The repair job done on the small apartment made it more liveable but it still failed to show any signs of being a witch’s home. There were no trinkets or photographs in the living room; it was sparse, uninviting and lonely. Nothing in the main living area of the flat revealed who the resident was. The only real sign that someone lived there was the cat mewling incessantly in the living room, hungry or spooked, it wasn’t clear.

When the front door was pushed open, the cat leapt from the bookshelf in the living room and darted into the small hallway to greet his owner. The meowing continued loudly until Hannah stooped down to pick him up to give his belly a quick stroke. But Herbert wasn’t willing to stay still. He swiped at her hand with claws spread out and jumped back down, continuing to meow loudly.

“Shh Herbert. I’ll feed you in a minute. Let me get in the front door.” The witch frowned down at the ginger cat, watching him pace between the living room door and back. She removed her cloak and cardigan, flinging them on the coat stand. Rolling her eyes the healer decided to continue down the hallway into the kitchen. “Now it is then.”

As she moved through the corridor into the kitchen, the rooms automatically became illuminated and Hannah began to sort out fresh food for the cat who was now circling her legs. In the light it could be seen how tired the young witch appeared. Her skin was still pale, dark circles around her eyes and hair roughly scraped back from her face. Her now bare arm revealed the mangled scar of the werewolf bite. Her injury from the night of the fight had managed to heal but still left a scar, a further reminder of the hell of the past months. She’d evidently made the effort to still appear every bit the professional she had been before this mess but that hadn’t helped her at work. People didn’t want to be healed by a werewolf and Hannah could feel her job falling away from the grasp.

Herbert started to rub up against Hannah’s legs and she bent down to place the food in front of him. Bizarrely, the cat didn’t launch himself at the food. He continued to push at her, meowing before running into the living room.

“Merlin, Herbert, what is wrong with you?” She followed him into the dark living area.

Ira Almasy sat in the dark, as she was apt to do, though the general quality of her surroundings were far from those the Russian witch would typically prefer. The air was thick with the silencing wards that had been cast in preparation for later and the faint, floral scent of her pungent perfume dissipated into neutrality as she contemplated negating other signs of intrusion.

She was a patient person.

It was only through patience that she allowed two months to come and go as they did, before going straight towards the other half of the Werewolf fight 'hiccup' in July - Musgrave himself having been most pleasurably handled to useful ends. With the death of Wolfgang Storm still menacing the memories of the public, and Hannah Bombay the initial suspect, now was an opportune moment as far as theatrics went. Never underestimate theatrics.

That hateful cat did rather ruin the quietness of the surprise, however. A good thing he was a cat, Ira tolerated them better than most of God's good creatures.

Lights went on elsewhere in the house. The cat berated its owner, warned her. Footsteps. “Merlin, Herbert, what is wrong with you?”Chatter. And then as the She Wolf treaded into the living room, magical light filling it, Ira rose gracefully - perhaps even politely - to her feet.

Draped in heavy navy robes, she cut a striking figure in the middle of the drab space. Certainly an unusual one. But contrary to her love for theatrics she didn't pause for effect, flicking her wand long before she was drawn to full height. Immobulus - quick, efficient, wordless. Ira didn't want to hurt the creature. Oh, no. She had caused them far too much trouble for that.

"Hello, puss~" she glanced down at the ginger tabby foremost. "Do be quiet."

Light filled the small living room as its resident followed the cat inside, her gaze following the feline. Tired eyes managed to look up just in time to see a figure moving to tower above her.

There wasn’t adequate time to cast a spell at the intruder.
There wasn’t adequate time to draw her wand.
There wasn’t adequate time to move a muscle before she no longer could.

Without the opportunity or time to react to the intruder, Hannah’s body froze. Her arm hadn’t even moved to reach her pocket, still hanging at her side as she’d followed the feline into the room. The expression of surprise had registered on her pale features, lips parted, and eyes wide, muscles tensed. Her breathing began to speed, becoming shallow, uncomfortable, panic started to set in at the inability to move.

