One night at Kurby’s flat had turned into a lot of nights at Kurby’s flat.  But it wasn’t like Margo was mooching.  She genuinely didn’t like being in her flat, every time she stopped by she got these weird feelings, like someone had just been there.  She had to stop by every couple of days, of course, to grab clothes and things, plus put food out for Lizard.  But, when she stopped home after work today – something felt wrong immediately. 

She knew she had locked the door last time she came home.  She was fairly sure she hadn’t forgotten since the posters had been put out – but when she put her hand on the door knob, it was open.  She had been home the evening before, but in the morning realized she had forgotten her favorite brush (even the questionably hygienic Margo Amherst had a favorite hair brush), and had to stop by after “work.” 

Work, of course, was starting to consist of napping on her desk and waiting for something to happen.  Apparently people were enjoying their placements, and no one had any limbs bitten off recently, so there wasn’t exactly any transferring to organize.  There had been some burns, but Margo was fairly useless, particularly now that it was hatching season. No one wanted to leave when the baby dragons were hatching.  She had to admit, she was pretty peeved when she received the first photo of a hatchling from Romania. 

It put her in a gruff mood, to be sure, plus even if she was at Kurby’s – sleeping in a bed, might she add, because she was that good – she hadn’t been sleeping very well.  And coming to her open flat wasn’t making her feel any better.  The door creaked open and Margo poked her head in.  There was nothing in the entryway, so she slowly walked in and called softly, “Helloooo…? Anybody home…?”  The answer was on the mewing of Lizard, who strolled casually into the entryway.  He was looking good, and Margo leaned down to run her hand all the way over his back. 

It seemed that everything was in order.  Maybe she had forgotten to lock the door?  Whatever the case, she stood all the way up and walked toward her bedroom.  She might as well grab a few more shirts and things to throw into a duffle.  She was running low on underclothes, and she really hated doing laundry.  So, she went into the bathroom, grabbed her brush and tossed it in a bag before she made her way to the bedroom, which she automatically knew was not how she left it. 

One of her drawers was hanging open – and it was a drawer that did not get left open either.  Her under-things were rifled around, a few pairs on the floor, and when Margo peeked in, she could immediately tell a black pair was missing… and a red… and her favorite orange ones. Margo dug through, throwing each pair on the floor to check, reaching the farthest place back in the drawer and then going on the floor to sort through again, just to see if she was wrong.  She sorted through all of the pairs three times before she was sure they were gone –and when she turned away from the dresser – her bed was in a state of disarray.  Her closet door was open – things were on the floor.  Someone had been in this room.  She could almost smell it in the air, and Margo felt the muscles in her chest clench tight. 

Margo was not staying her a minute longer.  Scrambling, she shoved anything she could see immediately into her bag and slung it over her shoulder.  She grabbed Lizard off the floor and walked to the front, locking the door, before she walked to the fireplace.  Lizard squirmed in her arms, but she held onto him tight, throwing floo powder into the fireplace to get to Kurby’s place.  Lizard was not a happy cat by the end of the journey, leaping out of her arms and jetting under the couch.  Margo, on the other hand, made a byline straight for the ice box.  A beer was definitely willing and waiting for her to occupy her time.  It was going to at least provide a necessary distraction. 

The days after a full moon were barely any easier than the full moon itself.  With the discovery of the direwolves, their monthly apex had been extended to an entire day and night, and like any lunar cycle that followed a particularly bad attack, April's full moon had been particularly hellish.  They were short-handed as it was, and several of the Capture Unit had had to spend the first part of the evening in confinement.  Only one had turned out to be a werewolf, but they'd had three more members go down in the skirmishes that followed.

Kurby was exhausted.  At the rate everything was going, in another month or two, Ferris would be the most experienced member that the Capture Unit had left.  He had gotten as much as he could done at the office before he'd finally given up and flooed home.  If he couldn't be productive, the least he could do on a Saturday was sleep.

Amherst's 'one night' at his flat had turned into nearly a week.  It was something that they just didn't talk about; as soon as anyone else found out about the extended temporary living situation, Kurby fully intended on kicking her out to the street.  For the moment, it seemed to be working to both of their benefits.  Amherst seemed at least outwardly satisfied that Macduff couldn't get to her, and Kurby had stopped being bothered by visitors at nearly two in the morning.

