Knox smiled and drank his tea. Warm and welcome on an uncomfortable day. From what Ballentyne was saying she was keen to be an ally and seemed to heave heard what he said. She'd backed off the quizzing, she was making her purpose known.

"I've told you: I'm a wizard of a certain renown and that reputation happens to be positive in the eyes of some of our more desperate kin. I've never minded my own business in my life, you'll hear more of that about me as time wears on I'm sure."

He paused and settled back more, crossing his ankle over his knee.

"Perhaps I didn't mention it - I'm a discreet sort. I have connections. Take from that what you will, but I'm known for being helpful and not being a blabbermouth."

Knox peered at her, hoping he got her meaning. He was after the same thing she was, but their hands were tied with different twine.

So, he was a nosy wizard, and people liked him. Bruce supposed you didn’t get to where he was without being a likeable sort. She rather hoped that she was likeable, even with the furry alter ego once a month. She tried, but even as the new head of the Werewolf Wing, Bruce didn’t have near as much clout as this large wizard who seemed to be taking up so much space in her office.

“I should like that help, Mr Greyfriar.” The Welsh witch finally said, also choosing to sit back in her chair. She didn’t cross her legs, hadn’t in years due to the pain. she spread her legs out in front of her and brushed her fingers through her wild hair, pushing it back from her face. It felt bushier around the full moon, like her human form was also preparing. Perhaps that was psychological.

“Our registration process is humiliating and degrading,” the emotions that she’d felt coming into Level 4 once out of St Mungo’s were still raw. It had been deeply unpleasant. “and while my colleagues insist on the confidentiality of the register, we both know there are many that slip through the net.” She frowned, pausing. She wasn’t finished. “On the other hand, werewolves that don’t register are putting themselves and the public at risk. An unregistered wolf is 3 times more likely to maim, infect or kill a family member than they are a stranger. I’m not going to bore you with data from werewolf attacks in Britain, but expect only a few of us can say that we were bitten by a registered wolf.”

“That’s a lot to fix.” She shrugged and raised her eyebrows.

She left off him, and he was relieved she'd stopped prying about holes in his healer story. Knox doubted that would be the last of it, however. This wasn't going to go away.

"You're not wrong there, certainly, that's what the registry clearly wants when they deny services to unregistered werewolves. We've got exactly what we asked for: an sector of abandoned, desperate, and potentially dangerous people."

Of anyone who'd opened the pandora's box of Knox Greyfriar's opinions, he might guess Bruce Ballentyne being among those who wouldn't seek a window as an escape.

"We must ask ourselves what's more important. The orderliness of a nice spreadsheet," he shrugged, "or preventing the violence of the curse? We must make it easier."

Greyfriar was very aware he was using the word 'we'. He was choosing it deliberately to group himself with those at least partially accountable with enforcing magical law, but also as a member of society who is both affected and can affect change in the system. And to ally himself with Bruce Ballentyne's office.

"Anyone who misses registration immediately faces charges, possibly felonies. No one with anything to lose would choose that."

He needed a cigar.

‘We’ must make it easier, Greyfriar agreed. We. Us. Together. He was offering his help. For this, Bruce was relieved. She’d have still liked to know some real reason for why Dungworth was so eager to name him, but that could wait.  Getting someone like Knox Greyfriar on side was more important than side-lining him, wasn’t it?

“That isn’t enough, Mr Greyfriar.” Bruce said after a welcome sip of tea. “We’ve already got punitive measures in place for missed registrations and you see how well they are doing.” Not well at all. If someone feared the ramifications of registering more than the consequences for not, they wouldn’t go near a Level 4 representative. “It is far easier to see and imagine what will happen when your identity is shared than to imagine if you are caught.” she frowned, chewing at the inside of her cheek thoughtfully. Hopefully that made sense to him; Iona wasn’t the most eloquent of people.

“We need buy in.” she shrugged, “Why would someone want to register? What do they gain? And not simply a mentor because some people do not chat feelings.” Including Bruce. She’d been paired with Adrestia Gamp on her turning, at the start of the new mentoring programme. She’d informed the younger witch that they would discuss anything other than the subject in question, then Adrestia would sign and Bruce would get her monthly salary from the Ministry. It had all been pointless for her, but that didn’t mean that she didn’t see value in it for people that liked to spill their emotions for others.

