9:45 PM


Rain consumed the dreary streets of Muggle London in a merciless downpour. Even at the late hour, the sidewalks were dotted with a sporadic umbrella marching purposely off to whatever location it was destined for, doing its best to get out of the rain as soon as possible. Every now and then a car would zoom down the street, splashing water up from along the drainage trenches in the side of the road with a loud “whoosh.” It was a salutation to the coming, and expectant wet, October.

With her hands stuffed into her pockets, Tamis Raynor diligently crossed the street once the traffic had cleared; her hair plastered against her head and gathered up around her already heavily sodden shoulders. While it was possibly literally impossible for said woman to slouch, she somehow managed to look completely miserable without having to surrender the upright positioning of her shoulders. She hated being cold with a passion. Even as a child. And the only thing worse than the cold was the cold while it was raining. Between the wet and the chill, she felt as if her bones had been coated in ice.

To the probable surprise of many, Tamis Raynor lived in a rather upscale muggle apartment complex, unsurprisingly, only a few blocks away from the Ministry of Magic. The location was useful but since apparition was not an option and connecting non-magical locations to the Floo-Network was frowned upon, it meant that she often walked home from work. And when one was a clinically diagnosed workaholic, that usually meant walking home at odd hours of the night. That was only an issue when she forgot to bring mundane objects such as … an umbrella … with her in case it rained… as it often did in London. And, she also doubted her employers would approve of her waltzing down the street wearing a water-repellant charm. It would have been a little inconspicuous. And the Knight Bus simply was not worth it for a meager handful of blocks.

So, by the time the complex was in sight, Tamis Raynor was thoroughly drenched and non the happier for it. And, it looked like her night was not about to improve.

Reaching the gate, the security guard on duty was already waiting for her expectantly at the pedestrian entrance, one hand on the metal door and the other supporting an umbrella. A small frown crept onto her lips and furrowed the gap between her eyebrows, just so. Well, this was rather peculiar.

“Miss Aldridge!” The muggle beckoned her forward frantically, extending the coverage of the umbrella once she had passed the threshold.

While she was quite possibly the only resident who came in on foot (The Security seemed to get a good chuckle out of the fact that she did not own an Otto-mobile. Apparently, it did not fit with her financial stereotype.) they never waited on her, expectantly. The muggle almost seemed relieved to see her. Also highly unusual.  

“There’s an odd bloke out front, Miss,” the guard said without provocation. He continued to accompany her down the sidewalk, umbrella still politely extended overhead. “Been there for a great while now. Says he’s waitin’ for you, but couldn’t say when you would be arriving. Thought you ought to know.”

She glanced up at the muggle from the corner of her eye before focusing on the building growing larger before them. It was the only physical reaction that she offered him. So, that was the reason behind all of this. There was an unannounced, suspicious guest at the door and he wanted to know if he should be running him off. No one in the building really held little love for the anti-social oddity that inhabited room five hundred and seventeen, but she was still a resident of this complex and he was charged with protecting those inhabitants. Was she in need of protecting?

Even if she was, she doubted this man could be of any assistance. She did not have any muggle associates, which meant whoever awaited her was a wizard. If that became ugly, she would want to minimize contamination as much as possible, if for no other reason that it would be she that would have to do the paperwork on it later. But there was only one wizard that knew where she lived and he would not have known to ask for her under the façade of Marian Aldridge.

A foot from the overhang, the man in question was finally visible in more detail. He was a very distinct looking fellow with hair red enough to make a Weasley proud and eyes a sharp blue. Not abnormally tall, but he still had a good ten inches on her. He did not look malevolent, but experience had taught Raynor that first instinct was not always accurate. He did however look uncomfortably familiar, though she could not place him.

“Miss?” The guard was leaning over her inquiring, still somehow managing to keep the umbrella erect. The positioning was almost protective, which in a strange way was touching. Unnecessary. But touching.

Very convincingly, she nodded curtly up to the Security Officer, “I was expecting him.”

“I see,” was the much more tart response. Tamis did not look up again but the rain began to suddenly bombard her again and she could hear the footsteps retreating back to the post at the gate. Somehow, by accepting this stranger, she had further tarnished her reputation. She did not want to begin to consider the “hows” of that.

Taking those last several steps under the much more permanent shelter of the overhang, gray eyes considered the man intently. Though, she regrettably admitted, she looked more like a drowned rat than an intimidating Auror just then.

"I am expecting you?” She repeated, this time as an inquiry and with a lot more implicit questions attached to it.




Thread title credited to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, a title of one of many Sherlock Holmes stories.

Standing out in the rain for three hours had not initially been part of his plan.  When Jonas had had the brilliant idea to try and deduct where his former acquaintance currently lived, he'd pictured himself arriving just before she'd gotten home from work, maybe spending half an hour or so lounging at a conveniently located coffee shop just across the street, and then perhaps appearing just as she was going up the steps to her flat.  But the years had apparently not lessened Tamis Raynor's affinity for a late night at the office - or, Jonas thought amusedly, they had lessened it too much, and this was her coming back early from a night spent in London's pub scene.  He found the thought of her with a vivid social life to be horribly funny.

He found the block of flats where Raynor now lived to be horribly funny as well.  It was like something right out of his Muggle Studies class, or those little leaflets that they gave you during your training on Muggle Concealment at the Ministry.  Private building in a quiet neighborhood, check.  Door supervisor who was paid well enough not to ask questions, right-o.  The poor bloke was paid well enough not to even make conversation, apparently, because despite the number of times Jonas had tried to strike up a chat in the three hours that he'd spent waiting, the doorman had decidedly ignored him every time.

Whilst an overplayed West Country accent did wonders to lead muckety-mucks into thinking that you weren't sharp enough to be a threat, it didn't really help much with convincing an overpaid doorman that yes, you really were supposed to be lurking here.  The fact that he didn't know when Miss Aldridge planned to be home hadn't helped.  It had taken quite a bit of fast talking to convince the chucker-out not to send him back to the street in the very likely company of a local constable, but Jonas had managed to recall enough identifying quirks to prove that he really was an old school friend here on an expected visit.

