The Ó Móráin family estate
County Waterford, Ireland

Getting to County Waterford had proven to be a bit of a challenge.  Jonas would have to be dragged to holy hell and back before he'd give apparation a try; for the brief moment when he had considered the possibility, every blood-curdling story he had ever heard about splinching had forced its way back into his memory.  He had never felt entirely comfortable on a broomstick, and Floo powder needed a fireplace that was connected to the network.  Muggle transportation was a tempting solution, but he'd finally decided against it.  Getting to Ireland and back again would have lost him at least two days, whether he went by ferry or by plane, and he really didn't fancy having to explain to his witch client why he'd accrued the charges if he tried to expense the trip.

He'd finally settled on the Knight Bus.  Riding it felt an awful lot like taking his life into his hands, and he'd nearly lost his lunch when it had somehow ended up suddenly in York going the wrong way down a narrow street and had had to jump out of the way of an oncoming car, but at least it got him to his destination.

The Ó Móráin house sat on a huge estate, with ivy-covered walls and beautiful grounds that probably cost more to upkeep in a week than he'd made in ten years.  The sky was gray and clouds were beginning to gather ominously overhead as Jonas departed the bus, but the rain had thankfully yet to start as he'd limped the rest of the way from the road to the main residence.

Jonas knew from experience that the wizarding black market often began and ended in the same place - Knockturn Alley.  But Knockturn tended to be off the grid in more ways than one, and he doubted that undirected inquiries would be any more welcome from a plainclothes man than they had been years ago from scarlet-robed Aurors.  He had no intention of asking the wrong question in the wrong place and ending up stuffed into a cupboard somewhere.  It would make matters much easier if he had some idea of where to start, whom to approach, and that meant finding someone who was connected enough to know, but not so connected that they'd get anything more than twitchy.

Systematically wracking his brain had brought up a few possibilities.  Jonas had doggedly spent a day searching through Daily Prophet archives and looking into each of them until he'd settled on Ó Móráin Farms.  He could remember the beginnings of an investigation into the family behind the company, the Irish Ó Móráins.  It looked as though the case had been blown wide open soon afterwards, and Cáel Ó Móráin had been charged with crimes against Muggles, experimental breeding, and a handful of other colorful crimes.

Supposedly the business was clean now, but Jonas had a fair impression that few things ever were.  Since the family had once been under scrutiny from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, he hoped that they'd likely be far more eager to cooperate once friendly pressure was applied, if only to prove that they were the good, law-abiding citizens that they appeared to be striving to become.  

The manor house itself was particularly impressive.  Jonas took a moment to admire the ivy-covered gray stone, giving himself a chance to catch his breath as he examined the size and scope of the residence.  Against the gray sky, it looked a bit foreboding, and he could easily imagine the owner of such a place taking great joy in setting deadly spells around the home's perimeter.  The family history of Muggle baiting wasn't the only reason he'd chosen the Ó Móráin family to have a go at, Jonas thought cheerfully as he raised his hand to give a brisk knock on the door, but it certainly gave him a bit more leave to have fun.

He had been waiting on the porch for a bare few moments, only enough time to begin whistling the first few bars of an annoyingly catching tune that had been playing on the Knight Bus, when the door was eased open and a pair of enormous, bulbous eyes peered up at him from below.

"Well, hullo there," Jonas said cheerfully, flashing his Muggle P.I. identification just quickly enough for the house elf to catch sight of it, but hopefully not nearly long enough for it to realize that the badge had nothing to do with Magical Law Enforcement.  "Sorry to bother you blokes, especially on such a nice autumn day, but I'm here on part of an investigation and I thought your mistress would be able to answer a few questions.  Is the lady of the house in?"  

It was all part of the practiced approach.  Be friendly but firm; don't ask if they'd like to help or wonder if they can, but instead, assume that they will and barrel ahead with that assured self-confidence.  Jonas had found that most of the time, people would fumble to do exactly what you asked of them, never even considering that they might turn you down.

The elf's ears had gone flat at the mention of the word "investigation," and it -- she?  Jonas never could tell, except for the fact that different bits were covered up with their raggedy clothing -- hurriedly and politely ushered him inside.  If possible, the entryway of the estate was even more lavish than its exterior would suggest.  He took it in thoughtfully, tucking his notebook under his arm as he trailed behind the elf.  The tasteful decorations suggested money, both past and present.  He'd venture a guess that the owner of such a house cared about propriety and appearances, though that description could apply to nearly every old wizarding family that Jonas had ever encountered.  But a fret about appearances gave him a neat enough tool in itself.

