A muggle hotel in London, 8:30 AM

A stream of mid-winter sunlight slipped through a crack in the elaborate curtains on the third floor and gradually made its way towards a sleeping couple, where it then planted itself firmly across the face of the young man. Hazel eyes fluttered open irritably at this invasion. Rather, one hazel eye fluttered open. The other was quite crusted over and needed to be rubbed vigorously before following suit. Once open, both eyes winced at the brightness of the light and attempted to shut it out, but to little avail. He was awake now.

Devlin would have liked to turn over, out of the sunlight’s reach, and return to that rare peaceful slumber he had been missing for a several months now, but that would entail disturbing the slumbering angel nestled snugly against his side, with her golden head resting in the dip between his chest and shoulder. So instead, he laid there perfectly still, except for the rhythmic undulations of his chest, and watched her as she slept. Maeve would probably find it a bit creepy, but Devlin couldn’t help it. She was so beautiful when she was asleep.

Not that she wasn’t beautiful in waking, Dev would have quickly added before her hand found his cheek, this was just a different sort. When she was awake, Maeve was acutely aware of her beauty and how to utilize it to its greatest effect. She knew how to stand, how to move her hands and twist her expression, what clothing to wear and what it accentuated or hid… everything that could be manipulated to make her look even more appealing. But when she was asleep, she lacked this insight and seemed to become an entirely new person. An innocent, more vulnerable, person.

Devlin loved how her pale lashes, free of mascara, danced against her cheeks while she dreamed and how her full lips pursed with each gentle breath, which was occasionally dispersed with a soft snort or moan. He even loved the slightly foul smell of her morning breath. Not because it smelled nice (it was morning breath, after all) but because it was uniquely hers. Reaching down, he tucked her hair behind her ear and ran a calloused thumb very lightly down the downy skin of her cheek before he laid back and sighed, staring at the ceiling.

Maeve had no idea how much he relished waking up with her in his arms. Moments like these were among the few times that he had a sense of stability and peace in his young life. Her ignorance to this was mostly his fault, however. They had been doing a dangerous dance for months now, sneaking around to spend a few nights in each others arms; she escaping her parents and he his ‘boss’. Perhaps ‘master’ was a better term, since he was treated as little more than a dog who fetched on command. Anyways, as far as anyone could tell, they were merely friends with benefits, and until Kingstreet was behind bars, that's all they could be.
 
Devlin knew that he was treading on very thin ice by double-crossing someone like Theodora Kingstreet and that the moment he misstepped, she would go after everyone he loved. Knox and Lucy were already on that list by merely being related to him and that was bad enough, he didn’t want to add Maeve’s name as well. He was a selfish asshole, but he wasn’t so self-absorbed as to put his pleasure above her safety, and if that meant refusing to tell her he loved her or spend time with her outside their little dalliances, then so be it. One day he would come clean, hopefully soon.

The aurors were getting together a pretty decent case on Miss Kingstreet and a few more clues to where she was hiding out should help them finally take her down. Unfortunately, Devlin wasn’t privy to this information any longer, due to his failure in the runespoor smuggling job. This meant he had to continue spending mind-numbing nights behind a bar and soul crushing days being a gofer for a woman he had come to despise while he waited for them to follow up on any leads he came across. They were few and far between and Devlin worried that the longer they took the more likely it was that he would slip up. He shifted uneasily at the thought.

Tap tap tap

Torn from his thoughts, Dev squinted towards the window and thought he saw a vague outline of an owl. This filled his veins with ice. No one should know where he was right now, not even Knox, who kept a fairly close eye on his wayward son. Very carefully, he dislodged Maeve’s head from his shoulder as gently as possible in case he woke her and rolled from the bed, shivering as his bare toes touched the cold wood floor. After doing a rather ridiculous little dance across the chilly floor, Devlin opened the curtains a bit more and revealed that it was, indeed, an owl. Unlatching the window, he opened it just enough to take the letter from its beak and then shut it quickly before the owl got the idea that it was invited in. This was a muggle hotel, he didn’t need to be questioned as to why there was owl shite on the floor.

