It was 9:55am. It was Tuesday 3rd January. It was raining outside, as could be seen through the enchanted windows. Bruce Ballentyne and Kurby Bagnold were both sat alone in Level 4’s boardroom. Rather uncomfortably, and for the first time in her career, Bruce found herself seated at the head of the large oval table. Alec Carter had informed her that he didn’t need to be in the meeting, she knew what she was doing. Bruce had sworn loudly when she’d been alone in her office. She was not ready to chair a meeting on this crisis. She’d barely even been in the job 2 weeks!

Having had Christmas day and the days surrounding New Year off, Bruce had spent the rest of her time over the holiday season preparing for this meeting. There was an enormous amount riding on this going well. Bagnold and his team were convinced that something would occur during this full moon, and Bruce agreed. She’d already managed to secure extra bodies for the patrols, and training for the WCU on handling criminal attacks, but it wasn’t enough. A long-term plan was needed and this was where this meeting came in.

Today Bruce was probably dressed smarter than she had any other day in her 22-year career. Her curly hair had been pulled back into a bun, and her dress robes felt remarkably stuffy. Before her on the desk were several sheets of parchment and a few folders accompanied by a quill and inkpot. She half expected Bagnold to remark on how she’d brought the chaos of her office with her, but he sat beside her, silent.

As they waited for the various Ministry big wigs and others invited to attend, Iona found herself tapping the edge of her quill on the wooden table. Tap tap tap. After a few minutes of speechless tapping, Bruce rose from her seat, grasping her cane. The tapping now came from wood hitting the floor as she came to the small table set up with the implements for making a hot drink. A jug of butterbeer and one of water also accompanied several biscuits. Bruce rested the cane against the table and started to make a coffee. She needed to do something with her hands and the nervous energy.

At her cubicle, Fauna checked her name on the memo for the hundredth time, coffee and notebook in hand. After yesterday's embarrassing howler-song[1] and the resulting teasing that she'd already been cursed with no magic,[2] she didn't trust the mail.

Her name was there and spelled correctly, however. Must be Bruce's handiwork. Fauna straightened her trainee jacket, and made her way to Level Four, where she glanced hopefully around for Fenneken or Harris. Had they been invited to offer input as well?

She walked into the board room several minutes early, hit by a wave of silent tension.

"It's just me," Fauna hesitated, considering the seating options as she sipped her coffee. Bruce's stuff was at the head of the table, with Bagnold as the right-hand man. Fauna fully acknowledged that she was the peon among bigwigs today, and would have sat in the rainy enchanted window if there were a ledge there.

Smiling sheepishly at Bagnold, she set her coffee at one of the middle seats along the oval table, an equal distance between where the two heads would sit. Not a reflection on Bagnold or Bruce.

"Anything I can help with, Bruce?" She hovered by her selected chair. Fauna rarely offered to help with things like coffee, especially on Level Two where trainees were voluntold to do menial things all the time, but this was Bruce, and she especially wanted this meeting to go well for her.

1.	A Haunted Ode
2.	Fauna has had the magical measles/no magic since Jan 1st

Quill Som, Head of the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes, arrived with a thick folder under her arm. She paused in the doorway. She didn't see Alec Carter, and the witch with the red hair had her things at the head of the table. Even if Carter showed up, this was clearly her meeting.

"Quill Som," she said and extended her hand. "Head of Three. You must be Ballentyne. Welcome back."

From the information Quill had been given in preparation, they'd been in the Ministry ranks together, but their duties and absences had kept their paths apart. Terrible shame what had happened to her and a very challenging beginning to what was clearly meant to be a fresh start. Quill could relate.

"Hello," she added quickly to Bagnold and the Auror trainee. They'd been at the scene. Reported painted them both as heroes.

"Anything I can help with, Bruce?" The green auror trainee asked as Bruce stirred her coffee before reaching for the milk. She could have used her wand, but she needed to keep her hands busy. No one liked waiting, and she was waiting for the biggest meeting of her career. She glanced sideways at Blake and smiled.
“I’m good, ta.” and she was, because she wasn’t about to set the trainee on coffee duty when she’d invited her to the meeting to share her experience and what she knew. The big wigs could sort themselves out.

