Greer scrambled out, coughing above them. Lucinda struggled to her feet, running at the mouth as it returned. He saw her up and over the top of the hastily gouged grave.

“He’s gone.” He issued it with cold finality, without further explanation, appearing at once behind them.

Seeing no immediate danger other than the fire raging behind them he extended his wand to the sky casting metelojinx. The sky began to darken beneath the plume of wood smoke, and within moments rain began to pelt down on the trees, and on them.

“This way,” he instructed, sweeping past the girls, the chest with twine springing from the ground. “Stay close.”



In the few short minutes their foot journey took, the cobbles of Hogsmeade lanes were slick with unpredicted ice cold rain. The clouds had thickened, blotting out the little winter sunshine left. The woods smouldered beneath, grey smoke still rising from burnt boughs, visible over the uneven roofline. The raindrops bounced off in midair above the heads of the werewolves, a quite invisible umbrella canopy keeping them dry, while they rolled down the hooded cloak of their teacher who followed a step behind, wand in hand, vigilant.

Though their hurried passage down the lane appeared to be heading back into the village, they only walked twenty paces along the slippery cobbles from the dirt path before their route was cut short by a sudden instruction to stop. The eldest extended a hand over the stone wall of a tiny cottage to their left, palm crossing a rune carved into the stone.

A garden gate sprung open, and he led wordlessly through onto a narrow garden path of slate stone. Either side wildflowers in long grass grew out of season, clearly cultivated by magic. The gate sprung shut behind them all with prim obedience. The Deputy Headmaster frowned back over his shoulder at the dishevelled pair, and unlocked the front door.

They stepped over the threshold into tiny front room, perhaps no larger than a Hogwarts dormitory. A longhaired black cat lazed on an armchair, but now observed the intruders cautiously with wide eyes. Everything was neat, even the newspapers on a low coffee table were straightened, though folded upmost with finished crosswords visible. It was unexpectedly homely.

As the girls took in their surroundings, a fire sprung up in the grate and the curtains twitched closed seemingly of their own accord.
“We will floo back,” the Professor explained shortly, dropping his hood from his head. “Get you both to the healer, and you can recount your misadventure to Professor Greyfriar.” He was not keen to linger here, for reasons a wedding photo on the mantlepiece would confirm.

The streets of Hogsmeade had lost their bright promise. Greer kept close to Lucinda in case the older girl needed an arm, though she looked more likely to rip someone's arms off. Greer bowed her head under the darkening sky, her sneakers slipping a bit on the slick cobblestones, hardly noticing that no rain fell on her.

The professor took care with the box of twine, but Feliks had gotten away.

At the professor's frown, Greer stopped at the doormat and shuffled exagerattedly with her muddy, snow-crusted sneakers. She hurried inside, glancing around for the Headmaster, or for Feliks trapped under a glowing rune, but neither were here. This couldn't be the Headmaster's house. It was far too tidy.

She pushed back a pang of disappointment.

In the living room, Greer matched the cat's wary stare. She glanced over the photo on the mantle, spotting a handsome woman next to Storm, but she'd seen stranger things today. This was the professor's house. Ordered. Clean.

Recount their misadventure.

Greer didn't love words, or even using her words, but her eyes narrowed at the professor's word choice, a word that meant he considered what happened to them to be a lark gone wrong. Just a misadventure. Didn't he want to know what had happened, as deputy Headmaster? Why didn't he ask?

Had she imagined the touch of warmth in his voice, when they'd been trapped in the forest? 

"Are we in trouble? Why didn't you stop Feliks from getting away?" Greer rasped, her throat smarting from the earlier smoke. She crossed her arms loosely, glancing up at the old man with a glint of worry in her eye, wary of the answers that sprang to her mind.

Lucinda had stayed relatively quiet along the way, it took a bit for her legs to become stable after the pain and twisting of her knees multiple times. She had leaned onto Greer a little in places, making sure not to do so too much however, she didn't want to put too much of her weight onto the girl. Admittedly she wasn't heavy, she never thought she was heavy, and anyone who implied as such would be promptly punched. However Greer was also exhausted and she didn't want to push down on her too much.

It was an awkward walk, and as soon as the adrenaline rushed off of her she went quiet, not as bad as the aftermath of a full moon, that was completely draining, mentally and physically. This wasn't either but she was just worn out from it all. And besides, what was there to say?

They had walked back through Hogsmeade, she barely noticed the rain, she heard it but it was just noise to her, all of it was noise, she barely noticed those in Hogsmeade, or the route they were taking, at this point she was just wanting to get home, curl up into her bed, get a tub of Icecream, and watch TV, although the castle couldn't get a TV, which was disappointing.

Soon they were inside a cottage, it wasn't bad...she can't imagine ever living here though, it was cramped as anything. How could multiple people even live here? Although if this is the professors house...she didn't like that idea, she didn't like the idea that he had a house, or was married, or anything. Surely he just slept in the cupboard in his office upside down? Much better and healthier thoughts.

But then he started talking, and that set her off.

"Misadventure? You call that a bloody misadventure? Being attacked and shoved in coffins? Oh yeah sure its just a little oopsie on their part. They didn't mean to torture us don't mind them. They're really sorry, they only meant to cut off a limb and it went too far out of hand. What classifies as an actual threat for you? Do you want me to go back and f***ing die so it can be deemed as a minor incident?"

