7:00am

She felt the slightest pang of being old as she stepped out of the massive fireplace amidst the roaring green flames and was greeted by the green facade of the Atrium. As Ministry employees streamed past her, she stopped and gazed upwards at the sight before her.

“Ah, England,” she said. “Never change.”

Then she was at the security stand, presenting her wand with a flourish to the surprised watch-wizard on shift. Dressed in a white shirt with a dark green blazer and trousers, she seemed not so out of place as a Ministry employee, but her red-orange hair stood out among the less saturated colours of the Atrium.

“Lyra Avery, German Ministry of Magic. They’ve already sent a warning ahead because they’re like that, you know? But here’s a copy of the letter again just in case, no need to rifle through your records aye.” She airily let the watch-wizard wave his Probity Probe over her. “Anyway, mind me asking which floor’s Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, you know all that jazz? Could do with shortening it into something snappy.”

“You’re looking for Level Four, you mean?” supplied the watch-wizard. “Lift’s that way.” He pointed.

Lyra nodded and picked up her suitcase. “Cheers mate. Have a good day yeah?” She left him feeling slightly bewildered, as if he’d just had an old friend come up to him to say hi before moving on.

It had been ages. For all her casual airiness, she felt as if she’d stepped into a world alien to what she was familiar with. She’d not been back to England since the war and of course it was normal to feel out of place, but boy was it a Feeling. Lyra shrugged it off, as she was wont to do - best focus on the present and not losing her way - and made her way to Level Four in a lift with a few employees who gave her odd looks and a couple of purple memos.

She’d heard the news just before she’d stepped into the International Floo. Balfour being Head of Department, huh? She had no idea, then, who to speak to if the position of Beast Head was empty. Her case seemed small compared to the werewolf hunting she’d been reading about in the German papers, but Germany had insisted on getting started on the matter.

After accosting an innocent employee to ask directions, she finally made her way to the right place without further issues. Lyra stopped to hike her suitcase up onto one knee and rifle through it for the initial paperwork she had to get him to sign, looking slightly out of place while she did so and earning herself a look from what must be his secretary. But hey, bureaucracy wasn’t always perfect.

The redhead presented her papers. “Lyra Avery, German Ministry of Magic, here to see the Head of the Dep-- Level Four by appointment,” she told the bespectacled old lady at the desk. “Date was sent ahead of my arrival, but here’s all the stuff again if you need it.”

By the time Balfour had slipped out of his jacket and gloves, a cup of steaming black tea was already sitting on his desk to accompany a stack of folders that needed sorting through first thing. It was rather early on a Monday, and the start of his second week as the head of Magical Creatures - the promotion was made official on the twenty-third. It was well-received by some, less so by others. He didn't have the time to care either way.

The job was not an easy one. All department heads dealt with a deplorable excess of paperwork and, not wanting to exhibit a bias for Beasts, Balfour had spent the entire of last week catching up on the internal goings-on of other divisions. He arrived to work early and he left late.

Today, on the other hand, he was dressed for the field. He didn't want to be the kind of head who lived on the floor - much less in Carter's old office - and was scheduled to visit a creature sanctuary later, as well as witness a negotiation between giants near Birmingham. There were things to sign and meetings to hold before then.

            "Mr. Spectre," the door creaked open, Mrs Lanningham's crisp voice interrupting his perusal of a Spirit Division proposal. "Your appointment with Ms. Avery."

Legs on his desk, Balfour looked up from where he'd sunk back into his office chair. Ms. Av-- oh, Lyra. He grinned as he caught sight of the redhead witch being let into the room, and set aside his reading to swing his legs back down. "Gods, it's been a while hasn't it?" the Scotsman exclaimed and got to his feet right away, going around to offer Lyra Avery a hearty handshake.

He never forgot a fellow handler or Dragonologist, and she was one of the more memorable ones. Chatty as a mad hatter.

"Sit, sit." Balfour drew his wand, gesturing at one of the three chairs across the desk - not unlike his old office there were books and folders piled high on every surface available, more or less by some logical order. Method to the madness. "Tea, coffee?" he asked, sitting back on the ledge of the table.

One entire wall of the office was taken up by an immense enchanted map of the United Kingdom. Thumbtacks of various colours and shapes were dotted all over, though there did not appear to be a legend informing visitors of what the different tacks indicated. They glowed and moved around on their own accord.

Mrs Lanningham stood at the doorway, waiting to see if they needed anything before she returned to the important business of helping run the floor.

“Well, I’ll be, if it isn’t Balfour. Coffee’ll do.” Lyra looked around his office in exaggerated wide-eyed fascination as she strode in like a green yardstick. “Snagged yourself a fancy office. Look at you, movin’ up in the world! I wouldn’t expect any less though, not for someone as proper posh as you - in fact I’d be right disappointed if you said you were aiming for any less than Head of Department.”

She sat down with a flump in the proffered chair and watched him. “So how’ve you been, you rascal? I imagine you’ve been doin’ less runnin’ around wrangling dragons uphill and downhill seven ways through the snow? Pre-Department Head and all that. You look in good shape, if you don’t mind me saying.” Her suitcase made contact with the floor before she reclined in the chair as if she belonged there, regardless of what type of chair it was.

