Atticus strolled through the great hall with a sense of renewed awe as he looked around at his alma mater. He was admittedly taking more time than he needed to get up to the second floor and to the headmaster's office. It had only been a few years since he attended, but the whole experience was somewhat soured by his expulsion. He didn't get his fill of the school, as it were. There were still more places to be explored and admired. Alas, his youthful folly stole his final year from him and he had learned to begrudgingly accept it. He knew the risks of smuggling contraband. He paid the price.

The house elf escorting him looked a little annoyed at his lackadaisical manner.  After a few minutes of mild wandering, he found himself at the right staircase and ascended to the second floor. A few minutes later he found himself at the familiar gargoyle guarding the entrance to Professor Greyfriar's office. He frowned slightly, thinking about the awkward and tense conversation that was soon to come. The elf stood away and aside, wanting to wait until they saw Atticus ascend the steps into the office.

"Hello. I am here to see the Professor. I wasn't given a password, but he should be expecting me..." He said as he glanced down at his watch. Nine-thirty on the dot. His inner Ravenclaw shone brightly for a moment at his punctuality despite his casual manner.

The Headmaster approached the base of his tower from the west corridor. He was paging through a stack of parchments of differing lengths: essays from his seventh years on historical accounts of mago-muggle interactions. This year, he'd opened the scope of the research to beyond Britain, allowing the students research these interactions in other countries. He was curious as to what they might find and it would lend a new perspective to his usual curriculum.

But next on his schedule was to meet with Atticus Roark. Knox had taught him in Atticus's early years at Hogwarts when he'd been one of those academically curious Ravenclaws. It had been a surprise to hear of his troubles later on, his fall maybe, his criminal turn. A tragedy really. But he was not the first youth to go wrong; indeed, not the first in Knox's time.

It would not be wrong to admit that in many ways, Knox himself had been such a youth. Regardless.

"Good evening, Mr. Roark," Knox greeted with enough warmth. "Shall we go up?"

After a moment, Atticus heard the shuffling of parchment and steps approaching. He guessed that it was a staff member, perhaps Knox himself. He smiled sightly when he saw the old bear approach.

"Evening yourself, Headmaster." He greeted back with a polite bow. "It's been some time - good to see you are well." He added kindly as he nodded at the Professor's invitation. He looked back towards where the elf was to give his goodbye, but the creature had already disappeared. He shrugged and turned back towards the Headmaster and followed him up the stairs into the office.

Upon entering, he took a quick look around the familiar place. He hadn't ever been there for positive reasons in the past and unfortunately tonight continued that streak. It was time to get down to the dirty business which he surrounded himself with.

The Headmaster likely did look well, in fact. Despite recent days' kerfuffle over the Sorting Hat refusing to sort their first years (or, indeed, show any sign of life at all) the wizard looked tan and hearty from a bracing summer season. His visitor, too, looked well. Or well enough - it had been years since Knox had seen Atticus Roark and in the interim he'd grown up. He was tall, thin, and nicely dressed. Gone was the round face of a kid. In its place a totally new person, at least to Knox's eye. Very well, he might not have recognized him straight away.

Knox moved through the office (larger than it seemed at first, because any eye-line was interrupted by stairs, columns, or furniture. He settled in the little seating area by the fire place, which stoked up for them.

"Do you remember anymore what the Sorting Hat said to you?" he asked, setting down the papers nearby and then taking a seat. "It all happened so fast for me - I was distracted. I can't recall."

Atticus followed the Headmaster towards the fireplace and took a seat beside him. He smiled when the fire stoked itself to life. He'd always enjoyed a nice conversation by a warming fire. This conversation was unlikely to remain nice, so he cherished the moment beside his old Headmaster.

He found himself a little surprised at the Hat question. He'd not thought about that day in quite some time. When you were at the tender age of nineteen - barely a man - eight years seemed a lifetime away. "Ah..." He said, stroking his chin for a moment of reminiscence.

"It said I had the mind of a Slytherin, but the heart of a Ravenclaw." Atticus stated a little proudly. "I think this holds up, generally..." He added with a chuckle. "I think perhaps I would've ended up in more dire straits in Slytherin than I had in Ravenclaw, though."

"Hmm," Knox replied. Had this been a former student Knox knew well, his default hospitality might have been warmer and more familiar. He would like to think the things he'd heard about Atticus were not biasing him against; he would like to think he was staying professional until such a time and friendliness was more appropriate. Sometimes that is what made former students most comfortable - that only being gone from Hogwarts a few years, they'd simply be expecting the different power dynamic to remain.

