[MP] against man's black design [Susan, Joanna]

It had not escaped Cliona's notice that it would be her brother's birthday soon. She decided it would be a nice surprise if she actually bought him a present, something new rather than any of the four or five dozen re-gifted items that had been lying around the castle. Not that there was anything wrong with re-gifting of course; Cliona herself had received the same antique vase at least four times in the last decade. But seeing as she hadn't actually bought him anything since...oh, about 1973, now she came to think of it, it was probably time.

Impressively, the Irish witch had actually remembered within a few weeks of the actual date, which for Cliona was almost unheard of. In the past, she had gone shopping for a July event before there were any leaves on the trees, and thus whatever she bought had vanished into the depths of her rooms by the time the occasion rolled around. On this occasion though, she decided to make one her rare visits off the estate and locate an actual shop from which one purchased things. Even more unusually, it took only three days between her making the decision and actually putting the plan into action.

Having grown up in one of the oldest pureblood families in Ireland, Cliona knew the importance of always looking her best. Therefore she selected a dress robe which had previously belonged to her mother and took great care to ensure that her jewellery matched. Then, she couldn't resist choosing a few extra rings to adorn her somewhat gnarled fingers and, for comfort, a particularly nice pair of red velvet bedroom slippers. She neglected to brush her hair.

Suitably attired, she left the estate and apparated to London in stages; firstly to a nice mountaintop in Wales where it was raining torrentially, then to a muddy cow pasture somewhere near Swindon, and finally appearing in Diagon alley. She hadn't been here for some time, and she'd forgotten that there would be people here. The discovery made her feel uncomfortable, so she backed up against a wall and glared at them for several minutes, wand still clutched firmly in her hand while she got her bearings. Already her reason for coming to London seemed to be eluding her, but thankfully there was a cafe just a few steps up the street, with very few people sitting there.

Cliona took a seat at one of the outside tables – it was a good deal warmer here than in Ireland – and picked up the copy of the Daily Prophet that a previous customer had left behind. She opened it at random, reading half of an article about some treaty between Sweden and Japan before a young witch came to take her order. The poor girl was clearly touched in the head, Cliona decided, having had to repeat her request for strawberry ice cream with a side order of asparagus three times before the girl left. The elderly witch was oblivious to the fact that she'd spoken half the sentence in gaelic, and thankfully just as oblivious a few minutes later when she received blackberry ice-cream and a pot of earl grey tea.

Then she sat, reading the paper out loud and chuckling periodically when something particularly pleased her.

@Susan Bones @Joanna Hennings

Of all the tips they had received about the supposed identity of The Dark Widow, Susan had been most amused by the claim that an Irish witch had actually loved Tom Riddle.  How could anyone love such an evil, dreadful creature?  Creature, not man.  The young Auror didn’t like to think about the late Dark Lord being human.  There was no humanity in the terrible acts he had committed.  So the idea of someone loving him, of wanting to share kisses and to marry him, was completely laughable.  Susan had not been inclined to take it seriously but her strong work ethic would not allow her to just toss the suggestion in the bin.  So she’d processed, checked and recorded the information on her list of suspects.

To her disgust, it turned out that there was some merit to the submission.  Cliona Morfessa had in fact attended Hogwarts School of Witchcraft & Wizardry alongside Tom Riddle and there were some reports to substantiate a continued association between the two after graduation.  It was unclear exactly what their relationship had been and whether Ms Morfessa had really harboured excessively fond feelings towards Tom, but it was a possible connection.  Susan had been working closely with the Lead Hit-Witch, @Joanna Hennings, during her investigation into the Widow problem and they had discussed the possibility that their target was in fact a widow or felt widowed by the loss of a loved one during the war.  Unfortunately, many many people had been widowed by those events.  Yet if there was any truth to the story they’d been fed about Cliona, it made for an interesting match.  She and Joanna had also speculated that The Dark Widow might be someone who had admired The Dark Lord and wanted to model themselves after him.  At very least Susan could not dismiss Ms Morfessa as a suspect entirely, since there was as much evidence to support that theory as there was for her hunch about the Conways being specifically targeted. 

