As Torquil read over a note he had just received, he eyed Kaz poking his feathered tail into his office, sidestepping on the rim of his cubicle. The Falcon’s boredom only reminded him that The Daily Prophet wasn’t really where Torquil did most of his work. When he first went to work for the Prophet and took up some assignments, he made the mistake of leaving some paperwork in his office, wherein the next day some of his research turned up in the paper, unfinished, mismatched, disorganized—someone got fired that day, and he took a hit to his pay that year. No. Ever since that first year he worked strictly out of his rucksack, even when he just stepped out of the office to speak with someone he does his routine: everything goes into a box, which is then shrunken down to a handheld cube, and neatly and securely stored in his bag, and repeated until all his work was strictly portable and never left his side. He was usually worked outside of the office anyway, which was probably why his dark-feathered falcon was so easily bored. So, when Torquil went into work he either organized his schedule, spoke with collaborators, or took up assignments—the latter of which, he just got an owl about from one of the senior staff.

He went through the necessary motions to rearrange his office into his bag, slide it down under the arm of his robes and proceeded out into the hall to meet with another employee; a rare occasion, and Kaz started following him over cubicles. Out of all the people who bustled by him, greeted him, and worked in the building, there were few people that Torquil trusted with his work, and even fewer he would immediately find himself working with. The Prophet was not a workplace composed of the most noble of journalists. They often wrapped up an article with lime lies and drizzled it with a delectable vocabulary. It was that or whatever was once the truth or fact was twisted beyond even a contortionist’s understanding.

Yes, it was nice to weave up a dramatic tale, but an educated theory or approach could have the same effect. However this concept was a little foreign to the employees at the Prophet—a fair-weather method, but for those who did have it, were the ones to whom Torquil enthusiastically lent his services.

Kaz hopped onto the rim of another cubicle, turning into the office as Torquil knocked on its wall and called into it, “Thursby? You wanted something?"

"Foley!" Niobe spun around in her stool and threw up her hands.  But instantly her face changed to a squinty-eyed kissy face for Kaz. 

"Dere he is! Ickle Kazzie-Kaz!" She waved a single finger at him, having learned better than to reach for the falcon.  She tossed him a nibble of sandwich crust she'd been working on, and bit her lip as he expertly caught it and swallowed it down.  She hoped he'd fluffle his feathers at her or maybe cock his head.  She lived and died for that falcon sometimes.

When she re-noticed the grizzled old Foley again, her expression came back down to humans speaking with humans.  And for Foley it was an amicable smile.

"I've got fun for us, I have," she sang chipperly.  She handed him a thin file and bit her lip while he opened it.

"You saw the recall from O Morain Farms?  Boring boring boring, eh? Think twice.  That family's closer to Akzaban than the Malfoys.   Bollocks me backwards if that recall's an accident.  Know anything about the o Morain's, do ya? I could use you on this."

Foley was one of those Propheteers that Niobe had idolized since she was a kid.  His photography from the Battle of Hogwarts was iconic journalism from that time.  He was dependable, professional, and his falcon was extremely awesome.  He was never at HQ, so they didn't get tons of time to chat, but he was around enough that they'd grown familiar.  She tried to snag him for her own stories whenever he was free.

As Niobe spun around and quickly threw her undivided attention, and food, to Kaz, Torquil found it rather amusing. Did having an animal around assist in winning over the affections of a woman? Would that simple detail have made it to find himself a wife when he was younger? After turning the idea over in his head back when he met Delilah, his stressed his face—no no, that was a ridiculous idea. He discarded his thoughts as Kaz flapped his wings and proudly extended them by his side and then fluffed his feathers. The Irishman rolled his eyes at the creature as it began to stalk the cubicle—that bird was a real showoff sometimes.

Torquil met Niobe’s with raised brows as the folder extended towards him he popped out his glasses from a breast pocket in his robes and parked them on his face. His critical eyes studied the contents within the folder: The O’Morains, his immediate family. Had his mother not been so ashamed of Torquil, he might have had their name as well, and the social burdens that came along with it. But alas, he did not, and he had grown rather fond of his name, despite how much fonder he was of his family. Despite the fact that Cael illegally bred dragons and surrounded his farm with muggle killing charms, Cael always treated Torquil kindly and like a brother. Because of that, Torquil considered Cael able to handle himself and the consequences of breeding dragons, so Torquil never touched the matter himself.

But now, such a matter just seemed to be sitting right in front of him, and he felt as though he just couldn’t ignore it. As Niobe spoke again, Torquil wiped his mouth with his free hand, and continued to observe the contents of the folder.

“Oh yes, I grew up around Cael and helped take care of his son, after the Azkaban ordeal” he said in a solemn tune, formulating a few ideas of his own under his furrowed brow, “Rather… messy,” The thought of Liadan following her father to Azkaban made his heart sink into his chest, and he licked his thumb and fingered to the next page.  “I can tell you that Liadan makes it her business to stay out of trouble though, cleaned out the whole business after Cael  and started over—did a great job.” Torquil knew better, Liadan wasn’t really one to get into trouble, so she couldn’t have been involved with this, at least she shouldn’t. It wouldn’t make sense that she would just bring down her own business, it was a ridiculous idea—how would she benefit? “But this doesn’t make sense. It could be sabotage, something strange, some sort of misshap…” The red-head’s thoughts hit a dead end and he rubbed his forefinger across his face again and then popped it above his mouth, trying to piece together some sense to all this.

