14 days in. Just under 336 hours if surmised correctly. 15 days left. Longer if she found trouble. 24 hours of real freedom would be followed by returning to work on the other side of the bars. Strangely, the monotony and drab loneliness of Azkaban was oddly comforting. When locked in the cell, despite it being cold, windy and damp, Hannah Bombay revelled in the solitude. It was thinking time to consider her current position; a chance to come to terms with her present and her future.

Dressed in the black and grey tattered dress she’d been made to wear, the witch sat up against the wall on the bed. Her knees were pulled up to her chest, legs and feet bare and exposed to the elements. The witch herself had lost weight over the past few months. She was skinny, making her already tiny stature seem far more exaggerated. Long brown hair was tangled and falling over her shoulders in a mess and her face was gaunt and pale. Her sleeves were pulled down over the scars on her arms. Despite her beaten and poor appearance, the witch’s eyes held a new determination.

The movement of the lock in the door startled the small witch and her span around to see the great heavy iron door opening to reveal a tall male guard stood with his wand out. “Get up, bitch.”

She had learned her lesson the hard way the first day about reacting to the name they called her. Dealing with the disrespect of being referred to as a female dog was preferable to an uppercut to the stomach and a hook punch to the face. The bruise on her left cheek had nearly completely faded but it was a reminder of who was in charge within these walls. Mercilessly, the dementors had gone but Azkaban was still an abysmal penitentiary.
Reluctantly, Hannah placed bare feet on the cold stone floor and stood up.

“Manicarerous” A thick set of iron shackles suddenly weighed down on her wrists and ankles, held together with a thick chain, taking away her freedom of movement. The witch could only stare as the armed guard simply grunted “We’re going walkies. The bitch has a visitor.”

“Who?”

“Move.”

“Who?” Her tone was harder this time. 14 days and no visitors. Who would want to come to this merlin forsaken place now?

Her question was answered when a flick of his wand caused a yank at the chain wrapped around her waist, thus launching her forward to nearly stumble to the floor.
“Next time it’ll be silver around your neck.”
Anger swelled but the prisoner said nothing. That would be a step too far for even these guards. 15 days and she would be out if she didn’t bite back. So, she moved as best as she could from the cell, shuffling along the long dark corridor until they reached a spiral staircase leading down.

It was after about five minutes of awkward shuffling when Auror Unpleasant and Hannah finally stopped outside a locked room. A twist of his wand unlocked it and the door swung open. Inside was a table with a chair on either side. The auror pointed to the chair on the far side of the room and his ward simply stared at him.

“The chains are necessary? I’m hardly going to attempt escape.” As she moved her arms to demonstrate, they loudly clattered.

“Sit.” Without another word, the door was slammed and Hannah was left alone in the dimly lit room. she was still chained. Frustrated, she lowered herself into the directed seat and waited.

When the door finally did open, Hannah was sat back on the wooden chair staring.
When the figure came into view, her lips parted and eyes very nearly welled up. They didn’t. It was close; but it was avoided.
After a short moment, she pressed her lips together into a thin line and frowned.
“You shouldn’t be here.”

Knox Greyfriar was draped in as much official accouterments as he could manage. The plum-colored robes of the Wizengamot, a gold-capped scroll sealed with the Ministry of Magic seal. and an official edict detailing his visit of Importance. He was officially an observer sent by the Wizengamot's Werewolf Rights committee to evaluate the treatment of werewolf inmates. Greyfriar was an imposing figure both in stature and position. He was usually a friendly fellow, but all it took was a breath for him to compose his visage into a beast you did not want to cross.

This was the stoicism of power and disapproval the Azkaban administrator greeted on the pier.

"Usually we have 90 days notice for inspection." She said tightly.

"This isn't an inspection. I am observing." He walked past her up the peir, his boots falling heavy and in strides too long for her to keep up without a hustle.

"If you'll wait, I'll arrange a tour of our facilities."

"That won't be necessary. I'm here to interview a prisoner."

Knox was a few steps ahead of the administrator so did not see the flash of displeasure on the administor's face. 

"I'll prepare a shortlist."

"This one is short enough." Elder Greyfriar handed her a folded note with one name on it. By then they had reached the doors of the massive tower and they were shown in.  The administrator attempted to stall and deflect Greyfriar off to a different inmate, but Knox was an unstoppable bureaucratic force.  It wasn't a quarter hour more before the administrator was leading the Wizengamot Elder down the corridor.

