Friday, early afternoon.


Maggie stood for a few minutes in front of Frank's door, questioning if she should knock. She'd last visited in November, and it felt like a different time, like ages had passed since she'd angrily stormed his flat and demanded to know why he hadn't owled her after the 'Iza Incident'. Now, she was here for a very different reason. Frank had sent her a note this morning, offering to tell her what had really happened on March 11, when he'd transformed into a direwolf and reportedly killed someone at Calaveras. And after that, when the Ministry had locked him up for over a month and released him on April 14th. She was supposed to listen, and write up his experience for the Daily Prophet. She was supposed to remain objective, unbiased, calm.

He couldn't have picked a worse person for the job. But despite her personal feelings and worries, Maggie had arrived as promised. She wore a summery, but professional outfit, touting her notebook and quill, her wand close by in her purse.

She took a deep breath and rapped smartly on the door.

Two and a half weeks and he still wasn’t caught up with work. He was preoccupied and stressed out. The idea of going back ‘voluntarily’ to a holding cell was making him jumpy and easily irritable. He still had a week before he was to report to the Ministry: then it was Wolfsbane and a hard bed to sleep in for a couple nights.

Frank had realized not too long after getting out that he wasn’t going to find the wizarding community as willing to understand his plight as he’d thought. What mentions the papers had made while he was stuck in jail for over a month had made a lasting impression on those who could remember a name.

He’d weighed his options and come to the best decision he could think of. Tell his story through someone else. If he wrote it, he might not be taken as seriously. But Maggie was also a journalist. Frank thought (perhaps incorrectly) that she would be able to be honest and unbiased in her article. She knew him well enough. She knew what sort of person he was. Or… well. Maybe he didn’t want her to write it after all.

Nonetheless, he’d sent her an owl inviting her over. Frank tried to calm his nerves by focusing on the latest work project, pushing his sleeves up to his elbows in turn before focusing on the writing in front of him, quill held between his teeth as he frowned down through his glasses in concentration.

And then he heard the knock. Blinking, he glanced towards the door before pulling the quill away from his mouth, setting both it and the bunched up paper in his hands aside. Running a hand over his five o’clock shadow, Frank made his way to the door. He opened it and smiled slightly at Maggie.

He stepped forward with an “I’m glad to see you” and wrapped her in a quick hug before retreating behind the door, allowing her passage into his apartment. “Would you like something to drink?” With the door closed behind her, he motioned to his living room, stepping after her, attempting to straighten out the mess he’d made of his coffee table. At least this time he was sober…

"Frank," she greeted him, surprised at the hug, but hugging him back. Maggie wasn't sure what she'd expected - fangs? Slobber? Hair sprouting out of his ears? He looked haggard and worn and there was scruff on his jaw, but he still greeted her warmly. He still acted like Frank. His flat was a complete mess, which made her feel more at home.

Maggie stepped inside, glancing at the papers on the coffee table that he was trying to tidy. "You don't have to worry about that," she offered, gesturing. "My place is just as bad." She shrugged, offering him a slight smile.

"Water's fine," Mags stuck her hands in her pockets and stood around for a few moments before sitting on his couch.

They hadn't talked or seen each other in a long time. She could blame the drama in both their lives, but Maggie knew that wasn't an excuse. Beyond the welcome home party he'd thrown for her last year, and the one or two dates they'd been on over the summer, she'd spent a lot of time holding a grudge against him about Iza and Akiva. Fair or not, she felt guilty about letting their friendship (or whatever it was) slide. If Frank hadn't owled her first, she was sure she would have just kept going on with her life as usual.

"I haven't seen you in ages," she voiced her thoughts in an uncharacteristically quiet tone, looking at him. Her gaze was uncertain, a little guarded. She should have probably asked him how he was.

Frank shrugged and grinned, glancing over to her before continuing his shuffling. He at least needed to make space for Maggie to sit and to be able to work. He shoved the stacks out of the way and dusted his hands off. “But I invited company to mine.” Besides, Laney might come over later… a tidier apartment would allow more room for making a mess.

Nodding, he moved into the kitchen, filling up a couple of glasses with cool water. Simple enough… and a lot tamer than the drink he’d had last time she’d popped over. Smiling at the memory, he walked back into the living room. Once handing her a glass, he sat down on the edge of a chair next to the sofa.

Thinking about it made him pause and consider. Glancing down into his glass, he nodded and let out a sheepish chuckle, sipping at the cool water before setting it on the coffee table. He patted his pocket to make sure his cigarettes were there—he would no doubt need a couple, getting through this interview. “Yes. A lot has happened since we last hung out.” Frank ran fingers through his hair before fixing his gaze on her.

