3 May 2010
10:15am
Scene begins on the Auror Floor, moves to the Wizengamot Administrative Offices
Office #17b

Knox was a bear of a man with a posture that was never questioned, and as an Elder of the Wizengamot and former Headmaster of Hogwarts, he was indeed very used to be heard and being obeyed.  Very comfortable, of course in offering his opinion, asking for favors and taking peculiar initiative.

And he needed a helper.  His eyes narrowed as he stood at the mouth of the Auror floor.  It was busy, as usual, and Aurors hurried in pairs, argued at pin boards, throwing paperwork at each other.  Two hitwizards came through with a wizard in chains and had to brush by Knox to get to where they were going.

He peered at the trainees as he stroked his black and grey beard.  "No...too green."

He eyeballed Aurors Roh and Pratt. "No...to loud..."

"Trevelyan, wildcard..."

Ah.

"Rowan Tyren! Auror Tyren!" His booming baritone could not be ignored.  With a smile on his face and a kindly beckoning hand, he called over the tough witch.  He even came forward a couple of steps to meet her.  "A word, Auror?"

Unlike many of the Aurors, Rowan was not wrapped up in talking to or fighting with her co-workers. Rather she was at her desk, muttering under her breath to herself. She was staring at a bunch of case files, marking details with red ink from a quill that looked very beaten up and worn out.

She'd been assigned to look over files about the kidnappings of Werewolves. And she'd hit a dead end, to her utter disgust. There had to been something she'd missed, something she just wasn't seeing-

A jolt went through her when she suddenly realized someone was saying her name, and not very quietly at that. She looked up to find Knox Greyfriar standing beside her, smiling down at her. She didn't have much experience with the man, which made her both relieved and yet a bit uneasy. He was formidable, though he appeared pleasant enough.  She stood, when it was clear he was indeed speaking to her.

"Certainly, Sir. What can I do for you?"

As expected, Auror Tyren was kind enough to respond in the positive.  He'd have to be careful not to take her politeness for granted.  Besides, what he needed was fun.  Possibly dangerous.  But that's what Aurors found fun, is it not? They hadn't become trained Ministry knitters, had they?  (Although knitting had its own perils.)

"Auror Tyren, that's just what I was wondering myself.  If that tyrant of a boss of yours isn't looking and you can spare a few minutes, join me in my office.  I've got something to show you."

Knox led the way down a few narrow corridors.  Being one of the most junior members of the Wizengamot wasn't all the glory and velvet that one might think.  Oh the courtrooms were grand enough, but the offices were small and crowded.   Knox's (17b) was like a tiny dragon's hoard if dragons hoarded books, files, scrolls, and boxes of tea.  There was a desk under it all, and two chairs. 

"Come in, come in." 

He let her do so and then asked.  "How are you?"

Rowan arched a brow, a bit confused but also, she admitted, a bit intrigued. Knox had never requested anything of her before, so it made her wonder what had made him take notice of her today of all days. "Oh, he has bigger worries at the moment. I'm sure he won't miss me for a while. Please, lead the way."

She followed Knox through the winding and awfully narrow corridors. This building really needed to be expanded and re-built, but Lord knows when that would actually happen. Rowan squeezed into the tiny office, glancing around at all the chaos and mayhem. Clearly he and Rowan shared similar organizational skills.

"I'm very well, although frustrated with my current work. You, Sir?"

"Good!"

A strange response to an Auror expressing vexation, but Knox took it as a benefit.  Frustration was an impetus for action.  He went around behind his desk and found his makings for tea.  Though it could be heated and brewed with a wand, Knox like many of his generation preferred to make it magic-free.  He set a little fire under the kettle and had a seat.

"Sit, sit.  Kettle's on.  I'm frustrated as well.  We certainly have that in common.  Look at this."

He pulled out a cutting from the Daily Prophet and handed it to her.

Unregistered Werewolf Found Dead
by Niobe Thursby

3 May 2010

The body of a 46-year-old wizard was found the morning following the 28th of April's full moon in the woods near the village of
Budleigh Babberton.  His name has not been released pending notification of his family.

"He was a werewolf, but he wasn't registered," said Wilhemena Gunn, spokeswitch for the Werewolf Registry.

Upon examination the cause of death was determined to be exposure.  Experts say he had become injured post transformation
but was unable or unwilling to seek medical attention. 

"Had he been registered and in a safe house this wouldn't have happened," said Gunn.

But reknown werewolf expert and advocate Maya Irene-Strangely retorted, "this isn't about safe houses, this is about the stigma of registration.  If this poor wizard felt he couldn't go to Mungo's that's on our shoulders.  Living unregistered in this country is deadly, as we can plainly see."

"I think that woman is confused," flustered Gunn.

