Long worn fingers gripped the cane tightly, squeezing the handle as the witch came to stop at the reception for the Department of Law Enforcement. She even recognised the young witch sat behind the desk. This time, unlike last year, the tea towel seemed to have grown into at least the size of a hand towel. It was winter, after all. But the older witch was still witness to rather more flesh than she’d have liked to see. Young people these days...

“I’ve an appointment with Raynor.” The welsh witch lied when the receptionist looked up to greet the arrival. She looked back down at the desk to check some parchment. It had been fairly easy to get into the auror office. Apparently Tamis hadn’t warned reception to disallow her entry. In fact the receptionist had welcomed her in the high pitched, grating voice of a girl with little better to do than practice her smile in a mirror and smear her long blonde hair in goat urine to bring out the shine.

So now Madame Aldridge was making her way down the corridors to the set of double doors that led to the former workplace of her son. Her boots stepped into the ground unevenly, here weight carefully being distributed onto the cane she walked with. Over her shoulder hung a satchel. It was the contents of this she was here to speak to her former almost daughter-in-law about; and it had taken about 4 months[1] to decide to finally divulge that she knew more than she’d told the ministry for many years.

Regardless of the fact that she had been grounded now for months thanks to the reckless actions of one Raizel Cohen[2], Charisma dressed every bit like a cursebreaker in the field. Her baggy canvas trousers covered the worn dragon leather brown boots she had on her feet. The boots themselves had been in her possession longer than she’d been married. Her long black Gringotts hung loosely over a cream shirt and her wavy hair had, like normal, been scraped back into a messy bun, revealing the wrinkles of a witch that had already seen so much of life.

The office of cubicles was full of red robed witches and wizards going about their business, paying her little attention as Charisma made her way to the cubicle she’d visited ten months prior to give its resident an ear bashing[3].

But he wasn’t there. An auror was making his way past her and she span around to face him. “Jonas. Where if he?” she demanded and the red robed wizard grumbled directions to a cubicle a bit further up. Without much of thanks, Charisma continued further into the office to stop at the cubicle in question.

And there he was…

“I need a buffer to stop me getting arrested, Jo. Get up.”

1.	Lesson not Just Magic Only. Lesson for Whole Life.
2.	Can You Count To Eight?
3.	A Fool in Crimson Robes

Just because the Arabic alphabet was elegant and artistic didn't mean that a hand trained in it translated well to Western writing.  That was especially true of the man who had written the letter that Jonas now held in his hands.  The script was comparable to chicken scratch; he found himself squinting, trying to make sense of both grammar and vocabulary.  If only someone would invent the magical version of Google Translate so that he could tell Khaled Adwan to stick to his native tongue.

He had been so focused on trying to read the letter that the footsteps behind him hadn't really registered.  When the familiar voice cut through the silence of his cubicle, it managed to take him completely by surprise: Jonas jumped nearly a foot in the air, slamming his knee into the bottom of his desk and letting loose a string of words that were not in the least work appropriate, not even when Cameron Rosier had been running the office.

"Charisma!  What the bloody --"  Jonas cut himself off, and then tried again using a vocabulary that was more appropriate for dealing with an elderly witch who happened to be his former best friend's mother.  "What the hell are you doing here?  You need a --?"  His brain whirred as he attempted to replay the last few seconds in his head.  She needed...to stop her from...

The pieces clicked.

Oh.

"I do have other things to do with me time besides playing referee for another bl--... another blasted screaming match," he grumbled, although the complaints didn't stop him from slowly levering himself to his feet.  His knee ached; he rubbed at it self-consciously, heaving a sigh as he looked resignedly to Charisma Aldridge.  "What's set this one off, if I can ask?  Bit late to be getting after her for not bothering to write during the holidays, innit?"

