Dear Mr Greyfriar,

I would like to discuss a matter of some urgency and delicacy with you. I would appreciate if you could come to the Ministry on Monday 9th January at 10am for a meeting with myself. Should you be unable to come, I can come to you.

Regards,


Head of the Werewolf Wing, Ministry of Magic

The letter had gone out on Friday. Iona Ballentyne knew a few facts about Knox Greyfriar. He was the Headmaster of Hogwarts; once a few years ago, and once more since August this year. During the same year as Iona, he was bitten. A month later, according to his file. During the wolfsbane incidents, his werewolf form had killed Ramona Flickwick from the Werewolf Registry. He had also come on the wrong side of the WCU and the Wizengamot when he and another werewolf (also in trouble with the law), missed a transformation. All in all, an interesting wizard with quite the story.

The story, it seemed, only continued. Bruce was looking down at the letter from Dick Dungworth as she waited for the marginally tardy wizard to arrive. Tardy, she hoped, not non-attending.

Master Dungworth, an unregistered werewolf it turned out, had been taken into St Mungo’s for quite unrelated injuries. While under a mild sedative, he’d started to sing like a bird all about how he had been bitten a year previous. The icing on the cake? Dungworth had chosen to get off his chest the exact reason why he hadn’t registered. Cue the letter to Ballentyne to save his skin.

Ideally, Bruce wouldn’t have chosen the full moon to have this conversation. Her nerves were always pretty frayed so close to a full moon. Her temper was shortened, her emotions ignited. One wasn’t even going to mention the high levels of anxiety in the Werewolf Wing who were all poised for some attack somewhere. Perhaps a tête-à-tête may be quite the distraction.

The knock at the door was followed by it being opened almost immediately.
“Knox Greyfriar for you, Bruce.” The young wizard smiled and stepped aside for the wizard.

Knox Greyfriar was big and rather imposing. He was enormous. Tall and big boned. Rotund. Lots of facial hair. He didn’t look too happy to be here, either. His clothing style was traditional, wizard-like. Bruce, dressed in her now usual professional attire of trousers, a simple shirt and a pair of plain robes, her red hair loose and wild, rose carefully from her chair. She was diminutive in comparison. She didn’t move around the desk, not wanting to reach for her stick or make a hash of limping. She did, however, offer her hand.

“Mr Greyfriar.” The Welsh witch greeted calmly, trying to give a smile that said ‘welcome, but this is serious’. “Thank you for coming, I understand you must be a very busy man.” Busier that he should be, if Dungworth’s letter was true.

The Headmaster could only assume an urgent letter on the day of the January Full Moon must concern the two werewolf students at Hogwarts, Greer Grant and Lucinda Temple. It would be Greer's first transformation since her return to Hogwarts, and the first time that all three of them would travel to the MInistry of Magic together. They were due in the afternoon, which made two trips off castle grounds for the Headmaster on a day already frenetic with preparation and the lingering effects of the Magical Measles on members of the student body.

Indeed, this had better be important. Knox looked a fright, drawn, and haggard, and some of his well of general good will was drained. He'd never met Bruce Ballentyne, new head of the werewolf wing. He knew of her in the context of her daughter a former student Waverly, and that she was a werewolf like him.

He arrived in due time and took her hand in his for a brief shake, then he took a seat before it was offered.

"Yes, yes, fine to meet you. How can I be of service? Hopefully nothing can't be post-poned until we're waning."

It would do him well to be kind of the new head of the Werewolf Wing and give her the benefit of the doubt. This was an excellent opportunity to forge a fruitful collaboration, but he'd just not rather have gotten started today.

Bruce blinked. Well, he didn’t waste time, did he? She gingerly returned to her seat and took a moment to get comfortable. It was hard, so close to the full moon. It was as if her body knew that hell was to come.

“Ah..” Well, the rushing had put her rather off kilter. Postponed? What did he think he was there to discuss? Iona drummed her fingers on the desk for a moment, frowning. There was a time that she’d come down on this sort of situation like a ton of bricks. She’d go all out of informing Knox Greyfriar why this sort of behaviour was harmful. But now she was in a similar boat, it was so much harder to do that.

