Rosier was still trying to figure out their new Minister, this elusive Persepolis Zephyr. He didn't know what to think of her, so he subtly avoided her for now, burying himself in the most redundant paperwork and working maybe a bit over zealously on the Tournament organization as of late. But when he had time, he tried to figure out his new superior, maybe familiarize himself with her methods without directly approaching her for trivial reasons.

But as he held an office memo from the Junior Undersecretary to the Minister (an obnoxious boy Rosier loathed even more than he loathed some of the lamer Auror trainees), Rosier clenched his jaw nervously. The Minister wanted to arrange an inter-departmental meeting concerning the Corpus Inversus case. Inter-departmental meetings were a chore because every Department Head thought their Department was more important than the other (which was completely ridiculous - everyone sane knew Law Enforcement was superior).

He will need to mentally prepare himself for that ordeal...but he also knew he needed to familiarize himself with the subject. He knew Trevelyan was working on this...but how helpful would the ginger Auror be? Rosier almost laughed out loud at his own silliness - the words 'helpful' and 'Trevelyan' never, ever went together. But to be fair, their relationship improved over the last couple of weeks. It was strange, but Rosier never thought he would be able to have a normal conversation with the wizard after their first couple of encounters. Also, he had no choice really - he needed Trevelyan to be his cheat-sheet for this meeting...a nomenclator of sorts.

Putting the memo in his cluttered first drawer, Rosier picked up his wand, tucked a cigarette into the corner of his mouth and stormed out of his office. Walking through the corridor, he mumbled incomprehensible greetings to over-keen witches and wizards. Finally reaching the Auror Headquarters, Rosier knew he wouldn't have to look for more than two seconds - even a blind man could spot a ginger.

He approached the Auror's humble desk, an unlit cigarette still hanging from his mouth. "I have an exciting task for you, Trevelyan," he announced with fake enthusiasm. "Come over to my office and help me sort out some papers, will you? Also, what do you think of that woman...that writer, you know which one, the one who writes nonsense...Do you think I should go out with her?"

When it came to Department Head Rosier, there were good and bad sorts of conversations that one could have.  The bad ones often involved words like 'you,' 'explosion,' and 'Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes,' though for the life of him, Jonas couldn't understand why he was still the first Auror that came to mind whenever Level Three was unhappy.  He had smashed a taxi cab into one phone booth.  It might have qualified as unnecessary destruction within eyeshot of several dozen Muggles, but it was hardly a pattern.

His qualifications for a 'good' conversation were very low -- namely, that his boss had shown up wearing pants.  Jonas ventured a quick look over his shoulder to check, and then, momentarily mollified, kicked off the ground with his good foot to spin his chair around so that he could face Cameron Rosier.

He had been expecting some sort of conversation since he'd arrived in the office on Monday -- mostly because he'd spiced up his last report by writing it in the form of a whodunnit crime novel, which he assumed Rosier would Not Appreciate -- but the question threw him immediately off guard.

"Who?" Jonas asked blankly, his forehead creasing.  Quickly, he tried to run down the list of potential writers who 'wrote nonsense' and whom Rosier might also be interested in dating.  Margaret Groust was too young.  Niobe Thursby might die of excitement at coming into such close contact to the Head of MLE, but either she or Rosier would eat the other alive.  What other writers were there?  The mysterious Adorabella Cox, who had penned the Witch Weekly article about Adon last February?  Jonas would hardly consider that nonsense -- more likely a potential winner of a British Press Award, and definitely worthy of him buying her a beer.  Unless...could Rosier be talking about a Muggle author?

"You mean the one who writes about sparkling vampires?" he asked perplexedly, levering himself to his feet.  The words 'exciting task' and 'come into my office' never went well together.  Already, his mind was racing to think of an escape.   "I'd be happy to, Boss, but it can't take very long.  I've got to, uh, go check out a lead," he said unconvincingly, jerking a thumb over his shoulder in the general direction of 'away.'  "But maybe Radley can help?  Or Pratt?  I heard 'em talking earlier about the Quidditch game last night over by the break room, so I reckon they've both got some free time today."

