Following straight on from Makes Animals of Us All

M for Violence Mentioned

*crack*

In the middle of the lobby a scantily clad figure appeared. Hannah Bombay was stood in her underwear, wand in her left hand. The sight would have been bizarre enough in the lobby lit by natural daylight, but the witch was badly scarred, drained and a mess. Her legs were covered in dust, grubby and bare. Both arms were a mess of scars, trailing down each arm. Marks from a werewolf bite and a separate from the axe taken to her forearm 9 months ago.

Long dark hair fell messily over her shoulders and her face was pale with the exception of eyes red from the tears. A thin, red scar also trailed her neck, sore and burning.

The most shocking thing about Hannah Bombay’s appearance was perhaps not the underwear she wore rather than full clothes. It was the bright red circles with the letter A in the centre, still burning her flesh. One was on her chest, just below her left collarbone. The second burnt the most, on the inside of her right thigh.

As soon as the witch appeared in the lobby, she made a dash for the stairs. People rarely used the stairs. She only had three flights to climb.

M for typical Adon thought-language.

"Bear." Adon called, unenthusiastically.  He was in his pijamas, bare feet, on the cold stone of the courtyard.  It was late, and Adon hadn't gotten home too long ago.  He had just been checking the locks, about to crawl up to bed when Bear-Cat, the Stupid Fiend of a Basement Cat had decided to bolt out of his flat into the hallway. 

Adon'd been determined to leave the kitten out there--it wasn't his cat, after all--but it of course had started mewling and meowing forlornly the moment he'd fixed the last of several bolts. 

Speaking of bolts--that's exactly what Bear-Cat, the Spoiler of Good Sleeps,  had fucking done the moment Adon had unlocked all the locks and traipsed into the hallway for the kitten.  All the way down the stairs.  All the way into the courtyard.  And now, here, where Bear-Cat,  Runt-Thing and Evil Mastermind  Extraordinaire, had the nerve to be shaking, acting all scared. Right.

"Bear," he growled, getting on hands and knees and plunging his hand into the shrub acting as Bear-Cat's shelter.  "C'mere!"  He heard violent rustling, not just his own, and saw the glowing yellow eyes as the kitten began to retreat further away from his grasp and deeper into the shrubbery lining Hiraeth's courtyard.

He felt a slash across the back of his hand and recoiled, pressing the cut against his mouth to stop the bleeding.  The secondary benefit: the hand smothered the hissed curse directed towards the small, probably evil kitten.  He had learned the Internet called cats like these basement cats for a reason.  It was impossible to tell if the wound was inflicted by the belligerent bush or if it was a  blatant act of feline disregard from a person who was so kindly offering a home for the evening.  Fine. Be a homeless little miscreant.

There was a *pop* somewhere nearby.  Adon pulled himself to his full height, looking around.  Adon made eye-contact, or rather he looked directly, at a half-naked blur of a young woman, streaking towards the stair well.  The girl was definitely not making eye contact with anyone.

"Wait--" he said, sotto voce, not wanting to wake up all neighbors.  They were in the courtyard.  This could be quite a show of anyone got a notion to go peeping.

She was already starting to pound her way up the stairs; he could hear her taking the steps rapidly.

Fuck you, Bear-Cat. You're sleeping outside tonight.  Adon followed after her in several long strides, "Hey, heyhey--" he whispered loudly, calling up to her.  She couldn't Apparate away on these stairs, at least.  "Are you okay?" She looked like she'd been dragged through the dirt and worse. "Are you hurt?" He looked up and caught the first real glance of her, directly and was taken aback, his progress after her totally halted.  "Fuck, Hannah?"

"Hey, heyhey—" A wizard whispered after her, making a break up the stairs behind. The wizard could barely be heard over her own heavy breathing and thumping heart as she took a stairs a few at a time, bare feet hammering into the carpet as she desperately tried to get to her flat without him catching up to her. The thought of anyone seeing her in such a manner was horrifying. The branding and treatment had been humiliating enough without someone seeing.

But she was only so fast after no food and the exhaustion from her experience. Her mind wasn’t on the stairs, and as she heard her name from the familiar voice, Hannah tripped and flew forwards against the steps, knees crashing into the hard floor, hands out in front of her.

