October, 1982
Somewhere near Bibury, Werewolf Colony

SHE ARRIVED IN THE REFUGEE CAMP earlier that morning. Under her coat, her sweat dump shirt was hugging her body tightly, and so were the hairs on her face. It was the end of October, and because of the freezing air, Epione caught a nasty cold. She had the bright idea of drinking a Pepper-Up Potion after waking up; therefore, she was now dragging her feet through the camp drenched in sweat, with a reddish steam emitting from her ears.

Not exactly a nice view.

It was just her fortune that the sun was hanging proudly in the sky, kissing her now reddening skin on the cheeks. Lately, she had been tanning, and now that she discarded her coat, it was easier to spot the fairer lines on her wrists where some bracelets were freely moving. Those were all of different colours and materials, based on the different werewolves' camps she had lately visited.

It was a recent custom these camps had adopted during the Wizarding War, to testify the visitor had been accepted as innocuous. After all, all Epione did was bringing them supplies, and often times help them practice magic spells... While she was gathering information or exchanging goods with whatever they had to offer.

In the last year, she had collected quite a few of them.

The one she received in Caerphilly was made of lovely beads she often enjoyed to twist. In Wington, they gifted her one out of wood; it had ancient designs, and was large enough to move freely along her arm. Her favourite was of red leather, with five different cords twisting in an intricate braid. She accepted it from the young child with golden eyes of the colony in Ballycastle; Thomas was only four and was the youngest werewolf she ever came across. The last one, it came from the camp near Bibury she was currently visiting. It was made of perfectly rounded steel, clean of any intricate drawings. It symbolized the magical mist utilized to hide away its dwellers.

If she had to be fair, this was by far her least favourite camp, even if it was situated just a short distance from her hometown. It was one of the biggest, but there were no children around, and the people there were... Well, they didn't welcome kindly the outsiders, especially noisy witches who only attracted trouble.

Despite the danger lurking behind her decisions, Epione still enjoyed visiting. If not for the werewolves living there, it was for the herbs she couldn't find anywhere else. And, of course, their houses. The living structures were built closely together, making the branches of trees twist and dance around each other to permit to walk freely up in the air. They were growing bigger, as much as the camp was: a sign those people were sure to stay safely hidden in the mist.

When her presence had been noticed, the noises around Epione stilled, as numerous watchful eyes were following her every move. They were of adults in worn clothes, most of them drunk out of their mind. Three of them were hanging on the branches, whilst a couple of women were bowing their heads in respect. Yet, most of the werewolves living there regarded her with such hatred that she was starting to question if they were really worthy of her help at all.

Of course they are worthy of help, she reminded herself. They were being hounded as if they were beasts.

Still, while making her way inside the camp, Epione kept her head held hight. She instinctively moved her hand on her wand studying the surrounding area. At her every step, her custard puffskein was trembling, securely hiding within the curls on top of her hair, somehow showcasing the anxiety the young witch fought to mask.

She reached the horse chestnut in the middle, now almost free of leaves, and dropped the enormous backpack from her shoulders in front the leader of the werewolves' pack; an elderly, bald man with a blue beard sitting on a throne of branches and ivy. The locks of his blue beard were constantly moving, curling, and straightening as if they were tentacles, while letting the liberty of the golden bells tied to them to create a haunting sound that reverberated through the mist and the forest.

"They finally got you, uh?" He rasped out eyeing the hideous, overlapping scars on her arm. "You better hide them!" 

Epione sat in front of him, ignoring his crude tone and let her trousers tint with the mud of the ground. She had snuck a few glances around while making her way into their territory, and the absence of familiar green eyes made her bite her lip restlessly. "Where are Liv and Noah?"

"Olivia's dead." At her gaping, he spoke again. "Somehow, her name made its way into the list of know werewolves of the Ministry. They found her down in town. They didn't even bother locking her up. Cursed her on the spot."

"What was she doing there? I thought it was clear it's not safe to be wandering around, ESPECIALLY NOW!"

"WATCH YOUR FUCKING TONE! Who are you to tell us what to do? Uh?"

Epione let out a shuddering sigh. Yet the sorrow she suddenly felt, soon left space to anger, and then to concern and panic. "It was reckless... What about- what about Noah?"

"That idiot is fine.. He's just hiding away. Throwing a tantrum because of his girlfriend."

Epione would hardly call grieving the murder of his own girlfriend "throwing a tantrum"; yet she kept her mouth shut. She would have to find him later.

The witch regarded the bald man in front of her with a dangerous look and pushed her backpack towards his feet. She had placed an extension charm upon it, so that she could refill it with as much as supplies as possible.

Inside there was a good amount of food and clear water that would feed the people living in the camp for at least two months. Thankfully, the number of werewolves in Britain wasn't as high as the rest of Europe and so in every camp she visited, Epione would meet around 10-15 of them. Because of the war the numbers had raised drastically, and most of wizards and witches that had been forced to rebuild their lives needed help.

In addition, there were clothes, blankets and pillows, and board games.

There were also two very useful books she had translated from German (one was about protective charms; the other of advanced defence spells), and various wands she had collected around. Some had been brought, others had been acquired from... let's say, not-so-friendly encounters. A few had been gifted to her by Gregorovitch when she visited only a few months back. They weren't all in perfect conditions, but were of different types of woods and cores. So, hopefully, the people who needed them could choose their better fit.