Trevelyan was rambling as per usual. What were 'the sparkling vampires'? Was that a wizarding band? "No, she writes about...well, it's not important really. I haven't actually read anything she's written." Rosier shrugged, not really wanting this to turn in an actual conversation about him, his failed relationships and random writers he finds sexy. He knew Trevelyan acted interested only because he wanted to avoid the other conversation topic - going to Rosier's office and doing actual work. He crossed his arms as he listened to his colleague try to worm his way out of this situation.

"A lead? How splendid," he said, completely ignoring what Trevelyan said about Pratt and Radley. If he wanted them, he would have asked them. "Yes, maybe you should go check it out, we wouldn't want you wasting any time, right?" He glanced over the Auror's desk, over some tattered-looking files and his stomach churned. He couldn't tell what was worse - treating the parchment so badly it started decomposing, Trevelyan's handwriting or the crime novels with spelling mistakes Rosier received from him every month.

"The last thing I want is to stop you from doing what you're being paid for, Trevelyan," he said with a note of false sympathy and then coughed, which reminded him he still had an unlit cigarette lazily hanging from his mouth. He finally lit it with a casual flick of his wand and offered the Auror a complacent smirk.

"You're truly lucky I have some free time today, though I must admit I would rather sit in my office and drink port than go lead checking with you, but duty calls, isn't that so? Come, I need to grab my cloak before we leave, it's chilly outside."  Try to worm your way out of this one, Trevelyan, Rosier thought.

Rosier had to be trying to intentionally drive him batty.  Well, it's not important, really...  Jonas could have torn his hair out in frustration.  Then why had he asked?!  Not that he cared about his superior's love life, save for the fact that maybe Rosier would be less interested in bothering the Aurors if he was regularly going on dates, but now that he'd started wondering about it, he couldn't just let it go.

"Well, does she write about other sorts of vampires?" he asked insistently.  At least a 'no' answer there would rule out half the Muggle fantasy section, and quite a few bad romance novels aside.  "Or, uh, let me think.  Crime novels?  Or do you mean Niobe Thursby?" he asked hopefully.  "Because I don't think Pratt's seeing her anymore, but that'd still be a bit awkward, mate.  Better to pick one with a clean slate."

This was not the way that his cunning excuse was supposed to have gone over.  Instead of accepting that Jonas was busy, patting him on the shoulder, and agreeing that it would be far better to go annoy Archer or Ed with inane requests (and very possibly offering him a raise and a promotion for all of his consistent hard work), instead Rosier was grabbing his cloak.  Jonas grimaced, looking considerably unhappy as he watched the other wizard walk away.  Did he do this on purpose to be annoying?

"You sure about that?" he called after him quickly.  "I mean, I know you're busy, Mr Rosier, and I'd hate to keep you from that port.  And this isn't going to be a  very interesting spat of lead checking, anyhow," he added with feeling.  Now that he'd launched into this, he had to follow through, so he made a show of grabbing his own coat.  "Routine.  Necessary but unimportant.  Right bloody boring, if you ask me.  I reckon someone as important as you ought to have plenty of better things to do with his time, yeah, Boss?"

Why was he insisting on vampires? No one mentioned any vampires! Rosier only mentioned a writer, but apparently in Trevelyan's mind this had to mean she only wrote about vampires...there were no other possible topics. "No, I don't mean Niobe Thursby," he sighed, a bit perplexed now. Thursby would eat him for breakfast...and then write an article about it. "And if I was after Pratt's exes, I'd rather ask his former wife out - but don't tell him that." He smirked despite himself. Pratt was an illiterate oaf with no taste for anything, but he somehow managed to acquire himself the most stunning wife. "God Trevelyan, don't you know my type? Try harder."

