Fauna walked down the corridors at a fast pace, pulling off her dragonhide gloves and tracking mud in from the grounds (she could only hope the muddy bootprints would fade off by the time she got to Professor O Morain's office). Her hair was windblown, and her cheeks pink from spending a few hours in the greenhouse set aside for seventh years. When the memo had fluttered into her hands, she'd cleaned up her materials as fast as she could and rushed up the flights of stairs until she'd reached the fifth floor.

Worry and curiosity tugged on her thoughts. She'd already had class this morning with the Care of Magical Creatures professor, and he hadn't said anything about meeting her later. Fauna hoped she hadn't done something wrong. She looked up to him when he wasn't acting like an arse to the majority of the Hogwarts population.

She checked her pocketwatch. It was about 3 p.m. His note had sounded urgent, even including an 'immediately'. Fauna paused a few feet away from his office, smoothing out her hair and checking to make sure her uniform adhered to the standards (she'd heard about the uniform debacle a few weeks ago, resulting in detentions for many of the students).

Fauna took a deep breath, knocked on the door, and waited until she heard his voice before coming in. She offered the professor a polite smile, and then noticed they weren't alone.

Kurby Bagnold stood in the office as well, looking like he normally did: grumpy and unpleasant. Fauna's smile dropped off her face in an instant. Her eyes narrowed at the Ministry worker and her shoulders tensed. What was he doing here? Wasn't seeing him once for the werewolf speaker assembly enough?

"You wanted to see me, professor?" Fauna focused back on Professor O Morain, doing her best to ignore Bagnold. Her tone was much more clipped than she'd intended, but she worried about what this was about and why she'd been called here so suddenly.

Declan found this entire ordeal to be ridiculous. He had heard the rumors, but had ignored them. He assumed they would die down, that nobody would take anything as stupid as Fauna being a werewolf as fact. He had been wrong. Very wrong. Apparently people thought it was true and were writing to the ministry- and with the full moon coming up, they had decided they should at least look into it for appearances.

If Declan ever found out who started the rumor, he would give them detention for the rest of their Hogwarts life. His students should be more intelligent than that!

In response to Fauna, he gestured vaguely at Kurby. "Mr. Bagnold has a few questions to ask you. Hopefully it will not take long and the both of you can be on your way." Declan then settled himself into his desk, pouring himself a glass of water from a pitcher. "Would either of you care for some water before we begin?" he asked. What he would prefer was something stronger, but drinking in front of the students was hardly the way to set an example.

It was obvious from the werewolf hunter's body language that he was not happy to be back at Hogwarts.  From the moment that the Hufflepuff entered the room, Kurby tracked her with his gaze, eyes locked on her and an unhappy expression on his face.

"No," he replied shortly, shaking his head at the offer of water.  Drawing his wand, he straightened from his slouched position against the wall.  "Let's get this damned thing over with."

Without asking permission, he moved over to O Morain's desk and boosted himself to sit on it, positioning his back directly between the Deputy Headmaster and the girl.  Still looking unhappy, the werewolf hunter waved his wand, summoning a file folder back into existence in his hands.

Kurby eyed Fauna over the top edge of the folder, keeping his wand in hand as he opened it and began to shuffle through pages.  "I know you did this on purpose," he informed her in a low mutter.  He didn't really care of O Morain overheard; he'd already made his view of this exercise quite clear, but there was still some decorum to maintain.  "I hope you know that you're wastin' my time and not makin' things any better for your furry friends in the process.  The next time you get bored and feel like bein' the center of attention, go flounce out of a dance somewhere."

Clearing his throat, the werewolf hunter gave Fauna one last mutinous look and then shook his wand, summoning ink to the tip of it.  "Fauna Blake, you are formally suspected of bein' infected with lycanthropy," he said sourly.  "Do you deny the accusation?"

Questions. Bagnold had questions. A suspicion began to form in her mind, and she took her seat with reluctance (maybe a little flounce too), perching on the edge as if ready to jump up at any moment.

"No thanks," she answered the professor quietly, watching Bagnold. When he sat down on O Morain's desk, she fought back the strange urge to laugh, almost wishing she could see the expression on the professor's face. Her emotions were running high and her nerves were frayed, and because that made her want to laugh, she glared at Bagnold instead, looking wary when he waved his wand and started flipping through a folder. Not a good sign.

