[M-Language. Also: 700th POST!]

Alohamocha had clearly been Balfour Spectre's choosing for this meeting.  The coffeehouse was not Adon's usual haunting ground.  They didn't even make Turkish coffee.  It was the sort of place for... casual friends.  The sort you caught up with over coffee every few months, then could put aside for a time.  And while Adon did not have casual friends, perhaps he needed some.  Perhaps Balfour Spectre was a good start.  He seemed a man inclined to his own brand of humor. They might even have similar interests. And They were colleagues of sorts.  Finally, they both had apparently been fucked over--or were soon very likely to be--by Ira Almasy.

Alright, perhaps that last one was not casual friend territory. 

Adon settled at a table to await the Beastmaster himself, giving a dry laugh as he noted that the seat opposite him held a discarded copy of Witch Weekly.  Well, someone had been sensible enough to leave it alone.  Still, considering the premise of today's meeting was regarding the publication, he gave a sly glance from side to side to see if he was being watched before leaning over to retrieve it.

He skimmed.  "12 Wand Tricks for Gentlemen."  "10 Pieces of Toast That Look Like Albus Dumbledore." God. Adon couldn't even pretend to read this tripe.  Nose wrinkling, he dropped the paper upon the tabletop.  He glanced at his watch.  3 minutes to noon.  In the absence of another timewaster, he idly tapped his fingers on the tabletop, running through the points he wanted to cover--albeit obliquely--from the Witch Weekly article from several days previous.

• Spectre had been drenched in blood.  It was most likely not work-or-dragon related because:
  
• The anger about this bloody fact was carried towards Ira Almasy.  Almasy's involvements were mysterious and dangerous.  She was involved in the werewolf kidnapping of Zel Trumble--a plot which likely traced back to Hannah Bombay's kidnapping as well, and others.  And potentially, then, a culprit in the Storm poisoning.  The plot involved other high-ranking members of wizarding society in the werewolf fighting pits, as well as:
  
• Now maybe members of the Ministry. The article alluded to Almasy meeting with Glass?

Adon felt the muscles in his eyebrows burn--a sign his expression of grim frustration had settled on his face for too long.  With determination, he rubbed his hand over his face before picking up the Witch Weekly in one hand again. "Save a Broom: Ride these Quidditch Players! They're Keepers!"

With a cringe, he turned the page delicately between two fingers--attempting for minimal contact.  He didn't want to risk cootie contamination.  He imagined cooties like sinister, hormonal nargles.  Invisible to the eye, but little by little stealing away IQ points, social skills, and good sense.  How else did you explain teenagers?

The horrors continued well beyond A5 or even B3.  From the mysteriously raunchy "10 Cauldron-Steamy Solutions for Your Own Chamber of Secrets" to the sinisterly chipper "Where Are(n't) They Now? Demises of 10 Hogwarts Professors: Gilderoy Lockhart, Silvanus Kettleburn, and More!" And finally, the bait: "Squib vs. Muggle: You Won't Believe What Happens next!"

Adon expelled a sigh, biting back a groan of disgust as the vapid titles processed. He sat upright more, beginning to lean in.  No, wait.  Maybe he'd be awful and send that last one to Dree...

Balfour Spectre shrugged off his winter peacoat as he ducked into Alohomocha that afternoon, flashing the barista across the counter a familiar smile. His usual lemon and ginger would be at the table without having to ask - the cafe had become something of a regular in his scheduling with Mrs Lanningham.

She'd also been kind enough to provide him with appropriate clothes, thank Odin for efficient secretaries. He had been in coveralls and boots all morning, braced against winter winds in the salt marshlands of Pembrokeshire. The handler hung up his jacket and dusted off some dog fur that had gotten on his tweed blazer; one of the witches on level 4 had brought their pet to the office.

When you're stuck on desk duty, it was easier to bring creatures to you than to go out in search of them. Speaking of which--

"Eleor!" Balfour exclaimed once he'd given the seating area a cursory look and spotted the familiar face behind a copy of... a copy of Witch Weekly. Was the man obsessed??

