With just over a week left to go until Christmas, the Ministry of Magic had started to come alive with the buzz of holiday festivity.  The Atrium had been transformed into an elegant setting for the Ministry’s annual holiday party, a chance for the governmental employees and their loved ones to relax, mingle, and be merry. 

A large Christmas tree stood at the far end of the great Atrium.  It was adorned with thousands of twinkling white lights held by tiny fairies, which were constantly moving and flitting from place to place over its boughs.  The entire display, reflected in the great ebony floor below it, had a dizzying effect if one stared at it too long.  Nearby, a quartet of enchanted string instruments provided a lively soundtrack for the evening, jaunty versions of holiday carols and tunes.

The great golden fountain at the center of the Atrium had been dressed up for the occasion, adorned with twinkling lights and holiday garlands.  Rather than spouting water, warm spiced cider flowed from its jets, making the whole room smell faintly of cinnamon, nutmeg, and cloves.  The gilded fireplaces all around the room had been decked with boughs of holly and ivy, with brightly-colored fires warmly ablaze in each one.  Along with the usual incoming Floo traffic, a House Elf dressed as Father Christmas was zooming excitedly from fireplace to fireplace, letting out a high-pitched but cheerful “Ho Ho Ho!” every time he burst out of the flames and thrusting small presents on whoever happened to be close. 

Up overhead, hundreds of tiny candles floated high near the ceiling, twinkling like stars strew across the night sky and reflected in the dark ebony floors below.  The peacock blue ceiling itself had also been transformed, with the usual runic work announcements replaced with a festive greeting board that displayed holiday messages written in an ornate white script.  Rumor had it that whispering a holiday greeting to the golden figures of the Fountain of Magical Brethren would cause the words to be displayed on the ceiling up above.

At the far edge of the room, long wooden tables had been set out, adorned in fir branches and poinsettias, to play host to a holiday feast.  Free house elves, adorned in what appeared to be their best (but slightly odd) holiday dress, moved throughout the open floor, offering small bite appetizers to any hungry guests.  Small bars had also been strategically set up around the corners of the Atrium, with bartender goblins ready to make their best effort at preparing drink orders.

With the evening hour approaching seven o’clock, the entire Atrium was already abuzz with chatter and activity, as partygoers began to arrive and enjoy the night’s festivities.

---

-- Written by Sparky

Harper, who didn't work weekends, had spent most of the day with George in her Sussex cottage. This was partly to console the friendly field spaniel - she didn't expect to be home until late - but mostly because she preferred to satisfy her fair share of introverted hours before dealing with the Ministry crowd. This year's mixer had come so soon after a significant case[1], to say nothing of the tensions[2] leading up to the trial. The morning's Prophet hadn't exactly been encouraging either. Some weeks, even when you won, you didn't really win. It seemed incongruous to forget all that at a party.

But here she was. Supposedly prepared to 'unwind' at her workplace. In all fairness, the atrium rose impressively to the occasion; with London decked out in Christmas lights out there, and spiced cider pervading the air in here, it was hard not to feel festive.

"Thanks," Harper smiled sympathetically at a funnily dressed house elf as she helped herself to a creamy amuse bouche on her way to one of the bars in the corner. She was looking pretty festive herself, having thrown a white shawl over her favourite green dress (it had pockets!).

At the very least, the Ministry of Magic owed her a few good drinks and some friendly faces tonight. She approached the bar after having messily devoured her hors d'œuvre and looked around to see if she recognised any of the usual troublemakers while the bartender attended to a gaggle of Welcome Witches with complex cocktail demands.

1.	17th Dec - Grants Sentenced in Werewolf Attacks
2.	15th Dec - Throw Your Rock, Hide Your Hand

"Ho ho ho!"

Fauna stepped out of the floo and jumped at the sight of the house elf hopping merrily in front of her. He bowed, his Santa hat flopping over his head, and handed her a small, wrapped gift. Fauna took it with a muttered thanks, relieved she hadn't hexed the creature for startling her. He bounded down to the next floo, squeaking another series of ho ho's, while Fauna widened her blue eyes and made her way into the atrium.

Oh Merlin. This was going to be a night.

