Author's Note: I'd like to point out that Remus Lupin will make an appearance in this story, perhaps chapters 4, or 5. I haven't decided. Perhaps your input will determine the outcome, however, I'm not sure how many people are actually reading this. Just remember, please, Remus is not a main character in this story, he will be in the sequel, but not this one.
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The ride home had been, for the most part, quite uneventful. The scratches on my face had mercifully been sealed up by tonic at St. Mungo's, and as I no longer looked as if a muggle semi had run over my entire body (although it half felt like one had), I didn't cause a distraction. Golby's presence, of course did, signifying a small bit of my social stature in the wizarding community, and what kind of 'upper-class' witch would ride the Knight Bus? But I did without a second thought.

The Floo Network was too much of a workout on my exhausted body, and Floo powder in general upset my sinuses. Spending more time than needed in St. Mungo's, other than my transformation, especially for magically swollen glands wasn't on my list of things to do this month. Nor any month after this. What was on my list was registering at the Ministry, Dolores Umbridge itching to make it all the more difficult for werewolves and half-breeds alike to go about normally. She even scheduled for the lot of us to come in alphabetically. The owl my faithful servant had given me as we exited the hospital had informed me that I was due in two weeks from now, the same say I was scheduled to have tea with one of my old friends from summer camp.

Of course, I would see her in the lines as well. She was a werewolf just as I; it was the reason we'd met in the first place. Owling her was on my bigest things to do now, as well as updating my mother.

"Do you remember, Golby," I began, setting aside the paper I'd been thumbing through, to look down at him. I had moved to the window seat, but he hadn't taken up the aisle seat beside me. Standing aside it however, holding onto the seat's edge, he looked at me expectantly. However much leeway I gave him, he still didn't take his 'unusual' freedoms for granted. He hadn't been born into my family's service, and he still sometimes flinched when I would reach to fix his collar, he knew what he was and wasn't supposed to do, according to the standard set by his previous family. "Do you remember when I went to summer camp right after I had been bitten? The camp for werewolves?"

"Yes, Misses," he said, nodding. His gaze flicked to a passenger behind us whose own paper rustled.

"Just wondering." There was no point in trying to get his opinion out of him, he didn't complain, ever. I was sure he wasn't miserable with his current conditions, but I also wasn't sure whether or not he was happy. I was often moody after my sudden disappearances and took it out on him by snapping at the smallest things he did, but he didn't complain. It was his job to keep his chin up, but still. It wasn't until we stepped off the Knight Bus until I opened my mouth to approach the subject. I knew what the answer was undeniably going to be, but I think it was my lack of self-confidence, even towards a house-elf, that needed to hear the answer.

"Are you happy, living with me, even though I am what I am?" Golby's answer held no hesitation, nor did his quick footed steps towards the front door to unlock it for me.

"Yes, Misses. Very happy."

My conscience felt relieved, a burdened lifted, I had his word, but my mind had begun to whirl and I watched him magic the door open, lugging my over-night bag with him. What was it like, day in and day out, caring for a creature such as myself, knowing, yet not knowing what happened when it was time for the moon to reveal itself completely? I went away every Full Moon morning, and everyone knew we transformed, but never being there, never knowing exactly how the process went.. Was it scary to think, to even hesitate a thought that perhaps I wasn't fully human once again?

Shaking my head, shaking away the ridiculous and disturbing thoughts I watched the house elf disappear down the entrance hall, towards the parlour stairs to deposit my things in their rightful places. I headed for the kitchen, knowing that a fresh batch of pumpkin juice was always waiting for me on the counter, and there it was. Routine, regularity, he knew what I needed, even if I sometimes wished myself out of this consistent life.

Sipping the sweet drink, I listened to his quiet rustles above me, scanning the kitchen for anything out of place. I wasn't surprised to find it as perfectly in order as usual, but then again, he was a house elf and one could expect no less. I was certainly a lucky person, even if I weren't a monster. Not many witches, normal witches, had a house to themselves, single as anything, and a servant, a friend, who never argued, and made you feel at home, whilst never picking into your deepest thoughts. As well, most witches, single, and alone, didn't have enough money buried beneath the London streets to keep them content for the rest of their lives, at least, with careful spending.

Careful spending which did include doctor visits every month, as well as new fees for the Ministry because I had happened to wander away from my mother's supervision.