He offered his hand to shake, flashed a forward and chipper grin that politely noted the magazine's presence. "A pleasure. Can't say I've ever sat down with one of the  Weekly's most popular bachelors - short of Ignan Storm of course."

And Ignan was decidedly taken! No longer a bachelor. Neither, for that matter, was Balfour. The entire premise of this meeting was a farce. If not for Eleor's occupation and the correspondence of charming macho-isms, one might suspect the Auror of trying to arrange a peculiar but bonafide date.

Something else was on the other man's mind. Maybe he'd figured out the truth behind the Haunting Hour? Or, more likely, felt curious about the nature of last weekend's public debacle with Ira.

Either way, refusing to meet would have looked suspicious.

"Have you ordered?" Balfour asked as he took his seat across, unbuttoning his blazer with one hand and glancing away as one of the witches from behind the counter did him the favour of popping by with the tea instead of having to collect it. "Can't talk gossip without a bit of something in me."

Ah, there he was.  Adon dropped the periodical unceremoniously, rising to shake Spectre's hand as he greeted him brightly.  Well, this was promising.

"A pleasure. Can't say I've ever sat down with one of the  Weekly's most popular bachelors - short of Ignan Storm of course."

"So you've been avoiding Pratt and Radley, then?" Adon asked, his voice light, but his smile wicked.  "Eligible and wise. You'll be in B.O.B. in no time." 

"Have you ordered? Can't talk gossip without a bit of something in me."

"Gossip?" Adon raised an eyebrow.  "Please, Balfour. This is great writing, we are talking about here."  His eyes flitted down to the headline tossed aside before reading aloud: " '10 Pieces of Toast That Look Like Albus Dumbledore.'  Do you think you can make something like that up?"  Adon gave a dismissive shrug--there was really only one appropriate response: none. 

Leaving the simulacra toast behind them, Adon added: "No, I haven't--ordered, I mean. Thought I ought to wait. Shall we?"  As the two moved over to the queue, he glanced briefly up at the menu.  He'd looked it up in advance, just so that it would be one less thing to worry about.  No need to suffer through poor sandwich decisions unnecessarily.  Then he'd have to decide whether to push through eating something with horseradish or going hungry.  And there was enough shit going on right about now.

He did have to give Alohamocha credit--they ran a tight ship.  They scarcely had time to cook up some idle chit chat (thank God) before Adon was at the front of the line, caught off-guard to see a familiar face behind the register.  "Em!" he greeted Emeline Trumble, delighted. A quick introduction, an exchange of names and orders and money, and Adon and Balfour were both ushered to the side to await their orders at the counter.

From the corner of his eye, he noticed a couple settle down at the table he'd staked out.  Well, that could have gone better...

"So, I think at this point you likely know more about me than I do you. Though I ought to warn you, as of a few weeks ago, I think Margo was planning an uprising or hostile takeover of some sort in retaliation for paperwork assignments."  He shrugged.  "She even tried to recruit me.  Don't worry." Another shrug as he slipped his hands into his pockets, "I didn't take the bait."[1]  A momentary pause.  "Did anything ever come from that before her resignation? No arson to report?"  His smile was slow, sly.  He ought to slow down--he had yet to see if his particular brand of humor landed well with the beastmaster.

1.	Inaccurate revisionist history from this thread.

He laughed, flashing his teeth at mention of Pratt and Radley - nothing against either of course, besides a lack of opportunity and one recollection of Johann wanting to throw a punch at the former.

"Neither eligible nor wise I'm afraid." Balfour quipped with a smile that was at least two thirds soppy. "Johann Storm has my ticket, unfortunately for the writers of Witch Weekly. They get carried away with their imaginations." As evidenced by Adon's pointing out of Dumbledore toast - among other things.

They were up again and at the queue, Balfour bringing along his takeaway cup of tea and giving Eleor a further appraisal while the other wizard examined the menu.

He liked Adon and Adon's sense of humour but there was something distinctly unnatural about this entire affair. Emeline provided a temporary distraction - Balfour always happy to see her behind the counter - and as they moved along the counter wait for nourishment, he was surprised to find Margo a topic of conversation. Not that he minded. It was just more of the feeling that the Auror knew or wanted something and was trying to arrive at it through the most confusing of ways.