"Hello, puss~" The accented voice filled the air and Hannah’s eyes watched the tall figure glanced down at the cat. Her own gaze didn’t follow. Instead she took in the witch over a foot taller, striking, and suddenly terrifying. Around her feet she could feel Herbert brushing up against her, continuing to make his presence known.

“Pl-please…” Her lips could barely move, tight with the spell. But she managed to stutter the words out.

“Pl-please…”

Ira turned her attention to the Bombay witch and held her gaze fleetingly. Please. Certainly she had better manners than her ridiculous uncle. The cat didn't appear to be making as much a fuss as before (never underestimate their presence) though he likely did not grasp the gravity of his owner's situation.

Leisurely, Ira stepped around the frozen figure as her eyes skimmed the petite outline - appraising.

"I cannot imagine what he saw in this. You must be radically transformed under the full moon," she remarked as if though in the middle of a conversation begun much earlier. Hannah was not of impressive stature. A wolf cub. Puppy. The taller of the two women drew closer from behind and slipped her spindly hand into the other's pocket. "Don't worry."

She secured the wand, lingering intimately before taking it out with care. Her breath against the back of Hannah's neck as she leaned down to her ear. "I'm going to let you go. If you bite, little she wolf, it will be your last." Ira stepped away and treaded back to where she had been waiting. Her wand was at hand.

When she released the freezing charm, she'd ensured a short distance between them - facing her hostess with a watchful eye. "There we are."

Like a predator around her prey, the tall foreign witch calmly, steadily circled Hannah. Graceful but icy, her analytical gaze taking in Hannah’s appearance as the werewitch stood frozen, unable to move. Her heart was pounding against her chest, tiny beads of sweat forming on her brow as her mind exploded with suggestions of why this witch was here, why she’d broken into her home.
Apparently what the witch saw didn’t please her. Would that mean she’d leave?

"Don't worry.” The voice came from behind as Hannah felt a hand slipping into her trouser pocket. Her heart stopped, breathing froze as she tried desperately to hear what she couldn’t see. The wand tip slid along her leg before it was freed from the confines of the pocket and Hannah could feel the breath of the intruder on the skin of her neck. Pale and scarred arms broke out into goose bumps, hairs standing on end as a cold, terrified chill swept through her body.

The intruder retreated and suddenly Hannah’s body lurched forward. She hadn’t quite realised she’d been mid-step when immobilised. She righted herself quickly, the balance of the beast within her, and looked up.

Don’t show fear. Don’t show fear.

But her eyes were alert. Her hands were visibly shaking as she stood, now psychically able to move but too scared to.
“I only bite when threatened.” Hannah had intended it to sound stronger, more threatening than in did. In reality, her voice was barely above a whisper, inhibited by her shaking with fear.

"Oh?" Ira approached the other woman once she was satisfied that violence was not imminent - there was a time and place for everything. "Wolfgang Storm must have posed a great threat to you."

She paused, with just enough a gap to look down and calmly meet Hannah's gaze. Her manner and countenance were serene. Benign in all aspects but the inexplicable coolness of a predatory onlooker: it was irrepressible whenever around their kind. A cross between desire and condescension. To keep the werewolf, to kill the werewolf?

Numerous deaths surrounding these events would be... messy. And dull. The wizarding world was much more interesting with this one pup in it.

"Do relax." Ira slowly (almost kindly) raised her hand to caress the she wolf's chin, hungry to look at that face in search of the Lycan affliction beneath. "We won't be having a repeat of my games, you understand. I wish to be friends." A soft smile as she brushed a strand of hair behind Hannah's ear and lowered her voice wonderingly. "It would be a shame to waste something like you."

The intruder’s cold fingers reached up, touching Hannah’s skin, caressing her chin. Habitually, upon the touch of another person she flinched away, awkward and somewhat insulted by the brazen attitude of the person. With this witch, she was too unnerved, frozen in place by fear of what would happen if she retaliated. Her wand was in the intruder’s possession, there was nothing but a mewling cat to come to her rescue.

"We won't be having a repeat of my games, you understand. I wish to be friends." The tall witch smoothly informed the far smaller one. A shocking realisation suddenly struck Hannah as her hair was being delicately pushed behind her ear. The final words died in the air as the tension within Hannah was palpable.