"Here you are, Master."  The elf's voice was squeaky but polite, snapping him out of his thoughts.  He realized that it was holding open a door, obviously extending an invitation for him to go inside.  "Would Master like anything while he waits?"

"No, no, mate.  I'm fine," Jonas replied, flashing the elf a quick smile as he started into the room.  It never hurt to be polite, but he couldn't help ribbing a little.  "Just fetch your mistress when you can, yeah?  I hate to be a bother, but you know how bureaucracies get," he said, rolling his shoulders in a cheerful shrug.  "I'd hate for anything to get more complicated because I'm late reporting in."

The elf apologized and excused herself - itself? - with a hurried bow.  As the door closed behind him, Jonas sighed and turned to study the rest of the room.  What he'd really like would be to have a sit, but he wasn't about to give up his probable height advantage when the lady of the manor arrived.  Besides, standing conveyed an air of impatience, and impatience easily translated into nervousness in others.

Shifting his weight so that he could stretch out his bad leg as he waited, Jonas turned to study the nearest antiques that had been placed along the shelves, absently wondering if any of them were Egyptian.

Outfit

Liadán had been sitting in the library when the house elf had come to fetch her. She had been informed that the man had a badge, and that he had said something about an investigation. She frowned heavily at the news and rose from her seat at the desk. She carefully closed the book on tribal magic and placed it back on the shelf before smoothing out the business suit she was wearing. Liadán paused and peered at herself in a mirror, tucking a loose strand of hair back into her immaculately done hairstyle and slipping her feet back into the pair of kitten heels she had been wearing but had left by the door.

She wasn't sure what sort of thing she could be investigated for. Liadán had been very cooperative with the ministry since she had inherited the family business, and had worked hard not to do anything to give them reason to look in her direction. Liadán dismissed the elf which was still apologizing profusely for interrupting her and made her way down the stairs and toward the entry of the home. She noticed the man with bright red hair, and was a bit surprised. She did not recognize this man, and generally when the ministry sent someone out they sent the same few people. More than likely they did this out of fear of what might be lurking around the farms as far as wards were concerned, although their paranoia was unfounded, Liadán had no intentions of setting up any dangerous magical wards again.

Liadán smoothed her skirt and gave the man a pleasant smile. He was standing awkwardly. It would be even more awkward when he realized how much taller than her he really was. Liadán didn't even reach five feet tall, and with the short heels she had opted for today (since she had business meetings earlier in the day with various clients) she had opted for a more practical shoe. "Good afternoon," she greeted. "I am Liadán Ó Móráin, mistress of this estate and proprietor of Ó Móráin Farms. Please, sir, have a seat and make yourself comfortable. Shall I have the house elves fetch a refreshment? Some tea perhaps?" Without waiting for his response she did just that, dispatching Felda with orders to bring a tray.

Liadán then carefully perched herself in a chair, crossing her ankles and tilting her head, peering up at him. She appeared to be, and indeed was, very calm. Liadán had absolutely nothing to hide from whatever investigators came to her house. She was running everything legally, and all illegal items had been confiscated upon her father's arrest. (Oh, she still had a few things hidden away in various secret places cloaked with very complex magic, but they hadn't figure that out yet so they likely never would.) Liadán had already assumed this must be routine. He would want to check her financial records, probably take a tour around the grounds, and then he would be on his way.

The house elf returned shortly with a tray, placing it on a small table. It brought Liadán a cup of tea, and she sipped it, giving the elf an appreciative smile and dismissing it again. "Please, tell me sir, what is the purpose of your visit today? If it is a routine inspection, I dare say you have chosen a foul afternoon. It appears as though it might begin to storm at any moment. It isn't an ideal condition for investigating the grounds, although I'd be more than happy to call someone from the farms to guide you if that is indeed your intention." She would not lead him herself. There was absolutely no way that she was going to find herself possibly caught in a rainstorm.

Light footsteps gave away the woman's arrival.  Jonas glanced up at the sound - or rather, down, as he quickly realized that he had nearly a full foot advantage in height on the mistress of the household.  His host was small and slight, resembling a porcelain doll more so than anyone possessing a business acumen to be reckoned with.  But there was something in her attire and the calm way she held herself that matched the perfect appearance of the house.