“That said, mate,” she said, “sorry to hear about all that business with the werewolf. I was pointing out you guys were having to deal with a crazy guy with some werewolf hate on his mind to my superiors in Black Forest, but they said the Ministry wants this straightened out on the dot, y’know? Just in case we got a new hybrid flyin’ over making new migratory routes and messin’ up balance in Europe. But it isn’t as big as the dilemma you guys are going through even if my mum told me to expect nothing new.” She grinned apologetically. “Would I be right in sayin’ you guys lost a pretty cool member of your department? Condolences to you lot and his family, either way, it’s a sad day when a coworker dies, unless he wasn’t much liked. I hope he was.”

Well she was on fire after seeing her old acquaintance, but even then she had to reel that back in. They still were in the Ministry, after all - Germany had been drilling some more professionalism into her. Lyra sat up in the chair properly, suddenly aware she was lounging just like an old cat in front of a hearth.

From the way Lyra - and others - spoke about his promotion, Balfour was beginning to suspect everyone expected him to make a grab for Department Head long before he had considered the notion himself. It was a strange position to find himself in, though he tried not to linger on the feeling or it would be impossible to get anything useful done.

Mrs Lanningham disappeared to fetch coffee while the pair of them settled down to talking. He let the Dragonologist ramble on; the thing about Avery was that not all her questions were actually questions, as she never really expected a response before launching into the next subject of conversation.

One had to wait to see if she was running out of breath before venturing to speak. "...a sad day when a coworker dies, unless he wasn’t much liked. I hope he was," the witch finally seemed to find a note on which to end, just as a cup of strong black coffee floated in to the office; the door shut close behind it, shortly.

"Carter? Aye, I suppose he was." Balfour reached for his tea while Lyra's drink set itself down on her side of the desk. "We're trying to press on in spite of everything, keep the department moving and prepared for the next full moon. It's nothing you need to worry about," he gestured dismissively with his free hand. "Fournier's in charge of Beasts now but I'm always happy to talk dragons."

It was a relief from other discussions, and nice not to have to think about whether Bruce would be safe enough on the seventh or whether the new safehouse precautions were good enough to prevent another incident (or useless if the perpetrator wasn't going to repeat themselves).

Besides, he had to ensure the other divisions weren't being neglected in favour of a crisis. "Tell me, what's this about a hybrid?"

Ah, dragons. Now that was something she could talk about, rather than her lack of information on what had been going on in England when it had had a distinctly Lyra-shaped hole in it for a decade. She never tired of talking about dragons and she knew every single acquaintance she'd made over the years knew that. Whether they avoided her for it or not was their choice and didn't bother her much on the matter - she couldn't expect everyone to like dragons as much as she did, and she was alright with that.

But he had every right to know ever since the decision had been made to get England involved, whether he asked or not. "Okay I'll try to keep this as precise as possible. Gotta work on my information-dispensin' skills. Tell me if I go off the rails, yeah?" She paused and took a deep breath.

"You know the Black Forest is one of those migratory dragon rest-stops in Europe right? We've seen aplenty of dragons over the years, all kinds of breeds. Well the rangers found this dead dragon, carcass mostly rotted away but should still be recognisable roughly, and brought it in for examination like we do always. Should've been almost seven feet in shoulder height, so fairly young based on the breed." She gestured vaguely in a rectangular shape, presumably in an attempt to visualise the dragon with her hands though it wasn't as helpful as it could have been.

"But that's the problem see. Based on preliminary examination, we can't tell what the breed is. Head's not all rotted but the eyes are gone already. Short snout like the Swedish, teeth like a Horntail's, horns like an Ironbelly. Hide's dark green, but closest matching was either Welsh Green - snout was too short, and we're not in their migratory route - or Longhorn, but horns aren't Longhorn. Harder still is that it's young, so some features may not be fully developed yet but since some of the body is gone we can't tell what's missing." Lyra put up her hands in an exaggerated shrug. "Do you see where this is goin'? You're getting questions in your head. We most likely have the same ones."

The dragonologist picked up the cup of coffee, but that didn't stop her from continuing. "We preserved the remains and started comparin' to what we got. Which is... not a lot, but we made do. Called in a few favours, checked in with a couple of museums, had a chat over coffee with other reserves. They had nothing, but they suggested we look at the bones since that was a better indicator. Except that not everyone's got bones to compare, and some are fragile enough that we couldn't get them moved even if we wanted to. That said, seems like England's got the biggest archive of Hebrideans and Welsh Greens, including all the varieties."

Lyra drank deeply from the cup, which might have been a bit more than was normal. "We called up Norway for some of their records as well. In all of Europe the biggest collections lie with England, Norway and Romania. Russia too, but Russia doesn't want to share, said no in as many ways as possible so we're not gonna press. We can't bring any part of the specimen with us in case someone catches wind of it, or it gets damaged. So Germany said, hey how about you go talk to England for us, and I said, yeah sure I'm due a return to the old home and a need to locate an old friend. Two augureys with one stone."

