Fauna spent the walk to Professor Greyfriar’s house with her head in the clouds and a package of freshly baked cookies under her arm (she’d begged the house elves to help her this morning. Otherwise the cookies wouldn’t have been fit to give to her rats, much less her former professor). The sun was out today, and a brisk wind swept through the air, making her glad for her green army jacket.

Picking absently at the remnants of the Floo that clung to her clothes, she paid no mind to the muddy puddles of the road and sloshed through them instead of around them. Her boots were sturdy, and they’d experienced worse. Hedges and thickets lined the road, making it difficult to get a good view of the area, and Fauna was starting to worry she’d taken a wrong turn somewhere until she turned a sharp corner and there it was- Knox’s house. Like her home, it was a small cottage with a thatched roof and a cobbled path leading up to it. Unlike her place, it lacked flowers on the windowsills and cheerful knick knacks on the porch. Her grandmother would say it needed a woman’s touch. Fauna just thought it seemed like Knox- humble, no nonsense. 

Adjusting the beanie on her head, Fauna made her way up to the door and knocked. It was a few minutes after one, though she didn’t know it because she never kept a watch on her. As she waited, she stood up a little straighter and fixed a pleasant expression on her face, trying to cover up her worries and doubts about the visit. When Fauna had written the former Headmaster a week ago, he’d seemed happy that she wanted to see him. A part of her worried that he’d open the door and she’d find a half wolf, half man, but that was ridiculous. She was letting last night’s Halloween disaster run away with her imagination. He wanted to see her, he wasn’t going to be hairy (or any hairier than normal), and the chocolate chip cookies she brought would taste just fine, Fauna reassured herself, shifting the bundle in front of her.

Knox Greyfriar had been home from Mungo's for one week.  He'd been weak and sleepy then, very very happy to leave hospital to recover in his own bed.  He'd been under strict orders to stay in bed, and the Undersecretary of the Wizengamot had gotten on board and ordered him to stay home until the end of November at the earliest.  He'd had a two visits from a Healer-in-Training earlier in the week to ensure that he'd been taking proper care of his arm and eating and sleeping enough.

But the mailaise had almost completely faded and Knox was bored out of his mind.  Work was refusing to send home work and he had some paperwork from Werewolf Registry sitting hatefully on his desk in the other room - he wasn't quite ready to fill it out and he expected he'd wait until there was no doubt in his mind.  Meantime, he'd been filling the house with foul smells in some half-baked attempts to brew his own wolfsbane.  He was experiencing a strange mixture of denial, acceptance and defiance.  He didn't want to face what he knew was true; but if he had to face it, he wanted to face it on his own terms.  Knox wasn't a terrible potioneer, but he was finding himself no match to wolfsbane potion.

And that was the state in which Miss Black found him: having spent a week at home alone, obsessing over nonsense.  He'd neglected his grooming completely and was quite a bit more bearded than he normally was.  He flung open the door and grinned, ravenous for company. 

"Fauna Blake! You made it! And wearing a red cap - you're dreadfully poetic aren't you? Come in, come in! It's too cold out there and I'm under order to limit myself to sunshine and all things comforting."

He shuffled her inside and closed the door behind her.  He waved his wand at some clutter on the sofa so that it joined other clutter on the kitchen sideboard.  Two cauldrons were smoking on the hearth.  One was small and had old vegetable soup in, and the other was another batch of failed wolfsbane and smelled horrible.

He didn't sit - he was so tired of sitting still.  Rather he went to the table and started shuffling old Daily Prophets.

"How was the Ball? I heard you all got Three Owl Standard to play? Creevy and Quinn are phenomenal.  Who'd you go with?"

Fauna clutched the bundle of goodies to her when Knox flung open the door with a grin and a not-quite-sane look in eyes. With his beard and his hair growing longer Fauna was reminded of a wolf man, a cave man, a hermit in the woods. She peered at him more closely. His eyes looked tired, and somewhere underneath the grizzled appearance was the old Headmaster with his jovial attitude and warm smiles. Fauna relaxed and returned his smile.

Stepping in, she caught a whiff of a foul smell, something that had been stewing too long and smelled of rotting cabbages. The pair of cauldrons explained it. The stench was slightly familiar, though she couldn’t put her finger on it just yet.

