It had been less than a half hour since Balfour Spectre entered the flurry of paper aeroplane memos circling busily around Carter's desk[1] on level four. The man's poor secretary was struggling to keep up with such an influx of messages - not just from whatever the hell was happening with the werewolves, but all the paperwork that had to get through Alec's approval from the other bustling divisions including his own.

Can the dragons from the Pembrokeshire sanctuary be moved? Will Carter please sign them off right away? Are the merpeople allowed back in Loch Monar? Could Carter approve a new site, before they protest? Was Mysteries authorised to borrow Hippogriffs for the experiments? Won't Carter please write and tell Morgenthau no? Is Carter to keep his afternoon meeting with Carstairs?


Balfour hadn't even bothered to sit down. He was stood with rolled up sleeves at his superior's table, smoking his third cigarette, bowed over one of several sheets of parchment with an eagle feather quill in hand. The memos had been hastily put into order, sitting in various piles according to priority: the biggest was a mountain of notes in the corner. It represented "things that could wait for later" and many were updates from over the evening.

The smaller piles were memos from level two, memos that had to be dealt with posthaste, memos about vaguely pressing things nobody could quite figure out without Alec actually being around. Something about a vision and direwolves? That surely should have gone to the Werewolf Wing instead.

He scratched his head, careful to avoid putting out the fag against his spectacles, and signed the parchments before him. They were all requests from different divisions that needed urgent approval (or denial) and the Scotsman was either redirecting authority to the respective division heads, or signing them off in his own name in place of Carter's. The consequences for that, he could deal with later - some things had to get done now.

"Are they back yet?" he called out loudly through the open office door while he rolled up the parchments and tossed them at Dido, who was helping Carter's secretary. "Got another note, this one from Carstairs, wants to know what in Merlin's name is going on down here."

           "Not yet!" Bruce's assistant caught the parchments, checking the labels. "I should totall-- um."

Balfour stubbed out his cigarette and reached for another, cocking an eyebrow at the young witch. She was staring down the passageway with bemused, wide eyes. That answered his question.

1.	10th Jan - Lights On but Nobody's Home

If it was possible, Bruce Ballentyne and Kurby Bagnold looked even more haggard upon their return to the Ministry of Magic and Level 4. In Alec Carter’s kitchen, Bruce had helped herself to a glass of water to rinse her mouth out, but she looked practically white, her red hair now wild and sticking out, a fiery mess of curls. Her grip on the wolf’s head of the wooden cane was still tight as her and Kurby made their way down the corridor of Level 4 towards Carter’s office and the werewolf wing.

They would need to see Level two shortly, but first they needed to see their own people. Kurby kept in step with Bruce as she limped through the department steadily. There was a reserved energy to her movements, cautious but rushed. She felt like every muscle was coiled up, ready to release and explode.

Down the corridor towards Carter’s office, the shouting carried. Spectre’s Scottish drawl followed by her own American assistant who suddenly caught sight of them. Bruce shared a quick glance with her close colleague; clearly, they’d not been the only ones aware of their boss’ absence.

“Dido,” Bruce stopped as she approached her assistant, “I need you to fetch Mr Gamp. Tell him to drop whatever he is doing and come straight to Carter’s office.” A dread at the pit of her stomach reminded her that Carter was no longer alive to claim the office as his own. Stepping over the threshold, her gaze fell on Spectre, stood at the desk elbows deep in memos meant for their now deceased boss.

“You need to sit down.” She informed her colleague, pushing the door shut behind her and Kurby. She would wait for Gamp before they explained.

Gods, she looked like hell.

"Gods, you look like hell," he repeated out loud as Ballentyne shut the door behind her, leaving the request to sit down hanging between them.

The sight of Bagnold stood next to her like a stoic and disgruntled hound was so incongruous that it was hard to take either of them seriously at first. Balfour lit his fourth cigarette as he watched the pair, the confusion in his eyes giving way to understanding. If she was calling Cepheus in, this was serious. They had gone looking for Carter and now they were back sans Carter, even Balfour could derive the obvious conclusion. Either Alec was in hospital or Alec was dead.

