In true London fashion, rain pattered lightly against the fifth floor window, rivulets streaking and sliding across the glass panel. The gentle onslaught had dissolved the light snow that had powdered the streets of Westminster, leaving them grim and damp. The woman peering out the window from the warm and safety of her flat found the scene ironic. It was much too convenient that the weather should choose to mimic her somber mood, even for someone Magical. Felt more like living a story of over-used metaphors than real life.

Eventually the disturbing, pulsing haze of the artificial streetlights below and the winter chill seeping through the glass drove the pureblood witch from her silent vigil, retreating back into the heart of her living room. Which was decisively void of anything Muggle. A stubborn fortress of solitude[1] against the world of electricity and mechanical technology that surrounded her in Muggle London.   

The fireplace roared defensively, crackling merrily as its heat mingled with the candles and lanterns set up strategically, offering the small but luxurious apartment a warm, ambient glow.  Yet, despite this, Tamis Raynor tugged her shawl tighter around her shoulders. An immensely petite woman, she did not have a notoriously benevolent relationship with the winter months. But judging the slightly-too-tight compression of her lips and the tension in her already impeccable posture, her discomfort had little to do with the temperature.

Fifteen years ago tonight, Tait Aldridge had been brutally murdered[2]. In that decade and a half, the Head Auror had learned to come to terms with it – by not coming to terms with it. It would have worked had his cold case not resurfaced over the past year, bringing other too-familiar faces back with it[3] – again, with that nearly comical too-convenience. Everything had cascaded quickly into deterioration after that. A confrontation with her mother-in-law for the first time since her son’s death[4]. The return of Tait’s badge[5]. All of it. All of it she blamed on that pivotal reappearance of Jonas Trevelyan. It was neither fair nor his fault, but it had more of an effect on her than she would ever admit to even herself.

Tait’s best friend from Hogwarts. Another true victim of the events that preceded the events of nineteen-ninety four and continued well into the Second War. They had never been friends, Jonas and her. He had always been Tait’s best mate and she had always been Tait’s girlfriend. Two mutually exclusive forces brought together by one happenstance common factor. They had never gotten along. Yet after her fiancé’s death and she had decided to join the Corps, he had been kind to her. Oh, he had been as harsh on her as many of the other Aurors. Him and Archer both had not pitied her. He had certainly not suddenly become amiable with her. But it had been hard not to notice that when someone in the Office had gotten a little too carried away, they had stopped when he walked up.

That unspoken kindness had certainly factored into her deciding to help him escape from the Ministry when it fell to You-Know-Who. But her guilt had been the overwhelming component. Guilt to not only save his life, but get him out of hers so that she could continue to not deal with Tait Aldridge’s death, or her responsibility for it. The same reason she had refused to give too many details to the Aurors fifteen years ago, utilizing their sympathies against the trauma on the family member at the loss of one of their own. The same reason she had cut all ties to Charisma Aldridge. Because despite the valiant show and Tamis Raynor’s notorious reputation, she was a coward.

Pushing away all that emotion. Distancing herself from everyone. Throwing herself into her career and catching criminals, earning many titles along the way (The Ministry's Lapdog, The Ice Queen, Miniature Dragon), it had worked for her.

And then Jonas Trevelyan had come back.

He had known the Tamis Raynor before The Change and was not intimidated by the new one. They had never been friends and thus he had no qualms calling her out. Telling her when he disagreed with her. Treating her like a human being. And trudging up everything she had worked so hard to push away. For some reason the man cared. Not in the same way Archer Radley cared – a relationship she was still experimenting with and coming to terms over. There was nothing romantic about his concern. But he aggravatingly, frustratingly refused to let her be anything more than Human. And the fact that she could not understand his motivation made her slightly afraid of him.

Thus, the tug of war had began. And though she wanted to disassociate him from her life, she had kept pulling him further in. Going to the Private Investigator for assistance on the Runespoor Investigation… Tait’s investigation[6]. Allowing him in, when he showed up at her door exactly one year ago[7]. Sending him a rather unique and unexpected Christmas gift[8]. Offering to re-commission him into the Auror Corps and allowing him her memory of Tait’s death[9]. And smaller, little transgressions of well-meant rivalry[10].

And it scared her. Because they were not friends. Tamis Raynor did not have friends. She could not afford them. Yet, the longer he stuck around, the more her guilt grew not just from fifteen years of unfinished business, but for emotionally avoiding the man as much as she had for the greater part of this year. He was stressed. Dreogan Eleor’s kidnapping along with many other factors had taken its toll. And tonight, on this anniversary… she owed him.

Which was why she had kicked Archer out for the night, despite the hurt and jealousy in his eyes he would not admit to. Though, she supposed, he had also seemed a touch relieved. Tamis Raynor was not the best company this time of year. She had kicked him out and extended an invite to Jonas Trevelyan.

