Up until this time, Adon had resisted taking on a new partner—primarily in the hopes that Jonas Trevelyan would drive Archer Radley to an early grave and would once more be unspoken for.  It was not that Adon wished Radley harm, per se—he rather preferred him alive.  He was too fun to taunt, and it was poor form to mock the dead.  But having had rather extensive experience as Jonas Trevelyan’s partner, he believed the man fully capable of driving Radley to a demise.  Adon’d nearly died twice with Jonas as his partner, after all.[1]

With the recent upheaval, it appeared that a closer eye was being cast onto the Auror Corps.  Adon’s paperwork was so fastidious it bordered on peevish, which seemed to have pleased Carstairs almost as much as it had pleased the lawyers.  However, Adon’s persistent state of flux—a new trainee each month, unaccompanied interviews, personal visitations with former suspects—seemed to have been brought to the attention of the Deputy Head of Level Two.  The modus operandi Adon had adopted since his start had come under fire. 

“I would draw your Honor to the attention to the fact that after Auror Spencer was pulled from duty, I went without a partner for nearly a year.  And that was when I was a trainee.  By the time I was a full Auror, I was working with Jonas Treveylan, who was merely a consultant at the time…”

“Your defense before the bar is noted, Auror Eleor,” Riordan said, dryly.  Adon tightened his jaw. The man across from him looked far too pleased, sitting behind his vast glossy desk in his impeccably-tailored robes.  His scruff seemed to punctuate, rather than distract from, his smugly perfect smile.  Bastard.  “The climate of Level Two has changed since then,” he continued. “Devolved, as a matter of fact.  You cannot disregard protocol as you have by flying solo.  Particularly in the absence of a Head Auror, there is a great need for us to follow regulation.”

So that was what this was about.  What landed him here in a meeting with His Deputyness somehow seemed to resemble at best some warped sort of Auror Speed Coupling.  From across the desk, Riordan slid Adon a loose sheaf of parchment.  “You are not alone in this, however,” the Deputy stated.  Somehow it did not sound reassuring.  Adon took the sheaf in hand.  There they were, the list of names of paired-less Aurors.

Most of them, as a matter of fact, Adon noted drily.  He dearly wondered if Riordan intended to call all the others in, too.  If so, he was glad he got first pick.  It meant that the odds were decreased that he’d be paired with Dean Bailey.

“Now.  It would seem that Radley and a few others are already spoken for.”

Dammit, Adon thought, fretting.  He had not been first pick after all. Not even second string.  Adon was third string.

“But Judah Bassir, on the other hand—”

“Dibs,” Adon blurted.  The kid had made him decent coffee once, and had made him laugh at least twice.

“Adon, these are new Aurors, not bagels. You can’t dib them.”

He looked at the Irish deputy sharply.  “Is that a Jew joke, your Honor?”

The man made no response at all. 

“Sorry. Your Deputyness.”

There was silence. Finally, Riordan raised an eyebrow.  “I was expecting you to crack and throw in another comment.  Just one ethnophobic comeback, today? Hmm…” he made a show of jotting something down on the notepad in front of him.

Adon’s face cracked into an open smile.  He liked this man.  “... 'Ethnophobic.' I don’t even think that’s a word.”

“Ah. Well. We Irish have no experience with ethnic slurs, after all.  Nor do we lawyers lay claim to splitting hairs on semantics.  You ever consider law, Eleor?”

“I don’t have the face for it,” Adon said with a shrug.  “None of that devil-may-care, je ne fois gras… This face, people just open right up and confess. Much better in an interrogation room.”

“Mhn. I think your French might have run a bit fowl, there,” he remarked drily.   He folded his hands across his desk, eyes keenly on Adon.  Adon hadn’t particularly seen this expression in his superior’s eyes yet.  It was piercing.  It had reminded him that Riordan had been a courtroom attorney at some point in his career. “Bassir is very green. I know you’re just getting your feet wet yet again here in London, and you’ve been handed rather sensitive investigations.”

Adon held up a finger testily, halting the Deputy.  “Sir. If I may. I have been doceéing trainees the past year.  You may speak to them yourself to hear their take on it, if you like—"

“I have.”

Adon halted mid-phrase, trying to read the man’s infuriatingly impassive expression.  He'd been reviewed?! “Sir, if they have not been anything short of complimentary of my mentorship, just give me a few minutes alone with them, and I am sure between you and me, I can bring them around to a story we’ll both like.”  Yes, Riordan had caught his own shit-eating grin, the beginnings of his own smirk creeping up in the corners.

“Of course. One of those faces.  They’ll open right up to you, Eleor.” Riordan shook his head, taking the sheet of names back. “That won’t be necessary.  They seem to have stuck to the story you two agreed to, and I’m inclined to believe it.”

“Careful, captain. That almost sounded sincere.  Do they revoke your lawyer’s license for that?”

“Only if they believe me.  But I don’t have one of those faces.”

1.	It is not in the least bit significant that this was through none of Jonas’ doing…directly.