Unfortunately, it seemed that Cliona Morfessa was a very reclusive type.  ’Whereabouts unknown’ was the frustrating subheading under her name.  Susan doubted they’d ever have the opportunity to question her about her feelings towards Lord Voldemort and put it out of her mind.  As such Susan was very surprised when Joanna came running over with a report that their suspect had been sighted at a café in Diagon Alley (where she was apparently making the shopkeeper quite uncomfortable).  Hardly believing their luck and wondering if maybe, maybe they’d be able to make some kind of break in the case, Susan had grabbed her coat and promptly apparated to the scene alongside Joanna. 

Susan had certain expectations about evil and at first glance, Ms Morfessa did not meet those expectations.  Little old ladies with messy hair, who wore bedroom slippers in public and sat about drinking tea and reading the paper, did not rank very highly to her as a threat.  By Susan’s initial assessment, the woman was quite possibly senile.  However, for all she knew, Cliona’s outward appearance and behaviour could be designed as a disguise.  It would not do to underestimate her.  Still, Susan shared a glance with Joanna with an eyebrow raised dubiously, as though to say, ‘Really?  This old bat is supposed to be our terrorist?’

Resisting the urge to march right over and interrupt her pleasant ice cream eating, Susan held back and watched their suspect for a moment.  As this was a public area they would want to be cautious about how they approached their interrogation.  It would not do well for the elderly witch to become startled and bolt or even worse, turn on innocent bystanders.  Fortunately, it was two against one so that opened up a lot more tactical options.  “Alright Joanna.”  She addressed her colleague sombrely.  “Any preference on how we handle this?  Good-witch, bad-witch perhaps?”  It was a rather clichéd method of examination but often effective.  One of them would try to get on the suspects good side by seeming kind and supportive, while the other would take a harsher and more aggressive tone.  If they worked together they should be able to get Clinoa to spill her secrets. 

Cliona Morfessa was in Diagon Alley. The tip off had initially come from a concerned waitress, who wanted the Ministry to ensure that a poor old woman was safe and taken care of. It was pure luck that Joanna had received a memo about it and a short while later confirmed the woman’s identity. It certainly wasn’t what she expected for a Tuesday morning. Cliona Morfessa was a recluse and Joanna had been doubtful that they would ever manage to track her down for questioning. That was the problem with old pureblood estates, they were under so many curses and charms that they allowed villains to simply vanish and not face the consequences of their actions.

Not that it was proven that Cliona was a villain. She was simply wanted for questioning to find out if she was, or had any knowledge of, the Dark Widow. In the absence of anything else to go on, they were operating under the presumption that the Dark Widow was styling herself after the Dark Lord, and this was someone that felt great grief at his death. And apparently Cliona fell firmly under this category. She had been to Hogwarts with Tom Riddle and had followed him around like a devoted lapdog from the very beginning. So, despite records claiming that she was a crazy old woman, Joanna knew that it was a possibility that couldn’t be ignored. It would be the height of stupidity to dismiss someone based on appearance.

So, she had collected Susan Bones from the auror department and apparated to Diagon Alley. The street was busy, filled with shoppers bustling to and fro, and for a minute Joanna was worried that it would be easy for their suspect to have slipped away in the crowds. But, Cliona was in the exact spot that she was meant to be in, mixing - was that ice cream she was dropping into her tea cup?! Oh Merlin, this would be interesting...

Joanna considered Susan’s suggestion, but offered the younger witch a quick shake of the head. “No, I think it would be better that we approach for a friendly chat. Until we decide to bring her in for official questioning then there is no point in intimidating her.” She considered how to explain it to the eager auror. “She’s under no obligation to talk to us here, and the second we scare her then I imagine she will simply disappear back to wherever she came from and we will lose any chance of further questions.” She sighed, it was manipulative but necessary. “We must ensure she keeps her guard down for as long as possible.”

“Tea?” She asked Susan, almost out of the blue as she stepped forward. Without waiting for a reply she gestured to the waitress for two teas and pointed over at the table Cliona was occupying. Then, following the path of her finger, she continued over. The smell of cow manure - Joanna was from the country, she could identify types of animal poo - sifted through the air as she approached the elderly witch and Joanna glanced down at the soiled slippers. Oh, the poor thing. The poor thing didn’t seem to mind however, contentedly reading the paper and drinking her ice cream-tea concoction without a seeming care in the world.

