M warning for violence, gore, and NPC death.

Level Two.
Ministry of Magic.
Just before 2 AM.

It was a cold night up above on the streets of London, but aside from his misadventure in Knockturn Alley the night before, it had been a thankfully uneventful weekend.  Having the Auror Office to supplement their numbers meant that they could easily stretch their watches out over the full three days, helping the increased patrols to run relatively smoothly.

As far as the others in the Werewolf Capture Unit were concerned, the worse thing that had happened so far was poor Charlie Harris mysteriously getting his knee joints hexed backwards by an unknown assailant while on patrol in Diagon.  Although a Mediwitch had been able to reverse the spell, the incident had been enough for Kurby to decide that their newest recruit had tried everyone's patience enough.  He'd pulled Harris off patrol and stuck him on watch back at the Ministry.  There, at least the kid could talk the ear off of whoever was on duty from Level Two -- at this point, an Auror was likely to be much more patient than any of the Capture Unit members.

Usually, manning their home base meant posting up in the WCU's office and waiting for a call to come in from one of the field teams.  This month, though, Pratt had given them access to the Aurors' much more substantial resources.  Instead of twiddling their thumbs at their desks on Level Four, they'd established their watch in the room with Level Two's enormous magical map of the United Kingdom. 

Kurby had been out checking in with patrols most of the previous night and day, so once the night had settled in, he'd rotated himself back in to the office. With everything quiet, he'd seized the opportunity to doze, catching what shut-eye he could while Trevelyan and Harris bonded by chatting about some Muggle nonsense. Kurby had tuned out their conversation almost an hour before, when the two had realized they were both fans of the same incomprehensible moving picture show.

He'd been most of the way asleep, dreaming of warm, sweet-smelling breezes and grinning skulls, when a voice cut through and jolted him back to reality.

"Bagnold!"

Automatically, Kurby's eyes snapped open. 

It was impossible to miss what had caused Trevelyan to wake him.  An enormous silver bear was in the process of charging through the wall towards them.  It came to a stop directly in front of him and opened its mouth to deliver its message. 

"A werewolf was spotted in London at Reagent's Park a very short time ago." The voice was undeniably Scottish, unmistakably Moira McBoid.  "It should still be in the area."

An instant later, the silver bear disintegrated into a cloud of sparkling dust.

Damn it. 

Kurby gritted his teeth, suddenly wide awake as he sat bolt upright in the chair.  What the hell was Moira McBoid goddamned doing, sending him a message about a fecking werewolf in London in the middle of the bleeding night? 

He immediately focused on the magical map on the wall above them.  The projection showed an overhead view of the entire United Kingdom, enchanted to indicate any Profound Magical Disturbances or castings of the Red Sparks! spell that might occur within its borders.  Tonight, they'd added another enchantment to help them track their teams -- he could see small glowing green lights, showing where each patrol was located. 

There was no sign of red sparks -- not near Regent's Park or anywhere else.  But the park wasn't far from Camden, where Old Laz the vampire had led him to a direwolf the month before.[1]

Next to him, Trevelyan and Harris were both silent, their eyes locked on him.

After a beat, the Auror cleared his throat.  "Are you sure that wasn't --" he started.

Kurby cut him off with a shake of his head, starting to his feet.  In his own head, he'd already started a steady chant of profanity, interspersed with colorful curses.  London.  Again.  Bleeding hell.

"I know the caster.  It's a kid named Moira McBoid."  He spoke curtly, his words clipped, as he examined the map for the location of their teams.  Fenneken looked to be the closest in central London, paired with whoever had been assigned as her backup from Level Two.

Silently, he freed his wand and summoned his own patronus.  A shimmering silver light burst into existence in front of him, solidifying a moment later into the familiar shape of an enormous wolf spider.

"We got a report of a possible werewolf near Regent's Park," Kurby informed it shortly.  "I'll meet you near the northeast corner.  If you spot it, don't engage it unless it's on someone."

