Margo knew it was late, but she couldn’t sleep.  She kept tossing and turning.  She had stopped in Diagon Alley to pick up her dragon leather jacket that needed repairs, and there it was – on the window.  Bright as day, plain as the nose on her face, the poster.  The face of the man from the bar, the man from her bedroom, on that window.  Margo had forgotten all about her jacket at that point and ran to the nearest stand to get a newspaper.

She could not believe this.  Margo Amherst had done stupid things before, that was for sure, but she did not think this stupid.  Flipping wit shaking hands, she knew there were few things that could shake her as deeply as this did, and she ran into the Three Broomsticks and floo’d home.  (She was not sure she could safely apparate at this point). 

When she arrived home, the typical way she did, rolling through the fireplace, she looked around frantically.  There was no sign anything was mussed up, nothing moved, and she heard a distinct meow from the other room – Lizard was still here.  She let out a deep breath.  Though she was not convinced she could count on that for long.  So, she took her wand out and started to put down some rudimentary protection charms – which ended up setting her couch on fire once and the drapes more than once. 

Margo had to wonder why the only thing she could do was set things on fire, but then again, couldn’t waste too much time on it.  Just enough to at least obscure the flat a little would be enough for now.  She didn’t make a habit of worrying too much, but he showed up at her flat unexpectedly sometimes…a and granted, she hadn’t minded much before… but she knew he would know about these posters….

It wasn’t going to go well. She wanted a head’s up, at least, and Margo decided to take the edge off she would go into her kitchen and take a shot… or five… That helped her at least forget for a few minutes that she had been pretty much unofficially seeing someone who was tied to horrible things.  Margo wasn’t the type to really keep up with the news, but it was hard not to hear about those things…. She could ignore though, when she was drinking anyway…

So, she stumbled to bed a few hours later, exhausted from her day at work anyway, an pulled on her pajamas.  She had collapsed in bed, but it was not a restful sleep.  Lizard jumped on the bed, she practically fell out of it.  Something clicked against the window and Margo actually did roll out of bed in terror.  She screamed, tied up in her sheets, and scrambled to get free – slowly raising her head behind the bed – screaming again when she thought she saw something in the window – but it was just a light turning on and off from across the street.  It didn’t mean her heart stopped racing in her chest and Margo looked at the clock on the side of her bed. 

12:27 AM.  She slowly climbed back under the covers and rolled over, wrapping the blankets tight around her as she closed her eyes.  She rolled, and rolled, then looked at the clock again, 12:49 AM.  She grumbled softly and turned again.  But her mind would not be quiet.  She couldn’t lay here anymore.  When she finally sat up for the last time, putting her feet into her slippers, the clock read 1:23 AM and she grabbed her spare jacket off the back of the still slightly smokey smelling couch and threw it on.  She grabbed the angry looking Prophet off the table and shivered as she caught a look at the intense eyes that had, previously, been slightly sexy, but were now a bit horrifying. 

She walked out her front door; wand in her pocket with her hand wrapped around it, and closed her eyes.  She knew where she had to go, and ending up in front of his door, thankfully in one piece, Margo started to pound on his door, hair and eyes looking equally frenzied as she continually looked over her shoulder, afraid that maybe somehow she was being followed.

It was 1:24 in the morning.  Who the bleeding hell came to pound on his door at 1:24 in the morning?  There was only one person, that was who.  Kurby gave a loud groan as he pulled his pillow over his head, hoping against all common sense and prior experience that whoever was banging on his door would just go away.

"I'M ASLEEP!" he shouted back at it.

Except for the fact that now he wasn't asleep.  Swearing fluently, the werewolf hunter groggily rolled out of bed, fumbling in the dark for a pair of pants and something to threaten his visitor with before he remembered that he had a wand.

"Lumos," he muttered, lighting it as he held it up in his right hand.  Letting out a groan, Kurby ran his free hand over his face, pressing his fingers against his shut eyes as if he could physically will them to start working.

"I swear to the goddamned ghost of Gryffindor, this had better be good this time!" he growled at the door, stumbling over to it.  It took him a moment to undo the locks and the protection spells, one by one; he raised his voice loud enough that it could be heard through the tightly shut wood, just so his visitor would know what she was getting herself into.   "And I don't care what the hell you heard, Stevenson!  There's no way in bleedin' hell that I said anything to --"

The door opened, but this time, Stevenson wasn't behind it.  Kurby stopped, staring for a good three seconds before he realized that his jaw was hanging open.

"And what the hell do you want?" he snapped, taking a step back.  He crossed his arms defensively against his bare chest, still gripping his wand as he glared at Margo.  "I was bleedin' well asleep."