Her nervousness got worse when he told her he knew she'd done this on purpose. Done what? Fauna drew back in her seat as he went on, expression both confused and offended. Then finally, after a jab about flouncing off at the dance, he told her why she was here:

"Fauna Blake, you are formally suspected of bein' infected with lycanthropy," he said sourly.  "Do you deny the accusation?"

There was a moment where she stared at him in shock, much like the time Baxter had accused her of being a werewolf a little over a week ago. Shite. This was actually happening! Her mouth opened and closed. She crossed her arms, shaking her head. Embarrassment and anger warred within her, making her response sound especially rash and immature.

"What? This is the stupidest thing! You think I did this?" She burst out, clearly upset. "It's... that Baxter Fox. And Sasha. They're the ones who started the whole rumor. Baxter because his Da is barmy and Sasha because... he just has issues with me." Fauna paused, face flushed. "Talk to them about their stupid ideas!"

Declan pursed his lips, obviously displeased, as Kurby hoisted himself onto his desk. There were other chairs in his office for a reason. But rather than say something and cause a derailing argument, Declan simply moved things out of Bagnold's way. He had assured the ministry worker he would remain quite throughout the questioning- merely as an observer. She was his responsibility, after all, while they were at Hogwarts and also one of his favorite and most promising pupils. Declan would support her in whatever ways he could without overstepping any teacher-student boundaries.

He was unsurprised that Fauna's reaction the question was so hostile. Being accused of being a werewolf was a serious thing. He had no doubt that she was innocent of spreading the rumor herself, but pinning it on Fox and Schlagenweit seemed a bit... inappropriate. Declan taught both of the Ravenclaws, and had no problems out of them. The third year, especially, seemed very studious too busy with classes to worry about spreading rumors.

"No need to insult your classmates or your families," Declan interjected lazily, leaning back in his seat and sipping his water. He wanted to add something about how they all knew this was ridiculous, but would rather not offend the dog-catcher. Instead he gave an apologetic nod to Fauna, and seriously considered charming his desk to become unbearably hot for the intrusive bottom upon it.

Any expectation that Kurby might have had that this would be resolved easily, any hope that Blake would be satisfied with wasting his time by dragging him to Hogwarts and cooperate from here on out, vanished in an instant as the girl exploded.  The werewolf hunter clenched his teeth, gripping the wand in his hand so tightly that it would have snapped if it were a simple quill.

"I'm talkin' to you," he snapped, frustration coloring his expression as he glared at her, "because you're the one who's been accused.  Why the hell would I give a damn who you think did it?" 

Under normal circumstances, he would have been thrilled at a chance to besmirch Ackerly Fox's name - he still hadn't forgiven the Auror for insulting purebloods, even after the man had been forced off of the active werewolf cases.  But when the accusation came from Fauna (hair toss) Blake, it was the last thing that he wanted to deal with.

Kurby gritted his teeth, grinding them so tightly that they made an audible noise, and visibly forced himself to look down at the folder.

"This is how it's goin' to work, then," he said coldly, his voice ice incarnate.  "I ask you a question and you answer me honestly.  When we're done, I've got to score your answers against a rubric.  Stay under the threshold and I never have to see you or your swishing hair ever again," he informed her in an extremely sour tone.  That was probably wishful thinking, but he could hope.  "Score over the threshold and you'll be required to spend the next full moon in a holding cell at the Ministry, which I'm sure will be just grand." 

Kurby eyed her over the top of the folder, as if debating whether to add anything else, and then dropped his gaze again.  "And don't go thinkin' you can give everyone hugs and braid their tails while you're in there if you decide to get smart," he added in a mutter, flipping to the next page.  "So just answer the damned questions, Blake.  Question One: Have you, to-the-best-of-your-knowledge, come into contact with a known werewolf since the last full moon?" he read off of the parchment.

Some part of Fauna got a kick out of pissing off Bagnold. He was glowering at her and grinding his teeth, and she glowered back at him, smug that he was just as unhappy about being in this office as she was. Fauna was not going to make this easy for him (or herself, it turned out). He was angry? Well, too bad, because she was angry too! It was almost like a competition.

