10:00 PM, Just outside of St. Mungo's.

Kingstreet might have considered him a patient and proficient planner, but the truth was Marc wasn't. It was pure luck that the day before they met at Tynen Manor, Healers had been dispatched to Hogwarts to do schoolwide Dragon Pox checks. It was also luck that the Daily Prophet decided to plaster pictures of it all over the front page. That was the only reason he had thought of doing anything as delicate as misdirection and subterfuge. Otherwise, he was always more fond of the 'go in with wands and/or guns blazing' approach.

It was also due to the same stroke of luck that he had already chosen an identity to steal. Normally, he would have had to spend at least a week tailing a few candidates to make sure the story was believable, but thanks to the same Prophet report, he didn't have to. He didn't know the guy's name, but the healer could be seen in the background of one of the pictures, checking on a young Slytherin. Early to mid-thirties, tall and lean, probably considered handsome. No name though. But, Marc didn't need to, or want to, know his name yet. It humanized him and that always complicated things like murder.

Taking a draw on what remained of a dogtailed cigarette hanging listlessly from his lips, Marc settled in and prepared to wait in the shadows for hours. Imagine his surprise when, a few minutes later, his prey walked out of the building, alone. Marc blinked, a bit dumbfounded at his luck these last couple of days, and then glanced upwards. Maybe the gods of luck were looking out for him. Or, perhaps, someone else. He glanced down, shrugged and tossed the remains of his cigarette into the shadows, where it glowed pathetically before succumbing to the darknesses embrace.

Slinking from the shadows, hands in his pockets and head down, Marc slipped behind the man and matched his pace, remaining just far back enough to not be suspicious, but close enough to strike at a moments notice.

From the Dragon pox scare at Hogwarts to keeping his own ward in line, Jason was all ready thinking of a possible holiday. Maybe Sam and the boys would enjoy going somewhere warmer for a few days. Nothing too drastic; he’d have to check with Fiona and Sam first, anyway.

Just something to get away from all the stress. Holiday seemed the perfect fix for it.

He’d left work late, finishing up some paperwork for the head honcho. It had been a lot of coffee to get him through it, and now he just wanted a pint before heading home, hopefully to pass out wrapped around Sam.

That thought forced a smile on his face and his shoulders squared up as he stood a little taller. A quick pint, then. He would not be derailed from home with promises of shots and more beer tonight! Even if it was freezing outside. Jason pulled his peacoat closer, pushing his chin down into the scarf.

His arms crossed over his chest, as if holding himself tightly would keep the chill at bay. Thoughts raced through his mind with each step away from St. Mungos. He hoped Sam had gotten Lewis off to sleep easily. Fleeting thoughts bounced around, from worries about bills, food, and whether he’d locked up the office sliding in.

It was no wonder adults told children to enjoy their childhood. Once it was gone, it really was gone. Then all the responsibilities and expectations were there...

Jason rounded the corner at the end of the block, feeling warmer as the wind slowed down, stopped by buildings and trees. Just up ahead was his pub. A quick stop in, that’s all.

There was a pub ahead, its glowing sign warm and welcoming. Marc wondered if his prey was going to stop in for a drink and quickly considered his options. If he did stop in, Marc would be forced to follow. On one hand, it could give him a good chance to see the mans behavioral ticks and personality around others, and liquor would certainly make him easier to subdue. However, it also meant they could be there for hours and the number of witnesses to his tailing would increase tenfold. Also, what if someone was meeting him there? Marc could only apparate back with one body and leaving behind any others could prove problematic.

As Jason neared the building, the lights from the pubs papered over windows just barely touching the edges of his coat, Marc made a split decision. He covered the distance between them with surprising speed and struck while in full sprint. One hand clamped hard over Jason's mouth and the other balled itself into a fist, burying itself firmly into his right kidney. As his knees buckled slightly from the surprise attack, there was a loud POP and the two men disappeared.

