Late afternoon, Friday.  Trevelyan Investigations.

"Sure you don't want something else to drink, Spencer?" Jonas asked, cocking an eyebrow at the witch as he popped open the second bottle of ale on the edge of the kitchen table.  He didn't even bother asking his partner anymore; if Jonas was willing to indulge, Adon rarely declined, and this late on a Friday afternoon with the week they'd had was certainly the time for a different sort of beverage. 

There were some meetings that one just couldn't have at the Ministry.  The Runespoor investigation, notorious for its links to internal government corruption, was one that usually necessitated discussions elsewhere.  When one was constantly dealing with the chance of a traitor in one's midst, offsite meetings became a matter of course.

The abduction of Robin Adani wasn't nearly so sensitive, but complications caused by the involvement of one of Level Two's own made meetings at the Ministry equally awkward.  Daphne 'Aberdeen' Spencer had never come back from leave after the revelation that she'd been placed under the Imperius Curse.  She was clearly Not an Auror, but she was just as clearly still connected, her resignation not yet official and her ties still interwoven amongst the staff on Level Two.  Jonas still felt uncomfortable enough around the woman that he'd unwittingly betrayed that he wasn't quite willing to broach the subject, not even through the location of their regular meetings. 

There was plenty else about Aberdeen Spencer that made him uncomfortable.  She'd once been partners with Adon Eleor; by all accounts, they'd gotten along well up until she'd been placed on forced lead.  Jonas's rehiring as an investigator and his eventual reinstatement as an Auror had coincided too neatly with her departure.  Even though neither of them ever directly brought it up in conversation, the fact that he'd been partially responsible for her son's kidnapping was the white elephant in their every interaction.

The constant uneasiness was enough to make him grateful when they met on his turf, the office that he'd used for years as a private detective.  Jonas had invited the two into the back area, the room that had once served as living quarters more than office.  Between the sofa and the chairs around the kitchen table, there was plenty of room to sit, and somehow being back in his onetime home made him feel slightly less uncomfortable about the whole thing.

"So," he said, glancing sidelong at Adon as he resumed his seat on the sofa, passing his partner one of the two ales.  "Reckon we should go first." 

Like her current status in regard to Level Two, this wasn't exactly a matter that he wanted to personally relay to Spencer.  But in every one of the occasional instances where his partner had gotten frustrated and lost his temper with him, Adon had made it clear that he had a common complaint.  Don't beat around the bush.  Stop wasting time and get to the point.  It was not something that would ever come naturally to Jonas, not like stalling and prevaricating and talking ostensibly about the weather, but for Adon, he was willing to make the effort.

"There was a bit of an incident at the Ministry this week," he said evenly, not looking at either of his two cohorts as he studied the label on the bottle of ale, and then raised it to take a drink.  "Not sure that it will help us directly, but we'll see.  Macduff sent in letters -- Dugan Macduff," he clarified, looking uneasy as he lowered the bottle again.  "They were addressed to most of the Aurors -- not signed, but we reckon they were from him.  Ah, you know.  Matched the handwriting, followed his regular pattern, all of that sort of thing."

Aberdeen waved off Trevelyan's offer of a drink, as she always did. She hadn't touched a drop of alcohol since she had discovered that Robin had been taken, and she fully intended not to touch another until Cinaed Tawse was locked up in Azkaban again. Her mind was clouded enough with other things without adding depressants into the mix. Besides, she wanted to keep her mind as clear as possible; on top of the investigation, she still had her Occlumency lessons to think of.

When Trevelyan came to the point, or so she assumed, of their meeting, Aberdeen narrowed her eyes in scrutiny. 'Yeah, Hills gave me and Luke a heads up about that. Didn't go into detail though, just said that aurors' families were being threatened on a large scale. So Luke's working from home for now, and I've tripled-checked the protective spells on the house.' Not satisfied with the sparse information Hills had provided, Aberdeen had, in fact, been on the verge of contacting Adon to get to the bottom of what was really going on, when she had received the message to meet with him and Trevelyan. The first piece of the puzzle didn't inspire her with confidence.