When Torquil said that he'd grown up with Cael O Morain, Niobe gave him a sort of chiding Are You Serious? face. Cael O Morain was a seriously dark wizard.  And while they were all Irish up in here - well Niobe just hadn't expected Foley to have any connection with the O Morain's, let alone one so close as babysitter.

"Call me less than optimistic about Liadan O Morain," Niobe said, her voice unsympathetic and kind of cold.  "But trouble up there isn't some accident.  Shifty as all get out.  If Liadan's stayed out of trouble, she's probably just better at navigating these modern times than her old man.  I'm not asking for a witch hunt..."

She wrinkled her nose and winked, "but I can guess there's going to be a witch at the end of it."

She sat back in her chair and crossed her arms over her chest.  "Can you handle his, mate?  Not too close to home?  You know me though, you come up with something and it's not what I thought I'd be, you know I'll be fair.  I'm always fair," she shrugged at that last bit.

"I'm open to being wrong.  What about you?"

Torquil’s eyes flitted up for a moment and he sniffed at Niobe’s reaction. He then returned his attention to the folder and started sorting through the recesses of his mind again. What was necessary? What was responsible? What was the right thing to do?

   I'm not asking for a witch hunt..."

Torquil looked up with a drooping stoic expression, feeling as though some weight was lifted off of him—

She wrinkled her nose and winked, "but I can guess there's going to be a witch at the end of it."

But they were both right on one thing, he was sure, that this was suspicious—the matter came down to who had the better hunch?

Then Niobe spoke about fairness—her fairness, which was fairly fair considering she worked for the Daily Prophet. Yes, it was very close to home, but Niobe was no Skeeter. She didn’t run to Tibet with yetis about a flobberworm in Diagon—no, Thursby was a good investment in faith and honesty, and he could take up this story with her.

“Well, I’m not the Ministry, it’s not like it’s my business to know what’s going on there—of course, it never really is for just about anything any of us do,” Torquil creased the folder shut,  “The Ministry itself isn’t vocal on this type of thing though, they might cover it up, and who knows what else might happen, since this smells about as rotten as a runespoor egg.” He curled his lips inwards and let his mustache hover over the line of his mouth, as he came to a decision, “I think this is important enough to dig into.”

“I’m sure Liadan knows this as well.” He nodded his head like was bobbing a huge weight on his shoulders, “If she gives me some room on this then I’m sure she knows all the repercussions of anything suspicious going on, or that might show up in the paper. She always thinks about those things—be it friends, family, or foes.”

What about his own children? If they were up to something and it came up on his work, would he do this? It would probably depend, but as long as they knew what he was about, then all was fair--but he couldn't help but think there were some things that he would rather handle on his own when it came to his family... Of course, there were personal matters, that could be kept personal, and then public ones. Torquil considered this public. This matter seemed too important to ignore, and maybe he could help Liadan, or talk to her if she truly did something herself.

Niobe watched as he poked through the file she'd been building on the case, and watched his face as his mind worked over just what she was asking - hoping - he'd be able to do for her.

"I know we always get your best," she offered sincerely.  She knew she was asking a lot, but Torquil wasn't some fresh off mooncalf - the man had chops and had been dealing with the ethical dilemmas longer than she'd had a wand.  He'd do what was right by him, the Prophet and his family.  He had integrity and if he couldn't do this job, Niobe was relying on the notion he'd tell her before he got into it, rather than after.

Torquil Foley was almost a hero to Niobe.  Even with this revelation of a possible conflict of interest, she knew he'd be the best to be found.

"You'll do it?" She tried.  Her expression was earnest.  "You'll look into this business for me? Thick or thin? All or nothing, right?"

All or nothing.  Either Niobe could publish a full article without any question about details left out, or she'd not publish anything at all.  Foley would do what he had to do, but if he left anything out to swing the spotlight here or there - it'd make them all look like suckers. 

“Right,” Torquil’s voice gruffly agreed as he head bobbed lightly—he had accepted the job before Niobe even posed the question to him, and so it wasn’t hard to be affirmative with his answer. He holstered the folder under his arm and then stared at the floor fishing for something to say, “I suppose if she is up to something bad, I could try and help her …” he then looked up at Niobe, “steer her in the right direction—some way to help.” and a confident smile turned up his mustache, as Torquil assured himself that Liadán could be helped.

He started to turn to leave and then looked back at Niobe, and chuckled, “Gotta have something to keep us  going, eh?”  The short man then finished his turn and waltzed out of Niobe’s office, as Kaz fluttered and rested onto his shoulder, “I’ll send Kaz you’re way soon,” the reporter finished off in a farewell. He gave a glance towards his falcon who didn’t seem content to settle on his shoulder, probably aware of the fact that he would soon be making a trip to the Ó Móráin farm, before making another trip back to Niobe’s office.