10 August 2011
10:15am, Auror Headquarters

"Daily Prophet," said a cocky young wizard as he breezed by the front desk of Level Two. 

    "Right right, hold up. Not so fast."

Still facing away, Figaro Sellaphix grimaced. He'd really hoped that would have worked.  He turned on his heel and turned on a smile.

"Hm? Oh, I'm with the Daily Prophet." He was. Technically. "I have an appointment." Well, not really. He had his annual check-up at St. Mungo's next week...

    "Oh, I'll bet you do. With who?"

Figaro leaned on the counter.  "Psh. With ..." his pause was barely perceptable.  "Auror Blake. Fauna Blake. It's fine."

Yea! His old housemate Fauna Blake. She was a proper Auror now, wasn't she. When was the last time they talked? He couldn't remember, but he was suddenly sure she'd back him up. She'd always been game, hadn't she?

    "Oh, I'll tell you if it's fine. You think we like you lot from the Prophet nosing around? And as if you weren't even old enough to be off The Trace. Get outta here, kid."

"That's very funny. I understand! I have young face," he schmoozed. "Just call her down. Did I mention she's an Auror? She'll clear things up. Don't worry. You won't get in trouble."

The desk witch humped, and scribbled a note on a bit of paper and deftly folded it up, barely looking.  With a flick, she sent off the enchanted floating memo to find young Auror Blake...

Where, oh where, was Felicitous Friday? Fauna had made it through miserable Monday, terrible Tuesday, and had only just started woeful Wednesday a lifetime ago. She checked her pocket watch under the conference table, listening to a senior auror drone on about the other Aurors guilty of hosting meetings in their cubicles. 10:14 am?! The meeting had started at 10:00. Fauna glanced behind her and widened her eyes at Raine in what she assumed to be mutual exasperation.

"Conference rooms are for conferencing," the Auror lifted his finger in the air. "It's fine to meet with one other person in your cube, if you talk quietly, but more than two and it becomes a distraction to those around you..."

Aurors are for Auror-ing! Fauna grumbled in her head.

Just a few days ago, she'd accompanied Trevelyan and Gamp to the lakehouse of horrors. That had felt necessary, and important, and even exciting, despite the horrors they'd uncovered. She'd rather be out and about, or discussing pentrals with Trevelyan, than in here. She'd rather deal with Pratt's mind games, or Carstairs' sobering presence, or even Bagnold's caustic barbs--

The door opened, and a memo flew in, careening for her. Fauna's face lit up.

She read it, brow furrowing. Then she bolted from her seat and smiled apologetically at the Aurors in the room.

"Sorry! Have to take this."

A few of the trainees stared at her as if she'd planned it. Ha! She wished.

Fauna hurried down the halls at first, then slowed, considering the memo creased in her hand. Figaro Sellaphix, here for the Daily Prophet. Here to see her. Here for an appointment. They normally didn't let trainees give information to the press, and she didn't recall seeing Sellaphix's name in the Prophet before.

Merlin, she hadn't seen Figaro in person for years.

The realization hit her as she turned the corner and spotted him by the front desk. The desk witch bent over her papers, ignoring him. Fauna paused. If not for his change in clothes, he looked exactly like the Hufflepuff she'd known. Young. Mischievous. Often smiling or about to.

A smile tugged on her mouth. She glanced down at her coffee-stained boots. Shrugged. She looked presentable enough in her black trainee trousers and black jacket.

Fauna had missed him! Why had it been so long?

Her hand closed around the memo, the ink smudging against her skin.

Oh. Oh, right. They'd argued over the way he'd betrayed Zel at Hogwarts by blabbing about his lycanthropy. She'd lectured him through owls, he'd insisted that he didn't care. It felt like it had happened ages ago. He must have either made it up to Zel or not, at this point.

Hogwarts. SAWS. Fauna just didn't have cause to think about either these days, or to worry over old resentments and drama.

Still, her smile slowly faded. She fixed on a neutral expression, and moved into view, her boots thudding softly on the polished floor.

"Thanks, Sandra," Fauna held the note up, and tucked it in her pocket. The witch nodded.

"Figaro, hi. I was just in a meeting," she raised her eyebrows a little. "Is this important? I wasn't aware of any appointment with the Prophet."

The desk witch snickered.