Margo did not heed his warning that he was asleep and instead pounded harder.  She thought she heard something behind her and really didn’t want to wait to find out – or look.  It wasn’t as though she was really in any danger, she tried to reason with herself.  She wasn’t an auror, she wasn’t related to any aurors, and she was a pureblood.  She wasn’t a particularly good pureblood though, she harbored no ill will toward anyone, and thought Muggles were alright, if not a bit boring because they had to use other things to light stuff on fire and totally didn’t know anything real about dragons… oh tangent, she reminded herself and knocked on the door again. 

She was satisfied when she finally heard the monster like awkward and uneven steps that accompanied someone getting up and out of bed, and Margo just waited.  She shifted her weight from one foot to the other – she was cold, considering she only had on her pajamas and a jacket, but she just couldn’t – she didn’t know what to do, really. 

So, when she heard him grumbling behind the door, yelling about something, Margo didn’t really care about how he was feeling.  He wasn’t the one who had apparently been canoodling with a criminal for the past few weeks, in fact, as he so eloquently revealed, maybe  he had been seeing someone far less… dangerous. 

She tried to suppress her rage, though she did not know where the rage was coming from, since clearly she did not care what he was doing – she only cared about herself at this point, but whatever the case, at least even if he thought it was some other girl, at least he was treating her like crap too. 

Crossing her arms over her chest, the Daily Prophet still hanging out of her left hand, Margo tried not to glare too hard.  “I have a problem,” Margo informed him as she pushed past him, trying to get inside as quickly as possible, “A really big problem and you were the only asshole I can come to and not care what you think.” 

She turned toward him, waving the newspaper anxiously, “I can't believe I am doing this - saying this," she growled a little to herself, her other hand running through her hair, tugging at the ends, "I need your help.”

Whoever he had been expecting at the door, whatever he had been expecting them to do, having Margo Amherst practically throw herself into his flat wasn't even close to what he would have guessed.  He merely gaped again as she pushed past him, whirling and waving some stupid copy of the Daily Prophet in his face.

Considering that it had been less than two minutes since he'd been soundly asleep, it took Kurby a good few seconds to regain momentum.  He drew himself up to his full height, bristling as he glared back at her.

"Well, this is my flat, and in case you haven't noticed, it's two o'clock in the-- he started to growl, before her final statement registered.

He stopped, staring at her again before a wary expression slowly crossed his face.  He didn't care about Margo Amherst.  Their interactions had always been one of convenience.  She was a friend of his sister; they'd gone out for drinks a few times, and the nights had progressed inevitably from there.  But he didn't care.  He'd made that clear.  Whatever emergency might drive her to show up at his flat -- at two-o'-clock in the morning, he had to add -- could not possibly be anywhere close to his problem.

"Well, why the hell would I help you?" he asked snippishly, clenching his teeth together.  Under normal circumstances, he would have yelled at her until she left or just acted irritated and gone back to bed, but it was the middle of the goddamn night.  It was impossible to keep the raw tone out of his voice when he'd just been woken up.  "You haven't even said a word to me in weeks."

“It’s not two o’clock in the morning,” she pointed out.  If he could be snippy, so could she.  It was actually only one thirty, and that thirty minutes made all the difference in the world right now.  She could not believe he was being such an arse about this whole thing. It wasn’t like she would have come to him if it was anything – he pretty much guaranteed that when he started a fight with her in the office over saying hello! 

Her jaw dropped though, when she had just admitted that she needed his help – despite everything that he had no idea why he would help her.  And that SHE was the one that hadn’t talked to him?! 

“KURBY BAGNOLD!” she growled through her tight lips and clenched jaw, “How dare you?!” She stalked up to him, throwing the Daily Prophet on a couch – conveniently his loft apartment made it so that three steps was all it took to get from one part to another, and she was so angry she was stomping around in two – and with pacing, it’d be very easy to wear a hole in the floor.  “You were the one who attacked me for trying to say hello at work!” 

“I know you are completely deluded,” she started, here was where it was going to get really interesting, “But, why in the world would I want to talk to you at all unless I really needed your help?” She growled, “It’s bad enough I even thought you were the right person to come to, but I’m here and you might as well deal with me now.” 

She snatched up the Daily Prophet again and held it out to him – still folded over on the proper page, “Look at this.”[1]

1.	The Daily Prophet

Apparently no one besides him in the entire magical world had heard of rounding.  Kurby drew back, gearing for an argument as he set his stance, hands clenching into fists. 

"How the hell did I attack you, then?" he demanded indignantly.  "You're the one who couldn't take a hint!"  The injustice of it all left him gritting his teeth, even as Amherst tore into him and then shoved the Daily Prophet at his chest.

