Time flew by quickly this month, and Aileen woke with a strange sense of accountability today, the day after Christmas. She'd spent the weekend with her family, memorizing every face at the table, every haughty tilt of the chin and narrowed gaze, in contrast with her younger sister's subdued, numb manner. She'd looked around and thought about that child at the train station, who had lost his mother and didn't even know it. She'd thought of him every time she caught her niece Sulwen watching her, so young yet so observant.

The last she'd spoken to Auror Trevelyan, they'd agreed to contact each other with any new questions and information about the Hunt investigation. A Christmas miracle, really. Aileen had sent him a cordial owl after breakfast letting him know she had an update, and this late afternoon Aileen found herself in front of an old brick building.

His office in muggle London, just off of Diagon Alley.

Aileen stood in front of the shop window on the quiet, windy street. REED & WRIGHT - INKSELLERS was printed in faded red lettering on the window. Within the dim shop, she spotted rows of bookshelves.

Had the lettering been on the window the last time she'd visited years ago, or had it been on the door? It perturbed her, all the little details she couldn't remember that she wouldn't have noticed otherwise. Everyone forgot things. Over the past few months though, she felt like so much had been taken away from her, shoved to the side to make room for someone else.

She was not the most accommodating person. She needed her space. She needed to know her mind was her own. How could she know the extent of what she'd lost? Days, minutes, seconds. Everyone changed. Just not this way.

Her reflection in the window looked blurred, darkened by the lengthening shadows outside. She wore a warm, forest green cloak. Her pale, wavy blond hair blended with her pale skin. She glanced away quickly, satisfied that she looked put together if anything else.

Aileen buzzed in using the intercom, only hesitating a moment as Trevelyan's voice crackled out. Abby's mobile let out all kinds of odd chirps and buzzes.

Taking the steps to the second floor, she paused in the doorway to his office, recognizing the large wooden desk in the center of it, and the door that she assumed was a closet or led to an adjacent office.

Much to her relief, his face and red hair looked reassuringly familiar. She knew him. Of course.

A slight smile flickered over her cool expression. "Auror Trevelyan. Thank you for seeing me. I hope the holidays have treated you well?"

She wondered how often he used his old office, when the hub-bub of Level Two suited his sociable nature. Her gaze flitted around and settled back on him, unable to comment on how she'd visited here in the past. As wretched as she'd been to him, it felt like another life, another time.[1]

Aileen took a seat in the chair opposite Trevelyan, prepared to launch right into it, when she remembered that he might not know. He might not fully know the outcome of Abby's exorcism on December 22nd. She'd asked him to look out for her, so he had a right to hear it.[2]

"Abby is doing well, by the way," she offered thoughtfully. "She's been staying at our parent's house over the holiday and seems to be recovering as well as can be expected. It'll take time, I'd expect," Aileen smoothed out a wrinkle in her dress with a flicker of discomfort. "She's already talking about coming back to the office soon though, leaving a decoration in your cubicle or some such."

As if Abby hadn't already bombarded the whole floor with tinsel and trinkets. The corners of her mouth softened, her gaze still disquieted, distracted.

1.	Way back in the day, Buried in the sand
2.	Your sentences border on senseless

It seemed not so very long ago that Aileen Reid had visited his private investigator's office for the first time, that she'd come to him with the case of the missing Egyptian dagger and set the next chapter of his life into motion. 

Back then, the prim and proper blonde witch often seemed to be tolerating him against her will.  Aileen Reid had never seemed to like him very much, even when he'd gone about the trying task of recovering her sort-of property and gotten cursed for it.  There was a point in time where he wouldn't have expected her to say two cordial words to him, let alone write to him requesting a meeting.  But times changed, and people often changed with them.  The Reid sisters had been through plenty of trying days in the past few months, and if Aileen was taking it upon herself to reach out, Jonas trusted that whatever she had to say needed to be heard immediately.

