A pale hand was reluctantly raised to the door where the knuckle aggressively rapped against the wood. The hand was quickly brought back and the witch at the door took a careful step back, a cold stocking clad foot squelching in the wet sludgy mud beneath her. A sound of disgust escaped the witch’s lips as the muddy water seeped between her toes once more.

At this particular moment in time Hannah cursed countryside, she cursed mud, she cursed rain and she most definitely cursed the St Mungo’s hospital records where she had swiped this wizard’s address. When one apparated to a location, they thoroughly expected to arrive at it. Instead, the poor, city wise Healer Bombay had found herself stood in the black of night in the middle of a very large and very wet forest and it certainly hadn’t been raining last time she’d checked.

Very quickly the witch had pulled the hood of her large dark blue cloak over her head to shield her neatly pinned back hair from the rain. She had unfortunately been rather too slow and instead of remaining neat and dry, the young healer instantly took on the appearance of a drowning dog. Yet her hair hadn’t been the biggest worry. Instead her heels had been slowly sinking back into the soggy mud of the forest and as she tried to free them, she sunk further.

Apparently making a late night decision to do something about an issue bothering her wasn’t going to plan out as well as Hannah had hoped. It was almost midnight and Hannah would have been in bed resting for her early morning shift in St Mungo’s if it hadn’t been for the light in the living room being on with Johann’s late night work and a million and one thoughts rushing through the young healer’s mind.

So after removing one pair of very muddy shoes and walking what seemed like miles in the direction the Greyfriar house was sure to be in cold, practically bare feet, Hannah was stood outside wishing she hadn’t bothered venturing out on the particular evening.

Especially when the door opened.

Knox Greyfriar was asleep in his chair.  The wizard who measured at just under 6 foot 4 was a great bulk in the small cluttered cottage room, feet up.  Outside a brisk spring storm raged on, battering the hundreds-of-years-old house.  Greyfriar's snoring was quite drowned out and even cracking of thunder didn't wake him.

A sudden draft through cottage (there were windows open both upstairs and down), sent papers flying and hanging jars and pans clattering together.  The gust then surged and the red front door blew in, and slammed against the wall with a bang!

Knox woke with a start, jerking awake and his wand hand instinctively reaching out for where he'd left it on a stack of books by his chair.  He blinked rapidly, and vocalized indistinctly.

"Who...! What...! Ragglefrom snolidget! Lumos!"

He was faced with a gaping black hole out his front door, outside the rain pouring down loudly and wind whipping through the little house.  His wand light hit upon a hooded figure on his doorstep, looking the very vision of Death's Spectre.

On his feet, his full height in the small cottage, he crossed the distance from his chair to the door in two swift strides, wand ahead of him.

Brows furrowed, he peered out of the cottage at his visitor.  He made out her features under the hood and his face relaxed. 

"You..."

But then memories of Marches past welled up in his mind.  Memories of waking up in a cell, being questioned, treated like a criminal. Humiliated.   Any softness in his expression disappeared for a very inhospitable scowl.

"You!"

The gust of wind that had torn viciously through the forest at that moment caused the door Hannah had just knocked to blow open, the large wooden fixture swinging dangerously upon it’s hinges and slamming against the inner wall of the very tiny, seemingly very old shack. The roaring breeze also managed to knock the very slight witch off her balance. She uneasily placed yet another step forward, feet once more planting themselves in some very unpleasant feeling sloppy mud.

While Hannah Bombay was once more grasping hold of her bearings, the bearish man from inside the building the witch could only describe as an old beaten shack was looming upon her. His giant figure had risen from the chair and large footsteps had very quickly crossed the small room and neared the no doubt unwanted visitor.

A pair of soft brown eyes flashed up to meet those gazing at her, slowly registering the features under the hood that swamped her figure. His first word had given Hannah just a small amount of hope that he would be welcoming and had perhaps put their previous encounter behind him.

Yet apparently that hadn’t happened. Very quickly Hannah registered a change of expression and feeling morphing his features and instead of inviting her to partake of the warmth of his little shack in the middle of the forest; Knox Greyfriar repeated the first word with a far less welcoming intonation.

The werewolfs eyes boring into her own didn’t put Hannah off. Instead she frowned herself and removed the hood, revealing wet hair falling at her shoulders. “I’ve always been informed that you are generally welcoming to former pupils, Professor. I would sincerely appreciate if you would allow me to enter your...” Alert eyes quickly flashed up, assessing the building before she looked back at her unwilling host, “home.”