Maybe that was the secret behind Level 2's interrogation methods. Lock them up with Eleor until he bewildered the criminal entirely.

"Hah, no. We were all very sorry to see her go - I can't tell you how much it hurts the floor whenever a capable handler has to step away from work. Although," Balfour stepped aside as a trio of patrons joined them to wait on the food. "You would understand better than most. Aurors aren't exactly dispensable."

Their knights in red robes. The Division Head sipped at his tea, decided it was still too hot, and then gestured at his companion conversationally. "How are things going for you lot anyway? If you don't mind me talking shop. Or we could continue with Witch Weekly if you'd rather dance around..." He bit the inside of his cheek tryingly. "Whatever this is."

Balfour was still tired and testy from his confrontation with Ira Almasy. He didn't mind coming out to lunch or socialising but every moment spent with somebody else meant time away from his healing partner.

His tongue ran along the inside edge of his teeth.  He was losing Balfour already.  Best to keep the tone light, the topic straightforward.

“Johann Storm?” Adon repeated. This man kept cropping up.  What was the word for it? Ubiquitous.  The Ubiquitous Johann Storm.  Sounded like a short story.  Or, in Johann’s case, probably a long and cryptic story and too difficult to get through. 

“Well, I’m shocked,” he said with a sly grin, tapping the discarded periodical, “the Weekly got something right.”  A pause. “Kind of.” The way of the media.  Start with truth, then use emotion to derange it further out of control and proportion. They’d referenced it as a ‘dalliance’ or somesuch.  “The Witch Weekly will mourn the loss of a bachelor, but good for you,” he congratulated warmly. “I don’t know Johan well,” or at all. That man had so many walls up, he was like a Gringotts’ vault. And Adon had had enough of Gringotts’ vaults.[1]

Keep it neutral, Eleor.  “But my brother works with him.  He thinks very highly of him.”  From the grumpy face he’d last seen Johann pulling, and his haggard air about him, Johann needed something good in his life right now. Not that it would ever be Adon’s place to say as much. At least Johann was letting someone in.  Not that Adon had particularly spent much time worrying about the emotional well-being of the German linguist… Too many Goddamned feelings.

Well, here was hoping his partner was more forthright in this whole affair. Though he’d not put the brunt of anything on Balfour. It was not his place, and he wanted cooperation, not any kind of coercion.

“I just saw him last week, as a matter of fact; he and Elixa Mordent were offering some of their expertise on the poisoning case.”

That was casual and, he hoped, direct enough for Balfour.  Balfour, like enough others, now knew that Adon Eleor was the lead investigator on a case which his partner had fallen victim to.  Which also happened to be a case in which his partner had an area of expertise on—and seemed particularly hesitant about. Though judging by how things had gone last time Johann had opened up to Level Two—particularly to him—about a case, he couldn’t blame the man.

And Balfour, in (of course) unrelated news, had just gone mental on Ira Almasy, who Adon was not ruling out for culpability, over what was clearly a personal matter.  Adon didn’t buy that business about “work-related blood” on his clothes any more than the Witch Weekly seemed to.

Shit. This was more loaded than he’d even guessed.  Was it even possible that Ira Almasy was behind both the werewolf kidnappings and this? If so, what else, then?

He flicked his wand, bringing up a sound barrier.  “I hope you don’t mind?” he asked.  It would do nothing for any lip reading, of course—wizards had a habit picking up eccentric and inconvenient hobbies, but the ward was a common enough precaution in the field as to be relatively routine.  He and Jonas had used it all the time, when they couldn’t go to a Muggle restaurant where no one was the wiser for hearing Roonspoor.  “The whatever-it-is has the potential to be sensitive, and I’d like to keep from reading about this meeting later on.”  Like Adon’s gaze, comment was meant to be directed at the Witch Weekly, but there were certainly broader applications.  “You don’t need to answer anything,” he said with unusual candor, “but I’m hoping that you will.”

