Instead of being home on a work night like she should Moira found herself ordering a drink at the bar of Old Brick. Her first introduction to the establishment had been from a chance meeting with Figaro Sellaphix a couple months before[1]. She liked it better than the noise at Spellpunk.

Thanking the bartender she took her drink and looked around. Old Brick was just as cramped as she remembered it being.

Moira could hold her own but she was not one who could be considered a habitual drinker. Going out, or staying in, and getting hammered was not her idea of a good time. She'd stay here long enough to get through maybe two drinks before heading back home. Hopefully by then her arguing father and uncle would be off in their own corners or toasting to their brotherly bond.

Some time had passed since the two of them last blew up at each other and normally the young witch would just wait it somewhere at home. After her nightmarish day at work, however, Moira found her patience with their argument wearing thin. So she fed Casper[2] and the other animals, ate dinner, and then left. Nights like these made her wish her new house at the back or their property was ready to live in.

The house wasn't ready, though and she was here instead. Moira took a drink, rubbing at a bruise on the her shoulder she wasn't fully aware had formed.

1.	Let Loose At Old Brick
2.	Her pet Niffler

It had taken three straight nights of locking himself in his flat for Kurby to decide that he was done avoiding the outside world.  The magical bar in Southwark was the sort of place he went when he didn't want to deal with Muggles and wasn't looking for the promise of a fight.  Old Brick was a small, comfortable pub that occasionally had music on Friday nights, which was as good of a strategy as any to avoid having to engage in conversation.  It also tended to be frequented by Daily Prophet staff, which was an effective way to steer clear of anyone from the Witch Weekly.

Unfortunately, there was no band playing on this particular Friday night.  Kurby had ordered a beer and then found a corner to occupy.  He'd positioned himself there, turned so he could watch the rest of the bar, and settled in to drink the rest of the night away.

It had taken him a minute to recognize the girl after she'd come in.  Moira McBoid, stoic Animagus and erstwhile sweetheart of Figaro Sellaphix (even if Zelda's son continued to deny it), had ordered a drink and was now standing around by herself, awkwardly sipping it.

Was she supposed to be meeting Figaro?  Trust the kid to leave his date waiting.

Well, at least Kurby was feeling generous enough to save Figaro's night by being sociable in the meanwhile.  He intentionally caught the girl's eye, and then jerked his chin upwards in greeting, as if to invite her over to his corner of the establishment.

"McBoid," he said nicely, eyebrows raised.  "Where's your boyfriend?"

About the same time as Bagnold recognized her Moira spotted him sitting in his corner. When he motioned her over she thought about it for a few seconds before making a decision and walked over to his table.

Spending an hour alone, albeit in a crowded pub, doing nothing but drinking wasn't going to happen it looked like. At least not the alone part. On the bright side, it was just Kurby and not Virgil. The man in front of her didn't feel like the world owed him entertainment.

Unlike the last few times they had met his tone was pleasant, no surprises and he was not here to interrogate her. The normalcy of this chance encounter was more pleasant for her too.

"Bagnold." His question should have irritated her but she had already expected something of the nature. "Even if I wanted a boyfriend I don't have time for one. I'm here alone."

Yesterday, her day off of work, Moira still had to go to the ranch for a few hours. Then she returned home and worked some more.

Having not been invited to sit specifically Moira remained standing. Perhaps Bagnold had been hoping to see Fig when he noticed her. Sore disappointment for him if that were the case.

Cocking a brow, he regarded the girl silently for a moment.  No time for a boyfriend, but she'd registered as an Animagus when barely out of Hogwarts -- a complicated process that took time and discipline.  She'd come to the bar by herself, silently drinking something alone, as if her strict schedule wouldn't allow her to dillydally or socialize.  The girl had the air of some kind of mechanical Muggle wind-up toy, barely allowing herself to deviate from the path she'd set for herself.

Kurby considered his options for half a beat, and then gave a mental shrug.  Stretching his leg out under the table and kicked at the opposite chair with the toe of his boot, knocking it a few inches back.  Wordlessly, he waved a hand at it, motioning for the girl to sit.