And then he rambled on again, but Rosier kept quiet this time. It was decided - he would go following this lead with Trevelyan and nothing he says now would change that. Rosier was stubborn and the Auror knew that. He walked back to his office, finished the cigarette and threw the butt into the fireplace while not even looking at it. Grabbing his black cloak he looked over at his colleague. " Yes, I'm sure. I do what I want with my time, I thought you learned that by now." It wasn't necessarily true, but it would do. Trevelyan's obvious attempts to get rid of him were irritating.

Rosier was never an Auror, but he knew how they worked maybe a bit better than Trevelyan, Pratt and the rest probably assumed. However, he was an office person - following leads, spying and other filed work were not exactly his forte. "So, where are we going?" he asked, pocketing his wand inside his robes and checking if he had some cigarettes for the road. "Oh and, on our way we'll have a chat about goblins and other nasty business...I almost forgot why I needed you today." Saying that, he picked up a piece of parchment from his desk, folded it neatly and put it in his pocket as well.

This was not proceeding the way that he had planned.  Where were they going?  Jonas had no idea, because he hadn't really planned to go anywhere -- aside from not into Rosier's office to perform whatever meaningless task the Department Head had been planning to assign to him.  Luckily, Jonas thought quickly on his feet.  There had to be somewhere in one of his case files that they could go nose around at long enough for his boss to get bored.

"There's a...shop in Knockturn that I need to check out."  He frowned at his desk for a moment, trying to decide if there was anything that he ought to take with him.  No -- this exercise was pointless, anyhow.  Why weigh himself down?

"It's related to those Dark Arts murders that Radley and I are looking into.  The Wizengamot bloke who died had spent some money there, and it showed up in the Arithmancer's accounts, too."  Not that the coincidence had seemed urgent -- plenty of people shopped in Knockturn, and it wasn't like there were very many stores to choose from.  Jonas sighed, running a hand absently over his hair.  Hell.  He'd just call it an afternoon wasted, so long as it meant he got out of doing Rosier's bidding.

"And the, uh, hours are odd," he lied, slinging his coat over his shoulder as he started for the lift.  "According to Radley, at least.  So there's only a small window where we can stop in.  I don't think anything will come of it, but you know us -- checking out every possible lead.  Alright, ah..."  He tried to piece together the few clues that he'd been given.  Not one of Pratt's exes.  Not Niobe Thursby.  She wrote nonsense, but didn't write about sparkling vampires -- which ruled out much of the Quibbler staff, along with certain Muggle authors -- and whatever she wrote, Rosier didn't read it. 

Bloody hell, what was his type?  Obviously the sort who didn't mind an aging wizard who occasionally greeted his coworkers at the door in his boxers.  Jonas unconsciously stole a look at Rosier's trousers.  Good, he was still wearing them.

"Is it Rita Skeeter?" he guessed, stopping outside the lift.  Normally, that much acid lime green on one person's body would make him feel a bit ill, but maybe Rosier was more tolerant.  Or colorblind.  On the plus side, it was impossible to find a woman who was farther from Niobe Thursby; Rita Skeeter usually chose much more irritating topics than vampires (Ed Pratt seemed to be a favorite); and all of Level Two typically boycotted her articles, so chances were good that Rosier had never read them.  But then, if Skeeter had ever seen the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement answer the door in his underwear, there would surely have been front page coverage. 

Jonas looked expectantly to his employer, waiting for confirmation or denial.  "And what's this about the goblins, then?"

"What's the shop called?" Rosier asked with determination. He had to admit that it was amusing watching Trevelyan struggle, he just wondered how far will the Auror take this lie. He shook his head slightly - Trevelyan was even more stubborn than him, he would take it all the way just to prove a point and to avoid menial paperwork. Dark Arts murders...was that the best he could come up with at this point? Well, this looked like a perfect waste of an afternoon. Of course that meant taking home two tons of folders and possibly no sleep for him tonight. His mood worsened at the thought. Hopefully Puck the house elf made something delicious for dinner - that was literally the only thing Rosier could look forward to in his life.

