10 May 2008
Saturday
1:00 PM

Gray eyes were bearing into the (literally) stone gaze of a gargoyle, narrowing at their corners in challenge. Barely legally overcoming dwarfism, their owner stood engulfed in the granite's beastly shadow, arms crossed severely over her chest, and her chin tilted up, somehow managing to stare down her nose at the boulder while, in fact, looking up. Her nostrils flared the only active indication of her annoyance. Other than that, it appeared the two were locked in a battle that would determine who was more made of stone.

Enticed by the warm, May Saturday afternoon and the promise that Summer was almost here, the Second Floor was otherwise practically abandoned asides from its silent combatants. A lonesome torch causally licking the air in a pocket of darkness unreachable by the windows, but otherwise natural light serenely filled the corridor with its warm glow. A handful of lone portraits were clustered together in one frame, huddled with hands to their mouths as they whispered to one another, peering at the solitary woman.  The ghostly coast of a lethifold would have been heard against the anxious hush.

And then, Tamis Raynor, the Head of the Auror Office, sprang to life.

“For the last time,” she said with barely controlled impatience. “I have an appointment.”

 The gargoyle remained impassive. Raynor offered the password the Headmaster had given her, again. Nothing.

For the last ten minutes the two had contested in this little battle of wills. On top of being incredibly frustrating, it also consequently made her five minutes late for her … conference … with the Headmaster. And the minutes were still ticking by. She had tried threatening, she had tried shouting, she had tried standing on her tippy-toes and waving her badge indignantly under its nose. She had even magically written the password in the air in red hot letters. And still the statue had not shifted to give her access to the Headmaster’s Office.

That only left one possible strategy she had yet to try…

“Please,” the word came out like a pulled tooth, “open.”

Not even a shift of pebbles.

That was it. Raynor’s wand produced itself and wagged threateningly. She had crossed paths with the likes of dark wizards, rouge werewolves, and a number of all manners of dark creatures in the second war. She was a seasoned Auror with a over a decade of experience. And she was losing to a statue.

The stone griffin began to move then, grinding slowly to the left.  Behind it, where a spiral staircase was concealed, there was further scraping of ancient stone on ancient stone.  The Headmaster of Hogwarts was making his way down from the tower.  When the portal was fully open, and Knox Greyfriar stood in the door, he said,

"Well there you are.  The tea's getting cold."

He was testy.  Morrigan Ramsay and Theobald Mainwairing had stood vigil with him late into the night about just what Auror Raynor was here to discuss: Kyle Gibson.  And now equipped with damning suspicions, Knox knew he'd be on the defensive.  He planned to answer her questions bluntly, and get her to leave as soon as possible.

"Come on, then," he prompted and went up the stairs.

When they were both in the office, Knox sat behind his desk - there was a nice chair there for Raynor.  All the portraits shuffled in their frames.  Those paintings who had frames in other locations had been keeping a watch for Knox, for any sign of Kyle and for any sign of the Ministry's progress in tracking him.  All eyes were conspicuously on the pair. 

He laid his wand on the desk, and ignored the tea sitting in the pot.  "I'll make no illusions, Auror Raynor: I am afraid of what you're going to ask me."

Just when she was about to hex the statue into its version of the afterlife, it began to slowly slide to the side, revealing the infamous spiraling staircase and the Headmaster himself. With Auror enhanced reflexes, she deftly holstered her wand before any insinuations could be made.

The Headmaster looked like a man on a death watch.  Rightfully, he was. He emanated the hostility and edginess of a man near the end of his rope and the shadows of his under eyes suggested he might not have slept well last night. For the briefest of moments, for a slight hesitation, Raynor reconsidered her intentions. Her relationship with the man was strictly professional, but she had gleaned enough about him to know that his commitment to the personal wellbeing of his students was unconditional. It was what made Greyfriar the extraordinary Headmaster that he was and it was the personality flaw that she was going to shamelessly use to her advantage.

