The peaceful morning Eric was hoping for was shattered almost immediately. An insistent pounding on the door was his wake-up call, and the unpleasant face of Dolores Umbridge was the first person he had the misfortune of seeing that morning. "Mister Sable – I've been trying to contact you for some time. There are questions that need to be answered."

He sighed – avoiding this would only make it worse. "Please wait."

She responded by turning a lovely shade of vermilion. "Wait? I've been standing out here for the last quarter hour!"

"Then maybe you could try stopping by after the sun rises. That way, I'd be in a fit state to speak with you, wearing something a little more substantial than a bathrobe and goosepimples." That statement shocked Dolores enough for him to close the door. Ordering Willy to prepare tea and rolls, he set about dressing as quickly as he could, not wishing to give an impression of deliberately stalling.

He came back to the front room disheveled, but at least dressed. Ms. Umbridge was waiting, a disdainful look on her face. "This elf refused to pour me a cup of tea."

Eric calmly sat across from her. "That's because he's my servant; not yours." He turned back to his companion. "Willy, please provide our guest with refreshment." The elf didn't disappoint him, bringing out tea along with a large, hot cinnamon bun. After all, he did not wish to be found short of hospitality.

At that point, Dolores Umbridge began to grill Eric at length regarding his whereabouts for the last month. Many of his answers were deliberately vague, but at least he had the advantage of being kidnapped. Losing track of time, being disoriented and otherwise not being able to account for one's whereabouts were most likely normal. In this case, knowing more would be a suspicious situation.

It quickly became apparent that she suspected something quite close to the truth. She produced several articles, asking if Eric knew anything about them. To his satisfaction, he could honestly say that he didn't. The memory of his time being the beast was clouded at best. It remained only as a sense or a feeling, and little more. Trying to remember any particular events or actions was hopeless.

After an eternity that lasted well beyond dawn, Lymeon Peal finally came downstairs to open shop. "Hello! What's been going on here?"

Dolores turned to him. "I've been trying to interview young Master Sable. Unfortunately, his responses fail to answer certain pressing questions."

Lymeon flashed a winning smile. "Well, that's hardly unexpected. He's been through so much, it's unlikely that he remembers anything that would be too useful. Now, my boy; if you feel up to it, I'd like your help opening the shop."

Dolores protested. "Mister Peal, I still have questions for Eric to answer."

He smiled broadly at her. "Tell me, Ms. Umbridge; how long have you been here?"

She seemed hesitant. "Hem – well, I'm not entirely sure."

Willy was overjoyed to assist her. "The lady arrived over three hours ago, good sir; and Eric saw her as soon as possible."

"Three hours, really?" Lymeon's round face looked very much like a child who had found his favorite toy. "My word, we do lose track of time when we do important things! One would almost think that the boy was being interrogated, instead of interviewed!" Dolores' face pulled together as if she had bitten into something sour. If he noticed, Lymeon didn't say. "Anyway, I need the boy to help me open, and you'll agree that after sitting for so long, he needs some exercise."

She drew her materials together, retrieving her coat and hat. "If I have any more questions, I'll be in touch."