10 September, 2011
8pm, The Indian Restaurant
London

The Indian Restaurant was a small, yummy, neighborhood place nearby Niobe Thursby's flat in a Muggle part of London. It was well-worn, fairly priced, and Niobe counted it one of her worst-kept secrets. She'd owled an invitation for Jonas Trevelyan to meet her. She arrived ahead of him, and spread her work out on the table at her usual booth. It was a Muggle restaurant, so nothing to obviously self-animated like her Verbatis Quill or the moving pictures or kinetic typography of a Daily Prophet front page.

"Jonas."

Niobe waved over her most reliable Auror. She hoped that she was his most reliable reporter. They'd met here many times to compare notes and barter in precious facts.[1] Neither of them always left with everything they wanted from the other, but it was about as healthy a relationship the press could have with law enforcement.

"Here, got you this." She slid over a little plate with a samosa on it and a little plastic cup of bright green mint sauce.

"You look good, how's the family," she asked sweetly. Nudge nudge, she scooted the offering a little closer. 

She'd need to be sweet. She needed a favor.

1.	Nov 19, 2009 - Cards on the Table; Mar 2, 2009 - Blind Man's Bluff; Sept 19, 2009 - Cut the Deck

Jonas had almost been surprised that the owl hadn't come sooner.  Once word about the mess up in Cumbria had gotten out and affected wixes had started accumulating in to St. Mungo's, he'd been biding his time until his favorite reporter at the Daily Prophet reached out to him to try and get more of a scoop.  But the Prophet's newsroom appeared to be mostly lying low after an intrepid boy reporter had managed to weasel an interview with Carstairs, seemingly content with restricting its coverage to more official channels. 

Still, even a few weeks after the investigation had began, Thursby's request to chat had hardly come as a surprise.  Jonas flashed her a crooked smile as he made his way over to her usual booth, in their usual hole-in-the-wall meeting place.   

"Doing well.  Gwenna's back at school as of last Thursday," he said cheerfully, as he slid onto the bench across from Niobe.  "Amazing the peace and quiet that comes with Hogwarts starting.  Practically as good as a holiday, innit?"

The journalist had already ordered him a samosa.  If she was looking for a favor, he was hungry enough to be happy to oblige.

"Alright yourself, then?" he asked, glancing up at her as he dipped the samosa in the mint sauce, and then raised it to take a bite.  The outside was still warm to the touch, which meant he was likely going to regret putting it in contact with his tongue.  "How's the broadsheet business been?"

When Jonas tucked in, Niobe looked pleased and took up her own piece of garlic naan. She munched on it happily and made agreeing noises and nods at Jonas's remarks about his little squirt being back in Scotland for her magical scholarship.   She'd seen pictures of Gwenna - bright little button, she was.

"We are lovely," she said, on behalf of herself and journalism as a whole. "Every day a new adventure, except that Cuffe has me on deep background."

She chewed with her mouth open, a slightly wild look in her eye. "Deep. Background. Why? You tell me. I think we're all being collectively punished. He's a madman and we're all just passengers on his crazy boat."

Despite Niobe's obvious cabin fever, she seemed to be in genuinely high spirits. It was all part of the work. Not everything could be front page.

"One of the coffee boys threw a spanner in the works and so it's By the Book for awhile. So. I do not have any questions for you about those Dementors or that squib Abby Reid." She sounded as if she couldn't believe it herself!

She knocked her knuckles on the table and sat back.

Biting into the samosa had indeed been a mistake.  Jonas quickly let it drop back onto the plate, grimacing at the searing pain that struck his tongue.

"No questions?" he asked quizzically, arching a brow at her.  "None at all?"

That was a bit unexpected, particularly if Niobe had gone through the trouble of not only getting him here, but ordering him food.  Part of Jonas couldn't help but wonder if not asking meant the very opposite.  He'd been almost looking forward to the challenge of figuring out what answers he could give the reporter without completely abandoning the spirit of Solomon Carstairs' order not to speak the word pentral to the press.  Now, left without the challenge, he was left feeling a little disappointed.

Steam was still rising from the half-opened samosa, with just the tiniest bit of warm potatoes and peas spilling out onto the plate.  Jonas eyed it, visibly judging how long he would have to wait before he could safely make a second attempt.