Joanna shifted so she cast a shadow over the newspaper and waited for the elderly witch to raise her head. Smiling brightly, she gestured at the empty seats, “hello Miss Morfessa! It’s so great to see you. May we sit down?” Lowering herself into a chair as if Cliona had agreed and hoping that Susan had done the same, Joanna reached out to rest her hand near the older witch’s. Not touching, but lying next to it in an affectionate greeting. “I was wondering if you would be kind enough to help us out...” The waitress approached with the afore mentioned teas before beating a hasty retreat, either overwhelmed by the smell or simply wanting nothing to do with this weird situation. Joanna took a measured sip as she maintained a friendly expression and polite eye contact.

Cliona’s reaction would really set the tone for the rest of the encounter. Joanna only hoped that the witch would assume that they had previously been acquainted and not notice anything odd about the greeting. It probably wouldn’t bode well if she decided to pull the pureblood supremacy card and not deign to talk to them. But, if her way didn’t work then there was always Susan’s. No harm, no foul after all.

"...a few of the undead creatures have been spotted..." Cliona paused in her reading as she conveyed a large spoon of ice-cream to her mouth. Eyes still on the paper however, her aim was somewhat off and instead the spoonful slid into her teacup and she closed her lips around a surprisingly cold and empty spoon. Startled, she looked down at the table where the ice-cream was now floating somewhat unappetisingly on the surface of the tea. The sight pleased her, so she stirred the ice-cream into the tea and took a sip.

Nice! Now she had lukewarm, creamy, blackberry-flavoured tea. She was probably the first person in the world to invent it! Maybe she could be like her brother and write a book, except hers would be a cookery book, advice for young witches and wizards on how to produce creative and delicious dishes to impress their friends. She drained the cup and poured another, stirring in a larger dollop of ice-cream this time and turning her attention back to the newspaper.

"...gathering on the icy stone beaches of Durmstrang's hidden port. Before death, they..."

A shadow fell across the paper, and the Irishwoman frowned. Had the mentally subnormal waitress wandered over again? She supposed it was kind of the cafe owners to give her a job, but really, they should take better care that she didn't disturb paying customers. Cliona looked up and felt a mixture of surprise, annoyance...and a small but insistent alarm bell that didn't sound so much as crawled insistently up and down her spine.

She didn't know these girls. And she didn't want to know these girls. The both of them looked barely old enough to be out of school and here they were, knowing her name and sitting down at her table and...how did they know her name? Nobody ever knew her name, because she didn't tell anyone outside the castle. Not anyone since... she cast her mind back with an effort, recalling the nice young man who had rescued her from that hellish muggle place that had kidnapped her. Had she told him her real name? She couldn't remember, but it seemed likely. So had she told him how she'd ended up imprisoned there? No, if she'd spoken of that, he would have asked why she'd been near the Forbidden Forest, and then guessed she had been at the scene of the battle. True, she hadn't killed anyone (the muggle whose dress she'd taken didn't count as a person so definitely hadn't been a crime) but all the same...

The waitress brought more tea, and Cliona started to say she didn't want any more tea, but the strange girls thanked her. Maybe they were all sisters? Was this whole cafe filled with special people?

And then it all made sense. Hadn't the girl just asked for help? Suddenly the reason these girls were sitting here rang with crystal clarity, and the old woman relaxed, just a little. She smiled, and lifted her paper anew. Clearly they couldn't read and wanted to find out the pressing matters of the day. It didn't solve the mystery of how they knew her name, and that was still ringing alarm bells and warning her to be careful, but it would give her more time to find out why they were really here.

"Of course, children" she said agreeably in her harsh voice, turning back to the first article and beginning to read in the voice she'd used for bedtime stories when Rhiannon was five. "The German Ministry of Magic cordially invites Europe (and further afield!) to the 144th official Wizarding Oktoberfest..."