"That's two of us, then."  He gave her a slight smirk, tilting his glass in a mock salute.  "Sláinte.  There's little better'n drinking alone."

Blinking in mild surprise as he kicked out the chair Moira regarded him again while she sat down. A game, perhaps, simply boredom on his part, or being nicer because she was a friend of a friend? The last time they saw each other he was ascertaining whether she was a killer and she had unnerved him in the process.

Figaro trusted Bagnold and had known him for a long time. Moira had not. His stating this relative stranger to her was alright didn't convince the witch of anything. Fig tended to trust others too easily in his optimism. Moira didn't think Kurby was a bad guy necessarily, just grumpy and hardened by his line of work. Still, unlike Fig she wasn't ready to trust him.

"Sláinte," she echoed, meaning it about as much as he did. The irony of his statement was almost painful. "Depends, I suppose." Moira took a drink of her whiskey but kept a watchful eye on him and the rest of the bar. Setting her glass down and leaning back in the chair she regarded him again, curious despite herself.

He'd never met a wolf as unflappable as the laconic McBoid girl.  Most werewolves were easy to bait into some kind of reaction; emotions naturally ran hot with them, and he could get a rise out of them by merely sprinkling in references to fleas and dog collars.  But somehow, he doubted that the young Scottish witch would do more than blink at him if he commented on her need of a kennel.  She'd likely just decide that he was worthy of ignoring, and return to mechanically finishing her drink alone.

On another night, he might have made a contest of trying to get a reaction out of the kid.  But he was tired of dealing with manipulation and drama, and to hell with inflicting it on anyone else for entertainment value tonight.  If Moira McBoid wanted to practice her best impression of a stone statue as she joined him for a drink, then he was all for it.

After a moment's consideration, the girl had apparently decided that he wasn't about to bite.  She slowly slid into the seat, still watching him, and returned the toast.  "Depends, I suppose," she added after a beat.

The silence stretched between them as she took a drink, and then set her glass back down on the table.

"On?" Kurby countered, his eyebrows raising. 

"Aye, on the available company or on the drinker's mood." Moira had decided tonight she didn't care. Sharing a few minutes or an hour with Bagnold wasn't going to kill her, and surely her day couldn't get any worse.

Which left Kurby's mood in question. In spite of with his 'toast' he had offered her a chair. Since she wasn't a wolf at the moment, unlike when they were at the farm, smelling his possible mood was impossible. Moira could tell, though, he didn't seem to have his usual energy she witnessed in him before.

The silence between them persisted again. Moira felt she should probably ask a question but the obvious one she couldn't. What Bagnold was doing there at the pub alone was none of her business. Same thing as her maybe. Due to their age gap their social circles, what little she had of one, were vastly different, and from what she knew they didn't have much in common. Any statement she made would be met with a grunt or one of the short answers the young witch herself was so fond of. Social situations and all their nuances were so complicated.

"I suppose you're not waiting on anyone either." That was safe enough. Either he was and Moira would be sent on her way again soon or he wasn't. In case of the latter she wasn't entirely sure beyond sitting and staring at one another.

The wolf girl turned her comment into a statement, rather than phrasing it as a question.  Kurby smirked, keeping his eyes locked on hers as he lifted his beer to take a long drink. 

He didn't want to talk about it.  Didn't want to think about Gen or the games she'd played with him, or how idiotically stupid he'd been.  The point of going out tonight instead of sitting around and sulking in his flat was to not think about it, to take his mind off of how frustrated and angry he was, and instead trick himself into a sort of dulled apathy.

He left the comment just like she had.  Somehow, he didn't think the kid would press on it.

At least McBoid offered a welcome distraction.  After his first two encounters with her, once at the Sellaphix home and again at her family's farm when he'd been investigating the September direwolf attack, she'd remained something of a closed-mouthed puzzle. The wolf girl didn't seem to be one to share her thoughts or veer off her planned schedule.  And yet, there was something unnerving about her and her lack of reaction.  He wondered how many friends she had besides Figaro.