He gave a polite smile as the young woman introduced herself. 

"Shall I have the house elves fetch a refreshment? Some tea perhaps?"

Liadán was already giving directions to her house elf before Jonas even had a chance to respond.  He was clearly not going to be given a choice in the matter of whether he had tea or not.

"As long as it's not any trouble, miss," Jonas said bemusedly, taking his notebook in hand as he eased himself into a chair.  Sitting was a relief; impending weather made his bad leg ache, and the cramped conditions on the Knight Bus combined with the walk in hadn't eased it any.

Jonas paused as he listened to Liadán speak, offering to have someone show him around the grounds.  It had occurred to him that impersonating a Ministry official was probably as likely to get him arrested as impersonating a police officer in a Muggle home.  Neither was entirely legal, and if he were to be found out, he doubted that .  But it wasn't as if he had said that he had come from the Ministry.  As long as he chose his words carefully, it was up to Mistress Ó Móráin to believe what she'd like about what had brought him there.

"No, miss, if it was just a matter of routine, I'd be much more like to say the road washed out and call another day," he replied, flashing the woman a quick, tight smile.  "I've got no more desire to trouble you in the rain than you do to be troubled."

Jonas straightened, his expression growing much more serious as he nodded to Liadán.  "I'm afraid it's a bit different than just routine, this is.  I've been charged with an impending investigation," he said as truthfully and sorrowfully as he could.  "Your name's come up in relation to it, Mistress Ó Móráin, and as much as I hate to cheek you with a mess that isn't yours, the matter is serious enough that I've still got to leave no stone unturned."  He shrugged sheepishly, as if to apologize for the due diligence that was required from law enforcement.  "If you can answer some questions for me, I'll do me best to keep this as discrete as possible.  You won't be troubled again, I promise you."

"No trouble at all, sir. I know the weather is less than favorable, and after anyone makes the journey here they tend to be a bit peckish and worn out. We're well out of the way, and most just don't want to chance apparating in. Then again, that has to do with their misconceptions that I still have those nasty wards in place around my land, not because it is that hard to find." Normally Liadán would never admit such things aloud, but she thought that the man was a ministry official, and if he was, then he would know all about it. Whenever they made the rounds they would always check to make sure her wards were still nothing particularly dangerous or illegal.

She arched a brow slightly at his polite decline to have a look around. That was odd, to say the least. Regardless of how the weather had been she had never been told they'd rather not. Liadán was convinced at that moment that it was some new official who had no clue what he was doing. Which meant they probably were almost done harassing her. They wouldn't send someone who would half do a job unless they honestly believed that she wasn't up to anything. Good! It was about time that they realized it!

Her relief, however, did not last for very long. Impending investigation? He calm, pleasant facade dropped immediately and her mouth formed a very flat, very unhappy line. "Investigation?" she repeated. "I haven't any clue what you would need to investigate me for. I have kept an impeccable record since I have inherited the business. I have single-handedly turned around the reputation of Ó Móráin Farms and have worked hand in hand with the ministry. I find it incredibly offensive that you keep sniffing around. If the authorities have yet to uncover anything, then there is nothing to uncover." Or they were too stupid to uncover it.

"As far as discretion goes, if you do anything to slander my name or the name of this company, I will make sure that you regret it." It was a thread that Liadán meant, too. If she were up to something, then flags would have gone off. But for the life of her, Liadán could not figure out what sort of investigation could bring anyone to her door.

"What was your name again?" she asked, realizing that he had either not introduced himself or she had missed it entirely. It was obvious that she was not going to make things easy for him at this point. Liadán was particularly easy to offend, and very difficult to deal with if you happened to be the one who had done the offending. "I just ask so that if this is an unpleasant interaction I may contact your supervisor and request that you are not sent out here again. I have no doubt that my requests would be granted. They should hate to lose me as an ally. Especially when there is no case that can be brought against me."

His questions were not a matter of importance anymore. In fact, Liadán wasn't entirely sure she would give him any straight answers at all.

Jonas was more than a little bemused at how quickly the young woman's expression changed once he'd said the word investigation.  He was also amused - and a bit impressed - at how swiftly she took control of the conversation.  The idea of what she could do to make him regret spreading malarkey about her was intriguing, but as funny as he found it, he thought he'd best let it for later.  Pursuing the matter would just divert from the real reason he'd come, which was to get information.