Susan followed her colleague a little reluctantly.  Sitting down to tea and a friendly chat with the suspect was not how she would have preferred to handle the situation.  The young Auror wasn’t normally inclined to treat potential criminals with such courtesy.  As she saw it, anyone who felt intimidated by being questioned by law enforcement clearly had a guilty conscience.  No innocent person would have any reason to object to Susan’s efficient and hard-line approach.  However, Joanna made a fair point about the old witch potentially being a flight risk and they were in a very public area.  It would be a good idea to get as close to her as possible without getting her guard up or making a scene.

Although Susan was willing to follow Joanna’s lead, she was not good at appearing relaxed and casual in normal social situations, let alone fake ones.  Her default demeanour was unfortunately one of cold formality.  As such she was content to let her more convincingly friendly colleague initiate the conversation.  Susan sat down at the table with rigid posture and did not drink her tea when it arrived.  She stayed silent and tried her best not to appear threatening.  Fortunately in that respect, as a small and delicate-looking red-headed girl, her appearance was naturally mild and unintimidating.  (It was far harder for her to appear menacing when she wanted to.)  One hand was left resting openly next to her untouched tea cup, however, the other was under the table and grasping her wand through her pocket.  Just in case.

Susan absolutely hated being treated like a child!  The condescending tone and label used by Cliona immediately sparked her temper.  She could taste bile in the back of her throat and felt a strong urge to hex the old bat and drag her into the Ministry for formal questioning.  Throwing a cautious glance at her colleague, she willed herself to stay calm.  Be nice, Sus.  She did not like having to play nice with people but Joanna was right, they needed to try and get Cliona to cooperate.  Especially since technically they didn’t have any evidence to justify arresting a crazy old lady at this point – and feeling insulted by her attitude did not count as reasonable cause. 

Trying to smile pleasantly, though it came off more like a grimace, she gently tugged the newspaper from the old witch’s hands, folded it carefully and placed it down on the table.  “Sorry, Ms Morfessa.  It really is rather important that we talk.”  It was an audacious move but she hoped Joanna appreciated that she was actually showing restraint.  (Her first instinct had been to set the paper on fire.)  Then it suddenly struck Susan what luck it was that their suspect was reading the exact same issue of the Daily Prophet in which the articles relating to their investigation had been published.  Bumping her tea cup in her haste and spilling a little on the table, Susan promptly unfolded the newspaper again and flicked through to the back where the small report on the attack on Rhayader and the Dark Widow’s letter had been published.  “Here.  What can you tell us about this?”  She said while jabbing a finger at the article entitled ‘Unknown Group Attacks Rhayader, 21 Dead’.

Was what that? Joanna was glad that the witch was talking to them but were they even words? It certainly hadn’t been a spell. She could recognise latin and that had been more… guttural than the romantic ancient language. Should she cast a translation charm? Or would drawing her wand cause her to be viewed as a threat? Joanna was going for making them seem as non confrontational as possible. Cliona Morfessa switched to English anyway so her worries were null and void. Was she just reading out the newspaper?

Well, that was okay. Joanna could go down that path. Let the witch interact how she wanted until they had built up a rapport. And there was definitely mention of the Dark Widow in the Daily Prophet so they would just have to be patient and wait for Cliona to get to that page. If she wanted to dictate the whole newspaper beforehand then they would just have to be patient and settle in for a narration. Joanna took a sip of tea and appeared interested. At least she had tea, free from ice cream, to keep her occupied.

…And clearly a partner that didn’t understand the meaning of the word patience. Joanna internally sighed as Susan interrupted and grabbed the newspaper out of Cliona’s hands. What did you do that for? she wanted to yell. Did Susan not understand the delicacy of this situation? They had a reclusive suspect who, if startled, would probably disappear. And they couldn’t officially question her because they had no proof that she was in any way linked to the Dark Widow, just a series of hunches and tenuous leads. These young Aurors were always too keen to be flash-y and expect instantaneous results rather than do the real dirty work! Joanna was struck by a wave of annoyance towards Susan, something she rarely felt towards that particular auror. Normally Susan proved herself better than the other newbies. Today she was proving she had the same defects.