Fauna's eyebrows inched higher.

Figaro's eyes lit up when he saw Fauna stroll out in her black uniform. She looked grown up and badass. He bit his lip to ensure he kept a straight face.

And then she spoke. Casual as can be. Pro. And definitely not backing him up! He pivoted his stance against the desk and angled himself to give her a private, very pointed look that illustrated his desperation.

"It's very important. Urgent, actually. I must've beat Barnie's owl here - that's Barnabas Cuffe," he added at the end, for the benefit of the the front desk sentinel. The Editor-in-Chief of the Daily Prophet.

Again, with the confidence of someone who was exactly where he belonged, he began walking back towards where Auror Fauna had come, trying to sidle her along with him. Maybe she just hadn't caught on right away. She didn't have any reason to take the piss. They were old friends! Always had been. He thought she looked happy to see him.

"I've got an urgent and important ... something for you." Then to the Keeper of the Desk.  "Thanks, love, you've been a real big help."

Fauna knew that look. He'd given her that look often in class as he'd begged for supplies, or in the common room when he wanted her to budge up on the couch, or when he angered one of their mutual friends. Sorry, the look said. But please be on my side!

"Uh huh."

She tilted her head when he name-dropped Barnabas Cuffe. As he moved closer to the hallway, Fauna shared a slight smile with Sandra at the desk. Love! If the Aurors couldn't charm the desk witch, then Figaro Sellaphix stood little chance.

"Fig," Fauna stepped in front of his path. She folded her arms loosely in front of her.

"About what. What important, urgent something was Barnie owling me about?"

Though her tone was patient, her gaze remained direct and serious. Her look said details, please! Didn't he know she couldn't let just anyone, even old friends and housemates, into the hallowed halls of Level Two?

His back now to the welcome witch, Figaro was free to let the suave facade drop. He had been trying not to make a scene. If anyone from the Daily Prophet found out he was here, he'd be worse-than-fired. But his good friend Fauna Blake was being a wet blanket.

"You're killing me," he whispered as he dug into his pocket. "Honestly, call Mungo's, my soul's left my body."

He had a clipping from the Daily Prophet from a few days ago. He handed it to her.

House of Horrors!
by Maggie Groust

August 5th

Clues emerge regarding the strange 'mist' that attacked the populace on Wednesday evening. I.D.R.E.A.D. has discovered that the mist is the product of dark magic, having been traced back to a pair of siblings known by the names of Lori and Lee Lilly. The Lilly pair reportedly used their manor in Keswick as a base for criminal operations. They are at large and presently being hunted by Aurors.

A press statement from Level Two warns that both brother and sister are suspected of multiple murders, forbidden magics, illegal potion dealing, as well as the abuse and mistreatment of unicorns. Should readers discover persons matching the description below, they are asked to notify Level Two immediately. Do not engage.


. . .

As she looked at it, he smiled sweetly. "So. Can I have a word? I won't... break anything."  It wasn't immediately apparent why she was holding him up.

Exasperation flickered across Fauna's expression as Figaro claimed she was killing him. She opened her mouth, then blinked at the article, recognizing the headline. Words jumped out at her. Mist. IDREAD. Horror. Murder.

The house with that looming tower, the squibs trapped there, and Raine's pale face, all flitted across her mind. The mist were actual beings called pentrals, capable of possession. Figaro didn't know that. Neither did the rest of the populace.

When could they tell them? When would they warn them? For the Aurors, information meant power, and keeping ahead of the criminals, but through it all, the people suffered in ignorance.

People suffered regardless of what they knew.

Her gaze lifted to meet his earnest stare. The Prophet might have sent Figaro, an innocent face, to lower their defenses enough to talk. It was possible.

And the best match for an innocent face was another innocent face. Hers.

"A word or two, maybe. I need to clear this appointment with The Boss," Fauna's mouth twisted to one side. She liked it less than Figaro did, but Pratt should know.

"Wait here." Resting a hand on his shoulder for a moment, Fauna then turned and strolled back down the hall.

Solomon checked his pocket watch as he made his way down the passageway, having just spoken to Auror Childs in his office about a dormant investigation to do with suspected dark wizard activity at the Royal Observatory last month. It had led to nothing beyond odd incidence and he wanted it passed on to the regular patrol - the corps had their own worries to deal with. Now, with what free time he had, Sol decided to visit the records office to study more recent closed investigations. Reopened, rather. All those missing squibs.

