"Not… just my leg." Shallow, pained panting hadn’t been missed by Hannah. She’d tactically decided to ignore it. The knife had and blood loss had nearly killed him; as far as she could tell, the broken rib was only causing some pain and nothing more. The temptation to leave it had been overwhelming but with a quick glance toward Almasy who simply shrugged, now indifferent to the wizard’s suffering since he was no longer on the edge of death, Hannah stared back down at her uncle.

He wheezed helplessly, struggling to take in enough breathe and if it continued for long enough  she didn’t need healer training to tell her it could pierce a lung. Did Ira’s insistence on their survival being linked count once he left the pub without a knife in his leg?

Her wand was raised to his shirt and she sliced it apart with a quick spell.
It wasn’t worth the risk.

Covering pale flesh were a handful of scars, some serious looking in nature from his days as an auror and a prisoner. Her eyes swept over them before landing on a quickly forming bruise, red and swollen. The tip was placed over his chest and she closed her eyes. A white light brightened on the tip and she could see the rib, the pierced lung making his breathing near impossible. Eyes shot open and the witch glanced back up to Lawrence’s face. Despite her hatred for him, he’d need pain relief just to not pass out with what she was about to do.

It took another moment of digging in the small bag before she uncapped a vial and put it to Lawrence’s lips.
“You need to be awake for this. Drink.”

They had to wait a moment for him to drink before her wand was back on his chest and she muttered a severing charm, slicing into his skin and pushing her wand through into his chest.  Zoning out of the groans of agony, Hannah began to twist the wand when the tip reached his lung. Very slowly and intricately it began to heal, filling once more with the air from his breath.

She pulled the tip back and whispered. “Episkokaley”

The ribs were knitted together, and as her wand was pulled out, the flesh knitted itself back together, leaving not even the smallest scar. Hannah wasn’t good at a lot of things but she was an exceptional healer.


Attention was regrettably moved back to Almasy which caused Hannah’s pulse to quicken again. “He needs at least 48 hours recovery. Otherwise he could undo the effects of the spell.”

Once it was clear that the she wolf would obey the terms of their contract, Ira fell into a lasting silence. An aspect of her mind drifted to other subjects - the ballet performance she had left, the explosions at the Leaky Cauldron, a mental image of her niece having fallen asleep in an armchair at their villa in Koroni. The prospect of success in all matters related to those three particular agendas.

But the rest of her attention fell firmly on uncle and niece, the light of her gaze apathetic at best.

In terms of immediate plans they were both expendable. That they survived would save her the effort of recruiting others for attacks in the following months. At present she had no use for corpses. Her lips twitched into a faint, pleasing smile at every instant of Musgrave's discomfort. His swearing was most eloquent.

Poor and miserable creatures.

"I'm not his keeper." Ira finally drawled as Hannah turned to her, eyes shifting from closing flesh wounds to the young face responsible. "Although I doubt much of your wizarding world will have anything to do but recover in these coming days." There had been hesitation - she knew - but hesitation was a weak thing easily rooted out by the threat of pain.

What did it matter to her now if the Healer brought another torment upon that dark little head? The blood contract existed to break the bad habits of rebellion.

She considered a parting gift and then thought better of it, looking pointedly at the beautiful rope of red around Hannah's pale neck. An abundance of symbolism would be rather distasteful. The witch turned, gliding towards the exit as the spotless gown trailed gracefully behind - heels clicking in the same decisive cadence with which they entered.

"The next time you breach my trust, Miss Bombay, do ensure it's for something worth your life." Ira glanced over her shoulder as she pulled open the door. "I'd rather you didn't waste our time." And she was gone, apparating the moment she stepped out into the cool night.

Even so, she could hear the sirens.

There was an exchange of looks between the two witches. Lawrence barely acknowledged it, his eyelids growing heavy as he fought to take in breath. Without another word, Hannah bared his chest and examined him further.

"You need to be awake for this. Drink." The cold liquid slid down his dry throat like ice, only adding to the cold, clammy feel of his skin and the impending need to shiver as he felt the temperature was dropping again.

Whatever it was it did not have time to fully take hold and numb him before she cut him, and his face screwed up in agony, incoherent sounds of pain as his remaining hand formed a claw and the rest of his body spasmed in agony - his foot still stuck up against the bar.

The pain was so close to those memories twelve years ago of losing his hand in Azkaban. Bright white light dancing before his eyes, stars. Pain enough to stop him breathing altogether for a moment before he gasped for a breath. The cold potion finally taking the edge off the searing pain coming from his right side.

"He needs at least 48 hours recovery, otherwise he could undo the effects of the spell."

Lawrence gasped for air. It was as if he had been held underwater until then and suddenly he could breathe. It was still complete agony, but he could breathe. Never had air tasted so good in such a dank, horrible place.
"I'm not his keeper." Ira replied, and left them with a passing shot at Hannah, which Lawrence barely heard over his grateful gasps of air, colour slowly coming back to his lips.

"Augh, Merlin." He managed to form croakily. "Fuck." He closed his eyes a moment, swallowing, putting what would have been both hands to his head in relief that he was both alive and that Ira had left them at last.

"Where's my wand?" He asked, voice croaky, strange. Ira had disarmed him with embarrassing ease. ".. get my foot down…" He muttered, screwing his face up in pain as he went to pull what was left of his trouser-leg to see if the spell would give way. Instead he ended up disturbing freshly healed skin where the knife had been.

"F- ugh. Hannah," He stopped trying to move about, the potion had taken the edge off the pain but moving had brought it all thundering back. "Thanks." He croaked, trying to meet her eyes.

It was perhaps not possible to remember the last time Hannah had heard so much swearing in such a short amount of time. She barely swore, thinking it far more intelligent to find alternative words to express one’s shock, anger or pain. The entire time Almasy had tortured her, Hannah hadn’t sworn and she imagined she had been in a great deal more pain than Lawrence was right now.