Seconds later, they reappeared in an abandoned house some miles away. The room was swathed in shadows that turned the dusty white sheets draped over various furniture left behind by long gone owners into ghosts lurking in the corners. When they popped back into existence, they stirred a cloud of dust that swirled around them as they struggled. Releasing Jason, Marc spun him around into the path of a vicious haymaker. Years of being without a wand meant that Marc found himself relying more on good old muggle fisticuffs. Sometimes, the simplist things were the best.

Thoughts were going through Jason’s mind, but that he was about to be attacked on his way home was not one of them.

He heard the movement, and as he thought to move out of the way, a hand covered his mouth. A muffled grunt escaped him as he tried to turn to meet the surpriser. Everything happened at once; the hand tightened (no longer something he thought was friendly), and the punch into his gut made a groan of pain escape him as hands moved out to try and grab on to the man behind him.

The POP was unexpected, and as disoriented as he was with the cramping pain in his side and the nature of apparation, it was any wonder they both ended up wherever it was that the world started to straighten itself out.

A searing pain ran up his arm like molten lava. A finger was missing, though Jason had yet to realized he’d been splinched. Everything that had happened in a few seconds caught up to him, and he let out a yell as the man whirled him around. The solid hit against his jaw was the last straw for Jason’s consciousness. His head snapped to the side, body kept spinning, and he crumbled to the ground below.

Jason's sudden acquiescence came as no surprise to Marc, who spent a good deal of his life putting thick calluses on his knuckles and breaking his fingers more times than he could count. He had a way with words when they were punctuated by his fist. As the taller man crumpled to the floor, Marc smirked and kiss his knuckle. "Still got it..." He murmured to himself, throughly satisfied.

When this moment of self-satisfaction came to an end, Marc finally turned to his victim. Hoisting his dead weight up by his armpits was not an easy job, but Marc made short work of it. Dropping him carelessly onto a filthy "what must have once been olive colored velvet" chair, he took his time studying his soon to be face. Not too bad, really. Dirty blond hair with a somewhat receeding hair line, not great but the man was still attractive enough despite it, heavy brow and a straight roman nose. Square jaw. He could work with this face. Wasn't like his own face was much better, thanks to years skulking about in dank cells and dark alleys.

Marc then focused on his clothes. Clothes said a lot about a man. Personally, he wore black a lot. It was stylish, comfortable, hard to see at night... oh, and it hid blood stains beautifully. Jason seemed to be more of a 'muted classic with rustic feel' sort of bloke. His rather nice grey peacoat belied the worn blue shirt and jeans underneath, so Marc pegged him as a professional bloke who enjoyed a bit of rustic living on his own time. The calluses on his hands seemed to agree with this -- oh my. There was blood on those hands as well. Marc was no healer, by choice more than anything, but he could tell a splinched finger when he saw one. It was bleeding quite a bit and he was shocked that he hadn't noticed until now.

Fortunately for Jason, Marc did have some training with medical magic (Again, he chose not to be a healer. Killing was just too fun.) and he needed the man alive and conscious to torture information out of. So instead of leaving it to rot or bleed out, like he might have done otherwise, Marc pulled out his wand and went about cleaning and stitching the wound. It wasn't particularly pretty, since he kinda wanted to leave a bit of a 'lasting impression' if you will, but it did the job. The blood stopped dripping and the wound would heal in a week or so. Sure, magic could heal it now, without a scar even, but where was the fun in that?

A few minutes later, Marc left the man chained to a chair next to a dimly lit fireplace and a glass of water, short a few curly blond hairs and a wallet. Now he was off to see the delightful Dazmond Weidman about a potion.

Jason came to slowly, in and out of darkness that threatened to take him back. Once or twice, it did, arms wide and welcome as his head fell back to the ground from the two or three inches it had lifted. Luckily darkness filtered through what might have been dreams. Dried lips mumbled names as he turned his head side to side.

Finally an almost equally dried tongue attempted to wet his lips. Jason blinked, squinted, and moaned softly. His body ached in a way that spoke of uncomfortable sleep conditions. Not that he had been asleep very long; even the shock to his system of the splinching had left him resting for only so long.

