Sunday, 1 January, 2012
Half past one
The Brew Who Lived Coffee Shoppe
Godric's Hollow

A light rain was starting to beat a steady patter on the cobblestones outside, causing the puddles that splattered the quaint square outside to slowly swell.  But inside the quaint little coffee shop, the atmosphere was pleasantly mild and dry, warmed by the fire crackling merrily in the mantle.

At first glance, the interior of The Brew Who Lived looked quaint, but a closer inspection revealed a dedicated tribute to the town's most famous family. The elegant wooden tables scattered around the room were painted in Gryffindor gold with scarlet flowers, and the couple's initials were worked into the design of the ivy-like wallpaper.  A painting of the famous young couple adorned the wall just behind the counter, outlined by a wooden frame shaped like a heart. 

When Kurby had first arrived, he'd spent a good ten minutes trying to decipher the menu full of cutesy names like Lily's Lovely Lavender Latte, Amortensia Affogato, and the Pottercino as he queued to wait for the register.  When he'd finally gotten to the counter, he'd managed to weasel a plain black coffee from the blue-haired witch behind the counter and gone to claim a seat to wait for the rest of his party.

The little coffee shop was one of the few establishments open in Godric's Hollow on New Year's Day, and the buzzing of the crowd had been incessant since he arrived.  Kurby had found a table by the window, right next to one occupied by two older witches, where he could keep a careful eye on the door.  Setting his steaming mug down on the table in front of him, he kicked his dragonhide leather boots up on the opposite chair and prepared to wait.

For once, the werewolf hunter appeared to be relatively well-rested.  The only visible reminders of his profession were the flash of a silver necklace tucked under his shirt and the usual silver rings on his fingers, which he fiddled with incessantly as he kept an eye on the door.  But even clean-shaven, he still had a bit of a scruffy look to him, as if he was far more prepared to go spelunking about in a muddy forest rather than celebrate the new year in a overly-nostalgic coffee house. 

He spotted the trio as soon as they entered.  Kurby straightened, dropping his feet back onto the floor, and examined them as they approached.  Aileen Reid looked as prim and put together as always, but the two teenagers both looked a little rough around the edges, their pace dragging slightly behind hers.

Well.  The slightest hint of a grin threatened to tug at his face.  It had been New Year's Eve.

"Glad to see you lot all made it to 2012 in one piece," he greeted them cheerfully, tossing the trio a quick, two-fingered salute. 

If he were a better person, he would have let the rest of it go; he might have offered to buy them all coffee, or fetch them some sort of hair of the dog, or at least let the slightly haggard look of Nemo and her friend go without mention.  But after the little American's constant commentary on the state of his own appearance, he only managed to keep his mouth shut for less than a second before temptation won out.

"The cemetery's a couple streets over," he informed the young witches brightly, not making much of an effort to hide his enormous grin.  "If you two're lookin' for a grave to crawl back into, reckon you could've headed straight there."

Before rejoining Abby and her sister Aileen, Nemo had peeled off to stop over at her sublet in Notting Hill to pick up a few things. She'd been unsettled at Abby and Aileen's lack of worry, their lack of obsession; Nemo knew better. This wasn't a trip to the library. Maybe it was wrong to think of it, but Nemo was quite worried about Abby in particular. She was a squib. If something happened, Abby couldn't Apparate or cast a light. God, she was acting like Kurby now, babying a grown woman. Abby could handle herself, of course she should. But all the same Nemo added a few extra items to her backpack.

Godric's Hollow was exactly as Abby described it. It looked straight out of those PBS British murder shows times a thousand. Quaint, crooked, cramped and ancient. Old mixed with older. She pulled the brim of her captain's hat down further to keep the rain from dripping on her phone's tiny screen. The Nokia struggled for a signal, the LCD stuttering at the magic that seemed to emanate from every doorway.

She shot Abby a text as they walked, fully expecting it not to make it to Abby any time soon.