He took one look at the front page and scowled.  Macduff, who had all of Level Two skulking about and moaning about how many sacrifices they made for the good of the Ministry yet again.  Kurby could barely tolerate most of the Aurors in the best of times, especially the Aurors like Fox, who didn't even bother to turn down the self-righteousness.  The sense of rising tensions between Muggle-borns and purebloods might have normally had him on edge -- no one who had lived through the last war could forget it -- but with the still-settling chaos from the last full moon, he had better things to do than worry about MLE's problems.

Rolling his eyes, Kurby made a disgruntled noise and vigorously crumbled the newspaper into ball.  For the briefest of moments, at least he could pretend that he was pulverizing Amherst's head.

"So what?" he snapped, glowering as he tossed it back at her.  "Fox had it comin' to him.  If he didn't mouth off about Purebloods so bleedin' much, they would've left him the hell alone."

“I don’t know why I would need to take a hint, Bagnold,” she pointed out.  “I mean, it’s not like you had much to complain about.”  That much was true.  They had something of a tentative friendship, at least enough of one to drink together and spend some time together.  Clearly though, that didn’t matter at all in this. 

Of course, he was grumpy an angry the whole time, which made her question her own sanity.  She had no idea why she put up with people like him; maybe it was just because she was raise with it.  Purebloods were purebloods no matter where one went, and they all had the same arrogant ass attitude.  She could not stand it sometimes, and really wondered what was wrong with her.

But she was here now, and that was it. 

He wasn’t taking her seriously though, and Margo was completely flabbergasted.  He was on the run for attacking an auror and his family – granted, Fox was kind of an ass, but still – his innocent family.  And Margo wasn’t exactly a wonderful pureblood.  She had no qualms with hanging around anybody, and dated her fair share of muggleborns and half-bloods, that sort of thing did not matter to her.  Now, as lines in the sand were being etched quite clearly, she was in an awkward middle-place, and she had a feeling it was not going to treat her very kindly.  Blood traitors of the past were not saved from any of the torments that anyone else went through, and though she was tough, Margo was not the type to go out looking for reasons to be tortured.

“He is a criminal, Bagnold – and he has been to my flat,” her voice was shaking with agitation, “he has been in my flat several times – I’ve been seen with him! Out! In public!” 

"I had plenty to --!" Kurby started to shout back at her.  At two o'clock in the morning -- he shot a look at the clock on the wall, just to be certain, and then gritted his teeth -- at nearly two o'clock in the morning, all he wanted to do was get into a shouting match, but all of the noise was starting to make his head hurt.  He was exhausted.  He wanted to sleep.  And though the debate over whether or not he had had anything to complain about was likely to remain unresolved, he did not want to do so with Margo Amherst in the room.

The most obvious reason for this was that the bleeding woman wouldn't shut up, and she proceeded to prove his point by taking off on another tear.  This time, though, the reason for her two o'clock visit became vividly clear.  MacDuff had been in her flat.  Several times.  They'd been seen in public.  It didn't take much brainpower, even at two in the morning, to calculate the meaning behind all of that. 

Kurby stared at her, emotion warring on his face until it settled into a decidedly hurt expression.  Obviously, he didn't give a damn what Amherst did.  She could invite any bleeding criminal she liked in her flat, which was about the stupidest euphemism for that sort of thing that Kurby had ever heard, and he wouldn't care.  Hell, she could invite Voldemort himself over for tea and a sleepover ever night for a week, and the werewolf hunter would just roll his eyes. 

That didn't change the fact that Margo was clearly upset.  Kurby hadn't been following the situation with MacDuff with particular interest -- he had plenty on his hands with the goddamned direwolves, and anything that happened to Level Two was Level Two's problem -- but clearly, something about the fugitive had her terrified.  At the very least, she was worried enough to show up at his door at two o'clock in the morning and ask for his help.

Although, he reminded himself, most important out of all of this was the fact that he didn't care.

Kurby eyed her, and then deliberately crossed his arms.  "And how the hell is that my problem?" he asked, his tone icy.  "You made your own bed."

Margo was pleased when he cut himself off. He knew damn right he had nothing to complain about when it came to her.  She didn’t owl him for cuddles, she barely ever bothered him, and she usually paid for her own drinks – and some of his – when they went out, so really, she was like the perfect friend.  Basically, she was like his dude friend with girl parts!  What more could he want out of a friendship?  Honestly, she thought he was the lucky one – at least she didn’t have mood swings like he did! 

