Omari had pulled one of the particularly green trainees, Gris Hericho, along with them.  Jonas heavily approved of the young Aurors-in-Training getting early exposure to fieldwork.  It didn't seem so very long ago that he'd been the one chomping at the bit to tag along on investigations, and he sympathized that Pratt's favorite way of breaking them in seemed to be putting them on a seemingly never-ending assignment of coffee-making and filing duties. 

He gave a brief shake of his head at Hericho's question.  "Best to wait until we get a sense of what spells are here before we go about adding to them," he replied easily, keeping any sense of reprimand out of his tone.  "Can you check for any active enchantments?"

Moira McBoid's retort held enough prickly spunk that he could guess why she might associate with Kurby Bagnold.  Jonas arched a wry eyebrow at her in reply, and then glanced more thoughtfully at her older relative.  He hadn't met Donnan McBoid when he'd come by the Ministry -- instead, Jonas had offered to take up the task of reaching out to Iona's mother, Marianne Fenby, who had returned to life in the Muggle world -- but there was no mistaking who he must be.

Omari had taken up position over the most grisly part of the scene, and so Jonas left the examination of that discovery to the Scottish Auror.  Instead, frowning, he examined the flowers that had been arranged around the skull in a heart shape. 

White flowers.

There had been white flowers in the Lily lake house, too.  They'd seen them in the wing of the great manor that Abby Reid had consumed with fire.[1] Ghostly petals peeked through the ashes, underneath the ornate picture frame that had been turned as black as the tree nearby. The unsure words of Lucy Wold, wrapped up in the voice of Aileen Reid, rose haltingly in his memory.[2]

He was often holding...flowers?

"I'm sorry you lot came across this," he said, glancing first to Donnan and then to Moira.  It hadn't been so very long since Iona had crossed over beyond the veil -- two months, perhaps -- but that was more than enough time for grief to slip into a routine.  "When's the last time you stopped by here, Mr McBoid?"

1.	August 8, 2011 - Show them the crack and they'll tear down the wall
2.	August 3, 2011 - Hover Through the Fog

As Jonas gave orders to the trainee to check for any active enchantments, Omari thought it was best to do a spell of his own. It was one he wished he would’ve used more frequently in his youth, as it would’ve meant he’d still have both Lucas[1] and his leg left. He shook the thoughts out of his head, performed a quick wave of his wand, and said “Homenum Revelio”. Only the wind answered. No-one was there, waiting to jump out at them.

Omari flung the lower part of his robe backwards, and got down into a sitting position, making his silver leg creak. His eyes were fixed on the skull, as Jonas was inspecting the flowers, and tried to take it in. The pale skull looked too intact to me a relic of old times, and the black gaping holes for eyes seemed to stare back at him. It gave him the shivers. As an auror he had seen his fair share of macabre things (and been involved in a fair share of raids in Knockturn Alley), but there was something about the combination of the human remains and the asphodel flowers that made his stomach churn.

When Jonas started asking Mr McBoid the procedural questions, he put the tip of his wand on the skull, and fired off a couple of spells, looking for curses or jinxes. Nothing seemed to happen, and when he was content that they were not in any danger if they were to move it, he turned his head towards the trainee.

“Aye, lass,” he said, making sure not to take away too much attention from Jonas. “Did ya bring the camera? Snap a picture, will ye?”

He then stood up, took a step back from the grave and turned to the McBoids. “Any idea who coulda’ done this?”

1.	Omari's ex-boyfriend, murdered by blood-purists.

She looked up to the Auror who spoke first, she was fairly certain now she knew who both were, having had time to gather what is going on and who people are. The two people they were responding to she didn't know as well, and given the situation it was not something she wanted to go into right now. Her eyes instead lingered on the dead tree. Was it always dead? If it was then it was a rather morbid site for a grave, and judging by them being called, she doubted it was the case. The site of the dead tree more then anything was saddening, the site must of been beautiful in a sad way, someone's passing immortalized forever in new life. Not in the way it now was, a dead husk marking the painful reminder of mortality.