The witch that came in after Blake must have been a decade older than Bruce. she had the air of a strict professor that enjoyed dishing out detentions like they were house points; a witch well accustomed to smart robes and pushing her quill around a sheet of parchment.
Quill Som, however, did extend her hand immediately, and Bruce had to lean her stick against the table beside her to shake it with her own firm grip.

“It’s good to be back.” The Welsh witch responded as she once more took hold of her cane and brought her coffee back to the head of the desk. “I’m surprised we never bumped into one another, Som.” The WCU tended to have a fair amount of brush ins with Level 3, Bruce had even affectionately named them ‘The Mop and Bucket Brigade’ because all they ever did was clean up other people’s messes.

“Yeah, that’s what I was practicing over the holiday,” Jonas informed his boss cheerfully as he strolled into the meeting room behind the other wizard.  “Sucking out souls.  You want me to demonstrate later, I’m sure we can find a quiet room about here somewhere, yeah?”

Most of the Aurors had been in and out over the holidays, aside from standing their prerequisite shifts.  With all of the mayhem in early December, it had been nice to have a bit of a break, even if Gwenna had come home intent on being just as sour at having to spend time with her family as she had been back before she’d left for school in September.

Now, though, he was returned to work, back in red robes and having to tolerate his boss’s eccentric and nonsensical hatred of his hair color.  Level Four was an unusual destination for the Aurors, and it had taken them a minute to find the board room where they’d been summoned for the meeting.

Jonas glanced over the room, quickly reading the distribution of players.  Som from Level Three, who probably didn’t have as much reason to be sore at him as her predecessor, although he still generally tried to stay out of her sight.  Blake, sitting alertly.  Bagnold, lurking near one of the ends of the table.  And a new redhead whom he didn’t quite recognize, which must be Mrs. Zara Roh.

“Anyway, I don’t know why you take it so personally, Ed.  Plenty of creatures suck out souls besides redheads,” he continued cheerfully, heading over for the seat next to the solemn werewolf hunter.  “Nobody threatens to fire Dementors over their soul-sucking habits, do they?”

He clapped a hand to Bagnold’s shoulder, pulling out the chair next to him.  The two of them had coordinated efforts during the last full moon, and with Bagnold, sometimes it took a careful show of camaraderie to remind the werewolf hunter that they were all on the same side.  In such a public meeting, it couldn’t hurt to disrupt the normal departmental divisions and visibly show unity between their field teams.

“Happy New Year,” he greeted him, and then nodded to the Auror trainee.  “Blake.  Madam Som,” he added, with a careful nod to the Department Head.  “And Madam Ballentyne, innit?  Jonas Trevelyan,” he finished by way of introduction, flashing a lopsided smile in the Werewolf Wing manager’s direction.

It was no surprise to Eddie Pratt that Paddy had spent much of his annual time off sucking souls. He was ginger. It was what gingers did. Everyone knew that he had no soul.
“Ye sure yer not a dementor, mate?” The Yorkshireman asked with a smile as they enetered the conference room on Level 4. His gaze shot to the head of the table. Alec Carter wasn’t there. Instead, stood beside the table was Ballentyne, Roh’s wife. He wasn’t going to get over the fact that Zora Roh wasn’t married to a dull businessman in grey dress robes and with grey hair.

“What are ye gonna’ fire dementors from, Paddy?” The blond wizard rolled his eyes. He didn’t bother exchanging greetings with the others in the room. A quick nod to Bagnold and a sip from the coffee mug he’d brought with him, and Pratt sat himself down next to Bagnold.

“I hope she keeps this meeting quick. Got a pile of parchment as tall at my 12-year-old on my desk to get through. Bloody well thought the holiday was for taking a break. Season of giving and all. Giving me a break.” He muttered to Bagnold and stretched his legs out. “did ye even take a break? Catch up with your girlfriend?” His girlfriend was Queen G. Obviously. The one who’s Death Eater husband had been released from Azkaban just in time for Christmas. “Party for three?” Yes, Edward Pratt was an arse.

The werewolf hunter had been all business that morning: silent and deliberating, arms crossed against his chest, with an unusual stillness that contrasted with his normal constant fidgeting.  He'd ignored Ballentyne's pacing about the room, had barely acknowledged Blake's arrival with a nod. 

Most of his coworkers were returning to the Ministry after the holidays, but for the Head of the Werewolf Capture Unit, there had barely been a break.  The full moon was less than a week away now, and their watch would start in five days.