1:32 PM - if i get murdered u can have my accordion

The coffee shop decor was trying very hard at something, but Nemo wasn't sure what. What was stranger still was Kurby's smile, cheerful greeting, and playful jab. Nemo's hangover was mostly faded from her stomach, but not from under her eyes. How did he look so chipper? Who was that smile even for? Nemo furrowed her brow and looked at Aileen - she had to be the reason. So that's what put a nice word on his tongue, a pretty witch. It explained a lot, actually.

Nemo shrugged and set her backpack on the chair.

"So, you're in a good mood." Nemo clicked her tongue.

Just inside the coffee shop, Aileen and Abby pulled back the hoods of their rain cloaks. Aileen arched an eyebrow at the profusion of gold and scarlet decor, and ran a hand through her blond hair, which had curled slightly from the rain. Abby adjusted her ponytail of blond, springy curls as her sleepy gaze took in all the silly puns.

The Reid sisters had arrived, with Nemo the adopted waif between them.

Aileen spotted Bagnold by the window and headed his way. Abby and Nemo would save her from his grumpiness, but who would save her from the teenage antics? She slowed her pace. Probably not Bagnold. The best she could hope for was a grumbling voice of reason.

He saluted. She stopped and narrowed her eyes at him skeptically. Had someone slipped him a cheering potion for the new year?

She smirked at his remark, while Abby caught up to her and covered a yawn.

"Would anyone like coffee to go?" Aileen asked dryly. "Abby? Nemo? ...Bagnold?" He seemed nearly done with his.

Abby joined her in the queue, glancing over the menu. She made no comment on the cutesy beverages or Bagnold's greeting.

Aileen studied her sister's face. She didn't seem particularly unhappy, or worried, but mostly distracted, like she had many times over Christmas. Since the solstice, Aileen had let her be, allowing the silences to stretch on.

Was she right to draw Abby out today? The morbid subject matter left much to be desired, and as Abby had said, she had a history of attracting spooky trouble. It just didn't feel dangerous yet, here in Godric's Hollow. She hoped to find the glyph, or another clue, but kept her expectations low. One of the Grimshaw victims had been buried in the cemetery. Faustina Grimshaw had made a donation to the church. And that was all. That was all they had to go on so far.

"What do you think Bagnold ordered earlier?" Abby looked at her with one brown eye, the other brown with specks of blue. It jarred Aileen every time she saw it.

Aileen lifted her shoulders and glanced back at the table, curious about how Nemo was getting on with him. She'd asked so guardedly whether he wanted her to join.

"I suspect that he's sipping the Grimspresso."

Abby blinked, a smile flickering on her face. "Today he's smiles-a-latte."

"It could be the Gryffincino?"

"Mocha macho!"

And on they went.

---

When they finally made it to the front of the queue, Abby ordered a lavender latte to match her cloak. Aileen offered to wait by the counter.

At the table, Abby joined Nemo, linking arms with her and leaning forward to peek into Bagnold's coffee cup.

"Hm, I see a roast in your future," she teased. He looked less scruffy than usual. Abby hadn't seen him around the Ministry since mid-December, when he'd carried a chip on his shoulder from the full moon.

Blond again, her features a bit softer since her pentral had left, she was more like the girl he might remember who had grown up at the same stuffy pureblood parties.

Kurby flashed the little American musician a swift, wolfish grin as he leaned back in the chair.  The kid was wearing a Greek Fisherman-looking cap that was at least two sizes too big for her head, keeping with her usual waifish teenaged chic aesthetic.  He hadn't seen her since the Friday before Christmas,[1] when Nemo had gone on and on about him not liking her and then bailed as soon as he'd admitted a word about the full moon ambush.

The werewolf hunter shook his head at Aileen Reid's question -- one cup of coffee was more than enough  -- and cocked an eyebrow at the American kid as the two sisters left to get in line. 

All things considered, one would have thought she'd be a bit more friendly after he'd kept his word and had gone out of his way to include her via the Reid sisters.  But Kurby wasn't going to let her attitude rattle him today.  After spending the past two weeks mostly stuck in the office, dealing with the aftermath of his new boss's appointment and the threat of the next full moon inching ever closer, he was ready to stretch his legs and muck about today.

"Adventurin' beats the hell out of sittin' at home," he replied cheerfully, lifting his coffee mug to sip at the black liquid inside.  "If you don't enjoy it, I won't ask you along next time."

