The owl had arrived late at night, pecking at her living room window behind the sofa. Hannah was dressed in dark blue cotton pyjama trousers and an oversized grey jumper where the sleeves fell well over her hands so she’d pulled them up to her elbows. The book she’d been reading had been thrown onto the coffee table and she’d had to dislodge Herbert the ginger cat from his resting place on her lap to climb over the back of the settee and let the owl in.

After reading it, while part of her had wanted to simply respond and say how she was fine, she couldn’t help but consider his frame of mind with this news. Besides, the questions suddenly overwhelming her mind drove her to get up from the sofa and grab her wand. She slid her feet into her oversized wolf slippers (a gift from someone who thought they were being funny, but they turned out to be surprisingly warm and comfortable) and made for the front door.

Hannah Bombay’s fireplace was no longer connected to the floo network. She’d chosen not to renew her link when she’d moved back in after Azkaban. While an economical decision, it also meant that no one would be arriving uninvited in her living room. As such, still dressed in her pyjamas, she was pulling her front door closed behind her and crossing the small hallway to her neighbour’s flat.

Old Mrs Rattlebag was the occupant of flat 4b. She was a squib who still had many links to the magical community. Countless times, she’d tried to invite her young lonely seeming neighbour around for tea and biscuits. Countless times, Hannah had refused with a strained smile. Tonight, she knocked on the door. Beyond the door, she could hear the television blaring loudly.

After several moments, Hannah could hear various latches on the door clicking open before the door opened a few inches. Mrs Rattlebag’s hawk like nose poked out along with a pair of eyes, heavily magnified by extremely strong glasses.
“It’s a bit late for tea, Hannah, dear.” She said before pushing the door shut once more. A moment later, it was opened fully, no chains holding it shut.
“Are you connected to the floo?” Hannah asked, dispensing, as usual, with courtesies.
“Well…yes, I am. My family like to visit. Yesterday, Trav-”
“Can I use it, please? It’s important.”

Well, Mrs Rattlebag was just glad to help, it appeared. Because after once more refusing a cup of tea, Hannah was stepping two slippered feet into the flames and uttering the words Knox had once told her.

As ever, floo travel was decidedly nauseating, and when Hannah was spat out at the other end, she grabbed onto the nearest thing available to steady herself.

The smoldering fire in the largest of the hearths suddenly swelled up vermilion and gold. Knox Greyfrair, nearly asleep in a chair, started awake in time to see a familiar witch tumble out and collide with a tea cart.

"Hannah...!" he breathed. He checked the clock. He'd sent an owl this night but had no expectation it'd be returned until morning, let alone be replied to in person. He'd settled into a fitful doze unable to fully sleep but too run down to be awake. He rose from the chair and crossed the room and helped her up and stood back. In the firelight he could see that she was all in one piece. Of course she was fine.

"I didn't think you'd actually come," he said. "Can't tell if that's a good omen or bad. Do you want some tea? That pot's gone cold."

He felt a great relief that she was here, though he didn't really show it. For once, there was werewolf trouble that niether of them were a party to. They'd both, by all accounts, spent their full moon exactly where they belonged. And while they did some kind of war raged on only to be discovered this morning.

It took a moment to right herself and stop her head from spinning. The cart she’d crashed into had made a mighty clash, pieces crockery smashing into each other. And almost immediately, Knox was on his feet and at her side helping her out. When Hannah fully righted herself, and looked up at his face in the dim candlelight, a look of concern crossed her features. He looked worn out. Was it the job, the full moon, or the safe house incident?

She used her hand to push from stray hairs behind her ear. Most of it had been scraped back into a messy ponytail back at home.
“I’ll have tea.”

Now, she looked around the room. So, this was the Headmaster’s quarters at Hogwarts? Certainly, it was grander than Knox’s small hut in the middle of the forest. Far more suited to such an imposing wizard.

“I couldn’t just ignore a letter like that.” She crossed her arms over her chest, stood uncomfortably by the tea tray. Despite it being Knox’s new environment, it wasn’t a familiar environment. It may have been much less claustrophobic, but it didn’t have the great oversized armchair that she could sink and disappear into. That armchair made her feel safe. “You look appalling.”

"That is because," Knox said slowly beginning to busy himself in the comforting ritual of making water for tea, "I am appalled."

