1AM September 15th, 1893 — Emergency Headquarters

At midnight, he'd gone to the triage site, and walked around talking to patients and healers and getting the scope of things. (A bloody mess.) At 12:30 A.M., he'd gone to his once-every-two-hours update meeting with Queen Victoria and the Prime Minister, he'd gotten reamed out by them for the existence of dragons, and they were pleased by the updates on healing and obliviation. And then it was back to the emergency headquarters.

Predictably, he'd just gotten out of the floo when he found himself face to face with another person, still covered in soot.

"I've just gotten back from the Queen — are we still seeking five of the dragons?" Ross said, half-expectant. He hadn't expected all of his problems to be solved when he was gone, but — it would have been nice, wouldn't it have?

open to 1-3 others; 2 posts/2 days rule

  

Having been at the Debate, Roman had since then not had a wink of sleep. He had been working tirelessly to do what he could to help and helping organize efforts. It was given considering his position.

He looked up at the sound of someone coming through the Floo to find that the Minister had returned. "From my recent reports from MacFusty, yes, with a sixth being subdued any moment now as we speak."

  

"Good," Ross said, because Thank Merlin was too flippant for a conversation in semi-public. He brushed the soot off of his suit and made to sit in his usual spot; near the floo, where people could find him if they urgently needed him.

"Do Gladstone or [Hogsmeade Hospital Director] have an idea as to casualty counts? Muggle or magical," Ross asked.

  

Roman flipped through the parchment in his hands, each one meticulously organized because he personally would have it no other way. "The total number so far is ten confirmed deaths with several severe injuries. It is bad, sir." Which was an understatement really. "What did the Queen have to say, if you are able to share?" He doubted she was very happy with them all. Not that it was any of their faults - any society had their idiotic criminals, muggle and magical alike.

  

Ten casualties, and they had not even made it to daylight yet. Ross had a bad feeling about this, and grimaced at Crouch before dropping into the folding chair next to him. "She's furious," he allowed, "Understandably. She also wants hourly updates on obliviations."

  

Roman returned the grimace in sympathy. He could only imagine. "I have the report right here for you," he said as he handed the file in question over. "See anything I should make more understandable for a muggle?" Understandably, most muggles wouldn't know the magical jargon of obliviating.

  

Ross scanned Crouch's report, looking for anything that stood out. "Level XXXXX creature," he said after a beat, handing it back over. "I don't want them asking about other creatures at that level. Otherwise, it looks very good." Crouch always did excellent work.

  

Roman marked down the Ministers note and double checked that he had nothing else he needed the Ministers opinion on. "I will rectify that and leave you to get some rest. We won't be able to get much done if you drive yourself to exhaustion." Roman valued efficiency and intensely exhausted officials were rarely efficient.