It was distinctly unsettling how much time the younger man had already obviously spent replaying the incident in his head.  Jonas couldn't really deny that he'd done exactly the same; running through a scenario over and over again was far more sleep-inducing than counting sheep ever would be, especially when something was lingering on his mind.  But he still didn't particularly like the fact that Adon felt responsible enough for what had happened that he felt obligated to relive it.

The reference to Aberdeen Spencer in particular was enough to make Jonas grimace.  That was one subject he'd never broached with the younger man; avoiding uncomfortable topics all together was far preferable to referencing them offhandedly in a conversation.

"Well, we ever get caught in a position again where a Metamorphmagus is imitating your brother, we'll know better the next time, won't we?" he asked lightly, flashing the younger man a dry smile.  He took a deep breath and then shook his head.  "Reckon we came out as well as we could've, Adon," he said with a shrug, his eyes flickering to meet the younger mans' gaze.  "I'm sorry you got knocked about so much, but at least no one died from it all, yeah?  If we'd waited for them to come after us instead of setting up Mulogo as a target, I can't think it would've ended so well."

That was something that had the potential to give one nightmares.  If they hadn't expected it -- even if Jonas and Adon hadn't both been there and somewhat alert, it was all too easy to imagine which way the confrontation would have gone.  It made the thought of going back to living entirely alone in his office somewhat foreboding.  Without magic, there was no way that Jonas would stand a chance if some other assassin attacked him there.

"And I reckon you did alright with it, mate," he said again reassuringly, stretching his legs out in front of him as he leaned back in the chair.  "Like I said, soon as you get out of here, might have to get you to show me a trick or too.  Might be worth thinking through some code phrases, too," he added thoughtfully.   "Got enough blokes running around with Polyjuice potion and possession spells now, even aside from the Metamorphs.  Reckon it'd be smart to be ready if something like this happens again."

"Well, we ever get caught in a position again where a Metamorphmagus is imitating your brother, we'll know better the next time, won't we?"

"Yeh," Adon said with a grim smile. "We have possession down already--actually, I thought at first, that that was. . . I might have told Katsaros off. And it wasn't even Katsaros." It felt a little bit funny, now. Thinking about it. Mostly because he'd been kneeing Azorma Hyskos at the time he'd said it. His smile grew timid; more boyish, but faded when Jonas tried to cheer him up. Could have been worse.

"Yeh," Adon responded with a shrug of his own. "I'm actually really angry about that. Knocked around. . ." he explained before glancing back down at the white sheet covering his legs. His candor had, perhaps, been unwelcome. "But it worked," he conceded. Except for that bit where they didn't really break the ring yet, so they'd probably need to spend the rest of their lives guarding Mulogo from assassin after assassin. But they were all alive. He really needed Jonas to remind him all the reasons he needed to be happy about this. He'd already forgotten.

"Is she alive?" he mumbled quietly. Jonas might not have heard; he was continuing about tricks.

Adon looked at the man, heaving a sigh. "Well, sure," he said with a shrug. "Break me from this place, a little booze, and it's th'least I could do." He paused and waited a minute, screwing his face up at 'code phrases.'

"Or you could just work on your magic," he stated bluntly. "The car -- that was fantastic." Adon's drained voice disguised the sentiment--whether sarcastic or sincere. "But you could try something more immediate. There won't always be cars."

The red-haired man paused for a long moment.

"Yeah," he said after a beat.  "I don't know how much working on the magic's going to help though, Houdini.  It's not just like I'm just out of practice," he confessed quietly, interlocking his fingers together.  "I mean, I was, but I was trying with it." 

He paused again, pressing his tongue against his teeth as if he were feeling the sound of each word out before he tried it. Being out of practice had been frustrating enough.  He'd spent hours sitting in his office trying to master simple cleaning spells again; he'd once locked himself out on the street for half a day when a well-meaning attempt to remaster Alohomora had proved less successful than he would have thought.  But even then, it had never been a question of doing magic.  Jonas might not have had full confidence in his abilities after so long spent away, but even in the worst moment, he'd never had a problem spotting the Leaky Cauldron or getting his wand tip to light with a murmured Lumos.

