April 20

Devlin liked loopholes. No, scratch that... he loved loopholes. If loopholes were human, he would seduce them, get them drunk, fly to Las Vegas, marry them and then have cute little half-loophole babies. Hell, they would probably get divorced thanks to him having affairs with other loopholes and they would try to use the prenup to get the children, but then he would finesse another loophole and get out of it with alimony. But I digress.

He loved loopholes, especially when it got him a one-on-one interview with the one witch in the wizarding world who had bigger balls then Voldemort himself.  He was sure that it wasn't exactly what Greyfrair meant when he assigned the class to interview someone who had been at the ministry during Voldemort's take over, but he finessed the loophole with great care. She had been there, hell, she tried to get the Dark Lord in on a Visitors Pass! Forget steel, her balls were made of pure diamond.

Hence why he was on his way to the ever mysterious Level 10, accompanied by a young intern who seemed less then happy to be escorting him. The guy, whose name Devlin had failed to recall despite the guy telling him about ten times and pointing at the name tag on his shirt, seemed to think that Devlin was insane for even thinking about interviewing Kingstreet. He kept repeating that she was certifiably insane and would probably kill him with the stub of a chewed-up pencil in his hand... In fact, she would probably kill him BECAUSE of the stub of a chewed-up pencil. Devlin just nodded and focused on his interview questions instead, ignoring the intern, who he decided to call Bob, until he gave up.

"Bye Bob." Devlin said as they arrived at the Ministry Holding cells on the 10th floor, where a portly security guard stood at attention. Bob said something rather rude, but Devlin didn't catch it. Instead, he focused on the guard. "Ms. Kingstreet please."

"You are with the Hogwarts group ain'tcha... The one interviewing the survivors of He-who-shall-not-be-nameds take-over?" He inquired, studying Devlin with tiny watery grey eyes. Before Devlin even got a chance to ask, he continued, scratching his portly girth absentmindedly "... I dunno why you want to interview whatsherface... she is a criminal.... a young wizard like you should be interviewing one of those aurors... like Minister Annwyl...Now THAT is a wizard!" His red tinged face shone with pride and a little too much adoration for Devlin's comfort. He finally broke the mans revelry.

"Annwyl has enough interviews. I want to get the criminals side of the story... " He said bluntly, forcing the guard off of his cloud. The man gave him a sharp and suspicious look, So Devlin added innocently "... I am a fan of criminal psychology you see..."

"Oh yes...Criminal Psychology..." Chester, or so he was according to his tag, said knowingly. The lack of comprehension was evident in his eyes as he added "...I like that as well. Thats why I got a job here..."

"Very well... then please lead the way..." Devlin said, trying not to smirk at this. Chester seemed placated as he nodded and grasped a large keyring on his belt. "Right this way." Devlin followed him down the hall towards a large steel door. When he opened it, there was another room inside of that one, with another heavy duty steel door leading into it. As it opened, Devlin's eyes opened wide with anticipation as the light cast itself on the thin blond sitting in the middle of the cell. He tried not to smile with glee while Chester was there, but his face was threatening to crack ear to ear as his heart raced with anticipation.

"Oi Kingstreet! You got a visitor!" Chester called into the cell, his bulk nearly taking up the door. Devlin peeked in at her, smiling.

"He needs an appointment.  Tell whoever it is, he or she must speak with my receptionist to arrange a time," a voice responded.

The voice had come from the occupant of a Reasonable Security Cell. The occupant was female, middle-aged and had a good deal more grey in her blond hair since the last time she was in the Ministry of Magic.  Theodora Kingstreet had been in Azkaban prison since 1998, you see, for attempting to betray Wizarding Britain.  Now, she was awaiting her release hearing before the Wizengamot.

They'd allowed her to write a letter, and she had.  They'd allowed her to dress in her own robes, and she was.  They'd even allowed her visitors, all of which she had refused on the grounds that an appointment was necessary.  Of course she had no receptionist, currently.  And she had no datebook. She had none of the administrative accouterments that was as vital to her being Theodora as her wand was for her being a witch.  The Department of Magical Law Enforcement knew better than to supply her with so much as a paperclip, considering her convicted treacheries were committed with the sole use of a few forms in triplicate, a manila folder and a rolling date stamp.