"It really would have been better if you'd owled ahead. This particular inmate - she's been having  delusions and she's had to be restrained for her own safety. I strongly advise against this."

She was blocking him from the door now.  He could have bellowed or made threats.  But all he head to do was straighten his posture and keep his gaze. After a tense few moments of silence, she unlocked the door and left him in the corridor.

---

He almost didn't see her sitting there. She was so shrunken and there was so little life to her she seemed transparent somehow. But he heard it and felt it at the same time - Hannah's ire. It was a familiar thing. At least there was that. At least she had enough left to hate him.

Knox couldn't shed his armor yet, not even to give Hannah a proper greeting. She was in chains. This would not do. Without another look or another word. he left the room.

Hannah didn't have to wait long before there was some commotion in the corridor. The door swung open and it might appear that Knox had all but thrown a guard over the threshold. The adminstrator would have followed them in, but stopped short as if she was afraid to get this close to an actual prisoner.

"This is against protocol! She's dangerous! We can't be held responsible for what she might do!

The guard obeyed whatever orders Knox Greyfriar had delivered in the hallway and removed the enchanted shackles.  As soon as it was done, they left and Knox and Hannah were left alone in the echos of the door closing.

---

His face finally fell, his large frame seeming to wilt. Tears came, and he shook his head. He lifted his arms, and let the drop. He made no move to embrace her because he knew she'd hate him to.  All he could ask was - "what happened?"

No words. The wizard took one look at her and left the room and Hannah was left to sit there wondering why the hell he’d come all this way to simply give her a glance and leave. Still, at least there’d been the exercise of a walk down the large staircase. It was rare prisoners were allowed to leave their cells. Food was served through a hole in the door and a lack of access to quills and parchment was one thing, but the guards seemed to even think bathing was a privilege earned. If not earned, a weekly occasion with other prisoners and no privacy to be heard of. The last time she’d left her cell was a few days ago for the weekly bath.

But the door reopened and Knox nearly threw the guard into the room. Hannah’s eyes widened but she remained still. Even as the shackles vanished, she didn’t move until the door was shut and Knox teared up. With them alone, she did give her wrists a rub, the pain of silver months ago in the back of her mind.

Her former comrade’s question was so open ended that the small witch wasn’t sure how to approach it. She left it to hang in the air for a moment as she considered what he’d meant. It was months since they’d last spoken and even that time she’d pushed him away. Despite how it may have seemed, Hannah cared a great deal for Knox Greyfriar and had pushed him away to stop him getting tangled into her mess.

“I made a deal with the devil.” she spoke quietly, the sound of her own voice having become somewhat unfamiliar in all of the solitude. Despite herself, tears did appear and she pushed herself to stand, reaching forward to grab his hands. “You shouldn’t be here, Knox. You can’t be a part of any of this. It’s dangerous.”

Hannah's hands on his startled Knox; the only times they'd touched were a few rare unwelcome bear hugs on his part. The gesture meant a lot to him, but he knew it was the result of turmoil and trial.

Knox hadn't been able to find out exactly what happened to Hannah, or how she ended up here, so her words were successfully enigmatic. A deal with the devil? What could that mean? He remembered vividly when the wizard Laurence Musgrave ended up in his house, and it turned out he had some connection to Hannah and her kidnapping with the werewolf ring fights. Was that it? Was this connected?

The old bear dared touch Hannah's forehead gently to move a lock of hair from her face. "It's fine. I'm on official Wizengamot business as an observer of prison conditions. Nothing related to whatever ended you up here - I just found out you were here at all and came as soon as  I could."

He frowned. "I'm not a part of anything."

Then, with some anguish, "why didn't you owl me?"

Knox Greyfriar wasn't sure if Hannah could ever understand the privilege of his status and stature. Even being a werewolf, his position in society and politics was secure.  He didn't wield it wildly and he was not immune to the law and prejudice. He hadn't been immune to that werewolf who found him in the woods. But he had means. He knew how to apply pressure.

But then, Knox would probably never understand Hannah. Any leverage he had, she had none.