For an auror who was supposed to hear and be aware of the approaches of others, Jonas appeared to be subpar. He almost rocketed out of his seat when Charisma spoke to him and it didn’t instill confidence in her that he was any better in the field. And then the language…well she’d have had words with his mother 20 years ago. Not that she was innocent of explicit cursing, but most of hers was done in welsh. Ryan was less likely to berate her if he couldn’t understand the exacts of what she’d said.

“It won’t be another screaming match.” The curse breaker replied calmly as she rested her weight on her good leg, gripping the cane in her left hand. “I just want you there when I get accused of withholding important information from a ministry I can trust as far as I could throw.”

Charisma quite certainly regarded the ministry with disgust. They’d let her son die and then failed to deliver her family any peace. They caused her trouble regarding work and the head auror was now the beloved fiancée of her son who had refused to talk to her in years. Tamis had severed any possible bond between the two last march when Charisma had been here, finding out about the reopening of her son’s case.

It would appear that regardless of her son’s best friend’s moaning, he was going to adhere to her request.  He rose to his feet and rubbed his knee. Her blue eyed gaze shot down to it, wondering what he’d been up to. But she knew better than to ask. Instead she took a step back, giving him room to exit the cubicle.

She ignored his last comments and instead eyed the wizard carefully, her bright blue eyes revealing concern. “I can trust you, can’t I, lad?” There was a pause and she shook her head slightly. "If I can't I'm goin' now."

His temper was already rising, not helped in the least by his now aching knee, but the inquiry would have been enough to make him tense under any circumstances.  The question of trust -- it struck at something deep inside of him, the same raw nerve that made him snap at former war heroes like Jason MacDonell[1], that made him occasionally want to punch Ed Pratt.[2]  Tamis might never have forgiven herself for the role that she'd played in Tait Aldridge's death, but being tortured and having to watch as her fiance was brutally murdered had never been her decision.  He had been the one who had chosen to abandon the Ministry during the last war, and it sometimes seemed as if no matter what he did to atone for it, no matter how tall he might stand now or how many burdens he might willingly shoulder, the world was not willing to let him forget it.

"I don't make a habit out of being unreliable," he snapped, harder than he'd meant to.  Jonas regretted it almost immediately; yelling at Charisma Aldridge before Tamis had a chance to wasn't going to help.  He let out a breath that he hadn't realized that he was holding, ran a hand through his hair, and then finally steeled himself enough to look at her again.

"Charisma," he began, as calmly and patiently as he could.  He couldn't help it; there was still an edge to the words.  "Look, I can't stop Tamis from --"  He paused, as the rest of her words finally sunk in.  When I get accused of withholding important information from...

His stomach sank.

"Yeah," he said shortly.  He set his jaw and met her gaze squarely.  Whatever it was -- whatever this was -- it was the least he could do for Tait Aldridge's mother.  For Tait, if not for her.  "Yeah, you can trust me."

1.	On the Warpath
2.	Is Ginger Worse than Frizz?

He snapped at her briefly and Charisma’s body visibly stiffened. The decision to come here had been a tough one. She’d spent months considering the situation, trying to break into the journal herself. She was a mother about to betray her son’s trust and that was a heavy weight upon her shoulders. Jonas’s attitude was certainly not making her feel safe to stay; it was doing anything but making her feel supported in this. His tone made her want to turn and run. Well, if she wasn’t presently relying on a cane to remain fully mobile.

But slowly he seemed to soften, realising the gravity of the situation. The older witch regarded him with wary eyes, still unsure where he stood. Would he turn on her when she revealed her hand? When she admitted just what she had concealed for years at the demand of her son would he want her blood? Charisma hadn’t even spoken to Ryan about this, fearing his opinion. It was a burden she’d shouldered alone since Tait’s death and she still wasn’t sure if she wanted to release it.

Jonas finally stated she could trust him but Charisma’s gaze remained on him for a few moments longer. She offered a brief nod before turning her gaze in the direction of the head auror’s office.

