The 16th of May was a rather balmy day but from Hannah Bombay’s choice of clothing, one would never have guessed. Despite the morning sunshine preparing them for a warm yet cloudy day, she had chosen to dress all in black. She’d found, from the box of clothing saved from the flat, a long sleeved high neck polo jumper to cover any scarring from the past couple of years. It felt good to be dressed in something that really covered her for the first time in nearly two months since her arrest. She felt safer, protected. And Merlin did she feel clean.

It would have taken days, perhaps weeks to really feel like she’d gotten the smell of Azkaban from her skin and hair, but she didn’t have such a privilege. Solomon Carstairs had released her from her prison cell only to send her back into the hell for payback for her crimes. It seemed like a sick joke that would never end and the only one laughing was Ira Almasy and her pet Layton.

She’d not even been free for 24 hours before she had her ‘meeting’ with Carstairs and was forced to return once more, this time as staff. Forced staff.

Upon arrival in the ministry atrium, Hannah’s eyes danced across to the welcome desk where Cynthia Bombay sat flashing her pearly whites at a young slightly terrified looking wizard. For a mere second, their gazes locked on one another. Her mother was the first to look away, her bottom lip twisting in disgust at the sight of her criminal daughter. What an embarrassment she must have been to such a shallow witch.

The lifts down to Level 2 felt slow, painfully slow. But at least this ride wasn’t in chains. This time those were the metaphorical ones dragging her back to Azkaban after only a night’s sleep in a normal, warm bed.

“He’s free now, Bombay.” Maya Elliot said from behind the desk. It was hard to put a finger on the look as was being given from her former housemate that was only two years younger. Maya was the age Hannah had been when she’d been bitten. But she’d been way more than just some moron’s assistant.

Without a word, Hannah rose from the chair she’d been sat in and pushed open the large door to Carstairs’ office. During their last meeting[1], she’d finally opened up about Almasy and everything that happened. In return for that, he’d had her thrown in Azkaban after doing little more than informing her she’d made bad choices. With the full moon simply a day away, if he made such comments this morning, she might try to tear his eyes out.

The door was pulled shut behind her and she turned to look at him with a stony expression.

1.	The Fetters of Thy Tongue

"Take a seat Miss Bombay."

Solomon Carstairs looked up from a form he was still signing, a soft and mechanical smile springing to life at the corners of his mouth. He was a decidedly chipper morning person - had been as much since the end of April when the department was able to finally draw conclusions to several of their open cases as a result of Ira Almasy's exposure and eventual death. There was ample paperwork to do but Sol never minded paperwork.

Paperwork never misbehaved or threw tantrums or told unpredictable lies. Paperwork did what you asked of it, under the condition of following its rules.

Hannah Bombay was another bit of this red tape, one that he had been looking forward to resolving since finding out that her testimony in March had turned out to be true. The witch would hopefully find some stability in life now that she was no longer rotting in a prison at all hours of the day.

"We only need to go through some procedural formalities. I would normally have assigned this to one of the Aurors," Solomon adjusted his spectacles pleasantly, "but I think it would be best for me to handle this personally. These are yours, by the way..."

He slid forward a thick folder on the desk. On top of it was a printed DMLE identification card and an Azkaban Staff badge attached to a leather lanyard.

“You mean my prison mugshot isn’t enough?” The werewolf couldn’t help but ask as bright eyes flashed over the pile on the desk. There wasn’t however, any bitterness to her voice. “I suppose I should be relieved you didn’t put that picture on this.”
Small mercies were to be celebrated when you were no longer stuck in a small cell in the middle of the North Sea. Having to constantly show off such an unpleasant picture on a daily basis was just rubbing salt in already painful wounds.

Solomon Carstairs seemed like the sort to keep plenty of salt in his top drawer for such occasions.

Hannah sat and pulled the file and badges over. Thin fingers first selected the Azkaban badge up from the pile. A rough thumb rubbed over it as she thought about her own St Mungo’s healer badge which had been taken from her upon her firing by Elliot, now Mrs Storm…nearly a widow twice over.
At least, she supposed, her healer licence wasn’t being completely stripped.
Once again, small mercies.

“Personal treatment from the Head of Department,” pale lips twisted into a smile, a forced smile that failed to reach her eyes. “You found out I was telling the truth.”

            "Personal treatment from the Head of Department. You found out I was telling the truth."

