About 12:30

A large glass of wine would have been extraordinarily welcome about now, Iona considered as she stared down at her cup of coffee. It was strong, a couple of sugars just to give her that extra kick. Not as good as wine, but welcome, regardless.

Iona was reading yet another memo sent to her regarding the find this morning. The Dunnigan brothers had been found, displayed dramatically in a ministry lift which they’d happened to share with a shrieking Penelope Pickler. While Bruce wasn’t a fan of the polka dot loving diversity officer, she wouldn’t wish that on anyone. She’d been down to the atrium when alerted; yet another sight she’d never un-see. 3 wizards they’d failed in one week. It was sickening.

Several quick meetings had been held, and several memos and documents sent and written. The link between the terrible flyers[1] and the brother hadn’t been missed, but there was only so much Iona was able to involve herself with. Murders were Level 2’s domain, not her own.

When the door was pushed open, Iona was bent over her desk, scribbling furiously on yet another report. The desk was, as ever, covered in mountains of paperwork. Other books and parchment littered the floor in piles. Iona’s curly hair had been pulled into a scruffy bun atop her head; it was a usual look when she needed to concentrate. Stray curls fell down by her face, and she had a deep look of concentration. Her left hand, holding the quill, was wrapped in some roughly wound bandage after smashing her fist into a mirror that morning[2]. The plan was to see Marrowbone later and have it mended with a quick spell.

Iona glanced up when the door was pushed open, and her lips pressed together.
“I’m fine.” The witch muttered before her visitor had a chance to say anything. Her gaze shot back down to the report on her cluttered desk.

1.	The Werewolf Threat
2.	The Human Threat

Two days ago, Zora had been shown the Alec Carter vision[1] and this morning the bodies of the Dunnigans turned up.[2] In a matter of  days the Ministry had been turned against itself and the country was in a panic. It wasn't until noon that Zora had time to get to the Werewolf Wing to speak with her wife.

Her office was in a state. Same as her desk had been back in the day, but now she had an office. Like a gold fish, Iona's mess grew as much as its environment would allow. Giving her grief about it was more a formality between them than an actual topic.

"Doubt it," Zora said from the doorway. She was holding a paper sack marked with the logo of the Atrium's canteen. She came in and closed the door. If they were home, it would have been a kiss on the cheek or a pat on the back as they walked past each other in the kitchen, but they were both still in work mode and it would be hard to shut off. Zora sat down in one of the guest chairs and set the food on a stack of files on the desk.

"You saw that leaflet," she said, a statement more than a question. Everybody had by now. "What did you do to your hand? You didn't pop Carstairs did you? I have to work with him, you know."

The MLE and the RCMC had been struggling to figure out jurisdiction - well, that was the nice way to put it. It was an utter tangle that essentially boiled down to the MLE investigating RCMC as the RCMC investigated itself, while the MLE tried to solve murders on behalf of the RCMC. Utter shambles.

1.	11 Jan 2012 - Listen to the Kids These Days
2.	13 Jan 2012 - Calling Card [M]

It was almost a month since Iona had returned to Level 4, and Zora hadn’t been by her office in that time. It was no surprise as the witches tended to keep a distance at work. Work was work. Life was life. There needed to be barriers between to maintain their sanity. This afternoon, seeing her wife stood in the doorway to her new and already messy office, was particularly jarring. Having her ignore an ‘I’m fine’ was irksome, but Iona didn’t roll her eyes. She scribbled a quick note on the report as Zora lowered herself into one of the chairs across the desk.

She’d brought lunch. What a good wife. Iona hadn’t eaten all day.

"You saw that leaflet,"

Never accomplished at a poker face, Iona frowned down at the parchment, lips pressing together in irritation. Had Waverly told?

“What did you do to your hand? You didn't…”

She’d told Zora before out the memos she’d sent to her boss. Punching Carstairs, however, would have put a smile on her face, not a frown.
“And I pray for your soul, every day.” Working for that patronising wizard must have been infuriating.

“I saw the leaflet,” Iona signed off the report and plonked it on top of the pile to her left. Dido would handle that later, “and I had a perfectly normal reaction. See leaflet threatening my death,” her eyes finally scanned back up to Zora, and she crossed her arms, “punch mirror. Age old tradition.”

