Spring was upon the bustling city of London. The air was brisk, still carrying the whispered reminder of winter, but the sun was roaring its defiance; shining its glorious warmth across a clear blue sky. In a city as infamously grey as theirs, it was as good of a cause as any to celebrate. For a Witch who had been plagued for the last week with organizing patrols and increasing watches and sending highly trained (and expensive) dark wizard hunters after every black cloak to flutter past a window, it was heaven.

After a decade of relative peace following the Second Wizarding War, there were not many offices that still demanded knowing how to cast a fully corporeal Patronus Charm as an entry-level requirement. As far as Tamis Raynor knew, hers was the only one within the Ministry of Magic. A small task force of fully capable wizards and witches the Minister had served on a platter to the Wizarding Public as a consolation package. Raynor had argued she simply did not have the manpower to patrol all of England, but would rework schedules where she could.

The compromise had been agreeing to run workshops and several smaller cases had been sidelined. Many grumpy Aurors were now cycling through patrol routines and running graveyard shift with the Hitwizards.

The park was one she came to often. Somewhere in the middle between her flat and the Ministry of Magic proper, she would wander it on a rare lunch excursion. As she was now. The amiable weather had brought out more families than normal. Laughing smiling faces sitting on benches and sprawled across blankets, enjoying the sun. Swings creaking and plaited hair flopping over the sides of slides.

Tamis Raynor did not understand Muggles or their electricity (and electric run devices). She still found that Jonas’ cellphone was supposed to be intelligent, unnerving. But she did envy them their ignorance of the darker powers in the world.

The petite witch slid her hands into her coat pocket, though the measure did little soften her rigid posture. Perhaps it was why she chose the live among them; that little respite from reality.

A little boy, no older than five (and yet already almost half her height), darted in front of her, his toe catching on the walking path as he attempted to scamper after it and the ball he had been chasing. He pitched forward – and Raynor was there to catch him.

Her knees slid across the rough pavement, absorbing the child’s fall with her torso, hands resting on his shoulders to steady him. 

Whatever teasing reprimand she had been forming died on her lips as she pulled him back to get a look at him, her fingers tightening assertively against his arms, as if checking that he was real. A little older. A shock of blonde hair. Grey eyes -- grey eyes that were beginning to look very familiar. He had been missing for over a year. The guilt of that time stamp clawing at the back of the Head Auror’s brain every time she saw Aberdeen Spencer.

“Robin?"[1] She asked the boy, clutching at him even tighter.

”Papa!” He cried out in reply, clearly frightened and confused by her intensity.

Tamis Raynor’s eyes snapped up, sharply, knowingly, to the figure suddenly looming over them. She was still kneeling on the ground with fists full of the child’s windbreaker in the middle of a park surrounded by innocent muggles, looking up at a man that could only be the Most Wanted Wizard in all of England.

1.	Plot Chapter: The Abduction of Robin Adani

It was difficult.  Listening to this muggle woman go on about taxes, workplace rivalries and neighborhood gossip while looking like he halfway cared.  Hiding that simmering urge to reach over and wrap his fingers around the muggle's neck and squeeze.  How he would love to hear her current monologue about some neighbor's affair die in a muffled gurgle under her collapsing throat. 

But, doing so would set the muggle authorities on the trail of a middle-aged muggle man whose appearance Cinaed currently shared, requiring another move and another stolen façade.  Fionn had just started to adjust to this new appearance and Cinaed was hoping to hold onto it for at least a couple more months. 

So he had to sit, listening to the woman's wordy attempt at flirting with a dumb, amused grin on his face. 

In between monosyllabic responses, Cinaed cast a careful glance towards the kids milling around the playground equipment.  He had to remind himself, the woman's rambling was a small price to pay.  Fionn fell asleep faster and stayed asleep longer on days they got to the park to play.  As much as Cinaed feared what mingling with muggle offspring at such a young age would do to the lad, they couldn't risk play outings in the wizarding community, even with disguises.  The risk of being recognized - through words, mannerisms as well as appearance - was just too great. 

So, they would play in the afternoon.  And, in the evening, Cinaed would remind Fionn that while a cat may play with a mouse before killing it, they certainly were not equals. 

"Is she now?"  Cinaed turned, feigning intrigued surprise as Mrs. Hatcher mentioned some bloke getting frisky with their nanny.  Pathetic muggles. 

Fionn's birth name - the name given to him by the muggleborn auror that had adopted him - was lost in the din of the playing children.  It was Mrs. Hatcher's change of expression that made the ex-Azzie aware something was amiss.  "Who's that woman with your son?" the woman asked, a touch of worry in her voice as she pointed at the stranger who gripped Fionn's arm.  "Henry, ...should I call the police?" she asked, glancing towards Cinaed.

