Saturday, September 3^rd, 2011
7am

Knox Greyfriar could not have been more content. He walked down towards the forrest's edge from the castle, a hot mug of tea in hand. These remote hills only hesitantly accepted the castle and all its inhabitants, and that wild truce made it more magical somehow. The old wizard felt like a giant wandering in an ancient plane.

The easiest way down was worn into a gentle path. A fuzzy bumblebee trundled over clover, a flock of crows strutted in the heather. A loud crash in the forest far away made Knox look up. Birds erupted from the canopy.

He was seeking the castle's new keeper of keys and grounds. He was McGonagall's hire, so he trusted him implicitly, but he hadn't had a proper meeting. And how could he ask a favor if they hadn't been officially oriented?

As he approached the hut that had been built for a giant, he saw chickens in the yard.

Sylvain, in his jeans and cosy cable knit, had enough foresight to wrap a scarf around his neck when he heard Marcel barking at the doorway. It was the first weekend at Hogwarts. He was well-prepared to greet the coming weekday with lesson plans and well-fed magical creatures waiting for introductions. It was strange to wake up so early without anything to do.

In London, the morning hubbub of Hiraeth Gardens invited interaction. Living here was closer to his life in the French Alps.

Peace on one side, and the teeming life of the Forbidden Forest on the other. He popped his head out of the door to see who Marcel was alerting him of at this hour. Professor Greyfriar! Sylvain waved at the older wizard, waiting for him to draw closer to the hut steps.

"Bonjour!" he called out over the clucking of the chickens, "I was not expecting you, Headmaster. Come, come in. I am making coffee."

Sylvain stepped back into the hut. His hideaway consisted of two structures but the smaller one, cordoned off by a red beaded curtain, was his bedroom and facilities. This main hut was much bigger and had plenty of space to be used as office, kitchen, and living area in one.

A cast iron stove in the corner was steaming alive with heat - a kettle already on the flame. A battered armchair and sofa was situated on either side; everything a little larger than life for having once belonged to old Hagrid. Cosy fur rugs warmed the wooden floors and pots of herbs lined the windowsills. Marcel curled up under a neat desk on the other side of the hut.

Greyfriar called out his own pleasantries as he approached, waving and inclining his head and saying 'merci, merci'.  It was nice to be in a space he didn't have to duck or make himself fit.

The dog, seeing his master's approval of the guest, let him be. Knox sat himself in a wooden chair alongside the table and doffed his hat.

"Onuris, you're a kind man to take me in early and unannounced. I'm imposing to engage in the redundancy of properly introducing myself and, perhaps, interrogate you a spell," he said cheerfully.  "Things moved quickly and believe you me, my head is still spinning. I'd have liked all the staff to have been more aware of the change in stewardship earlier on, but the Governors are fond of hand-wringing and foot-dragging."

He missed the days of Persepolis Zephyr at the helm of that cabal; she moved things along.

"But here we are! A brute in your hovel. How are you getting on?"

The Headmaster spoke English like he was spinning multiple plates at once, words hopping here and there and not quite getting to the point until the end. It was confusing but fun for the ears. Sylvain smiled to himself as the coffee began to burble, and he took the enamel kettle off the fire before the brew could burn. Wouldn't make a good first impression, burnt coffee.

             "But here we are! A brute in your hovel. How are you getting on?"

That, at least, the Frenchman could answer. He crossed the room and joined the older man at the table.

"I like it here very much," Sylvain set down the pot and charmed down two earthenware mugs from the shelves. "This is my first appointment as a teacher. I trained youths in my French Ministry and your British one but my charges are much younger at Hogwarts."

He was nervous about introducing the thirteen year olds to creatures but he had confidence in the older students. Sylvain poured the coffee, glancing up at Greyfriar with a diffident smile.

"You have been Headmaster before, I think?" he asked and then abruptly rose to fetch a pair of small pots from by the stove. "Sorry. Sucre? Crème?" he returned with both to offer.

"Oui, to one and both of the others," Knox said cheerily.  He always enjoyed talking about himself, and perhaps without knowing it, Onuris had invited advice - Knox's second favorite topic.

"It was me for a few years, and I let another soul have a try in '08. I think you're going to do remarkably well, though, Mr. Onuris. You seem to me the sort of fellow with a gift for observation. Most of your students will have chosen your class for themselves, which is an enchantment and a curse. You see, some of them will be keen for the subject matter and being out-of-doors with hands- and wands-out. But not a few others will have chosen it for the perceived opportunity to vent excess energy without the limits of walls and chairs."

Knox Greyfriar took a breath then, no intention of stopping.

"Some say it's all about the first day, but I wouldn't put too much stock in that. You'll all settle in to a rhythm and they'll rise to your expectations. Tell me, what have you planned for early on?"