And then she'd asked his name.  Jonas briefly considered making one up, but lthat would make explanations a bit more tetchy if she realised that he hadn't come from the Ministry.  So far, nothing he'd said had been a lie.  He wasn't impersonating a Ministry official, exactly.  He just hadn't made it clear that he wasn't one.  Far better to keep telling the truth so long as it left him on that course.

"The name's Trevelyan," he said, giving her a tight, apologetic smile.  Keeping friendly was important - if he let her put him on the defensive, he might as well leave.  "Jonas Trevelyan.  And I hope you'll forgive me for not introducing meself properly, miss."  Which he still hadn't, and if she paid attention to detail - and anyone who owned a house this neat likely did - she would likely notice that.  When he was a Ministry official, he would have seized this as an opportunity to flash his Auror badge at her to drive home the point that this was a serious inquiry, but Jonas doubted that he could bluff his way with Muggle identification a second time.  He plunged on without taking a breath, hoping to move the conversation onward before she had a chance to bring it up.

"And as I said, miss, bringing any trouble to you or yours is the last thing I'd want to do," he continued earnestly.  "It's got nowt to do with you, it hasn't.  And anything you can say to help me will be good on you at the Ministry."  Or it would, if the Ministry ever found out about it and happened to care, Jonas added silently as a qualification.  That technically made it so that it wasn't a lie, but he crossed his fingers behind the teacup for good measure.  "I'm really just looking for a few places to start, and once I've got them, I'll be out of your hair before you can whistle."

Liadán Ó Móráin was a challenging one, with her icy expression and her thin, linear mouth, but there was something right and well about the challenge.  When he was shivering in an automobile waiting for the poor sap he was tailing to start off, or when he was up until five reading through so many boxes of records that he thought that his eyes might well bleed out of his skull, the thought of these moments kept him going.  The match of wits made it fun.  It was what he missed most about being an Auror, mainly because no one tried to kill you when you were face to face and questioning them.  Most had the wit to wait until you'd turned to leave, at the least.

"It's just a few odd questions, anyhow," Jonas went on cheerfully, the patter flowing easily as he picked up his notebook again.  "A couple of artifacts have gone missing from the home of a Ministry member, and we're hoping to secure them once they pop up."  The words were out of his mouth before he realized that he'd told his first out and out fib.  Jonas winced inwardly, but there was no helping it now.  At least if she caught him in a lie, it wasn't likely to be that one.  Best to soldier on.

"The mark was a bit of a ponce, put too much faith in his own security if you ask me," Jonas said, flashing Liadán a just-between-us smile.  "But it's always hard to say so to his face, innit?  Anyhow, seeing as how you're a good and reputable citizen, miss, I was hoping you'd know some good and reputable places where the perp might think he could fence his goods to some unsuspecting people of quality," he concluded cheerfully, flipping through his notebook to find a blank page.  "Where do you usually purchase the knickknacks you've got placed so tastefully around the house?"

She was not happy about his insinuation that she should know where stolen items might have gotten to. It meant that he thought she was in the habit of purchasing them, or of knowing where they ended up after being stolen. At some point in time, this might be true. Now, however, it was not. "You will have to forgive me, Mr. Trevelyan, for being somewhat offended at your insinuation that I take part in or am aware of the various criminal activities within our world. You must have mistaken me for my father. Although it is true that the apple rarely falls far from the tree, there are exceptions to every rule." Naturally, she had a few ideas as to where he might be able to look, but she was not going to tell him- not after his blatant insults.

"My late father had a knack for falling into stolen goods or items which might be less than favorable in the opinion of the Ministry of Magic- in which case, if you have done your background research- as any good official would, naturally- you would know this. However, when the home was searched years ago, everything that was of an illegal or questionable nature was confiscated. These knick-knacks, as you put it, are nothing more than heirlooms or antiques. As far as antiques are concerned, I could give you the names of multiple reputable dealers with whom I am known to do business from time to time. I do not make it a habit, as it were, to spend my money at places that have any tendency to sell stolen items to an unwary customer. As a matter of fact, the only less than savory people I do business with at all are long time customers of the business which I run. I do not discriminate when it comes to selling my goods, but when it comes to buying, I always am very careful."