So he had been allowed to wait on the stoop, which really wasn't much of a concession at all considering the rain, the wind, and the way his damn leg ached every time the weather turned to a cold spell.  There wasn't anywhere to sit down, so Jonas was forced to stand, which he half suspected was the doorman's passive aggressive way of driving him off.  He had noticed more than a few looks being directed his way as the other residents of the building returned home, each of whom he greeted with a nod and a cheerful comment about the awful weather.  They didn't seem to be really the friendly sorts, though Jonas had quite a nice conversation with a businessman who was apparently Miss Aldridge's neighbor, although the bloke had been quite disappointed to discover that the red-haired man wasn't there as part of a bust for the RSPCA.

It had been a rather long three hour wait.  Jonas had been in the middle of running through an episode he'd managed to catch on the telly a few nights before in his head, thinking of all the things he would have done differently if he'd been on a crime task force somewhere in America, when he finally noticed the guard abandon his post at the gate and hurry off to greet an approaching figure. 

Jonas straightened, watching thoughtfully as the two conferred and then approached under the guard's umbrella.  He would have recognised Tamis Raynor instantly even if he hadn't been at her deduced residence; the world didn't have nearly enough space for many more forceful personalities contained within such a small frame.   Especially not such wet ones - she looked a little like a drowned mouse.

She looked him over with cool gray eyes and then dismissed the guard.  Jonas seized the opportunity to flash the departing man a cheeky grin, but unfortunately, it appeared as though he had already been forgotten as the other man hurried back to his post at the gate.

"I am expecting you?"

"I don't know.  Are you?" Jonas asked cheerfully, wrapping his arms around himself to shield against the cold.  He kept a careful eye on the guard, keeping his voice low enough that it wouldn't carry to the gate through the wind and the rain.  "I'd be right impressed if you were, Miss Aldridge, because I wouldn't be expecting me.  We might even have to trade tips, then, and of course I could never admit that in company."

He flashed her a smile, tight and quick, tipping his hat up despite the rain so that she could get a better look at him if she needed it.  "It's been a while, Tamis," he said quietly.  "Sorry for all the cloaks and daggers, but I thought this would be a mite better than accosting you lot down at the office.  More fun, anyhow," he added, looking faintly amused again.

A whip of wind slapped wet strains of hair against the side of her face and she peeled them off irritably as she scrutinized this stranger. Shivering was rather undignified and she kept her knees and elbows locked in a plight to prevent it. The assuredly bright red tip of her nose was beyond her control, however much she might try and convince herself otherwise. Likewise could be said of her current pallor. Not a particularly tan woman (she blamed it on weather such as this), the cold and rain seemed to have sucked away the scant pigmentation that normally graced her. She still tried.

This man was not a muggle. While not particularly prejudiced, Tamis Raynor simply did not consort with Muggles anymore than was necessity. She did not thing he was one of those muggle salesmen, either. After the catastrophic incident when one tried to sell her a vicious looking contraption called a can-opener the building’s security had made sure to thwart any more brief-case wielding fiends from contacting the tenant in room five hundred and seventeen. Had to be a wizard. One that was significantly skilled at blending in with the non-magical community – he looked exceptionally ordinary amongst the staff.

It was his voice that triggered her memory. The jovial tone that did not match the wary way his eyes traveled after the departing guard. A voice that may have been touched with irony, especially when he acknowledged the given name of her deceased ex-fiancé. When the man lifted his hat, allowing the strange flame-less lamps built into the overhang to illuminate features previously cast in shadow, the memory began to solidify. She was not absolutely sure until he said her name – her real name.

Ten years older, but …

It simply was not possible.

Not much shocked Tamis Raynor. While her horntail temper reared its ugly pointed head from time to time, she was vastly known for being a cool-headed, inexpressive individual. An ‘ice witch’ if one would. Her eyes widened visibly, the whites clearly pronounced. Her eyebrows shot up halfway to her hairline and she almost took a surprised step back but caught herself in mid-action, turning it into an awkward rocking motion.

And this was not a conversation to be having outside, in the pouring rain, and where the curious doorman was leaning in to listen. The staff here might have a strict no-talk policy but they still had ears. And there were all trying to catch whatever they could of the exchange between the odd tenant and the strange man – the second man she had been seen with in one month. Quite a frequency for Miss-Antisocial.

“Inside,” she told him with feint indifference, attempting to herd him into the building.

She reached the door so fast that the eavesdropping attendant leapt to open before she could it herself (and consequently get him in trouble). He managed to swing it halfway open before the petite woman swept past him.

“I would like to know those tips,” she told her ginger companion as she made for the lifts, not sparing the main lobby a glance.

While it was rather concerning that her residence had been unwillingly uncovered, it was not too surprising given the man that had done the finding. But the man himself? Tamis had never expected to see Jonas Trevelyan again, not alive.

His newly arrived and somewhat drenched host looked barely tall enough to see over most of the bar counters in Hogsmeade, though he'd learned long ago never to make mention of that fact within her earshot, but somehow she still managed to barrel him inside.  It was a trick that he'd never managed to master, though to be honest, Jonas wasn't sure that he wanted to.  Assumed authority could be useful in its place, but he got on well enough with wry amusement.

He let her usher him indoors, slipping his hands into his pockets as he strolled inside.  It was a relief to get out of the rain; the building was well heated enough that there was an immediate change in temperature.  Jonas shook off his coat, doing his best to look for all the world as if he was regularly pushed around by a woman nearly a foot his junior.  Letting her take the lead was an easy concession to make.  If he had been in her shoes and someone he hadn't seen in a decade had shown up unannounced at his door, he would have been ready to hex him into the next week.  Giving up control made him less of a threat, and that made it more likely that he'd get what he'd come here for.