But to watch her tormentor finally leave the pub brought an unimaginable amount of relief which caused Hannah’s shoulders to suddenly relax, not that she had realised they’d been so tensed the whole time she’d been working on her uncle. Her hands were still shaky, her neck and wrists burned painfully and there was a dull aching in her legs where the bones were still mending completely. Pain was no longer an uncommon feeling with her transformations and the scars marring her arms told their own stories of agony.

"Where's my wand?" Lawrence asked, breathy and struggling despite the colour returning steadily to his cheeks. Not yet making a move to leave and too exhausted and shaken to contemplate it, Hannah fell from her knees to slump up against the bar. She ignored her uncle’s request for the wand as her eyes closed and she tried to take a relaxing breath. Yet the fear wouldn’t leave her, the too fresh memory of the raw agony of only minutes ago pressed upon her mind and didn’t allow her to calm.

"Thanks." Eyes shot open and the look the young witch shot at her uncle was full of vehemence.
“Don’t flatter yourself. It was self-preservation.” A flick of her wand and his bounced up into the air and into his remaining hand.

It was then that something Almasy had said before her departure that struck it's chord with Hannah. She was suddenly very suspicious of her uncle.
"What did she mean that all of our world will need to recover? What have you done, Lawrence?"

The wand shot back to his hand with Hannah's assistance, and he thrust it forth at his elevated foot. The heel plummeted down to the floor as he gingerly pushed himself away from the bar to lie flat on his back, with knees bent, the soles of his boots flat on the ground. His right foot was completely numb from lack of blood, along with most of the leg above it, and even that moment made his head spin.

"What did she mean that all of our world will need to recover? What have you done, Lawrence?"

His niece was propped against the bar, looking equally exhausted, bright red marks around her neck and wrists. Almasy had really done a number on her.

"… Are you planning on reoffending?"
"No, not at all. I'm not going back to Azkaban. Merlin … I've learned my lesson, I was an idiot back in the war but I was desperate, Hannah… "[1]

He did not reply to her question, his dizzy head weighing up possible neutral explanations, keeping his options open should he need her further assistance. By morning, she would know either way.

"Remember, remember." He replied in a croak, dark eyes watching Hannah. "You're a clever woman, and I am a desperate man." He let out a dull moan of pain as he went to lift his shoulders from the floor, dragging himself up. Splinters of glass and wood fell from the back of his moss green jacket. He had lost the coat he'd started out with, along with his wand when he had been thrown out of Knox Greyfriar's.

"Almasy's a love of theatre, Hannah," he explained in a much more reasoned tone, though his voice misbehaved in pitch as he folded forward, encircling his arms around his bent knees to keep steady. He tried to ignore the amount of blood that had soaked into his clothes from his leg.

Wand was firmly gripped still, he would not hesitate to defend himself if Hannah raised hers to him. For what she had just been through it was only reasonable she was angry, and angry people did rash things.

"She really did a number on you though," his eyes were focused on her neck, finally speaking honestly, and showing real concern. "How did you end up working for Almasy anyhow?"

1.	Feb 4, No Cap in this Hand

The longer she sat against the bar with the immediate and painful threat gone, the steadier the healer’s breathing became. The angry burning around her neck and wrists couldn’t be ignored and her eyes steadily watered. The throbbing ache in her legs was dull but still prominent and she wanted nothing more than to curl up in a ball and allow the ground to swallow her.

There was a time, before his arrest, that Lawrence had pretended to be the brave, injured auror just to allow his niece to wrap bandages around him, wave a wooden stick and save his life. The nerdy little girl with skinny arms and frizzy hair had always been thrilled at the arrival of her uncle and she’d thrived under his attention and care. That was the Lawrence Hannah had remembered when he’d shown up at the hospital after his release. Now she felt that Cynthia Bombay had been quite right to slam the door in his face. Hannah wanted to do far worse.

The simple question of how she’d ended up working for Almasy caused Hannah’s eyes to fill and the tears fell faster. She lifted a hand to wipe her face and turned away.
“Perhaps you can tell me.” She didn’t want to stay around long enough for him to do that. Clumsily, she found her feet and looked back down at the bloody wreck on the floor in his filthy clothes. “The next time you’re about to die, call another healer. You’re already dead to me.”

High heels lay discarded on the floor where they’d fallen as she’d been suspended by the neck. In bare feet, Hannah made for the door, her movements slow and painful as she dull ache from her legs grew more intense.

His question had unintentionally reduced her to tears. Lawrence's remaining hand reached out to her without realising what he was doing. She scraped herself to her feet and his hand grasped air.

"… you're already dead to me."

Such sweet release if I were…

"Hann-" his words wheezed and he coughed painfully, curling forward towards his bent knees as his face screwed up. "Hannah!"

He attempted to twist to protest her leaving, and clapped the stump of his arm over where she had just repaired his lung beneath his ribs as pain shot through his side.

"I didn't recruit you for her! It wasn't - Hannah!" His face screwed up again and he pressed his face towards his knees as the pain of the sudden moves made him see stars. His mouth formed silent swearwords, no breath to form them.

He didn't need to recruit her. Wolfgang had captured her once, and Almasy was a hundred times more cunning than that dead idiot. If Almasy wanted Hannah she would have found it all to easy to get her. Blackmail, force, torture as she had moments before. A way to control Lawrence if she felt she needed it, but he felt it was unlikely Almasy felt any threat from him. If she had, he'd have been dead already.

There was nothing he could say to make it better, to convince her otherwise. Even if she had got herself in with Almasy, at that moment she would blame someone else. All he could hope was that she wouldn't suffer long when Almasy tired of her new pet.


End