation before sitting down next to her and wrapping his great arms around her.  Things has escalated quickly after the Werewolf Baiting crime ring broke and they hadn't had a second meet and talk.  But then, that was their way.  Their friendship seemed hinged upon disasters.

"Of course not," he reassured her.  But as soon as he did, he realized he didn't know who she was talking about.  What a wretched ambiguity to be victim of. But the reassurance was the same.

The entire Ministry complex was in an uproar and had been since Wolfgang Storm had all but dissolved in a horrific display.  The Dark Magic that could only be responsible would be that to rival Knox's blackest imagination. 

"I'm going wreck havok. Get you home. You don't belong here."

Hannah didn’t have the chance or inclination to stop Knox from putting his huge arms around her and envelope her in the embrace. Instead of pushing him off, Hannah leaned into him, closing her eyes. Her hands gripped his arms and she found herself not wanting him to let go. That one person in the world who she completely trusted had come to find her, to reassure her.

"I'm going wreck havok. Get you home. You don't belong here." Knox vowed. To Hannah he sounded angry and worn out. He wouldn’t have been happily allowed in here. It was very possible the aurors thought they had worked together. Greyfriar and Bombay were two names that suited so well next to one another in the papers that it made sense to pair them in these crimes. Pictures of the slight tiny witch and the burly bearlike wizard had adorned the front pages of the Daily Prophet before now. From within Knox’s arms, Hannah found herself wondering what the evening addition would say.

“Maybe I do.” Hannah lifted her head and pulled away from Knox to be able to look up at him. “Everyone thinks I did it. I have motive.” Hannah put her legs back down to hang over the edge of the bed. She hated looking weak and vulnerable. “I really wanted him dead.”

Ah. She was speaking of Woflgang Storm. Of course. Hunter become hunted. Curser become accursed. Murder be-murdered. It was a justic the history books would appreciate and any sane society finds abominable. But barely.  Hannah Bombay - wrathful, wretched, wonderful Hannah Bombay would not be the first nor the most in favor of the foul premature demise of Wolfgang Storm.

"I don't think you're capable, actually," he mumbled. He knew he'd barely have to raise his voice for her to hear his words clearly in his chest. All the better for their privacy and his macabre, he supposed. "If your attempts at cleaning that flat of yours are any indication of your magical ability."

"No. The only way they could possibly suspect you would be for you to have been either charming, rich, or kept company poor enough to hire that kind of..." he again saw in his mind's eye the blood-black bile that had come welling up from Storm's eyes and mouth, "...talant." 

Knox Greyfriar himself would certainly be beyond reproach in a cases such as this due to his social schedule and assocations being so dull.  He was having a hard time even playing at imagining who he'd approach to arrange a murder of this ilk. While Hannah was once again being pushed and shoved around in a way that Knox knew he never would be for his gender, his stature, and his station, the Wizengamot Elder was methodically considering that there was absolutely no legal cause to hold her. 

There was no doubt that the intention of the wizard had been to comfort and support his younger companion. He’d come here to give her a bear hug, to tell her she’d be released soon and the ordeal would be over. Yet his words were hardly complimentary. Hannah’s magical ability wasn’t sufficient, she wasn’t charming or rich. Any other witch may have glared daggers at the wizard for stating the obvious. For being quite so harsh.

Hannah Bombay accepted it as truth. She was an exceptional healer, but all of her skill lay in academic knowledge and healing spells. Anything more was beyond her. Knox himself had been on the end of her ‘charm’, and thanks to the wizard she’d watched die this morning, she was completely broke. Greyfriar knew his friend a little too well.

“Perhaps the ministry give me more credit than you do.” The witch attempted some dry humour with a lopsided smile. Yet tiredness and stress stopped the smile from lasting any longer than a moment and Hannah once more leaned into Knox, letting his arms encircle her.

“I wish I had killed him.” She mumbled. “Then there’d be a reason for this. And I’d actually feel good about his death.” Her voice grew harsher the more she allowed herself to think about it. “I wish I’d have ripped his guts out rather than just biting his leg. That I’d ripped his head off his body.”

Knox smiled sadly. Sadness is what was best right now. The trauma and pain of today and many days before it was enough to fill him with the deafening drone of a thousand bees and swallow him up in rage and despair.  But sadness.  Sadness stilled him, while still letting him feel.

He felt what she felt. That things would make more sense and feel more just if they were only just the monsters people thought they were. 

