Just before official sunset, around 3:45 PM
Near the base of Cadair Idris
Snowdonia National Park, Wales


It had been freezing cold when they'd started hiking early that morning, and there had been light snow flurries on and off the entire day.  Most of the trail up the small mountain ridge had been blanketed in fresh snow the day before, making the trek more challenging than it had been the last time that Kurby had taken on this path.  Still, despite the cold and the necessary warming spells, it felt good to be outside, to push himself against a challenge that didn't have teeth or fur, wasn't shouting at him, and wasn't actively trying to kill him.

They'd made good enough time up to the ridge and back down again.  By the time they reached the old campground by the lake again, the sun had just dipped behind the mountain, sending the temperatures dropping still further.  He and Duncan had divided up the tasks -- starting a campfire, setting up the anti-Muggle and other perimeter spells.  Despite the cold night, neither of them felt like being surprised.

Twenty minutes later, they sat in front of the crackling fire.  McBoid had brought plenty to drink, and Kurby had donated the six-pack of strangely-decorated Muggle cans that Jonas Trevelyan had left on his desk along with a note to enjoy his weekend.  He felt tired and sore, but for once this week, it was the accomplished kind of exhaustion, one that meant that he'd probably sleep better later tonight. 

Kurby had lined up his first empty bottle in front of the fire: the better to take potshots at later, once the evening progressed.  He decided to try one of the cans next.  Flicking his wand to summon it from where he'd left it cooling in the snow, he caught the beer as it zoomed towards him and cracked it open.  As he might have guessed, it was hoppy and extremely bitter, more of an American-style I.P.A. than what he usually drank.

"Nice to know you can still keep up in your old age," he remarked, cracking a grin as he glanced over at McBoid.  "And here I was, worried that I'd have to carry you the last mile.  Reckon there might be life for me after forty after all, so long as I manage to hit it."

The hike was a nice change of pace for the Soctsman. Between these spells and his warm clothes the cold didn't bother Duncan too much. Work was far from his mind and being able to spend time with his old friend had been well worth the rush in getting his latest rescue settled into its new home. Family related issues, which he suspected had some bearing on this outing, had temporarily faded to the back of his mind.

Setting up the camp was routine for him, though splitting up the work helped make things go faster and at a much more reasonable time they were lounging in front of the fire. At least once a month, sometimes more, Duncan found himself in camps similar to this one. While he wouldn't admit as much to anyone it kept him in practice.

Finishing off his beer Duncan barely managed to hold back a laugh at Kurby's comment. Chuckling he said, “I would have crawled before I let you carry me, lad.” He shook his head, looking back with his own smirk. “Who knows how you'll be at forty, but I bet I'll still be running circles around you.” He had no intentions of taking a turn into a leisurely life.

Using his wand as Kurby had, Duncan summoned his second beer. Popping the top off he took another drink.

“I'll give you some credit though. It was a good day for a hike.”

It hadn’t been the best day for a hike, with the falling snow and the icy trails, but Kurby flashed the other wizard a quick, fierce grin nonetheless.  He’d been planning to make the trek regardless, if only to get his head away from work and give himself a chance to refocus, but he’d had a feeling that McBoid wouldn’t say no to tagging along.

Lad. Kurby had rolled his eyes good-naturedly at the comment, although he tolerated it as he took another swallow of beer.  He suspected that he was a couple of years older now than Duncan had been back during the war, when ‘lad’ might have been a more suitable description.

“Apparently I’m supposed to go out and have some fun from time to time,” he retorted, smirking at the Scottish wizard.  “At least you managed to do one better this time than just livin’ it vicariously.”

Since they’d met up earlier that morning, he’d been avoiding bringing up the real reason he’d asked Duncan to meet him.  Kurby shifted position as he took another sip from the can, and started to absently pick at the splintered wood along the end of the log that he’d claimed as a seat.  He still wasn’t sure if Moira had listened to his encouragement and talked to her uncle about what had happened during Saturday’s full moon.  If he did know anything about the werewolf, Duncan had followed Kurby’s lead and studiously sidestepped bringing up any mention of it.

“How’s your niece been, then?” he asked after a beat, glancing sidelong at Duncan.  “You seen much of her this week?”

Duncan grinned back in response. “Whoever told you that must be very wise. Glad to hear you’re taking such good advice to heart,” he retorted happily.

Then Kurby asked about Moira, easing them into the topic they’d been avoiding all day. The other wizard hadn’t been ready to talk about it and he had been in no rush.

His niece hadn't been sleeping well since her late night outing, which she still pretended no one else knew. In the morning she went through half a pot of coffee and at least two pots during the night after he and Angus had gone to their rooms.

