“That one French chap is a tosser,” Angelus Rosier commented as he and Thorfinn Rowle walked down the hallway towards the front entrance. “What was his name again?”
While Angelus was well versed in these sorts of galas it didn’t mean it was exactly his idea of the best possible night. Nor was entertaining a bunch of annoying shits from the continent that seemed like they’d only come to get under his skin. That was why he’d happily decided to go answer the door when the wards had gone off signaling someone was there, it was a way to get away from… whoever that was. “He was making eyes at Svetlana, too. Hope she stabs him with a skate.”
“Fabian something or other. I couldn’t be too bothered to actually learn his last name,” Thorfinn answered with a shrug of his shoulders. French pure-bloods were always so gauche and the Fabian was no exception. Why anyone ever turned to the French to further bloodlines was beyond him. “And I would actually pay money to see Svetlana stab him with a skate. I bet he’s a crier.”
Angelus shot a look over his shoulder. “Mate, I’m a Rosier. I have French family.” He shrugged a second later. “Though not like that dipshit, what an idiot.” They passed some Avery paintings that were on display for the evening as they continued down the hall. “Maybe we can bribe her to stab him. Do you think she likes money, or is she above that? Something about Russians makes me think contract killer.”
Thorfinn snorted. “No one is above money.” People may say otherwise, but he was convinced everyone had a monetary price they’d be willing to compromise their beliefs and morals to have. “Though Svetlana strikes me as the type of person who might just do it for shits and giggles.”
“I’m fine with that. It’s worth the galleons to me either way to see her go after someone with a figure skate. That’s the kind of entertainment we need here.” Anything would be better than the Great Humberto’s show. The wards buzzed again, and Angelus sighed irritably. “Impatient little shits aren’t they? Probably more French.” He took a swig from the glass in his hand, and walked up to the door.
Thorfinn let out a laugh, but it was cut short the moment Angelus’ hand touched the ornate doorknob. A loud noise erupted from the front door and the subsequent blast was enough to force his body back and onto the ground. Shards of wood, glass, and plaster rained down on him as a loud ringing began in his ears. Several confused moments later, he looked up and tried to find his friend through all the dust.
“Angelus?” He couldn’t tell if he was whispering or screaming.
The ringing in his ears was the least of his problems, Angelus knew. He wasn’t even sure what had happened, except that now he was lying prone on the ground amid the ruined wood and debris from something. His hand was a mangled mess, but it felt as if time had slowed, nothing seemed to hurt just yet even though the bloody, twisted fingers should have been throbbing in pain. “Thor?” he coughed, unsure if the word actually came out given the concussive force had knocked the wind out of him — or worse. He tried to sit up, but that’s when the pain started, and he gasped.
Scrambling to his feet, he rose just in time to see the look of pain cross Angelus’ face. He could hear the beginnings of skirmishing behind him, but Thorfinn knew there were plenty of others to take care of the persons who thought it wise to attack the gala. Right now, his fellow pure-blood was in need of medical attention and Thor wasn’t going to be much help in that department. So with a cough, he stumbled a few feet through the rubble and awkwardly picked Angelus up in his arms.
“Let’s get the fuck out of here.”
Except when he tried to apparate away, Thorfinn found he went absolutely no where.
Being shaken enough that Thorfinn actually had to help him, lift him to his feet, Angelus offered little in the way of helpful ideas to the whole situation. He hurt, his ears were still ringing, and he wasn’t even sure what the heck had happened. “Yeah. Out,” he sputtered, trying to take some breaths against the feeling of pressure in his chest.
“Bloody hell,” Thorfinn mumbled to himself. Or perhaps he shouted it as he still couldn’t tell if his voice was at a proper volume. Sighing, he began to carefully maneuver over the rubble with Angelus still in tow, eventually making it a spot where apparition to St. Mungo’s was possible.
Sturgis Podmore v. Gerald Avery
As a spell whizzed past his head, a glamoured Sturgis turned his head and noticed something a bit odd. Gerald Avery sat at a nearby table with his dessert, completely unphased by the growing chaos forming around him at the gala. His nonchalant attitude didn’t sit well with the veteran member of the Order and rather than constructively handle the situation, Sturgis decided to handle it with the maturity of a ten-year-old. With a flick of his wrist, one of the immaculately decorated petits fours on the Death Eater’s plate suddenly levitated and smashed into his face.
