For more information or to join the thread, see here!

“The bank hath benefit of interest on all moneys, which it creates out of nothing.”

~ William Paterson, founder of the Bank of England

From the moment that his phone started to vibrate in his pocket, Jonas knew that it was not going to be a good day.

The morning had started off innocuously enough.  Anna had had an early morning meeting, so it had fallen to him to drive Artie to school.  He didn't really mind; even with him making a regular effort to spend time at home with his family, even with Gwenna away at Hogwarts, moments alone with his son were rare enough that the Auror still savored them.  He had no doubt that Artie would join his older sister in the tempestuous tempers of adolescence before too many more years had passed, and life had already shown him that years could go by too quickly.

And so he'd dropped off Artie, and then driven the rest of the way to the Ministry.  Finding street parking that wouldn't  cost an arm and a leg had been a bit of a challenge, but he'd finally managed to locate a length of open curb that was nearly big enough for his jalopy in a nearby neighborhood.  Several months before, a bad six-hour experience of trying to figure out what he'd done wrong had taught him that shrinking an automobile even slightly was not the best answer to London's perpetual parking problems, but this time, all it took was a quick levitation spell and he was on his way.  The spot might be tight with literally millimeters to spare, but hopefully the blokes whose vehicles were parked on either side of his wouldn't need to leave before he could duck out to free his car with another spell at the end of the day.

He had almost made it to the Visitor's Entrance to the Ministry when his phone began to vibrate.  A second later, it was joined by the tinny sound of House of the Rising Sun, which did nothing to stop his heart from pounding as he fumbled frantically for the phone, quickly slid his finger across the screen to answer it, and raised it to his ear.

"Yeah?" he said, attempting to sound cool and calm and not at all in a slight panic.  He spun on his heel, walking back toward the curb, one hand cupped over his phone to help muffle the outside sounds.

"Jonas."  Anna's voice came in sounding as clear and calm as always, which did nothing to ease his nerves.  The fact that she was using her Lawyer Voice meant that he had either done something wrong, or that something was wrong.  "You won't believe what they're showing on the telly at the moment.  I can hardly believe it myself."

Jonas frowned, running a hand absently through his hair as he wracked his brain trying to figure out what he could have possibly done wrong to get something on the television.  Had the house accidentally burned down?  No, he'd turned the stove off; he'd checked three times in his hurry off the door, and besides, there were so many bloody protective spells on the place now that it was probably protected from everything short of a nuclear blast, and even then, the wards might give a fair go at containment.

"Yeah?" he repeated, doing his best to keep his voice level.  "Unfortunately, I'm without a television at the moment, so you might have to fill me in."

He could practically see Anna pressing her lips together, the brief moment of silence was so potent. 

"Well," she said after a beat.  "It sounds like something happened at the Bank."

She told him, and in the rush of inappropriate words that followed, he nearly dropped the phone.

Two minutes later, and he'd sent a Patronus off to Archer -- Statute of Secrecy be damned, and if Glass really wanted to get on his case about sending it off on a Muggle street when there were no bloody Muggles in sight, Jonas would let him handle the whole bloody mess by himself next time.  He'd also ducked into the pub across the street just long enough to verify what Anna had told him.  The owner had hardly looked happy to see him -- his last series of visits had ended in the front of the building getting blown off in a particularly exciting yet slightly disastrous conclusion to an undercover case -- but he'd tolerated the visit nonetheless.  A quick run through every news channel on the television confirmed what his wife had said.

And then Jonas was on his way to the Bank of England, with his fingers crossed that the finale of the current incident would be slightly less physically disastrous than the last.

---

He apparated into an alleyway.  It was unfortunate that nothing in the City could really be guaranteed to be deserted; as it was, Jonas felt he was lucky only to surprise a raggedly-looking homeless man with his sudden appearance.  He left the bloke gaping after in astonishment as he strode out of the alleyway, hands tucked into his pockets and his expression grim.

A sizable crowd had already gathered outside the Bank of England.  Police, TV crews, paparazzi, curious bystanders -- the usual sorts that he would expect at something big.  Setting his jaw, Jonas scanned over the massing crowd, trying to search for his best route in.  This was the sort of day that was going to be a bloody headache, he already knew, and he hadn't even gotten inside to see the goddamned corpse yet.

