The impending month of December hung over Muggle London in a thick, overcast, evening sky. Clinging to the tops of high buildings and rolling through the streets and damp sidewalks as a cool, white mist. Tamis Raynor's mood was almost as grey as the atmosphere. The weather only had most to do with it. The miniature dragon may share the cold-blooded nature of her brethren, but her inner flames were, regrettably, purely metaphoric in nature.

Unassumingly descending the last step of the stairs, the petite woman simultaneously snugged her fingers into her second glove, grey eyes lifting casually to quickly access the decidedly Muggle foyer before her. It was borderline pretentious, but had enough old-world quality that it did not feel over exaggerated. It had suited the Head Auror's needs for the better half of almost two decades now.

Blocks from the Ministry of Magic, it was a tightly guarded, under-reported residence of many of Westminster's wealthy and affluent. Not the corporate or political top-players, but those that thought they were. Discretion was everything.  And was the last place anyone would think to find the infamous pureblood witch. Unless that person was equipped with Jonas Trevelyan's particular skill set[1].

Beside her, the lift "dinged" politely and a pair of gentlemen in slick suits stepped out, sidling her passing and peculiar glances as their conversation led them to the adjacent pub. The oddity of Marian Aldridge, the mysterious (and strangely dressed) long-term resident of room Five Hundred Seventeen, was old news. Yet, for some reason, her insistence on taking the stairs when there was a perfectly good lift continued to draw glances.

Lifts were not supposed to be held up by wires alone.

With no small amount of resignation and easy dismissal of the curious looks, Raynor focused on the dismal display beyond the building's glass doors. The journey back to the Ministry was brief. And the subtle warming charm on her coat would help. But that did not mean the immensely petite woman was going to like it.

She had made it halfway across the lobby when she suddenly paused. One eyebrow rose. Another moment standing there. Her posture became inhumanly more impeccable. Chin tilted slightly. And a single exasperated breath escaped long and slow from her nose. This time, at no fault of the weather. She knew that voice. And it did not belong in her lobby.

Grey eyes -- and only her eyes -- drifted toward the center of the room for confirmation. Where the small, wiry manager overdressed enough to be mistaken for a Wizard was talking enthusiastically to another, much taller, man. While the manger seemed overly unimpressed with the other gentleman's simple trousers and shirt, he was quick enough to smell the wealth on him. Even past the hinting aroma of smoke and alcohol.

And he was brandishing floor plans.

"No."

It was more of a promise than a wistful negation. As if, by pouring as much vindication into the word as possible, she would forcefully validate it into being. Merlin could not be this cruel in his interpretation of comedic irony. Several scenarios of how he came to infiltrate the private space of her near non-existent personal life ran through her brain at once. Many of which ended in her submitting a compromising photo of Jonas Trevelyan with Adon Eleor to the Witch Weekly as retribution.

The manager spotted her first, his eyes widening as he gave a small start.

"Miss Aldridge!" He piped up nervously, thumbs working as if he very much wanted to sweep her under the rug before her mere presence blemished the undoubted pristine image of the complex he had been weaving.  "Anything I may help you with?"

Removing Cameron Rosier from the premises would be a good start.

1.	[September 30th 2008] The Adventure of the Creeping Man

Cameron Rosier's life was in shambles. Things at work were impossible as always, but that wasn't the issue this time - the invasion of his home and his privacy were. His mentally unstable nephew announced he will be 'staying over for a couple of days' and frankly Rosier thought he could handle it, but things got a bit out of control. Rascal was loud, he bribed the house elf and he started building something that resembled a slide in the middle of the living room. How could he work, or read in peace with a lunatic living with him? He couldn't even invite Dolly over anymore because the concept of privacy was clearly foreign to Rascal. He also couldn't go over to Dolly's for a couple of days either because he knew she would make a big deal out of it. Rosier hated when women thought something was a big deal...So he decided to handle this on his own.

He needed to rent a flat for a short period of time. Nothing too grand, nothing too special, just something preferably close to the Ministry. A nice, quiet place where he could work and sleep without being challenged to a pillow fight. As if he had time for this - finding a decent place in London was a nightmare, everyone knew that. Especially for a wizard, places were so limited. But it seemed like he was finally in luck - there was an upscale apartment complex just about five minutes from the Ministry entrance and they had a place available. Yes, it was ridiculously overpriced and yes, he was probably overreacting but he was desperate. Only for a month, he said to himself...and if the muggles won't agree on such a short-term let, he'll have to convince them.

But it seemed all the effort was worth it - he even dressed as a muggle! He wasn't too sure about their fashion nowadays, so he copied the man from the perfume advert on a billboard. Elegant black trousers and a simple white shirt - who would have thought these things were so simple! But yes, things were going well - he liked the flat, the muggle in charge of showing him the place was polite and reasonable enough and he would let him rent it for a short period of time. Rosier was very pleased, despite his many troubles.

As he walked back to the lobby with the short muggle, Rosier eyed the floor plans. He wasn't used to having so many close neighbors, but he guessed he'll just have to keep a low profile. No, this was almost perfect...there was no way he would be able to find anything better in such a short period of time...

"Miss Aldridge! Anything I may help you with?"

Rosier looked up from his blueprints only because the muggle practically yelled in the other direction. But instead of an average upper class muggle Londoner, he was suddenly face-to-face with the Auror Chief. Rosier's heavy bag fell down his shoulder as he stared at Tamis Raynor. What was going on?

"Ah, Miss Aldridge! Of course..." He greeted the woman as if they were old buddies, hoping the muggle would assume something like that. Or at least to conceal the awkwardness... "Lovely, lovely place...Looking forward to being your neighbor!" So much for his luck...