“Got something on your face, Avery,” the younger blond gentleman hollered.
Of course, Gerald Avery expected a fine evening of culture and frivolity. The young ladies who had spent such time - including his daughter! - deserved to see the fullness of their vision realized. But when it turned out that vigilantes had another expectation entirely, he determined to sit and carefully eschew the melee out of respect for them.
Then Sturgis Podmore happened. With delicate custard sliding down his lines face, Gerald rose slowly and turned to face the Phoenix in question.
If they were to fall to the ridiculous, he levitated a chair and Transfigured it into a fish (a sturgeon) so that the creature’s spear like nose could stop Sturgis. Or at least slap him with its tail.
The sturgeon’s tail packed more punch than he expected. When the tailfin collided with with his cheek, Sturgis let out a small yelp as he stumbled back against the dessert table. That was certainly unexpected and a bit funny, but a quick wave of his wand sent the sturgeon flying halfway across the room into the what remained of a punch bowl. The Order member then wasted no time in sending a tray of cookies in Avery’s direction.
“Thanks,” he said, “but I’ve already eaten!” The cookies froze mid air and began to melt, the extreme heat turning them into fiery little missiles which were sent toward Sturgis.In the interim, he conjured a set of heavy chains and flung those at the Phoenix as well, hoping to capture him.
A couple cookie projectiles hit his robes and burned through the fabric. He could feel little the heat against his skin and there would more than likely be some marks left, but there wasn’t any time to think about that. With chains hurtling toward him, Sturgis cast the first spell that came to mind and the chains exploded into a cloud of festive red, pink, and white confetti.
Gerald gave an arch of his brow. That was certainly one way to pluck a goose. He stepped closer to the man and flourished his wand to offer Podmore a Stunner to the face and then a linen-draped chair, too.
“Oh, do stay down. You’re ruining the young ladies’ evening!”
“Well you’re ruining all of Great Britain and Ireland,” Sturgis retorted as a flower arrangement flew in front of him and exploded once the stunning spell hit it. “I think the ladies will survive one night of things not going their way.”
Sturgis’ opinion seemed untrustworthy. As such, without much more patience, he aimed a Flaying curse at the Phoenix’s leg, meaning to stop him (and peel flesh back to bone), and stop this madness.
“Tell it to the judge.”
A poor unfortunate opera cake intercepted the flaying curse and was subsequently ripped apart layer by layer. Wasting no time, he summoned the melted chocolate from the nearby chocolate station and dropped it on Gerald’s head, drenching him before him before he had a chance to cast another spell. Then with a triumphant smile the glamoured Order member began to reach for a chain that was around his neck.
“That’s not going to be happening,” Sturgis answered as he pulled the portkey out from underneath his shirt and promptly disappeared.
Violet Slughorn & Thea Travers
"Excuse me, I must powder my nose," Theodora interjected mid-introduction to some international bore she couldn't quite recall the name of. She was sure that someone out there would be either disappointed or judgemental about how often she was checking her phone, but, honestly, it was the universal distress signal for 'get the fuck away from me, I'm done with this conversation.' It wasn't her fault people weren't getting it.
She glanced at her hexts on her way into the bathroom, half-hoping Layla's name would appear in the notification centre. Nothing. Too preoccupied with this, she barely noticed someone stepping in behind her and stalled in the middle of the room.
"Oof, watch--" She turned to see it was Violet Slughorn. Thea warmed. "I'm so sorry, that was my fault."
Unlike Thea, Violet had been enjoying the opportunity to network, as well as spend a little time with her relatives from France. She’d flitted about the room, making pleasant conversation with everyone and collecting the contact information of people who she thought might be able to help her advance as a magical researcher one day. She’d learned the value of networking with people from an early age courtesy of her great-uncle Horace, and hoped that one day she’d have a list of contacts that surpassed even his.
“It’s all right, Thea,” she replied. “Did you have the chance to speak to my cousin, Austin d’Harcourt? Peony told me she showed you his picture.”
“I did, thank you. He was lovely,” Thea replied, smiling warmly with the easy practice of someone who had done this so many times, and so well that she didn’t even realise she was lying by default now. “I’m looking forward to getting to know him better. Peony really does know how to pick them!”
Meanwhile, her fingers itched to turn her phone around and check the screen. Was that a buzz she’d felt, or was she just imagining...
