“Because,” an angrily indignant voice echoed through the vaulted atrium of the Ministry, “you gave me a shrunken head!!” A clump of warlocks wading through security looked up to see, to no little surprise, Alberic Grimm receiving his (no doubt) just desserts from an Auror, who was gesturing wildly.

Few gave the pair any particular attention; Alberic’s response was quiet and subdued; though the pair appeared to be the same side of two coins, Alberic’s comportment rather assured there would be no duel beneath security’s nose.

“I don’t,” he was saying in level, even tones, “see what you are so upset about. It appeared to me you were in need of it.”

“And that’s the other thing! Looking me up in the Hall of Prophecies Registrar!” The Auror, though an inch shorter than the other man, advanced menacingly. “Try explaining to your mother on Christmas day about that!”

“Well, I’m sorry you’re upset about that, but it’s hardly my fault if you haven’t told her, Adon. I’d recommend you deal with that sooner rather than later; it can’t be good to keep those sorts of secrets from family.”

The Auror’s nostrils flared. “That’s my business. Not yours. Normal people just give ties or something, you know.”

“Yes, well, I thought with that noose already hanging around your neck,” Alberic reached out to gesture casually at the air about the Auror’s throat, only to have his hand slapped away. He didn’t seem to notice, though the hand flared an angry red. “--things might get a little crowded.” He took a breath, raising his eyebrows. “You know, anyone can get a’body neckwear. I’ve always thought,” he said, beginning to follow the Auror, Adon, as he turned and walked away, towards the lifts, “that the purpose of family is to offer help than no one else can.”

The Auror’s jaw muscles twitched as he shoved his hands in the pockets of his red cloak, looking up at the golden arrow which indicated which level the lift was on. Right now, its point hovered over “Neverwhere.” He sighed and glanced down at his watch.

“At any rate,” Alberic continued; the Auror jolted and glanced over at the man, seemingly unsettled. “I was hoping—“

“I’m late for a meeting.”    

“No; you were going to lunch. You were headed out the door.” It was true. Almost anyone who had had eyes had watched the long-legged Alberic double his stride to catch up with his nephew, who had been checking out at the security desk.

“No, I’m late for a meeting,” the Auror repeated. The lift arrived and he stepped onto it, muttering a terse “Afternoon” to Malone, who already stood within. Without another word, he jerked the lift’s grate forcefully, trying to close it upon his relative. He was not, however, quick enough to prevent Alberic’s boot from making its way in. Adon pulled harder, causing the metal to rattle and the attendant to open his mouth. “Sir, please. His foot—“ he began. But Alberic showed little acknowledgement of the pain from his pinned appendage.

“Come now, nephew,” Alberic said, voice a bit gruff as he managed to pry the grate open enough to wedge his shoulder in. “I’ll go down with you.” He smiled at the lift attendant who, pressing the Red Button bade the doors open. Alberic nodded curtly as he tugged upon the sleeves of his coat to straighten it. “Thank you.” Sidling in, he gave a light sigh to recompose himself, looking about to take in the company before continuing on as before. “Anyhow, as I was saying, family ought to provide members with what they stand in particular need of.”

“Family has the ability to guess suited presents because they know each other and talk to each other. Not because they hold an inquest on them.”

If Alberic heard, he gave no indication. “They ought to use their expertise to provide something really special, if they can. I don’t happen to be an authority in neckwear.”

“You got Akiva chocolate.”

“Well, yes. I’m not really an authority on that, either, but, to be perfectly honest, I don’t really know the girl nor do I particularly care what sort of present I get her. It was a vague gesture. One has to do those things from time to time.”

“I could show you a vague gesture, Uncle Alberic,” Adon said, turning on his uncle. And, in the crowded lift, he did so.

Uncle Alberic pressed his lips together. “You’re a charming lad. It’s wonders that a charming lad like you’s got enemies wanting to kill you.”

“No more shrunken heads, Alberic. No more arsenic. No more crucifixes. . .”