'Macduff,' she repeated, distaste evident in her voice. Even if she hadn't still been in touch with the Auror Office, she read the papers. Fox's family... Pratt's parents. It was all she could do to keep the sneer off her lips. 'He's upped his game to taunting practically the whole office? Murphy. The other red-cloaks must be loving that.' She sighed and decided that if Trevelyan were showing willing to get to the heart of the matter sooner rather than later, she may as well get straight to it as well.

'So. What did you want to tell me? Has Luke been threatened?' She looked carefully from Trevelyan to her former partner.

Adon gave a grim smile as he took the dark glass bottle in hand, kicking his feet up on the coffee table--then sending Jonas a hesitant glance. Until Adon recalled that this was his bachelor pad, and Jonas had been lucky to be living off of frozen pizzas and chips on a daily basis whilst he lived here.  He took a sip as Jonas began speaking--about something other than cars, computers, or the weather.

Alcohol and agendas.  Jonas sure knew how to run things.

Quiet tension aside--Adon was nearly a quarter through is bottle by the time Deen had finished speaking, if only to give him something to do.  "Yeh, healthy dose of Auror-love for Dugan going around the office," Adon said, a slight smile as he recollected the mayhem he'd heard--but never really had a chance to see.  "A fair few Aurors spent yesterday getting families set up," he said. "And most of today was spent examining the evidence."

And Adon still smelled like owl pellets because of it.

That Deen's mind had so readily assumed Luke was the jeopardized family was not, certainly, illogical--dark wizards had a propensity for picking on Muggle relations.  But it did drive home just how far gone Robin was already--from Deen's memory, and first thoughts. And, just. . . gone.

"No," Adon cut in, firmly, so that Deen could feel secure in at least that.  "You and Luke should be fine--though I can have Dree, or myself come around and check the wards later, if you'd like." He ought to have seen to that yesterday.  It didn't matter that Deen had once been his trainer. Adon had always been protective of Deen, and the elapsed time--and the newly renewed communication--had only heightened that.  Adon glanced briefly at Jonas before setting his aledown and kicking his feet back down to the ground.  "Dugan sent you a note as well." He stooped over in his seat to rifle through his bag. "Now, we've done some very preliminary work on it. . ." he said in a muffled voice before he straightened and handed her the note, averting his eyes slightly.  He'd spent nearly an hour examining the photograph, which had been disturbing enough for him.  He didn't want to see Deen's face as she took in the same details.

"The location's pretty nondescript. I think we can safely say that it's somewhere in the UK--probably northern, but that's as we suspected before..." He drew his lips together. "There's a, ah--" he leaned forward to point vaguely in the air, just above Cin's shoulder, "there's a star you can see, even in the daylight--Arcturus--that's rising, so it was taken this Spring... Actually, we know it's very recent..." He frowned and stopped.  He took a breath before releasing it, slowly.

"Deen. . .I want to say first that this may look bad. But it is good for the investigation. It gives us a lead. Even if the photograph is a bit tenuous, Dugan obviously is knowledgable about a lot of this. And we're planning on coming down on him hard. So. . ." his gaze ventured to her face, trying to get a reading before looking to Jonas.

Aberdeen's next thought after Luke would have been her sister, her brother, her parents, but Adon saved her the trouble of further guessing. She reached out to take the photo and parchment, and only when she had both in her hand did she really look.

And look.

There was the little boy whose photographs adorned every wall in her house, whom she strove to picture in her mind every single day, who sometimes even floated through her dreams at night. It caught her offguard. Robin was smiling a little, and waving tentatively at the camera, shy as he has always been. Even as Adon started to explain that the photo was recent, Aberdeen already knew. Robin had grown. He was older in this picture than in any of the ones she and Luke had managed to salvage. He was so very nearly three years old. Her free hand strayed towards the image of him, as though she longed to reach into the photograph and hold him. For a moment she forgot about the facade she usually kept up around Trevelyan and even Adon. 'Robin,' she murmured longingly.

Then there was movement in the photograph that drew her eye, and she saw the man she hated more than anyone else in the world. Her fingers tightened around the edges of the photograph, and she wanted dearly to tear it in two, to keep the half with her darling Robin and destroy the half that held his murderous so-called father. But, as Adon had pointed out, it was a lead, no matter how remote. Evidence. It had to remain intact. With effort, Aberdeen relaxed her grip. Her face went slack.

