Wilma Harrington was supposed to be at the beach.

It was August, and Wilma was supposed to be at the beach with her family. She'd already filed to take time off of work. She'd already organized who was driving whom (most of her family were Muggles). She'd already planned meals for days in advance, packed outfits, and bought a new towel. She had been looking forward to this beach trip for ages.

Alas, the world never seemed to work to Wilma's favor—for as she was wandering around her kitchen, doing some last-minute packing, she heard a knock at her door.

"For Pete's sake," she murmured. But Wilma was a polite person (no matter what her great-aunt said sometimes), so she walked to the door and opened it as promptly as possible. Lo and behold, it was her coworker: Thomas George.

"Looky there, it's the man with two first names," she mumbled. "Hey, George. How are you?"

"Really annoyed," he hissed, and then he planted both hands on her shoulders and pushed her inside, squeezed through the door (George was taller and wider than the Eiffel Tower, it sometimes seemed), and locked the door behind him with a whispered "Alohomora".

"What the heck, mate?" said Wilma. "That kinda hurt!"

"Sorry," said George, but he didn't look sorry. "Ministry needs you to come in today."

"I'd rather get my soul sucked out by a Dementor than come into work today. I'm supposed to be leaving for the beach in ten minutes."

"Yeah, well, that's not happening, Harrington." George's nostrils were flaring, which meant he was really angry. Dangerously angry. George was usually nice and gentle, but when he got angry... he got angry. "The Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures are all coming in today. Trust me, we need all hands on deck."

Wilma couldn't help pleading a bit. "But I'm supposed to be at the beach. I've been a tireless employee of the D.R.C.M.C. for a few years now, and this is practically my only holiday since I joined. It's all I ask. Cut me some slack, Georgia."

"My name's not Georgia. Come on, Harrington; this is an emergency."

"To heck with your emergency. I'm going to the beach and that's that." Wilma shrugged George off of her (he'd been gripping her shoulder in a threatening sort of way) and started towards her kitchen to finish the packing that had been so rudely interrupted. "Get lost, Georgette."

"My name's not Georgette." Now George was following Wilma into her kitchen, which was exceedingly weird. George wasn't supposed to be inside Wilma's house. He was her coworker. Wilma was supposed to the see the man at Ministry headquarters and Ministry headquarters only.

"You know," said Wilma, "just because you're not a vampire doesn't mean you can waltz in uninvited. Scram, Suzanne."

"What...?" George shook his head. "Don't call me Suzanne. Harrington, this is serious."

"Seriously annoying."

"This is catastrophic."

"So is losing my only holiday."

"Albus Dumbledore is involved."

"Bloke's involved with most everything nowadays."

"It has to do with Hogwarts."

"I've been finished with Hogwarts since I was eighteen."

"You really want to hear this."

"I assure you, I do not. Now get out of my house before I call my sister. You won't like my sister. Her Bat-Bogey Hexes are unmatched..."

"Harrington, there is a werewolf in Hogwarts."

Wilma paused, her mostly-clean laundry that she'd been packing still in her hands. "In Hogwarts? In the school?" Then she shrugged. "Well, that's weird, but I don't know why you need me. Get the W.C.U. I've never captured a werewolf in my life."

"No, Harrington, you don't understand. There's no werewolf right now, but there's about to be..."

"Then why did you tell it to me like that? And why is there about to be? Get your story straight, mate."

"No..." George rubbed his face and groaned. "Dumbledore is inviting a werewolf to Hogwarts."

"For a cuppa? Odd, but I suppose Dumbledore can handle it..."

"No. As a student."

"Wait wait wait wait." Wilma set her suitcase down and stared George dead in the eye. He squirmed. "You mean to tell me that there is a werewolf—eleven years old—but a werewolf—who will be attending Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry? Enrolled officially? As a student?"

George smiled grimly. "That's exactly what I mean to say. The Ministry's trying to discourage it, but you know Dumbledore. Once his heart is set on something, he won't stop at anything until it happens."

"Well, isn't that just a Bowtruckle's behind." Wilma paused, considering. "You need me to come debate? Work out the logistics? All that?"

"Yes. I know you're on holiday, but you're good at your job. You know all about magical law and creature-related topics. And term starts in September, so we really need you to help... pull some strings."

"Don't say it in such a creepy way. Sounds like you want me to assassinate Dumbledore or something, and no one in their right mind would do that. He may be batty, but he's a genius."