Taking a seat at the small oak desk, complete with high quality monogramed stationary for the guests, Devlin regarded the letter cautiously. It was from Lucy, which was fine, but the handwriting seemed awfully neat next to her normal chicken scratch. This was odd, but he pushed the thought out of his mind quickly. It was likely nothing. She probably was just practicing so that her essays were neater, since some teachers were incredibly strict about such silly things. Yeah, he comforted himself, that is all it is.
 
However, that sinking feeling grew exponentially as he read over the letter. The handwriting was easy to disregard, but the contents of the letter were not. To the undiscerning eye, it was a rather pleasant letter from a little girl about how she was making friends and enjoying her time at school. There were also comments about missing her father and how much her teachers loved her. To anyone else, this was rather sweet and adorable. To Devlin, it was a horribly wrong. With 5 brothers and a father like Douglas, Lucy was anything but precious and sweet, and she most certainly didn’t love school and her professors.

The thing that finally cinched the idea that something was wrong was her assertion that Devlin was Douglas’s favorite. Never in the history of man was there a more baldfaced lie. Lucy was in trouble and she couldn’t tell him why, that much was clear. Who… what… why? He didn’t know but he had a damn good idea. Kingstreet. The mere thought of her involvement left Devlin feeling as though he had been dunked into a vat of ice water and he struggled to breath against the constricting terror. He needed to go to Hogwarts.

Several minutes later, after dressing and leaving a rather confusing note for the still slumbering Maeve, a clearly frantic Devlin was standing at the gates to Hogwarts. Head resting against the bars, he yelled at the castle in the distance for someone, anyone, to let him in.

…”It's clear that there is more here than meets the eye. And, despite Ignatius Prewett's denial, this reporter believes there is more than friendship brewing between the two.”

The Witch Weekly article lay open on Minerva’s desk, a cup of scalding coffee held between her hands. A guilty pleasure of hers, the Witch Weekly. If any of her staff or students walked through the door, Minerva would simply have to erase their memories, since she couldn’t have her badass reputation ruined by people thinking she enjoyed the sordid affairs of celebrities. After flipping through the magazine and having a few girlish giggles at the expense of the poor souls caught in the reporter’s web, she’d toss the periodical into the leaping flames of the fireplace and that would be that.

Things were actually going rather well, now that she’d been settled in the post for a couple weeks. The staff was beginning to understand where she stood and the students were going about their business as usual. A contented sigh escaped her lips before taking a healthy sip of the scalding java in her mug. As a treat, Minerva had been rather tempted to splash a hint of firewhisky into the brew, it was Sunday, after all, and Minerva was certain that she didn’t have anything pressing to attend to, but something stayed her hand.

“Headmistress, turn back to that article about the quidditch player!” a squeaky voice squealed, not hesitating to make her discomfort known.

“Merryweather, it astounds me that someone long deceased has more of an idea about what’s going on in our world today than she did when she was alive,” Minerva responded, not unkindly. “I suppose you’ll just need to catch it ne-“ Minerva’s retort was cut short as a small instrument on one of the many tables started whirring and spinning uncontrollably in circles. The gate.

Standing from the desk, she walked swiftly over to the table and touched the apparatus once and it fell silent once again. On her way from the office, she quickly grabbed a cloak and ignored the retorts from the chirping portraits behind her back. Where, in the name of Agrippa, was that bloody keeper of the keys? Any unexpected visitors should be collected by him, not by the Headmistress, but it seemed that everyone was enjoying their sleepy Sunday morn, just as she had been moments before.

A few short minutes later, Minerva found herself facing a screaming man at the gates. With a point of her wand, the great iron gates creaked open, allowing Devlin entrance unto the grounds. “Mr. Matthews, why are you causing such a ruckus?” She asked, lips a thin line, nostrils flaring in irritation.

When the familiar figure of a stately witch in billowing robes appeared in the courtyard instead of the top-hat toting Reid, Devlin paused in confusion. When had Professor McGonagall returned to Hogwarts and how had he missed that bit of news? She was one of the few authority figures he had ever really respected and it was because of her that he had been inspired to become an animagus. What he had chosen to do with said ability probably disappointed her tremendously and and this thought left Devlin losing some steam as she neared. Hopefully she had forgotten all about him. It had been four years since she had seen him, after all.

“Mr. Matthews, why are you causing such a ruckus?”

