Early Afternoon


Cepheus glanced up as an umbrella flew past the window. It had been black and white, and out of the corner of his eye had made him wonder if the wind had picked up a cow and flung it past.

The January weather could be rather bland post-Christmas. Large amounts of cloud, rain and intermittent wind. However, only yesterday a large storm had blown through, felling trees and damaging the Muggle power supply. Their boats and planes were all disrupted and there were more strong winds forecast for that evening.

The enchanted Ministry windows were busy representing the gale-force winds on Level Two. The windows on the approach to Solomon Carstairs’ office had what looked like a wet newspaper plastered to it for a matter of moments. You had to admire whoever worked these charms.

A deep red folder was retaining the majority of Ceph’s attention despite the wild weather. He was performing the fourth check of the contents as he approached the office door for a pre-arranged meeting. He wanted it to be absolutely in order before he opened his mouth. Not that Cepheus Gamp ever suffered from imposter syndrome. No… At the new age of 35 (as of Monday) he wanted to handle this properly. There was a certain… sensitive… element to the information inside the file.

“Afternoon Sir,” Cepheus greeted brightly once ushered beyond the office door. “Here to update you on the Christmas Day body.” He held the file before him by way of explanation. Much as he had arranged a meeting with the rather charming Miss Reid, he did not wish to assume Solomon Carstairs recalled the purpose of all his meetings. Best to get straight to the point.

“I have the post mortem report and the wand analysis. We’ve identified a former owner.” Cepheus hesitated, fingers threatening to curl the corner of the neat file.

As far as Wednesdays went, this was a fairly uneventful afternoon. It was especially light compared to the interdepartmental meeting[1] yesterday.

In spite of having gotten back to work not long after the new year, Solomon felt as if though he were still recovering from Christmas celebrations. Theirs was a small family - him and his wife and two adult children - but the usual visits had been paid to other Carstairs. Luckily for him it was easy to excuse oneself from the more tiresome visits when you're able to tell people that there is important work to be done at the Ministry. How could one fault the head of Law Enforcement for being a workaholic?

            “Afternoon Sir,” his first appointment after lunch arrived promptly, a not unfamiliar face.

Solomon put aside the active case file with which he was drinking his tea. "Gamp," he greeted Cepheus mildly and was pleased that the younger wizard reminded him as to the purpose of this meeting. The Christmas day[2] body. The memory of that morning felt like a dream, now, something from which he'd groggily dragged himself after a night of too much mulled wine and mince pie.

"Oh?" he adjusted his spectacles, leaning back in his desk chair and indicating the seat across. "Did it belong to that fellow, then, or do you have a surprise for me?" Sol harboured a not-so-secret fear that their victim was a wizard. People were less fussed about muggles being sucked dry than they would be about their fellow wix.

1.	3rd Jan - Cold Winter
2.	25th December 2011 - Dry Christmas

“Not the fellow, no.” Cepheus confirmed. He slid a copy of a wand identity report out of the pack of papers he was holding and held it out to the Head of Department before taking a seat.

“The body is a muggle. To the best of Healer Marrowbone’s tests on the day, and confirmed by the squib network once his body was returned to the Muggle authorities.” Cepheus explained. “With a little work, the cause of death was recorded as a freak heart attack, the bite was passed off as a fox attack post-mortem and the lack of blood blissfully overlooked with a little help from our friends on Three.”

The Being Division Head gave a little nod of confirmation as he finished explaining that neat ending. “He was out celebrating with a late Christmas work party. Going home alone, apparently. The Muggles believe he must have collapsed and died alone, but we suspect our vampire approached him on route instead.”

He motioned to the paperwork he’d handed Sol.

“The last recorded owner of the wand is Cassandra Motley.” The wand holder record had attached a glossy looking press photograph from the Wizarding Wireless Network of a witch around thirty, posing with a magical microphone and a big shiny smile. “If you’ll turn to the second page, you’ll see Motley is no longer a wandbearer, as she registered as a vampire in 2006.” Cepheus gestured.

“So we definitely need to speak to Ms Motley as soon as. She still works for the wireless and we have a known address.” He looked away from Carstairs. “Just one small problem…”

A weight lifted off his chest when Gamp confirmed that the victim was not a wizard. Thank Merlin. The muggle explanations were of less interest to him but Solomon nodded in acknowledgement of efforts made to keep their statute - fox attack indeed! It would no doubt go down as a memorable death in the minds of the muggle family who lost someone on the night of Christmas eve... one rather hoped no innocent foxes would be harmed as a result.

