Tom's mother wore her dressing gown to breakfast New Year's Day. No one remarked on this, but she clearly felt a need to explain. "I couldn't get Tommy to sleep last night until I sent Dobby out to an all-night apothecary for a wet nurse potion."

"Milk!" exclaimed Tommy happily. "Yummy milk!"

"Yes darling. But now none of my clothes fit," Tom's mother continued. "Dobby and I will tailor some, but that's a task for after breakfast, as I'm very hungry this morning. I do hope Hermione returns soon."

"No rush," said Tom's father, eyeing Tom's mother's unfashionable new figure in a way that made Tom pay close attention to his breakfast, and excuse himself from the table as quickly as possible. He had a lot of work to do in his office.

Over the next few days, the household settled into a Hermione-free rhythm, with Tom, his mother, Mark, and Dobby sharing Tommy care duties.

Sunday afternoon, Tom sat in his office, searching stock market numbers for some clue that would make sense of Hermione's ominous words, when Pennyroyal abruptly materialized. She was wearing a smart cobalt-trimmed russet cloak, coordinating with her cobalt hat and russet hatband. As Witch Weekly advised, while the classic neutrals of purple, green and orange were always appropriate, there was no reason to shun more novel colors, and Pennyroyal was a tasteful example of that principle. She was also screaming. She looked around in a panic.

"You're safe," Tom assured her.

"I… Did… Did they follow me?" she cried.

Tom had no idea. "Dobby," he called.

Pop. "Yes Master?"

"Has anyone but Pennyroyal arrived recently?"

"No Master. One Dark creature just arrived in your office by Portkey. That's all, Master."

"Good." Tom offered Pennyroyal a wingback chair by the fire. "What happened?"

She sat and took a trembling breath. "I just tried to buy a few financiers at Petite Pâtisserie Magique de Marie! Then a team of Werewolf Capture agents showed up! They said the shop's werewolf-detector had gone off, so they'd be checking everyone to see who set off the alarm! If I hadn't had this Portkey, I'd be…" She blanched.

"Dobby," said Tom, "do we have any French pastries? Or biscuits? And tea of course."

"Yes Master." Pop.

Pennyroyal was soon supplied. She sat, fussing with biscuits and tea with her manicured, trembling hands. "Thank you, Tom. But what will I do?"

"The bourbon creams are good dunked in tea, although some prefer—"

"Tom!"

"I know. Let me think." He thought. The tea helped. "You obviously can't safely go out in public in magical districts anymore. No werewolves can." He grabbed his mirror, opened it, and called, "Ignis."

Ignis answered after a bit. Tom had a view of his face with a crowded street behind him. "Ah, Mr. Riddle. I trust that the doxies are staying away?"

"Yes, thank you again," said Tom. "You do excellent work. I'm calling about a different pest now."

"I'm off-duty, and a friend and I were just—"

"I wouldn't call you if it weren't urgent, Mr. McKinnon. I have a serious problem with some Dark creatures, and am in immediate need of your expertise."

"Right," said Ignis. "I'll be there in a minute." He looked away from the mirror at someone out of Tom's view. "Sorry, duty calls." Ignis snapped his mirror closed so Tom saw his own troubled face again. He put his mirror away.

Ignis Portkeyed into Tom's office in a moment. He'd gone out wearing that? The jacket was high quality dragonhide, and admittedly, dark teal was perfect for his eyes, but the fur collar was terribly 1928. "What's wrong?"

"Pennyroyal just triggered a werewolf-detector at Petite Pâtisserie Magique de Marie, summoning Werewolf Capture agents. Who knows how many other magical businesses have recently installed similar? If she hadn't had a Portkey…"

Ignis blanched. "I was just heading to Madam Puddifoot's. Do you think they… We need to warn everyone. Don't go shopping… Merlin, a lot of werewolves won't even be able to go to work."

"I'll warn our employees. I need you to warn our customers."

Pennyroyal finished her tea. "I'll organize names and give each employee a list of customers to warn so we can do it efficiently." She wiped her hands on her serviette. "Thank you Tom."

"I'll tell all our employees to contact you to get their lists," said Tom, readying his mirror. "Would you like to Floo home from here?" He flipped the Floo's switch and extended a gracious hand towards it. At Pennyroyal's hesitance, he added, "I could step out of the room if you'd feel more comfortable saying the name of your residence where I can't overhear it."

"Or you could use my Floo," offered Ignis. "Just a short walk down the hill."

Pennyroyal looked back and forth at Tom and Ignis and sighed, then addressed Ignis. "If we can't trust Tom, we're all doomed, so we might as well save time. Would you please come with me? I don't feel safe being alone right now, and I'll need to give you your list of customers anyway."

"Of course," Ignis assured her.

"Thank you. My Floo address is Lunaria Cottage." She turned to Tom. "Tell everyone to meet me there to pick up their lists."

Soon, Tom's office was short two werewolves and some Floo powder, and Tom got to work contacting the rest of his employees.

—

"Thank you all for coming," said Tom, looking at the eight worried werewolves seated at the long table in the solarium. This room would normally be uncomfortably drafty on a January Day, but Dobby had made the glass magically impervious to cold, at Tom's mother's request, so they could enjoy what sunlight winter had to offer, while being protected from winter's chill. A potted bergamot tree sweetly perfumed the air with its blossoms, mingling with the scent of tea from the cups in people's hands. "Let's get started."

"Wait," said Ignis. "Shouldn't we wait for Hermione?"

"She won't be joining us today. She's on holiday on the continent."

"She's what?!" Ignis took a moment to compose himself. "Must be nice to be able to get past the Dark creature detectors at international borders."

"She deserves a break," said Tom. "She's been working very hard."

"Right," conceded Ignis. "Of course. Anyway. The important thing is that we have you. Got any cunning schemes?"

"I must admit that my last cunning scheme didn't go as expected."

"The book was a good idea, really," said Ignis. "I just didn't anticipate how Woolsey would take it."

"I should have known that there was some force keeping lycanthropy going. If all werewolves were like you, lycanthropy would have died out by now. Anyway, let's keep this meeting efficient. I value your time and don't intend to waste it."

"We don't have many demands on our time these days," grumbled Ignis.

"First item on the agenda," said Tom. "Surveillance of Woolsey's potential targets for January's full moon—"

Harrier yearned forward.

"—is obviously cancelled," said Tom, to relieved sighs from seven eighths of the werewolves present.

"What?!" protested Harrier, standing.