He was near, though, she could tell. She grasped around for the wand that had been in her hand to notice it was rolled away, down the stairs as gravity took it towards her pursuer.

“Accio wand.” Hannah hurriedly pushed herself to her feet, holding her hand out to grab the wand as her eyes locked onto Adon’s.
“Do like what the rest of your lot do and piss off.”

"Your lot."

What, Jews? Purebloods? Aurors? Men? Neighbors?  Humans?

She was worked up, sure, but it couldn't have hurt to be a little bit more specific if you were going to toss around xenophobic phrases like that.  You'd have thought better, coming from a were.   You know, if you were going by oversimplified categorizations.  Which Adon wasn't.  That was the goddamned point; moloch![1]

Adon exhaled sharply through his nose, bending over to pick up the wand on the steps that was already rolling its way towards Hannah. He offered it, handle towards her.

"Hmn" Adon grunted in response.  Hannah had surely worked long enough with him on Level Two to know that he was neither good at pissing off or taking orders by now.  That was not his function.  He was their Feelings Man.  Persistently keeping feelings alive, resurrecting them, if need be.  A "Woman-Man," Eddie Pratt'd called him.  And she'd been, well, their Dead Doctor.  Where feelings went to die.

She was showing enough emotions, now, though, to make up for it.  The last three times they'd seen each other, in fact.  She'd spit her venom, bare teeth, and Adon'd just--done his job. Or done what was right.

Well, he shrugged, eyes taking in the mark of the brand upon her chest.  The letter A. That might be easily enough referenced, but could have been a bit more distinguishing.  She wouldn't like it, him looking and analyzing.  He got that. Understood it very well, but she was a victim of a crime and it was evidence and he didn't bloody well care if she liked it; that mark was an obligation. If not to her, than to catching the culprit and saving "the public."  That type of civil obligation the Prophet accused them of so callously casting aside while showing none themselves.  Ugh. The worst.

His brows knit, eyes moving back up to her face.  "Do you need a--" Well, Hannah Bombay was a healer, and he was certain she'd remind him of it in about .2 seconds, but he'd started the sentence and, well, she just might need one so he finished: "--healer? Or supplies."  The wounded pride was palpable. He didn't imagine she'd be checking into Mungo's unless she was unconscious and he was dragging her there.  The brand--it was shaming and marking and proprietary.

Adon considered, expression hard for a moment.  Had Hannah been seeing anyone?  The crime was territorial and entitled.  Personal, no doubt, but whether it was about Hannah or Hannah was just a stand-in for someone or something else... He could check with the landladies, if Hannah didn't give up who her visitors were.    She'd been cut off from her job rather abruptly, he knew... Which, speaking of, without that job, he didn't know if she either had the resources or the funds to keep a full apothecary on-hand. 

"I've got stuff--a salve--for the scarring," he added, eyes--and scars--crinkling with a slight cringe.  Didn't he just; his mother gave him a ready supply, as though the scars could go away at this point.  He didn't expect the offer to go over any better than anything else he'd been doing with her like helping, making eye contact, or breathing in her general vicinity. Nothing went over well with Hannah Bombay, not even a Christmas present.  He'd expect snarling--or at the very least, he'd get off light with a hasty retreat, but he would at least be engaged in some manner.  Adon's eyes flicked down to her wand's point.  Hopefully not like that.

Anything was better than nothing in piecing this together.  It was better that he figure out as much as he could now.  He could only imagine what might happen if he reported it to work and two red robes appeared the next day to put questions to her.  And if he didn't report it?

Not a chance.  All instinct revolted.  Besides, Carstairs'd have his hide for giving yet one more reason for unfavorable press. He could read the Prophet headline now: "Horri-terri-stupid Aurors Cast Blind Eye to--" Well, to... whatever this was.

He looked her over again.  Assault.  Battery. Abduction again, perhaps? His stomach turned.  When was the last full moon?  This was a personal attack, he reminded himself.  What the hell. He'd just ask. "Who did this and where can I find him?"

1.	For inclusivity purposes, Adon would like to throw in God, Jesus, and the Flying Spaghetti Monster to this exclamation.

"Do you need a—" Realising he wasn’t about to turn and leave her be, Hannah stared down at the wizard, her wand having jumped into her hand. She didn’t lower it; instead pointing it towards his chest. She would usually have commented on the daft suggestion of needing a healer but she was too exhausted and emotionally drained to find any humour in his words. So she stared at him, her breathing calming down after her run up the stairs.

