…SOME DISGUSTING MONSTER…


…A WOLF IN SHEEP’S CLOTHING…

Every Howler sat on Bruce’s desk had held a similar message. Either she was a dreadful monster for being a werewolf and sitting at this desk, or she was a dreadful monster for having been a hunter in the first place and she was here for revenge. For about the 16th time since yesterday, Bruce found herself cursing Cynthia Bombay and the ridiculous letter printed in the Daily Prophet.

With grim defeat, Bruce stared down at the final howler sat almost sizzling on her desk. It would be opening and screaming at her no matter what. So why the hell not open it now and get it done with.

So, she did. And she closed her eyes as another barrage of abuse came.


The howler began, and Iona was quite certain it could be heard from outside of the closed door.


Feeling a sudden flash of anger, Iona flicked her wand at the howler, sending a shot of flames at the red card. As the crassly made paper mouth withered and dropped to the floor in a pile of ash, it revealed Kurby Bagnold stood in the doorframe. He’d seen her set fire to a few letters in the past.

Blue eyes scanned over his face, but she said nothing. Was he here to gloat?

The halls of the Werewolf Wing were busy today, on the last real workday before the holidays.  Most of the Werewolf Capture Unit was taking a few days off for Christmas, making today their last real chance to catch their breath before diving into planning for the January full moon in full force.  This week had mostly been spent in the office, coming up with tentative strategies for the 60-hour patrols: locations, routes, possible tactics for responses.  The next two weeks would be spent digging into the details, scouting locations and finalizing plans with Level Two, Level Three, and the Beast Division.

But even if the other departments were committed to supporting them in the field, most of the burden of advance planning had to be carried by the Capture Unit itself.  Kurby, Gervais Bellingham, and Stacey Li had blocked out their morning to go over the details, to make sure that everything was ready to go once the full team was back in the office the following week.  There were assignments to divide up, some last paperwork for Savvina Katopodis's long-delayed transfer to Level Two custody, and other questions to run through before they broke for the holidays. 

Unfortunately, it seemed as if most of the werewolf mentors had seized today to schedule meetings with all of their mentees, and Kurby had had to bark at three different attempted intrusions to ensure that their planning session remained undisturbed.  But finally, they'd gotten through what they'd needed to, and had abandoned the conference room to head back to the WCU office.

Kurby stepped around a harried-looking Registry clerk, rolling his eyes at the wizard's back, and turned to respond to one of Li's questions.  "Yeah, we can regroup on Tuesday and --" he started to say, when all of a sudden an explosion of sound erupted out of the Werewolf Wing Head's office.

All three of the WCU members stopped short.  All around them, other Werewolf Wing employees were doing the same thing, turning to stare at Iona Ballentyne's closed door.  Even through the heavy wood, they could all make out the gist of the message.


Kurby stood still for a moment, listening.  Everyone in the Werewolf Wing knew that this wasn't the first howler to go off in Ballentyne's office this week.  Silently, he exchanged a look with Gervais Bellingham, and then, a beat later, held a hand out to Li.

"Let me have the paperwork for Katopodis?" he asked her.

Li passed the parchment roll over to him silently, giving him a questioning look.  Kurby took it, and without a word, started for Ballentyne's door.  He could feel Bellingham's eyes on his back as he tried the doorknob, and then pushed the door open and stepped into the office.

It hadn't taken long for the hurricane that was Iona Ballentyne's organization system to ravage her office.  There were boxes and stacks of paper everywhere, piled high and in precarious danger of tipping over.  Back when they'd worked together closely, the constant chaos in her office had driven him crazy; she'd always laughed off his snipes about working in the center of a maelstrom.  Clearly, some things hadn't changed simply because she'd turned from hunter to werewolf.

He'd entered just in time to see the offending howler go up in flames.  Ballentyne's blue eyes quickly found him across the room.  He met her gaze coolly, one eyebrow raised, as he surveyed the scene.

Silently, the werewolf hunter closed the door behind him and stepped forward, placing the rolled-up parchment on her desk amidst the chaos.  He pushed it towards her, and then stepped around to the side of her work space to give himself a better view of the desk.