"You...remember the dagger I told you about, yeah?" he asked, his eyes finding Adon's.  "The one Aileen Reid hired me on to find?  I was alright with magic before that," he said with a nonchalant shrug.  "I mean, not great -- it'd been years since I really used it -- but I still could cast spells and whatnot."

He let out a quick breath, forcing the air out between his teeth.  Since November, it was as if the well had all but dried up.  Nothing worked.  Every magical skill he'd ever had had atrophied and died.  Figuring out that there might be a curse had only been a mediocre solution; even though he could get by well enough, especially knowing the explanation, he hated not being in control of it all. 

At least he knew that he could get by.  He'd faked it.  And he'd gotten pretty damned good at faking it.  Even when he'd told Adon, Archer, and Tamis about his troubles back in Scotland, none of the three had ever really questioned his lack of an ability to work magic.  He'd told Tamis again after she had offered him the Auror badge, and his old rival had still waved the topic off. 

But there was a big difference between quietly worrying about something that he couldn't help and could certainly make up for, at least as far as he was personally concerned, and asking a newly close friend to trust his life to something that Jonas could never do.  Adon needed to know the truth.

"I could then.  But not since," he said in a matter-of-fact tone, glancing at Adon.  "Much as we can figure out, there was a curse on the dagger.  I got caught up in it, and now I can't do magic.  Can't cast a spell, can't use a wand -- I couldn't even see Hogwarts when we went there," he admitted, frustration coloring his tone.  The speech was coming a lot more easily now, each work quick and clipped as he plowed on.  "I can't get into Diagon without someone else opening the wall.  I can't apparate.  Can't call the Knight Bus.  I don't know what else to bloody well try, Adon," he finished, giving his friend a helpless look.  "How the hell am I supposed to do any of this without magic?"

"It's not just like I'm just out of practice," Jonas began in that long, drawn out manner that sometimes made Adon want to strangle him or beat him about the head with a volume of Rodheric Persamon. But only when it was handy. . .

Adon looked surreptitiously at the copy laying on the bedside table. His hand inched towards it.

Inwardly, he felt his stomach tighten and his teeth clench. "Not just," Adon repeated. Because that was exactly what Jonas had made it sound like, earlier. But a growled "What the hell!?" was going to stop Jonas on his halting train to reality.

Even the silence was making his head feel cloudy. He leaned in, listening more intently. Dagger. Okay. He nodded numbly, because Jonas seemed to need that just now.

"I mean, not great -- it'd been years since I really used it -- but I still could cast spells and whatnot."

Adon gave a huff as he waited.  He could be calm. Silent. Patient. He tried to give a smile, but it faltered and he dug his fingers into the sheets. "Look--" he broke in. But Jonas seemed to have reached his threshold of silence again.

"I could then.  But not since."

Adon's eyes widened and he shook his head, countenance stony. This was going from bad to worse. Jonas was a Pan until he opened up Pandora's box. Hogwarts--he couldn't see. . . but then. . . was he just a M--

"I can't get into Diagon without someone else opening the wall.  I can't apparate.  Can't call the Knight Bus"

"What the hell!?" Adon burst out, finally. He realized, after a terrified moment, that he had, in all his time spent with the man, not seen him perform one bit of magic. He was like Jacoba--had learned a few key phrases, could fake it convincingly. . .

"You did do magic at sometime, yeh?" Adon asked tersely, not in the mood to be hoodwinked.  Until now, his friend's helpless expression had gone unnoticed. Finally with a sigh, he flopped back onto the pillows. Exhausted. Running through a string of Hebrew curses has he ran a hand over his face, he considered.

"Damn it, Jonas," he scolded briefly. Another sigh. "Never just a visit with you, is it." The phrase struck like an accusation, and Adon sighed once more for good measure. "Don't mean that," he apologized. At least no one was wearing a Santa suit. Though that might have improved things. "So you're sure it's the dagger, then? How?" Jonas had certainly drawn his round of conclusions. It was time to test their viability. Adon just wished we was a little more . . . that his brain was just a bit more. . . present.