Cinaed didn't respond.  He was already on his feet, crossing the playground towards the auror and the boy.  "Let him go."  Cinaed's hands remained empty and free by his side; he didn't immediately reach for his wand.  For the time being, he and Fionn were the known entities on this playground.  Ironically, for now, the muggle masses around them would be on his side.

Even without the wand, the threat hanged heavy in the air. 

"No need to cause a scene."

The last time Tamis Raynor had crossed wands with Cináed Tawse, he had buried her under half a house in Scotland. Literally.

Oddly enough, she had taken that the least personally of the Auror Corps.

It was a vulnerable position kneeling before the man as she was – she was keenly aware. The façade was not quite as distinctive as his read visage, it was not quite as hairy and lacked a certain feral yeti-ness, but it was still formidable. Not as large, but large enough. Not a difficult feat in comparison to the Head Auror’s diminutive stature.

The eyes were blue rather than the same shade of grey as hers. The face rounder. But the seething, murderous intent was pleasantly familiar. And it was leeching off of him in waves.

Her gaze did not follow his wand hand. She did not check her surroundings. She ignored every instinct drilled into her as years as a dark wizard hunter to maintain cool, unwavering eye contact. The way one might when they stumbled across a predator in the wild. Tawse was little more than that. A product of their own system and proof that Ministry reform efforts were failed. 

Tamis Raynor had always known, from the day he sat across from her in that interrogation room before being carted off to Azkaban, when they both had been so green in so many ways.

Her fingers flexed on the boy’s shoulders, doing her best to ignore his suppressed sniffles and puffy red eyes as he tried to take an aborted step backwards toward Tawse. It pulled at a small inkling of doubt inside of her. Stockholm syndrome or something else entirely? The child looked healthy, well cared for even…

… What was the man with the largest warrant on his head since You-Know-Who doing in a muggle park with a kidnapped child only blocks away from the Ministry of Magic.

That fact smarted. A year they had been looking for him. And he was in a muggle park, with the kidnapped child, only blocks away from the Ministry of Magic.

 No need to cause a scene.

Finally, her surroundings came rushing back to her. The laughter around them had muted. Several parents were on their feet, staring at the face off, and clutching their own children tightly to their legs. One woman had one of those cellphones out and had it skeptically pressed against her ear.

The warmth of the scenery from moments ago seemed to drain away. Some stray clouds moved across the sun, shrouding the park below in its overcast. Was it just her imagination, or did it feel as if the temperature had dropped several degrees?

Options and exit strategies warred through the Ravenclaw alumni’s mind. Her wand was still holstered on her left hip, only visible now that she was kneeling on the pavement, her overcoat pulled away from her slight frame. She was skilled with wandless magic. She could distract Tawse and – then what? Raynor’s apparation allergy made disapparating uncomfortable for her. She could hurt Robin trying to side-along him.

She could go for less subtlety and to hell with the Statute of Secrecy. Tawse would not share her concern for the magicless bystanders around them. She saw it clearly even in his borrowed eyes. These people were a shield. Currently a benevolent one. And that could change and quickly. How quickly, from her current position, could she reach her wand before he could turn his against the crowd?

Her jaw set firmly, jawline muscles near her ear ticking in frustration. 

Raynor did not let go. She was not sure she could. She had nearly died trying to return this little boy to his legal guardians. Instead, she stalled.

“You are a little old to be playing dress-up.”

Playing dress up? 

Cinaed's gaze remained fixed and steady but his nostrils flared under the intensity of concealed anger and frustration.  Playing dress up?  If the Auror was being facetious, she gave no indication of it.  But, Cinaed cared little about the woman's remark, whether or not it was snide.  She had not agreed to avoid a scene and she had not loosened her grip on the boy. 

Again, the fugitive's nostrils flared, though this time the frustration reached the rest of his features and his upper lip hitched up in a muted snarl.  If the auror intended on apparating away with his son, she wouldn't have lingered for idle, taunting chit chat.  She would have left by now.  But, just in case, Cinaed moved forward to put himself close enough to grab for her if she changed her mind.

He knew he was tempting fate.  He knew he was just as much within her arm's reach as she was within his.  However, he was blindly trusting two facts: there was no way the Auror could physically overpower him and chances were slim the Auror would resort to magic in a muggle-filled park with a child held between them.  A child.  His child. 

The seething disapproval on Cinaed's face only heightened the boy's unease.  Fionn squirmed, again, under the Auror's grip, his wide, round eyes darting between the woman and the man.  Cinaed's expression softened as his gaze dropped to the lad and he nodded. 

"Let him go."  Though muted for the boy's sake, the threat was still plenty apparent in the wizard's voice.  "Imagine how it'll look when those pathetic muggle aurors arrive.  You standing there, using a strange child as a shield?  Or, will you try to explain?"