The sun hadn't quite set, and the grounds of Hogwarts were still glistening from the rain earlier that day when he'd arrived at the gate.  Of course, the Headmaster didn't come to admit him himself; instead, a house-elf had been tasked to play guide.  Kurby mostly ignored it as it led him across the castle grounds and into the once-familiar halls of the school, all the way to the second floor tower where the Headmaster's office was housed.

The house-elf chose a path through the corridors that was mostly empty of students, though whether that was by design or accident, he couldn't be sure.  Kurby had left most of the visible trappings of his office behind for a change, although silver rings still glistened on his fingers, and a silver chain was tucked away under his shirt.  In some ways, he'd meant it as a visible offer of a truce, although he hardly expected the werewolf to abide by good intention.

The elf had made him wait a few steps back as it had whispered a password to the gargoyle that served as a gatekeeper.  After a few moments, the granite statue shifted to the side, allowing him to step past it and ascend up and up the spiral stairs to the Headmaster's office.

It had been nearly two decades since the last time he'd found himself in the vaulted, circular that served as a workspace for the school's current master.  The ancient Headmasters and Headmistresses of Hogwarts towered on the walls above him, though most appeared to be snoozing in their frames.  Kurby glanced up at them, his gaze shifting uneasily from one portrait to another.  Swallowing, he refocused on the grizzled man currently sitting behind the Headmaster's desk.  Likely the only werewolf in the school's entire history to claim the title.

Just his luck.

But he'd already decided to go through with this, and part of the reason that he'd chosen this Elder to approach was because of the furry problem that Greyfriar dealt with once a month.  Kurby straightened, visibly steeling himself as he took a deep breath.

"Headmaster."  The word came out sounding more wary than he'd meant it to, less a peace offering than something forced against his will.  He eyed Greyfriar, making no effort to move further into the room.  "Made it through the full moon in one piece, then?"

Knox Greyfriar had been able to mostly forget about Bagnold's coming visit until this morning when he was reviewing the day's diary. His History of Magic students had found him a bit of a grouch today, an unusual phenomenon for the happy professor. Now the day was done and he had retired to his study. The scraping of stone always heralded a guest arriving. Knox took off his glasses and looked up to see the wizard he'd been expected.

A few years had passed since he'd paid him any mind. Knox knew his beard had grown and his temples more silvered. As for Bagnold, he looked mostly the same to Knox. Still young, still lean, still cutting a sharp outline. Knox noticed the silver on his hands; an adornment steeped in passive aggression.

Bagnold's opening words inspired a deep frown in the Headmaster, cursed as he was. So that's how this was going to go.

"You have as well." A hazardous job, had Kurby Bagnold.

Knox neither offered the man a seat, nor a drink. He didn't even offer a welcome.

Instead, he intended to push the unwanted visitor directly to the point. He leaned forward at the desk, lacing his fingers together in front of him. "What is it you want, Bagnold? What interest could the Werewolf Capture Unit possibly have in me?"

The werewolf hunter's eyebrows shot up.  What interest could the WCU have?  His instinctual response was to bark out that they had every interest, at any time, and there was nothing that a treacherous werewolf could do about it.  Two years ago, he had faced off against Knox Greyfriar himself in his bestial form in the belly of the Ministry.  Ramona Flickwick had died during the Ides of March disaster, when several transformed lycanthropes had broken out on Level Four.  If Kurby wanted to question one of the monsters responsible for that tragedy, even two years later, he had every goddamned right.

But that wasn't why he'd come here.  If he wanted to get in a shouting match with a werewolf, there were plenty of other places he could go to pick a fight.  He'd come to talk to the Wizengamot Elder because of what he needed him to do.

Kurby swallowed back his retort, tasting bile in his throat. 

"Not the Capture Unit," he said tensely.  "Just me."

He'd known from the beginning that this was a bad idea.  Greyfriar despised him; that was made clear from the lack of welcome he'd received since arriving at the Hogwarts gates.  It would have been easier to ask Blake to go chat up her former Headmaster, but it hadn't felt right to put the Auror Trainee in a situation where she had to ask someone to help them skirt the law.