He flicked his wand to send the patronus off, not bothering to watch as it streaked out of the room.  Silently, he checked his gear: wand, silver chain on his belt, rings on his fingers, knife tucked in his boot, chain mail in place.  Most of the Capture Unit was carrying Tenacious Twine tonight.

Trevelyan was frowning at him when he looked up.  The red-headed Auror's expression was troubled.

"You want me along as an extra hand, mate?" he asked, his forehead creasing.  "If that message is true, that's practically the middle of London."

Kurby shook his head as he started for the door; he'd already made this particular assessment before the night had even started.  Trevelyan had two kids and a bad knee: he wasn't dragging him in to a werewolf fight. 

"No.  Just send me word if you see somethin' else pop up on the map," he said shortly.  "If we send up sparks, get another team there as backup."  If this was part of some coordinated direwolf attack, he wouldn't put it past whoever was behind it to stage an ambush or launch attacks in multiple places at once.  Even with the Auror's physical limitations, he trusted Trevelyan to watch the map and make snap decisions in a crisis much more than he did someone inexperienced like Harris.   

Either way, it was time to move.

"C'mon," he ordered his teammate over his shoulder.

Not bothering to check that the kid was following, he headed directly for the lift down the hall.

1.	10 November, 2011 - Bark or Bite?

Northeast corner of Regent's Park, near the London Zoo. (link)
London.
01:56 AM.

They appeared on the corner close to the entrance of the park with a crack. Kurby had already freed his silver chain, looping it loosely in his left hand; his right was on Charlie Harris's shoulder, gripping it tightly to keep the kid from mucking this up.

The advantage of apparating so late at night was that there were rarely Muggles about, so he didn't have to worry about finding an out-of-the-way place.  Kurby glanced around, immediately alert, as he let his eyes adjust to the darkness.  There were no screams and no immediately dead bodies -- both slightly good signs.

A soft, hooting sound echoed through the night.  The werewolf hunter raised his eyebrows as he listened silently, trying to get a sense of its direction.  He glanced at Harris, jerking his head for the kid to follow him, and then started off into the park.

They found the pair of them just inside the park -- Tessa Fenneken and her patrol partner for the evening, Fauna Blake. 

Kurby's eyebrows rose as he glanced at the trainee.  She wouldn't have been the first person that he wanted to throw into this, but he kept his mouth shut.  The kid was practically an Auror now, and she was going to have to learn to hold her own when she got thrown into the fire.  It wasn't his charge to protect her.

"Evenin'," he said, glancing back at the trees beyond them.

Fenneken had been leaning against the side of a park bench, but she straightened as he and Harris approached.  "Boss," she greeted him quietly.  "We haven't been here long, but we haven't seen signs of anything furry."  She paused a beat, and then added, "What's going on?"

Kurby smiled grimly in the darkness.

"A kid I know sent me a patronus, sayin' there was a werewolf near Regent's Park." He kept his voice low, his eyes already scanning the woods around them.  It wasn't far to the zoo; the animals there might be a tempting target for a hungry werewolf.  "Moira McBoid -- she lives up in Scotland, so I don't know what the hell she was doin' here in the middle of the night.  But considerin' we found the direwolf last month not too far from here, I want to scout it out."

Now that he was thinking it through, part of him was concerned for Moira -- if it wouldn't have tied up his wand for the next fifteen minutes, he would have sent a patronus off to Duncan McBoid to tell him to check in on his niece.  But that would have to wait until they dealt with the immediate situation.

As a rule, Fauna never patrolled with the WCU. Sure, sometimes she worked alongside them, helped out with their cases, and made arrests when she had to, but always during daylight hours. Not during the full moon. Level Two generally understood this, and didn't give her too much grief, considering that she was willing to investigate creepy lakehouses, battle dementors, get shat on by an Occamy, and any number of ridiculous, dangerous things she raised her hand for every chance she got. Fauna did not raise her hand to go rounding up werewolves in the night. That was that. It was a simple rule.

