“What are you doing here, Ma? You’re not in his schedule.” Maya Elliot was busy sorting out the paperwork for the morning when her mother walked in, wrapped up for a winter far colder than they were having. Her first instinct was to question her presence; yet when she actually looked at the witch approaching the desk, Maya frowned deeply.

Miranda Storm was pale and tired looking. Her bulky monochrome jumper and robe were accompanied with a thick scarf and long dark hair framed her pale features. Maya recognised the tell-tale signs of stress in the wrinkles that framed her dark eyes, thickly rimmed glasses covering the bags.

“He’ll see me.” The head healer spoke, not bothering with the formalities of greeting her daughter. She didn’t question why Maya was already here at 7:30, she’d been told about the ‘word’ Carstairs had had with her. He’d basically threatened her daughter about her job but Miranda had never had any intention of getting involved. Maya finally worked and supported her daughter herself, she wasn’t going to mess it up for her by having a word with the Head of the DMLE. Maya could handle herself.

“He’s here, yes?” People in positions of power and responsibility always arrived at work early. Miranda would have been at St Mungo’s now if it weren’t for what happened yesterday.

Maya nodded and Miranda took that as her cue to go into the office.
“Wait Ma you can’t just-”

It was too late. Miranda could and she did. She pushed the door open without a knock and set her dark eyed gaze on the wizard in charge of the haphazard group of dark wizard catchers that he called aurors.
“Mr Carstairs. I take it you’ve been briefed on yesterday?”

Maya was stood behind her mother as she grabbed the door.
“I’m sorry sir she just-”
“Stop fussing, Maya. He’s expected me at least.”

Solomon was halfway through his second cup of English Breakfast, stood behind his desk with an open case folder within reach, when Healer Storm pushed open the door to his office. The room was tidy. Ever since they had repaired the hole in the wall, he'd taken great lengths to keep it neat. His expression was one of mild surprise, and he glanced up in time to catch the tail end of the exchange between mother and daughter.

            “I’m sorry sir she just-”
“Stop fussing, Maya. He’s expected me at least.”

"That I was..." the wizard muttered dryly and dismissed Maya with a heavy sigh. "Please - take a seat Miranda." He gestured to the empty chair across before sitting down at his own desk, absently straightening his robes. It was too early in the morning for this; just a moment ago he had to deal with auror reports involving an inappropriate comment about his visitor's dressing robe and legs.

The department head stopped himself from glancing down to confirm, instead serving a second cup of tea for Miranda. She did look worse for wear. Not that anyone could blame her. Few possessed temperaments that could easily recover from Dementor attacks, much less the distasteful company of Lawrence Musgrave.

"Your timing is impeccable." Solomon smiled politely, far from chipper as he slid cup and saucer across the table - practically a ritual now. "I hope your husband is recovering well?"

Solomon Carstairs didn’t strike Miranda as a happy wizard. He seemed depressed, squeezed by life to the point of exhaustion. His wasn’t the sort of company she enjoyed being in but this morning was necessary.

"I hope your husband is recovering well?" If recovering well meant angry with her from waking up, Ignan had been on top form immediately. Yet Carstairs didn’t need to know that. So Miranda took the tea with a weak smile and lowered herself into the seat offered. She gave a small nod and crossed her legs.

“He’ll be fine. No extended exposure.” But enough to cast a shadow on his mood for the entire day. Perhaps she’d stay through the nightshift at work tonight, Miranda pondered.

They weren’t, however, here to discuss her husband. He’d been unconscious and he’d no doubt be in a huff with her for a few days. She could handle that. What she couldn’t handle was the ministry still failing to have Lawrence Musgrave locked in one of their cells.

“Why is Lawrence Musgrave still able to come to my house and threaten me? Why is he not in a cell in the middle of the North sea?”

It was something of a blessing to know that the Deputy Headmaster would be fine - Solomon had his concerns and suspicions about Hogwarts, finding it difficult to investigate the source of the lake that had turned to blood. Nobody at the school appeared to harbour a Biblical sense of humour but people hid their true selves rather well.

Level 9 had proven that with incisive clarity. He had to trust that McGonagall and Storm would eventually detect something amongst their ranks.

                 “Why is Lawrence Musgrave still able to come to my house and threaten me? Why is he not in a cell in the middle of the North sea?”

His relaxed expression disappeared. Oh, delightful. As if the papers weren't enough, now he had criticisms launched directly at him during work hours. Solomon put down his tea cup and cleared his throat - Miranda wouldn't be satisfied by statements about his Aurors trying their utmost best.

"Musgrave has a notorious talent for being in several places at once," he adjusted his spectacles fussily as he recalled Pratt mentioning something similar before; a problem that persisted to the present day. "We receive several reports on his sightings at once - panicked people seeing his face where it isn't."