Anna was off work today too, but it didn't take very long to duck into his office for what was promised to be a brief meeting.  Jonas had arrived about fifteen minutes before the buzzer had sounded, giving him just enough time to straighten up his old office a bit before heading into two straight days of meetings away from the Ministry.[1]

"Well enough," he said cheerfully, rising from his chair to greet her.  "Although I reckon it's a shame if we're not on a first name basis by now, innit, Miss Reid?"

In reality, it had been a bit of a trying holiday: Gwenna was still sulky, unhappy at being made to come home, and it felt like he and Anna were often at their wits' end with their newly teenaged daughter.  But that was a problem to be dealt with once he was back at home; for now, he was glad to get good news of Abby.

The Auror chuckled, flashing the blonde witch a lopsided smile.  "I'm glad to hear it," he said, lowering himself carefully to sit again.  "I reckon everyone on Two will be grateful to fall victim to one of her decorating sprees again."

The pentral situation had been trying for all who had suffered from them, but especially for Abby, who had faced months of isolation, imprisonment, and abuse before escaping from the Hunt siblings' manor.  As sad as the situation had been with Iona McBoid's pentral, knowing that Abby was safe at home and resting was the best outcome that any of them could have hoped for.

"And what about you?" he asked, cocking a brow at the girl-in-question's elder sister.  In many ways, Aileen's pentral had seemed much more reserved than Abby's had; the two much more in balance, with none of the spirit-induced alterations to Aileen's appearance that her younger sister had suffered from.  But even that was a situation that could not continue indefinitely.  "Has Morgenthau been after you to schedule your own appointment?"

1.	The second having been scheduled with Moira McBoid on December 27.

She smiled, inclining her head in a nod. Jonas then, cheerful as ever! His eternal optimism and relaxed manner had felt reassuring to Lucy, her pentral, over the short time they'd known each other. Aileen had wondered for a moment or two today if she'd feel irritated by his manner, like she had years ago.

A strange mixture of guilt and unease flickered over her face as she clasped his hand coolly in greeting.

Nothing. It didn't grate on her nerves. His familiarity felt almost undeserved, like they'd forged some trust between them only because of the unfortunate pentral possession.

Aileen gave him a wry warning about Abby and Valentine's Day, focusing more on his expression than on the conversation. Did he see it? Did he know?

He didn't see it. A conflicting rush of feelings rose up, glad that no one could tell, frustrated that such a life-changing event had left no visible, concrete sign. She had her memories of the experience and a hollow silence in her head.

"Mine was scheduled for the same day as Abby's," Aileen admitted carefully. How easy it would be to pretend it had happened as scheduled on Level Nine.

Glancing to the side, Aileen moved in her seat and tucked her hair around her ear. "But it didn't happen that day, or on Level Nine. It happened earlier. I should have told you earlier, Jonas."

She met his gaze for a brief moment. Of course she had reasons, but didn't she always. He would no doubt use those detective skills of his to gain some understanding.

"My pentral left during the dementor attack at the train station on the 17th. She left completely. I'm myself again," Aileen stated firmly. It did not occur to her that Jonas might not be aware of the attack at all, that Pratt might not have crowed to the whole office about defending them from the soulless creature.[1]

"It was like it was with the dementors at the lakehouse. Except this time, the dementor presence pushed her away from me, and she fled to protect someone else."

The child. The boy. Her boy, the pentral had cried out in her mind, her heart in her throat. Then slowly dawning terror. The dementor floating so close to the boy, reaching out with skeletal hands.

She shook her head. "I'm not sure how much Pratt has told you. He didn't seem aware of the pentral leaving. I certainly didn't inform him of that detail," she sighed with some defensiveness, clasping her hands on her knee.

1.	Come the quickening feet that fall

It was impossible to miss the past tense in the blonde witch's recounting.  Jonas listened silently, one leg crossed over the other, his forehead creasing.  There had been some murmurings of trouble at King's Cross after most of the Hogwarts crowd had departed, but there had been enough do with wrapping things up before the end of the year that he hadn't paid much attention to it.

"He hasn't said anything to me about it," he said, shaking his head.  Contrary to popular opinion, he knew that Pratt wasn't exactly one to start bragging about feats of heroism out of nowhere.  If nothing else, Jonas certainly hadn't heard him mention anything about Aileen's pentral departing, which seemed like an important detail to note.