"Need you to sign that," he said easily.

Well he didn’t have the look of someone come to gloat. He didn’t have the look of someone looking to resume a friendship, either. Just that cool calm look that he’d been greeting her with over the past couple of days. It certainly hadn’t been easy to just sit back and let he cold looks come accompanied with indifference or unhappiness, but she’d chosen not to tackle it head on. As far as Bruce was concerned, making it through to the end of the week with her job and with staff that hadn’t revolted was a win. Having Bagnold even speak to her had been a win. She wasn’t going to allow herself to get ahead of herself, after all.

When the door was pushed behind him, Bruce’s brow did furrow, but she still said nothing. He stepped further into the now somewhat disorganised office and slid a roll of parchment over the crowded desk.

No mention of the howler. Had he heard it all?

Who was she kidding? Of course, he’d heard it all. The whole blood floor had probably heard it and every other one that had gone off screaming abuse at her. Perhaps he was quietly hoping it was enough to make her pack up her stuff and quit, hobbling out with her furry tail between her legs.

“Katopodis?” She muttered, scanning the name on the document. “The wolf we’re holding?” She’d been briefed up to date now, and, as evidenced by the poor filing system that was her floor and desk, she’d read up on almost everything or was in the process of doing as such. She would need to read it. For now, she would prefer to have a few moments to get over the indignity of the howler. Bruce placed the parchment on the top of her to do pile. Getting larger clearly by the second. “It’s on my list.”

Her gaze scanned back up to Bagnold expectantly. He could go now.

He didn't know as much about different kinds of wood as he did about metals, but the desk looked like it was made out of some kind of oak.  A hard wood; solid and somewhat difficult to work with.  Oak could often prove to be challenging when one wanted it to take to a charm.  But it also held onto enchantments well: one of the many reasons it was used for things like doors, which were often expected to stand the test of time.

Ballentyne tried to dismiss him, dumping the parchment scroll onto the top of a pile.  He knew that meant it would probably be forgotten for days on end, especially since she usually took time off to spend Christmas with her family.

"Put it at the top of your list," he said flatly, ignoring her attempt to dismiss him.  "If she doesn't get transferred to Level Two today, we're going to be stuck with her until well after the holidays.  We've got plenty to do next week as it is."

Without asking for permission, he stepped around the desk and behind her, examining the working side of it carefully.  There were several drawers along the right-hand side, with a big bottom drawer meant for filing.  Ballentyne would probably never use it unless she needed to clean off the top of her desk quickly and was looking for somewhere to dump all of her papers.

Did her subordinate give her an order? Bruce bit the inside of her cheek to stop her from biting. He did not seem to get the silent suggestion to leave, and instead seemed expecting of her to sign the paperwork there and then. Had he been this bossy years ago? Perhaps she’d never seen it was bossy. They’d been a team, she’d been the leader. It was different to now. No, he was the leader of his own team and she was his boss. So why didn’t it feel like that all of a sudden?

“It is at the top of my list.” She pointed to the paperwork pile. It was at the top. Top of the pile. Top of the list. It would be done today because she’d already decided that she wasn’t going home until the pile was gone, and his remaining in her office was only going to delay that outcome.

“Erm…excuse me!” Bagnold proceeded to walk around her desk to stand behind her. It was as if he were casing the room for a crime. Some might say that her filing system looked like a crime scene. Some were idiots. Bruce swung around in her chair to stare up at Kurby, looking mildly aggrieved. “What the hell are you doing, Bagnold?”

Three years ago, he may have had the run of her office space. They’d worked together for so long that getting into one another’s personal space was a given. Now? It was an invasion that he needed to cease immediately.

The werewolf hunter raised his eyebrows, completely unflustered as his former-and-newly returned boss snapped at him. 

"None of us are ever going to get any bleedin' work done if those damned things keep goin' off in here," he informed Ballentyne matter-of-factly. 