"Your assigned task for the entirety of Friday, January 25 is to stay safe at home," said Tom. "Between the unknown number of businesses that have new anti-werewolf security features, and the Werewolf Capture Unit's need to put on some sort of impressive show to justify their new funding, it's not safe for you to go out in magical districts."

"I can outfly them!" insisted Harrier.

"I don't want you shot off your broom over some magical neighborhood right before you transform," said Tom. "And there's no way you could search everywhere anyway, as you'd be attempting the entire task yourself."

Harrier looked pleadingly around at the other werewolves, who either returned her gaze with a head-shake, or refused to meet it entirely.

She sat down again with a growling sigh.

"I will convey our apology to the Auror Department," said Tom. "They made such good use of the last piece of information I gave them, they may be expecting a repeat this month. I'll break the news that they're on their own. So. Next item on the agenda." He looked at the parchment on the table in front of him. "How did the customers take the news about the anti-werewolf wards going up around some businesses?"

"They were all very grateful for the warning," said Brownwing.

"All I could find," added Daisy sadly.

"Can't expect to find everyone," Brownwing assured her.

"Actually, I did expect that," said Tom to Brownwing. "You didn't?"

"I found all but one," whined Brownwing. "I mean, be reasonable."

"I tried to send a Patronus after the one I couldn't find," said Daisy sadly. "But it didn't go anywhere. So she must be…"

"You can cast a Patronus?" asked Eric. "That's some difficult magic."

Bramble caught Eric's attention, which took some work, including waving his hand in front of Eric's face. "Eric, now's not the time."

"Oh," said Eric. "Sorry."

"Was everyone else able to contact all their assigned customers?" asked Tom.

The others nodded.

"So," concluded Tom. "That's two customers missing, which unfortunately approximately equals the three dangerous werewolves the Werewolf Capture Unit reported delivering to the Werewolf Research Institute. Pennyroyal, make a note that Miss Vinter should brew two fewer Wolfsbane doses this month."

She did, scratching a note onto her parchment with a self-inking quill, although her hands shook.

Briar cleared his throat. "Although Bramble and I have found some new customers in Hogsmeade, so sales are still increasing."

"You're still out looking for new customers?" exclaimed Tom. "Bloody hell, I told everyone to lie low! You two in particular have no excuse to venture into wizarding districts, for you pass perfectly well as muggles." He noticed Daisy wincing at the volume of his voice, so he made an effort to rein in his anger.

"Hogsmeade doesn't have many anti-werewolf wards," argued Briar.

"It's still fairly tolerant," added Bramble.

"And we have those Portkeys, so we're not worried about getting caught."

"We wear different faces every time we go out, just in case."

"So if we trip some Dark creature detector, we can just retire whatever face we happened to be wearing at the time, so they're looking for someone who doesn't exist."

Tom sighed. "Are you two sure you're not Gryffindors?"

Briar and Bramble laughed.

"We do our research before we head out, so it's not actually dangerous," explained Briar.

"And we had to contact the new victims of Woolsey's pack," said Bramble. "Just as you predicted, after their first full moon without Wolfsbane, they understood the need for it."

"Oh all right," conceded Tom. "Thank you, Briar and Bramble."

They told Pennyroyal how many new customers they'd found. She took note.

"We have competition, though," added Briar.

"Is someone violating Hermione's Wolfsbane patent?" asked Tom, newly outraged. "I have exclusive manufacturing rights!"

"No," said Bramble. "We mean Woolsey's recruiting as well."

"Just strolling through Hogsmeade, we get accosted by Woolsey's agents, promising us a place to stay where we'll be accepted for what we are," said Briar.

"We tell them no thank you and get away, as we don't feel like starting a duel in public, but when we return wearing different faces, they try the same sales patter again," said Bramble.

"Humans don't want you," quoted Briar.

"They'll kill you when they find out what you are," added Bramble.

"We're the only ones you can trust."

"Join us,"

"And feel the glory of running free in the moonlight…" Briar shuddered. "As if anyone would join the pack that just ruined their lives."

"It depends on their alternatives," said Pennyroyal. "Have all the newly-turned werewolves you've found bought Wolfsbane?"

Briar and Bramble looked at each other. "Well, some denied being werewolves when we first sensed them," said Briar.

"And some, we've been unable to find again," added Bramble.

"So…" Briar shrugged. "Wolfsbane makes it much easier to live with humans, but that's a harder sell if the human community doesn't want us."

"Are the other packs recruiting?" Tom asked. "The ones who confine themselves to areas of wilderness on full moon nights?"

"No," said Harrier. "They stay away from human areas. They're still glad to get my Wolfsbane deliveries, but they don't want anything to do with society other than that."

"But they're starting to wonder when their free trial period ends," said Brownwing. "You said you'd start charging the ferals for Wolfsbane once they could get jobs that would earn them money, so what's your plan for that?"

Tom took a deep breath and rubbed his temples. "Considering the delay in the general acceptance of werewolves in human society, I have no choice but to delay my plan to start charging the feral packs for Wolfsbane. Assure the ferals that the free trial period will continue until further notice."

Harrier and Brownwing nodded in relief, but Pennyroyal was outraged.

"You can't keep giving the ferals free Wolfsbane!" she objected.

"Can't?" repeated Tom.

"The amount of money you're losing, it's just not sustainable."

"The Riddles are perfectly capable of investing—"

"What kind of investment has no chance of ever making a profit? This is madness. There's no hope of winning the public over to accepting werewolves, not with everything Woolsey's done."

"I am a patient man, Pennyroyal. Eventually the tide will turn."

She huffed. "In our lifetimes? This could work as a business now if you charge enough for Wolfsbane to pay more than your expenses. Most human-passing werewolves can afford to pay more, at least the ones with sense, who have some savings, or aren't picky about how they get their money. Cut the feral project entirely."

"No. I hired you as an accountant, not to develop business strategy. My investments are not your concern."

"They bloody well are my concern. I've seen businesses go under, Tom. If this one fails, what will happen to us?"

Tom sighed. "In the unlikely event that the Riddles run out of money to pay for your Wolfsbane, feel free to contract with a potioneer yourself. I'd have no motivation to hold on to exclusive manufacturing rights if this were really a hopeless prospect."

Pennyroyal huffed. "You think running out of Wolfsbane is the worst that could happen to us? If your creditors come after you, we're not your employees, we're your assets to liquidate. Since the bounty was doubled to a hundred galleons—"

Tom startled himself by laughing. "Let me assure you that your fears are unfounded twice over. For one, we have no wizarding creditors. Muggle bankers have no idea that werewolves are real, so they're no danger to you. Two, how would any creditors collect you? I don't even know the real name of anyone here, except for Ignis."