"The...hours...are odd," he repeated, albeit slowly, with a tiny note of sarcasm while checking his watch. Did Trevelyan really still think he could get himself out of this situation? And with such transparent lies...Rosier could only frown at this. He was only half-listening at this point while the two of them walked to the lift. It was a bit strange being 'seen' around the Ministry in Trevelyan's company. The two of them were an unlikely pair, especially after everyone read that god-awful article in the Quibbler about the two of them being sworn enemies and attempting to kill each other (multiple times).

Because he wasn't listening closely and probably greeting random people on their way, Rosier completely lost track of what the Auror was saying now. Rita Skeeter what? "Are you still on about that writer? For Merlin's sake Trevelyan, it's not Rita Skeeter, she's too o-..I mean she's...well, she's Rita bloody Skeeter!" He almost said 'too old' when the witch was probably younger than Rosier. But didn't Trevelyan know his latest ex-wife was almost twenty-five years his junior? He'll just keep his mouth shut though. "Will you stop harping on about this woman?" It was amusing at first, but now Trevelyan's guessing was a bit annoying. However, Rosier could see the guessing game annoyed the Auror was well...so maybe it was worth playing it. Rosier could see how stupid this reasoning is, but he couldn't help himself.

"I'll tell you about the goblins in a bit. Let's get out of here." They exited the lift in the Atrium and Rosier took out his wand, ready for apparition.

It was not the first time that Jonas had counted himself lucky for his ability to recall random facts.  "Grimshaw Tailoring and Alterations," he rattled off automatically, as they boarded the lift.  The doors popped closed, and they began to descend down to the atrium.

So.  Not Skeeter.  He was beginning to run out of options.  Jonas realized that he didn't actually know many wizarding writers -- aside from Skeeter, Thursby, and Groust, he hadn't really interacted with any.  Would Rosier consider dating a Muggle?  The sparkly vampire author was out, but there were plenty more -- and the man did live in Muggle London.  That had to show some tolerance for Muggles, didn't it?  Although the thought of the cold, aristocratic, pure-blooded Cameron Rosier tolerating anything that was less than perfect for more than fifteen seconds didn't really strike him as likely, either --

The lift reached the Atrium with a bing, and Jonas realized he hadn't actually heard anything that Rosier said in the past sixty seconds. 

"Pardon?" he asked, his forehead creasing as he exited the lift alongside the other man.  Rosier was drawing his wand.  Right.  Apparition.  Jonas paused for the briefest of instants.  He hadn't actually attempted to side along anyone since he'd recovered his magic, although he had certainly gotten more comfortable apparating again -- that was one thing that Adon had rightly insisted on.  As amusing as it would be to splotch Rosier, it was probably not the best way to start the afternoon.  He'd have to trust that the other wizard could get himself there.

"Entrance of Knockturn," he said in a clipped voice, freeing his own wand from his pocket.  "Meet you there."

---

They reappeared at the entrance to Knockturn Alley with a crack.  Jonas glanced around carefully as he returned his wand to his pocket.  On second thought, bringing Cameron Rosier along to investigate a shop in Knockturn probably had not been his most brilliant idea of the morning -- even if he could go unnoticed, the photogenic Head of Magical Law Enforcement certainly could not.

Oh, well.  There was little to be done about it now but soldier on.

"Well, what about that one Veela woman, then?  You know, the one who writes for Witch Weekly?" he asked with a frown, looking both ways.  He thought he remembered the address -- the shop was somewhere over near the location of the Black Chimaera -- and so he started off with purpose.  "Dunno if that one would be the smartest idea, boss.  Can't reckon I'd ever want to risk messing with a Veela."

The air was cold and the stench of Knockturn Alley was unpleasantly familiar. Rosier grimaced as he looked at the filthy ground, thinking his nice polished shoes are going to get ruined in less than three minutes. Somehow he always forgot about the mud and filth of these streets. With an unhappy expression on his face, Rosier pocketed his wand and looked over at his colleague. He assumed Trevelyan knew the way - wherever the way actually was.

