After the lunch hour. Division Head Office, Beasts Division.


Balfour Spectre was in a good mood. He had no reason not to be - Christmas had come and gone in wonderful spirits,, a whirlwind of warm memories teeming with all that he loved and held dear. The estate alive with its clan members, his arms around Johann supple waist as they slow danced to festive tunes, Feliks running around with cousins and friends and exploring his gods-given birthright. A halo seemed to surround the holidays, as it had last year. It held a special place in their hearts.

But today he came into work just after noon, prepared to deal with the return to little hard realities. His time away from the office meant that Mrs L had left a neat stack of parchment on his great desk, for immediate perusal, and a steaming hot cup of black tea as accompaniment.

            "Mr Spectre?"

His secretary stood at the threshold of the open door, looking into the room. The office was in its usual state, a sense of old world work ethics. Books and files were piled up on every available surfaces, chairs included, and the air was thick with the smell of cigarettes and Grindylow blood.

A huge map took up the entirety of one wall. Little glowing pins indicated different creature populations at various sanctuaries in the region.

"Aye, Mrs L?" Balfour flicked his cigarette as he looked up from a proposal he'd been poring over.

He glanced up past the old witch and spotted the figure of Kurby Bagnold in their section of the fourth floor. "Bagnold!" his words were muddled by the cigarette and a friendly grin. "Come on in!" The wizard got up, going to greet his colleague with a handshake.

Level Four was starting to return to its normal bustle following the weekend's holiday.  Most of the Werewolf Capture Unit had been back in the office that morning, and they'd spent the first few hours going over assignments and splitting up scouting patrols and duties for the rest of the week.

It wasn't until a little after lunch that he'd been able to duck away to see if the Head of the Beast Division had made his return to the office as well.  After Greyfriar's confession at the Ministry holiday party,[1] Kurby had been meaning to track down Balfour Spectre to ask about the mysterious package[2] that had been delivered to his young son.  His discussion with Harper Graves before Christmas[3] hadn't done anything to settle his misgivings about the small-but-emerging pattern of strange, werewolf hunting-related deliveries.  Spectre, he hoped, might be able to offer some ideas about why his son had been included.

Mrs Lanningham, the gatekeeper to Spectre's office, had regarded him over her moon-rimmed spectacles when he'd approached to ask if Spectre was in, but the Werewolf Capture Unit was a rare enough sight in the Beast Division these days that his request apparently had passed muster.  Kurby had followed her to her supervisor's door, where Spectre had offered a typical enthusiastic greeting.

Kurby stepped forward to return the proffered handshake with a firm grip, offering the Beast Division Head a careful smile.  Balfour Spectre had taken over the office a couple of years after the Werewolf Capture Unit had been relocated to the nearly formed Werewolf Wing, so Kurby had never worked for the tall, red-headed wizard directly.  But Spectre was well known on Level Four for his friendly, likable manner and his natural charisma.

He spared a brief glance at the small office as he stepped inside, taking in the piles of books and paperwork spread about the room, the enormous map on the wall.  Spectre didn't come close to achieving Iona Ballentyne's effortless state of complete chaos, but he clearly had attended a similar school for project management.  How either of them ever got any work done when they probably spent half their time sorting through stacks of paperwork, Kurby would never understand.

"Sorry to drop in on you when you're gettin' back up to speed," he said easily, returning his attention to the other wizard.  "You got a few minutes to chat?"

1.	17 December - Light the Hearth, Lift a Wand
2.	15 October - Spill This Blood For You
3.	24 December - Time Erupts but has No Pity

He didn't know much about Bagnold besides what Bruce brought up whenever they had lunch  - basically that he was an arse. Balfour's work in sanctuaries and other beast habitats had often taken him away from the Ministry in the days before becoming division head so it was easy to greet the other wizard with a fresh eye, taking in his stance and the way he observed his surroundings. The WCU was probably this man's life.

             "You got a few minutes to chat?"

"More than a few." Balfour smiled, though his brow creased thoughtfully. "Is this about your niece? I heard from Feliks that there was some bother to do with a mysterious package over first term."

His light tone kept away from the more serious thoughts of the discovery. He and Johann[1] had been immediately suspicious of the package's sender, to say nothing of his or her motivations. Werewolf hunting. The werewolf games. Ira. But she was dead and so was her lackey, and the games.

Balfour half-sat along the front of his desk, arms crossed while they spoke.  "Rather funny how kids take things at face value, isn't it?" he added with the amusement of someone who had suffered many adolescent holidays looking after younger relatives.

1.	Consulted with Kit!

Spectre wasted no time in getting straight to the point.  The werewolf hunter stayed standing, always far preferable to having to take a seat.

Kurby gave a short nod, acknowledging that the Head of the Beast Division had successfully identified the topic of conversation.  He’d assumed that the Scottish wizard would be aware of what had transpired with the package; it would be much easier to enter into this discussion if Spectre knew the backstory, rather than having to explain it all from the beginning.  But Spectre’s second comment made him blink for a second, before giving a quiet snort.

“Reckon it’s not just kids who’re guilty of that,” he replied, a bit dryly.

Crossing his arms would have meant mirroring the other man’s position; he settled instead for keeping his hands at his side, idly fiddling with the silver rings on his right hand.

“I heard about the package from Knox Greyfriar,” he put forward, giving a slight incline of his head.  That was true enough; he could give that context without sharing what kind of terms he happened to be on with Knox Greyfriar.  He arched an eyebrow at Spectre, regarding him curiously.  “Your son didn’t have any idea who might’ve sent it, did he?”

            “Reckon it’s not just kids who’re guilty of that...”

Balfour laughed lightly, nodding. Life was more nuanced than most people like it to be and from their lens - well, maybe Feliks had just been the recipient of an ill-humoured prank. But he knew better. Johann did, too. There was something in this business that worried him deeply even if he couldn't discern exactly what. Like an animal walking over his grave.

"No," his countenance took on a more serious air. "Feliks doesn't have a clue. He led a, um, secluded life before this. Not many people in his personal past, and he can't think of anyone at school either. Not made any serious enemies from what I can tell."

The most bizarre thing to Balfour had been the book's origin: a copy pilfered from the Hogwarts library itself. He opened a drawer in his desk and reached in. "Had to talk him into giving it to me but I did bring in the Tenacious Twine that came in the package." The wizard held it out in the palm of his hand at first, a tightly wound ball of silver twine.

Although the silver was still clean, there was a dim lustre about the twine that gave away its age and rough use. Used perhaps too often and too well, he thought before setting it down on the desk, before Bagnold.

"I suppose you'll be wanting to have a look at that? Your line of business and all?"