"Oh bloody hell!"

He really should have remembered the cupboard.  Jonas swore furiously as he caught himself on the counter, one hand already pressed to his injured forehead, cursing Hunter Radley and Charlene Malone with every name that he could think of.  In the other room, Rufus had begun to bark furiously: likely doing his best to protect his master's flat from the horrible monster that had let out a roar as soon as Jonas had opened the bloody wooden door to fetch a pair of glasses for their beer.

It didn't help that his pride was as injured as his newly throbbing head.  Scowling, the red-haired Auror pulled open the cupboard again -- the door had managed to bang shut when he'd jerked back -- this time holding his ground as it let out a mighty yeti roar.  Knowing Radley, he was probably in stitches.  Rolling his eyes, Jonas snatched up two glasses and stalked back into the living room.

Archer Radley's flat didn't appear to be getting much use these days.  It was neater than Jonas had ever seen it, either now or in all the years that he'd spent as the man's partner, over a decade past.  The cupboards, he knew, were mostly empty.  Now that Archer and Tamis seemed to be spending most of their nights at the latter's flat, apparently they saw little reason to keep this one stocked.

Jonas scowled as he made his way back over to the kitchen table.  "You planning on getting that fixed anytime soon?" he demanded irritably, shoving a glass at Radley.  The other Auror had already taken over the dining room table, with the papers from the Corpus Inversus case file spread across it, and the six pack of beer set in the place of honor in the middle.  Jonas dropped into a chair.  Rufus's head pushed its way into his lap a split second later; irritated, he pushed the dog away, swiping at his nose in preemptive self-defense.  Half crup or not, he was still allergic.

"Don't tell me that your brother and Malone are that good at spells, mate," he added darkly, holding a hand out for one of the beers.  "You're an Auror; he's practically a bloody idiot."

Archer and Tamis did not find much use out of his flat these days.  Truth be told, Archer was really keeping it out of formality, so they weren’t technically living together and he could always point to his monthly payments for the place that he hadn’t actually inhabited for back up on that point.  But, it proved to be a safe workspace outside of the office without any of the trouble of worrying about who was listening and if it was secure.

Plus, Squeak didn’t have control here. 

The little beast was terrible.  Sure, he never had to worry about not eating, but sometimes, he wondered if not worrying about it was even worth it, with what the little thing called food at any rate.

She certainly wouldn’t appreciate the presence of alcohol, but Archer knew he kept that, at the very least.  He’d sent Trevelyan to get some glasses from the cabinet while he looked over the papers on the table, furrowing his brows as he read through some of their notes… until he heard the roar of a yeti, and having forgotten about it for quite some time…

Archer broke down in laughter.  He practically collapsed on the table, gasping in laughter, especially as he heard a smack that sounded like wood on skin and a string of curses that could have made a nun blush.  He howled and Rufus barked, the most non-threatening sound as he bounced and lunged toward the kitchen but never actually went in there, and Archer had to really try to compose himself, still gasping for air as Jonas opened the cabinet again (unleashing another round of laughter).

Wiping the corners of his eyes, Archer sighed as he fell back into the chair, and moved from his eyes to the rest of his face.  “I honestly forgot about it, mate,” he chuckled, still trying to get it together – finding it increasingly more difficult as he noted the perturbed look on Jonas’ face and the irritated way he pushed Rufus’ nose out of his lap.

“Oi, be nice to him, he’s just checkin to make sure the cabinet didn’t eat you,” he snickered, putting his hand under the table so Rufus could run up and put his nose in the center of his hand, Archer slid his hand over his face, before settling on scratching behind his ear.  Rufus sat down next to him and Archer removed his hand, moved to hand Jonas a beer, and then crack one open for himself. 

“And believe me, I’m aware my brother is an idiot.  Much more aware than most,” he added, with a sigh.  “Can only hope any of his kids get Frizzy’s brains.”  He rolled his eyes and started pouring, it was going to take quite a few of these to get through this. 

“Shall we start from the beginning then?” he looked at the daunting amount of paperwork in front of them.

Jonas scowled at the crup; scowled at the beer.  He only relented as his onetime -- and now apparently current -- partner moved on to business.  The red-haired Auror half-suspected that Archer Radley left the enchantment in place simply because he knew that Jonas constantly forgot it.  Ah, well.  Radley's forty-first birthday was coming up soon; there would be plenty of time to devise revenge.

Archer had it the nail proper though, hadn't he?  "Which beginning?" Jonas asked dryly, reaching for the nearest folder.  He flipped it open, and a picture of Lazarus Rippringham-Gomfrey blinked back at him.  Even in photographic form, the deceased Wizengamot elder managed to look pompous, giving a sniff as he eyed Jonas in return.  Clearly, the picture didn't approve of how it had been treated since its inclusion in the case file.