Great, she recognized him and she was mad. Not a pleasant combination. But then, neither was the combination of a missing sister and desperate fear. The thought that someone might be hurting, or worse, have hurt, Lucy was enough to sustain his anger even in the disapproving gaze of one Minerva McGonagall. The gates creaked open and Devlin, who had been squished against them by means of support, stumbled in. "Ma'am" He said, regaining his composure and subconsciously reaching to straighten his tie. When there was no tie to straighten, he corrected himself and ran a hand through his hair instead "I'm sorry for the ruckus ma'am, but with all do respect, where the hell is my sister?"

Minerva slipped her wand back into her pocket and pulled her cloak a bit tighter around her stately shoulders, blocking out a bit of the winter chill. The weather in Scotland could be brutal during the chillier months, and she was quickly finding that the older she got, the less comfortable she was with standing in the frigid air. The aches and pains in her joints protested most strongly, and the irritation only added fuel to her annoyance at having to answer a simple visitor at the gates. “Mr. Matthews,” She snapped, “I’m sure you haven’t been away from the castle long enough to have already forgotten the rules, hum?”

“Visitors need to make appointments through the student’s head of house. Had you contacted Professor Leviathan, perhaps you could have saved yourself a useless trip.” The headmistress took a couple steps closer to the criminal, cooling off (both in temperature and temper). “Where’ve you been, Devlin?” She asked more quietly, “Your sister’s been away at St. Mungo’s for testing for more than a fortnight. I’m sure someone’s sent an owl.” Minerva made a mental note to check out that story, just to ensure that a letter had been sent, as was protocol. Then again, Minerva wasn’t really completely caught up on the situation herself.

She hadn’t been back in the post for even a month yet and her plate was already running over. Dealing with the uncooperative visiting staff and the Ministry of Magic, plus trying to plan the most elegant event in years was proving to be zapping all of Minerva’s time and energy. “I can owl over to Mungo’s presently and let them know you’re coming for a visit. If you’d like, you may follow me to my office and use my fireplace?” Minerva was sure that finding out that his sister was in the hospital for unknown reasons would be a rather difficult pill to swallow, so she was trying to be as kind and generous as she could. Plus, she was eager to get out of the cold.

"Ah.. Well... See..." Devlin stuttered between her bouts of berating, trying to get a word in edgewise and failing miserably. He felt like a kid standing in front of his angry mother, or grandmother perhaps, and couldn't help but shrink a little in her onslaught. To be honest, he felt a bit maligned. Was it not his right to know where his baby sister was? Fortunately, she seemed to sense this and relaxed a little, her voice softening.

“Where’ve you been, Devlin? Your sister’s been away at St. Mungo’s for testing for more than a fortnight. I’m sure someone’s sent an owl.”

"No...They--They didn't..." He said softly, his face contorting with confusion. The fact that she was at the hospital, and not dead somewhere in a ditch, was at least some releif, but it also filled him with a new sort of apprehension and a bunch more questions. Why was she in the hospital? Were those silly Dragonpox rumors actually true? He hadn't known that she was supposed to get any sort of vaccination shots, so the idea that she was dying in the hospital because of his lack of knowledge was almost too much to bear. He'd almost be happier with her having been kidnapped.

“I can owl over to Mungo’s presently and let them know you’re coming for a visit. If you’d like, you may follow me to my office and use my fireplace?”

"Oh.. Um... Yeah..." He murmured as his brain slowly clicking back into reality. Sighing, he rubbed his forehead before crossing his arms with a nod "Yeah, that would great actually..."

Minerva turned, and with a beckon of her hand, started back toward the castle. She found little reason to speak, so stayed silent. She could offer her condolences on Lucy, but honestly, she was ignorant as to what was going on with the girl and didn’t want her words to fall flat. A bird flew across her head, tweeting as it made its way to the dark forest, a good omen if ever there was one. She didn’t even glance back, expecting that Devlin was following her.

She couldn’t imagine what was going on in his mind, a drop out, returning to the exact place he probably swore he’d never step foot in again. She could fantasize about what it might be like to be in his shoes, but she could truly never know. She hadn’t had to walk his path in life, and wouldn’t condemn him for the choices he had made. If she thought it’d do any good, she might have encouraged him to pursue his NEWTs outside of the castle, it wasn’t unheard of. But still she kept her lips tightly shut. Now simply wasn’t the time to badger the man about his life. The one thing a lion knew was when roaring fell on deaf ears.