"Eric actually is my—"

"And Eric has cunningly hidden his true identity under two layers of false names," Tom continued.

Eric blinked.

Pennyroyal was not completely mollified. "I told you my Floo address. I wasn't thinking straight, after that scare at the pastry shop."

"I forgot it," Tom assured her. "And the information would be difficult to extract from my mind. I've been practicing Occlumency, out of concern for the privacy of everyone here."

Pennyroyal relaxed a bit, sitting back in her chair. "Thank you Tom. I do appreciate all you're doing for us. But still, you've got a lot more gallantry than business sense."

This double-pronged insult stung, but Tom forgave her harsh words, considering her difficult situation.

Pennyroyal continued. "I would like to keep this endeavor afloat for as long as possible. Don't you see that the feral project will pull this whole business into the ground?"

"I don't see that, no."

Pennyroyal spoke slowly. "If you're charging human-passing werewolves for Wolfsbane, but giving it to the ferals for free, that's just another motivation to join the feral packs, and once you go feral, it's hard to go back. It's so difficult already, trying to pass as human, trying to avoid suspicion, and if you throw in free Wolfsbane in exchange for going feral—"

"Oh!" Tom was embarrassed to have taken so long to see what she was getting at. "You're right."

Pennyroyal smiled triumphantly. "I told you so."

"Thank you, Pennyroyal. You're absolutely right. I can't let free Wolfsbane tempt werewolves to go feral. Starting now, Wolsfbane will be free to all werewolves."

Pennyroyal blinked. "Wait. No, that's not—"

"Thank you very much for the idea, Pennyroyal. You are truly an asset to this organization. We must convey this news to all our customers significantly before they're due to get their first doses on the nineteenth. I don't want anyone to think they can't afford it this month and simply not show up at the dispensary. Would you please print up some letters to that effect and get them to all our customers? Sorry to give you extra work, but as you'll have less work keeping track of income until I get this problem sorted out, it's pretty much a wash." Tom waited for Pennyroyal to respond.

This wait would require patience, which Tom had. Pennyroyal sat still, her lips pursed in disagreement. She finally took a breath and spoke. "I don't see how you can expect to run a business—"

"This is Tom's business," interrupted Ignis. "I'm sure he knows what he's doing."

Pennyroyal looked nervously around the table.

"Ignis is right," said Daisy, earning a grateful smile from Ignis. "And Tom is right, whatever he says. He's in charge."

"There's no need for this generosity," argued Pennyroyal. "Werewolves can still afford to pay for Wofsbane, if they budget properly. There are jobs werewolves can keep. I've still got some accounting clients. I just have to bring up in casual conversation whether they've had any new security expenses. Come on, I'm sure I'm not the only one here with a job other than this." She looked expectantly around the room.

Ignis snorted. "Speak for yourself. I mean, technically I've still got my pest control business. I have to, to keep my credentials as a Dark creature expert. I can't work any more, though, never knowing when I'll trip an alarm, so that house call will be my last. Now that Dark-creature detectors are everywhere, they're detecting all sorts of little creatures that weren't bothering anyone before, but now people want them gone just to quiet their new alarms. People keep calling me, so I had to put a sign at my Floo, saying I'm booked solid and not accepting any new clients. I never thought Daisy would be making more money than me."

"I do a bit of bespoke needlework," admitted Daisy in response to the inquiring glances from around the table. "That's all by owl order."

"Daisy's embroidery animation enchantments are the best," said Ignis.

Daisy blushed and looked down.

"We've got our rag-and-bone business," said Briar, eliciting confused looks from around the room.

"It's a muggle thing," said Bramble, fending off demands for an explanation. "Anyway, it doesn't take much time, or earn us much money, these days. Searching for new Wolsfbane customers keeps us busy."

"I haven't been able to do much useful since I was bitten," said Harrier. "If I can't keep to a quidditch training and game schedule…"

"The Chudley Cannons haven't been the same since you left," sympathized Ignis.

"Thanks," said Harrier with a sad smile.

Pennyroyal turned to Brownwing. "And what do you do?"

Brownwing started. "…Odd jobs?" he offered.

"The point is," said Tom, "We must assume that the vast majority of our customers are having more trouble than usual making a living in the magical world, so we must temporarily adjust prices accordingly. Do I make myself clear?"

He looked at Pennyroyal until she said "Yes."

"Good," said Tom.

Ignis turned to Eric. "Are you still doing any cursebreaking?"

Eric shook his head. "Almost all the Floo-calls I get these days are from people wanting me to test their defenses against werewolves, and I'm overqualified for that. I set up a portrait at my Floo to answer calls, tell people my schedule's booked solid already. Anyone who can afford my services can also afford the best anti-werewolf measures, so I don't even bother asking. Anyway, I don't really need to work right now. I have savings, and I have been getting that stipend from Tom."

"Stipend?" asked Harrier.

"I thought it was a salary," said Daisy.

"I trust that what I've been paying you is sufficient for the time being?" Tom asked. "I'm sorry to delay the raises you deserve, but considering this temporary cash flow problem…"

His employees assured him that there was no rush whatsoever.

"Thank you," said Tom. "But there's also the problem of our customers being unable to get to their usual magical jobs. I can't have them starving while we're sorting out this spot of trouble. Fortunately, muggle areas are much safer for werewolves. Briar and Bramble, could you provide our customers with guidance on making some sort of living in the muggle world? Even learning to shop for food in muggle rather than magical markets should be useful. You may use the dispensary below Ignis's living quarters as a muggle studies classroom. We built it with a large meeting room for a reason."

Bramble nodded. "Glad to."

"I'm not qualified for that," said Briar, "and it would leave me with less time to look for new customers in the wizarding world, so—"

"Good," said Tom. "You'll be safer this way. And I don't want any false modesty from you. Your skills at disguise, at least, are worth sharing."

Briar grudgingly nodded.

"I'll take over scouting out new customers," volunteered Harrier cheerfully. "Thanks for the disguise lessons, by the way." She sent a triumphant look at Tom. "I'd be useless teaching muggle studies, so you can't stick me in a classroom."

Tom sighed. "I suppose I can't stop you. Does anyone else here have skills that would help werewolves adapt to the muggle world? Brownwing, your suit is—" How to tactfully put this? "—not wizarding, so I assume you spend time with muggles."

"Well, yeah," admitted Brownwing. "I guess I could help, a little. Muggles don't really guard their stuff at all. And sometimes they pay you to go away."