The odds that they were about to find anything useful at the church were probably slim; that was evidenced by the fact that Reid had felt it was safe to bring her Squib sister along.  Even so, trying to find Clementine Calaveras' headstone or the Grimshaws' grave markers had at least a chance of moving things forward. 

The queue seemed like it was moving more quickly now.  Before long, Abigail had returned, coming around the table to link arms with Nemo.  Kurby didn't know the younger of the two Reid sisters well; she'd been very young when Aileen had married into the Whitmans, and he'd never been much for socializing to begin with.  But now that she was working as Solomon Carstairs' assistant, he'd seen her on the periphery when he'd had to drag himself down to Level Two.

Abigail had dyed her hair a dark red before she'd started working at the Ministry, but now she seemed to be back to her natural blonde locks.  Standing arm in arm with Nemo, he might have mistaken the two for cousins if he hadn't known better.

Her teasing comment made him give a quiet snort.

"Grand, I didn't realize I had plans for supper," he retorted, shooting her a smirk.  "Gave up on the red hair over the holidays, did you?"

1.	December 23, 2011 - Visions and Sugar Plums, Kerchiefs and Caps

"If you don't enjoy it, I won't ask you along next time," Kurby teased Nemo. At least she hoped he was teasing. They'd never be on the same page, would they. When she was keen he was a drag, and now he was all giddy and she was the twitchy one. But, looked like all he needed was some 'adventurin' during the day with his librarian girlfriend.

"Yeah, no. Should be fun," she said trying, lacking all sass. She rocked on her heels, hands on the back of the chair. "Just tired."

It was backwards, but seeing Kurby unconcerned made her uneasy. If anything it should make her feel safer, more confident, but it was just creepy, like he was under some spell. Or maybe it was nothing and she'd just never seen him smile so much.

Abby bounced up and linked arms, jostling Nemo's hat. She fixed it and smiled at her friend. Abby wasn't worried. No one was worried. Everyone was curious and chipper. New day, new year, new adventure, a break in the 'case'. 

"So, are we going?" Nemo asked loudly and picked up her backpack again. "A church right?"

Oh right, Bagnold had no idea. Abby sometimes forgot that the majority of people at the Ministry had only witnessed her visual transformation and none of the internal upheaval. Throughout the holiday season, her family had refrained from commenting on her appearance, but she'd been reminded of it last night at the party, when she'd gotten compliments for bringing in the new year with a new/secretly old look.
 
“It was time,” she smiled, though she'd liked having red hair. "There's enough red in the bullpen anyway."
 
Aileen found her way to them and handed the lavender latte to Abby.
 
“Shall we?” Her sister nodded at Nemo's question.
 
Abby tried the latte, and paused, pursing her mouth. Too sweet, even for her.

"I won't steal a sip, then," Aileen smirked.
 
They left the café, Abby having already drawn lines by linking arms with Nemo. Aileen led the way in front, as she preferred, always the one with a map outlined in her head. They pulled the hoods of their cloaks over their hair at almost the same time.
 
Aileen often claimed to know what she was doing, but Abby never would have expected her sister to look into something like this a few years ago. Certainly not after her ill-fated expedition in Ireland last winter. It seemed too potentially dangerous, too suspicious, too outside her usual work with runes and strange, lost languages. If she'd only been researching it for Abby's sake, she would have told Trevelyan and washed her hands of it right away.

Either she desperately needed a new job to occupy her mind, or the changes Abby had noticed in her since August had outlived the pentral.

Bagnold may have influenced her somehow as well, though Abby couldn't imagine what he would have said in the library to convince her. What was his deal with Grimshaw's? Abby didn't think Aileen or Nemo had said.

“B-T-W,” Abby leaned towards Nemo and lowered her voice. “Guess who Bagnold is, besides grumpy yet strangely nice today. Did I tell you? He's a cousin to Oz Whitman, Aileen's ex-husband. So normally, I hardly ever see him outside of work, and Aileen avoids the Whitmans and anyone related to them like the plague. But today is the day for new things," she continued in a chipper tone.