“Are we in trouble? Why didn’t you stop Feliks from getting away?” Greer broke their relative silence in the hurry to get out of the open. Her questions were at least reasonable, but only opened the floodgates for Temple to throw a tantrum.

“Misadventure? You call that a bloody misadventure? Being attacked and shoved in coffins?” she began, hackles rising. “’Oh yeah sure it’s just a little oopsie on their part. They didn’t mean to torture us, don’t mind them. They’re actually sorry, they only meant to cut off a limb and it sent too far our of hand.’” She mocked inexpertly, “What classifies an actual threat for you? Do you want me to go back and — die so it can be deemed as a minor incident?”

Before the growing fire in the grate, their tall, lined professor turned and loomed over both the girls. The fire uplit his features which no longer resembled any of the momentary care he’d expressed in the makeshift grave. They were ungrateful, incompetent creatures. Werewolves he would have taken pride and money ending[1] when he had been decades younger, not saving from their own pigheaded ignorance to walk into a trap.

“You most certainly would have, had I not intervened,” he hissed, adjusting the grip of his wand, trying hard to resist hexing Temple. “Would you prefer I called it the time you wandered into an obvious trap?” He withdrew, stood straight, as if hearing the moderation of his absent wife, “Your attempted capture,” he rephrased, shoulders rising and falling as he bit back his own temper.

“You’re only lucky he toyed with you first rather than outright strangled you with it.” He pointed his ebony wand at the chest which rattled fervently as the twine tried futilely to respond to his command inside. He had set it down on the coffee table, and it sent the neat piles of papers tumbling to the rug. The nameless black cat gave a low yowl, arching its back, and fled from the room, fur on end. “But if you prefer to argue here, instead of having your injuries seen to…?”

…He would hex her impertinent mouth away a second time.

And with that, he seized a handful of floo powder from the box on the mantle, keen to get them out of the house.

1.	1990 - Wolves and Wounds - werewolf hunting 1991 - Free from the Curse, poisoning

A tightness formed in Greer's chest that had little to do with the smoke inhalation. She looked up at the professor, her nostrils flaring slightly with her every quick intake of breath. Her mouth had disappeared again, this time into a thin, grim line.

"Lucinda," Greer whispered, tugging at the girl's coat sleeve. It was better to be yelled at in the castle where there were witnesses rather than the professor's house where even the cat had scurried away.

He wasn't going to take them anywhere else, Greer assured herself, watching the wand in his hand as he grabbed the floo powder. He was taking them back to Hogwarts, like any professor would. This wasn't a second trap. He'd mentioned their injuries twice.

Still, Greer slipped her hand into her coat pocket, finding the handle of a thin, even wand. Not hers. She kept searching, brushing against the crinkling candy bag she'd also stuffed in there.

Where was hers?

Greer drew out the slender wand, glancing at the etchings on the wood that her fingers hadn't recognized.

Lucinda's wand.

Her breath catching in her throat, Greer nudged Lucinda and handed it to her, hoping the other Gryffindor would simply take it without hexing the professor. Please.

Greer surreptitiously slipped her hand into her other pocket, keeping her gaze on the fire as if it meant something. Oh sure, they had to get back to the castle. That was the logical step. That was her main concern. Right.

Her hand balled into a fist. Nothing. Nothing was there. Her wand was gone.[1]

She kept her gaze on the fire and grasped Lucinda's sleeve again, pretending she was ready to accompany the professor, to leave the warm house behind and the woods even further back. The firelight flickered over her pale face.

1.	Greer forgot that she'd dropped a wand into the grave

Lucinda snarled at the response given, she was clearly not happy about this at all, she didn't like the fact they almost died, or in her case, buried alive. Cramped into a tiny box, to be buried far underground, unable to move or do anything as the air goes away, in complete pitch darkness. The idea it almost happened terrified her, it was one of her worst fears, she'd rather go into a rage as a werewolf and be put down.

To have him so openly mock it as a misadventure, a misadventure was when you got lost in the Hogwarts corridors on the way to the bathroom and get found at the end of the day somehow in the forest. A misadventure was going into the forest and the Centaurs having to take you out. A misadventure was anything but a deranged first year trying to kill you for being a werewolf.

"I'd prefer you call it a Slytherin tried to kill us." She growled under her breath, she felt Greer offering her wand. She would gladly hex the professor, he couldn't even manage to defeat a first year in a dual, why the hell is he teaching them?

She gently followed Greer into the flames, she wanted nothing to do with him right now, despite being her saviour in this case, she just wanted to get away and curl up, she really hoped the elves would give her some ice cream when she got back, it may be worth a try, she knew how to get to the kitchens, even a short cut to make it much quicker to get down from the tower into the lower floors, only took fifteen minutes.

With a sigh she moved behind Greer and hugged her from behind, closed her eyes and rested her head ontop as if to both protect her and try to reassure her.

The two young Gryffindor werewolves took the hint. Their one working brain between them was working at last. There was some protest from Temple still, but that was only to be expected. She was determined to have the final word. He would be glad to be rid of them, though they would now have their tale to tell to Greyfriar.

At his gesture they stepped somewhat willingly into the magical flames, and with a sudden rush and crackle, they each in turn vanished from the tiny living room at his clear declaration of their destination.

As the flames in the empty fireplace subsided to embers, the final newspaper slid down to the rug beside three sets of damp footprints.



End