He told her how it would work: she had to answer him honestly, and he was going to grade her answers. Fauna rolled her eyes, feeling certain that she didn't have anything to hide and that he'd have no reason to send her to a holding cell unless he was feeling particularly snarky. That was all too possible. The thought sobered her a bit.

She ignored his remark about braiding tails and let him ask the first question.

Oh, shit.

The second he'd said it, she remembered Hogsmeade weekend. That weekend, when she and Ayla had met Lexus at the Hogs Head, and Lexus had practically attacked them right then and there. Lexus was most definitely a werewolf. And to make matters worse, she was a rogue werewolf.

Fauna couldn't just give him the woman's name. Could she? Ayla would never forgive her. She'd feel horrible! Panic prickled the back of her neck. What to do?

"Maybe," she shifted in her seat. "How am I supposed to know? Werewolves don't wear tags," she said snottily. "Though I'm sure some people would just love it if they did."

Fauna couldn't resist turning it back on him. She had a feeling Professor O Morain's warning not to insult her classmates extended to not insulting Ministry workers as well, but... ah well. Too late now.

Everything about Fauna Blake irritated him.  The way she sat in the chair.  The way she glowered at him.  Watching her roll her eyes when he tried to explain how this was supposed to work so that she'd damned well understand was like listening to thestrals drag their nails across a chalkboard. 

It took all of Kurby's self control not to just snap at her, stand up from the desk, and storm out.  But he was here because he had a job to do.  Clenching his jaw so tightly that it hurt, he glared back at her, waiting for the response to his first question.

He expected a snotty response.  A hair toss.  Something to signify that Blake wasn't taking this seriously, because she apparently didn't take anything seriously unless it involved crying over boys or being the center of attention.  What he didn't expect was for her to actually freeze up.  Kurby stared at her, eyes narrowing as he took in her reaction.  What the hell?

But of course she couldn't even freeze up properly without seizing the opportunity to get a dig in at him.

"You've got no bleedin' idea what I think about werewolves," he muttered back at her, marking the 'INADEQUATE RESPONSE' box and noting her suspicious body language.  She probably hugged her werewolf friend every Hogsmeade weekend; no wonder she didn't want to give him a direct response. 

"Question Two:  Have you recently come into contact with any animals that were possibly of the canine persuasion?  If you have, you have to identify it," he informed her darkly, pulling out what appeared to be a piece of parchment that unrolled itself to display an elaborate dichotomous key once he tapped it with his wand.

Relief flickered across Fauna's face when Bagnold moved on from her flimsy excuse for an answer, but nerves set in again at his second question. Damn it! Why was this so complicated? Fauna ran a hand through her hair and looked away for a second. She couldn't very well tell him that she met with the Aurors every weekend, and that one time in February, Radley had brought his dog with him. Not in front of the Deputy Headmaster, who didn't know about this.

"Yeah," she shrugged, tone still irritated. "Some kind of crup, chocolate lab mix. It was... with one of the Aurors a few weeks ago. He was probably training it to behave around students. It's supposed to detect evil, I guess."

Fauna paused. "Maybe it should check out Level Four," she muttered under her breath, giving Bagnold another look.

Rufus should bite him. She'd be sure to suggest it to Radley the next time she saw him. But despite her vindictive thoughts, fudging the truth like this was making her feel very queasy and uncomfortable, and Fauna could only hope this would be over and done with soon.

Declan was watching the boxes that Bagnold checked as Fauna answered his questions. "I would advise you, Miss Blake, not to nettle the man who is in charge of this investigation," he suggested quietly. "It is never the wisest thing to do."

Really this entire series of question so far was silly. They could have come into contact with canine-like creatures in his very own class, so why that question had anything to do with werewolves he wasn't sure. But he would let Kurby continue his investigation. It had to be next to impossible to fail that test if you weren't a werewolf, right? Right.

Kurby hissed in a sharp breath as the girl put in another snide comment.  There was nothing, no professional reprimand worth avoiding, that was worth putting up with this.  It wasn't even that this was a complete waste of time; Blake wasn't any more a werewolf than he was Godric Gryffindor, possible exposure or not.