“Does Mistress need anything else?” Squeak’s squeak interrupted her brooding monologue of thoughts, drawing the witch’s sharp grey-eyed gaze to the House Elf loitering by the kitchen. The little creature stood there, wringing her hands and staring nervously at the last of the Raynor bloodline.

In that instant, the Head Auror’s countenance changed, releasing her grip on the throw about her shoulders. Any trace of the rare vulnerability she had shown moments ago was gone, replaced by the self-assured woman the world knew.

“No Squeak, that is all.”

With another uncertain nod but respecting the order, the house elf disappeared in wisps of smoke. And Tamis squared her shoulders and entered the kitchen to fix a cup of tea the elf had left dutifully simmering on the stove. That was not all, not by far. This was going to be a long night.

That was, if he even showed.

1.	Tamis Raynor's Flat Details
2.	[Feb 17 2009]Into That Good Night
3.	[Sept 30 2008] The Adventure of the Creeping Man
4.	[March 17 2009] A Fool in Crimson Robes
5.	[Jan 02 2009] Of Previous Engagements
6.	[Nov 08 2008] The Adventure of the Illustrious Client
7.	[Dec 21 2008] The Adventure of the Veiled Lodger
8.	[Jan 02 2009] The Adventure of the Final Problem
9.	[Feb 02 2009] The Adventure of the Speckled Band
10.	[Feb 13 2009] The Adventure of the Blue Carbuncle

Every time he came to visit Tamis Raynor, it rained.

Jonas had concluded that that had to say something poetic about the state of their relationship. It had been a year -- exactly a year -- since the last time he had paid a visit to the Head Auror at home.  Tamis had made it clear that she Did Not Appreciate It when nosy private-investigators-turned-Aurors intruded on her personal space.  She'd made it so clear, in fact, that Jonas half suspected that she Thought in the Same Capital Letters that she emphasized whilst speaking. 

He had agreeably stayed clear, but it had been more from a lack of reasons to intrude than for any actual concordance with her decree.  Part of his Duty as One of Tamis Raynor's Few Friends (that was certainly capitalized) was to make certain that she remembered that she could not simply order the rest of the world into the spaces with which she felt most comfortable; it was his responsibility, both civic and personal, to be the consistent gadfly in the annals of her daily life.

He was pleased to see that the same unfriendly doorman was manning his post at the entrance to Marian Aldridge's building.  Well, 'pleased' might not have been the correct term -- 'satisfied with the consistency of employment despite the day's economy,' perhaps.  Either way, Jonas tossed the man a friendly salute as he started into the building, flashing him a smile in exchange for the unsociable glower that he was given in return.

That was his first hint that he was actually expected.  Jonas had half-conjectured that the invitation to pay a visit to Tamis Raynor tonight had been some sort of ill-timed prank.  Tamis did not reach out to her co-workers; if he wanted to get her to join him for lunch, he had to check her calendar in advance and saunter into her office on a day when he knew she had too much impending work to be able to make up an excuse and vanish on him.  The note that he had received had been a complete surprise.  But then, of the Aurors who might prank him -- Adon, Radley, and Pratt -- all knew the significance of this particular anniversary.  Not even Ed Pratt would be so malicious.

He pressed the button to call the lift, shifted impatiently as he waited for the creaky transport to arrive.  It had been a very long day.  His turn on the night shift had stretched into the early morning, and then limped on into the late afternoon.  Jonas had finally torn himself away when the rest of the office had been preparing to depart for the day; he'd barely had time to head home for a shower, stop off to grab a couple of growlers of beer, and then take the Underground the rest of the way back to Tamis's flat.

Somewhere along the way, though, he felt like he'd found a second wind.  There was something oddly cathartic about this: telling the rest of the world to wait for an evening so that he could mourn a friend long passed.  Adon had understood -- had even offered to go out with him tonight, before he'd gotten the letter from Tamis.   All of his other work, the investigations and the casework, could wait for one night.

The lift creaked its way down to the ground floor, and then began to creak its way back up again once he'd boarded and pushed the indicative button.  First floor, second, third -- all the way up to the fifth, and then down the hall to Flat 517.  Jonas gave a brisk, cheery knock, and then stepped back to waited for the door to open.

"So."  He paused, cocking an eyebrow at her.  If this whole thing was a prank -- if she wasn't expecting him after all -- then at least he could look like he'd masterminded it.  The items inside the brown paper bag that he'd been cradling in one arm could not be mistaken for anything but growlers, but even without them, the night alone would have made his intent clear.  "I've brought the biscuits and jam.  Reckon you can scrounge up a couple of tea cups for us, Marian?"

Déjà vu was not without its irony, she decided.