The red-haired man tensed, clenching his jaw tightly shut as his eyes snapped back to Adon's features.

"No, I made it through seven years at Hogwarts without ever using a wand," he said, succinct and terse.  "Auror training, too.  Just kept me mouth shut and the lot of them always forgot about it come examinations."

It wasn't just that the response stung.  Jonas trusted the Israeli -- and even more than that, Adon certainly wasn't innocent of throwing ridiculous magical circumstances at him on a regular basis.  Between his brother getting possessed and his own supposed predicted death, the younger Auror had slung his own share of curve balls in the months since they'd met.   

And Jonas had never flinched.  Had never faltered.  There had never been a doubt, never even a question that he'd have the younger man's back in the face of adversity.  Creepy Middle Eastern magic.  Ominous and completely unlikely prognostication.  He'd stood by Adon through all of it, and being snapped at now, even when he knew his friend was in pain and on potions, was not the response he had expected to get.

"Process of elimination," he answered shortly.  He could lay out the evidence succinctly, whether or not the situation met Adon's expectations.  "Reid said the dagger was cursed -- it saps your vitality," he added curtly, slipping into the Runes professor's slight burr.  "I could date when me magic stopped working to right after I handled it; was perfectly fine before it.  Me wand works for anyone else, but I can't use any at all.  Went through and ruled out everything else that had changed about that time."

He looked back at the younger man, clenching his jaw, and then carefully pushed himself up from the chair.  "But since it's never just a bloody visit, I can always let you get back to what you were doing before, Eleor," he said tensely, not bothering to keep himself from sounding hurt.  "Reckon you can let your brother know he was right about the trusting bit."

“What?!” Adon asked, sharply as the man let himself up. “No!” he growled, attempting to reach out forcibly before dropping his hand. The sinews didn’t have the strength in them, even if he’d thought that a particularly wise choice. “Look,” he tried to input reasonably. “Look, just—” He glanced back at Jonas, with that infuriatingly hurt expression on his face, still standing. It couldn’t go down like this; it wasn’t supposed to. He could count on Jonas. Jonas’d always waited it through with him—in the pub where they’d had their first conversation; in the car, with Dree unconscious and possessed; all those times talking about Reid, and the Dream, and Dree, and then in front of the phonebook with his car. . . He wasn’t supposed to just leave him in the hospital!

“Look,” he repeated, swallowing because his throat was so tight he could hear it, “I don’t want you leaving like. . .like this. You didn’t let me, and I always appreciated that. So.” He looked levelly at Jonas. “You’re not leaving just like I didn’t get out of that car.” Because they were partners. And they’d—he’d—screwed it up before. And they’d gotten through it then, too.

But he’d always screwed it up. And Jonas had come. . . bringing him books and visiting, even though he must have been busy. And finally opened up to tell him something he should have told him a long time ago—Adon let out a shuddering breath and squashed the impulse to snap back.

This was all wrong. He’d only felt this sense of self-destruction once: when Thea’d broken off the engagement--moved for the door; when he’d closed it sharply, just as she reached for the handle.

And then, she’d left forever.

Now, wizard jokes aside, Jonas was no Thea and he’d never be. But that didn’t mean he could take any more kindly to bungling this, either.  Not with his best friend. In the god-damned hospital. And order Jonas about—but he hadn’t been trying to sound like that. He was trying to reason this out, but he just—it felt so—why couldn’t he just think for a minute?!

“Alrightalright. Alright,” he said, rubbing a tired hand over his face to buy him some time as he tried to pick better words. He didn’t have many more chances to get it right. The humiliation and pressure he was feeling made him grit his teeth. “I’m sorry. I’m—I’m really sorry, Jonas. I’m just so. . . tired. It’s this place. And the bed. And I’m not Dree. I trust you. I do. I just. . .”

