Wednesday, August 3, 11:34 PM.

The early reports from the I.D.R.E.A.D. team were not encouraging.  Dementors swarming everywhere, in the midst of some white, whispy, magical fog that Level 9 still hadn't identified.  Whatever the fog was, it had landed one of the early responders in St. Mungo's, reportedly bewildered and dazed from the encounter.  The manor house itself had been set ablaze, adding smoke and green flames to the frantic confusion.  In the middle of it all, they had found the body of the Squib boy that Abby Reid had mentioned, dead as if struck by the Killing Curse. 

It would take days to pick through the mess there; days to put together what had happened and try to put some sense to the madness caused by Lee and Lori Lilly.  Days that, of course, they didn't have, since Solomon Carstairs had understandably taken a personal interest in this incident, and wanted reliable information that he could share with the Minister as soon as possible.

The location of Abby's older sister had quickly evolved into another odd mystery.  Once the Squib had been turned over to the trustworthy custody of a Healer, Jonas had turned his attention to tracking down the elder Reid.  But the first owl that he had sent to her had quickly come back, his missive undelivered.  Perplexed, he'd begun to put out feelers. 

It had been late that night when word had come from St. Mungo's that they had admitted a patient that morning who fit the description of the woman he was searching for.

And so Jonas had exchanged the chaos of a late night on Level Two for the bustle of the magical hospital.  For once, he'd chosen to wear crimson. Too often lately, the red robes of an Auror felt heavy on his shoulders, as if he were wearing an enormous flashing sign that screamed 'HEX ME!' at every opportunity.  At St. Mungo's, the crimson color clashed horribly with the lime green color worn by bustling Healers, but they also served to get the attention that he wanted, to ensure that everyone knew that he was here on Very Important Business and needed answers to his questions as quickly as magically possible.

"Here's the room, sir."  The young healer had stopped short, in front of a door that looked like any other on the fourth floor.  He looked tired, and had seemed almost anxious as he'd led Jonas through the halls, apparently intimidated by the Auror's crimson uniform.   He touched his wand to the doorknob, which glowed brightly for a moment, then clicked as it unlocked.  "I can wait outside.  She, err...she's been mostly calm since she got here.  But if something happens and she starts to overpower you, just, ahh...shout?"

Jonas paused, cocking his head at an angle as he gave the Healer a quizzical look.  "Of course, mate," he said reassuringly, flashing the wizard a lopsided smile as he reached for the doorknob.  "Thanks."

With that, he opened the door and stepped inside.

It didn't seem that long ago, the first visit that she had paid him.[1]  The tall, statuesque blonde woman who never let a hair slip out of place had come calling to his office, just as he'd been starting to dabble in the magical once more.  They'd never been friendly.  Any help he had given, she had only grudgingly accepted -- and never returned or acknowledged, as if his efforts merely cast him as an irritating gnat, not even worthy of a flick.  As a result, he had probably taken too much pleasure out of helping to entrap her older brother.[2]

And now she stood before him again, as blonde and fair as ever.  Her back had been towards him as he'd entered the small room -- she'd been staring out the lone window, which had been enchanted to show a grassy meadow with rolling hills, spotted with yellow and purple flowers.  As the door clicked shut behind him, she turned toward the noise, looking slightly bewildered by the intrusion.  She looked little different than he remembered -- perhaps a little thinner, a little more strained, but certainly nothing like the dramatic transformation that her younger sister had gone through during the intervening years.

Jonas stopped just inside the door, flashing the woman the sort of friendly smile that one might share with an old friend. 

"Hullo, Aileen,"  he said cheerfully.  "Been a bit, hasn't it?"

1.	Buried in the Sand on September 21, 2008.
2.	Runespoors Can't Change Their Stripes, January 9, 2009.

Home. She was so far from home. The woman gazed at the meadow in the enchanted window, tracking the butterflies and birds flitting through the flowers, watching the long grass sway in the wind. She stood still, straight-backed, and calm, her hands loose at her sides, her wand tucked into the pocket of her dress.

The window was just another frame, the view just another painting, of sorts, animated yet limited to its location. The clock on the wall told her it was late, a jarring contrast to the sun sinking into the earth outside.

Clocks were quiet, here. They ticked delicately, steadily, feeling no need to announce the hour. She kept glancing up, waiting for a chorus of loud clangs that never came.

The woman considered the wand in her pocket. She could fix the charm on the window to show the correct time. She fixed things. Mended buttons, kissed small foreheads, repaired the leaky sink.