Fauna smoothed the ruffles in her royal blue dress and took a moment to admire the atmosphere. Fairy lights twinkled in the Christmas tree and the smell of spiced cider wafted from the fountain. It rivaled what she remembered of the Hogwarts Great Hall (which she remembered fondly). She hesitated, glancing around. Should she mingle right away? The Ministry hadn't seen much of her this past week. She'd stayed at her desk, unless summoned for necessary meetings, and she'd stayed home, trying to recoup (brood).

As she made a beeline for the closest bar, the candles floating far above her head reflected against the dark floor and made her feel like she was walking on starlight.

She ordered something called a dragon eggnog, because how could she not? A smile tugged up her mouth. She looked forward to Adrestia arriving and even more so, she looked forward to ducking out early to grab yet more drinks with her.

Also at the bar, a familiar redhead in festive green caught her eye.

"Harper!" She greeted her warmly, glad to see the defence attorney. Harper Graves had helped and coached Fauna through taking the stand for the first time at yesterday's trial. In the weeks leading up to the trial, she'd been kind and competent and gone out of her way to be nice about Fauna's nervousness with public speaking. Fauna didn't really care if Harper defended actual criminals. She defended those who needed defending, like Greer, too.

"I was tempted to skip this one, but I'm glad I didn't. It's good to see you again, in a merrier setting," she smiled. She didn't know how Harper survived the courtrooms day in and day out!

"Do you want to know what Santa - er, the house elf, gave me? Could it be a raise?" Fauna showed her the tiny wrapped box, and started to undo the ribbon as she waited for her drink.[1]

1.	Can be anything! Probably not a raise!

Knox Greyfriar loved a party. He was indefatigable for a party. There was something very charming to him, too, about a party that was populated with many unwilling revelers. That, and the very good champagne, was what made Ministry of Magic parties so very good.

Since returning to Hogwarts that previous September, the werewolf Wizengamot elder had been scarce around these halls. An absent jurist, released from the responsibilities of the court's active cohort. He might yet be called up for service, but he had an inkling that some of the other elders were fine with a little peace and quiet from his old office. Knox, well, he missed it. He missed everyone. If only he could be seven things at once! Then he'd have time for extra naps as well.

"They're neckties. Or at least mine was."

He interrupted Fauna Blake and the lawyer Harper Graves and held his up between his fingers. It was red. Very red, with little gold M's all over it.

"I think we're being punished," he said with a smile. The end of his sentence was nearly run over by a man having a coughing fit nearby.[1] Knox paused and watched as the man recovered and offered a weakly cheerful apology to his companions. Seeing the fellow was alright and the noise of the party continued as usual, Knox turned back to the two witches.

"You both look stellar."

1.	Just a little Magical Measles set up ...

Fauna was one of the better people she could have run into at the bar - there was something kind of idealistic about the younger witch that reminded Harper of what it felt like when she had divorced her husband and first entered into criminal law. The desire to see the law upheld, every step of the way, and an underlying nervousness. Only certain types of people went into this field and she liked her sort the best.

            "It's good to see you again, in a merrier setting."

"And you!" she smiled as the bartender slid over glass of red wine (completing the green and white festivity of her outfit tonight). "I just saw you yesterday but it really does feel like forever. P-ret-ty sure time doesn't run linear in that courtroom."

Harper wanted to be especially nice to Fauna ever since she heard about what happened at the last full moon; she even sneaked a look at Solomon's report in the records room. Greer's case had instigated some curiosity, regarding the ministry's attitude towards how werewolves were treated by the law.

Speaking of which. Greyfriar was hard to miss, and a welcome addition to the bar.

"You're not looking so bad yourself," she nodded at the Headmaster of Hogwarts and lifted the hem of her dress in a kind of joke curtsy, careful not to spill her wine. "Did you both read the article this morning?" Harper added, unable to switch off in spite of her desire to escape thoughts of work. "I think we got off pretty easy in the public eye. But I've never had a good ear for subtleties in the British press."

She nodded at Harper and murmured something about how it felt like ages ago, relieved that the friendly lawyer wasn't sick of seeing so much of her yesterday.

Oh, and look! One of her favorite people (who she'd also seen during the trial) sidled up and said hi just as Fauna was opening the gift box.

"Mine is a bow," Fauna widened her eyes at the very red color, which would look a tad obnoxious even against Auror robes.