"Now you're just taking the piss, I swear," he wasn't sure if he should laugh or cry, but somehow he managed to keep a relatively convincing poker face. "I'd rather dance around Level Two in my underwear than go out with someone from the Witch sodding Weekly." The sad bit was that he actually wasn't exaggerating. The women in charge of that magazine were not only insane, but also terrifying. He would rather ask his house elf on a date. At the mention of Veelas he frowned slightly and added; "You and me both." Some Veela was the last thing on earth he needed.

As they walked through the grim alley, Rosier decided it was his turn to be annoying. "I'll give you a hint," he smirked. "I think you deserve one hint, no? However I'm going to ask for something in exchange." Rosier's tone was now more serious and a lot quieter, in case someone on the street was listening. However, he still had a small, playful smirk on his face. "Remember when I mentioned goblins? Well, tomorrow you'll attend a meeting with me and the Minister and I want you to back me up on some things. I need you there as the representative of the Corpus Inversus case, but I don't want you rambling more than it's necessary. "

"So I'll give you a hint if you promise me we'll be on the same page tomorrow and that we'll represent our Department with...dignity." He was going to take Trevelyan to the meeting regardless, but he was also interested what the Auror would say to this. Rosier knew he would be helpful tomorrow, but he also knew how stubborn and hot-headed the Auror sometimes was and he couldn't risk that during an inter-departmental meeting. Not when he needed to appear in control and collected.

Any trains of thought that had been running regarding what other writers Cameron Rosier might be interested to ask out suddenly came to a screeching halt.  Jonas blinked, sobering considerably as he glanced at the other wizard, listening silently as he laid out his request.

"Of course, Mr Rosier," he said, his expression completely serious.  For all of the daily effort he normally put into annoying Cameron Rosier -- or, well, outright undermining him on occasion -- at some point over the past several months, he'd come to moderately respect the older man.  When it came to dealing with other departments, Jonas felt strongly in showing a united front.

This particular request, though, did not sound completely innocuous.  The investigation into what the Prophet had dubbed the Corpus Inversus murders was going slowly -- they'd been stonewalled at nearly every opportunity by the goblins, and if it wasn't for the information that was being quietly passed their way, he and Archer would have been even further stalled out.  There was nothing more depressing than a case where you were left hoping that the killer might strike again, if only to leave you with another clue.

Which begged the question of why Persepolis Zephyr was suddenly interested in an investigation that was going nowhere. 

"Why're we meeting with the Minister about goblins in such a hurry, if I can ask?" Jonas inquired with a frown, giving Rosier a sidelong glance.  "She wants a briefing on the investigation all of a sudden?"

Rosier had to admit he was a little surprised with Trevelyan's response. It was a very nice surprise though and nice surprises were sort of a rare occurrence in Cameron Rosier's life these days. He expected Trevelyan will have at least one smart retort for his request, but we was obviously mistaken. Feeling a little relieved, Rosier nodded at his colleague as they continued their stroll down the dirty alley.

"Your guess is as good as mine," he replied to Trevelyan's question. The memo he received was very short and vague, but he heard an inside tip it was about the goblins. So, Rosier concluded it could be about Corpus Inversus, which was the reason for bringing Trevelyan into the picture. "Something must have happened...She sent vague M.U.M.M.s, so I guess it's urgent." Rosier still wasn't familiar with how the new Minister of Magic operated and what exactly was her style of work, but he sincerely hoped she wasn't a panicky sort of Minister.

"You needn't prepare anything special for the meeting, I just think your inside information on the case would be beneficial." Rosier almost stepped into a puddle of grimy water, so now he paid more attention to where he was walking. Not that it mattered anymore though - his shoes were beyond saving and his trousers splattered with mud. He spotted an ugly, dirty-looking sign on the side of the street and frowned with distaste. "Ah, is this it? Grimshaw, right?" The sign was so filthy and rusty he had trouble reading the once-gilded, cursive letters. He peeked though the shop window - dust, dust...dust everywhere - dusty dresses only old people would wear, dusty lace....dusty wigs. Rosier grimaced, then looked at Trevelyan.