Zora didn't move to open the lunch, but instead kept her eyes on Iona. There was something cowardly about coming at Iona (indeed, or any werewolf) through the newspaper like this. Indirectly, around them, about them. This kind of thing happened during the second war and it forced many into hiding because the threat stopped being from hoods and silver masks, but it could be anyone.

"We've got someone down the Daily Prophet right now. Bet my wand it wasn't a paid ad," she said.  The Daily Prophet was a pain in the arse on the regular, but they weren't this hard up for readers.

Zora didn't need to say much else about Iona's hand; she'd handle it without any help of someone stating the obvious. Although maybe someone should have said the obvious earlier. There were at least two mediwix in the building. And dozens more who could manage first aid.

"Carstairs said something about protection for Ministry werewolves," Zora said then, and couldn't hide a little scoff. There were a few. Other than Greyfriar on the Wizengamot who was probably at Hogwarts, Iona was the most well-known and highest ranking. The idea of the Ballentyne/Rohs needing protection seemed absurd. A part of Zora had a fantasy of what carnage would ensue if anyone dared get close to them, but of course it would be horrible. It really did seem like the instituions set up to protect werewolves were starting to crumble.

"How's the Werewolf Wing going to proceed?" Iona wasn't the only werewolf to wake up to this bit of news. "There are reports of the flier all over the country."

“…Bet my wand it wasn't a paid ad," Zora’s comment received a look of irritated scepticism. Of course, it wasn’t an approved, paid ad. She still had yet to find out the legalities of it all, but there was surely no way even the old wizard Cuffe would have that excrement in his paper. She wasn’t, however, about to snap at her wife when she’d clearly come in to check she was okay. While Zora would never say it outright, it was obvious to Iona, who’d spent over 20 years getting to know the witch that liked to keep her emotions shut down tight.

“Hasn’t mentioned it to me.” Not that Carstairs would want another face to face with Iona. He’d ignored the memos she’d sent yesterday to irritate him. Anything to do with werewolves, however, she needed to be made aware. It was, after all, her domain. Unfortunately, for the past week, there’d been much controversy over whose jurisdiction many things were regarding Carter and the Dunnigan brothers. Iona had tried not to vent to her wife in the evenings, all too aware how crap it was for Zora stuck in the middle.

How was the Werewolf Wing going to proceed? Iona stalled, taking a final sip of the now cold coffee.

“I don’t know.” She muttered, putting the cup back down. She didn’t know a lot this week. Too much new ground. Not wanting to talk about the terrifying prospect that she had no idea what to do next, Iona pushed herself up from her seat. “Drink?” She didn’t wait for a reply, grabbing her own cup and stepping around the desk to the sideboard.

“What kind of protection is he talking about, anyway? There’s only a handful, and we’ll be stepping up security at the safe houses.”

Zora leaned forward and rested her elbows on her knees, better to watch Iona move around, better to settle in. She moved her hair over her other shoulder. Iona didn't seem to want to talk about the fliers, but Zora was genuinely curious. Zora fielded the question on protection, but turned directly back the more pressing topic.

"A wand posted outside the house, I imagine," Zora said. Magical Law Patrol were qualified enough for that.

"There must be dozens of safehouses," Zora guessed. There were bigger ones in the major cities, but there were also the smaller Ministry bed 'n' barkfests peppered all over Britain. They weren't publicized but they weren't exactly secret either.

"Where are you going to find enough more people before the next full moon, trained for that sort of thing?"

Couldn't be the werewolf hunters - they were a small elite team who were otherwise occupied. It'd take a new kind of cooperation and a whole lot of friction for the MLE to reassign that many officers as occasional overnight security guards.

"Who's taking over for Carter?" she asked then tore into the lunch she'd brought.

"A wand posted outside the house, I imagine," Zora answered. If Iona had been in better spirits, she may have suggested how her wife didn’t need to stand outside their building. She wasn’t, however, in good spirits. Neither did the thought occur to her that she may have been one of the Ministry werewolves considered for a need of protection.

And just like that, Zora jumped back to the topic that Iona did not wish to discuss. With her back turned, she set the coffee to reheat, and upturned a nondescript office mug to go with her own on the sideboard.

"Where are you going to find enough more people before the next full moon, trained for that sort of thing?"
“I don’t know.” Iona repeated.

"Who's taking over for Carter?"
“I don’t know.” she repeated again.