Besides which, watching the Auror do her best to maintain her composure was entertaining in itself.  Jonas followed her past the startled doorman, bracing his leg as best he could to minimize any visible limp.  Tamis Raynor had once been the veritable queen of pranks back at Hogwarts, though there was little of that fiery impetuousness visible in the steely-eyed woman who led the way now.  Surprising her with an unexpected appearance went quite a long way to righting the ledger, at least in his book.  It was really too bad that he could only dramatically reappear once.

Of course, the entire set-up lost its dramatic impact if she managed to lose him in the lobby.  Jonas lengthened his stride, matching her pace to keep up.

"I would like to know those tips."

The red-haired man flashed her a crooked grin.  After all the effort he had gone through, he was determined not to give up any secrets so easily.

"Well, to start, there have been a few improvements in technology the past few years," he began cheerfully. Jonas suspected that he might be trying his luck, but he was still chuffed enough that he'd managed to get one over her that he pressed on despite his better judgement.  "There's one development in particular that you may have heard of, called an umbrella.  It's right impressive, it is, keeps you dry in the rain and everything."

The fact that the building had a lift was a relief, though it occurred to Jonas that she might be leading him into its private confines solely so that she could shove her wand through his eye.  Either way, at least he was not going to have to die a painful death after limping up flight upon flight of stairs.

"Anyhow, hope I didn't muss your plans too badly by showing up tonight, Miss Aldridge," Jonas added cheerfully, mostly for the benefit of the doorman.  He kept his tone purposely light as he spoke her alias; Tait Aldridge was one on a long list of things that he did his best not to think about.  "I've been trying to ring you for a week, but the line just won't seem to go through.  I'd want to get that looked into, if I were you."

One dramatic reappearance was enough to sate Tamis Raynor’s thirst for well deserved karma.

The disbelief that the man truly was Jonas Trevelyan was short lived. The hair. The crooked grin. The cheeky demeanor and quick wit. The annoyance. Those factors did not exactly leave room for doubt. There was no other man that it could be, even under the influence of polyjuice potion – she had noted it as a plausible possibility. It was far too genuinely on par with her recalled perception of him.

She might have found it odd that her much shorter legs had outpaced his, but she was far too busy repeatedly clicking the little upward pointed arrow between the pair of elevators and going over the explanations in her head to notice. So, he had been alive all of this time? Clearly so, as he was physically present. And after all these years, he finally chose to reveal himself? She could not rationalize it. Simply, it was easier to be angry at him than dwell on how she felt about this reincarnation. She considered asking if he was an inferi. 

Muttering under her breath, the baleful glare she shot was surely reminiscent of that lurking temper as the heavy metal doors finally parted. Merlin forsake her if she was going to admit that she had an umbrella and had simply… forgotten it. He was already enjoying himself far too much to give him that satisfaction. She otherwise chose to ignore the comment.

“There has been a deficit of owls in the last decade?” She countered sharply, punching the round little ‘five’ in the shaft door overzealously. The doors did not squeak closed any faster, however, and after a significant delay, the lift jolted upward screeching and groaning as the muggle mechanics drew it upward. Tamis tried not to think about the fact that engineering was the only device making sure the elevator did not malfunction. These muggles had a lot of faith, relying on their technology without the safe guard of magic. She did not share their confidence.

Taking a moment to breathe – even counting to ten – the Auror tried to find a semblance of calm, rationalizing that it would not be in her benefit to murder the man before they creaked onto the top floor. The paperwork would be horrendous. And Magical Catastrophes would not be very happy with her. They were already disgruntled with her on a regular basis about disasters beyond her control; she did not need to risk their permanent displeasure.

The meter above their heads shifted its arrow between ‘floor three’ and ‘flour four’ and he was still breathing. An optimistic sign. Though, Tamis was a very notorious pessimist.

“You do not have to continue addressing me by that name,” she clarified after a long moment of silence. Now that they were beyond the lobby, she doubted he would. But she felt obligated to verbally clarify. It had been a mistake, choosing that particular surname for her alias in the complex. It had been for documentation purposes and had been the first name that came to her. It had not occurred to her that the muggles would actually use it. Having Jonas Trevelyan call her by it, and in such a faux casual manner, played havoc on her humility. That little reoccurring emotion she claimed she did not have.

The Auror had attacked the elevator controls with such a vengeance that he nearly expected her to unleash an Unforgivable Curse on them.  Jonas was tempted to point that Muggle technology was such that you generally only had to push a button once, but the lack of response to his crack about umbrellas hinted that she hadn't gained any sort of a sense of humor about that sort of thing in the intervening years since he'd known her.  Sighing, he'd stopped alongside her, doing his best to not look amused as the repeated pressings didn't do anything to get the lift there any quicker.

It was a bit disconcerting, standing next to a woman that he'd assumed he'd never see again.  Even going back to Diagon Alley hadn't thrown him off quite this much.  But that was a place, albeit one that had passed almost ten years in between his visits; he routinely went several years between visits home to Truro.  Here was a person, one he had once known fairly well, with ten years of experiences that he'd never know about.  He didn't even know if she was the same as he remembered her, although the expression on her face that made him think she was trying to decide how best to kill him implied that she probably hadn't changed all that much.

As he followed her onto the lift, Jonas did his best to keep any hint of his own discomfort from his face, instead adopting an expression of affable amusement, as if he had made a habit of regularly appearing out of the woodwork after a decade-long absence.  The question about the owls hit home a bit more than he would have liked, so he flashed her a crooked smile in response. 

"No, there's been plenty," he replied cheerfully.  "They're all in zoos though, at least the accessible ones, and I thought that that was one of the first places that you lot would be watching.  You know, for when the poor Muggleborns in hiding grow desperate to escape their meager, pitiful existence and go lunging for the only thing that reminds them of the life they once had.  You only have to push it once," he added helpfully, unable to stop himself from coming to the button's defense.

