Smugly, even rather arrogantly, Cinaed slouched back in a chair in the hallway outside one of the interrogation rooms.  To say he was waiting patiently would have been a complete and utter lie.  He could, under normal circumstances, bide his time patiently but this wasn't, exactly, what he considered a normal circumstance.  He was waiting in the hallways of the Ministry of Magic for his appointment with his Ministry Supervisor.  In a few minutes time, the hag would be shuffling him into the interrogation room where she'd lecture him about conduct and other such nonsense.  He had to remain normal - had to be careful to not raise any suspicions.  Had to give her no reason to suspect anything was out of the ordinary.  His freedom - in more ways than one - depended on it. 

Luckily, for him, ordinary behavior for him didn't necessarily mean good behavior.  Alas - behavior that was too good would raise suspicions in itself. 

Waiting in the hallway, Cinaed watched the various witches and wizards as they passed by.  The second floor hallway was teeming with Aurors and other do-gooders.  He couldn't risk doing anything too outside the bounds of good behavior but it wasn't against the law to people watch.  Or wear his assessment of those people clearly in his features.  Smugly, unabashedly, he smirked at any particularly fine looking young witch as they passed, his smirk only proving to grow when the witch looked away uncomfortably. 

He was certain to make sure his little imperioused Auror passed by the hallway under the guise of delivering a message to another office - just to make sure the curse still held.  He knew from the warmth in the back of his head that the spell still held but the visual confirmation as she was compelled to scratch her cheek helped set his mind at ease.   

But, as soon as she was out of sight, the restlessness set in again and even looking, suggestively, at passing women wasn't helping him settle.  He was ready to be done with this - ready to be heading back to the Black Chimaera a free man.  To spend a night in his own bed.  After a raucous night of party and celebration.  He scratched his knee and felt thin lump of Katz wand sewn into the hem of the arm of his robes roll against his leg.  It would be unfortunate he'd have to be without a wand but the benefits far outstripped the sacrifice. 

A particularly fine young witch was strolling down the hall and Cinaed turned his head, his eyes raking over the woman's features.  Another figure passed in front of his line of sight and, without looking at them, he waved his hand agitatedly. 

She was free.  Almost two months of paperwork had been threatening to snuff her life spark.  She hadn't been down to the Veil in weeks, and she couldn't remember the last time she had worked on her own projects.  It was disheartening and not what she desired.  There was far more political intrigue involved with her seat than she had imagined--enough was finally enough.  Marietta chose the light at the end of the tunnel.  Her resignation was being processed and it was with joy that she would resume her fieldwork.  It was with that end in mind that she decided to stretch her legs.  The DoM and the DoMLE often worked together.  There was typically a constant give and take with their information, but in the interim that the Department of Mysteries was left Headless, the files would be gifted to Raynor.

The witch in black strode across the hallway, not trusting inter-department  mail to convey such confidential files.  Directed towards the back of their offices, Marietta found herself viewing some of the more unsavory members of the community.  A large man with abundant hair was giving her a lascivious leer.  It took her off guard for a moment, as she attempted to identify the emotions running through her body.  It was unsettling, but oddly pleasant.  

But then he began to move.  She strode closer, despite her better judgement, curious if he was in need of medical attention.  "Can I help you...sir?" she asked curiously, her wide dark eyes blinking with her innocent offer of assistance.  

A dainty little red-headed thing ducked, quickly, down a side hallway.  Whether the gesture was a detour due to the woman's destination being located down that way or to avoid passing in front of Cinaed, it was impossible to tell.  Either way, once the red-head had moved out of the way, Cinaed's gaze landed on a new target.  And, an intriguing one at that - pale and dark at the same time, the woman appeared vaguely familiar.  But, chances were, she was just some minion of the Ministry he had crossed paths with on his few visits to the Auror office. 

One eyebrow arched curiously and a lewd and slightly suggestive grin settled on his features.  To his delight, the woman not only took notice but didn't retreat from the attention.  He winked at the woman and nodded to her as she approached.  His gaze slid slowly, openly and obviously down the length of the woman and back up before nodding. 