The rest of the group was starting to trickle in now, a cross-section from around the Ministry.  The Head of Level Three had joined them, followed by Pratt and Trevelyan, with the latter as chatty as always.  Kurby had shifted in response to the red-headed Auror's greeting, had almost been prepared to grunt a hello, when Trevelyan's boss swooped in and took the chair.

Ed Pratt was clearly determined to try his patience.  Kurby rolled his eyes with emphasis, but otherwise didn't acknowledge the Head Auror who had sunk into the seat next to him.  If Pratt wanted to pick a fight with his smart-arse comments about Genevieve Garcia, it could wait until they had all safely made it through the next full moon.

"You look like you're in desperate need of a hangover potion." Solomon Carstairs remarked cheerfully as he raised his eyebrows at the older wizard who had just boarded the elevator on eight. "Did someone try to drink you under a table, Morgenthau?"

In spite of being one of the most morally unstable men of his acquaintance, Yavin was also unerringly sober. He couldn't even imagine a drunk Yavin. It plucked a few nervous strings in his chest, the very idea of the head of nine being inebriated. But Morgenthau simply rubbed his face tiredly and shook his head.

           "I wish," he replied sourly.

The doors slid open on four and they exchanged a weary look. This morning's meeting was important for two; werewolves and dark wizards, what more  could they have asked for? Sol wasn't entirely sure what Mysteries had to do with this but, just as it was with Mortimer Gamp, it didn't seem unusual for Yavin to be in attendance.

Solomon led the way in, nodding at the room in general. He couldn't help but smile at Ballentyne - that was a story for the floor, mistaking her marriage to Roh as prejudice. "Morning," he sat not far along from where his aurors were. Pratt, Trevelyan, Blake. They seemed an unlikely trio.

Morgenthau had slipped in quietly but made a beeline for the table of drinks, where he was pouring coffee with the calm desperation of an insomniac.

            "Caffeine, anybody, before this, ah, this gets rolling?" Yavin called over his shoulder. Solomon sighed.

The last few trickled into the room. Pratt and a redheaded auror who introduced himself in a thick Cornish accent. It was odd, to be in a room with so many aurors. Previously, as the head of the WCU, Iona had avoided aurors like the plague. Despite being married to one, she couldn’t help but think of the trouble they brought with them to any case. Aurors saw danger in their own shadow and thought everything was suspicious. When out, even Zora would insist on sitting facing out in a restaurant, so she could see everything occurring. She’d always be turning off any lights at home and double checking wards. Aurors saw darkness in sunshine and unicorn shit. One auror was enough to deal with. This room had four as Carstairs made an entrance.

Blue eyes widened marginally as they scanned over yet another wizard that she didn’t recognise. He was elderly, looked decidedly worse for wear, perhaps in his 70s, and he was wearing a sweater with wolves on it. Bruce cocked an eyebrow. Perhaps not the appropriate of clothing choices to have made for a meeting about the next full moon being chaired by a werewolf.

Bruce, coffee now in hand, manoeuvred herself back to her seat at the head of the table beside Bagnold. Her cane was rested against the table, and she sat down carefully. Blue eyes took in the room. Kurby Bagnold, Head of the WCU and her former colleague and friend. Edward Pratt, Head of the Auror Office and apparently, Pratt by more than name. Jonas Trevelyan, friendly cornish auror working with Bagnold. Solomon Carstairs, Head of the DMLE, a patronising and sexist wizard. Quill Som, new head of the clean-up squad, looked severe. Fauna Blake, wannabe badass with a sweet smile. She wasn’t sure she was missing anyone, and if she was, they were late and rude.

Iona looked back to the inappropriately dressed older wizard making himself a drink.
"Are you lost, Sir?"

Yavin pushed up the sleeves of his colourful jumper before pouring himself a cup of coffee, a part of him lost to thought. He was having a conundrum of sorts - not remembering dreams in the usual way, finding odd gaps or perversions of knowledge in the order of his mindscape. Nothing serious but certainly perturbing and outside of normal behaviour. The old wizard had just been discussing it with the Legilimens of nine's brain room, when he had to tear himself away for this conference.

The nature of the meeting intrigued him. He'd heard of an unusual kind of magic being used by a Dark wizard last full moon, and it didn't seem prudent to send an Unspeakable to a room attended by other heads.

            "Are you lost, Sir?"

