It wasn’t until four o’clock that Bruce, looking undeniably awful, returned to her office to be greeted with the memo that Dido handed her. Since returning to the ministry, Iona had been within various areas of the werewolf wing and Level 4 trying to gather information and keep some control over the snowball rolling down the hill. The never ending bad day didn’t show any sign of light at the end of the tunnel, especially when she read the summons from the man on top.

The memo had been sent at noon, and not wishing to make the Minister wait even longer, Iona chose to head straight up.

Bruce had never been in the office of the Minister for Magic. As a green rookie, she’d had to bring the odd thing up to Level 1, but she’d never lingered on the purple carpet. Despite often being called a ‘warrior’ by her family, stepping foot and cane on this purple carpet was surprisingly intimidating. She wasn’t exactly great with authority.

“Madame Ballentyne!” A young wizard strolled over from a desk, waving to the large double doors. “The Minister’s expecting you. Go straight through.”

“Wonderful…” The exhausted witch muttered as she made her way to the door.

Knock knock and she pushed it open. Bruce had worked with Glass in the past but she didn’t have much of a strong opinion of the wizard. Seeing him as Minister was very odd.

“Sir,” She greeted quietly, pushing the door shut behind her. The inner sanctum may have been more nerve wracking had it not already had been such a terrible day. She glanced over him. He looked older than she remembered.

Minister Glass had cleared his diary for the afternoon, prioritising the full moon incidents. Information had reached him from corners of the Ministry down to the good work of the Level 1 aides. The immediate aftermath appeared in hand, and although there had been no immediate arrests on the safehouse or the murder, it appeared progress was occurring.

The grandfather clock indicated it was past four when Iona Ballentyne arrived, stepping through the double doors which Pickler had knocked before opening. Although the outer office hadn’t ceased to buzz since the news that morning, Edwin’s inner office was calm. A fire gently crackled in the grate, the clock ticked quietly enough to be perceived but not loud enough to be an irritation. The sound of the wider Ministry seemed to vanish, muffled by the charms laced into the walls.

When there had been crisis, Level Three had been there for all the other departments, and despite being head of it, he’d felt a useful cog in the machine. Now, up here as Minister, he had to remember that the Departments would act and he would oversee, provide guidance and ask necessary important questions to inform strategy. It was a little frustrating not to do anything, but he was beginning to grow accustomed to this expectation.

“Ballentyne,” Edwin greeted calmly, setting aside what he was doing and slipping spectacles from his face. Iona looked harried, windswept, exhausted but defiant. Her superior got to his feet, but instead of gesturing to the chair before his desk, he instead motioned to the pair sat before the fire, a small, round table between them at knee height. “Take a seat. Pickler will arrange some coffee, but I anticipate you need something stronger.”

Without any indication of consent from the Head of the Werewolf Wing, Glass approached a tray with decanter and glasses and poured two glasses of the good whiskey.

“Thank you for coming.” He uttered quietly, though clear enough to be understood without effort. “What is the latest?”

Stepping into the inner sanctum, Bruce had expected another telling off in a manner similar in condescension to Carstairs. The Head of Magical Law Enforcement had successfully raised her hackles, demanding that she do the job he’d been keeping her from before eagerly throwing her own disability in her face. As the icing on the giant poly-tiered cake, Zora had even indicated that she’d not even completed the task of informing relatives correctly. Minister Glass was expected as the third to dish out why she was so damned unsuitable for her position and make a crappy day even crappier.

Instead, Glass, looking calm as she recalled from past encounters, stood and directed her to a cosy couple of armchairs by the roaring fireplace. Gripping her cane, Bruce made her careful way over, taking care to school her expression and conceal the pain at the movements.

It was thoughtful and presumptive, the pouring of the whiskey as she gingerly lowered herself into the seat and rested the wooden cane against the wall to the side. For a witch that had felt nauseous, and even emptied the contents of her stomach less than a metre away from her boss’ corpse, having a sup of firewhiskey with the Minister for Magic certainly wasn’t on the agenda.

“Thank you.” The Welsh witch muttered, regardless of her plans to leave it untouched.

“I’d ah…” Bruce frowned, shifting in the seat to get comfortable. She could certainly use the coffee. “I wish I were be able to tell you we have more, Minister. Level two have been combing the scene. It was clearly a wolf. As of yet, it isn’t clear if werewolf or direwolf. Although…” She paused, unsure if she fancied dropping Law Enforcement in it. “Well, it would be easier to manage this if level 2 were more forthcoming and less overbearing.” As if accepting it was a step too far, Bruce shrugged. It was what it was, wasn’t it?

She left the whisky untouched, which did not go unnoticed, but did go unremarked. He took a swig and then settled himself in the opposite chair, folding one leg over the other.

“Ah, if I had a galleon for every time…” Minister Glass gave a polite smile. He had been there for over a decade. “There is always the land grab and the struggle in the early hours. It is not every day one of our own is murdered, thank goodness.” He tilted his glass in on hand, the amber liquid coating the glass.

