It was a perfect end to a perfectly normal afternoon in the very typical heart of Westminster. So much so that the very unusual, petite woman was quite normally unprepared for the very, typical weather. Confused, yet? Tamis Raynor might have felt some gratitude in deflecting some of her very typical angst with the whole situation.

Rain sheeted the busy street outside the muggle barrier to the Ministry of Magic, coating the sidewalks and gurgling down gutters – or ‘whooshing’ as it was slapped back up against the concrete by a passing car, windshield wipers working diligently against the plaguing downpour. The sun had set and the chill of encroaching fall had claimed the night. The only thing worse than when it was raining, was when it was cold and raining.

For a Witch who lived in a muggle apartment complex and had walked to work for nearly the past decade amongst muggles, the Head of the Auror’s Office was still fantastically set in her pureblood ways. It never occurred to her to remember to bring an umbrella when there were a dozen simple water repellant spells she could recall at the tip of her wand. It never occurred to her until she was standing there, under the overhang, giving the weather a grey-eyed consideration that would smite most of her Aurors, as she (once again) realized the muggles might find it a bit curious if a middle-aged woman went strolling down the street, miraculously dry.

So she stood there. Arms crossed. Impeccable posture. A bit too totalitarian in her finely tailored militaristic garb. The wizards and witches that exited after the petite dark wizard catcher wisely gave her a wide girth as they politely snapped open their umbrellas and disappeared into the abyss. Raynor’s lips compressed, ever-so-slightly, the only indication that she was less-than-pleased with the forecast of her immediate future.

It would take someone who knew her extremely well in a less professional setting to know that she was tired from a long day of work. Ringleading a sea of cases that did not seem any nearer to closure than they had a year ago. That she was just as stressed as anyone else and this was just the cauldron cake to top off her day. Because Tamis Raynor did everything within her personal power to avoid emotional displays. So she took a resigned breath, ignored the foreshadowing moisture in the chill-bitten wind that cut through her jacket, and prepared to take that first inevitable step.

She had no idea how Ironic her evening was about to become.

There were days when Jonas loved living in London.  The gray, gloomy skies looming overhead, the rhythmic patter of steady raindrops, the warm, familiar smell of wet pavement -- it was almost enough to make him wish that he still lived within walking distance of the Ministry, or that he didn't have a stop to make to pick up Artie on his way home so that he could have delved into the wet, frantic, complaining mess that the Underground became on any rainy day.  He'd already been up and down to street level twice today -- once for lunch, which was his usual time to check his mobile phone and catch up on his brand new drawing game -- and once to run errands that he probably could have delegated to one of the trainees.  But there was some sort of pure joie de vivre of being in the bustling city whenever it rained, and not even the aching in his knee or the fact that his overcoat wasn't really waterproof  could keep him from trekking through the streets.

He'd left his desk for the last time just around evening -- normal for most workdays, although unusually early for an Auror -- and had taken the lift up to the street.  Casework never became not stressful, but lately, it had begun to feel more routine.  There had been no assassinations, no random terrorists attacks.  After the busts over the summer, the Runespoor smuggling ring had all but gone away.  It had been months since he and Adon had gotten lectured for accidentally blowing up Ministry property.  While it probably said something that grisly, unexplained murders were considered normal in his current profession, the fact that that was the most complicated thing that he had on his plate at the moment was somewhat reassuring.

What it really meant was that there was some awful disaster lurking just out of sight that he knew he'd have to deal with sooner or later, but for now, Jonas was perfectly happy to take his eight-hour work days and consistent evenings at home at face value.  Whistling, he made his way toward the exit, tugging his hat down over his forehead in preparation for the wonderfully dreary weather outside.

But he was not the only one departing by street level this time of day.  Jonas paused mid-step, arching his eyebrows as he studied the decidedly unhappy looking woman who was already waiting just inside the barrier.  Tamis Raynor and wet weather went together about as well as rats and tea kettles; that is to say, it was clear that they belonged anywhere but together, and the former always ended up looking half-drowned after an encounter with the latter.

The smart thing to do was to ignore her.  He could wait and dodge around, make his way to his car, and pretend he hadn't seen the Head Auror, who most decidedly Did Not Like Looking Foolish in front of any of her employees.  But Jonas had decided long ago that not only was it healthy for Tamis to be occasionally subjected to things that she Did Not Like, it was also a good idea to remind her that he wasn't simply one of her employees.  Making his decision, Jonas adjusted his course, turning up his collar to protect against the upcoming rain as he strode towards her.

"You know," he remarked in a cheerfully conversational tone that was loud enough to hopefully make her jump, "that Muggle invention that I told you about has been out for at least a year now.[1]  You really ought to try it, Tamis.  Incredible things, umbrellas are.  You can walk in the pouring rain and not even get wet."

1.	"There's one development in particular that you may have heard of, called an umbrella.  It's right impressive, it is, keeps you dry in the rain and everything."

She may not have exactly jumped, but he did elicit a reaction.

Standing there, considering her inevitable fate in her very finest brooding silence, Tamis Raynor had not expected an interruption.  Only the precise concoction of bravery and foolhardiness would have provoked any attempt. Naturally, that martyr could be none other than Jonas Trevelyan. A man whose blood ran as much gold as it did scarlet, even if it was not immediately apparent. More so than anyone else she knew. Anyone still alive, at least.

