Evening


Balfour Spectre licked his dry lips as he stared out across the gleaming red surface of the Hogwarts lake, vista of his youth and scene of a crime whose victims were largely creatures of no conscious fault. Level Four had been contacted as soon as someone at the school had realised that the waters had bloomed crimson over the course of the day.

Not even red, but blood.

Aurors were already on the grounds or likely off questioning the staff - either way working smoothly enough with any division members he had brought. Several of Ceph's people for the Merfolk down below, as well. This was a nasty business and a very unpleasant thing for which to be called away from more pleasant thoughts.

Just last night Balfour had been in a muggle holding cell, and then later in bed with two frankly prepossessing wizards. He had gotten into work to learn of the kidnapping victims turning up before Shona's communication arrived.

The Scotsman dug the toe of his boot into the lake shore, looking down at the watery blood with a grimace. He had a suspicion about who was behind this. And maybe, if he asked her, she would confirm the suspicion. So of course he wasn't going to ask her. Johann might know better anyway.

Balfour turned at the sound of footsteps approaching, a sad smile pulling at his lips. How could anyone not smile, with Shona Donovan coming up to greet them, even under these circumstances?

"Shona..." he went to hug her warmly, sympathy and strong feeling in his voice. "I'm so sorry. We're doing what we can, Sylvain's taken a group out on a craft to check on the creatures further out." Balfour drew back to give the witch a searching look. "You alright, then?"

Her own smile – already exhausted but brave when she approached, and mostly propped up by newfound relief – wavered, but only for an instant, ultimately holding fast.  Only her grip on the back of his jacket – the remnants of a crushing hug – belied her less than stellar spirits.  “I’m better now,” she joked.  Or, tried to; she sighed, hands falling away, and tucked them under her arms.  “I will be.”

That was never a choice.  She always bounced back; she didn’t know any other way to be.  But as she looked back at the lake—the multitude of figures bobbing at the surface, the wrongness of it all—Shona found her throat closing up, tearing her gaze away just as quickly.

Something else was bothering her.  More than the lake, the uncertain state of its inhabitants – even the apparent breach of security, something else troubled her, enough that even thinking of it, or her own reluctance to do so, filled her lungs with lead.  It was in the faint but stringent taste of a rapidly fading erasure spell—the way it made her hands curl into claws and fists, made her want to shift and run and–

The smile, when she looked back at Balfour, was brittle.

“How’s it looking, Balfour?  Have there been any…”  A ragged breath.  “Any casualties?”  Just because she hadn’t found any, that didn’t mean there weren’t any.  But all attempts to find out herself had been foiled by an inability to simply see.

It was strange to think that last night, as he was going about his Valentine's evening antics, the orderly world was becoming unfurled in places once held dear - and to people he once held dear. Still did, to an extent.

The corners of Balfour's eyes crinkled as he mirrored Shona's fragile smile and he thought about how fierce her embrace had been; how he could still feel it around him. Something was the matter with her - it couldn't have been the lake alone. Blood waters were no laughing problem but it took more to shake a witch like Shona.

"Some," he answered quietly and glanced away to observe Sylvain's craft gliding sedately across the surface in the distance. "Suffocated fish, the odd amphibian. Your Merpeople are nauseated but they acted quickly."

Merpeople were technically beings, in spite of the fact that they insisted on being beasts. The division head respected that; he was glad of it today because they had smartly protected themselves and their young. "We've already isolated the squid in a holding tank," Balfour could only think to comfort Shona with facts. "He'll be back to his usual self soon enough."

"Is there anything else bothering you?" he returned his attention to her, turning slightly so that his back was faced to the lake. "If you don't mind my asking. Rick doing well?"

Something in Shona’s chest unclenched at the news; a few deaths were not ideal, even ones as small as what Balfour had mentioned, but she couldn’t deny the bloom of relief at his answer. Some of the strain in her expression eased at it, shoulders slumping as though a great weight had been lifted. Since her arrival, Shona had become very fond of the giant squid and the merrow colony that lived alongside it. Now, nightmares of their bodies drifting lifelessly below the surface could be put to rest, and she couldn’t let go of them any sooner.

She wasn’t sure she could look the culprit in the eye, otherwise. Not without attacking them.

Nonetheless, Balfour’s well-intentioned inquiry made her expression freeze. It was only the smallest, most infinitesimal of pauses, but in its wake was a new urge to cry, making her eyes water. Her lips thinned against it. As she looked down, her jaw worked silently, clenching, before she looked away, towards the forest—another, more horrible smile shoving up against her cheeks, horrible and unhappy and utterly fake.

She absolutely hated how open she was right now, how utterly exposed her feelings were. That it was in front of Balfour – a peer, a friend – only made it worse. But only a little of it was pride. The rest of it…

Confusion. Fear. As much as she prided herself on her sense of right and wrong, family was family and to this one Shona was closer to than all the rest. He was hers to look after, to take responsibility for. To protect. You didn’t just ignore that, not even in the face of betrayal.