He was content to let them ride upstairs in silence.  If nothing else, he was determined to make her ask - what had happened, where he'd been, why he was suddenly back.  Watching the spitfire Auror trying to calm herself - she was probably doing her best not to think of horrible ways to murder him, Jonas thought cheerfully - made the entire three hour wait in the rain worth it.  He considered whistling the theme to a Muggle game show to add to the building suspense.

Then she spoke again.

Jonas arched an eyebrow as he glanced at her.  A myriad of responses raced through his head, not the least of which was 'At least you know he couldn't mind you using it' - but while he was sure that Tait would have appreciated the humor, he suspected that the joke would be lost on Tamis.

He gave her a shrug, which was probably the closest thing to an apology that she'd ever gotten from him.  "Didn't want to ruin your charade in front of the Muggles," he said lightly.  "I couldn't exactly have called you anything else and still expected to be shown inside.  Or, ah, onto the porch," he added more realistically.  Even that bit of hospitality had been pushing it at the time.  "Not that I'm complaining though, mind.  It was still drier than standing in the rain without an umbrella."

The haunts of the past always chose the most inconvenient times to materialize.

Part of her was still in a numb shock, another part of her was overcome with an unsettling relief, and the rest (and vast majority) of her was still seething as she furiously tried to squelch the other two emotions.  The last time she saw Jonas Trevelyan, she had watched him disappear into a crowded muggle London, not sure where he was going or how he was going to get by, and faintly reminding herself that it was better that way. The Ministry had crumbled to the might of You Know Who and the Wizarding World was swiftly become a hostile, even fatal, environment for wizards of Muggle origins. The less she knew, the better it would be. Trevelyan had been one of the first she helped escape the Second War and most certainly not the last, before she was caught.

He had been the most personal. She was not sure if she could classify them as friends, even then. But she had known the former Auror fairly well. And when there was no word of him the first several years following the aftermath of the War, she had assumed the worst. There had, after all, been so many casualties.

Yet, here he was, alive and healthy and grinning with such blithe that one would think he was impervious to the intensity of this predicament. Once she calmed down and rationalized the situation she might recall that he irritatingly made light of emotionally uncomfortable situations. Right now, she was just content to fume.

There had not been enough complaints about the outside temperature, yet, to warrant the building to start the furnace and they were still conditioning the air. Why the air needed conditioning when they were perfectly good windows accessing fresh air, she had never figured out. But it was cold. And standing in the lift, soaking wet, she shivered against the cool moisture.

“The War has been over for some time,” she replied stiffly. “There is no reason they could not return.” Or that he could not have told her he was still among the living. “There is no longer any danger.” Was that actually truth? Her mind flashed back to the attack on Akiva and the unfamiliar symbol Archer was still investigating. Yes, it was truth. Whatever they were dealing with in that symbol could not be as bad as the Death Eaters.

Crossing her arms, eyes still locked on the shaking arrow indicating floors as they passed them, she did her best not to sniff at his reprimand about the button. “The technology is unreliable,” she stated in poor defense. That was untrue, it worked every time, but it had been a good vent for her frustration.

Some of fight extinguished from her as she caught his shrug in her peripheral vision. His tone was more normal, less forcefully jovial and the realism was calming. It was true and it was the answer she had been expecting. It did not assuage her guilt, however. “I do not get visitors,” she explained, similarly, the closest he was going to get to an apology. “The security here is amiable.” Another pause. “It did not occur to me that they would use the name.”

Finally, the lift came to a squeaking halt, bouncing just ever-so-slightly as it ‘binged.’ The little indicator arrow had reached the numeral five and the thick metal doors parted. She could have scowled at him.

 “Yes, standing in the rain without an umbrella would have been significantly wetter,” she said, as she continued to drip a mini pond onto the carpeted floor.

Jonas glanced over at her, and then down at the quickly developing swampland on the floor, and suddenly had to try very hard not to smile.

The plan certainly hadn't been to come barreling in to challenge her and in the process remind Tamis Raynor of all the reasons why they hadn't exactly been the best of friends back in school.  Jonas's relationship with his best schoolmate's girlfriend had always been one of wary tolerance, and he had a bad feeling that laughing at her when she was at her wettest would not be the most effective way to re-establish the truce.

"Yeah, especially considering how out of practice I am with Impervius," he agreed, motioning for her to exit the lift ahead of him.  He wasn't normally one for grand chivalric gestures, but he wouldn't put it past her to curse the hallway leading up to her flat just in case anyone with a wand made it so far as the elevator.  Jonas didn't fancy falling victim to either the Auror's paranoia or her superior spellcasting techniques.  "I would have ended up drenched enough that I could have turned your entire carpet into a bog, and that's hardly the best first impression to start off with, innit?"

He briefly wondered what name she had thought that the security was going to use.  As a subject, Tait Aldridge was apparently still off limits.  If Jonas had been trying to avoid having old memories brought up on a regular basis, he would have chosen a less painful pseudonym.  Actually, now that he thought about it, he probably would have selected something completely ridiculous like "Daffodil" or just gone the other way entirely so that he could get a chuckle every time the doorman addressed him as "Mr Holmes."

Either way, pushing that button was not likely to get him any farther than repeatedly attacking the lift call button had done for the Auror.  Less, probably, because Tamis Raynor was perfectly within her rights to send him packing out to the street.  This was one of those unfortunate times that called for being more diplomatic.

The comments she'd made about the war ending still bothered him, though.  It wasn't as if he could have just crossed his fingers and stepped back into Diagon to pass on a note to his old mates when for all he'd known, doing so would have meant a death sentence.  By the time he'd finally gotten word that he trusted, he was deeply embedded in his own life and family; giving either up had been out of the question. 