She hadn't thought of Robin. Why would she? They'd already taken him from her. What further threats could they make towards him? Why would a lackey of Tawse's threaten the man's own flesh and blood? But of course, Aberdeen realised grimly as she read the attached note, this wasn't a threat. It was a taunt. Macduff wasn't just about killing people, after all. He was about making them suffer.

Macduff, for all she knew, was the one who had taken this photo. He was in Tawse's sick little group, after all, wasn't he? Weren't the two of them cousins, or something of that nature? Aberdeen fought down a wave of nausea. If Macduff were related to Robin's biological father, then, by extension...

Aberdeen had been trying so hard for the past four months to keep her emotions in check. If she wanted to master occlumency, protect herself mentally, then she couldn't let her feelings overtake her. It was no longer enough just to keep from displaying her emotions; she had to ignore them altogether if she wished to succeed. It was trying. It hurt. And, on occasion, it was futile.

'Macduff is a murderer. He sends death threats for fun. He's killed, I think we can assume, pretty much indiscriminately.' Aberdeen's voice was low, but it didn't mask the tremor in it. She was, by now, shaking all over. 'He's an absolute monster.' Having been staring unseeing down at the photo, she now looked back at Adon and Trevelyan. Her eyes were flashing. 'And he has access to my son?' Aberdeen almost never referred to Robin as 'her son'; it felt to her like a betrayal to Margo Valdaine, the boy's deceased biological mother. It was a mark of how serious she was that she called him that now.

A truly angry Aberdeen was a rare sight, and the change was startling. Her already pallid skin paled even further, her mouth became a hard, thin line. Rage seemed to emanate from her like heat rolling off asphalt on a summer day. 'We need to come down on that bastard like a ton of bricks regardless of what sick fanmail he sends to which aurors. But tell me, tell me we're close to getting Robin away from living next door to Tawse's charming little collection of psychopaths.' Her voice was measured, quiet, but hard.

It felt cruelly intrusive to watch Spencer's reaction as she took in the photograph.  Jonas uncomfortably shifted his gaze away, letting his attention drift over the opposite wall.  Ever since he'd met the Scottish Auror, it was impossible not to imagine what it would be like in her shoes, with Gwenna or Artie missing instead of Robin Adani.

She was helpless.  And now the man who had taken her son was taunting her.  Jonas carefully kept a straight face as Spencer's voice grew harder, as her eyes flashed from the photograph to them. 

She knew as well as they did that it wasn't that easy.  For all the magic of a wand, they couldn't snap their fingers and bring her son back to her.  But the speech felt like an accusation, each word an indictment.  Months had passed and the hunt did little but drag on.

Jonas dropped his gaze, shaking his head.

"Look, Tawse has been lying low," he replied, doing his best to sound reasonable and not defensive.  "There's barely been a sighting of him since he attacked Raynor in Scotland."  He couldn't look at Adon when he said it; his partner knew as well as he did that one of Tawse's rare surfacings had taken place at a Chinese takeout restaurant in Hammersmith a month prior.

Jonas had had no way of knowing if the former bar owner had brought thugs with him that night.  He'd had no idea if he or his kids were in danger.  Even so, that hadn't been why he'd let Tawse walk away.  Without magic, he stood absolutely no chance of taking him alone.  So far, the Scotsman hadn't let his guard down; he had a perfect record of escape.  If Level Two were ever going to arrest him, they were going to need a break.  For a break to come, they had to be patient.  There was nothing to do but wait these moments out, to let Tawse feel empowered so that he'd eventually let his guard down.  Adon, Jonas suspected, would disagree.  But that wouldn't change his strategy.

He swallowed, shifting his gaze back toward Spencer without really meeting her eyes.  "And as much as we've got on O Morain, it's not going to hold up once her lawyers go at it," he said unhappily.  "Even if they're willing to take the word of your husband as a Muggle -- even if we're sure ourselves that she was there -- all she's got to bloody well do is claim it was someone else under Polyjuice and she'll be off scott free."  That was the unfortunate truth of the matter.  Magic, for all its benefits, made their job so much harder once good defense lawyers got involved.