Understatement of the night, for sure. He hadn’t been… a direwolf then. Even thinking the title made him wince a little. Leaning over, fishing into a pile of papers he had, Frank grinned and held up what he was looking for. “See?” Tossing the photo of him holding his prisoner number onto the coffee table, he finally settled back and crossed his leg over the other. “A little worse for wear during that…” There were photos of him in his other form as well. He’d been able to get his fingers on only one of them...

But he wasn’t sure if he wanted that sort of thing to get out. “What about you, though? Keeping busy?”

She sipped at her water. Frank was grinning, and acting much more relaxed than she was. Maggie had always thought that Frank had a pleasant, positive attitude, but she hadn't expected him to soldier on so well. Maybe because she knew she wouldn't have. 

Werewolf or no, he still had the same chuckle and the same way of running his hand through his hair. He handed her proof of his imprisonment from the clutter on the coffee table, as causally as if he were sharing vacation photos from Fiji.

Her mouth twitched. It looked like a joke shot at a theme park, but she blinked at it again and she could see the white background with the lines on it, Frank seeming so exhausted that he could barely hold up the prisoner sign. Maggie's expression turned somber for a few moments and she handed the photo back to him quickly.

"And I'm told I look bad at certain times of the month," she attempted a joke, disturbed at the sight. Frank Pratt- Ministry prisoner, just didn't fit. She could barely believe that something so terrible had happened to such a good person, that he could have transformed and done terrible things in turn, and that when in direwolf form, he was just as scary and dangerous as Dugan MacDuff. Macduff, who was perfectly suited to the Wanted posters scattered all over Diagon, smirking out at the populace with malice in his eyes.

Comparing the two direwolves was like comparing a three-month old beagle to Cujo.

"Yeah," she answered his polite question, then paused. What to say? She'd been writing, pestering Trevelyan, trying to get a lead on the Runespoor smuggling, escorting or visiting friends at St. Mungo's, thinking about the dagger's curse, and worrying over Margo. Most of those things she couldn't mention.

"You know me. Always writing. Or grumbling. Or both," she smiled, then shrugged. Ah, the career fair! That was safe. "Can you believe the Prophet sent me to the career fair in April? I don't know what they were thinking. I could've strangled Skeeter. But maybe that was their plan all along."

Maggie leaned back into the couch, relaxing a little. "I've been doing good. My friends though, you know, they keep getting into trouble," she raised her eyebrows and gave him a look. Trouble was one way of putting it. "I don't need to be that busy," she teased.

A laugh escaped him and he shrugged, accepting the photo back. “Not one of my finer moments caught on film, that’s for sure.” His hair was long, a scraggly beard was on his cheeks, and his eyes looked dazed and lifeless. It wasn’t exactly a photo he wanted his mum to see. Setting it back aside, he settled in to the chair comfortably. He had come to appreciate the comfort of his apartment. Compared to the bars he’d sat behind… it was a luxury he hadn’t realized he’d had.

Writing and grumbling. Sounded like a full day. He smiled and nodded. Raising an eyebrow, Frank shook his head at the career fair news. He hadn’t heard about it… Chuckling, he considered Rita and rolled his eyes. “She would’ve just scared the children though, with all that lipstick.” Then again, Maggie… well, maybe she was a good influence on the interested kids at Hogwarts. “I’m sure you did great.” She might grumble and moan, but she did her job.

For a moment, he didn’t realize that she might be talking about him. Or that he might be one of those unnumbered friends. When he did, a small O appeared on his lips and eyebrows rose in surprise before laughing. “Always good to keep you on your toes, Maggie.” Scratching the back of his head, he merely smirked and shook it. “So. You think you can do this piece?” He’d debated writing it on his own, back and forth, but he didn’t really know what to say.

But if he gave the information to Maggie… then she would. Cause she could look at it (somewhat) objectively. She could piece it together to flow without all that emotion that Frank wouldn’t be able to keep out of it. Biting his lower lip, his hands couldn’t seem to keep still, from moving to his lap, to the arm of the chair, to interlacing his fingers. He was a little nervous—trying to occupy his thoughts was harder than he’d expected. “I mean… I trust you with it.” She didn't have an ad lib quick quill like Skeeter, after all.

"Well, I tried," she shrugged with a slight smile. "The kids weren't all that bad. It was the booth people you had to watch out for." She said 'booth people' as if all the employers at the fair were body snatchers or something.

