The door to the cell was unlocked and pulled open. A wizard in black robes stepped inside with a plastic chair. He placed it on the floor and stepped aside. A moment later a slim red head appeared in the doorway clutching a rather beautiful and ornate walking cane in one hand, and a cup of coffee in the other. She was dressed simply, in boots, a pair of black trousers and a green blouse that hung loosely. Her curly red hair was falling free in messy ringlets. She smiled calmly across the room at the skinny witch dressed in the usual garb of a prisoner. Another thing that hadn’t changed.

Bruce took her time in casting her blue eyes around the cell. A beach. How very wishful for someone 4 floors under London, England. She continued to smile softly and rested her cane against the wall. She pulled her wand from her pocket, pointing it at the wall. The beach faded away to blackness before a far different scene started to appear. Mountains. Everest from a distance. Satisfied, Bruce handed her wand to the wizard in black who nodded and left.

“Everest. I climbed it about 6 years ago. They do these expeditions for wixes but you have to be very good at a breathing spell. The muggles use tanks of air, you see.” The door shut behind her and she sat in the chair brought in by the guard. She waved at the other chair. “It’s stunning, isn’t it? Picturesque but so deadly.” Like so many wolves. “One mistake and…well…” she shrugged and pulled a face.

“Anyway, you’re clearly not eager to hear about my adrenaline chasing. I signed the paperwork this morning for you to be transferred to Level 2. They’ll handle your crimes there, Savvina.”

Savvina sat up when the door opened. It was a guard. Then behind him came a witch she didn't know. Savvina placed her feet in the illusion of sand and stood up by the bed. The witch didn't wear the uniform of the routine keepers. Instead, this was a woman with bright red hair and a walking cane dressed like she regularly spent time outside. The room faded to pitch black and brightened again; Savvina looked all around watching as her Liar's Beach disappeared to become an expansive mountain peak under a pale blue sky, even taller towering mountains on the horizon. The temperature stayed the same, but Savvina crossed her arms against a chill that wouldn't come.

The mind was so pliable, she thought. Easily tricked and memories were so easily stolen.

She sat down in her own chair as suggested and linked her ankles underneath.

"It's stunning, isn't it?"

Savvina scanned the False Mountains, then looked back to the witch. She shrugged and nodded; it was hard to deny. She'd never before been in a place like this mimicry portrayed. She began calculating the reason to change the vista; Savvina had been incarcerated before and had strategies to keep safe. Most of them included learning to read her jailers.

It had been more than a day since Bagnold had delivered the same news of her impending transfer.[1] Every time the door opened she expected that moment to come, to be marched through unfamiliar corridors, standby while paperwork was done, then locked in another small room for more endless waiting.

"Bagnold told me."

She lowered her hands into her lap and started rubbing them together.

"Two days ago," she said looking back up with just the barest hint of tolerant impatience. The same news delivered twice - it had a reason and Savvina was smart enough to know it wasn't a lack of organization. It was a threat, somehow, an inevitable one. One meant to harrow her. And it worked.

1.	21 Dec 2011 - Unnatural Habitat

“He’s thorough.” Bruce replied and nodded. This wasn’t new information. Bagnold didn’t really understand why Bruce felt the need to speak to Katopodis herself. He’d been quite displeased by it, thinking she was testing his choices. She’d called him soft, which hadn’t been the most professional. But she’d been thrown off by the mass of howlers immediately followed by the papers on her desk which he’d insisted she sign there and then.

Crossing her legs at her ankles, Bruce sat back and took a sip from the coffee mug in her hand.
“This is the British ministry of magic, Savvina. Things don’t really go too quick here. Lots of paperwork. Then paperwork for the paperwork. Bureaucracy. It’s shit. It also means that you end up having to hang around here for longer.” Her blue eyes scanned the prisoner who was now sat in the second chair. “Probably good for you. Do you eat? You look like you’re not had a decent dinner in months.” Sad, really. What had this witch really been through?

Bruce obviously knew what the reports said. She’d been getting hold of wolfsbane potion since arriving in the UK. She remembered walking her dog then being here. She’d come from Greece, unregistered. If unregistered, why would Kurby advocate leniency?

“You caused quite the stir for my team.”