Even after a week, he still hadn't grown used to the witch's presence.  The sound of the Floo, of something skittering and footsteps across the floor, made him jerk away, sitting up sharply in his bed and making an unconscious grab for his wand.  It took several seconds for him to realize who was there.

"Hell," he muttered at the witch, releasing his grip on his wand.  It took some effort to climb to his feet.  The lack of sleep made his head hurt, and all he really wanted to do was put a pillow over his head, but if his temporary flatmate was here and banging around, that wasn't going to happen.  The best he could hope for was complaining enough that she got irritated and left.

"Do you have to come back here in the middle of the day, then?" he grumbled, stumbling over to the couch.  He didn't have a shirt on, but it was his flat: she had to wear clothes; he didn't.  "This isn't a goddamned' hotel, Amherst.  You still have to bleedin' knock."

Margo grabbed another beer out of the fridge as she heard the rustling from the other side of the flat.  Kurby lived in something of a loft – not really separated out by much of anything, noise travelled easily and between the kitchen area and the bed, there wasn’t all that much to the place.  It wasn’t bad, of course, made getting ready really easy in the morning – though apparently she was not allowed to just walk around in her skivvies.  That rule had been laid down straight away – she could not understand why.  It wasn’t like it was a bad view by any means.  Margo thought she had a smashing arse. 

So, to smooth over his attitude, she grabbed that second beer and turned, smirking a little.  He was drowsy, clearly had been sleeping – Margo hadn’t noticed the lumps in the bed, not that she ever would, and gave him the once over – because she could.  After all, if he was going to showcase it, she wasn’t going to stop herself.  She had a thing for the scarred type.  She could appreciate the stories scars told, even if they were never brought up, and Margo held out a beer like a peace offering.  It was a mild distraction from her anxiety.

The beer extended in front of her, Margo’s hand was visibly shaking.  Even if she was trying to play it cool, she was obviously perturbed.  People only smirked when something was funny or they were anxious “May not be a hotel,” she commented, “but there’s room service.” 

She shifted her weight from one side to the other, the right side of her mouth tugging a little higher, in hopes that he might be in a slightly decent mood before she had to tell him anything else.   

The beer proved to be a decent peace offering.  Kurby accepted it with barely a grumble, dropping down on the couch with the bottle in hand.  It was only when he reached for his wand to open it that he realized he'd left it sitting over by his bed.  Shooting a frustrated look in the direction of his mattress, Kurby eyed the bottle for a moment and then tilted it in Amherst's direction.  If she knew what was good for her, she'd open it herself.

"I don't see how that changes the knockin'," he said sourly, stretching his feet out in front of him.  Even after sleeping for an hour, he still felt exhausted.  The werewolf hunter sighed, running his free hand over his face as he leaned his head back.  All of the paperwork that was waiting for him when he returned to the office hung heavy over his shoulders, but at least Manley was a relatively forgiving boss.  Filling out the rest of the forms could wait until Monday, after he'd spent the rest of the weekend sleeping.

It occurred to him suddenly that he had no idea what Amherst did on the weekend.  Their temporary cohabitation was getting stretched out to worrying lengths now; he was relatively certain that he could still kick her out once he finally got fed up with her, but staying at his flat over a weekend was very different from spending a few nights there.  Did she normally just sit around and drink beer during the day on Saturday?  He didn't know.  And what was supposed to happen when he went to the weekly Whitman-Bagnold-etc. wizarding poker game the following evening?  For all he knew, that bastard Grimm would be able to look in his eyes and know that someone had been staying with him.

"You might be happier in a hotel," he pointed out suddenly.  He gave a gruff shrug.  "There's plenty of Muggle ones in London.  Even if Macduff really gives a damn, he'd never find you.  You could keep movin' until the Aurors caught him, even."  The idea was starting to sound better and better; Kurby gave her a slightly hopeful look.  "It'd be a hell of a lot safer than just staying at my flat, Amherst."

It was almost disconcerting to know why he wanted her to take the bottle, and putting hers down for a second, she grabbed his and twisted the end of her shirt around the cap and tugged, the top popping off and the sound of freshly opened beer a welcome one for the woman.  She would have made a crack about it, but she didn’t want to really upset him right now.  She couldn’t afford to get kicked out. 