"Hm?" Yav turned around affably, coffee cup cradled in both hands. "Oh, not this moment, ah, no." A quick glimpse into her mind was enough to discern that she didn't recognise him; a misunderstanding waiting to happen. He smiled at Ballentyne as he carefully selected a seat that was apart from the others. "Yavin Morgenthau. Head of, aha, of Mysteries. At your service."

Technically, he was. If this new magic was something they knew of on nine, or similar. Yavin didn't want to miss out on any of the fun.

"Please don't, hm, don't let me delay you," he nodded at the other wixes with a self-deprecating smile. "I'm as, uh, as they say, all ears."

Bruce couldn’t help it, she was looking at the elderly wizard as if he’d come in wearing his underpants and a pair of wellington boots. The jumper, I had no place in her boardroom. Iona wasn’t, however, the sort of person to pick a fight where it wasn’t necessary. She just stared, dumbfounded by the nerve of the Head of Mysteries. Quite the offensive mystery, there….

He sat down, rambled on a little bit about not holding them up, and the silenced. Iona reset her jaw and closed her mouth. She took a moment to compose herself before looking down at her notes. She didn’t do meetings with big wigs, and now she had 3 Department heads in there, several aurors and a few of her own. She’d grown used to dealing with small teams, and her manner had never been particularly professional. This was the most professional she’d ever had to be in her 22-year career. It was the most professional she’d ever dressed, too.

All these faces now staring her way, Iona felt decidedly uncomfortable.

“Right. Thank you for coming.”  Good start. Her Welsh accent seemed even stronger than usual. Ballentyne tried a smile, and it looked strained. Wrestled with werewolves and couldn’t comfortably talk to a group of professional witches and wizards. “It’s ah…it’s important that we come together in collaboration on the…” Even the date had just left her. A date etched into her brain. The next date when she’d be turning into a monster. Less than a week away. “the ninth.” This was painful.

Bruce took a sip of coffee, an attempt to stall and control her nerves. She didn’t get nervous. This was ridiculous. A quick glance at Kurby before she looked forward once more.
“We need to…ah…” she froze again, before remembering the wad of parchment in front of her. “We’ve, well Bagnold, has outlined a proposed plan of action.” The wad was grabbed hold of and passed to Kurby to take one and pass them on.

Quill was comfortable enough with the pleasantries:

"“I’m surprised we never bumped into one another, Som.”

"It's all the better that we didn't," Quill had replied to Ballentyne, dry being the peak of her humor. No one wanted attention or interference from Catastrophes, at least not until they had one on their own that needed cleaning up.

Greetings for Auror Trevelyan, as well. Then, she accepted Morgenthau's offer of coffee, from her place.

"Caffeine, anybody, before this, ah, this gets rolling?"

"Here, Yavin." She already had a cup half-full.

Then, among the various tit-tats between the field agents, Ballentyne got things started. Or, she tried to. Quill furrowed her brow at the halting progress. This was the new head of the Werewolf Wing? This was the witch who was going to lead the Ministry of Magic's interdepartmental effort to prevent another Cold Moon? (Cold Moon: someone on Three fancied Divination and had a farmer's almanac and the name was sticking.) Had to be jitters, Quill thought charitably. The alternative was them all being in over their heads, caught back on their heels, and then jurisdiction battles, duplication of efforts that would no doubt cause Levels Two, Four, and Nine to get stingy with their information and Quill and her people struggling to sweep up.

It had damn well better be jitters.

The Department Head of Magical Law Enforcement was the last to join them, accompanied by a second wizard wearing a loud purple-and-yellow striped jumper with snarling cat-dragons on it.  Brows knitting, Kurby straightened in his chair and regarded the newest arrival, who had made a beeline for the coffee.

He knew him.  Not from the Ministry — but the tall, lanky older wizard had been at St. Mungo’s the night that the Dementors had attacked.[1]  Kurby hadn’t caught the man’s name that night, but his rainbow jumper and hummingbird patronus were seared into the werewolf hunter’s memory.

Bruce returned to her seat with her coffee in hand, evidently just as curious about the eccentric-looking older wizard. 

The new Department Head of Mysteries.  Kurby filed this bit of information away, watching Morgenthau thoughtfully.  He had assumed the older wizard had been somehow associated with St. Mungo’s based on his interaction that night with Head Healer Miranda Storm.  Knowing that he was part of Level Nine raised its own questions as to what Morgenthau had been doing at the hospital that night. Still, considering the challenges that they’d faced during the last full moon, he was slightly relieved to have Mysteries represented today.