She held it up to her dark hair, raised her eyebrows at Harper, and decided no, only some people looked good as redheads. That vibrant shade of red, anyway. She pinned it to her purse instead.

Fauna smiled warmly, "Good to see you too, Headmaster." She couldn't resist a joyful reminder of his rightful place in the world, which also let her avoid using either his first or his last name awkwardly because they'd been over it many times and she still balked at calling him Knox.

At Harper's mention of the article, she reached for the drink she'd ordered, and furrowed her brow at the frothy, pale liquid in the stemless wineglass. This was Dragon's Eggnog? Hmm.

"I think so," she agreed. "Thursby's fair. It's a blessing she wrote the main article. There will probably be opinion pieces, and you know, letter responses," she wrinkled her nose. "But for now I guess we can pretend there is one article, and one article only," Fauna smiled and sipped her drink.

Just eggnog. Spellpunk had spoiled her.

After spending nearly all of his waking hours at the Ministry for the past three weeks, there had been something incredibly refreshing about finally having a day off.  Once he'd finished breakfast with his sister[1], Kurby had spent most of the day catching up on sleep, first back in his bed, and then on his sofa.  He'd finally pulled himself away with barely enough time to get ready for the Ministry party, which was at least a chance to consume all of the free alcohol he was probably owed in return for the last three weeks of unpaid overtime. 

The Atrium was abuzz with festive activity by the time he arrived.  For once, the werewolf hunter looked well-rested, clean-shaven, and in reasonably decent spirits -- a decided improvement over his scruffy, exhausted appearance that had lingered over the past week.  A red-clad house elf had tried to greet him with a squeaky 'Ho-ho' and a proffered wrapped gift when he'd first arrived, but Kurby scared it off with a well-timed glower, and then began to circle the room looking for the drink station with the shortest line. 

Even with a tactical approach, it still took him longer than he wanted to retrieve a beer.  Once he finally had one in hand, it was time to figure out who the hell he was going to talk to tonight.  There was a small gathering of WCU staff near the fountain, but Charlie Harris was at the center of it, so Kurby steered well clear.  As he rounded the corner, he spotted another small group by one of the other drink stations -- this one including two individuals that he didn't mind talking to, and a third that, although he didn't particularly want to have to engage him in conversation, he knew that he probably should.[2]

Taking a long drink from his beer, Kurby steeled himself to be social and then approached the group.

"Was there an article, then?" he quipped, catching the last of Blake's comment. 

He flashed a lopsided grin at the Auror trainee and Harper Graves, and then, after only a half-beat of hesitation, included Greyfriar as well, though he made sure to stand well out of reach from the Hogwarts Headmaster as he joined the small circle. 

"Evenin'," he greeted the three of them cheerfully.  "Grand to see that no one's been torn apart by the mob or ravaged by the press yet.  I'm surprised your super spy date's not about, Blake," he teased the Auror trainee, shooting her a wolfish smile.

1.	17 December 2011 - Once we arrive, sons and daughters
2.	12 December 2011 - A Furry Little Problem

Bagnold appeared, looking like he'd finally gotten some rest. Fauna moved a few inches to the side to make room, returning his smile with a surprised one as she glanced first at Harper and then at Knox.

Harper got along well with almost everyone, and so did Knox, but-

Oh no. No he did not. She widened her eyes at Bagnold in silent Silencio.

"Haha. Ha. You're funny. Actually..."

She glanced around the crowded atrium. Fauna didn't see her around yet. At least he didn't say that other word. He'd better not.

"Um, no comment," she borrowed his phrase to the press and wrinkled her nose as she took another sip of her drink.

She'd be here, wouldn't she? Not as a super spy (that was Fauna's job), but as a very pretty and clever witch/werewolf/mentor? Fauna should have done the mature, thoughtful thing and owled Tia to ask if they were still on for tonight.

Knox Greyfriar had nodded in the affirmative when Graves asked about the article.[1] Another beat or two more and Knox would have begun filling the conversation with his reactions to the article, but they were joined by one of the most visible characters in the article: Kurby Bagnold.

It wasn't necessary, Knox knew, to do anything other than quietly observe the werewolf hunter in order to exude an aura of bearish intimidation. So the old bear did just that. Quietly watch the approach and return a similarly affected smile. Kurby Bagnold had managed to be surprising and on this, a festive occasion, perhaps he deserved the redemption that all creatures did. Maybe.