             "The last recorded owner of the wand is Cassandra Motley."

He looked down at the report Cepheus had handed him, frowning a little at the photograph. Her name was familiar. "...no longer a wandbearer, as she registered as a vampire in 2006." Ah. That's right, she had been one of the vampires targeted in a peculiar hate crime[1] last March.

The realisation came just as the Division Head stated they might have a small problem. Sol's gaze flicked quickly to the address and its other occupant, remembering at once that there had been two vampires implicated in the garlic attack.

He dropped the report on his desk, shaking his head wearily. Pratt was going to have a field day.

"I see." Solomon studied Cepheus Gamp for a moment, finding it difficult to picture this sensible and moderate man as having to deal with the likes of vampires every day. "Vaillancourt might work for the Ministry but we mustn't allow that to bias us," he checked his watch. "I can have aurors down to see Miss Motley tonight, whilst he's working."

Tristan had rubbed a few aurors the wrong way before and Solomon didn't want the interview to be any more volatile than it could. All the same, it wouldn't do to offend their vampire consultant. "Do you think it best we inform Vaillancourt of proceedings? Would he consider it -" the older wizard gestured vaguely, "- discourteous not to be told?"

1.	March 20th 2011 - And It's Coming Closer

“I see.” Carstairs had identified the slightly tricky situation Cepheus found himself in. Tristan Vaillancourt was one of the Ministry’s vampire consultants. If Motley was anything to do with this latest body (and it seemed very likely she was unless it was a very elaborate set up), she was living under the same roof.

“I can have aurors down to see Miss Motley tonight, whilst he’s working.” Cepheus nodded in agreement.
“I was hoping you might be able to do so, sir.” He acknowledged. “If you might avoid Pratt and Pinn, recent history considered…?” He left the implication unspoken. He didn’t want this situation marred by yet another complaint about the rash words of aurors. If Motley turned out to be hostile, the likes of Pratt and Pinn would antagonise and perhaps end up bitten or worse.

“Do you think it best we inform Vaillancourt of proceedings? Would he consider it- discourteous not to be told?”

Cepheus wet his lips, considering the possibility. He was worried how well Tristan would take the news, or the possibility that his tenant could be breaking the law. Worse still, the possibility Tristan somehow knew, or suspected, but hadn’t said anything.

“If she were to be taken into custody this evening, I believe it is prudent to speak to him before he catches wind of why. I wouldn’t want to believe Vaillancourt would provide a false alibi for Motley, but there is that possibility.” He paused, “If she is not at home tonight, and not at the Wireless studios, then we will be in a trickier situation. Moonstone Mews is a popular haunt for Cuffe’s reporters when they’re light on content.”

            “If you might avoid Pratt and Pinn, recent history considered…?”

He nodded once, almost tersely. Good man. The last thing they needed now Pratt stepping on toes in the vampire community - the Ministry was barely making things work with the werewolves, though he hoped for a peaceful full moon. Solomon made a note on his memo pad, glancing up to acknowledge Cepheus' advice. It was sensible, moderate advice. The words of a diplomat.

"Excellent," he finished his note and raised an eyebrow in his visitor's direction. "Would you be happy to do that? We'll send word down to four when Motley is taken in, and you may broach it with Vaillancourt."

Better a friendly face than one of the patrol officers or a red robe on another floor. Sol gestured casually at the door, and it swung open to reveal the waiting room beyond. "Thank you, Mr Gamp. Do let me know how you get on, and if there's any notable reactions within the vampire community when this news hits the Prophet."

“Would you be happy to do that?”

Cepheus couldn’t see anyone better for it to come from. He might be able to limit the damage to Tristan’s reputation if it was done sooner than later. His friendship with the vampire nagged him to tell him sooner, but he couldn’t compromise this investigation, friend or not.

“Do let me know how you get on, and if there’s any notable reactions…”

“Yes Sir,” Cepheus agreed, “unless the reaction is all too plain to see,” he added grimly. No good stating what was obvious and visible, if it came to it. There were vampire arrests from time to time, but rarely were they ones in the public eye (or ear, as it was). “And I’d appreciate knowing who takes point on the interview, so we can co-ordinate.” Even if Pratt probably wouldn’t want Gamp’s involvement.

“Thank you for your time.” He nodded politely and let himself out without lingering. A grey cloud of grim anticipation had settled in for the evening.



End