"And no plagues," she added, thinking of the chaotic day she'd brought a plague upon the British museum. No plagues today!

Aileen headed down the main road towards the village square just ahead, knowing they'd find Church Lane from the center of town. She passed old, timbered cottages squashed together, the homes looking postcard-perfect despite the rain pattering on the old rooves and dulling the white plaster.

There was an owlery tucked in the alley next to a post office. Few cars were parked on the road, and fewer people were out and about during the holiday in the rain. Those who wore long cloaks and pointed hats comfortably strolled by those in jeans and parkas.

Aileen slowed a bit, remembering her sister's dawdling pace, and Bagnold frowning at the back of her head in the library. There was no rush. They had the whole afternoon. Aileen glanced over her shoulder at Abby, who was indeed several yards behind, whispering in Nemo's ear.

As she stepped into the square, the obelisk looming in the center began to change. With one step, the columns of muggle names on each side disappeared. With another step, the obelisk shrank, and with a third and a fourth step, it rounded into two stone figures sitting close together. James and Lily Potter, with baby Harry in Lily's arms.

Wizarding culture was like this, of course. With a few flicks of a wand, they erased muggle history, and raised up a few of their own select heroes. Just the Potters. No room even for the Bagshots or the Dumbledores, or other wizarding families who may have had an impact on Godric's Hollow.

Aileen barely glanced at it, having seen it before. She'd grown up with it, and only noticed it because of her sister, who would likely not be remembered for any accomplishments throughout her life. She hoped for acceptance, not remembrance.

Whoever was targeting all those girls was counting on them staying forgotten. Whoever it was thought they'd be the only one to remember them.

"Did you tell Nemo about the files from the library, Bagnold?" Aileen turned her head towards him to see him better past her hood, keeping her voice low.

"How'd she handle it?"

The light rain that had been pattering down on the streets of Godric’s Hollow when he’d arrived at the coffee shop had subsided a little, lightened into a faint drizzling mist.  Kurby kept his hood down as he kept pace with Reid’s slightly longer stride.

It felt good to be outdoors; good to be somewhere besides his flat or his office.  An older Muggle couple strolled by underneath the cover of a black umbrella, barely paying their small group a glance despite their presumably-witchy look.  Even knowing that this was likely to be a dead end, that they weren’t going to find anything besides a dead girl’s tombstone, Kurby was glad to be doing something.  It beat planning and planning for a full moon that was still a week away.

They’d reached the square at the center of the town, with the tribute to James and Lily Potter that was hidden from Muggle eyes.  Kurby kicked at a rock with the toe of his boot, sending it skidding in the statue’s direction.

Reid had slowed her pace, perhaps aware of the two teenagers lagging behind them.  She turned her head toward him now, her voice low.

Kurby rolled his shoulder up and back, using the fabric of his cloak to wipe away the condensation.that was collecting on his face.  He didn’t really want to go into depth on the last conversation he’d had with Nemo, which had dissolved into the kid telling him over and over again that he brought out the worst in her.

“She made some smart-arse remark about how it was always teenaged girls, and maybe some necromancer should go after thirty-year-old wizards some time for a change,” he said breezily, shooting Reid a smirk.  “I told her maybe they are this time.”

A puddle was collecting in an uneven section of the cobblestones just ahead.  He deliberately tromped through it, his head down, sending water drops flying with every step.

“The church is up ahead,” he informed Reid matter-of-factly, casting a glance in her direction.  This was really more her turf than his; he wasn’t one to go poking around graveyards, digging into the past and unearthing old bodies that should have been better left buried.  “Where do you reckon we start?  Start pokin’ around the graveyard and see if we can find Clementine Calvares or any Grimshaws?”

Nemo looked at Abby skeptically. "Congratulations on your ex-cousin," she said like a question. Aileen and Kurby were walking ahead and speaking to themselves under their hoods, having special adult conversations.

As if to respond in kind, Nemo tipped her head close to Abby's and whispered.

"What do you think? Is it strange love or the indiscreet hook-up?"

It made some kind of sense and if anyone would know, it'd be Abby. But then, from having known her sister all of two hours, Aileen didn't seem the type to bubble over about romance over pints of ice cream. That was Abby's purview.