Solomon leaned back into his chair, nodding. He couldn't blame Hannah for being bitter - the more he understood from the remains of Almasy's Atreus office, the easier it was to understand how easily one could become ensnared in that woman's mesh of magic and finely put words. His behaviour to the werewolf had been regrettably patronising.

"We did, from more than one source." Sol explained although he clearly had no interest in going into detail; the subject had been prevalent enough over the last two to three weeks. "I'm afraid it won't change your fate at this point but it will be taken into account at your review, which is in..."

The wizard paused, checking the paperwork before him. "Seven months," he looked up with a grimace, "and fourteen days. If you're lucky and manage good behaviour for that long, you will be released from Azkaban duty."

To some, that was a straightforward requirement. Sol wasn't sure if it would be for Hannah. He rose his eyebrows at her, pointedly.

"Think you can manage that long?"

The condescending wizard felt the need to point out a lack of change to her sentencing; as if she wouldn’t have guessed such a thing from the DMLE card and Azkaban badge he’d passed over to her. No, those were certainly not big enough clues to guess that things were changing and society would probably never change. Despite being forced into the crimes she’d been committed, she’d signed a contract and therefore was guilty in his eyes.

More than one source must have meant Lawrence had talked. She knew he was in the ministry, her grandpa had told her when he’d come to Azkaban. Lawrence was finally doing something to set things right.

If Hannah was lucky and managed good behaviour. For someone who claimed his wife was a werewolf, he sure knew how to demean one. Good behaviour was what you expected of a dog, a pet.

"I don't need anything from you. Only your obedience."[1]


Ira Almasy branded and beat misbehaving mongrels. Solomon Carstairs just humiliated them instead.

Hannah looked the bureaucrat dead in the eye, “It depends what you call good behaviour, Mr Carstairs.”

1.	Do I Not Bleed?

            "It depends what you call good behaviour, Mr Carstairs."

Nothing was ever straightforward with this one. But she had asked a question that would help him lead into the official purpose of meetings like this, which was to ensure that the witch understood the conditions of her sentencing. If she went on the record now as saying she understood what they meant by good behaviour, then she wouldn't have plausible deniability at a later point.

"It means-" he gestured at the folder in her hands, "- that you do not participate or instigate criminal behaviour. You don't cause trouble at your workplace and you do not miss days without a good reason. Nor will you miss transformations in a Ministry approved location. You will report to your assigned law enforcement officer on a monthly basis. You will also report to your assigned werewolf mentor on a bi-monthly basis."

Solomon paused before he began to sound like he was reading these things off a list (even if he was, mentally). It was important to him that Hannah didn't have to resort to the likes of Ira Almasy again. Clearly she had done so before because she was unaware of other resources[1] available to her.

And it was his job to ensure she was now aware.

"Failure to comply with these conditions may negatively affect your review," he informed her softly and removed his spectacles to give Hannah a sympathetic look. "Do read everything in that file, Hannah. The werewolf wing on level four can be extremely useful to someone in your position. Try to take advantage of that."

1.	Werewolf Legislation  - Community services

There was no secret in the fact that Carstairs simply thought of Hannah as trouble. Do not cause trouble at work, do not cause trouble for me. Behave like a good girl and keep your head down.

Years ago, Hannah would have been eager to do just that.

Now, she was angry. She was angry with the old bastard that died in his house, she was angry with the wizengamot for their decision to criminal her and Knox. She was furious with Wolfgang Storm and she was resentful of Solomon Carstairs. Anger was a driving force far better than fear. It was better than the terror she felt for Ira Almasy or Layton. Anger was strengthening and anger was certainly not going to let her lay low and keep her head down like a well-behaved wolf.

None of these thoughts needed to be shared with the wizard that would no doubt want to put her back behind bars. It was highly probably that he would simply look for any tiny break in his conditions.

Once more she had monthly meetings with the DMLE, no surprise. But to be assigned a mentor? Hannah’s lip twitched marginally at the prospect. She didn’t do talking about struggles, thoughts and feelings. She didn’t need a mentor.

But she didn’t comment.

The badges were shoved into the pocket of her robe before she reached a hand forward and grabbed the file he seemed so eager for her to read.

“The first thing I get to read in over a month is a file of parole regulations and rules for working in Azkaban.” The witch muttered as she opened the file and flicked through. Her eyes settled on a name in bold under the words ‘Werewolf mentor’.