A scratchy throat begged for a drip of water, and thus Jason groaned himself awake. He wondered where all the other aches came from. He attempted to move his left hand and found it was... stuck? His right hand moved to push himself up when a sharp, intense pain shot up his arm and escaped out his mouth with a gasp. Jason stared at his hand in disbelief; a finger was missing!

The healing job was bad, mediocre, but... but he wasn’t bleeding that bad. His hand was still covered in dried blood. Jason grit his teeth against the pain as best he could, pulling himself up to a ninety degree angle on the ground by his left hand, chained and all.

What the hell was going on? Why would someone want Jason? Shivering a little under his peacoat, Jason’s eyes moved from the meager fire to-water?! His hand reached out and attempted to wrap around the glass, nearly spilling it as he realized he was too weak. So instead he pulled the chair over, somewhat frantically, and tipping it over. His left hand grasped the glass, and his body laid out straight on the ground as he tipped the warm liquid back against his lips. It was the most joyous thing in the world...

Until it was gone.

Jason licked at his lips and started to right his chair back, leaning against it while he waited, frowning with distaste. Whoever it was that did this... he had questions to answer. Eyes flickered down to his hand as he considered his time alone.

Roughly 24 hours later

It had only been a day in Marren's shoes and Marc was already planning some big changes. He had spent those 24 hours calling into work sick and getting to know his new body, which sounds a lot dirtier than it was. Actually, it was downright boring. The only thing all that interesting (read: annoying) was that Jason was not only in a committed relationship but he had two young boys latched on as well. He had managed to stave them off for a day, saying he was quite ill and likely contagious, but... what was her name? Sandy? Sally? Marc didn't care. Anyways, she made it very clear they were to have a talk when he felt better. Something about standing her up the night before. It didn't matter, she wouldn't be in the picture for long.

Marc was rather put out that he couldn't just kill her. It would be pretty easy and he could keep her hidden for at least a couple weeks until the deed was done. However it was made clear to him that there was to be no senseless killing lest it draw the attention of the authorities. Instead, Marc had to pretend to be Jason as naturally as possible and that meant he needed information from the man on all the little quirks he couldn't glean from his home. Which, in turn, meant he got to torture the man, so there was that. Sure he could just ask and see where that got him, but where was the fun in that?

A rather delicious and potent smelling hamburger in hand, Marc made his way to Jason's new 'abode' with a spring in his step. Interrogation had always been a favorite of his and he hadn't practiced it in a long time. He hoped his mothers 'tools' were still in working order or else he might have to get 'handsy' with it. There was something to be said about torturing someone with your hands rather than a wand. Something much more gratifying about feeling a heartbeat pound against your hands, quicker and harder, until you think it is just about to burst and you release them, so they gasp for air like a landlocked fish. Then you know beyond a shadow of a doubt that you have absolute power over whether they live or die and you know that they know it too. It was such a rush to even think about that Marc had to take a pause before he entered the room, lest he lose his focus.

The smell of the hamburger preceded him, wafting through the stale air like the perfume of a beautiful woman. Jason had to be hungry by now, though he wasn't likely starving just yet, and Marc wanted to use that fact to his benefit. Entering the room, he didn't greet the man slumped in the chair, still chained. Instead, he took a seat across from him, straddling it backwards with a sort of friendly lack of formality that belied his true intentions. He took a huge, wet bite out of the burger and chewed thoughtfully, sauce dripping carelessly from his chin, as he studied the man before him.

This went on for several agonizing moments, bite, chew, stare, repeat, until Marc had finished little over half the burger. Then, he put it carefully down on the table, just out of Jason's reach, and sucked the juices off of his fingers mockingly. Finally, a grin split his face but didn't come near his eyes as he said in a far too pleasant, somewhat patronizing tone "Hey there mate... I do hope you slept well. Hungry?"   

If Marc had been bored in Jason’s life, it didn’t amount to the quietness that threatened to break him minute by minute, hour by hour. Jason couldn’t sleep; he was too on edge. The throbbing from his hand up his arm didn’t help either.