Next to him, Ballentyne began the meeting officially — or at least, she tried to. The werewolf hunter slanted her a sidelong look, his eyebrows raised.  Was she nervous?  In all the meetings and debriefings he’d sat in with her, he’d never seen Iona Ballentyne stumble over her words like this before.

If he really wanted to see how Carter’s furry experiment was going to go, the pragmatic thing to do would be to keep his mouth shut and let his former mentor find her own footing.  But there was too much on the line here today to risk spoiling the other departments’ willingness to cooperate with Level Four.  Swallowing a sigh, Kurby took the pile of parchment from his boss.

“Uh, yeah,” he said, giving Ballentyne one more strange, cautious look before turning his attention toward the rest of the group. 

“So we’ve had three incidents with direwolves in the past four months,” he said, passing the stack on to Pratt on his right as he glanced around the table.  Pratt, Trevelyan, and presumably Carstairs and Blake were all up to date on the recent incidents, but Som and Morgenthau might not be.  “Back in September, a body turned up before sunset that looked like it had been mauled by a werewolf, but we couldn’t confirm what had killed ‘im.[2]  Then in November, we encountered a direwolf in an abandoned Muggle train tunnel in Camden Town that we managed to bring in.[3]  Both the body and the tunnel direwolf were ex-Azkaban inmates, but Level Two didn’t have ‘em marked for any known connection to Tawse.”

Kurby arched an eyebrow, his expression noncommittal.  “And you’ve all heard about December,” he added easily. 

He shrugged, tapping a finger absently against the arm of his chair. “During the zoo incident, Tawse was takin’ notes and askin’ us questions, like he was putting on some kind of show of practicin’ at something,” he said, his voice even.  “It seems like a safe bet that he’ll stage somethin’ bigger during the January or February full moon.”

1.	17 October 2011 - Storm of Souls
2.	12 September 2011 - Bad Moon Rising
3.	10 November 2011 - Bark or Bite?

To Solomon's surprise, Ballentyne was affecting an attitude that didn't resemble the cocky witch whom he had not long ago met in his office. Nerves? What in Merlin's name for? Morgenthau was walking around in the woollen equivalent of an embodied nightmare, and most of the attendees were known to Bruce. Still, he could commend her on quickly passing it on to Bagnold - she didn't try to draw it out.

The Head of the WCU was fairly straightforward and easy to follow. He outlined much of what was already known to Sol, as a result of the Aurors working in tandem with the werewolf hunters.

            "And you’ve all heard about December," Bagnold stated as a fact.

Oh, December. Never an easy month on level two and this year was no different from any. What a fine gift Tawse had made to the Ministry of Magic. Solomon's mouth twisted in a grim smile as the wizard wrapped up with a suggestion of things to come. Certainly there will be something if this was just Tawse's way of experimenting.

"So..." he spoke up with his usual assurance, addressing Kurby and the rest of the table. "We have a when if not a where, and deadline on the ninth. I do trust and believe in the current assumption that Tawse will act again, on a different scale. Four has our support and loan of personnel for that purpose."

Solomon gestured at the Aurors at the table, enquiringly, trying to open up discussion of two's investigations.  "Do we have any leads on the nature of this next event? I understand that a strange sort of magic was used in the last."

The Head of Level Two was quick to jump in.  ”So...” he started.

The assurances of Level Two’s assistance were expected but still good to hear.  If it hadn’t been for the Auror support during the last full moon, it might have taken them even longer to respond to the sighting at the zoo, and they would have been even less prepared.  But there was one important detail he wanted to make sure they got straight.

“The eighth,” Kurby interjected.  Too aware of Ballentyne sitting next to him, he kept his comment directed at the rest of the table, avoided looking in her direction.  “The direwolves don’t transform for a consistent length of time, but the earliest we’ve seen is sunrise the day before the full moon.  So we start runnin’ patrols at sunrise the day before, and keep ‘em on for about sixty hours until sunset the day after.

“And yeah,” he agreed, inclining his head in acknowledgement with Carstairs’s final statement.  “Tawse had some kind of anti-apparition ward set up.  Blake got the best look at it,” he finished, looking over expectantly at the trainee.