Except this time she had been expecting the knock that interrupted her train of thought. What she could not decide was whether was relieved or disheartened to hear it.

Two heart beats past in the span of time between when she laid her hand on the doorknob and when she opened it. But any confliction that might have crossed her face in that brief respite was absent by the time the threshold had opened to reveal her guest. And she had to suppress her Auror-refined, self-preservation reflexes not to slam it back shut again.

The grin as cheeky as the man’s hair and that was about as genuine as the mask of calm she was sporting. The familiar and suspicious brown bag. The mockery of her chosen muggle alias. Suddenly she was very convinced that she could not do this.

But she ignored the reasonable instinct. Just as she had a year ago to-date. Because she did owe him. A promise she had made three hundred and sixty five days ago, when you admit the Ministry is no longer interested in chasing you, I will come to terms with a dead man. Certain members of the Ministry might now be very interested in chasing him – Edwin Glass principle among them – but for vastly different reasons.

Fair was still fair.
 
And she had asked him to come.

So the door remained open and the air between them already became awkward. Tamis Raynor was not quite as forlorn in appearance as he had found her on the last anniversary. She had been expecting company and was dressed for it, albeit less formally than most of the world saw her. Noted for her closely tailored militaristic tastes, not many were aware of her tastes for lose slacks and plush sweaters in the comfort of her own home.

Yet, despite being more prepared, a brief highlight of vulnerability – of that reassertion that she Could Not Do This – flashed in her grey eyes and was gone again with a shift of her shoulders and slight raise of her chin, still not having given Jonas the confirmation her was obviously waiting for. That she really had sent that note.

Because there was one big significant difference between the last time they had met on this night and now. Now he knew the same grisly details of Tait Aldridge’s death as she did. He had seen the memory. And that was what she was afraid.

She arched an eyebrow back up at him, expression unreadable for a long moment longer.

Then she held up the pair of floral teacups, pinched together by their handles, like a peace offering.

“Leave the switches alone,” she threatened warned as a greeting, pressing her back against the foyer wall to allow him entrance. Conveniently negating any sort of more meaningful response, but not without conviction. They did not need a repeat experience of the last time he had tried to peel back the duct tape imprisoning the electrical power sources.

It had been years since he and Tamis Raynor had taken up this dance, and they still followed the same script that they had started years ago.  If he'd been writing for a sitcom, he could have predicted their interaction from start to finish: Arrival with beer, check.  Cheeky comment upon opening the door.  A long pause from Tamis -- just long enough to make it clear that she wasn't happy about him being here -- and then a reluctant giving of way to allow him egress.  Jonas tossed off an off-handed salute, had to stop himself from unconsciously reaching for the light switch, and sauntered into the Head Auror's humble abode.

There were times when he found himself horribly tired of the game playing with Tamis.  It was as if they could never get to the heart of the matter: as if all they ever did was go through the same motions, simply because it kept them from dealing with each other in reality.  But tonight, after the long, wearying weeks since Dreogan had disappeared, there was something comforting about the endless rituals.  At least he knew what to expect.  There would be no surprises here.

"Meant to stop by the Chimaera to pick up a brew or two, but the selection hasn't been the same since you ran Tawse off," he announced breezily, heading into the kitchen.  A year ago, he'd had to hunt for a bottle opener; now, he could merely use his wand to vanish the bottle caps.  "Hopefully this'll do well as a stand in.  Don't reckon we can sneak 'Ministry beer purveyer' into his eventual Azkaban sentence, do you?"

The comment wasn't meant to get a reply, other than the roll of the eyes that he assumed that he was due for anyway.  Jonas often felt as if he'd been annoying his former schoolmate for so long that the whole thing was just force of habit.  Tamis often gave as good as she got, anyways: he might have come out on top when it came to things like surprise visits, Witch Weekly articles, and catching glimpses of her schedule, but she'd forced him to go to the Hogwarts career fair.

He set the heavy paper bag down on the counter.  A second later, he'd taken off his coat and discarded it alongside.  Freeing the collection of bottles from their paper confinement, he returned to the living room, setting the extras down on the coffee table.

"You know, Tam," he announced in a conversational tone, as he picked up the first bottle to open it.  There were times when magic was undeniably handy; locating his wand was considerably easier than tracking down a wine key or bottle opener.  "There are billions of Muggles worldwide who use electric devices for their everyday lighting while experiencing little to no adverse side effects.  Dozens of wizards, even."  He tilted the bottle toward her expectantly, waiting for the proper placement of the tea cup.  "You could always take a chance and give it a try."

The dance between them was certainly familiar – well choreographed and efficiently executed.  As if from muscle memory.  The red-headed Auror had come well armed for their usual emotional constipation. Normally, the Head Auror would have been a willing contestant. She simply ran through the motions, an annoyed exasperation flashing across her face as he sauntered past her.