“She’s in?” Charisma didn’t wait for a response. Instead she started to walk away from his cubicle, slowly, relying on the cane as the pain from being stood up for a long time was starting to make it harder to move. The poison in her flesh still refused to provide any respite and the witch wasn’t an advocate for pain potions. She much preferred having her wits about her to being dosed up and floating with the pixies.

At least the Cursebreaker didn't question his statement of allegiance, though even that much recognition did little to balm his wounded feelings.  Jonas clenched his teeth as she turned away, and then forced himself to breath out once more, steeling himself in preparation for the pain as he followed her out of his cubicle with a limp.

There could be only one she that Charisma was speaking of.  Just like there could be only one thing that Charisma would withhold from the Ministry.  Sure -- there were undoubtedly other shady happenings on at Gringotts, as he knew from dealings with Raizel Cohen regarding the Corpus Inversus investigation, but despite Charisma's obvious hatred for the government, he couldn't believe that she would keep those from him.  Even if she had stumbled upon something, surely she'd tell him; she had to know that he'd protect her as a source, and there would be no reason to even get Tamis involved.

Which left only one thing to conceal.  Only one reason to come here, just over two weeks after the anniversary of Tait's death.  The case had been closed for months, and for a decade before that.  The Runespoor Smuggling Ring seemed to have departed from England's shining shores; after managing to encircle Prideaux, they'd heard neither hide nor hair of it.  According to Adwan, it had even gone quiet back in Jerusalem.  By all appearances, they seemed to have finally beaten back the beast.

And yet here Charisma was, claiming to have something that could get her arrested.  Jonas shook his head to clear it, focused on matching the older woman's pace as she walked slowly to Tamis Raynor's office.  It had been at least a week since he'd checked her planner, but he doubted that his immediate superior would be elsewhere.

"Reckon we'll find out."  He knocked twice on the open door -- Raynor's door was always open -- and then entered straightaway, not bothering to wait for an invitation.  He never did.

"Tam?"  He held the door open behind him, waiting for Charisma to enter before closing it; he wasn't going to give the woman a chance to have second thoughts about this, not that the Cursebreaker usually hesitated when she'd made up her mind. "You've got a visitor."

The scratch of a quill filled the silence of Tamis Raynor’s office, punctuated by the occasional laugh or irritated shout that drifted acoustically through her unguarded threshold from the rows of cubicles beyond its boarders. It had been a quiet day, thus far. The Auror Office was never uneventful. Someone being arrested, trainees fallen victim to Pratt’s coffee demands. Yet, no one new had been admitted to St. Mungos. Neither Kurby Bagnold or Edwin Glass had stormed in her office or roared in her fireplace, respectively. And there were no desks in the forecast[1].

If the status quo could be withheld until the end of the day, Raynor would consider this a birthday well spent. The Aurors under her command were vastly unaware of the frivolous details of her life, this being no exception. After the disaster Archer Radley had experienced[2], she was confident she had gained an ally in maintaining that discretion.  She was not sure how much of an effort the giant of an Auror would exude toward convincing her the anniversary of her birth dictated celebratory festivities. Raynor had become a bit more withdrawn from him the past couple of weeks. Not consciously or intentionally, but it was the truth nonetheless. 

The knock on the open door frame did not deter the Head Auror from the arrest warrant she was evaluating. Face still angled down over the document, a few strands of hair falling forward into her line of vision as the quill still moved. Nor did she respond to the tread of feet on the carpet as the intruder let himself or herself in. Both were rather common occurrences.

It was the sound of the door being drawn carefully shut that finally stilled her quill, eyes sidling sharply toward the voice, and chin lifting with undivided attention.

Despite her Ministry-wide reputation, Raynor did her best to remain approachable and as transparent as possible with those under her assumed command. Her open door policy was a part of that. Its closure only meant one of two possibilities; the Head Auror was not there or a conversation was about to become personal for one of more parties involved.