Iona didn’t turn around to reply, busying herself instead with pouring 2 fresh cups of coffee and adding some milk. When she turned back, her wand directed the cups back to the desk, both landing a little too forcefully and sloshing liquid over the rim and onto some parchment.

“Probably Spectre. He was comfortable enough in that seat while Carter’s body was still warm.” Her tone was harsher than usual, but Iona didn’t hear it. She was on edge and irritable, and Zora was doing nothing to help with all of the questions.

“Why are you here, Zo?”

Iona was terse, snippped at Zora, and let the coffee hit the desk too hard. Zora was in the middle of a bite of sandwhich when she answered.

"Lunch," she mumbled through rye. When her mouth wasn't full she added, "just wanted to see you. Talk, and that."

She took the other sandwich out of the bag and set it out for Iona, then Zora took a drink of her coffee. It was the middle of the day and the world was falling apart and Zora knew who she was. She took out her wand, she solved problems, she got things done.

"I'm not a spy. What about the Head of Three, Quill Som? She could be good. She likes you, right? Told me she liked you in that meeting after the Tawse mess?"

Her wife got things done as well. She just went for it. In this strange new world of casting spells from a desk, Zora knew Iona felt out of sorts, but what were warrior wives for but bringing lunch and trying to fix the world?

Lunch.

Iona stared across at her wife, incredulous. They did a lot together, most of their free time was spent together. Outside of work, they were pretty scyned up and, out of anyone’s company, they preferred one another’s the most. For 21 years, they’d known each other. For 16 years, they’d both worked at the ministry until Iona’s accident.

In all of that time, Zora had never come down to Iona on the fourth floor for ‘lunch, talk and that’. Zora had always liked the boundaries between work and her family; something which Iona had never complained about. It seemed that the recent blurring of boundaries had clearly affected her wife quite significantly.

Lunch.

What next? Coffee breaks spent together in the Atrium café? Love memos sent back and forth all day? They certainly weren’t Balfour and his fiancé.

“Lunch.” She didn’t believe it. Zora was here because she was clearly worried and wanted to check-in. Was that what it would be like now that Iona was back? Regular check-ins if something went south?

Before she could really catch up with the concept of ‘lunch’, Zora flip-flopped to another topic; Quill Som, of all people. Iona’s brows furrowed as she came to sit.
“Good for what?” Som, who she’d met during that meeting she’d stuttered her way through and almost fluffed up.

The sandwich was on the desk in front of her, and Iona realised just how hungry she happened to be after a lack of breakfast. She started to unwrap it, not exactly sure what she’d find considering they weren’t in the habit of doing lunch.
Ham, cheese and pickle. Simple yet tasty. Zora wasn’t half bad.

Iona was merciful; her skepticism filled the office, obvious and glaring, but she let it go. By all rights she could have called Zora out for being coy about it when they were, the two of them, anything but. If Zora was honest, she didn't exactly know why she was here. It wasn't so much to 'check on' Iona, but it was to see her.  Others saw a problem and wanted to offer compassion. If Zora saw a problem, she wanted to solve it. And there was a problem. A big problem. So here she was, with sandwiches and worried for her werewolf wife.

"To back you up," Zora said. "Level Three's got experience handling things straight away, having to be clever and all that. And Som doesn't play games, does she."

It was an unconventional notion, Zora thinking outside of Level Two. But that was the new concept right? Interdepartmental cooperation and all that, with prevention rather than reaction et cetera? With Iona in a spat with Carstairs and Carter dead, maybe Som was the way to get someone stable involved. But all that was high level court intrigue and well out of Zora's expertise. It was possible that involving another department in a jurisdiction fight would only add fuel to the fire.

"They cleaned up the mess at the zoo."

Back up. Iona bit into her sandwich and started chewing. There was her wife, up to her usual tricks of trying to fix. Iona guessed that problems to Zora were like puzzles. She was the unflappable queen, always looking for solutions, not only to her own problems. Unfortunately, for all of Iona’s current work problems, there was no obvious solution, and the stress and disaster kept piling on. She’d put her fist through a mirror this morning, how would Zora solve that one? How would she cull all of the hate mail and threats?

“I’ll take your word for it.” Iona hadn’t been back at the Ministry long enough to know who played power games and who didn’t. Som had seemed fairly upfront at the meeting at the start of the month, but then, so had Carstairs. You couldn’t judge somebody from how they acted in a room full of people, could you? Carstairs, after all, took his power trips behind closed doors.