Could she help him, indeed?  Cinaed lay an arm across the back of the chair next to him and pursed his lips as if giving the question serious thought.  "That fellow was blocking my view," he nodded towards her.  "But, you've already solved that.  But, I'm sure there's more you could help with."  His eyes flickered down to the files in the woman's hand but, almost as quickly, they shifted back up to his face.  He was curious, of course.  But, there was no doubt that'd just give Raynor whatever ammunition she was looking for.  He couldn't go after them directly, but...

"With someone as intriguing, I can only presume you work here."  Cinaed assessed.  "But, I know you're not in the Auror's office.  What brings you down this way?  And, when do you get off?"

"Oh, alright," she replied, puzzled by her involuntary good deed.  Her wide eyes blinked once, twice as she was looked over.  Oblivious to the nature of his leer, Marietta paused awkwardly wondering if she was already fulfilling his next request. 

"Department of Mysteries...formerly," she answered, without any second thought regarding why she should answer him, "Passing off the Department to Ms. Raymor until they find a new head."  Every question held an answer and his were simple enough.  "I get off when everyone does, when I die."  It was true.  One's life work was never complete until one died, and although she had accomplished a great deal there was quite a bit more to go. 

Her owl-like eyes took him in once more, and she found herself filled with more than the idle curiosity delinquents usually aroused.  "What are you here for?" For such a small statement it was a large question.  What did life bring you into the world for? What purpose does one have for it? Why are you inhabiting this exact molecule of space? It could be overwhelming at times.  However only certain people inhabited those chairs, and Marietta knew he had committed a crime of some nature.  Feeling a bit dangerous herself by speaking with him, she looked around briefly before perching on the edge of the chair next to him.  "Did you take someone's life?" she asked curiously, the veil always lingering at the corners of her mind.

Oh.  This was getting better and better.  This tall, dark woman continued to approach, despite what Cinaed would assume was an obviously pointed interest.  Or, perhaps, because of it.  He nodded his approval and shifted, pushing himself more upright in his chair, though he was careful to keep his arm draped across the back of the chair even after the woman sat down. 

"Department of Mysteries?"  Cinaed repeated, earnestly impressed.  There was no shortage of rumors about what happened behind those closed doors.  Landis Morgan had worked in the Department of Mysteries for a couple years though his current position at Hogwarts made it difficult for Cinaed to pick his brain.  "That's impressive," he said, truthfully, nodding his head.  "I'm sure you've come across seen some very interesting things.  What's the strangest thing you've seen?" 

Cinaed laughed, nodding his head.  "Perhaps, but I suppose that depends on what happens when we die.  If those that believe in reincarnation are right - well - maybe we don't even get off, then."  Most of the time, Cinaed might have taken the response as a subtle, though unique rejection.  However, in this case, it seemed it might have been a purely earnest response.  And, she was still sitting in the chair next to him.  "However, the question was more of an immediate one.  More about the immediate presence.  In hopes of increasing the likelihood of our paths crossing, again, in the future." 

Hopefully, that would be pointed enough. But, time would only tell.

So, she'd picked up on his current predicament.  Cinaed looked up and down the hall before looking back at the woman.  Had he taken a life?  Quite a pointed question but there seemed to be no hint of accusation or disapproval in her voice.  "Not this time around," he admitted.  It was only partially true but he hadn't been dragged back in because of murder this time around.  There was nothing to be gained from admitting to the more recent murders.  "Parole violation - got stuck back in the Bridge House for a few months.  Really, just a technicality.  Originally, I'd been a foolish kid who got caught up in the Battle of Hogwarts.  So, yes." 

"Name's Cinaed Tawse," he offered, extending a runic-tattooed hand.

