February 5, 2012
Just before eight in the evening
Two days before the Snow Moon.

The second full moon of the year was waxing, and the Werewolf Capture Unit's February watch was due to start early the next morning. Even more than usual, it felt like all eyes were upon them. No one wanted another reprise of December[1], a repeat of January.[2] If the full moon took another turn this month, even with Ballentyne there to face the brunt of it, there would surely be the Minister to answer to.

But there was only so much they could do to prepare, and it was going to be a long three days and two nights. Kurby had kicked all of the kids out of the office early as he'd wrapped up with Bellingham and Li.  Once his last two coworkers had left, he'd run through the plans one last time on his own, kicked Harris and Sasaki out a second time when he'd found them lingering outside the Centaur Liaison Office, and then, after checking in with a tired-looking Bruce Ballentyne, finally headed home himself. 

Normally, on the night before his monthly watch began, he found something to occupy himself: fiddling with his gear or reading through a book until his eyes were heavy enough to sleep.  Tonight, he'd felt too restless to relax.  And so, after pacing a circle around his flat for the umpteenth time, Kurby finally gave up, grabbed a pack of beer from his kitchen, and went to find company that wouldn't ask questions about why he didn't want to be at home.

It had been a cold night in London, but the air in Scotland seemed even colder as he reappeared outside the small Farm with a loud crack.  The werewolf hunter turned up the hood of his cloak, dark eyes scanning over the farmhouse before him.  The last time he'd visited, there had been a warm glow to the windows, a crackling fireplace inside.[3]  Today, everything was dark: no hint that the residents were home.

Hell. Grimacing, Kurby kicked at an imaginary rock on the path. He probably should have owled, but then again, when had he had time recently to think ahead about paying anyone a visit? Sighing, he shoved his free hand deep in his pocket, hefted the beer under his other arm, and set off to see if there were anyone about the farm.

He found the wolf girl in the stables, all alone with the winged horses. Moira McBoid's back was to the open door as he entered, but Kurby found it hard to believe that she hadn't heard him approaching.  More likely, the teenager had simply decided that his arrival wasn't worth pausing her chore until she was good and finished.

Just in case, though, he cleared his throat.

"And I thought I worked late," he said cheerfully, undeterred by the lack of greeting.  He'd never understand how the McBoid family could spend so many hours breaking their backs over their animals without any excitement to come out of it.  It was yet another reason why he didn't envy Duncan his escape to a normal, boring life. "Your uncle about?"

1.	December 11, 2011 - Cold Moon
2.	January 11, 2012 - Creatures Chief Alec Carter Murdered
3.	December 26, 2011 - People Make Holidays Special

Five long, but busy, days had passed since Moira began tending the farm and all its jobs by herself. Her boss at the menagerie had been understanding to the situation and allowed her the time off work. For the first few days the young witch had felt overwhelmed, like she was drowning and it was all she could do to stay afloat. However, much like everyone else in her family, she was too stubborn and prideful to ask for help. Besides, there was no sense in burdening others with what she was more than capable of doing. If she lost sleep or missed a meal to get everything done it ddn't really matter. Her new best friend was coffee mixed with a dash of wideeye potion.

Moira looked up as the quiet evening was disturbed by a loud crack. Any drowsiness she felt temporarily faded as her senses went on high alert. After the event of December's full moon the teenager had become more edgy as the moon waned and waxed again. There was a chance she was simply paranoid but sometimes she had a very strong feeling that she was being watched when no one was around. Her recent lack of sleep didn't help any.

Cautiously Moira moved to the shadowed doorway and peered out into the darkness. As late as it was, the witch was not expecting company and none of her current friends would drop in without a word. Unless they had an emergency, anyway, and in such a case she was certain they had better places to go.