The witch proceeded with a casual manner, mirroring her posture. Savvina supposed she must be trying to make her feel at ease, at least somewhat. Changing the scenery wasn't in service of that, but people were complicated. She complained about the process, no defense of Ministry at all. Bagnold had been impossible to read, but his lack of dynamism had been clue enough. But this witch would take more time to decipher. She had no reaction to the witch's criticism of the Ministry. The bureaucracy was the least of her problems.

"I have been well cared for," she said blankly.  Enough food, healer care early on, toiletries as needed. And no one had moved to harm her at all. Just left alone to exist. Savvina tucked some of her long black hair behind her hair. She didn't to be reminded of how much of a wreck she must be, but took the observation as a show of concern. She'd spoken to someone, Li, when she first arrived and still delirious. Then nine days later, Bagnold. Now, her.

Her team. Ah. This witch was Bagnold's boss. She straightened a little and set her jaw. This was escalating but she should have expected that.

"I'm sorry," she said with flat sadness.  She'd been told about the ambush by now, about the dead muggles.  She knew herself. She knew she'd been careful even at risk to herself. But something had gone wrong and things had gone wrong. Savvina had no explanation.

"Who are you?" That was one thing she'd learned. Know who you were speaking to.

"I'm sorry," The witch said, flatly. Bruce didn’t respond or react. ‘Sorry’ was an easy word to say. ‘I’m sorry your soup is cold’ ‘I’m sorry you’re a werewolf’ ‘I’m sorry you’ll never walk properly again’ ‘I’m sorry I killed those people’.

Incredibly easy to say. Especially difficult to mean. Did Savvina mean it? She’d hardly done anything to stop something like this from happening. She’d never registered, never followed the law and done the right thing.

“Iona Ballentyne.” She took another sip of her coffee, studying the other witch carefully. “I’m the Head of the Werewolf Wing. I was the Head of the Capture Unit until I was ambushed and mauled by an unregistered werewolf.” And she left it at that, watching for any reaction.

Savvina looked down at the revelation hiding a look that was less than contrite. They may have shared at least one thing in common, two victims of a werewolf attack, but any similarities were illegible in the blinding light of the contrast of their situations. They'd both been attacked, but of the two of them one had lived and the other was surviving. Ballentyne hadn't brought it up to join her in sisterhood, or she wouldn't have said 'unregistered'. It was another sin Savvina was meant to atone for, another sin she couldn't remember.

"How," Savvina began slowly and quietly, speaking into her lap, "do you imagine a werewolf ambushes anyone?"

"You must know, because I do not. When the full moon she steals away love and wisdom she also takes away cruelty and vengeance. What remains to calculate an ambush?"

She lifted her dark eyes and found Ballentyne's. There were many choices Savvina had made but none of them were cruel. Were they mindless animals or were they clever monsters? Whatever made the narrative work. Savvina hadn't looked on a full moon in years now, and not once in dozens of them had she any lucid memory of the night. Nothing worked. Only Wolfsbane, to quiet the terrors. Seemed blasphemous to ascribe evil intent to those who'd been stolen away from themselves.

"It is terrible what happened to you."

Because it was the same thing that had happened to her.

What remained to calculate an ambush? Bruce wished she knew. She wished beyond anything that she could go back and see how it had all happened. To understand why they’d been targeted like it. It hadn’t been a regular trip into the field. It wasn’t a regular track and capture. These wolves had behaved like a pack.

Bruce said nothing and Savvina chose to state how what had happened was terrible. The corners of the red head’s lips lifted marginally, the shadow of a smirk appearing.

“It is.” She stated carefully, lowering her coffee to rest it in her lap. “Obviously, there’s the whole werewolf problem, but I can’t walk properly either; the bastard took a chunk out of my leg. At least I’m alive. Which is more than I can say for the wizard I was trying to save.” The witch would be wondering why she was telling her this, no doubt. But it was important to know what they were capable of doing if not responsible for themselves. “He was quite literally ripped apart. It is terrible, yes. But I’m responsible enough to do all that I can to make sure I don’t share the curse. Or, you know, kill anyone.”

Blue eyes danced over Katopodis’ face and she rose her eyebrows. “What about you? When were you bitten? What made you decide to not be responsible?”

Some of who Savvina used to be would have felt every word from Ballentyne, empathized with her trauma, let the remorse leave its home in her chest. She'd have allowed herself to draw the line between A and B and hang herself with the twine, but that basin was dry now. So Savvina watched with barely any affect, just the slightest of sad frowns. She'd used up all her tears for herself, there hadn't been any left for a long time now, not for anyone.