To think he’d come looking into prison conditions was laughable. The only redeeming factor about Azkaban was the lack of dementors since the war but the place still help a foreboding and depressing quality. The prisoners were treated inhumanely and lived equally as such. People back at home didn’t think about the prisoners in Azkaban. They read articles in the Daily Prophet of the newest inmates and their crimes but then they were forgotten to rot away within the walls of the fortress. Hannah had been no different.

As usual, and despite herself, Hannah found Knox’s presence to be a comfort. A friendship forged through anguish and a severe dislike for one another had turned into her truly caring for the older wizard. It was why she’d pushed him away before. He was too kind to be wrapped up in her mess yet again. It was too dangerous.

"why didn't you owl me?"

She’d wanted to. She’d wanted to appear on the doorstep of him homely little shack so many times.

“It’s a privilege I haven’t earned to have parchment and quills.” There was a disdain in the small witch’s voice. “According to the guard with severe halitosis, bitches can’t read and write so it would be a waste.” It was the same guard to have given her the painful bruises for ‘backchatting’ about his choice of terminology. Knox didn’t need that information or he might have a fit.

Besides, it was good to be out of her cell. It was good to have him here even if only for a short while.

Staring at him towering above her, Hannah might have burst into tears. But instead, she did something unexpected.

“You asked me what happened, Knox.” A smile twisted her lips. “I fought back. I freed myself.”

It was difficult for Elder Greyfriar to shelve the flurry of thoughts of reparation and corrections when Hannah told him she'd not been allowed a means to owl out. It wasn't legal, and it took all of his better judgement not to press her further for details and vow to bring the sky down on her behalf.

Instead, he pressed his lips together and shook his head. And then she smiled. It was like she had caught fire. Her skin was still grey, her lips still dry, her shoulders too narrow, her wrists still bruised. But a Hannah Bombay with a smile was like a witch at the stake. Knox smiled too, tentatively.

"Of course you did," he admitted. "But what do you mean?"

He was placating her; his disadvantaged young friend who’d landed herself in prison. He knew nothing of her situation and she questioned just how to tell him about. It wasn’t for fear of repercussions should she share; it was through fear of further abandonment. Funny for a witch who’d always relished solitude.

“How much time have you got?” He was here to talk to her, he’d not journeyed this far for a 2 minute chat. It may even be a relief if she did share, having kept the majority of this to herself for so long. “You won’t believe half of it.”

Considering how to respond didn’t take long. Having spent days on end with no chance to speak to anyone that didn’t insult and hate her, Hannah was glad just for a chance to talk. She sat on the wooden seat and looked down at her hands while thinking over where to start.

“Ira Almasy was behind the werewolf fights. Shortly after Lawrence saving me, she broke into my flat and made me an offer. I refused, obviously. But then Elliot sacked me and I had no choice because I was going to lose my home and I had no money. She said I would be healing her contacts, I’d have a place to stay and be paid. I signed a blood contract with her.” It was the stupidest thing she’d ever done, but telling Knox that wasn’t necessary. He would no doubt think it himself.

“Everything was fine; I just got on with what I needed to and turned a blind eye to what I didn’t want to know. But on Bonfire Night I was summoned to a pub. Lawrence was there; he’d blown up the Leaky Cauldron and he was a mess, a great knife sticking out of his leg. I refused to heal him. That caused her to show up. Psychopaths have a thing about silver about your neck.” The witch’s voice sounded disconnected as her thin fingers touched a slim white scar around her neck. “It burns, you can feel your skin and flesh searing.”

“I gave in.” she shook her head, not looking at Knox. She seemed be seeing it all again as she simply stared away. “But she did something. Something I can’t forgive, and I attacked her. An acidic potion that should have melted her face off.” Now her gaze did meet his. “And it did melt. It was beautifully grotesque. She’s a metamorphmagus and as you can expect, she wasn’t happy.” It was too humiliating to tell him what Almasy had done in retaliation.

“This is why I ended up at the Storm’s house. He wasn’t supposed to die,” No one had told her otherwise, “Elliot was supposed to resuscitate me once Lawrence killed me. It was the only way to break the contract. It was the only way to escape.”

Embarrassed, the witch closed her eyes. She’d been able to talk about it with such detachment and that scared her. “Almasy tried to dehumanise me and I think it’s worked.” A tear slipped down her cheek. “A man is dead because I wanted to be free and I would do it again.”

Her eyes suddenly shot open. She didn’t feel relieved. “You should go.”