Climbing the steps, Tamis would have sworn that the griffin growled at her before slamming abruptly shut on her heels. Keeping her eyes focused on the burly educator’s back, the witch highly doubted that her trouble with the office entrance had been of his conscious will. But they said that Hogwarts was highly in tuned to its Headmaster, the Office itself the most from any other part of the castle. Perhaps she was an even more unwelcomed guest than she had originally estimated.

Once settled in the chair designated for her, Raynor pretended not to notice the fact that all the portraits of past Head Persons had their noses pressed to their canvases, gawking at the pair stationed across from each other. She also turned a blind eye to the wand placed painstakingly obvious on the desk, a motion that could have been taken as a warning threat to a Law Enforcement Officer. So, instead, she chose one of the cups and poured herself some of the lukewarm tea. Might as well not let it get any colder.

“I do not wish for illusions,” the Head Auror responded quietly. She gave him a searching look and put her tea down without drinking it, “What are you afraid that I will ask?”

Knox exhaled sharply through the nose and shifted in his seat, glaring at the witch seated before him.  After a moment, he decided to press on.

"The spell Gibson used to kill Auror Timmins.  I believe he's used it before.  Earlier this spring he encountered a quintaped in the Forbidden Forest and attempted to defend himself.  From his wounds and what he said - I think it's the same spell.  Theobald Mainwaring suspects it may be something similar to Sectumsempra, an obsure bit of dark magic," Knox explained.

"We don't know where he would have learned it. Or who might have taught it to him."

He regarded Madam Raynor then with raised eyebrows as if to say, 'is that enough for you?'  If Gibson was in hiding, he may be able to be tracked by whatever unsavory sort had supplied him with such a weapon.  Would that sate the Auror?

A flash of pain illuminated the Head Auror’s gaze at the blatant mention of Timmins’ death. The anguish of losing a comrade – one that had meant a great deal to her – right under her nose was still there. Under all those layers of professional detachment and cool composure was a woman in mourning.  It was not the first time she had lost men and it would not be the last time. The world did not stop turning for one man and there was still a job to be done.

“We have Unspeakables and Aurors that have thoroughly analyzed the crime scene. We have a list of every spell performed within fifteen feet of that stage for the last fourteen days.” Clearly, she had no intentions of informing him about what spells those had been.  “All possible leads are currently being investigated by my Men.”

Tracking and hunting down Dark Wizards was what the Aurors spent three meticulous years in training preparing for.  Their skills made them lethally qualified, honed weapons that, if necessary, could face a dark wizard in one-on-one combat. In past years, Ministers of Magic had monopolized on an Aurors fatal potential, mutating them into dangerous field soldiers; brute strength to do their bidding.  Raynor, among others, had spent many years morphing the Corps back to what it had been meant to be:  a proficient, qualified, elite group of peacekeepers. 

With the relative time of peace, this was the first time her new recruits had to actually commit their knowledge to practical application. And all of her Senior Officers were dealing with the fact that this seventeen year old they were chasing was not a Death Eater; they had to play by the rules and work within the red tape. The anger of losing one of their own permeated every inch of Headquarters and it was all Raynor could do to try and keep her Men on the straight-and-narrow and not become vigilantes themselves. Regardless, if one of the Aurors found the boy, Raynor was not expecting him to be brought back alive.

Not deterred, she continued to consider the Headmaster with an air of indifference. She noted his breathing, the insinuation of his tone, if and how his hands moved, and ignored the impatient glare that would have pinned a dementor the chair.

Her presence made him nervous. The Headmaster was hiding something.

“We have the facts, Headmaster Greyfriar. All of the figures and all of the details.” Reaching into her cloak, Raynor produced a piece of parchment enchanted to stay crisp and sharp and slid it across the desk so that Greyfriar could see it. “Your original statement about the events of May Second was satisfactory. I am here about any other details you can offer that could aide our Investigation; any particulars about Kyle Gibson that cannot be found in records or crime scenes. Your cooperation would, of course, be most appreciated.”

