The morning after the full moon had dawned, and Harry Underhill sat in a small cafe in London, watching Storm Lyson as he ate a takeaway full English breakfast as though it were going out of style. The boy shoveled beans and toast, sausage and egg into his mouth top speed, having already devoured his tomato slices and downed two glasses of orange juice.

"Hungry lad," Underhill commented.

Storm looked up at him, clutching a fork he'd used to spear the sausage in his little fist, a slice of toast in the other. "Sorry," he said around a bite of the marmalade covered toast. "The morning after the Moon's always make me hungry."

Underhill shook his head, "No need to be sorry, I'm glad you're eating. It'll rebuild your strength."

Storm nodded. Then, laying down the sausage and toast, he asked, "Mr. Underhill, do you reckon my family's alright?"

Harry Underhill drew a deep breath, studying the boy. "I'm sure we'll hear all about whatever happened today," he said.

It had been three days - three full days since Carl Lyson had called upon Remus Lupin to challenge Fenrir Greyback. He had left Storm in Underhill's care - they'd had every intention of returning within a couple hours, but here it was, the morning of the fourth day, and the boy's father had not come back. Neither had Remus Lupin, or Spencer Stewart. No word at all.

For the full moon, Underhill had been forced to improvise. He'd sent Marjorie to a sitter's for the night and had brought Storm into what remained of the basement of his house after the attacks from Greyback. Storm had transformed and spent the night as a small wolf, trying to claw through the door of the old laundry room without anyone but Underhill to hear his growls and howls.

The boy had returned to his own form with the dawn and the moment it was safe, Underhill had gone in and seen to it that Storm was alright. He had sat outside the room all night, back resting against the door, listening and worrying and wishing he knew better what to do to help. He had been ready with salve and bandages first thing, and now Storm's right wrist was tightly wrapped in them, as well as his left calf. His chest, too, where there had been bruising from the wolf repeatedly banging against the door, trying to get out - hungrily seeking the flesh he smelled under the gap at the door jam - Underhill's scent.

Now, he tore into a sausage the way he might've torn into Underhill's throat the night before.

Underhill had felt all the more resolve to help the werewolves after having been so close to one on a full moon night.

"Do you want another plate?" Underhill offered as the boy finished off the last of his breakfast - he had eaten his own and half of Underhill's.

Storm shook his head.

"Very well," Underhill took his last gulp of tea, and motioned for the boy to follow him. As they got up and started off across the square they'd taken breakfast at, there was a rustle in the trees overhead and an owl landed on a branch before Underhill.

Glancing about, Underhill ensured there weren't any muggles before plucking the envelope the owl held from his beak, dropping a sickle into the owl's coin purse, and nodding a thank you to dismiss the bird.

Storm watched, fascinated with the entire transaction as the owl flew off and Underhill opened the envelope quickly, sliding his thumb beneath the seal to break it. "Do all wizard letters come by owl?" Storm asked.

"Depends on the region," Underhill answered as he unfolded the letter. "Some places use different birds if owls are uncommon. I've heard they use pigeons in many places, such as Paris and New York. Some areas in Africa have tried small monkeys, even, but flight is generally preferential as the birds can travel greater distances. I once received a bit of foreign correspondence from Brazil via a very large and rather colorful parrot."

"Neat!" Storm said, "I only get letters from the post man, and they're usually from my Gran round my birthday. But I love getting letters. They're great fun."

Underhill only half heard this, he was reading the letter that had arrived. His brow creased. It was a letter from the Minister of Magic - well the interim Minister, Millicent Bagnold.

Dear Mr. Underhill,
I found your speech most moving, as many sympathizers with the werewolves have.
I should like to get together with you on discussions of the current policies in place, and perhaps together we can come up with an agenda which will better suit the community so as to show my own heart for the underserved members of the wizarding world.
I do not wish to view one another as enemies and opponents due to the upcoming elections, but as fellow dreamers for a better, more efficient, tomorrow.
Sincerely,
M. Bagnold
Minister for Magic

Underhill was confused on several points - not the least of which was that, in his involvement with the Lysons, he's utterly forgotten his scheduled speech and had, therefore, not actually delivered it. Yet Mad Bagnold clearly believed he had done.

"We need to get a Daily Prophet," he muttered.

"What's that?" Storm asked.