1.	Eleor Trivia Fun Fact #53: Adon’s father expired in the family vauilt.

At mention of the poisoning case, Balfour's eyes narrowed even as he smiled in acknowledgement of Adon having chatted to Elixa and Johann. Ira had as good as told him about her hand in that in December[1].

"Ah, yes. He mentioned." The wizard murmured briefly but in a pointed, meaningful tone - there were no secrets between his lover and him. Well. There had been, but they both agreed to be as transparent as possible since the attack. "Tragic business, that."

The sound barrier went up but he didn't attempt to feign surprise, only glancing about the cafe to see if anyone had particularly noticed. Nobody was paying them mind and he wondered, not for the first time, if Ira had someone following him about now that she knew he wasn't her man any longer.

And Balfour didn't have a contract to keep his mouth shut. Just the threat of what she might do to Johann.

Satisfied that they weren't making a show of being secretive, he turned back to Adon and gestured that they collect their dishes before taking a seat - couldn't leave food to go cold while they muttered in a corner. The Scotsman didn't stay alive for this long around his Russian landlord without understanding the significance of credible pretence.

"Aye. I'll try to be useful," Balfour spoke as their order was called up and he took up his toasted panini without feeling much of an appetite. His manner was casual, voice careful. "I should think that personal questions would be easier to answer. And you may have to be satisfied with vagueness..." he smiled grimly at the Auror. "I would not make an accurate witness."

1.	Reflex - Dec 5th 2010

Well, well.  Johann continued to surprise: Spectre displayed that sort of dragonish loyalty at the mere mention of his name that made Adon smile a little.  He recognized the sentiment well.  It was an admirable one.  And the ready agreement?  What was more, Spectre preferred personal questions? That was a first on the job. And how very unlike his partner.  More points to Spectre, still. No wonder this man had the Weekly in a tizzy. 

"I appreciate that," he said sincerely.  It was hard to get an informant.  Harder still to get one already in the public's eye.  The fear of vulnerability was too great--even with the promise of security that crimson robes could offer.  For all he was hard on Johann Storm, most responded just like him: guilty, innocent, or no.  No one wanted to get involved visibly: least of all the already-involved.

Adon could do as well as this man in guarding his own--and he'd do what he could from here on out, starting now.  Keeping his manners schooled and easy for any onlookers, he grabbed his sandwich before swiveling and taking note of a couple leaving from a side table.  Nodding his head in that direction, he led the way.  "The concern's a valid one--and noted," he said, settling into his chair.  "But I do not need witnesses, just yet."  He needed a lead. Technically, the werewolf kidnappings weren't even his case.  This was just a hunch.  A lunch meeting.  "Just information. And, since you you suggest it," he leaned back in his seat--giving the physical perception of space, of detachment, "I may get a bit personal..."  His eyes flickered to  the cover of the Weekly and its image of the pain du Dumbledore.  "Mlle. Almasy... How long exactly have you known her?"

He licked his lips, wishing for a moment that he could light a cigarette to take off the edge.

But Balfour valued his neck and would rather that Em Trumble attempted not to break it, so his cigarette case remained in the jacket pocket - he broke off a crispy edge from the panini and chewed on it instead. Eleor was getting straight to the heart of their meeting. A blessing, because they couldn't afford to waste time.

Too long at lunch with an Auror and even the people who weren't working for Ira would begin to notice.

"Almost twelve years," he didn't have to do the maths because he had gone over the numbers with Johann over the weekend. Balfour counted the acquaintanceship from his first substantial interaction with the witch[1] rather than his first meeting [2], of which memory he had only ever shared with Joh.

His gaze dropped to his tea, momentarily lost. "But as far as anyone else is concerned, I've known her since I moved into Atreus in 2006 and -" Balfour looked at Adon guiltily, "- started showing up as her companion at parties and such."

The implication was obvious. Witch Weekly was dead wrong about him an Ira but their inaccuracy was a chronological one. He had more than danced with the devil in the past. Balfour put down the panini and sat forward, swallowing.

"Not much has changed about her since then. Ira Almasy is... rich. Filthy rich. Beautiful." A quick, sad smile that disappeared into sombreness. "And a Metamorphmagus. You could be speaking to her right now and you wouldn't know it."