He sat in the absent man's chair, breathing out a cloud of smoke and pushing up his reading glasses. Was this related to the werewolves they were holding upstairs? Something else? Questions hung off his lips, ready to fire, but he could tell he wasn't going to get anything confirmed without Ceph in the room.

"They're looking for you on two, Bagnold." Balfour said distractedly and gestured with his cigarette at the topmost memo on one of the smaller piles. "And Carstairs is demanding a report, I don't know what for. I assume the two of you have all the answers..." he trailed off with a sigh, neither impatient nor upset.

Resigned, maybe. He had an idea of how the rest of today might go if his assumptions were correct, and he did not like it.

Cepheus Gamp did not need to be told twice the way Dido looked and the way the mood on the floor shifted. Carter’s lack of appearance and the movement of the WCU had bled into the other offices. He was in the House Elf Relocation office when she found him, surrounded by shorter, large-eared elves in various non-clothing attire. One free elf amongst them was duly assisting with upskilling a few of the novices, and the Division Head had only stuck his head in to give his regards.

Five enormous pairs of eyes had swivelled at his sharp departure, and he’d shot through the middle of a corridor conversation from Goblin Liaison.
“Mr Gamp!” Kayla’s opportunistic wish to catch his attention was ignored as his route took him within sight of his office. Ceph side-stepped a half-giant without apology or a glance back.

The door ahead was closed. Ceph slowed his approach just to ensure he’d caught his breath again and tugged the tails of his waistcoat down. He’d no idea who was the other side or what, just that something was definitely not right that morning. His knuckles had barely left the door when it opened swiftly and Ballantyne ushered him inside without ceremony. She pulled it closed behind him with urgency.

He took in the occupants, Spectre in Carter’s chair, Bagnold, Ballantyne. The air was heavy with smoke, though Spectre’s not Carter’s. He looked from one to the other of them.
“What’s happened?”

"Gods, you look like hell,"

Bruce may have laughed if she didn’t feel like hell; if she wasn’t here to deliver such news. She wasn’t sure she’d ever felt this sick after a transformation. She’d certainly never had to deal with anything like this in the wake of the wolf. It felt like walking through a nightmare. Perhaps she never should have come back to the Ministry in December.

Spectre obeyed, lowering himself into Carter’s seat, and pointed out Level 2 looking for Kurby. Bagnold didn’t reply, only stood there with his arms crossed. He was, Bruce knew too well, holding it in. Much better for now, he’d let it out later. They couldn’t let the emotion get them now.

“Not all.” Bruce replied quietly when the knock on the door came. She had no answers. Grateful he’d come so quickly, she let Gamp in and shut the door once more. A quick wave of her wand and it was magically volume sealed. No noise would get out. She returned her wand to the pocket of her black robes, and indicated one of the seats in front of the desk for Gamp. with a slow approach and a gasp of shooting pain, she took the second. It felt like she’d not been able to sit in hours.

Despite knowing that her colleagues needed to hear sooner rather than later, Bruce took a moment to get her breath, to settle into the seat and consider her words.

“Carter is dead.” She stated, trying to keep her voice steady. “He was attacked last night in his home. Mauled by a wolf.”

            “Carter is dead. He was attacked last night in his home. Mauled by a wolf.”

He tipped his head back, slumping in the chair as another column of cigarette smoke rose into the air. Bruce did not need to clarify that she meant a werewolf, if not a direwolf, and at this very moment it did not matter to Balfour. His fears were confirmed: Alec Carter was dead, one wizard in a long line of wizards on level four whose deaths were violent and occupational in nature. Something about this nagged at the back of Balfour's head, a sense of familiarity, but he didn't linger on it.

"Right," the wizard sat straight and tapped some ash into an ashtray that belong to the late department head. "I thought he might have... right."

