Eliza Darkwater, Hitwizard

This was the biggest fuck up of her career, Hitwizard Darkwater mused as she walked through Level One in the direction of the office of the Minister for Magic. She’d had one main job for the preceding five years, to protect the Minster’s wife. It was more complicated than that, because Irene Carstairs had insisted that she not be so conspicuous, the photographer hadn’t wanted a shadow in hitwizards robes following her around, so Eliza had been asked to provide the service of being her assistant. Reluctantly, she’d agreed. You didn’t say no to the Minister for Magic, especially when he used to be your actual boss’ boss. Solomon Carstairs had a lot of respect from Level 2, so Eliza had chosen to play nice. Five years were all it was supposed to be before she went back into the field.

Now, 5 years on, she regretted it deeply because she’d lost her charge. If something significant had happened to Irene, that was the end of her career. Eliza may as well have been buried alive. And if she showed up having merely given Eliza the slip? She’d be the laughing stock when she went back to Level 2 permanently. The moron that had misplaced the minister’s wife. Should she have set up a search party? Was it too soon for that?

Darkwater was looking like she was approaching her execution when she was admitted into the Minister’s large office.

“Minister…” she muttered, trying to look as professional as possible. “Mrs Carstairs… she wasn’t at your home this morning, or her studio.” She’d even been by the theatre and a couple of the witch’s other favourite haunts. Nothing.

Solomon Carstairs had not been even an hour in the office when he was told that Darkwater wanted to see him.

He'd put aside the weekend reports without hesitation - that was Irene's shadow. Something had happened to his wife. The wizard always thought it would be Ed Pratt who delivered such news but he tried not to get ahead of himself. Maybe it wasn't serious. Maybe there had been... an attempt.

The eyes behind his spectacles were anxious, eyeing the nervous-looking Hitwitch as she crossed the dark purple carpet towards his large desk. It was not an expression one ever hoped to see on a Hitwix. When she finally spoke, Solomon didn't quite understand.

"I'm sorry?" he responded on instinct. "Not at home? Are you sure?"

Of course she was sure. Who the bloody hell would come in here and tell him that without being sure? Sol leaned back in his chair, gaze lowered as a troubled wrinkle appeared in his brow. Irene didn't even go running without Darkwater trailing after.

"Where else have you checked?" Sol tried to think of where Irene might go to give her shadow the slip - his wife didn't like having one, after all. "Gather a squad, pair off. Start questioning her artist friends."

Old habits died hard. He was an auror at heart, and sometimes spoke like he was still heading up Level 2.

Eliza Darkwater, Hitwizard

“Positive, Sir.” Darkwater wasn’t a joker or someone that took her duty lightly, it was part of the reason she’d been chosen for this job. Now, she desperately wished she’d never been asked. The look of concern growing across the Minister’s face was enough to make her want the ground to swallow her up.

Where else had she checked? Eliza pressed her lips together as she formed a list in her mind. It had been a busy hour of apparition.

“Stardust, that second hand shop in Edinburgh, the clothing shops she frequents, Alohomocha.” Eliza frowned, keeping her gaze steady on Carstairs. “She’s not at any of her usual haunts, Minister. I’ve had no owl from her, and no summons.” Darkwater and the auror office would have been notified by their own badges if the witch’s brooch had been triggered.

He fell silent, thinking. No summons. Irene might not be trained or a particularly good duellist but she knew how to promptly use her brooch to summon help - the only reason she wouldn't have is if somebody had caught her off-guard before she could try.

If she'd been taken then he would receive word from the kidnappers soon.

"Get someone to doub--"

       "Minister!" his secretary, quite uncharacteristically, interrupted. "Minister, we have a situa--"
"Miss Grey!" Solomon interjected - more surprised than angry. "This had better be important."

The young witch, in robes as colourless as her name, pressed her lips together worriedly - her eyes darted from his scowl to Darkwater and the worry was suddenly replaced by a look of realisation.

      "Um. There's a situation developing in the atrium sir. W-with the... the werewolves... they're sitting. On the floor..." Grey trailed off, voice getting smaller and smaller.

Solomon wasn't sure what she meant and stared at the girl dumbly for a minute.

"What are talking about?" he looked at Darkwater. "What is she talking about?"

Grey cleared her throat, hugging her clipboard to her chest. "It's a sit-in, sir. By the Werewolf Alliance..." and then she looked at the Hitwitch before taking a slow step back. "Someone said M-Mrs Carstairs is with them."

Eliza Darkwater, Hitwizard

It was no secret that the Minister for Magic was a calm sort. He was known to be levelheaded and thoughtful. Darkwater hadn’t worked all that closely with him before her assignment attached to his wife. Even now, their paths barely crossed, a strange thing for a man and wife who’d been together so long. But she didn’t pry into their private matters. Even now, however, she recognised the calm exterior when his wife was, for all intents and purposes, missing.

Darkwater was more than ready to escape the purple carpeted office and call on her colleagues to aid in a wider search when another witch burst into the office and started blathering about werewolves sitting down in the atrium.

Quickly, it began to dawn on her. Werewolves. A sit in. Then the witch mentioned Mrs Carstairs. Relief quickly turned to anger. The sneaky bitch. There’d nearly been a search party out for her and instead of telling her own husband, or security where she was, she was secretly playing werewolf activist.

“They’ve seen her? Definitely?”

Darkwater’s expression turned darker as she looked back to the Minister who appeared to still be processing the news of a sit-in in his Ministry.

“I can get her, Sir.”

He felt the tension leave his shoulders, and removed his glasses to rub his eyes in tired relief. Irene. What was she thinking?

But he knew what she was thinking. His wife might not be so vocal in the public eye but in private she spared him neither tact nor mercy on the subject of werewolf rights. She cared, deeply, and it was her fight to fight. It was his position that gagged her. Until today, it seems.

"No," Solomon shook his head, voice firm. "It will cause a commotion."

The last thing they needed was a Prophet (or worse, Witch Weekly!) piece about how the Minister of Magic was keeping his werewolf wife on a short leash by dragging her out of a peaceful sit-in.

"Go down," he decided after another moment to think. "Keep an eye on her from a distance, try not to be noticed."

Glancing at Grey, Solomon issued a different set of orders. He wasn't going down there himself, obviously. Spectre or Ballentyne would be more productive.

       "Uh," Grey laughed nervously. "M-ms. Ballentyne has also joined the sit-in, sir."

Of course. Of course she has. He leaned back in his seat, a headache coming on. Mondays.