And so she turned that smile on Balfour, uncaring that it – like its predecessor – didn’t reach her eyes. Walls shot up, steelclad and firm. “He’s fine,” she said, squaring her shoulders. She kept her arms tightly folded. She did not want to talk about Rick. “I haven’t seen him tonight yet, but he goes home when he can. He doesn’t live here.”

A glimmer of another smile—a real one this time, the first one for the entire night. “Leon, you know.”

Balfour tilted his head slightly to the side, brow creasing thoughtfully as he fought against the instinct to reach out and hold her - this was neither the time nor the place and he wasn't certain it would be welcome anyway. There was a vulnerability in Shona this night and it clearly wasn't one that she wanted to be seen. It existed in spite of self-control.

"Hey," the wizard chided softly and offered his hand for her to take - she was warm, like him, a strange and nostalgic sensation compared to how Johann's cold fingers folded into his own. "That's not the smile I remember-" it was the one he knew she reserved for strangers, the untrustworthy. "- what's the matter?"

Lake water lapping agains the shore emitted a soothing noise, repeating at irregular intervals as the surface was disturbed further out. A light drizzle would be coming down at any moment, he could smell it in the air; the strange mix of stagnant storm clouds and fresh rain.

It seemed like a storm was always on the horizon, lately. Even here. Something else besides the lake was bothering Shona. He smiled a bit at mention of Leon, pleased to see the genuine spark in his companion.

"Is it Rick or...?" Balfour paused and glanced about, over his shoulder and then the general direction of the forest where he knew a couple of level 4 handlers had gone to greet old beasts. Nobody. "Or something else? The kidnappings?" he tried to meet her in the eye - his own countenance was serious but not hard as he squeezed her hand reassuringly.

Gods knew what was happening away from the public eye. Where Ira's reach extended or to what extent. "I don't mean to press. It's only that I worry, you know. I've not seen you like this before."

Though she eyed his hand warily, Shona took it anyway. Balfour was a good man. He was charming and clever – maybe one of the most charming and clever individuals she ever knew. But more importantly he was kind, and sympathetic, and far more moral and accommodating than most men in positions of power were. Shona was grateful for his friendship, that she had his support. She really was.

She just… wished he were a little less… perceptive.

But…  Shona looked back out at lake, not quite ready to meet his eyes just yet. Where Rick was concerned, she was, for all intents and purposes, trapped between a rock and a hard place. Work with law enforcement, lose her brother. On the other hand: protect her brother…

Lose their jobs, the Trumbles, the others and Rick. Either way, they lost. She – they – needed help.

There was always Cecily, of course. Even with all her orphanages, charities and summer camps, Shona was sure her sister had time for family. The problem was that she was also a Donovan. As much as she believed in saving the world, Cecily also believed in defending family. Shona didn’t want to know how far she would go, even if meant Rick would be comfortably set up somewhere that didn’t bother with extradition treaties.

Balfour, on the other hand… Shona turned away, but not from him—only enough so that he would follow suit. Nor did she drop his hand before giving it a tug. Maybe it made her paranoid, but she didn’t want to give anyone from the castle or Level 2 even an hint of what she said next. “I called Rick right after I flooed you guys.” Her voice – though steady – was the evenness marked by tight control. “He hasn’t called back. Leon says he never got home, either.”

She looked up at him again, eyes wide, urgent, willing him to understand. Close to her chest she held up a fist; uncurling it, she let her claws appear. “Balfour– he always answers me.”

Balfour did not need another indication, following suit as his companion turned away and they faced in the same direction - slightly towards each other with heads leaning in. He folded his arms and listened with a serious, neutral expression. The dark night that had fallen over Hogwarts felt more sinister for Shona's tone of voice.

It did not help that the waters had turned to blood. If Ira Almasy was responsible for this then she certainly chose a most dramatic backdrop.

“Balfour– he always answers me.”

Rick Donovan was the very definition of a crotchety smart-arse but Balfour did not for one moment doubt that he was reliable to a fault. Particularly where the other Donovans were concerned. And the man knew his sisters.

As such, Shona's concern... her flexing, whetted claws... was justified. "Do you suppose he's involved with this?" Balfour asked in a voice so low that he knew only her ears might be able to pick it up in the small space between them; his blue eyes gleamed with wolfish light.

Just last month he had faced the fact that his own lover was in Ira's employment. Other people being under her thumb became more and more feasible as time went by. Maybe Balfour just found himself drawn to them.

"If he is, I'm certain it would not be of his own volition..." the division head assured, even if only to let Shona know that his interest in the problem was a personal and not professional one. He wouldn't tell on Rick either way.

The possibility that Rick might be involved, however cautiously posed, was a horrible thought—mostly because it was something Shona had considered, but had yet to get rid of; instead of letting itself be dismissed like any other, it stayed where it was, fed by a dark and insidious dread. She couldn’t shake it, no matter what she tried.