He gave her time to read it.  Knox Greyfriar's personal and persistent interest in the werewolf situation was well-known.  His detractors found him to be meddling and dangerous.  Cynics wondered if a single Elder could change what many centuries had put into place.  His supporters, well, there were few but they were close. 

And Level Two? Well, Level Two had its hands full with the Dementors right now.

Rowan indeed thought it was a bit odd of a response to give her, but then Knox had never seemed like a completely...ordinary man. Odd seemed to fit with what Rowan knew about his personality. She watched in mild curiosity as he unearthed his tea supplies. Her lip curved as she realized he was making it the Muggle way. "You make tea the way I prefer it, sir. Even after all these years knowing I'm a witch, I still prefer the old fashioned way."

She obeyed his request for her to sit, holding out her hand for the piece of paper that he was handing her. She quickly realized it was a clipping from the Daily Prophet and her brow furrowed.  She read over it in silence, though she shook her head a couple of times. She snorted softly, unable to hide her dry amusement at Gunn's presumption about registration. Rowan knew that registration had its own problems, none of which were to be taken lightly. After a moment more she set the paper down and looked back up at Knox.

"It's awful, Sir," she said to him, unsure as to where he was taking this conversation.

"It is!" he said rising out of his chair a little to accept the clipping back.  "I knew you'd agree.  That poor man.  Needless loss.  Can you imagine?"

He flashed a smile that didn't reach his eyes as he looked at the young Auror before him.  She was of a generation of students he never taught at Hogwarts and so he didn't see in her what he saw in many of the trainees.  He saw something different.  A worldly capability that came with experience in the Auror Corps.  A loyalty.  A critical mind.  Perhaps one like his own.

"I'd like to find out if there are anymore like this wizard.  Unregistered.  Strapped for support.  Isolated.  I can't ask Werewolf Registry, of course. They're well-meaning, but ultimately bound by the obligation to seek registration and if lacking to capture.  Capture!" he spat.  He reviled the terminology.

"And I, as you can plainly see, and not equipped for street work neither in constitution, jurisdiction, or intelligence.  Why, you can hear me coming a mile away and I'm not at all subtle."

The old bear knew himself well. 

"But perhaps you are."

He wondered if she had already aprehended the full meaning of his request.  This would be off the books.  And while not strictly illegal, it might put her in a dilemma.  To seek out those who were technically breaking the law and instead of chasing them down...offer something. 

Rowan handed him back the clipping, nodding in agreement. She shook her head at his question, although she was fairly sure the question had in fact been rhetorical.

She could see his eyes not quite spark when he smiled, and it made her a little sad to see. She knew about Knox's...condition, and she was sure that these attacks were causing him both great stress and grief. She would not have wanted to trade places with him. However the way he was staring at her was making her a bit uncomfortable, and she wondered just what he was thinking that had him staring at her so intently.

She was relieved when he finally spoke. "It is very frustrating," she agreed with him, and though her tone was placating, she quite honestly agreed with him. The whole idea that someone who didn't want to be announced for all the world to see as a werewolf was to then be treated as some kind of wild animal to be captured...It seemed very wrong to Rowan.

Rowan's lip quirked at Knox's self depreciating comments, for he seemed to make them quite light hartedly. "You can't blame yourself, Sir. This place wears one down."

She arched a brow when Knox pointedly looked at her. It wasn't that she didn't understand what he was asking her, quite the opposite. But she wondered how far he meant her to go, and what his ultimate goal was. And was his loyalty to the Ministry, or to his kin? The only thing Rowan chose to ask however was, "Might I ask, why me, Sir?"

Knox cocked his head as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.  "Because you care." 

He shifted in his seat, his brow darkening in that way that people had come to know him for, that look that heralded a grave and heart-felt show of soft-hearted, stout-minded, progressive do-goodery.  Popular with some, reviled by others. 

"Because, Auror Tyren, I barely know you and it's as plain as the hair on your head.  You're a witch of passion and I know you believe in doing what's right."  But he raised his hands in mock surrender and shook his head.  "But I could be wrong.  Correct an old wizard for assuming.  Tell me I'm wrong and I'll release you from this awkward meeting."

Oh, you manipulative old bear.  Transparent!

Rowan shrugged her shoulders but then nodded. She was never very good at hiding her interest or bias towards how she felt. "I do, yes."

Rowan again felt that heavy gaze set upon her, serious and direct, inescapable. Rowan wasn't really quite sure what to think of Knox, to be honest. She didn't dislike him, she knew that much. And she didn't think he was a bad person, or an untrustworthy one. She did however believe she needed to take him with a grain of salt, and some careful consideration.

She listened to his speech, watching the way he craftily wove his words and his gestures, appealing to her ego and her compassion. She chuckled dryly in the back of her throat.  "You're not very subtle, Sir," she told him bluntly. "But you're not wrong. Your pretty words and flattery are nice, but unneccesary. I'm happy to help where I can."