Merlin, but her feet hurt. Aisling had rushed her way out of her office the moment that reports of such a disturbance the Bank of England had hit her desk. No doubt a full team was on its way as well, but it'd be best to see this for herself.

Once she made it there, at least. Careful apparation to a safe location, a moment to steady herself afterwards, and then a bit of a walk to see the crowds. Such crowds ensured that they wouldn't be able to obliviate everyone involved. Not a chance. Which meant that whatever odd things had happened inside the Bank would quite likely to to be her problem to manage.

Preferably in more comfortable shoes. Her first survey of the crowd revealed no other members of the Ministry that she could find, no coworkers to aid her there. Just her and words and the few items she carried with her. When she looked down into her purse to make sure of just what she had (makeup, various forms of identification, tissues, a scratched mirror, and so forth). But when she looked up she saw a somewhat familiar face about the edges. He was not from her Department, but from the Ministry nonetheless, unless her memory betrayed her. Which it rarely did in such a fashion.

One hand brushed against her skirt as if shooing away invisible dust, and then she made her way towards him, heels clicking in a swift rhythm. "Level Two, correct?"

"-- reporting to you live from in front of the Bank of --"

"-- viewers tuning in now may be astonished to hear it, but early reports suggest --"

"-- leaks coming out of the Met that the body found was not human at all, but --"

"-- that the corpse appears to be some sort of extraterrestrial --"

The sound washed over him like a sort of cosmic wave, and Jonas found himself suddenly and miserably wishing that he was not the only hapless agent of some secret cabal who was standing out here amongst the mess of humanity, wanting desperately to get inside and assess the damage done for himself.  What were the chances that there really were aliens?  That it wasn't a magical creature at all, but an extraterrestrial being who had ended up on the wrong side of a Torchwood plot gone awry?  That, after finally managing to talk his way inside, he could take a quick look, say "Oh, wrong conspiracy" and trot off back home to wait for some man in black to come by and wipe his memory?  Maybe they could even share a pint and commiserate, although knowing his luck, the chances of this mess falling on someone else were probably slim to none.

He was so caught up in planning his own personal crossover with Doctor Who and Fringe that he nearly missed the woman who had come up through the crowd next to him.

"Level Two, correct?"

Jonas glanced up at this, and if he hadn't already been noticeably schooling his expression, it would have soured.  One of Glass's.  Hell, but Level Three were quick.  He was half surprised an army of Obliviators hadn't waded into the crowd already, wands brazen and memory spells blaring.

"Yeah," he said, a bit shortly.  "Name's Trevelyan."

He shifted his gaze back to the growing crowd.  As chaotic as it seemed at first glance, a second examination provided that it was loosely organized in circles.  On the outside were the general public:  random passerby, curious tourists, or those who'd probably seen something on the news and ventured down for a look.  Inside of that were the news crews, who had apparently gotten wind of the story early enough to jockey for position.  And inside of that was the Bill:  police constables and various official associates, some of whom looked as though they were having at least as bad a day as he was, forming a loose ring around the Bank.  No one was getting in or out without their awareness.

This was not going to be easy.  With a sigh, he checked his pockets.

There were some Aurors who would carry half a dozen fake forms of police and military credentials with them at all times.  Jonas had never gotten on board with the trend.  Carrying around a fake MI-6 badge might appeal to his inner spy, but it still seemed inherently dishonest and manipulative -- as if that was all it took to pull one over on the common folks. He had the official-looking private investigator's credentials that he'd mocked up for himself years ago, but since joining Level Two, even that hadn't gotten much use. 

Luckily, it was still inside his wallet, right alongside his driving license.  Jonas slid both free with his thumb, chancing a look at Glass's man.  (Err, woman.)  Good on her that there weren't any robes or awkward fitting clothing in sight -- she looked properly Muggle, if a bit done up for the London streets during the day. 

"You've got Muggle credentials on you?" he asked her with a frown.  "Civilian ones?"

Trevelyan. The name seemed slightly familiar, as if it had been the subject of Edwin's wrath at one point or another. Such didn't seem to be an uncommon occurrence, after all. "Aisling Knight." This was hardly the best situation to meet in, but she would see how it went. Yelling was something she was quite content to leave to others.

