Around 11 am.


Fauna yawned behind her hand, waiting in line for the coffee she'd somehow missed out on earlier this Monday morning. Other than it being a Monday, the week was looking not-terrible. The past few weeks, in fact, had been not terrible. Her magic was functioning just fine, her friends were doing fine, Tia was fine, everything was good!

Fauna took a closer look at the tables, eyebrows raising at the sight of Bruce Ballentyne sitting alone. The Head of the Werewolf Wing often seemed buried in work, having inherited the stress of December and the more personal tragedies of the new year. Level Four had been hit the hardest this month, losing their Department Head and the sense of security that the safehouses had provided. Fauna ducked her head guiltily. She hadn't talked to Bruce lately, not since the tension had ballooned between Level Two and Four. Tension that she couldn't help but feel she'd made worse by keeping quiet about Virgil's vision of Carter's death.

Bruce, on the other hand, had made an effort to get to know her in December, and to include Fauna in the debriefing meeting she'd led. Bruce was the type of leader who used her resources at the Ministry to do the right thing, not to try to impress the higher-ups or play it safe. Why should there be tension between the levels? Was Fauna just imagining it, or using the dismal mood as an excuse to hide?

She didn't like that thought. She didn't like the thought of walking past and getting on with her day. She was on break! She could take a break. Latte in hand, Fauna weaved around the small tables towards Bruce's table. In the back of her mind, she was glad that her black trainee jacket hadn't yet accumulated the wrinkles of the week or the hazards of training.

"Hi," she smiled shyly, trying to read her expression. "Mind if I sit here?"

She gestured at the seat across from her. Sit with her, obviously. Mind if I join you! Why could she not say that? Helga help her.

Sick of staring at the piles of parchment on her cluttered desk, Bruce had decided to take a wander. Cabin fever was all too real for a witch who’d spent her entire working life with the itch to move and be active. She’d been vague when Tansi had asked how they might get hold of her, giving a wave of the hand and a mention of ‘going exploring’. In truth, after a short walk away from Level 4, she found herself sat in the atrium café with a large pain au chocolat and a cup of fresh coffee. Sometimes, you just needed a good chocolatey pastry and some comforting caffeine to get you through the day.

"Hi,"  Hearing the friendly greeting, Bruce looked up from the issue of Witch Weekly she’d been thumbing through. If anyone asked, it was already on the table and she was not a fan. But, Bruce realised with a smile, it was Fauna Blake. She somehow imagined that this trainee auror was a Witch Weekly fan.

“Well I don’t know,” Bruce started, pulling a face as if torn, “I am in the middle of a thrilling exposé on the fashion industry.” Someone only had to take one look at the redhead with her wild hair, rolled up shirt sleeves and worn boots to know that she didn’t care one iota about fashion. She only donned black trousers and a shirt because t-shirts and cargo trousers were a big disappointing no no for middle management at a desk.

“Be my guest, Blake. How did you escape Level 2 for a break? I thought they worked trainees to despair up there.”

Fauna smiled back, relieved, and took a seat. She set her coffee on the table, then leaned forward slightly to sneak a glance at the pages of the latest Witch Weekly magazine. A fashion exposé! What was Bruce doing, looking through that? Perhaps her daughter had given it to her, or one of the employees on Level Four had left it out.

Fauna was in no place to judge. If she occasionally borrowed the latest issue off of Abby's desk, and furrowed her brow at the latest styles, and considered asking Virgil for help (all the help in the world), well, who needed to know?

"Well," she hesitated for a long moment, searching Bruce's face. Was Bruce up for a joke about this? Was Fauna up for a joke about this? Aurors could be so serious sometimes, and when they weren't, their jokes were terrible.

But she'd try.

"It wasn't too difficult to get away. A memo-storm is brewing up there," Fauna sipped at her latte.

"Er, I mean, that someone has been sending Carstairs a lot of memos. Urgent memos," she went on, widening her blue eyes at Bruce and then quickly glancing away.[1]

"So, last week, a few trainees and I were inspired to start sending urgent memos to each other, and to some of the Aurors. We'd ask stuff like, um hey, who took my favorite coffee mug, where did my rainbow quill go, where is my hair tie? And to the Aurors we'd be like, please be advised of the urgent misspelling on page three of our report, and uh," Fauna thought for a second, pressing her mouth together to cover a smile. "Be aware there's a glumbumble loose in the simulation room, and um, constant vigilance but I'm missing a button on my trainee jacket."

Fauna glanced at the Witch Weekly pages again. If she looked at Bruce, she'd laugh.

"This morning, I walk in, and Pratt says to me, why haven't I got an urgent memo about these urgent memos? Are you so busy that you can't think of the Head Auror? Why is it always all about Carstairs?"

She shook her head solemnly.

"I thought he had a point, you know?"

Fauna paused again, thinking. "I gathered up all the memos from last week, a huge long chain of them. And I marked them all urgent again, and sent them flying into his office, where he was sitting there sipping coffee. The last of it. The cup that was meant for me."

Fauna raised her coffee cup.

"And now I'm here."

She glanced at the lifts, and then glanced back at Bruce, and let a smile inch up her face.