He stoked up the embers a bit, which had returned to orange from green, and hung the kettle from the hook in the fireplace.

"You can move all that."  The sofa was cluttered up with stacks of papers and books and other academic nesting. He asked the castle elves not to tidy in here, and Hannah was the first person he'd had up.  As he was making an effort to put the tea cart back to rights, he noticed his hands were shaking and then fumbled a mug.

It shattered on the stone hearth. Knox stared down at it for a moment. The faded logo of some pub was now divided among jagged shards. Suddenly, he swiped his hat off his head and winged it across the room. He very nearly threw a chair out of the way as he stalked to a window and flung it open. A gust of frigid cold air rushed in against his face and upset everything lose in the room.  He closed his eyes against it, trying to get his head right. He ran one hand shakily through his hair. His other hand was white-knuckled gripping the sill.

As suggested by the bear of a man, Hannah reached down to the sofa, piling up various files and books which she started to stack neatly on the floor beside the seat. At least some of the space was clear when the cup smashed behind her. In her wolf slippers, the witch span around just in time to see the hat being flung across the room in an outburst of what she could only guess was frustrated emotion. He stalked across the room and flung open the window.

The papers that she’d very neatly stacked beside the sofa was suddenly upended, loose parchment blowing off and making her previous work pointless. With lips pressed tightly together and a frown creasing her forehead, Hannah padded over to the window sill where he stood.

Knox Greyfriar had always been her rock. Even when she hadn’t wanted him around, he’d been steadfast in making sure that she knew he was there, but far enough away. He was one of the only people to truly care about her, and in turn, for her to care about. What was more, he was the person stood beside her in this fight for their rights. He was strong and intelligent and not the type of person to lose it to emotion.

Without a word, Hannah slipped up next to him until their arms were touching, and looked too, towards the open window. She reached out, placing her own hand over his much larger one. She gave it a squeeze.

It was overwhelming. Such a small thing as an old mug shattering on stone, but so easily it had fallen. He could mend it with a flick of his wand, but all he saw was how the tiniest mistake could ruin the smallest thing. Young witches could not so easily be put back together and all it took for them to come to their own shattering was for him to look away for an instant. It would take only an instant, and he'll have failed them like he'd failed Devlin.  He'd failed to protect Hannah. It had been a long time since Knox had found himself in tears, but it had been a long time since his world has so quickly been thrown into chaos, since he'd felt so helpless.

All he could see now was how cruel the world was and how utterly inadequate he was to keep even his corner of it safe.

He found his heart in his throat. Hannah's hand only brought everything up stronger and bare. He wiped salty tears from his lined face. His baritone was a whisper.

"I don't know what's happening. I don't know what to do."

The bear of a man's voice cracked and he opened his eyes to see Hannah's small hand on his. "We're not safe, no matter what we do. The girls, how can I help them?"

Knox Greyfriar was crying, clearly overwhelmed by the events of the day. Hannah, who only really cried when she was the one directly affected, pressed her lips together. She’d always struggled with the social need to empathise with others. It was one of those characteristics of human nature that she’d never gotten her head around easily. Seeing Knox like this was uncomfortable and awkward, and she knew what was expected of her. While she knew that two werewolves had been taken from their safe house, and she understood what this meant for their own safety, she couldn’t put herself in her friend’s shoes. Neither did she know what to really say to make him feel any better.

“I could have told you that,” Hannah couldn’t stop herself stating. It wouldn’t help. she knew that much. It was, however, fact. Hannah, for years now, had insisted on their lack of security. All it had taken was one ill-timed ministry deed for the two of them to find themselves in court with enormous fines. Hannah, herself, had been taken before a full moon for the werewolf fight ring. Any sort of safety and security vanished when wolf teeth penetrated their skin.

“The girls?” She asked after a moment before she realised. He meant the two teenage witches currently residing at Hogwarts. Knox clearly felt responsible for them, just as he felt responsible for her. “You can help them by keeping it together and making sure that when they are under this roof, they are safe.” Hogwarts was supposed to be the safest place in the UK, and with the baritone Greyfriar standing between the outside word and its inhabitants, they were quite secure.