He topped off the Headmaster's coffee with cream and sugar, handing it over. His own only needed some milk. It was too early in the morning for sweet coffee. Pastries, maybe. Balfour had told him how to get into the kitchens if he didn't want to face the Great Hall for every single breakfast.

            "Tell me, what have you planned for early on?"

"Bees." Sylvain finally sat down. "I have started a...an apiary? A small one. Today I introduce a colony of Glumbumbles to be studied by third and fourth years." The glumbumbles were one of his favourite creatures, when he first discovered an infested beehive near the farmland where he grew up.

They were not glamorous like Hippogrifs or dragons but they were dangerous in their own right. "It will be the commencement of a project, until the bees go into hibernation. In spring, we will produce a treacle honey." One that the students would be asked to taste, to understand the melancholia caused by its consumption.

"For the older years I have Knarls," he explained and drank his coffee, eyeing the older wizard curiously. "Is it a subject you enjoy, personnellement? Magical creatures?"

Without interrupting, Knox Greyfriar showed his approval of this Glumbumble idea with noddings and a 'go-on' hand gesture. It was a very original, and practical idea - perfectly suited for the young wix they were all hoping to train and nurture. Knarls very good, too.  Knox was a wizard who spent time in a garden and found such fauna worthy topics for the course. Not that he'd have objected to dragons, but they were going to try for no maimings this year. He'd say as much as their first staff meeting, but bees and knarls were a strong start.

But then keen, observant Onuris had his own prying query. It was very gently veiled, and maybe he'd meant nothing at all, but it was close enough to broaching Knox Greyfriar's true purpose for calling on his Keeper of the Keys.

"Funny you should ask. Do you remember my warning at the welcome feast? The traditional, annual, regularly ignored prohibition that any student enter the Forbidden Forest? We really ought to change the name, it's just too tempting.  I don't honestly know that you're prepared for the perfect deluge of students you'll be diverting from these woods. That's neither here nor there."

He paused.

"Can I show you something?"

             "We really ought to change the name, it's just too tempting"

Sylvain snorted into his coffee, spilling some of it down his sweater. When Balfour had told him about the forest his thoughts had been along the same lines: the name was self-explanatory but it was also tempting. Not that, he thought, anything would put young wixes off from exploring a mysterious place. He nodded at the Headmaster's cautioning.

"I will be vigilant," promised the younger of them, "And so will Marcel." The dog slunk out from underneath the desk at the sound of his name and came to rest at their feet instead.

            "Can I show you something?" Greyfriar's pause indicated that this was not a lighthearted query.

He did wonder why the other man had come all this way, when they could have made introductions in a less isolated setting. It was a privilege to sit down with him but it made Sylvain vaguely anxious as well. "Oui," he answered nonetheless. "This is... something to do with your lycanthropy?"

That was the only thing Sylvain could think of, seeing as how he worked on level four and was on good terms with the Werewolf Wing there.

The old Headmaster stopped short and cracked a small, wry smile. "It is."

He lead the way out of the humungous cottage and along the forest's edge until a tiny break in the foliage, a barely detectable start of a path. He drew his wand as they stepped in.

Knox Greyfriar had his own relationship with his affliction. He'd came upon it later in life, very recently in fact, after he was already a fairly known public figure, after he'd become the wizard he'd ever be, after he'd settled, and acquired all the trappings of security a wizard might find. His entire experience as a werewolf had been public. He tried to be a good sport about it all, and because he already had been a bear of a fellow, harsh words found no harbor in his heart.

But he hated it. There was not a shred of any of it that he was grateful for. And so the actual living of the details he found to be degrading and full of suffering.

So as they walked, he made sure to ask Mr. Onuris as many questions about what plant that was or which beast made that footprint that he could. It was about a journey of some twenty minutes. Any path they seemed to be on was coincidental: he was using a homing spell and his wand the compass.[1] When they came upon a deep ravine, roofed by bent and gnarled oaks and hackberry trees, Knox presented his solution.

"A perfect copy."

At the bottom of the ravine was a tiny stone house. It has a steeply pitched gable, tiny square windows, and a large chimney. It was a stone-for-stone duplicate of his own house in Kent.[2]

Carefully, Knox half slid his way down the loose, rooty ravine walls. This version of his home had none of the warmth or furnishings of the original. The door was locked seven times from the outside, and the windows seemed smaller up close.

"It's as secure as I can make it, local, enchanted to be found only by those who are granted permission, and surrounded by not a few acres of forbidding hedge."

As cheery a notion he could make, considering what this little getaway would be used for. "What do you think?"