Tom rubbed his temples again. He was developing a headache already, and he hadn't even done his daily Occlumency exercises yet. "On second thought, as Harrier does more scouting for new customers, that leaves you with more work delivering to the ferals. I don't want to overtax you, so I won't ask you to take on muggle studies as well. Briar and Bramble have full responsibility for that. You two, coordinate with Pennyroyal to send out letters to all the customers, announcing your class schedule."

Briar, Bramble, and Pennyroyal nodded and made note of their assignments.

Ignis objected. "Some of the customers won't—"

"Customers who lack interest in adapting to the muggle world may find that the threat of poverty makes the option more appealing," said Tom. He added, "Those who lack the aptitude may resort to joining feral packs other than Woolsey's, and make their living in the wilderness. Brownwing, could you do the necessary introductions?"

Brownwing nodded and wrote a note with a pencil stub.

"Any other business topics to discuss?" Tom asked.

Eric cleared his throat nervously. "But what should I do?"

"What do you mean?" asked Tom.

"I mean, I can't teach muggle studies, and I'm no good at just going up to people I don't know and talking to them like Harrier, and Brownwing and Daisy and Pennyroyal are doing deliveries and sales at the dispensary and parchmentwork, and I can't go out to cursebreaking jobs any more, so what do I do?"

Eric's rare talent for obscure and difficult magic made him the person most likely to be able to track Woolsey down, and Ignis, similarly unoccupied, had, under Hermione's tutelage, matured into a skilled duelist when he knew who his enemies were. If they worked as a team— "I suggest you take Briar and Bramble's classes," said Tom. "That goes for you too, Ignis. You were just complaining about your lack of things to do, so here's the solution. Any more questions?"

As no one had any, they withdrew to the larger dining room for lunch.

Once everyone left, generally in better spirits than they'd had upon arrival, Tom opened his mirror, fixed his hair, adjusted the angle of his face to better take advantage of the illumination from the window, and said "Hermione."

It took her a few moments to answer, in a dimly-lit room in which Tom could discern no detail. "What?" she demanded.

"We just had a meeting about the Wolsfbane business. I thought you might like a summary."

"I'm busy now. Oh, and I know I said I'd be back before the full moon, but actually things here are taking longer than expected, so…"

"Take all the time you need," said Tom.

"I'll call you when I have time. Don't call me." Tom was abruptly looking at the reflection of his own disappointed face. There was no point being generous if the only people impressed by his largesse were the wretched recipients. He closed his mirror.

—

Tom checked one task off his to-do list as soon as he'd obtained the necessary materials. He stuck his head into the green flames, uncomfortably cognizant that his face and collar would appear filthy with soot at the Auror Office, for the Floo at the Hog's Head was not maintained to a high standard of cleanliness.

"Is this an emergency?" asked his old friend, the dispatcher.

"No, but I have an important message."

"Please address all non-emergency Floo calls to Magical Law Enforcement's non-emergency—"

"My message is for your department. First, thank you for your excellent work at Under Covers last month. I was worried my information would be wasted, but your department put it to good use."

"Oh! You're the one who called about the werewolves last month, and the month before—"

"Yes, that was me."

The dispatcher's quick glance to the side assured Tom that she was taking his words seriously. She looked back at him welcomingly. "Are you using Polyjuice, transfiguration, or glamours? This new face suits you. Last month's mustache looked a bit—"

"I have bad news."

"We specialize in fixing bad news," she assured him.

"I don't know where they're attacking this month. Your guess is as good as mine. I didn't want you waiting around for information from me, when I'm unable to provide it."

Her desperate glance to the side did not reassure her. "What? But why? Listen, if you need protection, our department has a program—"

"Don't worry about me. I just can't gather information like I used to."

"Can you tell us anything?"

"These attacks are organized by a Dark wizard who calls himself Lord Ralph Woolsey. He's a werewolf, and leader of a feral werewolf pack, but he's a Dark wizard first and foremost, so I trust your department to handle him better than the Werewolf Capture Unit. He's particularly upset at the popularity of the book, Lou Garou."

It seemed unprofessional for a dispatcher to snort in laughter, but she silenced it quickly. "That novel? Why does a Dark wizard care about—"

"He knows the power a book can have. His followers are werewolves who've been driven out of human society. If werewolves become accepted by humans, his source of followers disappears. He's working to convince the public that werewolves are dangerous, specifically to counter the idea of sympathetic werewolves, as promoted by Lou Garou, and now A Wolf's Tale. His initial attack on Halloween was a clumsy attempt to manipulate public opinion, which backfired, but his Hogsmeade attack was more effective at reaching his goal. Thank you for heading off his planned Boxing Day attack."

"Where did you get this information? Do you know where he is?"

Tom shook his head. His curly blond hair flopped annoyingly onto his forehead. It hadn't reacted to his styling potions in the expected way, and he'd given up on the task quickly rather than run out the clock on his Polyjuice. He stuck a hand into the green flames to push his hair out of the way and resumed the conversation. "I was last in his encampment last summer, and barely escaped with my life. His pack is nomadic. I have no idea where they are now."

"Thank you for your help." She thought. "Wait, if you were actually in a werewolf encampment, does that mean you're a—"

"Good luck," said Tom, and he withdrew from the fire. He stood, his Polyjuiced form doing his bidding easily. He'd carefully chosen a muggle donor, a farm laborer with a physique Müller would approve of, and a disillusioned Dobby had obtained the necessary hairs.

"Thank you for the use of your Floo," Tom said to the barkeep, who didn't acknowledge his presence. He tossed a few knuts onto the bar, for he didn't want to consume anything from such an unsanitary establishment. He nodded to the vague shimmer in a shadowed corner, so Dobby Apparated him home.

—-

Tom opened his buzzing mirror hurriedly, but saw only Ignis. He quickly changed his expression to a pleased one. "Ignis, how are you?"

"Um. Do you have a few minutes to talk?"

"Yes. Are you home?" The wall behind Ignis looked familiar. "Feel free to come up and visit."

"We can just talk through the mirrors."

"Is the hill too steep for you?"

That got a chuckle out of Ignis, but it soon faded. "You know that's not it. It's just, did you see the Prophet this morning? This new law against harboring werewolves—"

"We're harboring you regardless, as your house is on Riddle property, so we might as well serve you tea while we're at it. I'd hate to go to Azkaban without having thoroughly earned my sentence."

Ignis had to turn his face away from the mirror for a moment. When he finally spoke, his voice broke. "Thanks, Tom. I'll be there in a few minutes."

"I'll have tea ready for you. See you soon."

In fact it took several minutes for Ignis to arrive. Tom invited him to take tea in the solarium.