Layla Fairbourne i hope your night is more exciting than mine :(
Butterflies stirred in Thea’s gut. Instinctively, she repressed the urge to smile and refocused on Violet, about to add some more bullshit about her conversation with d’Harcourt when—
Boom.
The explosion sent them flying. Reflexively, Violet curled her body to shield her head and abdomen, bringing her legs up and her arms by her head. A tuck and roll to minimize damage. Violet may not have plated quidditch professionally, but she still played at Hogwarts for four years, and played pickup games post-graduation with friends sometimes. She hadn’t lost the reflexes that came with years of athletics. Her body slammed into the wall shoulder first. It hurt, but she’d taken worse from bludgers.
Heart pounding, she withdrew her wand. Her other arm curled around her abdomen protectively as she shakily got to her feet. “Thea?”
Thea, who was closest to the door, stirred groggily. Her ears rang, and she coughed, dust and smoke filling up in her lungs. The room spun, and spun, and spun and -- "My chest," she found herself breathing in short, rapid breaths, like she couldn't get enough in. "Apparate out?"
“Of course,” Violet said, moving beside her friend. For a moment, she was torn between moving her free arm away from her abdomen versus putting away her wand. In the end, she settled on offering her free arm. If she had her wand out, she could shield them both with protego. She focused, envisioning the reception area of St.Mungo’s clearly and...nothing. “Bloody hell. I think someone set up anti-apparation wards.”
"Fuck," Thea managed. There had to be a Healer somewhere out there amongst all those foreign purebloods? "My phone. Call my Da—" She paused, realising that if there were blasts going off at this ball, then it was just as likely her father was engaged with whoever had set them off. "Okay. We need to get out of…"
And then she passed out.
Violet tried gently nudging Thea. Nothing. She was breathing, but out cold. She took Thea’s phone and her own. Staying put, phoning for help, and sending out a few hexts to inform people when they were at St. Mungo’s was the wisest course of action. All she had to do was stay calm and resist the urge to panic.
Alicia Spinnet & Fred Weasley v. Hugo Nott
Pride was really not a word strong enough for the sentiment that Hugo Nott felt, wandering around the room and seeing the fine work that his talented goddaughter had put into the event. He walked slowly, using his cane for a change, chatting idly to people as they passed by. Next year he'd be able to bring Theodore to one of these events, and that made him even prouder to think of it.
He'd been inspecting the very end of the array of desserts when it happened. Laughter and chatter and music suddenly turned into chaos and noise and fire. Hugo hadn't had a moment to try and shield himself from the blast, and it knocked him off his feet. He stood slowly, gathering his dazed thoughts and also raising his wand. Something had hit him, and his forehead was smarting from a fresh cut too.
Even if she didn’t look like herself, there was no disguising the satisfaction on Alicia’s face when the bomb went off. She tore her eyes from the mayhem long enough to cast a self-satisfied look at Fred. But as she did, her gaze caught on a familiar face — Hugo Nott, who may not have killed Gawain Robards, but who she was certain had something to do with it.
Narrowing her eyes, Alicia aimed her wand at the man’s feet and muttered a simple spell to yank the rug out from under it.
Hugo spotted her raising her wand, but didn’t react quickly enough to the spell. The rug pulled from under his feet and he fell again, painfully hitting the floor. He scrambled to his feet, the cane long forgotten, and raised his own wand at his attacker. “Excuse me!” Hugo bellowed across the room, firing a disarming charm at her.
“Not excused,” Fred replied, firing off a shield charm at Alicia to try and block the disarming charm. He then sent another charm straight at Hugo’s cane, setting it to attack its owner.
Alicia followed it with a knockback jinx in an attempt to keep the old man from getting back to his feet. He may have looked harmless, but she remembered the things Gawain had said about him and the rumours making the rounds among her old neighbors about the bodies he had buried in his garden. “Boy, Gawain would laugh if he could see you now!”
The taunt was enough, his cane slapping him in the leg, and Hugo glowered at the two attackers. He raised his wand, levitating what was left of the dessert table and sending it directly towards them. Crockery and cutlery fell to the floor with a smash as he got back to his feet.
The remains of the table came from behind, catching Fred off guard when it rammed into him, sending him flying to the ground. His arms went out to attempt to catch his fall, only to crumple beneath him. Any attempts to try move his wand hand were futile now.
Alicia swallowed a gasp as Fred fell, only narrowly missing the fallout from the flying table herself. She turned a glare on Hugo-probably-definitely-a-Death-Eater-Nott and punched her wand at him. “Confringo!”
