Brin liked Tuesdays. He could not put his finger on it. Tuesday was often a lucky day for him. This Tuesday he was visiting the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes. This was Quill Som's Department. She ran a tight ship. He wondered how she was doing. Their jobs made them very busy.

Now he walked across the floor. Everyone looked busy! Colorful memos crisscrossed above his head. Brin checked the time. He had missed Peter Pickler's punctual morning coffee break. That was all right. He would make his own when he got upstairs.

Then suddenly he saw his good friend Quill. His heart lifted. To see her.
"Quill!" Called Brinley. He put his hand up. Drew her attention. "Good morning." Brin smiled. "How are you? I was just thinking of you."

There were few who called Quill by her given name, so Quill knew roughly who to expect by this but also his tone and timbre. She turned to see Brin Abbot making his way over.  He was dressed smartly and there was, as ever, a smile on his craggy features. Quill responded with a pleasant lift of her eyebrows and by setting her files down on the high counter that divided the room in a wide arc.

"Brinly, good afternoon. If you're thinking of me you must have a catastrophe on your hands. What can we for Mr. Glass?"

It was a constant struggle, the battle between order and chaos but Quill wouldn't have found her home in this department if she didn't get a little prickle of anticipation when something terrible needed fixing because she was just the witch to orchestrate it.

"You are no catastrophe." Said Brin. "The very opposite." He smiled. Easy. It was too familiar in the office to embrace her. Not here. She was the boss. He must not undermine her. These were her people. "I have been with the Excuse Committee. For once no fire to put out." He slipped his hand into his pocket. He leaned against the high counter. Full attention on Quill. "How are you? You look good." Good? Should he have said well? She was always impeccable. In Brin's eyes. He let it go. "Hope the full moon brings better luck this month." Added Brin.

"I am well," Quill said firmly. "I used to say when I was busy, but since I always am, there's really no point repeating it."

She didn't seem put out about it. All who knew her well knew she preferred to keep occupied. If they weren't responding here on Three, they'd better be preventing as much as that was possible. At the mention of the full moon, Quill turned around to check the wall of clocks of which there were dozens. One of the larger one showed the moon phases. Only two nights to go.[1] She turned back and clicked her tongue.

"Let's hope. But in case that doesn't work, I've got a team just for full moons now to interact directly with Ballentyne's people over on Four. But since you're here..."

Quill deposited a clipboard into the rack and motioned Brin to follow. As they walked, Quill explained in more discreet tones. "I understand there was a prophecy on Nine that turned out to be credible and timely in retrospect."

1.	8 March 2012

Brin followed. No question. He would follow Quill into danger. He drew to her right. So his good ear was close to her. When he was a hit wizard he lost some hearing in his right ear. He did not like to think of when it happened. A prophecy? Brin looked ahead of them. Leaned his head towards hers.

"A real mess that." Agreed Brin. "Putting it politely." A good man died. "A vision I understand." Word made it to Glass. The whole night was a headache. An inquiry into safe houses. A Department Head murdered at home. A vision which could have prevented it all." Were visions the same as prophecies? Brin was vague on his divination. "I do not think the same has been recorded for this week. If you were concerned."

"No, nothing like that," Quill said with a shake of her head.

Quill's office was well kept and spacious. The shelves were packed efficiently with books, files, and scrolls, and maps of Britain and its major cities filled wall space. With a flick of her wand, she lit the lamps as they entered. There were a few chairs to choose from, but Quill leaned on the edge of her desk and crossed her arms. Now that they were out of eavesdropping range, the two could speak more freely.

"You said 'vision', and I think you're correct - that's the term. Not the classical recited prophecy." Nevertheless... Quill gently drummed the tips of her fingers to her chin.

"Wouldn't it be helpful to have some of our own?"

The Department of Magical Accidents & Catastrophes had never had much wand to work with when it came to prevention. They could send out all manner of memos and guidelines to the field departments, they could propose policy, they could muggle-worthy-up as many excuses as they liked, but at the end of the day the accidents would always come and Catastrophes to the clean-up.

Brin closed the door behind. It was quiet in here. Every Head of Department had their own office. Each one had their own style. Almost every one had a map. Like Quill's.

"My divination is a little rusty." Said Brin. He did not mind admitting his weakness to Quill. He raised his shoulders. Questioning.

"Some of your own visions?" Asked Brin. "Do Seers work like that?" Could you get a vision by memo? "I always thought they were fuzzy. Like people are. Come to think of it." He mirrored her. Pinched his chin between his thumb and forefinger. Felt the rough of stubble growing back.

"I think we would all like to see a future. If we could make sure we avoid disaster." He shrugged. Put his hands back in his pockets. Rested one leg. Confident. Comfortable. "You spoken to Yavin Morgenthau about it?"

