As his familiar voice echoed off the dark and dampened stalactites and stalagmites, Greta looked around for Alastor. Unable to spot him in the darkness, she frowned, and held her wand more steadily in front of her. Being in the dark and practically blind was something she detested. It was right up there with the Death Eaters and the taste of broccoli.
"You and your security measures," she muttered finally and shook her head. Her wand was still in front of her as she turned around, again, in the direction she thought his voice was originating from. "Fine -- you can rest assured because it's really me. I'm the one who gave you that little scar at the top of your forehead, just where your hairline used to be. You got it when you were first teaching me the kinds of defensive spells they don't teach you at Hogwarts. Remember how I got lucky and clipped you one good time? Unfortunately, I haven't been able to do it since."