"The strangest?" she mused on the question for a moment before letting her eyes glance across the office.  "See the blonde in the corner? Attaching something to the owl?  Her.  She is the strangest thing I've ever seen.  She's happy.  And not the cut and paste Ministry happy, but the shimmering deep down light-in-the-fog happy.  Weird, isn't it?"

"I want to come back as a dung beetle.  I think I'm pretty close to it, this time," she replied in complete seriousness.  They were the most fascinating creatures--purposeful but inquisitive.  They could see everything and do anything.  There were interesting applications she was dying to try out with their abilities.  It only required becoming a dung beetle, body and soul rather than just transfiguration.

"It depends, I suppose."  It was her turn to look him over, and Marietta hoped she did the conventional glance justice.  "I'll be returning to the field soon, focusing on tribes in Romania.  How does that impact the likelihood?"  While Marietta generally approached subjects with an neutral view, Tavin had been giving her lessons in sarcasm.  Her new acquaintance seemed the perfect control for a little experimentation.  At least for social graces.

It was a shame he couldn't help her more with the veil.  Parole violations were somewhat of a bore.  She was tired of hearing those stories after the fifth test subject for Snark's project.  Matters of life and death would have been far more interesting.  She eyed the runes on his hand, picking apart the shapes.  That was another story in itself that seemed more interesting. 

She took his hand lightly, fingers avoiding some of the more troublesome signs.  "Marietta Grimlish," she returned.  "I wasn't there for the battle but it led to quite a few breakthroughs for us.   I'm sure it must have been fascinating. They were doing aural cleanup for weeks, afterward."

An eyebrow arched curiously and Cinaed followed the woman's gaze around the room before turning back to her.  Bloody hell, given the realism with which he expressed interest in her answer, he might consider an alternate career in acting.  Once could only imagine the remarkable, terrifying and intriguing things this dark-haired woman might have seen in the course of her career; a happy woman was, quite frankly, utterly anti-climatic and totally worthless. 

"It is weird."  The agreement held just enough intrigue to sound earnest to him.  It was possible she was the type to open up more with an attentive audience.   "What do you think she's happy about?  Just life?"

There was something innately intriguing about this woman - perhaps it was just the effects of her job.  He could only imagine what there was to learn from this woman, though it was quite clear it would take some sifting through the incidentals whose sole value was, really, only in gaining her trust.  Like her aspirations to become a dung beetle.  Had to be more interesting than a meal worm.  Slightly.  "I'd be afraid of getting stepped on."  He said.  If that was a topic that intrigued her, so be it.  He leaned his head back, as in thought, shifting into a more comfortable position in the chair as he did so.  "I think I'd want to be a sea creature of some sort.  A whale or something."  A whale?  Where, exactly, had that come from?

Her dark eyes were taking him in, a clear sign she'd better understood his question.  And, his intentions.  And, still, she remained sitting in the chair next to him.  There was a sly, sarcastic humor in her response that in the average individual, might have appeared negligible.  From this Marietta, it was distinctly amusing.  A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, twitching the sides of his beard as his head rolled to look at the woman. 

"Unless your planning on scampering off to Romania by tomorrow, I'd hope it wouldn't impact the likelihood at all.  Though, if the window of opportunity is closing, I'd rather not leave the encounter to chance."  Keenly aware his own current window of opportunity had a limited time span, Cinaed knew he didn't have all day to beat around the bush and try and tempt this woman.  "Since, of course, I'd very much like to make sure our paths do cross."

"You appear disappointed?"  Cinaed asked, watching the disinterest pull her gaze to his hands.  Had she been hoping for a more exciting response?  With an amused chuckle, Cinaed shook his head.  So, here they were.  Both, probably laden with stories that the other would find much more amusing and both holding their tongues.  Given the location it wasn't surprising.  "I was at the end of my sixth year when the battle broke out.  They convicted me of four counts of murder the day I turned seventeen.  Among other things.  It was fascinating."  He made no attempt to prevent his voice from carrying and he ignored the handful of reproachful and critical glances shot his way from those that passed by. 

“Fascinating may not be the correct word.”