Eleor kept looking at the brand on her chest, she could feel his eyes burning into her as she stood vulnerable and exposed in her bra and knickers, grubby and bruised.

Throughout her time working at the Ministry Eleor had been a kind face, a wizard that wanted to make friends. Hannah had found it intrusive. She’d not been lonely enough to be looking for friends and he’d asked too many questions.
He still asked too many questions. He was still intrusive and he still seemed to want to make friends.

Those eyes stared again before he asked the inevitable question and Hannah’s grip tightened around the shaft of her wand. If only it was that easy. If only she could say “Ira Almasy, you’ll find her and the bastard lackey in the penthouse of the House of Atreus. Tell her I said hello.” She and Adon would be as good as dead. Unless Almasy could think of something worse.

“Your Wizengamot did this when they decided I was a criminal.” There was a strange calmness to the witch’s voice as she spoke. “Please don’t pretend I’d get any support now.”

'Your wizengamot.'

Oh, for fu--  Adon gave a disbelieving shake of his head. He couldn't win. The British Ministry called Jerusalem his people when they were angry, and now... She shifted, and Adon took in more than the scabby, dirt-dusted knees, eyes moving upwards to see a matching brand on her though.

"Hannah," he said evenly, jaw tight.  There was an element of a growl to his voice.  "I wasn't offering support."  He should have been, though.  Instead, he wanted to fucking teach a lesson to the man who thought he could do this to a woman.  It was just as well, though... no names for a time.  It'd give him time to cool a little.  Clear his head.  He'd need to assess the wounds; they'd give him more information, even if Hannah wouldn't.  He felt she might, though.  She sure as hell hadn't hexed him, despite the bark--not a lot of bite left.  In fact, he was counting on it.

Taking a cleansing breath, he looked about.  He was poorly dressed for this: a vest and flannels.  Still, better than her. She must be freezing.  "Here," he said, pulling the vest over his head and handing it to her without further argument.  He'd been wearing it all day, but... perhaps it was preferable to nothing.  He looked at the stair landing: they were at 3.  He'd not make her walk clear up to 7. "C'mon," he said, moving towards the heavy metal door and pulling it open for her.  She might not like him, but she'd probably prefer him along to entering an empty, dark flat after an attack.

Wordlessly, he moved to her door: brass letters stating "3C."  A brief glance at her...state... No keys. Of that, he was certain.

He scanned the door with a bitter sigh. "Shit.  Kettleburn 'n Andrews had me redo the locks on the place," he stated. All the tenants hadreceived a memo on it. Adon had insisted, after realizing how easily he'd been able to break Margo into her place.  And he'd added additional fortifications to his place to boot.  Not taking chances with an metamorphagus potentially gunning at him soon.  This'd make it harder than the time he'd broken Margo into her place. 

There was no way they were waking up their landladies now.  Not only because of the lock-out fee.  With a growl, he knelt down, beginning to work slowly at the lock with a series of small, jerking movements.  The brass knob rattled and glowed, bobbling slightly.  "Harah! Mot tamut... a broch!" he grumbled under his breath.

"Well," he grumbled after several moments, "your door is secure..."  Several things on it--the hinges, the deadbolt above--were resistant to magic.  He'd had them swing open into the hallway, making it nearly impossible to kick in.  This was going to hurt.

Standing up to his full height, he took a deep breath before closing his eyes and slamming his shoulder into the door, hinge-side.  The wood groaned, thudded upon impact, but did not give.  His shoulder, however, very nearly did.  He grabbed the arm by the elbow, cradling it as he took several steps back to assess.  He couldn't have done that good a job...

"Look.  I've got some supplies and spare clothes in my flat.  We can bide our time until Andrews is awake." He looked at her cautiously.  "I'd rather not..." Have her standing out here half-naked? Linger in hallways? Pay 50 quid? "...draw attention."

The tone used with her name made Hannah frown, lips pressed tightly together. Eleor may not have liked what she said but he’d like being tracked down and tortured even less. The less he knew the better for the both of them. Despite Hannah’s irritation at being spoken to with such a growl, she lowered her wand, satisfied the wizard wasn’t a threat; at least not with his wand.

