~6:15pm

Moira felt the physical exhaustion creeping in as she entered the Leaky Couldron.  She had been busy nearly her entire shift at St. Mungo's, moving between floors as necessary.  She had seen someone on every floor, ranging from minor scrapes to those brought in near death.  Much to her relief they hadn't lost any of their patients.  While her body was exhausted her mind was buzzing still, unable to come down off of it's natural high.

She sat at the nearly empty side of the bar, not wishing to associate with those already there and engaged in conversation.  While waiting for someone to take her order, she untied the ribbon that held her hair in the braid she always wore during work.  Running her fingers through her long, brown hair, she sighed a bit as the tension caused by the tight hair style eased from her scalp.

When the bar tender finally took her order she asked for her drink of choice, a fire whiskey.  Most of her friends in the States couldn't believe how easily she drank the strong alcohol, but it never seemed to bother her.  Taking the first sip, she leaned back onto the stool's backrest, closing her eyes for a moment as the liquid warmed her.

Knox was in London on Hogwarts business, having just finished a meeting at the home of one of the school governors concerning the up-coming exams.  It was nearing the end of the school year and a few things always needed sorted before the day.  But something very peculiar had happened as he had turned down Charing Cross Road.  It had stirred him and so he was compelled to make a stop into the Leaky Cauldron before returning to Scotland.

He entered the pub, which always seemed to be busy.  It had that earthy warmth with that earthy smell as always, orange fires lighting up worn wood surfaces everywhere.  The dark thatch above obscured.  All faces were cast shadows.  But he spotted her.

The bearish man strode with purpose towards the woman at the bar, and he placed a hand on her shoulder.

"Madam, did you know you were followed?" he asked, his rough baritone low enough so no one could hear but her.

The feel of someone's hand on her shoulder caused Moira's eyes to snap open as she nearly jumped off the stool.  She was thankful she had set her fire whiskey down or she would have certainly been wearing the potent drink.  Her heart beat erratically from the start he had given her, and it was only made worse by his words, "Madam, did you know you were followed?"

She felt the fear creep slowly through her body, the dread that she had been wrong.  She had come to London so she might live her life without the constant fear, without having to always be looking over her shoulder.  She wondered if there was truly no safe haven for her, no place she could live and forget all that had happened?

"Followed?" she repeated, her voice a bit breathy from her uneven breathing as she turned to look at the stranger.

She knew him from somewhere, although it had been some time since she had seen him.  She tried to calm herself so she might think back, and her mind instantly went to her time at Hogwarts.  She had first seen him after the battle, when her parents allowed her to return to school for her fourth year, and suddenly recognition flickered across her face.

"Professor Greyfriar?" she asked, before adding.  "Or, should I say Headmaster?"

Knox nodded.  His face was familiar to many witches and wizards this woman's age, as so many of them had been through his History of Magic courses.  But a great deal more had slept right through them and were perhaps less familiar.  But now that she had turned her head, it was Knox's turn to scrape his memory to put a name to a face.  It was not easy.

"Moira?" as soon as he said her name, it clicked home.  Of course. "Moira Randall." She had been a Ravenclaw when he began teaching.  He recalled her studious nature and pleasant demeanor - would have done very well in his own house Hufflepuff he had recalled saying more than once.  She was grown now and looked well. 

That is, except for the dark shadow that had stalked her all the way down Charing Cross Road.

"A figure in a hood," he told her still in discreet tones, still remaining standing.  "Turned the same corners you did, crossed the road with you.  And when you came in here, the figure looked confused - I don't think he could see the Cauldron.  Do you know who it might have been?"

Moira gave him a nod in return as he said her name.  She had probably been one of the few of her year not to sleep through his entire class.  History of Magic was not a subject most students paid much attention to, no matter how interesting the professor tried to make it.  Yet, she had always enjoyed the class, despite the sometimes unending list of dates and names.

Her smile faded quickly though as he continued.  Someone, aside from him, had followed her.  Someone obviously Muggle who would not be able to see the establishment nor her once she entered it.  She looked away from him, reaching for her drink.  Raising it a bit, she immediately put it down when her hand began to shake.  She folded her hands in her lap, trying to ignore the shaking.

"I have a pretty good idea," she said softly.   She knew she would be unable to lie, she had never been very good at it.  She had managed to keep all evidence of the truth of her return hidden from everyone else since she had not been face with such an obvious reminder.