I set down the empty cup and wiped my hands on the sides of my robes, drying the condensation that had formed around the glass. I had no real responsibilities, other than getting to St. Mungo's every month, and no friends to speak of, not really. That girl from camp all those years ago, she and I were going to have a meet up one of these days, at least if its allowed still, but that would be in weeks. Deciding on contacting my mother, I wandered away from the kitchen, the dirtied dishware cleaning itself as I stepped away, and for an hour I occupied myself with the small task of retelling her once again that I was no worse for wear, no pun intended.

After my return home, I spent days doing nothing, as usual. I finished books I had been meaning to read, and finished organising the small personal library I was collecting. I had put up a new bookcase, waist high, for all of the werewolf novels I had bought, ranging from muggle-written lore, to magical non-fiction. The newspaper had reported days after my release, that Rupert had filed a suit against the Ministry, having returned home to find his home pilfered, and his children taken do to 'exposure to unnecessary danger.' His family had been immediately returned to him, his large corporation far too big to repossess like his personal things, although his sister in law and vouched to be their primary caregiver. The magical government's compensation for the fostering was too large for her to not try and obtain. I was sure that he would get tout of the situation, and black list her from his contacts, but to my horror, the Ministry had immediately lepta on her claim of blood relations. No matter the fact that she visited St. Mungo's far more than Rupert.

That had been a week ago, exactly, and tossing the day's paper into the fire, I watched the Minister's bemused face turn to a look of resentment and forlorn, the flames licking at its edges. Golby was ironing a pair of my robes in the laundry room, but I knew if I needed him, he would come within two seconds of my calling. I glanced nervously, almost irritably from the burning paper to the hall archway, almost expecting Ministry officials to swoop down and removed my own 'caregiver.'

"Misses, robe's done," Golby said, appearing in the archway, holding the folded clothes. I flashed him an appreciative smile before watching his short, thin nose scrap the floor. "Puts them in the drawers, I will," he added promptly, disappearing once again. I sighed, my mind off one frustrating subject and onto another one. Was there a reason house-elves didn't speak properly, I wondered. A gland, a strand of fibre inside of them that disallowed them to speak their native language correctly? I sighed again, attempting to blow hair out of my eyes. I failed miserably and tugged them behind me ear.

"Golby, what's the schedule for today?" I called after him.

"S'going to clean the Kitchen, Golby," he cried promptly, skittering across the doorway to fetch something or another. I watched his antics, smiling as he rushed to add fuel to the fire. "Thens I will be weeding the garden."

"That's my job, Golby. I weed the garden, you don't touch it today," I responded, looking at him from over the edge of my nose. He had learnt early on to do what he wanted, but he had always been unable to 'disobey' the haughty witch look I was piercing him with now. "Yes, ma'am's," he said quickly, looking downcast. I gave a swift, but gentle shove of affection towards the Kitchen. He didn't go near the garden, I wasn't allowed within the area of the kitchen without his permission. Well, almost.

I was a fool when it came to cooking, and we both knew it. I was learning, but I still wasn't very good at it.

The house-elf disappeared from the sitting room, and as the last shred of the day's paper burned din the fireplace, I pushed myself out of the couch and back onto my feet. My gardening clothes would be lying on my bed, waiting for me, the 'bickering' merely a formality before we got along with our real jobs. It was a rare occurrence when I allowed him to do it, which included both times I had broken my foot and had been unable to get home the day of gardening. However, as I reached the bottom of the staircase, my foot brushing the wood, something clicked. I was forgetting something important, and almost frantically I called for the house-elf.

"Golby, where are you? Come down stairs. Golby? Golby, come here!"

The sprite blinked into view and his eyes widened a bit in fright. "Yessus?"

"What am I supposed to do today?"

"Garden, ma'am's,"

"No, no, other than that. Golby, what important thing am I supposed to do today?" The house-elf's face brightened up as his memory kicked in, before his eyes flashed to the grandfather clock behind him. His happy expression then inverted, a dark cloud raining on his parade.

"Misses was supposed to attend the Ministry today, with the Others. Late, you are."

".. Of course I am, Globy, of course I am," I sat myself on the staircase as looked at him expectedly. Golby looked as spooked as I felt. Werewolves were never late to these things, punctuality was their middle name. A man could set his clock by a werewolf, if it were the right type. A werewolf couldn't be late, not when dealing with Umbridge. 'Merlin,' I thought, rubbing my forehead, 'Of course I'm late.' Ugh, and I had forgotten to owl my friend and reschedule our meet-up date. Wonderful.