The first Wednesday of the month was the Winery. The time Sandy and Gen discussed complaints, or reader whines over wine. A good month was one bottle. A bad month two. A very good month Gen got to take the bottle. That was rare. Witch Weekly readers knew where they kept their quills and parchment. So they used them. The grate was already burning three. Pointless whines. Did not like the dress color in a photo. Did not get their letter published. Too expensive to advertise their lost cat.

Sandy folded over the latest issue of Witch Weekly. Hit the owls on Saturday. Full page advert for Calaveras. New owner. Good reputation. Apart from some rumors from America. Money to brush Calaveras up. It was looking tired. Dashing. Caused a stir. did not need to buy his own advert. Take a week and there would be a double spread feature. A photographer down there at the launch. Snap anyone notable who went. Then why were there people whining about it?

Werewolves not invited.

"It is at full moon. No werewolf is invited anywhere but a safe house." Sandy flopped the issue on the desk between them. "No law against saying who can come in is there?" It sat uneasy but money was money and Gen had let it go to print.

“Well, technically they’re right, aren’t they?” Gen responded, nursing an almost full glass of red as she watched the flames dance in the fireplace before them. She was curled up in an armchair beside the fireplace, her heels on the floor and bare feet tucked up under her. They were in Sandy’s office, partaking in the usual first Wednesday of the month task. At least he always provided decent wines. “No one wants a werewolf knocking down their door on a full moon, do they?”

Gen only had a vague recollection of scanning the advert in the weekly edition before she’d approved it for print. In truth, her publicity editor usually rejected the controversial adverts or pieces before they even landed on Gen’s desk. She should have paid more attention, but she’d been spending so much time trying to piece together her own private life now that Leo was back, that her work ethic had dropped and her grasp over every aspect of the weekly was waning. She clearly needed to up her game.

She frowned, putting down the wine on the coffee table and taking up another letter to open. There was a larger than average pile this month. “It’s just…tasteless, isn’t it? To be so brazen. But we’re not in the business of censorship, Sandy. Maybe Señor Falcón has captured a gap in the market?” A gap for prejudiced morons looking for a drink and a good time.

"No one." Agreed Sandy. "Look what happened to Carter. In his own home." Sandy did not open the door on full moon. He did not open the front door other days. But especially not full moon. He was more likely to be at the hospital. It was high alert. Especially now they were attacking safe houses.

"He is not from here. He does not know how it is done here. If people are scared of full moon then they will not go out. It is not beyond living memory there were attacks in the alley. Tulip's sister did not make it back from that. It is why she will not work a full moon." A tiny petite witch called Tulip worked magic on all the fashion features. She could make any dull robe look three hundred galleons before a photo-shoot. But for no love nor money would she leave her house on full moon day. They had both tried.

"No we are not in the business of censorship. I agree. What if this is just bluster. To get wixes talking?" Sandy pointed to the advert. "Outrage travels faster than good news. My father taught me that." All the reason to keep complaints at the hospital quiet. But at the magazine... "Do you think he is serious?"

Well that got heavy fast. Gen wanted to sit and throw complaints into the burning embers of the fireplace while drinking expensive wine, not talk dead ministry personnel and people living in terror. Unfortunately, there was Sandy bringing up Alec Carter’s attack and their own terrified colleague. Gen, not in the mood to talk about Tulips refusal to step foot out of her front door once a month, took a large gulp of wine.

“Yes. Of course, he is serious.” No one put themselves out there as so openly against werewolves if they weren’t serious. Some people wouldn’t believe it to be a statement of intent, but that was as Gen saw it. A statement of distaste for their furry full moon companions. Unfortunately, one couldn’t get in trouble for simply sharing a dislike, could they? Besides, in truth, Gen didn’t really care enough to take a stand. She wasn’t a werewolf and wasn’t personally close to any. Perhaps Kurby might pop in and get his discount, if he ever read the advert. She’d need to send him a copy.

“How many people will really be outraged by this, though? After what’s happened? This wizard turns up and immediately finds a growing target audience. Even you can agree that it’s not an awful business plan. I’d show up just to have a few ex-werewolf hunters flex their muscles for my protection. Oh, I’m so scared Mr Burly Hunter, please escort me home.”

"Is that an offer to cover it?" Asked Sandy. Picking up on it. Gen was the Editor but she had got there through proving herself as a writer. "Enough people are outraged to write in." He picked up a rough pile of letters. "So they are keen to read what happens." He skimmed through the next letter. "He will not get an empty restaurant. He might get a mob outside with placards and a full house. If he does  the man should have paid us more for printing the advert."

Sandy rubbed the shadow on his chin. He narrowed his eyes which could seem an impossibility given his face. "You know those student werewolf sympathizers at the school?" Asked Sandy. He had run into them in Hogsmeade. Gone up to see his daughter Meredith. "What's the grown-up arm? Think we can whisper in a few ears to make sure they turn up with placards?" Sandy was not saying he wanted them to turn up to oppose the owner. Just that it would make a much better story.