Frowning, he sat back in his chair as he considered her across the desk.  Unlike her younger sister and many of the other pentral victim, the spirit that had taken refuge within Aileen Reid hadn't percolated into her appearance.  Even early on, when he'd first encountered her at St. Mungo's following the incident at the lake house and the mix of Aileen and pentral had been the most confused about their intertwined sense of self, there had been no physical indication that she'd taken up an extra soul.

Now, like then, she looked the same as she always had.  Aileen was elegant, controlled, with a naturally neutral expression that only rarely seemed to slip when he made an effort to get under her skin.  The pentral may have confused her thoughts, but it had done nothing to alter her external sense of self.

It was hard to know how much to celebrate or mourn this news.  Unlike with Abby, they hadn't learned the grievous history of Aileen's pentral, but the spirit had still been someone once.  He'd spoken with her inside Aileen, and she'd given them their first hints of the terrible, dire events that had taken place in the Lily manor up in Cheswick.  Even if she hadn't quite remembered whom she once had been, she'd still done what she could to help.

"Reckon I'm both sorry and glad to hear it," Jonas offered after a beat, inclining his head slightly to her.  He found Aileen's blue gaze.  "How are you holding up?"

As the Auror sat back and frowned, Aileen's hands knotted together on her knees. She should have told him earlier. It didn't just affect her and it wasn't simply her own personal tragedy. The pentral had left family behind. Every bit of information about Lucy was something that might help catch the Hunts, or help the Aurors understand who the Hunts had murdered and why.

Though she couldn't fathom why Pratt had spared her the embarrassment, once Jonas puzzled out what had happened, he'd look at her and remember who had been in his office several years ago. He'd understand that her pentral was gone, truly gone, and here Aileen sat, haughtily staring at him again.

He would not want to call her Aileen.

When he spoke, her forehead creased ever so slightly, a mirroring of his earlier confusion. She opened her mouth, about to retort, but she had nothing to retort to.

Glad and sorry. Jonas summed up in a few words what would feel like a platitude from anyone else.

Of course, he didn't know that she knew the identity of her pentral, yet. Perhaps he thought this was all she had to say. Perhaps he felt comfortable enough behind his desk to offer sympathy first, ask questions later.

"I'm fine," she said her usual line with a perfunctory nod, uncomfortable delving into her feelings.

"I came here to tell you who she is. Was," she shook her head.

Unlike Abby, she'd barely felt it when the pentral had left her. She'd felt Lucy's anguish, her loss and hope upon seeing her son, and then the sudden absence of pain as Lucy had left. She'd buckled over for a few seconds and struggled to breathe. A mind-numbing terror had hovered on the edges of her consciousness, creeping in with the dementor, but it had remained far enough away that she'd been able to cast a patronus after Lucy and the boy.

She returned his gaze guardedly.

"She left me to protect her son from the dementor," she paused, giving them both a moment. "She knew him when she saw him at the station. It made sense to me then. Why she had those vague memories of the cottage. Why she'd tried to apparate to farmland the first time we'd fled the dementors. She was trying to get home to her children. Three young children," she held her hand out, demonstrating their short height. "Two boys and a girl. I couldn't be sure they were even hers, when I caught glimpses in her mind. They'd seemed like children from a storybook, to me."

Blurred faces in the glass.[1] Aileen ran her hand over her mouth for a moment, telling him more than she'd intended. She hadn't had anyone to talk to about it who would understand what the pentral had suffered, who would know that Kesali's children had reminded her of other children.[2] Lucy's memories had felt like Aileen's memories as they'd shared them, made sense of them. Now Aileen was on the outside of the picture frame, grieving for a faded story that had not belonged to her. Another life, with children she'd never had.

She drew in a breath.

"Her name is Lucy Wold."

Did he recognize it? The woman would be around thirty now, if she were alive. A muggleborn who'd hid from the second war.

"Lucy Wold," she repeated in respectful requiem, her gaze lowering to the desk, then snapping back up, expecting his frustration to have kicked in.