"I mean, we've got to keep in mind what we're up against with this.  She's from a pureblood family," he pointed out for what felt like the umpteenth time, giving an uncomfortable shrug.  "She's posh.  She's seeing a Hogwarts Governor.  She could do a tap dance in front of the bloody Wizengamot and tell them the sky was pink, and they'd still vote to believe her."

Aberdeen was letting her frustration get the better of her, and she knew it. Even as Trevelyan was reiterating the situation to her, she tore her gaze away from him and Adon, and found it back on the photograph. She closed her eyes against it. For a moment, the look of her face for somewhere between indescribable anger and intense concentration. No feelings, Aberdeen. Not right now. She had to imagine that someone might be lying in wait, ready to get inside her head again. She had to treat every situation as dangerous. Don't let your guard down. And for Murphy's sake, don't let them see you let your guard down. She'd let it out eventually. She had to, really, being human, or she'd crack under the pressure. But she'd wait until she was home. She'd tell Luke, and they'd hold each other tight, like they always did when they felt lost and there was no one around to see. And then she could take her bad mood out on the drum kit like she usually did.

When she opened her eyes again, Trevelyan had finished talking, and Aberdeen's expression has resumed its neutrality; though admittedly there was still a certain steely quality to her eyes. Part of her wanted to shout at Trevelyan that his answers weren't good enough, but that would just be unproductive. Productivity was the entire nature of her relationship with Trevelyan. The need to blame him was a gut reaction, not a rational one. 'All right. All right, fine, but I would very much like to focus on something other than the fact that the Wizengamot is more likely to take the word of a pureblood over that of a muggle.' She kept her voice even, just. 'There must be something else we can do. I mean, what if-- what if I just saw Ó Móráin?' She chanced looking back up at Trevelyan, and glanced to Adon as well, seeking out their reactions. 'Maybe, maybe that'd jog more memories? Maybe even something incriminating. What if, what if I remembered what her wand looked like? You can't fake that with Polyjuice...'

One of the reasons she kept her voice as level as possible was so that Adon and Trevelyan wouldn't detect the uncertainty in it. Aberdeen knew she was reaching, knew that most wands were fairly indistinguishable at a glance, but she didn't care. She was throwing ideas at the wall, hoping that either something would stick, or that one of the two men sitting opposite her would come up with something better.

Adon shook his head irritably.  She always did this. That damn strong facade.  He'd just gotten to the point of wearing it down--like so many layers of wood beneath sandpaper--when she'd been gone and inaccessible.  Adon hadn't known at the time that this was because she had been really, truly gone--one couldn't be much more gone than being under the influence of the Imperius Curse.

Then on leave. Then Obliviated.

"Can I?" Adon asked quietly, holding his hand out for the photo and moving to the empty seat beside her on the sofa, as a pretense to sit closer.  Even if she had gotten comfortable admitting that she of all people had feelings--she wouldn't do it around Trevelyan.

But that didn't mean he couldn't at least try to support her.  Adon's feelings and thoughts were readily transparent, particularly as he sat solidly beside her, sighing heavily as he looked at the photo.


Deen was fishing in air.  Luke, as a witness, was not creditable because he was a Muggle--generally perceived to be gullible and impressionable.  And Aberdeen--she'd been Imperiused, then Obliviated.  A detailed description of a wand from someone who was struggling to recollect scattered and scrubbed memories--who'd already proven to have a penetrable mind--was not going to withstand a solid cross-examination.  It was a tenuous testimony at best.

"Look. When it comes to testimonies, we already know the Wizengamot's going to believe whatever O'Morain says," Adon said with agitation.  It wasn't that she was a Pureblood. It was that she was that sort of Pureblood.  And as nattered as Jonas--and Deen--could get on the matter, and as much as they'd had to suffer because of blood distinctions, it didn't mean he liked to listen to it.  "I don't think, then, that our strategy should be in concocting a trump card--some. . .impenetrable offense or even discrediting her as a witness.  I mean, we have a solid case against her. Our efforts should be on working her over. On getting her to say, before the Wizengamot, what we want her to say.  What she did."