If Knox was ever the voice of hope, Hannah had always been the practical one. As naive as Knox could be sometimes, cynicism was Hannah's sin. But today, against this storm, they were both relieved of those burdens. Indeed, that axis had been been spun into opposites. It was so easy to keep his eyes closed and let the cold wet air steal away his mind and his worry. He might have stood here forever if only it would have turned his heart to un-hurtable stone. And then he could do as Hannah said and just move forward without hesitation or the stuttering steps of the fearful.

"They're doing all that's asked of them. They've been told the lie that if they follow all the rules, we'll keep them safe," he said stepping away from the window as if coming up for air. "But they see through it. We all see through it. There's nothing to gain pretending. There's nothing to gain from good intentions. I feel it all coming for them."

He'd had tea with Lucinda and Greer, but he went for the whiskey now. He poured two fingers and downed it at once. Knox was a man who drank to celebrate and connect, but now he tried the other motivation.

"Did I tell you about the book?" he said, facing her.

Finding herself unable to watch as the steady rock in her life started to crack, Hannah moved away from the window, pulling her wand from the pocket of her jumper. She pointed it at the pieces of the shattered china cup on the ground, and they started to swirl up into the eat, piecing themselves gently back together.

Behind her, Greyfriar was describing the situation as if he’d only just truly realised it. She heard the clink of glass and his glugging as she checked the kettle over the hearth. When she asked his question, Hannah turned on the heel of her wolf slippers and crossed her arms, looking up at him.

“Has anyone told you that you’re not their father?” She asked bluntly. “They have parents to have these worries for them, no?” If Knox had wanted mollycoddling and passive agreement, he wouldn’t have owled her, so she had no reservations in being blunt. “It isn’t coming for them, Knox, it’s coming for us. I’ve been telling you that for years. It’s why we do what we do, isn’t it?” They helped people, no questions asked. But they couldn’t help everyone.

Tea wasn’t going to do it now, was it? Hannah took one of the teacups from the tray and the bottle from her friend’s grasp.
“What book?” she asked, pouring a healthy dose of whiskey into her teacup.

"Has anyone told you that you’re not their father?"

Knox froze for a moment, then tilted his head with raised brows in agreement. She had a point there. It was probably for the best. He was a classically horrible parent by nearly every metric.

"Hmm, quite right," he mumbled between Hannah's response and let her take the bottle, but reluctantly. Hannah wasn't entirely wrong. Just half wrong. Lucinda seemed to have caring parents, but Greer's weren't allowed to be anymore as they'd been deemed unfit. Parent or not, he was keeper of this castle and that conferred on him a set of responsibilities other than reading labored history essays.

Rather than confiscate the amber-brown crutch, Hannah poured herself a cup. She asked him about the book and Knox took a chair. It was somewhat like the one he had at home, but in far better shape and had great clawed feet.

"Some weeks ago, a package with no return address arrived for one of the first years. It was The Lycan, if you know it, and some silver twine," he said thoughtfully. Hannah here with her pointing out some of his logical leaps, Knox felt a tired calm coming over him. The whiskey probably helped.

"Feliks Spectre - know of him? Fated progeny of Balfour Spectre and, well, Ira Almasy."

Knox lifted his eye under an arched eyebrow. Hannah would know all about Ira Almasy better than most. "It felt like a taunt. Not sure for whom, though."

With a healthy dose of whiskey in her teacup, Hannah returned the bottle to her friend, and sat down on the small couch. She pulled her feet up and curled her legs up under her. She took a gulp, closing her eyes against the burning sensation.

“The lycan?” She’d heard of it. A hunter’s manual for the full moon. Graphic and detailed descriptions of how to catch a werewolf. A werewolf hater’s bible. Almasy and Layton’s bible. And talking of Ira Almasy…

“I’ve heard of him.” Hannah’s voice came out harder than she anticipated. Ira Almasy had tortured her. She still had the scars and the brands. Any mention of the evil bitch set on her edge. This Felicks, Johann had taken him in, hadn’t he? Along with his boyfriend.

“Sent to him? Someone planning on training him up?” Hannah couldn’t help it. Her whole demeanour had changed now. It was easy to calm Knox when she wasn’t personally involved. This? Any mention of Ira? Well, she quite rightly freaked.

Knox leaned forward and wiped his face with his hand. He felt heavy and cold like all the blood had drained out of him.

"Yes, something like that," Knox had to concede. If it wasn't so bizarre and wrapped in infantile simplicity, the delivery of such objects amounted to kitting someone out for a mission.

