Duncan blinked, coming out of the memory and looking over at Kurby’s reaction. Setting his beer down in the snow he leaned forward enough to rest his arms on his legs, and raised an eyebrow. “Lorelei Hunt? Do you know her, then?”

The thought of Bagnold personally knowing and talking to Hunt never crossed his mind. Immediately he assumed it was something related to the wizard's work. Duncan also considered he might have jumped to the wrong conclusion and waited for validation or otherwise.

It was a bad omen if the witch was also involved in the mess involving werewolves. The mere idea of Tawse and Hunt working together left a bad taste in his mouth.

Then there was the fact that Hunt knew his family's name. If she found out about Moira's involvement that night there was no telling what she'd do but from what Iona had told him, she wouldn't just leave it alone. A chill crawled down his spine.

The werewolf hunter stared at him, dark eyes bright.  After a long moment, he glanced down and raised his can of beer to take a long sip, buying himself a moment to think.

Lorelei Hunt.  That had been one of the last names in the Grimshaw ledger, dated the 11th of November and listed just above Nathan Briggs.  The amounts next to their names had been complimentary to each other; Kurby had assumed that meant that she was Briggs' buyer, for whatever illegal product the hell the two-rate criminal had been selling.  That meant that she was still alive, still active in the magical community more two decades after Duncan claimed she had murdered his cousin.

"No, I don't know her," he said at last.  He kept his expression carefully unreadable, but there was no way to hide the tight line of his jaw or the tension in his shoulders.  "I've heard her name, though.  It was, uh --"  He paused for only an instant as he decided on the best lie to tell.  "-- from someone in Knockturn that we thought was sellin' ingredients for wolfsbane potion illegally.  It was a couple of weeks back."

He couldn't bring up the adventure of the tailor shop, the seemingly ancient ledger with so many names in it that had been left open so he would see.  Kurby took another long drink of beer, and then hunched over slightly, rested his elbows on his knees and letting the can dangle between them.

"So she killed your cousin twenty-two years ago, then?" he asked, brows knitting as he met Duncan's gaze squarely.  "And then your cousin somehow got turned into one of those pentral things?"

Judging by the tension in his frame, Kurby wasn’t telling him something. Duncan let it go. There was no point in pushing for information when he didn’t know what the secret regarded. Besides, Bagnold would likely just get moody and distant. He didn’t want that.

“Unicorn blood’s more likely, than wolfsbane. They’ve been using it for a long time.” They had started once Iona told them about it, but that particular detail was unnecessary.

His cousin had been used by both of them from the start. Leander had been looking for a companion to replace his sister’s absence and then dared to call it love. Selfish, weak prick. It was a shame Iona hadn’t let him give her boyfriend a good wallop back when they were still at Hogwarts.

Duncan met his friend’s gaze and nodded, “Aye. Turned and trapped, unable to do anything.” All that time alone except for when the mad siblings visited. The Scotsman couldn’t even imagine such a horrible life.

“Hunt uses pentrals to disguise herself. Since their escape there’s no telling what she looks like now.”

Shaking his head he picked up his beer to take a drink. “Iona’s host is the one who freed her, and then they both escaped the lake house together.”

Kurby listened silently, attempting to focus on the details that Duncan was sharing with him, trying to ignore any thoughts of warm breezes or distant whispers that lingered whenever he thought about the ledger.  The suggestion that this mysterious witch could have been involved in the trade of thick, silvery unicorn's blood was unsettling.  That was a substance that never bode well for the user, no matter the intent.

Even after a decade, he knew Duncan well enough to pick up on the anger and disgust in his tone.  He could hardly blame him.  Even with a large extended family, Kurby knew how he would feel if a cousin or another relative was murdered and turned into some strange spirit, a ghost of their former self.

There had been talk of something happening at a lake house somewhere around Keswick earlier in the summer, but he hadn't heard yet about the pentrals changing appearances or being used as disguises.  Kurby swallowed, glancing down, and took another sip of beer; the can was nearly empty again, in nearly record time for the evening.  He'd called in a lot of favors with Level Two the previous week, but once his count reset, it seemed like he'd need to try to find more information on Hunt and her pentrals.

"I'm sorry, mate," he said after a beat, looking back at Duncan.  "What's goin' to happen to your cousin?"

Duncan gave a nod to Kurby in gratitude for the sentiment. Nothing else much could be said. Certainly nothing could be done aside from hearing news on Hunt being in custody or dead. Azkaban was too good for the likes of her, though.