A second later, the door-closer’s identity registered and her shoulders relaxed, just so. Allowing her guard to drop. But then, so did his words and the Head Auror was on her feet, quill left neatly beside the document as to not smudge it. The questioning acknowledgement of Jonas Trevelyan was brief as her eyes settled on him before shifting to the elder woman that had followed him in.

“Charisma.”

There was a startling lack of surprise on Raynor’s features. A lack of emotion in general as she retreated into tried-and-true defense mechanisms. It was almost as if she had expected the Aldridge Matriarch and yet was having trouble processing that the other woman was actually there. She, in one word, looked Resigned. 

They had a habit of not parting on the best of terms. Their last encounter four months ago had been no exception. 

There was only one reason, then, her almost-mother-in-law could be here for. And the war-hardened Auror was about to get chewed out for finally closing Tait Aldridge's case -- just as she had threatened would happen -- she was not sure if she could take it. Her emotional reserves were still depleted from her last meaningful 'conversation'[3]. And she certainly was not looking anywhere near Jonas Trevelyan in that moment of revelation.

1.	[Nov 17, 2008] Making Headway
2.	[March 29, 2009]This is Not Birthday Cake
3.	[Dec 21, 2009] A Case of Identity

Charis stepped cautiously into the office behind Jonas and he closed the door behind her immediately, as if expecting her to change her mind there and then and retreat. But she wasn’t prepared to go anywhere. Charisma was here to stay and she was here to put something to bed after 15 years. Or to open up an even larger can or worms. In reality, she was really quite unsure what the contents of the journal held. Would it be worth dragging all this back up again to find her son’s killer? Charisma had always kept her promise to Tait until now. No one else knew of the existence of the journal, she’d withheld it from any investigation but after some months thought, she’d finally come to a conclusion.

The expression on Tamis’ face was not of shock or discomfort at the arrival of a surely unexpected witch. In fact, very little registered on her features and this irked Charisma as it had always irked her when Tait’s expression had become very similar. It had been part of reason she had been so unwilling to help Tamis and the pretty trainee auror when they’d come into her house basically threatening the case’s closure if she didn’t tell the truth. Tamis seemed to have known that Charis knew more than she’d ever let on. Or she had access to more information.

“Before anything happens I need your word.” The cursebreaker’s gaze fell on the head auror’s for a moment. Next she looked to Jonas, offering the warm gesture of a squeeze of his arm. She was relieved he’d come in with her. It gave her that extra push to just get on with it. So she started to move closer into the room, the pain in her left leg increasing with every step. Unlike last time she’d seen Tamis and refused to sit as a seeming loss of power, Charisma needed to get the weight off. She needed to stop tensing the muscles, let the poison ebb and relax once more. It seemed to get more painful with stress, as if the runespoor venom could sense it. So she carefully lowered herself into the chair and rested the cane against the arm.

“I require your word that you're not just going to arrest me. You're going to think about my reasonin' instead.” She paused, watching Tamis through alert blue eyes. The glasses propped precariously atop her messy hair weren’t necessary right now but she hoped she’d be able to read what was in the journal. If Tamis or Jonas could even open it. “I'm aware I've broken the law but I have simply honoured the promise I made my youngest son and now I’m betraying his trust.” And what for? She wondered.

“I also need to be kept informed of any progress this may allow.” Perhaps hearing how she’d helped any case would ebb the guilt of betraying Tait…

Grey eyes stared across the expanse of desk buffering her from the twin pairs of blue eyes regarding her in turn. One sharp, alert, and intent. The other reflecting discomfort and uncertainty under a casual facade.   The petite witch was not sure which one to meet – or avoid. Pride kept her from casting her gaze away and she settled with locking eyes with each of them in turn. Raynor was infamous for her unwavering demeanor; she could count one-handed the individuals that could threaten to break it. Two of them happened to share the room with her.

And she had not finished assessing the sudden situation before her. Not yet determined the appropriate response.

Charisma Aldridge, it appeared, had no intention of letting her off that precipice just yet.