Ballentyne turned it around on her. Savvina couldn't tell if she was really asking, if she really wanted to understand, or if this was just another lecture meant to provide material for her inevitable prosecution. Whether she'd registered in the past, she would be now. If she wasn't already. So what did it matter?

"You are kind to ask, Madam Ballentyne, but I do not think you really want to know. I am here now."

She shrugged a shoulder at the mountain. Everest. The Nepali call it Sagarmatha, she remembered from school.

"Why does it matter?"

Bruce wasn’t exactly sure when she’d ever been called ‘Madam Ballentyne’. It was uncomfortably formal. Bruce was not formal. Formality was something that she would have to learn in this job. May as well start now with Madam Ballentyne. Bruce wanted to know why Savvina Katopodis had chosen not to be responsible, as did Madam Ballentyne.

“It doesn’t matter.” She agreed with a shake of her head. “Your one single story in the grand scheme of things is tiny, infinitesimal.” Big word. She’d have to tell someone about that big exciting word. “Nonessential.” Another big word. She was on a roll. As if she’d swallowed a thesaurus. “As you say, you are here now, who really cares?”

She paused, leaving the agreement hanging in the air.

“But let’s face it, Savvina, there’s hundreds out there like you. Irresponsible. If I don’t care about you, and why you failed to do your duty as a responsible wix, I don’t care about any of them and I don’t deserve to be in this job.” She took a sip of coffee. “You see my predicament?”

“When were you bitten? What made you choose not to register?” She frowned, glancing down into the coffee mug now resting in her lap. “What could have encouraged you to register?”

Irresponsible. Savvina allowed herself a small laugh, barely a breath. Responsibility. Culpability. Duty. Accountability. Failure. Neglect.  A thousand ways to judge a person guilty. Guilty of one offense, not signing a name, and thus the same everything that comes after. Savvina was responsible for all of it. And how could she deny it. She didn't remember anything and her name wasn't in the book.

"You see my predicament?"

"I do." What a strange business it must be, to be the keeper and carer and capturer of all werewolves in Britain. Was it like being a parent, Savvina wondered. Ballentyne held Bagnold's leash. Was he her child also?

The dissonance aside, dissonance that existed in everyone, Ballentyne wanted her story. Or at least a narrative on which to apply the Responsibility, lack of it. Savvina took a breath and closed her eyes. Her mouth closed into a straight line. It was difficult to speak of what happened without reliving it, but she'd summon the strength. It would just take a moment to step away.

When she did speak, her voice was steady.

"The attack happened in Greece in two thousand and three. I was twenty-four. Walking home from a party. When I woke up in the hospital, my family was gone."

She paused, not sure how much to say. What she could say to make Ballentyne confident she was doing her job.

"Back then, if you did not have a sponsor you could not be registered. And without that documentation, there is nothing for werewolves in Greece. So I left. Tried to find a foothold, any piece of green where I could start roots. I know you don't believe me, but I have always been careful. I have always done my duty. I have helped others when I could."

Savvina knew better than to let her tale take her to England where the Werewolf Wing's concerns began. As soon as she crossed the channel, she'd become their problem.

Bitten by a werewolf at 24-years-old. Just walking home from a party. She didn’t go chasing danger. Danger found her. And for it? She was abandoned by her family. Bruce surveyed the witch with a calm expression. She’d never been particularly good at concealing her emotions, even before her own transformation, she hadn’t even closely perfectly the poker face. She suddenly felt a pity for the witch, should her story be true. Bruce was never abandoned by those she loved and trusted. Sure, Kurby had, but her wife had been there when she woke up.

“Your duty.” Bruce repeated, frowning. She left silence to linger for a few moments, looking past Savvina at the mountain range she’d chosen to conjure. “In Great Britain, you don’t require a sponsor to register as a Werewolf. There’s a form, damned long one, but it’s there. Then there’s the requirement to take wolfsbane potion, our wolfsbane potion. Transformations at a ministry approved safehouse. No sponsor. No public shaming.”

Bruce wasn’t daft. She knew that even with the registry being private and confidential, people knew. She, herself, had never publically announced anything, but everyone around her knew. Ballentyne was the cautionary tale for the WCU, she was well aware. She was the witch who fell in the line of duty. Now, she was the witch who came back.