1.	The Seek and Find spell wiki
2.	Greyfriar's House

Sylvain rose and followed the older wizard out of the hut, into the forest. His dog Marcel followed at a distance - stopping to curiously  sniff at the odd bush or plant every now and again. No other words on the subject were exchanged. He understood this to mean that Greyfriar did not speak lightly of his affliction. Some werewolves did, others were taciturn.

As it was, they discussed herbs and beasts, and the recent flowers grown for the benefit of their apiary. It was pleasant but Sylvain did wonder where the Headmaster was leading him.

That is, until the grassy earth ahead appeared to roll steeply downwards towards a verdant and well-hidden enclosure. "A perfect copy." It was a house! Sylvain stared at it in surprise for a long moment. Merde! How did it come to be here in what Greyfriar described as a perfect replica?

He snapped out of this daze, quickly and deftly following the other man down the ravine. As Greyfriar spoke, Sylvain dusted off his jeans and began to circle around the front of the house.

            "What do you think?"

"Silver," the Frenchman replied abruptly. "You will allow me, on the full moon, to run chains of silver around this? Desolé, it is very impressive, but my mind - it worries. This forest of yours does strange things to simple magics."

It was a singularly strange place, so full of magical creatures and beings. Now it would also house a werewolf!

Knox put his hands in his pockets, watching the younger Wizard take a lap. He moved carefully, and sturdily. It may have been their forrest, but Slyvain seemed deft in this venue.

It was odd to see his little house here, like an unlit lamp. He had thought it would be the best possible comfort, but now that it was here, he had to admit it was achingly hollow. But what will be will be.

"Chains, sure. Whatever makes you happy," he agreed.  To some extent, he knew he'd have to keep a certain amount of veto power in reserve. From a morale standpoint, it was vital those he was trusting with this ritual felt completely confident in its soundness. How else were they to trust each other?

"This forest isn't a leaky faucet," he said with all his diplomatic grace and all attempts to refrain from his usual professorial mode. "It is, as you say, strange, but has kept a great many beasts hairier than I at bay."

He took a deep breath, still watching Onuris's movements with interest, and continued.

"As to the itinerary, it will be my routine to be in residence from roughly noon until noon, accompanied to and fro by a, well, I'll say concierge. Someone to manage the locking and unlocking and take down attendance."

He had a few names in mind, but had yet to make invitations. As with the need for confidence in his containment, Knox required an equal confidence that whoever handled him could handle him at his Worst.

He did not think his precaution particularly appreciated but Sylvain was gratified that the Headmaster accepted having the silver chains around his personalised safe house. Many dangers lurked in the Forbidden Forest - and indeed, if what Balfour had said was true, it was no leaky faucet.

But he worried not about the dripping water. It was what might enter the forest unaware that concerned Sylvain. Wixes were the greatest danger to themselves. And even the Centaurs and the spiders had more sense than a rabid werewolf.

"Bien," he nodded at the schedule laid out by the older wizard. "It is a good plan. You take good measures, sir, for your condition. I will return here tonight with the chains. Your concierge, they will secure it when necessary, oui?" Sylvain considered the cottage once more.

A civilised solution to an uncivilised condition. He liked it very much.

Knox shrugged and nodded an affirmative. He knew it was a good plan and was tired of being told, and tired of it being evaluated. It had to happen, but it felt somewhat infantilizing. Greyfriar knew his curse better than anyone, and knew the rules better. Of course it was a good plan. But this was the situation. He needed the staff on board, so he submitted as graciously as he could. The alternative, he had discovered, was far worse.

"That's right. It will probably be Storm, and an alternate. Just one more thing, if you'll be so kind."

Knox Greyfriar held out his wand and gestured for the younger Professor to do the same. "Our wee sanctorum is concealed by the Seek and Find spell, if you know it. You'll not be able to find it again without permission. Here."

They crossed wands and Knox incanted, "Dyszititos" A light and gentle humming passed between the two, and the spell was cast. That done, he turned to go.

"I'm trusting you, Mr. Onuris."

Sylvain, stood before the older wizard, mirrored his movement and extended his wand to facilitate the sharing of the safe house's cozy location. It was done quickly and efficiently. The knowledge of an imminent werewolf presence at Hogwarts still worried him of course - Greyfriar was sane now, oui, but that would change with the full moon. He would be worse than a wolf when that time came around, for even real wolves were peaceable creatures.

            "I'm trusting you, Mr. Onuris."

"And we are trusting you, Headmaster." Sylvain replied with a soft smile as he tried to smooth out the worried wrinkle in his brow. "Thank you."

Professor Storm was a wizard he trusted on reputation alone - and he had the good opinion of Balfour. Sylvain could only suppose that he was the best choice for Greyfriar. But it would not stop the Frenchman for keeping a tight vigil on twelfth.