Evey glanced at Tony after he'd closed the door; his face was a mask. She wiped the tears off her eyes impatiently. She couldn't believe that George, of all people, would say something like that. She understood why he hated the vampire, but… She shook her head. There was no point dwelling on this now. She pointed to the edition of the Daily Prophet that lay on one of their bedside tables. "Did you read it?"

He shifted uncomfortably. "Yeah… We both did. I try to scavenge newspapers as often as possible, to keep up with news of the outside world as best we can. Although the Prophet isn't exactly the most reliable source of information, admittedly."

Evey nodded and sat down on Macnair's bed. He looked up sharply from his book, frowning. "I need to ask you something," she said without preamble. He didn't respond, but simply settled his eyes on hers. "What happens to people who are bitten by a werewolf when the moon isn't full?"

Macnair was silent for a moment. "Women will die, whether the moon is full or not," he said eventually. "Men will be scarred for life, if they survive the attack." He indicated a large, red scar on his upper arm. It had clearly not healed properly. "When a vampire bites, his saliva will heal the wound. It will even anaesthetise the punctured area, so the victim might not feel it at all, if they're asleep. But a werewolf's saliva works the other way around. It will contaminate the wound, make it painful and near-impossible to heal, at least not completely." Well, Evey reflected, apparently he could talk, when he found the subject to his taste. "Even among men, the survival rate is quite low. Roughly a man in twelve will eventually become a werewolf. A good deal won't survive the initial bite, either because the wound was too dire or because the saliva is lethal to them. And for those who make it through the attack, there will be a fair number who won't survive the first transformation. It is said to be excruciating; some men will die simply because they can't handle the sheer agony of it."

She already knew all that. She'd learned this at Hogwarts years ago. "Has there ever been a case where a woman survived a–"

He didn't let her finish. "No. Never." His tone brooked no argument and he was already getting back to his book.

Evey stared at him indignantly. It was one thing to be antisocial, and another to be downright rude! She grabbed the book off his hand and his eyes widened, as if he couldn't believe that she would dare. "I wasn't finished," she told him coolly, placing the book in her lap. "I was attacked by Greyback. Can you think of a reason why he would leave me completely unmarked?"

He was glaring at her. "Look, lass, if Tony wants to talk with you, it's his problem, but leave me alone, alright? It's bad enough that we're stuck here, I don't need some annoying bairn pestering me on top of everything else."

Evey blinked. Bairn? She noted that he did have a slight accent, when he got angry. It was just too cute for her to be upset by his remark.

"Merlin, Wal, can't you at least be civil?" Tony said. "You act like a bloody caveman! She just wants to ask you some questions, she's not doing any harm!"

Macnair said something in a language Evey didn't understand – presumably Gaelic – before pursuing in English. "You think I enjoy being locked up any more than you do?" he asked his brother. "This was your idea, burn you. If you're not happy about it, it's not my problem. Now will you both leave me the hell alone?"

There was another knock on the door. "For fuck's sake!" Macnair stood up, stalked to the door, and nearly tore it off its hinges. "What?"

It was Mrs Weasley. Evey saw Macnair tense visibly when she narrowed her eyes at him. "Are you out of clean shirts, dear?" the Weasley matriarch enquired with an arched eyebrow.

"No, ma'am," Macnair mumbled.

"Then put something on, please. We're not animals."

Macnair walked back inside the room, looking subdued, and rummaged through the wardrobe until he found a short-sleeved grey shirt. He put it on with some difficulty. Blimey, I need to know how she does that, Evey thought wonderingly. Mrs Weasley turned toward her. "Evey, dear, I think you will be more comfortable downstairs." It didn't sound like a suggestion.

"I'm perfectly at ease here, thank you. Besides, they have a television," Evey said matter-of-factly. And quite a lot of books. Why go downstairs, when she had everything she needed right here?

Mrs Weasley pursed her lips. "Well, if it doesn't bother Walden and Antonin, I'm sure you can stay a bit longer. But dinner will be served in the dining room for everyone, no exception."

"No exception, except them?" Evey asked, cocking her head toward the two brothers.

"Antonin doesn't eat, dear, and Walden prefers to eat here. Kreacher cooks for him and brings up his meals."

"Can't Kreacher bring up my meal, too?" She didn't mean to be rude – she got along quite well with Mrs Weasley, who was an amazing cook besides – but Evey didn't fancy having dinner with the others just now.

"Brat," she heard Macnair mutter. She didn't think Mrs Weasley heard him, but his brother likely did.

Tony cleared his throat. "She's welcome to stay here, if she wants. We don't mind," he added with a pointed glance in Macnair's direction.

Mrs Weasley ignored him. "I would rather you came downstairs, Evey. For dinner, at least."

Evey sighed. "Fine." But she would be staying here afterward, she decided, whether Mrs Weasley agreed or not. "When do I have to come down?"

"Dinner will be ready in half an hour. Don't forget to wash your hands," Mrs Weasley added before departing.

Evey rounded on Macnair as soon as the door was closed. "As I was saying…"

"Oh, for heaven's sake! If I answer your questions, will you leave and never come back?" Macnair asked hopefully.