Because for all that he deferred to her authority, Rick was still independent, always had been, and had gotten himself involved in things he shouldn’t have. Though it pained her to doubt him, they had been separated long enough that he could have gotten himself neck deep again, by his own volition or someone else’s; he had always been good at what he did – too good, maybe – and that kind of skill was always in demand. London had been a base for less than legal operations in books and films since either had become the norm, and for good reason.

But did that make it her fault, or his? Perhaps the better question was if she had known more about his dealings with the other side of the law than she had let on—if family loyalty had won out even over her morals.

If the freezing of her features didn’t give away the answer, then the clawed hand did, as it curled into a fist.

“There’s… a witch,” she began haltingly, tucking it into the fold of her arms. “Who knows he’s… unregistered.” The word was little more than a whisper. “He never said so outright – he wouldn’t answer any of my questions when I asked, no matter hard I pressed–” And hadn’t that been terrifying? To know there was someone who had a hold on him stronger than will or loyalty? Shona had been furious when she had found out, but…

It had been an anger purely derived from fear. Fear that not only someone had betrayed their trust, but fear that something had actually come out from it. That Rick had had no say or power in it at all… It wasn’t a comfort. Not even a little. “I think she’s been using it to blackmail him,” she finished miserably.

His eyes did not meet hers, gaze lowered to Shona's claws as tension creased his brow. A witch. As the days drew by Balfour was beginning to think of Ira Almasy as  the witch - if ever there existed a terrible figure upon which muggle fears were justifiably based, it was her.

He raised a hand to rest on his friend's shoulder, squeezing gently.

"You'll hear from him, I'm certain." Balfour heard himself say in a hard voice as he dragged his attention away; afraid in some way that Shona might see the thoughtfulness of one who knew more than he was giving away. "Rick is... he has a particular set of skills and a temperament that makes him valuable."

Even for that reason alone, the wizard might be assured of some safety. Ira didn't murder assets who had outlived their usefulness and Rick was a professor at Hogwarts: that certainly awarded him a higher value than most.

Balfour glanced across the gleaming red lake beneath heavy clouds - rain would fall later to help dilute the blood. He wondered if Rick could have done this and, if so, how heavily that weighed about his conscience.

"It isn't his fault, if he is involved." The division head turned back to Shona, corners of his eyes creased as he smiled grimly. "It's hers. I have my suspicions about what is happening but I'm as helpless as Rick is to talk about it. You have to trust him to get out of this mess."

That is, if it were possible to do so without paying a heavy price. It sounded to him like Rick had a contract with Ira and those very rarely ended well.

Minerva's heart was heavy, heavier than she could remember it having ever been. True, she had been through worse, led the castle through some of the darkest times in its history, but this was different. Minerva's own carelessness had caused all of this, she was sure. Had she not been away, had she not been dealing with her own personal issues, Minerva might have seen this coming. Had the headmistress not shrugged off the signs, the divinings, maybe all of this could have been avoided. A tear rolled silently down the elderly witch's cheek at the thought. She had failed.

It wasn't often that Minerva made the trek to the lake, her walking stick tended to make the trip treacherous, especially in her advanced age. The last thing she needed at this point was to break an ankle and end up bedridden. Leading Hogwarts had never seemed so harrowing, but still Minerva was determined to overcome the obstacles. Just as she was determined to overcome the obstacles in her path on the way to the lake.

The grounds were oddly deserted, two silhouettes framed on the beach were all that Minerva could make out in the gruesome sight. That, and a couple of first years attempting to climb a beech tree near the path Minerva was taking. "You should be in your dormitories," The headmistress chided softly, and waited as the two hopped from the lower boughs of the tree and scampered toward the doors to the castle.

Getting closer, Minerva could tell that the Ministry had sent Spectre, and that, at least, soothed Minerva's soul slightly. He was good, very good, and if Balfour was there - surely there was hope. Shona was also there, outlined against the blood-red lake. The female Donovan was one of Minerva's better hiring choices - even with the backlash she'd received over appointing a werewolf to teach. The lake, and even the creatures in it, were small potatoes compared to getting her students back, but Minerva could only make it low priority because she had people like Shona on her side.

Her cane stuck in the mush ground as she drew nearer, and the decrease in Minerva's approach allowed her to hear the final bits of conversation, "Trust who to get out of what mess?" She called out, still trudging her way toward the pair, "If you're referring to the merfolk, I've already received word that their own brand of magic is protecting them, at least for now. I'm more worried about the rest of the creatures, and if you have any ideas on how to get rid of this mess, I'm all ears, Mr. Spectre. Slytherin dorms look like a red-light district, and I'm afraid we don't need any more bloodthirsty snakes on our hands,"

The last bit was meant as a joke, though being under the lake itself, it was no less true. The normally green-tinged walls of the Slytherin commons were now a deep, dark crimson. After saying it, however, Minerva cringed at the poor taste. Trying to make the situation light wouldn't work here, nor should it - the situation was too dire.