1.	Our Queen of Peace - 1999
2.	Burnt the Fire of Thine Eyes - 1996

Well, well, well.  A former lover ready to tell nearly all.  Adon had guessed he'd be a good informant; close, personal connection to Ira, clearly at odds and probably alienated.  He hadn't known just how good.  Today was full of surprises.

Like that last little gem.  Because this was, for all intents and purposes, a friendly chat between colleagues, Adon let his surprise--that sickening twist in his stomach--manifest itself in the way that came naturally: one could only laugh.

Biting his lip, Adon subdued back a mystified, horrified chuckle.  You could be speaking to her right now and you wouldn't know it.  Shaking his head, he ventured, "Particularly since I don't know you all that well, hm?"  Hell. It was a tender mercy that metamorphagi came few and far between, but Adon had already been made intimately familiar with the dangers of the talented mages when, two years ago, his abdomen fell on the wrong side of a metamorphagus' blade. She'd managed to trick him into thinking she was his brother just long enough to land him in St. Mungo's, nearly dead.[1]  He gave a frustrated sigh. "Well, that is certainly good to know."  It did nothing to quell the mounting paranoia, however.  "Hope that didn't just put you out of your plans to murder me in a dark alleyway, somewhere, though."  He would need to redouble his efforts--squeeze Riordan even harder into getting him that long-promised partner.  He'd already fortified his home, but other precautions would clearly be needed.  And if this was really Ira? Well, bless his star charts that they'd picked a public location.  If Ira was as well-connected as Adon was beginning to suspect, it was certainly not outside of the realm of possibility that she knew he was zeroing in on her... the number of meetings he'd conducted because of her...

Perhaps she'd be flattered.

"So obviously that companionship," Adon paused for the word.  He couldn't say closed. The two were clearly, on some level, still in communicado. "--shifted," he resumed, "some time ago."   Before Johann entered his life? One would presume, but Merlin only knew that relationships were not always so simple and linear.  "How do things stand with her now?"  Balfour had said he could get personal.  "I remember reading a little something about a work-related incident, you showing up in what was reported to be dragon's blood?  Do you have a professional relationship with Ms Almasy as well, as Head of the Beasts Division?" 

He didn't buy the dragon's blood excuse any more than the tabloids--his expression might have said as much--but it did segue well enough into his questions on Ira's views on werewolves.  Why would she involve herself in the Trumble abduction--and presumably others?  If, of course, Balfour would rather talk about the actual conflict at hand, Adon was not going to say no.  But the goal of this conversation was to get as much from Balfour as he possibly could without getting the man to balk and flee.  That meant giving him some semblance of control in the conversation. A sort of choose-your-own-adventure. 

Perhaps Balfour had had too much adventure.  Adon would need to fast determine where he stood with Ira, where the strain had come into play, exactly.  That would determine, of course, just how reliable any of this intel actually was. 

1.	Crossing the Rubicon, March 15, 2009

Balfour mirrored the other man's reaction to this new information by pressing his lips into a grim, amused smile. Eleor had a ridiculous sense of humour - so did Johann, who could make light of many a dark situation with his observational witticisms. It was no doubt a form of survival instinct.

"I imagine she would find Aurors less troublesome alive rather than dead," he replied to the notion of a dark alleyway. "Besides, it wouldn't be her style. You have to remember that about her - she loves to do everything with a bit of..." A flashy gesture of the hand to indicate flourish. Panache.

Adon's choice of words were fortunate and probably deliberate. Balfour was more than happy not to blatantly discuss his past relations with Ira, most of which were more sexual than they were emotional, and surely irrelevant to whatever the DMLE might need to know about their secret adversary.

He sat back in his chair, one hand tapping against the table between them and the other fingering the lighter in his pocket whilst he listened. That bit about dragon's blood had been Mrs Lanningham's invention when he had refused to tell her what had happened to incur so much blood. Nobody believed it but they could never prove otherwise either.

"... Do you have a professional relationship with Ms Almasy as well, as Head of the Beasts Division?" 