Hugo took the distraction of the table crashing into one of his attackers to finally stand, cane forgotten and wand raised at the second. There was a split second, before the blasting curse hit him, where he'd sent a fireball at her. And then the explosion came, the agonising feeling in his arm where the worst of it hit him, and he crumpled to the floor in pain.
Having made the mistake of taking her attention off the Death Eater to attempt lifting the table off Fred. The fireball struck her in the side, pitching her over into a pile of broken glass and setting her dress on fire. Adrenaline took over, and she just managed to extinguish the flames before she pulled herself next to Fred.
She yanked the locket portkey from around her neck and pressed it into his hand. A split second later, they were gone. She hoped they’d done enough.
Angelina Johnson & Rolf Scamander vs Bellatrix Lestrange & Rodolphus Lestrange
Several of the stalls hung open and empty, but many more still held nervous horses, rustling their wings or stamping their hooves in anticipation of the two strangers in the stables.
It turned out liberating horses was more difficult than Angelina had initially thought. She’d thought the horses would be more discerning, that they’d know instinctively that their owner was super evil and would welcome their saviors with open hooves. She’d really thought they’d open all the stalls and there’d be a Braveheart moment where she and Rolf would shout something really inspiring and the horses would stream out behind them.
They didn’t.
Angelina was running low on bribe apples and one of the Lestrange horses was eyeing her suspiciously from inside its stall. “It’s okay,” she murmured. “I’m your friend.”
Meanwhile, Rolf was attempting to coax a very large, very wary-looking Abraxan horse from its stall. “Shhh,” he whispered as it let out a haughty snort. The horse ignored him in favor of a mountainous pile of hay, and Rolf pulled out his very last carrot in hopes it would win the reluctant horse over. The carrot was very small in comparison to the horse, but hopefully that didn’t make it any less appealing.
“How’s it going?” he called out to Angelina. Hopefully, she was having much better luck with her horse.
“It’s not —” But the sudden silver glow of Owen’s patronus, warning them Rodolphus Lestrange was on his way, stopped Angelina in her tracks.
Before either of them could get any further, the loud crack of apparation echoed down the half-empty stables. Bellatrix, covered in champagne and hors d'oeuvres from the party, watched from the open door as several of her husband’s prized horses ran free. One of them took flight at the edge of the property, then rose and disappeared from view behind the trees.
Rodolphus apparated in, landing softly beside Bellatrix, glad to be rid of the man who’d kept following him, glad to be able to see what was happening at last. It took him only moments to realise what was happening: one of his beautiful horses was flying in the sky above his head. Rodolphus looked up at it and his stomach fell. He looked at the stables and then at Bellatrix.
“I’m going to kill them,” he said, voice pitched low. The words sounded smooth, hard with anger. Rodolphus blasted in the door to his own stables (they were monsters whoever had done this).
“I’ll help,” Bellatrix said through her teeth as the doors flew into the stable, clearing their path. As little as she cared for the horses, they belonged to Rodolphus, and whoever had set them loose was going to pay for it. No one stole from the Lestranges and got away with it. Stepping through the stable door, she muttered, “Homenum Revelio,” and started for the nearest target, a glimmer of green already building at the end of her wand.
When Angelina saw that glimmer of green, her stomach swooped and she quickly shoved her hand in her pocket, whipping out the pocket watch portkey she had on her always. She grabbed Rolf’s hand and pressed the portkey to his palm, sandwiching it between their hands as she spun the dial at the top of it. There was a beat of nothing and then, a tug behind her belly button.
And just like that the two intruders were gone, an apple falling to the floor where Angelina’s feet had just been.
The green flash of the killing curse extinguished uselessly against the side of the stall where one of the intruders had been standing moments before. Bellatrix gave the scorched wood it left behind a furious glare before she whipped around to face Rodolphus. “Maybe next time we could make a grander entrance and scare them away even faster.”
“I’d have collapsed the roof on them but I didn’t want to hurt the horses,” Rodolphus said, an angry snarl still on his face. His fingers buzzed with it. He wanted to send spells flinging, but there was no one there too. The end of his wand sparked.
Bellatrix barely kept herself from rolling her eyes. “You could’ve bought new horses,” she muttered, shoving a stall door closed as she brushed past him. She pointed out the door at one of the loose horses galloping toward the forest. “You might still have to, and no one’s dead for it.”