So he'd come on his own.

Kurby swallowed hard, trying to loosen the muscles in his throat.  "There's a case comin' up on the Wizengamot docket," he said, shifting position.  All of his body felt tight, like he was ready to launch into action at the slightest hint of a threat.  "A husband and wife, who didn't register their daughter after she got bitten by a werewolf.  We arrested 'em back in July after the kid murdered a Muggle."

"It's not murder."

The Headmaster stood from the desk slowly. There was a power struggle going on between the two wizards, each of them confident in their jurisdiction over self and venue. Knox, the Headmaster of Hogwarts, law-abiding, cleared of charges, and in compliance. Bagnold, duly deputized and authorized to enforce regulations and investigate no matter where the trail took him. Werewolf Capture Unit had one of the most deregulated scope of any group at the Ministry.

"If she was a child, and she was transformed, it can't be murder." His voice low.

Greyfriar knew Bagnold was only using the word as a weapon. He and Bagnold both knew well the laws about the layers of liability in cases like these. They both knew Knox had been cleared of any culpability for Ramona Flickwicks's death, that the fault had been on the tainted Wolfsbane Potion, on a door not quite latched. Intent or recklessness was required. A child was incapable of being held accountable for either.

M - slight warning for some graphic imagery.

In his mind's eye, he could see the photographs from the Harrises' back yard, where old Mrs Harris' husband had been found with his throat torn out.  He recalled Mrs Harris herself, trapped inside her grieving in a house full of dusty windows, unsure memories, and wilting bouquets. 

He remembered Blake standing in the darkness, with her concern for what he'd asked her to do framed as a lilting question.  They deserve better?

It can't be murder, Greyfriar said, except it had been and he'd seen it.  The old Muggle man wouldn't have had to die if the Grant family had simply chosen to register their daughter after she had been bitten.  Like so many others murdered by werewolves: innocents like Ramona Flickwick, colleagues and teammates like Farah Rashid.  With more caution and more regulation, none of them needed to die.

Kurby swallowed again, visibly.  He crossed his arms.

"Aye," he said shortly.  "That's why I came."

It was among Knox's most cherished wishes that Kurby Bagnold would leave. He'd only just arrived and the desire was already substantial. A terrible tragedy had occurred, Knox had no knowledge of it, it concerned people he'd never heard of, and a child not yet at Hogwarts.

His baffled impatience was mixed with an urgent sort of curiosity. He turned one palm ever so slightly up and moved an eyebrow as if to say, and? It was, however, clear that whatever Bagnold's business, it didn't appear to be about himself or his arrangement here. Acknowledging that lowered Knox's hackles a tick. He sighed.

Honey and flies and all that.

"Sit. If you want. But be a lad and out with it." About the warmest invitation he could muster.

The Headmaster demonstrated his intent to cooperate by taking his seat back as well. He removed his wand from his sleeve and laid it in a holder on the desk, then he leaned back and the chair creaked.  Knox was a man of imposing stature and he knew it; he'd found that taking measures to be a bit less looming went some distance in putting others at least slightly more at easy.

The werewolf didn't so much subside at his words as much as he...relented.  Kurby's concession had at least won him admission into the office properly, and a begrudging allowance to sit.  He lingered by the door a moment longer, clearly uncomfortable, before reluctantly following the Headmaster closer to his desk.

He didn't sit.  Kurby settled instead for perching gingerly on the arm of the chair, still more or less standing.

Where could he even start?  The werewolf hunter's  jaw tightened; he began to absently fidget with one of the tarnished silver bands on his right hand, twisting it against his ring finger.

"The kid's thirteen," he said stiffly.  "Her parents pulled her out of Hogwarts after she got bitten over the holidays during her first year."  Iain Grant, the father, had said they'd made the decision after the Foley girl had been expelled, a year or two prior.  "They built a safe house for her outside of town, but she started breakin' out of it.  Attacked three Muggles in six months.  One died."
 