She chuckled and reached up to touch her cap. “Well, it is one of my favorites. I was Little Red for Halloween. Oh- here, this is for you,” she gave him the batch of cookies. “The house elves helped me make them so they should taste good,” Fauna bit her lip, then nodded as if to reassure herself. Akiva’s prodigy she was not.

She remained standing because he was, though while he was a flurry of motion, her fidgeting was a bit more subdued. The space he lived in was cozy and homey, but the number of papers, books, and cigar butts laying around made her want to open up the windows and clean out the clutter. The poor man had spent too much time cooped up.

At the mention of the Ball, the easygoing smile vanished from her face. So he hadn’t heard about the polyjuice prank. Hunching her shoulders, Fauna glanced at him almost guiltily.

“Some jerk spiked the polyjuice- I mean, spiked the punch with polyjuice potion. Apparently they thought it would be funny to use wolf hairs,” she said glumly, shaking her head. “All it did was cause a huge panic. It was awful,” she shook her head again, eyes narrowing. “Snark thinks SAWS did it, too.”

Fauna sighed and then tried to perk up. She didn’t visit him to tell him depressing stories. “But before that, I mean, the band was great. I’m a big fan of the Three Owl Standard. Creevey-” she stopped, grinning sheepishly. Creevey was cute.

“Anyway, I uh, well… I sorta went to the dance with Devlin,” she mumbled quickly, shooting him another wary, sheepish look and then attempting to change the subject. “How have you been?”

Knox was mostly oblvious to the state of his house and its strangely mingled smells.  He'd been occilating between the wolfsbane, his hobby historical research projects and figuring out how he was going to save face.  St. Mungo's was excellent at keeping werewolf bites a secret, but the attack made the news.  It wouldn't be long before his absence from court would align with his noteworthy participation in the attack and people started asking some very career-defining practices.  A werewolf had never served on the Wizengamot before and only on the rarest occasions did they hold any sort of major governmental office at all.  He needed to stay out ahead of all this.

And in that endeavor he had neglected housekeeping.  But seeing clean little Fauna in the middle of it, roused him to action.  He cracked the windows, killed the fires in the hearth and lidded the kettles.  After a few moments, the breeze started freshening the atmosphere.

But it did nothing to clear the air.

His fussing paused very pointedly at the news of the Halloween Ball.  And then it resumed as he stayed an angry shout. 

In a calmness that a student might recognize as the  Not Angry Just Disappointed Voice, he said, "I'm very well, thank you, my dear.  Can't say I approve of your choice in company, however.  My son or not, it's you doing him the favor."

The last Knox had seen or heard from Devlin was that night at St. Mungo's when he'd been two or three shots past inebriated.  And with word of that prank, Knox couldn't help but suspect his son for mastermind.  Although how anyone cam across polyjuice potion on short notice...beyond Devlin's capabilities as far as Knox knew.

He was about to go on about that - Devlin being someone Fauna ought to avoid; but he stopped and again thought better of himself.  It wasn't at all appropriate for Knox to comment about.  Fauna Blake had shown up with cookies, visiting him in his sickbed.  He should be on better behavior.

He reached for the plate.  "They look delicious.  I'll keep my mouth shut about Devlin.  You'll be a good influence on us both, I think.  And since you asked," he took out a big cookie and took a bite.

"And since you asked, I'm miserable.  Housebound by order of my Healers and can't show my head in public least people start asking me questions I'm not ready to answer!" he said as he chewed.

"These really are excellent. Is that snozzberry?"

Oh no. It was that voice. The one he used when he was trying not to look upset, but any student worth her salt could tell he was disappointed. A sigh escaped and she looked down, suddenly interested in the floorboards. Fauna opened her mouth to tell him that she’d felt lucky to go to the dance with Devlin, but decided not to mention it because there was so much tension between Knox and his son. She didn’t need to add to that or get in the middle of things.

Luckily, he moved on, and Fauna had to smile when he said she’d be a good influence on them. She wasn’t entirely sure anyone would call her a good influence, lately. Especially Sasha. Sasha wasn’t here right now, however, so she stuffed a cookie into her mouth and just accepted the compliment.

