New Year’s Day. The end of festivities. A new beginning. Everyone seemed to put such a focused importance on this day. The truth, however, was all that really changed was the year’s date. Still, it was as good a reason as any to celebrate and spend time with family and friends.

For Duncan a missing piece had been filled in the past few months but that spot remained an empty gap. It would always be empty because no one could ever replace Iona McBoid. Her bones were still lost, left wherever they had been discarded, but he liked to think her gravestone was her new ‘resting’ point instead.

All connection with their world, the world of the living as they called it, could have been completely broken. There was no way to tell. Many felt graves and memorials were in place solely for the living and others believed them to be for the dead. Duncan certainly wouldn’t want to be stuck in a small plot like this when he died. Yet here he stood for her. Nowhere else to go.

“I hope you’re happy now, Iona. Or at least at peace. I know you always hated whiskey and such, so I brought you some red wine. Your favorite brand.” Merlin he felt stupid standing here. Talking to a rock. He didn’t know what else to do. “Happy New Year.”

After placing the bottle of wine down by the tombstone he stepped back again, hands in his pockets. Duncan stayed there for a while, not sure how long as time didn’t seem to matter, thinking over their meeting in November through the girl named Abigail Reid. He thought over everything she had told him, most of which he had relayed to Donnan later when they were alone. The responding emotions were dulled from the passage of time but still rolled around inside him. Grief, anger, and even guilt.

Hearing a noise, Duncan turned his head. He hadn’t thought anyone else would be coming around tonight.

Lorelei stood in the shadows of a great oak tree, watching the tall McBoid wizard plant his offering of wine and stare off sadly into the night. She eyed him with delighted surprise. He stood like a McBoid, he dressed like a McBoid, he spoke like a McBoid. Which McBoid was he?

She'd expected the frail father to visit first. She'd been lurking on and off for days, looking forward to meeting him ever since she'd spotted the pitiful obituary printed in the paper. Beloved daughter, gone too soon. Lorelei couldn't argue there. Iona was gone too soon, gone beyond her reach, but Lorelei would make up for it with the others.

She had time, between Tawse's plotting for the next full moon.

A smile crept up her face. She could attack him outright. Hex him in the back where he stood. Her hand drifted to her pocket. She could.

But then the excitement would be over so fast.

She looked down at her rough cloak. Plain and plaid and meant for lurking quietly. She felt her hair. Red curls. She looked down at her boots, weathered from her treks around the cottage. She felt her face. Smooth. She might pass for thirty. In the darkness? She just might.

Lorelei's smile widened, and she held back a laugh.

Lorelei had once been Lori Lilly. She'd once pretended to be her, wearing her soul for decades, learning her habits and mannerisms and gestures. She knew everything about her, every secret, every private thought. She knew her even better than she’d known Iona.

She knew what would hurt a McBoid the most.

Lorelei took a breath, adjusting the hood of her cloak to hang more loosely over her red hair. She slouched a bit. She gentled her expression, and left her hands free in front of her.

Then Lore scuffed the heel of her boot against the ground, making a noise.

As the man turned, she gave an apologetic grimace.

"Hi," she said quietly. "Didn't mean to startle you."

Startle was too strong a word but the Scotsman didn't try and correct her. Instead he turned to face her fully and glanced over her. It was dark, and he was no animagus like his niece, but Duncan could see well enough.

He didn't recognize the woman before him. She wore plaid but he was certain her last name had never been McBoid.

"What are you doing here so late, lass? And on New Year's no less."

Even with a lower speaking volume than normal Duncan's voice carried easily through the cemetery. He didn't shy away from or tiptoe around this strange meeting. Like all things he met it head on. Besides, he highly doubted that the dead would mind a bit of noise.

He turned, and she got a good look at him. Tall, built, looked to be in his forties. He must be one of Iona's cousins. Not the older cousin... what was the other one's name? He'd been a Gryffindor, like her, but that was where the similarities ended.

Lass, he called her. It was possible that he thought her younger than she was. That worked in her favor, fit the ruse.

She looked at the headstone for a long moment, and let her gaze linger on the wine he'd left.

"I've come to pay my respects."