Not murder, Greyfriar had said.  Back during the last war, plenty of Death Eaters had used the same sorts of extenuations.  I didn't mean it!  It was the Imperius Curse!  How could I control myself?  But where did one start believing them, and where was it merely an excuse? 

"I know the Wizengamot will probably go easy on the girl, but her parents are going to end up in Azkaban," he continued, his voice  low.  He wouldn't look at Greyfriar, didn't make eye contact.   "They're both Muggleborn, and they've got another kid besides Greer.  The problem's been dealt with.  It's not going to do a goddamned thing for anyone if they get locked away."

The Headmaster considered Bagnold's tale with no attempt to hide his distress and concern, his brow deeply lined and fingers thoughtfully at the angle of his jaw.

His own feelings concerning unregistered werewolves were complex. He had found the process undignified and resented the glaring public exposure when he'd rather conduct this nasty business in relative privacy; he accepted it, but it was frequently uncomfortable. A part of him couldn't blame those who didn't trot on in and sign up for that, and all that came with it, but this girl - her parents didn't seem to have given her the choice and the results had been catastrophic.

At least his guest had alit somewhere, although his posture yet indicated tension - wait, Kurby Bagnold wasn't afraid of him, was he? It was an unsettling thought. Knox, he'd never hurt a soul. Another frown from the old bear, docile as he was. He was reminded of Musgrave desperate pleadings and Knox's repeated retorts.[1]

"Greer? Greer Grant?"

Bagnold indicated in the affirmative, still without looking at him, and Knox realized he knew the girl, knew of her. Her leaving Hogwarts was noted in the ledger, but her parents had given no reason.  Bloody hell. The parents were at fault, inescapably. Worse that they'd let it go on so long.

"Do you have her?" Knox suspected Bagnold might be asking him for some kind of help with the parents to help hold the family together, but his first concern was for a teenage girl in a cell. Or, worse, living rough without Wolfsbane Potion.

"Where is she?"

1.	27 July 2010 - Who Lies Within

He would have given a colorful retort about where the werewolf girl had ended up in their custody -- the kennel and the doghouse both immediately came to mind -- but even with Greyfriar's interest seemingly piqued, he didn't trust the Wizengamot Elder not to lose his patience with him if he mouthed off.  Instead, Kurby settled for merely making a face, clearly unhappy with the forthcoming answer.

"She and her brother both got placed with a Ministry guardian after their parents were arrested.  Assigned her a mentor and everything."  The sarcasm in the werewolf hunter's voice was not difficult to distinguish; his opinion of Level Four's werewolf mentorship program placed it about on par with Ministry meet-and-greets in terms of an effective use of resources. 

"They've been bringing her in to the Ministry for the full moon."  He rolled his shoulders in a shrug, distaste evident in his expression.  "The kid went from havin' to get locked up in a tiny room underground every month to gettin' stuck in a cell block full of idiot werewolves, half of whom don't even bother to finish their run of bleedin' wolfsbane before they--  uhh..." 

He broke off as he caught himself.  Hell.

Kurby grimaced, meeting Greyfriar's gaze for the briefest of moments.  "I just mean the whole thing's idiotic," he muttered, crossing his arms again.  "It's not doin' the kid any good."

Greyfriar leaned forward a little bit further as if closing the distance would allow him to detect some shred of decency in the wizard. One sliver of an indication that he wasn't rotten to the core. Knox's face was a mix of anger, incredulousness, and a bit of hurt.

Bagnold knew bloody well that until very recently Knox had been among the guests of the Ministry's transformation venue. Was he baiting him? He wouldn't put it past Bagnold, what little he knew of the man, to come here on some pretense to sabotage him. Incite him to some kind of outburst, give the WCU some excuse to revoke permission for his unique arrangement, stir doubt about the safety of a werewolf at Hogwarts (again)?

He reached for his wand in the absent way that many a witch and wizard did, so natural it was to have it in ones hand. But he wouldn't deny that he knew it would reinforce the implicit thread of his next demand.

"It's about time you made your purpose clear, Bagnold. At the risk of breaching a professional decorum, you are proving to be a deeply indecent wizard and the worst sort to have anything to do with that child, and I'd encourage you, upon your departure, to throw yourself from the most convenient cliff."