Whoever the unannounced visitor was, they weren't trying to be quiet as they trudged along the dirt path. Moira stood silently, straining to listen and see the person by the light of the moon. When she managed to catch the sound of a few grumbles her shoulders relaxed. Even with a bit of distance between them she would recognize that sound anywhere. Kurby Bagnold. The only friend her uncle had ever invited over, so far as she knew.

More than likely the hunter had come to kill time and find something else to think about besides his next few days working and the uncertainty of what might happen. Too bad Duncan hadn't sent word  that he would be away for a week.

Satisfied there was no threat, Moira returned to her last chore for the evening while Bagnold approached the barn. Portioning animal feed for the following day wasn't a difficult task but it could be time consuming. Each animal had different nutritional needs to be considered depending on their age and health. She was finishing up the final bucket, the lids had individual names written on them, when Kurby entered and announced his presence.

A moment later, she closed the lid on the bucket and turned to face and consider the older wizard. Taking in the case of beer under his arm she gave a shake of her head. "No. I"m the only one here until the eleventh."

Moira paused and then shrugged a shoulder. "Bright side, you don't have to share any of those drinks."

No greeting. No 'Nice of you to drop in.' Not even a comment about how wasn't it grand to have company for a moment, with the full moon approaching and the McBoid girl nearly the victim of a werewolf attack herself back in December. Kurby flashed her a fierce grin that was mostly teeth. Considering the company, he wasn't going to let the lack of friendly acknowledgement bother him.

It was a bit concerning, though, he thought uneasily as he set the pack of beer down on top of a barrel, that Angus and Duncan had left the young witch alone to tend the farm with the full moon approaching. It wasn't so long ago that Moira had ended up in Tawse's path, even if only by happenstance. After the events of January, Kurby was feeling particularly on edge. He wouldn't have made the decision to leave the girl alone.

"Off on holiday, are they?" he asked nicely, peering past her into the barn.

A loud whicker came from one of the stalls. With the same nosy confidence as when he helped himself to wandering around Zelda Sellaphix's kitchen, Kurby slipped past the wolf girl and went to investigate the horses.

He'd encountered the winged horses back during his first visit to the McBoid farm, but he'd been much more focused on questioning the Animagus girl to really pay attention to them. Seeing one up close again was something to appreciate. The one in the closest stall looked young, with slender legs and a dark chestnut coat.  Its wings were folded neatly against its back, head nearly out of sight as it dug eagerly into its feed.

Kurby stopped just opposite it, arms folded against his chest as he regarded the winged horse curiously.

"You lot ever ride 'em?" he asked Moira over his shoulder, cocking an eyebrow at her. "Must be a different way to travel than scamperin' about on wolf feet."

Moira’s response to Bagnold’s appearance was, without her realizing it, the same as if her dad or uncle had shown up behind her instead. As such, her demeanor towards him was not an unwelcoming one. Kurby’s presence had eased a tension Moira hadn’t been aware of when she was alone and because of it she now felt better. Not that she’d ever admit it.

“Business trips, I was told.”

She readily believed her dad. He grumbled and carried on and hated leaving the farm, the horses, and Coira’s grave. Moira believed Duncan too, but she had a nagging suspicion that it was more than that. Her uncle’s trips always took longer than Angus’ and while he claimed it was because he enjoyed being around people Duncan was very secretive about it all.

Moira stepped aside to give Kurby more room when he passed by her, closer to the horses. During his first trip to the farm she had thought he didn’t like horses from the glare he had given one. Perhaps he simply hadn’t liked the distraction.

At his question Moira offered a small smile, “Who do you think trains them?” Even she had trained a fair few of the horses over the years. Now that she was out of school she was able to put more time into them when she wasn’t working at the menagerie. It was a good feeling, seeing her efforts having solid results.

Looking past him to the colt she added, “I’d rather ride one of them than a broom any day.” It was a little ironic, she had a better time flying on a creature with a mind of its own than an enchanted broom. Brooms had a feel to them, like those strange mechanical cars, but they were dead and lacked the energy that came from living things. The witch preferred the partnership a horse provided.