Though, her scowl as she past him on her way to the sitting room was far more genuine. When she ‘ran Tawse out of town’ indeed. Which had resulted in wearing half of a collapsed, burning building and Jonas’ cheerful disposition as company for a couple of weeks. One of her eyes twitched with the memory. Incessant, beeping muggle machinery, more crossword puzzles than she cared to admit, and vehement discussions that she looked nothing like the woman from that American crime show. Nor had she become invested in the plot.

She gave him the customary eye roll, holding out each teacup in turn in wordless response. Allowing him to take the second once he was done with the bottle.  Not the for the first time, she reconsidered her objective here. It was easier at the Office, hiding behind the disassociation of her position as his superior. He had a lot on his plate currently. It made her feel guilty.

A small sound escaped the younger woman’s nose. Not quite indignation, not quite a restrained laugh, but somewhere quietly, pensively in between.  Otherwise she did not give him much of a response to his attempt at idle chatter. If she were in a better mood – if she had been doing her best to maintain her allergy to anything resembling a meaningful, personal conversation – she would latched onto the proffered bait to banter the way through this uncomfortable line. Hook, line, and sinker.  Make some joke about not having enough Woolongs to pay an electric bill with, having allotted all of them to his Salary. This was what Jonas expected her to do. What she was fighting instinct not to do.

Because that was always how they dealt with their interpersonal issues.

Instead a strained smirk minutely raised one corner of her mouth as she lowered herself onto the opposite end of the couch, notably as far away from Jonas as the limited space allowed. The woman never appeared natural when she sat. Her posture rigid, shoulders pulled back. A middle-management administrator that was still every bit the Auror her badge declared her. She was still far from relaxed, but her shoulders slumped slightly with no immediate urgency.

 Stalling, she raised the brim of her teacup to her lips, sampling the mystery brew. Tamis Raynor was not a notorious drinker. But her eyebrow twitched when the fermented beverage hit her tongue. She knew that taste. It was cemented in her memory.

“Tait’s favorite,” she commented simply, lowering the teacup to her lap.

Except Tamis Raynor never address Tait Aldridge by name. Nor did she meet Jonas’ eye.

Tait's favorite.

Jonas blinked. 

With all of the choreographic complexity of their normal interactions, it was very rare that Tamis Raynor took him by surprise.  And he couldn't remember her once -- not once, not in all the time since he'd re-entered her acquaintance over a year before -- ever referring to Tait Aldridge by name.  Even when she had given him Tait's badge, along with the memory of their old friend's murder[1], Tamis had never once mentioned it.  When he'd been here a year before, in recognition of the last anniversary of Tait's death, she'd begged him not to say it.[2]

But here they were, with the elephant of the hour out in the open.  His eyes flicked to meet hers, but she was already looking away.  Jonas frowned, considering, and then looked down at his beer.  The floral pattern on the tea cup made him think of daisies.

"Yeah, well," he said with a faint smile.  "I was the one who introduced him to it, you know."  Tait had never been the stereotypical pureblood.  The Aldridges were fairly liberal; their place among the wizarding world's bloodline elite was more by coincidence than intent, at least within the past few generations.  Tait had been as eager to learn about the Muggle world as Jonas had been to dive into the magical, even if he had floundered a bit.

But that wasn't really giving the proper acknowledgement of what Tamis had just said.  Jonas's forehead creased as he tried to nonchalantly regard the woman.  First, she had invited him here.  Then, she had said the name of a man that up until now had been entirely taboo. 

Maybe -- finally -- this was her way of reaching out.

"We used to go out drinking in London, you know," he said, with the barest of smiles.  He kept his eyes still on her, his gaze steady.  "I think you came with us once, yeah?  Anyway, he was always so proud when he knew what to order -- like it meant he could step out and blend right in with the Muggles." 

He shrugged, glancing away, and finished the rest of the tea cup in one swig.  "Anyway," he said with a shrug, reaching for the bottle to pour himself another cup.  "All those years I was gone, this became the tradition.  I always felt like I had to do something for him, even if I never thought that I'd see this world again.  Reckon it was me way of still remembering, yeah?"

1.	The Adventure of the Speckled Band
2.	The Adventure of the Veiled Lodger

It took three years to brainwash an Auror. Raynor held no delusions, she approved the implementation of the process as a part of her job description. There was no mistake that the Dark Wizard Hunters were a paranoid, twitchy, emotionally constipated lot. They were trained to read others and understand their motives while remaining personally detached – be able to switch from calm and relaxed to battle-ready at the drop of a hat.

They were never as fully ‘detached’ as any of them projected. Raynor prided herself on being the queen of the illusion. But the pretense was how they survived. 

Yet, she should have known better.