“Charming.” Alberic was now looking towards the other occupants of the lift for allies.

“You did catch the part about us being Jewish, right?”

Alberic gave a sharp, bitter laugh. “Hard to forget the conditions of one’s estrangement.”

“Crucifixes.”

“Yes, well, I’m not exactly a monk, either, but even I acknowledge they have their purposes.”

The moment the lift halted at level two, the attendant threw open the door abruptly, exchanging glances with Malone. “Level Two!” he announced insistently, even as the two gentlemen continued to quarrel over him.

Seeing the two men side by side was enough to give anyone a start. 

In Charlene's mind, Adon Eleor and Alberic Grimm occupied very different parts of the world.  Eleor was very firmly engrained in Level Two, where he worked, broke protocol, and disappeared for weeks on end in the middle of an important investigation that she still wasn't sure he deserved to be heading up.  Judging by the current  conversation that she and everyone else waiting for the lift couldn't help but overhear, he was also apparently an ungrateful prat, complaining bitterly about a Christmas present that his current companion had evidently been kind enough to give him.

Charlene kept her mouth firmly closed, doing her best not to look at either man as the second finally managed to board the lift and they began their argumentative descent.  In contrast to his hot-tempered companion, Alberic Grimm was well-mannered, dryly witty, and probably destined to be Minister some day if Charlene didn't get there first.  She had never in her right mind considered the possibility that the two men would ever spend time together except on a case, let alone that they could possibly be related, but looking at them side by side left little doubt. 

The resemblance was uncanny.  Eleor's hair, their eyes, Alberic's jaw - she probably shouldn't be looking there.  Pressing her mouth firmly closed, she forced her gaze away determinedly.

They might be related, but listening to them fight as the lift continued on its way down was grating on her nerves.  Listening to Eleor fight - he proved the point by giving Alberic a rather rude gesture, which Charlene returned with a rather dark look.  She didn't know anything about anyone trying to murder the younger of the two Eleor brothers, but considering how often he seemed to abandon his post and just leave the Ministry to the wolves, it didn't surprise her.  If he ever did that to one of her investigations, she'd probably consider doing him in herself.

Even the arrival at their apparent destination didn't break the two men's quarrel.  Charlene exchanged a look with the lift operator, who was beginning to look a tad desperate, and decided to take matters into her own hands.

"He said it's Level Two," she put in pointedly, giving her fellow Auror a harsh look.  Alberic was spared; she didn't quite want to make eye contact with him right now, and besides, he obviously hadn't been the one who started the fight.  "You'll hold up the lift.  And weren't you going to lunch anyhow?" she asked politely, as she stepped around the two men and started into the corridor.  "Our meeting's not until three.  You didn't have to rush so getting down here."

"Yes, our meeting is at three," Adon repeated with emphasis, nodding. "I have a meeting before then; it was supposed to be a lunch meeting, but since he's not at the atrium, I thought I'd check to see if I missed him down here."

Alberic gave a soft, "Ah."

As they exited the lift, Alberic looked at Malone and a gave a curt, single nod. Adon suspected Malone, who had a habit of finding excessive fault in anything Adon might say, would take this as an invitation to join in Alberic's sport. Malone and Alberic probably deserved each other. They shared the same hobbies, after all. They could get together in the evenings and flay men alive.  Best to be rid of them both at once.

Adon scowled and proceeded towards the Auror's offices. Hearing his step echoed, he pivoted around once more. Alberic was no further from him than before.

Two more steps. Echoed. He turned. The same distance.

"Look, Uncle Alberic, is there something you're in need of?"

"Lunch. Come, and we can go together; I'll even pay."

"I can't. I'm meeting with someone in the DIMC." Adon, having said this, closed the distance between him and the entrance to the Auror's office, hesitating at the door and eyeing the minute dwarf owl used for interdepartmental correspondence who regarded him with beady, red eyes even as it took five steps back, out of arm's length of the Auror. At least the bird knew what it ought to be doing.