She groaned inwardly as she ascended the steps to the second floor and finally glanced back at the boy man standing behind her at the entrance to the head office. “Grindylow fritter,” she spoke quietly, huffing from the exertion of the stairs, and watched as the large statue jumped aside, allowing entrance to the moving staircase. Muffled voices carried toward her ears as they made their way leisurely to the top, the portraits obviously curious about Minerva’s midnight rendezvous. She pushed open the door to the office and walked speedily to the ancient desk.

“Mr. Matthews, the jade gilt box on the mantle there, that’s floo powder,” She said, quill dashing furiously across a blank page of parchment. The sound of the nub scraping the paper filled the silence. “Take this note to a Mr. Jason Marren, he was the healer that picked up your sister,” She stretched out an arm and offered the man a scrap of parchment on the official Hogwarts letterhead. “My signature should give you permission to visit, unless there’s a quarantine procedure in place. Even so, the writ should be able to get you some information at the very least. I’m sorry I couldn’t be of more help.” She said with a sad look.

Devlin didn’t used to be the type who wrung his hands with constant worry. Before this whole Kingstreet debacle, he lived a pretty carefree life. He did decently well in school, had friends, had girlfriends, and made a pretty sickle doing something that came naturally (cheating, that is). After he was kicked out of Hogwarts, everything changed. Sure some of it was good, his relationship with both Knox and Maeve had improved significantly, but only because he had to lie to them about what he did at work, which sort of negated the whole ‘improving’ bit. Aside from that, he had lost his chance at an education and his ‘job’ was a joke with a side job that left him fearing for his life. He had no prospects and little to look forward to, aside from failure.

Lucy had been a blessing in a way. Sure it was another mouth to feed and another body to clothe, but her appearance had helped spurn him to really consider his future. With her in mind, he had begin to look into getting his own place and think about furthering his relationship with Maeve. Which was why her sudden disappearance had thrown his entire existence into an upheaval almost instantly. He found it disturbingly easy to wring his hands in worry as a whirlwind of fears and foreboding clouded his vision. If anything happened to Lucy, he didn’t know what he would do.

All he could do, right now, was follow the headmistress wordlessly, his eyes wide and unfocused as if he were in a trance. He didn’t seem to realize he was even moving until she spoke to him, and even then, he took the paper from her outstretched hand with a rigidity that seemed almost robotic. He didn’t snap out of it until he was standing in front of the fireplace with a handful of powder.

Turning, he regarded her with tired eyes that looked twenty years older but not much wiser. They just looked tired and scared, somewhat like the eyes of a child who had seen too much and waited fearfully for the next blow to come. Actually, they were exactly that. Devlin was just a scared little boy who thought he could be a big boy and found himself in way over his head. And now, someone he loved could be dead in a ditch somewhere because of it.

It was not, needless to say, a comforting thought.

“Thanks…” he said with a brief nod of his head that belied how grateful he truly was. He considered adding that he was sorry to bother her, but stopped himself. Somehow, he knew she knew that. Giving her a weak smile, Devlin stepped into the fireplace and tossed the floo with a curt “Saint Mungos!”

One bright flash of emerald smoke later, Devlin stood at the entrance of St. Mungos. Healers bedecked in lime green swirled around him as he made his way to the front desk where the welcome witch regarded him suspiciously. He couldn’t blame her for giving him a look like she had just bitten into sour grapes that he had sold her. It had been nearly a year since he snuck into the place with runespoor, intent on framing a mediwitch for Kingstreet, and he was no more pleased to be there again than they were having him.

“I’m here on business.” He said quickly, offering her the note from McGonagall. She made a sound akin to ‘Harumph’ as she snatched it from his hands, her eyes only leaving him long enough to take in the seal on the top. After looking at it every which way, and holding it up to the light, she seemed to deem it real and handed it back to him. “Healer Marren is on the first floor. Creature Injuries. Go right there and don’t make any detours.”… We have our eyes on you, her demeanor added. Devlin wouldn’t be surprised if she had a guard follow him to make sure. Actually, he would be a bit putout if they didn’t. It meant that his clever break in (however unsuccessful) had taught them nothing.

