The sun got up earlier in June, as did some inhabitants of the wizarding world. The Diagon Alley Post Office was always open early, while other shops charmed up their shutters, and set up on the cobbles outside their windows. No stranger to early mornings, though not always due to waking up, Johann Storm was pulling a small stack of post from box 1895 to the backdrop of hooting owls. He flicked through the names, some addressed to him, others to pseudonyms, resisting the temptation to tear any open on the spot. One parcel was most definitely his mother’s birthday present. He shoved the stack into his satchel and closed up the box.

As he stepped out into the Alley, Johann glanced up at the clouds. He wished the sun made more appearances this month though, as there’d been more than enough rain for London. Umbrella charms were all well and good, but he got enough rain up in Edinburgh these days. Thankfully, it was dry that particular morning, and the temperature was back to somewhere comfortable for a month that considered itself fit for summer.

He glanced back down to the figures around him, making their way to work, or picking up morning essentials. Everyone had a routine of some sort, and Johann would often enjoy watching them in the Atrium. In Diagon there was a wider demographic, less faces he could put a name to. He reached into his pocket to check the time, but a figure caught his eye. As short as a teenager, shorter, maybe for the flat shoes. Feminine, definitely not someone who wanted to be seen, yet Johann’s subconscious had declared them familiar.

His subconscious had proved a lifesaver in the past, and he had time to spare before he had to be in the office, so he’d sate his curiosity… Slipping his pocketwatch away he set off down the Alley in the same direction as the figure, watching them out of the corner of his eye. He found himself shortening his stride so as not to march past them. He’d not done that since… no… no…

… well maybe…

If it wasn’t, then he was really going to look like a creepy stalker, but if it was, then he actually was. There was only one way to be sure which he was, and it involved crossing the cobbles as if heading into the shop ahead. Johann’s long legs crossed the space faster than the shorter witch.
“Oh, sorry,” Johann apologised, albeit prematurely, forcing a sidestep in her path before the purple facade of Slug and Jigger’s. More plausible than a nearby broomseller, perhaps. "... Hannah."

15 hours ago, Hannah had set off on the hour-long journey to Azkaban to begin a 12-hour shift. A couple of hours ago she had thankfully boarded the boat to Charon’s Point. It was another long and unpleasant night in a place she wanted to leave far behind. At the end of every shift, Hannah longed to bathe and wash the smell and very feeling of the horrendous prison off her skin and hair. She dreaded returning and cursed the ministry every time she had to. Such stress and frustration left the witch barely willing to eat and, as such, she was finding herself starting to lose a considerable amount of weight. A glance in the mirror at now straggly long hair and a slightly gaunter face left the witch eager to cover up and avoid anyone she knew.

Unfortunately, avoiding the world wasn’t actually possible and with a full moon coming, Hannah found herself starting to feel the preliminary effects and needed to take a trip to the apothecary.

“Oh, sorry,”

He nearly barged into her, the tall figure who only came into her vision when he sidestepped. Hannah had been moving down the alley with eyes set straight ahead, determined, ignoring the stares she felt. But this stare she couldn’t avoid, he was stood directly in front of her, staring. There was no way of avoiding him now.

Light eyes scanned his face, her lips pressing into a thin line.
“Johann.” He knew everything, so why had he not just turned and walked away? Absentmindedly, Hannah clasped her hands together, wringing them with nerves. What did she even say to him?

“Merlin, it is you.” Johann replied, surprised at the coincidence. “I thought it couldn’t be, but you…” he was babbling because he hadn’t thought past the part where he found out if the figure he’d spotted was Hannah after all. It was almost a year since Birmingham[1], and unbeknownst to Johann, a year since he and Hannah had last seen each other as friends[2], rather than in strife.

“How are you?” He settled for, expression shifting from shock to concern. He could answer enough without her uttering a word, what with how thin her face looked, and she was wearing enough clothing to look like she was on the way to a winter holiday rather than a mild June day. “I… look, I heard…”

Heard that you died on the living room floor of my cousin’s place in Hogsmeade.
Heard that your uncle pretended to be me to get in and you went along.
… heard worse.


She was wringing her hands. His old best friend who took no shit was anxious to run into him in Diagon Alley.


“I’m sorry,” Johann heard himself say, “can I buy you breakfast or something?”

1.	July 26th Sink Your Teeth In
2.	June 14th Rob the Bank

True to form, sweet Johann began to bumble over his words, speaking enough for the both of them while, verbally, saying very little. Surprisingly, there was no hatred or anger in those blue eyes. There was no resentment, only concern. He was actually concerned about her and this caused Hannah to only wring her hands tighter, nails digging into skin as she stared up at him through thickly rimmed spectacles.