He procured the lighter from his pocket, polished silver with celtic ruins engraved all around.

 "No." Balfour lied, flicked the lighter so that the cap jerked open and revealed its flickering flame. Adon didn't need to know about how Ira essentially funded The Haunting Hour - possibly even protected it against tracing charms. "I have no business contracts with her. I'm a friend, you see, I don't sign contracts with her."

 The wizard closed the lighter and set it down delicately before looking back to the Auror, a little furrow in his brow. "Other people do. You'll need to watch out for that - she has them in a verbal noose. Everyone puts up collateral and sometimes it's their own lives. It makes them harder to trust."

That didn't apply to Johann at least. He knew the risks, with his partner, and it wasn't a blood contract[1]. Balfour paused and tried to think of how to describe his current balance with Ira.

"We stopped... fooling around a few years ago. I would say that from her viewpoint, we are still friends of sorts. Friends who have argued," he bit the inside of his cheek, obviously struggling with his phrasing. "Let me put it this way. I tried to kill her once and we went out to tea the next day. She doesn't play by our rules. All friendships with her are precarious."

Balfour fell silent. He did not want to give too much information - enough to level the playing field but not enough to strongly implicate him, as he had to look out for the people connected to him as well.

1.	A contract signed in blood binding Ira Almasy to her client/employee so that she is instantly aware of a breach in clause. Seen in effect on Nov 5th 2010 with Hannah Bombay.

He didn't miss a beat, did Balfour Spectre.  The thought that she'd incapacitate an Auror was not dismissed, laughed away, or even modified.  It was all but confirmed--and a mere matter of how.  By Balfour's implied accounts, Ira was a notorious criminal with full reason to want to handle Aurors--and others. 

You'll have to remember that... You'll need to watch out for that...

It was as though Balfour was arming him, preparing him for battle.  And it was not entirely a mystery as to what his underlying motivation might be, however vague and murky: I tried to kill her once.  Balfour spoke of their friendship in the past tense.  He seemed to think himself free of this woman, but from the character he was painting, Adon very much doubted that Balfour was unencumbered, even without a contract.  It could easily be a bluff on Balfour's part--hell. All of it could be.  Or Balfour might be deceiving himself.

"Well that's a relief. I'd hate to be troublesome... or dead," Adon said, his expression pinched.  Adon was worried.  And the answer was not entirely reassuring.  Alive, but in what capacity?  Still, this paled in comparison to Adon's present worries.  The victims--werewolf and Muggle--of the werewolf fighting ring.  The Trumbles.  Probably Hannah Bombay.  Wolfgang Storm, for all he knew. Oh, fuck.  Well that was another interesting connection he'd just thought of...

And if she was involved in other systemic crimes? The poisonings, God forbid? If dark alleyways were not her style, Adon had real reason for concern, and one question: who would she hurt next, on what stage, and how many?

It was interesting, Balfour Spectre's interpretation of his question about business: Adon had not been meaning to implicate him on corruption charges, but that was good to know that it was out there as well... As an outsider, Adon was brought to London to look at Ministerial corruption over 2 years ago.  It was certainly never a feeling that was easy to shrug.  At least London cared about its corruption problem. Jerusalem on the other hand...

Neither the time nor the place.  Still, Adon would have liked to have known if Ira was involved with anything werewolf-related. There were so many, too many, questions.  Werewolves, her contacts, her next moves, these contracted individuals--who to contact, who to look out for...  But it all came down to one thing.

Adon needed to get her into custody.  Fast. Before more harm was done.  Getting Ira Almasy behind bars would give him some safety, and the freedom to poke around in other areas, unearth what was doubtless an extensive web of lies and crimes.  Behind bars, Ira Almasy was a fangless viper.  Still dangerous, perhaps, but not quite able to strike.  And to accomplish that, he needed enough tangible evidence for a conviction to stick.  Any hunches, any feelings about the poisoning, her network--all of it--were as of yet unsubstantiated.  The most concrete thing he had was the letters in Raine's hand, and her direct involvement, there.  She was a metamorphmagus--making impersonation all the more simple. 