But, Joanna would not mention any of this. For better or worse Susan had chosen a path to go down, and there was nothing Joanna could now do but follow. She could only hope that it wouldn’t end in a dead end. Trying to smile encouragingly at Cliona Morfessa, and hopefully a little apologetically for her colleague’s actions, Joanna nodded along to Susan’s words, even though they contained a distinct lack of subtlety. While Joanna was a fan of not beating around the bush and being as direct as possible, she at least understood the importance of a different tactic while trying to extract information from someone.

“Yes, we’d love to hear about that.” Joanna said eagerly, shooting a look at Susan that hopefully translated as ‘calm down and drink your tea’. It would do nothing if Susan’s body language screamed threat. There was a reason Joanna had both her hands visible. She was well practiced in drawing her wand swiftly - she did not need to constantly grasp it like a security blanket! But both hands visible gave the distinct appearance of appearing benign. Clearly Susan needed a refresher in interview techniques and Joanna made a note to mention it once they were back at the Ministry.

She took another drink of tea and waited Cliona’s response. Joanna could only hope that the witch was still unaware enough about their true purpose to talk openly and freely.

She was struggling over the strange German words and inventing improbably and exotic pronunciations when the paper was pulled away from her, and immediately she felt a surge of anger. It had been nice, having someone to read to. Rhiannon was way past that now, and the old witch hadn't realised how much she missed being needed in that way. For a few brief moments these strange girls had brought it all back to her, and now the grumpy one was snatching it all away again. She thought about ignoring her entirely, and stuffed a big spoonful of ice cream into her mouth while she decided, then the girl opened the paper again and pointed to a different page.

Cliona didn't look, instead put the spoon back into her teacup and stirred it methodically, Three turns clockwise, one widdershins, just as she'd been taught when she was a small girl before going to school. The correct way for stirring a particular poison...she couldn't remember which one, but it was potent. She had been nine years old when her favourite aunt had shown her. She sighed, and the one who had spoken first agreed. Cliona quite liked the second one, who didn't seem to be quite as touched in the head as the others... But there was still the issue of her name, They knew her name, and she didn't know theirs, and that was worrying, but you never let your enemies see they had you upset. She should have been like her brother and created a new persona for taking out in public, then when they'd used her name they'd have said Raisa or Fionnuala or...maybe she could play the game she used to use when she was a small girl. When the adults wanted her to do something she didn't like, and she pretended that her middle name was her real name and only answered to that.

She glared at the hands on the table. They didn't look like they belonged to people who enjoyed games. So she read the article, silently this time, because she didn't think the girls deserved to hear what it said. She didn't think they really wanted to hear about the...attack on purebloods?

Not all purebloods, but seven members of the Conway family, and at least one other name she recognised. Her lips had been moving as she read, and her face assumed a confused, saddened expression. "Why are you here? Why did you make me read...that?" she demanded, beginning to add "How do you..?" before cutting herself off quickly before she made the mistake of asking how they knew her name. "The Conways. Good pureblood family, mostly Welsh. The Caddicks date back to the fifteenth century. Poor, but pure. I don't recognise the other names." she was upset now, and angry. It had been nice, sitting here, and now she had to think about why decent purebloods had been murdered. It made her think...

The Irishwoman went very still, like a rabbit caught in the hypnotic trap of a weasel's dance. These two knew her name...she was sure they were friends or relations of the strange girl who had served her... they were asking her about pureblood murders. Without warning, her hand shot out and she grabbed the nice girl's teacup  - if a potential murderer could ever be described as nice - and swapped it with her own with a sly smirk of something like triumph. Then she smelled the contents of the new cup suspiciously; it was just like her own. The ice cream, then? Or were they planning to use...she scanned the paper again...blasting charms?

Stall for time she told herself. It was what her brother would do, after all. "What else can I help you with?" she asked, in the most polite, servile tone she could muster.

Honestly, why had Susan interrupted her? Cliona was looking increasingly more distressed and spending an inordinate amount of time glaring at Joanna’s hands. Finally she resumed her focus on the newspaper and Joanna could only assume she was reading the article. Or just staring holes into the page, who knew. She was certainly an eccentric old witch.