“You don’t think I’ve had to talk enough already? A mentor? What can someone tell me about being a werewolf that I don't already know? Other than you're idea that it can all be okay if you embrace it and play by the rules?"

He had always assumed that Hannah was a clever little witch, so Solomon was surprised to hear that this was the first thing she was reading after her release yesterday. Granted, she'd barely had a day of freedom... but did she also mean the news? What sort of person avoided the news? In his experience, the Daily Prophet was the first thing most ex-criminals would reach for once they were let back into society.

And she'd only been gone a month.

            "You don’t think I’ve had to talk enough already? A mentor?" Hannah interrupted his thoughts with typical defensiveness,  "What can someone tell me about being a werewolf that I don't already know? Other than you're idea that it can all be okay if you embrace it and play by the rules?"

"Mentors don't exist to lecture you on the merits of Lycanthropy," he drawled with a frown - it was obvious now, how isolated Bombay had allowed herself to become. "The mentorship programme is run by werewolves, for werewolves. It's a support system. If you'd known about it before, perhaps you would never have crossed paths with Almasy."

His own wife attended the werewolf wing's support group sessions. Solomon had attended one as well, for a short while: a support group for the spouses of werewolves. He hadn't stayed long but it had been a good reminder of something that he suspected Hannah needed to come to terms with.

Solomon leaned forward, arms crossed over his desk. "This is a chance for a fresh start, Hannah. Almasy and her assistant are dead. You have steady income and, well, I suppose even you must have friends." Poor buggers. He glanced at her folder again.

"What I mean is that you're not alone," this was all very textbook but even Sol knew that didn't mean it was wrong, "Don't be afraid to ask for help when you need it."

“If you'd known about it before, perhaps you would never have crossed paths with Almasy.” Carstairs seemed to see in black and white, much like Hannah before everything had changed. She’d seen right and wrong, correct and incorrect, good and bad. Now everything was grey and murky and unclear. Carstairs hadn’t adapted to an unclear and grey world. If he had, he’d not be able to so easily tell her how a mentorship programme with fellow werewolves would have saved her from falling in with Almasy.

The world seemed to go quiet after words telling her of Almasy and Layton’s demise. No one had shared that information with her and, if she were being honest, she’d wanted to remain in blissful ignorance for at least a day. The illusion of freedom was far preferable to the fear of being tracked down by the tormentors you’d riled.

“Do you have bodies?” She asked, ignoring anything he’d said after. “Are you 100% certain than they’re dead? Evidence can lie. They’re not your average criminals.” Hannah fully expected a remark back about her fulling knowing how much evidence could lie, but she could take it. She had to know for certain.

Bombay seemed far more interested in news of Almasy than she was in getting a fresh start. Solomon would have disapproved but he knew what the Russian woman had done - the extent of her cruelty was unnerving. They had uncovered documents in the Atreus apartments that indicated how deep her roots had grown in the underworld of wizarding society. So he saved his moralistic speeches for later and smiled grimly instead, as Hannah described them as 'not average criminals'.

"We're aware," Sol replied dryly. "There are bodies to confirm the deaths, identities verified by multiple individuals who were close to them." Many who were Almasy's own kin, including the niece who had helped ensure Ira's culpability.... but Hannah didn't need to know that.

It would be better if she concentrated on the future instead.

He slipped on his spectacles again, leaning back in his chair to indicate that their meeting would soon be drawing to its close. "Mind, we've been fooled before by evidence that you've tampered with Miss Bombay," Solomon couldn't help reminding Hannah of the crimes that had landed her here in the first place. "I think that's all you need from me for your first day. If anything is worrying you, do get in touch through your assigned officer or mentor."

It was odd, unexpected, Hannah’s reaction to being reminded of her crimes.

She smiled. A soft smile that held something darker behind. Solomon Carstairs thought he was smart, he thought he was finally pulling this mess together, that he had control. But she’d outsmarted the ministry over and over again from the little room in her flat where she worked on cadavers for Almasy.
Everything Carstairs needed for his tidy tying of loose ends was handed to him. Her uncle had turned himself in, she’d known her actions would get her arrested, she’d told him enough to follow the trail.

Almasy and Layton were dead and she had won.

So, she smiled.

“What would I be worried about?” The witch asked as she stood. “I’m free.”