“Not really seen her, no. Moira keeps to herself and stays busy.”

There was no point beating around the bush. “I don’t know much about what happened during the full moon. She did tell me that she and Sellaphix ran into a werewolf. That she reported it to you and your letter was an update.” Duncan paused to take a drink of beer, “I had figured that much out already, though, when he came over the night before and they fought about it.

I couldn’t tell her I already knew, would have meant I lost my biggest advantage. Eavesdropping is how I found out about you and her drinking at the pub, by the way. Moira never mentioned it.” Since he was a young lad himself Duncan had practiced the skill as often as he could. These days, to anyone who didn’t know better, he seemed to simply be gifted at listening in.

The werewolf hunter sighed, looking suddenly very tired.  Of course Fig and Moira had fought about it.  He rubbed at his forehead, setting his beer can down to rest in the snow by his boot. 

"The letter was me encouragin' her to tell you everything that had happened," he said quietly, drawing a knee up to lean on it.  "The whole thing's a bit of a long story."

It was frustrating that Moira had apparently not said anything to her uncle.  She was a clear-cut adult, and so Kurby had tried to give her the space to deal with things on her own terms, the same as he'd tried to respect Figaro.  But if these stubborn idiot teenagers couldn't make decently smart decisions when he handed it to them on a Hogwarts-engraved platter, then they weren't really leaving him with much of a choice.

"I've known Figaro since he was a lad -- his parents are family friends," Kurby started wearily.  He hadn't told the Sellaphixes yet about anything, but he was going to have to say something, at least to warn Rafe that Tawse was on the move.  It wasn't a conversation that he was looking forward to.  "His dad was arrested in that Runespoor venom bust a couple of years ago, when the cache of it blew up behind Cinaed Tawse's pub in Knockturn Alley." 

He swallowed, looking over in Duncan's direction.

"Fig works at the Daily Prophet now, and he got his hand on some tip about Runespoor smuggling."  Kurby made a face, looking decidedly unhappy about this part of the story.  "So he dragged Moira along with 'im to investigate it, and the pair of 'em went traipsin' all over London on Saturday night durin' the full moon, lookin' for Runespoors."

The next part of the story were most of the details that Duncan had pieced together on his own, apparently.  Even so, Kurby still shifted uncomfortably as he relayed them.

"A bit after one in the mornin', while they were tailin' some shady figure, they ran into a werewolf near Regent's Park in London.  Moira managed to apparate the two of 'em back to the farm."  He shook his head, his voice shifting to sound incredibly bitter.  "They waited half an hour for whatever goddamned idiot reason, and then Moira sent me a Patronus just before two to let me know she'd seen a werewolf."

Duncan nodded a couple times in understanding. He remembered reading something about the incident with Runespoors in the paper around that time. It also helped explain the lad's comment about his dad going back to Azkaban. Considering that, why would he go anywhere near something regarding the beasts?

Kurby kept talking and Duncan let him without interruption. The idea of Moira getting dragged anywhere was hard to imagine. If she went with her friend, especially at that time of night, it would have been out of concern.

A werewolf in the middle of London, after following some shady character, sounded incredibly suspicious. The two events separate by themselves was bad enough, but it sounded as if whoever they were following was leading them towards some kind of set up. Trying to make them victims?

Duncan took another drink and glanced over hearing the bitterness in Kurby's voice. He understood though it wasn't like Moira to let something so dangerous sit for so long. “During their fight he kept insisting she could have left his name out of the chat you two had. Might have had something to do with that 30 minutes, but I don't know for sure.”

Mention of this fight again.  Kurby's expression grew pained as he glanced over at his friend.  He'd half-wanted to throttle Figaro after their conversation-turned-fight on Tuesday night, but now knowing that the teenager had used that as an excuse to go after Moira, he was fully in that camp.

It was also sort of painful that Figaro was so set on him not knowing.  Coming on the heels of Gen's comment on Friday night -- that she didn't think he'd help her if he knew the truth[1] -- the kid's insistence that something awful would happen if Kurby knew he was involved felt a bit too raw.  What the hell had he done, that two different people were so sure that he'd never have their best interests in mind?

It was exhausting to think about, and he felt too uneasy to be certain whether or not he wanted to know the answer.  But there was one other question that he had been mulling over that his current company was particularly well qualified to assess.

"Was I ever that much of a pig-headed arse at nineteen?" he asked, raising an eyebrow at Duncan.  "I feel like we had a hell of a lot more important things to wrestle with, instead of runnin' around like idiots durin' a full moon or refusin' to report things because we thought we might get in trouble."

1.	16 December, 2011 - The Apologetic Ostrich

Duncan couldn’t help but chuckle at Kurby’s question. “To be fair, we were in a war.”