Her hand rested on her pocket, and a tremor ran through her arm. It hadn't felt like her wand before, and it wouldn't now. Best not. Best wait.

The door opened. She glanced behind her, expecting the nurse.

A redheaded man in red robes greeted her warmly, by first name.

He looked familiar. That red hair. She resisted a shudder. His countenance was different, steady and sure underneath the friendly smile, unlike the man she only knew as a giant through a frame, stalking the halls with his head bent, bunches of white flowers in his hands.

And he looked very unlike the woman she knew as both giant and human, who cursed and screamed at those who fell out of her favor.

"It has," she answered after a long pause, her voice as clear and precise as it had been the first time she'd spoken in the woods.

A name trickled through her consciousness. Kesali? Not Kesali. Gale Kesali had dropped her off at St. Mungo's, alarmed by her lack of memory and what he called 'strange' demeanor[1]. She'd felt a mixture of regret and relief watching him depart, her only tie to the land that felt like home. Traces of home remained in the grooves of her shoes, the leaf she'd plucked out of her hair, and smudged her gray dress with the fingerprints of Kesali's children.

"Trevelyan?" She sounded out his name.

"Auror Trevelyan," she returned his smile, pleased to have remembered something on her own. Her smile was equally warm, reminiscent of a younger Reid sister.

Dread and worry rose up in dual waves. The first wave felt small, a sprinkling of distrust and distaste, sour memories, and someone tall standing behind her, evading two red-robed men.

The second wave crashed on her shoulders. She steeled her back, eyes widening. An Auror! Here! What had she done? Where had she gone wrong?

Worry flickered over her face, until an underlying force tamped it down.

Calm. Blessed calm. They were both so calm. The woman felt glad for that.

"It's been a day," she said, meeting his eyes. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, smoothing out the curl, then glanced at her hand. After a moment, she let her hand fall.

1.	Continued from this thread

On one hand, that was very probably the nicest that Aileen Reid had ever greeted him, and he hated to take it for granted.

On the other...

Jonas's forehead creased as he studied the woman carefully.  First warmth, and then something flickered over her features -- Uncertainty?  Worry? -- but then her expression was schooled again, as placid as he'd ever seen it.

Aileen Reid was calm.  In control.  The most he'd ever seen her worked up was when he'd accused her of causing some problem with an artifact.  She hated being blamed, hated to take responsibility, and never seemed to look very kindly on him when he tested her patience.  But she was never like this, never so serene and eerie, albeit with a flash of something else behind her mask.

"That too," he agreed cheerfully, giving her a wink.  A day and a bit, and no sign that things were getting any easier.  He suppressed an inward sigh, unwilling to let any sign of fatigue show through. 

There was something off here that he couldn't put his finger on.  The Healer that he'd spoken to said she seemed to have lost her memory, as if she'd been Obliviated.  Was this how Obliviated people reacted?  Or was it some other kind of curse?  And what sort of coincidence could it be that it had seemingly struck her today, the same day that her panicked younger sister had Flooed into the Ministry, setting off an entire chain of unfortunate events?

"Must've been some kind of day, for you to end up here," Jonas said sympathetically.  He kept his words light, cheerful, watching her face for any reaction. "How're you feeling?  The Healers mentioned you stopped by this afternoon to visit an old co-worker."

Good Merlin, was she friends with an Auror? She remembered avoiding and evading the Ministry, intimidated by its cold efficiency, its grand, golden atrium, and the officials who spoke down to her. Yet her shoes, her dress, her very posture, implied that she thrived in a place like that.

As she perched efficiently on the edge of the hospital bed, she gestured to the visitor's chair, assuming that he must be tired. Her spine remained straight, though she felt like she could curl up and sleep for weeks.

"I'm fine," she gave him a small, grateful smile, her gaze curious. The words themselves felt familiar on her tongue, repeated like a defensive charm.

She was fine except feeling like her body was not her own.

She was fine except for the total blanks in her memory.

She was fine except for a presence that lurked in the back of her mind.

Yes, she was fine!

"I wouldn't call it a visit," she added wryly. "I dropped in on the poor man quite unexpectedly. He didn't seem particularly pleased, though he was kind enough to bring me here."

She tilted her head, watching and trying to gauge his reaction.

"I'd apparated to Kesali's farm from," she paused. "Somewhere." A place haunted by fog and dark ragged cloaks. Worry flickered over her face once more. She was fortunate she hadn't splinched herself. She shook her head.