"It's a bloody dress shop!" He stated the obvious, instantly remembering Ó Móráin and that whole ordeal. "Let's go inside, I suppose. With any luck we'll find Liadán Ó Móráin wearing nothing but knickers."

The response was not particularly informative, although apparently Rosier didn't have much more in terms of information to give.  Jonas frowned at the other wizard, his forehead creasing as he considered his employer's words.  'Goblins' was a broad topic, although their relation to the Corpus Inversus case was a bit narrower -- the sentient creatures who ran Gringotts had not been  cooperative this past week as he and Radley had tried to investigate the murder of one of their Arithmancers.

But there were more potential crossroads between goblins and Level Two's current cases.  The recent discovery of a corpse in the Eleor family Gringotts vault[1] had caused the investigation into Dreogan Eleor Sr.'s 1994 disappearance to be reopened.  There was a slim, slim chance that this meeting could involve something related to Adon, or even Raizel Cohen -- which definitely meant that he wanted to be present.

The sudden arrival at their destination broke off his train of thought.  Jonas stopped short, furrows forming in his forehead as he regarded the shop in front of them with surprise.  A dress shop -- he had to hide the smile that was threatening to split his face.  It was too bad he hadn't planned this irony intentionally.

He let out a quick laugh, flashing Rosier a crooked smile at the comment about O Morain.  "Yeah, reckon it'll be about me usual luck if she comes waltzing out," he agreed cheerfully, studying the dirty windows before them with a more considering eye.  The dusty displays certainly did not look as if they had been touched in years, although that by itself wasn't particularly unusual for a magical business, especially one in Knockturn.  What was unusual was the lack of life -- no movement, no shopkeeper, not even a CLOSED sign to denote the current state of business, as if someone had slipped out early for lunch several years before and never bothered to come back.

It was odd, and he didn't like it.  It could have been coincidence that both Lazarus Ripringham-Gomfrey and Terrence Dawlish had spent money here, but two wizards who seemed so different, supposedly frequenting a shady establishment that looked as if it hadn't been open in years....   With a frown, Jonas drew his wand.

At least Rosier seemed to be on the same page.  Warrants weren't usually something that one could get retroactively, but who was he to argue with the Head of Magical Law Enforcement?  Cautiously, Jonas studied the doorknob, examining it for any sign of enchantment.  None was visible -- not that they usually were.  That meant taking other precautions.

"Goleya," he murmured, raising his wand.  It had taken him some time to get a hang of the Beit Gaddol-taught spell, but now he could cast it consistently, allowing him to see the glowing aura of recently cast spells.  Here in Knockturn, the glow of the magic was almost blinding in intensity -- but the door itself was dull and ordinary.  If it was locked, it wasn't secured magically.

Jonas squinted at it for a long moment before giving a shrug.  He jerked his wand to cut off the spell, and then reached for the doorknob.  He wasn't entirely surprised when it turned easily.

"Guess they didn't lock up before they left," he remarked over his shoulder to Rosier, easing the door open cautiously so he could peer inside.  The interior of the shop looked much the same -- dust, dust everywhere, the counters covered with old gray sheets and nothing looking as if it had been touched in years.  Jonas checked the ground for any sign of footprints, and then stepped inside.

"Lumos," he said quietly, raising his wand for light.  Forehead creasing, he carefully began to look over the room, examining what he could see inch by inch. 

"You know," he added off-handedly to the other man, "there's been a bit more going on with the goblins than just the Corpus Inversus case.  Although I know they haven't been happy about that," he added grimly, starting for the counter.  Perhaps there would be some sort of ledger there.  "But there was that trouble between them and Adon back at the beginning of August.  You don't reckon it's related to that, do you?"

1.	Storming the Castle

Rosier left the breaking and entering part of the task to Trevelyan; it was apparently what the Auror was good at, according to office rumors. He watched as his colleague used a spell unknown to Rosier and then slowly twisted the doorknob. So the door was open - that was a bit unexpected considering the shop looked long-deserted. Merely grimacing at Trevelyan's remark about the shop owners not locking the door, Rosier followed the Auror carefully inside.

