The next day could not come soon enough for the entire wizarding world. Early that following morning swarms of reporters eagerly awaited on the front steps of the Ministry of Magic to see what that morning would bring. They weren't the only ones, but the public had been strictly asked to not crowd in front of the Ministry of Magic in order to allow any individual with the curse to be able to enter and register at the Ministry of Magic.
It was past dawn and the reporters were bored having failed to see a single person line up. With some impatient reporters for smaller papers preparing to leave, someone cried out, "Look!"
All the reporters and photographers whirled around to glance at the horizon. Their marching down the cobblestone street was not one or two individuals but dozens upon dozens walking together as a group. Instantly the flashes of camera bulbs flash like hundreds of shooting stars in a feeding frenzy attempting to capture the historic event.
Reporters hurriedly try to capture the scene and among them, a certain young blond with elaborate, rigid curls and a heavy-jawed face happily pulls out an acid green Quick-Quotes quill from her crocodile-skin handbag. Her jeweled spectacles with rhinestones glint in the morning light, while her thick fingers with two-inch claw-like nails, painted crimson eagerly grasp parchment in one hand.
Swiftly, Skeeter says, "The ever champion of justice and seeker of truth, the lovely Rita Skeeter cannot believe her eyes. There on the horizon dozens, no hundreds of werewolves' stride down the street to register with the Ministry of Magic. It is which the likes have never been seen before and will be heralded about for centuries to come!"
From behind them, a group of newly transferred Ministry of Magic members shuffles down the steps. All of these witches and wizards belong to the newly formed, Werewolf Integration Department, also known as the W.I.D. Their prime responsibility is to ensure all werewolves are properly registered in order to receive the cure and to aid in other functions to ensure the formerly cursed reintegration into society including aiding in the searching for work.
A stately looking young witch with an emerald green shawl around her shoulders in vibrant contrast to her formal looking appearance glared at the reporters before her. The reporters in her way wisely scurry out of her path as she descended down the stairs, Emmaline Vance, had been transferred from her former department to the new and rather hastily formed overnight department, W.I.D. (aka the Werewolf Integration Department).
There are bound to be issues, but when all hands were on deck as everyone did their best to stop the boat from sinking. And Minister of Magic had asked for their cooperation, and they had all risen. Despite various departments being suddenly understaffed, there was mass of openings for recent graduates and past graduates to be promoted and enter the Ministry workforce.
Adjusting her shawl, Emmaline Vance waits with her new co-workers for the werewolves to come to a halt before them. There is a bit of a silence as both parties warily glance at each other not quite sure who should make the first move. Even the reporters and photographers are holding their breaths as not a single quill moves, nor a single camera flashes goes off.
Finally, the new hastily appointed head of W.I.D. steps out from the gathered ministry members on the front steps. The man is of medium build with a sharp profile, but with a sincere, patient gaze willing to be of aid. Clearing his throat once to gain their attention, he loudly says, "Hello, my fellow witches and wizards, I am Watson Irving, the head of the newly formed department, W.I.D. also known as the Werewolf Integration Department. I hope that we can all work well together from now on and well into the future."
The werewolves warily nod their heads as Irving in a smooth manner continues, "Now, then let us make two orderly lines, please. Those afflicted line up on my left, and those underage, please line up with your parents or guardians on my right."
There is an awkward pause before the werewolves begin to obediently move at the gesture of a grizzled, silver-haired old man. To the dismay of many of those present, the underage line is double that of the length of the afflicted a.d.u.l.ts. Cries of dismay can be heard from the reporters with disbelief at the utter horrifying travesty of the situation. What kind of monster would turn little children and underage youths?
Undaunted by the task at hand, Irving smoothly says, "Now please follow me inside ladies and gentlemen, I and my associates will promptly sort things out. While we wait, one of the associates will pass out reading material to ensure all the proper required doc.u.mentation is present. Please sure that everything is here, if not, we kindly ask that you return with said doc.u.mentation."
Irving confidently leads the group inside alongside those serving under him, while their newest interns to the department passed out pamphlets and forms to fill out while they waited. The reporters are once more eagerly writing, while the third intern passed out only the pamphlets to the reporters requesting that said information be published with their article informing the public and their target audience, other werewolves that had yet to register.