“Well, they will be,” Rodolphus said, a little sharp. He looked out at the horses with a modicum of despair, not quite sure how he was going to get them all back. He wasn’t going to get them all back. He was going to have to re-cast the wards, quickly. “I’ll find them and kill them. Maybe I’ll let one of the horses trample them to death.”
Bellatrix opened her mouth to make another sarcastic remark, but she caught the look on his face, the sparks still flickering at the end of his wand, and let out a loud sigh instead. “There’s time for that,” she said, and summoned a couple of brooms from the tack room. She thrust one out to Rodolphus. “Let’s salvage what we can.”
Rodolphus looked at Bellatrix for a moment and then reached out, fingers curling around the broom. “Okay,” he said and then, “Thanks.” He offered her a small smile and then headed out where the door had once been. They had a task at hand.
Joe Bell & Peony Parkinson
Peony simply wanted to go home and take a long, hot bath, rather than standing here talking to a hitwizard who - while professional enough - she was fairly certain found this all just a shade amusing. Instead she was here, picking frosting out of her hair and doing her best to answer his questions.
“I’m afraid that I simply don’t know how the intruders got in,” she said, then gave the best she could muster as an apologetic smile at how brisk her tone had been. “I mean, we did hire a security company but we entrusted them - I simply assume that they knew their own work. I likewise would be very curious to learn what went wrong.”
"Fair enough," replied Joe, the effects of his morning latte only wearing off now (as he decidedly ignored looking anywhere that Dolores Umbridge could have been). He scribbled something down on his notepad, and furrowed his brows together in concentration, going over the previous notes he had made.
"Ms. Parkinson," he started, drawing in a sharp breath. "Could you tell me what happened, or at least what you remember happening?" He paused for a quick moment, before gesturing to a nearby chair. "Feel free to take a seat. And I can get you something to drink? No need to rush any of this."
“Ah, no thank you.” Peony had spied a lone waiter still carrying a tray of drinks and handing them out to stragglers, attending to his job with the studied air of duty of someone arranging deck chairs on board the… well, that famous Muggle ship that had run foul of an iceberg (idiots). Reaching out for a champagne flute, she took a much larger swallow than what would have been deemed polite under normal circumstances, pushing thoughts about the sinking ship that this event had been to one side as best as she could.
“Mattias, be a darling and fetch Mr. Bell some orange juice, will you?” she added. “He’s here on duty, after all.” Mattias bobbed a slight bow and walked off. Peony turned back to Joe, sighing faintly. “Well, someone booby trapped the dessert table, from what I can gather, and by the smell in the hallway, perhaps the toilet too. I do hope that the venue is insured against this kind of thing.”
"Right, no thank you on that orange juice," Joe instantly replied, to dear ole Mattias. He scribbled down what she had said, and gave her a firm nod, before continuing on. "Do you have any inkling about who could have set traps around here or anyone you or your co-hosts or the organisation has any issue with?"
“Oh, but it’s really more about who has an issue with us.” Peony took something more akin to a sip (this time) of her champagne. “We were not the aggressors, after all. We were invaded. In terms of people who take issue with us and our way of life, I would say the Order, perhaps? Or several of the Quidditch teams; they do now have a degree of time on their hands, after all.”
Joe struggled to not roll his eyes, but at the last minute, managed to look away just in time. He assessed the room instead, and cleared his throat, before his attention returned to the woman in front of him. He scribbled down 'Quidditch players' with a proper question mark next to it, as though he was really concerned that they were doing anything here, but. A statement is a statement, after all.
"Is there anything else you want to tell me or anything you've forgotten or anything at all?" he asked, both of his brows shooting up.
“Not that I recall at this moment, no,” she replied with a smile. “I’ll be sure to let you know if there’s anything else. Thank you for your time, Officer.”
Jasper Williamson & Val Avery
Valkyrie Avery was on the verge of tears — she still wasn't quite sure what happened, but she knew that everything was ruined and she'd be blamed for everything and —
She sniveled quietly, as she sat down at the nearest chair, her face nuzzled in the palm of her hands. She would eventually have to get up and face the music, but for right now, she wanted to stay right here, and forget about everything else.
… at least, until she heard someone clear their throat. Torn between telling them to go away and grasping whoever it was for a big hug, she forced herself to look up and sniffled. "Auror Williamson," she recognised him. "Some vigilantes did this," she stated, her tone very matter-of-fact.