There were only so many of them - and it was starting to feel like the DMLE was up against an invisible army, one whose soldiers ran through the Ministry undetected.

"Although... I must say, Miranda. He'd have more trouble getting into your house if you didn't bloody invite him in." Solomon's mouth twisted into a skeptical frown. "Musgrave does enough damage without his victims helping him, don't you think?"

Of course he mentioned her letting Lawrence in. Miranda wasn’t sure if she was more put off by that or the fact he continued to use her first name as if they were friends.

“You don’t think I’ve heard the same from my husband, Solomon?” The witch commented. Her tone wasn’t biting; it was frustrated. Frustrated with herself, with Ignan, with the situation. “But was I supposed to leave him there lurking, watching me?”

She paused, taking a sip of her tea. The heat was intense and she quickly put it back on the edge of his large desk. Usually having a good, healthy appetite, Miranda had found her own craving was for cigarettes. She didn’t want any tea right now.

“You and I both know that if I’d have contacted the aurors on a mere suspicion, they wouldn’t have believed me.” She’d been rudely asked last time if she was sure it was Musgrave. This time the aurors hadn’t dared. But she knew what they’d been thinking. Ignan had basically said it himself. She’d been stupid. Why in Merlin’s name had she let the wizard who’d previously attacked her, into her home?

“You don’t think I’ve heard the same from my husband, Solomon? But was I supposed to leave him there lurking, watching me?”

Solomon did not, as a rule, tend to speculate on what the Healer may or may not hear from her husband - they seemed a peculiar couple from afar and one that he would dread having to dinner as much as he would entertaining either in the office. But knowing that Ignan Storm had also berated his wife did make Sol think better of the man.

"Their disbelief is preferable to what has taken place," he replied dryly and resumed taking his tea. "You would have been frustrated but safe. And it's my departments responsibility to keep the public safe, not to stop them from inviting criminals into their homes."

Merlin knew she expected them to do. Women were often so very unreasonable in their expectations. They always seemed to know that they want something but not specifically what they wanted. He savoured a sip of tea with the desperation of a man who wished it were something stronger.

Too early for that. Too early in the week, even. "We are trying our best to apprehend Musgrave." Solomon explained in a slow, placating tone. "If you can't trust me on the matter, trust the fact that he has harmed our Aurors and they don't take kindly to that. Now, what else could you possibly want from us?"

Carstairs was a quill pushing parchment sorting wizard that seemed more comfortable in a tie than a pair of auror robes. He suited being sat behind a desk far better than in the field; just as Miranda suited brewing healing potions as opposed to drugging and poisoning criminals. He wouldn’t understand the position she’d been in when Musgrave had been outside. He wouldn’t understand the terror in her mind when the dementors swarmed.

Far paler than usual, Miranda looked almost ghostly when she clasped her hands uncomfortably in her lap and watched the wizard through her darkly framed spectacles.
“I want you to do your jobs.” The witch said, trying to stay calm and professional.

“He harmed your auror nearly two weeks ago and he feels confident enough to show up at my house more than once.” Her voice was shaky, emotion getting the better of her after the exposure to the dementors the day before. “He left Hogsmeade with a trail of blood and have any of your aurors actually been out searching for him? He’s a mess, he is on the edge of insanity and death, making mistakes! Yet your bumbling so called dark wizard catchers are more likely to catch a cold!”

“Let me speak to Shufflebottom.”

Clearly the woman was having an emotional lapse.

If Miranda had not just seen it fit to insult every Auror on the floor by implication, Solomon might have laughed at her request to see William Shufflebottom. As it was he did feel in enough good humour to even pretend that this made sense on any level whatsoever. The department head relinquished his mug to sit once more on the desk, leaning forward with a serious countenance.

"Absolutely not." Sol replied firmly. "You are a civilian. If you have information about Mister Shufflebottom that will help in the case, by all means you may report it to us for further investigation."

Who in Godric's name did she think she was? Minerva McGonagall? Solomon sighed heatedly, speaking as part of an effort to keep his annoyance in check out of sympathy of the fact that Mrs Storm was likely in a fragile place.

"Should you care to make an official complaint about your experience with us, Miranda, I am sure that your daughter is capable of providing the appropriate paperwork..." he indicated the door with a slight nod. "But if you have nothing constructive to offer, I ask that you please leave me to do precisely what you want me to do: my job."

Feeling like a naughty child, Miranda was reprimanded by the wizard sitting on the edge of the desk looking down at her. Her hands clasped tighter in her lap, knuckles whitening as she focused on remaining calm and not buring bridges between level 2 and St Mungo’s. She knew that the current territory was dangerous after having just insulted his corps, but who else needed to be threatened in their own home and have dementors attack before the fools actually brought Musgrave in?

He signalled the door, expecting her to leave and Miranda stiffened in the chair, her lips forming a thin line and dark eyes boring into his. This was his territory, she knew that. But so far his aurors had failed her and she’d tried to do what they couldn’t.