"So," he said nicely, balancing his fingers along the rim of his glass, "since we're both unfortunately no longer alone...how do you think we should pass the time, then?"  He arched a brow at the kid as he raised his beer to take another drink.  "What drinkin' games do they play at Hogwarts, these days?"

Bagnold's lack of a response, the almost smug way he took a drink, and not chasing her off was answer enough. No one's arrival was expected.

Moira had planned originally to watch the people here while she drank, those who were alone like her and those who were not. Observations had saved her in a few situations back at school and so far the same was true for life outside of Hogwarts. Her stare still worked for the most part too.

Bagnold asking what she thought they should do was almost amusing considering her usual avoidance of most social rituals. The only reason Moira attended any at all was because of her few friends.

She took a drink of her whiskey. "Couldn't say. I never played any at school and the only one I know is 'Never Have I Ever'." That particular game wasn't exactly the best to play with just two people or in a bar, at that. If they did play, unlikely, there was no way she would be completely honest.

How to pass the time? Unless he offered a game that option was out. Talk was already happening to an extent. Pour their hearts out to each other? Hah! Moira took another drink, wondering if her adventurous drink order, a mix of something she had never had before though all she could taste was whiskey, was affecting her faster than normal.

Someone walked by with a platter of the bar's food. "Never eat here unless you're desperate." She had been that night with Fig.

No time for a boyfriend, no time for drinking at Hogwarts.  Kurby snorted, flashing the girl a fast, pointed grin.  And yet in recent memory, he'd caught her drinking twice -- once tonight, and then before when he'd found her and Figaro looking worse for wear the next morning in the Sellaphix family home.  So the wolf girl was starting to change her habits, for whatever reason.

He'd almost finished his beer, so he drained the rest of it.  'Never Did I Ever' didn't sound like how he wanted to entertain himself tonight.  Somehow, he couldn't picture McBoid getting into 'Who Got the Better Deal?', and besides, spending the rest of the evening judging other people's relationships didn't sound appealing either.  What he really wanted to do was just puzzle at something, to get his mind off of the past few days and distract himself.

McBoid was commenting on the sorry state of the food options.  Kurby half-glanced at the tray as it went by, already rising to his feet.    He headed to the bar to order a second beer; as an afterthought, he ordered another whiskey for McBoid, too.

"Here's a game," he said as he returned to the table.  He set the whiskey down in front of McBoid, and then resumed his prior seat.  "We take turns askin' questions.  Either you answer truthfully, or you finish your drink."  He raised his eyebrows at the wolf girl, lifting his new glass to take a drink.  "You get a point for answerin', and no points for takin' a pass.  Loser buys the next round."

While he was gone Moira rubbed at her right side with the opposite hand, trying to soothe an annoying ache. As the day wore on and began to close she was noticing the pain, and a few others, more. The whiskey would help numb it at least.

Upon Bagnold's return, with another whiskey for her too no less, she was finishing off her first drink and watching a group at another table. Something they were talking about seemed to be a heated point of interest but they were grinning and poking fun at each other too. The group seemed to be close except for the person on the end. Moira didn't have time to watch more as the hunter had begun explaining the rules to a game.

With a nod of thanks Moira accepted the whiskey, pondering what he said. "So, if your cup is full and you pass you have to drink the whole thing? That's too much." The idea of getting away from home for a while did not include getting sloshed. She still had to get up at five to take care of things before she went to work.  Maybe she heard him wrong. "How many questions is considered a round or is it just until they're empty?" She tapped the side of her new mug.

Depending on the man's questions and how she could get away with answering them the game could go either way. His questions couldn't be that bad. Of course, there was the chance he wouldn't like any of her questions and he'd just keep drinking. To do that, though, required her to think of questions she actually wanted to voice. Thinking of those questions could be the hardest part of the whole game. Bagnold seemed to have an idea of what he wanted to know. She should have brought her potion stocked bag, after all.

Taking a drink Moira met and held his gaze, "Alright then. You bought this round. You start."

McBoid seemed concerned with negotiating the rules of the game he’d proposed.  Kurby gave a flick of his hand, accepting her edits.  He wasn’t invested in strictly adhering to his made-up ruleset, although if the girl was already so worried about the number of times she might have to finish her drink, then he probably wasn’t going to get much information out of this exercise anyway.