Knox Greyfriar was a sturdy wizard.  He was a man of conviction save isolated incidents of an unchained temper, he was level-headed and fair.  But his imposing, bear-like physique and his almost supreme autonomy at Hogwarts only went so far.  Raynor was not the Senior Auror for no reason.  The little witch was intimidating in her quiet perseverance, in her complete control and thoroughness.  Being the subject of her scrutiny was making it difficult to stand his ground.  What was to be gained in opposing Raynor and the Aurors?

Was there really anything he could do to help Kyle now that he'd already failed him?

He looked away from Raynor's eyes and down to his own words on the crisp leaf of parchment.  The words he'd spoken had been cold and methodic, just the facts, just what he'd seen.  His report probably varied very little from the others on stage.  But what set him apart from the others on the dais was that Knox had recognized him immediately.  But he hadn't been able to act in time to spare him from what he'd done.

He sighed, doubting himself, doubting the letter he'd received and doubting his impulse to hold onto and believe every word.

"You have to understand," he said, his voice straining, already pleading, "my purpose is to protect the students.  If I..."

He clamped his mouth shut and picked up his wand.  He tapped the end in his palm, breathing deeply. 

"If I cooperate with the Aurors, I cannot compromise this.  He's seventeen!" He was shouting now, " A boy.  His youthful folly cost two men their lives, but will his life simply end for this mistake?  Will three lives be ruined if your Aurors cannot keep their wands at their sides?"

Sometimes, in order to do what was Right, you could neither be a ‘good guy’ nor a ‘bad guy’. Sometimes, you had to be something all together entirely different. You might hate yourself for it later, push yourself and others to your limits and then give another hard shove for good measure. Many times, Raynor had preached that little speech to new recruits. She had reminded them that in becoming an Auror, they were not entering a people pleasing career. The press would spite them and at times individuals would despise them. But their job was not to be liked as with the many political factions that comprised the Ministry; their job was to shield the people.

She had come knowing she would have to push this man to get the information she sought, that she would possibly have to push him to his emotional limits. Otherwise, she could not be sure of the sincerity his answers. But she had not been expecting to push him to those limits so fast, so soon.

No noticeable detail went overlooked as Raynor read the Headmaster’s body language. The way his eyes lingered on the fine grain parchment. The frustrated release of breath as if whatever thought his statement had provoked was too emotionally exhausting to handle. The incessant lament to his voice as he almost, almost let something slip. And it would have taken a both blind and deaf fool to not register the wand now grasped firmly in one hand or the panting breaths that interrupted a bear tone that grew to deafening proportions.

Inwardly, the Auror all but jumped out of her skin. Knox Greyfriar was not a small man by any stretch of the imagination. Bellowing as he was only helped to insinuate that not-so-little fact. Would he react physically? Would he actually attempt to use that wand?

Quite suddenly, Tamis Raynor was unsure of what exactly the Headmaster could be capable of. Unsure as to the extend of a bear’s wrath to protect one of its endangered cubs. He was fiercely protective of his students, the Auror had not only known that, but had been counting on it. But this was rather extreme reaction for an inquiry over an accused murderer.

Discretely, she allowed her wand to fall into her hand from up her sleeve. Other than that, the woman remained motionless.

“And my purpose is to protect this Country.”  All protocol and business. As if they were talking about the weather rather than possibly life or death.

Despite the volume at which they were being delivered, Raynor forced herself to concentrate on his actual words. A mistake? Rather interesting choice of vocabulary.

 “I am trying to save as many innocent lives as I can.” The emphasis placed on that word was astounding compared to the melancholy enunciation of the others. In doing so, she purposely neither corrected the allegations made nor prevented the summation of new ones, letting him come to whatever conclusions he would.

How many times could you poke a bear with a stick and remain unscathed?

Knox's heavy brows furrowed deeply and his mustached mouth curled into a snarl.  He stood and loomed over his desk at Auror Raynor.

"So that's how it is? The Aurors are now Elders on the Wizengamot in the field! Dispensing judgments as they collect their quarries.  Saves one a great deal of time, does it? And saves one a great deal of thinking!"