Randall, who'd seemed confident enough even as he must have startled her, now seemed to fade.  The Headmaster couldn't help but feel protective of the woman.  But perhaps all teachers felt that way about their students even after they'd grown and conquered the world for themselves.  He knew it was none of his business, that he could not be blamed if he bid her good day and went about the rest of the evening's errands.

But something stopped him.  Something about her made Knox think she might not mind if he lingered.  He shifted around to take the stool nearest to her.  He waved off the bartender who had looked his way to perhaps offer him a drink. 

"Hmm," he said, declining any reassuring comment.  He could have said, 'I'm sure it's nothing' but there was no way he could be truthful in any statement.  Things had been so strange as spring was growing into summer.  The Wizarding World seemed out of rest.

"Has this happened before?" he finally inquired.

Moira said nothing as he took the seat next to her, thankful he had stayed instead of leaving her to ponder over the information alone.  She forced herself to relax, reminding herself she was in a Wizarding establishment that was extremely well protected from Muggles.  Her home was well protected as well, she could move easily through life without wandering down a street filled with Muggles.

"Not this exactly," she replied, looking over at him again as she spoke.  "At least not my knowledge."

She felt her hands still enough that she was able to grasp her glass of fire whiskey and turned away for a moment so she could lift it to her lips and take another sip.  She had not realized when she ordered it, just how desperately she would need that drink.

"I had hoped that I would be able to leave this behind in when I came home to London," she continued, setting the glass down again.

"I, for one, have found," Knox said, "that problems seem to have an attraction to London.  London, rather seems to attract old problems.  Sucks them out of retirement, or from foreign corners and then bottles them up here and intensifying them!"  Knox too had dark London memories, from his idiot youth. 

"At least it is a muggle, yes?  I had thought for the slightest of moments you were being haunted by some shade.  That perhaps, I thought for the slightest of moments, a Pensieve had spilled and your memories crept along behind you darkly.  I suppose we can be thankful it's just a person who's following you and not some literal effigy of past travails.  I suppose."

Seeing Moira enjoy her fire whiskey, take it down her throat with such a practiced motion, not even a trace of a wince... "Merlin's beard, you do well with Ogden's Old.  What line of work are you in?"

Moira listened to him, nodding her head slightly, agreeing that this was a Muggle.   There were worse entities to be stalked by through the streets of London and, she reminded herself again, a Muggle was easily avoidable.  She could limit her time outside of the Wizarding world long enough for whoever had followed her to grow tired of waiting.  Certainly there were duties at home that would call them back.  It didn't make the memories any less painful, but the thought seemed to help with the here and now.

"Merlin's beard, you do well with Ogden's Old.  What line of work are you in?"

She couldn't help laughing a bit at his question.  Most who had tasted the drink were surprised by the ease with which she drank it.  She knew she hardly looked the 'type.'  It was one of those contradictions she always found a bit amusing, especially when they were noticed by others.

"I'm a Mediwitch," she told him, with a small smile.  "I guess you could say the Americans I studied with in Salem's Peak were a bit of a bad influence."

She had always been studious and hard working, two traits she prided herself on.  Yet, in Salem's Peak, with the freedom of adulthood, she had allowed herself to have a bit more fun with her life.  "America wasn't all parties and fun...I guess you could say it allowed me to do some growing up."

A mediwitch! Knox allowed his admiration to show on his face.  He too had trained as a Healer as a young idiot wizard, but he had been working towards a temperate life style as a local family healer.  Mediwitches were under so much stress, dealing with such a vast array of ailments and maladies - the pressure had never appealed.  But then, Knox had fallen into a such a dark place in those days, his life in constant danger, the hectic life of  mediwizard might have seemed like a vacation.

But Knox Greyfriar was always known to be a slow-moving, long-thinking man.  He would have been completely destroyed by this witch's chosen profession.   He was beginning to feel tempted to extend their conversation and join her with her Ogden's.  Hogwarts castle was suffering from spring insanity lately, and he was somewhat relieved for this short furlough.

"I know what you mean," he said, his own nostalgia lacking in that rosy glow. "What young person of eighteen years is ready to make those sorts of choice.  Merlin, I was barely weaned and was working very diligently to ruin my life here in London.  Seemed to be the most singular goal on my mind."

He shook his head ruefully and settled himself more permanently on the old stool.  He leaned his forearms on the bar, again shaking his head when the bartender made brief eye contact.

"What about you? What horrible mistake in your past has formed you into the Ogden-loving Mediwitch I see here?"

Moira raised an eyebrow slightly as he spoke, she didn't know much about her former professor's past, but it was very apparent he had his share of regrets.  She didn't press him for information, taking another small sip of her drink as he spoke.  If there was one thing she had learned along the way, it was that everyone had their share of regrets.

