Tim and Eta peeled off from the bundle to remain attached to Theta, who they missed the most, for the fact she lived away full time. Zeta and Ambrose ended up a pair, and his cousin asked him a very specific question.

"Er... no, not often. I mean, they're part of the same floor like, so I see them, and they come out drinking." He winced and glanced to Theta to check she was suitably distracted and hadn't heard that bit, "but I haven't had to deal with a werewolf. I think I've got a seminar on how to, though, soon?"

Like other newbies at the Ministry, Ambrose ended up at all manner of odd workshops and trainings. His apprenticeship meant he had to study about beasts and about the dysfunctional systems the magical government had in place. However, they were strangely interesting to Ambrose, who was not yet jaded by bureacracy.

"Why, did Ballentyne's visit inspire you to join up?" He looked surprised at the thought.

"No." Zeta's answer to Cousin Ambrose's question came quickly but not prickly. The others had moved ahead and Zeta appreciated the moment alone with Ambrose.

"I just want to know what it's like there," Zeta clarified even though Ambrose said he wasn't in the Werewolf Wing very often. "Lucinda hates it. I can't stop picturing something terrible, you know? Like jail cells and cold floors and chains. And do you remember Sophie's mum? Sophie Flickwick's mum?" Ramona Flickwick had been killed in the Werewolf wing a few years ago. Everyone had heard. Zeta's voice had gone quiet and a little serious. With the club, it was raucous and earnest and all about action and the reality of it all was easily forgotten. For some.

"Lucinda hates it. I can't stop picturing something terrible, you know?" Theta explained her question. "Like jail cells and cold floors and chains..." Ambrose ruffled his hair uneasily at the thought, wondering if that was the case, and where that bit was.

"Do you remember..."
"Yeah..." Ambrose ran his fingers through what went for a fringe, gaze focused inwardly rather than on the path before them. "I guess the holding cells aren't that nice, but what cell is?" Ambrose shrugged. "I've not been in one, sorry Zee." His tone was genuinely apologetic, disappointed with himself. "I can find out though, if you really want to know. And Fig Sellaphix works the night at one of the smaller ones out of London, which must be similar?" He'd seen Sellaphix around the floor a lot more recently.

They aren't that nice. But what cell is? Zeta let out a puff of air from her cheeks at the poetic gravity of it all.

"It's bizarre, a bit." Zeta went on. "They're expected to just carry on with school and jobs like everything is normal. There's this terrible thing wrong with them, they get locked up like prisoners, and then show up back at school the next day. Just a regular Thursday or something. I think just that alone would drive me mad, like the whole world is gaslighting me. I heard there was breakfast. Like a BnB."

The last part seemed strangest of all for some reason.

"Would you have a look? Not the breakfast. The cells."  Figaro Sellaphix annoyed Zeta, but if Ambrose was offering...

“Sure,” Ambrose shrugged, hands in pockets. “I’ll ask Penny or someone, claim it’s an orientation kind of project for my apprenticeship.” That was plausible right? A study of holding cells and pens for beasts.

The path had levelled out, widening to the great gates with the winged boars perched atop. The caretaker was on duty at the gates, ensuring nobody without a permission slip tried to slip out, and nothing contraband came back in. Ambrose didn’t miss those day, but even so he felt a strange pang of longing for a life he no longer had, as a Hogwarts student. He couldn’t ever go back, and that was ok. But Zeta, Tim and Eta, they did, for a few more years.

“Was there anything else you wanted me to find out?” Ambrose asked, a small part regretting hearing him say it. Zeta would be stuck in the castle rather than carrying out the plans, and it would be Ambrose explaining his way out of awkward moments requesting visits to empty werewolf cells.

Bless sweet helpful Ambrose. Zeta felt the gratitude for him intensely for a moment, breezing away any envy she had about his free movements through the world.

When he offered to get her more, she lifted her eyebrows. She was not the sort to pass something like that up.

"I read in the Prophet that there might be changes coming up for werewolf laws. Maybe you could find out something?"

It was a naive ask, probably. She probably over-estimated his clout at the Ministry, hadn't thought of what it must be like being a teenager in the adult world of government.

"If you can," she added. "No promises requested."

At the gates now, they had to say goodbye to Ambrose and Theta. The remaining Peppers continued on, the topic of conversation moved to other things. Of the spring holiday, of Uncle Francis, of the baby, of Eta's latest predictions concerning all three.

End