"Well, I'm a bit disappointed that we won't be able to play our usual game of talking in circles, but far be it for me to risk the wrath of the eminent Mr Cuffe," he replied cheerfully.  Deciding to risk it a second time, he picked up the samosa again.  "Is there something that I can do for you on deep background, then?  Reckon it can't be exciting as Dementors."

Niobe rested her chin in her hand sullenly. "I know."

It really was a pity. Jonas was such a good sport. It helped that they'd known each other before he was an Auror; meant he knew what it was like being kept out of the loop and so Niobe had confidence he didn't enjoy being a barricade. For the moment, it was clear both of them were tethered by higher powers.

"Yes, I do actually, says I, as I casually produce pen and paper..." Niobe narrated.  She had a ball point pen and little red notebook. No enchanted quill.

"Were you on that call to Devon? Heard a bit of chatter about a break-in, but never any statement.  Aurors called to a robbery, must've been something good. Got details for me?"

She clicky-clicked the pen, ready to take it down.

Were you on that call to Devon?



Jonas, who had been in the middle of taking a second bite of the samosa, immediately started to choke.

It took a few moments to manage to clear his airway again.  Still coughing, he shielded his mouth with his hand, desperately trying to use the distraction to think of how to respond.  How the hell had the Daily Prophet gotten word about the break-in at the Aldridge's? 

"Sorry, what?" he asked, even though he'd heard Niobe perfectly.  "I, uh....I don't think there's much going on with anything in Devon.  Ahh..."  He dissolved into another minor coughing fit, looking back over his shoulder to see if there was someone that he could signal for some water.

Niobe found herself starting somewhat incredulously at the normal well-tied Auror having a life or death struggle with a hot pocket.  She assisted with a little wave to Mrs. Devrajani who was very kind to be quick to send over her teenaged son with a glass of cold water.

"Blimey, what's got into you?" she said with a low voice and a little chuckle.  She waited a moment for him to fight his way back to the land of living and breathing.

"Bit flustered there, mate? Now I know it must be really good. Out with it, please."  She tapped her pen on the paper.

Niobe couldn't think of a time she'd seen Jonas raise above a middling fluster and he'd never been coy. Possible he'd just inhaled the samosa for no reason - happened to everyone - but also possible he hadn't expected her to ask about Something Very Interesting in Devon.

Drinking the glass of water bought him another few moments to sort through a plan of action.

As far as Jonas could deduce, he had three options:

1. Deny everything.
2. Admit to the robbery, but talk it up as the most inanely boring investigation ever known to wixkind.
3. Admit to the robbery, beg Niobe for a favor, and hope that he could appeal to her sense of mercy.

"Sorry," he managed, making a weak attempt to fan at his mouth, in the universal symbol for dealing with a burn.  "Hotter'n expected."

He took another sip of water, trying not to wince.  The angry face of Charisma Aldridge was looming large in his mind's eye, ready to hex him into oblivion.  If he tried to deny everything, he faced the added danger that the seasoned reporter would simply move on to another source.  If she started asking around St. Mungo's, or even tried another contact with the Ministry, it was likely that the Aldridge family's name would come up.

"Not really that good," he said, shaking his head.  Option 2, then.  He tried to make eye contact in a way that didn't make it look like he was trying and gave her a weak smile.  "Honestly.  Sorry for all the build-up.  We got a call that there had been a break-in after a bloke ended up in St. Mungo's, but when we dropped in to take a statement, he and his wife didn't want to file a report."

Jonas wasn't sure how well she was buying it, but in for a penny, in for a galleon.  He kept going, all the while willing a silent, sincere apology to the poor, undeserving Ryan Aldridge.

"If you ask me --"  He made a motion as if he were drinking from a bottle, glug-glug-glug.  "Poor lad ran into some trouble late at night, made up a story after he hit his head and broke a lamp, and then realized he'd gotten in deeper than he expected once everyone started asking him questions."

Niobe kept tapping her pen lightly, patiently listening to her Auror friend explain why a break-in hadn't made any waves, barely a ripple, in the current of crime news.

Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.