"What about you? What horrible mistake in your past has formed you into the Ogden-loving Mediwitch I see here?"  She couldn't help but smirk slightly at the question.  When had all too familiar grimace at the burning stopped?  He had settled into the seat next to her and she knew there was no way to escape the conversation.

She was hesitant to voice the truth, yet there was a certain amount of trust she felt towards him.  It wasn't an easy thing, to admit what happened.  That would mean she would have to accept that she was a fool.  She had gotten so good at ignoring the voice in her head that told her she was just an idiot child.

"A muggle....if you can believe that," she said softly.  "A muggle who I gave my whole heart to...and he betrayed me time and time again.  Like a foolish little girl I let him get away with it and it nearly cost me everything."

Knox lowered his head at Moira's confession, then looked at the young witch.  "You know, I've always marvelled at how the blameless become the blamed.  Perhaps the fabled Auror was foolish not to step out of the way of a curse, but he could have remained still and quite unharmed if that warlock had kept his wand quiet."

"I think I will have that fire whiskey!" Knox interrupted himself, calling to the bartender and conceding to the shared drink.  It if was time to share stories, then drinks must be had.

"But I mean to say, lambs should not be culpable to the bites of wolves.  Our only crime was being lambs.  It wasn't muggles for me.  It was cousins!  But your muggle, would that have been him on Charing Cross?  Hasn't it been years, Moira?"

Old Greyfriar wasn't sure why he was allowing his secret shames to leak out as they were, to drip embarrassingly onto the bar as he hinted with his words.  And to a former student, at that.  In all meaningful ways, she was a stranger, and as much as Knox hated to acknowledge he was a public political figure as the Headmaster.  And Remembering Day's Eve was no time for his past to be leaked.  The air was too filled with pride.

Moira nodded slightly as he spoke, in her mind she knew she couldn't have prevented all that had happened and she was not at fault.  Her heart however was true to accept such a thing.  She had always said there was a difference between knowing something and truly believing it.  She hardly believed herself a lamb, but Brian and his friends had certainly been the wolves.

But your muggle, would that have been him on Charing Cross?  Hasn't it been years, Moira?

The reminder that he could have been here in London caused another wave of fear to pass over her.  She wasn't sure what she feared for most, for her safety or for the fact that if she encountered him he might be able to convince her to accept him back into his life and let the cycle continue.

"It most likely was him," she told Knox with a slight sigh, doubting any of his insane, narrow minded group of friends would have followed her.  "It hasn't been that long since I last saw him...About three months, I guess."

She suddered slightly at the memory of their last encounter, the one that had finally made her see how wrong she had been about Brian.  She added after a moment, "It's a bit of a long story."

Knox furrowed his brow, but shrugged.  "I don't want to intrude," he said although he was curious about why a muggle would follow Moira all the way to London.  Had he found out about her being a witch?  That was always a very sticky situation, and even threatened the ancient order of the Statute of Secrecy.

"You know, I'm not usually the sort of wizard to recommend seeking out Ministry intrusion, but," he chucked then at the absurdity of what he was about to suggest. 

"But have you considered the Muggle Liason Office? If he knows, he might be a fantastic candidate for Oblivation.  Is this the first you've seen of him since the U.S.?  If he knows about your magical abilities, he's overstepped his boundaries to attempt to follow you down the rabbit hole."

It was uncharacteristically line-toeing of Knox.  To speak in favor of the Statute of Secrecy? To recommend Ministry involvement in private life?  They were last resorts in the Hufflepuff's mind.  But even though Knox still had not heard Moira tell her tale, he sensed that this was in fact a situation in need of a last resort.

Moira had considered it, and had quickly pushed the thought aside.  Would it not prove him right in some way?  She didn't believe in altering another's memories, even for their own good.  Besides, it was much bigger then just him...No, she could not involve the Ministry in this.

"This goes beyond just him," she revealed, taking other sip of her drink.  "There's a whole group of them who would likely have my head on a platter...or my body tied to a burning stake back in Boston."

Maybe she did need to talk about this with someone.  She had told herself she could handle it, that she didn’t need to let anyone in.  Keeping it to herself hadn’t gotten anywhere spectacular…except more afraid and depressed.

“The most likely candidate for who followed me here is a man by the name of Brian Harding,” she began, slowly.  “On January tenth I told him I was a witch.  We’d been together almost a year, I thought it was time…that I could trust him.  I obviously was very wrong.”