“Listen. I may not be as good of company as my uncle, but you are still welcome to stay here.” A mischievous grin crossed over her features, “I’d even let you crash on Duncan’s bed if you were so inclined.”

Moira stayed in a cabin of her own now, courtesy of one Sasha Snow, so there wouldn’t be any awkwardness where sleeping arrangements were concerned at least. She suspected it wouldn’t reach that point regardless, and Bagnold would slink back home to sleep on his own bed.

Business trips. The thought of it made him want to wretch a little.  As horrible and stress-inducing as life in the Werewolf Capture Unit could be, Kurby still wouldn't have traded it for anything else in all the world. How his old comrade-at-arms could keep getting up every morning when all he had to look forward to was bartering over the sale of winged horses, the werewolf hunter would never understand.

He sighed and turned back from the colt, trying not to let his disappointment show. It wasn't as if Duncan could have expected him to drop in. It had only been a couple of months since the two old friends had reconnected, and Kurby was hardly the sort to seek out frequent social interactions. Still, on a night filled with unspoken dread of what the coming morning might bring, he'd been hoping for some kind of a distraction.

He'd apparently done a shite job of hiding it -- or the wolf girl was more perceptive than she liked to let on -- because the teenager immediately countered with an offer of her own. Kurby gave her a sidelong glance, one eyebrow raised.

"Naw, I need to be at the Ministry before sunrise tomorrow," he said, giving a quick shake of his head. On the morning of a hunt, it wasn't as simple as just popping over: he had gear to gather tonight, and he liked to do one final check of his equipment before heading in.  "But if you want to help me finish off a few of these beers first, I wouldn't say no."

Moira wasn’t surprised by his answer, though it was a shame only because it would have served Duncan right. For whatever reason he didn’t like people in his room so it only made sense for his room to be used by such a friend as Kurby in his absence.

At his mention of the beers Moira glanced over at her empty coffee thermos. Normally, it wasn’t wise to mix alcohol and potions - or potions and other drugs. However, she had finished her coffee over an hour ago which meant any lingering potion effects shouldn’t clash too much with the alcohol. And they were just beers. It wasn’t like she would be downing a bottle of firewhisky or something else outrageous.

Then, for the first time in five days all the chores had been finished at a reasonable time. Moira could always start on some extra tasks that needed to be doing. Had Bagnold not shown up that likely would have been her next course of action. A break sounded nice.

“All right, since you’re offering.” Moira looked back at the hunter in semi-mock suspicion, “This isn’t going to cost me, is it?” She had paid back her debt of one beer[1] back to him on Boxing Day and wanted to keep it that way. The witch hated owing anybody anything.

1.

Time Out

The werewolf hunter shot her a fierce, sharp-toothed smile. Not very trusting, was this wolf girl? Considering the personality implications of her Animagus form, Moira McBoid was exceptionally slow to let people into her pack.

Perhaps that was a bit of her uncle in her, though. For all of his friendly, affable nature at first appearance, Duncan McBoid was a suspicious-as-hell bastard who never quite let anyone into his innermost circle. That had served their small team well back during the war, but it was likely what kept him so isolated these days, still so unforgiving and untrusting of the Ministry.

He flashed her a lopsided grin, obviously not really perturbed over the seeming suspicion. If anything, he was going to be the one who owed her for giving him a reason to be distracted tonight, here on the eve of the full moon.

"No cost," Kurby agreed cheerfully as he stepped over to pick up the pack of beer again. "You want me to swear an Unbreakable Vow on that or are you goin' to take me at my word, Miss McBoid?"

Moira hitched an eyebrow upwards at Bagnold’s use of the word ‘Miss’ before her name. She was almost certain no one had used it since she last went to school. It was strange hearing it again in a non official capacity.

Over the past few months there were a few things she had learned regarding the hunter’s personality. He, like Duncan, was not one to break his word even regarding something small like this. “No. Your word’s perfectly fine.”