The immensity of the situation was overwhelming but he had half-expected something like this since Mrs Lanningham's meaningful look in Beasts Division. In truth, he had also half-hoped for something flippant and trivial to be responsible. He flexed the fingers of his free hand. Pixie[1] shit.

Balfour glanced at Cepheus, expression tense, before addressing Bruce again. "This have anything to do with the six werewolves on level two? Who have you left at the scene?" he reached for a blank memo sheet on Alec's desk, trying not to think about how he was about to write something down with Alec's quill in Alec's office surrounded by Alec's belongings.

"Why the hell hasn't Carstairs summoned us...haven't they told him yet?" he muttered under his breath as he tried to figure out why he had even picked up the piece of paper. His mind was somewhere else and he was trying to bring it back, ruthlessly.

This is how it ends for so many of them. Maybe this is how it might have ended for him. Might end for him, one day and it would be his body surrounded by a flock of fumbling red rob-- Balfour looked back up abruptly. "Bruce. You summoned the aurors, didn't you?"

1.	Alec was dealing with pixie shit on his reports when Balfour first met him in this office.

It felt like there was a fire blazing under Kurby Bagnold's skin.  It had started at the safe house, quickly erupting into a conflagration when he'd found the skinning knife.  Now, with the gruesome display of Carter's body seared into his memory, it had exploded into a forest fire. 

On the surface, he kept it together, disciplined and stony.  But underneath, he felt ready to erupt at anyone and anything that gave him even the slightest probable cause.

Once they'd established the WCU at the scene, they'd gone back to Level Four.  Between Bellingham and Li, his team could run interference with the Obliviators and the Aurors.  But Ballentyne had said that it was Gamp and Spectre who needed to know first, so that they could check on their staff, make sure no one else was missing, and come up with an immediate plan of action.  And so just like the old days when they'd had a crisis, he'd fallen in step to follow Ballentyne's lead.

Spectre had been in Carter's office, looking as if he were doing everything but practically picking out his choice of the office plants while their boss had been missing from work.  As Gamp joined them and the Division Heads of Level Four sat, Kurby stayed standing, still clad in the silver and leather that he wore every full moon, his arms crossed tightly against his chest.

Spectre was probably going to be the first to make him want to hit something.

"I didn't know Carstairs was in charge of Level Four," he cut in harshly, with a hard look at the Scottish wizard.  Who the hell did he think he was, telling them how to manage an emergency?  "No, we just figured we'd let the goddamned Aurors read about it in the bleedin' Daily Prophet tomorrow like everyone else."

Before her, Spectre was processing. While Bagnold’s idea of coping with a situation was to stay silent until he could explode, Balfour’s method was to ask a lot of questions. As he slowly ploughed through them, Bruce stretched her leg out, trying to breathe through the intense ache and her continued nausea. She wasn’t sure if she’d been on her feet for so long after a full moon since her attack. Before, she’d had boundless energy. The WCU had always taken to the pub once the sun came up. Now, she was desperately struggling just to stand and move and focus.

"Bruce. You summoned the aurors, didn't you?" Spectre asked, staring straight at her. Sat there, in Carter’s chair, surrounded by Carter’s things, asking the questions Carter would have asked…did he think he was the new boss all of a sudden? Talk about jumping in the dead man’s grave!
"No, we just figured we'd let the goddamned Aurors read about it in the bleedin' Daily Prophet tomorrow like everyone else." Bagnold cut in, clearly starting to bubble over. Bruce turned her head, shooting him a quick warning look. He needed to keep it together and get through the day first.

“Capture unit are on the scene and have been instructed to work with the aurors.” Bruce said as calmly as she could. Her first reaction had been to remind him that she knew how to do her damned job. She, just like Bagnold, would have liked to also remind him that Solomon Carstairs held no power here. She chose, instead, to be far more professional.

“Someone broke into a safe house last night,” she continued quietly, pausing for a few steadying breaths. “Two werewolves were taken. The rest are those in Level 2 at the moment.” She twisted in the seat, gaze darting between Gamp and Spectre. “I need you both to account for every member of staff. On shift, off shift, on leave etc. We need to know that no one else was targeted. This was an attack against our department.”

