Sasha scowled dubiously at the insistence that Bagnold was just a grumpy guy with some hidden good-guy core.  Perhaps there had been mitigating circumstances the night Sasha had crossed his paths, but it seemed very much like the type of situation where professionalism should have bridged whatever gap had been created by personal issues. 

It was absolutely Sasha's intention to never have to test that theory; with luck, he'd never have a reason to cross the man's path, again. 

"What kind of questions did he ask?" Sasha asked, curiously, trying to picture what inquiries such a man would have for a recent Hogwarts graduate.  "Were they just like random getting to know you questions?"  It was really hard to picture the man asking Moira about her favorite color or dessert but the types of questions he could picture Bagnold asking didn't seem appropriate to a simple pub-time drinking game. 

“Interesting. Something tells me though it was for your benefit as much as his.”

Sasha shrugged, dismissively, taking the opportunity to take another bite of the toast and eggplant.  "That was his argument when I talked to him about changing my name," Sasha offered. 

Moira glanced over to her friend. “Oh, you know. Why I chose to turn into a wolf when I became an animagus,” she rolled her eyes for Sasha’s benefit, “What I was hiding when he questioned me after making sure I wasn’t a killer. How I got my scar. What kind of animals are on the farm. Easy stuff, mostly.”

With a shrug she set the empty plate down on the table. Any appetite she’d had was satisfied for now, and would help with the alcohol. “Doesn’t seem real that was only two weeks ago.” The past four days had felt like a month on their own.

Sasha verified what she thought about him taking on the name Storm. Moira nodded and took a drink, letting the subject go.

Click. Click. Click. Baldur had come back to investigate, satisfied that Giada’s work in the kitchen was done. She watched the dog’s movements, half mesmerized by the sound. He reached them both. The clicking stopped, and Moira mentally shook herself, glancing sideways to see if Sasha had noticed before taking another drink.

Sasha's eyes narrowed in confusion as Moira worked through a list of rather peculiar and seemingly disjointed questions.  "Those seemed like rather heavy questions for a simple drinking game," he mused aloud. 

"He really asked why you chose to be a wolf?  I take it he isn't an animagus."  As far as Sasha knew, he hadn't heard of anyone actually choosing their form.  On the contrary, he distinctly remembered worrying about what form he'd take.  He'd spent weeks strategizing how to avoid suffocating if he became a fish or how to hide being an animagus forever if he turned into something embarrassing like a flamingo.  Or, a naked mole rat. 

Despite her assurance, very little of what she was saying seemed to reassure Sasha that this Bagnold was someone he wanted to know. 

"Wait.  When did he question you about being a killer?" Sasha asked, scowling deeper in confusion as he watched the former Hufflepuff watching the German Shepherd.  "Who would think you're a killer?  I mean, speaking as one with personal experience with the matter, you don't really seem the type." 

“It was a game, but not the obvious kind. We were both trying to glean information from each other without giving too much away.” It was a game she had actually enjoyed, even if it had ended up with him walking her to St. Mungo’s for some broken ribs because she was too stubborn to take the floo.

Moira nodded in confirmation that Bagnold was not an animagus. His name hadn’t been on the registry anyway. Then again, neither was Balfour’s. The question of choosing a form proved he wasn’t, however. Bagnold seemed far too forward and confrontational to try his hand with such extreme subterfuge.

Sasha’s next questions registered in her mind a little late. When they did, she looked back at him again. “Back in October. All he had at the time was my name and that I could turn into a wolf. He was investigating a murder in Edinburgh, seemed to be a ‘dog’ attack, and he wanted to rule out any possibilities.” Moira considered for a moment, “I don’t think he actually ever considered I did it.”

Bagnold had been extremely uncomfortable, and she might have enjoyed it a little bit after they both recognized each other, but he’d never been aggressive or accusatory. Standard questions.

The nitpicky questions had come later, though now she fully understood the reason for them. Moira took another drink.

Sasha wasn't entirely sure what a 'not obvious kind' of game was and he was even less sure that Bagnold came across as the game-playing kind of bloke, anyway.  Apparently, there was some sort of family connection so maybe he played sort-of-not-games with familiar circles. 

"Really?"  For more than obvious reasons, Sasha was completely surprised to hear anyone had considered Moira capable of murder.  But, as she explained the situation, it became clear no one had actually done so.  It had been more a matter of bureaucratic policy. 

That was, perhaps, the one part of the whole situation that made sense.  The rest of it...

"Bagnold was following up with you about 'dog' attacks?"  The Ministry of Magic, as an entire entity, hardly seemed like an institution that would bother itself with a simple dog attack.  Despite plenty of wizards owning dogs, it probably was considered far too mundane for their tastes. 

Unless it wasn't actually a dog. 

"By dog you mean werewolf?"

"It happened in the middle of the day so nothing was confirmed but," Moira hesitated before continuing, "my understanding is they suspected a direwolf." Their suspicions seemed to have been unfortunately correct.

Kurby had never specifically said a direwolf had been part of the ambush, but he HAD said Tawse. A name that had been associated with them in the past. Leaving that part out of her story would probably be better.

"It didn't seem important enough to mention before. Nothing anyone could do and I didn't want to cause needless worry. Not like I was actually involved or anything." She had just been a witch chosen for questioning because of her home's location and her animagus form. Moira wouldn't have been on anyone's radar at the time.

Unless she had been and it was some sort of weird test for the upcoming December. But that made no sense considering why she had been out in the first place. Sellaphix inviting her along surely couldn't have been preplanned.

Still, now she was involved at least partially.