"Splendid!"  Knox clapped his hands and just at that moment the kettle sang out! Fweeeeeee!  At the like-domestic alarm, Knox lifted lightly from his chair and continued the ado surrounding preparing cups of tea.  In no time at all, there was a mismatched mug in front of them both, a tea bag (for shame) inside, and steam off the top. 

While he had been preparing the traditional nicety, he had time to notice how easily Tyren both detected and parried his influence, how little she gave on, how comfortable she seemed in contradicting him.  He reminded him very much of his two favorite trainees and former students Fauna Blake and Grace Eddy.  They were far greener of course, and less skilled at keeping a straight face, but there was a resemblence in the traits he admired all the same.

"So, here's what I see going on," he began.  "It's estimated that nearly 30% of werewolves in Britain are not registered, or so a joint query between St. Mungo's and the Registry reports.  To tell you the truth, I know a few unregistered werewolves myself.  They live a life on the edge, and I believe them when they say they have no other choice.  And no one's looking after them.  And here, look at this:"

He drew another Daily Prophet clipping.[1]  This one was a few months old.  "Preposterous headline.  I could hardly believe it.  I thought we wanted werewolves in safe houses?"

He let her read over the short article.

"Clearly, there's a need for some help. What I need," he paused to consider his words, "is help finding them. To pass along a message."

1.	Feb 12 Unregistered Werewolves Sneaking Into Safehouses

Rowan glanced up as the kettle whistled, indicating the water had boiled. She felt an immense sense of relief, tea always helped calm her and made her sharper. She took the tea mug from Knox gratefully, breathing in the smell of hot water and tea leaves, which she was fairly sure were of the earl grey variety.

She took a tentative sip of her tea, attempting to not burn her mouth, as she listened to Knox begin to speak again. "I believe those statistics are probably on the low side,Sir," she told him, in response to his first few sentences. "I know there's plenty of reasons for people to refuse to register themselves with the Ministry."

She herself didn't know any unregistered werewolves, but she knew that her younger sister Aoife had a couple of friends who were unregistered. Aoife worried for their well being, but knew they had little other choice. She'd confided in Rowan one night after her friend was almost arrested, and it was then that Rowan started to really care about the issue.

She took the clipping from Knox, reading over it quickly. She shook her head, handing this one back to him as well. "So you want me to try and reach out to them, Sir?"

"I do," he confirmed.  "And in a way that won't cause them any alarm because what I'm offering is help."

He leaned forward and put his elbows on the desk and laced his fingers in front of his mouth.  "Level Two - we have no quarrel with witches and wizards living out their lives in peace.  I don't see any reason to trespass into the purview of the Werewolf Capture Unit when all is halcyon.  These people, they're the epitome of clandestine do-gooders.  They're swathed in subtlety.  What harm are they doing?"

"Or more to the matter, what manner of harm is coming to them? I have an inkling that the amount is substantial and I have but a small token I can offer them, if only I can find them."

He unlaced his fingers so that his palms were flat together.  He let his hands tip forward so that his fingers pointed at Rowan.

"But I think you can find them.  And I think you can allow them to keep safe their peace and quiet."

"I hope they see it that way, Sir," Rowan replied. She knew that while Knox almost certainly had the best of intentions, unregistered werewolves would not necessarily see it this way. There was a strong possibility that they would be suspicious of Knox's motivation, wary of a trap.

"You know I agree with you. So do many others. The sad fact is that so many of those who hold the greatest amounts of power are not on our side, and don't agree with your sentiment that they are indeed just living their lives in peace. They say unregistered werewolves pose an enormous threat, and yet all evidence points to the threat being towards unregistereds, not from them." She nodded, her red curls bouncing.

"Well then, let's find them," Rowan stated. "I can certainly try, Sir. I just hope your faith in me isn't misplaced."

"I hope so as well."

She had a level head on her shoulders, more balanced than many at this stage in their careers.  This was a time for many of rigid zealotry and righteousness misplaced in the institutions and regulations that governed their world on its surface.  But not Auror Tyren who seemed motivated to do good no matter what the avenue, no matter if it took her down a dimly lit alleyway.

"What I ask is simple." 

He drew from his pocket a set of off-white cards, like business cards.  As he held them in his hand, one could see that there was a few lines of writing in purple ink, embossed. 

Need a hand?
Safe. Confidential. No questions asked.
Burn me.

Knox passed the stack of twenty or so to Tyren, but as soon as it hit her fingers and left his, the ink seemed to leak away back into the paper.

"Tricky spell that.  The message only appears in the hands of a werewolf.  Cast it in a fire and it will name the place to go."  He was very proud of the innovation - they weren't easy to make.  "I only have those twenty, so you'll have to be careful."

He sat back, not taking his eyes off his Calling Cards.  He was worried to hand them out.  But he had to if they were going to be of any use.

"Can you do this for me?"