There were only so many questions Adon could ask. He could feel the comfortable goodwill of this meeting approaching its end.  Balfour was more than accommodating, but he could only ask so much on the pretense of a friendly chat.  There were two questions Adon wanted to ask: one he could, and one he shouldn't.

1. What are you hoping to get from talking to me like this? and
2... Adon shifted in his seat, wetting his lips.  "Her friendships are precarious, you say. What of blood relations? Do you know what her relationship is like to her niece, Raine Almasy?"

He could see that Eleor was turning over a multitude of thoughts, and this gave Balfour something akin to hope. A pinprick of light in the darkness he had allowed to consume his personal life.

The food he ordered went mostly ignored after the first couple of bites but he tended to his tea with some regularity, sipping and crossing his legs to affect relaxed mannerisms. If there was any tension in the division head's expression it was softened by his forced smile - from the outside, at best, they appeared to be trading witticisms.

But Balfour found himself genuinely surprised by the question that followed.

"Raine? Goodness..." he paused, blinking and then clearing his throat. "I don't know. Ira always seems rather proud of her - tournament champion, animagus, all that. Occupied with her tutoring. She's friends with my goddaughter, Alex Carstairs."

Reluctant to involve Alex, he had never thought to ask the Ravenclaw about her classmate's relationship with the older Almasy. Now that Adon brought it up, the oversight felt deadly. What was Ira teaching her niece?

And why did the Auror think it was relevant?

"I think maybe Ira sees some of herself in Raine." Balfour gestured to mean that he was uncertain on the subject. "The Almasys are led by their witches, so I've always assumed she was grooming her or something of the sort." He just didn't know what in Fenrir's name for.

At this point it was all speculation. "And she has two brothers but I've only met the one, Kazimir. Sensible bloke, though he's in Moscow right now I believe. Do you think the family is involved?"

Well. This kept getting better and better.  A budding mini-Ira, being groomed for whatever with formidable skills.  He took note of the name: Alex Carstairs, a little surprised that Balfour would give that up.  It was appreciated, of course, and treated with discretion. Adon would have to be very careful when it came to properly interviewing Hogwarts students.  There was a level of visibility there he was not quite certain he wanted to draw attention to.  Not to mention unnecessarily dragging in mere children into this fray.

Which of course meant saying as little as possible regarding Raine, as well.  Though it was not particularly sounding like it, she may very well be nothing but a victim in all this.

Adon nodded appreciatively at the further information of the brothers.  Adon had access to that information--at least of the names of blood relations--beforehand, but it was good to know their whereabouts.  The Almasys, like so many prominent wealthy families--the Zamperias, the Prewetts, the Donovans and Grimms and Blacks--had an international presence.  He wondered how many foreign Ministries he’d need to check with before this was done.  The meeting with Elixa and Johann had already added to a growing list of followups.

”Do you think the family might be involved?”

“I’m certainly not ruling it out,” Adon said vaguely.  Especially if they had her abilities.  Metamorphism often was an inherited trait.   Adon would have liked to have asked about that, but one question at a time.

"Wait a minute," Adon leaned forward slightly, picking up his sandwich.  "Involved in what, exactly?" Adon had never specified, after all.

Aah fuck, he'd not thought before speaking - Balfour was so used to speculating on Ira's intentions with Johann that he didn't think to censor himself at that moment. He eyed the sandwich that Adon had picked up whilst purposefully avoiding his companion's gaze. What did he mean by saying that anyway?

The Scotsman smiled ruefully, aware that he had been caught out.

"Nothing and everything-" he replied after a pause before finally meeting Adon in the eye and waving his hand to the cafe in general. "- I can't risk being specific but if I were you, I wouldn't rule anything out in recent events."

Or future ones for that matter. Fenrir knew what the witch had her ambitions set upon in months to come? He felt more and more like he was only here for the ride.

Hopefully one both he and his lover would survive. "I think I'd better be returning to my office soon, before Mrs L comes to fetch me herself." Balfour decided on an impulse that the longer her was seen here with Adon the more likely it would get back to Ira that he might be informing.