They approached the church which seemed to be in mid-crumble, an architecture only bound together by the lingering enchantment of those who'd once loved it. The steeple was skeletal and at an angle, stones protruded like vertebrae out of place, the stairs crumbled the door was weather beaten. But their little party veered away towards the nearby graveyard. It's massive headstones jutted from the earth at random angles.

Nemo couldn't help but remember. If you went down the white gravel road towards Silver City, at the top of a hill in a stand of old oaks there was a cemetery. It had a big iron gate with an arch at the entrance. The stones there were smaller and none newer than 1800. Everyone in the ground was a muggle, before magic folk had come to the county. Insufferably macabre Nemo (she was Natalie then) and her one witch friend would light their wands and make unsuccessful attempts to summon something.

As they came to the entrance, Nemo let slip Abby's arm and turned into her bag.

"Here, hold on."

She stood close to Abby, and from her backpack she pulled out a plastic baggie blackened with what looked looked like charcoal dust. She zipped it open and held it out to Abby.

"Polvo de Noche," she said.[1] "If you throw them on the ground, they'll burst into darkness."

Nemo looked up at Abby and smiled lightly. She couldn't forget her worry, but she didn't want Abby to feel like Nemo didn't trust her to handle herself.

"Sometimes you just need to put out the lights."

1.	Peruvian Instant Darkness Power

Abby giggled, nudging Nemo gently to the side as they walked. The idea, the very idea of it. She'd be lying if she said the idea had never crossed her mind, because something had made her bring up 'new things' in the first place, and because she was always pestering her sister about her (lacking) love life, pushing her to go on dates with whoever seemed to show up at their house the most, just like she had with Trevelyan (completely misreading the situation!) and Trishna (definitely not misreading the situation!) and still, her sister was alone.

But that was Before. Before the year they'd both been on their own, Abby a world away, and Aileen in another country.

Abby hadn't pestered her sister about dating and romance in a long time. Should she really start with grumpy Bagnold?

She watched Aileen frown at Bagnold splashing through the puddles.

"I'm going to call it necessary tolerance for now."

They neared the crumbling church and the graveyard tucked beside it, looking misty gray in the drizzle. The gravestones winded around in rows like an ancient maze.

Nemo had a gift for her though, her smile light as she offered darkness. Abby had heard of this powder recently on Level Two, when an Auror had joked that they should use it against pentrals, who hated the dark.

She sipped at her coffee, ignoring the too-sweet taste and focusing on the warmth.

"Ashes to ashes," Abby reached into the bag and took a small handful, the dusty fragments jagged against her palm. She carefully tucked the powder into the pocket of her raincloak, feeling a bit like a badass.

Now she just had to remember to reach into her pocket, and fling it out if she ever needed it, and hope that it didn't fly into her face.

Abby shot a grateful smile at her friend. "Thank you."

"Maybe you'd kicked a stone into the wrong primordial puddle," Aileen fell back into step beside him, drawing her long cloak around her shoes and glancing pointedly at the muddy droplets he'd splashed on her.

Still, the corners of her mouth lifted in a wry smile. She and Abby had already crossed necromancer Hunt, and explored their fair share of tombs and buried secrets. Their group consisted of one teenage girl, one teenage squib, and two nosy thirty-something wixes. All in all, they were doomed.

At the small gate leading to the cemetery, Aileen glanced around for a map or a guide, but of course there were none. Bagnold asked her opinion, which was nice and not so new or different. She supposed graveyards were a kind of library, cataloging life on stone tablets. Wixes and muggles alike were summarized by the name they'd been called, the number of years they'd had on earth, and a line or two of meaning from those still living.

Aileen nodded at his suggestion, waiting for Abby and Nemo to catch up.

"Let's start in the graveyard. We can keep an eye out for Grimshaw, Calvares, and any others we know of."

She paused a moment. "Sangwine," she added. "Fortuna Sangwine."

It went without saying that if anyone spotted an odd bonelike rune, they'd give a shout. Aileen glanced at Bagnold. Was she missing anyone?