She didn't even look up to see who Mr. Bottlestop had brought around this time.  She kept her eyes to her fingernails which she was delicately cleaning.  She was seated in one of two wooden chairs near a small table, which had a lit candelabrum upon it.  She was wearing brown robes and her hair was swept up neatly.   But despite her efforts to put herself together, Azkaban had given her dark eye circles, and her face deep lines.

"Yes, an appointment is imparative.  I'm simply booked solid today and there's no way I can get you in," she kept on, still not interested in seeing who was coming to call.

As she babbled... well, barked is more like it... about him needing an appointment, Chester moved to the side and gave Devlin a knowing look, discretely bringing his pudgy hand to his head and circling a forfinger about his ear in a universal sign of "She is bat**** insane". Devlin's lips curved into a half-grin, amused by this sentiment, as he moved into the room to get a better look at her. She didn't look like a prisoner with her neatly pressed suit and taut updo. In fact, were it not for the lines etched in pale skin and the dark circles under her sharply observant eyes, Devlin would have never known that she spent the last several years in Azkaban.

"I got this..." Devlin patted Chester on the arm, his tone just bordering on patronizing, as he sidled past him and into the room. Addressing Kingstreet, he tried to sound as respectful and professional as possible. "I do apologize Ms. Kingstreet... But I am your two o'clock appointment... I ended up coming a bit early, but Chester here was nice enough to show me in..."

This wasn't entirely untrue. He had signed up on the guest log for a 2:00 meeting with Ms. Kingstreet, as was customary and he was a couple minutes early. True, it wasn't her datebook nor her secretary, but hopefully the visitors pass he was brandishing like a shield would placate her. He really wanted to get on with this interview.

In the same moment, Theodora Kingstreet paused in her ministrations and snapped her gaze up,  and Mr. Chester Bottlestop shut the cell door.  The effect might have been quite harrowing and ominous.  Especially since Kingstreet did not smile back at the boy.

She stood and it was revealed that she was not a tall witch, even with her heeled boots giving her a lift.  She put on her glasses and reached for the Visitor's Pass.  She handled the Visitor's Pass for a long moment, inspecting it from behind her thick-rimmed spectacles, but not taking it from the Visitor.  She ran her thumb along the ink where his name was typed, along the raised seal, she looked at the Pass number, it's date, the time span in which is was valid.  It seemed as if whole minutes passed. 

Theodora's mind had rocketed off to ten years past when she had begun to fill them out for Lord Voldemort and his Death Eaters.  She'd done it as a special favor to the Dark Lord who'd promised her he'd support her New Ministry when she took down Scrimgeour.  He'd promised all of this in exchange for the Visitor's passes when he had been over for tea one afternoon. 

But of course Lord Voldemort does not sit tea with a prosecutor for the Wizengamot.  Lord Voldemort has them killed.  Lord Voldemort never visited Theodora's immaculate flat, she only imagined he had.  And to this day, she clings to the veracity of that meeting.

Then, she flicked the pass away from herself. 

"Your signature is illegible.  You've not shaved your face.  And by my watch it's half two.  What do you want."

When she stood, Devlin was struck by how small she was. Some part of him had expected her to be tall and statuesque, a woman who exuded power and authority, but instead he was being confronted by a twitchy little witch. As she walked towards him, however, he shrunk back. She may not have been the epitome of power, but there was definitely the aura of intimidation surrounding her. It was like he was faced with every angry old woman, uptight teacher and bitter spinster in the world, wrapped up in a bony, sharp eyed, shawl. He imagined that her fingers were like knives and winced when she tore the pass from his hands, expecting a vicious poke to the chest. He breathed in relief when she focused on the pass instead. Damn she was terrifying!

"Your signature is illegible.  You've not shaved your face.  And by my watch it's half two.  What do you want."

Rubbing his chin absentmindedly, as if he just noticed the stubble liberally shattered across his cheeks and chin, Devlin murmured "That seems to be true..." He wondered if he should explain that what she was looking at was his 5 o'clock shadow and that he HAD shaved that morning. He decided against it, realizing that she probably wouldn't except even genetics as an excuse. After all, this was a woman who, while in jail, managed to keep her robes pressed and her hair neatly brushed. He had seen the pictures of those who resided in Azkaban and his awe of her tripled in intensity. As did his fear. He found himself wanting to impress her, for whatever reason, and he sat up straight and tried to look professional.