“I understand the scene is in Level Two’s grasp,” he spoke plainly, knowing the facts, but keen to hear what he could from the Werewolf Wing Head. She had only been appointed less than a month ago after a sabbatical for her injuries, and the full moon had its own toll too.

“Is there something specific you need to find balance with?” He asked, aware of what Solomon Carstairs had reported, but intrigued to hear it from her. “Speaking frankly, Ballentyne.” He indicated she was able to speak with less judgement, “… Your Department Head died last night.”

If Iona were of sane, well slept and not having seen a dead body today mind, she may have regretted her poke at Level 2. As it were, Bruce was glad she’d come out with it enough for Glass to take up the string of conversation. The vision was still infuriating her. Carstairs’ insistence on how she’d not done her job properly was infuriating her. The presumption that she didn’t know what she was doing infuriated her.

Of course, Glass knew what Two could be like. He’d been at the ministry longer than she’d been alive, no doubt. He’d been an obliviator until around the time that she’d taken over the Werewolf Wing. But it was a risk actually speaking frankly with her boss’s boss. Or, without Carter, was he her direct supervisor now? Level Four had lost its leader last night, and now she felt like she’d spent the day being pulled in every which direction.

“Two had a vision, Sir. Of the attack. You don’t just send that as a memo to get lost at the bottom of a pile.” Surely, he was reasonable enough to see that.

Speak frankly, Glass had offered. Bruce frowned, glancing down to the untouched whiskey on the table.
“We lost our department head last night, Minister, but Carstairs is not his replacement. My team will work with two, not for them, no matter how unfit he’s decided I am.” she went on, so as to not make this as personal at it all felt. “We need pooled resources on this because Carter was ours. We spent all of this time and effort thinking there would be another public attack in a muggle area, we didn’t even consider the possibility of what did occur.” Aware of her words losing their point, Bruce paused and sighed. “What I mean to say, Sir, is that we need Two’s support, not it’s condescension.”

“Two had a vision…”

The Minister nodded in acknowledgement of this information. It had come up in the information from Two that afternoon. Rather unfortunate in hindsight.

He let Ballentyne voice her irritation with Solomon Carstairs. He had given her permission to speak her mind at this junction. Better to know the friction than it be held and grind them all down as the investigation continued.

“You’re quite right,” Edwin replied with no hint of humour. “Mr Carstairs is not Carter’s replacement. I will have to make a temporary appointment so as not to leave Four rudderless, so to speak, but that is not our primary concern today.”

There was a knock at the door, and Edwin called out to Peter Pickler to come. The doors behind Ballentyne opened and the tall, pale assistant brought forth a silver tray with coffee.

“I wasn’t sure if Ms Ballentyne had eaten, Minister,” he explained as he set the tray down between them, “may I fetch something for you madam?” Pickler was a far cry from the day he had left Musgrave’s parcel on Edwin’s desk without word.

Edwin indicated with his free hand that Bruce was very welcome to take up his assistant’s offer. He suspected she hadn’t eaten all day given the stress.

“Thank you, Pickler.” The Minister dismissed the younger wizard, and he withdrew, closing both of the doors with a neat click. Between them, the coffee had poured itself.

“Have you any further information on the Dunnigan brothers and the safehouse?” He asked, changing the topic for a moment.

When Glass mentioned making the appointment in Level 4, Bruce wondered briefly if he’d considered her own comment her attempt to throw her hat in. She quickly brushed the thought off, confirming to herself that her own comments had been made regarding a frustration at how Carstairs had handled things and not her own eagerness to jump in Carter’s grave. Heavens, she’d almost thrown up in it!

The skinny assistant came in with a tray of much welcome coffee, and Iona barely managed a polite smile and a shake of her head at the offer of food. She’d not been able to stomach anything all day, as was usual after a full moon. Her body had never been able to cope well with Wolfsbane potion, it disagreed painfully with her constitution meaning that food only made her feel so much worse. Not to mention the lack of appetite one suffered from at seeing a man literally ripped limb from limb. That was an image that would stay with her forever.

“Thank you, Pickler.” The Minister thanked Pickler, and there was a marginal twitch of the red head’s eyebrows. Pickler? Relation to the annoying Penelope Pickler? Oh no…

“Have you any further information on the Dunnigan brothers and the safehouse?” He continued, and Iona reached forward to take her coffee cup. Coffee, she could surely stomach.

“Not much, Sir.” She responded, feeling much like a child showing up to class without her homework. It was a feeling that she recognised well, having been the student far more interested in physical pursuits than academics. “We have combed through all safe houses and asked all attendants of anything suspicious having taken place. Bagnold’s team is desperately scouring for some clues, as are Level 2. There could obviously be a link to the last time they vanished.” Although this time a skinning nice and fur had been left behind.

Bruce would never admit it to the Minister, but right now, she was feeling very in over her head.

“Frankly, though? I don’t think there’s a link between the brothers and Carter, and we’d be chasing our tails if we went about it that way.” Chasing our tails? Apt language for a werewolf.