His hand gripped at the sheets, but he tried to keep his face calm. “I’m just angry—a little angry—you didn’t tell me this before. We could have been working on it . . . long time ago. Like we have other things. And. . .” he sighed. This was more thought than he’d put into anything in days, and it was—“it would have been nice to know the extent before, you know. . .” Before he’d started a deathmatch with Azorma Hyskos and nearly lost. But even without magic, Jonas’d. . . The adrenaline of his anger had charged him with an energy that’d made his body, his throat burn. And now that it had left him, as it so often did, he was left with the exhausting shame.


He shifted uncomfortably again. His eyes were stinging—what the hell?—and Jonas’ last words. . . they shouldn’t have felt like an insult, because Adon trusted his brother, too, but he found himself insisting once more: “And I’m not Dree. I wouldn’t do that to you. Ever.”

At least it hadn’t taken that much thinking to say that.

“Please—” he said quietly, looking down at his white-knuckled hand on the sheets, “please don’t call me Eleor.” Jonas had called him that plenty of times before. It was just—the way he said it had sounded so sterile. And final. He sighed and closed his eyes. “Look,” he continued in a low voice, “I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what you want me to say.” Right now, Adon felt like he’d be willing to do just about anything to undo what he’d just . . . done. “Can’t even think straight—harah!” he muttered under his breath.

The words caught him mid-step.  Jonas stopped, his expression strained, as he listened to Adon's speech. 

Walking away was easy.  He'd done it once ten years ago; he'd done it again to Anna.  Disappearing eased the burden of any consequences.  With the current mess at the Ministry and with Tamis, he couldn't honestly say that the thought wasn't lingering somewhere; if the situation got bad enough, he could always hand back the badge and go back to the way things had been.  But he couldn't just vanish on Adon now.  Trust wasn't a word that he wanted to treat so fleetingly.

The red-haired man pinched the bridge of his nose, shutting his eyes briefly, and then let out the breath he hadn't realized that he had been holding. 

"Not all that different from usual, is that?" he asked, giving the younger man a tight smile.  "That's well enough, Adon," he said quietly, putting a hand back on the chair.  "Let's let it be, yeah?  I'm sorry I said that; I know you're not your brother."

He let out another slow breath, trying to force himself to relax, to release the tension from his stance.  He could process both the words and the emotion behind them.  A little angry was probably an understatement knowing the Israeli, but as fierce as Adon's moods could be, they came sharp and brief.  Even so, it was hard not to feel like he needed to defend himself.

Jonas gave a nonchalant shrug.  "Hard to just throw into a conversation, though, innit?" he asked, trying for a blithe tone.  It was incredible how he could suddenly feel as tired as his friend looked.  He braced himself against the back of the chair, resting his arms on it; sitting down again so soon felt too much like admitting defeat.  "Every time I tried to work it in, the subject just got skipped over," he confessed quietly.  "It's not that I wouldn't've told you, mate. I just didn't know how to bring it all up."

He sighed, running both hands over his face.  The subject matter had gotten entirely too dire, and there was a whole world of hypothetical horrible pain and suffering that he would prefer to undergo rather than suffer through such an uncomfortable conversation with anyone -- even Adon.

"You think of any ideas on how to fix it, I'd be open to hearing them," he informed Adon matter-of-factly as he glanced back at him, managing a tight smile.  "I've managed to get by well enough, though.  Reckon it's not hurting much.  Aside from the Auror bits," he added.  The audible undercurrent of guilt gave an edge to his words; that was another unpleasant subject that he didn't particularly want to dwell on, but one that he owed to the younger man.

Jonas shrugged his shoulders, affecting an entirely unconcerned expression as he let his gaze slip past his friend.  "The offer still stands from before, though," he said easily.  "You reckon it'd help to have someone who can watch your back, I can ask Tamis to reassign me, Adon.  Can't imagine she'd protest much at the moment, anyhow."

"Not all that different from usual, is that?"

"What's not? My . . . thinking? Or 'Eleor'?" Adon muttered perplexedly. "You only call me Eleor when you're angry or teasing." Which accounted for 70% of the time. But still. Maybe it wasn't that different from usual. Still, Adon was relieved at the apology. He must have said something right, at least, to make up for the things he'd said wrong. If only he'd known exactly what they were, for next time. . .