“Level 3 are the clean-up squad, aren’t they? Merlin knows they’ve sorted enough of my messes in the past.”

Another bite into the sandwich, and Iona stopped, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath. When she swallowed she looked back across the desk. “I can’t get them out of my head, the brothers. He was skinned, Zo. Robert Dunnigan was positioned to lie on his own brother’s werewolf pelt.”

This kind of cruelty hadn't been seen since the Death Eaters. Back then, Zora and Iona had taken their family into hiding but that didn't seem possible this time. Waverly was grown and both Zora and her wife had a job to do. Wards and, what was the phrase, constant vigilance would have to do until they ran down the murderers. Zora couldn't dwell on the gore or else she'd never be able to do the job.

They had two main leads at this point. The safe house attendants as well as the surviving werewolves all had had extended encounters with the invader even disguised as he was. Aurors were running down connections the Sellaphix boy might have and MLE were tearing apart the three crime scenes. Their other lead was that vision. Some called it a prophecy.

Some kid on Level Two, a Seer, had received a prediction of Alec Carter's murder. It had stayed a secret and there was nothing they could do about that now - but it might hold clues.

"I saw the vision," Zora said. "The one that predicted what happened to Carter. Bagnold went in deep, but."

Zora trailed off. She hadn't opted to fully envelope herself in the experience. Bagnold seemed to want to punish himself, but Zora could only guess.

"Have you seen it?"

Clearly Zo wasn’t inclined to discuss the Dunnigan brothers; not that Iona could blame her. But she needed to get it off her chest. The week was comparable to a giant turd rolling down a hill covered in over turds, picking those up until it was an even more giant ball of turd. Iona? She was chasing behind it, limping and falling over. A sandwich and 101 questions with her wife wasn’t going to slow the ball of shit, was it?

"I saw the vision," Zora changed the subject. Iona drowned any immediate response in a sip of hot coffee. Zo having gone with Bagnold was a surprise, especially considering neither had yet spoken to her about it. Iona didn’t know what ‘gone in deep’ meant; it was a vision after all. Didn’t someone simply watch it? If there was a deeper way to access it, of course Bagnold would have gone for that.

“No.” And she didn’t wish to watch any vision involving a werewolf attack. Iona still didn’t clearly remember her own attack, not properly. She did, however, still have nightmares about it. “I’ll trust Bagnold’s judgement on it. I’m just wondering why you didn’t mention it before.”

Iona and Zora didn't have secrets from each other. Maybe they protected each other from their feelings, maybe there was an unspoken agreement between them not to bring too much of the trauma and grit of work home. But this wasn't exactly like that, was it? And yet Zora had dragged her feet two days telling her.

Zora focused on the food a moment, considering the real reason. The last thing Iona needed was to feel she wasn't trusted. And the last thing either of them needed was to get tangled in the growing mistrust between Level 2 and 4.

"I dunno," she replied quietly, honestly, unaffected. "It wasn't really a joy to watch."

Was that really it? Zora hadn't wanted to talk about it because it had been abomindable? Then why bring it up now?

"Wasn't some big secret," she added. "Well, not anymore. Someone knew about it before the attacks and didn't say anything."

That was the real injustice here. Secrets, deadly secrets.

“Hm.” Iona found herself at a loss for words. Bagnold hadn’t mentioned sharing his vision viewing with her wife, and her wife had even failed to mention it until now. There was a tension between Level 2 and 4 that had been caused by Carstairs heavy handed approach to what was supposed to be cooperation. Iona couldn’t help but wonder if that was why Zora had been tight lipped. She had, after all, had two evenings in which she could have casually mentioned it rather than over a sandwich the first time she’d ever chosen to share lunch with Iona at work.

“And your boss still doesn’t think he’s accountable.” Bruce snorted with a shrug. This was why they kept work and personal lives separate.

Another bite of her sandwich later, and Iona’s blue eyes once more locked onto her wife’s dark ones. The redhead suddenly looked irritated yet concerned.
“Why would they send you? To see this vision? You’re not exactly the appropriate choice.” Perhaps she could have worded it better. It wasn’t that Zora was inappropriate; but why send the spouse of someone who’d been attacked by a werewolf to watch another werewolf attack? That just seemed insensitive.