Once they were supplied, Ignis unburdened himself. "The news just keeps getting worse. All these adverts for anti-werewolf wards, the Werewolf Capture Unit hiring all those new agents, now this law making you a criminal…"

"It practically requires that every property owner buy anti-werewolf wards, lest a werewolf be discovered on their property and they be considered negligent landlords," observed Tom. "Quite a windfall for wardsmiths. I assume the Wizengamot's getting kickbacks. And of course the Macnair family is making a killing, with all this money going to the Werewolf Capture Unit. Torin Macnair has a lot of allies on the Wizengamot. He even got Sirius Black to take a break from his usual anti-muggleborn speeches to give a speech about filthy werewolves contaminating pure wizarding society. He reused a lot of the same phrases, so it wasn't much of a stretch for him."

"The world is closing in on me," said Ignis, "and the mucus on the flobberworm is that demand for my services has never been higher! My house is getting chilly from how often my Floo turns cold green with Floo-calls. Everyone wants to hire me, or the wizard they think I am. I even got a call from the Auror department. I just sat in the corner, pretending I wasn't there, as an Auror said they want to hire a werewolf consultant, and since I'm one of the nation's foremost Dark creature experts…" He trailed off helplessly.

"A pity you're too busy. They could use your expertise."

"Yeah. Anyway, the Auror said they're particularly concerned about the possibility that werewolves can take Polyjuice to disguise themselves as humans. They need to know if that's possible. They can't find any reference on it. It doesn't matter that I didn't answer the call, as I don't know either. Some Dark creature expert I am!"

Tom blinked. "Werewolves don't need Polyjuice to look like humans. They already look like their fellow humans, except on the full moon."

"Well, yeah, but Polyjuice is for disguising oneself as other specific humans."

"Ah. They're wondering about the identity of the mysterious informant who keeps giving them information about Woolsey, with a different face each time."

"They think you're a werewolf?"

"I made an effort to imply that, so I'm glad to hear that my deception worked. I figured it wouldn't hurt for them to have a good impression of at least one werewolf. And it seemed fair, as werewolves were the ones gathering the information, to give credit where it was due. I'm just the middleman."

Ignis thought. "You told them about the Hogsmeade attack just after the moon rose. You couldn't have done that if you were a werewolf."

Tom shrugged. "People adjust facts to fit their theory. Maybe they question the accuracy of their clocks. Anyway, why wouldn't a werewolf be able to use Polyjuice like anyone else?"

"Polyjuice doesn't work for interspecies transformations. That's why you've got to be careful not to contaminate the potion with anything. You don't want to transform halfway into a fly or something and get stuck. If that happens, it can take days to regain your true form with a healer's care, or weeks without."

"I know that," said Tom, "but how is that relevant? You're not a different species, you're a human with a disease. Does Polyjuice work on people with dragonpox?"

Ignis mulled that over. "I think it would? I don't know, potions weren't my strong suit."

"You could test it," said Tom. "I bought an economy-sized bottle of Polyjuice, and there's plenty left." At Ignis's expression, he added, "I keep hearing about Gryffindor bravery, yet in practice—"

"You don't always have to do the manipulative Slytherin thing," Ignis taunted right back.

Tom shrugged. "When I shed these scales, there are just more scales underneath. Anyway, what's the worst that could happen? You get stuck for a few weeks partway through a transformation into another human. If you choose donor hairs from a human who's very similar to you, you'll hardly notice. This is the perfect time to do the experiment, when you have no appointments on your calendar."

Ignis considered it. "That Auror did seem desperate for some accurate information. I'd like to help him out, and do something to earn my reputation as an expert. Sure, I'll do it. Whose hairs should I use?"

"Your brother's?" suggested Tom.

Ignis looked down. "I, I don't want to bother him, with this new law, and he's got a child to care for and everything—"

"Never mind. Let's stroll through Great Hangleton until we find a muggle who strikes your fancy. Dobby's good at disillusioning himself and grabbing a few hairs without the muggles suspecting a thing."

"Wait. A muggle?"

Tom sighed. "If you tell me you consume only witches and wizards, I'll be concerned that your lycanthropy isn't as well-controlled as you claim it is."

"But… Muggle hair, though. What if there's part of a flea or something on it? I mean, if the whole point of this experiment is to prove that this is a normal intraspecies transformation, a flea part would make it an interspecies transformation, which would be—"

"Look, would you take a few of my hairs? It would be the most expedient choice."

Ignis considered that. "Wouldn't it feel odd to see a copy of yourself walking around?"

"Yes, but I already have Tommy, so what's one more? Or would you like some of Tommy's hairs? Try being cute for a change."

Ignis laughed. "Considering I might be stuck in this form for a while, I'd prefer yours."

"Sincerest form of flattery. Come to my room so I can get some of my robes for you. Yours would be too short."

"You're not that much taller than me. I shouldn't change robes until after I transform, though, since my shoulders wouldn't fit into your robes."

"Your shoulders look broader only because you're shorter. My shoulders are actually at least as broad as yours."

"All right. I suppose your shoulders look narrower because your head is so swollen, they're dwarfed in comparison."

Tom laughed, conceding the round. "You win."

Ignis's victorious laugh gratified Tom, for he'd seemed despondent in their earlier conversation. Tom's plan had worked.

In his room, Tom selected a set of robes and laid them out on the bed. Then he called, "Dobby."

Pop. "Yes Master?"

"Fetch the Polyjuice, and a glass, and a bezoar just in case."

"Yes Master." Pop. Pop.

Tom poured a portion of the unpleasant-smelling goo into the glass. "This should be an hour's worth, a standard dose." Then he ran his hand through his hair, tugging until he found some loose strands. He looked at his harvest. "I don't know how Sleekeazy's combines with Polyjuice, so these should probably be washed first." He was about to hand them to Dobby, then realized, "If any bit of Dobby gets on these…"

"Yoicks," agreed Ignis.

"I'll wash them myself," said Tom. "By hand, as I don't know how magic would affect the potion."

"Thanks."

Tom returned from the en suite with some freshly shampooed, thoroughly rinsed hairs and added them to the potion, which turned glossy black. "Sorry I seem to always be giving you disgusting things to drink."

"You've given me plenty of excellent tea and wine too." Ignis took the glass and braced himself.

"I could step outside if you'd like privacy," Tom offered.

"No, I'd rather have you on hand to shove the bezoar down my throat if necessary."

Tom nodded and kept the bezoar handy.

"Here goes." Ignis gulped the potion down. "Huh. Actually it's not as bad as…" His voice turned into a groan. He dropped the glass, which shattered on the floor.

