"They warned me not to walk into any magical brick walls."

Anton met Fauna's glance with a broad and friendly grin.  "Well, as a self-proclaimed, budding expert in being magically-impaired in a magically-inclined world, I can share a bunch of hints and tricks I've picked up.  I can proudly admit that I've been magic-free for years and I've only walked into five brick walls.  None of them magical." 

Walking while texting was a rather hazardous past time.  So was walking while drunk.  Or stoned. 

Riiight.  "I'm sorry, Fauna," he offered with as gentle a tone as he could, his gaze tracing to Figaro for some much needed back up in this.  "If you look rested, then I look like The Shaq."  He glanced between Fauna and Fig, giving his best (still, poor) impression of the infamous Shaq wiggle.  "What's the worst that will happen if you don't go in tomorrow, as well?  Files don't get filed?"

Except, apparently, Figaro was on Team Filing.  More than likely, this was the privilege talking but Anton never understood why people were in such a rush to go back to work when they still felt sub-human. 

"What's happening this weekend?" Anton asked, entirely at a loss for why she was in such a rush to go to work while feeling awful.  There were few things worse in the world.  War.  Genocide.  Famine.  Working while sick.  "If I were you, I'd stay home with a little Hepburn and a ton of pho and ramen and leave it to the man until I felt like a proper Anton.  Er...Fauna.  Until you felt like a Fauna." 

If he was looking for some explanation for why Fauna was desperate to ... work the weekend ... it sounded like he was going to be disappointed.  He was going to get an entirely non-sequitur question, instead. 

Anton snorted and laughed, looking from Figaro to Fauna and back, again.

"Werewolves?"  That was bound to be a joke.  Vampires were one thing, but people that turned fuzzy once a month and liked to spend time howling?  Muggles like him would have noticed the howling, unless the Ministry actually went around and zapped the memories of every muggle once a month.  That seemed unlikely.  Laughing, again, he shook his head.  "Of course I know about them.  They have really bizarre dating habits and like to creepily pair with fast aging, half-vampire babies."  Anton wrinkled his nose and shook his head.  That was just a really weird plot twist to consider for a young adult book.

"No, we like to keep werecats, instead.  Or, direwolves, if you fly the right sigil."  He added, with a broad grin.  "Not that I'm at all a Stark type, but I think I'd pretend if I could sleep with a direwolf.  I'd name mine Poe." 

Fauna drew back in her seat, stuck out her lower lip slightly and furrowed her brow. Was Anton saying she looked tired? Excuse him! One did not say such a thing to a young woman and hope to survive the day.

"It's called a hangover," she grumbled. "And I have things to do. There are work things happening this weekend," she continued to grumble under her breath.

She felt fine, physically! She knew she was just a peon but- oh. Anton didn't know she was an Auror Trainee, did he? The first time she'd met him, she'd lied and said she worked at an art gallery.

Fauna opened her mouth to explain, when Fig asked if Anton knew about werewolves. She let out a long breath, understanding where the question was coming from but dreading the answer. If Sasha had explained, Anton would have a warped view of the whole situation.

But Sasha hadn't explained. This was much worse. Anton laughed. He made literary references. Fauna glanced at Fig in alarm. She set her bowl of soup on the coffee table and straightened, prepared to launch into a kind but firm lecture, despite the pounding in her temples. She was fine. She felt stressed. The stress would fade, somehow.

Then Anton said the word. The word. The word that made her stomach lurch and her face pale.

Direwolf. With a smile.

Fauna froze. She ran a hand over her face and stopped with her hand over her mouth, some remnant gesture of last night kicking in.

Her gaze settled on Anton, recognizing the name Stark and the reference in the back of her mind, but completely unable to connect the dots in that moment. Slowly, she rose from her seat and shook her head.

"I'm uh, going to step outside for a second."

Belatedly, she patted her pocket and found her phone, and held it up as an excuse.

"Er..." She gave Fig a pleading look that verged on panicky. He could explain about werewolves, right? Once she calmed down she could say what she needed to. Right.