His joking, casual manner soon subsided to a nervous one, accompanied by lots of fidgeting. Some things never changed. Maggie remained outwardly calm, knowing this couldn't be easy for him and not wanting to contribute to his apprehension.

"Sure," she said with much more confidence than she felt. Maggie understood why he didn't want to write the story himself. She couldn't have imagined doing it if she were in his shoes, or even back when she was involved in the runespoor venom explosion. "It's no problem," she tried to reassure him. "It's the least I can do."

And really, he was doing her a favor, asking her to pen such an interesting (and likely controversial) tale. She wanted to do it justice, and she hoped she could. Being here, watching his reaction, made her a little more self-assured and determined.

"So, what would be easier for you?" Maggie wondered, setting her glass of water on the coffee table and plucking a quill and pad of parchment from her purse. "Do you want to explain how it all started, and I'll ask you questions along the way? Or I can just let you talk, and ask questions at the end?"

Maggie thought this would probably be a little awkward either way, since they already knew each other, but at least she wasn't worried about Frank getting upset and kicking her out before she got the chance to ask for clarification.

‘Booth people’ sounded like something horrible. Chuckling and raising an eyebrow, Frank tilted his head. “They sound like a worrisome bunch.” Though, didn’t she count as a ‘booth person’? Best not to split hairs, really. “Glad you got out of there unscathed.” And hopefully with a few interested children as well. Merlin knew they could use help at the Prophet.

Least she could do… was not be here at all. But Frank appreciated the words of support. Giving her a half grin, he merely nodded.

Scratching the back of his head, Frank leaned forward and sipped his water, leaving it on the coffee table before settling back into his chair. “Mm…” He bit his lower lip in consideration. Which would be easier? “How about you ask questions when I catch a breath?” Grinning, he gave her a shrug. “Ask any question you want.”

A hand ran over his mouth before resting on his thigh. He could do this. “November thirteenth was my first transformation. I don’t remember how I came to… having this curse. I don’t have any visible marks: no scratch, no bite. I woke up in Knockturn Alley, and…” He paused as he frowned, recalling how painful that first transformation was. “And I turned into a werewolf. No, a direwolf. Whatever they’re calling me. It was day time.”

His hand found its way to his chin, rubbing thoughtfully. Frank had said he’d divulge everything… but now he suddenly realized what ‘everything’ might entail. Wincing at the thought, he found Maggie’s face, focused on her eyes, and continued. “I was hungry. And… angry and in pain. I killed two people that day. Some old guy—” Frank was feeling a bit nauseous, so he repositioned himself and sipped a little more water. “And a redhead woman.” He’d sustained his own injuries that day as well. He still had a faint scar on his left lower side from the gash the man had given him.

There had been no report of werewolf activity at that point, however. They all assumed it was… some other attack. And he’d laid in bed for days after he turned back into Frank trying to recover. “I thought it was a nightmare. It still is a nightmare. But…” He shrugged a little, pursing his lips together like a five year old in thought. “I’ve been trying to keep myself under wraps when it happens. Attempting to find a way to leave the city. Or hide myself somewhere in the city. March didn’t work out like I’d hoped.”

He paused and waited, seeing if she had questions for before the big attack. It’d be easier to not back track if he gave her time as they went.

She could ask any question she wanted. Maggie listened to every word, her expression serious as she jotted down notes about his first transformation in November. Her quill stilled on the parchment when he mentioned that he'd been hungry. That he'd killed two people. She glanced up and met his eyes, so earnest and puppy-dog like. They didn't look like a killer's eyes. But her heart started thudding and she tried to swallow her shock and sudden anxiety.

What the hell had she gotten herself into? She knew what werewolves were like, she knew he'd killed. But hearing the words out of his mouth disturbed her. He described the people he'd killed as 'old guy' and 'redhead woman'. Did he know their names? Had he made an attempt to find out? Frank had realized something was wrong since November, and he'd managed to take care of it and hide it on his own. Until March. March hadn't worked out like he'd hoped. As if it were a rainy afternoon and he'd forgotten his umbrella.

Maggie repressed a shudder and sucked in a breath. As a journalist, she wasn't supposed to judge. As a friend, she was supposed to be supportive.

Even while reminding herself of those things, she blurted out the question that was foremost in her mind.

"So you knew?" She said bluntly, unable to soften her tone. "What I mean is," Maggie paused, emotion flickering across her face. "You remember enough to describe who you'd... killed. You describe it like a nightmare. Was some part of you aware of what you were doing as you were doing it? Or did you gradually remember, after you'd woken up?"