He pounded his fist on the table and the whole office seemed to shudder.  The Headmaster's office had always been a place closely tied to its occupant's moods, soaking up his or her wisdom, habits and temper.  And now the office must have seemed a very inhospitable place for an Auror indeed.

"Treat that boy unfairly and our country will bear that dark mark on its conscience! The true measure of a civilization is how it treats its most lowly members.  I will not abet any further witch-hunt unless I can be assured that rule of our laws is honored and that boy is not sentenced until he has been tried and convicted!  I will stand in your way at every pass until that moment."

Merlin protect him, but Knox could almost see Meredith rolling her eyes.  The old bear was too convinced of his own twisted sense of justice.  Didn't he know that actively defying Aurors - and now it must be clear he was holding something back - could bring trouble to peaceful Hogwarts? That he might be taking a mile when he had only inches to maneuver?

How badly the woman wanted to shrink up into a little ball before the fury of the Headmaster of Hogwarts. The wrath was, truly, impressive. The entire office shuddered, the chair beneath her threatening to dislodge her. The portraits were now glaring and shaking their fists from their frames. In a contest of magical will against Greyfriar, Raynor was positive she could constrain him. But against sheer physical force with the entire enchanted might of the office behind him… her lips dried but she refused to lick them.

It was at times like these that she regretted dating a Gryffindor for as long as she had.

Rising to her feet as well, the Auror tried her best to ground her feet. Trapped in the crevice left in the small space between her chair and the desk, she was forced to crane her neck all the way up to meet the furious, dark featured man. His bushy brows obscured his eyes and the snarl obscured everything else. Were you not supposed to play dead to a rearing bear?

Not when she was so close to what she wanted to know.

“You demand a lot.” She responded, still impossibly indifferent, still acting as if this was nothing more than a luncheon. “Our orders are to bring him in alive. But if he resists? He has already murdered one of our own. You would ask me to tell my men to stand down if he tries to again? That is how we lost two lives. How many more lives to protect a murder, Headmaster?”

There was something there behind all of that rage, something that he was holding back. He was too defensive of Kyle Gibson. There had to be an underlying truth, this went beyond a compassionate Headmaster mourning a student-gone-wrong.

"You are not an executioner, Raynor," Knox bellowed, exasperated.  "The Head of the Auror office in my office calling a suspect a murderer!  If he dies at your Aurors' hands, that's on you," he snarled pointing an accusing finger.

"What you're talking about, Raynor, is revenge.  The whole bloody country is clamoring for something to be done about Gibson, hollering like mad for his blood.  If the Aurors cannot stand for reason and rule of law then Hogwarts will."

He pounded his fist again and glowered angrily.  "I will not turn him over to a mob.  Pitchforks or wands - you're the same.  You are no longer welcome here.  This charade of justice is is over and I want you off these grounds immediately.  Go!" he ordered and stabbed a finger past her towards the door.

"Out!"

His mind was boiling with rage. Rage at himself for what he'd just done - banished the Head of the Auror Office from the castle.  Rage at having failed Gibson so terribly.  And rage at the charred bits of letter that sat in his desk drawer, the bits of letter that complicated everything so terribly.  Why did Kyle run?

Simply enraging the man obviously was not working. But it had answered her question. If nothing else, Knox Greyfriar was truly concerned for Kyle Gibson’s wellbeing. And that gave her the slightest flicker of hope.

He pounded against the desk, he screamed, he hollered, accused her of some rather terrible things. He ordered her out of the castle. There was a long silent pause out of that, an anticipation of what the Head Auror would do next vibrating from the very walls. Even the portraits were not sitting straight between their frames, wide eyes darting between the two.

Tamis Raynor did not so much as shift a shoulder. She stood there, the source of the man’s rage, adrenalin now coursing through her own veins.  It took a significant effort of self control to simply keep her mind on her objective. Ordering her from the grounds could create some terrible political repercussions. But the woman did not budge.