"I came to interview you... To learn from you...." He added the second part warily, hoping she realized that he wasn't one of THEM. He was a fan.

Theodora peered at the teenager then, paying more attention to him now that it had been established he had an appointment and his papers were in order.  Despite his facial hair, he looked young, but was a good head taller than she was.  He spoke well, he seemed confident, but with appropriate deference.  He'd just straightened his posture, she noticed, and at this and what he said after, she raised one dark brown, over-plucked eyebrow.

She considered him for a moment more, unsure how to proceed.  But presently she responded.  "I will grant the interview under certain conditions.  You'll naturally have to disclose your purpose and intended venue of publication.  And I will need a copy of any drafts in triplicate.  Mr. Matthews."  She added his name on the end, as a small note of familiarity.  Now they were proper acquaintances.

She turned her back on him and took her place again in the chair.  She crossed one leg over the other and raised her eyebrows again.  "Mr. Matthews, you may proceed."

After being so poorly treated for so long, Theodora was privately calm and content to being paid proper attention, thankful that someone was finally treating her as she deserved to be.  She was a veteran attorney with an impeccable record.  She lived a life of service to the people of Wizarding Britain, but had been treacherously betrayed by inadequate simpletons.  If she had been able to unseat Scrimgeour, the last ten years would have gone so much more smoothly.  She frankly would have handled that Voldemort problem in a much less violent way, once she was Madam Minister of course.

"You understand, of course, that I did all I have done in a spirit of humble service."

As his silver coated words seemed to lull her suspicions of him, Devlin relaxed, a wide grin forming across his face. The grin faltered only slightly when she mentioned that she would be needing drafts. You see, he hadn't intended on actually doing the homework. The only reason he came was to talk to her about more... personal matters. The homework was just a cover. However, this didn't deter him. Surely she would understand the need for cunning and little white lies (Or great whopping ones in his case). She was an attorney and a criminal, so she had to be manipulative and cunning. It was sort of a prerequisite.

When she mentioned that her crimes were done in the spirit of humble service, Devlin couldn't help that snort that rose up. Covering it quickly with a cough, he stared at her back as he spoke "... Let's be honest with each other Ma'am.... You know you are too smart to be of humble service to anyone... just like I have no intention of doing this homework assignment...." Glancing over his shoulder, he made sure that Chester wasn't standing outside and listening in. Satisfied that he wasn't, Devlin turned back to her "... I really came because I had a favor to ask..."

Theodora Kingstreet's eyes narrowed at the youth's sprouting impudence.  But he was perceptive, and if not that, at least marginally flattering.  He was also mistaken.

"I do not appreciate the false pretense of our palaver, Master Matthews.  And you have mislead yourself and wasted a great deal of your spare time if you have presumed to beg a favor with nothing to offer in return.  I pray you have some utility for me, or my time has been unfairly misspent as well.  I have agreed to see you at thirty minutes after our meeting. I have agreed to an interview on very reasonable provisos.  I find it may not be prudent to grant you another boon unless we level our account."

In a secret place in Theodora's heart, where not even Christmas visits, she was feeling alive again.  A dead ember began to glow that for so long had laid cold and dusty and dark.  Negotiation. Finickiness. Procedure.  Reciprocity.  These were simple gifts, and in that secret place in Theodora's heart of hearts where now a small light flickered, the old witch was grateful to Devlin Matthews.  She felt a cozy warmth she hadn't felt in a decade.

Her tone was sharpened to a razor edge, shaving off her words with a brevity that both impressed and intimidated Devlin. He was normally a laid back and confident guy but when faced with the serrated wit of the infamous Theodora Kingstreet, he was reduced to nothing but a sheepish and timid child. As she tore into him, he felt himself sink back in his seat slightly. Had it been a mistake to come here? Was she really rehabilitated and therefore unwilling to take an aspiring conartist under her spindly wing? He was starting to regret his choice of interviewee, when she said:

" I find it may not be prudent to grant you another boon unless we level our account."

As a wave of relief poured over him, a smirk replaced his nervous grimace and he leaned back in his chair. He had reached her somehow, you could tell by the faint warmth in her tone. Very faint, mind you, and the edges of her posture neither dulled nor relaxed. But either way, he could tell that she was going to help him. He tried to keep the smile out of his voice as he replied readily "... I would be honored to provide some service ma'am... In fact, assisting you was part of the favor I wished to ask..."