"And there might not be any danger, but the rest of them could've hardly known that," he added as he stepped off the lift.  It was an effort to keep his voice nonchalant; he had a feeling that a hint of defensiveness crept in nonetheless.  Jonas tucked his hands deep into his pockets to give himself something to do besides clenching them, shifting his weight to his good leg.  "The safest thing to do was to go without magic, so there's really no way they could get word by owl.  It might've been years before they knew the war had ended."

This really was not the conversation that Jonas had come here to have.  He took a quick breath, exhaled, and started down the hall in what he hoped was the direction of 517. 

"Either way, look at it now," he offered, shrugging at Tamis.  "I've outdone the owl, haven't I?  And I hear you're still in scarlet robes," he added, giving the woman a slight, crooked smile.  "Outlasted all the rest of us.  You must be crowing to all the lads who said you'd never make it."

There was an awkward pause in the lift as the doors opened where they both waited for the other to exit first.  Aurors. No matter how long one deviated from the position, the paranoia became routine. It was how they were trained and the things they saw, perhaps. For a man who had, effectively, spent the last decade in hiding, that suspicion was probably only that more deeply instilled. Though, she granted, he may have felt he had a reason be wary. Raynor would not have wanted to turn her back to her right then, either.

The amused smirk she offered him flickered into a scowl as she relented and stepped into the corridor first. The man had far too much wit to have been a Gryffindor, a baffling point that had irritated her over the years – though the tongue willing to use it was far more befitting. “Impervius would have drawn muggle attention,” she replied defensively. Yes, exactly what she would have needed. Muggles ogling the woman walking through the pouring rain yet staying toasty warm and dry. Another shiver from the air conditioning – she wondered if it might have been worth it.

A childish part of her almost wished the doorman had not been so courteous, as then she could at least have the satisfaction in knowing Jonas was as every bit soaked to the bone as she was.

It was an Auror’s job to read the body language of others. It was important not only in interrogation, where the direction of a glance could reveal truth from lie, but also in a duel. Subconscious body language was often a precursor to how an opponent was going to respond.  So she caught the strain in his voice and the sudden tension in his shoulders that belittled his feigned causality on the subject of the war.  The words sobered her and her anger faded, slightly.

Tonight seemed to be her night for long contemplative pauses.

“I apologize,” she replied quietly but sincerely. It was probably the first actual verbalized apology to the man… ever. Her words had been harsh, unfair, and inconsiderate. Yet, she would not be Tamis Raynor if she did not at least get some word in. “Many witches and wizards risked their lives helping refugees escape, most without knowing if their efforts would be worth it.” And many of them, including her, had been caught. To this day she refused to talk about it and had refused to stand trial for the actions taken against her. She had just been glad the War had come to a timely end when it did. “They are not the only ones that suffered in the aftermath.”

And she was willing to drop it, there. He was alive and that was what mattered. So many people had not been as fortunate. Honestly, she was not surprised when he led them down the hallway with the numbers climbing into the teens.  If he had managed to track her to the building, it would have not taken much extraneous effort to determine her flat number.

“I suppose you have,” she agreed as neutrally as possible. Yes. She was still an Auror. Words and explanations he deserved… particularly about the reintroduction of the Runespoor industry… troubled through her brain before she decisively shut the mental door on them as she reached for the physical one, the golden number five hundred seventeen embossed on its wooden surface.  Was it such a good thing that she had outlasted them? Her job had become a dangerous obsession. Instead, she said, “Many of those ‘lads’ are even less thrilled at having to call me ‘boss’.”

And with that, she turned the handle without fitting a key to it. The handle glowed briefly in recognition to her touch under her hand and with a discrete ‘click’ unlocked. She led the way into the darkened interior, the candle chandelier and fire place sparking into being once she passed the threshold. There was notably a lack of electricity – all of the evil, suspicious looking switches had been taped over.

“Mistress Tamis!” came the all-too-familiar squeal as the local house elf scurried to meet them. Those large blue eyes took in the petite woman, joy replaced with disapproval at the dripping Auror. “Mistress forgot her umbrella at work again…”

“Thank you, Squeak, for that revelation,” said ‘Mistress’ growled back, shrugging out of her rain-sodden coat. She tried not to use any spells unless it was absolutely necessary within the muggle complex, an over precaution, which was the only reason she was not dry yet.

While she struggled with this task, the house elf took note of the ginger haired man, large eyes (if possible) widening even further. True to her name, the elf blurted out without thinking, “Another male visitor!?”

The look of reproach Tamis shot the little housekeeper might as well have been the Killing Curse.

It wasn't that he was shocked that she had apologized - but if there had been a wall in front of him, he would have walked into it.  As it was, Jonas was glad that he had already stepped past her; it gave him a chance to compose his expression and let the comment roll off his shoulders.

Tamis Raynor was the last person he would blame for anything that had happened during the war.  He did not like to think back to the days that had cemented You-Know-Who's rise to power.  Once word had gotten out that the Ministry was bringing in Muggleborns, Jonas had known that if he wanted to survive, he couldn't stay.  He had been in bad shape at the time, injured in the line of duty, but if those with Muggle parentage were falling under scrutiny, an Auror with such heritage would have clearly become a target.  The idea of running had made his stomach turn, but it was that or stay on for a fight that he couldn't have won. 

Reading between the lines of what she'd said wasn't difficult.  The implication that she had continued to help Muggleborn refugees didn't surprise him, nor would he have been shocked to learn that she had paid a price for her actions.  The former Ravenclaw had never been one to stand by idly when wrong was being done; Jonas had always assumed that the way she took injustice as a challenge to be one of the qualities that had drawn Tait Aldridge to her.  For his part, despite their differences, he had never doubted the younger witch.  She might have been pure-blooded, but Jonas had trusted her.

He almost - almost - said something to that effect, even though a 'thank you' at this point would have been belated.  But in many ways, it didn't need to be said.  The war was in the past like so many other things, and bringing it up was just prodding at old wounds that had long since healed over.  Just the acknowledgement was enough.  The red-haired man straightened as he continued down the hallway, feeling his shoulders relax from tension that he hadn't even realized was there.