“I never claim to be anything but what I am, Mr. Greyfriar. I am an Auror trying to do my job.” There was a significant edge to her voice now, and underlying temper, carefully controlled.  “If he is not guilty then he is doing a damn good job of making it look like it. Every Auror you meet will have the cold, methodic approach to this case I just personified, conscious or not. They will not see a seventeen year old boy; they will see an Auror killer.  If. He. Resists. Arrest.  I cannot promise the outcome will be political.“

And that was Raynor’s ultimate concern. The loss of Timmins was a painful one, but she had learned long ago that revenge was not the answer. In order to see clearly, you had to remain rational. And logically looking at this case there were far too many inconsistencies. The overwhelming lack of proper motive was by far the most troubling of them. Kyle Gibson had to be found and questioned and he had to be found the right way. He was their only prime suspect, their only lead.

To do that, if her instincts were correct, they needed Knox Greyfriar’s cooperation.

Not turn him over? Was it possible that the man actually knew where the boy was?

“I would remind you that it is within my Authority to arrest you for suspicion of haboring a murder suspect. You are the Headmaster, you know these students better than their parents. If you are in contact -- Do not make me arrest you, Knox.  Do not make me upset this school’s hierarchy. I do not want to have to do that.” But she would. The solid determination was in the firm set of her jaw and unyielding gaze. However much she might like the Headmaster of Hogwarts, she would remove him in a heartbeat if she believed it would promote the safety of the public.

But she would. Tamis had threatened to arrest him, saying she'd rather not.  But she would.

Knox's angry scowl had relaxed, almost gone limp in shock.  And all the rage and indignation faded to a sudden, deep sadness.  The hand had been laid.  Tamis Raynor had arrived with it in her possession and had held it through all of his blustering.  And only when it seemed she'd failed in turning him, then she'd resorted to the deadly blow.  Part of Knox had been under the delusion that between the two, such a blow could never be struck. 

But of course Tamis Raynor was well within her rights and her strict duty.  Perhaps now was not the time to throw away all he'd worked for.

He broke eye contact then, retreating physically from the desk, leaving his wand there.  He went chest of many small drawers and drew one open.  He retrieved it's contents and laid them delicately on the table.

It was six or seven small bits of parchment, their combined surface no greater than the span of a wizard's hand.  They were deeply scorched on all edges. 

His voice was calm and level now. Defeated.

"Kyle Gibson owled me yesterday afternoon.  The ink had been enchanted to ignite after it had been read.  In the letter, he claimed he was innocent.  And that, if I wished, he would be able to receive a letter if I sent a reply to King's Cross Station in London."

He sighed and shook his head. "I don't recall verbatim - I had only one read before it lit.  He said he wasn't his brother."  The story of the elder Gibson boy was well-known.

"I haven't responded to him.  And if it's all the same to you, Madam, I don't plan to.  I was never any great help to Kyle Gibson, nor am I now at this moment.  I doubt I'd be of much use to him in the future."

There were few moments in her life where Tamis Raynor had truly hated herself. There had been moments where she had not been proud of her actions, particularly through the emotional turmoil she had suffered during childhood. There had been moments where she was sure she would not survive a blow dealt to her lack of humility, yet somehow she managed to persevere.  She did not think she had ever hated herself as much as she did then, standing rigidly before the Headmaster.

Her throat constricted painfully. Unable to look at Greyfriar directly, she instead focused on the wall behind him. The grind of wood against wood felt like a stake plunged into her heart as the man silently pulled open a drawer. She felt rather than saw him relinquish his weapon and kept her expression carefully blank, as she had since she arrived on the grounds. While they were physically standing a mere couple of feet apart, Raynor knew that there might as well have been an entire Quidditch pitch separating the two.

Not breaking the silence, she finally tore her gaze from the ornate tapestry behind Greyfriar in order to passively watch him lay several – roughly seven – fragments of charred parchment on the wooden surface of the desk. When he gave her the explanation it was impersonal; broken. It might as well have been a killing blow, but once more the Auror had to shove aside her emotions, there would be time enough to deal with those alone … eventually.