He shut his pocket watch with an efficient click and nearly ran right into one of the young trainees.

"Blake," Solomon frowned with a glance into the headquarters behind her. "Where's the rest of you?" he noticed that the bullpen was unusually quiet this morning and wondered if they had been corralled into paperwork. Or mischief.

For a second, Figaro lived in the sweet reality that Fauna was actually going to be cool about this, take them to her cubicle or whatever and he could drink some bad Auror coffee and he'd be nosy.  But the fantasy was short-lived.

"No!" he hissed.  But she'd already bidden him stay put and had disappeared down a hallway. Leaving Figaro to stand alone in this sort of limbo.  He'd gotten past the Sphinx Called Sandra, sure, but what had it cost him? He pivoted right, then left, in place, undecided as to if he should cut and run.

Sandra was smirking at him from behind the desk. He gave her an equally snarky wave.  He didn't know who Fauna's boss was. Maybe (probably) they were a git and just have him kicked out.  This could still work, he told himself. He was a bold fellow. Was bold the right word?

Figaro, Figaro! Fauna shook her head as she turned the corner, startling when she almost ran into Solomon Carstairs.

"Oh! Sorry, sir."

She straightened, wishing she'd decided to scourgify the tops of her shoes after all.

Following his glance, her mouth twitched up at the question. Why were they not working? That was what he meant.

"They're in a meeting. In one of the conference rooms," she added unnecessarily, distracted. Fauna tilted her head, considering her options. She could continue on her way and pester Pratt, who she imagined would laugh in her face at the mention of the press. Or she could simply ask the Head of the DMLE, standing right in front of her.

"Mr. Carstairs, a reporter is here from the Daily Prophet. Figaro Sellaphix? I left him at the front desk."

Fauna glanced behind her, verifying that he had, indeed, listened to her. Good.

"I was going to check with Pratt in case we were expecting someone from the DP? Fig - Sellaphix," she corrected herself, "is asking about those, er, entities at the lakehouse."

Pentrals.

Carstairs had given Level Two strict orders not to mention that word outside of the DMLE, and Fauna took it so seriously that sometimes she forgot to say it even while in the Head's presence. Carstairs still made her a tad nervous, just because he was The Boss's boss.

The Boss (Head Annoyance) might still be peeved at her for questioning Musgrave in the cells last week.

The Boss's boss (solemn Solomon) must know about her transgression and might even be thinking about it at this very moment. Fauna's eyes widened ever so slightly as she offered a strained smile.

Merlin, he did wonder if his aurors spent more time in conference rooms than on their investigations!

Even Blake didn't appear to be on the tail of any particularly serious work - she was handling reporters instead. Solomon frowned as she mentioned the name of a journalist he did not recognise. Sellaphix? Some relation of Zelda Sellaphix? But of course the Prophet would send an eager cretin to question them over that bloody pentral business. They always knew when their interest wasn't wanted!

"I was certainly not informed of any appointments with the Prophet," Sol adjusted his spectacles and considered Fauna thoughtfully for a moment. She had nearly called the reporter by his first name, therefore he was a young acquaintance.

The younger ones were easier to deal with. You could always put them in their places if they asked questions that were much too bold.

"Bring him into my office, won't you please? And perhaps we'll see if we can sort out this... scheduling issue and send Mr Sellaphix away with something useful."

Fauna hesitated for only a moment. "I'll bring him in right away."

She smiled, more genuinely this time, and as she started back down the hall, her smile turned into a grin. Ha, Figaro! Fauna doubted that he'd expected to speak to the Head of Magical Law Enforcement himself when he'd come strolling in to Level Two. Who had he been supposed to talk to, anyway? Her? She shook her head. That made little sense. At least this way, he'd get answers from the best source, the Prophet would be happy with him, and Fauna wouldn't have to return to that blasted, pointless meeting.

"Fig!"

She gestured at him to hurry down the hall and into the bullpen, and ignored Sandra's surprised stare.

"Guess what," she exclaimed when he drew near. "Today's your day. I just ran into Carstairs. You know, Solomon Carstairs?" She widened her eyes at him. "He wants to talk to you, and he mentioned something about giving you useful info."

