People, while enormously useful at times, could also be more aggravating than Muggles. Honestly, the wizards he normally had to deal with typically had some manner of common sense. Not the most drive, despite being politicians; not the most intelligence, despite being proudly pureblooded; but usually they at least had common sense, and could see a danger and work out a way to get around it. But now, with the sudden outbreak of werewolf attacks in the islands of the United Kingdom, and particularly Great Britain, the French magical officials were squabbling like a trio of chickens that have just spotted a circling hawk.

Lucius sat in his office at the Ministry of Magic, well past his normal closing hour, and glared at the stack of fifteen or so well-ordered Letters of Complaint written in the simpering language of his child government. They were all from the Head of This Important Department, and the Secretary to the Head of This Other Equally Important Department, and there were two from two different secretaries of the same Head of Another Pointless Department that were apparently unable to schedule when whom would do what. And they all complained about Britains poor job of containing her plague of werewolves. He had yet to hear of a French werewolf attack, but no doubt the chickens were just scratching out their panic circles in preparation. Perhaps his child government thought England (and thus, Lucius) was blind to the attacks.

The glacial glare narrowed further, thinning Malfoys brilliant blue eyes into twin points of ice. Oh, if looks could cast spells, that stack of letters on his desk would be burnt to cinders.right.NOW.

CRASH!

He jerked upright in his chair, ears perked intently. The noisehad come from the rightthe public relations area. Perfect. There was someone else in the Ministry; and here Lucius had thought them all to be gone. Well, well.a sly grin curled onto his pointed features, and the aristocrat rose gracefully from his desk. He ran agile fingers through his sleek mane, straightening a few rogueish strands; and applied a sharp jerk to his sable robes, shaking nonexistent wrinkles from the elegant folds. Lucius then gathered his letters, and swept across his office to the door. Hed done his job by hearing his child governments complaints, but this solution was far beyond his talents. It seemed that he could pass his headache onto someone else.

Out the doorway to the hall, and down it to the only other room with a flickering light-orb outside its door. This office belonged to Aoife Delaney, but Lucius couldnt have cared more if it belonged to the head of public relations. This office belonged to someone that would now have to deal with a problem that was about to become Not His.

He tapped his knuckles thrice against the door, and waited.