“Ma’am” He said with a smile that didn’t venture anywhere near his eyes before turning and heading towards the lifts, muttering to himself “Creature injuries? Why would she be there?” It made no sense. If she had dragon pox or whatever the papers were sensationalizing, she would go to… whatever floor took care of those. Not Creature Injuries. The very idea made his already turbulent stomach churn with new fears.

It was a short ride to the first floor and Devlin was happy to see that he was indeed being followed, albeit a bit inexpertly. At least they were trying. Making his way to the Head Healers office, he took every chance he had to peer into the various rooms lining the hall. No familiar faces peered back. The grumbling in his stomach worsened by the time he reached the office and he had to pause for a moment just to breathe. Finally, after a few minutes of deep breaths and calming mantras, he knocked on the door, his entire body tensed with anticipation for what laid beyond. 

There was one thing that Marc and Jason had in common, aside from their currently shared appearance, and that was the love of the simpler things in life. Granted Jason's seemed to be the love of his family, a job well done and a good beer afterwards and Marc's tended to be more... bloody and gory versions, but the general idea was the same. The disagreement there was that Marc had no intention of raising a couple brats with a woman that knew Jason far too well. All of them had to go.

Luckily for Jason, Marc had to keep his bloodlust under control. The key to this ruse was to keep the aurors out of it and killing Sam and her kid was... hard not to notice. So he had promptly begin to act like a real ass (which was not that difficult) until she had gotten fed up and stormed out, her kid in tow. Then he had pushed Jason's son off on his real mum, saying he needed time to get over the break up, which she seemed happy enough to hear. So far, so good. When all was said and done, and Marc got to have his fun, this Fiona chick would have her kid all to herself. See, nearly everyone won.

The question was WHEN did he get to have his fun? He was getting antsy. A man like him hated having an honest days work and sooner or later they would notice that he was phoning his 'healing' in.  He was reasonably sure that the little Matthews brat had hinted to her brother about her predicament in some way. She was too smart not to at least try. He just hoped that Devlin was as smart as Kingstreet claimed, since Hogwarts was likely to start asking questions soon if he didn't.

As if it read his mind, a small airplane from the front desk floated in and landed on his desk. He tried to ignore it at first, but something told him that it was best to take a look. The name "Devlin Matthews" jumped out at him the moment he unfolded it and it was all he cared to see, since the rest seemed to be about not trusting him. Mere seconds after he tossed the bit of paper in the trash, a knock sounded at the office door and Marc had to quickly stifle a malicious grin. Oh this was going to be fun!

"One moment." He called, taking a swig of his polyjuice and straightening his desk, making sure that nothing incriminating or alluding to Kingstreet was visible. Grabbing a patient file, he acted like he was reading it as he waved open the door and ushered the kid in with a flick of his wrist. "Take a seat there, I will be with you in a moment, Mr. Matthews." He didn't look at Devlin. He couldn't. If he did, he might burst with laughter.

Devlin wasn't sure what he was expecting to be behind the door. Words like "Healer" brought up images of stern looking men in well pressed robes, bearing down on you with cold, logical eyes and a potion that smelt like death. "Creature Injuries" brought up an entirely different image of a wild haired mountain man with a wooden leg and one good eye, parlaying his decades of experience wrangling deadly magical creatures into one helping those who suffered the same wounds. Perhaps if Devlin's head had not been so fogged with worry, he would have imagined the man a conglomeration of the two and would have found himself surprised when the door swung open to reveal a normal looking and, despite the receding hairline, rather youthful man.

There was also a chance that, had he not been so worried, he might have noted that there was something not quite right with the man. It was small, almost undetectable, but there was something off about him. Maybe it was the way his eyes sparkled with malevolent glee or the way he held his shoulders like a man caught in a perpetual draft, but he didn't seem to fit his body. It hung on him like an ill fitting blouse.

However, Devlin was not himself at the moment. He gave little regard to the strangeness of the man before him, in fact, he gave little regard to much of anything. Instead, he stood at the edge of the mans stately desk, arms folded to appear more confident than he actually felt, and waited for him to finish. Not a patient person by nature, and even less so considering the circumstances, he didn't wait long.

"Where is my sister? Lucy Matthews?" He said finally, no longer concerned with manners "... The school said she is here. Where is she?"

