9:30 p.m.

Moira left the Sellaphix Apothecary and tugged on the hood of her robes again due to the rain still falling. The sun had set hours before she arrived at the shop, but even an hour ago the night hadn’t seemed quite so dark. Leaving a well lit shop tended to have that effect though. Casting a quick glance around the young witch began walking towards Diagon.

Apparating straight home would have been the smart choice. However, there was something pleasant about the sound of rain falling on a cobblestone path - partially muted by the buildings - that made her not quite ready to go home. She had also managed to fall back into her normal sleep pattern despite the nightmares but tonight she felt sleep would not be her friend.

Mere moments seemed to pass before three sets of footsteps rapidly came towards her from different directions. Moira found herself face to face with an ugly old witch, one she had seen during her original visit. Considering the new friends, the hag held some kind of grudge at not being able to intimidate her.

”Hello, Poppet. Not safe around here at this time you know. Pretty things like you get gobbled up whole.” The witch taunted, her voice a raspy high pitch; the kind of voice that caused people to curl their lip in disgust. Her breath smelled just as bad if not worse.

Keeping her expression stony even as her heartbeat started to pound, adrenaline beginning to course through her veins, Moira quickly considered her options. They were too close for her to apparate safely home without one or all of them tagging along. Either they would move (not likely) or she’d have to fight them off until she could safely escape. Any sort of help in Knockturn couldn’t be expected.

”Aw, what's the matter? Cat got your tongue? Not so tough with three of us to deal with now, are you, kitten?” The three of them cackled as if it were the funniest joke they'd heard. For them, it probably was. They moved constantly; in and out, back and forth, but never quite touching her or each other.

Ever since the full moon disaster and hearing Bagnold's suspicions and warnings, Moira had been carrying her wand in her sleeve for easy access. Giving it a subtle pull she eased it into her hand without seeming to move, not wanting to set them off into an attack just yet. She continued to stare at the trio around her, refusing to be goaded or let them rile her up. They were just a bunch of bullies like back in school. Except these bullies would kill her if she gave them the chance.

It was the night after he'd crept along after two Aurors into Grimshaw's Tailoring and Altercations - excuse me, Alterations.[1]. The night after he'd again made himself known to the Ministry whom the vampires were all reluctantly beholden to, the night after his third attempt at altruism, his foray into interfering in the lives of the living in some way other than, well, eating them. Lazarus Blackburn didn't care for Knockturn; it had its own dangers for his kind, just like it had for little young witches ducking into apothecaries. Lazarus, perched like a gargoyle, weightless on a gutter had been watching the tailor shop, the coming new moon making him restless. Self-banishing, maybe. He'd dine with the coven in a few days, but he felt cooped up. Pent up. So here he was, pretending to watch the tailor shop.

And in so watching he watched other things. He watched a brown-haired witch enter the honorable apothecary. He watched as a trio of roustabouts watched her. He watched them very closely, inhaled them deeply. Who would miss them? Who would believe them if a vampire were to nip them up. This was another reason to steer clear of Knockturn Alley. It was too easy to justify breaking the Rules.

"Well, now," he mumbled to himself and ashed a cigarette. The brown-haired girl emerged some time later and the fools beset her. Fools they were, or a fool she was to be out after dark. Or maybe she expected better of the world, that a girl could do as she pleased. He could admire that, if it were true. The sound of her heart beat in his ears. It was three against one, but would a vampire do any good for her blood pressure? He scratched his chin. "Hmm... Old Laz finds himself in a bind once again. New Laz, hmm, alright, what would he do?"

It turns out, he'd alight to the ground just behind the three, silent as a mouse, taller than them all, lit cigarette in his mouth, hat forward on his head, weaving like tall grass in a breeze. He said nothing but hum a little song about men of constant sorrow who would be soon sleeping in their graves.

1.	20 Dec 2011 - Little Tailor Shop of Horrors

The three witches before her were older and nastier. Undoubtedly they knew plenty of painful, illegal, and deadly curses and would be happy to use them. In order to win this, or at least stun them long enough to get away, Moira was going to have to hit them fast and hard. Time to see how much she retained from those extra tutoring Defensive lessons she received from Professor Storm.

Suddenly, however, a tall man appeared behind the three in a highly unnatural manner. Was he here to help, or just playing a game? There wasn’t much time to speculate. As soon as the trio heard him humming they reacted, one wheeled around to attack him. The other two, grudge witch included, launched spells at her.

”Protego!” Moira flicked her wand out as soon as she saw them move. Storm had always insisted on improving reflexes.

Once the spells had bounced off she wasted no time in casting another. ”Concusso!” Unfortunately, the blast only hit one of the witches and Moira retreated a few steps to try and create a little distance from all four strangers.