Fauna felt no need to mention the little 'scheduling issue'. All in all, this was a good thing.

"This is so much better than facing Pratt," she lowered her voice and nudged his arm. "Just, er, be respectful, alright?"

Fauna wanted to say more, but settled for giving him an encouraging look as she led the way to Carstair's office. Be respectful, don't waste his time, be prepared with questions. Figaro Sellaphix, don't disappoint!

When Fauna appeared again, he was surprised at how happy she looked. Why was she always so damn earnest? He should have said Almasy. Or Eleor! Adon Eleor would have been way cooler. Why didn't he say Eleor? He vowed to plan better next time, if he ended out the week with his life and employment.

But Figaro was good in a pickle, always had been, and struck his most laissez faire and confident posture and he followed Fauna down the corridor.

"Are you kidding me? I don't want to see the bloody Head of the Department, Fauna!" he hissed.  "This couldn't be worse. Just. Just tell me you haven't given my name."

Her hesitation made him stop her in the hall. "You didn't! Fauna!"

Solomon Carstairs, having assumed his usual position behind his large desk, looked up as the office door swung open. He considered trainee Blake and her acquaintance over the thick rim of his spectacles, gesturing at the two chairs before him. It was a spacious room mostly filled with file cabinets and shelves - a drinks table waited patiently for a later hour in the day. But of course it was never his habit to offer drinks to regular members of the press anyway.

"Mister Sellaphix, is it?" Sol's smile distinctly did not reach his eyes. "Blake here tells me that you have come bearing questions on behalf of the Daily Prophet. Very odd. We appear to have misplaced your appointment."

Even with Maya Elliot's absence they wouldn't have missed a DP visit. He was only trying to put the young wizard at ease, make him more receptive to whatever he felt the Prophet should report. Solomon had his own motives.

"I take it this is about the lakehouse incident?" he leaned forward, interlacing his fingers thoughtfully.

This was happening.

He was standing in the office of the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and being offered a seat by Solomon Carstairs. Now, Zelda Sellaphix has raised her boys right: Figaro stood up straight and uncrossed his arms. He glanced to Fauna, trying to get some clue as to how he should act. He knew nothing about Carstairs other than his only boss was the Minister of Magic, but he suspected like many Aurors, he had a keen bullshit meter. He'd have to carry off this scheme without the kind of dishonestly that would offend the law.

"Thank you, sir," he said, at this point not confirming or denying his identity or his purpose. He took the seat offered, and assumed a forward posture, elbows on his knees. He smiled appeasingly. Suppliantly?

"Um, yeah. I should clear something up, though. Been a small misunderstanding. I'm here," he paused to purse his lips, and let out a puff of air, "more unofficially? It's complicated." He waved a hand, hoping to shoo away the particulars that they might not be of anyone's further concern.

"But yes. The lakehouse, last August fifth."  Careful to make no sudden moves, he slipped a ragged little notebook from his pocket as he'd seen other reporters do. "I've just never heard of Aurors hunting a mist. And neither has anyone I've talked to. How does one," he shrugged innocently, "hunt. A mist? I mean."

Bollocks. This was happening. If his deflection about his wee deception was at all effective, he might actually have managed to get a real interview with Solomon Carstairs. He snuck another glance at Fauna and did the tiniest shrug.

Fauna gave Figaro an offended look when he hissed at her. What was his problem? There was a process to these things, and that process included offering your first and last name like an adult.

She perched uncertainly on the edge of one the armchairs. Fauna tried not to end up in Solomon Carstairs office, as a general rule, but here she was, and this was happening. Fauna crossed her legs and tried to relax. If the Head of the DMLE was going to include her, she wanted to make a good impression.

She had such good intentions about making a good impression until Figaro opened his mouth.

It was complicated?!

Shifting in her seat, she shot him a confused, slightly alarmed look, racking her brain to understand how this had gone wrong so quickly. He'd said it was urgent! He'd said that Barnie Cuffe, nickname basis, had sent him. Hadn't he? Why had he failed to hiss that crucial information at her before stepping inside Carstairs' office?

She glanced at the department head with large, worried eyes.

Slowly, as Figaro eked out a question, she found some semblance of calm.

"Well," Fauna shrugged right back at him, her shoulder tense. "Are you looking for an official or unofficial answer?"