The wind battered against them both, and Knox's stocking feet were getting wet.  Why now? Why her? 

The face-off was broken when her words about his legendary hospitality moved him out of her way.  Even though one hand was up at his face, the other barely gestured for her to get in out of the rain. It was mostly true, although very few former students had ever called upon him at home, and even then, it was usually the fresh graduates, eager to show off their new-found adulthood.  It was never, had never been, a witch who'd been a party to undignified imprisonment. 

But she was here now.  The quiet Hannah Bombay. 

There was a fire in the big hearth, a hearth so big as to take up an entire wall of the little house.  There was some abandoned cookware out, half filled with food.  The only available place to sit, not covered in books or papers, was the chair Knox himself had just vacated.  With two people in the small room, it seemed even smaller.

"Are you people making house calls now?" he accused, still assuming she was lackey to the Werewolf Capture Unit.  "It must be important for you to disturb a Wizengamot Elder in his home in the middle of the night." 

The big, angry wizard just stood by the closed door, his posture and tone demanding an explanation for the intrusion.

“A house call implies a suitably sized building to call a house with a satisfactorily simple address. “ The overly logical witch bluntly stated as she stepped into the uncomfortably claustrophobic living room. And as light brown eyes swept across the busy surfaces, awash with books and food implements containing the remnants of the wizard’s dinner, Hannah became rather aware that this was in fact the room where her former headmaster did do the majority of his living.

After a moment’s analysis of the living conditions of the older and much larger werewolf, Hannah spun on her bare fee to face him once more. The expression laced amongst his bearded features was certainly akin to how he had appeared in that cell 4 months ago, furious with the indignity she had apartment treated him to. This seemed to be a man who let anger rule his conscious. It also seemed to be a wizard who liked to mention his status as often as possible when his own dignity and position was under threat.

“What makes you, sir, a Wizengamot Elder, anymore important than every other witch or wizard? Than any other werewolf perhaps?” The witch’s eyebrows rose as she studied the wizard looming in the doorway.

Before the wizard received a chance to respond with his no doubt angry tirade, Hannah pushed on. “You excel in informing me at every opportunity of your status, Professor. Yet it seems to me that being a Wizengamot Elder isn’t something to brag about or threaten with when it certainly hasn’t helped with your own plight.”

The on-the-verge-of-bellowing old man, curled a lip and cocked his head in obvious confusion as the raggedy wet witch proceeded not only to insult his home (which was a very old, very magical house that had been in the family for years and served its inhabitants just fine, thank you very much) but to question the nature of his well-earned position of esteem and authority in Britain's wizarding society. 

He'd let her into his house! He was doing her a favor! Calling on him late at night, asking for admittance under the hospitable guise of a student seeking to speak with her former professor! A cloak of good will she'd worn! And here she was, sniping at him like some sort of outcast whelp! Biting the hand that offered her a warm place to be on such a horrible wet night!

Knox Greyfriar couldn't fathom it.  And the gargling was never far from his mind.

"If you have to ask those questions, Bombay, then you have no business being in my house at this hour!" he thundered.  "Former student or not, you're a horrible guest.  Out with you!"

He placed a hand on the knob, turned it, and threw open the door.  A sheet of wind and rain rushed in, throwing Knox's robes whipping round his ankles.  Despite his temper, there was a confused sort of hurt behind his eyes.  He was constantly aware of his newly gotten temper.  Ever since his be-cursing, he'd found it harder to find that calm level.  But he was also no end of frustrated at how people had changed around him, at how people looked at him now.  Even in his own house. 

The booming didn’t cease. Hannah’s words appeared to have the affect of augmenting the level of Greyfriar’s rage to a point where the much smaller, much quieter witch felt extremely uncomfortable. It would certainly be difficult not to feel intimidated in such a position where one 6 foot 4 inch giant was looming at a much smaller 5 foot 2 inch witch’s only escape route, roaring and not considering the reality of the words spoken. He’d taken it as an insult and Hannah very briefly considered obeying him and making a sharp exit from the tiny house, forgetting about the whole incident.