1.	Aileen's first sighting of the children
2.	Lucy's note from August 4th

Aileen certainly wasn't fine.  No one could through what she had -- intertwining her soul with another and then feeling that other soul twist free to flee -- and then use 'fine' as an honest sentiment to describe their state of being.  But she also clearly didn't want to talk about it, so Jonas let the question go.  He wasn't in the habit of forcing his friends and colleagues to dive in deep and examine their feelings.

Instead, he sat back in his chair and listened silently, forehead creasing and hands resting on the edge of his desk.  Aileen had come to tell him the story of the pentral that had fled and hid inside her, of a woman who had fallen victim to the dark workings of Lorelei and Leander Hunt and spent too much of her existence trapped behind the glass of a picture frame.

Lore, the pentral had called Lorelei.  He'd wondered then how well she knew her.

Now the pentral had a story and a name.  The existence of her children wasn't surprising -- the pentral had reflected on children seeming familiar when she'd first shared her impressions and memories in writing back in August -- but it still made his insides twist a little.  He couldn't imagine what it would be like to leave Gwenna and Artie, to lose any remembrance of them but the barest, briefest sliver of a memory.

"Lucy Wold," he repeated, frowning slightly.  Her name is Lucy Wold, Aileen had said.  Is, again.  Still in the present tense.

Jonas hesitated, glancing to the side wall where he kept copies of some of his Ministry case files hidden, but it was only out of habit; he hadn't bothered to duplicate and smuggle out any of the paperwork involving the Hunt case.  Unlike the seemingly never-ending Runespoor investigation, there didn't seem to be any reason to fear duplicitous enemies within the Ministry itself.

"I haven't heard that name before," he said, looking back at Aileen, "but I'll turn up whatever I can about her.  D'you know what happened to her after she fled?"

Jonas merely frowned in thought, his expression grave. Aileen let out a breath she'd been holding.

Too soon. His simple, reasonable question stunned her.

She looked at him for a long moment, mouth pursed, gaze full of dread. Where was Lucy now? Aileen didn't know. She'd started to ask herself that same question countless times, and every time, she felt the same sense of horror that she had that day on the train platform, or the day she'd tried to save Abby at the lakehouse, or the day she'd faced dementors in the hills of Ireland. Her mind would latch onto something else, anything else, to avoid contemplating the answer to that question.

"I can't be sure," she shook her head, her voice strained. "I only saw her for a moment, when she was protecting Wesley. Then she flitted up into the clouds."

Her eyebrows drew together as she glanced away. Shouldn't she have tried to look for her, afterwards? Said something, done something other than stagger home?

She'd gone home, informed the closest members of her family that her pentral was gone. No one had asked her. They'd asked her dozens of other questions over the holidays, but no one had thought to ask where Lucy might be now.

"The dementor disappeared too, but I don't know where it went. Sulwen, my niece, was with me, and I was focused on her," she added in a weary, defensive tone.

Jonas, out of all the Aurors, would understand that. He'd seen how protective she was of Abby and might guess that she felt similarly about the other younger ones in her family.

That was the challenge with these pentrals.  They'd had lives once: families, loved ones, friends.  But their abrupt demise at the hands of Lorelei and Leander Hunt had left them without a body or a future.  Some of them had seized a bit of it back again when they'd hidden themselves within the living, but even that was seemingly fleeting.  Yavin Morgenthau and Level Nine had been adamant that there was no permanent solution to the pentral conundrum.

Jonas nodded, not intent on pushing her on why she hadn't gone chasing after her visitor.  Hopefully, the spirit of Lucy Wold was safe somewhere; if not, he hoped that she'd managed to find peace.  Either way, Aileen Reid still had a life to lead -- one that was now entirely her own again.

"Well, I'll see what I can turn up," he said again, giving her a faint smile.  Every pentral identified was another clue that might lead them to the Hunts, who were still on the loose.  They'd yet to be heard from after they escaped from the destruction at the lake house.  "If you're sure of her identity, I'll reach out to her family, too.  They ought to know what became of her."