She watched as he retrieved the beer then to the barn door. There were few places comfortable at this time of year to spend the evening drinking. Then again, there was always magic to fight away any prevalent cold. The main cottage was always an option, hers was out of the question, or they could stay in the barn office. The latter was not the most comfortable of places.

Giving an internal shrug Moira focused on Bagnold again. “Did you want to head to the main cabin or find a place to camp outside?” The young witch thought she knew what the hunter’s response would be, as he hadn’t seemed to appreciate the cold while maneuvering through the dark. She also had not yet eaten dinner.

While Moira asked about his preference, she grabbed her jacket off the nearest stall door and pulled it on. Having been working until recently she hadn’t needed to wear quite so many layers. That didn’t mean she wanted to trek back to the house without it.

Moira McBoid clearly wasn't one for the usual social graces. Kurby cocked an eyebrow at the teenager's query about whether he'd rather head inside or find a place to camp. For half a second, the recent memory of sitting outside with Figaro and Blake in the cold night air[1] flashed through his mind. Was chatting outside around a fire in vogue with the recently-graduated Hogwarts youth? Or had Duncan been telling his niece old stories about their seemingly endless nights during the war?

"Naw, inside's fine," he said, taking one last glance around the barn. He'd never understand the McBoid clan's tireless familial devotion to their winged steeds, but then again, it wasn't as if many wixes would consider monthly tangles with flesh-eating monsters as a rewarding career.

Kurby waited for the teenaged girl to pull on her coat; he followed her out into the cold night, and then paused again as she closed the barn door.  Tucking his hands into his pockets, he matched her pace as she started for the house.

"So Duncan and your father are gone through the full moon, then?" he asked casually, in a nonchalant tone that was entirely conversational and not at all nosy. "You plannin' to go mucking about with your mates again, or will you be alone here at the farm?"

1.	January 10 - Moonlight, firelight

Moira glanced sideways at Bagnold as they walked. Not that he could know, but she had fewer of those now than when they first met. Two to be exact, and they weren’t the type to go wandering around during dangerous hours randomly. Well…. They weren’t normally the type, anyway. Sasha had extremely mixed emotions, mostly negative, regarding werewolves so he wasn’t likely to go looking for trouble and if Abby did she’d hear it from the both of them.

There was a potential third, but the witch was unsure how to label Fauna Blake. She wouldn’t say the two of them were friends, but the soon-to-be fully fledged auror had come to visit when she was sick the previous month, with not-pho soup no less. They certainly hadn’t done anything during school, though Fauna had tried like a few others. It was complicated.

“No, I’ll be here. Can’t leave the place unattended for too long.” Especially as one of the goats had been attempting to become an escape artist in order to get at the garden. She hoped that was all sorted at least.

Of course, if she was being honest that was just an excuse. After December and the news of January there was almost no chance that she’d be out during the full moon chasing rumors or a good time.

There was no point asking what he’d be doing during the full moon. That much was obvious.

Moira’s stomach growled as they reached the cabin, as though to remind her again that she hadn’t had dinner yet. She gave a soft sigh and opened the door to let them both inside, which was not any warmer than the outside and might have even been colder. It was evident that the cabin hadn’t been used since the two men had left.

Sliding her wand from it’s somewhat new location up her sleeve for easy retrieval she then pointed it at the fireplace and lit the logs on fire. All the doors were closed so it wouldn’t take long for the living area to reach a more comfortable temperature.

“Make yourself at home,” Moira invited with a glance at Kurby. Then she headed for the kitchen to quiet the bear in her stomach, “Want a sandwich to go with that beer?” Awkward as it might be, it would have been rude to not ask.

Kurby mulled over the girl's response as he tagged along behind her to the now-familiar cabin. Staying put in Scotland was obviously preferable to supervising Figaro on another misadventure, but the idea of Moira McBoid all alone on her family's farm during another full moon still left him with an unsettled feeling. If something happened to her like it had to Alec Carter, no one might even notice until her father and uncle got home the following weekend.