“Carter is dead.”

“F…” Ceph began to say and held it, alarmed and surprised at this new.

“He was attacked last night in his home. Mauled by a wolf.”

Ballantyne did not mince words, not that this was the time to dress it up. Cepheus did not hide his surprise at this revelation, eyebrows raised, lips apart. Fatal accidents did happen in their Department. Risk was part of so many creature jobs, but they were always as careful as could be. But outright attacks on personnel was different. Bagnold looked as grim as ever, covered in silver and leather.

“… I thought he might have… right.”

Cepheus looked to Balfour, perturbed. Thought he might have died? What? Or was that about the wolf detail? Either way, that was quite the assumption to make past ‘something had happened to their boss’. His stare at Balfour was briefly met by his fellow Division Head.

“This have something to do with the six werewolves on Level Two…?” Cepheus remained mute, still taking this all in. He had nothing useful to add, rather engaged in his own Division until this point. The morning after full moon was always full of comings and goings from the werewolf wing, that part hadn’t been out of the ordinary.

“Why the hell hasn’t Carstairs summoned us… haven’t they told him yet?” Balfour was shifting paperwork on the Department Head’s desk. Alec’s desk. The bloke hadn’t even been in post a year? He hadn’t been that disagreeable. What on earth had caused a werewolf to go to him. Or a wolf animagi, or… Ceph’s eyes looked back to Balfour, uncomfortable at that sudden thought.

“Bruce. You summoned the aurors, didn’t you?”

“I didn’t know Carstairs was in charge of Level Four.” Bagnold interrupted, tone devoid of any patience. Cepheus tightened his arms across his own chest, looking between the other three, increasingly uncomfortable at the discussion but remaining calm. “No, we just figured we’d led the goddamned Aurors read about it in the bleedin’ Daily Prophet tomorrow like everyone else.” Kurby bit, and Bruce issued him a look before she elaborated on both Carter’s house and some additional news that put the werewolves held on Level Two into perspective.

“… broke into a safe house last night. Two werewolves were taken. The rest are those in Level Two at the moment.”

Were these related? It seemed highly unlikely to be coincidence at the moment, but time and investigation would tell.

“I need you both to account for every member of staff. On shift, off shift, on leave etc. We need to know that no one else was targeted. This was an attack against our Department.” Cepheus met Bruce’s gaze and gave a single nod, a frown on his face. His thoughts were already running through the list. Beings Division had very little to do with werewolf business since the Werewolf Wing was formed and took those duties from Beings.

“I’ll take care of Spirits as well,” Cepheus offered, given their Division Head wasn’t physically present on the floor to be in the office with them that morning. It was the smallest Division of the lot on Four. He eyed the pile of urgent requests on the busy desk, aware that there were certain things that could only be authorised by a Department Head which would need to keep moving. In absence of a Department Deputy, there were protocols - those things that Level Four usually hated because they slowed things down.

“As long as at least two of the four Division Heads are in agreement to sign, we can authorise anything Carter needed to in an emergency. But we need to be strict in priorities.” He advised, the calm, patient qualities persisting despite his shock. “Headcount first, report back here.” He looked to the others for agreement.

           "No, we just figured...read about it in the bleedin' Daily Prophet tomorrow... everyone else"

Balfour snorted out a cloud of cigarette smoke, shooting the werewolf hunter an unamused look. Bagnold might have faith in the werewolf wing but he knew that they were every bit as proud as the aurors - and Bruce proved him right as she rushed straight into orders for investigating last night's events. The full moon was over and if someone else were dead, they weren't getting any more dead. He fell silent as Cepheus offered to cover for Spirits as well, ever the sensible head with the most rational response considering the gravity of their situation. And he'd not even had a Lanningham-approved heads-up.