Seeing the non-stunned witch raise her wand Moira tossed up another protection spell. This time it only limited the force instead of fully deflecting and she was knocked back another few steps, air forced out in shock. If any pain came from that attack she didn’t feel it quite yet.

Lazarus, possessed of inhuman speed, needed only a little of it to slip to the side of his attacker, snag him around the side of his head, and sprawl him out on the cold wet stones.

"That escalated quickly," he mused, barely breaking his step. The other three were firing spells, two against one not very fair. "Whoops." A witch took a spell to the chest and went flying past Lazarus into her fallen friend. Then, a smell on the air and Lazarus's eyes dilated to black. Blood. He animated, looking around in a jerking motion - looking at the two on the ground. No.

The good girl. Lazarus covered his mouth with his hand and loitered, collecting himself. He really ought to have had something before he left Hookers. He really ought to have minded his own ancient business. Ought ought ought. Nought.

Moira let out a small growl of frustration. All that was left, thanks to the unnatural strange man who was looking at her all funny like, was the grudge witch. So long as he stayed where he was it would be fine. Maybe.

Desperate and panic-stricken, her opponent was casting another spell. It was easy to deflect but landing a counter spell turned out to be more difficult. A few more rounds were exchanged, one catching Moira's leg that stung terribly, but her next one landed as well.

”Laxus!”

When it did land the grudge witch crumpled to the street, unable to use her limbs. Her mouth worked just fine and she began to scream obscenities. Annoyed Moira cast a silencing charm before turning her full, and not just partial, attention on the man.

Her feet were planted, expression wary, and her wand was ready at her side. From what she’d seen though - if he really wanted to come at her - her reflexes wouldn’t do much good.

At some point her hood had fallen off, the rain taking no time in soaking her hair and working down into her robes. Moira paid it no mind.

The screaming, god the screaming. Lazarus's ears were full of piercing static, and the wands going off were a bit distracting. The girl was bleeding, and the hags were in a pile and this was going to wake up the entire city. With a vexed grumbling growl, Lazarus moved quickly.

He swept past the pile of assailants, and the shrieking eel, and past Moira scooping her up around the waist so fast as to take her breath from her lungs. It was bound to be a rough maneuver even when care was taken. Quick quick down an alley, up a fire escape putting a cat to shame, gutters, eaves, and finally a flat roof. He dropped her against a chimney. London lights twinkled around them under a sliver of a moon.

Lazarus stood a distance away staring at her, his eyes on her leg glistening dark in the night. He took his hat off to run a hand through his hair. The entire time a cigarette had hung from his lip but it had quite gone out. He stared and wondered and pondered. Who were these oracles that kept showing up at his door?

He lit his cigarette again with a plastic lighter. "Your leg is bleeding," he said helpfully at last, barely a baritone rasp.

When the man moved suddenly and picked her up easier than anything Moira managed to keep hold of her wand, her other hand automatically grabbing his shirt for balance.

That was a new way to travel. Faster than riding a Thestral and getting picked up had been like getting hit squarely in the torso by the wing of an Abraxan. Catching her breath, again, had been a trick.

Suspicions confirmed. Vampire. What next? At least this one didn’t seem like he wanted to eat her. Well, no. He probably did considering the way he stared, but he was holding himself back. A definite improvement from the werewolf.

Moira glanced down at the leg he mentioned and sure enough high on her thigh blood soaked through the fabric. Looking back to the vampire she silently ran through her options.

The obvious, safest choice was again to apparate home. But despite herself she was curious. If he meant her harm they wouldn't be here on the roof with him standing a distance away.

She had a vial of dittany in her bag yet not being able to fully see the wound made the accuracy questionable. Which left using a simple spell to stop the blood flow and scourgify to remove the blood in her clothes.

Once finished, Moira tucked the wand back up her sleeve and leaned against the chimney with her arms crossed, staring at him.

Momentarily she wondered if maybe his appearance and preempting the attack had been beneficial in the end. Probably.

“Moira.”

Old Laz watched with chagrin as the girl tidied herself up and tucked all her sanguine slip back into her veins leaving him only the smell of it. It was ... frustrating. Don't put it away, it's out, why couldn't it stay out? What was he doing? He massaged the bridge of his nose, and worked his jaw until it popped. Hook would have taken her right then and put her back where he'd found her, and he was up on a rooftop again.

And good for her, she didn't even look worried. Laz, looking pained, nodded at her.

"Hi."

He waved a hand in the air absently, scowling a little. "So I think I helped you. Would you say, eh, that it worked? Scale, one to ten. How ... assisted ... do you feel?"

Lazarus took a drag on the cigarette. "Be honest."

As the vampire spoke Moira felt her eyebrows rise towards her hairline. He thought? How assisted? Strange. Then there was the pained expression on his face, likely due to the blood. She wasn't at all sorry for the space between them.

