Mr Carstairs was already 10 minutes late. Her mother checked her pocket watch from the seat in the office. This made Maya nervous, torn between two important people. Carstairs was horrendously busy and her mother didn't wait for anyone, being too impatient and busy. Maya knew what checking the time meant. It was a sign. Maya grit her teeth and rose from her chair, she crossed the large room to the door, knocking and allowing herself entry to her boss' office.

"She just checked her pocket watch, Sir."' she paused, realising he may not get the hint, "that means she's about to leave."

---

Solomon Carstairs had not slept since Juni Zamperia had appeared on their floor yesterday evening, accompanied by a chick trail of students who had been kidnapped from Hogsmeade last weekend. The Daily Prophet had not ceased their assail upon his offices, which is nothing to say of what the Minister of Magic felt in regards to one of their own being responsible for this bloody mess.

The cherry on top of the multi-coloured Sunday was Miranda Elliot. Storm. Married to the Deputy Head of Hogwarts, of all people!

He looked up from the report on his desk, blinking confusedly at his personal assistant. Pocket watch? Solomon lowered his quill to pinch the bridge of his nose. Right. She was waiting.

It had been some time since he'd seen Miranda in the flesh - they had been at Hogwarts together, three or so years apart, but hardly what anyone would consider friends. The Department Head made a tired gesture that Maya might leave to fetch her mother (another circumstance that defied pure coincidence).

"Right. Of course, send her in, we shouldn't be long." Solomon grimaced and closed the folder before him, pushing aside thoughts of the kidnappings to recall why Mrs Storm was here at all. It was a professional courtesy, if nothing else, in that several of his Aurors had pointed out the suspicious circumstances of the hospital poisonings and the Head Healer's well-known advocacy for self-brewing.

He stood as the witch was shown in, smiling briefly. "Miranda. Do sit down..." Solomon nodded at the seat across from him. "So sorry to keep you waiting."

---

When Miranda stepped into the room it was with a calm expression that didn't give away her irritation at being summoned and even made to wait. A nod was offered to her daughter who closed the door leaving the Head Healer and the Head of Law Enforcement stood alone in the oversized office. Miranda eyed him, her gaze analytical as she made no move to sit down. This idiotic wizard had had the gall to send a rather ridiculous owl to her staff while she'd been in a coma and she therefore didn't have him pegged as a pleasant wizard.

"First name terms, Mr Carstairs. I wasn't aware we were at that stage of our relationship yet." With the grace of a woman forever on her feet and in ridiculous heels, Miranda came to the chair and took a seat.

---

Although Solomon smiled dryly at this greeting, he was quite at lost as to why she was particularly acidic this afternoon. The exchange between himself and St.Mungo's staff was a distant - nearly forgotten - memory in light of recent events. He was hardly popular these days, however, and took it in stride.

"Mrs Storm sounded odd." More than odd, but he wasn't about to wonder at why some witches seemed distant from that title - his own wife sometimes went by her maiden name. "Thank you for coming. I would have come by the hospital but, ah --" Solomon indicated his office, the bulletin boards with articles and lifeless Howlers piling up on a side table.

Merlin forbid another Howler arrive in Miranda's presence. He wasn't the most fond of her, considering the way she bossed his staff about as if though their robes were green rather than crimson.

"We've been pressed for time. Tell me. How is business at St.Mungo's?"

---

The wizard was right about one thing regarding the witch. Mrs Storm sounded very odd. She didn't show any amusement to this and instead nodded.
How was business at St Mungos? Miranda's lips pursed as she considered a response. She crossed her legs in the seat and sat up, back straight, formal.

"Improving," the witch stated "it's taking a long time but new changes are being implemented." Dark eyes stared over her glasses at him, "how is business on level two?" They'd both had their disasters.

---

He should have asked Maya to bring in something to drink. Like wine, or a tot of poison.

Solomon was beginning to feel the slightest pang of sympathy for his personal assistant - he thought about his own children, how long it had been since they had all seen each other and whether or not his son and daughter missed him at all. Somewhere in the stacks of mail there was a note from the latter, complete with humorous commiserations.

