THREE HOURS AFTER THE SAINT BATHILDA CHARITY GALA

"Whenever you're ready, Ms. Norwood."

"From the beginning, Mr. Collins."

"Anything you can remember will help," goads Auror after Auror in the department interrogation rooms. They were reeling, recovering from an attack and they needed answers. They needed somewhere to start.

Oscar Diaz clutches a steaming cup of black coffee while the glow of the office television shines onto his face.

"We are coming to you LIVE from outside Picquery Place where an attack at the Saint Bathilda Charity Gala took place earlier this evening," reports Eve Conway, a slender redheaded witch clutching a microphone. "As of midnight the total loss of life remains at 15 while 11 individuals are unaccounted for and the unnamed attackers remain at large. We have seen countless Aurors and additional MACUSA employees arriving over the course of the past few hours but have been unable to reach any of them for a comment," she explains, glancing over her shoulder at the large building behind where illuminated wands are seen escorting body bags. "It is a grim night for the city of New York. We'll be back with more information as it is presented to us."

Oscar sips his coffee and grunts; still too hot. He murmurs something to turn the TV off and turns towards a group of Aurors gathered. He exhales a long breath, his hand craning behind his head to rub at the back of his neck. Before he can talk, Sabrina blurts out, her tone shaky.

"Save it, Oz, none of us are going home. We're here, we're not leaving," the blonde, like many of the Aurors around her are still in their outfits from the gala. Some have bruises, cuts, ripped clothing and but wear the same expression: shock.

How could something like this have happened? How could they have not seen it coming? What are they supposed to do now? Who will knock on Arlo Hale's mom's door and tell her that her son won't be coming home?

"I know," begins the former head of the Auror Department. "I know, I -" what was he supposed to say? How was he supposed to make things better? His hand travels to the thick stubble growing on his jaw and the wizard sighs. Start with what they know. "President Watkins, Vice President Hawthorne, Winifred, Cynthia Tollhouse and a few Senators have been taken to the safe house with their security details. Many of you…" the wizard pauses, his lips pressing into a thin line before he's able to speak again. "You all know we lost Arlo tonight...Arlo and 14 others. We have a team from Saint Bathilda's working to identify the other victims as well as locate the remaining unaccounted guests."

Oscar lifts his gaze to the half-dozen Aurors standing before him. Sabrina has her arms folded across a torn silk dress, Cal leans against the wall, tie undone and hands in his pockets while Benji, Arden, Jude, and Everett scatter about. Jude's eyes are puffy and red and Arden has her arm draped across his shoulder.

"We're going to find them, I promise you all that," speaks Oscar, his voice steady, firm...father-like. "I promise." His tone makes Sabrina speak up once more.

"Get home to Phil, Oscar. We'll handle things here until the morning. She needs you, go." the blonde nods as Everett, the actual Department Head approaches the elder wizard.

"She's right. We'll hold down the fort. I'll give you a full update in the morning," the brunette holds his hand out to shake Oscar's. A solemn nod and Oscar turns to leave, pausing once in the doorway of the small break room.

He looks as if he's going to say something but decides better of himself. Instead, he nods and vanishes down the hall. There's a beat of silence and then Everett Wilde is turning back towards the group of disheveled, exhausted Aurors.

"Alright, Sabrina and Callum, I need you both to run point at Picquery Place. The Head of Saint Bathilda's will meet you there." As he rattles off demands, each pair of Aurors depart.

"Benji and Arden, you are going to make a sweep at a few locations to ensure their security, Minna has the addresses."

"Jude," the Auror finally arrives at the youngest of the bunch and the last remaining in the break room. He takes a few steps towards the shaggy haired brunette and drops his voice to a lower, less commanding volume. "Go home and get some rest. Take all the time you need. We'll be here when you're ready." Jude doesn't move, he just stands there; frozen. His brown eyes are locked on the turned off TV behind Everett but there's just a blank stare reflecting back. "You heard Oscar, we'll find them. We'll get them. He won't die in vain, he won't-" but before the wizard can finish his sentence, the young Auror is hurrying out of the office and disappears into down the hall.

Alone in the room where Aurors often ate lunch, complained about mundane paperwork and shared a laugh, Everett Wilde takes a moment to finally exhale. There is work to do.

MOMENTS AFTER THE SAINT BATHILDA CHARITY GALA

"Thunderbird and Phoenix have been secured," bellows Alastor into the point of his wand once four pairs of feet hit the wooden floors of the safe house. Everett has dropped his grip on Winnie only to ensure the proper protection spells are up and working. His wand waves and a shimmer glimmers along the wooden walls of a small living room.