Her flat was not safe, and she just felt… watched recently.  She couldn’t explain it – but she felt like she was being followed all of the time and it made her look over her shoulder wherever she went.  Even if she didn’t see anything, she just felt it.  It made her skin crawl.  She couldn’t afford to really be anywhere by herself, particularly with such poor wand skills.  Even the indestructible Margo Amherst was not completely delusional. 

Plopping down on the couch next to him, Margo opened her bottle and tossed the cap on the table, taking a long sip.  It was comforting.  She could almost pretend that she hadn’t seen her room in a disheveled state, like nothing had happened and she was just… spending an afternoon with a beer.  That was normal; that was good.  Taking another long drink, she sputtered as Kurby pointed out that she might be happier in a hotel.

“Hell of a way to start a conversation, Bagnold,” she pointed out, feathers already ruffled.  Couldn’t he tell that her hand had been shaking like a leaf on a tree?  Wiping her mouth on her arm, like the lady she was, Margo shifted on the couch to look at him.  Clearly he was only motivated to help himself and Margo frowned at him, suddenly losing interest in her beer. 

She huffed and tucked her good foot under her, letting the other hang down – seemed the typical position these days.  “And he does care,” she pointed out, “I  was just in my flat, Bagnold.  He was there. I know he was.  It smelled like him – and my… things… had been gone through! Some of it was missing.”

Kurby settled back with the now-open beer in hand, taking a long swallow.  It was nice to relax, even if Amherst wouldn't stop talking.  He ignored her first comment -- he didn't really care how she thought he done at starting the conversation, because he didn't intend to have one -- and closed his eyes.  If it wasn't for the fact that she recently seemed to constantly want to talk and the level of commitment that it signaled, he could almost tolerate playing host to Amherst.

The conversation predictably turned back to her supposed criminal boyfriend.  Kurby intended to tune it out, as he had most other times Amherst had brought it up recently, but for once, something in her tone stopped him.  His expression slowly began to grow cautious and uncomfortable.  By the time she had finished speaking, he had cracked an eye open to regard her warily.

"It smelled like --?" he started incredulously, and then decided midway through that he didn't want to know.

That wasn't right.  And Amherst -- well, she irritated the hell out of him sometimes, and she didn't know when to take no for an answer, but Kurby had to admit that she was being persistently jumpy over this one.  If something was really wrong, if this was more than some ex-boyfriend scaring her -- an uncomfortable picture of Candice Stevenson angrily shouting at him about her ex-fiance crept unbidden into his head.  Frowning, Kurby sat up straight, planting both bare feet firmly on the floor.

"Amherst."  The werewolf hunter stopped again before even forming a full sentence. 

"I can't believe I'm sayin' this," he muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose.  It hurt even to think the words; he wasn't sure if that was because of what he was about to express, whom he was saying it to, or because he still hadn't gotten nearly enough sleep. Grimacing, he met her gaze.

"Have you talked to the Aurors?" he asked, shifting his feet uncomfortably to press his toes against the floor.  "I know they're sure as hell not the knights with shinin' wands that they think they are, but if he's really comin' to your flat, Amherst, you ought to tell someone.  Besides me," he added awkwardly.  "And who knows?  Maybe they could use it to catch the --"

The pain that shot through the werewolf hunter's ankles was as agonizing as it was sudden.  Giving a yelp, Kurby leapt to his feet, drink and conversation both forgotten as he let the bottle drop to the ground and shatter.

"The HELL!" he shouted, attempting to clutch at his ankles and whirl around all at once.  He managed the feat just in time to see a gray blur go racing under his bed.  That had hurt.  And the garden gnome, or whatever the hell it was that had bitten him, thought it could just get away again!

Letting out a low growl, he dove for his bed -- not to get the creature that had attacked him, but for his wand, so that he could hex the damn thing to Hogwarts and back again.