The Cornish Auror ignored it, plucking it from the pile of papers and sliding it to the middle of the table with a flick of his wrist.  "So we've got Elder Rippringham-Gomfrey.  Found murdered on the third of August."

Another folder; another photograph.  This one was clipped from a newspaper.  Josephine St. Just clearly hadn't been intending on having her picture taken; she wasn't even looking at the camera, simply passing behind the pair of goblins that had been the photographer's focus.  In the black and white print, her red hair was nowhere near as vivid as it was in person, but somehow, even the offhanded snapshot managed to capture her elegance.

"Then we've got Josephine St. Just.  And Raizel Cohen," Jonas added, tossing a photograph of the blonde Cursebreaker onto the table after Josephine's.  "Sent to retrieve the mask from our mate Ripper a few days before he was found in the Tower.  But was that even the beginning?"  They didn't have a photograph of the Harvest Mask, but they had Rosier's sketch; the former Head of Magical Law Enforcement had forced a copy on him on three separate occasions.  Jonas lay it on the table now.  "We've also got this mess.  We know that it was in that poor bastard's possession for years," he added, giving a helpless shrug in the direction of Rippringham-Gomfrey's photograph, "and who knows how long Gringotts was looking for it?"

Archer leaned back in his chair as Jonas started to pull information out of the many assorted files that were laying on the table.  The plump Elder looked up at them from the table and Archer focused on his face as Jonas started to talk. 

He couldn’t imagine what the man was doing in possession of something like the Harvest mask: from the drawing it seemed like it might have had a purpose once, but now it seemed like a .  They didn’t really know what it did, except caused a lot of pain in the long run, and there were plenty of people after the damn thing, including Gringotts, which of course was another player on the table. 

He leaned his elbows on the table, resting his chin on his hands as he furrowed his brows, looking at everything.   Jonas was talking, as he usually did, narrating what they had, and Archer was listening (mostly).  “As of right now,” Archer breathed, “we have very few avenues to actually talk to anyone about it,” Archer noted, Gomfrey was dead and the cursebreakers and goblins were tight lipped about everything.

“Do you think we can find out anything about the search for the mask before the Gomfrey murder?”  Archer leaned back up, and glanced over the pictures – the cross armed picture of the blonde, Israeli cursebreaker sitting next to the photo of the goblins and St. Just in the background.  He didn’t know which of them he trusted.  After all, Eleor had some kind of connection to Cohen, and she was cooperative.  St. Just, by all accounts, had the answers for everything, true enough, but… she was never transparent.  She was either protecting herself or something else, and either option really did not lend itself toward trust. 

“What do we even know about them?” he tapped one finger on each of the pictures.  “I mean, really.  They work for Gringotts, already, not an institution exactly known for it’s up-and-up reputation.”  He laid his hands palms up on the table, “I’m not entirely convinced it’s not starting there, Jonas.” 

"At Gringotts?"  The red-haired Auror leaned his chin on one hand.  Judging by the artistic quality -- or lack thereof -- in the drawing, Cameron Rosier had definitely not missed his life's calling as an illustrator, but there was something eerie about the picture nonetheless.  All they really knew about the mask was what they'd gleaned through Gringotts.  With no other reliable source of information, they'd been forced to rely on the goblins, who weren't really very reliable at all.

Perhaps it did all start at Gringotts.  They had three obvious connections: Rippringham-Gomfrey, who'd been approached by Cursebreakers two days before his murder.  Terrence Dawlish, who worked for them as an Arithmancer.  And the goblin itself that had been found dead.  The only corpse that didn't connect was the girl, Rosemary Hampton.  But maybe -- as much as he would rather grit his teeth than admit it -- maybe he was reading too much into a connection there after all...

"Well, the problem being that we're a bit hamstrung on that count, aren't we?"  His forehead creased as he thoughtfully studied the drawing.  "Can't really force them to have a chat with us, and they've made it clear how much they're willing to cooperate, haven't they?  Bit like knocking our heads against a brick wall, and there isn't even a magic brick that we can tap with a wand to get it to open."

 Archer shrugged at Trevelyan’s look for clarity on his comments.  He had no idea, well, maybe he had some of an idea – but it wasn’t particularly notable at this point.  It seemed like despite the fact that so many people desired this mask, very few actually knew anything about it – or were willing to share. 

Obviously, whether it was created for the purpose or not, it was taking part in some exceptionally dark magic, and if they didn’t find it, someone else would.  Clearly, that wasn’t an option or the body count would continue to climb and Trevelyan already wanted to put another point zero on this thing. 

He was right though, and Archer nodded slowly while he tried to consider other options.  Gringotts was tight lipped, and their people were equally so.  Whether it was from training or personal protection, no one could really know.  But, Archer had a deep feeling that someone knew more than they would let on, and their silence was just as good as being an accomplice. 