And it was already loud there, with the crowd and their murmuring pressing in all about. Someone's elbow nearly hit her side, causing her to step in slightly closer to Trevelyan before answering his question. "And yes, of course, among others. You have a plan, then?" It wouldn't be too difficult for her to make her way in, with the right identification and a few careful words.

Much easier than cleaning up after this, from the fragments she could hear. There'd be theories, conspiracies, reports and further leaks. Perhaps a few could be arranged. Some ideas pushed out to unbelievable extremes. They had their ways. But it was all theory until she was inside. "I'll admit that I've had little work involving dead bodies recently." One could count the Opera perhaps, but that was preferable not to dwell on.

His eyes were already back on the constables standing guard outside, moving from one to the next down the line.  A year ago, Jonas had been familiar with plenty of members of the Metropolitan Police Force; a few of them even seemed to be not horrendously annoyed by his presence, which was a plus in a situation like this.  The past eleven months in the Auror Office had dulled those contacts, but even so, he wasn't surprised to catch sight of a few familiar faces.

A plan?  "Yeah, yeah," he said distractedly.  In his experience, planning was for important things, like ambushing potential murderers with a grudge[1] or...well, ambushing potential murderers with a grudge.[2]  This sort of thing -- merely talking his way past government agents into a high-security crime scene -- didn't require a plan so much as it did creativity.

Now that he was standing here, though, it occurred to Jonas that any sort of story that he came up with to talk his way into the current crime scene, suspected alien body and all, was likely going to be unbelievable.  Although that might not be an impossible obstacle: clearly, London's Finest were already being confronted with an unbelievable scenario, in the form of the small extraterrestrial corpse that had been found inside the Bank.  Considering the growing media circus outside, they were probably desperate to find an explanation that made more sense than five minutes of exposition snatched out of Torchwood.  His story didn't need to not be unbelievable; it simply had to be less unbelievable than the reality that the police were currently being confronted with.

"Well, Missus Knight, the nice thing about dead bodies is that they don't usually protest inexperience."  He made the quip half-heartedly, his eyes still focused on the Bank.  There, at the end -- his vigilance paid off as a familiar figure stepped outside, dressed in plain clothes that contrasted with the other uniforms.  Jonas smiled crookedly, prepared to set off, and then stopped, as if suddenly remembering that he wasn't alone after all.

"You alright for this?"  His eyes were focused on her face, as he silently evaluated her expression.  "If you'd rather wait outside, I can get the gist of this one on me own.  Just don't, ahh --"  He broke off with a grimace, waving a hand unhappily at the gathered crowd.  "You know -- let anyone start zapping folks until I can get a sense of what's gone on, yeah?"

1.	Crossing the Rubicon
2.	Conspiracy by Moonlight

If Tamis was in the office early, it was a sure bet that Archer was as well.  When she wanted to, the woman could be as soft footed as a cat, but there were times in the very early morning that he was sure no one would believe him if he tried to explain, but he swore she woke up with a racket to rival a dorm of Hogwarts third year boys on purpose. 

Thankfully, the little beast of a house elf always had caffeine for him.  And he needed it this morning.  Guzzling far more coffee than recommended before even leaving the house, it was going to be a ten-cup kind of day.  They’d left the flat together, seemingly normal, despite the early hour and Archer’s grumbling. 

“Oh joy,” he’d remarked as they arrived to the office in time to actually run over the night shift, with their tired dark under eyes and sagging backs.  He could empathize.  At least that meant there was still coffee in the pot. 

After generously relieving them of the last fourth of the pot, Archer knew it was time to get started.  Tamis was already off like a shot, productive from the moment she woke up to the second she went to sleep – if she even slept sometimes (even he had suspicions at this point). 

Dropping into his seat, he started rifling through files, rearranging and falling into the routine of work without a second though (mostly because he could not spare one). 

Time passed from there quickly, until he was jarred very suddenly from reviewing notes from Eyes on his desk.  The ethereal patronus which could only be Jonas’ sprang in front of him, and in only half the detail Archer would have wanted.  It was just the sort of thing, of course, that would wake someone out of a paperwork induced nightmare and leap up from one’s desk (smacking knee caps against the desk as one did…).  After a colorful array of curses fled his lips, Archer grabbed his “work wallet” with every form of muggle cover he could need and left. 