She snapped out of it however when spoken to by the senior Auror, or she assumed he was as he was first to bark orders. Nodding and snapping into action as her eyes closed, she took a couple steps back before she began to cast a few quick detection spells off, muttering the incantation to herself as quietly as possible, this place had seen enough disturbances to last it, and she didn't want to get too close to the others incase she disturbed them also, she couldn't imaging what it would be like if one of her families graves had been vandalized.

She tried not to take it as an insult with their response to her, she had just seen it prudent to give everyone some privacy as soon as possible, especially if said enchantments could bring about something ugly, for example if the skull exploded in a bright eruption of colours, it would seem nicer to have it covered before. The skull put her off the most, along with herself being fairly certain she has yet to see any human remains until today. The fact it was left here had some terrifying implications of who's it may be, the occupants? Or if the grave is empty, was this part of the body being found?

The other Auror called for her, prompting for her to start slowly moving towards him, her free hand reaching in and fumbling with her bag to reach for the camera within, maybe not the camera he meant, as she hadn't really been aware of where to they were going or doing before leaving other then coffee would be required, the thermos's of which were still in there. She had her own camera for this sort of situation, maybe not for taking pictures of a desecrated grave. But for situations where she was expected to juggle two jobs at once needing equipment she may not of had time to get or be told to get.

"I have a camera but I'll need it back after or you owe me thirty galleons." She said quietly to him in the hopes it didn't come off as rude or too much like she was making fun of the situation.

Donnan managed a nod at the redheaded Auror's sympathy. 

"Trevelyan, is it?"

Yes, this was the Auror that his daughter had confided in. His tone was easy and personable.

"Late December. We'd talked about setting something up for her around Christmastime, to remember her by. I was here, and my nephews, and Moira. We'd only arranged for the gravestone. There's nothing else..." he cleared his throat.

No remains in the ground. That he knew of.

He shook his head, taking a step to the side to allow room for the trainee with the camera. His daughter had left this world and the girl she'd inhabited on December 22nd. Iona wasn't listening or watching or waiting for him to stop by. She was free. This stone was supposed to be a marker for the family. Proof that she was, and would always be, loved.

Marianne had understood, though she hadn't accompanied him in December. They could only stand to be around each other for the amount of time it took Marianne to finish a cigarette and for Donnan to get annoyed with the holiday crowd in Diagon. She'd nodded when he'd told her, directing the smoke away from him, the lines on her forehead reflecting the furrow of his own brow. They'd been divorced for many years, but they carried the same look of grief.

She'd said she might visit the grave sometime with someone, which Donnan assumed was code for her husband and that he didn't need to intrude.

"And what about Lori Lilly? The Lori we knew." She'd glanced away from him, towards a group of teenagers sporting Ravenclaw colors.

The murdered squib, the heiress? He didn't know. He'd moved aside for the group of teens, grumbling after them that they didn't need to take up the entire pavement. He didn't know what about Lori Lilly, or any remembrance for her. He didn't know why Marianne cared to ask. Lori was distantly related to the McBoids, and he never would have expected that Marianne would still think of her at all.

His ex-wife had given him a sharp look of disappointment, put out her cigarette and gone back to Bristol, to her muggle family, as he'd known she would.

Despite the distance between them, Marianne would have told him if she'd seen the grave like this.

"My nephew Duncan might have visited on his own,"[1] Donnan offered, pausing as he remembered Duncan's warning.

Then the other Auror stood, and asked the question that Donnan knew the answer to so immediately, so intensely, that he just looked at the Auror with a dreadful sense of knowing.

Moira might speak the names more quickly. She'd been quick to retort before, and the names might not weigh so heavy and bitter on her tongue.

1.	Thread here, wiki summary with list of spells here

Moira, true to her nature, observed the two aurors and trainee as they went about their work. Trevelyan expressed sympathy on their finding the scene. While she didn’t need it her great uncle clearly appreciated it before he began to speak and give the aurors information. The witch had only been here the one time, as a show of support for her family and perhaps against the inhumaneness of Iona’s death. She had also had no real interest in returning.

When the tallest Auror asked about potential suspects she briefly raised an eyebrow and watched Donnan’s body language. He fell silent as his body became more tense, face tightening, and his eyes took on more of a haunted look. The older wizard wouldn’t, or couldn’t, answer.