The bottom drawer indeed looked about the right shape and size.  Kurby wasn't sure if he could get a permanent spell to hold on it, but the enchantment would probably last at least through the next full moon, at which point he could decide if he wanted to lend a hand in a more lasting fashion.  At the very least, it would buy them all a few days of peace and quiet early next week.

"This'll take me a few minutes, so you've got time to cross it off your list," he told her, starting for the drawer.  "You're not usin' this one yet, are you?"

"None of us are ever going to get any bleedin' work done if those damned things keep goin' off in here,"

Bruce didn’t need telling twice. Kurby Bagnold was doing a good deed for her but hiding such a good deed beneath sarcastic comments and general Kurbiness. He hadn’t changed. She was relieved that he hadn’t changed. He could stand behind her damned desk for as long as he liked if he was going to do something about her howler situation. He could, also, make as many sarcastic comments as he liked. He’d always been the same. Do a good turn, save face by being an arse about it.

Bruce turned back in her seat to look at the desk, barely hiding the smirk. Things hadn’t changed that much in three years, at least.

But the cheeky git pointed to the filing drawer of the desk and claimed its lack of use. He was right. But he was still cheeky. He knew exactly what she’d end up using it for because he’d worked with her since he was 17 years old.

“Not yet.” She stated with a small frown. Like Kurby would never change, Bruce would never learn to file. With a sort of beaten acceptance, she pulled the sheet from the top of the pile and began to read through it. “You sure you’re 100% done with her now, Kurby?” She asked, dipping her quill into the ink pot. But her hand with the quill then lingered over the page. “Minimal sentence? You want to wipe those crimes?” Now she was confused. First the Grants, and now leniency with the wolf from the park. Blue eyes shot up to him, her expression showing just how perplexed she was.

Ballentyne relented, turning away in her chair.  Kurby grabbed hold of the drawer, lifted it upwards, and then yanked it forward.  The sudden jerking motion was enough to free it from its track. 

He set the drawer aside for the moment, and then leaned over next to the desk, peering up at the top panel inside the compartment where it had been a moment ago.  It looked like it was also made of oak, which was good.  He'd come back to that in a moment.

His former mentor's office was such a mess that he'd never have space to work.  Kurby grabbed the drawer again and returned to the front of her desk, dropping into the same chair that he'd sat in during their first tense meeting.  Without asking, he pointed his wand at the piles of paper that were taking up much of the wooden surface and deftly levitated them over to sit on the floor nearby instead.

At least Ballentyne was cooperating.  She'd picked up the parchment and began to read through it.  Silently, Kurby set the drawer down on top of the desk and began to check it, looking for any weak sealings or cracks.  Securing those and making sure the wood would hold was going to be the first step.

Her question made him glance up momentarily.  Kurby met her gaze for the briefest of instants, and then shrugged, returning to his task. 

"Tawse was the one who dumped her in the zoo," he said evenly.  His attention was entirely focused on the drawer now, as he moved his wand over the interior, carefully reinforcing the wood with a silent spell.  "Level Two's better equipped to look into it.  We've gotten as much as we can out of her, so she can be their problem now."

With her having agreed to go through the paperwork at this immediate moment, Kurby proceeded to yank the drawer from the desk, sending a jolt to the wood. He took the drawer to the seat and then had the audacity to clear her desk of the particular piles of parchment she’d set up, sending them to drop neatly to the floor in a little pile. The witch pressed her lips together, eyeing him carefully.

2 things had always been a source of constant jibes from Kurby Bagnold.

The first had been her choice of clothing. According to the wizard, shorts were not appropriate werewolf hunting wear. Perhaps he had been correct.

The second was that she worked best in chaos and he did not. Her office may have appeared disorganised and cluttered, but her methods usually yielded good results and he’d never been disorganised in the field.

“Okay.” She knew what they’d gotten out of the wolf taking up one of their cells, she’d read the report. But reading wasn’t always necessarily enough. “I’ll sign this. But I’m going to see her before she gets taken off our hands.” He would probably complain and grumble. He could. It would make no difference.