She paused, gaining her bearings, and headed for the door.

Figaro stared at Anton. Merlin no, he knew absolutely nothing. Figaro wasn't following half of what he was saying and the other half he knew had to just be ... muggle pop culture stuff. It was a little bit amazing to encounter someone with less than a brain-to-mouth filter than his own. He just, wow, okay. Where to even start?

When Fauna started speaking, Figaro was grateful - she'd be the best one to spell this out. She'd know how to be sensitive and give just the right amount of information without overloading - wait!

Fauna left. Figaro stood up from the fireplace to follow her but stopped. He let a long breath out and let her go. She didn't need this. Fig'd let the cat out of the bag and now he had to  ... catch it. What did you do when cats were out of bags?

"Right."

"Okay."

Figaro had a seat and leaned forward, elbows on knees, trying to think of where to begin.

"It's - right. Couple of things, mate. Werewolves are when a magical person gets bit by another werewolf and gets cursed to also be a werewolf. And every full moon, perfectly normal people transform into a, sort of, half-wolf half-human monster - but we don't say monster because it's offensive. They're not really all there when that happens. Look, maybe a book would be better."

He waved a hand in the air. There was too much. "It's nothing to do with vampires. And I don' think there are half-vampires. It's a you are or you're not, sort of thing. Off topic. And the Direwolf thing - there are some werewolves who are worse in their cursed form. They're really dangerous."

"This weekend's the next full moon and Fauna's an Auror, so might have to be out there. You know. Dealing with it."

Figaro was watching Anton's face. Was any of this making any sense? Balls, he'd just told a muggle about werewolves. They really should have covered the Statute of Secrecy more in school. Fig could have a laugh with the rest of them, but he was hung-over, Fauna was wretched, and full moons were getting worse.

Anton was on the verge of pointing out that people didn’t send vague group texts about trips to the hospital for simple hangovers.  Maybe, the lingering glories of New Year’s Eve were contributing to Fauna’s current plight, but he didn't think they were the sole - or even primary - cause. 

But, he wasn't looking to contribute to that plight and arguing about the nuances of whether it was magic flu or alcohol wouldn't help anyone. 

Especially when it had become clear he'd said something very, very wrong.  He couldn't tell what it was, but context clues suggested it had something to do with werewolves or Game of Thrones.  In the course of the short conversation, Fauna's reaction seemed to start at patiently tolerant and deteriorated to ... well, needing to leave the room. 

Anton blinked, feeling a distinct mix of guilt and confusion as he watched as Fauna got to her feet and lamely held up her phone. 

"I'm sorry.  Muggle idiocy, I assume," he tried to offer to Fauna's retreating back.  Feeling horrible, he turned his attention to Figaro who had made to follow Fauna but had stopped. 

"I'm sorry," he offered, again.  "I didn't mean to upset her; I don't even know what I said.  It was just a stupid quip."  Except, obviously, it hadn't been. 

Anton set his soup bowl down on a coffee table and straightened up in his seat, trying to wrap his head around the Mystical Beings Of the Wizarding World, Cliff Notes - edited by Figaro ... whatever his last name was.  Surely, something classically Italian.  Alfonso.  Ferrari.  Yes.  Primer on Magical Humanoid Beings by Figaro Ferrari. 

He tried to keep his commentary or thinking aloud to a minimum, but he couldn't contain it completely. 

"So, magical rabies?  And, super magical rabies?"   That totally did not sound like the direwolves of George RR Martin's imagination.  "We just think of direwolves being, like, really big and dangerous wolves.  Mega dogs.  And ... werewolves are just lame Twilight nonsense.  Just don't tell my sister I said that."  He couldn't help but be curious about werewolves getting offended by terminology; it sounded a lot like the paper he'd written last term.  "Vampires seem to get offended really easily," he offered, trying to add something he understood to the conversation. 

And it was still difficult to connect the information to Fauna's reaction.  Sure, werewolves sounded gnarly but they still felt theoretical.  Like ... Jurassic Park.