She looked down into the mug, mildly surprised at the coffee. "Huh, this isn't too bad." Lyra looked back up. "I might have missed some details, so prod me with questions. We've tried our best and some of the other reserves did too, but Black Forest isn't so big as to afford such a wide reference base on its own. Some are sayin' we're just conjurin' a storm in a teapot. Maybe we are, but we'd like to be sure before we release anything. Wouldn't do if this was a big fuss over nothin', or dismiss a new hybrid that might jostle for competition with others. So, you see," she finished apologetically, "not actually a huge business, but could be. Could be a sniff of gold, could be dust in the wind. That's why I wasn't so keen on interruptin' you guys."

He recognised all the signs of a witch who was about to launch into a ramble, so Balfour settled back in his office chair to sip his tea and listen to an explanation that initially presented itself as a genuine mystery. Notions of mystery dragons were alluring to any dragonologist, aspiring or accomplished, and the Scotsman was curious enough to forgive Lyra the sin of saying England had the most extensive archive of dragon remains.

            "...not actually a huge business... a sniff of gold... dust in the wind...why I wasn't so keen on interruptin' you guys."

"Oh, no, don't dream of calling it an interruption." Bal smiled dryly, putting his mug down and leaning forward in earnest. "You have a puzzle, you've exhausted your own resources, you require ours. Perfectly acceptable and you're more than welcome to visit the archive up north," he gestured casually at the wall-sized map dominating the office.

The Black Forest was full of dark wonders and darker dangers still; he wondered at the revelation of a new breed but didn't want to get his hopes up just yet. These things took time. Personally, as Lyra knew, he would entertain the idea more easily once a live specimen was sighted.

"But tell me," he added in a more friendly, jesting tone, "you're not going to just pop into the crypt and fly back, are you? Sticking around for a while I hope?" It would be a shame.

“North, huh?” Lyra paused for a couple of minutes, a hesitant sort of pause. “How far north, again? Sorry, I gotta ask you to help jog my memory - things have been sort of a blur the past month or so.”

"But tell me, you're not going to just pop into the crypt and fly back, are you? Sticking around for a while I hope?"

“When you say ‘stickin’ around’,” she replied, raising an eyebrow, “I’m thinkin’ here, ‘do I tell him I’m stayin’ for a month’? If I haven’t already said. If I have, forgive me - like I said, life’s been a blur lately.” She picked up the mug of coffee, took a look at it, and then set it back down. “But I’m thinkin’ as well, does he also mean, ‘stayin’ with the gov’?”

The besuited woman leaned back in the chair, draping a lazy arm across the back of it. Her other hand rested in her lap as she tilted her head, gazing at him. “No can do, Balfour. Got my mum in Germany. Don’t be tellin’ me,” her tone took on the same jesting air that he had, “you’re wantin’ I leave her on her lonesome there? ‘Sides, I got a pretty good gig at Black Forest and the German Ministry. With all this work, you could just see me flit back and forth like a billywig on a sugar high.”

She leaned forward. “Or you just be missin’ me now?” Her words were followed up by a cheeky wink, before she laughed and sat back. “To be honest, I do want to reconnect, but it’s been over a decade since I left. I feel like the proverbial Grindylow out of water just standin’ in the Atrium, and the fountain isn’t makin’ up for it.”

Lyra finally picked the mug back up again and took a gulp of its contents. “Let me know if I read you wrong there.”

If she had mentioned how long she would be here, he had lost in the tumult of words - sometimes it was just easier to remember things about dragons when faced by a verbal wall of information. Balfour laughed at the implication that he was asking her to stay on permanently as part of level four; Lyra would be an asset, of course, but he preferred a more subtle approach to poaching people off other Ministries.

            “Let me know if I read you wrong there.”

"Well," he smiled dryly, mirroring her by pausing to sip his tea before it went cold, "I was only asking to see if you'd make our wedding in Spring. At the estate, Easter break. "

There was so much to do before then, and he tried not to think about it right this moment because a day of work lay ahead of him. Wedding details could wait for when he was back home with Johann, hopefully far away from any over-eager relatives with their many many (MANY) suggestions. Why couldn't he just pop a kilt on and walk down the aisle with the love of his life?

"If you want to reconnect, join four for drinks one of these nights, aye? Before the weekend?" Balfour offered with the hope that Lyra might be a welcome distraction and a friendly face for some of them. "We're joined by two, sometimes, Death & Co has excellent shots. The hangover is well worth the experience, I promise."

He crossed his heart, winking. "Back to business, though. The archives are up in Orkney of course...." The Scotsman opened a drawer, taking out a bright orange card and reaching for a quill. "You'll need authorisation, so just show them your German Ministry papers, and this," he signed the card with flourish before handing it over.

It was an official order to let the holder access their archives: the first time he had signed one as Department Head, though he had signed similar authorisations as Division Head.

"Let me know if you find anything interesting."