"She'll see you now, sir."

"Lovely."

The St. Mungo's solid old gatekeeper of a witch nodded her head down the corridor towards Head Healer Storm's office, and the ursine Wizengamot Elder rose from the tiny wooden chair. He grunted as he rose.

It was good to be back in London, but the work had piled up to hilariously absurd heights. Spells were needed to keep the stacks of files and scrolls from toppling and filling his office from rug to crown molding. It had been a few days and progress was slow. Next on the list was to find fellow Elder Miranda Storm and get a few issues squared away.

Her door was ajar. He rapped the door frame as he entered.

"Good morning, Storm. You're looking well. Saw the Prophet."

He'd tried to stay up on the news while he was abroad despite being swamped and the Daily Prophet arriving only intermittently. But news of Storm being out of the running for Minister to succeed Zephyr had made it to South American just fine.

To the Head Healer, it was a strange thing to be expecting a meeting with Knox Greyfriar. Now on an equal footing, both working for the Wizengamot, it was only a couple of years ago that Greyfriar had been her boss at Hogwarts for a few short months before she packed up and left after watching her brother die on the Quidditch pitch[1]. Miranda was the first to admit that she handled grief horrendously. It was fortunate Greyfriar didn’t hold a grudge; or at least that was her presumption when she smiled up at him from her desk.

It wasn’t her friendliest smile playing on her features, yet it wasn’t strained and cold either. It was warm enough to show the former headmaster that he was welcome. The parchment on the desk was left abandoned and Storm removed her glasses, letting them hang on a string around her neck as she rose and stepped around her desk.

“Mr Greyfriar.” It appeared everyone and their blind mother had seen the prophet. Not even the ministry for magic and it felt like her life was played out in print. “I’d be surprised if you hadn’t. My staff are waving it about cursing not having gotten rid of the dragon yet.”

“Please,” A hand was waved in the direction of the 2 sofa’s to the left of the office door. There was only so much small talk Miranda Storm could manage.

1.	Memorial Ceremony - 2nd May 2008 where Theadora Kingstreet murdered Leon Carter on stage at a memorial ceremony for the deaths at the Battle of Hogwarts

He accepted Healer Storm's invitation to sit.

"Well, you look wonderful," he complimented without a trace of guile or flattery. Whatever had been going on for Storm professionally in these years since Hogwarts, and more recently since Zephyr had resigned, was clearly working for her. Knox felt like he was looking at a witch who'd really only just begun.

If it were up to Knox, most meetings would be hours-long catch-ups between new or very old friends with tea and ever-louder voices. Candles would burn down to stumps as plans were made and alliances forged, but alas - nothing would get done his way, would it? So he had learned long ago when to listen to the cues of those who'd rather move things along. (And when to ignore the same and do things his own way.)

Today it was, "down to business. You'll not talk my ear off, I think."

He opened a thick file.

"Werewolf Welfare." It was a recently formed Wizengamot sub-committee on which they both (and a few others) served, assisting the Ministry in evaluating current laws and policies concerning werewolf safety. Were they legal, were they effectively enforced, all that.

"These are the incident reports and evaluations from the safe houses. Nizamani[1] has compiled everything into - here."

Knox passed Miranda a page. "It's all broken down here." He pointed to a chart.

"The safe houses are referring this many to St. Mungo's for treatment, but St.  Mungo's are only reporting receiving half as many cases. And here - there's still an issue with record-keeping. We have the same names reporting in at two,sometimes three, different safe houses in the same night."

He sat back with a sigh, leaving the page in Miranda's care.

"Unregistered werewolves. We knew about this, of course, but the gap in medicinal care is, well, cavernous."

He wondered if Miranda would be defensive about the St. Mungo's numbers.  She had no reason to be. How could St. Mungo's treat werewolves who didn't show up?

1.	Samiran Nizamani, a Wizengamot administrator

"Well, you look wonderful," Greyfriar calmly commented as he sat down opposite her. Miranda tried not to show any alarm or surprise in her face at such an unexpected compliment. She didn’t feel like she looked wonderful. It was only 4 days ago that she’d woken up having been obliviated, her memories completely taken[1]. She’d argued with Ignan and they couldn’t shake the shadow in the room, Lawrence Musgrave driving a wedge in their barely started marriage. Greyfriar thankfully didn’t see any of that. He saw the former Hogwarts Healer now in charge of her own hospital and having been nominated for minister. That was the witch she wanted everyone to see.