“That’s awful,” she nodded sympathetically, remembering when Ollie had written her earlier in the year describing how bored she was stuck at home. Knox was going through the same thing, except this was all completely new to him.

“I think so!” She answered him about the snozzberry, grinning. “I’m glad you like ‘em.” The house elves must have switched out her cookies with their own- no wonder they’d shooed her out of the kitchen for a minute.

Fauna took a seat at his kitchen table and resisted eating another cookie. They were for him, she reminded herself. Akiva took care of her sweet tooth, anyway.

“Professor,” she rested her chin in her hands and glanced up at him, then winced. “Oh, sorry. I’m always going to think of you as, well… yeah. Anyway – is there anything I can do to help?”

She paused, then went on. “I know that sounds… silly coming from me.” It felt strange to say. At school, as a professor and Headmaster, he’d always offered help and the students had accepted it- that was how it worked. He wasn’t her Headmaster anymore, so what was he now? A friend? A father figure? It was a bit confusing, and Fauna felt like she was insulting him somehow by suggesting that a teenager could be on the same level as an adult.

“But,” she shrugged. “I know, at least- I mean, I can understand a little bit because of what Ollie goes through. And I worked with Miss Gertrudis over the summer. So if you need to talk… or if you think of anything else, well, I can try, you know?”

These days she was realizing that her friendships couldn’t be one-sided. Perhaps she was growing up a little, but it didn’t feel right to take and never give back. It hadn’t been intentional, of course – she’d needed more advice and more help than the average person, and would likely continue to need it for a while. Now, she just wanted to make things a little more even. It was why she’d reached out to Akiva and Sasha, even if one of them hadn’t wanted her to.

Pushing away her worries that he’d take offense, she met his eyes quietly.

The house was feeling fresher now, if not a tad chillier.  And the air felt clearer now that they'd moved away from the subject of Devlin. Fauna had seemed uncomfortable with the topic as well, and Knox had to remind himself of something he'd learned teaching teenagers for so many years: never meddle in their social lives. They were too important to them, and an adult never had a very good sense of them.  Even an impossible rapscallion like Devlin could be someone's friend. Or boyfriend. And do alright at it. Which, perhaps, explain Fauna's illogical behavior.  Knox just had to mentally shrug it off and stop thinking on topics that had nothing to do with him.

Knox was glad for the validation Fauna offered and seemed to have just now remembered dear Olivia Foley, and how close she and Fauna had been.  As Fauna began to offer help and waffle about, Knox found himself just as ill-put about the situation that she seemed to be.  Knox hated being doted on, and so rarely found himself in a situation where it was required.  After the first couple of days at St. Mungo's, he'd become a terrible patient.  Despite running a murderous fever, he'd argue with the Healers-in-Training about who was going to dress his arm in new bandages.  Him, sick and one-handed.  Or them: trained, healthy and with both hands available.  He fought to eat in the cafeteria on his own, rather than take meals in bed.  He interrupted the Healers when they checked on him.  He didn't need their help, or anyone else's.

And so when Fauna offered to help him out, to talk, Knox's hackled rose a little.  He wasn't an invalid.  He didn't need to talk.  What he needed was a house-keeper, a trip to London and more of those snozzberry cookies.  They tasted as good as the ones the house elves prepared for Christmas. 

But he didn't lash out at Fauna, like he did the Healers.  Instead, he relocated a pile of books and papers from two of his mis-matched chairs and then sat down in one.  He sighed and scratched his beard, clearing out some crumbs.

"Can't argue with that," he conceded docilely.  "By Hufflepuff, I wouldn't want to argue with that.  If you want to, you can call me Knox."

He didn't think she would, but he wouldn't mind at all.  He seemed to need to be reminded he wasn't a professor just as much as she did.

"There is something you can do - maybe a couple things," he admitted, reluctantly.  "In the other room on the desk, there's a packet from Werewolf Registry.   I've been busy," he lied.  "Maybe you'd help me sort that out."

While Knox didn’t jump for joy at her offer of help, he at least didn’t look upset by it. He took a seat at the table with her and said she could call him Knox if she wanted to. Fauna raised her eyebrows. That would feel… odd. Better stick with ‘Mr. Greyfriar’, she thought. Which still felt odd. Oh well.