Dobby darted to repair it.

Ignis, his skin bubbling, lurched to flop onto the bed. He seemed to be suffering worse than Tom was used to from this potion, although Ignis was accustomed to pain, and didn't strike Tom as the overacting sort. Tom looked at the bezoar. They hadn't established which exact symptoms called for its use. Tom wondered if shoving a bezoar down someone's throat required any particular technique. Presumably this was taught at Hogwarts, with diagrams, but Tom would have to wing it. He looked at his bezoar target, and was disturbed to see himself lying on his bed, panting, and wearing clothes that he would never wear, including too-short robes. At least his perspiration was soaking Ignis's clothes, not Tom's. "Are you all right?" Tom asked.

"I think?" said Ignis, although not in his own voice. He cleared his throat and tried again. "I think the problem was my Dark injury scars. They didn't change, but the flesh they were scarring changed, so they didn't fit together. It seems to be sorted out now." He started to prop himself up, so Tom helped him.

Ignis stood cautiously and walked to the mirror. "It wouldn't be so bad to be stuck like this for a few weeks, if it comes to that."

"You're too kind. Anyway, now we know what I'd look like in ill-fitting robes, and what my hair looks like without Sleekeazy's. You may change clothes whenever you have the energy. I'll step out to give you privacy."

"If this is supposed to wear off in an hour, there's no need to bother with the clothes."

"Please. It pains me to see my body in that getup."

"Friends make these sacrifices for each other, right?"

"Speak for yourself. I'm not the self-sacrificing sort."

Ignis laughed. "All right, then I'll be the one to do a favor for you."

Tom and Dobby stepped out, although Tom wondered if preserving privacy was even possible in this situation, for Ignis was the one with a view of Tom's body now. Well, at least it was a body he had no reason to be ashamed of.

Ignis came out eventually, properly dressed. Tom would just have to tolerate the hair.

"I assume you don't have all the same Dark scars I do," said Ignis, "so I'm not a perfect copy, but cover those up with robes, and I'm pretty convincing, I think."

"Indeed."

"I wondered what would happen to this," said Ignis, excitedly showing his quicksilver hand to Tom. "It's not surprising that mere Polyjuice can't override the Dark magic that took my hand, so it can't give me any sort of real human hand, but this transformed into a copy of your hand just fine."

"Interesting."

"Your hands are so soft," Ignis marveled, examining his fingers.

"Anyway, how would you like to pass the time until the Polyjuice wears off? You could enjoy the novelty of being able to fetch things from high shelves without casting Accio."

Ignis laughed.

"Or it's nearly lunchtime, so you're welcome to join us."

"Thank you, I think I will."

"I'll inform the staff." They found Fiona tidying the tea things out of the solarium. "Fiona, as you can see, we'll have a guest for lunch, so set another place, and please inform Hester." This wasn't much of a change, for the chair that Mark had used at breakfast could serve Ignis at lunch now that Mark was in school.

Fiona looked at Ignis.

Ignis gave her a little wave.

"Yes Mr. Riddle. Er. Misters Riddle."

Ignis and Tom ambled to the drawing room, where Tommy and his parents were waiting. His mother raised an eyebrow at their entrance, while his father lowered his in confusion.

Tommy looked at Tom and said "Papa," happily. Then he looked at Ignis and laughed. "Not Papa! Ignisss!" He ran to hug Ignis's legs.

"The quicksilver hand gives the trick away I suppose," said Ignis, although Tommy had been looking at Ignis's eyes, not his hand. He hoisted Tommy up, eliciting a squeal. "Hey, I can lift you even higher now!"

"Higher!"

"There's no pleasing you," sighed Ignis. "I'll have to add some oliphaunt hairs to the Polyjuice next time."

Tommy laughed. "Yesss!"

Tom and Ignis explained their reason for experimenting with Polyjuice. Tom's parents approved of the experiment, both in the spirit of scientific progress, and for its entertainment value. The subject provided a conversational topic for lunch, once Fiona called them in for it.

"Polyjuice has great potential for entertainment purposes," mulled Tom's father, taking a break from chewing.

"I took it once before," said Ignis. "To pull a prank on someone, make it seem like he'd done something embarrassing. Tom's heard this story already."

Tommy laughed, possibly at the way his soup wobbled when he kicked the table.

"I'm sure you can sit like a young gentleman," said Tom's mother. Tommy looked into her eyes and settled.

"No, I wasn't thinking of anything so mean-spirited as a prank," said Tom's father to Ignis. "I was thinking more of it being taken by consenting adults, for the novelty, with the agreement of both parties—"

"Father," interrupted Tom. "Not in front of Tommy, please." Or me.

"We'll discuss it later, darling," said his mother with a smile, which was almost as bad as discussing it now.

Tom would not usually regard the sudden bubbling and reforming of a dining companion's flesh to be a welcome addition to lunchtime ambience, but in this case at least it effectively changed the conversational subject. Finally Ignis, in his usual form, sat panting and perspiring before them.

"That looked uncomfortable," observed his mother.

"My Dark scars make it worse," Ignis explained. "It wasn't this painful when I took it before. But other than that, it seems the same." He looked at his hands. "I'm back to normal, right?"

"As far as I can tell," said Tom.

"I didn't get stuck halfway through either transformation. So… It was an intraspecies transformation, not an interspecies one. I really am human."

"Told you so," gloated Tom. "I hope you've learned your lesson, and will in future believe me over whatever nonsense your Hogwarts professors spouted."

Ignis looked around at the Riddles, his eyes bright. He spoke with difficulty."Excuse me. These robes are a bit tight across the shoulders. I'll go change." He hurried away.

After giving Ignis several minutes to change, Tom excused himself and knocked at the door of his own room. He entered at Ignis's invitation.

Ignis, in his own clothes once more, was abuzz with excitement. "Now I have something to do. I'll call the Aurors back and tell them what I've learned."

"Where will you tell them you got this information?"

"Well. I could tell them a werewolf took Polyjuice, can't I? I mean, they already know I have werewolf contacts, and you've been working on convincing them that werewolves aren't all bad."

Tom nodded. "Phrase things carefully. Keep in mind their Secrecy Sensor."

Ignis blinked. "Their what?"

"The Aurors have a Secrecy Sensor set up by their Floo to detect when anyone lies to them via Floo-call. It's useful for convincing them of true things they might otherwise doubt. Phrase your sentences carefully."

Ignis looked doubtful. "That seems tricky. If I slip up, they'll know I tested the Polyjuice on myself."