But leaving, backing down and ignoring the reality wouldn’t get her anywhere. She would still be in a position to lose patients, Knox Greyfriar would still despise her and the whole situation with werewolves would remain exactly the same. Hannah certainly didn’t want that and she was fairly sure the booming wizard before her, if he realised, wouldn’t want it either.

So despite the door being once more thrown back and the blast of wind that tore through the small house knocking the witch of balance, she refused to leave and enter the bitter outside weather. Instead Hannah pushed back against the work surface she’d been knocked against and stood straight against the wind. She ignored the foreboding billowing of her former teacher’s robes and she looked up at him. Apparently she was a horrible guest.

“I’m...” The words spoken at the same volume level as before barely reached the air. The billowing wind, the thundering rain drowned her quiet, calm voice out and left the only option available to shout. To turn into every other emotionally controlled witch and wizard out there and shout to have her own voice heard.

“I'm a horrible guest and I’m also a werewolf!” The small healer shouted, feet planted carefully on the floor as she braced against the wind, the cold that was invading the previously warm sanctuary. Feeling her own voice raised in such a manner certainly triggered something in the recently changed woman. She felt her own anger, her own frustration mount as she attempted to match the wizard bellow for bellow. “And I’m not leaving until I’ve done what I came here to. So unless you’re going to drag me out yourself, shut the damn door!”

"Whatwasthat?" 

All ready to be irate and bellowsome, Knox almost didn't hear Hannah Bombay's claim correctly.  Did she say werewolf?  That she was a werewolf?  All the bloody wind and weather was forcing them both to yell at each other and so Knox obediently closed the little door to his little house.

"What did you say?" he asked, peering at her from the door mat.  He looked her all over, searching her features for the clues that must be there.  A sick sort of pallor, a slight sharpening of the canines, a self-conscious short temper, perhaps more hair than usual at the jaw or upper lip...  The light was too poor for even a cursery examination, and Greyfriar pulled back.

"Did you say that you are a werewolf?"  he asked a third time in a row, explicitly getting to the fact of it. 

That would be a very strange turn of events indeed.  Had she been a werewolf all this time? Since March? Since before? His mind, perhaps foolishly, rolled back to her school days, trying to recall if she could have been hiding her condition like Olivia Foley.  He couldn't get a read on her - her raggedy appearance could just a surely be from the storm and her no doubt confusing walk up to his house. 

The eyes Hannah could barely make out analysed her and she found the critical gaze extremely unpleasant. Despite the lack of wind now billowing into the house and making the looming figure of her ex-professor appear more intimidating, powerfully flipping his robes and hair into energetic disarray, Hannah still stood braced, a hand on the work surface beside her as she stared at the wizard in the dim light.

Three times Knox had asked for clarification. The question had been worded differently, each time making comprehension easier, yet Hannah still didn’t want to clarify. She had struggled to admit it the first time. To say that she was a werewolf and she certainly wasn’t planning on repeating the words.

Greyfriar, however, worded the question in such a way Hannah didn’t need to repeat the offending word werewolf. She crossed her arms over her chest in a meaningless form of defence and nodded. “Yes.” The witch confirmed verbally.

“I presume you remember that morning we reaffirmed our acquaintance very well,” she began before finally placing the far from sensible shoes on the ground at her feet. “Several hours before that meeting I had been bitten. I apologise for my demeanour on that occasion but I had no patience to be dealing with immature displays of dramatics like the ones you presented.”

So it was true!  The moment she voiced the affirmative, Knox animated from his place at the door and began to move around the small main room of the little house.  At first it wasn't plain what he was looking for, but he was clearly picking through his stacks for something. 

But he paused in his fiddling and looked up with another dirty scowl.  Even as she admitted the horrible curse they were both afflicted with, she still thought it appropriate to talk about that morning where he'd woken up in a jail cell.  No wand, no clothing.  And then was subjected to questioning and examinations like a criminal.  His own stubbornness had earned him two full days in that cell, before he finally agreed to Healer Bombay's potion.  It had been the most humiliating and undignified experience of his entire life and she was calling him immature.  Becoming a werewolf had apparently not instilled a sense of fraternity in her.  But then, she had not had the pleasure of her own hospitality.  Clearly not.  She was still on the offensive.

He closed his eyes, and his nostrils flared as he took a careful breath and counted from fehu to naudiz. The urge to snap at her, to respond to the provocation was nearly overwhelming.  But now, more than ever, he'd head to take great effort not to satisfy the stereotype that he was a wizard out of control, a becursed beast.  The sliver of sympathy for her was the only thing that kept him from throwing her out bodily.