Growing up, Epione couldn't recall meeting any young werewolf, aside from Noah, who received a formal magical education. Their condition was difficult to hide, and most headmasters weren't brave enough to risk their reputations for people like them, or simply weren't strong enough to keep their school and students safe. Noah had been lucky enough to be admitted in Durmstrang because of his great grandmother, who was one of the potions professors there; and of course, because of Reidun Dahl, the Headmistress. She really did her best to make sure he was in safe hands during his transformations and let him use one of the abandoned school classrooms built underwater, shielded by protective spells only the most outstanding wizards were able to break.

Epione was still immersed in her own thoughts when the old werewolf in front of her grunted, throwing her books away in a puddle of mud. "Those are quite pricey, y'know?"

"We have no use for them, stupid witch! Most of us haven't used a wand in years!"

Epione eyed him sceptically. She could understand his lack of willpower on engaging in such "ludicrous activities", as he often had referred the art of practicing spells. Yet, if he wished to guide his own werewolves to a victory against the Ministry, they all had to strengthen their knowledge.

"Then, it's the right time to do it! If you're not up to protect your people, maybe you should let someone else to sit on that ridiculous throne of yours." The elderly gaped at her, yet before he could even think to speak, she interrupted him again. "If I'm not mistaken, Lalla Thompson had received quite an education before the start of the War. She would be perfect to teach the others and lead them to safety."

Lalla, a cute redhead who was picking the muddy books from the puddle, tuned towards the witch on the ground and smiled. "I will teach them if they want to learn. Thank you for the wands, Miss Belby."

Epione beamed in return, before shifting towards the scowling man in front of her. She was looking at him expectantly, letting her eyes shifting from him to the backpack in a manner that was not so subtle.

"Ah! I knew you didn't come here with all of this without asking for something in return!" The bald elder snarled while his beard started moving and took out a sack from behind his throne of leaves. "Here! Here! The dittany you asked. We can't give you more: the full moon is just a few days away."

Epione nodded and tied the sack to her leather belt. She was grateful they were able to spare some for her. Being always on the road, proved to be deleterious if she wanted to grow healthy plants. Also, dittany was very difficult to find after the war and way too expensive to buy; but this particular group had discovered a secret dealer who was advocating for their cause. She was sure her father would be able to incorporate it successfully into the formulas she was testing. He was by far a much better potioneer. "What about the last few months? Did the potions work in some ways?"

"Of course not, you silly girl! You surely didn't expect those putrid concoctions would work?!" The old man sighed. "Tasted like shit, too. What did they teach you in that northern prison?"

"Have you tried to add just a spoonful of sugar?"

The blue-bearded man growled and threw mud at her face. Unfazed, Epione twisted her wand and cleaned herself. At least, I'm doing something.
"I'll try something else, then." Standing up, she reassured her whimpering puffskein hanging on the top of her head, and went to walk where the mist was denser.

Epione climbed the ladder made of tresses of branches and slipped within the passages in search of her friend. If Olivia's name was on that list the Ministry acquired, there was a chance Noah's was also there.

Spying inside the opening of each living structure made her feel somehow dishonest, especially when met with the glariest of gazes from the werewolves living in them.

She found Noah in one of the upper ones, where the mist was so thick that she could barely see two feet ahead of her. She cautiously made her way inside, befriending the shadows where Noah was hiding. He was sniffing on the wooden floor, tightly embraced by a wool jumper hanging on his shoulder, with his head bent and covered with his arms.

Epione proceeded towards him and grimaced at the sound of empty cans she mistakenly kicked. She waved her wand in a circle, softly murmuring emundare cubiculum, and watched as the room cleaned itself of any junk.

Still, Noah didn't seem to have spotted her, which she would usually find insulting if he wasn't going through one of the worst types of heartache. So, she knelt beside him and, after a few moments, raised her hand to make her presence noticed.

Noah jumped and scurried away when she finally tapped on his shoulder. He jumped so far he reached the opposite wall with a hand posed against his vividly beating heart. The deep scars on his wet face created even more daunting shadows.

With his free hand, he began signing swiftly, "You almost gave me a heart attack!"

"I'm sorry. I just wanted to say 'hi' before going to rest."

Noah let out a shaking sigh, before launching to hug her. The force of it, made her puffskein fly from her hair with a 'squeak'. Epione couldn't move fast enough to catch it, as Noah's arms sneaked around her torso and held her closer than he ever did. She caressed his hair instead, lightly, just how her father would do when she was sick.

This pain, his pain, it was tremendously real; real as the agonizing cries that escaped his lips; real as the agitation spinning inside him, as the rage he poured into her, so that she too could sense the tears threatening to fall.

And when she felt him crumbling in her embrace, and his tears straining her shirt, and his body trembling, it felt even more difficult to breathe.

Epione wasn't sure what was the right way to console him, if only existed one. Even during the war, she had been lucky; she had loved, yes, and had lost some people she had worked with; and even though she had liked them, she never tried to befriend them in the first place, scared of the caducity their roles carried. She learnt of the deaths of some acquaintances from her childhood in England and clearly felt miserable but she, almost ashamed to admit it, never felt real grief.

She had never lost someone she loved, someone so close to her, in such a definitive way.

So, Epione acted as she always did after every full moon with him. She held him for hours, and kissed his forehead tenderly, and even if they never needed words, and even when Noah could never hear her voice, she hummed a lullaby, letting the vibrations soothing him to sleep.

Whatever the Ministry would toss at him, it wouldn't matter. Epione will be glued at his side and show them all their place.

"Too-ra-loo-ra-loo-ral
Too-ra-loo-ra-li
Too-ra-loo-ra-loo-ral
Hush now don't you cry..."

[Too-Ra-Loo-Ra-Loo-Ral, Bing Crosby]