“I’m not here with a big stick to beat you with, Savvina. My job isn’t only to ensure the capture of unregistered werewolves. I have a responsibility to protect you as well. Until this full moon, you weren’t on the Ministry’s radar.”

Was this an apology, Savvina wondered carefully. One werewolf inspected the other. Savvina knew better than to trust. She'd known Ballentyne for only a few minutes and there would probably never be a level balance of power between them. And Ballentyne was an unknown figure. Everyone had heard of Bagnold and the WCU and their tactics, but no one knew Ballentyne.

Savvina had claimed she'd done her duty and Ballentyne had described her own with what Savvina was sure was the implication she'd been unsuccessful. 'I was meant to protect you,' she'd said. But here Savvina was, rescued - no, retrieved - from danger. An apparent abduction. She'd not been protected. But no. Savvina's shoulders rose and fell in a conceding breath. No. Ballentyne couldn't protect someone she didn't know existed. Maybe not an apology, but maybe a promise. Or the gentlest of convictions.

"I don't blame you," Savvina said. "I'm sure you did all you could. I'm here."

She'd said that before. 'I'm here.' It meant the same thing: the past was past and had brought her to a mountaintop. She'd done what she'd done and fate had delivered her. Fate and men.

"And will you protect me now? True protection doesn't offer punishment as the alternative."

Her tone ticked confrontational. The law wanted her now, so she'd been told twice now. Her transfer was imminent, out of the care and feeding of the Werewolf Wing to criminal custody. Hardly felt like sanctuary.

At the time of Savvina’s capture, Bruce hadn’t been around in the ministry to do all she could. She’d been at home being angry at the world for giving her a gammy leg and a werewolf curse. It wasn’t until after that full moon that Alec Carter had gotten in touch to ask her to come in for a chat. Savvina had already been sitting in this cell then. Bruce wasn’t going to go into all that, however.

“It doesn’t, you’re right.” Bruce agreed before taking another sip from her mug. She drained it, and leaned forward, placing the mug on the floor beside her chair. “But I have to act within the remit of the law. All that bureaucracy and paperwork that I’ve already mentioned. You are, as you’ve already been told, heading to Level 2’s care. Less comfortable than here, I’m afraid. But that doesn’t mean that we’re done with you.”

Bruce started to rise from the seat and dipped her hand into her robe pocket where she pulled out a card. It was a small beige business card which had her name and how to contact her.
“They mean well on Level 2, but aurors aren’t known for their empathy. Show them this and they’ll summon me.” The card was offered to the younger witch. “I want to help.”

The combination of forthcoming and honest was not what Savvina was expecting from Iona Ballentyne. There hadn't even been an interrogation. It was hard to feel relieved after how many days in near-total isolation, even more so that soon Savvina would be moved away. But perhaps, for a moment, Savvina could relax.

Her face softened and she took the card, and she nearly smiled. What was she supposed to do with this? Tuck it into her purse? But more than the irony, Savvina felt another pang of dread. The card and the witch who offered it symbolized a slip of to-be-kindled kindness, like a last match in the book.

"Thank you." Savvina nodded and let some of that goodwill show. She knew how hard she could look and if she didn't show Ballentyne something then Savvina suspected the kindness would stop. As much as she hoped the feeling was true, it was a relationship that Savvina would have to nurture or it would whither.

"Do you know what will happen on Level 2?"

She knew that she'd eventually be able to speak with a lawyer, she knew Level Two would be where charges were filed. But beyond that, all she could see in her future is uncertainty. The little tan card in her fingers, why couldn't it be a portkey?

“I don’t.” Bruce chose to reply honestly as she reached to the wall for her cane which had been resting there. It was with a wary delicacy that she lowered the base to the ground. It was only 2 days since she’d had it and she’d already accidently caused a few accidents ending in various people on their arses near her.

“I imagine you’ll be processed tonight. A few interviews. They’ll make the decision on whether to charge you with anything, but Bagnold has recommended that they don’t. We only have so much influence.” Bruce gave a shrug and moved to the cell door where she banged her fist on what appeared to be the cold mountain air. A metallic bang greeted them and she turned her head back to Savvina. “Just show how willing you are to help.”

The cell door was pulled open by the guard outside, and, without another glance, Bruce left.