Mycroft Holmes sipped his tea as he observed his guest. The man seemed more agitated than usual, which for Alastor Moody was no mean feat. He sat, then rose and paced, then sat again, his artificial eye rolling wildly all the while.
"Really," Mycroft said when he tired of the auror's antics, "I've never worked out why your Ministry insists upon liaising directly with the prime minister. It must grow tiresome to explain yourselves over again every time a new one is elected."
"Can't trust anyone these days," Moody muttered.
"Indeed." Mycroft's teacup clinked softly on its saucer. "Tell me more about the movements of these so-called Death Eaters." LIke schoolboys playing up, really. As usual, a dangerous band of racists behaved in a manner most juvenile.
What Moody described sounded like a community stumbling toward a civil war. Tedious, really. Let them sort out what they could, but involving ordinary people in their idiocy must not be countenanced. When Mycroft had coaxed all possible information from the distracted auror, Moody departed by the usual means. Fireplaces were such filthy places, weren't they?
Mycroft enjoyed another cup of tea in relative peace, accompanied only by his thoughts. When he had finished, he pressed the button for the intercom.
"Standish Stillwell, please."
Moments later, the door opened. Well, at least someone around here did not come and go by fireplace.
"Sir?" Stillwell stood at fierce attention. Though he now wore a somber black suit, indistinguishable from the average operative, Mycroft always remembered him in the motorcycle leathers he had worn to their first meeting.
"It would seem the situation is no longer contained. There have been abductions and attacks on Muggles."
To his credit, the wizard did not react. "Your orders, sir?"
If one wants to hire magical security staff, Mycroft reflected, the war mages from Australia really were without equal. "Are you and your men up for a little proactive kidnapping?"
A slow, crooked smile spread across Stillwell's face. "At your leisure, sir."
Reaching into his desk drawer, Mycroft produced a list of at-risk individuals. "Likely more tomorrow."
"Yes, sir." Stillwell departed to brief his men, and Mycroft turned his attention to international politics.