December ninth, she'd kept her mouth shut and her head down. She'd watched her fellow Aurors traipse in from the patrols, tired but unhurt. She'd hovered near Trevelyan while he'd arranged the map. She'd listened to poor, besotted Harris retell the dramatic mishap of his kneecaps to poor, distracted Abby. On the third retelling, Fauna had started to come up with things for Harris to do (gotta get those files filed!), but that wasn't really helping. She wasn't helping. She was watching everyone else help, which made her feel guilty.

So come the night shift on December tenth, she'd raised her hand.

The first few hours passed by quickly. She and Fenneken made small talk as they walked around central London, and Fauna was relieved that the Hufflepuff alumnus didn't seem to remember her well as the shy, bumbling student with a penchant for finding trouble. They said not a word about SAWS or werewolf politics. They shared work stories, and direwolf theories, and when their conversation petered out, the hours started to stretch on.

In the quiet, Fauna tried not to think about that night, years ago, when Knox Greyfriar had kindly walked her and her friends back to the castle and been attacked by a werewolf. She tried not to think about that other night, years ago, at the Ministry when Bagnold had been forced to rescue her. She tried not to think about her girlfriend -oops! that word had come out of nowhere - er, romantic interest, fighting her own battle in a cell right now. She tried not to think about Greyfriar in the Forbidden Forest. She tried not to think about Ollie, wherever she was.

But of course she thought about all those things. And of course a giant spider patronus appeared, informing them of a sighting. And of course something was going down tonight. And of course it was in this area, the area that she happened to be patrolling.

Cursing under her breath, Fauna followed Fenneken to the northeast corner of Regent's Park and did a quick sweep of the area just before Bagnold and Harris arrived.

She raised her eyebrows back at Bagnold. Yes, she was here. He could rib her about it later.

Fauna nodded at his update, remembering the direwolf in Camden last month, but distracted by Bagnold's mention of a familiar name. The warning had come from Moira McBoid? Fauna frowned as she glanced in the direction of the trees. Moira didn't seem the type to sound an alarm without cause.

"Moira? She's not still out there, is she?"

If Moira were in danger right this moment she would have sent up red sparks, right? Right? Fauna hoped so.

These magic-folk had begun to emerge with more regularity like summer cicadas. Night fell, the full moon rose, and they appeared, moving about the city in twos and threes. They did not go unnoticed by the night's regulars, not least of which was Lazarus Blackburn. Lazarus, a 'survivor' of the Great Chicago Fire, reader of many things, had of late grown curious about mortals in the process of considering his legacy.

They were looking for werewolves. Hunting them, really. Precautionary patrols implied prevention - that's not what this was. Lazarus's own movements? A stroll. An investigation. A look-on. He liked how the mortals moved. Quick and alive. Hm.

Word had spread among the night-folk of things happening in Regents Park. Lazarus thought he might stop by.

---

Unharried by wind or haze, Lazarus all in black passed under the lamps that lit the path. His brimmed hat cast a shadow over the craggy features of a man looking no older than thirty-five. He ambled without haste impossibly smoothly and quietly with his hands in his pockets. Four wix were not hard to find. Their whispers carried easily to sharp immortal ears.

He stopped some distance away. One badge caused him no concern. Four deserved, oh, forty feet. It was close enough to recognize his new old friend. His mortal anti-hero. And, whether his liked it or not, the subject of his naive curiosity.

Lazarus smiled and waited.

Normally, werewolf attacks had a rhythm to them.  Typically, most happened not long after the full moon had risen, while people were still going about their evening wanderings and it was easy for a newly-transformed werewolf to happen upon prey.  The later it got, the less likely it often was that something would happen.  Direwolf attacks broke many of the normal rules, but even so, if they were going to be surprised by one, Kurby had fully expected it to happen either before the sun set, so that they weren't ready, or on the day following the normal full moon, when they were all exhausted from standing patrol for so long.

This made him nervous.  Having a werewolf spotted in the middle of London so late at night meant that something wasn't right.  The full moon had risen just before 4 PM on Saturday afternoon.  Where the goddamned hell had this bleeding werewolf been in the hours since then for it to suddenly be wandering around Regent's Park now?