Yavin Morgenthau, the chaotic Head of the Department of Mysteries. Quill sniffed. "I try not to."

Of course, Quill had to interface with her counterpart on Nine from time to time. He was brilliant. And maddening enough. Brinley was much better company. People were fuzzy. Quill smiled and nodded.

"I prefer not to go through Mysteries," she clarified. "But it's nothing, yet. Just one of those things you take to sleep with you. Just that feeling of... 'what have we not tried'? The answers to that question will take you down some strange floos. You know the Tea Leaves League of London has sent us a monthly advance since nineteen seventy-three? I've started having a glance."

Could drive one mad, those kinds of guessing games.

"And any come true?" Brin asked. He had never opened a copy of the League's publication. Not that he was aware. Maybe it was one of those sent to the Minister. Which Peter Pickler boxed away. He swore he saw one called Crup Breeders Quarterly on the desk. People sent them anything.

"Have any been as exact to say 'this will happen at a quarter to two on a Thursday'?" Added Brin. He could be optimistic. He was willing to change his mind. "If we ever heard something upstairs. I would try to get word to you. Always." He gave her an easy smile.

Quill smiled and shook her head. "I'm sure you would do that."

It was an offer that Quill might find patronizing from some others, as if she couldn't advocate for herself or didn't have the professional savvy to communicate with the other floors, but there wasn't a hit of that about Brinley who was too grounded for any such nonsense. There was never a question.

"But no, nothing substantive from the leaf-readers. There's a lowly scribe in the archives - records the predictions. Passes them along if there's anything concrete enough to follow up on. They're much the same now as in my past life, a cross between streetside doomsayers with sandwich board signs and Witch Weekly horoscopes. All terribly earnest."

She moved them to sit behind her desk and began to fill a pipe with tobacco. "Do you mind?" she asked.

"Shame." Sighed Brinley. "I was ready to change my mind." He shrugged. Dismayed.

"Of course." He said. Unbothered. He had known Quill a long time. He took a seat. "If you had your own seers they would they be any better?" Brin asked honestly. "Could they scry possible futures?" What would that do to a person? This had taken him down an avenue he had not anticipated that morning.

"I am not sure I would like to know my future. Or possible futures." Said Brinley. "What about you?"

Quill lit the pipe and settled in for the while.

"You're very philosophical today," she said and took a puff, the smoke curling up and away. Admittedly, Quill hadn't planned to give this daydream deeper thought today as it seemed politically unachievable at this point in time. And, perhaps, if Brinley was right, ultimately ineffective.

"I suppose I'm thinking purely on practicalities. I'm not interested for my own sake. It's a simple, naive wish to prevent catastrophe, rather than running after it. Fewer muggle-worthy excuses, fewer Obliviations, fewer wolfsbane potion failures ... "

She trailed off for a moment, then added. "But in the meantime, there's always job security."

"You bring it out in me." Smiled Brinley. "That is a noble cause." He agreed. He imagined it. Peaceful. Protective. Predictable...

"That there is." He laughed. "And I think you would get bored. Just a little." He smiled. The balance. "A DMAC thing. You must have heard we had a griffin upstairs. Last week?" Asked Brin. It had made a great big mess. Creatures took ages to get there. Ate a breakfast platter. "Burst out a suitcase. In the post room. Never seen the Minister happier." Brinley shrugged. "You did not send it did you?"

Bored. It felt like a dark thing to admit, but Brinley knew her well enough that Quill didn't have to confirm it out loud. They were both like that. That happened, Quill had heard, to people who'd lived through what they'd lived through. That even these long years later, peace and security felt untrustable. Better to see the threats coming from the front rather than wait for them in the shadows.

She smiled at mention of the griffin, her pipe bit between her teeth.

"We've been accused of adding to our own workload before; not you, too," Quill said with a touch of faux offense. "A griffin in a suitcase... that's quite a trick. Really no clue on who it belonged to?"

"We have our leads." Said Brinley. Smiling. "I owled back and asked for an erumpent in a hold-all next month." He laughed. A joke. He sobered. "Two is on it. Four said it happens to them. Time to time. Cannot really abandon a magical animal at the side of the road. That really would keep you busy." He looked up at her map.

"Tell you who I met last week." Said Brin. "Octavius Pepper. The wizard who makes flying cars." The Ministry had magic cars. But they did not fly. "Nice chap. Interesting history. Would have liked to have seen the cars." Brin shrugged. "Duty called." Always. "You think they could work here?"

Brin liked to cycle. That was a nice way to see the countryside. He used to like flying brooms. But a flying car sounded stylish. He could see Quill enjoying the luxury in good company.