He kept his baritone to a contained rumble, careful not to raise his voice.

The werewolf hunter went still, his entire body tensing.  Jaw clenched tight, he stared back at the monster that had once charged him in a Ministry hallway, who had shortly thereafter mauled Fauna Blake very nearly to death.

Kurby had come here attempting to offer a truce on behalf of others who needed help.  He'd left most of his silver in the office.  He hadn't waved the Capture Unit's authority around.  When Greyfriar had demanded a straight answer, he'd given one.  And still this werewolf, who had attacked him in bestial form once already, saw fit to berate and threaten him.

There was a bitter taste rising in his throat.  He swallowed it back, narrowed eyes still locked on Greyfriar.  Back when he was fresh out of Hogwarts, the first thing that he'd learned after joining the WCU was to never show weakness, never back down in front of a lycanthrope.  For the first time in a long while, he found himself thinking about what Theobald Mainwaring, his onetime mentor, would have done. 

After his first retirement, Mainwaring had ended up teaching at this very school, working for the Headmaster now glowering at him. But that had been before Greyfriar's furry days.  Mainwaring wouldn't have backed down to a werewolf.

Slowly and deliberately, Kurby swallowed again, and then uncrossed his arms, lowering his hands to his side.

"I'll add it to my to-do scroll." He tried to keep his voice even, though there was a sharp edge that hadn't been there a moment before.  "I don't want the Grants to end up in Azkaban.  Their kids have been through enough."

The drop of a pin, the slightest cough from the portraits (who were all awake now, staring) could have set both wizards to their feet with wands at ready. Each saw the other as a threat to life, limb, and liberty. The sole gossamer that kept the world from snapping was care of the Grant children.

Knox released a sad sigh.

"I agree."

He took a deep breath in and pushed away from the desk, standing in the same fluid moment, and turning away.  He went to a drawer and drew from it a well-used, leather bound book filled with writing in Greyfriar's own hand. He brought it back to the desk, laid it down, opened it up and flipped through to the page he was looking for.

He glanced up at Bagnold, a glare really, and then reached for his glasses.

"My position," he said, "on the Wizengamot at current time is adjunct at best."

Once an Elder, ever so the oath and esteem; active service was not. He could well be called when required, but he didn't expect it would happen.

"What's your idea as to my role in all of this?"

There was nothing about this that he liked: ceding ground to a werewolf; standing there exposed in the middle of the Headmaster's office, with all of the eyes of the portraits bearing down on him.  But Kurby stayed still, his jaw tight, watching as Greyfriar stood to retrieve an old book before sitting again.

If the werewolf wanted to glare at him, so be it.  Lecture him, threaten him again... Kurby let a breath out slowly.  He could handle this.  Calling Greyfriar on his challenge or meeting his menace with force wasn't going to get him any closer to what he'd come here to accomplish. 

Except, suddenly, it seemed like the werewolf couldn't help him accomplish it anyhow.

Kurby blinked, a shadow passing over his expression.  A muscle in his neck twitched.  He hadn't come into this expecting any sort of resolution -- indeed, he had half-expected to simply get shouted out of the office -- but deep down, he'd been hoping that this would be the end of it.  That the Wizengamot Elder would offer some sort of easy solution, or agree to take up the fight, and he wouldn't be saddled with the tremendous feeling of guilt that threatened to surge inside him each time he thought about the Grant family.

But Greyfriar wasn't going to be their salvation.  Swallowing hard, Kurby rubbed a hand over his face, trying to think.

"I don't know how to do this," he said after a beat.  He could feel the portraits staring at him; Greyfriar too.  In that moment, he wanted nothing more than to apparate away from all this, to crawl into a hole and leave this whole bleeding mess as a problem for someone else to deal with.  "I don't know anything about the goddamned laws outside of werewolf regulations.  I don't know how to --"  He paused, his throat tightening, and clenched his teeth.  "-- even start thinkin' about how to approach this, or to try to get a lighter sentence."