When he mentioned that there was something she could help with, Fauna jumped out of her seat and then hesitated, glancing at the next room and wondering if it was alright if she went and got the packet. He’d told her where it was. She threw him another uncertain glance and dashed out of the kitchen, cheeks burning.

She returned with the packet in hand and sat at the table again. Fauna smiled sheepishly at him, feeling like she was about to help him with his homework or something.

“I’ve seen these,” she said, flipping through the pages. “It looks like a big pain to fill out, and it is,” she admitted. “But it shouldn’t take more than… half an hour, I think.”

The first few pages were simple, tedious questions. They wanted his address, his wand ID, a description of any owls or house elves he kept, and if he had second homes or residences anywhere. She flipped past those first two pages and got to the more difficult questions, the nitty gritty. Which was what he’d likely been avoiding, she thought.

“This is the hard part,” she stated the obvious, pointing to the question at the top. It had the neat, dark scrawl of all official forms, with lines beneath it. It wasn’t meant to intimidate, and yet Fauna knew werewolves who had refused to look at the packet for months after they’d been bitten.

“It says to describe the attack in full detail, but…” she bit her lip. “You don’t actually have to. You don’t have to describe every spell cast or name every person there, because there are questions later on that ask you about those details anyway. What they mainly want to know is when you were bitten and how.”

She gave a sympathetic shrug. “Still not easy, but…” Fauna thought of something. “Is that the hand you use to write?” She wondered, pointing to his uninjured arm.

The bundle from the Werewolf Registry was thick.  Sheathed inside the fat envelop were pages and pages of parchment covered in the tight official scrawl of the Ministry of Magic.  Fauna's estimation of a half hour was grossly optimistic in Knox's opinion, but Fauna had always been a font of grossly optimistic attitudes.  He couldn't fault her; she was trying to be nice.  But this bundle was one of the sources of most of Knox's apprehension.  These documents were constantly under fire from werewolf activists (and Knox read widely from their work) for being an invasion of privacy and a tool of discrimination that forced werewolves into the role of near-criminals.  Keeping such information on an otherwise law-abiding citizen was unheard of, they said.

However, the Registy and others attest that the document is not only for the safety of society, but for the benefit of werewolves at large because it provides detailed statistics.  And being registered allows the Registry to provide protection from discrimiation and the free services werewolves need to stay a part of society.

He sat back in his chair and made no attempt to look at anything.  Rather, he let Fauna shuffle through the documents and ask him questions. 

"Eighteen November, nineteen fifty-one."

"Lancaster."

"Number 90-7772. Oak, pheonix feather, fifteen inches."

"Meredith Ballentyne. Married 1992, divorced 1995."

"One owl, lisenced. Swifty."


Then came the hard part, so she said.  Knox wondered if she'd let him dictate that part as well. But when she asked about his writing arm, he figured he'd have to put pen to paper after all. 

He held out his right hand for the quill.  It was his left that was bandaged up.

"Here." 

He wrote it out with a defiant brevity that he'd seen on more than a few History of Magic essays in his time.

October 14, 8pm.  The road between Hogsmeade and Hogwarts castle.  Attacked from the forest. Sustained bite to left forearm.

He pushed the quill and form back towards Fauna, and then got up and went to the little stone and tile kitchen area.  He poured two mugs of water and brought them back.

"How did things go for you afterwards," he asked her then, clearly speaking about the night of the attack.  He was nearly certain she and the others had gotten in trouble, but what he really hoped to hear was how they were all faring.  The event had been truly harrowing.

If Knox was uncomfortable giving her all his personal information, he didn’t show it, and Fauna tried to write his answers down without thinking too much about them. She understood both sides of the werewolf registry debate. The information could help the werewolf and certainly help with records, but the process was extremely intrusive and not the most welcoming way for a new werewolf to be introduced to the system. Perhaps she was making the process easier for Knox, or perhaps he was humoring her, she didn’t know.

She accepted the mug of water with a smile, sipping at it as he asked how things went for her after the attack.