He paused, regarding Aileen silently for half a beat.  This newfound peace between them was still new, long removed from the days when he'd cornered her in the Hogwarts corridors and demanded that she find a way to remove the curse that had accidentally been placed on him.  As he'd said when she'd first arrived, they'd been through enough that they ought to be on a first name basis.  But Aileen Reid was nothing if not constantly protected behind her walls.

"There's nothing else you or Abby have learned from the pentrals, is there?" he asked, with the slightest of frowns.  "We haven't had much luck in finding the Hunts, although there's only so long that anyone can run for.  It seemed like Lucy might have known Lorelei.  If there's anything else that you noticed, it might be a help in finally tracking them down."

When Trevelyan regarded her quietly for a moment, Aileen dropped her gaze.

She'd taken the time to research the deaths of other young women last week, the ones who'd been murdered at Grimshaw's, yet she hadn't bothered to delve into the death of her own pentral, a soul who'd been with her for months.

She'd never been one to let herself feel especially sorry, or to apologize for anything that wasn't her fault, or to admit she was at fault when she was. So many witches she knew did it instinctively and constantly. Lucy had apologized, even when she'd been hurt. She'd said sorry for not knowing more or helping more or stopping it. Sorry for dying.

Sorry for surviving, Aileen thought now, knowing she could have done more. The Hunts were still out there, still a danger.

"Thank you," Aileen said with stiff sincerity, not envying him the task of informing the family. "His name is Wesley Wold. He's a first-year, the same year as Sulwen."

There'd been some mix-up with Wesley's family about the train. Sulwen had stayed to help Wesley with his luggage, and Aileen had finally put a name to the boy with the sandy blond hair and big brown eyes.

"No, not that I know of," Aileen frowned back at his question. Abby hadn't told her anything new. What did they already know? Lucy's identity, the identity of her family, her murder by the lakehouse...

She glanced at her hands, lean and elegant and still cold.

"I'm fairly certain that Lucy may have been selling potions or special ingredients to Lorelei. As she remembered it, she was ashamed and tried to hide it from me - from everyone," Aileen gestured at him, "Did I already tell you this?"[1] A hint of the old confusion flickered over her face. "If she were trying to care for three children on her own, perhaps she turned to Lorelei as a last resort. I've no idea how they met initially, but it's a start."

Her voice sounded reflective and coolly detached rather than judgmental. Lucy had lived alone in the cottage with her children, doing her best for them.

1.	I don't think this was said explicitly, but it may have been implied. Lorelei met her contacts on the island where she'd killed Lucy.

Wesley Wold.  Jonas found a scrap of paper and a pen to scribble the name down.  He'd have to write to Greyfriar; see if the Hogwarts Headmaster could put him in touch with the boy's family.  Surely Wesley and his two siblings had been appointed some sort of guardian, someone to look after them after their mother had disappeared.  The Hogwarts staff had to know how to reach them.

This was the less enjoyable part of his work with Level Two, relaying news of a loved one's death, but it was still necessary.  Even during his years as a private investigator, he'd gotten plenty of practice at passing on information that was less than pleasant to hear.  Even if her spirit's ultimate fate was unknown, Lucy Wold's family deserved to know the tragedy that had befallen her.  Uncertainty was always worse, even when it brought false hope.

"I'll get in touch with them," he said, flashing the witch a reassuring smile.  It was the least he could do amidst all of this.

Aileen's description of Lucy's interactions with the Hunts wasn't the first time he'd heard of them indulging in illegal trading.  The lakehouse manor had been well-stocked with strange potions and ingredients.  Abby's pentral, Iona McBoid, had also remembered Lorelei Hunt once telling her brother about an abandoned shop in Knockturn Alley, which surely had to be Grimshaw's Tailoring, where he might be able to acquire unicorn blood.[1]  His adventure there with Fauna Blake a week ago had turned out to be less than productive,[2]  but following up on their illegal habits still seemed like one of their better leads to find the Hunt siblings.

"You didn't happen to pick up where Lucy used to meet Lorelei Hunt when she was selling potions to her, do you?" he asked quizzically, arching an eyebrow at Aileen.  "I know she's obviously not still in the business with her, but sometimes old habits die hard."