One dead department head. Two missing werewolves, possibly more if they hadn't yet conducted a check on the other safe houses. What the hell was going on here? Why missing instead of dead? It felt, ominously, like another shoe was about to drop.

"Mrs Lanningham will do the count for Beasts," he looked up, realising he had been staring at Alec Carter's paperwork for a while. "And there are some things here," a tap on the desk, indicating a stack of parchments, "for you to co-sign, Cepheus. Someone probably needs to notify nex--" the Scotsman stopped and glanced past Bagnold as he spotted something wiggling its way under the gap of the office door: a bright red memo sheet that quickly unflattened itself into a paper airplane and glided up towards them. He stood to snatch it out of the air but the note gracefully evaded capture, its wings suddenly flapping in place above their heads.

The familiar voice of Solomon Carstairs, terse and annoyed, greeted them. "What the bloody hell is going on down there? Who's in Carter's office? Bagnold and Ballentyne up to two. Now. And for Merlin's sake will someone please brief the Minister on one?" the paper plane beat its wings angrily, once, then twice, before fluttering down to the table. Balfour stared at the memo, blinking.

That was the first time he had been on the receiving end of a Howler memo from Magical Law. It was usually Accidents and Catastrophe's yelling at him about another animal in the city.

"Um," he rubbed his face, wishing he could stop the clock to take things in one at a time. "Right, so I'll brief Glass and notify kin," Balfour figured it would be better to hear from four than two, "We reconvene here in..." a gesture at the clock.

Hell, it wasn't even noon yet. "Hour and a half, maybe. If we can't, all memos should be sent here to find. Oh, that reminds me -" he put out his cigarette and reached for the topmost memo on the pile of shit he did not understand, "- was it a direwolf or werewolf that got Carter? Found this when I got in earlier."

Balfour slid it over. It was a note from the DMLE, notifying Alec Carter a vision had been logged by Mysteries and that it depicted a direwolf attack.

Gamp agreed to see to his own division as well as Spirits. Bruce nodded, but couldn’t bring herself to even offer a friendly smile. She felt much like she’d woken from the nightmare of a transformation, only to walk straight into another nightmare. While she’d been incapacitated, the world surrounding her workplace had burst into flames. She wanted so hard to just shut her eyes and find that oblivion once more. For a moment, as Balfour spoke, she did close her eyes. No oblivion. Only the agonising pain still shooting up her limb, and the strange sound of rustling.

Her eyes snapped open in time to see the red memo zip into the air and begin shouting at them. Carstairs’ voice blared out, brusque and aggravated. Of course, he was angry, he’d clearly learned about all of this as second hand information. The summons set a fire in her gut, her fingers tucking themselves into her palm, nails biting into her skin. Solomon Carstairs was not their boss. Their boss was lying on the floor of his study ripped limb from limb.

Before her, Balfour was seemingly taking charge, setting a time to return back to this office, and offering himself up to speak to Glass and the relatives. She’d still not had a chance to speak to the family of the missing werewolves. Bruce drew a deep breath and tried to push herself up from the chair. Now she’d sat for several moments, her leg was stiff and uncooperative. She gave up after a moment, grimacing and frowning across at her colleague.

“Bagnold thinks it was a direwolf. Large claw span. I’m not so sure.” The claw marks on the walls of Carter’s home had been fairly similar in size to those raked across her abdomen still. With a push and the help of her stick, Bruce was on her feet and taking the memo from the desk. she unfolded it and took in the words.

“Holy ^*&@.” If it was possible, Ballentyne’s face turned even whiter, and she suddenly felt an icy chill grip her body. “What the…” she couldn’t even get it into words. The memo was handed over to Kurby to see.

The look from Ballentyne was enough to make Kurby clamp his mouth shut, but it didn't do anything for his temper.  Still seething, the werewolf hunter looked away from the small group, arms crossed and jaw tight. 

This was a waste of his goddamned time.  He knew why Bruce was doing it -- she was right that they needed to fill in the other Division Heads on Level Four and prioritize making sure that their people were safe -- but he should be out dealing with the actual problem.  Standing around and listening to Balfour Spectre throw his damned weight around like he was back at Hogwarts and the charming star of the Slytherin Quidditch team made him want to stick a knife in someone.