Looking to anyone for a clue wasn’t really in Margo’s style.  But recently, very recently, she was looking everywhere for help, and sadly, Bagnold was one of the people she trusted the most.  He just knew things… the things he was supposed to know and how to fix situations that she was oblivious to.  When you lived in the mountains of several countries for years on end, these sorts of things didn’t happen – you didn’t meet people at the bar and take them home, only to learn later they were maniac potential serial killers.  You went out with the people you worked with, and pretty much no one else because you didn’t speak their language, particularly in the mountains of Romania. 

Her social skills in England, despite a childhood here, were basically new.  She had been in England for just under a year.  Kurby knew what to do, and his suggestion to see the aurors about it, though not her favorite, she had to admit, it was probably at that point now.  It wasn’t going away, and she certainly didn’t feel much safer, except that she had someone around just in case.  She wouldn’t be found like strangled to death in her flat six days later when someone managed to realize she wasn’t just skipping out on work. 

“I… I haven’t yet,” she admitted, even blushing a little, mostly because even she realized how irresponsible it was.  She just hoped that it would go away.  It seemed to be getting worse though – much worse.  “I… I can tell them tomorrow…? By owl..?” she was looking for him to say that was a good idea, at least.  She was confident – but she still had no idea what to do. 

Plus, he was being nice to her, at least nicer than usual.  He must have figured out by now she wasn’t just going to hang out for no reason.  She started to smile, but then Kurby let out a howl that surprised her like nothing else.  She didn’t understand what was going on until she leaned over the couch and saw the grey blur racing away, the crash of the bottle sounding as it hit the floor, and Kurby jumping up so violently from the couch that she actually bounced with it. 

“Bagnold!” Margo screeched as he hopped around –the glass from the bottle all over the floor with liquid that would make it very easy to trip – she knew she would have, but he seemed unphased, and in fact did not pay her screaming any mind as he launched himself across the room and after the terrified Lizard.  “Stop, Bagnold!” she yelled again, grabbing her wand to try and at least lift the glass to the bin – which she was surprisingly able to do, before running after him, her soaks drenched in beer at this point. 

“Don’t hurt her!” she yelled, trying to grab Kurby’s foot to pull him back, “it's only a bloody cat!  Relax!" She tried to see if he was bleeding or anything, while at the same time, allowing Lizard the chance to escape to hide under another piece of furniture, though she doubted she was, as she could hear the hissing clearly from under the bed.  She smacked the bottom of his foot for good measure, and hoped his blind idiot rage would get under control. 

Perfect timing, Lizard.

The thing -- now identified as a cat -- had taken shelter under his bed, where it was hissing horrifically at him, as if daring him to do his worse.  Kurby ignored his temporary roommate's pleas for sanity as he grabbed for his wand, kicking back at her as she tried to get hold of his foot. 

"Get the hell off!" he snapped at Amherst, practically tumbling to the floor himself as he tried to get a direct line of sight on the creature.  "Accio cat!"

The hissing, clawing bundled of furious fluff that flew into his arms was not quite what he expected.  The skirmish lasted mere seconds, but Kurby was clearly not the winner.  He sat on the floor, looking stunned, with a whole new series of scratches across his arms and face as the grey blur streaked back under the sofa where it had originally taken shelter.

It took him a full thirty seconds before he could even respond.  Slowly, deliberately, he turned to stare back at Amherst, a look of utter fury settling over his features.

"Why," he began, punctuating each pause with a deep, furious breath that would have been far more relaxing if he hadn't appeared ready to murder the next thing in the tiny apartment that moved.   "The hell.  Did you bring.  A cat.  Into my flat!?"

Margo let Kurby go without much ceremony as he demanded it, knowing that this was not going to end well.  In fact, she was quick to move away from the whole scene, just in case Lizard freaked out – which was quite likely, considering the circumstances.  She had been through a lot today – a break-in, the floo, and now being chased by a rabid Bagnold – it was not looking good for Lizard, and soon enough it was not going to be looking very nice for Bagnold either. 

She was off to get the wound disinfectant (something she definitely knew her way around), and a few bandages – just in case.  She could hear them both and hurried as she rummaged through the medicine cabinet-  the scuffle was not going to last very long and she wanted to be out before it ended – didn’t want to look like a deserter, after all. 