It was how much the stupid girl needled him.  Her ridiculous attitude, her over the top behavior - she wasn't willing to listen to reason even when he slapped her with it in the face.  At this rate, maybe she deserved getting locked away for a full moon.  Stuck in a holding cell listening to the wolves in the next room over howl all night long - at least then she'd realize that there were consequences to wasting his time.

It was only O Morain speaking up that kept him from snapping at her.  Scowling, Kurby checked the box next to 'YES' on the scoring sheet without bothering to add anything for clarification.  If this was how she wanted to play things, she could choose her own wand.

"Based on your responses to the screening questions, I need you to fill out this questionnaire," he snapped, pulling out a thick roll of parchment and shoving it at her.  "O Morain, you got a quill she can borrow?  I need to put a truth charm on it before she starts gettin' cute with her answers."

Though Fauna mumbled an apology to the professor, she pointedly ignored Bagnold as he looked over the parchment and made an ominous scratching sound with the quill. He didn't ask any further questions about the crup, and she fidgeted with her uniform, feeling sudden embarrassment and dread. This was not going well. She just couldn't seem to check her attitude, and Bagnold kept right on scowling and sighing at her.

When he said that she would need to fill out a questionnaire, both disappointment and hope flared. She'd done badly enough that she had to answer more questions, but at least she'd answer the next ones in her own way, without Bagnold snapping at her, right? It would also be easier to fudge the truth if-

"I need to put a truth charm on it before she starts gettin' cute with her answers."

Shite.

The professor handed him a quill, and Bagnold casted a charm on it that caused it to glow red for a moment. She took the quill from him warily, then glanced down at the parchment, skimming the questions.

The first few weren't so bad, even though Fauna rolled her eyes as she wrote down the meat products she'd eaten over the past week and approximately what temperature they'd been cooked. Was it a crime to like crispy bacon? She didn't think so. The next question got a 'no': nothing had changed with her shaving routine, despite Fergie's suggestion to wax her eyebrows. She hadn't experienced any recent injuries or scratches. That was a 'no', too.

Except when she wrote her answer, the ink turned red. Fauna stared at it, and then glanced up at Kurby as if he'd caused it.

It took her a moment, but she remembered she'd dislocated her shoulder, and let out a heavy sigh, writing down when it had happened, and no, she hadn't gotten any scratches from it. Once she'd corrected her mistake, the ink turned back to the usual black color.

The next questions asked about any recent hospital visits, her reaction to silver, and if there were any burns or scars on her skin. Those were easy. Fauna was starting to hope she could get out of this mess, until the ink unexpectedly turned red again.

Fauna frowned down at the parchment:

Over the past month, have you experienced any changes in mood or demeanor, or lost your temper more often than usual?

No

Frustrated, she tried answering the next question:

Have you recently experienced the irrepressible urge to bite, devour, lunge at, or hit a foe?

No

That too, turned red.

"Damn it!" Fauna burst out, forgetting for a moment that the Deputy Headmaster was still in the room.

"These questions are just- they're," she sputtered, let out a huff, and threw up her hands, almost whacking herself in the face with the quill.

"How am I supposed to answer this?" Fauna pointed at the parchment, standing so Bagnold could see what she was talking about. "I'm a teenager! I'm supposed to have some mood changes! And I haven't had the urge to hit anyone!"

Fauna sat down again, crossed her arms, and glowered at the man. "Not until today," she muttered, throwing another apologetic look at Professor O Morain for her outburst.

It was immensely satisfying to hand over both scroll and quill, to turn the conversation into a writing exercise that meant the end of Blake's constant lip.  Kurby muttered the spell over the quill and then passed it to her, smirking as he lounged lazily on O Morain's desk.

The questions on the survey ranged from the inane to the deeply probing.  The Werewolf Capture Unit hadn't been involved in its development; that honor had gone to the Werewolf Liaison Office, which apparently thought that every possible werewolf would admit to being lycanthropic, as if they lived in a world brimming with bright-eyed idealism and double rainbows. 

In reality, the questions themselves were nearly useless; everyone answered yes to at least some of them, werewolf or not.  But as a diagnostic tool, it had its purpose.  Real werewolves started getting nervous the further that they got into the test.