That the moment she veered from the carefully written script intrinsic between them, that Jonas Trevelyan would peg her. Tamis counted the man among her best interrogators – the best at dealing with People. Despite the lad back, calm and cheeky exterior he seeped in waves, this man was an Auror.

The change in him was not physical, but she felt the shift. That sudden sense of calm Readiness that belied his outward calm. She did not have to look up to feel the sharp, evaluating gaze bearing into her neck.

His words, tight and cheerful washed over her and still her grey eyes remained transfixed, cast downwards in stubborn resilience. A year ago, she would have never dreamed of breaching this door. But a lot had happened in those three hundred and sixty five days. And if it had been any other person sitting across from her, she might have shirked. She was not sure if it was the man himself, or what he represented.

The wizard that would have stood next to Tait at her wedding. The man who likely would have been the godfather of her children. The arrogant, self assured teenager she had bickered with through the halls of Hogwarts, both of them snarkily claiming territory in Tait Aldridge’s life. The partner-in-crime, she had joined with Tait for drinks in Muggle London that one time. She remembered as the first time in her fiancé’s life she had felt like the third wheel. He had not neglected her, was happy she had come. But the inside jokes, the easy camaraderie.  That night she had realized the redheaded man represented a part of Tait’s life she was not privy to. The part the young Aldridge had selfishly tried to protect her from.

 Jonas Trevelyan embodied the forlorn sobriety of what ifs and roads that could now never be.

She had lost the love of her life fifteen years ago. But this man had also lost his best friend. Just as Charisma Aldridge had lost her son. It was why she tolerated Jonas Trevelyan. Why she had helped him escape the Ministry those years ago. And why she had never allowed him to become a Friend. Refused.

I always felt like I had to do something for him, even if I never thought that I'd see this world again.  Reckon it was me way of still remembering, yeah?”

He was remembering. Honoring. Tamis was making sure she could never forget. It was her penance. Her guilt. But so much had happened in a year. And while she still wanted to hide, that guilt nagged at her, told her that she still owed Jonas Trevelyan.

When she felt the other Auror’s gaze slip away, it did not give her the sense of relief she would have hoped.

She swallowed hard, the dainty teacup rattle between slender fingers before she schooled her hands still. A slight tremor in her shoulders before she pulled them back and straighter. She was overreacting, Raynor knew it.

It was only the span of several seconds after he last spoke. When her hands shook. Regained her bearings from the lapsing reveal of her thinly concealed vulnerability. To the outside observer, it could have been nothing. If that observer had not been an Auror.

She lifted the cup to her lips and drained it without tasting it. She turned the teacups a few times in hand, chasing a residual film of murky brown liquid around the convex porcelain.

The first shoe had been dropped. And they were both patiently waiting for her to loosen her grip on the second. Tamis Raynor was not good at this. Never had been. Never would be. Even as a child, she had exasperated too much effort to avoid moments like these. She had never been an extraordinarily brave person. Clever. Not brave.

She looked up. The warring emotion coursing through her was absent in her eyes. There was far too much absent as she fully expected what ever bud of camaraderie between them to vanish with her admission.

“It was my fault.” It came out sounding like an apology.

Tonight had already proven to be more than he had expected.  It was rare that Tamis Raynor surprised him -- really surprised him.  Knowing someone since adolescence tended to have that effect on an interaction.  She might occasionally throw an unexpected assignment at him or get the better of him in a prank (not that either of them would ever admit to pranking), but by and large, he knew her behavior.  That was probably why they both irritated and didn't irritate each other so much -- their interactions had become a carefully orchestrated dance, choreographed around what they knew of each other.

It wasn't that he didn't know her buttons.  Jonas could recite them by heart, and was next to certain that she could do the same for his.  That was why there were Things that he Just Didn't Talk About with Tamis Raynor -- and most nights of the year, Tait's death was one of them. 

Yet here she was, bringing it up all on her own.  Jonas blinked at the woman, looking momentarily taken aback.  He snapped his jaw shut a second too late -- there was no mistaking the look of surprise that had temporarily shown on his features.

"What was?  Tait's death?"  He gave her a bewildered look, more shocked that she'd said anything than at the sentiment expressed.

Considering that she was someone that he'd spent so long secretly dreading, Jonas couldn't say when his feelings towards Tamis Raynor had grown from a sincere desire to antagonize the headstrong young woman to an instinct to protect her.  Nevertheless, somewhere, somehow, the shift had surely happened.  And it had happened just as surely for her, too: just as he'd quietly stood his ground for her when she'd first joined the Auror Corps, she had done the same for him when dark storm clouds had overtaken the magical world and he'd had no choice but to leave.