"I'm sure you fool people into thinking you're not a werewolf all the time."

"Yeah, but for that I just lie. Misleading with the truth is harder."

"Practice on me. I'll be the dispatcher. Is this an emergency?"

"A particular Auror asked me to call him back directly, actually, so I wouldn't be talking to the dispatcher."

"Right. Who's the Auror?"

"Bob Ogden. His Floo address is Magical Law Enforcement Squad Head Office."

"I heard his interview on the Wireless. I'll see if I can impersonate him. Here goes. Thank you for returning my call, Mr. McKinnon. Do you have any information for me?"

"Yes. I looked into the question of whether werewolves can take Polyjuice, and found the answer."

"Really? This will be a great help to our investigation. Please step through."

"Sorry, I've got no time for that."

"Hold. The Secrecy Sensor just went off. You have plenty of time."

"So what am I supposed to say?"

"You needn't answer their questions at all. Just say, 'I can tell you in this call.' No lie."

"Right. I can tell you in this call. Polyjuice works almost as usual on werewolves, but it can't heal Dark injuries even temporarily. Dark scars are unchanged, although I suppose they could be glamoured over if a werewolf wanted to perfect his disguise."

"Thank you very much for the information. How did you learn this?"

"You know, I don't have to answer this question either. I could just say I don't reveal my sources, and back out."

"True. It depends on what you want to accomplish. If you leave it like that, that could imply that your mastery over Dark creatures enabled you to force-feed a werewolf Polyjuice. If you say that one volunteered, that reenforces the impression that there are helpful werewolves out there, in contrast to Woolsey and his followers. Here's an opportunity to build on what Lou Garou started."

Ignis mulled that over. "Talking more risks more."

"And potentially gains more."

"All right. I asked one of my werewolf contacts—"

"Secrecy Sensor just went off."

"Merlin's holey socks. Um. I have a report here about a werewolf who volunteered to take Polyjuice?"

"Do you have a report?"

"I could write one."

"Brilliant! 'I have a report here, written by a werewolf who volunteered to take Polyjuice.' Then you read it aloud. It could even be in first person. That should be comfortable, just saying 'My body transformed' etc, without worrying about them thinking this werewolf is you."

"Hm. I can see the danger of getting too comfortable, though. What if Ogden asks follow-up questions about the werewolf and I start a sentence with 'I'? Or 'He' and set off the Secrecy Sensor?"

"Well, don't."

"That's all very well for you to say. You're not the one who has to keep pretending you're something you're not. It would take a Slytherin to pull off a deception like this, and I'm not a Slytherin."

"And you have the gall to call me manipulative," marveled Tom. "All right, all right, I'll do it."

"What?"

"The flattery, the indirect request… What were you doing in Gryffindor?" He shook his head. "Dobby."

Pop. "Yes Master?"

"Fetch the Polyjuice again, and another glass."

"Yes Master." Pop. Pop.

Tom turned to Ignis. "Well? I'll need a few of your hairs."

He also needed Ignis's written report of his experience, to read aloud. They practiced his presentation, with Ignis playing Ogden and Tom playing Ignis. Tom could alternate between reading Ignis's sentences starting with "I," and describing the potion effects he'd seen with sentences starting with "he," with perfect fluency, and no danger of lying. Ignis's Secrecy Sensor never went off.

"You actually could step through, if he invites you," said Ignis. "When you don't trip their Dark creature detector, that will prove I'm not a werewolf."

"I assume they have some sort of Polyjuice detector in their actual office." Tom considered that. "It must be harder to detect such deception through a Floo call. At least, the dispatcher didn't remark on my Polyjuice use until it became obvious that I was one person with three faces. And if I step through and then get detained, the story's ruined when the Polyjuice wears off."

"Hm. True."

"There's also the question of what Floo I should call from, since presumably they can trace calls to their source. They might expect you to call from home, yet I can't get past the wards around your house, and it seems an imposition to ask Eric to go to the trouble of deactivating and reactivating them for one call. I'll just use some public Floo, as I've done before whilst on Polyjuice."

Apparating to a business with a public Floo in order to make a Floo call made sense if he lacked one himself, but coordinating side-along Apparition with Dobby in front of Ignis would be awkward. Tom could just Floo to a business and make the Floo call from there, which perhaps seemed suspicious from the business's point of view. Or he could Floo to one business, walk to a neighboring one, and make the Floo call from there. "Any preference for what public Floo I use?" he asked Ignis.

"As long as you're out, if you could ask at Madam Puddifoot's if they've installed any Dark creature detectors, that would be useful information for me," said Ignis.

"Consider it done," Tom assured him. "I'll Floo there, as I haven't been there before."

"It's nice," said Ignis. "Very fancy."

"And I'll need a set of your clothes."

"I'll go get some," said Ignis. "In the meantime, you can wash that slime out of your hair. I don't want to see what it looks like in mine."

Educating Ignis on the benefits of quality hair potions was a project for another time, so Tom showered, and enlisted Dobby's help in drying his hair quickly. He waited in his dressing gown. Soon, Ignis returned and laid a set of his robes on the bed. All was ready, so Tom drank the gaudy turquoise Polyjuice. It had a flavor sort of like fresh mountain air, with an underlying animal musk. Wolf? No, dahu.

Tom hadn't anticipated what it would feel like to lose his left hand, or to acquire Ignis's other scars, which were apparently extensive. It was not good. "This isn't permanent, is it?" he asked once he'd recovered enough to speak. Screaming was tiring for the throat. He pulled up the sleeve of his dressing gown to look at the mangled stump, then let it back down. "I mean, Polyjuice isn't Dark magic."

"Would a few of my hairs have that much Dark magic in them?" wondered Ignis. He looked at Tom's expression, then added, "Probably not. I mean, werewolf fur isn't dangerous, just our fangs and claws. Hair, definitely not. I'm sure of it. Hermione can give you a prosthetic hand anyway, if need be, when she gets back."

"Right. Of course. Nothing to worry about. So. I'll need to keep this stump hidden in the cloak, in case anyone besides Ogden recognizes me as you. Now, I find myself wanting privacy to get dressed."

"Of course." Ignis stepped out.

When Tom disrobed, he tried not to look too closely at his current body, as that seemed an invasion of privacy, but he got an impression of lean muscles marred by deep scars.

He needed help to get dressed, so it was a good thing Dobby was there. How had Ignis managed this with just one hand? "Would Master like Dobby to side-along Apparate him to Madam Puddifoot's?" Dobby asked.

"No, I already told Ignis I'll Floo there. You can take a break."