"His children found me on the edge of the woods, I believe? Their woods."

There were other woods, dark and full of dangers that she'd only glimpsed from a distance, across a large lake.

"Are you checking in on everyone who's been," she paused again. "Affected?" She glanced toward the door, having overheard that the hospital was crowded with confused people like her. "Or am I just lucky?" She said in a friendly tone, ignoring a sarcastic echo in her head.

Lucky, indeed!

The Auror chuckled as he eased himself gingerly to sit in the visitor's chair, shifting his weight off his bad leg.  "Well, we've got such a history, you and me," he replied, flashing her a crooked smile.  "Reckoned it was a good visit to start with."

There it was again -- that flicker of concern in the witch's expression, a hint that something under Reid's normally controlled surface was not right.  Not to mention that this was likely the most pleasant interaction that he'd ever had with Aileen Reid, up to and including the time he'd returned her stolen, cursed Egyptian dagger. 

Had she been Obliviated?  Both before and after his break from the Ministry, Jonas had encountered a handful of victims of the Memory Charm, including both Muggles and wixes.  A powerful casting of the enchantment left its subjects seeming dazed and confused.  Aileen seemed to recall his name, at least, but with some effort, as if she were tugging his identity up from a well inside her psyche.

"Afraid the pleasure of your company isn't the entire reason for the visit, though," he said, his expression sobering slightly.  He watched her, looking for some spark of recollection, a hint that she knew that something was not right.  "When's the last time you spoke to your sister?"

A sister. The woman looked at him blankly. She didn't have a sister. She had about a dozen brothers. She was the oldest, no, the middle child, no...

A sister?

Watching his expression turn serious, she smiled like she usually did when she didn't know or didn't understand something. The corners of her mouth lifted. She gave a nod, automatically. Her smile faltered, then fell.

She had children.

Young, like Kesali's children.

"I don't know," she stalled, unsure if she could trust this Auror who said they had history. He didn't say it was good history, though his friendly demeanor implied it.

She glanced through the gap in the bathroom door, remembering when she'd first seen her face in the mirror hours ago. She'd run out of the room, panicked, and only gone back in a few minutes later, amazed at the light color of her hair, the cool blue of her eyes, the arch of her brows and the cut of her cheekbones. Her face had reminded her of a younger girl, a face that continued to pop up in her mind.

A teenager. Curly blond hair. A pert nose. A smiling mouth.

Not her child.

Her sister?

A tangled knot of fear and dread lodged in her chest. She pushed it back down. It was too much.

"The girl with the blond hair?"

The woman looked at Trevelyan. She touched her own hair, still marveling at the soft strands.

"Today." Her voice was confident. She knew that much.

"I saw... heard her today. And a boy, but through-"

Fog. That didn't feel right, either. It came from another memory.

Glancing around the room, her gaze settled on the enchanted window.

"Glass."

Her voice turned hesitant, as dusk darkened the window and the birds flew off.

Whatever he thought of Aileen Reid -- her strong sense of self and pureblood sensibilities, her disdain for anything resembling a sense of humor -- her actions had always made it easy to see how much she loved her younger sister.  Whether it was putting up with Abby's unexpected move or enduring her sudden desire for an outing to a Muggle museum, the elder Reid was not the sort of individual to tolerate very much that tried her patience.

Except when it came to Abby.

This uncertain nonchalance was not the sort of reaction that he'd expected when he'd inquired after the girl.  Abby was more than just 'the girl with the blonde hair' to her sister, particularly now that her hair had turned a distinct shade of red.  Usually, asking after a family member or close friend was a sure way to start a prickling of concern in the individual on the other side of the conversation, to instill a rising sense that something was not right in someone that they cared about.  Aurors didn't ask about people, at least not within reason.  Inquiring after someone meant that something was wrong; that some crime had been committed; that a loved one was being viewed as either a potential victim or a perpetrator.

And yet here Aileen was, seeming more concerned at finding the right word than with the fact that he was asking after her sister.  Jonas's forehead creased, just slightly.  She had seen her today?  Had she been at the manor house?  A boy -- could it have been the Squib boy Calyx, whom I.D.R.E.A.D. had found deceased in the wreckage?

And then there was the final qualifier:  Through glass.

It sounded like something out of a children's poem, although he couldn't think of how the rest of the verse might go.  He couldn't help but think of how Abby had looked earlier, when he'd viewed her through the Goleya spell, her edges soft and blurred as if he were peering through dirty glass.