He didn't light up his wand like Trevelyan, just held it nervously ready to hex the first thing that moves in front of him - be it a rat or whichever innocent creature that comes in his way. "I know," he responded to the inquiry about the goblins. "It might all be linked together, that's why I need you...this is your field rather than mine. You know how it is with those sodding goblins, poking their ugly noses into our business - where there's smoke, there's definitely fire."

Rosier took a couple of moments to scan the other part of the shop, turning his back on Trevelyan. He examined a small shelf with an assortment of ugly, dusty feathered hats, then proceeded to an old, equally dusty cabinet. "The woman I was talking about earlier is a novelist, not a journalist - in case you were wondering," he added with a small smirk, attempting to make this situation a little less...well, serious. And after all, he promised Trevelyan a hint, so there it was. The cabinet was open, so Rosier peeked inside it finding more hats, wigs....and dust (what a surprise).

Among all the other junk he found inside the cabinet there was an ugly marble bust with an even uglier hat sitting on top of it. The hat was a monstrosity with a stuffed, greasy-looking crow on top of it. The taxidermy of the poor creature was so badly made it looked all tattered and with its wings slightly askew and half of its beak missing. He wasn't even sure why, but Rosier extended his arm and poked the stuffed bird with his wand. "Well, isn't this the ugliest..." he mumbled to himself just when the bird's head fell off lamely onto the cabinet shelf. For crying out loud... he thought, picking up the ugly head, utterly disgusted and placed it back where it belonged. It just wouldn't stick, so he left it there, on top of the sombrero hat, sitting there pathetically.

Just then Rosier noticed there was something sticky on his fingertips. No, worse...there was something dark and dense covering his entire palm...something almost blood-like. His heart skipped a beat and in a moment of panic, he pushed off the sombrero from the bust revealing more of the blood-like substance beneath it. "Trevelyan..." he said quietly, looking at his palm, puzzled and slightly shocked. Then he suddenly snapped out of it and muttered; "Homenum revelio!" noticing his wand was covered in that same grimy substance.

"Someone's downstairs."

"Huh."  The revelation that Rosier's current infatuation was a novelist was enough to tear Jonas's attention away from his search.  He glanced up for a moment, his forehead creasing as he tried to think.  Unless the piece of literature in question was a crime novel or something that was readily available to mock, he was unlikely to be aware of it, and they'd already ruled out sparkling vampires.

"Well, what about whoever writes those awful Roderic Persammon books[1] that Eleor likes to read?" he asked quizzically.  "I dunno about that one either, boss.  If you're going to date a writer, I reckon she should probably be a good writer, yeah?"

Even that didn't keep his attention for long, though.  The counter was just as dusty as the rest of the room; what looked to be an old accountant's ledger had been left awkwardly sitting out, strange runes pressed into its cover.  Frowning, Jonas stuck his still-lighted wand into a cup that was holding several quills to prop it up, and then began to carefully leaf through the book.

From the look of things, the shop hadn't been in operation in ages.  The most recent dates he could find for transactions were from the 1970s, and all of the notations were in that same strange form of runes that he didn't quite recognize.  Biting his tongue, Jonas began to flip further back, squinting at the faded writing, trying to make some sense of the recorded information -- until Rosier spoke up.

"Someone's downstairs."

The words were foreboding enough to catch his attention once more.  Jonas looked up sharply, meeting his employer's eyes for an instant, and then turned back towards the only other doorway in the shop.  The heavy oak door was wide open, revealing a dark expanse behind it. 

There were a thousand and one reasons why someone might be concealed in the lower level of a seemingly abandoned Knockturn shop.  It could be some normal vagabond taking refuge, or a couple of kids getting into trouble, or even the legitimate store owner deciding that he wanted somewhere slightly less dusty to run his business; but it could also be something more nefarious.  Rippringham-Gomfrey and Dawlish had both evidently spent money here.  So far, they'd seen nothing to indicate that the tailor shop was even operating.