Blake spoke up first after he'd quickly briefed them -- apparently she knew McBoid too.  Kurby arched a brow at her.  Under different circumstances, he might have ribbed her for asking a question that he obviously couldn't know the answer to, but he was feeling more kindly to the Sexy Auror after she pulled him aside couple of days before.

"No idea," he said, grimacing.  "It didn't sound like it from the message, but if she was out here to begin with tonight, then who the hell knows?

"Bagnold," Fenneken cut in suddenly. 

The werewolf hunter turned, squinting through the darkness.  There, maybe forty feet away, a smiling man in a black brimmed hat was conveniently lurking.  Even though he didn't appear to have a threatening air, there was still something strange about him, as if he were standing unnaturally still.

Spotting him, Kurby immediately broke into a fierce grin.

"Interested in that side job after all, then?" he asked cheerfully, starting over to the figure in the darkness.  Behind him, Fenneken's jaw had dropped, and Harris was left staring confusedly in his wake. 

"Bagnold, I think that's a vampire," Fenneken hissed urgently from behind him.

Kurby ignored her as he extended a hand to the new arrival, offering a handshake in greeting.  "Nice of you to drop by, mate," he said, flashing Old Laz a lopsided, confident grin.  "Haven't seen anything furry wanderin' around tonight by chance, have you?"

Lazarus was noticed and he watched the nerves animate the mortals. But one relaxed and strode over like an old friend, hand extended.

"Thought I'd stop by," Laz purred and put a toothpick between his fanged teeth. He clasped Bagnold's hand, surprised but pleased by the warm welcome. He and the werewolf hunter hadn't exactly left their last meeting as chums. Apparently, the meat of the encounter had stuck even if the ethically compromised fog had faded.

"Nothing but your scruffy mug," he said with a grin. "But there's a word or few floating around. Seems you heard it, too."

Laz looked past Bagnold at the three shifty wix. He nodded in their direction. "Field trip?"

A word or few.  This full moon was getting odder and odder.  Kurby glanced past the vampire and into the park, his gaze thoughtful for a moment.  First McBoid had sent word of a werewolf near Regent's Park, which had to be somewhere before it had been spotted, and now his vampire guide from the month before had resurfaced.

He trusted the vampire, mostly.  At least, as much as he trusted anyone who wasn't a close comrade.  If Laz had wanted him dead, he could have led him to the direwolf in the underground station and then abandoned him to it.  As irritating as it had been at the time, the vampire's concern for the lycanthrope's safety was also a point in his favor.  Old Laz had a sort of odd earnestness about him, and for whatever reason, he'd apparently decided that capturing werewolves was his new hobby.

Laz's comment made Kurby remember the other three.  He glanced back at them.  All three were staring at him, all of their expressions somewhere on the spectrum between puzzlement and outright confusion.

"Uh, this is...Laz?" he asked, looking to the vampire for confirmation.  "He was the one who spotted the direwolf last month, and he gave me a hand bringin' it down."  He'd left that out of his report after his guide had asked him not to mention 'it,' which he'd taken to mean their interaction.

"This is Blake, Fenneken, and Harris," he continued, nodding to each of the young adults in turn.  Fenneken had backed up a step, and was still eyeing him like he'd lost his mind.  Harris looked bewildered, but at least less hostile.  But neither of them seemed to be leaping at the chance to go through introductions.

At Fenneken's warning, Fauna peered into the darkness of the path, her heart rate picking up. A man stood there, watching them. A man all in black, a man wearing a jaunty black hat (that Fauna immediately, secretly approved of), a man smiling in the shadows.

A man who stood still enough and looked pale enough to be a vampire.

Bagnold grinned, strolling up to the strange man and shaking his hand. Fauna's eyes bugged out of her head. She couldn't hear the whole exchange from where she stood, but they sounded friendly.

Werewolves and vampires? Seriously? For a second Fauna scowled, convinced that Level Two had conspired with Level Four to arrange an epic prank that would test the sanity of the trainees and the younger members of the WCU. But no, they wouldn't pick tonight. She shook her head. Bagnold would never. Neither would Moira!

She glanced out into the trees again, reminded of why they were here. Her fingers fidgeted with the edge of her jacket.