Dark eyes travelled down to the brand on her thigh and Hannah took an awkward step back, stumbling against the step. She berated herself, cursing inwardly as her mind swam with dizzying thoughts and pain. These were pushed back when Adon pulled his vest off and offered it to her to take. Suddenly aware of her nakedness, Hannah’s lips parted and once again realised how much she hated Layton with every fibre of her being. He’d wanted to humiliate her. He’d succeeded.

Desperation called for accepting the slightly sweaty vests of slightly strange men and Hannah didn’t even consider wrestling it over her head to at least preserve some of her dignity. She pulled it down, their height difference and the extra room in the vest allowing for her bum to at least be slightly covered. She said no word of thanks to him, she had no opportunity before he was pushing through the door onto the landing outside her flat.

If Hannah were totally honest, the fact that Eleor kept talking was somewhat comforting. She said nothing as he tried the door, instead busy looking up and down the corridor. Movements resembling an animal scared of capture, Hannah’s movements were sharp, her eyes alert as if anticipating Almasy’s presence, the bitch coming to finish the job now that the humiliation was complete.

"I'd rather not...draw attention."
As if evaluating the situation in her mind, bright eyes stared into kind dark ones for a long moment.
“No law enforcement.” She stated; an order not a request. “You report this to anyone and you won’t see me again.” The look in her gaze confirmed the promise in her words. She didn’t wait to push back into the stairwell and begin climbing, barefeet freezing against the stone floor.

It was a couple of minutes before the door was finally shut to the outside world and Hannah, ignoring Adon’s presence for a second, slumped against the wall and closed her eyes, her body sagging in exhaustion.
“Why are you doing this for me?” Eyes slowly opened to rest on his friendly face.

Adon was taken aback, brows knit. "Why...?" he began to repeat, trying to understand the need for the question.  A deep, abiding sadness filled him in the moment, as the realization settled in.  Hannah Bombay was in a place where she truly believed people only did things from self-interest. Who had she been spending time with? He began to feel uncomfortable--with that sort of sadness that made him wish for a different life for someone.

He sniffed, regathering himself.

"Because you need help," he said, casting her a challenging glance over his shoulder as he moved towards the kitchen.  Leave it to Hannah Bombay to try to protest, stripped down to her knickers and battered, that she was "just fine, Auror."   But to him, she needed help and he'd give it.  It was that simple; second nature.  Probably, he realized, some by-product of his upbringing, and of the people he chose to spend time with. He pulled the heavy door of the fridge open.  "And," he called out, fishing out a cold compress and a couple of beers, before nudging the door of the refrigerator closed with his foot.   "...because there was no good reason for me not to."  He returned, taking in the sight of Hannah: still wary, still too goddamned stubborn--he jerked his head towards the lounge and the general vicinity of the sofa.  "I can get you a spare set of clothes in a moment; towels and bath are upstairs if you want to clean up."

He settled onto the leather sofa comfortably, using the edge of the coffee table to flick open his bottle of ale.  One thing was for certain: Britain did, indeed, have better beer--or IPA or ale or whatever they wanted to call it--than Israel.  Thank Jonas Trevelyan for that introduction.  Though he missed the Golem beer and pomegranate ale of Tel Aviv.  Still, this would do.

"But Hhere," he said, lifting the bottle with one hand, the cold compress with the other.  "Let me look at that jaw."  The bruising was already apparent, the skin purpling.  While  Hannah was naturally taciturn, she'd expended precious energy telling him off and belittling him pejoratively, meaning it probably wasn't broken or dislocated.  Lucky him. 

Eleor’s flat was more homely than Hannah’s; but then, he probably called his a home. Hers was stark, minimalist and unloved. Hers was starting to feel more like a cage than a home. It was somewhat a relief to not return to her own flat, instead finding neutral ground not ruled over by Ira Almasy.

Perhaps normally reluctant to sink down into the sofa of someone no more than an acquaintance, Hannah was too exhausted to refuse and allowed the cushions to swallow her, sinking into the much needed comfort. She was still overly aware of her state of dress (or lack of) and new proximity to the kindly wizard who just wanted to help.

"Let me look at that jaw." The beer was offered and she was reminded of the aching jaw that Layton had hurled his knee into as a response for her spitting in his face. In her horror of the situation and the pain from the branding, her bruised and painful jaw had moved to the back of her mind but it was only now that he mentioned it that she realised how much it did hurt and how much force the bastard had used.