Amongst the high-paced commons of Level Two it would have been very easy for a slightly built, five foot woman to become lost in the shuffle of much longer legs as employee’s of the massive department’s various sections hastened between offices as if their lives depended on it. Considering the nature of Magical Law Enforcement, someone’s probably did. Yet, not so much as a shoulder collided with the petite Auror. No one seemed to purposely avoid her, per say, but she did have the luxury of significant elbow room.

That had not always been the case. Quite the opposite, when she had first started out.

Raynor was not late, precisely, but she was not as punctual as she would have preferred. There were far too many men in her life. If she did not know better, she would have sworn they had synchronized their appearances over the past twenty four hours. Jonas Trevelyan last night at her flat. Kabir Ahmed – the reason for her delay – mere minutes ago. Archer Radley – well, that one she did not mind so much. And this one? Well, she did not consider Cináed Tawse as a part of her life in any respect. But he did make rather annoying guest appearances.

As masochistic as it may seem, she preferred it that way. Tamis Raynor was suspicious of the man. The man had committed murder when he was still nursing his first whiskers. Now, as an overly bearded adult there was no repentance. He did not have any intentions of changing his ways, this whole ‘reform’ system was rubbish but it did allow the Ministry to keep tabs on its released criminals. Gibson, the Muggle… she did not want to let this man loose into society again but she did not have much choice. She had tried. The loop holes were not in her favor this time.

With a rather thick vanilla folder nestled under one arm, Raynor stood watching as the former Head of the Department of Mysteries sat next to the former inmate, caressing the ink patterns on his hands. Such an odd woman. Tamis did not understand how her mind worked and was quite confident she was mad but then again, most individuals down on Level Nine were.

She cleared her throat. “Madam Grimlish?” It was hard to hide the wary disapproval in the question.

On his way from meeting with Raynor, Ahmed was thinking how much she reminded him of his late wife. Sanjana had been a Muggle, but she was highly intelligent and motivated. In fact she had been a defense attorney, and they had met on opposite sides of a case. This led to quite a few fireworks in the beginning; and Ahmed had never quite believed his own luck in winning her over. That sort of luck came only once in a lifetime, and he was sure he would never find another such love. Nevertheless as his eyes followed Raynor they gleamed with admiration...

Turning in the direction she appeared to be watching, he saw a small dark woman with an odd air about her, sitting on a bench.  Next to her sat a man with a lion’s mane of long tawny hair, and a diabolical-looking beard. As the man caressed the ink patterns on his hands, it occurred to Ahmed that he looked familiar.

Searching his memory, he suddenly realized where he had seen this man before. It was the fellow who had been so curious about him, that day he became lost and ended up in Knockturn Alley. What was his name again? Ah yes...Cinead Tawse.

“Madam Grimlish?” Hearing the disapproval in Raynor’s voice, Ahmed wondered if the distaste was for the woman herself, or for her choice in companions...

It was tempting to just ignore that all too familiar voice in the hopes it'd get frustrated and go away.  It was unlikely, though.  The short, deceptively unassuming woman was like a bloody nit - laid in his hair by some disgusting, blood-sucking bug, so far no amount of combing or chemicals had managed to rid him of her.  Compared to the intriguing and oddly enticing woman whose fingers were tracing the tattoos on his hand with fascination, Raynor was of no interest to Cinaed.  As far as he was concerned, she could wait.  He was rather enjoying his prospects with this Marietta far too much and could only imagine what she could teach him - a thought which only enhanced the excitement of the woman's touch. 

But, no.  He couldn't risk the meddlesome effects that 'disobeying orders' might trigger.  For once, as much as it pained him to admit it, he needed Tamis Raynor.  For this endeavor to work, he needed the hag to see him sitting across the desk from her.  And, with the party waiting for him back at the Black Chimeara, the last thing he needed was to get his stay in the Bridge House extended. 