He figured in a situation like this it wouldn’t really be terribly surprising if another tall man in black appeared out of nowhere.  It was a blessing in such times that it wasn’t strange to see hoards of law enforcement, even for muggles. 

But what Jonas hadn’t really prepared him for – what he supposed no one could prepare anyone for – was the mass of muggles present.  Archer blinked in disbelief as he readjusted from his speedy trip, muggles of all types – police, reporters, men carrying bulking boxes pointed at them, shining lights, spectators, frantic crowds on their mobiles screaming incomprehensibly to their loved ones.  There were even a couple holding up signs that read “We believe!” or “Take us to your leader!” Whatever that was supposed to mean. 

And amongst the muggles, of course, were the already aware witches and wizards.  Archer almost felt late for the party, so to speak.  He recognized a few oblivators from other investigations and nodded discreetly before scanning the crowd again. 

Clearing his throat, Archer pulled the false badge on the first copper who looked sideways at him and sighed as he looked around for the redhead that called him here. 

"Thank you for the concern, but it seems that I'll need to see the body before I can do much else." Her voice and expression remained calm and steady. If the prospect bothered her at all, then she wasn't showing it. Even with a decade and more past, her first thoughts for this could be far too cold. A somewhat intact body would be useful for investigation, even if it seemed to be making her work here far more difficult.

More people were moving in, jostling against each other in attempts to see and hear. More bodies, more comments and gossip and memories to work with, or against. The cleaning up already appeared likely to be long, late nights, early mornings, and owls sent home to apologize for both. Best to get such started and then over as quickly as possible.

There were a few others from Level Three within the crowd now, pressing in from about the edges. And no doubt more she could not see, figures disguised in Muggle clothing and hidden by the crowd. "And zapping is rather ineffective for a situation being broadcast all over the television. Best to see what I'm truly dealing with, first."

If he had been one of the less politic Aurors -- Ed Pratt, for instance -- Jonas would have considered inquiring whether or not Level Three really needed to see what was sure to become his crime scene in order to make up a few good lies about it.  Surely, Muggle Excuses could come up with a rational explanation without intimate knowledge of the corpse; at this rate, they wouldn't even have to work very hard at it, if the "Take me with you, Doctor!" signs were any indication.  But as much as Glass's minions with their long-suffering attitudes might annoy him, this was neither the physical nor temporal place to get into it.

The movement of a hulking giant on the other side of the crowd got his attention.  Jonas squinted for a moment to make sure, and then stuck his fingers in his mouth, giving a loud whistle.  Even when they'd been young ruffians in their twenties, Archer had never been the quickest in the morning, but at least he'd made good time getting down here.

"Well, alright then," he said, giving Knight a nod.  "Let's go have a look, shall we?"

The woman he'd recognized earlier was still standing outside the Bank, talking to a pair of police constables.  She was dressed in a crisp, simple business suit and slacks, but judging by the way the uniformed officers deferred to her, it was clear that she was a person of rank.  Her eyes were hidden behind sunglasses, but her attention was clearly fixed on the crowd; her sharp features, paired with her nearly black hair and the reflective aviator lenses, gave her a harsh, almost intimidating look.

Getting through the crowd turned out to be not as much of a challenge as one might have thought, even with a bad knee.  They made it all the way to the line of police constables in record time.  Jonas hovered there for an instant, waiting until he was sure that the woman had noticed him before he approached the nearest constable.  The man leaned in to hear what he said, and then cast a glance back at the woman.  Seeing her nod, he permitted them to pass through.

Despite the graveness of the situation, Jonas couldn't help feeling a bit proud of himself as he sauntered past the police constables up the steps of the Bank.  Auror badge or not, this suddenly felt just like old times again, and as long as the current experiment didn't end in something embarrassing, like another arrest, he was visibly quite pleased at the chance to go slumming.

The woman waiting for them did not look nearly as entertained by their current situation.  Her expression didn't exactly become pinched, which made it hard to determine whether or not she was happy to see him.   "Trevelyan," she said bluntly, her eyebrows raising.  "You've been quiet lately."