Taking the beer in one hand, Hannah rested her wand on her bare thighs.
“It’s not broken.” She muttered quietly. Now that she’d sat down she realised how much the ordeal had taken it out of her. “I’ve had worse.”

"It's not broken."

"Yeh, Auror that I am, I pieced that together about the time you told me to 'piss off'..." he said lightly, giving his best imitation of her accent.  His eyes darting to read her expression, venturing a slight smile.  "Also wouldn't have given you a beer to drink if you did," he quipped. "I've learned better than that, watching you work."

He'd learned a fair bit from her in their shared time at the DMLE; and when she'd departed as Level 2's medical examiner, they'd all taken courses on forensic pathology, to make up for the slack.  Because, like as not, any ME they got to replace Hannah Bombay would not be as good. Hell. They hadn't even filled the position since she'd left.

He shuffled around a bit,  taking opportunities to look sidelong at her as he moved about.  He shifted a few throw pillows in order to free a thick, wool blanket tossed over the arm of the couch.  "Here," he said, taking her in a bit.  She'd know what he was doing, but if she wanted the dignity, she'd at least not call him out on it.  He was summing it up--recreating the crime.  Adon couldn't be as removed and detached as she had been while on Level 2.  His stomach was sick the entire time.  He unfolded the blanket, shaking it a little bit before draping it over her shoulders.

Scraped knees.  Blow under the jaw--those bruises. Some sort of red swelling--burns?--on the neck.  He shifted the blanket a little, settling it, catching a glimpse of her wrist now.  God, the wrists were red, too.  So she'd been bound, strangled, brought to her knees, then beaten.  Probably in that order, but he couldn't be sure, and he doubted he'd get a direct statement from her on it just now.  The raw marks on her wrists and necks weren't abrasions--or sort of rope burns. They were swollen, red, and puffy.  Allergic reaction to some sort of silver, no doubt.  The captor knew she was a were and made it a key element in her torture.  He doubted she'd truly had worse.

The brand, he remembered.  All of this was territorial; it was personal. The person who attacked her knew her well and wanted to make it clear they owned her. They took her pride, took her clothes, took all they could.  There was a burning pit of anger in his stomach as he realized one more thing they could have taken.  She was barely clothed.  Adon had his preliminary suspicions. Time to test them.

He'd have to come at this indirectly.  "Is there anyone you want me to send for, Hannah? Maybe someone that's got a key to your flat. Parent or boyfriend or...?"

Hannah was grateful for the blanket, even if it did mean being watched and scrutinised by the wizard as she wrapped it tightly around her body. All dignity had been lost when she’d woken up in her underwear shackled to a post. The hell she’d been through that morning was becoming somewhat of a blur as she sank back onto Adon’s sofa, closing her eyes and trying to breathe through the pain that was still enveloping her.

Sitting here now, the witch realised how truly exhausted she was. She realised how much she’d been through in a simply matter of hours. Once more her body had been burned, bruised and now branded. She’d been once more degraded, reminded of her position in society, reminded of her position to Ira Almasy. Hannah was a disposable asset, an asset that, should she rear her head again and cause an issue, would undoubtedly be crushed. This time she wouldn’t come out of it alive.

"Is there anyone you want me to send for, Hannah? Maybe someone that's got a key to your flat. Parent or boyfriend or...?"

For a minute or so, Hannah didn’t reply. She sat in silence, now having pulled her feet up onto the sofa, hugging her knees beneath the blanket. She wanted to hide under it and never resurface. She wanted to be forgotten about and left alone to be herself.

But she wasn’t alone. Adon Eleor was there, and true to form, Adon wanted to help. Her eyes blinked open, cautiously surveying him. A handsome and caring wizard, one that could protect a witch he was in love with. Why had she never pursued such a thing years ago? Why had she not made friends, lovers with a wizard who might have protected her from such a mess? Why did she have to be so different from everyone else?

“There’s no one.” The werewolf admitted quietly, simply. As the adrenaline wore off, her jaw hurt more and more, a fiery ache bringing tears to her eyes. “I just want to clean up.” She didn’t want to stay and be stared at or questions for hours. Bare feet dropped back down to the floor and she began to push her exhausted body to stand. It took more energy than she realised she had and she wavered, closing her eyes a moment.