The statement that the current Aurors had to refer to her as 'boss' brought a lopsided grin to his face.

"I reckon it's a good thing I left when I did then, innit?" he asked cheerfully, glancing down the hallway as she paused to open the door.  Despite his words, there was no malice in his voice.  "I don't know if me head could have taken that, having to work under you.  Likely would've been drummed out for insubordination, I would've.  It could have gotten embarrassing for all of us."

Jonas let his gaze flicker over the room as he followed her inside.  She obviously didn't get many visitors, at least of the Muggle sort.  He was about to comment on how she'd very neatly foiled the local electricity company's plot to monitor her movements through tiny cameras implanted in her light switches when the arrival of the house elf interrupted any clever observations.

House elves, like other magical creatures, were something that had taken him time to get used to.  Encountering two in just a few short days had not done much to re-acclimate him, especially because he had never been comfortable around them to begin with.  He tended to alternate between trying to politely ignore them and explaining things to them as calmly and logically as he could - which, he realized with a bit of an unsettled feeling, was also how he interacted with his young son, although Artie was perfectly capable of speaking in the first and second person when the mood struck him.

Either way, he was a bit relieved that this elf had ignored him, instead greeting Tamis and then looking appalled that the Auror had forgotten her umbrella.  Jonas found the observation funny in itself, especially because he hadn't even had to bring it up this time, but when the creature expressed its shock at seeing him, he nearly doubled over with pure glee. 

"Yes, another," he put in helpfully, since the woman seemed to be too preoccupied with drilling an ocular hole through the elf's skull to answer.  "This one's just visiting for business, though, although I'm sorry to disappoint."

It would have been polite - not to mention better for the odds on his continued survival - to swallow the ear-to-ear grin that threatened to split his face, but Jonas decided that some things were worth risking death.

"Well, it's good to know that all of this responsibility hasn't turned you into a hermit, Auror Raynor," he remarked cheerily, shaking off his own coat and leaning back against the wall to take some of the weight off his leg.  "I have to admit, I was worried for a bit there that the job might have done you in socially.  The work hasn't kept you too busy, has it?"

It was comforting to know that Tamis Raynor was not entirely socially incompetent. The tension drained from her old comrade and the Auror found that she could breathe a little easier. Jonas Trevelyan was one of the last individuals she would worry about attempting to please… not that Tamis had a very person pleasing personality. Yet, it was not her objective to insult the man in a manner he would actually find offensive. There was history there; she could not be completely uncivilized.

The conversation waned after her remark about the war and for that she was thankful. The past in many ways was a forbidden topic. It never did well to dwell on it, a lesson that Tamis had regretfully learned the hard way. It hurt and it tested her nonexistent humility, but it could not be changed. And even if there were still time turners, there were reasons the past should not be changed. Likewise, one could not forget either. Going through those hardships was enough of an ordeal once; it would be unbearable to suffer them twice. That, she knew, was the real reason she kept shirking Archer Radley of late.

It was a peculiar moment for the man to come to mind. He was probably in his home with the wireless tuned into the Quidditch game. Puddlemere was playing tonight, she believed. This significantly reduced the ‘probability’ factor into a ‘certainty’ factor.

Perhaps it was not a peculiar moment, she correct herself as she continued to glare at the house elf. It was not helping matters in the slightest that Jonas was practically howling in delight. At least he had the grace to do so silently though she could have done without that wide (as she took it) mocking grin. She was not about to enlighten the man on her social records for the past decade. Frankly, she did not see how it was any of his damn business.

He was right. There had been some higher Powers That Be that had committed him to an early retirement before she stepped up as Head of the ‘Office. Otherwise they both would have been handed pink slips.

“It keeps me busy enough,” she replied curtly. It should not bother her that he had made certain assumptions about the man who had been over, even if Squeak had left very little opportunity for variety.  An irrational part of her was ashamed. After all, Jonas had been one of Tait’s best mates. For him to believe that she would be so careless in her – She took a deep calming breath. Then rationally explained (not that she had to), “Auror Radley stopped by the other day. He has been my partner since the War.” At the time, the venture had been as innocent as she inferred. She was not ready to admit to this particular man that it was starting to become more than that.

The house elf was extraordinarily lucky that her Mistress did not see her roll her oversized eyes.

Capturing her wet hair in one hand, the petite woman stalked off to the far side of the living room where her bedroom door stood open. “If you will pardon me, I need to change. Squeak will see to your needs.” The door closed decisively behind her. Tamis Raynor did not like being caught off guard like that about emotional insecurities and the chance to reorient herself in private was a welcome one.

”That is the second time Mistress has done that, too.” The house elf lamented, wringing her hands. One day Squeak would have to learn that Squeak should not speak so openly, she would. If Tamis had not been flustered, she might have noticed that Jonas leaning against her foyer wall had not been a casual gesture. Squeak, much more impartial to the situation, did. “If Sir would like to sit,” she motioned to the small table in the kitchen with a long fingered hand, “Squeak can get Sir some warm towels and hot tea.”

It was odd to feel a twinge of reprieve upon hearing a name that he recognized.  By all accounts, the war had only lasted some ten-odd months after he'd left, which was several years short of when he'd finally stopped looking nervously over his shoulder or starting whenever someone brandished a stick in his general direction.  The casualty lists were all history, quite literally, but Jonas had no desire to track them down.  Part of him didn't want to know who had been killed during the war - well, all of him, really.  He'd grieved for those friends a decade ago.  It was much easier to assume that they were all dead and then be pleasantly surprised when he encountered one by accident.  Staring at a rank of names would just make him feel like an arse.

The knowledge that Archer Radley was alive and paying house calls was one such pleasant surprise.  At least Jonas guessed that the mysteriously visiting Auror Radley was Archer; the bloke had had a couple of brothers, but neither had been Aurors when the war had started, so even if they'd followed Tamis Raynor's lead in using vengeance as the primary motivation for a career change, they couldn't have completed a three-year training program and become her partner by the end of a ten-month war.