1.	November 21, 2011 - Never Will I Sleep Like That Again
2.	December 19, 2011 - Little Tailor Shop of Horrors

Aileen considered, then gave the Auror a grateful nod. Thanks to Jonas, the Wolds might find some closure. The family didn't need to know her role in it, as it would only make the tragic situation more complicated, forcing them to hide their emotions in front of her, or looking to her for reassurance that she couldn't give.

Still, she wondered about the rest of Wesley's family, especially his two younger siblings. Did they miss their parents? What were they like? She didn't even know their names. She'd tried to picture their faces, but could only imagine younger versions of Wesley. A girl with sandy blond hair and brown eyes, a young boy with Wesley's face. They were no longer faces in the glass, but they were still children from a storybook, living in her limited imagination, lost without Lucy's memory to steer her.

She'd asked Sulwen if Wesley ever talked about his family, and she'd said yes, too much. Then she'd smiled, and Aileen had known she'd meant it in a positive way. 

Her hands clasped together on her lap, a gesture reminiscent of Lucy.

Jonas, she almost said, about to ask him his advice.

Oh hell, she didn't know the answer to that. Aileen grimaced.

"Lucy's most vivid memory was meeting her at the lake, before she died," Aileen restated for them both.

Her eyes looked far away for a moment. She hated not remembering. She hated what she chose to remember, skipping back to the train station, back to the lakehouse, back to the tombs in Ireland.

"It could have been Knockturn. Everything terrible happens in Knockturn," she managed wryly. "Whenever I was in Diagon, she was nervous that I'd go down that road," Aileen arched an eyebrow at him.

"I know she's been in that area, but I didn't think to follow her trail."

Would Lucy have let her? Was that at all helpful? Everything terrible happened in Knockturn. That was nothing new.

She stilled, struck by a horrible thought. Abby had told her that Level Two had recently followed up at Grimshaw's, searching for traces of Lorelei and Leander Hunt's unicorn blood dealings. And everyone knew that everything terrible happened in Knockturn, at Grimshaw's. That was nothing new.

"You didn't find any sign of Lorelei at Grimshaw's, did you?" Aileen asked carefully, caught between dread and hope.

Everything terrible happened in Knockturn Alley.  That was a much-whispered tenet throughout the London magical community.  Everything terrible happened in Knockturn, and that was what kept the more fearful amongst them from the alleyway's jagged stones, and perhaps what tempted those with darker curiosity to visit its forbidden shops.

Except it wasn't entirely true.  Plenty of terrible things had happened at the Ministry, as he knew all too well.  They'd happened at Hogwarts, too, and at the grim lake house up in Keswick.  They might have a habit of happening in Knockturn, but terrible happenings were hardly restricted to the alley.

He'd been about to voice that, to resolve to visit the island in the lake once more to see if there were any last hints to be found there, when Aileen jumped back to his prior supposition.  Jonas blinked at her, surprise flashing through his expression.

"How did you hear about--?" he started to ask, but realization struck before he finished.  There was one obvious suspect who could have told Aileen about their visit to Grimshaw's; the same individual who had urged Fauna Blake to visit it in the first place with whispers of a strange record book that had been found on the counter. 

"Abby," he said out loud.  Sighing, he gave the elder Reid sister a rueful, resigned look. 

"No," he admitted, shaking his head.  "The shop didn't seem to be very happy to be hosting our visit.  Your sister had mentioned that one of her mates had seen some sort of record book, but we weren't able to find anything."  He arched an eyebrow at Aileen nonchalantly as a thought occurred to him.  "That wouldn't be something she might have found out about through her pentral, would it?"

Yes, Abby. Always Abby. If Aileen's answering smile looked surprisingly apologetic and faded fast, it was because she felt a tad guilty about withholding the centuries-old Grimshaw murder mystery from him. This would be the perfect time to Accio her files and reveal the series of murders that Grimshaw's was tied to every 28 years. She actually wanted to help, as she had nothing to hide, no ancient curses or artifacts to squirrel away this time, no mistrust and resentment simmering between them.