"Nemo and I can start on one side, you and Bagnold on the other, and we'll meet in the middle?" Abby suggested.

Aileen gave her a searching look, wishing she could see her sister's face better beneath her hood.

"If you prefer."

Kicking stones into the wrong primordial puddles was more or less what he was currently doing with his life right now, so Kurby tromped through another one, sending water splashing.  Up ahead, he saw the weathered wall that marked the edge of the churchyard; bright patches of vivid green moss, energized by the morning's rain, stood out against the weathered gray stones as they approached.

Next to the church, the old cemetery awaited them gloomily.  Through the fog, the rusty iron gate that stood wide open looked far more like a yawning maw than it did any sort of friendly welcome to visitors on New Year's Day.  Reid stopped just outside it, giving the chatty teenagers trailing behind them a chance to catch up.

For once, he was happy to let someone else call the shots.  Kurby waited, testing the cobblestones under his boots as Reid went over the plan for the girls.  Abigail spoke up quickly, suggesting they pair off.  The werewolf hunter raised an eyebrow at the blonde teen, but kept his mouth shut as her older sister acquiesced.  Seeing how Nemo and Abigail stayed glued to each other's side like they'd just fallen victim to a Sticking Charm, he suddenly had an idea of why the little American had been so upset by her friend's seeming betrayal a few weeks prior.

Their plan decided, the quartet headed into the graveyard, splitting off into opposite quadrants.  The ground here was soft, made more so by the recent rain, and it gave gently under his boots as Kurby wandered between the graves, pausing to examine each of the headstones. 

Although there were a few other cloaked figures here and there, braving the foggy afternoon to lay a flower near a headstone or murmur remembrances near a favored grave, the cemetery was largely empty, and they were left alone to their quest.  At one time, this had been the main graveyard for England's magical community.  It showed in the owls with outstretched wings and ominous cauldrons and swooping dragons that decorated the gravestones and obelisks, mixed in amongst the grinning skeletons and winged hearts that were likely more common to Muggle graves.  And there were graves upon graves: too many with stone too worn to make their search easy.  The names that had been carved into the somber stone markers -- some bold and deep, and some since weathered -- were both familiar and unfamiliar, echoes of pureblooded families that had survived to today and of those that had long since faded into antediluvian anonymity.

The church bells tolled half past two, and then the third hour. Across the churchyard, the strains of cheerful chatter drifted towards them as figures started to trickle out of the old church.  Glancing in the direction of the noise, Kurby nearly tripped over a thin headstone that had been knocked flat on the soft grass.  Shaking his boot to diminish the jolt, he dropped down to one knee to examine it.

The gravestone had broken off near the bottom and fallen straight back onto the ground.  It looked as if it had been years since anyone had bothered to clear the moss that had grown over the cracked gray stone, tinging it with strong hints of green.  Kurby brushed it away as best he could, examining the curving letters and the symbols that had been carved into the stone underneath.

Stomach sinking, he glanced up to look for Aileen.  Where had the former Cursebreaker gone?  Impatient, the werewolf hunter lifted his forefinger and thumb to his mouth, pressing them together against the tip of his tongue as he gave a loud, piercing whistle, splitting the eerie silence of the graveyard.

Abby and Nemo walked slowly in the long wet grass, probably treading on the feet of the long and sleepy dead. Aileen had recounted what they were looking for, but anything familiar (even from a dream) would be worth finding. To Nemo this all felt like just that, a dangerous dream. Sometimes, they stopped to use their sleeves to clear away murk and grime from the oldest stones.

They were far from Kurby and Aileen when Kurby's signal rang out. Nemo rankled at the sharp summons, but it meant they'd actually found something. They picked up the pace and were soon standing behind Kurby who was crouched down. They looked like a little family of mourners, Kurby's hand on the stone as if to caress it. Nemo stepped closer, arms crossed tightly over her chest.

"Clementine Calvares," she read slowly, but what prickled the hairs on her neck were the symbols.

"Those symbols could be sisters," she said. "They're not right, but they seem the same."

Aileen was kneeling in front of a large, mossy gravestone, the face of the stone tilted back toward the ground. As she squinted at the engraving, deciphering the faded letters, a piercing whistle sounded from just a few feet away.