"Where were you when you saw her?" he asked with a frown.  "What were she and the boy doing?"

The person in her head was all sharp corners and harsh thoughts, directed at herself, thrown at everyone. At the mention of this sister, the edges of her thoughts softened, slipping into a worry so intense it made her chest hurt.

Pushing the worry down again, she shifted uncomfortably and cleared her throat.

"Inside?" She said in a question, feeling very much like a young person who spoke in questions, but she couldn't seem to be sure of anything.

The woman paused. She'd been inside a place with no windows, only flickering lights. She thought she'd seen the girl through a glass window, but she must have been mistaken.

"They were destroying things, like children do." She paused. "They were ruining the walls, I suppose. Laughing and loud, but angry. It sounded like the whole house was falling down around us."

The children had wanted out. She had wanted out. She had been there for too long.

Her brow furrowed as she glanced at the window again. She'd been inside, but then felt the wind rushing against her, others flying with her, louder than the children had ever been.

"There was a man shouting spells upstairs." She glanced upwards. Then she eyed the Auror's red hair for a long moment.

"Owls screeching. Fire?"

Light and warmth, but too warm.
 
"Then," she pressed her mouth together in a familiar line. "I don't know."

Silence. Dark and cold, too cold, and hooded creatures blighting the sky, reaching for her.

The red-haired Auror listened silently, his forehead creasing.  For the most part, Aileen's story matched what Abby had relayed earlier: herself and Calix, running through the art gallery in the Lily Lakehouse, smashing portraits and mirrors in frustration at their fate.  Lee Lily had apparated in and attacked them.  The I.D.R.E.A.D. team had reported the results of the fire, and plenty of dead owls around the owlry.

Had Aileen been at the Lily Lakehouse that morning?  Surely Abby would have reported seeing her sister, but the younger Reid sister had claimed that she'd been alone in the manor for a year, which her parents had backed up.  Had she apparated into the confusion and the fog, and been struck by some sort of spell?

And then the comment that she had made: They were destroying things, like children do.  That certainly didn't sound like how he had ever heard Aileen talk about her sister before.

"Go on," he said, flashing her a small, tight smile.  "What happened after the fire started?"

Trevelyan's strained smile didn't reassure her much, but he was asking her to keep talking, so she would try. He was friendlier than Kesali, friendlier even than the Healers, and telling him might help that girl, whose face she kept remembering.

She paused for a long moment, dredging up the words as the presence in her mind retreated. Silence, finally. The woman allowed her shoulders to soften, her hands to clasp loosely in her lap.

"Dementors came," she looked at the Auror, fear flickering over her face.

It felt strange, allowing such an emotion to pass over her features, but she was free to do so. There was no resistance from within.

"Dozens at least, from the sky, over the lake. They got into the house. They were," she hesitated. "Thrilled that there were so many of us?"

She shook her head, confused. There'd only been her, the girl, the boy, and the man, and yet she'd felt others, fleeing with her.

"I think I was outside when they chased us. I don't know how. Maybe I was outside the house the whole time."

The look she gave him was still confused, but her eyebrows drew together in mild concern. "I'm sorry," she offered, her hand lifting in a fluttery gesture.

Crossing her legs at the ankles, she looked up at the ceiling.

"I..." Flew. "Ran. I saw a woman near the woods, yelling the girl's name. Abby?"

She gave him the briefest of glances. She touched her cheek, feeling the curve of her cheekbone, and let out a shiver. What had she done? The woman remembered the reach of those skeletal hands, their ravenous hunger, the howling of the cold wind, the threat of darkness. She remembered needing to escape. Seeking light and warmth, even if it was trapped in a veil of ice.

She'd run into the woman, or the woman had run into her.

"She-" she started to say.

"I must have apparated away," she finished in a murmur, looking past him.

Again, Aileen's story seemed to mirror what her younger sister had relayed earlier that day.  First, Abby and Calix had started smashing mirrors and portraits.  Lee Lily had apparated in, furious at their destruction.  And then the fire started, and the Dementors swooped in.  Except --

Abby's words rose unbidden in his recollection.  Chasing after something -- in the fog...

The Auror's brow furrowed, almost imperceptibly.  Where was the fog?

And then, again, that strange confusion, as if her thoughts were all jumped together, in a way that was very much unlike Aileen Reid.  She'd seen Abby smashing portraits, and yet she'd been outside?  She'd seen blonde Abby, he realized suddenly, recalling her words from earlier.  Blonde, not with the crimson hair so unlike her that he'd seen at the Ministry.  Another puzzling piece of this mystery, if Aileen's words were reliable.