"So, by out there dealing with it, you mean ... she goes to where they are and tries to ... control them or something?"  Anton shook his head.  "I mean, there can't be any toothy werewolves here in London.  I grew up in London and I've never heard howling on a full moon.  Some people say dogs bark more on full moons, but that's just superstition."

"Right?"

"She's fine," Fig assured Anton. "Don't worry."

Figaro narrowed his eyes trying to follow Anton's curious interruptions, which was hard because barely any of it made sense. Figaro wasn't sure but it sounded like Anton was comparing real things to fake muggle movies. There was just a massive cultural gap between the two young men and they were about as effective  at communicating as two ninnies waving their arms at each other across a canyon.

Where was Sasha when he needed him? Oh right. Abby.

"You and Virgil don't talk much do you..." Figaro took a rare moment to try and think. He wasn't exactly a qualified ambassador.
It was odd not being the blabbiest one in the room, and, indeed, being tasked at fixing things up. He was honestly a bit sobered by the responsibility.

"Yea, more or less. There's Aurors - Faun's nearly an Auror - and they handle major crimes. They don't usually do werewolf stuff. Werewolves get handled by another department and, well, they do a really good job it, I suppose. Most werewolves aren't going around attacking anyone. But, uh,"

Figaro looked away and scratched his neck. They were in the realm of things he shouldn't know and shouldn't be talking about.

"But some things have come up and I guess Aurors are helping out the werewolf hunters. Did you say you met a vampire?"

Figaro's question went high pitched. He reached for his coffee and sat back in the chair.

A faint scowl flickered across Anton's expression and his eyes darted towards the hallway.  Regardless of Figaro's assertion, Fauna hadn't seemed 'fine' and her lingering absence wasn't any more convincing.  "I'm not worrying," he said, shaking his head slowly.  He was troubled - that was different than worried, right?

Right. 

Besides, whether it was trouble or worry or completely non-chalant, he was readily distracted. 

"You and Virgil don't talk much do you..."

A chuckle and a grin.  Anton turned his attention back to Figaro and the meat of the conversation at hand.  "Of course we talk, in between other occupations.  But, flesh-rending man-dogs isn't exactly a common conversation topic." 

The challenge was there was so much at play: new worlds clashing with old understanding.  New perspectives of people clashing with first impressions.  Yes, Anton knew and understood more now than he had a few weeks ago but ... well ... it was still difficult to see Art Institute Fauna-Student as someone who'd run around chasing man-eating beasts.   

Or, she got wrapped up in man-eating beast chasing, even though that was another department. 

"Yeah, no worries, mate," Anton offered.  Figaro was clearly doing some soft-core navigating through his explanation.  "I'll bug Rudi for the inside scoop on werewolves.  He seems more experienced with muggle-translation." 

"Ja, mate, it was intense!"  Though, the intensity of meeting Mr. Moody was only slightly overshadowed by Sasha's response when he picked him up at the Ministry.  "He did a whole choke-hold and was the picture of indecision.  Got dragged to the Ministry to make a statement afterwards.  It was epic!"  With an arm slung across his own throat and tossing his head back, Anton made an attempt to pantomime the exchange without spilling his soup.   

"But, strictly between us, mate.  I haven't told my mum; she'd go ape-shit."

Fauna sat on the porch step and pressed her hands to her eyes, taking a few deep breaths. She kept her head bowed against the sky. She let her thoughts drift away from direwolves, the silly kind from Game of Thrones, and the very real kind that had attacked during the cold moon in December and would threaten all the full moons yet to come. It was just a word, a name for a thing. It didn't get to the true issue, the one she kept circling back to.

She should have realized that Anton was completely new to this world and would have questions. She should have realized that Fig always had questions. And between all the questions, her own grumbling, and the bowl of soup cooling on the coffee table, she hadn't had the chance to tell them about the thing that upset her most, the thing that felt like it would only happen to her.

Her mum's fiance thought she was bonkers.