A low, deep-chested growl vibrated in his chest as his hand turned under Marietta's fingers, his own fingers moving to close, briefly, around her hand.    "My master's calling."  He said.  There might have been a touch of humor in his voice but there was no obvious evidence of legitimate subordination.  Before drawing his hand away from Marietta's, he leaned over brush his lips against the back of her hand.  "However, should you ever be so inclined as to wander down to the end of Knockturn, you might be able to continue this conversation." 

It was only then that Cinaed gave any acknowledgment of Raynor's presence.  He pushed himself to feet, taking personal pleasure in watching as a fair number of the passerbys in the hall gave him wide berth, as well.  Though probably not for the same reasons as with the woman opposite him.  "Well, I wouldn't want to pass up the opportunity for sage guidance."  With a little extra support from his diaphragm, his voice carried through the hall with ease.  "What would be the correct word?" 

Without giving much regard to who else might be in the hall, Cinaed crossed the short distance to his supervisor.  "So, what's it today?" he asked, throwing his head back to toss the hair out of his eyes as he held out his hands.  "The full routine?"  By regulation, all Azzies were restrained for any hearings - whether parolees were restrained was at the discretion of the Auror conducting the hearing.  A ridiculous arrangement, as far as Cinaed was concerned.  What opportunities did an Azzie straight from his cell have to find something to smuggle in?  And, more importantly, what strength did he have to do anything with it?  If a con was going to make a move on someone in the Ministry, it would be as a parolee. 

Obviously.

"No," Marietta sighed, "She's in love.  Poor girl.  Remarkable, though," she mused, before being pleasantly surprised by the convict's next response.  Whale was certainly an interesting choice.  It spoke volumes and Marietta found herself reappraising the man. 

She tucked away his offer in the corner of her mind.  He reminded her of Lucien a bit.  It was oddly comforting to have some representation of his spirit in the flesh.  "Was the fourth--"

"Madam Grimlish"

Oh.  She looked up to see Raynor standing over her.  It was a tone she had grown too familiar with.  She flinched as his lips brushed her hand, an odd blush rising to her cheeks.  "I brought the files I promised," she replied, standing up all too quickly.  It betrayed her nervousness, something Analiza had frequently berated her about.  She offered the manila envelopes to the woman, somewhat envious of Mr. Tawse's cool confidence. 

Her own job was done.  This was now Raynor's area and Raynor's parolee.  The woman had a manner of possessing the very air around her, and Marietta was quick to scurry away.    Slightly unsettled from the contrasting demeanors, Marietta accidentally bumped into the tall Indian man.  "Beg your pardon," she mumbled, unable to look him in the eye.  Her mind was flashing only one message, out out out and Marietta could only obey.  It would be a relief to be free from the Ministry and it's people and politics.

Stomach twisting uncomfortably, the Auror did her best not to be entirely repulsed by the display of… infatuation… between the convict and the former Head Unspeakable. It was, regardless, a blessing that she usually forwent breakfast or she might have been encouraged to regurgitate it. Keeping her expression carefully neutral she waited impatiently for the pair to separate. It took longer than she anticipated, including a fair amount more of hand groping, and she felt a sharp pang of disturbed annoyance.

Finally, Grimlish reacted, finally looking up as if from a trace. The woman’s ability to become so absorbed in a single task, on a single entity, so completely that she absently seemed to disassociate with the world around her had always been unnerving to Raynor. She supposed it was what made her an excellent unspeakable. But it was all together too… airy.

She could not hide the horrid taste in her mouth as the Viking of a Scotsman present a kiss to the back of Grimlish’ hand. The bridge of her nose wrinkled in revulsion, briefly, but it was at least not as childish of a gesture as it could have been. The former Department Head at least had the decency to be embarrassed and she leaped to her feet, presenting the expected file. Raynor took it without looking at it, though the words ‘classified’ flashed bolding against the manila covering as she slipped it under the other file she was carrying. A warning, more than a declaration. Anyone not charmed as permissible for viewing a classified file would dislike the effects of opening one.