To spare Donnan the struggle, Moira answered in his stead with a glance to Omari, “Lorelai and Leander Hunt.”

As the names were spoken the barest hint of anger crossed her face. Moira might not have been certain how exactly she felt about Donnan, Iona’s passing, or even the grisly sight before them. However, she was certain on how she felt regarding the Hunts.

They had caused her family grief, kidnapped her friend - though they had not been friends until after the fact - which caused pain for her other friend Sasha, and then almost killed Abby. Abby’s friend had been killed. Knowing the two criminals were still at large was more than a little frustrating for the witch.

The expression left as quickly as it had appeared, Moira’s face returning to more of an impassive one.

“Not many people even knew about her being a pentral.”

He could have guessed at the answer to Warrington's question. There was only one real option for the who in this mystery; from what Jonas had learned through his glancing entanglement into Iona McBoid's short life and long death, she had had few opportunities to make real enemies, aside from her former fiancé's dark arts-dabbling sister.  The one-time mousy librarian was still deeply mourned by her mother, who was now anchored fully in the Muggle world, and her father and his family, but she seemed to have faded into pale sepia for most others who might have known her.  Even Solomon Carstairs didn't seem to recall many details about her.

No, at this point, he was far more interested in the how.

Omari had apparently taken their green trainee under his wings, so Jonas left him to her, his attention focused on the two Scottish wixes.  Quite the pair in contrasts: young and old; richly brown hair and wiry gray; but both plain-spoken, with seemingly little interest in sharing more than what might be necessary.

Their answers were direct enough, though.  Nephew Duncan, he filed away to follow up on later; he wasn't as familiar with the Scottish pureblood families -- or really any pureblood families, aside from the ones he'd either worked with or had the opportunity to annoy -- so the name didn't strike any particular bells.

But the rest of it was seemingly a dead end.  They hadn't made regular visits to the gravestone.  Not many knew about Iona's status as a pentral.  But if one of the Hunt siblings had come here to burn the tree and defile her grave, with Leander's white flowers lingering behind as a mocking tribute, then they must have found out about it somehow.

"Who else did know?"  Jonas quirked an eyebrow, glancing first at Moira and then back at her older relative.  "Either about her being a pentral, or about her gravestone here?"

Donnan was quiet for a moment. Abby and Abby's friends on Level Two knew about Iona, of course. A leak, as Aurors liked to say, could have come from any teenager who called themselves an Auror or Unspeakable these days. They were all so damn young.

He took a breath and focused on the question, intending to talk to his nephews as soon as they got out of here.

"The only one outside of the family who I told was my neighbor, Norma. She can be chatty, but not about something like this."

He glanced at Moira, thanking the small stars above that at least she had no idea who his neighbors were, and that she wouldn't tease him about it like Duncan might when the dust settled.

Who else? He shifted his feet on the uneven ground.

Could someone have figured it out from The Prophet notice?

"We did post an obituary for her in The Prophet a few days before the burial."

He gritted his teeth against the idea that it could have backfired on them. He'd only done it to put words to the sad fact that his daughter was gone.

"I mentioned that there'd be a grave-site service, but I didn't state where or when it would happen. I thought whoever wanted to be included could reach out to the family beforehand."

He thought for a moment. "No one else showed up to the service, but family."

That had felt right, too. He looked to Moira, who nodded in agreement with what he had said.[1]

Donnan glanced around at the other trees and gravestones, wondering which of them were the few McBoids that hadn't been buried on their own land. The few like him, who had lived their lives in cities or bustling towns.[2]

Maybe that was his mistake again, venturing too far from his own family and land, putting his daughter somewhere too far from home.

Maybe he should be more careful. Sometimes, in the dusk or just after dawn, he felt eyes following him as he walked through Diagon or to the park near his house.

The bright sunlight revealed nothing.

1.	Added by Lyn/Moira!
2.	I'm imagining that Lore asked around to find out where other McBoids were buried, which led her to Iona's grave here

The pain in the McBoid’s voices was palpable, and for a second Omari was stopped in his trapped and found himself just listening. It was horrible to lose someone, regardless of the circumstances, but then to have their loved one’s resting pace desecrated like this? There were some really twisted people in the world.