"Hard to just throw into a conversation, though, innit"

Adon gritted his teeth and shifted uncomfortably at this. He'd not lose his temper. But Jonas was just so--Trevelian it couldn't always be borne. "No," he interjected sharply before paring back. "You designate conversations about this sort of thing. You bring it up. There's no way I could have known to bring the conversation around to that, because I didn't bloody well--" Adon looked astonished a moment. Flabbergasted, with round eyes at the sounds his mouth had just created. At least his Jonas impersonation was undoubtedly improving. It jsut had an uncomfortable way of slipping into his own person-ation. Clearing his throat, he tried to regain composure. "I had no idea what was going on, so how could I have brought it around to that? You don't try to throw it in," he repeated, "you just say, 'So, Adon. Remember that dagger that I told you about? Well, I'm fu--" he sighed and puffed air from his cheeks . "You don't need to use those words or anything, though. You just bring it up." Really, Adon had learned long ago that there was no real art to bluntness.

"You reckon it'd help to have someone who can watch your back, I can ask Tamis to reassign me, Adon.  Can't imagine she'd protest much at the moment, anyhow."

"Like hell!" Adon snapped, angrily. Having Jonas as a partner was one of the only reasons why he'd not up and left, after a time, to work back in Israel. There wasn't a whole lot here on Level Two for him besides the case, and his partner. And he had the case back in Israel, too.

"We will just fix it," Adon responded simply as he turned his head to look out the window and guage the natural light. This was usually his late-afternoon nap. Though, he supposed, the days had been one, perpetual nap, really. "It's just--" Adon broke off to heft a dramatic sigh, arching his back slightly to stretch. "I want a beer." Another, self-pitying sigh.

He took a few moments to return from delirium. "We take the dagger back. Someone in Egypt's got to have noticed, yeh? There's probably a case on it; or it wouldn't be a stretch to say there could be one." he asked. "We let'm know, let'm. . . we don't let them metion our. . . your name. . . but they show up at Ms. Reid's door to recover it, we look into this curse, and then we. . .'re in business, yeh?" He looked hopefully to Jonas. "England's taken enough from Egypt, anyhow. I think my Min--the Near East Ministry--'s downright angry for all that shit you guys keep in the British Museum. Know Dree had to cover up all that New Year's mummy crap. Thea mentioned it, after January 5th, that she'd also needed to do some things on her end; I don't think that I was supposed to know that." Or tell Jonas. "But it's helpful to know, anyhow."

He cracked an eye open on that. "Was Reid there? All that might have been something to do with the dagger." He considered before adding abruptly, "Grimm was." It was--everything was feeling so connected, so clear, so--inspiriation hit! These potions--they helped with that sometimes. Felix-freaking Felicis. "So here's what we do." He glanced over to Jonas, to make sure he was listening attentively.

"We get Grimm." And once they got Grimm, they'd  Itake his self-righteous bowler hat and shove it-- "I mean, no. We get him to work with us, and we get him to get the dagger--so that if he gets cursed in the process, well," he said with a shrug. He took a self-indulgent moment to envision what Alberic, sapped of vitality might look like. "And then, he can, you know, bring back some spirits from the dead, and learn the curse from them. I mean the counter-curse, if he can. Not the curse. We don't want him. . . I don't really want him knowing how to. . . welll, anyway." His smile was growing. He was a genius. "And then, when he tells it to us, we can then use the dagger--or whatever the countercurse requires. . ." Adon took a moment's thought to extricate himself from any detail-laden courses of action; he was getting a bit ahead of himself. Time to speak more vaguely--just with what he knew. "We just fix it. Well, first there maybe is a chance we'll need to fight off mummies, or something, or go to Egypt--the tomb where she took the dagger from--but we should be able to handle that, I think. I wouldn't worry too much about that yet, Jonas. And we'll have all the essentials, by then, anyhow. And once it's all over, Thea gets her artifact back, Grimm gets to speak to dead things, we get to know more about the curse," Adon grinned dopily. This was--damn it, he was brilliant. "Bam," he said, giving a fumbled snap.