Jasper pulled a chair up near her (it was easier interviewing victims when you were at their level, rather than towering over them) and nodded sympathetically, though privately he was unsure how he felt about all of this. Pissed that bombs were set off at all. Pissed that Death Eaters were having goddamned balls. Pissed that he was stuck on this case interviewing purists about something that happened to them instead of interrogating them about what happened to Gawain.
But he was practiced enough at masking his emotions when he had a job to do. So calmly he flipped open his notebook and as kindly as he could manage, asked, “Were you able to identify any of the vigilantes?”
Val frowned, trying to remember if she'd even seen any of the vigilantes. She scowled and finally shook her head, replying with an honest, "No. I'm sorry, I don't know. They just came in out of nowhere and there were some explosions and I tried to get away from all of the commotion but wasn't sure where to go so I just ran where I thought was the safest place and —," she paused, trying to breathe and calm herself down. "It was very scary!"
“It would be, that was smart thinking to try and find a safer room. Why don’t you tell me what happened before the bombs went off?”
Nervously licking her lips, Val glanced around the room, trying to see if she could catch anyone's eyes. Peony had been some distance away, being interviewed by another member of the DMLE, and she returned her attention to Ar Williamson. "It was going well — people seemed to be enjoying themselves and we'd been having a wonderful reading from Sinistra Lowe and others were enjoying the art and suddenly — I don't know, there were some explosions. And I don't know where they came from. It was very sudden and there was a lot of commotion."
“Which explosion were you closest to?” Jasper prompted. “Can you describe what happened there?”
"Near the front door," Val admitted, frowning once again. "I was doing my usual walk-around-the-party just to make sure everyone was having a good time, and some of my — friends were near the front door so I'd stopped to have a chat for a moment, and… yeah. I don't really know where the other ones were," she stated, shaking her head.
"That's okay, let's just focus on the explosion at the front door. Who do you remember was there?"
"Uhm…," Val hummed the tune for a bit, as she recalled who was there, and besides a handful of people, she couldn't remember too many others. "I think some foreigners, Jacques Piccard and Elsa from Denmark and…," she frowned, struggling to remember. "Oh, right, and my friend Magnus Rowle, who I'd been speaking to at the time."
"Is that a relation of Thorfinn Rowle's?" Jasper asked before he could stop himself, his expression shifting from sympathetic to suspicious for a moment. He knew Val's brother, Keats, who was nice and probably not a Death Eater (maybe? It was hard to tell in this climate, but since Flick and Betty trusted him and drank with him often, and Luca was sometimes in the same house as him and had come to no harm yet, he was hoping Keats was just of the 'may be a purist but otherwise harmless' category). But he also knew that Dante Avery was definitely a Death Eater. One whom Jasper absolutely longed to see thrown back into Azkaban.
Basically, tonight was a very complicated exercise in moral relativity.
"Actually, no matter, I can verify that with someone else. Did you see anyone else near the front door? Perhaps you could describe them to me?"
Val was about to respond with an earnest 'yes' regarding the relation question, but she had been interrupted before she could even say anything. Besides, it wasn't like it was such a secret. Obviously Magnus was Thor's brother. But that wasn't the point right now. For a moment, she eyed Ar Williamson suspiciously, wondering why he needed that information, but she let it go immediately.
"I mean, it was a party that had plenty of foreigners that I don't really know. I can't really describe all of them," she remarked, with a shrug. "And I certainly couldn't tell you if any of them were in cahoots with any vigilante, either."
"I'm just gathering as much information as I can, Val," Jasper assured her. "You don't have to worry about what is or isn't important. Just do your best."
"I am," she insisted. "I really don't know too much about many of our guests." Val looked at him with a half a pout, hoping that would really be the end of it. "I just can't imagine that anyone invited would want to sabotage something so near and dear to their heart."
"There's always the possibility that someone gate-crashed polyjuiced as a guest."
"And I hope you are able to find that someone, Auror Williamson," Val replied, a proper smile following. "Or.. sorry, it's Hitwizard Williamson now, isn't it? My apologies, sir."
Jasper rubbed his head and grimaced. Purists. "It is. No need to apologise."
He returned to his notepad and scanned the notes he already had and then passed her an old card, one of the ones with Ar. Jasper Williamson still printed on it. "Thank you for your time, if you think of anything else, give me a call."