She did not advance to inspect the remnants of the letter, instead taking him at his word. Raynor would have greatly liked to have read the evidence in its original text, to see the writing, to dwell on the way sentences were phrased. If it had been burned with a magical fire, short of taking it to the Department of Mysteries for examination that would not be possible. And Raynor was not about to do that.

More unanswered questions; more ill-fitting puzzle pieces. The words related to her were not those of a killer. Tamis Raynor knew the voice of a killer, knew what kind of person that was. The boy standing on the stage that day had had the demeanor, had the look in his eye. The words did not match. What was the motive? If she did, actually believe the offered words.

Her head nodded once to him, signally that she had heard him.

“Who else knows about this letter?” She asked quietly.

"Morrigan Ramsay and Theobald Mainwaring," Knox replied flatly.  The tension that had swirled around the circular office, had roiled irately, was now loafing and weary in the corners and around their feet. "Both professors here."

"He wanted to be an Auror, you know," he told her as he sat slowly back into his seat, speaking about Kyle.  "He wanted to be an Auror very badly - took all the right classes, his heart was set on it. But his record, his family; Madam, there was no way.  He lacked discipline and he lacked the grades.  Where was that sort of energy supposed to go?

"No one's saying, I think, that what he did was planned with reason.  But attacking Kingstreet - maybe he saw it as a duty no one else was willing or capable of doing.  It's somehow ironic that a boy who would be an Auror may very likely die by their wand."

He took up his wand again, remembering the tea.  He tapped the teapot and muttered a domestic sort of spell his mother had taught him as a boy and the liquid resumed its piping hot temperature.  He poured himself a cup.

"Do you plan to stay long?"

With a finger, the Head Auror shifted through the parchment remnants, turning them over one by one as she contemplated. Kings Cross Station; it was either their first solid reliable lead or a roughly laid trap. Only two other people knew about the letter. Ramsay. And Mainwaring? That name was vaguely familiar. Both of them were professors. Hopefully that meant they would show restraint in gossiping over it.

“It does not make sense for a boy aspiring to be an Auror to murder one. That is rather… counterproductive.” She raised a hand to stem any more comments about having already condemned the once Hogwarts student. “It is not my intention to sound incriminating. It was merely an honest speculation.”

A Gryffindor student with an infamous family history of becoming violent that wanted to become an Auror. Had he been trying to live down the reputation of his brother? By becoming an Auror had he been attempting to prove that not all apples from the same tree were alike? Even if he had been trying to kill Kingstreet driven by a deranged sense of justice, there had been nothing to gain from killing two Law Enforcement officials.

Her lips compressed as the Headmaster seemed to retreat into the same game she had played earlier, retreating into a cool indifference, strictly political but with obvious detest. The snub against her men would have been hard to miss, as would have the tension that was still in production. She made no attempt to defend them. She had been in her line of work for long enough to know that the opinions of a person were hard to change; she would not waste the effort trying to change his. And, unless she could manage to capture Gibson herself, he was probably right.

“As far as I am concerned, Headmaster Greyfriar, you ordered me from the premises five minutes ago on account of my rude and offensive behavior.” Even under Veritaserum it could not be said that such was not the truth. She had no intentions of passing on the information she had gleaned today. “However, it appears I have overstayed my welcome.”

She had almost learned everything she had come here to learn. As she had expected, Knox Greyfriar’s large heart wanted the best for Kyle Gibson, she was hoping to monopolize on that. What she had not expected was that the man was torn with guilt over the boy’s criminal status and he seemed to truly believe him guilty. No one's saying, I think, that what he did was planned with reason. I was never any great help to Kyle Gibson, nor am I now at this moment. So much could be understood by simply listening to the way an individual worded their senses. It did not take a Legilimens to know what someone was thinking.

She pushed the fragments of the letter back toward Greyfriar. “I would dispose of this garbage, if I were you. It would not benefit you if the right person happened to stumble across it.”