"Ravaged by the press," Knox grinned then at Kurby.  (He'd marked the comment about Blake having a date and would remember to bring it up later.) "What must that be like?"

But to the Grant's lawyer he had a real question. "How are the Grants? Have you spoken with them? The best we could've managed, but still a great tragedy."

1.	17 Dec 2011 - Grants Sentenced in Werewolf Attacks

Opinion pieces and letters aside, it was good to see that Blake was pleased with the article. More people read the actual articles than they did the letters - or at least that's what it felt like to her anyway. Harper was about to say as much when they were joined at the bar by a wizard she almost didn't recognise. Bagnold cleaned up good! Someone had better take a picture later.

Lucky for them he didn't clean up yesterday or they wouldn''t have known it was the notorious head of the WCU giving testimony.

            "Grand to see that no one's been torn apart by the mob or ravaged by the press yet."

Harper snorted into her drink, missing the remark about Fauna's date as she quickly lowered the wine glass to pat at her mouth with the back of her hand. The Prophet rarely 'ravaged' her, in spite of her chosen vocation. She was a lawyer doing her job, not one of the controversial figures she defended.

Greyfriar's questions were much more pointed, and she bit her lip as she thought of the witch and wizard who had to say goodbye to their daughter yesterday.

"They're... coping. I can't say I know what they feel like," she worried the rim of her glass with her thumb, "but they were relieved not to be sentenced to Azkaban. They kept saying that at least they'd still be a part of her life."

As easy as it was to talk shit about those who should be sentenced to Azkaban, not enough people realised how damaging it could be. The moment you step foot on that island it was as if though you were cut off from the world. Greer wouldn't have had her parents, she would have had a couple of familiar names and a series of disturbing letters. Azkaban can change you.

"Anyway," Harper raised her eyebrows and took a deep breath. "It wasn't the Prophet I was worried about. I didn't want to mention before the trial," she glanced from Kurby to Fauna, shrugging, "but someone left me a little present for Greer on Friday night. Tiny silver handcuffs."

They were, at present, sitting in an evidence locker on level two.

The werewolf hunter grinned at Blake, clearly satisfied with the reaction that he'd gotten.  He hadn't had much time to check in on the Auror trainee after the events of the previous weekend, but when he had seen her, she'd seemed more withdrawn than usual.  Needling her about her crush seemed like an appropriate way to give her something else to be annoyed at him over.

Greyfriar was watching him in a unmistakably unsettling way.  Kurby took a sip of beer, cool and collected, and raised his eyebrows at the werewolf, determined to be friendly and not let the other wizard make him jump. 

But Greyfriar changed the subject, asking after the Grants.  Kurby's attention shifted to Harper Graves as she responded.  The verdict was, as Greyfriar had said, better than the outcome might have been, but it was still not what any of those present might have wanted.  Part of him still wondered if he'd made the right decision back in July, if he shouldn't have overruled Blake and found a way to resolve the situation without bringing the family in at all.

The American defense attorney took a deep breath, seemingly steeling herself, and then continued.  "It wasn't the Prophet I was worried about..."

Kurby blinked, dark eyes narrowing as he refocused on her.

"Someone left that for you?" he asked sharply.

Silver handcuffs weren't a standard tool employed by the Werewolf Capture Unit.  They implied a different sort of werewolf hunting, one where the goal wasn't to have the lycanthrope wake up in a cell the next morning so that they could account for their irresponsibility or answer for their crimes.

The thought of child-sized silver handcuffs made him feel distinctly uncomfortable.  Restraining a kid werewolf when they were in human form didn't exactly require extreme measures, and bleeding good luck trying to get anything like that around the limbs of a transformed wolf.

"Where was this?" Brows knitting, he regarded Graves with obvious alarm.  "You think it was left, and not sent through the post?"

Great job, Harper. Super Christmas-y change of subject! Right up there with the Grinch! She took a long sip of her wine as Kurby's attention shifted - a reversal of roles because it had been him having to answer all the questions yesterday. But she wasn't surprised. This was his purview as much as any of theirs.

            "You think it was left, and not sent through the post?"