“Well Mr Greyfriar, this is rather serious.” Could she have waited until after the full moon? Perhaps. But that was another full moon with whatever Greyfriar was doing going unchecked. Bruce leaned forward, elbows on the desk. The letter from Dungworth was between the pair accompanied with a file on Greyfriar himself. The file lay closed but his name was inked on the front.
“Does the name Dick Dungworth mean anything to you?” Her bright eyes danced between his, studying any changes in his expression. Bruce was no interrogator, but she’d learned to read changed in expression. How else did one stay married to a witch that kept so much inside for so long? You had to read expression as a daily occurrence.

For a man who spoke a great deal, Knox was skilled in evasion and taking advantage of his reputation as someone with a meandering train of thought. He could deftly dance around a topic all day if he needed to, just as easily as he could cut to the core. At the mention of Dungworth, Knox lifted his eyebrows a smidge. He settled back into the arms of the chair and placed his hand on his chin to give Ballentyne due consideration.

Matching 'serious' with the likes of the jumpy Dick Dungworth was an ill omen for how this discussion was going to go. He absolutely knew Dungworth and he absolutely didn't trust him. He and Hannah had done their best for him after he'd drunk some under-quality black market Wolfsbane Potion and were happy to see the back of him.

"Hmm..." he said thoughtfully. "Refresh my memory. You know how it gets this time of the cycle."

He wiggled his fingers round about his temple.

Bruce didn’t like two things. She didn’t like Greyfriar’s immediate sidestepping of a direct question. She also didn’t like that he used the one thing they had in common as an excuse. Iona knew exactly how it got at this time in their cycle. She’d known for one more month that Mr Greyfriar here. But she certainly didn’t experience convenient memory loss. she fought the intense urge to roll her eyes at the Headmaster of Hogwarts in this very moment.

“Okay, Mr Greyfriar. Dick Dungworth is a cleaner at a few of the offices on Diagon Alley. The Daily Prophet, Witch Weekly, Obscurus Books.” Perfectly regular and boring, really. “He’s divorced, no children. He’s also an unregistered werewolf.” She frowned, shaking her head. Curls bounced over her shoulders. “Well, he was. Until he came into St Mungo’s and he responded to a sedative like it was veritaserum.” Was she already giving too much exposition? Iona was very out of practice. “He’s registered now.”

“Ring any bells, now, Sir?” The head of the Werewolf Wing shot the Headmaster of Hogwarts a strained smile and a raise of her eyebrows.

A reasonable voice in Knox's head began to urge him to be cooperative with Ballentyne, to cooperate with the Werewolf Wing, and try against his nature to not be a boor. Clearly, Ballentyne knew as much about Dungworth as he did and she was giving him an opportunity to fill in the blanks. Keeping his mouth shut would delay any progress on this matter long enough for him to have a proper night's sleep - Dung's word against his would take awhile to corroborate. Evading the question further would undermine his goodwill with this office more than he could tolerate, and wouldn't wave Ballentyne off anyway.

Confirming what he was certain Ballentyne already knew was the path of lease resistance, and probably the wisest over all. Indeed, he hadn't done anything illegal by Mr. Dungworth. He couldn't say the same about some of his other related activities.

"Got himself nabbed after all," Greyfriar said and scratched an itch on his eyebrow. "It was probably for the best. Our Dungworth took a great many risks. Suppose it was a matter of time."

He was being obnoxioulsy non-specific, but it did confirm the question posed.  He knew Dungworth, and he knew plenty about him.

"Name down and alive was not what I might have guessed for him."

Our Dungworth, Bruce noted. Did Greyfriar know this wizard more than even the letter had let on? People used ‘our’ to refer to someone close. Her parents would say ‘our Bruce’, her and Zo would say ‘our Wav’. Our, as if they belonged. As if Dungworth belonged to Greyfriar, as if he were responsible.

“What sort of risks?”

But Greyfriar went on, talking decidedly cryptically. Name down? On what? The werewolf register? What did he expect for Dungworth?

“What did you expect for Dungworth, Mr Greyfriar? You anticipated him to show up dead?” Greyfriar didn’t appear to be particularly open which was anything but ideal. With anyone else, she may have been more pushy, but this was the well-respected Headmaster of Hogwarts. He was on the Wizengamot. He had clout.

Before Greyfriar could answer her questions, Bruce continued.

“Look, I will level with you. I know that we have an inordinate number of unregistered werewolves, and I know there are plenty of reasons for why they don’t come to us, here. This particular unregistered werewolf is claiming you are the reason he didn’t register. So, you really need to tell me how you know him.”