Completely bonkers. Not in a funny way, not in a quirky way, but a way in which they had sat across from each other in the same living room without seeing each other, and spoken the same language without communicating at all. She'd been unable to prove her magic to him. In his world, she was a university student managing a gallery, who blamed missed family get-togethers on her scatterbrained, artistic mind. In her world, she barely had time to keep up with her sketchbook, and spent her days without a phone and her nights chasing down werewolves and investigating haunted tailor shops.

It wasn't just that he didn't believe her. How could he believe her, without proof? It was everything she imagined happening in the months to come. What if she stayed like this. What if she could never prove it. What if she got better, but the shock of this day, this first day of the new year, was so overwhelming that he never quite looked past it. What if he always looked at her like she was crazy, or what if he disliked her job like her mum did, or couldn't ever understand that a direwolf was dangerous, or that the night was dark and full of real terrors...

What if Stefan and her mum never got married, because of her?

She knew she was spiraling down a rabbit hole of shitty thinking, and that the last thing she needed was to panic over her family situation when she should be focused on getting better. She should go back into her house and face her friends.

But all she could imagine, when she finally lifted her head and glanced up at the sky, was the absence of Stefan. It would just be her mum and her gran again, in a house perfectly built for a small family. Gran would still have Fauna's sister's room, her mum would have the largest bedroom, but Fauna's attic room, the room where Artur now slept and complained about the stuffiness, would be empty. There'd be no Stefan making breakfast in the kitchen, and no teenage Artur leaving his shoes everywhere. They'd find reminders of Stefan in the mail, and around the house for years after, just like they had with Fauna's dad. Her mum would get a sour, bitter smile on her face when his name was mentioned, just like she did with Fauna's dad. Her sister would never say I told you so, but she'd come around less often. Her gran would try to keep everyone cheerful, just like she had before.

Tears gathering in her eyes, Fauna stood. She stepped off the porch, unlocked her phone, and hit 'send' on her mum's number.

She needed her to hear her mum's voice right now.

Fauna lifted her phone to her ear. Static crackled. She sighed, and started walking down the drive.

A car sounded down the street, the hum of the engine steadily getting closer.

Fauna took another step, watching as the familiar car paused and turned into the driveway.

Ring! Her phone let out a ring.

She hit cancel and tucked her phone into her pocket, where it made a series of loud text alerts.

Fauna stared at the parked car, hugging her arms.

Stefan shut the car door, and hesitated there for a moment with a worried face.

"You're back," her voice cracked.

"Fauna, I've been trying to ring you," he held his phone up. "You said you'd call me, and I've had no idea what's happening."

Fauna looked at him, barely holding it together.

"Are you ok?" He stepped closer.

She went up to him and hugged him, squeezing her eyes shut against his shoulder.

They stayed like that for a minute, Fauna's worries finally fading, oblivious to the sky above and her useless wand in her pocket and her mobile which was still letting out chirps. She'd told him to leave for the day. He'd come back.

"What happened? Did you go to the hospital?"

"Yeah," she let out a breathless chuckle and dried her eyes. "Look, I know you don't believe me-"

"I never said that," he said too quickly. "There's so much I don't understand, that I'm just learning now."

He searched her eyes. Fauna dropped her gaze guiltily.

"I think we should all get together as a family and talk this out," he went on. "I've been talking to my brother about some of it. He'd like to meet you, and get a sense of what's going on. Have you talked to your mum? Is she coming over, or are we going to her?"

Shit. Wait, that was nice of him, but shit. His twin brother was a muggle, and had no idea.

"What did you-" Fauna widened her eyes. What had he told him? Was Level Three filing a report on her even now? She had to get a handle on this.

"Ok. Um, let me think," she paused, pasting on a wan smile as she glanced back at the house. "I do want to get together and talk, but a few of my friends are over right now. They can help explain."

Fig might help. Could she put that on Fig? Would he be cool with that, or help reach someone from the Ministry? Merlin, she hoped so.

"I'd like to meet your friends," he said carefully, keeping his phone in his hand.