And then he had the gall to look angry or whatever he looked like – his emotions were all pretty centrally the same, on a spectrum from perpetually peeved to enraged to the point of murder.  Right now she pegged him at friggin pissed, but that was pretty normal.  She just wanted someone to acknowledge that she was kind of scared and that Margo Amherst was not the type of woman to be scared. 

She didn’t scream at mice, she didn’t run when someone approached her, she was tough.  But, she just had this horrible feeling – people weren’t like dragons, they didn’t just attack people because they were hungry.  People couldn’t be boiled down to instinct, at least not all of the time, and if this guy really was who they said he was – some kind of purist intent on murdering people, Margo wasn’t about to risk her neck on it – she wasn’t about to change her mind about her philosophy on blood: who the hell cared? 

Wringing her hands, Margo looked at him for some sort of response, which she was not getting – at least not immediately, and he looked straight back at her, giving her some sort of eye while he crossed his arms.  “You made your own bed.”

She opened her mouth to say something, to fight back, but nothing came out.  She couldn’t believe it!  She was so angry, she could feel it in her chest, but – then she started, like word vomit, just started.  “Ai! Que Cabrón! Eres tan estupido como un perro.”*

She seethed, reaching up for her hair for something to tug on for the moment.  “My flat – he knows how to get in,” she looked at him, “without me opening up, Bagnold.  It’s – it’s creepy! I’ll come home and things will be moved… be missing.  I – what do I do?” He had to know her wand work was terrible, and it wasn't like she was asking him to protect her or anything - Godric no, she would never.  It wasn't like she cared anyway, she just knew he was paranoid and should be good at charms and things... she hoped.


*What a Bastard! You are as dumb as a dog.

This was something that he could handle, even at two in the morning.  As Amherst snapped back at him, so angry she slipped into another language, Kurby drew himself up, prepared to snarl back in return.  He glared at her, his expression cold, but then her voice broke and the emotion slipped in. 

Hell.  The words were enough to penetrate even the two-in-the-morning haze.  The werewolf hunter's expression faltered as he eyed her suspiciously.  Gritting his teeth, he rubbed the heels of both hands over his face, and then raised his gaze to meet hers once more.

"How the hell am I supposed to know?" he demanded, though the words came out sounding less angry and more tired than he'd meant them.  "If I knew how to stop everyone from gettin' into my flat, I wouldn't have you comin' by at two in the bleedin' --"

He cut himself off with a frustrated snarl, whirling around and stomping back to the couch.  Giving a loud sigh, he dropped down onto it, still watching Margo somewhat warily as he crossed his arms.

"So report him to the Ministry, then," he informed her in a grumpy tone.  "The Aurors are doin' a grand job at holdin' him off, aren't they?  Unless he's a werewolf, it's not my problem."

Considering that the full moon was only a few days away, he had plenty of problems of his own.  They had no way of knowing if they'd managed to capture all of the direwolves; judging by the number of attacks, he was almost certain that they hadn't.  And all the people -- everyone who'd been exposed to a possible bite.  Half of the remaining Capture Unit was going to be locked up off the street this time.  Amherst was irritating, but she still had a goddamned wand of her own.  Criminal or not, terrified or not, there was absolutely no reason why he should have to step in and deal with --

Kurby let a breath out in a hiss, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees.

"Did somethin' happen that sent you over here in the middle of the night, then?" he demanded in a grumble.  He kept his gaze deliberately on the ground and far from her own, pressing his fingers tightly together.  "Just set him on fire or somethin', Amherst.  It can't be that hard to make him lose interest."

At least he wasn’t really screaming anymore.  Sure, he wasn’t cooing at her, but he wasn’t screaming.  Maybe, somewhere in the bottom of his deep, dark soul, he was realizing that she wasn’t the best at dealing with serious things.  Margo Amherst was the kind of woman who dealt with fun things – she didn’t do serious.  She did easy, care-free, laissez-faire!   When things got scary, when they got tough – at least with people – she ran.  She could stare down a dragon, get half her body burnt up, and a big chunk of her leg bit clean off, but she couldn’t deal with people. 

So she was here, basically begging for help, which was totally against all of Margo Amherst’s prideful boasting about anything and everything having to do with herself, but here she was.  Standing in front of him while he sat on the couch – which felt oddly uncomfortably, like he was sizing her up or something.  And throwing out a ridiculous suggestion to boot. 

Margo took that to mean she had to pull out the big guns, and thus, she unzipped her coat and threw it off onto the floor, revealing her pajamas before she started toward the couch.  “Yea, because the people who haven’t been able to catch him yet are going to be able to help me,” she sighed, dropping on the couch next to him.  She curled her flesh leg underneath her, letting the metal limb hang off the side – it was not comfortable to sit on – and she didn’t care, it was just Kurby.  He had seen her without it, he had also seen every single one of her other scars.  It was completely inconsequential. 