Eventually the woman spoke. Mostly in English. Oh Merlin, Joanna needed to get a translation spell cast but she wasn’t going to draw her wand unless absolutely necessary. And it had only been a few phrases that were clearly spoken in another language. Not French, more guttural than that. German, maybe? Joanna had no idea. She knew a few French and Spanish phrases and that was all. Other languages had never been a priority in the British education system and so had not been a priority in her own upbringing. And honestly, she had only learned how to ask for a drink in Spanish from hearing it over the phone during that awful year.

Cliona sounded upset by the revelation that the Conways were dead. But people could fake sadness. And apparently also steal other people’s tea? Joanna looked down at the tea mixed with ice cream sludge that was now in front of her with an internal sigh. Merlin, the things she could be doing instead. Like, seriously, many, many things. But, if taking Joanna’s tea would make Cliona happy then it was a small price to pay. Really, anything for any information. She would not touch the stuff that the older woman had previously been drinking. It was unfortunate, she had actually been enjoying her drink.

“This Dark Widow,” Joanna began carefully. “It sounds a lot like the Dark Lord.” How should she phrase this? What was the way to say this that wouldn’t make Cliona scream and run away or try to hex them? Although, if she did attempt to hex them then at least Joanna could arrest her and have a proper interrogation. Trying to get information from weird old women when they didn’t know why you wanted the information was exhausting. Give her a six foot wand waving bastard any day.

“Do you think the Dark Lord got married?” She eventually settled on, keeping her words low and even. Honestly, it was so unlikely that Riddle had gotten married. There was absolutely no indications that he had ever even been in a relationship beyond his adoring disciples worshipping him, but it was worth asking. Cliona’s facial expressions and reaction could very well help them with what to ask next. “Maybe she’s trying to continue her husband’s work…” Death, destruction, chaos, mayhem. “And just accidentally killed those purebloods instead of mudbloods.” Joanna was many things. She was righteous. She was principled. She was for equality. But she also was a survivalist. She could say mud blood with just the right amount of revulsion that people assumed she was revolted by muggles and not the people that called others names.

And, honestly, it wasn’t a stretch to assume that Cliona Morfessa, pureblood recluse who was known to be very fond of Tom Riddle, would be revolted by muggles.

Susan hoped she looked mildly apologetic as she shared a glance with Joanna.  It wasn’t so much that the young Auror was sorry for her actions, rather that she regretted being unable to discuss them with her colleague beforehand.  The red-head tried to work well with others but she did have a tendency to be a little too independent.  Hopefully her bold approach with their suspect would be successful.  It was easier to ask forgiveness for brash behaviour when it paid off well.  All the same, Susan was grateful when the Hit-Witch followed her lead in encouraging the old witch before them to focus on the particular article relevant to their investigation.

At first it seemed like Cliona was going to ignore them entirely.  Susan continued to try and smile pleasantly but began to grind her teeth in frustration.  She didn’t want to have to spend all day attempting to coax information out of this reticent old witch.  Working hard, working overtime –those were things the young Auror was happy to do.  However, sitting here sipping tea and attempting small talk did not feel very useful.  If that’s what it takes…  Susan reminded herself sternly.  Their objective was more important than her personal discomfort with the situation.  Taking a deep steadying breath, she attempted to feign nonchalance while she dabbed at some spilled tea with a napkin.  She pushed down her feelings of anger and frustration, letting herself fall instead into an emotionless state.  Her posture became slightly looser.  Not quite relaxed but absent of the irritable energy that had filled her before.  The red-head was then able to observe dispassionately as Cliona silently read and reacted to the article. 

The news about the Conways seemed to come as a surprise to the elderly witch.  The expression on her face and the tone of her voice as she then spoke suggested that she was genuinely upset to hear of their deaths.  Whilst putting on a good performance like that did not automatically prove Cliona innocent of the crime, it was interesting.  As were the titbits of information she divulged.  This witch at least knew of the Conways and the first thing that had come to her mind was how old the family was…  Susan filed away a mental note to check further back into the history of the ‘Caddicks’ – just in case there was something she’d missed during her first cursory glance at their background. 

