"I think this one was a bit more aimed at makin' Carter hurt than the werewolves," Bagnold remarked incisively.

Harper looked at him, her eyebrows raised with the slightest hint of being startled by his statement. It was clear that the wizard was holding back - bottling up his feelings, the shock of maybe seeing what happened to Carter. She didn't realise he was so close to the depar-- to the late department head. But then again, she didn't know a lot about what things were like on four. Not socially.

Kurby apologised after a moment, retreating to the most obvious implication of last night's events. Mistrust.

"I wonder to what end?" Harper mused, deciding to look over his initial response. "When I was reading up on werewolf crimes for Savvina and Greer, I kind of understood the purpose of the werewolf ring. Those games drove a wedge but they were also run for amusement, for a gamble. People attended those things."

People they hadn't caught yet, she remembered. Level two might have crossed the chief perpetrators off its list but private individuals had gone to the games, to watch muggles get torn apart.

Harper reached for her coffee, still thinking. "This is just destructive," she muttered, serious, and glanced up at Kurby. The frown relaxed. Her musing wasn't helping. "Hey, not to be too forward, but you're taking care of yourself right?" her gaze was searching, flicking from George to Bagnold's countenance. "This is also what they want, whoever they are. They want to wear us down."

And they might succeed, if the WCU had to be on high alert for every single full moon, without rest.

There was at least one damned good end that the roads this morning might lead to; one clear reason why someone like Cinaed Tawse might stir up distrust of the Ministry with his chosen weapon. Puzzling over the why could wait until later, at least until this horrible day was over and they were sure they had reached the end of the what. 

But even that was far more comfortable territory than the defense attorney’s next question.  Kurby glanced over at George’s owner, shifting awkwardly in his chair.  Normally, that was the sort of inquiry that would make him immediately change the subject, but Graves had already refused to let him blow her concerns off once this morning.

Grimacing, he rolled his shoulders in a shrug, as if admitting defeat.  “Reckon they might be a bit ahead on that count this morning,” he quipped, refocusing on finding the exact spot behind George’s right ear where the spaniel wanted him to scratch.

It didn’t do much good to focus on that point, though.  Kurby took a deep breath, and then let the air out slowly, keeping his attention fixed on the friendly dog.  Tawse or someone else was trying to wear them down, and for the moment, their enemies had managed to set all of Level Four back on their heel.  But there were still several hours until sunset, and there was plenty that he needed to do after this interlude. 

Bruce had said that she’d meet him in an hour.  Kurby doubted that more than a quarter of that time had passed, but he knew that he needed to get back to his team.  With Carter dead, Ballentyne off informing the missing werewolves’ family, and Spectre and Gamp doing who-the-hell-knew-what in their own divisions, someone needed to get a handle on whatever the hell had happened so that they could reasonably make decisions once they regrouped.

Reluctantly, he gave George one last scratch and then nudged him aside with his knee, clearing the way to stand.  “Thanks,” he said, glancing tentatively at Harper.  “I think we'll all be alright once we make it through the rest of today.”

            “Reckon they might be a bit ahead on that count this morning."

She laughed, briefly and lightly, fond eyes on the dog who set the wizard at ease simply by being an affectionate nuisance. Harper did not try to cut in with any sympathies - Kurby was halfway through what might be one of his most nightmarish days at the Ministry, and she suspected that to have a length of comfortable silence was more beneficial. Besides, Harper was sure it would only embarrass them both. The wizard took his time to breathe.

The cloud bearing over him appeared to dissipate only for an instant, however. There were things to do.

Life was just one long sequence of things to do. Harper rose with her visitor, something soft in her smile dampening its professional edge. "I'm told that a good night's sleep can do wonders," she extended a hand for him to shake in parting, "but those aren't easy for some to come by. If you ever need to talk... about this werewolf business or anything else--"

The field spaniel suddenly squeezed his way between their legs, as eager to say farewell as he was to receive pets. The witch snorted and picked her words back up more succinctly, "If you ever need to talk, drop me an owl or a memo. George is a great listener."