"Well, good on you to admit it!" he said cheerfully.  "Partners is a rather modern term for it, but whatever you want to call it, yeah?"

Leaning against the wall gave him the perfect vantage point to witness the house elf's eye-roll, which almost made him feel guilty for teasing her.  Tait's death hadn't been easy for anyone, but it had been the hardest on the young woman who had witnessed it.  He didn't particularly want to undo ten years' worth of travel on the road to recovery by needling her and hitting too close to home.  Clearing his throat, Jonas directed his gaze at the nearest taped-over light switch, giving her the choice as to change the subject.

He evidently wasn't being given a choice about letting her change, though, never mind that his coat was still damp and his leg ached.  Jonas followed the elf's lead and waited until Tamis's back was turned before making a face in her direction as she left for what was presumably her bedroom. 

But then the house elf piped up.  Jonas started as he glanced in its direction.  It was hard to remember that the things talked, let alone realize that they could show more concern for guests than their owners.

"Only twice?" he asked, straightening.  "I hope that she's needed to change more than that or it'd get a bit uncomfortable."  At the offer, he broke into a wide grin.  "Hot tea'd be splendid," he agreed, doing his best not to limp as he made his way over to the table.  "I think I can manage without the towel, but if you've got something hot to drink, I wouldn't say no.  Thank you," he added sincerely, directing a smile in the elf's direction.  The creature had just shot up miles in his estimation; the way to his heart was a hot cup of tea and a place to sit down. 

Jonas eased himself into the chair, glancing cautiously in the elf's direction.  He wasn't sure what else one could say to a squeaky hairless teddy bear, but he figured he could give it a try.  "You, uh, keep the place very neat by the way.  I like the tape done up on all the switches," he offered generously.  "It's a very nice touch.  A bit like a medieval laboratory on a budget."

His gaze drifted back towards the door as he stretched his leg out in front of him.  The nice thing about his three hour wait in the rain was that it had given him plenty of time to buck up for the encounter; the Auror had had no similar chance for prepartion.  Unfortunately, giving her a chance to catch her breath was probably doing away with his element of surprise.  Jonas sighed.  It had been nice while it lasted.

"So everyone's doing all right then?" he asked the elf thoughtfully, lowering his voice so that it hopefully wouldn't carry through the door.  "That's good to see.  I'm glad the world didn't stop just because there was a war on."

While the house elf might have had a better sense of social etiquette than her Mistress she did not share her capacity for understanding dry, sarcastic humor. The little creature stared at him in incomprehension for several long moments, wondering perhaps if this Sir was a bit daft. “This is the second time Mistress has stalked off on a Sir,” the Elf clarified with a sigh, giving the man with his gimpy leg a critical appraisal. “Sirs have to stop upsetting Mistress.” Particularly if they were not Pureblood Sirs, but her Mistress did not like it when she said so.

Squeak, with the aid of a little elfin magic, retrieved a teacup from the cabinet and poured from a brewed and ready pot, placing the finished product on the table in front of the man. The ‘thank you’ threw her off and those abnormally large eyes turned up to this New Sir again, once more simply staring. Perhaps Sir really was daft. “Squeak does not need thanks,” it was somewhat stiffly said as an arrangement of sugar and honey and lemon joined the table in case he had a preference. “Squeak is House Elf.” There was more than just a little pride in that statement.

Now that the guest was settled in and warm towel denied, the Elf returned to the cabinet, magicing down another cup, this one far more battered with use than the one she had presented in front of Jonas.  “Muggle mechanics disturbs Mistress,” Squeak admitted, placing the second cup across from the man, following his gaze to the closed door. Her more sensitive ears could hear movement from within. The last item she placed on the table was the pot itself on an oven mitten to keep it from blemishing the wooden surface. “Wizards have many wars,” Squeak replied with a small shrug of knobby shoulders. “World will not stop for just one.” In her mind, it was as simple as that. Where there were wands, there would be wars both among those that possessed them and those that wanted them.

The little Elf had no interest in Wizarding politics. She was well treated. Her Mistress was unpolished but not cruel. Just as long as Tamis Raynor survived them and the Raynor line with her, Squeak was content.

The door to the bedroom opened and the petite woman in question reemerged, changed with a towel draped over her shoulders to collect the excess water from her still damp hair. Squeak, task complete, bobbed a curtsy to Jonas and then scampered back into the living room. Tamis tossed a second towel at Jonas’ head as she passed him. “I assumed you were still stubborn enough to be content in turning my kitchen into a pond.”

Settling in to the chair across from him, her hands slid around the tea waiting for her there, enjoying the warmth against her cold fingers. Gray eyes considered him calculatingly and with a calm she had not previously exhibited before she changed. Confirming his suspicions, she had taken those few minutes alone to regain her bearings. It was still unnerving, sitting across from a man she thought a decade dead – almost awkward. A grandfather clock not in immediate range made its presence know, its second hand ‘tick tock’ing in the silence.

Finally, she asked the burning question. The one she had been so carefully avoiding until now. “Why are you here, Jonas? A tad abrupt to be a social call, no?”

She was daring him to deny it.

Jonas glanced back at the sound of the opening door.  Seeing that it was just the Auror returning, he affected a cheerful nonchalance as he picked up the cup of tea.    Unfortunately, the method acting meant he missed the helpful heave of the towel, allowing it to ungraciously collide with the side of his head.

"Well, I thought the water might go with the whole medieval theme," he replied, fumbling to set the cup down again as he took the dangerous projectile in both hands to dry off.  "You know, no electricity, burning candelabras, nicely mannered servants, a moat around the dining room table.  Heard it worked wonders for the Tower back in the day, it did," he added helpfully, his gaze sliding over to her as she claimed the seat.  "Kept out all sort of unwelcome visitors."