“I will make sure they are handled appropriately,” she assured the woman, not entirely sure if she heard the response, as she scurried away. She would do her best, at least. The meddlesome practices in the Department of Mysteries had questionable legal and moral ethics and Raynor had long understood that Law Enforcement keeping their noses out of Level Nine’s dealings made for a happier Ministry. She simply did not want to know, which was why she disapproved of what little she was gleaming of their transactions of late. The sooner a Department Head was decided for them, the sooner she could return to oblivion, and the more satisfied she would be.

The dark haired woman and anyone she collided with on her departure were forgotten as the lion of a man clamored to his feet. Impervious to his effects on the rest of the hall, she did not so much as flinch as his baritone voice growled down the hall; far enough to give a Law Offices intern pause before scurrying away. She was far too accustomed to his roaring and was often on the malicious receiving end of it. She always felt every centimeter of her meager height when he loomed over her, a point she could thank having a likewise giant of a partner for desensitizing her against.

As he extended his hands, the Auror raised her gray eyes to meet his similar, albeit darker, ones. He was in a good mood. Raynor could not say that she shared it. After all, the meeting would mean a relative return to freedom for him, something she had harped against until options had deserted her. He was winning this battle, and he knew it. It was irksome but he would give her other opportunities, she was sure.

“I do not think that will be necessary,” she replied smoothly, not making a motion to restrain the offered wrists and arching an eyebrow up at him, “do you?” Not if he wished to actually taste that release that was being dangled in front of his nose like some juicy just-out-of-reach morsel. The Auror wanted to give him every opportunity possible to ruin this hearing. She would not purposely compromise it but she would make the chance for him to do so on his own highly assessable. And they both knew it.

Without further adieu, she turned toward the door of the interrogation room and punched a code into a panel by the door (a technology similar to the Ministry phone booth entrances). After a moment, there was a soft ‘click’ as a magical lock released and the door opened of its own accord. Stepping back, she gave room to allow him to enter first.

It was quite unfortunate that, with his attention focused so squarely on the pale, dark-haired woman, Cinaed missed the moment of revulsion that weaseled its way onto Raynor's face.  He would have, likely, relished in it just as much as he'd enjoyed the moment of temptation spent with Grimlish.  Despite her oddity (bordering on insanity), the woman was definitely intriguing.  Perhaps, she'd take him up on his offer and find her way to the Black Chimaera.  And, Cinaed was sure, any attempt at conversation between this woman and Mannie was bound to be hilarious. 

But, Raynor had dismissed the woman.  The extras had been removed from the scene.  There was nothing else at hand but the petite woman, him and the task at hand.  He'd just have to be careful not to appear too giddy - though, surely, some degree of gaiety on his part could be attributed to his pending release.  And, in contrast to the morning she'd caught him off guard - which likely contributed to his unfortunate shut in, he was feeling quite in top form.  This was going to be fun.

His eyes met her as they looked up from his extended hands; the two halves of his goatee twitched as a smirk played at the corners of his mouth.  "No.  It's not necessary."  Absolutely not.  The day's task was far too valuable - there was little this woman could say or do that would be worth spoiling it.  He licked his lips.  "But, I'm sure it'd make a damn good show for any casual observers."  Chris had once described a family trip to the circus - how the comparatively puny little muggle animal tamers would lock themselves in a small cage with tigers and try to prove that, with a small little bullwhip in hand they could dominate over the larger cats.  Surely, no solid upstanding citizen would admit it but they were just watching, waiting, fearing - but, at the same time, that deep dark side that everyone had was also hoping that one day the tables would turn.  Cinaed winked - though, to the casual observer who was ignorant to the nature of the pair's history, the gesture might have been interpreted as playful, there was a subtle crude and lurid undertone to the gesture. 