Of course, it might have been better if she did desert, considering the look on Kurby’s face as she burst back into the main room with an armful of first aid supplies.  She dropped a roll of gauze (in case any of the scratches or bites was really bad) and it unraveled a little as it rolled toward him, Margo standing stark still in the middle of the floor as he glared up at her with an expression that made her wonder if she should start running or not. 

She decided she would not run though, and blinked at him – as though he was dumb enough to forget everything that she had told him – about her flat and things being stolen.  But there he was, sitting like a mess on the floor without a shirt on – idiot – yelling at her! Rather than being sensible, Margo’s eyebrows drew in and she practically growled. 

“Sorry I care about my cat, Bagnold!” she hissed, sounding almost eerily like Lizard, “but I’d rather I didn’t go home to find her skinned or something.”  She took a few steps forward, against her better judgment.  Kurby must have understood – somewhere deep in his dark soul that she cared about her cat, probably more than she cared about other human beings,

“She’s just freaked out over the floo and the weird setting.  You’re all cut up,” she sighed, “should be wearing a shirt,” she pointed out, starting to shuffle through the bundle in her arms for the iodine and cotton pads for application.  She felt like what she was doing was either suicidal or stupid - something in her brain told her both.

"It's my flat!" Kurby exploded, gesturing wildly with his wand as if he were about to send a Killing Curse ricocheting through the tiny loft.  "You aren't livin' here, Amherst!  You don't get to just bring in whatever you damned well please!"

He turned away from her with a snarl, taking a swing at the wall, which turned out to be a phenomenally bad idea -- inanimate objects, like cats, were not particularly forgiving of tempers, and the werewolf hunter was left shaking his hand out and swearing vividly.

"Don't even think about it," he snapped at the woman, shooting her a nasty look over his shoulder as he purposely turned his back to her.  "And you may not have damned well noticed, but this isn't your bleedin' flat."

That was, in the end, what it came down to.  Margo Amherst showed up like a whirlwind and without a thought to the consequences or what anyone else might prefer, took exactly what she wanted even when he tried to tell her not to.  Kurby gritted his teeth tightly together, counting to ten twice over before bothering to try and speak again.  Amherst hadn't cared the first time when his entire family had started grilling him about the nonexistent relationship, and it was more than obvious that she cared more about her flea-bitten feline than the fact that she was asking him to do her a favor bigger than the one that he was prepared to give.

"This isn't a vacation, Amherst," he growled at last, forcing each word out like a challenge.  "I never said you could just up and move in, and I never said you could bring the stupid cat.  What the hell would everyone think if they found out?" he demanded, his voice rising again as he shot her another furious glare.  "You think I want to deal with my entire bleedin' family askin' me about you because they found out that you moved your Merlin-cursed cat into my flat?!"

Bagnold was ripping pissed.  Margo did not anticipate this sort of behavior.  She knew he wouldn’t be happy about it, but it wasn’t like she had moved everything in and started putting doilies around or anything.  She was just making sure her cat, which did not really bother anyone, was safe from being clawed apart or stabbed or stunned or something.  She was only looking out for the well-being of her cat. 

But apparently that was beyond alright for Bagnold who legitimately looked as though a blood vessel in his head might explode and he would bleed out before she got a chance to save him.  Of course, as he got angrier, Margo could not help but get angrier in return at him. 

Her cheeks started to brighten with frustration, and her eyes narrowed.  “I wasn’t thinking about anything!” Margo defended herself, angrily stomping her foot as he was being blatantly disrespected.  She may not have taken much from her upbringing, but pureblood or not, it was incredibly rude to turn one’s back to the person they happened to be screaming/ranting at for the moment.  The least he could do was look at her! 

“You seem to be doing enough thinking for the both of us!” she pointed out with a snarl – only to stop short when she understood – or at least felt like she understood – his actual problem.  Margo stopped in her tracks, not really sure what to do.  She had started storming toward him, but then he was worried about their families?  Was that was this nonsense was about?  Honestly?! 

Her face contorted, she tried to hold herself back – but Margo could not help it.  She started laughing.  Laughing because he was afraid his family might find out there was a cat in his place, or that it was her cat – it was ridiculous.  Rubbing her forehead with her hand, Margo had to try and subside her chuckling.  “Is that what you’re worried about?” she asked, not really needing an answer, and continued, despite her somewhat better judgment. 