"But it could have everything to do with Felicks and his legacy and nothing to do with Lucinda and Greer or any other werewolf," he said lifting his shoulders then taking a drink. "See here," he said as if speaking as someone else, "are we just going to let the world forget who this boy is? It could be entirely unconnected."

He carried on, growing animated again. "But if we're doing our calculations correctly, at the moment of that particular special delivery the only werewolf in this castle was me. And not exactly three years to the day of my attack on these very grounds! I think some of us forget that occurred!"[1]

"If this is all just a coincidence, just random acts by a flurry of hateful actors, the only way it could be so is because the incidents are so many it'd be impossible not to find a constellation among them."

1.	14 Oct 2008, Knox's attack; 14 Oct 2011, The book and twine arrive at Hogwarts and the arrival of Lucinda

It was quickly becoming clear to Hannah that she’d been summoned here to watch Knox spiral out of control. Knox, who had so often reprimanded her for freaking out. Knox, who was convinced that panicking would only serve to exacerbate the impressions people already held of them as werewolves. He danced between concerns over protecting the two young werewolves in the school, to feeling like threats were levelled towards him. Hannah, with her distinct lack of any real emotional intelligence when it came to judging how to handle people’s emotions, felt rather uncomfortable. She’d never modelled herself on being the person to stop someone spiralling.

“I don’t know.” She took a sip of whiskey, unsure how Knox expected her to insert her own input here. The werewolf attack of Carter, she could just about comment on. The missing werewolves, maybe. But Ira Almasy’s secret love child and his being dragged into this whole thing? That was a little too much.

“More than a handful of witches and wizards hate us, Knox. The hate crimes have always been there, you’ve just awoken to it now.” She couldn’t help herself, in truth. Hannah wasn’t one for holding back her opinions, and her opinion was that Knox Greyfriar was of a privileged position. As a Wizengamot elder, the Hogwarts Headmaster, and merlin knew what else, he wasn’t in a position where this happened to him. Now, his eyes were opening, and apparently, it was all a bit much.

“That psychotic bitch has gone,” She couldn’t bring herself to say Almasy’s name, “there will have always been someone waiting to step into her shoes.”

Knox had hardly 'just awoken' to the harms that befell werewolves, but arguing the point with Hannah would only bring out the worst in him. Indeed, he'd been spared anything worse than institutional prejudice since he'd turned. His experience with anti-werewolf had been in patching it up. Nearly a dozen strangers and one Hannah, that strange summer night.[1]. The difference this time was the children and his part in keeping them safe.

He could feel Hannah's discomfort at this night's conversation; Knox was plenty uncomfortable himself. He didn't know of anyone with whom he'd been so vulnerable, not in a very long time. It was so revealing that as he settled he was beginning to regret it. He found himself quiet and without any contradiction ready. As this night expired the only things that could be done had already been accomplished. Lucinda, Greer, and Feliks were all safe in the castle probably sleeping. He had an instinct to keep vigil, but it wouldn't help anything but make him all the more harried and paranoid in the morning.

Knox rubbed his forehead and began a slow circle around the room. He set down his glass at one point.

"You're not wrong about most of that, I'll grant you so much," he said. "Ministry has to be scrambling. I should probably go in tomorrow."

Knox still held a post as a Wizengamot Elder, just a jurist now called upon to sit for hearings and trials. It would be right to show his face, find out what the newspaper and Bagnold wouldn't tell him.

1.	27 Jul 2011 - Who Lies Within

Sat alone on Knox’s sofa as he circled the room restlessly, Hannah grabbed a cushion, cuddling it to her stomach. It was a strange sensation to see a wizard she so deeply respected and, dare she think it, love in such a state. Seeing him like this only heightened her already simmering vulnerability. Greyfriar wasn’t supposed to buckle, he was a stalwart. Even in his most trialling moments, he blustered or stood firm. He dragged her kicking and screaming from courtrooms. He didn’t spiral helplessly.

“I wish I was.” What she’d give to be wrong about the world’s attitude to werewolves…

Why would he go in? Now, Hannah was realising that she needed to play the calm one, measured one.
“To do what, Knox? I am never going to presume to doubt your capability and stretch, but what can you do there that they aren’t already doing? You are more use here, surely? Here, present and calm.” Calm being the important word.

“Sit down and breath, for Merlin’s sake.”