It seemed like their suspect was now willing to be somewhat more cooperative, even if she was clearly nervous and increasingly twitchy.  Susan could sense a tipping point coming, one where Cliona would decide either to help them or flee.  The red-head maintained doubts about the usefulness of any testimony this half-mad witch could provide or whether she was in any way involved with the attack, however they were running really dry on leads.  In order to exhaust Cliona for clues, it was important that the situation be handled delicately – which was why it was fortunate that Joanna was there, since no one had ever accused Susan of having tact. 

She stayed silent as Joanna posed her careful questions (or rather, suggestions).  Susan was unsure whether she agreed with her colleagues approach.  Jo put on a good show, particularly the way she twisted the word ‘mudblood’ in her mouth so that it sounded as though it tasted dirty.  However, Sus doubted whether even someone as senile as Cliona would believe that they were only here because they had a casual interest in whether or not Tom Riddle had had a girlfriend.  Besides which, that line of enquiry only focused on one of the many possible theories they’d come up with about the identity of the Dark Widow. 

The young Auror decided to be blunt.  “My named is Susan.  I was part of a good family too, before someone killed them.”  She spoke in a clear yet detached voice, purposefully omitting her last name and the fact that it had been Cliona’s supposed beloved, Tom Riddle, who had done the murdering.  Strangely enough, that last detail did not feel relevant to the issues at hand.  “Just like someone killed the Conways – accidental or not.”  Relative honesty was a tactic which might earn her the witch’s trust – or else turn Cliona actively against them.  It was a gamble.  Sorry Jo.  Once more Su was charging in and dragging her co-worker along for the ride. 

Susan continued steadily and truthfully, “I’m an Auror.  It’s my job to keep people safe – like the Conways and other good Pureblood families.”  Plus Half-bloods, Muggleborns and Muggles…  She didn’t feel obligated share that much.  Nor did she feel the need to elaborate on whether or not Cliona counted as one of the ‘good’ ones in Susan’s book.  “Myself and my colleague are here because we thought you might be able to help us keep people safe.  Therefore, I ask you, do you know anything about who was involved in this attack Rhayader?  Or why anyone might want to hurt a good, Pureblood family like the Conways?”

Already she had run through several options in her head and rejected them. There was the possibility of disapparating, which she would do at a push, but she hadn't attempted it from a sitting position for many years and couldn't quite remember if it was possible to turn on the spot whilst sitting in a chair. She supposed it might be, if one grabbed the bottom of the seat and sort of jumped with it, but then that would preclude holding her wand at the same time. So she would have to stand up, and the two girls (who didn't look nearly so unassuming and touched in the head as they had five minutes ago) would guess she was doing something. She could hex one of them, but only one at a time, and if she did that, the other would know something was wrong and she would have to duel. Though that would give her the opportunity to stand up, whereupon she could go back to plan A and apparate away. Or she could engage them in a very, very dull topic of conversation until they got so bored they fell asleep, and then she could apparate away.

Or she could offer to buy them all another cup of tea, and when she stood up...apparate away! That was so far the sum total of Cliona Morfessa's escape plans, but the three seconds it had taken her to run through these options made her feel calmer and more in control. That sense of calm lasted precisely until the nicer girl spoke again. First, Cliona felt appalled and furious, and then so amused at their absolute ignorance she burst out laughing. The Dark Widow...the Dark Lord... Yes, of course they sounded similar. They both have the word dark in them, she thought with utter derision. A five year old could have come to that conclusion. You might as well ban Defence Against the Dark Arts at Hogwarts because that had the word dark in it. And dark chocolate. That was definitely very dangerous and threatening. The old witch was so caught up in thinking of familiar phrases that had the word dark in them that she almost missed the next preposterous suggestion.

It was a shame, really, that she had decided at that moment to lift Joanna's cup and take a sip of the new tea, because she spat it straight across the table at the mention of the Dark Lord being married. It just showed how little they knew... she shook her head and wiped her mouth on her sleeve, because well-brought up ladies never leave food or drink just sticking to their lips. Despite her resolve to pretend they weren't there and to escape, she felt the need to educate their ignorance. And because she was trying hard, and she actually wanted them to understand this time. she spoke entirely in English. Just as she'd done when Little Sister had first moved to the estate, before she could understand Irish words.