"I wish we could say the same. Affairs seem only to deteriorate," he replied but didn't linger on the subject - Miranda had provided a way in to the conversation she'd been invited to have today. "New changes? You must be pleased."

A tired, half-smile. Solomon cleared his throat and glanced at a folder on his desk. "My aurors tell me you have always supported the hospital's initiative to brew its own potions. A shame it had to come at the price of so many lives."

To say Miranda had been comfortable in the company of the Department Head would have been exaggerating, but now she struggled to keep her composure as her body stiffened and eyebrows rose.
"Excuse me?" She questioned.

---

He had the chimaera by its tail now. The reaction didn't bode well - if she had heard of such rumours or accusations, she must not have been expecting them to be thrown in her face at this meeting.

Solomon held her gaze as coolly and professionally as he could, keeping his shoulders relaxed. As if to say: this was just a simple conversation between two peers, nothing more. A friendly chat.

"I don't believe I misspoke," he drummed his fingers against the arm of the chair. "It's only that circumstance have what some might call... suspicious appearances. Not in the papers, mind, they're much too busy with four dead schoolchildren to remember the many more who passed in December. You must have noticed."

---

There had been an expectation that they'd be discussing her run in with Lawrence Musgrave. Or perhaps a complaint he'd received about the way she addressed his aurors. Miranda hadn't expected this. She sat still, staring ahead, expression stern.

There was a silence that fell as Miranda chose her words. She chose them carefully. She spoke them carefully.
"I suggest, Mr Carstairs, that you check yourself before you make any accusations you shall regret."

---

Solomon removed his spectacles, his frown more concerned than reproachful of this warning. She was in his office - on his floor - inside the Ministry of Magic. There was no reason to pretend politeness, them two who knew life and death and the pointlessness of  numbers.

"Miranda. I wouldn't dream of accusing you. Appearances are never what they seem, you agree?" he leaned forward, hands interlaced with seriousness. "A werewolf boy kidnapped. Fourteen students kidnapped. One living werewolf boy, eyewitness to his torture. Ten living students with damnable testimony."

This was all, of course, public information - playing in a loop in his head since that night in December. He'd gone over this with just about anyone who would listen.

"Either these criminals are incompetent or someone is playing with us." And somehow he did not believe it was all Mortimer Gamp's doing. Solomon sat back and replaced the spectacles, expression frank."You're an obvious accusation for the poisonings but murder is an extreme method to change policy. That won't stop people from talking."

Which, he knew, was what some body - or some persons - wanted. You couldn't force the DMLE against  gossip.

---

Never had Miranda imagined herself a perfect suspect in the poisonings, believing herself above such suspicion. Not only was she the head of St Mungos but she was also a wizengamot member. It was thanks to this that Miranda now sat in the seat unsure of what to say. Solomon's tack moved from accusatory to explanatory and for a rare occasion, Miranda was lost for words. She removed her glasses and pushed them to the top of her head, long hair being pulled back.

"I need a drink." She needed some breathing space to think.

---

Solomon most naturally agreed with this silent sentiment. He reached for his wand, not quite lifting it as he flicked the tip for the door to swing open so that he might summon his assistant. The wizard did not keep a liquor cabinet in his office - it made it too easy for visitors to linger and he didn't have time for that nonsense.

Not with tensions like this happening.

Maya came in with a tray of half full bottles and two crystal tumblers. Solomon didn't pay her mind, focusing on the older witch instead.

"Bit of cognac? Or whiskey?" he stood to pour accordingly, politely holding his tie out of the way. "This isn't an official investigation yet, of course. Only a social courtesy."

"Whiskey." Miranda barely paid her daughter mind and she didn't even question that the younger witch simply knew to bring the tumblers and decanters in as opposed to the teacups and teapot. Instead, the healer's mind span through the what Carstairs had just said and its implications. The blood had drained from the witch's face and her stomach curdled, leaving a sick empty feeling in her gut.

It wasn't an official investigation. Yet.

When Miranda spoke, it was quiet and as if she was voicing her thoughts, steady, slow.
"Why would I ...poison and kill people... including myself... in order to have a policy accepted to save more people? It's ridiculous."

---

Solomon settled for only a little cognac, wary with the knowledge that this meeting with Miranda was just another in a long queue of interviews he would continue giving until late into the night. He sympathised with her but sympathy was exhausting for a man like him.