Once inside of the hastily formed offices of the W.I.D department, all the Ministry workers get to work including their new head of department, Watson Irving. The werewolves were exemplary members of society as they patiently waited in line and answered all the questions. In fact, some of the new members of W.I.D wished that they could deal with such nice members of wizarding society on a regular basis.
Emmaline Vance, at present, is wrapping up the current file in front of her which is that of a grizzled old werewolf by the name of Heskel. Emmaline made a careful note in his file stating her concern regarding his old age and the possibility of arthritis in his bones from many years of transformation. She also requested that his cell be padded for his first potion treatment to ensure no or very little damage to his physical state taking into account his advanced age.
"All right, I think we are all finished here, sir," Emmaline said. "It was a pleasure to meet you, Heskel."
"And likewise, Miss Vance," Heskel chuckled. "Why if I was any younger, I'd surely be asking you out to lunch."
Emmaline's eyes twinkled at the tease. 'Aye, I can imagine you must have been quite the rogue in your youth."
Heskel roguishly winked at her as he cheekily adds, "Still am."
Emmaline shook her head at the jest, before more solemnly saying, "Now please don't lose your official stamped ticket. It will prove that you have been registered and will allow you to receive your first dosage during the next full moon. Make sure to arrive early as there are sure to be long lines to receive the first cure dosage. Are than any other questions, before you go, Heskel?"
"No, milady," Heskel impishly said causing Emmaline to shoo him away.
"Next," Emmaline said as the next person line came up.
Emmaline blinked in surprise at seeing a couple, before glancing behind them to see a curious ten-year-old boy gazing boldly at her. The fair-haired couple sat down with their child protectively sitting between the two of them.
"I assume that you have already filled the initial paperwork, while you were waiting. May I have it please?" Emmaline asked as she held out her hand to receive it.
The couple quickly hands over the forms, while Emmaline studies the questionnaire. After a long pause, Emmaline glanced up and says, "Am I correct in understanding that the one receiving the treatment will be your son, Jacob Clayton, age ten?"
"That is correct, Ma'am," said the long-nosed father, Mr. Clayton.
Emmaline makes a note in the new file for the child. "And how long has Jacob had said illness?"
The couple glanced at each other before Mrs. Clayton timidly answered, "Since he was eight, Miss."
Emmaline slowly says, "I can see here that you are both magical, there is a fair chance that your son will be receiving a letter to Hogwarts next year. Will you be needing any type of aid in order to provide your son with a well-rounded education?"
"No, Ma'am," Mr. Clayton hurriedly replied. "We have a good farm to see us through."
"Very well, are there any questions for me regarding the procedure and such?" Emmaline further inquired.
"No, Miss," Mrs. Clayton said.
"Very well, then," Emmaline said as she stamped a ticket and handed it over to the couple. "Please don't lose your official Ministry stamped ticket. It will prove that you have already been registered and will allow you to receive your first dosage during the next full moon. Make sure to arrive early as there are sure to be long lines to receive the first cure dosage. However, should anything happen, and should it be lost, please report said loss, in order for the Ministry to issue a new ticket and destroy the old ticket number."
"Thank you, Ma'am," Mr. Clayton gravely said as he reverently took the ticket from Emmaline.
The boy, Jacob Clayton curiously asks, "Which house were you in, Miss?"
Emmaline blinks and says, "I was a Ravenclaw, young man. However, my father was a Gryffindor and my mother, a Ravenclaw much like myself."
Jacob scrunches his face and says, "I like to read, but not that much. I heard that Ravenclaw's love to study and that sounds just awful."
"Well, there's three other houses left then," Emmaline gently said. "Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, and Slytherin."
"Come along, son," Mr. Clayton gently said as Jacob waved goodbye to Emmaline, before leaving happily with his parents.
Emmaline smiles back, before sighing to herself as she put the file away. If she had known that there were so many good people going through such hardsh.i.p.s, she'd have done something more before. But at least things were changing now, and that was progress.