Harry Underhill sat on the floor of his living room a bit after half seven, sipping imaginary tea from a tiny china cup patterned with roses. He wore his best suit and tie and even a top hat, which was perched upon the very top of his head in a most fashionable way. Beside him sat Leopold the Lion and Poppy Pig, whose sewn-on smiles were bright as their button eyes stared straight ahead. Straight across was Marjorie, who was doling out generous spoonfuls of imaginary sugar to stuffed dog named Mr. Pistachio.

"Would you like one lump or two, Daddy?" Marjorie asked primly.

"Two please," Harry Underhill nodded and held out his cup. Marjorie stuck her spoon into the empty cup in her hand and was surprised when she managed to shake out two very real cubes of sugar - her eyes going wide. "It's like magic!" Mr. Underhill declared as Marjorie laughed.

She poured Leopold what had to be the lion's third cup of imaginary tea. "Tough day at work, 'ey?" Underhill asked him, raising his teacup in commiseration with the stuffed beast, who stared ahead as always. Underhill wondered if the toys moved and talked in Marjorie's mind. He'd never been very good at imagination the way Marjorie was. When he'd been a child, he'd been more the rough and tumble, sports-playing sort.

There was a knock at the door that interrupted the tea party and Harry Underhill glanced at the clock on the mantel over the fireplace as he pushed himself up from the floor, his brows cinching together. "Marjorie," he said in a very serious tone, "Please go upstairs and wash your face and get changed for bed. Pick out a story and Daddy will be up shortly."

"Okay." Marjorie grabbed the arms of her three stuffed animals and obeyed immediately - they had a very well established and well practiced code. If he told her to go and wash her face, Marjorie was to go upstairs, lock her bedroom door, and wait quietly. She was to stay there until he came, knocked twice, and recited the first two lines of their favorite bedtime storybook.

Harry Underhill waited, listening to her foot fall up the stairs and across the hallway, before he went to the door, wand ready in his hand, and peered through a tiny peek-hole like the ones Muggles used. Outside a man lurked on the doorstep - directly beside him, a woman holding a small girl, and on the man's hip, asleep against his chest, a small boy.

Underhill hesitated, wand held at chest level, and opened the door just far enough the chain caught it from going further, wand tip poking out the gap as he leaned to look out at them. "Who are you?" he gruffed through the gap.

The man's eyes met Underhill's, even as he brought his hand up to cover the boy's head protectively. "My name is Carl Lyson. We spoke briefly in Blackburn a couple of weeks ago." He nodded to his wife, who pulled one of Underhill's Ministry issued business cards from her pocket and held it up for him to see. "You said if I - if I had information about the werewolves in Blackburn to seek you out."

Underhill's eyes moved over Carl Lyson, over the child on his hip, over the desperate look of fear on his wife's eyes and the child on her own hip.

"I'll give you information in return for sanctuary," Carl said. "For me and my family."

Underhill hesitated.

"Please," Carl Lyson begged.

"How do I know this isn't a trap? That you're not all death eaters, or enemies, trying to get in the door? Looking for an invitation to cross the threshold - a very vampiric practice!" Underhill said.

Carl's eyes were sad. "I have information about vampires too."

The  child against his chest stirred then, and yawned, adjusting the placement of his face and Underhill could see the boy's features, a perfect blend of his mother and father. Underhill's eyes moved to the girl.

"They've seen too much," Carl Lyson said lowly, seeing Underhill's eyes shift from one child to the other. "They deserve better. If Greyback kills me for deserting, so be it, but I owe them the chance at something better."

"Will you consent to the use of veritaserum?" Underhill asked.

"What is that?" Carl asked.

"Potion - truth-telling potion. Once you've drank it, you cannot tell a lie," Underhill explained.

Carl nodded, "Anything."

Underhill considered his options. "Will the cellar do? It isn't much, but it's finished and there's a couch down there, it's hidden away - and --" he hesitated. He didn't want to seem cruel, but his interest was protecting Marjorie.

"And you can lock it," Carl said, understanding. "I would protect my family that way, too, Mr. Underhill. I understand. And honestly, we've stayed in a cellar many years under lock and key of the pack Alpha."

"Only until we've completed the veritaserum."

Carl nodded.

Underhill raised his finger signaling just one moment, closed the door, and cast a spell to block the stairwell, then undid the lock and chain and ushered Carl and his family inside. The girl yawned and shifted as they entered the house, waking up and looking 'round the living room. She was small, a toddler, and had thick, dark curls like Marjorie's, which fell over her face. Her button nose matched her mother's. She looked around the house and then at Underhill and her face pinched with worry before she shoved her face back into her mother's neck, squeezing her eyes shut.