When he had finally returned to the world he had left behind, it had been easy to slip back into the patterns that they'd established.  Neither he nor Tamis had ever been especially quick to trust -- but slowly, tentatively, they'd extended those hands once more to each other.  He'd confided that he was back.  She'd passed him the Runespoor case after she found herself without a lead investigator.  Then, slowly, there had been the incident with Tawse in Scotland, and then the invitation to rejoin the Corps.  With that growing trust, that feeling that he ought to protect her -- the obligation to stand up for her, not just for Tait, but for herself -- had come back as well.  Tamis Raynor was certainly not his responsibility or his obligation, but in little ways, Jonas did what he could to look out for the woman who was now his direct superior.

But now, hearing those words that made something inside him ache, Jonas couldn't help but feel as if he'd failed tremendously.

"Tamis."  He started to speak, and then, suddenly and uncharacteristically, found himself left without words.  His jaw worked, and he was suddenly frowning deeply at her, his brows knit with concern.  "Tam, how the bloody hell is that one on you?  Did you fire off a spell at Tait that I missed somehow?"

She waited.

And waited.

And still the reaction she was expecting did not come.

Confusion and surprise warred across Jonas Trevelyan’s face in waves, causing her own eyebrows to furrow. As if he was clearly missing the obvious. And he was. Was it possible that she had been subtly avoiding this man, Tait’s best mate, for all of these months on everything but a professional level – and he had not known why?

Her laugh was short and mirthless.

The teacup rattled so hard in her hands that she finally put it down but then found them incredibly empty, staring down at her palms and flexing her fingers slightly as if unsure what to do with them.

“They murdered him,” she agreed. And the steadfast calmness of her voice surprised even her. She did not specify the ‘they’. There was no need.  “But I killed him.”

Grey eyes lifted to blue again, imploring him to understand the difference. That the terminology was significant. Her gaze was no longer void of emotion as her concentration of shielding her thoughts[1] began to waver. It was deep and still unnamed, but it was there and rapidly rising to the surface.

“You saw. What they did.” The ‘What I did to him’ hung unsaid.

It was the first time she had even come close to acknowledging the role she had played that night.  A victim, she was not. Never a victim. The method of torture had been heinous, but fifteen years had dulled the memory. It did linger. Dark Magic had that resonance. One could not be inflicted with the Cruciatus Curse that many times without lasting damage – it could drive an individual insane. She could still feel the phantom trails of it through her limbs if she dwelt long enough.  But it was not the ghost that haunted her.

All logic kept telling her to abort. Jonas Trevelyan had not put the pieces together as well as she thought he had. He was not accusing her. There was still a chance to back out of telling him the secret she had harbored for so long, selfishly.

But she owed him, she reminded herself. And not just the version of him fifteen years ago who had lost his best friend. But also the one sitting beside her now.

In many ways, she envied Jonas Trevelyan.  He had escaped. Made a life for himself. Had a wife and children. There was an easy way about him that made him likeable; even with the bloody criminals. When Tamis had discovered he was not as ten years into his grave as she had assumed him to be, she had dragged him back in without regard for the consequences. The Runespoor investigation. Giving him a badge.  Unknownst to either of them, Jonas was correct, but only partially. She did not feel a small responsibility to the redheaded man – it was a very large one.

Tamis.

She flinched with the emphasis on her name, misunderstanding. Shocking her from her reservation. Her shoulders physically lurched, jerking away from him before she could abort the motion.

“I was naïve.” Her gaze drew upward toward the ceiling, hair shifting with the slight disbelieving shake of her head. She had never been a victim. But an instrument; a tool. A means to an end.

Tam’s shoulder’s hunched in an uncharacteristically docile manner, once again finding herself studying the lines of her palms unable to look at Jonas. There was nothing to gleam from them, though. She had never believed in such frivolous things as Divination.

She laughed again without knowing why. Not understanding where the humor lied. “He begged, Jonas. If I had bothered to learn what he wanted to teach. Been independent for even a moment.” Her shoulders were shaking beyond her control now, the tremor escaping down her arms, and she folded her fingers into her palms to try and control it, at least in that small way. “I was so young. I never thought loving someone could hurt them.”

She drew one short breath, grasping for control that was no longer there. She wanted to tell him to leave. Needed to tell him to leave. All she managed was another,

“I’m sorry.”

1.	Tamis Raynor is an occlumens

His stomach sank as he listened to her speak.  Jonas had always known that Tait Aldridge's murder had deeply wounded the young woman who had been his best friend's intended.  Even immediately in the aftermath, they had all known that.  Tamis had been so young; she'd lost both of her parents at such a young age, and had grown up a ward of the state.  At that point in her life, Tait and the Aldridges had been as good as her only family.  Even forgiving the other circumstances, having her beloved fiancé ripped away from her like that would have shattered her very young world.