Having been focused on werewolves lately pulling out the information she had learned about vampires took a moment. Where the full moon was dangerous because of the canines, the new moon was the time to be wary of bats. The new moon was four days away.

All she had wanted was to grab some supplies from the Apothecary after work and then go for a walk in the rain down Diagon. A nice, boring night was too much to ask for she supposed.

Never taking her eyes off him, still leaning against the chimney with her bag hanging down along her left hip, she gave a half shrug.

“Five, I guess. Doubt I'd have gotten away with less facing all three of them.” Having them startled and not completely focused had helped too.

“Just don’t ask me how you could improve.”

"Five." Lazarus tipped back on his heels. The girl's affect seemed completely unworried and she'd marked him a failing grade. Five. It was as likely as not he'd been helpful at all. Just as likely he'd made things worse than better. It confirmed, perhaps, that his intervention was, at best, net neutral. That was ... disappointing.

"Alright then. Thing like that." Perhaps he'd just misjudged the mortal girl's hopes and dreams. Maybe she'd rather handled things herself, or being hexed to bits in a three-on-one was here idea of a pleasant night. This was why you don't meddle with the living, he reminded themselves. They were as changeable as a breeze.

Lazarus muttered, "five alive, five alive, five alive."

He turned his head. "Your friends then?" he guessed, trying to sort out his strange customer satisfaction review.

Moira barked out a laugh. “Hardly. I pissed one of them off earlier this month.” She had no idea who they were and likely the same was vice versa. Fortunate for her or she would have problems outside Knockturn too.

“Look, if it's any consolation I do appreciate the help. Really.” Whatever his motives, clearly the vampire was struggling with the concept of that five.

Struck by an idea she tilted her head slightly, “I could bump it up to an eight, since you didn't immediately latch on at the smell of blood.” The notion didn't tickle her fancy but again it was better than a werewolf. Only because while Marrowbone was amazing, reversing a curse like that was impossible. Actually getting bitten either way? Probably not fun.

Pity points. Lazarus shrugged at the kid. He'd take it. At least it had come with an explanation. Latch on. A strange way to say it. But latch on he did, in a way. He'd  immediately smelled the blood in the air and it could make even an experienced old vampire like Lazarus delirious. Even now there traces lingered despite her charms. At best the instinct to feed was a distraction. At worse, he'd latch, loose, and lose all good will with the mortals, the Ministry, and Hookers. And this one would have lost more than that. He took off his hat and ran his fingers through his hair, unhappy in the discomfort of restraint.

Moira, as she called herself, wasn't nearly afraid enough. Lazarus didn't want to be frightening, but by his nature he was. A bear was furry, rain fell, and vampires were frightening. A hare who didn't flee, you could be sure had an addled brain. Moira was neither hare nor addled, but she was something different.

"You should go," he said. Human fear served both their kinds. "Crack away, or whatever you do."

To the vampire Moira simply replied, “Aye,” before she pushed herself off the chimney, mumbling to herself in Gaelic, ”I should have cracked off ages ago.”

She still wasn't ready to go home yet but walking around town seemed like a much worse idea than it had half an hour before. It was early enough there would be a crowd at Old Brick or even the Leaky Cauldron. Moira wasn't in the mood for drinking, plenty of that coming up the next few days, and she didn't feel like spending her time watching people.

For the first time since landing on the roof the witch took her full gaze off the strange vampire (but still kept him in sight) while she tried to figure out where she was exactly. She grumbled again though this time in English, “Kurby would kill me if he found out.”

When Moira began moving as if to go, Lazarus did likewise as well removing the cigarette from his mouth to put it out before he transformed into a bat to go about his business. Return to the coven and get something to eat, quash these unhappy temptations, reread Toni Morrison's 'Jazz'. But something Moira said.

He moved his head on a swivel and stepped forward. Immediately he stepped back and tipped his black hat back.

"You don't say, you don't say. Might that Kurby be Kurby Bagnold?" he asked, his voice a gravelly curious. "The Bagnold what catches werewolves when the moon is ... full and not a silver sliver?"

What did it mean if it were so? Who was this girl who might know Bagnold?

The vampire knew Bagnold. Moira’s gaze snapped back to him, face carefully neutral and her pulse quickening in response. Did they know each other in a good way, or did her current companion know the hunter because he was on the opposite side of certain events? If it was the latter then apparating away right now was mandatory.

Except, it seemed odd for someone who was into sicking werewolves on innocent muggles to randomly step in to stop or assist in an unfair fight not involving them. Odder still when, from what she could recall, werewolves and vampires tended to avoid each other.

Realizing after a moment that the seconds ticking by with her continual neutral stare and giving no response was extremely telling, Moira finally answered, “Maybe.”