"My post here gets screened, thoroughly, ever since I took on Musgrave." Harper set her glass aside on the counter, glancing at the crowd around them to make sure nobody else from level two was lingering nearby. "I hadn't locked my office, sometimes interns drop files off in the night and it's usually safe."

Usually. Harper tried not to sound defensive, partly feeling like it had been her fault for not taking precautions beforehand. She met Bagnold in the eye, pointedly.

"Ergo, someone came in and left them on my desk while I was in the records room," she concluded with a look at Fauna. "I've checked them into the evidence locker."

They were so shiny and new. Made special, thought Harper, for Greer Grant.

The Grants were relieved it wasn’t worse, and coping with the rest. Fauna glanced at Bagnold, whose grin had faded, and wondered for the thousandth time if she should have just agreed with his suggestion to keep the family out of it. Though the system had mostly succeeded and they’d been lucky to get the ruling they had, it felt bittersweet, and Fauna couldn’t fully imagine the aftermath in store for the Grants and everyone attached to them. When dealing with Ministry politics, she tried to be honest and do right. A basic approach to a complicated system.

At Harper’s mention of the little silver ‘gift’, Fauna’s attention snapped to her. Consequences. Already in motion. She listened, stomach sinking, Bagnold’s questions echoing her thoughts. Would whoever had sent it react more strongly now that the trial was over?

Her auror brain had several more questions, but she glanced between Bagnold and Harper and chose not to launch into it at a holiday party.

“I’ll look into it if someone else hasn’t already, Harper,” she nodded, curious if she had officially reported it yet. What day was it tomorrow? Sunday? Ugh.

“And you can always come bother me if something like that happens. I mean, you’re never a bother. I practically live here, you know?”

She smiled reassuringly, a contrast with her worried eyes. Though she felt a little silly offering help to anyone a few years older and wiser than her (which was everyone in this odd circle) she really did care and wanted to do what she could.

It was uncommon for Knox to be so eager to engage in shop talk at a party, but the Grant's affair had preoccupied him as so much of it had been out of his hands. That would change with Greer returning to Hogwarts, but for now... His thoughts trailed off. Something still less common was seeing Fauna Blake in a role like this, speaking with Harper Graves and Kurby Bagnold as peers. Less common, but something he looked forward to getting used to.

Bagnold was behaving, he'd earned some good will from Knox for his advocacy, and it was Christmas. Knox resolved not to bite. That is until Harper revealed the vile 'gift'. Silver handcuffs. Left. No claim of responsibility, no return address. He listened, the parcel ringing too savagely familiar. It wasn't a month ago that such a gift had arrived at Hogwarts. Festivities would have to wait.

"I may have a disturbing connection, Hogwarts' own ill-delivered paraphernalia. A month ago exactly a package with no return address arrived for one of our students. It contained an out-dated reference and a length of silver cord. No return address."

He spared Bagnold a look. His niece had been involved in that and it wasn't hard to imagine Kurby already knew all about it, for all the help he'd been. Wasn't this his area?

"Not so violent and cruel a symbol as child-sized shackles, but it was clearly intended to incite ... unpleasantness."

The fact that the silver handcuffs had appeared on Graves' desk was at least marginally better than someone leaving them on her doorstep at home.  Kurby relaxed slightly, but his brows were still furrowed as he listened to the defense attorney's account. 

Silver wasn't inexpensive, and to really be effective against werewolves, it was better for it to be pure than an alloy.  His off-hours hobby meant that he knew the price of something like that probably better than most.  If someone had really left a pair of small, potentially custom-made silver handcuffs as a threat to Harper Graves or Greer Grant, that seemed like an excessively expensive way to send a message. 

Blake spoke up before he could, offering to look into it along with her own reassurances.  Their bright-eyed, hair-tossing kid was starting to talk like a real Auror.  Kurby glanced at her, about to interject with his own thoughts, when Greyfriar re-entered the conversation as well.

Something similar had happened at Hogwarts?  Kurby blinked, looking bewildered as he re-focused on the werewolf Headmaster.  He didn't like the sound of this either: a mysterious package arriving for a student, with some sort of old reference book on werewolves and silver cord...

Suddenly, it struck him that although the story was different, the details of this account sounded incredibly familiar.

"Wait, was that silver cord Tenacious Twine?" he asked sharply, his gaze locked on Greyfriar.  "Was Nicola the one that it was sent to?"