She gave him a level stare. "I will come back." He rolled his eyes in exasperation. "But I won't bother you again, I promise."

"I guess that's the best I can hope for," he said resignedly as he sat back on his bed. "What else did you want?"

"I have at least three good reasons to believe that Greyback bit me," she told him evenly.

"How many times do I have to tell you–"

"I know, alright? I know women usually don't survive. Just hear me out, will you? And if you quit interrupting me all the time, your ordeal will be over that much sooner." Grumbling unintelligibly, he gestured for her to go on. "My eyesight is perfect." He frowned at her, obviously not seeing what that had to do with the matter at hand. "I've needed glasses since I started elementary school, and I wore lenses at Hogwarts, but now I don't need them anymore."

"What does that have to do with anything? I'm not a Healer, lass."

"First you won't talk and now you won't shut up. Let me finish, for goodness's sake." He glared at her. "Don't you think it's weird that it happened just after Greyback attacked us? Werewolves have perfect eyesight, don't they?" Technically, werewolves only had perfect vision when they were transformed, as far as she knew, but Macnair neither confirmed not contradicted her words. "Secondly," she went on, "there was a lot of blood. My blood, according to Professor Dumbledore."

Macnair shook his head stubbornly. "Then you must have hurt yourself somehow."

Evey snorted. "I wasn't wounded at all. That's actually part of my third argument: I have no scars."

"Obviously, if you weren't harmed," he muttered.

"No, I mean even the ones I had before, they're all gone." He looked up at that. "I only noticed this morning. I didn't have that many scars, see, so I didn't realise right away. But the few I had, they're gone."

"That doesn't make any bloody sense," Macnair protested. "Even if he did bite you and you survived, somehow, werewolf bites don't go away like that. Hell, Greyback himself has a scar from when he was turned, I've seen it myself. And it doesn't matter if the moon is full or not: If he'd bitten you, there would be a mark, lass."

"I know, but–"

"Anyway, I don't know what you want with me. I'm not a werewolf expert. Besides, you were there. Don't you know what happened?"

"I don't remember most of it," she admitted.

"Don't you think you should start with that, instead of bothering me? Maybe Greyback Obliviated you, or messed with your recollection, for whatever reason. Dumbledore should be able to tell." Evey made no reply, and Macnair gave her a shrewd look. "You haven't told anyone else, have you?"

She shook her head. "The last thing I need right now is more attention."

Macnair appeared to consider it. "Then have Tony do it. He can use Legilimency. He's good with that."

Evey turned to Tony. "Um… I don't think that's a good idea," he said hesitantly.

"Please? I'm an orphan of war." He stared at her incredulously and she heard Macnair snort. "I know it's low, but I'll use whatever works," she went on unabashedly.

"Ugh, alright, fine! But not now. It'll take time, and it'll likely leave you in a frightful state. We don't want Molly to see you like that. She'd kill me for sure."

"You're immortal," Evey pointed out.

"It's Molly we're talking about. I don't like my chances."

She chuckled lightly. "Fair enough. After dinner, then." She looked at her watch. "I should go. I won't be long," she promised as she opened the door.

"What the hell were you thinking, letting her in like that?" Walden demanded. "Tony, that girl is trouble."

"Why? Because she was bitten by Greyback and survived?"

"Don't be daft. She's shocked, traumatised. Voldemort must have used Greyback to send a message, or a warning, or something like that. He wasn't supposed to harm the girl, and that's why she lives." That was a perfectly reasonable explanation.

"And how do you explain the rest? Her eyesight, the scars?"

Walden sighed heavily. "You're just as bad as she is. Don't you listen when I talk? If it's such a rare occurrence, the least you could do is pay attention when it happens," he said dryly. His brother was siding with the lass because she was pretty, he was certain of it. He wasn't even trying to consider the matter rationally. Pretty women always had that effect on Tony. They addled his brain.

"You didn't give any explanation for it," Tony countered.

"Because it's unrelated to whatever happened with Greyback! Tony, even if she'd been bitten, those are not symptoms of lycanthropy. Existing scars don't simply vanish when a man becomes a werewolf."

"But how can you know the symptoms if it's never happened to a woman before?"

Walden stared at him. "That's not…" He trailed off. "That's irrelevant. It's impossible. Don't you see? It's all in her head. Most likely, this is some sort of elaborate coping mechanism. Even the blood part… I doubt Dumbledore would play along, doesn't sound like him to tell even a white lie, but perhaps he was trying to spare her… The blood must have been her brother's. Poor kid's just overwhelmed with grief, is all."

Tony was silent for a moment. "Fine, maybe you're right. We'll find out tonight, I guess," he said with a grimace. "Whatever possessed you to tell her I was a Legilimens? I don't want to see what happened."

"Well, I don't want her here at all, but I don't remember being consulted about it," Walden retorted angrily.

"Damn, Wal, she's just a kid! Why are you being such a twat?" Tony asked in the same tone. "You used to be so nice. Too nice for your own good, Mum always said."

"She also said it would get me in trouble, and it bloody well did. I've learned my lesson. Just make sure the girl stays out of my way," he added before getting back to his book.