Fauna shrugged, trying to seem casual. “Ah, well… I’m okay,” she set the mug down and looked at him. “Got detention with Snark for a while, but that was sorta… expected. I’ve had a few bad dreams, but I think they’ve pretty much gone away now. Tulo’s been great,” she added with a small smile. “I talk to her a lot. Ummm… and I’ve been getting better at Defense,” she said slowly, hesitantly. “So that helps me feel, well, a little bit safer.” All thanks to those Sunday lessons.

She still felt guilty and somewhat responsible for the attack. Sasha and Bea had followed her lead. Knox and his friend had escorted the students back for their own safety, and they had injuries because of it. Knox’s life had changed because of it. No, she hadn’t asked the werewolf to attack them, but she had to take some responsibility for her impulsive behavior. Fauna wanted to apologize to Knox today. Unfortunately, every time she thought about it the words wouldn’t come.

The conflicted expression on her face probably did nothing to reassure him that all was well. There was one thing she could mention, however.

“Um, I’m not so sure if Sasha’s okay, though. I think he’s taking it pretty hard. And… I tried to talk to him but he… won’t talk to me,” she admitted in a mumble. Knox would want to know even if he had his own problems to deal with, she thought. Fauna at least owed him her honesty.

She’d read the Skeeter article, of course. Sasha’s secretiveness and his obsession with the rules made so much more sense now. A part of her resented that he hadn’t trusted her enough to tell her, but she also felt sorry for him. He didn’t need his entire family life printed in the paper like that.

Knox listened patiently as Fauna seemed to honestly relate her experience.  He appreciated that.  It was a very Hufflepuff quality and a mark that she was growing up.  She could talk about her feelings with an adult friend without feeling like she was being interrogated. Her honesty was refreshing.  Some of the Mungo's Healers were very good.  But a fair few of them spoke to him in slow, short sentences and treated him like he was an emotional time-bomb.  Naturally, he obliged their suspicions and bellowed and shouted at them to mind their own business and leave him to his miserable existence.  It was some of the only entertainment he'd been able to find these last two weeks.

Fauna seemed resiliant. She'd taken things in stride.  She'd sought support from Madam Najde - a fine Healer - and was being proactive with the feeling of vulnerability by buckling down on Professor Mainwaring's course.  But Sasha, according to Fauna, had holed up.  Hearing that, he lost hope that the young wizard would be visiting him as planned.

"I think what you and Sasha might want to remind yourselfs, and it's something I've reminded myself of fourteen times this month: we were lucky."

He laced his fingers around in the mug, his large hands obscuring everything but the handle.  He looked at Fauna with the wry, defiant expression he wore often.

"We won lottery.  It was as random as stepping into a steaming thestral pie on the cobbles.  There's no design.  There's none of us at fault.  We did everything right.  We just got lucky.  Our numbers were drawn.  No fault. No fate.  It just happened. Could have just as easily been someone else, could have just as easily been no werewolf at all.  So if happen to be harboring any theories about what we might have done to prevent it, I encourage you both to think on other things.  The only way to avoid danger is to avoid living your life, holing up in your house and never coming out."

He drank from his cup and set it down again.

"And even then, there are burglers."

Perhaps it was coincidence.  Or, maybe, good timing.  Or, depending on one's perspective, poor timing.  But, just about the time Fauna was voicing her concerns in Southern England, Madame Nagde was finally convincing Sasha that it was, in fact, proper and appropriate to embark upon this visit.  There'd been no shortage of last minutes doubts, concerns and uncertainties - would Professor Greyfriar even want to see him; did Sasha even want to see the results of what he- they- of what had happened. 

But, as intimidating as the old Healer was, after shoving his bag in his hands and practically shooing him into the fireplace, she'd finally convinced him to go.  It was, after all, a choice between sprinkle floo powder or get singed by the flames in the Hospital Hut's fireplace. 

Since Sasha was already scheduled to depart school Monday evening, getting permission to leave a few nights earlier had been easier than expected.  Dreogan had encouraged Sasha to take a little time away from classes after Halloween and had been more than willing to convince the Ministry to authorize an extension for the trip. Between Professor Greyfriar, Madame Nagde and Dreogan, Ministry Authorization had been easier than Sasha would have expected.  Just, as long as Madame Snark didn't get wind of it before Sasha was gone. 