Shifting on his chosen log Duncan thought back for a moment to when they were younger and Kurby not much older than the kids. “You were sometimes quick to act on your temper and you could certainly be stubborn at times but overall, no. Even back then you took your job very seriously.” Considering everything that had happened with the Bagnolds that had come as no surprise.

With any luck, the two teenagers would never have to know that kind of life. He was confident in Moira’s abilities between what he, Angus, and her professors had taught her. They had all prepared her in the hopes she would never need to use any of those skills.

“Before you continue with the story, I want to say thank you. For letting me know.” He offered a small grin to help lighten his next words, “Haven’t even heard the whole thing and I don’t think I’d be upset even if you had made her spend some time in a cell.”

The werewolf hunter gave a quiet snort.  He reached down to grab his beer again, using the motion as an excuse to avoid the awkwardness of making eye contact and drop his gaze.

“You should wait for the second half of the story before you thank me for anything,” he informed Duncan stoically, raising the can to take another long swallow of beer.

This was the part of the night that he was most worried about — not because of his own role in it, but because of what it potentially meant for the kids and for the future.  He still didn't know if Tawse had deliberately targeted Figaro, but it all seemed like an awfully big coincidence if he hadn't.  And it was clear, looking back, that the results of the ambush could have been much worse.  Time was already ticking down to January's full moon, and Kurby had a bad feeling that they hadn't seen the end of Tawse or his allies.

"We were already runnin' increased patrols that night because we'd had a bit of trouble the month before," he said, resuming the account once more.  He lowered the beer can, holding it in both hands between his knees.  "When we got Moira's patronus, I met up with a team close to the area she mentioned, close to the London Zoo.  Half an hour after the original sighting, mind," he added sourly.  "But somethin' about the whole thing seemed off, so we had a couple of the team set up a perimeter, and the other three of us went in."

He took a deep breath and looked over at his friend.

"It was a set-up by Cinaed Tawse," he said grimly.  "The wild werewolf that the kids had seen earlier was there, chompin' on some poor Muggles who worked as guards in the zoo.  He had some idiot runnin' some weird anti-apparition ward up above us  -- they clipped me pretty well with it."

That was the part that still sat the most bitterly with him.  Not being able to apparate had made everything exponentially more difficult, and he was intensely resentful of the fact that he'd walked right into the enchantment.  If Blake hadn't sniffed out the source of the spell, if Laz hadn't shorted it out, everything could have ended much more disastrously.

Grimacing, he shifted position on the log, raising the beer can to take another drink.  "The ward stopped us from sendin' up Red Sparks to call in backup, too," he said, shrugging back at Duncan. "As soon as we came in, Tawse called in one of his big pet direwolves, which ran the smaller werewolf off.  We managed to all get out alright, but it could've been a lot worse."

Again, Duncan listened to Kurby’s tale in silence with a thoughtful expression. Cinaed Tawse was not a name he had heard in quite some time. Now it seemed like the Runespoor story and plot really was meant as more of a lure.

Duncan's gaze turned to the fire as his mind began to fully process everything he had been told. “I’m glad you and your crew got out okay.”

Too bad the same couldn’t be said for the muggles. Tawse had never been known for his love of non-magic people. He had probably seen the whole thing as some kind of sport.

The net was extremely worrying as well. Trapped with a werewolf being unable to call for help or apparate to a safer distance was a bad recipe. This time the incident had been in a more confined area like some sort of controlled test. What happened when they were done testing?

Did any of this mean anything regarding the kids? Had it been just a coincidence that Sellaphix was the one following up on that tip? Maybe his friend should have locked Moira up.

Taking a drink of his own beer Duncan looked to Kurby again. Any number of things could happen next month. "If it would help, I can try and find out something to help counter that net.” There wasn't really all that much he could do, but maybe his contacts would know something. Couldn't hurt to ask or add to his own research on spells.

He was grateful for McBoid's sentiment as the older man shifted to stare at the fire, but it didn't need to be a conversation.  Kurby restlessly fidgeted with the top of the beer can, flicking the pull tab back and forth.

He was glad they'd gotten out too, but he still had plenty of regrets.  Not saving the Muggles.  Not calling in another team.  Not ging harder and faster at Tawse and his ally, so that they could ensure this sort of thing never happened again.  With the Werewolf Capture Unit, even when things went horribly wrong, there was always a chance to try again during the next full moon, which was constantly on the way.  Even so, there were no do-overs when someone innocent died, or when someone too young like Blake or Fenneken got dragged into a mess and had to deal with the trauma afterward. 

Having seemingly gathered his thoughts, Duncan glanced back at him and spoke again.  "If it would help, I can try and find out something to help counter that net."