In her dreams! Fauna wished she had pranked Pratt. Sadly, when she and a few of the trainees had started sending each other urgent memos, one of the senior Aurors had nipped that in the bud before the fun had even started.

1.	the inspiration

A memo storm. Bruce looked up from the pain au chocolat that her fingers were currently ripping apart. The playful expression on her lips said that she knew exactly what memos young Fauna Blake was alluding to. They’d been intended as a middle finger up to the obnoxious wizard behind his obnoxious desk, but in truth, she’d had fun with a couple. Whether he’d ever read them, however, that was unknown to the sender.

Now, the trainees jumping on the bandwagon of annoying memos was decidedly unexpected. Iona tried not to smirk or laugh, instead wondering how her own wife would have reacted to such ridiculous memos. Zora knew what Iona had been sending her pinstriped stick-up-the-arse boss. Her response; “Jesus Christ, you are killing me.” Bruce hadn’t taken that as a request to stop.

It was cute, to see the young trainee almost full auror as she chatted nonsense about her story and the memos. She lit up, eagerly sharing about Pratt and his probably non-existent response to perhaps non-existent memos. Bruce hoped at least part of it was true, and that she’d inspired a little chaos in witches and wizards she knew to be fairly straight laced in the work environment.

“And now you’re here.” She stuffed some pain au chocolat into her mouth and chewed happily. After washing it down with a sip of coffee, Bruce decided to explain just a little. “The memos were only intended to prove a point to your pinstriped leader. I can get away with it. You’re a trainee.”

"I guess so," Fauna shrugged her shoulders, smiling. "Trainees are expected to ruffle a few feathers sometimes. In moderation."

Fauna had a feeling that the Aurors thought something was wrong with any trainee who didn't try to pull a prank or go overboard once in awhile. They weren't looking for mindless drones. She was glad that Bruce understood why she'd brought up the memo storm though. Fauna hadn't been sure if she'd admit to it.

Had Bruce proved her point with Carstairs? From the outside looking in, nothing had changed. Bruce had expressed her frustration, and maybe that was enough for now, while the sky was still cloudy.

"That being said," Fauna sipped at her latte, trying to calm her nerves with caffeine. Brilliant.

"When I do mess up, I can only use the trainee excuse for a few more months," Fauna looked at Bruce. Her mouth twisted to the side ruefully. That wasn't exactly what she wanted to say, not at all, but she was getting there.

“Too true.” Bruce said with a raise of her eyebrows. “Then you just use the excuse of being overly worked, then old and senile. There’s always options.” She took a sip of coffee, another bite of pastry, and sat back in her chair.

“Every trainee auror ruffles feathers. Got something to prove, eh? I happen to know one who was pretty sick of being one of the few females. Not a fun battle to have in a world of straight white wizards. She was found to be picking duels with the blokes…she bungled up an operation in her second year doing just that. Way too rough with a suspect. You settle and mould into a decisive but efficient auror. Everyone has to start somewhere, don’t they?”

"I'll remember that," Fauna couldn't help but smile at her description of options.

Bruce was being chatty and nice and encouraging as usual, and throwing out very specific examples. Who was Bruce referencing? Not straight... not white... oh! Her own wife? Fauna blinked, unable to entertain the thought of The Zoh ever messing up. It was the kind of story that she'd regret not paying full attention to later. In her mind, Roh had simply stepped out of a cubicle one day as a fully fledged, red-robed, sunglasses-sporting badass Auror, who had been sensible enough to earn her badge at an age when she didn't still talk about Hogwarts at every opportunity.

Who did that? Not Fauna. Definitely Fauna.

"Yeah, it's - we have to start somewhere," Fauna managed, too distracted to press for details.

She could get away without saying anything, probably. Bruce must have no idea that Fauna had known about the vision.

But that didn't feel right.

"Er, listen," she bit her lower lip, her eyebrows drawing together in chagrin.

"I don't think I've talked to you since, well-" Fauna thought a moment. "It must have been since the week of the full moon."

Since Friday the 13th, when she and the Head of Nine had helped Penny out of the horrifying telephone booth.

She hesitated, lowering her voice, "I wanted to say that I'm sorry about what happened to Carter. I should have said so weeks ago. I don't want you to think that I've been avoiding it."

Except that's exactly what she'd been doing.

The topic and tone of the conversation changed pretty suddenly, causing Bruce’s gaze to jump up from the pastry she was breaking in half again to the young trainee auror that had seemed oh so friendly. She was bringing up the full moon. This same preceding full moon that had taken the lives of two werewolves and her own boss. Bruce placed the pastry down on the paper bag it had come in and frowned, lips pressing together.

The week of the full moon. She’d spoken with Blake briefly after the lift with the brothers’ carefully displayed corpses had come down into the atrium accompanied by a caterwauling Penelope Pickler.

What Blake said next caught Bruce off guard. In all honesty, Bruce hadn’t even given Blake any consideration, there. Why would she expect every member of the Ministry staff to come and share their condolences? Bruce had known the wizard for a very short time; she’d just been the one to find his body.

“I didn’t, don’t worry.” Bruce finally responded with a strained smile. “Everyone is sorry. It never should have happened. But now we need to look at preventing something like it again.”