Lorelei took a few slow and tentative steps towards the grave, halting like a mouse several feet away.

"And... you?" She tilted her head about an inch to the side, much like Iona had, much like Lori had in imitation of her.

"You're her family?"

She cut off abruptly, leaving unspoken words hanging in the air.

Duncan never took his eyes off the woman as he stood his ground. Ten p.m. at night and she was just now coming to pay her respects instead of waiting for a more reasonable hour?

Something about everything felt wrong and strange. After all, only the daft (himself included) and people with something to hide visited graveyards in the dark. Anything could lurk about, drawn by the emotions that permeated the air.

The scotsman's eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly at her head tilt. Iona had been gone for two decades. Duncan knew only one other person that imitated that look exactly. The hairs on his arms and the back of his head stood on end.

"Aye," was his only response.

Lorelei fell quiet. She couldn't remember the blasted names of either cousins, and he wasn't about to tell her. At his keen stare, she glanced around the graveyard, so dark and still and silent.

"I didn't think anyone would be here," she gave a shake of her head, met his eyes, and glanced away again. It took effort, keeping her hands out in the open and speaking like a young woman unsure of her place in the world.

"I should have come to see you first. Family," she clarified without clarifying. Whose family?

Lorelei wanted to smile, so she bit her lip and furrowed her brow instead.

"I just had to see for myself," she gestured towards the grave, and took another small step towards it.

Duncan still didn’t move though he very much wanted to stand more directly between her and Iona’s grave. It was just a rock, of course, but his protective nature didn’t care about that.
The woman’s chosen words sounded off. Then there was the fact that the McBoid clan didn’t visit on account of Angus’ self-outcasting when he married his wife. For the moment, he played along.

“I understand. Still, it’s a shame you couldn’t make it to the private memorial service. My brother Gavin gave a very moving speech,” he lied.

What happened next depended entirely upon her response. She could call his bullshit or act like his lie was the truth. Duncan watched her still, expression unchanged.

Lorelei blinked. Memorial service? She didn't recall the McBoids having a memorial service, and she didn't recognize the name Gavin, but perhaps that was it. Perhaps his older brother's name was Gavin and he was the younger.

"Did he?" She met his steady gaze. "I'm sorry I wasn't there."

She struggled to remember what remorse felt like. Her eyebrows slanted downwards, just a little.

"I don't know any McBoids, except-"

Lore glanced meaningfully at the grave. One, two, three, she counted the seconds. She took a deep breath and slipped her hands into her pockets, finding her wand in one and a flower in the other. Her hands twitched. Restless.

She turned slowly to look at him, banking on the few things she did know. She knew about Marianne Fenby, Iona's mother. She knew the mother had come to visit Iona a few times, alone. She knew the mother lived in Bristol, with her muggle family.

She knew Lori's secret.

"Bryony," she lifted her chin. "I'm Bryony Fenby."

Lorelei watched him closely, a glint of anticipation in her eye. Did he know?

Duncan recognized the name Fenby. How could he not? But he was not as knowledgeable about the Fenby family as he was the Mcboid clan. Despite his distance from the bulk of them he liked to know what was going on with their tree

None if this meant his gut feeling was wrong. 'Bryony' could definitely still be lying. This just meant she would be harder to catch at it.

For a moment he felt like he had often back during the war. Mind games had never been his cup of tea. He liked being straightforward and for others to treat him the same. At the moment he didn't think that was the best idea.

"Bryony. Of course. I didn't think you'd be able to make it," Duncan added a more pleasant tone to his voice.

A memory echoed in his head, "Try not to give everything away, alright, Duncan?"

Duncan knew of Bryony, but did he know she was Lori's daughter? He spoke warmly, yet avoided giving away details. Hm.

Part of her had hoped that Duncan had already met Bryony and would call her out on her deception, but if he had, or had seen pictures, he was hiding it well.

Her thumb ran over the stem of the white flower hidden in her pocket, a gentle reminder to wait a little longer to make a move.

"I thought it best to stay with Grandma Marianne," Lorelei nodded with a hint of regret. Let him chew on that.

"What's your name?" She smiled hesitantly, not yet removing her hands from her pockets.