The expected rage the Head Auror had steeled herself to bear did not come. Her job often demanded the very best and very worst of herself. She had to make the decisions concerning lives of the Aurors and innocents that could often negatively effect them, for the Greater Good. None had been as difficult as re-slamming the door on Tait Aldridge’s case. When she had shown up at his mother’s stoop those handful of months ago, it had been with last-ditch desperation. They both had loved him. They both had wanted to protect him, even in death. And she knew, knew they both had been less than forthcoming the past sixteen years. She lacked proof, but she knew.

She had been begging the Aldridge Matriarch for help that day. But Tamis Raynor was a proud woman and her guilt too fierce and she had left empty handed. She could no longer afford to expend department resources on a lost cause. The case had closed. She had not felt the need to explain to Jonas the intimate details.

Her word. Despite herself, Raynor’s gaze followed the Cursebreaker’s to settle on Jonas. Looking for any indication if he knew what this was about. But they snapped back to her mother-in-law when she sat down before her. Raynor did not follow. Remained standing with her hands lightly pressed to the edge of her desk, lingering with tactile uncertainty rather than actually bearing her weight.  A flash of surprise temporarily broke her composure. The woman’s ailing knee did not yet factor into the Auror’s thought process. She took it for the submissive contradiction to their last encounter that the move could represent.

It knotted her stomach in unease.

Her mind rushed over the details. Case had closed. Her office had stopped chasing Tait’s murderer. Charisma asking for her word not to arrest her, practically submitting herself to the Head Auror’s mercy. That was who Madam Aldridge was talking to. Head Auror Raynor. A promise made to her son. Betraying his trust. Jonas uncomfortable. In the room like a peace treaty.

“What in the name of Merlin did you do?” She asked the woman, steadily but not. Not yet committing to a verbal contract.

He was trapped in this tiny office with two formidable women, each a dragon in her own territory, her own right.  And as Jonas stood there, his gaze shifting carefully back and forth between them, his expression a careful mask so as not to give away his thoughts, he realized that that was half of the problem.  Tamis Raynor and Charisma Aldridge had always been far too similar.  Perhaps that was part of what Tait had seen in his fiance; part of what he had admired so much about his mother.  They were both proud, loyal, smart, and determined -- and far, far too stubborn.

For fifteen years, ever since Tait's death, that stubbornness had been on full display.  Jonas had sat out most of it during his sojourn to a Muggle life, but the decade that he'd been gone had apparently made little difference to their feud.  Tamis, blaming herself, too bullheaded or too terrified to make contact with Tait's family.  And Charisma, just as relentless, refusing to let go but still refusing to forgive for the ongoing slight.

And always, always, they both had their defenses up.   Well, he was bloody tired of it.  It had been fifteen years, and they were still no closer to catching Tait's murderer than they'd been the day that he had been killed.  The bastard had disappeared since the day when Jonas had crossed his path Bankside.[1]  If they kept on like this, kept playing these games, then the investigation would be on pause forever.

"Oi."  Jonas cut in before Charisma had a chance to give a retort, letting volume add emphasis to the word.  He looked from woman to woman, his voice tense as he spoke.   "Tam, ease up.  She came here to talk to you.  And Charisma," he added tersely, turning his attention to the Cursebreaker, "you're not going to get arrested.  Stop acting like she's some medieval terror about to clap you in shackles, alright?"

Neither woman was likely to like his choice of intervention -- but, Jonas realized as he gave a hard look at first one, and then the other, suddenly he didn't care.  This was the part that Charisma had brought him here to play, after all -- the part that both women probably wanted him to play.  Tamis hadn't exactly protested his presence.  Both she and Charisma were too bloody stubborn to take down the barriers they'd erected on their own.  That was what he was here for: to force them to cooperate.

Well.  If that was what they wanted, they were damned well lucky that he was happy to comply.