Just like countless times before, there was a brief moment of deja vu as Cinaed stepped into the interrogation room.  He couldn't count the number of times he'd been here and he'd often wondered if the Ministry made a note in their con's files of which room they were first interrogated in; whether they hoped the impact of memories would heighten the reformatory nature of the visits.  He'd never asked if it was intentional but he only remembered on one occasion being questioned in a different room.  Judging by the hysterical screams emanating from the room as a trio of aurors raced through the door, his usual room had become occupied for longer than they'd been expecting.  He'd tried asking Mannie once whether it was the same for him.  He didn't know and had thought the question pointless.  It might have been the older man's apathy or it had just been too long for him to remember where he'd been interrogated.  Or it was a tradition started after the first war. 

Whether the pattern was intentional or not, Cinaed could vividly remember the first time he'd been dragged into this very room.  Hair color was about the only thing about the sixteen-year-old lad that resembled the brute of a man who lowered himself into the plain, white chair.  He'd been terrified then, though he'd been trying to hide it.  Trying too hard he now knew, looking back.  With the Ministry in such chaos following the Battle of Hogwarts, the sixteen-year-old kid that had 'inexplicably snapped' during the battle had been extremely low on their list of priorities.  And, as a minor, there wasn't a whole lot they could do with him until he turned seventeen anyway.  He'd spent two weeks at the Ministry - shuffled between the holding cells and this very room as the Ministry alternated between trying to figure him out and forgetting about him.  The bastards. 

His life - his identity was leagues from where it had been back then.  It had been some lowly newbie Auror he'd slouched  opposite back then, completely disconnected and shut off.  Now, with the exception of a little smug humor, there was mostly just cold calculation in his face as he turned in his chair towards the Head Auror.  He didn't bother trying to shift the chair - he'd long ago learned the chair was stuck to the floor.  Permanently, he assumed.  Probably after some wandless suspect leaned that flying chairs made decent impromptu weapons. 

Slowly, he shook his head, smacking his lips as he frowned.  "I am truly, truly, terribly sorry for any offense I've ever committed.  Those quiet nights of reflection in your wonderful establishment has let me recognize the error in my ways."  Again, the poor, ignorant observer might have considered him sincere.  The best he could hope for with Raynor was that she'd find just a fraction of the same humor he did in his acting abilities.

Interrogation rooms had a tendency of provoking memories. The sterile, bland interior with its single table and pair of chairs lacked personality on its own. It gave the individuals inside nothing else to concentrate on but each other.  In the length of her career, Tamis Raynor could recall every time she had been in one of these rooms, every case and the success or failure that coincided with those encounters.

Cináed Tawse was among the first.

On the eve of the Second War, Raynor had been a green, new addition to the Auror Corps, fresh from the Training Academy. Her very first assignment had been the tracking and apprehension of the Death Eater Dolohov – a path that had lead to a very animate introduction to MacDonell. It had not even been a full year when the Ministry fell. In the aftermath of the War, she had gained considerable field experience, but lacked on legal matters. Cináed Tawse had been one teenage boy of may caught up in the battle of Hogwarts, he had been insignificant; a good refresher for the young Auror.  And, she would admit, the slouching youth that had sat across from her in that initial meeting had been little more than yet another misguided hooligan who had made irreparable choices. She had been irritated when the murder charges had been dropped, but in the seven years following, forgot about him.

September two thousand and four, months after the Azkaban Uprising and MacDonell announcing his retirement at the end of the year, Tawse’s name came up for parole. As the original Auror on his case, Raynor was obligated for the review. She had dimly remembered the gangly youth and had been surprised when the hallowed, wild haired man had been discarded in the chair across from her.  It was not the age difference, which had been expected, it was the change in his demeanor. There had been a frightening determination under the grime and malnutrition that normally was not exhibited in inmates directly from Azkaban. It had bothered her enough that she had stayed on as his supervisor when she was appointed to Head of the Auror Office four months later.