"Yeah, I have, haven't I?"  He flashed her a winning smile, as if pleased at the recognition, and then briskly continued on.  "Glad to catch you, Detective Inspector.  Been a busy morning, has it?" he asked cheerfully.  "I was hoping you'd have a moment to meet a client of mine, Missus Aisling Knight.  She hired me on a couple of weeks ago to find her missing nephew."

Whether Trevelyan's contact would prove helpful remained to be seen. The Detective Inspector wasn't exactly oozing pleasure at the sight of him.

It was unfortunately too easy for Aisling to imagine being so very concerned about one of her nephews. Paetyn's little gift to his mother had created a whole new realm of fears. So Aisling offered the other woman an unsteady nod, then looked between her, Trevelyan, and the Bank nervously.

"I hope he's...I...I just...want...." She started to wring her hands together and looked down. Such a depressing prospect, the idea of someone's missing nephew being connected to such a brutal murder. One that made her so obviously distressed. She slowly lifted her head, and took a deep breath. Concerned relative was a part she had played before. Though Aisling wasn't sure if the exhaustion helped. Or the nausea.

The ginger wasn’t hard to find. 

He was tall, lanky, and in the thick of what was going on.  There was a brunette witch by his side, and he could only assume it was a witch.  Trevelyan wasn’t the type to drag muggles into this… he hoped. 

Pushing through the crowd, Archer pressed his fingers to his ear – he’d seen muggle coppers and investigators do it before – and he furrowed his brows, pretending to listen.  He’d ascertained that they had little devices that somehow enabled them to talk to one another in their ears.  If he could just pretend to be listening to someone long enough to get even closer, he’d be able to get in with them.

He thought he vaguely recognized the witch – which was good, that meant she might be able to play along with them, and Archer – trying to match her – strode up, finally, looking as concerned as he could.  (Acting, as it turned out), was not one of Archer’s biggest strengths. 

“Is everything okay?” he asked, putting a hand on the woman’s shoulder – hoping she remembered his face and would drag him right into the story (whatever it was) with them…

If she didn’t… he’d have to pull out the badges and things, and Archer was not very much in the mood for that currently – not with Trevelyan and this witch, and whoever the person who looked none-too-pleased to see Jonas.  Knowing just some of his past with muggle law enforcement, Archer wouldn’t be terribly surprised. 

It was quickly becoming clear that Detective Inspector Reese was not happy to see him.  Her eyebrows rose still higher, and she tilted her head towards him, letting the aviator sunglasses slide down her nose so that she could give him an incredulous look over the top of the dark lenses.

"Her missing nephew," she repeated, echoing the woman's words even though her eyes were solely trained on Jonas.  "Trevelyan, do you really think that I'm going to let a civilian in there?  To identify a --?"  Her eyes flicked briefly to Aisling, and her lips thinned, but she ploughed ahead with the word anyhow.  "A corpse?  You can't have been out of the game that long."

"I haven't been."  Jonas gave the woman a pleasant, earnest smile.  For all of eleven long years and the better part of a twelfth, he'd gotten by with that being his only line of defense.  He wasn't about to fall off it now.  "But I'm just thinking," he began, "that you've got a bit of a problem when it comes to identifying whoever's in there, and considering the kid's circumstances, we might be able to --"

"Is everything okay?"

The cavalry had arrived, although not with as much authority as Jonas might have liked.  "Mr Knight!" he said cheerfully -- a little too cheerfully for someone who was dealing with the strong possibility of a murdered nephew, Jonas realized, because Reese gave him a look that clearly communicated that she was not buying this.  He cleared his throat, and then abruptly went for something more appropriately somber.  "I'm glad you got the message.  We were just seeing if the Detective Inspector here," he said, vaguely gesturing in the skeptical Muggle woman's direction, "would let us inside to see if we could, ah, check on the identity of the -- ah, victim.  It sounds like the description might match young Archie."

Impromptu lying was not one of the Aurors' strong points, it seemed. The Detective Inspector was not impressed, and Aisling couldn't help feeling as if she had been saddled with herding interns. However, that tended not to happen at such major events.