"Can we all stop pretending that we're not all equally invested in this?" he asked sharply, looking between the two witches.  "Because as far as I can see, we all care about Tait's death for pretty close to the same reason.  If you two want to keep hiding behind some fifteen year old feud or go on acting like the same blokes are on the case now that were a decade ago -- which we're not," he added with considerable emphasis, "then you can have at without me, yeah?  If we're going to keep on with accusing each other and not making progress because of it, then I can go not make progress back at me desk."

1.	In Judgement by Covers

Tamis Raynor refused to sit down and accept her visitor in the polite manner Charisma may well have expected from any other witch or wizard. From Raynor? She was nowadays unsure what to expect. But she’d have little choice but to be seated. Her thigh ached gravely with building stress and the pressure of using it to get to the ministry and through to this specific office. And now, unlike usual, Charisma was not in a position of power, as evidenced by her seated position, finally handing over evidence that could quite possibly find her son’s murderer.

“What in the name of Merlin did you do?” The head auror asked, her words coming out fairly cold but Charisma couldn’t miss the tone of accusation. Perhaps this hadn’t been the best idea to come and offer her hand. The cursebreaker stiffened, a hand holding the cane tightly in a white knuckled grip. Her next move was being considered what Jonas sprang to life from his spot by the door, first reprimanding Tamis and next Charisma.

Her eyebrows shot up in surprise. How the hell was she supposed to know if Raynor was going to go down the proper paths for this? Their relationship hadn’t affected her until now.  In fact, Aldridge was fairly certain it had made things worse. It had turned her daughter in law into a heartless witch with little regard for the feelings of others. Why else would she have so cruelly failed to inform the mother of a murder victim that the case had reopened? The mother of her former fiancé.

“I had no feud with this…woman until she treated her mother in law like troll turd.” Aldridge took a breath, suddenly aware of her building anger and realising this would get her nowhere. Instead she looked from Jonas back to Tamis. “I have done nothing wrong. So you can bloody well rid yourself of that accusatory tone, Tamis. You’d have done exactly the same as me. Or the you I knew would have.”

The witch shrugged off her satchel, lowered that onto the floor and started to untie her cloak from around her neck.
“Come sit, Jonas. You’ll want to hear this.” Blue eyes held Tamis under a stern gaze. “And you can sit down as well. You’ve little power over me madam,” excepting the ability to charge her for withholding information and perverting the course of justice, “so you may as well make yourself comfortable.” They would probably be here a while.

The words smarted. She tried not to let it show, fingertips pressing a little harder into the polished wood beneath them. The constant subtextual accusation from her mother-in-law battered every insecurity in Raynor’s wall.

“Forgive me, Madam,” she did not sound very apologetic at all. Tone clipped and carefully controlled. “Your interpretation of the law veers on creativity. I  never–“ she cut off, jaw clamping shut as a long, low breath rattled past her nostrils. She had never accused that the woman had done something wrong. But if Raynor was going to have to become innovative with the law as well, she wanted more of a precursor.

“Oi!” The petite woman was unsure if it was the reprimanding interjection or the petname that subdued her. Jonas Trevelyan remained the only living person that still used it.

Her jaw set stubbornly as the man barked logic. That was one point she could agree with her mother-in-law on. It was not a feud she felt between them. It was guilt. It had taken her fifteen years to face Charisma Aldridge again – and it had not been a meeting of her choosing. She certainly did not want to be abandoned alone with the cursebreaker and Jonas did not make idle threats.

It was the flicker of hope that Charisma being here represented – more than anything else – that cornered Tamis Raynor’s pride. It was a monster that could never fully be contained and it showed how much it cost her to slowly lower herself back into the chair she had risen from, every muscle stiff and rebellious to the downward descent.

Charisma was here. Raynor would have to make an effort to meet her half way.  However, the older woman could not exclaim her a mere woman in one breath and then attempt to verbally reprimand her into submission like her petulant child in the other. She could not have it both ways.

She could practically feel the warning daggers Jonas Trevelyan was shooting at her, so she swallowed the retort. It was unfair to have to be the bigger person.