The wizard crossed one leg over the other as he sat again, pushing the chair back. She wasn't wrong. It was ridiculous indeed, but how often did one open The Daily Prophet and find great sense in it?

"If you believe the policy would save more lives than the poisons took..." Solomon explained and shrugged, choosing the first conclusion off the top of his head. "People will find reasons, methods to madness. I personally suspect that the perpetrators are less involved at the hospital than you are."

Healers had been primary suspects based on access alone, yet investigations did not lead back to any one of them. Solomon was noticing a pattern of innocence in victims of late - patients, pub patrons, lovelorn werewolf boys. And schoolchildren now. It had as much a stink of politics and policy as Slug & Jigger's did of roses.

"So, Miranda. Tell me..." he smiled grimly at the witch. "Any clandestine enemies we ought to be aware of?"

---

"Apart from anyone I've sacked since my appointment?" The healer took a slow swig from the tumbler and closed her eyes, trying to remain calm, not to let her well known temper get the better of her. She was angry, extremely angry, but she at least appeared relatively calm on the outside. "I don't exactly play nicely with others, Solomon. There could be a long list."

She'd had a drink now. She'd had some thinking time....

"I sense right now that your aurors have found a scapegoat. It's not secret some would rather I didn't run St Mungos, and right now the ministry are desperate for at least one of these many crimes that are overwhelming you to be solved. And what, Mr Head of Magical Law Enforcement, looks better than the Head Healer of britain's wizarding hospital being accused and arrested of poisoning herself and many of the innocent patients under her care. Why, if people believed it, it would actually make you look competent. You've even found a scapegoat that half of the public truly believe is a heartless tyrant with no emotion. The perfect person to murder children!"

Solomon half-smiled at the implication of a scapegoat. If she was right, it was a poor excuse for one - Miranda Elliot Storm had her fair share of clout in terms of public opinion and the DMLE hardly needed an entire hospital of Healers bearing a grudge against every Auror who crossed the threshold.

She had every reason to be irritated but he was a wizard quite accustomed to having women act angrily towards him.

"I do believe it would take more than suspicion against you to label me as competent, Miranda. But even so I hardly need the press - we will very likely have a culprit to arrest for these kidnappings, and there is no concrete evidence in your case."

Circumstantial evidence was doubtful - too much of a risk. And her husband was the Deputy Head at Hogwarts. Solomon suspected that would somehow complicate matters, persons from separate cases crossing paths abstractly. He finished his dram of cognac and sighed heavily.

"Spare me the melodramatics of headlines. I don't enjoy what looks better any more than you do." Solomon in fact found it frustrating that she would pit him against her - it was, he knew, the core of why these recent crimes were so successful. No amount of violence was bringing leading figures together. They were all out to save themselves and retain what power they had left.

Children die and people point their fingers at one another.

"But... I thought that it was better for you to know," he explained in a quiet voice.

---

Staring across the desk at the wizard, Miranda didn’t wonder why Carstairs had been promoted to head of the department but she couldn’t help but think there had been far better men in his position.

“I’d appreciate knowing if anything further comes up.” The witch suddenly spoke formally and rose from the chair. The drained tumbler was placed on his desk and Miranda straightened her robes. “Send one of your aurors to the hospital tomorrow to collect my plans for the policy which I’d been putting together since September. You’ll see in there how it was intended to be implemented; support of the board of warlocks or not.”

A hand was extended to shake Solomon’s; a professional courtesy.

---

As far as gentle warnings went, Miranda dealt with hers more gracefully than most in such a position. Solomon stopped himself short of breathing a sigh of relief when she rose to take his hand rather than hex him. He'd be almost sorry to see her leave the office - formidable witches. Bloody treat, they were.

"Of course. Thank you Miranda," he shook her hand firmly and smiled in the way that old men of his ilk often did. With a bit of pain, the understanding of short-lived civilities against a backdrop of shifting powers. She would return to her hospital or home - and here, he would wait for Maya to send in the next witch pencilled into the book.

Solomon didn't have to check to know it was the mother of one of the kidnapping victims. His smile faded as he released Miranda's hand. "Good evening."