She grinned across the table at the older wizard, eyebrows raising. “Quite the dilemma.”

Why would someone want to register? It was a difficult question and he wished it wasn't. If his attack hadn't been so public, his stature so obvious, if he wasn't as protected as he, would have have signed his name? He liked to believe he very nearly hadn't registered, that it was the insistence of former students which had convinced him, but that wasn't so.  Had he not been handled by the likes of Fauna Blake and Sasha Schlagenweit, Knox Greyfriar would have dragged his feet in spectacular fashion but would have met the requirement all the same.

"There's always breakfast," he laughed to himself as he shifted in his seat. The Werewolf Wing had recently added some easy take-away breakfast fare. It was mediocre, but now they could put it on the list of benefits.

He let his cynical laughter ride a little, and he slide wearily into the chaotic altruism he didn't trot out as often.

"If you're asking me, then you have to know I'd advocate for complete amnesty." He touched his thumb and finger together. The point was that fine. The smile faded from his eyes. He wasn't the first to float the idea, but it was the first he'd stated it so plainly. Certainly the first time he'd made his opinion known in these halls.

"If we want the so-judged irresponsible masses to come to the hearth then we can't stand waiting with a silver chain. Who could the Werewolf Wing serve if she truly opened her arms?"

Knox quieted and put his hand to his mouth.

"There's always breakfast," Greyfriar chuckled. Bruce, too, laughed. Come register with us, we’ll give you breakfast after locking you in a cage overnight wasn’t likely to cut it. She didn’t know about Knox, but Iona couldn’t stomach food after her turning. Wolfsbane was disgusting, and it really didn’t agree with her.

Her smile faltered when Greyfriar mentioned amnesty. A touch subject for someone who’d wished her attackers dead for so long. She’d even gone to the extent of sharing their names, an act she would now feel forever guilty for, but she’d felt necessary for her own sanity 3 years prior.

Unable to avoid thinking of all of the silver she’d once owned, Bruce’s lip twitched. She’d never decked herself out like Kurby Bagnold still did, but she’d had her fair share. One particular, a favourite during her time in the WCU, had been a thick, yet lightweight chain that became extremely heavy when it came into contact with a wolf. It would weigh them down while burning. Now, it made her feel slightly sick. What if someone ever needed to use it on her?

“Amnesty.” Bruce let the word roll on her tongue, getting a feel for it in her mouth. Amnesty. Is that what Knox Greyfriar, wizengamot elder, Headmaster, and fellow werewolf really wanted?

“That would take some persuasion to the powers that be.” Even she wasn’t so sure about this proposition. “Food for thought, certainly.”

She took a sip of tea and scanned her gaze up to above the door at the clock. They were both on a time limit today.
“I should like to discuss this more with you, Mr Greyfriar. You clearly hold standing in the both the werewolf and magical community.” She was just the former hunter turned hunted.

Bruce Ballentyne's hesitation didn't escape Knox's notice. He didn't imagine the chief of werewolf regulation enforcement would be immediately cheered by the suggestion she dissolve one of the institution's foundations.

Food for thought. "Indeed."

He could only be pleased that Ballentyne hadn't scoffed or sneered. If anything, she was interested which was more than he'd ever expect from anyone other than maybe Covadonga Gertrudis, but even the former head of the department was aligned with the current laws, even if she'd improved the registration experience.

Fearing that the conversation could return to the uncomfortable topic of Mr. Dungworth's revelations, and very aware of the time, Knox took a deep breath through his nose and patted his hands on his knees in that way that indicated this meeting was over. Ending on a controversial opinion may have served him well. Conversely, it may only reinforce any suspicions Mr. Dungworth had raised . Anyone who'd work outside the bounds of the Werewolf Wing would certainly be the sort to express an opinion such that Knox Greyfriar had voiced. If he wasn't more careful from here on out, he'll have told on himself.

He stood and offered his hand and smiled when she took it.

"I'll be a happy thorn in your side. Perhaps some good can be done. Good day, Madam Ballentyne. Good luck."

Fin