Once dressed, Tom transferred his essentials to the pockets of Ignis's robes, and practiced moving around, keeping his left arm concealed. It was easy enough, although Ignis's cloak lacked fabric compared to Tom's full cloaks.

Soon, Ignis wished him luck, and Tom stepped out of the Floo into a swarm of pink cupids.

He took a moment to get his bearings. The decor was fancy, yes, with the sort of fussy clutter that everyone of sophisticated taste had left behind in Victorian times. The proprietor clearly knew her market, however, for the place was well-attended, mostly by witches enjoying colorful pastries and tea.

A waitress in a ruffled apron greeted him. "Welcome to Madam Puddifoot's. Are you joining someone, or waiting for the rest of your party to arrive?"

"I'm by myself, actually."

This statement triggered a gasp from a witch seated at a nearby table with another witch. "You're alone?!"

Tom turned to look at her. Her blonde hair writhed fashionably, and her violet robes were well-tailored around her trim form. "Yes," he said. "I don't require an escort for my protection."

She giggled. "Oh, I know. You're Ignis McKinnon, aren't you?"

"I am. You have the advantage of me."

"Do you know him?" asked the blonde's brunette companion, shocked at her friend's forwardness. "You can't just talk to a man you don't know!"

"I know of him. Ignis McKinnon, the hero of Halloween! Didn't you see him dueling those terrorists at the Lou Garou book signing?"

"Oh! Yes, now I recognize him." The brunette, after a bit of internal turmoil and some guilty glances around the room, clearly came to a decision. "Mr. McKinnon, there's no need for you to be alone. Please join us."

Before Tom could construct a polite refusal to this invitation, he heard another voice behind him.

"Mr. McKinnon, could you please autograph your picture?" Tom turned to see a witch pulling a silver chain to extract a locket wedged inside her bodice. She opened it and took out a page of the Prophet, which shouldn't have fit even folded like that. It featured a photograph of Ignis, dueling grey-cloaked assailants in a smoke-filled bookshop. Hermione's hair writhed behind him like a tentacled halo.

"Have you been carrying that around since it was published?" asked Tom.

"Uh huh. I really want your autograph."

Tom didn't recall what Ignis's signature looked like. "Perhaps another time."

"Please?"

"Sorry, I'm busy today." He broke free of these admirers and addressed the waitress. "I'm doing a survey with just one question. Have you installed any Dark creature detectors around this business?"

"Yes," she said proudly.

Tom nearly reached into his pocket for a bit of parchment on which to write a checkmark, but realized just in time that this would be awkward with only one hand. A crisp nod would have to suffice. "Thank you. Good day." He headed for the door, for this place offered no privacy for making a Floo-call.

"Oh, but won't you stay to have some tea and fairy cakes?" the waitress called after him. "They're made with real fairies!"

"Sorry, I have no time to spare today. I need to complete this survey."

"Where are you heading next?" asked the blonde. She hurriedly dumped some coins on her table next to her half-eaten pastry and stood.

"The Hog's Head," said Tom, for that was the most dissimilar setting he could think of.

"Oh!" She dropped back down into her chair.

That got rid of her. Tom strode out as quickly as he could on his slightly-too-short legs. He overheard the witches sighing over Ignis as he left. "Those broad shoulders…"

The cold air was refreshing. Tom hurried to the Hog's Head, which he'd used recently, but he liked the lack of other customers and the way the barkeep ignored him, so it was worth revisiting. As he entered, he spared the barest nod for the barkeep, for he'd learned at his last visit that that was his style, and headed straight to the Floo.

Ogden was delighted to have his call returned. Tom, to his confusion, found Ogden's bespectacled face somewhat familiar, which was odd, as he'd never met him. Did Polyjuice convey traces of the donor's memories? Tom's previous experiences with Polyjuice hadn't included any such mental effects, and it was a disturbing thought that hair from a werewolf made the results different in any way than that from a non-werewolf. What did that mean for Tom's chances of regaining his own form within an hour? Then again, Tom hadn't done anything on his previous Polyjuice outings that would have jogged the memories of his muggle donors. That was sufficient to account for the difference, so Tom put the matter aside to focus on the task at hand.

Tom explained that he was returning Ogden's call regarding Polyjuice and werewolves, and the experiment he'd done to answer the question. It was easy to truthfully praise the helpfulness and bravery of the experimental subject.

"You got a werewolf to volunteer?" marveled Ogden.

"He wants to help your department, and he knows I won't turn him in for the bounty," Tom explained. "He even expressed concern for my well-being, as he doesn't want me to run afoul of this new law against harboring werewolves."

Ogden glanced to the side suspiciously, surprised at what he saw, and looked back at Tom. "Sounds like you've got a real Lou Garou there."

"They have some similarities, yes. You understand I can't give you any details that might reveal—"

"Of course. We know the importance of protecting informants. Anyway, the Wizengamot never asks us whether we feel like enforcing a new law or not," grumbled Ogden. "They just want to put on a show of doing something. Please don't let this new law trouble you, Mr. McKinnon. Gathering information from werewolves at our department's request doesn't count as harboring."

"Thank you. So, I added some human hairs to some Polyjuice I'd purchased, and the werewolf willingly drank it. He wrote this report of his experience." It was awkward to read in green Floo-light, but Tom managed.

Ogden's occasional glances to the side assured Tom that the Secrecy Sensor had nothing to report. Tom read Ignis's description of his transformation, and added a few details of his own, including his concern that he'd poisoned this brave volunteer, and his relief that he hadn't.

"Thank you very much, Mr. McKinnon," said Auror Ogden. "The Werewolf Research Institute couldn't tell us anything useful, but you've been a great help to us. What do we owe you?"

"Well, there's the cost of the Polyjuice, and the hourly Dark creature consulting rate… And it seemed only fair to pay the werewolf for his time, so if you could reimburse me for that as well…"

"Of course, of course."

"I'll write up an invoice." And have Ignis copy and send it.

"Thank you. And we'd love to hire you for more work as a consultant on this case. Won't you come to the office?"

"Thank you for the offer. I'll consider it," said Tom politely.

Ogden's irritated glance to the side let Tom know that his lie had been detected, which was just as well.

"Good day, and good luck with your investigation," said Tom.

"Good day, and thank you."

Tom withdrew from the fire, pleased with his work.

"Are you Ignis McKinnon?" asked someone behind him.

Egads, Ignis had fans everywhere. "Yes." Tom was hesitant to turn around, considering the soot that was likely on his face, but it wasn't really his face anyway, so he might as well. "You have the advantage of—"

"Stupefy."