“I have not been the ‘you’ you knew for some time, Charisma.” Her tone was quiet. And honest. But she did not deny the accusation. Everyone in this room was guilty of hiding something from each other at some point.

Raynor did not know how to breech the question of why the matriarch was here, so she did not; choosing an anticipatory silence.

Her opponent sat down, defeated in this singular round. The move was slow, deliberate, and reluctant. Charisma didn’t miss the stiffened muscles, the twitch of the head auror’s eye. It had taken all of this witch’s pride to cave in and take a seat, showing she was willing to hear her mother in law out, to cease in her jumping to conclusions and accusing the curse breaker. She’d won this round but Madam Aldridge didn’t loosen her grip on the cane. She felt pain searing through her leg only reminding her that it was a tiny accomplishment.

A deep breath was drawn in through Charisma’s nostrils as she tried to overcome the sharp pain once more. A visit to the healer really would have been wise but aurors had fewer trust issues than this particular curse breaker.

“I’m aware.” Tamis Raynor had apparently changed the day Charisma had lost her son. It hadn’t just been one child she’d lost that day. Tamis had been a daughter to her. That was what still hurt so much as she sat in this chair. They’d always been the family the young Raynor had never had and when it came down to it she rejected them, cast them aside and cut all contact. It cut like a knife. It stung like the runespoor venom poisoning her flesh while she stared at the auror.

“Ok…” A deep breath was once more taken, Charisma closing her eyes for a moment before she looked from Jonas to Tamis once more. “I’ve always kept a diary. My travels, things that happen, that I hear and find out.  Tait decided to copy me, especially when he started auror trainin’. I believe he wrote everythin’ down. But the night before he…” The witch stopped dead, and looked down at her lap. She still struggled to say it, even this long after.

“The night before…that night,” it was evident the witch was suddenly struggling to say the words she needed to now. Her voice had gone from determined and calm to struggling and stuttered. She’d never mentioned this to anyone before. She now refused to look at either of them, instead looking down; her eyes glistening. “He came to the house. He seemed…scared, uncomfortable. I offered him a drink, tried to calm him down but he just started cryin’.”

Now the cane was left abandoned as Charisma’s hands nervously clasped one another, rubbed against the other and continued to fidget. “He told me I had to do somethin’. To promise him. He just seemed so scared.” Breaking, the witch clasped her mouth, breathing unsteadily as her eyes filled up. “Somethin’ had terrified him. He knew somethin’, about his case. But he wouldn’t tell me.” Her head was shaking. “I had to keep something but he wouldn’t tell me why. I had to hide the diary. No one could know. Not Ryan or anyone. Especially not the aurors.”

“He made me promise. I couldn’t open it. I couldn’t ask any more questions. He gave it to me then he just hugged me and left.” The tears spilling down Charisma’s face flowed faster and her next words were barely decipherable as her upper body shook. “I knew something was wrong and I just let him go. I let my own son die.”

He hadn't taken a seat when the others had.  Jonas stayed by the door, his arms crossed, leaning back against the wall as he listened.  There was a knot in his throat, but it wasn't just from the flare of temper.  For Charisma to come here like this, for her to insist on this audience with Tamis Raynor, when neither of the two witches had spoken to each other cordially in years -- deep down in his gut, he knew what this had to be about, and the thought of it was wrenching.

Tait's death had not been easy.  The loss of his best friend, the man that he'd grown up with, that he'd laughed and teased and suffered with, would have sent his world spinning even in the best of circumstances.  The way that it had happened -- so sudden, and with Jonas hauled into Scrimgeour's office and ordered away -- had rocked him.  He'd nearly quit the Corps back then, when he'd been hit in the face with the sudden realization that not only were Aurors mortal, but sometimes justice was too.  If it hadn't been for his sense of obligation and his friendships with his other colleagues, like Radley, maybe he would have quit.

Though the truth was that a scant three years later, he did.