"You mean your brother," Alberic said, his voice a little airier as he followed behind him, his smirk a little more crooked. Adon sighed as he noticed Alberice glance over towards Malone. Alberic knew exactly what he was about; he was gaining a sure ally in the Auror. The bastard.

Of course he meant his brother. Adon knew very well that the only person capable of 1. reading Adon's need for a lie and 2. willing to comply was, here in England, limited to Dreogan.  To Alberic, he said, "It's for an investigation." This was true enough, in its way. Nor did he confirm or deny that it was Dreogan he'd be meeting with. He usually didn't meet with Dreogan on Ministry grounds; they were trying to investigate a Ministry official, after all. And in Dreogan's office no less. So there were a fair few lunches out. Which had a way of extending indefinitely.

Adon felt sure he looked the most slovenly of the Aurors -- long, extended lunches away with his brother. Long, extended lunches away with no one in particular -- in which case, it was Trevelyan. Most didn't really believe that Adon and Dreogan were actually working and, for now, Adon prefered it that way. They were closing in and no one even believed it. But they were making progress, and, in the end, that was what mattered. Right now, however, he felt like things would never reach a close. Which was why, initially, he was going to grab a quick sandwich at the atrium café and hunker down for some hours. He did not need an absentee relative to start poking his nose in his life. Not when he was on his way towards getting things done.

"Well," Alberic said. Adon could see the man's internal struggle and he mirrored his relative's smirk, quite content to realise he might win this round. While Alberic clearly suspected bullshit, he couldn't very well disagree with the proposed excuse. "Dreogan will be coming down, then? Perhaps I'll stay until then. I'd wanted to pay my respects anyhow."

Adon kept a straight face, but victory seemed less sweet, somehow. "Fine."

This was just dandy. Adon reached out towards interoffice owl, who he had been so merciless to that the bird actually screeched and attempted to break free of its tether the moment he saw Adon's hand closing in. Adon sighed, dropping his hand to his side and fishing out a ripped up bit of parchment. He put down his satchel and pulled out the self-inking quill. Moving back towards the Auror's entry door, he began to scrawl a one-line note against the wall, attempting to prevent Alberic from reading over his shoulder or the owl from doing itself some serious harm. Adon's solution to both was to draw in the tether to reduce the level of flapping the owl was capable of. Any flapping would, however, take place directly in front of Alberic. Maybe he'd get smacked in the face.

Unfortunately, Alberic was not also tethered. He switched to Adon's other side, coming to read over his other shoulder. Aloud.

"Thought you said meet in the atrium. Didn't see you there; am waiting below on Level Two. Uncle Albie sends his regards. Come soon. You know," Alberic stated casually, "owls are considered to be the guardian of souls. They get a negative association with death, but really it is in a mortal's best interest to make friends with the protectors of the dead, seeing as someday, they shall be our keepers. In due time."

Adon was still bent over his now completed note, rolling it up with white knuckles. He remained silent. His uncle, unfortunately, did not.

"If you're determined to be uncivil to humans, you may do worse than to make friends with the owls." As though to prove his point, when Adon straightened, Alberic had the miniscule owl perched calmly atop his finger. The god of the undead, with a long finger, rubbed the downy space between the bird's eyes, at the juncture of the beak, serenely. The owl closed its eyes contentedly emitting an odd, crooning noise until, between slitted lids, it noticed Adon's approaching fingers.

It gave an almighty hiss and lashed out, shrugging its wings in an attempt to look menacing.

"Mmm," his uncle stated. "Needs improvement. Allow me." He held his hand out for the note and, without much ado, attached it and sent the bird off on its way.

"Malone," Adon said testily, "don't you ever eat?" This was a sure dismissal, but Alberic brightened and Adon was pretty sure Alberic could not have misread the enmity between the two of them.

"Yes! That's very careless of me. Have you had lunch yet, Miss Malone?" This was conclusive evidence: Alberic didn't want a serving of lunch. He wanted a healthy serving of revenge. Adon narrowed his eyes, looking at the lift and doing his best to will Dreogan towards them faster.