But there had been so much more.  Tamis had been there for the murder.  She'd been physically tortured as well.  It wasn't the sort of thing that a person could ever simply move past.  Afterwards, she had changed considerably.  The once bold, outspoken young woman had become withdrawn and serious.  She'd abandoned the career that she'd dreamed of her entire life in order to follow in her dead boyfriend's footsteps as an Auror.  She'd endured incessant teasing and endless doubts, had stuck with it when it had seemed that not a man or woman on the Corps other than perhaps Jason MacDonell was willing to befriend her.  Even today, when she'd more than proven herself, she'd ended up in a position all alone, where none of her comrades could truly be her equals.

And still, even knowing all that -- even after learning so much more, when he'd seen the memory of that night firsthand, when he knew himself what it felt like to be subjected over and over again to the Cruciatus Curse, to feel like he had failed someone who was so dear to him -- Jonas realized with a breaking heart that he had never truly understood just how broken she'd been.

There was a lump in his throat that he couldn't seem to swallow past now.  The Auror dropped his gaze, clenching his teeth tightly, trying to ignore the stinging in his eyes.  He'd never understood, and what was worse, not once in the fifteen years since then had he ever truly made the effort to know for certain.  The walls that Tamis Raynor had built around herself, the solitary tower that she'd constructed out of hurt and pain and tears, had done its job too well, and like so many others, he'd only made the token effort to get past it.

"Tamis, you don't have to apologize to me."  He shook his head as he spoke, his voice low, his gaze still lowered.  "And not to Tait, either." 

Part of him wanted to go to pieces, to beg off from this entire conversation; to pretend that he didn't know what she was getting at, or how hurt she had been; to change the subject to something mild and innocuous, like Adon so often accused him of doing.  But he couldn't.  Not now, not tonight; but not ever, too.

He owed more than that to Tamis Raynor.

Jonas took a deep breath, and then lifted his gaze to meet hers.  "Look," he said quietly, solemnly.  She'd sat as far from him on the sofa as she could, but he closed the distance now; reached a hand out to her arm, gently as if he was concerned that she might bolt away.  "I saw what happened, yeah?  Aside from it being completely unreasonable to blame yourself, I don't think it would have mattered, Tam.  They went there intending to ambush an Auror, and they made certain that they had the manpower to do it.  You could've been the Dueling Champion of Hogwarts for five years running, and I think they would have still gotten the better of both of you."

Her nails were biting deeply into her palms but the pain never registered. The skin across her knuckles taunt and losing pigment.

Minutely she shook her head, a subtle but sharp denial of his words. He still did not understand. She could hear the sympathy dripping in his voice and she did not want it. Could not accepted. Until this point she had feared his rejection. Now she realized that she needed it. Needed him to pull away from her, for his face to twist in disgust or disappointment. Wanted the denial. Because it would be easier.

The fact that he was not evoked panic.

Fingers curled hesitant pressure around her forearm; firm and steady but unsure. Shocked, she stared down at the connection like a foreign thing. And it was. Tamis Raynor simply was not Touched. A rule of her own creation. She never shook hands. A tentative hug from Fauna nearly a year ago and a traumatic experience with the Minister of Magic had been the extent of her physical interaction within recent memory – Archer Radley the obvious exception.

This was the closest proximity they had shared since his return to the Wizarding World. She did not pull away. Just stared. Breathing too calm and far too controlled.

She heard him. She did hear him. She was just having trouble accepting.

When she finally lifted her gaze to connect with his, all pretenses were gone. They were wet and wavering, years of well built walls striped away. And when she saw his were burning red around the edges, what remained of her cool demeanor snapped.

“I can’t.” She practically sobbed, shaking her head fiercely. “Jonas, I can’t.” That time she did. And now she did try and pull away, head still jerking back and forth.” Her gaze silently pleaded with him. “Please hate me – blame me… do not –“ She broke off again.

The similarity in the two individuals was jarring in that moment. Jonas Trevelyan has physically ran when it became too much, Tamis Raynor had been too stubborn and proud to follow suit, retracting emotionally even if she was still here. She knew an understanding had begun to form between them, a pathway to friendship. Perhaps that was why she chose now to confine in him. She had expected it to push him further away back into her comfort zone, not move closer.
 
Because at the heart of it, Tamis Raynor was broken. And she had decided a long time ago that caring about others only lead to heartache. It had cost her a great deal to let Archer in and it was still an imperfect and hesitant process. Jonas Trevelyan. The Aldridges. She never intended reconciliation with any of those individuals. It was too close to allowing her to forgive herself for what had happened. And she was not sure she could.

Warning - slight language.

This conversation -- confession -- was not the reason that he'd come here tonight.  But now that he was met with it, Jonas wouldn't have been able to explain why he had come.  Was it to test Tamis' limits?  To quietly commiserate?  Because she, like him, hated to talk about anything of importance; because he could trust her to not actually have a conversation about Tait, but to join him in passively remembering their dead friend's memory?