"I was raised by my aunts," he said. "Mostly. In that rocky hovel of mine you love so much.  My aunts would say to me, depending on the situation, that I ought to 'burn all the nettle' or I oughtn't 'burn all the nettle.'  There was a witch we knew, lived in the next thicket over. (There's nothing there now.) She was quite daft, and was a very skilled gardener. Among the things she grew was nettle. Really good nettle, Bombay. We'd all be so lucky to be in that sort of nettle.

"One summer, she found that someone was stealing her nettle. She was upset. But she had so much nettle that many of our neighbors thought she was making too much of a fuss. The daft gardener did everything she should have to protect it. A fence - which was an eyesore. Sturdy but bright warding spells. Noisy alarms. But someone was still stealing her nettle.

"Then one morning we saw smoke billowing up in a block plume from her thicket and all rushed to see.  That daft gardener had decided to burn all the nettle in her garden.  We were all itching for days and were stuck with sub-par nettle for the rest of the year."

Knox stopped speaking then, perhaps finally, the tale told. He shrugged and quietly said.

"Maybe we should burn all the nettle."

It would appear that the confines of the cell were causing Knox Greyfriar to start to lose his mind despite the fact he’d only been in there for five minutes. Hannah, who had been trapped in the concrete room for far longer, stared at the older wizard as he rambled on about nettles and neighbours and proceeded to tell her a story about his youth. Whatever it had to do with her and her current situation of being suspected of murder, she had no idea.

"Maybe we should burn all the nettle." Concluded the bearlike wizard, a cofusing end to a confusing and pointless story.

Exasperated, Hannah stood from the bed and paced to the doo, her arms folded to guard herself from the chill. Criminals in the waiting cells weren’t granted warmth and comforts. Even the innocents held were subjected to the same treatment.

“Have you gone blind, Knox?” The witch took things seriously. She didn’t see in the same metaphorical world as the well robed philosophical wizard sat on the edge of the bed. “There are no nettles here. We’re in a six by four foot cell and I’m about to be accused of a murder I really wish I’d have committed.” As she spoke, Hannah felt her nerves growing, her own emotions that had been pushed down were spiking and she started to shake. “The ministry think I murdered that…that bastard and you’ve come to share a story about burning nettles?”

Knox looked on calmly as Hannah showed with every step and twitch of her brows how little she appreciated his gardening-themed parable.  He should have expected that, but he knew better than to take it personally.

"Perhaps I didn't hit the moral hard enough," he said patiently.  "There is fire involved. A righteously indignant conflagration.  Shall I tell it again? Using smaller words and more explosions? Hannah - are you even under arrest? There are no grounds to hold you, and yet here you are.  Do you really think I won't burn London to the grounds to correct that?"

He looked at her with sagged shoulders and sad eyes. Did she really think him so sane that he'd play at this quietly?

In response to Knox’s words, Hannah could only stare for a moment, thinking, trying to piece together the events of the last couple of hours. She found herself unsure if she was officially under arrest. No one had read her rights; no one had told her why they were detaining her. She’d just gone along with it, trying, as Knox had always said, not to make things worse for herself. She’d been quiet, amenable and that had landed her in a cell with a hard bed and a cold draft.

“You have told me, over and over again, for the last year, not to lose my temper.” She had stopped in her pacing, stood by the metal door holding her in. “Don’t run your mouth off, Bombay. Stay calm. Stop showing us up for what they think we are. Show them we’re better. They’ll see sense. They’ll stop criminalising us and we’ll be fine, free.”

Then it hit her.

“You’re free.” She stared at him for a moment before letting out a nervous laugh. “I took your advice a bit late.” Eyes closed for a moment as the witch tried to control the many thoughts and emotions spinning through her mind.

“Why are you even here? You didn’t want to be stuck with me in the first place. You think I’m intolerable. You can leave,” a quick gesture at the door as she started to stupidly try and push him away. Knox was still a Wizengamot elder. He was still (only just) a respected member of society with allies and friends. As he’d informed her over a year ago, Hannah had no allies. She had one friend sitting here and she’d made the father of her old friend a werewolf.

Knox smiled wide and nodded silently as Hannah Bombay noted his undisputed status as free-to-go.  If Hannah had a number, he had a visitors' pass.  He was at work.  His smile didn't last long.

She'd reminded him of how wrong he'd been.  He let out a breathy chuckled and looked down at his hands, o penitent.  He opened his mouth to speak, calmly, but closed it again.  Then he looked up at her with a playful, abashed wince.

"I've been meaning to say, Hannah, only a few times before have I ever said something so stupid."  He sat back against the wall and folded his hands in his lap.

"I did tell you that: to keep your temper. To prove everyone wrong who thinks we're brutes only because we are werewolves.  I thought that if we maintain a level of respectability that people would listen when we spoke.  But I was wrong and here you are. Again."