It wasn't difficult to come up with ways to look busy in the Auror office.  Charlene had snagged a file folder from off her desk, and then slowly strolled toward Raynor's private office.  Running a finger along the carefully handwritten line (her doing, not Pratt's - she'd finally given in and recopied them all over one night) gave her the perfect cover so that she didn't look as if she were eavesdropping.

Judging by how loud the continuing conversation was, she really hadn't needed to bother.  Neither Eleor nor his more refined uncle made much of an effort to lower their voices, and any of the other Aurors who were still lurking about would have overheard as much as she had.  Charlene couldn't help feeling disappointed, and not for the first time, at Adon Eleor's work effort.  Lately, all he'd been doing was taking extended lunches with and without his brother.  She didn't mean to question Raynor's judgement, but if the Israeli Auror really had so much free time on his hands, there were plenty of other investigations that he could have been helping out with in the meantime.

Even so, she would have tried to be less conspicuous if it weren't for the fact that Alberic Grimm kept glancing her way.  Charlene straightened, taking that as an invitation to close the file as she lingered by the conversation.  Maybe all the years of suffering through investigations involving potential undead influences had finally paid off.

She watched, faint amusement growing, as Alberic first intercepted and displayed the note and then helped the luckless Adon attach it to the owl.  When Adon finally turned and tried to dismiss her, she simply smirked.

"Yes! That's very careless of me. Have you had lunch yet, Miss Malone?"

Charlene paused, not having expected this turn of events, and then turned to give the necronomist a warm smile.  "No, not yet," she replied, tucking the file folder under her arm.  "I was just coming back to fetch something.  Were the two of you thinking of going?" she asked sweetly, raising an eyebrow at Adon.  It was clear that the other Auror was not thinking of going to lunch with his uncle; rather, he was doing anything he could to prevent it.  "You don't mind if I join you, do you, Mister Grimm?"

Alberic's smile was smooth; composed. Flawless. It was the sort of smile perfected through practise and consistent due to a lack of actual sentiment. It was all calculation, and it was precise every time.

"Just something quick, I think," he replied, pausing as he noted the courier owl return and, without hesitation, alight upon Alberic's shoulder, where it began ruffling its beak affectionately through his hair. He held out his hand and the small owl perched atop a finger as Alberic freed the message. He read it, silently this time, watching over the paper the exasperated expression on his nephew's face more than the neatly scrawled words upon the parchment.

"It seems," he said, handing the letter over, which was snatched quickly by his nephew, "that Dreogan will not be able to join us. He'd forgotten his prior engagement but assures you he's still on for tomorrow."

He waited a few moments in silence as Adon read and re-read the letter at first anxiously, then despairingly. "Everything alright?"

"Yes. Yes, it's fine," Adon said distractedly, tucking the note away into is crimson robes and looking back up at them. "Well--"

"--I think we had better, considering the later hour, go with just the Atrium this time," Alberic offered. Adon's jaw set; Alberic watched the slight twitch in the muscles there and made an effort to relax his own muscles. His smile became more natural as he did so. "I understand your hesitation, Adon; I'd not have picked it either, were it not for the convenience, but," he shrugged and looked over to Malone. "Does that suit you?"

Even with the obvious similarities between uncle and nephew, Charlene couldn't help marveling at the fact that the two men couldn't be more different.  Alberic, on the one hand, had such a smooth, affable smile, and was quite gracious in including her in their lunchtime intentions.  Adon, on the other hand, looked as though he had just received word of his brother's death rather than a refusal of his invitation.  Charlene had to keep herself from sniffing disdainfully in the other Auror's direction.  Apparently Eleor couldn't stomach the thought of taking a quick lunch with colleagues and then returning quickly to work instead of his usual leisurely breaks.

"Yes, it suits me perfectly," she replied politely.  Alberic's smile became even more friendly and good-natured as he glanced to her, and she couldn't help mirroring the expression in return.  He really was such an intelligent, likable man.  It was too bad that Adon Eleor hadn't received any of his uncle's good manners.  "That should leave us plenty of time to prepare for the three o'clock meeting.  After you, gentlemen?"