Still, she held her tongue. Bagnold must have a good reason for keeping it quiet, and she hadn't even met Abby's friend yet to form an opinion of her.

"No, her friend is real," she replied dryly. Iona had been real, but Jonas knew what she meant. "I'd asked Abby that very same thing, but apparently the friend exists and she's just not fond of authority."

Aileen raised her eyebrows at him, thinking of Lucy and her wariness of the Ministry, and herself in his office a few years ago.

"I intend on meeting her soon, however, and perhaps I'll get a better idea of what happened. The shop lit up just for her, she said. Someone called out for help and lured her in."

And Bagnold.

"It sounds outrageous, but Grimshaw's has not been kind to young witches," she said with unusual gravity, holding his gaze for a moment before glancing down.

2012 loomed. She'd have to make arrangements to meet Nemo. She'd reach out to Bagnold about visiting Godric's Hollow. She'd ask Nemo and Bagnold if they had seen any important names in the ledger. Names like Hunt and Wold. Lorelei and Lucy. She'd gather more information, and then decide what to do with it.

Aileen was quick to counter his guess: Abby's friend was real, though she hadn't met her.  At least the elder Reid sister's reaction seemed to be similar to his own.  If this friend of Abby's had been lured into the Grimshaw dress shop, then she could be in very real danger.  Jonas wasn't one to take hauntings at face value, but that particular storefront seemed to house its own band of demons.

At least he could trust Aileen to keep an eye on things and to let him know if she felt like assistance was needed.  In some ways, it had been easier when he'd simply been a private detective: having the full resources and clout of the Ministry leant protection to him and his family, but it also meant it was much harder to dabble in things on the side.  No one wanted to involve a red-robed Auror in their problems unless they had to.

"Well, let me know if I can help," he said, inclining his head to her.  He might not have meant that sentiment if he'd said it to Aileen Reid a few years ago, but plenty had changed since the days when he'd been cursed by the dagger.  "In the meantime, I'll reach out to the Wold family." 

He paused for a beat, his blue eyes finding her face.  "Is there anything that you think Lucy would have wanted them to know?  Or that you'd like to tell them?"

"I will," Aileen's tone softened marginally. "Thank you."

She meant it. Aileen didn't like the idea of young wixes wandering around near the shop, unaware of the danger.

She took a sudden breath at Jonas' offer. Despite his considerate phrasing, she raised her eyebrows.

"You're planning on giving the family all the details of her death?" Aileen confirmed frankly, meeting his eyes. "Including that she was turned into a pentral, and possessed someone."

He wouldn't tell them who Lucy had possessed unless Aileen asked him to, she thought, but she hadn't expected Level Two to volunteer details until the Hunts were caught. Too many loose ends, too many people talking. Perhaps she was paranoid.

Abby and Iona's situation had been unique. The McBoids had met Iona before she'd passed on completely. They'd had a chance to say goodbye, for better or worse.

The Wolds hadn't. Lucy had only seen Wesley for a few moments through Aileen's eyes. Wesley had looked at Aileen and seen no one else but Sulwen's aunt.

Aileen paused for a long moment. There was so much. So much that Lucy would have wanted her children and her brothers and her parents to know. She'd never spoken about it, or thought about it, but Aileen had felt her grief and frustration from many walls away. Lucy had kept so much from her. Aileen still wasn't certain how much her pentral had remembered of her family before she'd seen Wesley's face. Had the sight of Wesley made the memories stronger? Or had seeing him made it impossible to hide her memories?

"I don't know what's appropriate in this sort of situation," she shook her head, her face tense, a wry twitch at the corner of her mouth contrasting with the bleak look in her eyes. "She loved them, but she didn't like to think about them where I could hear her, which makes me doubt whether she'd want me to speak for her now."

Lucy had saved Wesley from the dementor, but would it hurt him or help him to understand that? Aileen couldn't even say where the pentral had gone. Only that she'd left.

"We thought we'd have more time. She didn't have time to tell me," she swallowed, and shook her head again.