Sasha let out a long, slow sigh and nodded his head.  "Direwolf?"  There had been increasing chatter in the Prophet about werewolves, though they'd clearly tried to keep it casual.  Small snippets about multiple werewolves in muggle locations.  And, if it was true there was renewed talk about werewolves in the day time...

After drinking the single shot he'd poured himself, Sasha slid the shot glass to the side and got to his feet.  Life, it seemed, was content to add to the pile of worries and Sasha wasn't sure now was a good time to detach from reality in excess.  Tipsy was okay.  Flat out drunk just didn't sound that appealing, especially when there would be work to do that night. 

He retrieved a beer from the fridge for himself, along with a spiral notebook from a drawer and returned to his seat next to Moira. 

"Well, it seems like it would be easy to tell the difference between injuries from a wolf and a werewolf," Sasha offered, with a slight shrug as he jotted down a few notes.

"So, he questioned you after an attack a few months ago when there were possibly direwolves.  And, he just happens to play a questions game with you after the Prophet reported multiple werewolves at the zoo.  Am I supposed to accept that's just coincidence?"

Moira watched as Sasha rose to get a beer from the kitchen, foregoing the whiskey and future drunkenness. He also brought a notebook back. Such a Ravenclaw. With a faint smile she shook her head. “The game was before the zoo incident, so yes. It was a coincidence. I made a random decision to go to the pub and I was surprised to see him there.” His invitation for her to join him at the table had been equally surprising. It had helped to pass the time.

Having no qualms about getting at least partially drunk that night the witch finished off what was in her glass before getting the bottle and pouring more. She didn't know how much she would end up drinking. Part of the bottle? All of it? Not right away. That had been a terrible decision the previous year. However, this year maybe it would help her sleep later that night for a change.

She took another drink, needing it for her next line in the story, jumping ahead and away from the 'Getting to Know You' game. "I was the one who sent word about the werewolf at the park by the zoo. Too late, though, because I'm an idiot."

Sasha pursed his lips but opted not to comment.  Between the murmuring he'd heard at the ministry, the little snippets finding their way into the Prophet and his general suspicions about December, he was suspicious there was more going on then they were letting the general public know.  Maybe it was just his own cynicism, but he had a hard time accepting that anything was just coincidence. 

But he had no actual proof one way or the other, so there was no reason to comment.  Instead, he sipped his beer and glanced curiously, with a touch of concern, as Moira drank another shot. 

He nodded, slowly, turning his gaze back to his own drink as Moira explained about the incident at the zoo.  Clearly, from her tone (and the quick succession of drinks), the decision bothered her and Sasha could entirely understand why.  He'd chosen inaction or indecision on a number of occasions and had lived to regret that choice.  The question of what if seemed incessant.  It wasn't that simple, of course, and he'd been presented with countless counter arguments from a number of different sources.  But, he wasn't sure if logical counterarguments were what Moira had come here looking for. 

"That sucks," he said, simply.  Honestly.  "I know that probably feels -" he hesitated, fishing for the right word.  "Heavy." 

Unfortunately, as always, consoling sympathy had never been his strong suit.  Even though he firmly believed she didn't shoulder any of the blame for what happened at the zoo, he didn't know how to convey it without it sounding like a simple and hollow it's not your fault. 

Yet, by now, Moira surely must know that; she'd known him long enough.  And, had shared enough painful stories over the years.  If she'd been looking for simple consolation, she would have known there were better options. 

"I wish I was better about these sorts of things, but I'm not a poet."  He took a long sip of his beer, buying himself time to try to think of something with more substance to say.  "I don't ... It's really easy to drown in this belief that things went badly, because we got it wrong.  I've been told that's a way we protect ourselves from the painful reality that we're not that powerful and things can still go badly, regardless of what we do.  Truth is, you have no way of knowing what would have happened if you'd sent word at the exact, right moment.  Maybe everyone would have saved.  Maybe more would have died.  We can't ever know."

Moira nodded in agreement to his statement. Everything he said made sense. “I’ve thought about that a lot the past few nights. Could have been worse, could have been better. I know it, but… doesn’t make it any easier, does it?” She wasn’t looking for a response, knowing Sasha had been through his own situations with similar emotional conundrums. Maybe that was another reason why she had come here and not just run off into the wilds somewhere by herself.

“I’m not supposed to be talking about any of this.” Moira shifted her gaze more directly on her friend. “So, I’m sorry if some of this doesn’t make a lot of sense.” She didn’t want Sasha to become a potential target too because of her.

“I was only out that night because I was concerned for a friend’s stupid late night adventure.” Sasha could probably guess who. “Why and what happened isn’t really important.” The misadventures of a hunt for Runespoor smugglers didn’t need to be repeated again.

“What is important is that we were out and we saw the werewolf. It charged and just before we were able to reach each other and apparate away it was as close to me as you are right now. I don’t know if he saw how close it was.”

Warmth spread through her stomach and limbs as the whiskey began to take a stronger effect. It was doing its job, making her feel not quite so awful which meant it was time for a break. She set the glass aside on the table.

“I was summoned to the Ministry yesterday Bagnold questioned me. I tried to not give him too much information but,” she shrugged. “After he was honest about the zoo I realized I needed to be honest as well. Yesterday evening, he went and talked to my now ex-friend who showed up at our door banging and shouting and being a fool.

He wasn’t drunk but had been drinking. Accused me of a few things, including caving in when things got hard. He wouldn’t listen. All he cared about was that I told of his involvement with the one person involved we could both trust.”

There wasn’t anything else she could have done differently. Anyone who knew her would realize her being out so late alone was highly uncharacteristic. Especially during nights like the full moon.