A degree of awareness was one of the purported differences between direwolves and werewolves.

How did you tell someone that you were a crazy monster that shouldn’t be let out into the world? It had obviously taken him some time to convince the Ministry… but he did have some sort of plausible deniability on his side. Who would take his word for it, that he was a werewolf? They would have to watch him transform… It just never came up.

Or he avoided it and hoped it would end.

Raising an eyebrow at her question, he  waited for her to elaborate. Frank glanced at his hand sin his lap for a brief moment. He’d looked in the Prophet for deaths reported… and he was fairly certain of the red-head who he’d murdered. The old man, however, hadn’t made it to the paper. The most recent attacks also flooded into his consciousness, but he kept it at bay for a few moments.

Licking his lips, he paused in his response as he worded it how he wanted to. Glancing to the ceiling, so he didn’t have to look at her face, he sighed and relaxed. “Have you ever felt like you weren’t you?” Rubbing at his eyes, he sat up and leaned forward, focusing on Maggie once more. “Like you were moving, but you weren’t sure how your feet were lifting up from the ground, how you were getting to the next place? So out of it… yet still there? It’s kind of that feeling, for me. For me-” A hand pressed into his chest in earnest, explaining himself as best he could.

“For Frank the Direwolf… he’s just focused on the smell, and the hunt, and the hunger he can’t quench.” Shrugging, he couldn’t think of how else to describe it. “I remember it happening as it happens, but I become a different part of me. Maybe we all have that potential in us, but our… humanity keeps it in check?” He was only one of very select few direwolves, as far as he knew. And until March… there hadn’t been talk about werewolves during the day.

Frank waited for the next loaded question. This was why he'd invited her over, though. He wanted to get this out.

Maggie tried to understand and imagine what it was like to turn into something that wasn't you, to wake up with blood on your hands. It must be terrifying. Part of her still judged him, and doubt reflected in her eyes as she studied his face. She didn't understand why he hadn't moved to a remote location, visited a Healer, or taken more action. She didn't want to think about everyone having the potential to kill (or be killed). These things weren't supposed to happen. Frank lived in London, in a flat not far from hers, and it was hitting a little close to home.

But Maggie nodded, determined to follow through on this interview. She took a sip of water and glanced down at her pad of paper.

"So you woke up in Knockturn. No bites, scratches, or marks," she repeated what he'd said, just to make sure she'd understood.

"Do you remember being in Knockturn before you'd blacked out? Do you remember anyone bothering you, or following you earlier that day? Or earlier in the week?"

That was one of the big questions: how had he gotten the curse? If he hadn't been bitten or attacked physically, then some renegade werewolf could have stalked him on purpose, or the curse was spreading in a way they couldn't see yet. An unknown threat was almost scarier than a big, hairy werewolf lurking in the moonlight.

Frank supposed it was a lot to swallow all at once. He’d tried to deny it was happening to him for a while, after all. But now he couldn’t. It was there… and he had to learn to live with it, or let it smother him. Somehow, he had to keep going forward. It had to be akin to having herpes or something… it was part of you forever, but you could learn to still live with it. And, as long as he didn’t bite anyone, it wasn’t that contagious.

Nodding his head to agree with her, he waited. Frowning at her next set of questions, he rubbed at his forehead and rested it in his palm. Frank had been drilled by those in charge of his forced living conditions. “Vaguely.” He tried to recall the fragments that he’d gone over and over again, not wanting to get them wrong. “I was working, dropping off books to clients who had paid for them. The last one was an older woman—” It had taken some time of research at work to also put these pieces together. “All I remember is she made a nice shepherd’s pie.”

It was a wisp of memory, one of the last ones before he woke up days later, wandless and hungry. His new wand wasn’t as strong, but Frank had never been the most amazing with his magical stick. “I don’t really know who would be bothering me or stalking me. But, no, I don’t remember anyone.” He was an average bloke who tried to pay his taxes and his bills on time. He had simple pleasures, enjoyed his books and his job, and liked peace and quiet more than a night out on the town.

Not for the first time, he wondered what Laney saw in him. Smiling a little, he leaned forward, took another sip of water, and sat it back down. It bothered him that he didn’t know how he’d come upon the curse. It set him on edge, made him uneasy. If it did that to him, he wasn’t sure how it felt for someone else who was realizing the same thing. “I think they-” being the ones looking into his case, “-think it was a memory wipe.”