As Bagnold introduced them, Fauna glanced back at Fenneken and shrugged one shoulder, acknowledging that if shit went down right now, the sensible young woman had the best chance of escaping with her life. She glanced next at Harris, who had a fighting chance if he didn't stop to make Buffy jokes or retell the story about his knees.

She stepped forward, taking a deep breath.

"Um, hi... Laz," Fauna waved a dorky little wave, always a good reader of Penny's 'treat vampires how you would like to be treated' pamphlets. The closer she got, the more he looked like a vampire. But if any vampire could get along with Bagnold, he must be a good fighter.

"Glad to hear you, er, helped out Bagnold last time," Fauna glanced at the Head of the WCU, her eyebrow twitching with incredulity.

And because she didn't know what else to say, because they needed to get a move on, because it would be rude otherwise, Fauna smiled and spread out her hands.

"Are you joining us on this field trip?"

"Blake!" Fenneken hissed and coughed meaningfully into her hand. Sweet, dear Harris moved as if to pat her on the back, until she straightened and frowned at him.

The anxiety of the team in turn made him wary. Anxiety in wand-wavers had historically not been the safest element in an outnumbering gathering, but Bagnold had their loyalty. He could relax.

Lazarus nodded  his head in a little bow as Bagnold provided the team with a single accolade. He hadn't rested well on the result but he couldn't deny it was likely a net positive to the living community.

"Lazarus," said Lazarus to Blake, who looked impossibly young. 'Laz' was fine, of course, but it seemed ... eh, more polite somehow to provide a proper name. He spared only a glance to Fenneken and Harris who had yet to still their hearts, which he could hear pumping wetly in their chests.

He steadied the toothpick in his teeth with two fingers and rocked back on his heels to have a demonstrative look around.

"I was thinking I might, hmm. I might." He thought for a moment more and then nodded towards the zoo. "Starting in there?"

Lazarus might if he was bound to their mission. Vampires and werewolves did share something, and that was an interest in animals, although it was not either's preference.

Of his three companions, only Blake was brave enough to step forward to greet the vampire.  Kurby glanced silently at the two Capture Unit members, his expression impassive.

They were all so young.  He'd probably been younger than most of them during the war, but that seemed a lifetime ago now.  The kids coming out of Hogwarts now hadn't come of age in a crucible like his generation had.  It was hard to imagine Blake, Harris, or any of them going wand-to-wand with Death Eaters or grappling with Fenrir Greyback's pack.  But then, the older wizards who had grown up during Voldemort's first reign of terror had probably thought the same thing about him and his classmates.

Either way, he was glad to have the vampire riding along with them tonight.  Laz -- Lazarus, now -- had demonstrated how he could be helpful the last time out.  When potentially dealing with direwolves, Kurby was willing to take his allies where he could get them.

He followed the vampire's gaze in the direction of the edge of the zoo.  As if on cue, something distant let out a loud yowling sound, and there was a sudden burst of fluttering and bird calls, as if a flock was trying to escape from an unknown predator.

Kurby took a deep breath, absently drumming his fingers against his leg.  Something about this situation didn't feel right.  Part of him wished he had someone like Bellingham or Li here, more experienced members of the Capture Unit, but he didn't want to be too quick to call in support.  Even if this wasn't an outright trap, something or someone could still be watching to see how they dealt with the situation, how long it took them to summon reinforcements.

"Somethin' about this feels off to me," he said out loud, looking first at Fenneken, then Harris, and finally Blake.  They were all young, so it was worth taking a moment to explain his reasoning.  Modeling his decision-making process for them now might save their lives someday.  "Werewolves don't just decide to show up somewhere in the middle of the night. It could be nothin' -- just some unregistered pup actin' like an idiot -- or it could be somebody tryin' to lure us out."

"Somebody like...?"  Fenneken put in caustically.  She was still eyeing Lazarus, her lower lip curling.

Kurby shot her a sharp look.  "Cool it!" he barked. 

The former Hufflepuff's pale complexion didn't do her any favors in hiding her emotions.  Even in the moonlight, he could see her face flush red as she forced her gaze away from the vampire.  After a beat, she met his eyes, looking sullen and stubborn, but silent.