Underhill waved for them to follow him and the family did. They went down into the cellar. He'd carpeted the floors and covered the walls with drywall, but it wasn't big, certainly not enough for a family of four to stay longer than a night or two. He waved his wand and the couch unfolded, converting to a bed, large enough the four of them could cram together to sleep. "Are you hungry? Thirsty?" he offered.

Carl nodded, "Very."

Underhill said, "Okay. Give me just a short time and I'll be back with food and drink."

"Thank you Mr. Underhill," Carl said.

Harry Underhill nodded, and he turned and hurried up the stairs. At the top, he closed the door and, feeling slightly guilty for it, he set a locking charm upon it. His instincts told him these people were honest. There was something in Carl Lyson's eyes that told Underhill the man was trustworthy - but being an Auror, he knew to err on the side of caution.

He lumbered upstairs first and knocked three times on the door.

"There was nothing that Gulliver Guinea Pig enjoyed more than curling up with a good book," recited Underhill. "And tonight was no different. Gulliver opened up his book and prepared for an adventure."

The door opened and Marjorie looked up at him, smiling.

Underhill bent and scooped her up, hugging her to his chest.

They read the rest of the book and Marjorie was asleep before Gulliver Guinea Pig had made it back from his outlandish imaginary adventures. Underhill kissed her forehead and snuck back downstairs, setting protective charms all along the hallway and the stairs as he left her. Downstairs, he made sandwiches and took a bag of crisps and a bottle of juice from the refrigerator and went down into the cellar again.

The children were asleep on either side of their mother in the bed, but Carl sat on an overturned bucket he'd found, as though guarding them, staring at the bottom of the steps, body in a protective stance. Despite the exhaustion in his eyes, he clearly had no intention of falling asleep.

Underhill put down the food and drink he'd brought on top of a stack of boxes.

Carl stood hurriedly, his hunger obvious, then checked himself so that he walked slowly across the room to where Harry Underhill had put down the food. Carl's hands shook as he reached for one of the sandwiches and it took all his strength to stop himself from shoving the entire thing into his mouth at once, he was so famished. Even with his strength stopping him, he ate the sandwich in only three large bites and then licked his fingers to get the last of the taste from them. His face flushed as he realized Underhill was watching this.

"There's no judgment here. You've been through a lot," Underhill observed.

Carl nodded.

"There's plenty more if this isn't enough. Eat as much as you wish and I'll bring more for your family."

Carl took another sandwich.

Underhill glanced at the sleeping forms on the bed. "Do you need rest first or do you mind telling me your story now?"

Carl was chewing, more than halfway through the second sandwich already. "We left the pack, left Blackburn. Too much was happening, too much changing... and not for the good, whatever they try to tell us..." Carl glanced at the juice as he finished his sandwich, then looked to Underhill.

"It's not the potion," Underhill said. "I won't sneak it to you. It's unethical to sneak the potion. Many aurors do, but I try to raise the bar."

Carl opened the bottle and drank from it desperately. He gasped with relief when he finished gulping nearly half of the juice down, the shaking in his hands had stopped and he looked to Underhill. "Thank you," he said again, sincerely.

Underhill nodded. "What happened that drove you to leave? Surely there was a catalyst."

"They've invited in the vampires," Carl said. "The Alpha is very set on inviting them and working with them. There's some... leader... they're backing and the Alpha believes that following that leader will bring prosperity to the werewolves. Or at least some semblance of respect from the Ministry of Magic we're all subjected to... despite how little they wish to do for us, despite how they treat us."

"Your Alpha... is it Fenrir Greyback?"

Carl nodded.

  "Were you involved in the attacks at the Ministry?"

Carl's brows came together, "There was an attack at the Ministry?"

"The Minister for Magic was assassinated." 

Carl's eyes widened, "When?"

"Approximately one week ago."

"We left about a week ago," Carl said, "We've struggled to get here. Few are willing to help a family of strangers in these hard days, with so many rumors and attacks going 'round... I hadn't heard about the Minister. We don't have any resource to hear about the goings-on in the Magical World without being near to Greyback. We - we're not registered."

Underhill nodded.

Carl stared into his eyes, "Are you going to require we register?"

Underhill shook his head.

"I thought you were a rule follower?" Carl asked, curious.

Underhill said, "Only the ones that are right to uphold. Some... some ought to be broken."

Carl looked surprised.

"And some things are your business and not mine to share," Underhill added. "Your secrets are safe with me. I just need to know whatever you can tell me about the pack in Blackburn, about the turnings, and about Greyback himself... anything you can tell me will help... I want to help the werewolves, to help the people of Blackburn. I want to see Greyback stopped."

Carl nodded.

Underhill reached into his pocket and produced a small vial, completely clear, which he had fetched from the cupboard before coming downstairs. He held it out to Carl.

Carl took it, looked it over, then looked up at Underhill. He nodded, unstopped the bottle, and drank the potion without hesitation.