But he wasn't going to abandon Bruce.  And so he kept his mouth firmly pressed shut as Gamp equivocated over the really important issues, like how they could sign off on Level Four memos while their Department Head was laying in his house dead, and merely turned a death glare on Spectre when the Head of Beasts began to prattle on about him and Cepheus signing off on things, like Bruce was only just the token gay disabled werewolf and there were only two real Division Heads in the goddamned room.

When Carstairs' memo pushed its way in under the door and unleashed a Howler-style tirade of fury on them, as if they were assigned to report to him, he very nearly pulled out his wand to incinerate it, except for the fact that it would have probably gotten him kicked out of the office and left Ballentyne to deal with this madness all on her own.

In the silence that followed Carstairs' irritated words, Spectre had automatically returned to issuing orders again.  Kurby eyed him, trying to decide if it was worth the outfall to either figuratively or literally bite his head off, when Ballentyne spoke up to answer the red-headed wizard's question.

Kurby glanced at Bruce sidelong, his expression disquieted.  He wasn't sure if the werewolf that had attacked Alec Carter was a direwolf; all he'd commented on regarding the claw size was that the spacing looked too big to be the two werewolves that had been taken from the safe house earlier.  But he wasn't about to correct Ballentyne in front of these two chauvinistic, pigheaded arseholes who were already doing everything they could to undermine her position.

Spectre had indicated one of the many memos on the desk, and Ballentyne stood to take it.  As she read it, her face went white.  Silently, she shoved the colored paper at Kurby to read.

It took him only a few seconds to scan it over, his stomach sinking as he did so. 

TO: ALEC CARTER, HEAD OF DRCMC

DEPARTMENT OF MAGICAL LAW ENFORCEMENT

Important Notice

Have received word from DEPARTMENT OF MYSTERIES that a vision relevant to WEREWOLF WING has been logged in the Hall of Prophecies. Vision depicts Direwolf attack in domicile, from point of view of victim.

Please contact DEPARTMENT OF MYSTERIES for further information.

Vision depicts Direwolf attack in domicile...

Kurby barked out a word that was probably not ever appropriate in a professional work environment.  Exchanging an angry look with Ballentyne, he shoved the memo back at her, and then turned and started for the door, automatically checking the silver chain on his belt as he went as if he were headed off to battle again.

Where Ceph had been keen to carry out the orders suggested by Ballantyne, with the added information that they could still function in this unique situation, Balfour took it a step further. He assigned the ever-efficient Mrs Lanningham to carry out his duties, and suggested Cepheus sign some of the paperwork on their late Department Head’s desk.

Cepheus flinched, his body preparing to turn to leave when Spectre suggested that. He had no intentions of touching anything on the desk until the immediate priority was achieved. Clearly there was something in that pile pertaining to Beasts.

“Somebody probably needs to notify …” If the aurors were there, they’d be on that, wouldn’t they? Those who had dealt with the scene at Carter’s house would have enacted the usual protocols and checklist. Balfour was just thinking aloud, had to be.

The Level Two memo interrupted everything before he could head out, and Solomon Carstairs pulled rank as if he’d been party to the conversation that had just passed. The tone alone before the directives made Cepheus want to leave immediately.
“Headcount…” He began to say but far too softly for what was spoken over him. Balfour, taking control once more, electing they meet back in over an hour.

Cepheus properly turned to leave this time but Ballantyne’s exclamation at whatever Balfour had just highlighted made him look back as she passed it to Kurby. Whatever it was sent Bagnold into a deeper, darker mood, and he swore and barged past, deciding too to be on his way.

“Headcount.” Cepheus repeated, not meeting anyone’s eyes. “Good luck with Carstairs. The paperwork will wait until we know we’re all safe.” He straightened his tie and headed out in the wake of Bagnold’s ire.