“There has to be an angle we haven’t used yet,” Archer drummed his fingers on the tabletop.  Their rather informal conversation had shifted to something slightly more formative, it felt like, and Archer sighed.  “What about any traders we know?” Archer leaned back in his seat, cracking his neck.  “The black market might be less… obtuse about our questions.” 

"Less obtuse about an Auror's questions?" asked Jonas cheerfully.  He straightened, drumming his fingers lightly on the table.  The magical black market wasn't exactly renowned for its willingness to work with the men and women in crimson.  He'd worked hard to cultivate a few contacts -- Dazmond Weidman and Nate Briggs, Cinaed Tawse to an extent, even Lexus, who occasionally made him wonder how far she'd really come from the young woman he'd once met cheating Muggles with her magic...but none of them were really the sort to dabble in artifact trafficking, at least unless they were the ones doing the trading.

But maybe...

"Maybe the mask is the wrong angle to be taking?" he asked, cocking his head to the side as he peered at Archer.  "Maybe we ought to drop that thread for now and go back to looking into the magic that was used for the murders." 

A thought was beginning to tickle at the back of his skull.  Maybe no one currently involved in the dark magic would be excited to answer an Auror's questions, but there were always former members to consider.  Particularly those who had been known to dabble in dark magic at one point, and currently had plenty to lose should anyone at the Ministry decide to be less than friendly.

“Point taken,” Archer shrugged.  He reached down, rubbing his hand on Rufus’ head, which was poised right near his knee.  The dog pushed his big head into his hand and Archer scratched him behind the ear.  Jonas’ return on the question was right: it wasn’t exactly a friendly community, least of all to the men and women of the DMLE; however, he thought that perhaps, with the right motivation, just about no one would want to be pinned with these crimes.

But, then again, there were opportunities to get names attached, and it could end up spinning on its head with nothing to show for it.  It wasn’t the right thing to go after.

And Jonas was apparently on the same page as him – just a little bit faster to the draw.  Raising his eyebrows, Archer leaned forward in the chair.  He thought he might know what Jonas was getting at – maybe. 

Rubbing his hand under his nose, Archer nodded, slowly at first and then with more vigor, his eagerness to go along with this rising.  “So what: there were runes, right?  We need to get someone in on that, then?”  There were probably a hundred people they could consult on runes, but they needed the right one.  It wasn't going to be Reid that was for damn sure... at least, Archer hoped not.  She was a thorn if there ever was one.  "Curses too?"

"Yeah."  Jonas flashed the other Auror a crooked grin and began shuffling the papers back together.  Not every investigation ended up being inherently entertaining; most were tedious or stressful, and the Corpus Inversus case had been equal shares of both.  But that didn't mean he couldn't find the silver lining in the rare moments when it shone through.  This part of his job, at least, was likely to be at least a little fun.

"You remember Hogwarts' Deputy Headmaster, yeah?" he asked Archer cheerfully, as he began to return the papers to their proper places.  "Nice chatty old bloke?  Always looking for help with demonstrations?"  The other Auror knew the history of Ignan Storm's interactions with Level Two, the most significant of which had ended in an illegal kiss and a declaration of love for a soon-to-be convicted murderess just before she'd been convicted and carted off to Azkaban.

The basics of the old wizard's past probably wouldn't have been too difficult to ferret out after that -- but it had served their purposes more to leave the sleeping dogs where they lay.  Now, if they asked Storm for a chat, he was going to be hard-pressed to flat out deny them.

"Fancy a visit to Hogwarts, mate?"  He cocked a brow at Archer, giving him a lopsided grin.  "Professor Storm is an expert in defense against this sort of thing, after all.  Maybe he's seen a picture or two in one of his old textbooks."

A field trip back to Hogwarts might not be the worst thing.  Honestly, as soon as Jonas started to talk, Archer would probably be on board with whatever (in reason) suggestion he levied.  The case was too important to be sat on until something else lethal and with just cause to call in the obliviators happened.  Whoever was responsible for all of this was certainly playing with fire that was far beyond the auror office.

If the statute of secrecy was in danger it would turn the entire world on its head.  They’d come close already, what with the goblin body.  Might as well hang a sign above the next crime: “Magic here!  Wizards in London!” and call it a day.  Though, hopefully it’d been long enough – and muggles foolish enough – to not believe it. 

Didn’t matter though: didn’t want to get that point, Archer reasoned in his own mind.  “You know, it couldn’t hurt to pop up to Scotland,” he grinned, pushing his chair out from under the table and standing – stretching out his legs.  “After all, with experts at our fingertips, we’d be shameful to not use them, eh?” he smirked, clasping his hands behind his back and pushing out for another useful stretch. 

“Send him a request to chat in the morning?” he added, half asking, but more as a concluding remark, to make sure they would tackle that bit in due time.  “And we can head for the castle in the afternoon, I imagine, if our friend would be so kind as to... clear his schedule for us."  Not entirely a request, of course, particularly with the gravity of situation - and Professor Storm's relationship with their department.