Putting her cup of tea aside, she folded her hands primly in her lap, tilting her head just a bit as she pressed on. "Furthermore, Mr. Trevelyan, I do not have a death wish. Even if I did know the names or the places my father used to take advantage of, I would not be at liberty to divulge them to you. Chances are they are already in his file. If they are not, I will not be the one responsible for letting out the names. Do you really think it professional of you to put a young lady in danger?" She shook her head in a disappointed manner, and clucked her tongue. "Surely you know that they would find out who told you, and more than likely that would be the end of my very short lived life."

"Personally, I am not a fan of being the one to snitch on anyone who might threaten my life. I have a lot of living left to do, truth be told. I should like to someday get married and have a family, and see my family name cleared of stigma. It is the least I can do for the late Mr. and Mrs. Ó Móráin, do you not agree? Aiding the authorities in an investigation which does not affect me, and could not lead to finding me guilty of anything illegal, doesn't seem very beneficial to these desires."

"I do so hate to be an inconvenience to any investigation, but I am sure you understand my concerns. Perhaps, Mr. Trevelyan, you and your superiors ought to have taken all of this into consideration? Or maybe you all thought that since I have been so very helpful in the past, I would continue to do so. I want it to be made perfectly clear that if there are any investigations which do not revolve entirely around my business and the clearing of my own name, that I will have no part in them. I walk in a very different part of society from the vast majority of you. I have personal and family friends who would not take so well to my doing business with the authorities which extended past my own personal welfare and interests. I am not the sort to step on the toes of my allies or my enemies." It was, in reality, the most polite way she could think of to tell the man to shove off and leave her alone. Cooperation was not to be expected anymore.

Jonas doubted that he could pinpoint the exact moment when he had lost control of the conversation.  He had tried to interrupt once or twice after the young woman had gotten going, but her retort had taken on such furious momentum that he'd finally given up in bemusement.  Matching wits with Liadán Ó Móráin may have been a bit of a mental understatement; holding a discussion with her was more like trying to head off a hurricane or arrest an avalanche.

Apparently her paternal relation was a bit of a sore subject.  Jonas wouldn't have felt all that kindly toward any relatives who murdered innocents for sport either, but he doubted that the same sentiment inspired her own feelings of distaste.  If he'd been there as an official Ministry representative, the admission that she did business with unsavory sorts would have given him plenty to lean on, but he still didn't want to try his luck.  It was better to take what he could get and let her talk rings around him than to risk her demanding the name of his superior.

Except then things took a turn for the melodramatic, and he was apparently putting innocent lives at risk and preventing her successful marriage all at the same time simply by inquiring where she'd purchased her home decor.

"I'm glad to hear that you've still aspirations to your name, Miss Ó Móráin," Jonas replied, a hint of dryness creeping into his voice.  "I'd hate to think that you could die an old maid simply because you had the bad sense to answer a question or two."  He was not entirely surprised to hear that the pure-blooded circles had devolved into such that cooperation with an apparent member of the Ministry meant certain social devastation, even if only in hyperbole.  If he went around baiting Muggles for fun, he wouldn't want his future in-laws to be in the habit of talking to the authorities either.

"Look, miss, I can't make you talk with me," he said frankly, abandoning his attempt at a cheerful demeanor.  "If you really think that passing on a few names is going to put your life at risk, then just tell me the reputable ones, yeah?  And if that's all you care to do to cooperate, we'll be settled and I'll be on me way."

Even that would be enough; having the name of an antique dealer or two would at least give him a place to start.  He had no doubt that the legal sort would be able to name the less-than-legal ones, if only to point a finger in their general direction.  It was a way to get some of the information that he wanted while still letting Miss Ó Móráin brush him off.  But the suggestion that she walked in such a different level of society irked at him, and he felt obligated to push brashly onwards despite his better judgement.

"But a word of advice," Jonas added, tapping at his notebook with the pen.  "Telling the Ministry you can't help because you've got too many unsavory blokes to do business with just makes them curious.  And it makes me wonder who it is in the shady business of antiquing that cares enough about their illegal trade in heirloom candlesticks that they'd put the life of an innocent businesswoman in danger."

"And then suddenly, I start thinking that there should be a lot more to this small investigation than was intended when it started, and the next thing we all know, this little inquiry has gotten quite a bit bigger and suddenly it's you at the center of it, innit?" he finished, flashing her a lopsided smile.  "If you really don't want to cooperate, it's a bloody hell of a lot simpler to just tell me that you don't know where to buy anything because the house elf does all of your collecting."