He'd just have to face the music when he returned.  But, for once, he was alright with procrastinating.

With a buff of green and a few pops, the warm, wooden interior of the Hospital Hut disappeared and glimpses of fireplaces flickered past.  A moment later, still clutching his weekend bag, Sasha stepped out of the fireplace, into Professor Greyfriar's kitchen. 

"Umm - 'Allo?" Sasha called, hesitating nervously a few moments before making his way to the living room.  Once in the doorway, he paused, glancing quickly from Professor Greyfriar to Fauna and instantaneously wished wizards had invented a rewind button.  He'd hoped and planned (in fact, Madame Nagde had insisted) Fauna was planning on visiting earlier in the day. 

His face flushed and he shifted his bag around to his back.  "I'm - I'm sorry,  I thought ... I'll just - I could catch an earlier train." 

The knot of guilt Fauna carried with her untangled a little when Knox told her that the attack was no one’s fault and that is had just been random, completely random. Hearing it from the one who had been bitten meant something more than hearing it from people who cared but hadn’t been there. She let out a relieved breath and looked at him, nodding slowly. Fauna’s lips curled into a bare, but genuine smile. He wouldn’t say it if he didn’t mean it. He didn’t blame her.

“I… I still wish…” she paused. What did she wish? That it hadn’t happened or that it had happened to someone else? It could have been worse and someone could have died. They were lucky Knox was still alive, weren’t they? He was the same person, just… hairier.

Wishing and wondering what-if wouldn’t change anything. Moving on from this was easier said than done, and Fauna expected bouts of guilt and doubt to sneak up on her in the future. For now, though, she could take Knox’s reassurances to heart and simply believe him.

Fauna nodded again and a peaceful, calm expression settled on her face. That was, until she heard the pops in the fireplace.

Bolting up from her chair, heart racing, she glanced at Knox to see if he was expecting someone or if he was just as surprised as she was. Fauna stood very still, hand inching towards the wand in her pocket, straining to make out the voice – Allo. Only one person said ‘Allo’. She kept her eyes on the doorway anyway, her shoulders visibly slumping in relief when a familiar figure appeared, bag in hand. Sasha. It was just Sasha. He glanced at her and his face went red, murmuring apologies and plans to leave.

She sat down again, face the same color as his. Fauna rubbed at her cheek, embarrassed by her paranoid reaction.

“Hi,” she managed, looking back and forth from Sasha and Knox. “I… you’re here,” she said dumbly, too surprised to formulate a better greeting. She felt glad he’d come to visit, but also uneasy. They hadn’t talked much since their shaky truce about a week ago.

When the fire cooked up, his kettle rattling on it's hook in the hearth, Knox assumed it was a Healer dropping by to vex him.  It was only when Sasha's sandy-haired head, bedusted with light green ash, that he remembered their visit.  It wasn't that he'd forgotten that Sasha was going to come by, it was more that he had been having trouble keeping track of what day of the week it was.

Both Sasha and Fauna looked like they'd been caught doing something uncomely. Fauna was tomato red, and Sasha about the same.  He was murmuring about some escape route, and being pitifully abashed.  It was behavior Headmaster Greyfriar had never tolerated from Sasha. 

"Nonsense," he said in a voice a little to loud for the cottage.  He rose from his seat at the table and strode towards the Ravenclaw.  He scooped up the bag and tossed it towards the wrought iron coat tree, and likewise scooped up Sasha, taking him in an I'm-Not-Asking-I'm-Telling way by both his shoulders and putting him in the chair Knox had previously occupied.

He left the two there and got another mug of water.  He pulled up a third rickety chair, sat down and smiled.

"Good. We're all here.  Have you been alright, Sasha?  Fauna and I were just discussing the astronomical odds we all had the privilage of experiencing.  I haven't consulted a diviner or astrologist, but if it's not fate, it was certainly chance.  No one's at fault.  I only say this," he said pointedly,

"I only say this because you look guilty of something."

With the determination of Indiana Jones trying to roll under the stone door before it trapped him in the temple, Sasha started across the living room towards the door.  He hardly needed to see the surprise on Fauna's face or hear the murmured, disbelieving you're here to know she was just as surprised to find them sharing this visit as he was.  Was there also disappointment or was he being paranoid? 