Unlike Devlin, who was too fixated on his mission, Marc took the time to study the boy in front of him. Physically, he was as Marc expected. Average height, if not a tad shorter, built like a box but soft and without much muscle. His eyes were a sharp, probing hazel, or at least would have been had they not been bleary with worry and heavy with lack of sleep. Marc thought he detected just a hint of scarring around the throat. Grumman's work, or so he heard. It was quite a lovely job, if he did say so himself.

It was evident to Marc that Matthews was used to being the brains of the group, whichever group that may be. He had gotten some information out of Lucy regarding her brother, mostly that he was seven feet tall and built like a lumberjack on steroids, and knew that her assertion that he was the most intelligent of her many brothers was the only truth out of the lot. He bet this kid ran his brothers like a mini mafia, ordering them around and staying in the shadows. It was no wonder that Kingstreet liked him enough to give even the tiniest trust to a seventeen year old, nor was it surprising that he had betrayed her. People who were too intelligent, and too unexperienced, tended to overestimate themselves and got it in their heads that they were better suited as leaders than followers. Usually this didn't end well because in the criminal world, ambition was a far more dangerous tool than intelligence, and Kingstreet had both in Spades. Matthews didn't stand a chance.

Marc really wanted to mess with the kid. Send him on a wild goose chase and laugh from the sidelines as he became more and more frantic with worry as the minutes ticked away. However, Kingstreet made it clear that she wanted Devlin on her doorstep, begging for forgiveness, as soon as possible. Risking the authorities finding out by toying with the kid would just serve to piss her off and Marc didn't want to risk incurring her wrath. So, he had to be good and reveal a hint about her location without giving himself away, since he needed to be there to distract anyone else from figuring out the truth.

Snapping the folder shut and tossing it on the desk, Marc laced his fingers together and leaned forward to eye the boy "Well, since you don't seem to understand the concept of waiting... Your aunt picked her up a couple of days ago. Said her name was... Leo... no no, was it Cleo?" He shook his head and then snapped his fingers "Ah yes. Your Aunt Theo. Said she would contact you. If she hasn't yet, you should probably shoot her an owl."

At the name "Leo", Devlin's heart seized up, at "Cleo", it begin to sink and by the time the healer uttered "Theo", he was frozen to his chair, heart drowning in the pit of his stomach. He stared at Jason, numb, as his brain tried to process the horrible sounds assaulting his ears into anything else but the truth. Never had he been so devestated for being proven right. Kingstreet had Lucy. Oh Merlin... Kingstreet had Lucy. The woman who had him nearly tortured to death for a simple mistake had his favorite, and only, baby sister in her clutches. He would have prefered she had Dragon Pox, honestly. It would mean less pain in the end.

"... I see." He said finally, his eyes still locked on a distant spot over Jason's shoulder. He wanted to scream and shout and shake the man for letting Lucy be taken by her so easily, but he knew that Kingstreet would have had impeccable paperwork and polyjuice, so he couldn't really be mad at them handing her over. Instead, he had to focus all his attention on her and her alone. She obviously wanted him to go to her quietly, why else would she go through all this trouble? Fun? Actually, that sounds exactly like something she would do for fun, but Devlin knew that it had an underlying message. Come quietly, no fuzz and she won't get hurt.

Devlin's eyes found Jason again and he gave him a pathetic attempt at a smile "Thank you. I will owl her immediately" He said, the wind sucked from his sails as he attempted to stand without shaking. He couldn't let anyone know, at least anyone who would call the aurors, so he had to be strong or at least appear so. Nodding, more out of habit than politeness, Devlin turned away with a "Um... Good day then..." and left the room rather quickly.

---

((For the sake of time, I am just going to post Marc's bit here))

"You're welcome!" Marc called after the boy, barely able to conceal the smirk in his voice. As soon as the heavy door swung shut, he slapped the desk and let out the whoop of laughter he had been barely containing in the entire time. "What an arse." He snorted, wiping a tear from his eye, chortling a bit more to himself before heaving a satisfied sigh. Then he took a piece of St. Mungos parchment from Jason's desk and penned a short letter to his boss, signing it with a flourish.

K,

Your favorite nephew is on his way. Best to get the guest room in order.

M