Now Ballentyne had his attention. Dungworth was spreading his bullshit; Knox would never be so anti-social as to push anyone away from registration. Then, he wasn't going to push anyone toward it either. This was more serious than he'd thought just a moment ago.

Knox sighed. He could hear in Ballentyne's voice she wasn't looking to cause him trouble or corner him. Kurby Bagnold she wasn't in about a thousand ways.

Frankly, Knox did expect Dungworth to end up in Azkaban or in the ground the way he carried on. Skimping on Wolfsbane, cutting full moons close, getting himself injured. If anyone was the poster boy of the Irresponsible Werewolf it was Dungworth.

"We met via a mutual acquaintence," Knox said sitting forward. "He'd taken some bad Wolfsbane and it got into his blood. He knew going to St. Mungo's with that kind of condition would get him flagged, so he came to me. And well, to be frank, I'm under no such obligation."

There wasn't remorse in Knox's tone. He was proud of what he did.

"But under no interpretation did I discourage him from registration."

As Greyfriar finally spoke more than a singular sentence, Iona lifted her quill and dipped it in the ink pot. She made a few notes.

Mutual acquaintance,
bad wolfsbane,
why Greyfriar?

“He seems quite adamant that you did.” Bruce pointed out, looking up from her notes. The quill was rested back on the parchment, and she watched the wizard for a moment before cocking her head to the side. “Why would he come to you? No offense, but you’re a history teacher by trade. You taught my daughter. You’re not a healer or a potions master.” Bruce couldn’t think of any reason other than Greyfriar’s noroiety in the papers following the missed full moon and the criminal charges brought against him and Hannah Bombay. Bruce remembered the name Hannah Bombay, recalling briefly that she’d worked on 2 several years ago.

“I understand that you have had your own run ins with the Werewolf Wing and Level 2, but it doesn’t make much sense to me why you would be the one Mr Dungworth would come to had you not been associates prior to his difficulties.”

What had he meant by no obligation?
“You do realise, Mr Greyfriar, that it is a legal duty to register if you are aware that you have been bitten by a werewolf. It is a moral duty to report someone should you believe them to have been.” Her expression was now very serious. It was unregistered werewolves that spread the infection and murdered innocents. The registered ones were safely locked up for their own safety and that of others.

Moral duty? Oh ho! Knox chuckled mirthlessly.

"I'm sure many people feel that way." A system as flawed as the Werewolf Registry, there was little firm footing for any concrete morality. Morality. For heaven's sake.

Shaking his head, a little smile still on his face, Knox was having to confront that Ballentyne here had his number. She knew he was no kind of Healer, at least not the kind he'd care to admit. She of course knew of the many reasons he'd have to actively work against the Werewolf Wing whether it was true or not. She was a strange woman, he found. A werewolf hunter who'd been caught, a werewolf leading the Werewolf Wing. What a tangle must her morality be.

Or perhaps she was as privileged as he was in this particular case.

"Perhaps he'd seen reporting of my advocacy for werewolf welfare and knew he could come to me for assistance without judgement. I daresay he would've died if he couldn't trust me."

It was known that Knox had been supportive of werewolf students at Hogwarts in his first tenure as Headmaster, and that he was regularly quoted in the Daily Prophet pushing for reform. As much as people liked to gossip, both of his notorious legal troubles had been out of his control. They haunted him, but he'd made no affront to morality then, and he wasn't now.

Everyone who read the Daily Prophet saw Knox Greyfriar’s name as a regular feature. He was a household name and a highly-respected figure. That didn’t, however, mean that his motives regarding unregistered werewolves were right. Dungworth may well have died had he not trusted Greyfriar, but to Bruce, the explanation for why he trusted him wasn’t enough.

A humourless smile twisted Bruce’s lips, and she pushed herself up from the desk.
“Can I offer you a drink, Mr Greyfriar?” He’d seemed in such a rush to be done a few minutes ago, now that he seemed more willing to talk, perhaps she could make the discussion somewhat more pleasant.

With confirmation, Bruce abandoned her seat, and the cane leaning against the wall behind it. Carefully, she limped around the desk, clearly favouring her right leg. There was a small wooden sideboard sandwiched between two larger tall cabinets. On a whole, the office in general was tidier than it had been several days before. With her big meeting done, Bruce had shoved most of the preparation paperwork into one of the standalone cabinets. Her famous filing system; hide it all away until it fills up cabinet number 1, then move to cabinet number 2. On the sideboard was a kettle, some pots with tea and coffee in, and some mugs.