Duncan had never been one to hide, and too many false names could raise some mental alarms. If anything, perhaps if his gut was right and this young woman was lying, it would hopefully keep himself as the target and not his family.

“I’m Duncan.”

Grandma Marianne she had said. Certainly not Iona's daughter so that was a load of bollocks. The only other explanation was if Marianne began taking care of another person's child, a secret child. The only person that made sense for was Lori, someone else that had died mysteriously. Perhaps she shared Iona's fate? That was a disturbing thought.

"It's still strange to see you here so late, or is this the only time you could escape?"

Duncan McBoid. So suspicious, this Duncan. She could ask him the same question.

"I'm not afraid of the dark," her smile widened, forgetting herself in that moment. She stood tall and carried thorns in her pockets.

He neglected to ask about her dear old gran. Lorelei shifted her stance, tightening her grip on her wand. Her other hand drew out the white flower, pale and pallid in the darkness. Its petals drooped when she turned the stem over in her fingers.

"If not for Iona, I wouldn't be here right now. She saved my life," her voice changed, lowering wryly.

Truth. Iona had saved Lorelei's life that day in her flat, when Lorelei had murdered her and taken her soul.

Gaze on the gravestone, she bent and slowly set the flower atop the grave. Would Duncan know it as the flower of death? Leander had planted so many upon the graves in the woods.

"I forgive her, Duncan, for killing my mother at the lakehouse."

Lie. She did not forgive Iona for the hold she'd had over Leander, or for dying on Level Nine. Her expression darkened as she stood tall again, meeting Duncan's suspicious gaze.

"I'm not afraid of the dark," came the woman's non answer. Still as unhelpful as before.

Duncan remained rooted to where he stood much like the gravestones surrounding them. 'Bryony' was changing. The changes were subtle but there. Her voice, her stance, and even her almost manic smile were different than a few moments ago. The bad feeling that began residing in his stomach since her approach started to sour. Then she said the magic word.

Lakehouse. The Lilly Lakehouse. The same place the young Reid lass had been held captive. By the Hunts whom had done atrocious things to his cousin and many others.

The Scotsman felt it was safe to assume the Hunts had also killed Lori and then made use of their property. The way pentrals worked, from his understanding, meant Lorelei Hunt would have Lori's memories. And unlike her, Iona was not a murderer.

Duncan drew his wand, all friendliness gone leaving a rare coldness in his voice and eyes. "Now I know you're lying. Tell me who you really are." Of course, he could make a good guess. But he wanted to hear her say it. Then he could blast her stolen face off.

Lorelei widened her eyes, her smile thinning. Oopsie. She'd said too much. She remained standing by the grave, one hand free of the flower and the other gripping her wand in her pocket. Her head tilted at the sight of his drawn wand.

He'd just drawn his wand on her. Demanded an answer. Who did he think he was?

The corner of her mouth curled into a sneer. Who did he think she was? A young wix, easily cowed? And what if she was. He should have believed her. Poor Bryony Fenby. Neglected in that house with her unstable mother.

"Lori Lilly died in the tower with the owls," she told him in her own voice, every word low and barbed. "Iona hexed her to death."

Iona's face, Iona's hand, Iona's wand had done it. Lorelei had made her, yes, but Iona had been too weak to stop it.

Lore snapped her wand out of her pocket. She'd just answered his question.

Duncan had heard more than enough. Despite her claims he knew Iona had done nothing. As children, his cousin scolded him for getting into fights more often than his own parents. She couldn’t hurt anyone like that, much less kill them.

On the other hand, considering the circumstances he had no such qualms. Hunt would just as happily murder him too.

The Scotsman didn’t give the fraud much of a chance to pull her wand before he flicked his own wands towards her, simultaneously getting into a better dueling stance and clearly thinking but not saying Confringo!.[1]

In his past experience, it was always best to end conflicts as quickly as possible. It helped save time, stamina, and limited the chances of discovery. Then again, part of him reasoned, the Blasting Curse wasn’t exactly the most subtle of spells.

1.	The Blasting Curse (Confringo) is a curse that causes the target to explode. This curse is very dangerous and potentially even lethal.