So, sitting next to him, Margo sighed, her eyes wide and maybe even a little glassy – she felt like they burned.  She was not going to expel any tears, however.  It was not the Amherst thing to do.  Instead, she breathed in through her nose, exhaled slowly and shifted to face him better – considering he wasn’t going to make this easy for her.  “I thought I heard things – I couldn’t sleep…” she shifted her eyes, “I don’t get scared like this,” she told him honestly.  “I’m not a good pureblood, Kurby.”

He clearly knew that.  He would also know she barely used his first name, if ever.  “I didn’t feel safe.  And he’s better at magic than me, Bagnold. I’m half a step up from squib, you know that.”  She scooched closer to him, a a half smile on her face, “besides, you’re the only one I can seem to set into flames every time I see you…” she laughed a little, though it was more of a nervous laugh than anything. 

Pausing for a moment, Margo tried to decide if she would put a hand on his knee, but decided she would go for the shoulder instead.  “Can I stay…” there was a long pause, and she lowered her voice, as though it was below her to utter the final word, “please?”

There was only so much of the helpless female act that he could take.  His sisters tried it, Stevenson occasionally tried it, and now Amherst was trying it -- but of all the witches he knew, it suited her the least.  Kurby did not for a second believe it.  However Margo was acting, however scared she might claim to be, if she wanted to, she was perfectly capable of dealing with her own goddamned problems.  All it took was charming a door shut and sleeping with a portkey.

But despite the dubiousness of her statements, it was hard not to let them slip past his guard.  Talk of good purebloods -- Kurby almost snorted again at that.  He wasn't any better of a bleeding pureblood than she was, but the only thing he was idiotic about bringing home was the occasional St. James.  Not some crazed purist who had undertaken a suicidal mission to push Magical Law Enforcement to their limits.

The werewolf hunter let out an exasperated sigh, looking up at the ceiling.  This wasn't his problem.  He didn't give a damn if she felt safe or not.  But he couldn't... -- that wasn't why she had come.  She wanted something, and she was going to use every trick she had until he gave it to her.

At least if he gave in, then she'd probably let him go back to sleep.

"You get the sofa," he informed her grudgingly at last, shrugging her hand off as he started to his feet.  "And just tonight, Amherst.  The full moon's in three days."  The statement was short and curt, but he shrugged, belaying the meaning.  Whatever the hell ridiculous mess she'd gotten herself into, he didn't have time to deal with it right now.

Margo knew he would give up and let her sleep over.  She wasn’t going to be able to sleep at her flat, it was scary – she heard things, and her magic was terrible.  She couldn’t even put a kettle on with her wand most of the time.  Beer was much easier to drink anyhow, she told herself.   She wouldn't be staying home alone very much anyway, she told herself.  When he said one night, Margo knew that wasn't exactly true.  All she had to do was waltz around and not get too under foot, then buy a case of beer and they'd be fine.  She just didn't want to be at her flat alone... just in case. 

She knew she was right when he was giving up and the pained expression on her face melted away to something that almost resembled complete defeat.  Men were so easy sometimes.  Margo Amherst jumped up from the couch after him and practically launched herself at him, awkwardly wrapping her arms around his shoulders – as he was shorter than her and bending her knees – knocking hers into his while she did so – “Eres el mejor!”* she kissed one cheek and then the other, “te debo!”**

Then, of course, she had to plant one straight on his lips – because it would make him angry, and since he already said she could stay for the night, she had nothing to lose.  Besides, really, he wasn’t very hard to make amicable to a situation once he resigned himself to its reality, so she pulled away with a smile, winked at him and then strutted past, like the rooster who got the hen and grabbed a pillow and extra blanket from his bed.  “If I’m going to sleep on the couch, I’ll need these,” she smiled innocently, knowing full well what she was doing. 

---

This comes from google translate, forgive me if I am wrong:
*Eres el mejor = You are the best
**te debo = I owe you

The long-suffering sigh that accompanied the theft of pillows and blankets was far too loud to be convincing.  Grumbling under his breath, Kurby looked back at the door to his flat, and then headed over to make certain that it was locked.  Whether or not her complaints about Macduff were ridiculous, he wasn't going to take any chances.

There wasn't anything that he could to do fight it.  Clearly, Amherst had not only made up her mind, but had already figured out how to get what she wanted.  Making a face, the werewolf hunter ran both hands tiredly over his face, and then started back towards the bed.

"If you were comin' over, you could've brought your own goddamned pillows," he informed her sourly, even if his heart wasn't in it.

End.