With her wand, Bruce filled the kettle and flicked it on. Tea bags were dropped into two mugs, a slice of lemon in one. She turned to look at Greyfriar as it started to boil slowly. She folded her arms, leaning against the sideboard.

“How exactly did you assist him?”

The older man marked Ballentyne's limp as she made herself hospitable. An olive branch he ought to accept. She was making a remarkable effort to be civil and if he wasn't amendable he'll have earned an adversary he didn't need. But then, there was little to no way he was going to mention the name Hannah Bombay, else risk his time here on earth ending swiftly. His meddling had disrupted her life more than once, and it would be easier for her to lose what little she still had.

"I have some training," he said. "You learn to look out for those signs of bad Wolfsbane, especially after that whole mess a few years ago."

Perhaps he could evade in a way his conscience would approve of. "Powdered bezoar and a bit of luck did him right enough."

He was glad he recalled the details of Healer Hannah's specific ministration that day. He turned it around on her as he sipped the hot lemon tea.

"Really, Madam Ballentyne," Knox began, not unaware how strange it was to say that name again. "How else can I help you? Has he made a complaint about the manner in which is life was saved, which was at his request? He's well now and registered. Let's count that among all our fortunes."

It was difficult to spot discrepancies with Wolfsbane; there was a reason they left it up to the experts. Healers and potioneers were trained to spot possibly problems. Headmasters and History teachers were not. Bruce chose not to immediately respond, instead putting his tea down in front of him and carefully making her way back around the desk with her own. She never fully filled a cup if she’d be carrying it, nowadays. No one needed to see her spilling it down herself.

“Bruce, please.” Barely anyone called her Ballentyne. And Madam? That just felt uncomfortable.

Cup back down on the desk, Bruce lowered herself back into the chair. “Oh, I do, Mr Greyfriar.” She smiled politely across the desk. One less unregistered werewolf out on a full moon. She saw that for what it was, of course. But this old wizard was having her run around in circles during this exchange. He didn’t seem to enjoy a perfectly simple straight answer.

“Tell me, Sir, how can you tell tainted Wolfsbane?” The witch tried, her expression still perfectly polite. “How would I recognise problems with it?”

Stars and garters, she was testing him. He didn't have the time or patience for that today, not to mention his worry about speaking Bombay's name on Level 4. Point A leading to Point B leading to Point C and then the whole house of sticks tumbles down. 

"Madam Ballentyne - Bruce - please, for the benefit of us both, get to your point. What exactly are you digging for? My aim is to be cooperative, but I hardly think a quiz is the straight line."

Knox kneaded at the headache growing in his temple. The full moon couldn't come soon enough; he always looked after the after as it was always better than the before.

Perhaps not his best judgement, but he added. "You'll understand that matters like these are sensitive. Being a werewolf doesn't lend itself well to public displays."

What was the point of a werewolf head of the Werewolf Wing if she couldn't appreciate that?

Pale lips pressed together in mild irritation. He wasn’t going to play her game. Pity. She’d been really nice. In past conversations, Zora had mentioned certain techniques when in an interrogation if she wanted information. Appeal to their vanity or attack their insecurity. Bruce had only ever half listened, never a fan of work talk. Now she wished she’d asked questions. There was a distinct difference between WCU and aurors. Previously, she’d been the witch to bring in the werewolf, sure. She had, however, then passed them onto the specific case workers, werewolf registry, and Level 2 is necessary. She was now learning on the job, and it was a challenge.

Greyfriar was clearly a vain man. Not in appearance, perhaps. But no one held such a position in society without a certain level of rather warranted vanity. It was earned vanity.

“You are preaching to the choir, there. I’m the equal opportunities hire. The entire country is waiting for my first blunder.” She frowned down into her tea. “Ideally, I don’t want that to be in month number one.”

After a sip of tea, Bruce looked back up to the wizard. Appeal to his vanity it was.
“You clearly have your nose to the ground, Mr Greyfriar. One unregistered werewolf trusted you with his life and his secret. I can only speculate that he isn’t the only one.” she rose an eyebrow in suggestion, but chose not to press that particular point. “I want to know why you. What about you? Because we need to make waves on this floor for people to feel safe enough to register.”