And then she'd ran.  And encountered a new detail that he hadn't heard in Abby's story -- another woman, yelling Abby's name, before she'd apparated away.

"The woman you saw yelling -- what did she look like?" he asked, forehead creasing.  Lori Lily was still unaccounted for.  She was out, Abby had said.  If Aileen could place her at the manor, even in her strange testimony, at least they'd have another small piece of what had happened that morning.

Something shifted on the woman's face. The open, vulnerable expression faded. Her furrowed brow smoothed, her gaze cleared, and the corners of her mouth relaxed.

Inwardly, she was still afraid, but afraid of sounding mad or revealing a detail that would get her into trouble. She didn't understand it herself. The person she'd run into had been statuesque, blond, terrified of the dementors, desperate to save this Abby.

The person she'd run into was the person she saw in the mirror. Her thoughts had felt sharp as glass, pounding in her head. Her headache was only fading as the presence remained silent.

"Auror Trevelyan," the woman began, a hint of apology in her voice.

"Would you remind me how we know each other? Are we friends?"

She watched his face. If there was anything she'd learned since childhood, people lied. She lied. Friends meant alliances, and only the family you made for yourself mattered.

Jonas blinked, and then regarded her for a moment, a slight frown crossing his face.

"No, I don't reckon we're friends," he said after a beat, "but I hope that we're on the same side."

Did Aileen Reid even have those that she considered friends?  She was friendly with people, he knew -- not ever him, but he knew that she'd been relatively close with some of the other Hogwarts professors, like Trishna, and she had been married at one point.  More than anything, that question hinted that something wasn't right.

But she did care about her younger sister.  And whatever might be wrong with her, he had a hard time believing that that connection was completely forgotten.

"Abby floo'd into the Ministry today."  He pressed his mouth tightly closed for a moment, meeting Aileen's gaze.  "She said that she'd been held prisoner in that house for almost a year, and that the people living there were practicing dark magic and planning to kill her.  She's safe now -- she's with your parents, but we're trying to figure out what happened to her.  If you were there trying to help her, too -- if you saw something or someone," he added, brows raising, "that might be  information that we can use to help her."

Trevelyan offered no details about how they knew each other, but he had the courage to admit they weren't friends. Allies? It was possible. The woman eyed him, considering how much to tell.

Then he brought up the sister. Abby. Held prisoner for a year, expecting to die.

Abby. Prisoner for a year.

A shiver ran through her. Worryfeardread. She shook it off, gaze darkening with disgust. Lore! That hateful witch had graduated to kidnapping children, including this Abby and the boy she didn't know, and possibly more.

The woman touched her pounding forehead, and met Trevelyan's eyes.

"I thought I saw someone who looked like me," she gestured at her face and dress. "Exactly like me. I don't know what that tells you."

She trailed off, expecting doubt and disbelief. Her hands tensed on her knees. The backs of her hands were pale and smooth. Her nails were filed neatly and coated with clear polish.

Glancing down, she remembered her hands cutting herbs, bearing scratches and scars, and passing bundles to another set of hands. She wished all she'd given up had not been used to do harm, but she knew better.

"Did you catch them?" She paused, fear lacing her voice. "Lore, and that man with the red hair?"

There was a lot to unpack in that very simple statement.  Jonas didn't know what this told him either: that Aileen had seen a woman who looked exactly like her, screaming her sister's name.  Even in the magical world -- perhaps especially in the magical world, where Polyjuice and Metamorphmagi were possibilities -- seeing one's doppelgänger was not so easily dismissed.  And why had it taken the blonde woman so long to raise this point?

Unless, Jonas considered, studying the woman before him, this version of Aileen Reid was not the original.  That would explain some of her odd reactions.  But she'd known his name, known Abby...

But had she known Abby?  She had recounted what had happened to Abby in the house, minus the fog.  Were either of those really an indication that this was truly Aileen?  He'd thought that perhaps she had been Obliviated, but perhaps her seeming confusion stemmed from something else entirely.

Before he could press her to follow up on her statement about seeing herself, the woman who looked like Aileen Reid had already directed another question at him.  Jonas blinked, his mind racing to process.  Lore?  That name had not yet come up in relation to this case.  Although an obvious connection would be...

"Do you mean Lori Lily and her brother?" he asked, frowning at her.  For a moment, he debated how much information to relay.  "No -- not yet.  What do you know about them?"