And now here they were again, and Tawse was far healthier and more calculating, even mocking her from across the breath of the table. That instinctive feeling that he had assisted in Kyle Gibson’s escape would not go away. Yet, the case was cold and Gibson as good as dead as far as Ministry record was concerned. If the boy was intelligent, he would stay that way. On Dreogan Eleor’s encouragement, she had looked into the death of the muggle boy, indentified as Sean Wald. But without probable cause, she did not have approval to collaborate further with the muggle government on that matter. There was nothing to suggest that it had not been an, unfortunate, muggle on muggle murder.

The smirk she offered him in return was humorless. “Your quality standards report will be ravishing, then.” He truly was in a good mood; he was showing his unique interpretation of civility that turned the naive and impressionable local shrink into a bubbly mass of optimistic goo. Unperturbed, the Auror shifted his criminal files onto of the classified Department of Mysteries one and opened it. Might as well get this over with.

“On the record, you are Cináed Ailean Tawse, former Azkaban inmate ‘gamma psi six nine four’, born on the twenty fourth of May in the year nineteen eighty-one, whom currently claims his permanent residence at ‘The Black Chimera’ in Knockturn Alley?”

"Ravishing, indeed," Cinaed repeated back as he situated himself, comfortably, in his chair.  "Like the little lass that will be filling my bed tonight."  He leaned forward, slightly, his mouth opening, an even more lurid, highly inappropriate response was just simmering in the back of his head, begging to come out to play.   Before he could commit that foolish mistake, though, he thought better of it and leaned back again.  That mature, calculating (and, often boring) part of his mind knew it wasn't worth it.  It would give Raynor far too much bait.  They both knew she was just looking for a legitimate unappealable excuse to drag that large, red DENIED stamp out of the magically-locked drawer and thump it on his release agreement.  But, of course, he also couldn't be squeaky clean.  By now, being on absolute, 100% good behavior would, likely, raise her suspicions. 

The report from the Bridge House was, in fact, mostly clean.  There were a few, scattered infractions - it was impossible, of course, to avoid them all together.  The Detentions Supervisors, the low-level Magical Law Enforcement officials that supervised those hell holes, were some of the most annoying bloody bastards.  Cinaed always wondered if they looked for people who had a natural 'holier-than-thou' attitude or whether acquiring it was a part of training.  They stuck their nose in everything.  You couldn't brush your bloody teeth without the bastards drilling you, trying to peg you with a 240L - using too much toothpaste.  He knew there were probably a few λ32 infractions (Disobeying a Direct Order) and Ψ36 (Inappropriate Conduct with a Supervisor).  You couldn't look cross eyed at the Detentions Supervisor without them getting all full of themselves and writing up a report. 

And, then, there was that bottle of firewhiskey they'd found in his room during a search.  He knew he should have just finished it the night before.  Or sold it to Kenneth when he'd offered.  Live and learn. 

But, of course, the shrink loved him.  She was so much bloody fun to play with and seemed willing to believe the stupidest of stories.  The last one - his most recent 'breakthrough' had been a classic.  He'd been ten years old, his father was already in Azkaban and his mother had bought him a puppy.  The puppy got sick and his mother took it back to the person she'd bought it from and they never talked of it again.  It was, apparently, why Cinaed couldn't trust the loving meaning of gifts.  As long as Miss Candy didn't find out that Seamus was the first dog Cinaed had ever had, that story would continue to provide months of potential breakthroughs. 

"Ailean," Cinead repeated, correcting her pronunciation.  Raynor was, admittedly, fairly close though anyone other than a proper Scot usually slipped through the proper anunciations of the diphthongs.  His correction, of course, was mostly for effect.  The whole ritual was boring and pointless.  Who else would be sitting here?  "Yes, yes.  A Gemini through and through.  Son of Fionn Tawse of the Farquharson clan, Anna Finlay - also of the Farquharson clan.  Grandson of Lachlan Tawse, brother of Athalia and Maddie Tawse.  Youngest heir to the Tawse Sept with physical records of magical ability going well back to the 11th century when Caledonia first unified as Scotland.  Need I go further?"  Actually, that wasn't entirely true.  He wasn't the youngest heir.  Robin was.  Bloody hell, he couldn't be thinking about that now.