But the wolf girl took up the gauntlet that he’d put down for her.  Kurby smirked, holding her gaze as he lifted his glass to take a sip.  The first question was easy.

“Why a wolf?” he asked, eyebrows raising.  “There’s plenty of animals out there that don’t look like somethin’ that tries to maul you once a month.”

Moira stared at him. For a hunter, Bagnold certainly didn't seem to investigate all aspects very well. When he had arrived on McBoid land to determine if she was some sort of killer Moira had assumed he had at least known more than the basics about an animagus. Apparently not.

"Animagi don't choose what animal they turn into, not consciously anyway. It's personality based." She'd give him another part for free, "No, I don't know which trait." It certainly wasn't her social nature. "My friend certainly didn't choose to turn into a goat." Ibex, Sasha chastised in her head.

"How long have you been the head of the WCU?" Moira watched him as she took a drink.

The answer didn’t satisfy him.  Wolves were romanticized; Kurby was convinced that that was a large reason why so many witches and wizards (wixes, his sister’s voice corrected him) were eager to jump into the fray for werewolf rights.  Everyone imagined wolves as noble, majestic, independent creatures who spent their free time howling at the moon and running around with their pack.  Even encountering a werewolf for real didn’t always make them change their tune.

McBoid claimed she didn’t know why she’d ended up with a wolf alter-ego.  She certainly wasn’t aggressive like one, nor had he seen any evidence of her being territorial or having a social pack.  It was an interesting puzzle to continue mulling over, to try and figure out why this particular girl and the wolf might be so suited to each other.

It was the girl’s turn to ask next, and she lobbed him an easy Quaffle.  Kurby shot her a smirk, setting his beer back down on the table.  “Two years,” he said simply. 

He should have earned the position long before that.  After Iona "Bruce" Ballentyne, the former Capture Unit head, had been bitten and turned into a werewolf, his former mentor, Theobald Mainwaring, had come out of partial retirement to take the role again. Kurby had largely suspected that Mainwaring’s main motivation was to prevent him from getting the obvious promotion.  It was only after Dugan Macduff was captured and Mainwaring retired for a second time that he had finally gotten the job.

After working for the Capture Unit for over a decade, he’d known what he was getting into.  But the responsibility of the role — training his team, keeping them safe, and effectively protecting the public — had been more of a charge than he had expected. 

McBoid had asked him a simple question, and he’d given a simple answer.  It was his turn to ask again, to press at the mystery that he’d decided to occupy himself with tonight.  Kurby silently mulled over the possible angles: her home?  Her friends?

“Why become an Animagus?” he asked after a beat.  She’d mentioned a friend who could turn into a goat; he could only imagine the chaos of a whole group of animals running rampant through the halls of Hogwarts.  “It’s been a bit since I’ve been at Hogwarts, but I don’t remember it being part of the standard curriculum then.”

His response to her question was short as expected, the way she preferred to answer usually. Too much information was often unnecessary or an attempt to divert attention though not always. Sometimes simplicity was a diversion.

Two years could be considered either a long time or not long at all. For her career it would be short. There was so much for her to learn, even with her head start with their horses and her personal studies at school. The school library had been extremely helpful. A more dangerous line of work like Bagnold's Moira would consider as a lengthier time frame.

The next question was easy enough. Starting with his ending comment she replied, "It's not. I was surprised when I found out." Moira took a small drink, pretending for a moment like she was going to pass this one. "I wanted a different understanding on creatures. An insight on how they perceive the world."

If she turned into a bird or a horse instead of a wolf her new perception would have been different. Still, the heightened and different senses provided by the wolf certainly helped her see differently. It had taught her a different approach, especially after having been stuck as a wolf for her entire first day.

The whole process in becoming an Animagus was tiresome. Sleep had been lost in her effort to not make a mistake where she would have to start all over. Moira wouldn't have changed anything.

The hunter insisted on asking questions starting with why. Alright then. "Why become a werewolf hunter and not just an auror?"