He was plagued with ‘what ifs’ on top of everything else. What if the crazy person who did this was terrorizing his family as well? His friends? All he hoped was that Aidan was safe, and Sam and Lewis. And Fiona... maybe she was willing to hold on to Aidan for a while.

The only upside to the hour upon hour of being alone was that Jason had too much time to examine his surroundings. He also regretted his glass of water (and the coffee he had had at work before) a few hours into the waiting game. The need to get rid of it started to hurt, and rocking himself on the chair only caused it to go away for a short time. Adrenaline only held it off for so long before the need started to make his eyes water.

The pot that he assumed was for his needs was just out of reach. Long ago the fire had dwindled to embers, and the chill of the room had crept on him. Shivering didn’t help either. If anything, it made everything worse.

It was a good portion of the day (if that was what it was) before Jason finally felt the need too intense to wait. He struggled this way and that.

The process was slow and involved, but after the relief was so immediate and unexplainable that he would never be able to explain it in words. It took time to get back into the chair, with the chain and missing finger and all, but he finally settled in to it for more waiting.

He heard the steps of someone before he saw the man. Jason tensed up, carefully examining the man in front of him, attempting to keep each shiver of cold from visibly taking over his body. That his mouth watered at the smell and sight of the burger made him feel weak. That his stomach grumbled at the thought made him angry. That his eyes couldn’t leave the man, as he chewed, meant that he was hungry.

What would he have given for a glass of water? As he thought about it, Jason bit on his lower lip, trying not to get his hopes up.

There was some reason he wasn’t dead, though. Some reason he was chained here instead.

“Hey there mate... I do hope you slept well. Hungry?”

Eyes narrowed; they were anything but mates if he was the reason Jason was where he was. Sleeping was laughable. His bandaged hand lifted as he tilted his head, scratching at the side of his cheek with this thumb. Finally Jason ran his tongue around his mouth.

“There are people who are expecting to see me. Who will come looking for me.” His voice was dry but steady. Try as he might, there just wasn’t enough saliva to work around, and he had to pause every few words to work what little there was over his tongue.

“There are people who are expecting to see me. Who will come looking for me.”

"Mm." Marc murmured, clearly unimpressed. Sitting back, he pulled a beer from his pocket and began to work at the cap intently with a penknife, focusing more on the bottle than the man starving in front of him. "I suspect they might, if they knew you were missing." He said offhandedly, as though they were just a pair of mates talking about the weather rather than a sadist and his victim discussing the method of which one would ruin the others life. There was a pop and a clatter as the bottle top was finally worked free, and Marc let out a gasp of victory. Grinning, he tipped the beer towards Jason and took a long, satisfying gulp.

Much like the hamburger, Marc took his time gulping down at least half of the clearly ice cold beer, smacking his lips contentedly before slamming it on the table. "Yeeeeah, that hits the spot..." He growled as he stretched and then finally focused on Jason, as though he was seeing him for the first time. Digging in his other pocket, he pulled out a flask and set it on the table between them next to the beer and hamburger, and just out of Marren's reach.

"Polyjuice." He clarified, leaning forward and crossing his arms over the back of the chair, "High-quality, perfectly brewed polyjuice, to be exact." Pausing here, he couldn't help the lewd smirk that curled maliciously up his cheek, adding "Even that scrummy[1] lass of yours won't be able to tell the man in her bed isn't you."

1.	Scrumptious, or an attractive woman

Jason’s eyes followed the beer. He tried not to be pulled in by the teasing, he attempted to look away, but it was too hard to resist. The man’s words reached Jason, but took a few moments to process. Eyebrows came together in slight confusion.

They would realize he was missing when he didn’t come home... Or didn’t show up to work. And still didn’t come home. Owls would be sent around... Sam would look for him. The sound of the fizz was agonizing; it made his mouth water. Jason swallowed hard and frowned, attempting to look as unimpressed as possible. His uninjured hand, chained, opened and closed in a tight fist, keeping his joints from locking up.