Theodora Kingstreet again raised an eyebrow.  This wizard whelp danced and baited as if he was the subject of a Hitwizard sting, determined not to be the initiating party, it seemed! He parried and deflected like a well-trained lawyer, asking all the questions, corralling his subject into a rhetorical corner.   It could, of course, be all posturing.  He could, of course, actually be a part of some sort of attempt by the Department of Magical Law Enforcement to entrap her into taking some sort of damning action that could harm her chances in tomorrow's Release Hearing before the Wizengamot.

"I have far more to lose than you do, Mr. Matthews.  I stand before the Wizengamot tomorrow and I have much preparation to see to so that the Hearing goes smoothly.   If you truly have something to offer me, speak.  If you have come to ogle at my celebrity, however, I think you've got your eyeful.  State your business or see yourself out.  Although I wouldn't say I have not been glad for your acquaintance - you are charming and I have enjoyed our little chat."

She blinked then, like the period on the end of her sentence.  In her mind, the boy had only two options and she would tolerate no more slyness.

Her tone was sharpened to the precision of a razor's edge, slicing her words to a brevity that made it quite clear to Devlin that his playtime was regrettably over. Though he did disagree that he had less to lose then she did, after all, he was not quite an adult with his entire life ahead of him while she was a much older woman who had already sullied her name with a criminal record. If you asked him, he was the one in more danger here. This, however, was not something he intended on revealing. Not after he had managed to charm his way into her stony little heart. Instead, he opted to sooth the savage beast.

"I'm going to level with you Ma'am... Everyone else in my class is off interviewing the Minister and Harry Potter and every other typical name that comes up with you discuss the war... But I came to you... You know why?" He gave a superficial pause, as though he expected an answer, but went on without sufficient time to receive one, "... I came to you because I respect you.. in all regards. As a lawyer... as a leader... as someone who has the gall and guts to go for what they want no matter who stands in their way..."

He threw his hands up "... I mean, You should have been Minister!... And they knew that. They were threatened by it. That is the only reason you were thrown in Azkaban. The trumped up charges of treason were ridiculous... You were only doing what was best for the wizarding world..." As he came down from his rant, he finally got to the point. "... What I am trying to say is that... I want to help you. Whatever you plan to do after you are released, I want to be part of. I don't care if it is legal or illegal,... I just want you to teach me." He ended abruptly with this, meeting her gaze steadily as he awaited her response. He hoped it was in his favor.

Theodora Kingstreet rose in the ringing silence that followed the young wizard's impassioned offer.  She took a few slow, careful steps her hands on her hips.  She turned around to look at him again over her shoulder, scrutinzing.

She smiled very slightly.

It was cute.  His offer to help her was in reality just more begging for favors.  What could a child like him have to offer her?  In what way could he offer her any hint of utility!  Her smile broadened.  The poor little goat was infatuated and rough and sloppy.  But he seemed to know his recent history with more insight that his teachers.

"Mr. Matthews, if I am to employ you, it must be done through secret accounts.  I do not take on apprentices, servants, leeches or lackeys.  No henchmen, no goons, no associates.  I have a staff.  Our arrangement would be conducted along fixed expectations.  You would be properly hired and would have the potential to be fired."  She stopped short, turned to face him full on.

"We'll need a contract."  Her eyes rested lustily on his notebook.  Since her incarceration she'd been denied almost any little bit of office supplies.  She'd not been permitted to keep a schedule, to draft memos, to wear a name tag, or even possess an envelope. 

He extended her hand.  "Give me the notebook."

Devlin wasn't used being ordered around. Well, that is... He wasn't used to listening to those ordering him around. His mother was dead, he regarded his father as a joke, his elder brother was dimmer then dung and his teachers didn't hold any sway over him with their silly little letters they somehow thought would control his destiny. No, Devlin was his own man, he captained his own ship and felt that everyone else was his crew to order about. However, this identity he clung to with all his might went out the window when Kingstreet started her speech and it ended with him snapping his notebook shut and handing it to her with nary a word.