His eyebrows raised, Kurby held her gaze for a few seconds longer just to make sure.

"Umm..."  Harris looked nervous as he interrupted, clearly not wanting to get chastised like his teammate.  "If you think someone's trying to lure us out, shouldn't we, um, call in some of the others or something?" he asked uncertainly.  "I mean, I know we've got our new mate along with us now," he continued, nodding to Lazarus, "but even with him drawing their attention away by sparkling in the, um, moonlight or something, if it's a trap, shouldn't we be trying to stay out of it?"

The werewolf hunter shook his head, finally looking away from Fenneken.  "If it's a trap, I want to know who's settin' it," he said, flashing a quick, fierce grin.  "So we spring it."

He glanced at Blake, eyebrows raised questioningly.  If the Auror trainee was too jumpy, he wasn't going to force her along, but she'd seemed to have the best handle on her nerves so far.  Even more so, if the vampire was going to tag along with them, he didn't want to bring someone who was going to spend more time eyeing Lazarus than watching their surroundings.

"The three of us'll head in and see what might be waitin'," he said, flicking his head toward the vampire to include him in the group as well.  "Fenneken," he said, looking over at the Capture Unit member, "you and Harris hang back and set up a perimeter.  If anything tries to get past you, you signal us." 

Glancing at Blake again, he nodded to the trainee's black uniform -- much less rugged and pragmatic than the leather and silver chainmail sported by the WCU.  "If it's a werewolf, Blake, then your job is to help from a distance," he said firmly.  "And if this whole thing goes wrong, then we all get clear and send up red sparks to call in reinforcements.  Everyone got it?"

"Her?" Fenneken muttered, then seemed to think better of it, glancing askance at the vampire. Harris opened his mouth, considered Bagnold's expression, and simply nodded.

Fauna avoided Fenneken's resentful glare, glancing to the side and rubbing at the back of her neck with a mixture of embarrassment and pleased pride. She was just as surprised as they were at Bagnold's choice of front liners (Lazarus included), but she reasoned it had more to do with her willingness to greet the vampire than anything to do with skill.

An assumption that Bagnold confirmed by ordering her to help from a distance.

Ok, great! Ok, fine!

"Got it," she nodded once and straightened, pushing away the last of her embarrassment. She always meant it when she agreed to follow orders, too. She had every intention of helping from a distance, until helping from a distance was no longer helpful.

And that was how an almost-Auror, the Head of the Werewolf Capture unit, and a friendly vampire approached the London zoo.

They headed for the closest zoo exit, rather than the main entrance. Wintry-themed banners hung from the street lamps, displaying snowflakes and penguins. Fauna kept her wand close and her gaze alert, listening for another yowl as Harris and Fenneken casted alarms and barriers behind them. She'd rarely been so aware of her own heartbeat. Thud, thud. It beat a little faster than usual, ready to jump into the fray, but also aware of the... ally keeping pace with her and Bagnold.

If it had just been her, Fenneken, and Harris by Regent's Park, and they'd spotted a vampire lurking in the darkness, well, Fauna doubted that she would know his name now. She hoped, at the very least, that she would have had the prudence to ask him to leave, to send him off, to keep herself and the others from panicking and hexing the stranger just because he'd appeared and spooked them. But she didn't know for certain. She just knew that Bagnold's trust in Laz allowed her to trust the vampire, to an extent, though knowing that and understanding that did little to slow the nervous pace of her heart.

At the exit, Bagnold nimbly hopped over the gate. Of course he did! Fauna rolled her eyes at his back. After a quick glance around for muggle cameras, Fauna followed suit with clumsy care. She agreed with Bagnold's reasoning. There was something off about the timing of the werewolf sighting. Someone could very well mean to lure them out, to test the Ministry's defenses, to sow fear, to kill or create more werewolves or direwolves, to distract them while worse was happening elsewhere.

Inside the zoo, the buildings looked strange and foreboding in the dark. She lit her wand, checking the pavement and the sides of the restaurant and gift shop for any signs of claw marks or paw prints. Nothing so far.