****

This time, the ride in the lift finished without incident, death threat, or rudely composed gesture.  The Atrium was nearly full, per the usual for the lunch hour.  Years of experience at grabbing a quick meal while on a case allowed Charlene to gracefully dodge the crowd, securing her tray and exiting in search of an empty table.

Most of the chairs were full.  Charlene kept an eye out for Ackerly or one of her other more pleasant colleagues as she navigated through the hall, finally catching sight of an open table.

"I hope this is all right?" she asked Alberic politely.  The necronomist had proved even more skilled at adeptly laying claim to his meal; Charlene would have sworn that he had just apparated through the crowd.  "It doesn't look as though we have many choices.  Not that your nephew would be happy, no matter where we sit," she added dryly, as she set her tray down on the table and took a seat.  "It seems as though he's determined to be purposely unpleasant."

While Adon had peeled away from the group at the first opportunity, Alberic had taken his time observing his companions. Marlene moved with a grace befitting a woman. Adon on the other hand seemed to get by through a combination of swift maneuvering and force, lightly jostling elbows when necessary. Alberic, for a moment, thought his direction might veer towards the entrance. However, once satisfied that both Marlene Malone -- that really was a horrid name -- had no intentions of escape, he made his own way, advancing spirit-like through the crowd, without being much noticed. He ordered his usual meal and waited, gazing at the ceiling as the servers scooped spoonfuls of nearly unrecongnisable slush upon the plate.

Rejoining Marlene, who was waiting for him, he nodded wordlessly as she pointed to table. He gave an amused, cynical smile as he noticed Kurby Bagnold nearby. Bagnold seemed to notice him, too, straightening up to catch a view of him like a meerkat. He could only look better by comparison.

It seemed Marlene was already more than happy to make these advantageous comparisons; Alberic was very pleased but did not show it, giving an affable smile as he shook his head. "Adon is like his mother; strong willed, but that has its benefits, I am sure. In your line of work, perhaps, determination is vital. Though it ought," he said, smile growing warmer, "ought to be tempered by some manners, it is true. He's young. It's not too late. Who is his partner? Perhaps he might be of some help in that."

That Adon's partner would be male went without saying. Despite Raynor's presence, and obviously Marlene's -- something in the back of his head told him the name might be Charlotte, but he was certain it was Malone -- women really didn't belong on Level Two. Or Level Four, really.

Charlene regarded the necronomist carefully, arranging her knife and fork so that they were parallel to her plate before she turned her attention to her lunch.  She didn't know how carefully Alberic followed the exploits of his nephew, but if he had to ask about the state of Adon's assignment within the department, he obviously hadn't been following much of the goings-on within Level Two for the past few months.

"Well, his partner was Daphne Spencer," she replied, lowering her voice as she kept a careful eye out for Adon's approach.  "But that ended back on November first for obvious reasons."

Aberdeen Spencer's fall from grace was still a relatively difficult subject for most of the department; the Scottish Auror had been put on leave after Robards' murder.  Spencer had been one of the few other women on Level Two, and Charlene had liked and respected her quite a bit.  Seeing any one of their number fall was always difficult, but Eleor seemed to have taken the disaster with his former partner relatively hard.  She didn't particularly want him to walk up on their table while she was discussing the subject with his uncle.