He looked at Deen first, watching her face closely. "Right?"  Glancing at Jonas, he said, "The Wizengamot might value O'Morain's testimony more than Deen's because they don't know the truth for certain. But. . ." he wet his lips. "But O'Morain does know the truth.  And if she knows that you do, too, Deen. . ." He scraped his hand across his stubble . "She's young. She might not realize all of her advantages in the courtroom yet. She might not know what to do with that kind of certainty against her. . ."  He shifted and sighed again.  "You'd have much more of an effect on O'Morain than the Wizengamot, Deen. I'd like for her to see you, too."

"She realizes all of her bloody advantages in the courtroom because she reminds you of them every chance she bloody well gets," Jonas grumbled, though it was clear from his tone that it was more venting than an actual complaint.  The red-haired man sighed, rubbing both hands over his face to hide his grimace.

Adon had shifted to sit next to Spencer, attempting to bring her back into the fold in his usual way.  Unfortunately, the point that he brought up wasn't an argument that Jonas wanted to have again; debating over the validity of their case or the strength of their witnesses wasn't going to help.  If it came down to it, a defense attorney would tear apart both Adani and Spencer in court.  They'd both had their memories modified.  O Morain could certainly claim that Jonas had a grudge against her.  Even if no one brought up the dreaded trump card of Polyjuice potion, there were plenty of holes in the case.

Still, if they continued along that train of thought, they'd be stuck.  Their current assumptions -- his current assumptions -- weren't getting them anywhere.  Both Adon and Spencer were right.  There had to be another way to think about this.

"So what?" he asked, forehead creasing.  "You're thinking that we let it all ride on us being able to push O Morain confessing?"  He rested his head back, letting his gaze drift up to the ceiling as he thought.

"You threaten her, she just gets indignant," he said slowly.  He'd seen that side of O Morain in his first encounter with her.  She'd refused to be helpful and kicked him out of her house.  "I've tried that before, pushing her with logic.  She told me I couldn't prove anything and wouldn't budge."

O Morain was young.  She had a temper.  He'd figured out already that the best way to infuriate her was to just be cheerfully present, with no intention of leaving and no hint of an outside motive.  But Spencer couldn't bait her in the same cheeky way.  Adon was right, though -- there had to be another way to think about this.  If they couldn't get O Morain on evidence, they'd have to lay their trap another way.

"We come at this head on, she'll shut us down," he said, glancing at the other two.  "So how do we get around that?  Have Spencer just start leaving ominous gaps in the conversation in the hopes that she'll feel guilty and confess?"

At Adon's request, Aberdeen handed him the photo without looking at it. She couldn't watch Robin with Tawse anymore, not right now, not when she was trying to keep her mind guarded. Occlumency wasn't a mindset just to slip into when one felt like it, it required dedication. And Aberdeen was determined that no one else was going to get hurt because of her. But much as she tried to make herself into some kind of fortress, she hadn't missed Adon's protective nature manifesting itself in the way he spoke, the way he kept himself close. It was odd, because she was so used to him being the auror-in-training, so used to the idea that she ought to look out for him. It felt strange that even though he was younger than her, he wanted to be the one looking out for her. And that was how it was these days, she realised. Adon wanted to protect her, but she was so focused on protecting Robin that there was barely room left for anyone else. Maybe, once Robin was back home, Aberdeen could change things. But there was still the matter of how to bring him back.

Aberdeen relaxed her posture a little; probably the closest Adon would get to an acknowledgment of his efforts for the time being. What he had brought up, and what Trevelyan had elaborated on, sounded a lot more promising than the desperate bid to recover more memories that wouldn't hold up in court. But it would be tricky, and Aberdeen only knew O Morain through the files she had poured over; she'd never properly met the woman, not counting the night of the kidnapping she could still barely remember.