Fauna glanced at the vampire, who had somehow sensed or heard about the werewolf earlier.

She cleared her throat softly. "Lazarus?" The name felt funny rolling off her tongue, even by wix standards. Old school biblical. Just how old was he?

"Do you sense anything?" Her mouth quirked up, hoping he wouldn't resort to any Divination jokes. "Uh, anything besides the penguin smell?"

It was distinctive, wafting over from the enclosure nearby.

Lazarus's laughter was this smoky raspy grumble - he kept it to a snicker as Bagnold had to snip down one of his apprentices, Fenneken, for getting a little too Torches & Pitchforks than professionalism allowed. The 'sparkling' comment didn't elude his ears either, and it earned Harris a little wink before Lazarus propped his elbow up on his arm and paid Bagnold proper heed as he explained The Plan.

The vampire listened quietly, nodding along. He said 'mhmm' and 'sure boss' at the appropriate times and didn't spare Fenneken a gloating glance when Bagnold split the party. The huddle complete, each group set off to work.

Lazarus lit as nimbly over the barrier as Bagnold although he made no noise when he landed. He walked down the middle of the pavement as if it were a sunny day and there were people all around, weaving this way and that, turning in place to admire a trellis, ducking his head to better read a placard. He pivoted on his heel a time or two to regard the progress of the others.

"Laz," he said to Blake, if she liked. Did he sense anything? Walking backwards, he laid two fingers upon his temple and closed his eyes, eager as a cat to demonstrate his abilities.

"Hmmm, alright," he mumbled as he sensed and sensed some more.

When he opened his eyes, one at a time, he replied, "not a thing."

And then, he seemed to disappear. There was no puff of smoke or crack of a magical Apparition just a tiny flutter of leathery wings. Lazarus returned to himself balancing easily on the steep gable of a concessions building. He was there for only a second before coming back to earth directly behind Kurby.

"Look alive."

Even at night in a zoo devoid of people, the air was filled with enough unusual noises that it was throwing off his situational awareness.  As they made their way onto the zoo grounds, he heard muttering and the occasional squawk from a nearby aviary, and a few argumentative chirrups as they passed the penguin colony, although most of the residents appeared to have nested for the night.  Somewhere in the distance, something large let out a loud yowl.  Kurby paused for an instant, listening, but it wasn't the usual snarl of a werewolf.

It also didn't help that the ground was paved, a mix of asphalt and paving stones, which left little opportunity to identify any prints.  As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he began to scan the ground, looking for anything that seemed out of place.  But there was nothing that stood out as distinctly lycanthropic.

He could hear Lazarus and Blake exchanging quiet words behind him when he spotted something: some sort of tuft, caught on a twiggy branch at the edge of the pathway.  Silently, Kurby lengthened his stride, moving a few paces ahead of the others.  As he reached it, he dropped to one knee, tugging the leather glove off of his left hand so that he could feel it between his fingers.

The grayish strands felt coarse and rough -- not human hair, but there were so many animals here that it wasn't necessarily from a werewolf.  Quietly, Kurby leaned back, carefully examining the ground and the bush for any other sign of possible passage.

Suddenly, a voice came from too close behind him, nearly making him jump.  "Look alive."

The werewolf hunter glanced back sharply over his shoulder.  In the windows of the cafe building up ahead to the right, he could see the reflection of a bobbing torchlight coming towards them. 

Hell.  If there was a Muggle wandering around here, he didn't want to Obliviate him or her, but they had to scout this out to see if they could find the werewolf.  Kurby pressed his tongue against his teeth, briefly running through their options.

"Blake," he called softly.  He suspected that the Muggleborn trainee wasn't going to like this, but she was going to have to deal with this sort of situation sooner or later in her Auror career.  Might as well let her struggle with the moral conundrum now, while the stakes were relatively low.

Kurby met her gaze, and then jerked his head in the direction of the approaching Muggle security guard, raising a questioning eyebrow at her.  Could she handle it?