He'd initiated the small talk, though. Partially to process the most pressing thing on his mind lately. But it wasn't something to overtly talk about, the Sorting Hat not sorting. No, there must be an interesting reason for Atticus to come, especially with such odd availability.

"So what can I do for you, Mr. Roark? There will be help at Hogwarts for all who seek it." Or so said the mantra, more or less.

Atticus smiled quietly at the mention of Hogwart's somewhat unofficial mantra. He'd heard it many times during his schooling and had even come to rely on it as a young studious Ravenclaw. Unfortunately he hadn't come for help. He wished he had. He couldn't say he knew the Headmaster well, especially considering it'd been years since he was a student under his purview but he did like the man. He certainly held no ill will towards him, even given the context and reasoning behind this meeting. He knew others would not feel the same way though. There lied the issue.

"Well..." He began, finding himself a bit at a loss for words. "After leaving Hogwarts, I found myself a bit lost, as you might imagine. My parents disowned me of course - a disgrace, a shame, what have you. I found myself renting a flat in Knockturn Alley with the meager savings I had from my... former business" He explained solemnly and succinctly.

"I soon became an information broker. I buy, sell and trade secrets. Not strictly illegal - my hands are always clean. I learned my lessons here. Nonetheless -  this is my profession. I've gotten quite adept at it. It has led me to the occasional 'odd job' as it were. This meeting is one of those jobs." He concluded with a slight frown.

"I will get to it. The wands. My client knows about the wands, Headmaster." He said gravely. "I will be candid and say they're not privy to how many, just that you came into possession of them during the first war. In fact I would go as far to say they know about a wand, and the rest is assumption." He said, waving his hand broadly.

"My client thinks this is an utter disgrace. They want you to quit your post here, or the evidence they have will be sent to the Prophet. I want to be clear in that I am simply conveying a message - I have no power in how this is handled." He added quickly, putting his hands up in a show of innocence. He didn't think Greyfriar was the type to shoot the messenger but he felt the need to defend himself, if only a little.

Knox listened with kind interest as Atticus began by detailing the troubling course his life had taken. Knox became convinced in these two moments that he knew what Atticus had come for - a job, a chance, a recommendation of some kind, something that would get him back to an honest way of being. It was because Knox was so sure of this that he was struck ashen when Atticus's true meaning was revealed.

The wands, he'd said.

Hand to heart, Knox's first thought was, 'which wands?' It was that impossible that Atticus Roark, of all the fuck-ups in the world, would know about those wands. The forty-one wands, stolen by Death Eaters off their innumerable victims back in the 1970s. The forty-one wands that Knox had in his possession these several decades and that he had hidden, right now, in Hogwarts castle. That vulgar stash, that shameful hoard.

Yes, that was his first thought. His second thought was anger, which was a very useful way to guard against acute dread. Knox swallowed hard, smoothed his beard, and looked around the tower before acknowledging anything. A portrait or two were staring. Then, finally, Knox shifted in his seat and gazed darkly at the young wizard.

"Blackmail. I see. So you're convinced of this ... story? I don't think you've thought this through, Mr Roark."

His words, delivered in that low rumbling baritone, were just under boiling.

Atticus watched Knox carefully as he absorbed his words. He feared the great man's ursine anger, he had to admit. This was quite the accusation - and if it were true, he was now in a precarious situation. His mouth twitched.

"As I said, I am just the messenger." He replied flatly. He knew he had to say more but he found his usual gregarious self had given to hiding in a corner. He'd been the subject of anger too often recently - though he thanked magic that this time he was dealing with an angry werewolf rather than with an angry vampire. This man was surely a safer bet, no? The moon was not yet full this month.

"My opinion on the veracity of this accusation is irrelevant. My client has some wild theories on the wand or wands, some I have given thought to and others I haven't. I know you to be a good man and I of all people know what it is to make youthful mistakes." He said lightly, doing his best to diffuse the situation.

"I mean for one - I sincerely doubt you were involved with You-Know-Who, considering you'd either have been outed in the 90s or killed for your refusal. You started here right after the second war, did you not?" He asked, pushing the conversation away from the initial unpleasantness as best he could.

Atticus Roark's business-like manner was incongruous with the threat. He showed absolutely no concern for the potential consequences of his brazenness. Knox pressed his fingers into his temple and then flexed his fist. It had been so long; he admitted to himself that he thought he was free of it.