Clearly, the smart thing to do was to keep his mouth shut, get on with the task he'd assigned to himself, and then leave the disastrous mess of an office as quickly as he'd entered it.  Ballentyne had agreed to sign off on Katopodis's transfer, which was his nominal excuse for coming in here.  Kurby's theme of the month was differentiating between now problems and later problems, and clearly, dealing with his former mentor's distrust of his motives and judgement was not something he had to solve right in this instant.  He'd gotten what he wanted, and his ego was certainly big enough to handle the hits that came from her doubting him.

It wasn't that he cared about her talking to Katopodis, either.  Kurby might have put his foot down a few days before, but now that he'd talked to her, having Ballentyne feel her out was a good way to see if the werewolf would fold and give away the game on Greyfriar before he sent her off to Level Two.  There was no reason why the Head of the Werewolf Wing shouldn't have a tête-à-tête with their prisoner.

But something about the phrasing of Ballentyne's request -- the way that the simple addition of 'but' implied that she didn't trust his judgement, that she wasn't now willing to give him the benefit of the doubt when she would have for so many years -- made him stop what he was doing and look up sharply at her.

"Are you goin' to test every decision I make that you disagree with, then?" he inquired, dark eyes locked on her blue ones.

Kurby’s gaze snapped up to hers. Bruce frowned across at him, brows furrowing and eyes narrowing. Her lips parted as she tried to figure out exactly where his brain was going.

“Are we talking about the prisoner or the filing drawer I’m apparently never going to use because I don’t file?” Dumb question, Bruce. Of course, he was talking about the prisoner. The prisoner she wanted to speak with. He thought it was a move against him. Of course, he did. She was a werewolf. How could he trust her?

Upon realisation, Iona performed an eye roll that greatly rivalled Kurby’s habitual eye rolls. It was accompanied with a soft groan and a roll of her head before she turned her gaze back to his own.

“This office here, Kurby, this job? It’s bigger than the WCU, it’s bigger than me being your minder. I’m going to disagree with a lot of your decisions. Like, for example, whatever shit you pulled with the Wizengamot regarding the Grant case which now has even more Howlers flying in than there would have been about the simple controversial excitement of a werewolf sat at this desk. But no, I’m not going to test every damn decision unless I think you’re out of line and hindering a case.” Was Bruce irritated? Damn right she was. Was she shouting? Nope. Her voice was calm and quiet, like it had always been.

“I don’t agree with leniency for unregistered wolves, of course I don’t. I’ve got reason enough to push for the highest sanctions should I feel it necessary. But if you’ve gone soft, that’s something for you to deal with.” Her gaze narrowed as she stared at him across the desk. “Do not mistake my professional responsibilities with a personal issue with you. I have my own reasons to speak with this wolf.”

“I still trust you, Kurby. Because I trained you.” But he clearly seemed to have forgotten that.

Kurby kept his gaze trained on the witch sitting across the desk from him, the line of his jaw becoming tighter and tighter as she went on.  She was mad because she'd had to field more Howlers?  Because that was a reason to send two people who didn't deserve it off to Azkaban.  It made him want to abandon what he was doing and march back out of her office, good turns be damned.

The personal dig at him was the last straw.  The werewolf hunter tensed, and he sat back hard in his seat, leveling an icy glare at Ballentyne.

"I haven't goddamned gone soft," he growled at her, teeth clenched.  She'd kept her voice calm while she'd lectured him, but his was rising, anger and frustration getting the better of any attempts he might have made to control his temper.  "What the bleedin' hell do you expect me to do, Ballentyne?!  Start roarin' about how every goddamned unregistered dog we can find should be put down, and throw a fit because Carter thinks it's a good idea to put you in charge of the department, then?"

He'd come in here to be helpful, but now he was fuming.  Each motion jolting, Kurby flipped the drawer over and dropped it upside-down on the surface of the desk with more force than was probably necessary.  Seething, he began to check the joints, his teeth gritted as he moved his wand over them to reinforce them.  He had half a mind to start shooting blasting curses at the piles of paper irritatingly stacked around her office just to be childish.

She said she still trusted him.  He didn't believe it for an instant.