Gris’ comment snapped him out of his momentary daze, and he turned to the trainee.

“Make sure yer writin’ this down,” Omari turned to Gris and started firing of instructions. “We need to look into the neighbour, Norma, to see what she knows. We also need ter get in contact with the Prophet. It might be a dead end, but let’s see if they got any owls regardin’ the obituary.”

He took a couple of steps forward to get close to Gris, placing a gentle, but heavy hand on her shoulder, and leaning in so that only she could hear.

“An’ keep the jokes ter a minimum, Herico,” he said softly. “These people’s pain is still rough, an’ we need ter show them the respect they need.” Then, with a wink, he added; “But don’t lose that sense o’ humour, aye?”

He stretched back up, and turned to Mr. McBoid.

“Your neighbour, Mr. McBoid,” he said. “Norma. Do you know her surname?”

Donnan paused at the question, his expression souring.

"Rook. But I'm telling you, she wouldn't have spread it around," he grumbled, shoving his hands into his pockets.

She quickly nodded and shifted position, turning and giving herself ample space away from the grave site before she pulled out a pen and notebook to write on, although her handwriting wasn't the best it wouldn't matter much, she can smooth it out later. She swapped from photographing the scene, she can continue it after writing down what was needed.

• Interview the neighbour Norma Rook on the possibility they have any information on what has happened.
• Send an Owl to the Daily Prophet inquiring for an Obituary. See if can get a copy of that issue?

She made extra sure to record down what was being said by the man in her best handwriting, incase any of it needed to be reviewed later, and since her superiors weren't seeming to take the same measures. The last comment from Omari had annoyed her, she was taking this seriously, what she said wasn't even a joke. If it was lost she is claiming it from the Ministry. She wasn't the one who had entered into the situation making jokes.

She'd make sure to follow up on the Daily Prophet side as soon as possible, most likely she can send off a request immediately after they get back to the Ministry, even if it was a dead end point, if there was any identifiable information it could be important to the situation. Even if it was just the name, the amount of spells available, or perhaps older techniques to find out more just off a name...

Jonas nodded along with the old man's responses as Omari spoke up again, ably juggling his dual duties of furthering their line of inquiry and providing direction for young Hericho. There were plenty of ways that the Hunt siblings could have found Iona's grave that didn't necessitate badgering the Prophet or questioning Donnan McBoid's neighbor. He let his gaze play for a moment across the other nearby graves. If this was a family plot for the McBoid or Lily families, then Lorelei may have even gleaned knowledge of it from the pentrals that she'd used as a disguise. 

Or...

Or, he thought as he pressed his mouth shut, Leander Hunt might have known about it from his relationship with Iona.

Whether that speculation was true or not, it raised a few uncomfortable questions that he hadn't considered before. Jonas had known that Lorelei and Leander had both had a personal relationship with Iona McBoid; that much was more than obvious. But did their animosity towards the unfortunate pentral extend to the her family?  Should Level Two have been paying more attention to the safety of the McBoids?

Standing in the middle of a graveyard in front of a desecrated grave hardly seemed like the ideal place to start interrogating Mr. McBoid about how well he knew his daughter's one-time fiancé or his sister. Jonas paused, regarding the older man and his great-niece as he considered which line of questioning was the most important to pursue.

"We'll check around here and see what else we can turn up," he said at last, glancing from the elder McBoid to the younger. Safety: that had to be the immediate concern. Digging into a possible direct relationship between Donnan McBoid and Leander or Lorelei Hunt could wait. "Is there anything else odd that either of you have noticed recently? Maybe not this remarkable," he quipped with a quick smile, "but anything that's seemed out of sorts?"

Note: Dual post with Moira and Donnan courtesy of Elle!



Moira sighed inwardly as Trevelyan began speaking to them once more about finding out what they could. That’s why they were there. So far she had been in unknowing agreement with her great uncle. There had been far too much talking when there were things to take samples of. This last question though made her pause and think.

The only thing odd she could consider was the occasional sense that she was being watched when she was alone. That was just a feeling though. She hadn’t seen, heard, or smelled anything to justify it. Nothing could be proven or based on a mere feeling.