Investigating without another Auror present was not the smartest thing to do, but Rosier was a decent hand with a wand.  Jonas glanced at the other wizard once more, reading his gaze.  "Watch our backs, yeah?" he asked in a quiet, businesslike tone, lifting his own wand again as he started for the doorway.  "If this gets too ugly, we'll apparate back to the street to regroup."

The hallway was dark, with only the muted natural light shining through the dusty windows to illuminate it.  Jonas stepped inside cautiously, his lighted wand raised, glancing carefully down it.  Two doors -- only one was open.  A quick look revealed more sheets, more dusty furniture -- some sort of back storage room.  That meant the second had to conceal the stairwell.

Of course the door was locked.  Like the first, though, this one didn't seem to be secured magically.  Frowning, Jonas studied it intently, examining the lock, and then turned his attention to the wood and the hinges.  Adon would have simply kicked it down in some show of unnecessary Israeli machismo, but his bad knee meant he couldn't be quite so brusque..  Jonas studied the door for a moment, and then raised his wand, silently vanishing the hinges.  All it took was a careful application of his shoulder and the door was forced open against its will.

Obviously whoever was below knew that he or she had company.  If their footprints hadn't given them away, Rosier's casting of Homenum revelio would have had to.  That meant that trying to sneak down was not going to make a difference; he might as well be direct and hope that their mysterious host's intentions didn't involve firing Unforgivable Curses at their heads.

"Auror Corps!" Jonas called, squinting down into the darkness.  He couldn't make out anything below, other than an odd, metallic scent -- that was a smell that he knew too well.  Jonas set his jaw, still wary for any sign of spell-casting as he inched forward onto the landing.  If there was so much of a hint that anyone below was trying magic, he'd get the hell out of the way faster than anyone could say Rhoderic Persamon.  "We know you're down there!  Come on up!"

1.	Jonas may or may not be under the mistaken impression that The Mysterious Workings of Rhoderic Persamon: A Travel Saga in Three Parts is Adon's favorite reading material.

Rosier frantically tried to wipe off the blood-like substance from his hands against his robes. Grimacing in disgust, he even failed to notice Trevelyan's sudden military-like behavior. He sincerely hoped this won't get 'too ugly' - it was already ugly enough! A headless stuffed bird filled with grime on top of a dusty sombrero kind of ugly. But Rosier was too agitated too reply to his colleague - the only thing he could do was grind his teeth and follow the Auror. Watch their backs? Yeah, sure...why not when he was already doing so well?

As they walked through the gritty hallway, Rosier scanned the floors and walls - the floors  seemed cleaner. Actually, 'cleaner' was probably not the right way to say it - the proper expression would be 'less grimy'. So, one could estimate that someone had been using the hallways. As Trevelyan instructed, Rosier watched their backs as the Auror tried to force the door open. It probably didn't matter how much noise they made at this point. "You reckon they've got traps here?" Rosier asked his colleague while squinting into the darkness. Merlin's beard, he had no clue what the incantation for a trap-detection spell was. He would make a dreadful Auror.

When the Auror called out, Rosier tried to listen for any movements which might come from downstairs. But noting - except for Trevelyan's yells, the place was as silent as a grave. "Hell, it smells like something died in here," he stated, though unnecessarily - by the look on Trevelyan's face he could guess the Auror noticed it too. It would be too reckless to just march downstairs into the unknown - but this situation right now felt like a Mexican standoff, so that was definitely not a good thing. Maybe they could try and lure the person out before it's too late and he or she disapparates.

As Trevelyan inched closer onto the landing, so did Rosier, albeit more carefully. The memory of the night when he was so unjustly attacked in his own garden (while having a cup of tea, no less!) came back to him. He really didn't want this to end like that...it took him months to recover. Just when he thought about the damage he caused with that damn fire and how some people in Catastrophes will never, ever forgive him, a stream of blazing-red light came charging in their general direction. Instinctively, he shouted "PROTEGO!!!, but maybe with a bit too much force because the spell broke the door hinges into splinters and sent the Head of DoMLE flying a meter backwards, hitting the opposite wall.