“I do have something constructive to offer. Your job is to utilise any resources available to you, Solomon,” Healer Storm had made no effort to move, but her tone was politer than before, softer. “Musgrave is camping somewhere. He clearly has a base. It doesn’t matter what Shufflebottom said on trial, he must know where it is, or there must be clues in his mind. I may be a civilian but I’m the most qualified person you will find to go digging.”

He shouldn't have expected her to be scolded and go away - Miranda wasn't a schoolgirl.

Even, thought Solomon as he continued to sip at his tea, if she was acting like one this morning. Fancy her thinking it was alright to have someone digging around in Shufflebottom's head! On Level 2 business without actually being from level 2! The wizard sighed heavily and leaned forward, fingers interlacing over his desk.

"No, Miranda." Solomon frowned at the reminder that she was at least technically qualified as a Leglimens. "We employ Leglimens who are skilled at working in the minds of criminals - most who also practice Occlumency. If you have strong, legitimate grounds to believe that Shufflebottom is hiding something then by all means present your case."

Going into another person's mind was something beyond his ability but he knew it was no trifling matter. It was, in fact, a violation of privacy that Solomon took seriously. There was a reason that they could not use information derived through truth serum or Legilimency as proper evidence in a trial.

"But we can't simply enter his mind on an inkling - certainly you can't. Confirmation bias." He suspected she must really have been shaken if she couldn't see why her suggestion was preposterous. "You're involved, at any rate, as a victim. We can't trust you. Now really, Miranda, if you have nothing concrete to give me..."

Solomon trailed off to raise his brow at her. "Go home. Or go to work. I don't care where you go, just get out of my office."

It was a deaf troll that Miranda was trying to get through to. It didn’t matter what she said at this point; to Solomon Carstairs she was a civilian trying to push herself into Level 2 matters like an uneducated child. He’d already spoken to her as if he saw her as a juvenile or reprobate and now he had decided to send her away from his office as if her position meant naught.

Endeavouring not to reveal her irascibility at the current situation, Miranda gave a brief not and slowly rose from her chair.
“He’s critically wounded, Carstairs. It’s not something he could heal himself. He’ll go to someone for help. Someone skilled.” One of her healers, most probably. The witch paused as a realisation dawned on her and she stared at the wizard, her formally dull and tired eyes suddenly brightening. “I had to sack his niece in October. Hannah Bombay.”

“But she hates your kind.”

Solomon sighed heavily, plucking a quill out of its holder on the desk as the Healer spoke.

"Miss Bombay is welcome to join the club," he remarked in a dry voice as he made a note of the name so that he could send one of the more likeable Aurors around. "It hardly endears her to our lot at any rate." The quill was lowered and he was about to once again implore for Miranda to leave when a thought occurred.

More a curiosity than a thought.

"Why did you fire her?" Solomon did not know many Healers who had been personally let go by the Head of the hospital. "Ineptitude, was it? Endangering lives?"

Miranda was ready to turn and leave when Carstairs’ question surprised her,

"Why did you fire her?" As she listened to him, lips pressed tightly into a thin line as she thought back to the horrible meeting with the board forcing her hand on a matter she’d felt very strongly about. Hannah Bombay has been an excellent healer but people couldn’t see past the affliction. Solomon’s own ministry couldn’t see past the affliction. Everyone saw a monster, a criminal.

“That would make it simpler.” A Sad smile twisted her lips and Miranda considered her answer for a moment. “She was a werewolf with a criminal record. Only the comatose or unconscious patients didn’t object to her healing them but their families did. The board of warlocks made the decision in the interest of the hospital.” Despite her somewhat calm demeanour, the irritation could definitely be heard in her voice. They were all capable of ending up in Hannah Bombay’s situation.

Before Cartsiars could have enough time to ask her to leave rudely again, Miranda turned and headed for the door, pausing to bid him goodbye before she exited the room.

Solomon added to his notes, the reasons for Hannah Bombay's unemployment. He frowned to himself as he did so - the public was comfortable with Werewolves teaching their children but not healing their sick. The criminal record was different, of course. Nonetheless the wizard could understand Miranda's irritation with the board.

Unemployability for those reasons could easily lead to a criminal path. Perhaps Bombay followed in her uncle's footsteps.

The Head Healer finally made her exit - Sol looked up from his notes long enough to respond before he opened up the folder for the investigation, slipping in what Miranda had told him. A pause as he considered the other papers within.

He was worried. Solomon could not predict if the worst was yet to come - and he didn't know from which direction. For all he could tell, this might be a distraction from some greater plot. They were looking to Musgrave and to Hogwarts now yet he was certain that the danger would arise elsewhere.

"Maya," the department head called to his assistant in a distracted voice. "More tea before the next meeting."