"No, but think about it. Reid and Grimm--I mean, getting the dagger back. . . it'd work, Jonas," he inisted. "And, I mean, bringing people back--" He'd already said all this. "So?" he asked anxiously for input.

Any lingering reservations that the red-haired Auror might have had vanished with the burst of emotion from his friend.  Jonas flashed the younger man a smile, his posture relaxing as he lowered himself to sit again in the chair.  He could deal with anger.  Frustration.  Adon could be furious with him for not saying something sooner, but the knowledge that they could simply move on -- that we will just fix it -- quashed any doubts.

Listening as the younger man rambled on, reasoned through his thoughts out loud, was a miniscule price to pay.  Jonas waited patiently, trying to nod or flash an encouraging smile at the appropriate moments.  The bit about Thea wasn't something that he would have guessed; if Adon wasn't supposed to know it, Jonas doubted even more that his friend was supposed to share that tidbit of information.  Apparently his current potion-inebriated state really had opened the floodgate on the Israeli's self-control.  Jonas filed the bit of information away for use later; he'd have to make it clear to Adon that there were some things that were not to be shared, no matter how many potions he drank.

He kept his expression carefully impassive as Adon moved on to speculating about the museum.  There was no way that Jonas was going to withhold any sort of information from his friend, but now did not seem the appropriate time to share anything that might be sensitive.  He could give the Israeli all of the details about the museum escapade, including his own presence there, once Adon was home and fully sober.

It took a bit of doing not to burst out laughing at the 'Bam!', but he managed.  At least he had something new to quote besides Witch Weekly, now.

"Sounds brilliant," Jonas replied, flashing the younger man an encouraging smile.  "Smashing, in fact.  We'll have to sort through all of the details once you're out of here.  I'll bring over a few beers, and we'll hash through it all then."

He hesitated for a brief moment, and then met the other Auror's gaze once more.  The best way to manage this one was to just be direct.  No reason to risk anyone missing the point.

"Can you keep the bit about me magic to yourself until then, Adon?" he asked, choosing each word with care.  "Not tell anyone that I can't cast spells?  I don't mind if we have to once we start sorting through things," he said with a shrug, "but the fewer folks that know for now, the safer it'll be.  I can still bluff with me wand now if I need to.  If word gets out at all, I wouldn't even be able to do that much."

Adon's smile diminished considerably as Jonas asked--repeatedly and at length--to keep his mouth shut.

He was really worried. Which worried Adon.

"Yeh, Jon. . ." he said, brow knit and voice smaller. "Of course. You know I'd never--I mean, you trust that I wouldn't. . ." he looked down at his hands, then away.

Because of the thought that'd just occurred to him: what if he already had? Not about the magic, because Adon hadn't known then--not the extent at any rate--but the case. . .

"Jonas. . ." Adon still hadn't turned his head, but spoke with forced slowness to ensure this came out right. "Maggie Groust visited-- think acoupla days ago. . . We talked about. . . I don't think it was anything--coffee. . .baked goods. . ." he rubbed his face, exhausted again. "I don't know, though. She kept asking about the nurses. Or something. I think. . . I mean, I think we're good, but if she did ask about anything. . ." he sighed and glanced back to Jonas miserably, just wanting to hear that Jonas would fix it for him, this once: "I'm not sure what all was said."

And they'd just gotten on good terms again. Great. "Only other people to visit have been my mother, Jacoba--" a bit of a smile, there. Persistent, that one. And Muggle. "and the nurses, Healer Bombay--the Dead Doctor--" he elaborated for identification, "and Dree." A lot. Dree'd been there every chance he could. This last phrase with tinged with a degree of awkwardness and guilt. "And none of them have really. . . talked about what happened. I didn't really know myself." Except that he had known who the attacker was. And he'd meant to tell Jonas for days! And he'd been distracted this entire time.