The only time he took his eyes off of Marc was to glance to the flask. Jason hated not knowing what was going to happen. He shifted slightly on the chair with his fist clenched.

“Polyjuice.”

Eyes widened in realization; he barely kept his mouth opening in disbelief. Jason’s jaw clenched tighter to keep it from happening. His gaze snapped back to the man’s face. If he didn’t have the Irish accent, it might have been harder to play off.

“Even that scrummy lass of yours won’t be able to tell the man in her bed isn’t you.”

A flip was switched and Jason snarled, tense as he leaned forward in the chair. “You stay away from her!” His blood practically a boil, he considered his options; none of them seemed helpful at that moment.

“You stay away from her!”

When Jason jerked forward, Marc instinctively jumped backwards out of his seat. In Azkaban, he had learned all too well that chains didn't always hold a person back. He covered this show of nerves with a mocking laugh, like he was only humoring the lad. "Ooh, hoo hoo...Someone's a wee bit touchy!" Returning to his seat, he offered Jason a cavalier grin, trying to hold back a chuckle as he added, "Why... What're ye gonna do? Chew off your hand and beat seven shades of shite out of me with it? Ye ken barely stand as it is."

Pushing to his feet, he spun the chair to its proper position and pulled out a crumpled pack of cigarettes. Sucking one between his lips, Marc tried to light it as he spoke through clenched teeth, "Face it, boyo, I have you by the short hairs and if you want to live to see another day..." Finally succeeding in getting the slightly damp tip to light up, he took a seat again and stretched his legs out wide in flagrant disregard of Jason's boiling anger. Puffing a stream of acrid smoke towards the healer, he went on, "...you'll tell me everything I need to know. And..."

Sitting up, he started to gesture with his hands like he was selling Jason a particularly expensive set of golf clubs, "and and and... to show you what a nice bloke I really am, I will throw in lettin' your wee lad reach puberty." Marc grinned "See, I'm not such a bad bloke, mate, once you get to know me. Not sure yet about your bird though." He added, blowing a lopsided smoke ring between them, where it floated lazily into Jason's face "I think that depends on you."

The reaction from the man opposite him was filed away for thinking on later. Jason was seeing red. His family, friends... they were a sore subject in this sort of situation (not that he’d ever encountered anything like this before). He was a Healer for a reason - Jason was big on helping people, not destroying their lives. Nostrils flared in indignation; he attempted to keep his cool, but it was growing harder to accomplish.

Jason worked his wrist back and forth in the chain. It was only attached to the chair, after all. With the adrenaline making his body jumpy, shaky, he considered attempting to beat Marc with the chair. He figured he could surprise Marc; all he would need were a couple seconds of indecisiveness. Or so he thought.

Jason didn’t have a wand, however, and assumed the kidnapper did. Instead of letting his temper get the better of him, Jason watched Marc, eyes silently calculating each movement.

“And and and...”

He was all ready tired of this game. Jason’s body went cold as Marc’s words spilled out. With shallow breathing, Jason blinked as he processed words. Maybe he could beat Marc to death. Maybe he would chew his own arm off to do it. For Aidan, Jason was not above personal damnation.

“I think that depends on you.”

Jason let silence reign the unspoken battlefield between them, ignoring the smoke ring as he stared hard at Marc, eyebrows drawn tightly together in anger. He worked his tongue around his mouth before he felt as if he could talk without his voice cracking.

“I’m just a healer. I don’t know what you think I know.” Especially if he all ready had what he needed for polyjuice. It was best not to give him any ideas towards that. Plus, reminding Marc that polyjuice was illegal seemed a little ridiculous.

It took all he had to hang his head, attempting to look defeated.

“I’m just a healer. I don’t know what you think I know.”