Fauna’s eyes widened in surprise as Laz conducted his little séance. She smiled, pressing her mouth into a line, though a chuckle still escaped. Then she glanced at Bagnold, who was crouching down doing actual work or something helpful.
 
Fauna sobered and was about to walk closer to peer over his shoulder when poof! The vampire disappeared, and a bat flapped its wings, startling her even from a distance. Then poof! The vampire reappeared behind Bagnold.

Oh. They had company.

As the torchlight bobbed closer, she hesitated, glancing at Bagnold in case he had a plan in mind.

Oh. He did. He wanted her to handle it.

Fauna nodded, and moved forward to intercept the guard, thinking quickly. She extinguished the light from her wand, but held it in her hand, tightening her grip on the handle as she pushed aside a flicker of guilt. Normally, she only used the necessary amount of magic against muggles, and she preferred that amount to be zero, to try to talk her way out of (or into) situations and put those small town chatter skills to good use. But they didn’t have a ton of time. If the werewolf was inside the zoo, then this muggle was in danger.

“Confundo,” she aimed and pointed her wand as soon as the security guard came into sight. Her brow furrowed in concentration. The man came to a stop, rocking back on his heels. She pocketed her wand, and without looking behind her, gestured at Bagnold and Laz to stay put.

She strolled forward, directly into the beam of the torchlight. The muggle was dressed in black, a ZSL logo on the front of his coat. She spotted the lettering peeking out from behind the neon yellow vest he wore over it.

"Hey, I don't mean to startle you, I'm just patrolling this section. Sorry, what's your name again?" Fauna flashed her badge, holding it in front of her dark coat. To a muggle, it would look like what he expected to see.

The guard mumbled.
 
"Harold? Oh, that's right. I remember now."

"Who are you?" He scratched his head.

"I'm one of the newer guards. I'm sure we've met before, you know?" She glanced behind him. "How many of us are out here tonight, anyway?"

"Um... four." He pointed to himself, and then to her, and then looked around.

Fauna nodded. Shit. More than one muggle.

"Where were you just headed from, Harold?"

"The guard station. I thought I... maybe I thought I heard something."

Fauna bit her lower lip, glancing behind her. She could just hear one of the senior Auror's admonishing her not to question a confounded person, but too bad, she might as well try.

"Oh? Something besides me ambling around like a newbie?"

"Yeah, I thought so. It's possible? Over by the bird garden. The wildlife garden? That way."

He moved as if to continue down the path. Fauna stepped in front of him and offered her friendliest smile.

"Ok, well, I'm going to go check things out. Why don't you head back to the guard station?"

He jerked his thumb over his shoulder and looked back.

"Right. You go back the way you came, ok, Harold? I'll take a look around. You stay at the station for now. If you hear anything strange, don’t worry about me, just stay where you are. I’ve got all of this handled.”
 
The muggle glanced at her, eyeing her black trainee outfit.

"See you later," she said firmly, and gave a little wave.

He turned, and went back down the path, glancing over his shoulder at her every so often, the light bobbing further away.

Fauna let out a breath of relief. One down... shit. At least several other guards to go. Maybe they wouldn't come across another.

She caught up with Bagnold and Lazarus, offering a rueful smile. "He thought he heard something in the wildlife gardens."

The sign for the gardens pointed further past the penguin enclosure, and past where Bagnold had been inspecting the shrubbery.

Bagnold startled and Lazarus gave him his space with a swaying step back. The order was given and the pretty young witch was sicc'd upon the helpless hapless Harold. Lazarus settled in to watch. If he had a mind to, Lazarus could all but disappear with unearthly loitering. Lean into a shadow, move not a vein.

She charmed the poor guy deftly and Lazarus found himself tilting his head like a Jack Russel before a gramophone. He muttered to Bagnold that, "better her than me."

Upon her return, Lazarus flicked away the toothpick he'd been fidgeting with and snapped both of his fingers without a sound. Unafraid, unconcerned, playing the game, he proceeded towards the wildlife gardens with the same casual amble with the confidence of a being nearly untouchable.

"Tally ho," he said in his gravelly baritone.