The McBoid family's farmhouse was as dark as it had been when he'd arrived. Moira unlocked the door, and then bustled about to ignite the fireplace and bring some semblance of life to the cottage again.

"Make yourself at home,” she told him as she disappeared into the kitchen. “Want a sandwich to go with that beer?”

The werewolf hunter shrugged as he set the pack of beer down on the coffee table.  "I wouldn't say no," he replied in her wake.

Aside from the now-crackling fireplace and the clock quietly ticking on the mantle, the room was eerily quiet as he slipped off his cloak. Raising an eyebrow, Kurby glanced around. Even though he'd seen it bursting with life just a few short weeks before when he'd visited the McBoid clan for Boxing Day, there was something almost unsettling about it being so empty now.

Tick, tick, tick...

Kurby paused, crossing his arms, as his gaze settled on the small clock that sat on the mantle. If he'd noticed it at all the last time he was here, he hadn't paid it any attention. It was stalwart and unassuming, nothing like the fancy grandfather clock that he'd seen stopped in Carter's study, with only one enumerated face. As he watched, the second hand completed another rotation around the dial, keeping steady time.

It felt like something was pressing uncomfortably on his chest. Forcing his gaze away from the clock, the werewolf hunter grabbed a pair of beer bottles and headed for the kitchen door.

"You got a couple of glasses?" he asked as he barged in. Without waiting for the teenager to reply, he went directly to the cupboard where he thought they were; he'd helped Duncan fetch a few things when he'd be over at the holidays. "Y'know, you should probably ask somebody to stay over for the full moon this week. If somethin' happens, it'd be better not to be alone."

The silence of the cabin was something Moira was used to but tonight, with the approaching full moon, it seemed to seep into her bones. At least in the barn there were the constant soft noises from the horses. Her own movements in retrieving the bread and meat might have been a little louder than normal in an attempt to chase it away.
Bagnold helped with that as he came marching into the kitchen, asking about glasses. He had been here not too long ago, he should know the answer to that already. “Aye,” Moira answered his query. She would have directed him to the cabinet but he seemed to have remembered his way around regardless.

The young witch was slightly taken aback by Bagnold’s recommendation and concern. “That’s not really…” she trailed off. ‘An option’ was what she was going to say, but of course it was. Asking was always an option.

Were she to ask, either of her two friends would be willing to stay with her if their schedule allowed. Except she had no idea what their schedules were like. For all she knew they were spending quality time together or preparing for that dreadful Valentine’s day, approaching in a fortnight. Or the Ministry could be keeping them so busy they were rarely home. And if something did happen, she would then be responsible for placing them in danger.

The other bigger issue in asking was her pride. ‘Hey, guys. The full moon’s approaching and I’m scared to be alone because I might be a target thanks to December, but I don’t know for sure.’ No, thank you. Moira wasn’t going to go looking for trouble, and if it came knocking at her door she had one major advantage the Department Head hadn’t. Besides, she barely slept these days anyway, and it was light when she did. Sneaking up on her while she was asleep would be difficult.

“Everyone’s busy,” she tried instead, as she placed Bagnold’s sandwich - ham and cheese as it was the most readily available - on a plate.

Pushing his plate to the side she worked on a couple sandwiches for herself. Her lunch had been light, she hadn’t even properly stopped to eat it, so having two now would maybe make up for what she had missed earlier.

“I’ll be okay.”

Kurby turned his head to give the girl a pointedly cynical look. Yes, he certainly believed that 'everyone was busy' with the apex of the full moon only two nights away. It wasn't all that long ago that Moira McBoid had spent hours and hours sketching werewolves out of her nightmares after one fleeting encounter in December. She ought to know better than to assume that she could handle another encounter all on her own.