“For all anyone knows, my place is being treated for rats, or roaches, or bed bugs – any number of things, really, maybe even a squirrel infestation,” she pointed out, trying not to smile – a smirk betraying her.  “I’d tell them that too, if they asked – but no one,” a slight lie – a few people, but not notable ones, at least not to her, “no one,” she repeated, “thinks we are like that.  They’d be bloody feckin stupid if they did – and I’d say it to their face,” she snorted. 

“You’re the one that’s over thinking.”  She looked him in the eyes, though drawn up to her full height, having to tilt her chin downward to do so.  Something of a challenge, maybe a turf war, she wasn’t particularly sure at this point.  She’d have to see.   

He'd expected Amherst to get angry, to deny it -- not to outright laugh at him.  Normally, any reaction of the sort would have just infuriated him even more, but it was impossible to drag out an argument when he didn't really want to discuss the facts.  Even through his building fury, he knew that this wasn't a conversation that he wanted to get into, and the excuses she gave -- her flat getting treated -- were the ones he'd been planning to give out anyway just in case someone got nosy and asked.

For the most part, he just wanted to ignore the entire situation -- ignore Amherst, ignore the demon cat, and ignore the fact that his ridiculous family had nothing better to do than speculate over his possible love life.  Rosheen always warned him that he made the situation worse by rising to the bait, but there was no way he could ignore it once his brother and cousins got started.  Keeping his mouth shut when the taunting started was easier said than done.

But he didn't really want to get into that with Amherst.  He didn't know how she couldn't get it -- she was a pureblood, the same as he was, which felt like half the problem some days -- but apparently the pressures in the Amherst family were very different.

"I'm not over thinkin' it," he snapped back, but even the retort was mostly just to be contrary.  "The last thing I need is for my name to end up in Witch Weekly next to your picture.  For all I know, even if nobody else cares, your stupid boyfriend's going to come after me then, Amherst."

Even as the words left his mouth, though, Kurby knew that he didn't mean that.  Letting out an irritated sigh, annoyed at himself as much as he was her, he ran both hands frustratedly over his face. 

"Fine," he muttered, pressing his palms against his shut eyes.  "Three days.  That's it.  Then either you or it find somewhere else to go.  And it's at your own damned risk," he added darkly, lowering his hands as he eyed the ominous sofa that was currently providing shelter to the demon feline.  "If that bleedin' thing attacks me again, I'm hexin' it and no questions asked."

“No, you’re not over thinking it,” Margo rolled her eyes at him.  He was really over thinking everything and she was sure he cared far too much about what other people thought of him.  “You just care about what everyone thinks way too much, Bagnold.  You’re the shittiest misanthrope I’ve ever met.”  For someone who claimed to be so removed and disenchanted the rest of humanity and not give a damn about anyone, he sure as hell gave a damn about what they thought of him and his choices. 

Of course, he then turned it into some selfish plea for his own safety and Margo had to stop herself from rolling her eyes again.  She knew damn well that wasn’t what he was afraid of.  He was more afraid of his own family than he was of some crazy suspected murderer and violent attacker… not the right word, but whatever.  The word didn’t make it any less true. 

She just crossed her arms over her chest and levied a look at him, not bothering to say anything.  He didn’t seem very pleased with himself, and she didn’t need to kick him while he already realized what a tool he was being.  Finally, it seemed to be sinking in how ridiculous he was being. 

“I’ll get someone to look after Lizard,” Margo replied in a flat tone.  “And if you hex him,” Margo narrowed her eyes at him, her eyebrows drawn in, “I will personally see that the same hex is performed on you, by someone I am sure can perform it.” 

…Her threat was so ridiculous.  There was an honest effort to keep her mouth in a thin line and her face as hard as possible.  She was trying to be serious. But she couldn’t.  Margo was not a serious person, and just hearing herself say something like that - she started to laugh.  This time at herself.  Like she could get anyone to do that for her. 

“Alright ,maybe not…” she said between laughs, holding at her sides from laughing so hard.  “But I’ll probably light you or your stuff on fire.  I can promise that.” She wiped tears from the corners of her eyes, so amused.  Clearly, even a fight with Bagnold, for her, wasn't going to last very long.