He was pleased with the prospect of being part of her 'staff'. Even in jail she had a commanding and powerful presence. He knew that if anyone could take the wizarding world by storm, it would be Theodora Kingstreet. It was Devlin's plan to get to know her, learn from her, gain power through her and then when it came time, to take her place. Not by any underhanded means mind you. He would wait for her to hand the position to him. In the meantime, he would use this whole experience as... well... job training if you will.

"If it helps any ma'am, I am also an aspiring lawyer. Maybe that could be the cover... After all, you were the best..." He looked up at her, his expression surprisingly earnest as he added with a slight upturn of the left side of his mouth "... And there is no crime in learning from the best."

The witch smiled at the snappy response and at the feeling of the notebook in her hands.  Oh, it was delicious! (And grimy, with crunched corners, unwinding metal spiral.  Foul in many ways.)  It had been so long since she'd had someone halfway intelligent working for her.  And for all Devlin Matthew's sloppiness, he was sharp.  And a future lawyer! That was a very good direction to head, in Theodora's opinion.  And, naturally, he had come to the right person.  He would absolutely sparkle under her employ.

She removed the chewed pencil stub from it's home in the spiral, and tried to ignore it's dulled tip and the empty, crimped metal sheath that once held an eraser.  This would be one of his first tasks: not being so gross.  But first they had to draw up a contract!

She went back to the little table and muttered an incantation on the pencil. As she put pencil to paper and began to move it in sweeping strokes across the lined A-4 paper, it wasn't a fuzzy lead line that followed, but a rich flowing ink in mars black.  As she began to scrawl out a contract, she spoke to him.

"Mr. Matthews, you will need an alias. An alter ego.  A nom de plume. A pseudonym. Your own doppleganger.   Using this name you shall conduct my business.  We shall be sure to draft the appropriate paperwork so that he'll be real enough, and in this way you will be able to do errands for me without needing to besmirch what I assume can only be a precarious personal record.  In this way, I shall also be able to separate myself from you completely so that my business will be my own and that our association will not complicated.

"This contact, Mr. Matthews, is magically and legally binding.  You will sign with your alias, but it will know you.  Do not make your mark without full faith in your endeavor."

At this, she tore the page from the notebook.  And in some great feat of her magical prowess, there were none of the shaggy chads that normally hung off notebook tearings.  The edge was straight as a wand. 

"Do you have any questions, Mr...?" she asked then, seeming to inquire of his chosen alias.

(The contract basically outlines the grounds of Devlin's employment to Theodora Kingstreet. He will be paid a commission based on his services on the first and fifteenth of each month.  He will be asked to go on errands, perform secretarial tasks, deliver messages, take notes during her meetings, and other very boring-sounding things.  Of course, the nature of TK's instructions will rarely be boring.  The contract also explains the more sinister aspects of his employment: that harsh disciplinary measures may follow any attempt to leave her employ.

Lesson one, it seemed, was in pseudonyms. It was a good idea, come to think of it. He hadn't thought of using one for his own misdeeds back at school, since his current gang was, at best, 5 people strong. As they grew, however, he sensed the use of 'alter egos' would be required. As she neatly scrawled the contract, Devlin considered his options. Maverick, the nickname he generally used as a pseudonym of sorts, was too telling (Being his middle name and all). He started to chew on his already short nails, but paused and quickly moved his hand to his shoulder before she caught his worse habit. Rubbing his bicep, he remembered the tattoo he planned on getting once he graduated, a card or something resembling the Jack of Spades. It gave him an idea.

"Do you have any questions, Mr...?"

"Spade. Jack Spade..." He said with a crooked smirk as he took the paper from her hand. Accepting the worn pencil, he resisted the urge to chew on it as his eyes swept the page. The 'disciplinary methods' entailed at the end were a bit... nerve wracking, to say the least, but the rest seemed innocuous enough. He would basically be a secretary, something he hadn't aimed for, but it was better then being no one. With a deep breath, he pressed the pencil to the paper and tried to sign his name as neatly as humanly possible. It was surprising how much it felt like he was signing his life away. All it would have taken was a drop of his blood.

Handing it back to her with care, Devlin licked his lips and ran his free hand through his hair. "... There is one question I have, Ma'am... I am going to be entering my last year at Hogwarts here in the fall... and I am not sure how I will be able to do some of these duties while stuck there... What can I do for you while I am there?"