Breathe in.  Breath out. 

"Condolences for your ordeal," he half-whispered, half-growled through gritted teeth as he slowly resumed his search about the cluttered room.

He found what he was looking for, a file of papers.  He took it to the chair he'd been snoozing in and sat down.  Knox put on his reading glasses, and looked up at her again.

"Why have you come, then?" he asked, still with that edge of holding back his temper, but trying very hard to be the figure former students always expected him to be.

Truthfully Hannah’s curiosity spiked as Greyfriar animated and began to avidly search for something that was apparently of importance. Her curiosity didn’t, however, deter Hannah from her focus or her words. The scowls and his entire attitude towards her didn’t go unnoticed but the healer certainly hadn’t expected to be embraced by her former teacher with a welcoming bear hug to match his bearish size and kind words. Her lack of patience and respect upon their previous meeting had made sure that certainly wouldn’t happen. And Hannah certainly didn’t know what she would do if yet another person thought it was acceptable to hug her.

To contrast the wizard’s search, Hannah remained still, rooted to the spot as her wet stocking covered feet relaxed amongst the threading of the rug she was stood upon. Yet after a grumbled condolence, the wizard ceased his search and lowered himself into his armchair with the findings, leaving Hannah still stood in a room with no more chairs.

The question was momentarily left unanswered as Hannah stared across at the spectacled man from a childhood she’d tried so hard to forget. He didn’t understand. To him the petite healer was a mousy ex-pupil being disrespectful and ungrateful to her former teacher. Yet the reality was he no doubt barely remembered her. Few people did from her Hogwarts days unless they were the ones poking fun at the short mousy haired glasses wearing geek. Hannah hadn’t had friends and she certainly hadn’t tried to attract attention to herself. If it hadn’t been for the girl’s intelligence she may as well have been invisible.

Hannah slowly took a deep breath and regarded the wizard cautiously. “Because I’m scared.” She paused, hugging the wet cloak to her body. “Because you know what it’s like to wake up naked and cold somewhere strange and unwelcoming and not realise where you are or how you got there until the scars on your body trigger your memories to finally return. Because you recognize what’s it’s like for individuals to treat you differently because they consider you a monster.”

Knox's hardened expression of businesslike composure cracked, and he frowned.  The deceptively pretty Healer, slim of build, professional and composed... she was afraid.  Like they all were.  She'd come uninvited, she'd leveled accusations against him, but she was here because perhaps she had no one else to turn to.  One found it hard to believe looking at her - she was put-together.  Seemed like she would have friends and family to help her through a troubling time.

He almost felt ashamed for his gruffness, but she'd already reminded him of his handling that morning.  Indignation had a way of pushing away any feelings of culpability that he should have been kinder to her. 

Knox didn't know exactly what to say to her, nor what she wanted to hear from him.  He had had an inkling of an idea of what to do with her, and it was sitting in the file on his lap, but the game had changed somewhat.  The tone was different.  He supposed...

"Tea, then," he said.  He laid the file on a small round side-table, and pushed himself up from the chair.  He indicated with a wave of his hand that she should replace him in the big chair.  His other chairs were few, more utilitarian than cozy, and covered with stacks of books.

He moved past the witch to his cooking hearth.  With a quick augamenti spell, he summoned forth water to fill his battered red kettle.  He hung it on a hook above the fire and set out two deep cups.  He went about picking away at a brick of tried tea leaves and arranging the tea into a pair of mis-matched silver-colored steepers. 

"You know," he said from the table, trying to keep his tone calm, "I'm just as new at this as you are.  Probably just as scared.  You saw how I reacted at the door.  Feels like I've lost all sense of security and privacy."

He wasn't looking at her, giving her some moments of not being stared at.  He picked at the tea preparations instead, keeping his eyes on his work.

"It's a terrifying feeling, not being trusted.  I realize that's one of the two legs I stand on.  Now it's been kicked out from under me.  Did you know that it might have been me who killed Ramona Flickwick?"  he shook his head.  "There's no way of knowing.  There were others loose that night.  But it could have been me."

His tone was calmer than it ought to be, saying what he was saying.  But he was honestly somewhat thankful to have a werewolf's ear no matter how hostile it was.