They walked to the door and Fauna kept glancing at him, still there beside her. Once inside, he frowned at the portrait in the foyer, whose head was turned another way, nose stuck in the air.

She cleared her throat, and led Stefan into the living room. With any luck, Anton and Fig weren't talking about anything too bizarre.

"Uh, hey, this is Stefan, my mum's fiance..."

Fauna trailed off, looking at Anton's face.

"I haven't told my mum; she'd go ape-shit."

Just as those very true, very pertinent words escaped his lips, Anton heard a door open and close and footsteps returning to the sitting room.  He might not fully understand why, but he knew he owed Fauna an apology.  He stood up and turned towards the door of the living room.  "Hey, Fauna.  I'm really - Onkel Stef?!" 

Fauna wasn't alone.  Fauna was with company.  Uncle Stefan was Fauna's company.  Why was Onkel Stefan Fauna's company?

Anton's expression flickered from surprise to delight to worry.

"Mein fickenden Gott, was machst du denn hier?"  Anton blinked, glancing between the pair standing in the doorway. 

"Anton, language," came the quick - though hardly harsh - admonishment.  Whether he was commenting on the profanity or the lack of English wasn't entirely clear, though.  It had taken a moment for Fauna's words to settle in. 

"Wait - Catherine's your mum?" Anton asked, his gaze sliding slowly towards Fauna as a broad grin spread slowly across his face.  "We're going to be cousins?"

Anton spoke about the vampire like he'd run into his favorite, erm, football player. Thought that being hauled into the Ministry was 'epic'. Figaro's experience had been ... different. A bit too hungover and tired to continue to go down the yellow-brick road that was Anton's train of thought, Figaro let out a breath and sat back. Just as Fauna returned with some bloke with a gentle face. Her mum's fiancee, she said.

Figaro sat forward a bit to see. Fauna looked like she'd been crying or maybe it was just the cold air and the flu.

Once again, Anton added salt to the cauldron[1] German language flew back and forth in a boisterous burst but 'onkle' was an easy cognate and English explained the rest.

Figaro offered Stefan a wave that was more like a salute, mostly resigned to whatever strangeness seemed to follow Anton. Anton the muggle. Anton, the seemingly random German (Austrian?) university student collected in Sasha's wide wake, was more tangled in the London set than seemed plausible. But then, you could tell the future from goat shit, so the world was an incredible place.

"Figaro," Figaro supplied, resigned in his headache and bafflement. "Happy New Year."

1.	Maybe an expression like to throw a spanner into the works, implying that table salt will mess up any potion.

Fickenden. Fauna blinked. She'd heard that one from her little stepbrother before, during game nights.

Fauna blinked again when Anton said her mum's name. How did he know her mum's name?

"Ye-es," she said very hesitantly, brow furrowing as she glanced from Stefan to Anton.

Fauna blinked a third time. Cousins. Cousins?

"What. is. happening," she blinked rapidly, glancing more quickly between them.

Cousins! Ok cool. Cool, cool.

It slowly, slowly, slowly started to sink in. Fig said happy new year. Anton was smiling. Oh good! This was good. This was...

"Is he - wait," Fauna stared at Stefan.

"Are we - waaaait," Fauna looked at Anton.

She gasped, "You're Anton."

She shook her finger excitedly at Anton. The Anton!

"You're-" she looked at Stefan, who looked just as pleasantly bewildered. "You're his uncle! And that means-"

Fauna stepped forward and fluttered her hands between them, "Oh my god!"

Happy new year! Happy new year! It was a happy new year! It wasn't so bad after all! She and Anton were going to be cousins, and Stefan and her mum were going to get married, and someone in Anton's family - she couldn't remember who - was magical, and Stefan was smiling suddenly, and Anton was still smiling, and Fig was still sitting there throughout the madness, and she had no idea what Stefan was thinking or what he knew about her now, but oh my god, oh my god, it would be alright.

Fauna turned to Fig and grinned, "Oh my god."