"I know better'n you do how things are bigger than the WCU right now," he informed her tightly, keeping his gaze focused on his project.  "You weren't here when everything went to hell three years ago.  So don't call me soft just because I'm not makin' the same damned decisions that you might've."

And there it was. The anger. Bruce, for the forward and unbending person that she was, hated confrontation. She’d duel and hex and fight until she couldn’t any longer, but she hated arguing. Her fight or flight response to arguing always ended in flight. So when her reply to Kurby earned her that look, she wanted to get up and leave the room. But it was her office and he was her subordinate. She was the boss and she was never going to success as the boss if she backed down and walked out.

He, like the howler, called them dogs. Not werewolves. Dogs. It was worse somehow, more degrading. Bruce grit her teeth, and she found her nails digging into the arms of her chair when he mentioned her being in charge. He clearly still had a huge issue with that, then.

Clanging and banging about, the wizard didn’t cease in his favour to her. He continued, only manoeuvring the drawer with more aggression.

“No, I wasn’t here. I was being dragged through hell myself.” It had been hell. Her own personal hell filled with pain and an overwhelming sense of helplessness and anger. “But I am here now and I’m trying to do this job well, even if you are just waiting for Carter to change his mind and sack me just because I’m a werewolf. I wasn’t planning on questioning your every decision but, if you want, I definitely will.”

“I suggest, Kurby, that you stop being a stubborn arsehole and start dealing with the fact that I’m here because I’m good at what I do and you know it.” Werewolf or not, Bruce, while messy and disorganised on the surface, was efficient and proactive. She started looking through a pile of papers to her right and thrust one in his direction. “Vampire consultant. Approved. Suggestion not questioned.” She grabbed another, also throwing that his way. “Support from Level two and Beasts division here, approved and discussed with Carstairs and Pratt. Also, not questioned.”

It was one thing to put up with the constant jabs as Ballentyne did her best to steer every conversation back to her two favorite topics, which were how much she'd personally suffered over the past three years, followed by what a horrible friend he'd been.  But he hadn't gone running to Carter.  He'd kept his mouth firmly shut.  He hadn't raised hell about it.  If she wanted to yell at him about being an arsehole, that was fine, but every other bleeding thing she'd snapped at him about was goddamned unfair.

"How the hell am I not dealin' with it?!" Kurby demanded incredulously, his voice rising. 

This was ridiculous.  The next full moon was barely over two weeks away, the office was about to empty out for Christmas despite the fact that there was still plenty to do, and here he was, getting lectured about how he hadn't praised his new boss enough when she'd barely been there five days.  Kurby wanted to pick up the drawer, throw it at the wall, and storm out of her office, but at the rate that this conversation was going, Ballentyne would probably accuse him of trying to assassinate her.

"I've given you everything you bleedin' well asked me for, too," he growled at her, teeth gritted.  "I haven't said anything to Carter.  I'm not the one who keeps taking shots about how I've gone soft, or how I'm a horrible friend, or how I haven't spent enough goddamned time this week tellin' you how great you are at your job.  I even came in here to try and goddamned help so you wouldn't have the entire office listening in every time someone sent you a Howler, and you still think I'm tryin' to get you sacked?!"

This was blowing more than it ever should. It didn’t help, she supposed, that there was so much unsaid between her and Kurby. As much as she tried to see past it, she still held a lot of resentment for the fact that he’d dropped her at the hospital and acted like she was dead for 3 years. She’d been cut out of his life because she’d fallen in the line of duty and become what they hunted. And now? Now he clearly had an enormous bee in his bonnet about her being reemployed in the Werewolf wing. They’d been really close; he’d basically been her work husband. Now they couldn’t even hold a civil conversation, it seemed.

“I never said you were trying to get me sacked, Kurby. And I don’t bloody well want your praise, I want your cooperation.” She wanted him to stop questioning why she’d been hired. It was completely different.

After a moment, Bruce frowned, sitting back and crossing her arms.
“Help me understand. Three years ago, you would have recommended the full weight of the law for these people. Why the change?”