As Hannah began to speak, Knox moved them both to chairs. He kept his hand on her shoulder as he slid one chair to join its pair on one side of the table. He sat her down, and then himself. His re-arrangement didn't seem to even register her notice.[1]

Knox was a gentle man. Everyone knew that. He had a soft touch with just about everything. But today, everything bearish had come out, and everything bearish he repressed. What had happened to Hannah, everything she'd done, all that was done to her - it wasn't about Knox. Not about his anger, his guilt, his grief. It still showed on his face, and in some tension in his arm.

When she finished and gave him an alarmed command to go, he leaned in and embraced her small frame, gently but with everything he had. He laid his whiskery cheek on her head. He held her for as long as she allowed, ready to release her the moment she moved away.

"I can't," he said, a few tears coming. He was glad she couldn't see. "I didn't know. I didn't know any of it." 

Of course, he knew some of it. He was on the Wizengamot. He knew about Musgrave, he'd heard some about Almasy. But he couldn't help but think it would require some kind of conspiracy among his peers to keep him out of this. And the cost for his ignorance had been great. Knox Greyfriar had no trouble believing he could have prevented all this.

Hannah's sentence ended in a fortnight. She'd survive. But then what?

"Can I help you?" he asked gently, as if he was asking her a favor. "Will you let me?"

1.	Hope that's okay.

He hugged her.

It wasn’t a welcome hug but he wasn’t pushed away. She was wrapped in his large frame and for the first time in weeks she didn’t feel horrifyingly alone. Neither did she feel chilled to the bone. His warm body heated her core and she, willingly, relaxed into his embrace. The single tear she shed upon telling him was the only one and when he did draw back, Hannah looked away, her vulnerability being unwelcome.

Of course, he’d not known. She’d distanced herself to stop him knowing anything. She’d been unable to share even if she’d wanted to.

Could he help her? She really wasn’t sure if she wanted him to. He couldn’t get her out of her. But two more weeks were manageable. At least, unlike her uncle, the guards hadn’t hacked off her hand. She could handle some nastiness. She’d handled years of it.

“Herbert. I don’t know what happened to him.” Perhaps that wasn’t what he’d had in mind. “I’ve lost the flat now. He could be anywhere.”

There was no reason that a grown wizard should be pleased to hear a young cat is lost in London, but in that moment Hannah's forlorn feline gave Knox a tiny reason to hope. He could and would find Herbert if it was his last act alive.

"I'll look," he said, making no promises but resolved. Resolved as well to make sure she had a safe place to stay - if she wanted one.

He waited for a moment, thinking. Then, "I'm going to go now. There are some things to set straight in London.  I can't be sure, but I think this little 'inspection' might keep that administrator on his toes. If not, a few more light touches should."  Knox would be careful not to cause Hannah any more trouble. The indication that one was being observed tended to tidy things.

A few small movements, and Knox had set his chair back where it begun. He hoped to leave no impression that this had been anything more than 'official business'. Two chairs side-by-side might have let on.

He stood by. "Will you be alright?"

Why had she told him to go? Now he was getting up to leave and she’d be alone again with these cruel and prejudiced guards in a fort full of dangerous criminals. Hannah wanted to ask him to stay and talk for hours, or just sit and keep her from leaving this dimly lit grey room and returning to her own dimly lit grey cell.

He wanted to help, but he’d wanted to help before. Hannah had learned that Knox was bluster and bark but with little bite. She was the one that bit and she was the one that got sent down for it.

"Will you be alright?"

“I’ll be fine.” she heard herself saying it, heard herself lying to keep up appearances. Knox would have to leave no matter what. She’d rather he left thinking she was handling herself fine rather than seeing her break down in despair. 15 days left. 15 days were manageable.

“Check my old flat for me please? It’s been abandoned for months.”

"Sure. I will," he said with one of those small, automatic, close-lipped smiles. He didn't want to draw this out, and whether that desire was for her or his sake, he didn't know. In the classification of uncomfortable goodbyes, this was among the superlative.

"I almost said it'll be alright," he admitted, fitting his cap back on. "I believe the statement's true as can be, but it's an exceedingly useless things to say to someone in Azkaban." He knocked his knuckles on the door to summon guards before he added to Hannah's trial by letting slip more useless platitudes that were coming too easily to him right now.

A few moments later, there was activity on the other side of the door, and Knox was taken out of the room and escorted from the tower.