When Jason hung his head, the picture of a broken man, Marc couldn't help but let out a derisive bark of laughter. "Oh ho... How cute. Ye think ye are my main target... " He pretended to wipe away a tear, enjoying the way defeat weighed down the taller mans broad shoulders. Reaching out, he patted him patronizingly on said shoulder before  leaning back in his chair. Retrieving the beer bottle, he once again sipped it mockingly. It was still clearly chilled.

"No worries boyo. T'only thing I need from you is how to do yer job, which I think ye should be able to handle. Yer head healer aren't ye? That stands for something." He chuckled, his sprawled form and conversational demeanor rather informal and unthreatening for the moment, despite the patronizing tone. It was like he was just having a beer and a burger with an old friend.

"Unless you... you know... did a favor to get the job. Which, from what I've seen, yer boss is quite attractive, so it'd not be surprisin'." Marc arched a brow suggestively and grinned behind the mouth of the bottle, clearly enjoying his little 'joke'. When Jason didn't return even a small chuckle, Marc chalked it up to him lacking a sense of humor and sobered up.

For a few moments, they just sat and stared at each other, searching for weaknesses to exploit. Marc knew that Jason had to be trying to plan something. He hadn't chalked the bloke up to being so easily defeated, so this whole 'hanging head and cracking voice' act, as enjoyable as it was, had to be a diversion. It was an entertaining thought, so Marc figured he would give him a few more minutes to plan his ultimately fruitless escape attempt before he squashed it.

So, after a few more sips with their eyes locked over the bottle, Marc leaned forward and spoke much more seriously. "Now, before ye get any grand ideas of lying to me, or trying to kick my arse and escape, ye should know that the real target is... her." Digging around in his jacket pocket, he retrieved the photo of Lucy and laid it carefully in front of Jason, tapped it for emphasis and went back to sipping his beer, eying the mans face for a reaction.

When he felt that Jason had had enough time to be drawn into the youth and vivacity of the child, he continued "So keep in mind that anything you do to fuck up my job will not only put you and your families lives in danger, but the life of this wide-eyed, innocent little lass as well."

Leaning forward, Marc cocked his head to the side and stared frankly at him, his voice quiet but still threatening, "Now, Ye wouldn't want t'be to blame for three innocent lives snuffed out just because ye wouldn't answer a few, simple questions, would ye?"

Jason had the luck of looking down at his knees so that the confusion that slipped over his face wasn’t easy to notice. He wasn’t the main target... so why was he here? And who was?

But then Marc questioned his job, and Jason frowned in more confusion as he looked up slightly. Marc had made a small mistake. “No... I’m just a Healer.” Head Healer was above him, even. That was the person in charge of the entire hospital. Jason had to just keep the first floor in line. That was enough of a headache most days... he couldn’t imagine being in charge of everything and everyone.

He bristled slightly when Marc commented on Jason’s boss. Shoulders tightened up, and Jason sat up suddenly, straight backed. Memories of Rita Skeeter filtered in, as well as those of Miranda. Neither had been for promotions, and Skeeter had been a mistake. Foley, on the other hand, was a colleague, his boss, and way off limits, as Healer in Charge of St. Mungo’s. Tulpin... she was an attractive older woman herself, but again she was his boss and a colleague. Neither deserved to be sneered at by the likes of the criminal across from him.

“...ye should know that the real target is... her.”

Jason frowned slightly, keeping his mouth closed. Glancing down at the photo, he almost lost his reserve. The girl looked like she had the attitude of someone older than she appeared. Not necessarily wise beyond her years, but definitely a handful. He heard the threat, feeling it was empty at this point. Marc needed him for something to do with this girl.

“Now, Ye wouldn’t want t’be to blame for three innocent lives snuffed out just because ye wouldn’t answer a few, simple questions, would ye?”

Jason leaned back into the chair a little, head tilted back just slightly to give the impression of looking down his nose at Marc. Silence once again reigned. Jason considered potential responses, eyes staring through Marc. Finally he focused on the man and raised an eyebrow. “Sounds like you’d be the one to blame.” Jason worked up some spit before launching it towards Marc, knowing it wouldn’t reach the target but sealing his response either way.