Eyes suddenly far more alert, lips parted, the young witch carefully studied her adversary. Was she still terrified or was the anger building within her? This was the witch behind the fights. This was the cause of all of her anguish and humiliation and being accused of murder.

“Your games?” The frailty of her voice had vanished, replaced by tightness, a surging resentment. Thoughts began to swarm through the her mind, her uncle’s involvement, Storm standing over the cage verbally abusing her, his throat coughing up blood before he collapsed to the floor and she was dragged from court, her own state when she’d been crumpled in Knox’s chair, the blood spilling from her wound.
All because of this woman’s games.

Pulling back from the witch’s touch, Hannah stepped back to the wall, inadvertently caging herself in.
“My life was a game to you? You play with human lives?” The thought of the danger this witch possessed when Hannah had no wand was quickly dissipating as her newfound hatred fuelled a building fury. “So what is this?” Her hand gestured the room, where they were stood. “You coming to see the destruction your games cause? A sick joke to see how the wolf reacts?”

It didn’t concern Hannah at the moment if the words would do any damage, if her own rage would only fuel this witch’s enjoyment of the situation. There were things she’d wanted to say to Wolfgang, things she’d wanted to say to the ministry and everyone else that had turned against her when she’d been bitten. Only this witch was the worst. She actively enjoyed watching werewolves tear people apart.

And look at how she turned.

Ira stepped forward, imposing her frame on to the younger witch who was both wisely and unwisely stepping away. Rather averse to normal behaviours of wild animals - backing herself into a corner. But a creature could always fight their way out of one as well. She left a little more distance between them this time.

"Your life is hardly human. More than human, I think, or less. Depending on what your Ministry proposes..." she trailed off with a knowing glimmer in her eye, as her gaze followed Hannah's gesturing at the beggarly flat. "And I believe this hovel you call a home precedes my intervention Miss Bombay."

Destruction, indeed. That was the whole point. Ira imperceptibly twisted her wand, sending a wordless infligo to ram Hannah up against the wall - and then a sweet little flick to keep the she wolf there, pressure on her abdomen. She did so prefer to watch them squirm.

"You're all the same, why would I care about how you react?" Ira tilted her head to the side, expression curious, as if though this were a genuine query. Of course she enjoyed some of the reaction. "I've done you the honour of a visit to extend an offer. I'll do you another, by asking if you will listen. I am a generous witch," she increased the pressure of her holding charm. "To those who know a good opportunity when they see it."

[M for language]

Stepping in closer to tell Hannah that her life wasn’t human and her home a hovel was doing nothing to quell the witch’s rising temper. For over a year now she’d fought this temper. She’d struggled to keep it under control and, on several occasions, had failed miserably to do that. It was a fierce burning deep in her belly, a need to yell, to lash out at the world that had so easily turned against her.

And here was one witch who, had she not been inflicted, would never have forced her way into her flat or into her life.

The hex smashed her against the wall. She struggled to pull away, to release herself but when the pressure on her abdomen kept her still it only made her angrier.

“I am a generous witch.” The words came steady, coldly from the intruder’s lips and Hannah very nearly laughed at the prospect. She would have laughed if the pressure on her stomach hadn’t increased to a painful strength. A gasp slipped from her lips as she tried to breathe through the new pain. Her bright eyes bore into Ira’s, refusing to pull her gaze away.

“What a fucking honour this is.” The pain had done nothing to quell Hannah’s anger. The fear had dispersed to be replaced by a fury. Not only had this witch been behind the nightmares that still plagued her sleep, but she had attacked her in what was supposed to be a sanctuary from the outside world.

“I don’t care for whatever your messed up head thinks is a generous offer you sick bitch.” Hannah stood still, refusing to struggle against the spell. “I’ll give you a head start if you leave now. My uncle is an ex-auror and a killer and he’ll kill you quicker than you could raise your wand. Or he could make it really slow so I could watch.” Her words were spilling out like venom; she needed this witch to go. She wanted this witch to die.

“So get the hell out of my home.”