But that was the wolf girl's way, wasn't it?  Kurby flicked his gaze upwards, and then finally returned his attention to finding a pair of appropriate drinking glasses in the cupboard. Moira McBoid was as stubborn as anyone he'd ever known. She hated to ask for help, hated to be in debt, and he half-suspected she'd stay up all night if that was what it took to get her chores done. The only reason she'd given in and told him about Figaro back in December was because he'd chosen the most effective rhetorical knife to twist in her gut.

He could try to do the same thing now, he thought as he vanished the cap off first one bottle and then the other. He certainly knew enough to guess at which wounds he might jab at. But he still felt a lingering sort of guilt over how hard he'd gone at her back in December. Stubborn or not, she was still just a kid.

"Yeah, I reckon you will be," he agreed over his shoulder, as he picked up the first glass and tilted it to pour. "You could do me a favor and humor me though. There's plenty of monsters out there, and not all of 'em are as predictable as werewolves."

"I know," Moira responded though not in the typical, annoyed teenage way as one might expect. Instead, it was one more of contemplation. In the past few months alone she had met and heard of a fair few that weren't werewolves.

The witch thought about Tawse, who cared nothing for the lives of muggles or anyone who got in his way. The Hunt siblings, who had absolutely no conscience. They killed innocent people on a whim or for their own benefit. Then there were the nonhumans she had run into late December. The three hags in Knockturn she had managed to piss off and a very strange vampire. They might not have been werewolf-like monsters but they were all still dangerous.

Moira finished with her task, putting the rest of the food away again. "This may come as a shock to you, Bagnold, considering my amiable personality," she said with some sarcasm, "but I don't have that many friends or an abundance of options."

Since he was handling the beer, Moira picked up the plates and rounded the kitchen counter, going back into the living room to place them on the coffee table. She continued as she shrugged out of her coat, "So when I say everyone's busy, I mean the very few people I trust are not available." Surprisingly she found Bagnold was included in that list.

She looked back to him, completely serious as she took a seat on the couch, "Unless you have a recommendation."

It didn't exactly come as a shock that the wolf girl didn't feel like she had many options. The McBoid girl clearly preferred her life as a loner; it certainly wasn't a secret that he could sympathize. But that was part of what left him feeling antsy about the fact that Duncan and her father had left her all alone. Likely, the two Scottish wizards trusted her to deal with whatever might happen. The problem lay with the fact that if something truly awful happened, it didn't matter how capable or level-headed Moira might be.

But at least the teenager was listening, and he'd made his point without even being an arsehole. Kurby poured the second beer into a glass and followed her back into the main room. As Moira set the sandwiches down on the coffee table, he swapped one of the beers for a plate and then headed to one of the nearby armchairs.

Frowning, he considered her question as he lowered himself to sit. Asking Rosheen for a favor this time was out of the question; with everything that had happened in December and January, he wasn't about to do anything to attract any attention to his sister. Most of the others he could think of would be on patrol. There was always Laz, who wasn't a bad option, but with his own full moon watch starting early the next morning, enlisting help from the American vampire would require more time than he had. The thought of having to stop by the coven on his way back to his flat tonight and get a straight answer out of his undead friend when he was already tired made his head hurt.

"I dunno if I can come up with one before I've got to be in tomorrow," he replied, grimacing as he raised his beer. "You should check with the lot you trust, though. Folks might surprise you."

He took a long sip from the glass, but not at the speed he might if he were really trying to get plastered. His goal for dropping in tonight hadn't been to get stuck in an endless discussion about werewolf safety measures; plenty of that would be waiting for him come the morning. But he wasn't exactly well practiced at making small talk with teenaged girls. Teasing her about Figaro was probably still a sore subject. The wolf girl didn't seem like she did much for fun. And if he left it too long, there was a good chance the conversation could change to January, which was definitely not on his list of what he wanted to think about tonight.

"How's the pet shop?" he asked her, settling back in the chair with his legs extended. "That must be quite the feat, goin' from chores there to chores here when everyone's gone."