It didn't take Blake long before she exploded.  Kurby wasn't surprised; she probably had a maximum amount of time that she could leave between dramatic fits before her hair decided that it wasn't getting enough attention and flounced its way right off of her head.

"Funny, the last time I felt that urge, I was here at Hogwarts," he muttered, eyeing Fauna.  "Do you think I give a damn about your mood swings, Blake?  You're supposed to answer them by takin' the quill and writin' down whatever the answer is."

She was just doing this to waste his time again.  He was sure of it.  She was angry at having gotten called out on her post-speaker fit of drama and had decided to make this as difficult as possible for him.  Well, two could play at this hand of Wizard's Poker.  Kurby snorted, crossing his arms as he slanted the girl a condescending look.

"So get on with it, then," he informed her with the authoritative air of someone who was clearly used to having his orders followed.  "If you won't do it now, then I'll drag you down to the Ministry and you can do it there.  And you'll find yourself fillin' it out twice for wastin' my time."

Fauna entertained the thought of telling Bagnold where he could shove the forms before she made her exit, but she hadn't lost all common sense yet, and managed to restrain herself. She remained seated, clenching the quill in her hand, and scowling at him for a few more moments.

Fine. She'd finish the damn questionnaire. She wouldn't even make another peep!

It might have looked comical from afar: Fauna hunched over the parchment, her shoulders stiff, making a little defensive flourish with the quill every time she ended a sentence. She looked up every once in a while, glared at Bagnold, then resumed writing.

The questions she was currently working on asked about physical changes, such as her resistance to pain, her reaction time, if she was perceptive or had a good sense of smell, and if there were times during the month that she felt especially fatigued or irritable. Fauna resisted snorting at the last one. Of course there were certain times during the month that most females felt irritable. She struggled with a few of the questions that asked about her current stress level and how much of a flight or fight response kicked in during tense situations. Fauna knew she'd been stressed out lately and she also knew she turned into a jittery mess at the most inconvenient times. Now, it was all she could do not to throw up on Bagnold or throttle him. See? Fight or flight response.

But the set of questions where she ran into real trouble surprised her.

Do you regularly spend time with anyone afflicted with lycanthropy? If so, describe your relationship with each lycanthropic individual:

Fauna hesitated, then wrote down Greyfriar's full name and Ollie's full name, tapping the quill against the page as she thought of what to say. Finally, she came up with this:

Knox Greyfriar: Former professor, friend, father figure.
Olivia Foley: Friend.

But the all-knowing quill was not satisfied with that answer. The word 'friend' next to Olivia Foley turned a light pink, and Fauna's face turned pink as she stared at it. The ink just... mocked her. What the hell was she supposed to add!

Stubbornly, she moved on to the next question, and her face turned a deeper shade of red.

Have you ever, to your knowledge, exchanged saliva with a lycanthropic individual?

Fauna's mouth dropped open. They couldn't ask about her kissing habits like that! Could they? She set down the quill and gave Bagnold a mortified, angry look. Instead of addressing him, however, she peered over him to try to see the professor.

"Um, Professor O Morain? There's this... question. It's..." She cleared her throat. "It's really inappropriate!" Fauna risked a glare at Bagnold. "It's about... it's asking if I've ever kissed a werewolf. I don't think I should have to answer."

Of course, by making a fuss over it she only made her answer very clear, but she was hoping that maybe he could ask Bagnold to remove it, or cause the parchment to disregard the answer, or something! Even just agreeing with her that it was inappropriate would make her feel a little better.

Declan took his glasses off, carefully cleaning them as he pondered the most appropriate way to respond to Fauna's protest. He settled them back on his nose, and after an agonizing minute of silence he decided to speak. "I certainly hope, Miss Blake, that you do not make it a habit of kissing your old headmaster, given how wrong that would be on so many different levels- and likely illegal somewhere along the line."

He had not missed on her meaning, but was attempting to make it as un-embarrassing as possible. "However," he added, "if you and Miss Foley were friends, I have absolutely no doubt that at some point you shared a glass of pumpkin juice or a butterbeer. How unfortunate that also fits the bill for the exchange of saliva." Declan gave her a small, hopefully encouraging smile as he said it. He was on her side in all of this. Whatever his personal views on same-sex relationships, he would not treat his favorite student differently because of a little misplaced experimentation.