He hadn't answered Greyfriar's question, though.  And that was what the werewolf had made clear throughout this entire conversation: he wanted to find out his purpose as quickly as possible, and then he wanted Kurby to leave.  Preferably to go jump off a cliff.

He met the werewolf's gaze, his expression tense.  "Just give me an idea of where to start, Greyfriar," he said quietly.  "Or if there's something you think you can do to help, I'll take that too."

Oh. Oh.

Suddenly, Greyfriar understood. All the personal animosity between the two wizards had, perhaps, blunted Knox's acuity to a heartfelt request for help. A request so open-ended, it had been hard to truly grasp. Until this moment, he couldn't have imagined that a man so apparently arrogant and power-hungry as Bagnold could be so utterly in the dark and seek Knox's general expertise. He hadn't come demanding some specific task - the poor sod had nothing.

Knox was not prideful enough to ignore his mistake.

"I see," he said slowly.  "Where to start..."

He adjusted his glasses, and began: "Maya Irene-Strangely.  I believe she's now in Leeds. She's among the foremost experts on modern lycanthropy and has done extensive research on policy. You may be able to arrange it with the Grants' lawyers to testify on their behalf, or at least convince the Wizengamot that culpability is not as simple as it looks. She'll take your owl, I think, if you mention my name."

Knox wrote her name and address down on a blank sheet. 

"Next, you'll want to stack at least the preliminary hearing with the right Elders. I know a few sympathetic to werewolves' situation.  Grazielda, Cotesworth-Head, Kulkarni, and probably Chalfant, though you might have to cajole him."

He wrote those names down as well. He took a breath and looked up at Kurby, almost a little sheepish that they hadn't been able to start here. "You may be able to make some headway if you can show that Greer's compliance with registration would be adversely affected without her parents, and that because the parents are muggles, they lacked the proper guidance to understand the risks. Oh - get the Muggle Affairs Office involved if you can." Another note to add to the 'to-do scroll'.

"And, if it ends up making sense, I have some standing to offer evidence regarding how teenagers cope with all of this. Might sway a verdict in the family's favor."

Kurby stood there stiffly as the Headmaster began to write and talk things out.  His expression seemed to tense even further at the mention of Irene-Strangely, but the werewolf hunter kept his mouth firmly clamped shut.  The witch was a radical extremist when it came to werewolf policy; she had been one of the first to spearhead the theory that lycanthropy was an illness, a theme which had been taken up by the supposed reformists at the Ministry a few years ago.  Even the mention of her made him want to growl at someone.

But if it meant coming up with a solution for the Grant family, he could at least try to tolerate Irene-Strangely.  Kurby stayed very still as Greyfriar continued to write names down, constructing a game plan.  He could practically feel all the eyes of all the portraits staring down at him, silently judging.  Within his line of vision, he saw a painted figure that looked like Armando Dippet drift over to the frame next store to whisper to the stern-looking witch there.

Greyfriar was still talking, offering suggestions that he knew were going to be helpful.  Kurby swallowed, and then nodded, doing his best to re-focus on what the werewolf was saying.  Whatever suggestions Greyfriar had to offer, they were more ideas than the werewolf hunter had come here with.

When the Headmaster finally stopped writing and the note was proffered, Kurby hesitated for a moment, then reached out for it.  What the hell was he supposed to do now?  Thank him for it?  He settled for giving the older wizard a gruff nod, slipping the note into his pocket as he turned towards the door.

Greyfriar had made it clear that he wanted him to leave as soon as possible, and Kurby was perfectly happy to put an end to this extremely uncomfortable situation by bolting.  He crossed the floor to the descending stairwell quickly, not looking back.  But as he reached it, he paused for a moment, just before the top of the spiral steps that would lead him back down to the gargoyle in the corridor below.

"I don't know what kind of word you've gotten from the Ministry, but we might've had an attack last full moon during the day."  He looked back over his shoulder at Greyfriar again, still standing tensely.  "I'd keep all the kids close to the castle grounds around the full moon until we can clear up whether it's another direwolf."