Fortunately the older wizard understood when small talk wasn’t welcome and when to crack on. He’d no doubt figured that out with her, at least, back at Hogwarts. So she was glad to take document and push her glasses back up onto her nose.


“Unregistered werewolves won’t come to us.” Her tone was matter of fact as she studied the figures. “We’re legally obligated to report to the ministry. It’s not something I agree with. We preach patient confidentiality in all other aspects yet werewolves immediately lose that right.”

1.	To Steal a Precious Hour

She didn't have to tell Knox the rights werewolves lacked, but he didn't fault her for it.

"Yes, well, you and I are certainly on the same page there. We have begun to be able to account for the actual effects of these policies. Someone in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures has been looking at Auror reports, making connections between certain incidents - deaths, injuries, break-ins - and the Werewolf Registry's safe house manifests."

He showed her the corresponding document.

"I'll not be at all surprised if the correlation is stronger when we can consider St. Mungo's data."

The Wizengamot didn't make law; they were the law's caretakers and enforcers. Interpreting, guarding, studying, and advising all. Thus Knox Greyfriar wasn't really in a position to directly change his lot in life or the lots of those poor unfortunates he and others attempted to salve. However, the more light on the issue, perhaps the solution would be more clearly seen by those who could do it.

But then, with the Ministry changing Ministers, the future was as uncertain as ever.

"I'm now led to conclude there's a clear contradiction and that the facts are piling up in support."

He set down the entire file between them.  It wasn't that this was a new revelation - activists had been making the claim for decades. But it was only recently that those with the proper permissions had been able to document the problem in a way the Ministry could bank on.

"Either the Ministry prioritizes the safety of werewolves, or we do not."

He shrugged.

Miranda could easily confirm that St Mungo’s records would show the same issues. Too many werewolves went underground through injury and sickness due to fear of being ousted when her healers reported their condition to the proper officials. With the law as it stood, the Head Healer would never advise one of her staff to turn a blind eye. Professionally, she followed the law to the letter. If not, who knew where the line would be and how far she and her staff would go.

That, unfortunately, didn’t make it any easier for the scared and afflicted.

“Care for werewolves is limited. Funding for care for werewolves if limited.” Miranda handed him back the parchment and sat back in the chair. “I can provide further financial evidence to support. You might, however, want to hex me when you see how little of my budget goes to werewolf support and rehabilitation after bites. If I put any more of my funding towards it, hence taking away from other more important areas.” She pulled a face.

“New minister, new head of department for the RCMC.” To sort out problems, one had to go to the highest person to deal with them. “My brother.” She found out the day before, an owl from their proud father. “I’m not certain of his policies, however.”

"I see."

Knox wasn't pleased about the compromises in funding Elliot admitted to. "I presume you're talking about Dementor victims. It's a tragedy, but aren't you getting a special allocation for that? And how many are affected compared to the - " he indicated the pages, "hundreds of werewolves each month, with life-long afflictions, with frequent need, with little political concern? Surely you could do more?"

He hadn't come to harass the Head Healer, but he had never been the sort to avoid a principled critique.  And he was ever weary of gold being the barrier.

Attempting to not have her irritation visible, Miranda sat back in silence for a moment. Knox Greyfriar was a loud protestor for anything he believed in. Yet, would he have defending werewolf rights so strongly had he not been afflicted by the curse himself? Would it have even been of slight concern to him? From Storm’s experience, people only tended to truly care once it had directly affected them. Then they came for me and there was no one left to speak for me.

“Mr Greyfriar…hundreds of people a day come through this hospital. A small proportion of them are dementor victims, poisoned, bitten, attacked, cursed, victims of idiocy, malady stricken, vampires, werewolves. If I listened to the complaints of some in regards to our budgeting I would have pittance left for the rest. If you were to go out into my reception and canvass opinions on where more funding needs to be, only the werewolves will agree with you.”

“We already do more than is legally required of us here at St Mungo’s. I would be lynched if I were to take money from other areas to further support werewolves who can’t responsibly register with the ministry. That is how the public would see it. Endangering lives to protect the anonymity of the irresponsible.”