“They're going to separate them in the Death Chamber.” Reid would restart her life while dealing with the trauma and Iona would pass on. As much as he hated the injustice of it all he couldn't completely fault the Ministry. They were doing what they could with a horrible situation. One body was never meant to house two souls and they had been together for months now.

With a small sigh he sat back again, straightening out one of his legs and pushed at the snow with his heel. “At least keeping an eye on the kids is something I can do.” That way he didn't feel completely useless.

The potential of Hunt working with Tawse was lodged in his brain, as well. He would have to add some perimeter wards to the property and houses the next day.

He gave the older wizard a sidelong glance, studying him for a moment.  Duncan McBoid wasn't the sort to sit out a fight; when Kurby had known him well, he had always seemed happiest when he was in the thick of things, swinging punches and fighting the good fight.  Even despite his misgivings about the Ministry, McBoid had immediately offered to help him out with the direwolf mess.  If something awful had happened to his cousin, it had to be killing him to sit this one out.

At least he could keep an eye on the kids, which was really the reason why Kurby had asked him to talk.  The werewolf hunter took another drink of beer, nearly killing the can.  As much as he didn't want to drag McBoid into Ministry business, it made him feel better knowing that someone was looking out for Moira and Figaro.

"And you've got your excitin' day job to tide you over," Kurby replied, flashing him a tight grin.  That was a bone he wouldn't stop picking at: the indomitable Duncan McBoid, who had found his life's calling in raising winged horses.

He finished off the beer can, using both hands to flatten it, and then flung it like a frisbee after the other two.

"Appreciate you watchin' out for them, at least."  He glanced sideways at Duncan as he flicked his wand to summon another beer, and then vanished the bottle cap. "I reckon you already know this, McBoid, but if you ever run into any trouble on anything, let me know how I can help, aye?"

Duncan chuckled mostly to himself at Kurby’s remark on official job raising winged horses. Lifting his beer he replied, “You’ve no idea,” then took a drink. Maybe one day he’d tell Bagnold the secret half of his work life. For now, there was no need and the hunter had more than enough on his plate.

“Aye, I will.” He nodded in agreement. Knowing there was someone outside of his family that he could depend on was a good thing. “Same to you, even if it is for babysitting.”


Watching the Sellaphix lad would be difficult if he never came around again. Then Moira tended to disappear at random intervals after a particularly hard day or if she decided she didn't want to be around anybody. Teaching her to hide her tracks when she was a child seemed like it might backfire on him in this instance. There were other ways to find her if necessary, of course. She also disappeared on the rare occurrence of visitors stopping by. Good thing they were only expecting one this holiday.

Taking a drink Duncan glanced over as an idea crossed his mind. “You should come by our place sometime around Christmas for a visit.”

Extra food would have to be made either way, with Donnan coming in for his first visit to the farm for holiday. Everyone in his family had a healthy appetite but feeding a fifth person, even if on a different day, wouldn't be a chore.

Besides all that, Duncan just wanted to keep in touch for friendship and Tawse reasons.

Christmas was usually his least favorite time of the year.  Most of the time, he spent it trapped at a suffocatingly intrusive family gathering, trying not to strangle Shay and itching to be back at work.  But this year, he was almost looking forward to a couple of extra days away, and he suddenly had twice the invitations to holiday events that he might actually enjoy.

He shot McBoid a lopsided grin as he raised the bottle to take a swallow of beer.

"Done keepin' family and business separate, then?" he asked nicely as he lowered it again, wrapping his hands around the cold glass.  "Or am I no longer counted amongst the latter?"

The second option was probably the more likely, he knew.  The world had changed for the better since the last time they'd been out in these woods at night.  With no need for the secrecy they'd lived during the war, and with McBoid no longer at the Ministry, business would have been a hard label for him unless he'd suddenly taken a liking to riding flying horses.  Apparently, that advanced him through the social standing.

"I'll have to check my social calendar to be sure, but somehow I reckon I can squeeze it in."  He flashed the older wizard another grin, this one a bit more genuine, and settled back on the log, stretching his legs towards the fire.  Somewhere deep within it, the wood let out a cracking sound, sending off a flurry of sparks into the air.

He'd take it.  With everything going on with work after the full moon, and with the warm, sweet-smelling breeze of Grimshaw Tailoring half-tugging at his thoughts all the time, he was happy to revive this friendship.  If all else went to hell, at least he could count on Duncan McBoid to have his back.