This was the man whom had shown he would do nearly anything for her and yet she’d used him, their friendship, to endanger his family. What on Earth was he doing stood before her apologising for?

“You don’t have to.” Her response came calmly, a voice seemingly detached from her own as she stood glued to the spot. But standing here wanting to turn and run only made Hannah realise that she couldn’t ignore the big issue, she couldn’t run every time she faced him for fear of his reaction.
“I’m sorry.” This time her tone was clear, precise. “My uncle should never have done that to your cousin. He wanted to save me but without a care for your family. It should never have happened. Whatever you may have heard from people, I’m sorry. If I could go back and change it, I really would.” She spoke quickly, intent on getting her words out before unclasping her hands and brushing back from stray hairs in the mind breeze.

“You don’t have to.”
“.. but I want to.” Johann replied quietly.

Then, as efficient as he remembered, she laid it out. He didn’t blink or flinch away, but gave her his undivided attention. It was genuine enough, he’d never known Hannah lie, just… be economical with the truth, which was more honest than him. It lifted a worry from his shoulders that he’d grown used to carrying.

“I didn’t believe it, until he told me himself.” Johann confessed, “and even then when I reasoned it out, I couldn’t see how you’d do it without reason or if your uncle made you.” He shifted his bag on his shoulder, and frowned. “Then he told me Lawrence said you were cursed. He had to do that because you were cursed?” He blinked in confusion. “Sorry, this isn’t exactly street conversation, did you want to get something?” He thumbed over his shoulder in the direction she’d been walking.

As ever, and similar to Hannah, Johann had searched for reason. He’d clearly been unsatisfied with a lack of explanation and he’d been unwilling to believe Hannah could have been such a cruel person to have left her uncle do such a thing. But in truth, how much did Hannah really know the man stood before her? They’d been engaged, yes. They’d been friends for a while, looking after one another and, in fact, saving the lives of one another. But they’d not socialised in a long time and Hannah couldn’t help but feel that they were well beyond that prospect. Not only had his father destroyed her life and she’d nearly killed his cousin, but he was in a relationship with someone that Hannah would never trust due to his association.

What effect had that had upon Johann? Did he know of the associations? Was it her place to tell?

“Ok.” The witch agreed reluctantly, resisting the urge to check her pocket watch and proclaim that she had to leave quickly.

So, several minutes later they were seated in the café and Hannah, despite insisting previously that he didn’t need to buy her anything, had just ordered an English breakfast with extra sausages and a cup of tea. The full moon was relentless on one’s appetite once they smelled food and she’d denied her stomach recently.

“Lawrence didn’t make me do anything, Johann.” The healer muttered, forcing herself to meet his gaze. “Everyone thinks that I only chose to use Storm because she sacked me. But how many healers do you know capable of bringing you back from the dead?”

It was to Johann’s mild relief that Hannah agreed to breakfast. They’d a better track record when they talked over food, and it was the full moon soon, Hannah didn’t take so much persuasion at those times. Neither had Colin, Johann had paid close attention to both to keep on the right side. It was mutual agreement that the only conversation suitable for the Alley was simple discussion on where. He was, of course, buying.

As they sat over cups of tea, face to face at a little table tucked to the side for a little privacy, Johann did his best to not make it obvious he was studying Hannah in detail. Other people with their breakfasts studied copies of the Prophet or listened to the wireless which was propped on the counter, babbling over the hiss of the kitchen.

“Lawrence didn’t make me do anything,” Hannah broke the awkward silence abruptly, and Johann blinked, eyebrows lowering as he adjusted his many possible reasons for the events at the Hogsmeade cottage. “… how many healers do you know capable of bringing you back from the dead?”

Johann put his cup down and wiped his top lip.
“I’d lay money on the one opposite me, but she wasn’t available.” He shuffled his shirtsleeved elbows on the table. “If you’re going to gamble, go big, and well, he always knows where to find her.” Johann glanced down and up again, punctuating the intensity of the exchange. “So you were cursed and needed someone to bring you back to life?” His brow creased as he reiterated, looking for her to correct him, “So who cursed you?”

“I’d lay money on the one opposite me, but she wasn’t available.”
Despite herself, Hannah smiled weakly and awkwardly at the wizard who’d always seemed to have an enviable faith in her. He had more faith than she did in herself and it had always been desperately clear. Dearest Johan who cared too much, who cared more than she always seemed to.