Moira tried to answer Jonas’ question but no sound came from her mouth. That was weird. She cleared her throat, swallowed, and tried again with better success. “Nothing comes to mind.”

---

Donnan opened his mouth, about to snap that he too, wanted to know what had happened out here. The blackened tree, the scarred grave, the... remains. They were doing too much talking and not enough investigating, and he hadn't signed up as practice for a youngster-trainee lesson.

But then Trevelyan asked a question that gave him pause.

He glanced at Moira, this time falling silent out of worry and curiosity.

Moira was quiet for a moment too long, looking as though she were struggling with how to answer. He frowned deeply, hearing her words, but not completely believing them. Why had she hesitated? McBoid pride?

He sighed through his nose. Damn it. He couldn't ignore his own observations if there were any chance that Moira could be affected as well.

"It's just a feeling," Donnan grumbled with great reluctance, "but there have been times when I've been out and about around my neighborhood - Diagon - and I got the sense that someone was watching. I didn't see anyone, mind," he clarified.

"It's just a feeling I get. A hunch."

He hated relying on his feelings. Admitting to them. His nephews were not going to be happy to hear this. Donnan looked at Moira again, his frown returning, wanting and hoping to hear that she had no idea what he was on about, old man.

---

Donnan chimed in a moment after she finished. At his words Moira looked over to the older man, an uneasy feeling in her stomach. If it had been just her imagining things it would have been easier to shrug off. She could have chalked it up to paranoia or something, but apparently that wasn’t the case.

Frowning some, Moira sighed and shook her head, "Yeah… me too now that he mentions it. When I'm at home or at work on the menagerie ranch. There's no evidence for it and I've never seen anyone either."

Could two people be considered mass paranoia if they were from the same family dealing with the same issues?

Omari could see the wheels turning behind Jonas’ eyes, but he wasn’t sure exactly what his colleague was thinking. He had more knowledge when it came to this matter, and Omari knew that Jonas’ questions would be more pressing to the subject at hand, so he fell quiet and let the exchange play out, as he made himself ready to further the search in the graveyard.

The hesitation in Moira’s answer, however, made him pause. His first thought was that she was hiding something, but before Omari could say anything, Donnan spoke.

     “- and I got a sense that someone was watching.”

Alarm bells went off inside Omari as the younger McBoid agreed with the suspicion. Omari had been in too many situations to not take that sort of hunch seriously. Humans seemed to have a special sense when it came to being watched, as if something inside them itched if they were being observed. He was sure Jonas was thinking similarly, and he had a feeling that whoever had been surveilling the McBoids was also behind the desecration of the grave.

He fished a small object on a silver chain out of his pocket and held it out towards the McBoids.

“Even though yer say it’s just a hunch, ye can never be too sure,” he said, as the object lay in his outstretched hand. “Take this. It’s a pocket sneakoscope. If nothin’ else but ter ease yer minds, I would like for ya to carry this with ya. And if it does start makin’ noise, yer could alert us straight away.”

Shit.

Donnan's face settled into the usual lines of worry and grief, watching Moira. If he hadn't said something first, would she have admitted to feeling watched? Probably not. Her mention of home and work made him especially uncomfortable, and he shifted his feet, shaking his head. He and Angus and Duncan and Moira were going to have a family meeting after this, no question about it, and he was going to find out from them how they were doing at the ranch and how often Moira was there alone and what they could do going forward to make sure she was alright. His nephews, too. Even stubborn Duncan who would try to appease him with a grin.

He didn't trust the Aurors to keep an eye out for his family while they were on Hunt's trail.

Just as that ungracious thought entered his head, the Scottish Auror offered a gift from the depths of his red robes. Donnan looked at it for a moment, but then took it, turning over the glass spinner in his hand.

"Thanks," he said gruffly. "You got a card or something so we can reach out to you or Trevelyan directly if we find any other gifts like these?"

He gestured at the bouquet and the skull without looking at the grisly arrangement.

Donnan held the sneakoscope out to Moira expectantly. She would keep it, and he'd figure something out with his nephews.

No question about it.