Liadán scowled at him as he continued to prattle on, eyes narrowing in his direction quite dangerously. "I should hate to think," she began, voice tight in her throat, "that you would have the audacity to come into my home and to threaten me. Taking my words and twisting them to specifically get me into trouble is not something I take kindly to. I think it very important for you to know- further investigations or criminal charges be damned- that I happen to know some very important, very nasty people."

"If you go to your superiors- whomever they may be- and you paint me to be anything less than innocent and cooperative you will not like the consequences. First of all, there would be nothing found that is not already known. That would lead to you looking very bad. No one trusts a liar, after all. Secondly, I would see to it that your life is made a personal hell. If there is anyone that you care about, I would see to it that their life was made a personal hell. My reach is infinite, Mr. Trevelyan. Anyone who threatens me, the reputation of my family name, and my only source of livelihood will be met head on. And trust me, I will savor every moment of ruining your life. And the worst part about it, is that I could do it legally. Oh yes, I have learned the laws of our world by this point- and I know exactly where they are weak and which loopholes would suit me the best. I am not a woman to underestimate." With that, she abruptly stood, and called for one of her house elves.

Smoothing her dress, she gave Jonas a particularly evil smirk. "Please show Mr. Trevelyan the way out," she said to the creature. "And if you've any further interest as to where I happen to acquire my antiques, there is a shop in Knockturn which I am sure you know all about. Also, my mother's side of the family specializes in the dealing of antiques. The d'Aubignes, to be specific."

"If you ever dare to enter my home again and insult, threaten, and speak to me in such an offensive manor, I will not hesitate to put you in your place. As it is, I simply do not have the time for anymore of your tomfoolery. You are the least educated man who has ever spoken to me about anything. I will be contacting your superiors and informing them of the disgusting manner in which you have treated me, and the way you have abused my cooperation and my hospitality. And I certainly do hope that a rogue hippogriff tramples you on the way home."

Turning around, Liadán left the room. She wanted to stomp away, but forced herself to leave at a slow, graceful place. He had nettled her. Typically her temper was not lost quite so easily. Still, it only been recently she had shaken the ministry from her back and she did not intend to have them snooping around again. There were a few stones they had left unturned, and Liadán hoped to keep it that way.

It was somewhat refreshing to see his advice taken in such good spirits, Jonas thought cheerfully.  He kept his face carefully expressionless as the woman menaced him with a laundry list that would have gotten her brought in on suspicion of conspiracy ten years past.

He wasn't particularly bothered by the threats on his life - that, he'd certainly heard before, and from others much more intimidating than this young woman, however dire her intentions may be.  It was tempting to nettle her again, just to see which Alighierian hell she decided to visit upon him as punishment.  But the mention of anyone else in his life made Jonas's blood go cold.  The divisions between mundane and magical worlds were not nearly so impenetrable as wizards liked to pretend. 

It was all the more reason to keep certain things separate.

The red-haired man bit his tongue as he was ordered out.  The recommendation to look for a shop in Knockturn would have been more helpful if every shop in Knockturn hadn't been worthy of investigation for illegal trading.  The mention of the d'Aubignes was slightly more helpful.  Jonas would have to look up the proper spelling of the name later, although he had a suspicion that the only reason that Miss Ó Móráin had named them was because they probably practiced the art of skinning and tanning uninvited visitors, or some other endearing pureblooded hobby.

The tiny businesswoman complimented his intelligence, wished him well on his journey, and then managed to gracefully stroll out in spite of it.  Societal breeding apparently brought with it the ability to charmingly meander no matter what one was feeling on the inside, although Jonas would have rather liked to see her perambulation when she attempted to lodge her complaint with his superiors and found out that they didn't exist.

He sighed, and then for lack of anything better to do, gave the remaining house elf a sympathetic look.  "Well, at least that went well, didn't it?"

The creature lifted its chin, just barely keeping from bearing its teeth in the investigator's direction.  Between the malevolent expression and the wobbly eyes, Jonas rather thought it looked like a wrinkled, hairless teddy bear gone wrong.  "If Master will follow me out..."

The tone unfortunately left no room for discussion.  Jonas decided not to press his luck and rose carefully to his feet, tucking his hands in his pockets and stealing one last look around the room as he started out.  With any luck, the Knight Bus was halfway to Aberystwyth by now, so at least his stomach would have a chance to recover before he had to board it for the roiling ride back to London.