"He hasn't been reassigned since then, to my knowledge," she replied, lifting her fork.  Which was dangerous, especially considering that Eleor was so inexperienced as an Auror.  The Israeli was barely out of training, and whatever prior experience he had brought to the table, he had plenty to learn about Ministry policies and procedures.  Not to mention dedication.  "Although he'd be perfectly welcome to my partner, if he ever got desperate.  I just don't think that's really a priority of his, considering that his focus seems to be more on taking long lunch breaks than actually getting any work done," she added dryly.  "I hate to say anything negative, of course, but he -"

Lunchtime at the Ministry was a necessary evil.  Most days, Kurby simply took his lunch inside the WCU office, but there were times when the other members of the squad proved to be too much.  Today was unfortunately one of those days.  The latest craze among the younger members of the team had manifested in the form of dueling enchanted paper animals, which were perfectly tolerable the first five times Kurby had had to incinerate them but grew old once he moved into the second dozen.  A desire to not be brought up on manslaughter charges had driven him from Level Four and forced him to take refuge in the Atrium, which was still full of plenty of irritating people but at least offered a break from the nonstop onslaught of exuberant young personalities on the Capture Unit.

Kurby had found a table by himself.  Protecting his solitude was easy enough; he just glared at anyone who ventured near him, which was usually enough to spur them on their way.  He kept a careful eye out as he began to eat his lunch, watchful for any potential hazards  amid the usual bustle of the Atrium.

One familiar figure, tall and lean, made him sit bolt upright in his seat.  Kurby tensed, fingers gripping the edge of the table as he glared in the direction of his least favorite cousin.  Grimm was in the well-deserved company of the irritating curly-haired Auror from Level Two, a woman that Kurby did not have a high opinion of after she'd come down on him hard for not properly documenting a capture a few years back.  He had never liked Malone and went out of his way to avoid her, but Kurby had a score to settle with his cousin. 

Glowering, the werewolf hunter rose to his feet, gathered up his belongings, and stomped over to Grimm's corner, forcibly slamming his tray down on the table next to the pantywaist necromancer with a suddenness that made Malone jump.

"Imagine runnin' into you here, Grimm," he snapped, glaring straight at his cousin as he pulled out the chair next to him and swung it around to sit.  "I didn't think you ever found the time to take lunch with the living.  Did you decide to give the extra-curricular voodoo a rest after last week, then, or can we expect some sort of Inferii uprising out of yesterday's mashed carrots?"

"Spencer?" Alberic repeated with a rare tone of surprise. That was unexpected. He ought to have reconsidered his present. He could have done with some veritaserum. "When is his birthday?" he asked next. "No matter," he said, waving his hand airily. He could look that up somewhere.

The next comment, criticising Adon's work ethic, was not as surprising, however and Alberic frowned slightly, musing as he took in a spoonful of mushy peas. That seemed interesting. He had imagined Raynor as a better slavedriver than that. He himself -- he could take such liberties, because he had no supervisors. He was both servant and master.

"Of course," he responded to Malone's comment a bit drily. Malone jumped as a tray was slammed down onto the table. Alberic smiled with an eerie calm, looking up at his cousin before motioning in a genteel fashion to the chair, which Kurby flipped around to straddle.

"Imagine running into you here, Grimm," he snapped. Alberic's smile grew more genuine.

"It doesn't take much imagination in a place like this, Kurby, but I can manage." He leaned back in his seat, listening silently and patiently to what Kurby had to say, steepling his fingers contemplatively. "No," he responded simply. "I came for the beef and arugula sandwiches, actually." He blinked, waiting. If there was going to be an uprising, it would come from Bagnold.

The banging tray might have been enough to make her jump, but the glare that Charlene shot Bagnold in return should have been enough to turn the werewolf hunter's blood to ice.  There were some individuals, she believed very strongly, who should not be allowed out into polite company, let alone to hold down a job at the Ministry.  Bagnold was unfortunately one of them.  He was uncouth, hot-tempered, and generally unpleasant to be around.  She held no doubt that if worse ever came to worst, the Capture Committee would be able to find a more-than-suitable replacement without even stretching its recruitment.

To add insult to injury, Bagnold wasn't even acknowledging her.  He continued to glare at Grimm with a mutinous expression on his face.

"What the bleedin' hell do I look like, Muggly the Bear?" he demanded sharply, looking as if he wished he could slam his tray down a second time for added effect.  "You hexed me!  Again!  And I don't care how many goddamned times you deny it, I know that you were -"

"This is not the time and place to be launching unfounded accusations, Bagnold," Charlene cut in sharply, shifting in her seat to force herself into the wizard's range of vision.