Her question hung in the air between them.  Jonas lifted the tea again and took a sip, using the motion to cover for his delay in answering.  Coming up with a smart reply was much more difficult when the inquiry was made so precisely.  There was little he could do to dance around a direct question.

"A bit hard to imagine it not being abrupt at this point, yeah?" he asked, flashing her a quick grin without really meeting her gaze.  "Ten years does that to a reunion.  I can only imagine what the next at Hogwarts will be like."

There were all kinds of explanations to be given, stories to be spun.  He could certainly insist that it was a social call, that he didn't want anything out of this meeting at all, but that would just make the proverbial shoe slam down even harder once it fell.  And Jonas expected that generosity with the truth wouldn't get him anywhere except possibly back on the street a bit more quickly.

Stating the facts was the easiest way of laying his figurative cards on the table.  No emotion, just wry precision, the way he'd make a report to a client.

"But no, it's not social," he admitted, blue eyes finally shifting to meet her own gray ones as he set the cup down.  "I reckoned it might be a nice gesture of professional courtesy.  I've been working as a private investigator," he said by way of explanation, shoulder lifting in a shrug, "taking on cases here and there.  Mostly Muggle ones, but there's a couple of wizarding clients now so I expect I might be about."

The relationship between law enforcement and the private industry was always a tetchy one.  Jonas knew that he annoyed the police, and on the occasions when he depended on constables to get information, they had a habit of getting in the way.  But it was important to maintain a modicum of cooperation.  The lot of them might never go carousing at the pub together, but the understanding remained that sometimes a bit of back scratching needed to happen.

Unfortunately, he had no idea if any sort of similar relationship existed with the Aurors.  The wizarding community was really too small to support any full time private investigators, and back when he'd been wearing the scarlet robes, he'd certainly been pig-headed enough to think that he could solve things on his own without any outside help.  With any luck, the current lot was a bit less like a stereotypical Gryffindor and a bit more realistic.

"Anyhow, I thought I would do me duty and notify the MLE that I might be operating in their territory.  Unofficially," Jonas clarified sharply, giving her a pointed look.  Whatever protocols the Ministry thought they were owed, he had no intention of formally giving them his name.  Playing dead was both useful and safe; he did not want anyone showing up at his door the next time that prevailing winds shifted and it suddenly became against the law yet again to have been born of the 99.9% of Britons with no wizarding heritage.  "I'm not intending on putting the pen to any forms, mind, but I didn't want you lot to find out that I was about for the first time because I got hauled in for missing the curfew ten years ago."

There was a moment where Tamis could have been exceptionally cruel. All that talk of keeping out unwanted visitors, she could have calmly suggested that the system had become defunct with age. The thought crossed her mind and settled sharply on the tip of her tongue but she bit down on the soft appendage before it could slip passed her lips. While she had the distinct impression that she was nothing more than a means to his own agenda, Tamis could not deny that she was relieved to see Jonas Trevelyan. She could not say words she would regret and that were not true; she was not a liar – except when it counted.

“I am a Witch and I live as one,” she replied simply. “I have not judged your living arrangements for the past decade; I would ask that you return the courtesy.”

Paranoia chose the location of her flat. While Tamis Raynor was a known muggleborn sympathizer she was also known for many characteristic pureblood traits including an avoidance of all things muggle. That was what made living among them so ideal. It was not readily suspected. In fourteen years Trevelyan was the first, to her knowledge, to discover her whereabouts without prior invitation. She shirked the muggle world as readily as he shirked the wizarding. The only difference was that she was not hiding from a crucial part of her identity in doing so. His initial reasons were sound, but a decade was a long time.

She would not judge.

The crooked grin flashed across his visage again but his blue eyes averted hers, avoiding her. Professionalism. Interrogation tactics. They seemed to be the universal defense mechanisms for law enforcement officials – past or present. As individuals, they learned to become two people. There was the solid, hardened heart that showed up to the crime scenes, that talked to victims with cool propriety, and peered over dead bodies seeing the evidence rather than the person that used to be there. And then there was the actual person, the one that shed that first individual at the office and went home as if the day’s events had not happened.  When personal matters became difficult, it was so easy and convenient to lean on that alter ego.  Raynor would know. She was notorious for it.

And now they were both using it.

Gaze not wavering, she waited patiently. Dropping the jovial nature, his tone took on a more objective role as he impartially disclosed the nature of his visit. A Private Investigator. The concept was not entirely unheard of. A good friend of hers was a formal Bounty Hunter that had worked outside of the government. As a rule there was distaste between the two industries, necessary evils one might call the other. The truth was, the governmental investigators had the resources and the private investigators did not have to jump through as many hoops like performing hippogriffs. It could be a beneficial collaboration if egos were not bruised as easily as they were in this profession.

She allowed him his explanation silently, waiting until she was sure he did not have anything else to add. When there was a decent silence, suggesting he was surrendering his metaphoric podium, Tamis lifted her teacup to her lips again taking a slow sip. Placing the cup back down, she leaned forward on her elbows and intertwined her fingers, resting her chin on them. She knew how to read between the lines.

“You want to stay out of the system.” Every witch and wizard in the United Kingdom was listed in Ministry records. The Ministry knew where each one lived and had technology in place to know when magic was preformed, what kind of magic, and where. Underaged wizards even had tracer spells. Naturally, to keep the files from becoming cluttered, the records of the deceased were removed. Many of those files became disorganized after the War and if someone did not reappear, they were assumed dead. As Jonas had been. “That is a considerable favor to request.”

One that could potentially get her into trouble. She seemed to be attracting those types of situations of late, she recalled solemnly, thinking of another blue-eyed individual but in the former of a scrawny, dark haired teenager girl. “If you cross paths with one of my men, possibly one of your former comrades, you want us to forget your identity?” She asked, attempting to clarify. She drifted off then, and, without confirming or denying a stance on the issue, added, “What is in it for Level Two?”