“Those spare clothes?”

"I just want to clean up."

Adon nodded sadly, bare feet moving up the steep wooden steps to the loft.  He began rummaging through the wardrobe, then the chest of drawers, pulling clothing at random.  A pullover, a tee, a flannel button-up shirt, a pair of scrubs, a robe... "So!" he called from above, voice raised to carry.  "No one has keys to your place, then?" He moved to the cupboard above the sink, pulling an amber bottle from the shelf and sniffing its contents.  Still good. He shifted the assortment of items about the small space, unearthing a brush, pulling a new bar of soap.  "The flat's secure, then?" he closed the cupboard, working his way back down the ladder that led to the main floor.  He stopped just short of the sofa, dropping the pile of clothes and towels onto the arm.  "No other way to access it?" He regarded Hannah, venturing a haphazard smile, trying to keep it light.  "I mean, I know I wasn't able to break in, but I don't want to let you back into an..." he smile faded.  He couldn't play at this just now. "An unsafe situation."

"'Ma's proprietary compound salve," he said, opening the jar again and now kneeling in front of her.  The air carried a spiced, pine fragrance. He acted without asking--two fingers pressed into the ointment before dabbing at the edge of her jaw. "It's the arnica you smell," he said as he worked.  "I don't really care if you're just going to wash it off in a moment; it works fast and this looks painful."  He reached back for the towel and soap.  "You can head up to the loft if you want to draw a bath or change." 

“Out of all of the unsafe situations I could be in, Adon, returning to my flat isn’t one of them.” If that were 100% true, it wouldn’t be owned by Ira Almasy and it would be a true safe haven. As it was, the flat itself was a constant reminder of ownership.

While Adon had been upstairs doing Merlin knew what, Hannah had lowered herself back to sit on the edge of the sofa, blanket wrapped tightly around her. She’d been staring around the nicely decorated flat when he returned with a pile of clothes and towels.

There wasn’t much chance to pull back before the wizard attacked her jaw with the salve. She didn’t complain, immediately feeling a soothing sensation where it had been throbbing painfully.

“Thanks.” A slight nod acknowledged his kindness and Hannah pushed up from the sofa, throwing the blanket back down. It took longer than it should to mount the ladder, her entire body screaming through exhaustion and pain.

The bathroom was occupied by the witch for possibly around an hour. She lost track of time lying in the bath, regularly dunking her head beneath the water, feeling the water engulf her. She’d keep her head under until it was impossible to for any longer. It would have been wonderful to fall asleep there and then, her body was so exhausted.

But Hannah hauled herself out of the bath and took her time drying off her body, examining the new marks burnt onto her skin. Thin fingers traced over the brand on her inner thigh, lips pressed together through discomfort. The brands would need covering at home, some ointment and bandaging. Skin on her wrists and ankles was red raw, as was a thin line around her throat from the bola the night before. As she stared in the mirror above the sink, her tired eyes focused on the swelling and bruising darkening her chin.

The knock on the door caused her to jump, spinning around to see it still closed, still locked. Adon Eleor had seen enough of her for one day.

“I haven’t died in the bathtub.” she said, barely loud enough for him to hear through the door. She was quick to finish drying her body and pulled on the scrub trousers and t-shirt, leaving wet hair to fall down her back, already forming waves.

The door was opened for her to come face to face with Eleor and the younger witch frowned, crossing her arms uncomfortably. The clothes were far too big and long.

“I used your shampoo.” Was all she said as she stared at him.

Bear was begging to be let in, now. Bastard. (Adon could see why they called it caterwauling. The worst.)  Of course, once Adon had bothered with the 15 bajillion separate locks to let the beast in, it now seemed to be having second thoughts.  "Not tonight, Bear-Cat," he said, catching the kitten in the crook of his foot and dragging it in.  He fiddled with the 18 bajillion locks to resecure the place. Seriously--were these locks multiplying?

It would hardly be a night for sleep, he decided.  Habitually, Adon moved to the corner desk, pulling off a sheet of paper from a pad and started to jot down what he knew.