Oh, she would have been most disappointed if Hannah Bombay wasn't going to put up some fight. Acquiescence was a trait wanting only in allies and Ira did not know what role the other woman would end up playing in transpiring events - except that she was a source of either great displeasure or use.

She released the holding spell abruptly and a teasing, tempting light entered the witch's wan eyes.

"You only have so many friends, she wolf. And few will be as honest with you as I am," Ira did nothing to repress her self-satisfied smile as she thought of their mutual acquaintance. "Your uncle. Yes. An intimidating figure. Do send him after me, I daresay he would not pose much of a threat even with the other hand. But that would be a poor manner in which to repay the man for saving your life, don't you think?"

The idea that anyone owed Lawrence Musgrave an ounce of gratitude incited a smirk. Even if he was exceedingly worthwhile to keep around. Ira hoped that it ran in the family - any more bodies and they might be genuinely inconvenienced. Layton was already grousing on about winter affairs.

"I can give you a better home, or the means to acquire one. A platform for your rights. Nobody cares about you, Miss Bombay-" she met Hannah's gaze bluntly. "Nobody who can offer you help like I can."

The hex was released and Hannah heaved forward, catching her breath as the pressure had been released from her abdomen. She felt like one of the mice Herbert would catch and play with. She had little idea what to do in order to stop the game. She was still too angry to consider it.

It was as if this witch had been watching Hannah’s life unravel for quite some time. She knew about Uncle Lawrence saving her life, she probably knew him personally. It stung how she was quite aware that no one actually cared about Hannah. Unfortunately it felt like she was quite right. How could this intruder know so much about her life when Hannah didn’t even know her name?

“Help?” The far shorter witch practically spat at her opponent, her breath now caught. “This isn’t so you can just see your work is it?” Hannah shook her head as she started to understand the situation. She was trying desperately to push back the anger and fear enough to think clearly.

The witch’s words still rung in her head; "Nobody who can offer you help like I can." What did she mean? Why would she want to?
At her feet Herbert was circling them, now brushing up against the intruder. Predators would always be drawn to one another. Hannah steadied her breathing as she eyed the wand wearily. More angry words and she could be regretting them. She needed to stay calm. She needed to ignore the wolf’s anger; needed to ignore her own anger.

“I ruined your games. My uncle ruined your games. He called the aurors. I made Storm a werewolf. You had me kidnapped to kill muggles.” Her struggle to remain calm failed. “Who the hell do you think you are to help me?” Her gaze met Ira’s. “I want you dead.”

Ira could see the thoughts swarming behind the other witch's eyes, trying to puzzle out the form and purpose of this visit. Admittedly she could have passed this trivial task on to her assistant - but he would have been far more tempted to give the she wolf a set of bruises. And that was unnecessary. It wasn't pain but the threat of pain that she wanted to convey.

"If I wanted to see my work as such," she drawled in an unimpressed voice as she lowered her gaze to the ginger tabby. "I would have gathered a larger audience than a pussycat and yourself."

Intellect wasn't one of the traits she was expecting from Hannah but one presumed others to have  an idea of what did or did not provide adequate amusement. This was a small diversion in a vaster game, one that had been ongoing since longer than some of its players have lived.

She listened to the enumeration of crimes, eyebrow raised. Did the witch think she had forgotten?

"You make our lives so much more fun and one can hardly punish you for that." Ira paused, tilted her head to the side as if though she'd just heard something in the room over. She'd spent too much time dawdling here. "Hm. Stubborn. More backbone than your uncle." Although patently not as intended for the arts.

The smile dropped from her lips as she reached into her robes and drew out a blank business card. "We all die some day, she wolf, so you will have your wish," she tossed it on one of the tables, shrugging elegantly. "...but not yet. Come look for me when your friends run out. And they will, in one way or another."

Ira didn't need to lift a finger for that to happen. The Lycan curse was only half fulfilled by physical transformation. Its other ailments, she knew, could be relied on wizarding society to implement. "Perhaps change your wards, until then." She lowered her head politely, almost a bow, and was gone in the next instant.

Hannah's wand lay on the floor where she had stood.