Even now, the pain of it still hurt sometimes.  And every time he saw these two women, it was a reminder of how raw that pain had once been.  That had been the worst part of Tamis joining the Corps back then, of having to see her day in and day out in the office as she stubbornly trudged through her training, so unwanted and seemingly still so grieving, but unwilling or unable to give in.

Pain and loss happened.  Everyone suffered.  And for years, Jonas had dealt with it by running away.  When the Ministry had turned on him, he'd run.  When Anna had questioned him, he'd run from her too.  Part of him wished he could do the same thing, leave these women to their private pain and private confrontation rather than face his own unhealed wounds.

But instead he took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, and pushed himself away from the wall.  Taking hold of the remaining chair, he swung it over so that he could sit next to the Cursebreaker.

"Charisma."  Jonas put a hand on the older woman's arm, then an arm around her.  His throat felt tight as he hugged her.  Glancing across the desk, he met Tamis's gray eyes -- silently, sadly, but with a burning conviction.  They both knew what they were thinking of.

And for now, it was up to him to say it.

"You didn't let him die."  He spoke quietly, but his words were filled with fierce determination. "Those bastards murdered him, and the fact that they decided to do that isn't the fault of anyone in this room."

The sudden constriction in Tamis Raynor’s chest slowed her breathing, giving her a deceptive calm. There was an infamous saying that sons married their mothers and daughters married their fathers. Raynor was certain that it was some divination nonsense, but sitting there, watching her mother-in-law quietly fall apart, she could not deny the jarring similarities between the two witches.

She listened without interruption; jaw only tightening at Charisma’s crisp and poignant response to Raynor’s own statement.  A journal. As soon as the Cursebreaker mentioned it, the Head Auror’s eyes widened briefly in recognition. Fifteen years of guilt and post-traumatic stress had dulled many of her details of Tait Aldridge. But it came back in full color.

Long nights after equally long and stressful days as they were put through the paces of their respective trainings, coming back to a shabby, tiny apartment. Nothing impressive by any stretch of the imagination, but Theirs – bought with there respective incomes and not inheritance or parental generosity. Not the best side of town, but Tait’s red-robes kept trouble minding its own business.

She could remember the one time she had tried to sneak up behind him, wrap her arms around his neck and teasingly spy over his shoulder what he was writing in that journal of his with so much serious concentration. They had not argued often, but when they had it was explosive. He had snapped at her, immediately turning on her with a sharpness that had shocked her, closing the journal with a loud slap before she could eye the contents. His anger had been so desperate; she had never breached the subject again.

The constriction had progressed into her throat when the Aldridge Matriarch finished, sitting their vulnerable in front of her. Raynor wanted to tell her it was not her fault. Wanted to comfort her. That if she considered herself guilty for that, Tamis had double the weight on her own shoulders. Suddenly, the Auror took no solace in the fact that she had been right – Charisma Aldridge had been hiding something. But not to preserve her son’s dignity or suppress her own guilt – but because her son had asked her too. Merlin, Tait. What were you hiding?

She wanted nothing more than to reach out to her mother-in-law in that moment. But she just could not. Not yet. Whether Jonas realized this, or he was undoubtedly equally moved, or both, he did it for them, wrapping his arms around the other witch with an ease Tamis nearly envied.

Blue eyes met grey around Charisma in a silent conversation. Raynor was the first to look away, gaze drifting away and pulse throbbing under her chin. Not the fault of anyone in the room. It would take more time before she would fully agree with that.

There were many things Tamis Raynor should have said. Could have said. She went with,

“No one in this room wants anything other than to find those bastards,” it was as close to agreeing with Jonas as she could get. “If there is conspiracy here, Charisma, we are not apart of it. Could not be a part of it,” It was the first hint she gave that any suggestion otherwise of Raynor’s intentions affected the petite witch. “We want to figure out what…” Saying the name always hurt the most, seemed taboo, “… what Tait died for.”