Kurby blinked, unable to stop himself from looking startled as he glanced at the older wizard.

"I dunno if I like the idea of draggin' you any further into this, mate."  A concerned frown crossed his face as he regarded McBoid.  It was bad enough that Moira and Fig had gotten sucked in; he'd assumed the total of Duncan's involvement would be looking out for the two teenagers, not joining the response team. 

"If word got to Tawse that you were lookin' into a counterspell, that'd put a target on your back," he pointed out, eyebrows raising.  "And besides, this is all clearly Ministry business.  Do you really want to get dragged back into our mess?"

Kurby made a good point about becoming a target if he was discovered. Duncan had been planning on subtlety (something he did know despite his height), but with all things considered he didn’t want to draw possible attention to any of his family. They had more than enough to deal with.

“Do I want to? Definitely not. I’m sort of in one already, though.” Not that he was officially involved in that particular case regarding his dead cousin. Thinking of her like that still felt wrong to him but she was. Iona had been murdered many years ago.

While Duncan wasn’t actively hunting Lorelei and Leander Hunt he was keeping his eyes open, listening for whispers that might point him in the right direction or tell of their current appearance. If he found them he couldn’t be certain what he’d do but he doubted he'd shoot up red sparks.

As for the werewolf problem, his friend tended to be as tenacious as a bulldog at times even back during the war. Duncan had no doubt in the other wizard’s capability in the hunt. Unfortunately, Tawse was intelligent and knew how to avoid being tracked. Who knew what all he had planned in the coming months.

“I won’t actively look then, but if I see or hear something I’ll let you know.”

During his search for a different spell, if he happened to see a book about unusual perimeter spells and counters he could chalk it up to curiosity.

His question seemed to make Duncan back off a bit.  Kurby lifted his chin slightly in acknowledgement, satisfied with the response.  If McBoid wanted to sniff around a bit, he wasn't going to complain, but he didn't want the older wizard to get pulled in to more than he already was.  At least Duncan knew enough now to keep an active eye on his niece and her friends.

His beer can was almost empty, so the werewolf hunter tilted his head back and downed the rest of it to finish it off.  The bitterness of the American-style hops had been too strong at first, but it was starting to grow on him. Kurby crunched the empty can in his hand and tossed it at the bottle that he'd already lined up in front of him, knocking it over, and then reached for another. 

"What kind of mess've you got going on with the Ministry?" he asked curiously, glancing at Duncan as he popped the second can open.  "They givin' you problems with somethin'?"

“Not exactly.” Duncan shook his bottle to hear how much was left before finishing it off.

Summoning another bottle over the wizard asked, “You’ve heard about the deal with pentrals, aye?” At his question Kurby got quiet for a moment, expression unreadable. A moment later he nodded.

“Twenty two years ago my cousin Iona disappeared after having grown distant from the family. Her mother especially held out the hope that she simply cut us off and started a new life somewhere else. After a year or so I assumed the worst.” Duncan never could say why exactly, just that he had a feeling.

A pensive look crossed his face for a few moments, gaze drifting to the fire again. “I hate being right, sometimes.” He took a drink from his newly opened bottle and glanced back to Kurby.

“Last month Carstairs sent us a letter, telling us that Iona had been discovered, she was turned into a pentral, sorry for your loss.” Duncan snorted. He respected the man, but that was the most ridiculous letter he’d ever received.

“A meeting was set up and we spoke to her through her host.” Sweet lass. “I was able to get some answers, at least. My cousin’s fiancee’s sister was the one who murdered her.” Duncan wasn’t sure how many details he should give but giving Kurby her name couldn’t hurt in finding the witch. “Her name’s Lorelei Hunt.”

Pentrals.

The werewolf hunter blinked, his expression instantly going impassive.  He hadn't thought twice about the strange, possessing spirits since the night at St. Mungo's[1] back in October, when Dementors had swarmed into the hospital and the pentral inside of Zelda Sellaphix had finally fled.  But Duncan, it seemed, had had his own encounter with one, although of a different sort than what Zelda had experienced.

This was suddenly a lot of information to process.  Kurby had known that the strange things were some kind of spirit, but he hadn't thought of them as being spirits of someone.  The idea that Duncan's cousin had been turned into a pentral, not merely possessed by one, was entirely new information.  So was the thought that anyone could talk to a pentral, through a host or not; Zelda's possessing spirit had just been rabid.

But then Duncan introduced another new bit of information that he had not been expecting to hear in this context at all.

"Her name's Lorelei Hunt."

Kurby visibly did a double take. 

"Wait, what?" he asked sharply. "What was her name?"

1.	17 October - Storm of Souls