She shook her head slowly, but more in thought than as a negative reply to Trevelyan's last question. 'I know, I understand. We bring her in, the last thing we can do is actually threaten to charge her, I mean, after that it'd be lawyers as far as the eye could see. But... I don't know. I realise kidnapping isn't a repeat offence for her (as far as we know), and that there might be some uncertainties to start pulling holes in because of that. But guilt... I don't know if that's going to be an issue for her. She's done this for Tawse, which could mean she's close enough with him that she supports him even when he's outside the law. It could also mean she's a part of his little clique, and a purist who may well have no qualms about taking a pureblood toddler out of the hands of muggles and into the care of his biological father.

'But then...' Aberdeen started mulling it over a little. 'He's not just Robin's biological father, is he? O Morain must know he's a criminal, and not just for taking Robin. She must know he leads a dangerous life, she must. And granted, she helped deliver Robin into that life, but... That was before Tawse went on the run, before all of Level Two was after him. Things have gone downhill, in a lot of ways. Trevelyan,' she said, more briskly now, turning her gaze on the redhead again, 'from what you know of this witch, do you think there could be any chance that she'd actually care about Robin's wellfare? That she'd listen to reason when it comes to the kind of danger Robin is in now? She can't have known that Tawse would end up going underground with a little boy in tow, she can't have intended that when she took him.'

The red-haired man snorted, flashing a humorless smile.  "I don't reckon she has any idea what welfare is," he said unequivocally.  "I'd be surprised if she's ever thought twice about what was best for someone besides herself.  From what I've seen of her, she's like a kid playing at being an adult, slinging words and threats around because she knows it'll get her somewhere.  Reckon she thought kidnapping Robin was going to let her play house."

Odd as it sounded, it fit with what they'd seen.  O Morain, in her dresses that always looked slightly too old for her, flinging around her worth as an entrepreneur like it was a verbal cosh.  After the kidnapping, she'd gone on a spending spree, purchasing articles for a toddler and setting off rumors that her relationship with Christian Colburn had resulted in more than a simple romance.  She'd suddenly started spending loads more time at the Chimaera as well, as if she'd suddenly had a reason to be invested.  But once Tawse had gone on the run, it had died down a few weeks later.  Perhaps she'd realized just how serious the crime had been.

"I don't think she intended to get caught, though," he said slowly.  "She cares a lot about her family's name and reputation -- she threatened me when she thought I was going to muck that up.  I can't imagine she cares that much about Tawse's cause.  Reckon it was all probably something daring she decided to do on the side." 

That still didn't feel quite right, but it made more sense than assuming O Morain was a fanatical purist -- she'd been involved with Colburn after all, if only for a short time.  Jonas sighed, dragging his fingers through his hair, and then looked back at the other two.

"A's right," he said, nodding to his partner.  "She's young.  She's never been arrested before.  And I reckon you're right too, Spencer.  She couldn't have thought things through and known how badly it would all spiral out of control with Tawse.  Got to be a bit jittery, doesn't she?  So how do we use it?  Hit her just right so she'll crack?"

How to use it? Aberdeen pressed her fingers against her lips in thought. The picture she now had built up of O Morain, from her files, from her financial records, from what Trevelyan said... It was of a privileged rich girl, perhaps a little more sheltered than she knew or would admit herself to be, who put enough stock in her own lineage that she felt it would always see her in good stead, and would be loath to see its good name tarnished as a result.

She had also made the mistake of putting any modicum of faith into Cinaed Tawse. While she had no proof that Tawse would sell out any of his cohorts, any one of them would, sooner or later, find themselves implicated in one of his crimes. And that didn't do a whole lot of good for the reputation of an upstanding, pureblood family like the O Morains.

'She doesn't know how the rest of the investigation into the kidnapping is going,' she said slowly. 'We've been keeping it out of the papers. For all she knows, we could be this close to uncovering Tawse.' She held her thumb and forefinger close together to indicate. 'And for all she knows, Tawse won't necessarily be as loyal to her as she has been to him.' She tapped her index fingers together, considering the situation further.

'Mind you, if we manage to bring her in on this, she'll twig that we need something from her. We need to catch her offguard. Don't give her the chance to prepare for defending herself against suspicions of abduction.' Out loud, it sounded a little like playing dirty. Aberdeen didn't care. O Morain had started it. She had taken their memories. She had taken their son. 'From what we know out about her, is there-- is there anything else we can get her on?'