“I am inclined to agree based on the evidence thus far.” Edwin nodded once and finished his whiskey, setting it down with an air of finality.

“I must inform you I am opening an inquiry into the events last night at the safehouse.” It might seem trivial considering they were investigating two missing people, and the murder of a Ministry figure. “It is protocol if the public are at risk from a Ministry-provided service, not a reflection on your leadership thus far.” Ballentyne looked like she had been through hell and back today already.

“More likely to rake over Titchener's watch and before.” His expression darkened slightly at the mention of Bruce’s predecessor. “The last thing we need is for our werewolf population to seek private, unregulated safehouses for next full moon.” It could lead to worse than last night, not to belittle Carter’s death.

“Meanwhile, the investigations on both will continue. What resources and support do you require? Other,” the corner of his mouth upturned, “than for Level Two to cooperate than dominate?”

An inquiry. Glass wanted to know what the hell had happened to let someone kidnap two werewolves from under their noses. Bruce stiffened, feeling rather like the interrogation lamp was about to shine on her as it was her office now. One took over a division and that division’s mistakes became theirs, didn’t it? When news broke publically, everyone would be looking for a wix to blame, and who better than the former hunter now in a position of power over other werewolves? Was she about to become a scapegoat for inherited mistakes?

“…not a reflection on your leadership thus far.” The Minister explained, and Bruce let out the breath she hadn’t realised that she’d been holding. After Carstairs’ rather personal attack, she’d not expected the man in the main office to be even slightly reasonable.

Sipping her coffee, Bruce thought on her words carefully. She couldn’t detail now what she needed because she was still getting her head around what had actually happened. Stepping into this disaster already having been torn apart by the full moon had felt much like heading out on the hunt with no silver and a head full of whiskey fumes, or climbing Everest with no coat or boots.
“Sir, if I may answer that question in a day or two?” She asked quietly, lowering her coffee cup to her lap. “We are still trying to find out every detail of what happened.” She frowned, looking down at the coffee.

After a pause of thought, Iona glanced back up, frowning. “Sir? This needs to be approached very tactfully. Werewolves will have lost any trust, if they had any, in the Ministry. Imposing stronger sanctions upon those that do not meet the laws, as the establishment has a history of doing, will not fix our mistakes, only worsen them.” She watched him carefully, very aware that the entire topic was controversial, but she deeply feared this being the knee-jerk response to the tragic and chaotic events of the day.

“Sir, if I may answer that question in a day or two?”

He nodded his consent once to the query, and allowed a silence to fall between them. Perhaps one of the first Ballentyne had felt that day. A moment to reflect and take a breath beneath his steady gaze. He had to allow that, as a leader.

“… this needs to be approached very tactfully… imposing stronger sanctions… will not fix our mistakes, only worsen them.”

Glass raised a hand, placating her. A minimum of movement, calmly made.

“It is just an inquiry, Ballentyne.” He assured her. “We have failed our population.” He hoped the inclusive but indefinite pronoun showed he shared this burden. “Our safe house procedures are not fit for purpose, at least not when faced with malicious intent. We must investigate our weaknesses, regroup, resolve. There is no doubt that what happened to Carter was targeted and purposeful, not an accident because one disobeyed the laws confining them to quarters on a full moon.”

He laced his fingers together, a thoughtful but serious expression worn on his brow. He very much hoped he would not be reviewing this conversation with Carter’s successor, in the wake of the following full moon, where perhaps Ballentyne had been sought by criminal intent. He kept that stray worry to himself. It was not productive nor helpful to share.

“That is all for now.” He informed the witch sat before him. “Though do reach me with your answer as soon as.” He gave a sharp nod and made to stand, signalling their tête-à-tête was at an end.

As Glass talked about failing their population and the procedures in place, Bruce couldn’t help but feel overwhelmed. Investigate weaknesses, regroup, resolve. All in one month. All in the wake of this nightmare. Why, she would be asking tonight, had she been so eager to return to the Werewolf Wing?

“That is all for now.” Glass announced, standing up. Iona looked down at her half-finished cup of coffee. She didn’t want that to be it. Not for Glass’ continued company, but this was the first time all day that she’d sat down and just had a moment to drink a cup of coffee. Just one moment in a quiet room without dozens of sets of eyes looking to her to make some big decision. Eyes watching to see when she’d crack.

“Sir.” Bruce acknowledged, reluctantly placing her half-finished cup on the table. Would the hospitality have stretched on longer if she had more information to give? How about had she actually drank from the tumbler of firewhiskey? With a wince of pain and discomfort, Iona used her cane and the arm of the chair to push herself back up. She let out a sharp breath and closed her eyes until the feeling dulled once more.

“We need to recruit wands for security for the safehouses.” She said calmly, straightening up. “That’s one thing.” But they were done now. She needed to leave through those double doors and face the world again. With a sigh, Iona started to move towards the exit. “My office will keep you updated, Sir.”