The British were known for one particular cliché the most. Perhaps it was due to the truthfulness of it. Muggles, witches, wizards, they all had one primary action built into their minds when a problem occurred. Before anything else could be done to solve the problem at hand, one member of the group or couple would brew a pot of tea and they would sit drinking the tea and talking. There must have been some logic in the action or something strong in the drink because a catastrophe could not pass by without tea leaves or a teabag making contact with very hot water.

Even Mr Knox Greyfriar, werewolf and Wizengamot Elder followed in the wholly British tradition, rose from his chair and began to brew a pot. In fact, as the burly wizard did push himself up from the cozy appearing armchair and neared his visitor, Hannah thought he was very nearly going to hug her, a show of werewolf fraternity. Fortunately the dreaded act didn’t occur and she was able to slip quickly away and ease into the seat he’d so recently vacated.

“And it was no fault of your own, Mr Greyfriar.” The witch nervously ventured as Knox admitted his own worry. She was grateful for this tiny moment in a very uncomfortable visit. This was a moment she could revert back to her professional analysis of the situation, to what she had found out at their last encounter. “You took your wolfsbane as required of you by law and you went into your cell without trouble. It was the incompetence of the WCU that caused that, not your own.”

Taking a deep breath, Hannah leaned back, trying to feel at home in the chair built for a being much larger than herself. She failed and returned to the default position of perched on the edge of the seat. As she continued to speak, the professional tone faded away, leaving the calm yet slightly nervous voice in its place. “I also reacted wrongly to you. I was scared and angry when I entered that cell and when I saw what was facing me, I panicked.”

When Bombay began to reply about the night in question, Knox kept his eyes on the tea; he was taking longer to prepare it than he really needed to, being particular as to give Hannah Bombay more privacy from his gaze.  But when she spoke of him doing his duty, taking his wolfsbane, he looked up grimly and caught her glance with a furrowed brow.

It was almost a warning look.  He had very little interest in her opinion of the matters of that night - she'd made herself plain enough already.  He'd been immature.  He'd over-reacted. 

But she didn't go where he thought she might, and he looked back down, back at his little preparations.  Soon the tea leaves, steepers and cups were ready and all they'd need is the hot water in a few minutes time.  He stayed on his side of the table, and readied himself to engage in a reply.

He didn't know what to say to what was nearly an apology. 

"A ragged old wizard in his bathrobe?" he said dryly, a lame joke at his own expense.  He was just waiting by the table, one hand resting on the surface, the other in his robe pocket.  He rather wanted a smoke, but soon he'd have tea to occupy his hands, nervous from the tension.  He still wasn't sure about how close to get to Bombay, both figuratively and physically.  He felt that even looking at her was an invasion.  He'd felt the same way himself.

"Or your own possible future?  Did you know by that morning?  Did you know by then if you'd been cursed?"

The pathetic attempt of a joke went unmentioned. It was a defence mechanism the wizard had obviously put in place. If he insulted himself she wouldn’t have to, it would be easier for him. Hannah had never engaged in such a mechanism, jokes and smart comments flying straight over her overly logical, overly focused mind. But all that was changing. She struggled to hold onto the logic, the professional composure as the venom seething through her veins forever attempted to ignite a temper, to make her lash out and become the emotionally charged person she had always prided herself that she wasn’t.

Did she know by that morning? Hannah frowned, looking down at the hands that sat awkwardly on her knees. She didn’t need to confirm having seen her own future in Knox Greyfriar. That was apparent.

“I knew from the moment the teeth ripped my flesh.” The words came out cold, distant and the witch very quickly stood. For a moment she pondered making a sharp exit, abandoning the intimate conversation with glee and her own hopes of what they could do in this situation. After a glance at the door and a cold wet reminder of the weather outside dripping down her face from the sodden hair, Hannah decided to remain where she was. And so she untied her cloak and removed it, placing it over a messy pile of stuff beside the chair.

“I’m a healer, Greyfriar. I couldn’t ignore what was laid out in front of me. I knew but I didn’t wish to believe it.” She’d put the wish to curse Kurby Bagnold down to his simple arrogant demeanour, she’d put the fatigue engulfing her entire body shortly after leaving the ministry down to a long shift despite the fact she’d never felt such feelings before. Hannah had known but her conscious mind had been determined to ignore it in the daft hopes that it would go away.