This situation was still easily rectified, however.  If he could just get to the door fast enough (without flat out running - he was well aware that was far too prudish), he could write Professor Greyfriar an apology from Dreogan's flat and agree to come back sometime in the week.  When things would be less awkward.  Or, he could always send a card.

Professor Greyfriar's voice stopped him in his tracks, however, and he watched the man as he rose to his feet.  He flinched, slightly, as the older man's (werewolf's, though Sasha tried really hard not to think about that at the moment) grasped his shoulders and guided him to the previously occupied chair.  Obediently, Sasha perched himself in his chair, his posture impeccably straight, his gaze canning the room, lighting across everything but Fauna. 

He'd always respected the man now sitting in the third chair - he was highly indebted to the man for so many reasons.  The whole recent ... development aside, Sasha found it necessary to put a lot of effort into convincing himself he wasn't just the slightest bit jealous of Devlin.  Because of Professor Greyfriar, not ... other reasons.  It was, therefore, with the greatest degree of respect that Sasha felt obligated to admit he disagreed.  The alternative was lying to the one man he had been able to stay truthful to throughout his years at Hogwarts.

"But, I am guilty," Sasha insisted with a shake of his head before, finally, glancing in Fauna's direction.  They'd been over this, in some capacity or another.  But, before Professor Greyfriar got the wrong impression, he quickly added, "I don't blame myself for - for the ..."  He quickly glanced out the window.  He couldn't say it.  Werewolf.  He couldn't say it anymore than he could have used profanities in front of the former Headmaster. 

But, even if he couldn't say it, he didn't blame himself for the attack - or that the werewolf was there.  "But, I made a mistake and I should accept responsibility.  I shouldn't have been there.  I shouldn't have overheard - you shouldn't have needed to escort us-me back.  It wasn't chance and stars had nothing to do with my disobeying the rules.  I'm not going to shirk the impact my poor choices had.  It's not responsible."  He glanced awkwardly, again, at Fauna before looking down at his own hands.

Knox watched poor Sasha patiently.  The lad had such a dismally rough time of things.  Listening to a boy like Sasha talk was almost like seeing the messed up associations in his brain, the cruel indoctrination of a young man constantly on the edge of something.  Every statement seemed to belie some strange maxim held internally sacred.  The guilt in this kid could thatch a roof.

The old Headmaster took it in stride when Sasha couldn't speak about werewolves.  No one seemed to be able to.  And it was Knox's juvenile inclination to shout the word at Sasha and laugh that it wasn't tabboo, but he knew it was cruel.  He knew it'd be for Knox's own sake and that it was much more gracious to allow the people around him to greive and come to acceptance in their own way.  And if that was avoiding the word, for know, he could permit that. 

He couldn't wait to get out of the house, make some appearances in public, do some normal activities, just so people might see he was well enough.  And mentally sound.

Sasha ended his monologue like an actor on stage, bowing his head in silence. 

And now it was time for one of Knox's favorite past-times: waxing on with some deliberately subversive widsom.

"There are some rules," he said, "that were made in a sort of natural, organic way.  No strange social alchemy - simply, the rules were created because their foundations were based on something that was truly Good.

"You know what I mean.  Do not hurt others, defend the defenseless, do not talk in the theatre.  These are rules that are based soundly upon natural truths about what is Good.  And in violating these, we can be guilty.

"However!" he said with a sudden, amacable bellow, "However, you both should take care to understand the other type of rule that exists in the world.  There are rules that are made simply for the sake of convenience.  The convenience of safety, or order, or organization.  Wait your turn to speak in class, do not steal, do not leave Hogwarts castle without permission.  These rules are not based on anything truly good.  These are rules created for us for worldly purposes.  To break one of these rules is to be pesky or foolish.  Mostly pesky.  You're not guilty of any crime.  You've  merely been pesky.  And peskiness does not cause werewolf attacks.  On any other night the act would have been completely harmless."

He folded his hands, and peered at them both, seeming to dare them to contradict him yet again about the nature of the attack and their involvement.

"It was dumb luck. So stop hanging your heads."