Preliminary injuries assessment: bound in a kneeling position, hands behind back, likely chained to a post. silver on neck and wrist. potential attempt at strangulation.  stricken when kneeling causing bruising and possible though unlikely fracture on left mandible. branded on inner right thigh and left collarbone with iron "A." covered in dirt; likely attack on secluded, remote area in countryside, consistent with cattle brand.

Characterization: personal. violence  and the branding implies possession.  attacker knew of lycanthropy (potential tie-in to prior abduction. Scarlet "A" possible echo of scarlet letter--possible if attacker views sexual claim.

• Items to follow up on: check with neighbors, landladies, any friends(?), past employers--ask about boyfriends, family.
• Check with Gamp about status of prior case. Interest in L.M.
• Check into registries for farms and cattle branding--"A" could be family name.
• Obtain soil sample.
• Sex offender registry.

And while he knew, what with Hannah being willing to go back to her flat, that it wasn't likely she was abducted from there, he couldn't be certain. Adon couldn't entirely rule out the possibility that Hannah Bombay was devoid of most human feeling (including fear), or having an absurdly strong poker face.  Either way, she didn't have the key, which meant, presumably, that someone else did. He added a few points.

• Clear flat of potential risks.
• Get locks changed.

Adon frowned, blowing on the parchment and waiting for the ink to dry.  Once it had, he waved his wand over it. The letters flitted, swirled, and shifted on the page like a swarm of ants, ultimately settling in an unrecognizable jumble of jibberish.

Opening a heavy, but seemingly empty drawer of the desk, Adon dropped the sheet in; it seemed to hover in midair before it faded from view.  He shoved the disappearing drawer closed.  To be satisfied, he then opened again to be sure--yes, it still appeared empty.

Within 20 minutes, Adon had the ball rolling on at least 3 of those things. Obviously contacting real humans was out of the question, but that didn't rule out Level 2.  A few innocuous inquiries to their researcher about cattle ranches and a jotted off letter to Gamp to be delivered later... another to their landladies... A patronus to Phil, and things were underway.

Even though it was much, much too late to try to get even a wink of sleep, Adon settled himself onto the sofa, giving a slight, albeit begrudging smile as Bear-Cat immediately took advantage of the situation and curled up onto the blanket beside him.  Within minutes, the black beast was purring as loudly as a can of marbles.  Adon decided he'd just close his eyes for a minute when--

There was a thump from upstairs., and Adon jolted awake, wand ready.  Moloch, had he actually fallen asleep?  He checked his phone for the time.  It had been almost an hour. 

"Hannah?" he called.  When there was not an immediate reply, Adon felt a rising panic.  He clamored up the wooden steps to his loft, rapping on the bathroom door with a knuckle. 

“I haven’t died in the bathtub.” Came the dry response.  Adon's lips flickered into a smile before shaking his head. Hannah Bombay, ladies and gentlemen.

It was followed shortly thereafter with an actual, live (albeit deadpan) appearance--and another quip: "I used your shampoo."

"Well, you've stopped calling me 'Auror,' so I suppose this was the next inevitable step."  Being friends with Hannah Bombay--if he'd even made it that far--was weird. She was weird. This whole thing was somehow totally emotionally detached, and therefore totally, emotionally weird.

"I've called my friend, Phil. She's going to get you into your flat and change your locks within the hour. She's the best locksmith in London. You need anything else? Want breakfast? I make a mean omelette." 

"Well, you've stopped calling me 'Auror,' so I suppose this was the next inevitable step."
 There was the slightest possibility that had she not been in such a state at the current moment, she would have found humour in Adon’s comment. The possibility was only slight, however. This was still Hannah Bombay.
As it was, the witch simply stared at him, not registering the humour.
“You’re not in your robes.”

Feeling uncomfortable stood in the doorway with him so close and so tall, Hannah stepped passed him into the large space of the bedroom. As she did, Adon continued to speak; he liked to speak. It used to irk her, the constant sound of someone’s voice as the droned on and on about pointless things. This morning it comforted her somewhat to hear someone kind, someone who didn’t want her to suffer for fun.
“You don’t have to do all of this, Adon.” she folded her arms, hugging her body in the oversized jumper. Thankfully it covered what she desperately wanted to hide.

“I’m not hungry.” And she sounded ungrateful. Momentarily, Hannah closed her eyes and took in a deep breath. When she opened them, she fixed the kind wizard with a stare. “Thank you.”