The big question hung in the air while Hannah took her time in having a long sip of the tea, blowing first to cool the hot liquid. When it was returned to the table, she stared for a moment, trying to find suitable words, to find a suitable manner in which to explain why she’d put his uncle’s life in such danger. Years ago, such an explanation would have come without heart, without sympathy. But things changed, people changed.

“I cursed myself. I signed a blood contract. After what your father-” she stopped herself, looking down again. Was it wise to bring up his dead father? She’d momentarily been a suspect. She’d longed to have the capabilities to do it. “After what happened, I was sacked. Then I made a stupid decision.” One she would forever regret. “There are two ways of getting out of such a contract. The first is for the holder to terminate. The second was for me to die. Lawrence was the only person I could trust.”

“… I signed a blood contract …”

Johann froze. Hannah maybe thought it was her mentioning Wolfgang that caused him to become rigid, but it was the mention of the contract.

“Hannah…” Johann uttered softly, face a mixture of sympathy and alarm for her. “I would have helped if - but I understand.” He exhaled and closed his eyes, trying to think how to say it. He decided to come at it the long way round. “I don’t - I don’t blame you, if anything I feel responsible.” He rubbed his forehead, and glanced away to check for any approaches of breakfast.

“It was Ira Almasy.” It felt so good to just say it after so many months of being afraid. “She killed my father, or arranged it. They found his wand. She’d got it as some trophy, and of course, she was behind everything at Birmingham too. Helped him and Lawrence to arrange it.” He shook his head, his eyes pricking. “She screwed us over, screwed you over.”

A fried breakfast was making its way over towards them, complete with a stack of toast and a butter dish. Johann sat straighter, composed his face at their arrival and maintained it through queries of whether they wanted more tea or anything else, until they were alone. 

“Must have been the depths of hell to only be able to trust him.”

There was no opportunity to tell Johann just how much Hannah had known Almasy had been behind. She’d never been certain about killing Wolfgang, but it had always seemed so obvious. Before she got her chance to respond, the breakfast arrived and the waitress fussed over them, decided to bring more tea momentarily. As soon as the smell from the food before her hit her nostrils, Hannah was overcome by how hungry she was and, despite the topic of conversation, grabbed her knife and fork to dig in.

“He’s my uncle, Johann.” her comment came before a healthy amount of bacon was taken into her mouth and she began to chew. Johann could think what he wanted of Lawrence, the whole world could. But when she’d needed him, he’d risked his life and his freedom to save her. He’d even handed himself in to the ministry to finally come clean about everything and help them. A monster didn’t do that. A monster didn’t put himself in harm’s way for his niece to be able to live freely. For all of his fault and his many mistakes, Hannah would be eternally grateful.

“You may think some terrible things about Lawrence Musgrave, but he has saved my life twice now.” It wouldn’t be necessary to tell her old friend how she’d have tried to kill his father if Almasy hadn’t have gotten there first. “It was your father who started all of this, Johann. Or do you not recall him bringing you to watch me tear apart the chosen muggles?” Now her eyes didn’t leave his gaze as she fixed him with a hard stare.

Hannah bit back as Johann criticised her uncle. For a man she’d never mentioned while they’d dealt with her intense mother, she seemed rather protective now. Last Johann checked he was on a one-way ticket to Azkaban. Long pale fingers resting on the flowered edge of his plate of toast, Johann levelled the stare Hannah delivered. A year ago he’d have retreated.

“Of course I do.” He hissed, acutely aware of their surroundings, “I relive that night over and over - wishing I’d never agreed to Christmas dinner at your parents.” He exhaled noisily. Reliving it in nightmares would be nothing in comparison to being a werewolf and going through the kidnap, but this wasn’t a pissing match over whose woe was greater. But he’s no mass murderer, Johann held his opinion, fearing it would only incense her.

Johann broke eye contact to pick up a butter knife. He began to scrape butter over the rough toast with a scowl. “I’ve not exactly ever had time to chat to him about his charitable moments,” he muttered, also deciding to mention that Lawrence had threatened him last time they’d met.

“This contract,” Johann glanced up, “there’s only one person I know who writes those, and the night you put me back together Balfour was panicking about whether I’d signed one.” He set the knife down and picked up a triangular slice of toast, fixing Hannah with a thoughtful gaze as he munched.

Hannah didn’t experience a temptation to point out that he still had nothing on her when it came to reliving the events of the night in Birmingham. It wasn’t a contest of who had had the worst time and who was the most affected by it all. In truth, one only had to look at the body she currently covered with several layers of clothing to know. It didn’t, however, diminish what Johann had experienced at the hands of Almasy, but his own suffering wasn’t something she could comprehend, having never been adept at empathising with people.