The former Gryffindor, as well as being entirely without manners, was also completely paranoid.  In many ways, it made her doubt the Werewolf Capture Unit's training methods.  Aurors dealt with all kinds of deadly threats, and no one ever saw them randomly accusing innocent passerby in the lunchroom of conspiring against them (well, except for that one unfortunate incident with Bailey, but to be fair, Radley really had enchanted the lift doors to ignore him).  If this was the man's way of dealing with the stress, then perhaps it was time for retirement.

Bagnold shot her a dirty look.  "Yeah, because usin' voodoo to make me twist my ankle again is completely founded and reasonable!" he growled through clenched teeth.  Charlene barely stopped herself from rolling her eyes; the older man was so overdramatic, every other word out of his mouth was italicized for effect. 

"This is the last straw," he snapped at Alberic.  "You hear me?  I'm goin' to Gertrudis.  And if she won't listen, I'll take it all the way to the bleedin' Minister."

Adon had hung a while back hoping to defect to another company; he sought Radley, Pratt, even Bailey. Seeing no one, he then began to outsource to other departments. Dreogan in DIMC was busy. As was Stanton the Obliviator. Akiva? No. Which left him with Kurby Bagnold.

Adon grinned as he caught sight of the broody werewolf hunter hunched over his tray. With a lengthy stride, Adon began to head over, coming to a halt as he noticed Bagnold start abruptly, rise from his seat and move towards the very table he had been attempting to avoid with a vengeance.

With a dramatic sigh, Adon contemplated his tray of purchased goods. "Moloch," he rumbled before making slow progress towards dear uncle Albie and his crew. There truly was no other recourse.

By the time he had arrived, drudging forward as though a part of a funerary procession, Malone was already scolding Bagnold for some, presumably, heated words. He slid his things half-heartedly onto the table, slumping into the seat beside Malone with an air of resignation. Braving a sympathetic glance at Bagnold, he said "I have a shrunken head for corroborating evidence." He smiled in satisfaction as Alberic directed a disapproving frown all for him. Well now.

"That had been a present. If I'd wanted to give it to the Minister, or Gertrudis, I would have done so," he said evenly before loading his fork with mushy peas. "You should watch your step, Kurby. Perhaps Adon here can help you with that; I hear you two get together for sparring and hand-to-hand. Is that correct?"

Allies at the Ministry were usually few and far between.  Kurby was so busy glaring at Grimm, ignoring Malone, that he almost missed his other cousin taking the last seat at the table.  Adon's words made him glance over sharply; he stared at the Auror for a beat as he digested the meaning and realized that the new arrival wasn't about to open a third front of attack.

Kurby hesitated for a moment, and then shot Adon a smirk, resting his elbows on the back of the chair as he looked back smugly at Alberic.  Knew it.  He'd known the necromancer was trafficking in something dark and illegal.  No doubt Grimm would claim that it was something necessary for his work (the werewolf hunter could mimic his posh tone perfectly in his head), but shrunken heads were shrunken heads.  If Grimm were giving them out like favors at a Hogwarts graduation, then maybe someone would finally take Kurby's complaints seriously and investigate him.  Even Malone was staring at Adon now, a wary look on her face.

Grimm's next words, so casually put forth, snatched his attention back again.  Kurby shot him a dark look, bristling as he drew himself to his full seated height.  "What's that supposed to be, some sort of threat?" he demanded, his voice rising.  "I'd watch my step just fine if you didn't keep hexin' me, Grimm.  And it's none of your bleedin' business what we-"

"Does anyone else think that this conversation is delving into the intensely paranoid?" Malone put in loudly, giving him an irritated look.

Kurby ignored her.  "-what we do," he finished, his own volume rising as he glared at the necromancer.  "Are you goin' to start usin' voodoo on Eleor if he spends too much time with me, then?  I'm sure Raynor will love it when her men start breakin' their ankles every fifth day."