"It's time you left," he said with a low growl. His posture shifted towards Atticus and he seemed to grow in the chair. "Walk away from this. You're in over your head."

Drop it and all would be forgotten. On the day, Knox could only thing of self-preservation.

Atticus narrowed his eyebrows at the Headmaster's response. He'd hoped it wouldn't go this way, but he couldn't blame the man for his reactions. These were life destroying threats. He couldn't be sure, but Azkaban itself might not be out of the question for something like this.

He stood up as requested but he didn't take a step. "I can leave, if you wish. It certainly isn't my place to defy you within these walls." He said plainly. "I've filled my obligation to my client. I have passed along the message, the threat." He continued as a frown creased his face. He was usually so good at feigning indifference, but a moral confliction had begun rising in his chest that he could not ignore.

He stood there for a moment, unsure of whether to make his exit or plead reason with his former Headmaster. "We both know what happens if I leave now." He said frankly.

"If I leave and report to my client, they will surely send news to the Prophet and then everyone will know about this by tomorrow morning. I don't want that for you. I know you don't want that for you." He said quietly, a hint of plea in his voice. It was so unlike him to take sides, but he couldn't help him see himself in the man before him.

Clearly whatever led to his possession of the wand(s) was youthful folly. Knox Greyfriar had done many great things since then, including oversight of the greatest magical school in the world. Surely this could be salvaged. Atticus was not so far gone that he only cared about gold. He believed in the value of good wix. Even Albus Dumbledore had made grave mistakes. Was this so different?

"Not your place...!" Greyfriar finally raised his voice, furious now and astonished at the gall.  He stood.

"Not your place!" His wand was drawn but not aimed; it was merely an extension of an incredulous gesture. Tomorrow? Tomorrow! There was no possible way he could begin to contemplate handling this catastrophe overnight.

"Who is it? Give me the blasted name or, stars, I will curse it out of your head."

Knox's mind was racing. There was no way. He was not prepared.

Atticus took a step back, nudging the chair behind him out of his way as he did. Things were unfortunately going in the worst direction he'd thought possible. The drawn wand made him uneasy. He dropped his wand from his sleeve into his right hand but did not raise it either. He wondered if Knox was aware of how well Atticus had placed in Dueling Club tournaments, year after year. His arrogance flared with his indignation.

"Careful." He said as calmly as he could muster in the face of the man's anger. "I cannot give you a name - that is perhaps the only thing I cannot help you with." He stated matter of factly. "-and you may find that I've practiced a good bit of occlumens in my time. It helps with the business. Not to doubt your own prowess of course--" He added as his hold on calm began to slip.

This was the reaction of somebody whose back was against a wall. Or a cliff. A cliff was more apt. He reminded himself that reason was not always possible in these circumstances.

"Professor. Let us sit down, perhaps have a drink, and discuss this. Hasty moves will only lead to chaos." He said as he flicked his wand and a bottle of firewhisky appeared in his left hand.

Greyfriar scoffed. His threats of violence were mostly hollow. He'd always been that way, all bark. He was simply not of a world where a wand was a weapon.

"I'm not having a bloody cup of tea with you!" he bellowed. How callous was Atticus Roark thinking he could do what he was doing and expect Knox to treat him like it was all a prickly business transaction! The idea that Knox would simply comply...!

"Just shut up for a moment."

Knox paced in place, rubbing at his temple, trying to work it out. It was difficult to think clearly because anxiety dissolved chains of thought before they could properly link up. He needed time. Time to think.

"Get me more time," he said finally. "If you're as good at this as you say, that won't be a problem, not if you if apply your talents well. There's more than one life for me to consider."

A glance at the portrait frames dark above him. In the dim light it was hard to see who was there and who wasn't. They'd seen worse than this melodrama playing out now, he did not doubt. In any case, they were listening, he was sure.

Atticus complied and shut his mouth while the man before him paced. He had a habit of running his mouth far too often. He believed he could soothe almost any situation with words and that belief sometimes lead to frustration or exasperation for whoever he was dealing with.

He took a swig of whiskey before stowing both it and his wand away. What a precarious situation this was.

He stood silently as he watched Knox glance at the portraits in the room. His earlier threat about the Prophet and news being spread by dawn was at best an exaggeration and at worst a lie - even his client knew that this plot may take a bit of time to bake to perfection.

"Time..." He said, letting following silence do his speaking for him. He glanced towards the fire and watched its tips lick the air.

"I can get you three days. Perhaps four." He said quietly as he watched the flames, the dancing light reflected in his eyes.