Knox sighed.  He'd been thinking about this for some weeks now and now this had happened. 

"You were right.  It doesn't matter how gently we tread, some people will simply never see us as human and worthy of dignity.  My advice was for shit. I'm sorry."

If one had seen Hannah Bombay’s expression as her friend spoke, they would have thought Knox Greyfriar had have grown an extra head or sprouted trees from his nostrils. She gawked, staring at him, lips parted, eyes focused on his face. It was anything but easy to believe that the Wizengamot Elder was saying these things. From what Hannah knew of Knox, he was a stubborn old fool who never admitted being wrong. He was a righteous ignoramus who enjoyed giving orders and being correct. He demanded respect and had always been frustrated with Hannah’s unwillingness to just give it to him.

Now the righteous ignoramus was admitting his wrong doing and Hannah was in such shock that she couldn’t respond. The severity of the situation was momentarily forgotten at his unabashed apology and his near admittance of being an indignant fool.

Months ago, Hannah would have applauded her companion on his discovery of the idiot he was. She’d been trying to drill into his head that it didn’t matter what they did, they would always be monsters. She’d known it from the beginning. He’d refused to accept it.

Today, Hannah didn’t want to hear his apology. She wanted to hear him rallying her on. She wanted to hear that there was a chance if she behaved herself and kept her mouth shut. She wasn’t going to power through it hearing that they would think her a beast regardless of her actions.

“No, look at you. I don’t want your apology.” Hannah was trying to remain calm, to keep her cool and stay that cold witch he’d met in a cell similar to this one. It had been easier being the witch who didn’t connect with anyone and didn’t show emotions. Now her anger took over too often. Knox didn’t need to be here. She didn’t want him dragging himself into her problems anymore. He was free to go.

“I don’t want anything from you. I don’t want your pity or your apology or your help. I had your help months ago and I threw it your face because you are a righteous, pompous moron.” Her voice began to rise as her temper increased. Or at least it seemed to increase. She didn’t want him involved. He’d been right all along.

If Hannah was shocked at Knox's sudden turn, he was just as shocked at hers.  "I thought you'd be pleased!" he stammered, genuinely perplexed at her sudden spitfire.  But he couldn't be angry nor indignant.  He knew as well as any Hufflepuff how apologies were meant to work - you don't get a medal for meeting bare minimums of decency.  But even though he didn't need Hannah's joyful head-patting, he was still surprised she wasn't gloating. Or even smiling.

She was telling him he better off.  He pursed his lips and stood up from the bed.

"All true, all true," he said, hands raised.  "Except on one count: I don't pity you in the slightest. I wouldn't dare.  But yes, all true on the rest."

He moved to the door and rapped on it to be let out again.  In the moments before the guard came, he added.

"I'll go. And I won't help you any more. Although... I can't promise anything.  I'm a nosy pain in the arse and my quill is prone to slip. I'm so absent-minded that I could submit a writ of Wrongful Imprisonment and draft a Release Stay and you'd be out of here in a flash, and that'd be...my bad."

He placed a finger lightly to his temple and shrugged.  "You're a good witch, Hannah Bombay."

"Except on one count: I don't pity you in the slightest. I wouldn't dare.  But yes, all true on the rest." The creaking of the cheap bed springs alerted Hannah to the fact Knox was standing up but Hannah had now turned her back to her visitor and friend. She was now stood by the window, looking out, desperate to avoid his gaze, desperate for him to leave and not drag himself any further into her mess.

A fist banged on the door multiple times but Knox continued to talk. Hannah remained, arms crossed, facing the window. She couldn’t cry. She wouldn’t allow herself to cry. She needed to remain angry; she needed to keep herself from appearing weak, from being weak.

"You're a good witch, Hannah Bombay." Greyfriar’s words caused more emotion to surge within her heart but she didn’t turn around to him. Part of her wanted desperately to have all the help Knox could give her. She wanted to sit back on the bed with his arms around her as he repeatedly said he would sort it out, that she’d be alright in the end.

She needed to remind herself that Knox was only here because he felt obliged. That horrible event under the fallen house had tied them together 18 months ago and he still felt obligated to stand by her. The reality was that Hannah had driven Knox crazy for 18 months. He didn’t like her. She’d been the far too vocal thorn in his side and now she was giving him to chance to cut himself loose.

He didn’t need this, he was a good wizard. Despite herself, Hannah cared for him deeply. He didn’t need to be associated with a suspected murderer; even if she hadn’t done it.

The door opened and slammed shut a moment later, the metal ringing sound shaking her to the core.
The sound of a stolen freedom.