“Of course he was panicking,” Hannah bit back, making no effort to mask her distaste. “He was her friend. Three days before he brought you to me I saw them in Diagon Alley, cosy, friendly.” She started to slice through a sausage with more vigour than was completely necessary. “He knew exactly what she was and he was worried that you’d dragged yourself into something similar.” Despite the bitch now being dead, the thought still made Hannah feel nauseous.

With a moment’s thought, she placed her knife and fork down, fixing her former friend and fiancé with an intense gaze.
“How did you get involved with someone like her, Johann?”

“He was her friend…” Hannah retaliated, and Johann’s face wore mild agreement, flinching a defensive shrug and a raised eyebrow. Balfour had been far more than a friend to Ira, but he wasn’t rushing to tell Hannah that. His stomach churned to even consider it.

“How did you get involved with someone like her, Johann?”
“Because I’m a smartarse.” He replied without hesitation. He had forced himself to come to terms with the shortcomings of his personality and approach to life back in the winter months. He bit into his piece of toast with a deepening frown and chewed. “She was my client.” He sighed, “And as far as the Ministry’s concerned all I did was some trivial administration and correspondence - proofing and drafting entirely ordinary paperwork, witnessing signatures to help her buy property.” He looked more guilty and uncomfortable under his good friend’s gaze, and shuffled uncomfortably.

“I was all over the place and then after everything at Birmingham and the trial I lost pretty much all my income and my wits. Almasy offered some work and a place to live. Enough to survive.” He shuffled his feet beneath the table, and blinked rapidly, “and I told myself it was temporary.” He huffed, “I’m not trying to compare, alright. I’m sorry, I’m sorry we’re not examining tattooed corpses and sharing decent wine on a weekend like we were two years ago. I’m not proud, I’m anything but. And nothing is going to make it better.”

Similarities between Johann’s story and her own were striking. Both had accepted work with Almasy through promise of accommodation and income. It sickened her to think she’d been so desperate, so stupid. Never again. If the last year had taught her anything, it was that she was far stronger than originally thought of. Most people, of which Hannah was certain, would have long given up and sat back. It was her evidence and participation that had helped to finally take the bitch down. Had she been able to deal with final blow? No. Was she disappointed by that? Somewhat. But it wasn’t going to affect her life now. She was determined push past and get on with her life.

“Nothing needs to make it better, Johann.” The witch muttered, slicing through a sausage and placing it in her mouth to chew. She let that sink in for a moment before she swallowed. “It happened. It changed us. This isn’t a competition of who has had the worst time. Now, we should be focused on how we can move on.” She’d already been considering options, options that the ministry certainly wouldn’t like.

“I’m not going to lie,” Her voice was quiet as light brown eyes fixed their gaze on his. “I was terrified. And I was absolutely raging that after everything, they still sent me to Azkaban like a criminal. Now? I just want a life back. We don’t have to stand over a corpse to drink wine?”

“Nothing needs to make it better, Johann.” It was a handful of words but it brought his guilty, lowered gaze up from their breakfast table. He’d been so worried about making things right, especially after unravelling what his father had done to Hannah in retaliation for their sham engagement. He and his mother had ensured they repaid Hannah as best they could from the offshore accounts - accounts he was still dealing with under his father’s pseudonyms, written on the letters he’d just picked up.

“… we should be focused on how we can move on.” This was a very different Hannah to the one he had spent so much time with eighteen months ago. That Hannah had been quick to make harsh decision, somewhat cold and clinical in her assessment and judgements. This sounded like someone who had already been through the thought processes he had, only come out the other side, having firmly decided it was no longer her life… their life.

His outward expression was startled, but it melted into something softer, grateful. He nodded to her explanation, frowning in agreement at the Wizengamot ruling.

“We don’t have to stand over a corpse to drink wine?”

He stared at her and then the corners of his eyes creased and he laughed. It was relief, a sudden release of all the tension. This was the Hannah he recognised, still there, under a new coating of life experience.
“Of course, of course.” He agreed, still smiling, the toast falling back to his plate, butter side down. “Corpses make for terrible tables.” His shoulders shook with more laughter and he let out a happier sigh. “I want your life back - for you, of course - and you know I’ll do anything to help see that through.” He gestured with both hands between them, “Because you’re still my friend, you’ve always been my friend even through all this shit.”

Without thinking about what he was doing, he reached over with his cool left to her right hand and squeezed it. “Promise[1] still stands.”

1.	November 5th, 2010