"I don't want you to assassinate Dumbledore. Just... help him see sense."

"You're still being creepy. Now it sounds like you want me to beat him up."

"I don't want you to beat him up. I'm not speaking in euphemisms. Please just help me out here, Harrington."

Wilma looked back at her half-full suitcase. She looked at the cold weather outside and imagined how much nicer it would be at the beach. She looked back at George, who was giving her as much puppy-dog eyes as a huge, muscular man who was about two feet taller than her could give.

"I'm in, Corinne," she said.

"My name's not Corrine. Fine. See you there."

Then there was a crack like a whip, and Wilma was left feeling very sorry for herself.

She was supposed to be at the beach.

Wilma flushed herself down the toilet, still feeling quite sorry for herself. When she stopped spinning in the nasty water, she was standing in the Ministry headquarters and brushing off her work robes.

She'd only just caught her breath when Aphrodite Burke ran to her side. "Harrington! I'm so glad you're here. This is a living nightmare."

"You're on the werewolf case, too?"

"Everyone's on the werewolf case! It's ridiculous. Every single person in the Werewolf Capture Unit, the D.R.C.M.C., and practically everyone who's ever worked in the Werewolf Registry besides. We're all hopping mad. Dumbledore's supposed to get here soon to discuss, and I fear the moment."

"I can't believe it. Old man's finally lost his marbles." Together, Wilma and Burke walked as briskly as possible to the headquarters of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. Burke walked fast, and Wilma was rather short. She had to practically run to keep up.

"I think he has," Burke replied. "Does he really expect that werewolf to hunker down and eat vegetables and chicken instead of people? Does he expect it to patiently wait inside a cage until sunrise come full moon? Does he expect it to control its violent urges all the time, every second of every day? Dumbledore's gone mad, that's what he's done."

Wilma stepped onto the lift and held on for dear life. Ministry lifts moved as fast as a Peruvian Vipertooth, and Wilma was always afraid she'd fly off. "You think he's a werewolf apologist? One of those people who claim werewolves have a heart and soul and all that nonsense?" she shouted as the lift whizzed through the air.

"Probably!" shouted Burke. "Dumbledore believes a lot of right wonky nonsense!"

"If he weren't the most powerful wizard of all time, he'd be an utter nutjob!"

"He's still an utter nutjob! He's just a brilliant utter nutjob!"

"Well, right now he's being about as brilliant as a snuffed candle!"

The lift stopped, and Wilma nearly slammed into the third passenger on the lift (how long had he been there? Wilma hadn't seen him before). She looked him in the eye, still dazed from the rapid air travel.

"I always was fond of snuffed candles," said Albus Dumbledore in a contemplative sort of tone.

There was a long silence.

"Er," said Wilma. "Were you there the whole time, Dumbledore? I didn't see you."

"I find I have a talent for being inconspicuous. A bit, might I add, like a snuffed candle." His words might have been passive-aggressive if he'd spoken them with the right tone, but instead he merely sounded amused. "Now, I believe we all have somewhere to be. Let's walk together."

They walked, mostly in silence. Wilma had just insulted the most powerful wizard in the world. That had been a big oopsie on her part.

Moments passed.

And then...

"Are you a werewolf apologist?" Wilma blurted out. Burke gave her a nasty look, but Wilma just couldn't help it. There was something about the man that made her want to ask questions.

"A werewolf apologist?" repeated Dumbledore. "What, exactly, do you mean by that?"

"You know, like Alexander Adamson—he's growing in popularity. Someone who thinks werewolves are people just as much as we are."

"Ah," said Dumbledore. "I believe the word you are looking for is 'rational person'. Yes, I like to think of myself as a rational person."

Even though his words had been simple, it took Wilma a long time to process them. In fact, she didn't even fully understand until she had taken her seat in the Department Meeting Room. Dumbledore had confirmed his status as a "werewolf apologist", and he'd also essentially just called her irrational. She supposed that was fair, though. She'd essentially called him a "snuffed candle", after all.

Oh, Wilma was going to be in so much trouble.

AN: This is a rather quick fic (five chapters, less than 20k words in total). Updates on Tuesdays (probably evening EST), and those updates will NOT affect the regular posting of my longer fic! Hope you enjoy—Professor John Questus from Marauders and Monsters will always be my favorite OC, but I'm getting to be quite fond of Wilma :)