Winnie's eyes are wide and her cheeks are stained with tears. Her feet remain at the exact point she apparated. Judas, on the other hand, is immediately pacing about the cabin. A moment later there are three more CRACKS! Vice President Hawthorne, Cynthia Tollhouse, Nancy Wittum, each accompanied by their own security detail.

"What the HELL was that?" shouts Vice President Hawthorne who has always been notoriously more outspoken and gruff than his counterpart.

"They're dead…" murmurs Cynthia Tollhouse, the Head of Saint Bathilda, clearly shaken as Senator Wittum rubs her back. "I saw the light leave their eyes…"

"Mr. President," Everett clears his throat, approaching the leader of the Magical World as he paces to and fro. "Mr. President, Alastor will remain here with you as well as Vice President Hawthorne, Mrs. Tollhouse and Senator Wittum's security teams. The protection spells are up and running. I have to go back. I have to -"

"Go," replies the President.

Everett Wilde nods and before he apparates back to Picquery Place, he steals a glance at Winnie.

"We need to go and fight, Judas," announces the burly Hawthorne whose chest is puffed out like he's the General of some army. "We can't stand here with our thumbs up our asses! We have to take care of the bastards now!"

"/Frank/," hisses Senator Wittum who gives the wizard a pointed look. "You heard Everett. We are staying put until we're told otherwise."

"Like hell we are!"

Judas's pacing has stopped yet his back remains turned to the bickering Vice President and Senator. He remains there for a moment and then he approaches his daughter who still has not moved.

"Winifred," breathes the President as he takes her face between his hands. "Winifred, you're safe. We're safe here. They can't hurt you." It's not her she's worried about.

It's Arlo. Sabrina. Callum. Jude. Arden. Benji. /Everett./ One of them was dead, who was next? Who would fall to the ground while a flash of green steals their last breath? Who would she not see again?

"Winifred," Judas is trying to reach his daughter but she's miles away. He brings her to his chest and envelopes her in a hug and that's when the sobbing starts.

THREE DAYS AFTER THE SAINT BATHILDA CHARITY GALA

"Arlo Hale was a son, a friend, a lion-hearted Auror and a source of light in the halls of the Woolworth Building," Sabrina Darling speaks at a podium before a large crowd which had gathered to remember the fallen Auror at the Samuel G. Quahog Pavilion. She wears a simple black dress and clutches a tissue in her hand. "His contagious smile, addiction to licorice wands and entertaining recaps of Rupaul's Drag Race will be missed."

"Arlo," Callum Mcconaughey clears his throat, a silver flask perched on the podium as he speaks, clearly inebriated. "Man...fuck." He takes the flask, knocks back a sip and is then escorted offstage by his friend and fellow Auror Benji Rush who picks up where he left off.

"What Cal is trying to say is that Arlo was taken from us all too soon. He won't be replaced, he can't be. We'll miss you, bud."

Jude Williams stands at the podium, hands clutching either side for support. He wears a powder blue suit and a floral bow tie which Arlo had picked out for him last summer when Jude had a blind date with Quidditch prodigy Cleo Connors. From her seat in the crowd, Minna checks her watch. Her little brother has been up there for 2 minutes and 17 seconds and hasn't said a single word. This was almost worse than her fiance and his flask. She fidgets, nibbling on her lip as she wonders if she should do something, usher the next speaker, drag him off stage, anything. But at 3 minutes and 5 seconds, Jude Williams crumbles up a piece of paper and stalks off stage and down the aisle to the rear of the pavilion.

"Today, we are here to honor and mourn the death of Arlo Hale," begins President Watkins as he stands strong before the mass of MACUSA officials, reporters and members of the Hale family. He is statuesque, a vision of strength and stability in the wake of a terrible tragedy. "For the men and women who protect and serve the magical people of New York, last Saturday began like any other day. Like most Americans, each day you get up, probably have too quick a breakfast, kiss your family goodbye, and you head to work. But your work and the work of Aurors across the country is like no other. For the moment you accept that title, you have answered a call that at any moment, even in the briefest interaction, may put your life in harm's way. Arlo Hale answered that call. He answered that call each and everyday since he joined the Auror Department and last Saturday, his life was taken from him too soon. Today, we honor his sacrifice. We honor his selflessness and we honor all that he stood for. Today, we lay him to rest."

When it's finally over, Arlo Hale's mother walks before his casket. It doesn't levitate today, instead it is carried by President Judas Watkins, Vice President Frank Hawthorne, Oscar Diaz and Benji Rush.

They sit on the marble steps of the Quahog Pavilion which looks out at magical New York's version of Central Park. It's a bit smaller than its no-maj counterpart but just as iconic. Usually pick up Quidditch games can be found throughout its 4 square mile radius and magical creatures lurk about in bushes, trees and even a small lake. Today, however, its packed full of the general public wishing to pay its respects to those killed at the Saint Bathilda Charity Gala. Some hold signs, illuminated wands, bouquets of flowers, stuffed dragons. Some wipe their eyes, some flash their cameras trying to get a glimpse of someone famous.