She rose, squinting in the offender's direction. Bagnold. For someone who hated to be reminded that he worked at the Ministry, he certainly took his job with him wherever he went. The churchgoers paused in their chatter to stare at him.

Aileen took her time stepping those few steps over to the grave he'd found, but she still made it before her sister and Nemo did. Her eyebrows spiked at the sight of the strange, skeletal symbols on the stone. This was it.

The grave of Clementine Calvares.

"Don't touch it," she told Abby and Nemo. Bagnold looked like he already had, but he seemed alright.

Abby held her hands up, and pulled out her mobile to snap a photo of the engraving. Aileen gave her an approving nod. Good thinking, little sis.

Mundane method - check. Onto the magical. If the stone, or the symbols, or even the epitaph held any magic at all, now was the time to find out.

When most of the crowd had moved past the gates, Aileen drew her wand and waved it discreetly.

A faint yellow light resembling the color of crumbling parchment swept over the stone, then faded to the lightest dusting of sparks.

Nothing else happened. It took time for Primo Incantatum[1] to show its effects, and depended on how many years had passed since the initial spellwork had been done. The charm had to reach back, past the layers of time and changing seasons and other magic, to pull forth an echo of the first spells that might have been set on an object or place. Aileen had used it on burial sites older than this cemetery, and she was always happily surprised when it worked. It gave no indication when it didn't.

Abby arched an eyebrow at her. Yes, she knew. Use her words.

"I'm looking for any old spells and enchantments that may have been built into the stone or within the symbols or epitaph."[2]

Rhymes were the foundation of old magic, and songs in particular held a unique power. Aileen fished out a neatly folded sheet from her purse, smoothing out the paper to take a closer look at the copy she'd made from the British Library. It was covered in bonelike symbols and had J.F. Grimshaw's name at the bottom. She began comparing the writing to the symbols on the stone.

Abby nudged Nemo, "Does anyone else find it a bit creepy? As I am now soon you shall be, songs sweetly carry me to rest. Though I am gone-"

"Careful," Aileen glanced at her sister and then back at the sheet in her hand. Don't touch it unless necessary, and for Merlin's sake don't read aloud the epitaph of a murdered girl.

1.	Made it up! Let me know if it makes sense
2.	Feel free to have something happen in the next post or later, if you'd like!

It didn't take long for the others to group up around him.  Kurby stayed where he was, kneeling in the wet grass next to the fallen grave marker, as Aileen drew her wand and waved it silently overhead.  Checking for remnants of decades-old magic or hints of lingering hexes was far more the Cursebreaker's realm of expertise than his; he couldn't do much to help besides watch.

There was something sorrowful about seeing the gravestone lying here, alone and abandoned in the grass.  Clementine Calvares had been the young flutist who had been found headless in a rubbish bin in 1928, whose photo he and Aileen had later found in the old Prophet archives.  Born in Staffordshire, schooled in Scotland, murdered in London, and then buried and finally forgotten here in Godric's Hollow.

Nothing had happened right away after Aileen had cast her spell.  Behind him, perhaps unsettled by the atmosphere, Abigail had begun to read Clementine's epitaph aloud until her older sister had hushed her.  Kurby shifted back onto his heels, still staying in a crouch, as he watched the grave marker intently. 

Somewhere behind him, he almost thought he could hear faint voices, muffled as if they were some distance away.  But a quick glance over his shoulder suggested that it was probably just the group dispersing from the church service.

As he returned his attention to the gravestone, a muted glimmer caught his eye.  The three engraved runes at the top seemed to have developed the scantest hint of a pearl-like sheen, as if they were just barely iridescent.

Eyebrows fully raised, Kurby glanced up to meet Aileen's gaze.  She'd certainly be able to interpret what the traces of magic meant, if anyone could.

"We should see if we can find where the Grimshaws were buried," he said, as he rose back to his feet.  Frowning, he glanced back at the diminishing crowd outside the church again.  It felt like there was the faintest of buzzing in the back of his head, but it was probably just from the extra coffee he'd had back at the cafe.  "Nemo, you lot didn't spot any of 'em?"