 It just took her a moment to realize this.

Turning smoothly on her heel, her hand had already found purchase on the wand diligently concealed beneath her coat before she had even fully assessed the situation. A seasoned Auror’s instinct. Particularly one who had outlived two Department Heads in a year, had evidence for a thirteen year old cold case delivered directly to her, and faced off with a Scottish Yeti.  As much as the Aurors Office had quieted in recent months, Raynor could not afford to be drawn into the false sense of security many of her men had. There was another front to face; one she feared would be much more political. Aurors and Politics went together as well as those rats and tea kettles.

Realization set in. The voice. The hair. The height. The unmistakable sarcasm.  The words. In an instant, she was brought back to a night… almost … she paused to think, even as her hand slipped away from the concealed holster at her hip, had it really been a year? A year since a man she had thought ten years in the grave had shown up, quite literally, on her stoop, grinning much like he was now. She had been significantly wetter. The rain continued its downpour behind her, the pound of it against the sidewalk it’s ironic laughter.

“The concept of self-preservation has been around at least half as long,” she countered, a put-upon flash of annoyance crossing her face as she pinned him with a wary grey-eyed stare. Doing her very best to conveniently ignore any legitimacy in his statement. “When you adopt the one, I’ll consider the other.”  She crossed her arms, less as a defensive measure, and more of attempt to Will him into forgetting that he had caught her unawares.   

So much had happened in a year. And most of that disregard for self-preservation had been at her own provocation. The petite Head Auror bit back the small awkward bubble in the pit of her stomach. She had not conferred with Jonas Trevelyan on anything but a professional level since releasing Tait Aldridge’s memory. The Office became hectic, he and Adon went overseas -- there were many reasons for it. She was not about to admit her own insecurities had been one of them.  She would walk straight out into that rain first. For now, she was content to glare.

Tamis Raynor, for all of her self-enforced unreadable masks and refusal to let anyone get closer than a twenty-foot pole, was as easy to predict as anyone.  The twitch toward her wand, the flash of annoyance: if Jonas had been feeling slightly more cheeky, he could have mimicked it in unison.  But he stood there, relaxed and amiable, and let her make her retort.  He had no doubt that Tamis Raynor occasionally thought in capital letters for emphasis: Saving Face and Looking Stern were obviously matters of high personal importance.

It made him sad in a way, though he'd never tell her that.  When he'd begun the process of reintegrating himself into the magical world a year ago -- taking out the ad in the Prophet, taking on the case for Aileen Reid, making his return 'official' by surprising Tamis on her doorstep -- Jonas had been well aware that he'd had a chip on his shoulder.  He had always considered his life to be one that had been brutally interrupted, his hopes and dreams thrown abruptly askew when he'd been so forcibly submerged back into the Muggle world.  With no money, no credentials, and no university degree, he had been forced to make a way for himself.  Ten years later, with a broken family and an unshakable sense of how things should have turned out instead, he had been bitterly envious of the old friends and colleagues who hadn't been forced aside.

But time not only healed all wounds; it also brought perspective.  Even before he'd reconciled with Anna, Jonas had started to realize how well he'd come off.  He was independent and not beholden to the Ministry.  He had two children whom he loved.  And now, a year later, he had a job, colleagues who had become close friends, and a renewed sense of purpose.  Maybe he wasn't as high up the career ladder as he could have been; maybe he still had the remnants of psychic trauma that even he wouldn't know about until he snapped and accidentally throttled someone ten years down the line.  But in the grand scheme of things, he'd come off alright.

Tamis clearly hadn't.  Jonas doubted that she'd ever fully recovered from Tait's death.  Now she kept the rest of the world at a distance that had obviously increased over the past ten years.  Archer was the only one he'd seen who had managed to break through her walls, and Jonas was convinced it was only because of sheer, stubborn persistence on the big Auror's part.  He himself might have started to get close, but Tamis's defenses had been up in full force since he'd signed back on with the Ministry.  Now he was one of her men; now she couldn't afford to care.

It tugged at his heart a little bit every time he thought about it, but there were some battles that weren't his to fight.  Jonas flashed the petite woman a crooked smile, cocking his head to the side as he regarded her.

"This like the whole 'You let the past go; I'll do the same' wager we had going?" he asked bemusedly.  "Because as far as I can see, I've lived up to me end of the bargain on that one."  He barely even complained about overbearing fascist government policies these days, and rarely when he really meant it.  Then, it was only to Adon or Anna.  "Can't say I'd say the same for all of the other parties involved, Tam."

Her comment hinted at a concern, but not really, he thought, a valid one.  It had been months since anyone had really tried to kill him.  Curiosity was certainly not a mortal sin, especially when one was fairly quick when thinking on one's feet and happened to have an extremely overprotective Israeli former counterterrorism operative for a partner.  Adon Eleor was his concept of self-preservation.

Jonas gave an easy shrug, nonplussed by the show of non-concern.  "Haven't walked into any lion's dens recently, have I?" he asked cheekily.  "C'mon.  Me car's right around the corner.  I'll give you a lift home and save you yet another stroll in the rain."