They sit there and look out at the crowd that gathered. Sabrina, Callum, Minna, Benji, Arden and a couple Aurors-in-training who had worked alongside Arlo in the Academy. By now, President Watkins has retreated to the Woolworth Building with Joe in tow and all that remain are those who cannot say goodbye just yet.

Jude hangs off to the side, speech stuffed in his pockets and eyes cast out towards Wilkinson Park. Winnie quietly joins him, Alastor always a few paces behind her. She leans her back against one of the marble pillars.

"You can read it to me sometime, if you want," the witch murmurs as she reaches down to undo her black heels. She wore them for Arlo but now her feet were aching. "I wrote one too, well, I wrote three different ones but…" the blonde's hair is tied back in a neat bun at the nape of her neck. "I told Minna I couldn't go through with any of them this morning."

Jude's eyes glance towards the blonde for a moment and then down to his sliders. He knew Arlo and Winnie were close and yet he never hung out with the both of them. Jude always assumed Winnie was stuck up little Miss MACUSA even though Arlo defended her until the ends of the earth.

"Maybe some other time," his voice finally speaks and when it does Winnie can hear how broken the wizard is. Her lips rub together and she feels like she should glance away from him; looking at him felt too personal.

"Okay...I promise I'm a good listener."

"I'm sure he is too," Jude inclines his chin towards Alastor whose presence is hard to ignore.

"Don't worry," Winnie tries a small smile. "He doesn't kiss and tell."

It falls flat because Jude doesn't say anything in response. He instead drags his gaze away from the witch and her security wizard.

"Jude-" the president's daughter tries again but this time she's interrupted by Everett Wilde.

"Winnie, it's time to go."

Jude's gaze meets Everett's and there's something there. It's like he has something to say, that he's close to saying something, anything. But like he did that night in the break room, Jude instead decides to walk away. This time, his shoulder bumps the elder wizard's on his way towards Minna and Callum.

A frustrated sigh leaves Winnie's mouth as she scoops up her heels and shoots Everett her own glare. She was still upset that Everett hadn't returned to the Safe House to check on her after the attack. Petty? Definitely. "I can tell time, thankyou," she mutters under her breath, walking down the marble steps to a Lincoln Town Car waiting at the bottom. Minna had told her the car would take her home at 6:30 and it was only 6:32.

The little Watkins slides into the car and almost immediately unzips the side of her dress to exhale a held breath. If only Arlo would be waiting at her apartment with pizza and gossip from his night out.

One by one, the Aurors depart the Quahog Pavilion. Sabrina and Arden, then Jude, Benji and the Aurors-in-Training and last, Minna and Callum.

The Auror holds his fiance's hand and in the other remains his flask. Minna's brown waves are pinned behind her small ears and her eyes have darker bags than normal. The poor witch hasn't slept since the attack.

"We have to pick the kids up from my mom and dad's," she reminds the slightly wobbly Auror.

"Mhm," he burps out the side of his mouth and breathes a quick "scuse me."

Usually, Minna would scold the wizard for drinking but today, she couldn't find the will. Instead, when she reaches for the flask she brings it to her lips and takes not one, not two but three gulps.

"It's not going to end here, is it?" The witch murmurs once she wipes her mouth with the sleeve of her black sweater. "All of this...it's just the beginning, isn't it?"

ONE DAY AFTER THE SAINT BATHILDA CHARITY GALA

They're in an ornate living room. A green sparked fire crackles in a grand marble fireplace and there are a dozen witches and wizards scattered about the space. Some stand, some lounge on velvet couches but each holds a flute of champagne.

One stands before them, the man from the gala; the one who spoke, who commanded the room. You couldn't miss his eyes if you tried: they're a bright piercing blue that sinks into each of the gazes of those who watch him.

"Congratulations, my dear, dear friends…" his silky voice begins. His slender hand holds the champagne flute in a toast and if you didn't know any better, you'd think he were toasting to an engagement or an anniversary.

The followers in the room, however, know better. They sit on the edges of their seats, they lean toward his every word. They cannot get enough of him, they cannot get enough of Kane Sullivan.

"We have introduced ourselves to the world and we WILL NOT BE FORGOTTEN!"

The room of loyal followers erupt into cheers, whoops and hearty agreement.

"Yesterday, we began to forge our own path in this spectacular city but our work is not done, my friends. Our work does not end here. We -"

You can see it on their faces: the excitement, the eagerness. They're drunk on power, they're intoxicated with promise.

"WE HAVE JUST BEGUN!"