"Except I know who the metamorphagus was; there's only one, I think, who fits the description. Middle Eastern by origin; at least we knew about her in our office: Azorma Hsykos. Hyksos? I don't know. I think . . . I mean--" he puffed air from his cheeks and looked up at the ceiling. That had been about the one detail from the whole fight that he'd figured out in his time mulling through his thoughts at the hospital. And he remembered telling someone as much. "Shit."

Apparently he'd driven the point home a little too well.  Adon's expression fell, and his voice became uncertain again as he slowly put two and two together.  Jonas bit back a grimace at the turn in the conversation; he would have been entirely content to let this sleeping dog lie.

"It's well, Adon," he put in once the Israeli had finished, giving a quick shake of his head.  "Groust came by the office this morning with Hyskos's name, but she agreed not to go to print right away.  If you said anything, it's under control now."  He flashed the younger man a quick, genuine smile.  "It'll be useful in the long run, anyhow.  I think we'll want word to start getting out to put the pressure on them.  Saved me the trouble of risking another hammer by leaking the information meself, it did."

"Would've been nice to have you there to help out with the identification, since apparently you could've just pulled that one out of your hat," he added nicely, giving his friend another warm smile that removed any sting from the words.  "Took me a full day and night to settle that one without you, Houdini.  But we got there," he said with an easy shrug.  "Got her real name, too, now that she's in custody and can't transform.  I've been running down leads on her identities since."

He glanced to the door, watching it for a moment before looking back to his friend.  It might be dangerous, saying this much, but he needed Adon to know.  Fifteen years ago, Tait Aldridge had gone quietly into the night with barely a whimper to mark his passing.  Fifteen years later, they were still only prodding at the wreckage; they still didn't know what the murdered Auror had uncovered that had caused his death.  If taking up the same investigation meant that Tait's fate was inevitable, if looking under the rocks of the Runespoor smuggling ring meant that one was bound to fall on his head eventually, then Jonas had no intention of being removed so neatly.  Carrying on the fight meant being certain that no crucial information would die with him.

"And I think we got lucky with this one," he said, keeping his voice low.  "Her family back in Egypt were trading basilisk parts to the Ministry until 1993.  Sounds like they had a contact in the Department of Mysteries, and there's at least one British businessman who I reckon was backing 'em."  His eyes found the younger man's, his expression firm and resolute.  "Not much of a stretch to reckon that the family business might've included other sorts of reptiles too, innit?"

“It’s well, Adon,” Jonas dismissed and Adon’s lips twitched into an awkward, sheepish smile. “Okay.” It didn’t feel it. And while Adon wasn’t exactly sure what hammers had to do at this, or who would be throwing them at Jonas—though he had some suspicions—the general presentiment that Jonas was, once more blithely dismissing an undercurrent of frustration began to nag at him.

Until the compliments came. And the continuation to real matter. Jonas was in a good enough spot now for Adon to feel comfortable. He smiled somewhat as Jonas began to explain; not because the news was particularly pleasant, but because this felt normal, once more.

The potions were wearing off; with the rise of pain came the return to alertness which, for the first time since he’d arrived in the place, he’d welcomed as a suitable trade-off.  “Mm,” he said, pressing his lips together as he thought.  “No stretch. The family name—what is it?” There was a possibility he’d recognize it.  A couple of potential names were on the tip of his tongue before he sighed and looked down.  Best not to get too mouthy.  He wanted Jonas to know—to trust that he didn’t just throw out names like they threw out potions, here.

There was a new throbbing at the base of his skull, and residual exhaustion—from the wasted emotion of several minutes ago.  Adon identified it well enough, sober: “Hey. Jonas. They’re going to come in with potions in a few minutes; I want to talk about this, but,” another helpless sigh, “it’s probably not the place. They tell you when I’m out of here?” Adon hoped it was different from the date they’d quoted to him: April 23rd. They’d said, if the recovery was somehow accelerated, it could be as early as the 21st.

After a yawn, he said, “Adnan’ll have access to what you need, anyhow. When I break from this place—more specifics?”