"You're far too young to understand" she said "Not your fault...you never knew him. He was so beautiful...so much more beautiful when he had a nose. Who wouldn't have loved him? But married? Never." she shook her head firmly, eyes glistening with memories "and if he had, he would never have chosen anyone who..." whose skills were so shoddy they would mistake mudbloods for purebloods she finished silently. But she didn't think the girls wanted to hear that. "...someone who made mistakes" she finished.

No sooner had she finished speaking than the other one - the bad one - started to speak. There was something about this one that had made her uneasy from the moment they'd appeared. At first it all sounded reasonable. She was talking about the murders, though Cliona still didn't see why they wanted to talk to her until...Oh, Merlin's ARSE she was a fe**ing auror. Suddenly the apparating away whilst clinging to her chair idea seemed very sensible indeed. But despite her lack of social skills, Cliona hadn't survived this long without being canny. Firstly, she congratulated herself for what she'd said so far. Then, the reason they knew her name fell into place and, ironically, she felt just the tiniest little bit safer. Aurors would hex and attack people, but only if they were sure those people were criminals. They'd found out her name, but...

The tears spilled over her cheeks. Once again Tom had known best. Oh, how she had wanted to be a Death Eater, yearned for it, for his attention, for him to even glance her way...but it was her brother he had chosen. And she hadn't understood, oh for so many years. Right up until Rhiannon was born, and then she knew. Tom had known. He'd known everything. Known that she needed to appear innocent, to remain safe for the sake of her family. "He was so beautiful..." she sighed again, staring off into her memories, and it seemed she might not speak again, but then she remembered. Aurors. They know facts about people. If they knew her name, was it possible they knew other things, too? "I don't know. Tom would have known...he'd have kept them safe" she sighed, conveniently forgetting that Voldemort had been quite happy to murder any pureblood who refused to join the cause. "Why did he have to..."

She stopped, drew a deep breath, and wiped her face with her sleeve again. She had grieved enough. Time to be strong now. Her lips set into a fierce line, she looked at the girls and shook her head firmly. She just wanted to go home now.

What, in Merlin’s name, was that? Why was Joanna even here? It was like they weren’t even on the same page. It was like they weren’t even in the same blinking book! This was well past the idea of good witch, bad witch… this was into the realm of complete incompetence. And Joanna did not like to appear that way. At all. Ever. She was judging herself so hard right now. She should have taken the time to properly talk to Susan about their strategy before approaching Cliona, but at the time they were just desperate to get in before the older witch left.

Now it seemed like the biggest mistake in the world. Susan was acting like this was a race to the finish line. And such a large part of Joanna wanted to drag her younger colleague away before she could damage the Department’s reputation even more. Presenting an united front was one of the most important things that you could do in MLE. And this? This was anything but an united front. Joanna was honestly embarrassed to be there. But she couldn’t just up and leave. Because that would not be an united front, and Joanna. Did. Her. Job. But there was clearly no point in her even bothering to speak because Susan was clearly deciding to ignore all of her years of experience.

Did she even realise how stupid it made them look?

And Joanna couldn’t even glare at her, or kick her, or send a small set of sparks to shock her. Because they were conducting an interview. So instead she just pursed her lips and nodded. No doubt about it, Joanna would be fully reviewing the entire thing with Susan later and explaining exactly what Susan had done that was a total shambles. So basically every time she had opened her mouth. This was disgraceful. It better be over soon.

And there it was. Cliona started crying. Well, Joanna was not going to say a thing. In the interview sense anyway. “Here,” she offered instead, passing a tissue across the table. “It’s okay.” Joanna kept her voice sympathetic even if a storm was brewing beneath the surface. There was little way Cliona was going to say anything more now that Susan had blown the entire game. But that was something the auror had to work out for herself. After handing over the tissue, Joanna raised her (new) teacup to her lips. There was still ice cream in there but whatever. This was Susan’s show now and Joanna was not going to even try to intervene. Absolute shambles. The lot of it.