Maggie looked vaguely concerned and unsettled as he described his day to day business. She could picture it clearly: Frank bumbling about Diagon, then Knockturn, giving people the same smile he offered her now. Maggie doubted he'd notice a threat until it was right on top of him, and even then, he'd probably turn around and cheerfully apologize for being in their way. She couldn't fault him - she was trying not to. But Maggie certainly couldn't expect the bloke to remember anyone dangerous or strange.

Damn it.

The mention of memory wipes made Maggie think of Niobe, who had been obliviated by some nut during the March eleventh werewolf attacks. Maggie had wanted to blame Tawse just because he was seen there, but according to Harcroft there wasn't enough evidence for that. Scowling, she shook her head in sympathy. This situation seriously sucked.

"Sometimes bits and pieces come back," Maggie offered. Still, it was probably best to move on to other questions.

She reached for her water and took a sip, then leaned forward, quill tapping on parchment. "Alright. Symptoms," Mags glanced at Frank. "Some part of you was aware during the transformation. How are you affected on, say, a normal day like today? Or the days leading up to a full moon? Do you seem to experience the same things as regular werewolves? Like a craving for rare steak, or mood changes?"

She said the last part with a bit of a smirk. If anyone could resist negative mood changes or outbursts, Frank could. Maggie, on the other hand, would be snarling and snapping at the slightest provocation.

Frank didn’t know if he wanted to know the details of his initial infection. That was how he looked at what he had: a disease, a curse, something that had somehow invaded him. Now he was forever changed. He didn’t want to wake up in the middle of the night from a nightmare that he was able to barely recall a word or two that might be from the night(s) he couldn’t remember. “Yeah…” PTSD for a traumatic event wasn’t unheard of. He just wasn’t sure how it’d effect him, considering he didn’t know what he should feel anxious about.

The unknown perhaps. Either way, he was still in the dark.

Glancing at his wrist, looking for a watch, he sighed in slight frustration. Then he recalled the day, and tried to do simple math in his head. He had to report to the Ministry on the eighth which meant…”We’re a little over a week from the next full moon.” Messing with his hair, he smirked. “I trim my hair on almost a daily basis. All my hair seems to just keep… growing.” Scratching at his five o’clock shadow, he shrugged. “I do crave rare steak… most meat as rare as I can get it.”

Frank considered her question about mood changes with a laugh. “I guess I’m moodier around that time of the month. Never expected to say that.” But he wasn’t sure if it was related to his condition, or if he was just upset that he knew what was coming now. “And I’m a werewolf for the full moon cycle, not just the evening time.” Shrugging a little, he rubbed the back of his neck, fingertips resting in the hair. “I haven’t tried wolfsbane yet. I imagine they'll make me do that this month. At the Ministry.” Considering it a moment, his eyes lit up and his eyebrows rose. “Hey, why don’t you come down during it? I’m sure we can arrange it somehow. That way you can see what happens from... from a safe distance.”

That would end up being Maggie’s decision, obviously, and he’d just have to run it by the Ministry. As he was voluntarily coming back in (not that they had given him much choice), he didn’t see why not. “I have to report there on the eighth by a certain time. You could hang out until I transform, get some sleep, come back for when I’m back to me again.” His hands came together between his knees and he rubbed them slowly back and forth.

All of the symptoms Frank described seemed typical of werewolves, except the bit about transforming during the entire full moon cycle. Maggie underlined those words in her notes. It was the kind of thing people would want to hear in definite terms, and she wondered, not for the first time, what affect this article would have on the general public, on people who already hated and feared werewolves. On people who supported them, too.

Maggie's eyebrows shot up when he offered her the chance to be there at the Ministry during the full moon. Oh, shite. She took a deep breath, managing to look incredulous, apprehensive, and concerned all at once. Maggie almost felt like she'd be intruding, and that someone like family should go with him. The thought of witnessing a transformation, even from a safe distance, freaked her out a little. But he was asking her to be there, asking for support, and hell, it ought to add something to the article. She'd see not only how wolfsbane affected a direwolf but also the process that werewolves went through each month.

"If you really want me there, Frank," she said slowly. "Yeah, I can do that. I'll come armed with my notepad, quill, and lame jokes about kibbles and bits," she offered with a shrug and a half smile.

"But hey, at least you'll know someone's there on the other side." On the other side of bars, a thick slab of concrete, and twenty trained RCMC employees, right?

Maggie paused. "So now that we've got those initial questions out of the way, do you want to talk about what happened in March?"