She shot a hurt, disappointed look between Trevelyan and the newly arrived 'Mr. Knight'. "That might be Archibald in there and you-" She choked on the words, and clasped her hands together until her knuckles hurt and turned to white. "I'm sorry. Just...." A brief glance away.

Then she leaned into 'Mr. Knight's' grip, her shoulders slumping. He received the briefest of appreciative glances. "Thank you for coming so quickly."

Admittedly, Archer was not the type of man who lied often.  He was fairly terrible at it – he hadn’t gone to school for acting, and certainly didn’t excel on challenges in the academy that involved being around muggles, except when he was throwing his weight around like the boss of a scene. 

He immediately regretted his choice to even attempt, but had to stick with it now.  Couldn’t very well wave a wand and wipe her memory of his arrival, as much as he’d like it at the current moment.  Especially because they seemed to be going with a strange corpse could potentially be a relative. 

A relative named Archie.  He could have rolled his eyes – truly wanted to – but decided for the best, he would keep his trap shut.  Didn’t want to blow cover. 

“Mr. Knight” could only imagine the face of his nephew that only a family member could love, and swallowed hard – potentially just trying not to laugh.  “I came as soon as I got notice,” that part, at the very least, was true, and Archer could at least tell the truth there. 

He looked expectantly at the Detective Inspective who appeared very unimpressed with the display.  Archer gripped Knight’s shoulder tighter, hoping it would signal to someone to do something, or he’d probably actually just wipe her for a minute and recharge with his false badges. 

Inspector Reese had let her attention flicker only briefly to first Knight, and then Archer.  She was still eyeing Jonas coolly, as if attempting to read something more in his expression.  With a sigh, she took off her aviator glasses, folding them shut, and held her hand out to the woman.

"Let me see your ID," she ordered her.

Whatever Aisling produced seemed to past muster.  Reese examined it for a moment, studying the card, and then studied the woman's face.  Shaking her head, she gave Jonas a tired look, and then jerked her head back towards the bank.

"All right," she said.  "Don't make me regret this, Trevelyan.  Five minutes."  She eyed the other two warningly.  "And you stay with me.  No one goes near the body."

It was hard to stop himself from looking triumphant, but Jonas merely gave the Muggle Inspector what he hoped was a gracious nod.  Sparing a glance back at Archer, he followed Reese up the steps and into the Bank.

From there, it was surprisingly easy to get inside.  Reese stopped once or twice to talk to other officers on their way in, both in uniform and in plain clothes, but within moments, they were within the main salon of the Bank.  Almost immediately, another police inspector that Jonas vaguely recognized called Reese over; she turned and gave him a sharply warning look before stepping away.

"Don't go any closer," she ordered, giving him a hard look.

Jonas tossed off an easy salute, glancing nonchalantly at Archer.  Slipping his hand into his pocket, he closed his fingers around his wand.  "Well, this is one way to start a Wednesday," he murmured, risking a glance across the room.  Their guide had entered into a conversation, but she was still watching him like a hawk.  "Poor bastard, eh?"

"We'll be seeing a lot more of them if you don't nip this in the bud early." Edwin uttered smoothly from behind them all, stepping up softly to join them.
"Special Branch[1], if you have to ask, amazing how long memory charms can linger with the right props. I'm even on the payroll." His hands were clasped behind his back, and to all intents his attire blended in the with the other police, though he kept his voice low, and face as neutral as possible so as not to arouse suspicion. If anything, he seemed rather more sprightly in tone than ever, almost pleased at the scene.

"We'll intercept the private ambulance which will transport the body to the morgue for post-mortem, but I trust the two of you can examine the scene sufficiently without us having to obliviate the room and have Aisling and company tamper with one of the most advanced security camera networks in the world, yes?" He looked from Radley to Trevelyan, and then raised an eyebrow at Knight.

"We wouldn't want to trample all over your crime scene, would we?" He smirked and stepped away, looking in the direction of the female Detective Inspector. There'd be a Detective Chief Inspector lurking to order about at any moment, and although Special Branch generally were not openly questioned for their presence, it did cause frustration, and he had to be careful not to run into specifics with the real officers.

Whoever it was had met a rather grisly end, much like the other bodies before now. Certainly the perpetrator liked to flirt with Muggle publicity, by use of a London tourist guide book... Buckingham Palace next?

1.

Wiki