July 14th, 1895 — The Augurey Beak Cafe

He felt vaguely sick, or vaguely watched — Kieran had been antsy all day, unable to settle, unable to do anything but shrug and fake a smile when other reporters at the Prophet talked to him about the Skeeter piece that morning. He felt as if he had allowed Morwenna to ruin what was left of her life, but it was not up to him to tell her what she could and could not do — she had lost her only son, her only child, and years of managing a condition like lycanthropy was enough to make anyone wish for an easy out.

But he also feared for himself, for tying himself to something like this, and for very possibly burning his access to the Ministry on sentimentality. But — Jude and Kieran largely agreed that more palatable public werewolves were necessary for acceptance. That meant some werewolves had to make the choice to out themselves. (Kieran was — not palatable, and not willing to do that, and fairly confident that if he tried Jude would have him trapped in his attic.) And Jude was excited — he seemed to think that the aftermath from the article could be chaotic but good for lycanthropic causes. Kieran primarily felt panicked.

He didn't want to drink when he was half-scared of being arrested as an accomplice, but suspected that Jude might be in the Augurey, already scheming with their friends. (Alternatively — chaining himself to something in the Ministry.) He couldn't escape the Prophet offices until that evening, too busy catching up on other drafts and running Pengloss, again, through the sources he'd use for the article, and the reasons that Skeeter trusted him with this. (Some, but few, of the reasons he gave were even truthful.)

But when he got to the Augurey — no Jude, and no Eileen, either. He swallowed, and scanned quickly for a familiar face — he had only met the potioneer a few times, but he'd once talked to her on background, an he'd always found her pleasant. Kieran cleared his throat, tentative: "I don't suppose you've seen Wright? Tall, blond, passionate lycanthrope defender?"

Fortitude Greengrass for either of your wolf ladies, will edit on tag <3

  

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set by MJ!

Magnolia did not read the paper every day, though she did read it far more often than other women in her general position. That was one reason she didn't get it often; a working woman who could read well enough to want a newspaper was not entirely unheard of but was noteworthy, and she did what she could to avoid being noteworthy. She often read it a day or two behind, picking it up when someone had discarded it rather than seeking it out. Today the news had found her, because it was on everyone's tongue. She knew Mrs. Skeeter, but not well and not very personally; just as a structure of the Ministry, when she had dealings with it in another lifetime. But these sorts of stories were always connected. Before the papers were even old enough to wrap fish in people were talking, speculating, and in a muttered breath someone mentioned a name she hadn't heard for months: Urquart.

She had almost believed she had done it — almost believed what was left of her family would be free of Topaz and the black shadow accompanying her. Not yet, it seemed. Maybe not ever.

Magnolia didn't drink often. She didn't have much money to spare for it, and needed to keep her wits about her. She went for a drink tonight. She was at the bar when someone vaguely familiar approached her. She had spoken to him before, but he wasn't a client of hers; probably just a passing acquaintance. What was it they had spoken about? Oh, the reporter, that was the one!

She had only just puzzled this through when he asked his question. Her eyes narrowed on instinct. "Is that a joke?" she asked, sharp. If it was, she made it quite clear she didn't find it funny. Lycanthrope defender! As if there were such a thing!

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Kieran shook his head at her, with her narrowed eyes and sharp questionwA half-laugh huffed out from his mouth. "Not at all," he replied, tone somewhat mournful, "But if you haven't heard him talking about it, he must not've been in."

While he had not been invited to, and in fact may have put her off already, Kieran went ahead and climbed onto the barstool next to her. The potioneer wasn't Jude, but he was in a mood where he may have to just — talk at someone, whether they wanted him or not.

  

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set by MJ!

His soft laugh didn't sound like he was making fun of her or trying to be cruel, but Magnolia still wasn't entirely convinced this wasn't some kind of elaborate workup to a conversation she didn't want to be having. She watched him warily as he climbed onto the bar stool next to her. She had planned to eat dinner here, not because she needed the food but because having food would let her pace the pint of beer better, maybe even fill her stomach enough to permit a second one without losing too much of her senses in the mix, but now she thought better of it. Eating meant staying out longer meant being in public longer meant potentially having to interact with more people, and she didn't want to talk to anyone. Certainly not about werewolves.

"If he's really a defender I imagine he's home with his tail between his legs," she muttered, regretting the metaphor immediately. "It's not a day for sympathy."

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Kieran wrinkled his nose at the metaphor, but he supposed that most people didn't spend all day thinking about werewolf metaphors in the same way as a reporter who was a werewolf would.

He shrugged. "I feel like it should be," Kieran said, feeling like being contrary — and perhaps he was feeling defensive of Morwenna, who deserved better than what society and her son's death had pushed her to. "She didn't hurt anyone."

She was better than he was; maybe she reminded him, in the abstract, of the Urquart girl.

  

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set by MJ!

"And how would you know?" Magnolia snapped. If he'd been trying to bait her into conversation then he had succeeded... After listening to whispery conversations all day, though, her nerves were already frayed. Some werewolves didn't hurt people, sure — or maybe better to say hadn't yet, because the potential was always there. But some of them did — one of them had hurt her. One of them had destroyed the lives of her entire family, and they might not even have known it the next morning.

And it didn't matter, did it? That wasn't why people hated them. She had verifiably never hurt anyone, from the day she'd been bitten up until the day she'd run away, and people still hated her. The past didn't matter when there was always that potential for a bloody future.

She shifted in her chair, demeanor switching from argumentative to sulky, and glowered into her drink.

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Kieran frowned at her response, even though she seemed more sad than bigoted. "If every unregistered werewolf was as reckless as people say they are," he said, tone measured, "Then we would have dozens dead every full moon." He did not know many of his own people — he had discussed with Juliana more than once the isolation of lycanthropy — but he was sure of this. There were many unregistered werewolves, for multiple reasons — the vast majority had to be trying very hard to keep people safe.

He swallowed. "Or so Wright would say."

He talked about this a lot with Jude, too.

  

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set by MJ!

He pawned the idea off on Wright almost as an afterthought. She chewed over that for a second, trying to puzzle out the meaning. These words were his own, she determined, but he was reticent to own them. Something he didn't want to be talking about, she thought... but maybe that was idle projection. He'd started the conversation, after all.

"That implies there's a lot of them," she pointed out. "Isn't that exactly what people are worried about?"

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Kieran shook his head. "I think there's a relatively small number of unregistered werewolves in the community," he said, "Certainly fewer than a hundred fifty — the condition has to be too hard for most people to manage." Even one hundred felt like a lot, but — wizarding Britain was larger than he sometimes gave it credit for, and it was impossible to estimate the size of a community that no one could admit to being a part of.

  

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set by MJ!