"Must have been quite the pair. What kind of husband breaks a lamp and calls Aurors rather than come clean with his wife. Please kill me if you catch me in a relationship like that." She made a cringe-y face.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

"That's really odd actually.  You think a lamp? You sure? You said he was injured enough for St. Mungo's? You don't think the wife tossed him around do you? It does happen. Aurors. Blimey. He must have been proper cracked about if Aurors were called."

Something didn't add up. Surely, Jonas agreed something was fishy.

This was not the direction that he'd intended to go down when he'd agreed to meet after Niobe's owl, and he was starting to feel more guilty by the second.  It didn't help that he liked the reporter.  Even worse, he respected the Free Press.  It felt like he'd spent most of the spring railing with Anna about the super-injunctions[1] placed on Muggle tabloids, and now here he was, outright lying to a journalist about an incident that she had every right to report on.  He was as bad as the bloody court system.

"Yeah, well," he began, not quite knowing how he was going to finish the sentence.  "These sorts of things have a way of getting out of hand.  Once you start spinning a story, it's hard to back out of it."

He never should have offered to go to the Aldridges' house.  That had been his first mistake.  He should have left Charisma to deal with the mess all on her own, to yell at some other Auror who hadn't made the grave sin of getting personally involved with a family who despised his chosen profession.

He gave a shrug that did not quite come across as carefree as he'd probably intended.

"I don't feel right giving you names for this one, but you can put in the usual anonymous quote from Level Two about how we're pursuing all possible leads, yeah?" he offered helpfully, hating himself more and more every second.  "If anything was taken, we haven't confirmed it yet.  And off the record, although we're going to follow up, I'm not sure how far we'll be able to take this one if neither of the couple wants to make a report."

1.	During the 2011 British privacy injunction controversy

T-t-tap!

"Broken lamp my backside..." she said, narrowing her eyes and shaking her head. "Thought we were mates. Shame on you, Jonas. A cover-up does not look good on you."

She couldn't put her finger on it, but something wasn't adding up.  She sat back at looked at him a moment, trying to decide how far to push.  Niobe couldn't make him tell her.  They had an understanding, usually, so something important must be keeping him from telling her what he wasn't supposed to tell her. Niobe sighed a little, a bit put out.

"Suspected robbery in Devon. One wizard released from Mungo's. No names. No comment. No threat to the public," she summarized.  Merlin, this had to be the second dullest story she'd ever file.

"Sound good to you? Let me know quick, I'm nearly unconscious."

If he'd confirm, she could at least print something. She hadn't had a byline in a week because of Cuffe's smack down.

He hung his head.  He couldn't protest.

"Yeah, that's the gist of it," he said unhappily.  The same raw feeling that he'd had in his throat after snapping at Charisma was back again.  Jonas Trevelyan, conspirator, liar, and eroder of civic freedoms.  And he had no one but himself to blame for it.

He gave her an uncomfortable shrug.  What could he do?  But even that avoidance of responsibility felt like a falsehood.

"Let me know once Cuffe lets you lot out from under his heel again," Jonas said, as he slid back off the bench and eased himself to stand again.  It was an olive branch, but after his shameful performance today, he doubted she'd take it.  "I'll try to see what we can let slip about the Cumbria investigation."

Niobe wouldn't be able to name it, but seemed she and Jonas understood each other.

"Thanks, mate," she said, sympathetically.  First time she'd felt bad for an Auror who wouldn't give up the good stuff! First time for everything, she supposed. As he stood up to go, she tucked away her pen and paper.

He offered to toss her a lead on the Dementor thing in consolation. She raised her eyebrows, accepting the gift. Something was up, and it didn't seem to have anything to do with her.

"I'm going to hold you to that. And hey - off the record: you'll let me know if you're in too deep or something, right?"

It was a funny sort of thing to offer an Auror, but after Mortimer Gamp and Ira Almasy seemed everyone at the Ministry was on edge. If Jonas and the rest of them didn't know who to trust, that was a recipe for trouble.

If anything, Niobe's offer made him feel even worse.  Jonas tossed her a smile anyway, determined not to seem too dire.

"'Course," he said.  "Cheers, mate.  Hope I never have to take you up on that."

Hands in his pockets, he started back outside.

Fin.