"News Paper," Underhill replied. He took Storm's hand, "Come on, we'll take the Knight Bus to the Ministry... Now while we're at my office, I have just a few rules, do you think you can follow them?"

Storm nodded.

"Very good, first is that you musn't mention anything about the werewolves," Underhill said as they walked quickly through the square.

"Why not?"

"There are a great deal of very horrid people who don't understand Lycanthropy. While they are wrong for their views, I do not think right now is the time to be openly standing up to them, and I wish to protect you first and foremost."

Storm nodded.

"Secondly you must stay right with me, and don't go wandering about, whatever things of interest you might see. I'll answer any questions you have when we get to my office, so please stay quiet and don't ask a load of things while we are around others --"

Underhill continued on as they reached the sidewalk and although Storm looked on in shock as the violently purple Knight Bus appeared on the curb out of no where, he withheld his questions. Underhill led the way into the red phone box when they arrived, but he let Storm dial the buttons to allow them access. The badges slid out the coin return and Underhill helped Storm affix his to his chest as the motion made the boy's wrist turn in a way that hurt. The floor descended and Storm shivered with excitement as they lowered into the Ministry for Magic.

Underhill could tell it was killing the boy not to exclaim and point at everything they passed - all the witches and wizards entering through the hall of floos and loos, or the fountain, or the large moving portraits of Ministers for Magic. The newly finished portrait of Harold Minchum was being hung up at the end of the hall, a maintenance wizard was lifting it up into place paused and smiled at Underhill as he passed by. "Morning 'arry!" he said quietly, "Good 'un on yer stand, yer got me vote in one."

"Thanks," Underhill said, and he smiled back.

In the Atrium, Storm stared up at the fountain, carved with its representation of the various magical races, and his eyes traced the lines of the werewolf statue there, his fingers tightening around Underhill's.

They made their way through the checkpoint and down the corridors and lifts until they'd made it to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and down through the Auror Training Center to the Investigations wing where Underhill's office was.

"Mornin' sir," Sean Buckner said, passing by Underhill in the hall, carrying a great pile of copies in his arms, a second large box floating after him with a locomotor charm as he hurried along.

"Morning, Buckner," Underhill replied, and he paused at his office door, performing the unlocking charms necessary to enter. Pushing open the door, he found James Potter already at his desk, bent over a file. James looked up as Underhill entered.

"Potter," Underhill muttered and he pointed to the seat behind his desk for Storm to sit down. Storm looked between James and Underhill questioningly as Underhill pushed the door closed behind him. "Storm, this is James Potter, my assistant. He's safe to talk with."

Storm opened his mouth, about to let loose with all the questions he had when James glanced at Storm, then back up at Underhill, "Sir. There's been a mass attack in Blackburn."

Underhill nervously glanced at Storm, then waved his wand - blocking the boy from being able to hear what they said next. "What happened?" he asked lowly.

James's voice was low, too. "Ten households were attacked last night in one of the small villages just outside of the city - thirteen people were killed and there are twenty missing including women and children. So far, analysis of the bites show it was the work of a minimum of four werewolves - it appears three of the four bite patterns obtained are unregistered werewolves, but one set has returned with a one hundred percent positive identification as Fenrir Greyback."

Underhill glanced at Storm, who was looking at their moving mouths with curiosity, but clearly was unable to hear what they were saying.

"Any names of victims?"

James handed over the folder with the list of names.

Underhill scanned the list quickly but did not see any names he recognized. It made the news no less harsh, but he breathed a slight sigh of relief. He flipped through the other paperwork, studying the trail drawn on a map which showed the first attacks had been closer to the city center and the later ones further out - a clear line of retreat being drawn.

"I believe, Potter, that those attacks are an isolated... shall we say... temper tantrum," Underhill said quietly. "I have it on very good authority that there's been... an attempted change of leadership in the werewolf community there."

"A change of leadership?" James asked.

Underhill nodded. "Unless I am much mistaken, Greyback attacking so blatantly outside of the city is a sign of defeat - a desperate attempt to rally new followers after a great loss... I believe there is a new Alpha in Blackburn."

James shifted nervously.

Underhill handed back the file. As James reached for it, Underhill noticed the copy of his written speech laying in front of his assistant.  "Oh. And Potter?"

"Sir?"

"Do you know anything about a speech that I supposedly delivered two days ago?"

James flushed.