But he was just as capable of doing that alone.  Just like once upon a time, he could have prowled around the edges of the magical world without ever daring to declare his presence to the Ministry.  Back then, even though he'd known that the right side had won and that it was unlikely that he'd face any real persecution, he'd still been dangerously skeptical; tacitly terrified.

And yet, both times, he'd come here to Tamis Raynor.

Jonas sighed.  He let her pull away, but not far: his hand stayed on her arm, firmly and stubbornly placed. 

"Because it makes it easier to hate yourself?" he asked, his eyebrows raised.  He let out a loud sigh, looking upwards toward the ceiling.  "Bloody hell, Tamis.  You can't just -- ...it isn't --"

He dragged a hand tiredly through his hair.  She clearly could -- she probably had been doing just that for fifteen years.  It made Jonas want to snap something back at her, to argue, but he knew it wouldn't help.  Tamis didn't want to be forgiven, and she certainly didn't want to be reasoned with.  Guilt had a way of eating a person alive, until it was far easier to live with the pain than it was to try and face it aloud.

And he knew that better than anyone.

Something shifted in the red-haired man's expression.  Slowly, he glanced down, and then the line of his jaw tightened.  "Look," he said quietly, glancing back at her.  "I understand a little, alright?  I know what it's like to feel like you failed, or you ran out when someone you loved needed you.  You feel like you fucked up, and there's not a bloody thing you can do about it, and for all you know, someone's dead because of it, when maybe if you'd been more of a man about it, you could've made a difference."

There were times when the familiar old pain came rushing back; when that fluttering feeling of unwanted anticipation seemed like it was ready to overwhelm him once more.  When he'd first begun skirting around the edges of the magical world, he had painstakingly avoided finding out the slightest hint about his old friends' fates.  Even today, he'd yet to sit down and really read an account of what had happened, to go through a casualty roll.  But he had been lucky.  There had been far more pleasant surprises than unpleasant ones: Tamis had survived the war, and Archer, and the Aldridges.  It could have been much, much worse.

He took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, and looked Tamis in the eye.  "I made a mistake, and I've got to live with it every day that I'm in the office," he said tightly, his jaw set.  "But I don't use it as some bloody excuse to cut meself off from everyone, Tam.  That's the easy way about it.  If you want to take responsibility for Tait's death -- if this is some attempt to right what happened -- then how the hell does it help to build some bloody wall up?  Hating yourself won't stop it from happening again."

Five floors below, a car honked long and loud at some personal affront on the rainy streets of Muggle London.

It was the only sound in the small apartment for several moments.

“No?” It was spoken as a challenge, grey eyes lifting to the blue ones that were so persistently ducked down, demanding to lock their gaze with hers. Despite the spark in her tone, those eyes were flat, resigned, defeated and wary. Exhausted. “You cannot rob someone if there is nothing to steal.”

 It was a method that had worked very well for her the past fourteen years. Radley had broken through her defenses more thoroughly than most. And yet, their relationship had hit a standstill, neither progressing nor deteriorating, just simply Being. There was a reason, when McDuff tormented the Aurors’ Office, that she had been the only one to come out it almost entirely unscathed.

Now that he had her gaze again, it was near impossible to pull away from it. But she had to pull away. Somehow. Before she did something pathetic. The hand opposite of the one he had on her arm reached over to lie atop his own, seemingly so much smaller and delicate in that moment. She curled her fingers under his palm, trying to break his gripe and its symbolism.

“I am more effective this way,” she said, very quietly. If he had not been sitting so close, he might have missed it.

She was not sure if she was trying to convince him or herself more of that. But there was an undeniable truth. Tamis Raynor was notorious. Her reputation far preceded her and she lived up to it. Her detachment from others made her into what they needed her to be for them. It was a lonely existence, but it saved lives. Most took her at face value. Most did not try and get to know her on any sort of personal level.

Yet here was this man. They had never been friends. Always brought together by a perception of obligation to one another. Ever since his return from his self imposed exile, he had been a thorn in her side. Showing up on her doorstep like that. Treating her like she was still that seventeen-year-old schoolgirl.

But who kept calling him back? A small voice in the back of her mind, reasoned. She came to him with the Runespoor investigation. She gave him back a badge.  His admittance finally sunk in. She wanted to tell him he was wrong. That the situations were different. There were plenty that still called him a traitor for running – her old mentor one of them. But the Ministry had broken. But she got it. She did. He was trying to commiserate with her.

Tamis stared at him more intently, eyes wavering with a watery shine again. And when she asked the question, it was raw. Entirely genuine in its bemusement,

“Why do you care?”