This was territory that Jonas normally felt much more comfortable in.  No explanations to sidestep, no past history to avoid - all he had to do was barter convincingly.  It made matters a lot less personal in a lot of ways.

"You mean other than me being grateful enough that I stop making fun of your moat?" he offered, flashing Tamis a smile.  Sarcasm wouldn't win him any points, but at least it felt like a moral victory. 

There was a formula for how this sort of conversation usually went.  He'd had most of it planned out when he'd first arrived, intent on getting through this section quickly so that he could get to the favor that he needed to ask.  The gruff, jaded copper asked what was in it for him; the charming-and-cunningly-talented private investigator offered to do some snooping on the side for free, as well as possibly offering the copper helpful love advice to win back the love of his estranged wife before the poor bastard was forced into his mandatory forty-year retirement.

But somehow, that didn't seem the proper script for this occasion.  Not only was the Auror probably more qualified to give him the advice considering the comments of her elf earlier, but Jonas had no intention of becoming the Ministry's gopher.  Select words from before he'd been put into his own mandatory retirement still rang in his ears.

Instead, he could have sworn he wouldn't cause the Ministry any trouble, that he'd stay out of their hair.  That was pretty standard, too.  Jonas had no doubt that his continued absence would be tangible benefit enough for Tamis Raynor.  She'd probably be falling over herself to cover up for him if it meant he continued to stay clear of her life.  But that brought with it a whole host of problems, not the least of which involved an extremely infuriated, extremely petite young woman whom Jonas could picture a bit ironically in his mind's eye.  Something gave him the feeling that any promises to keep clear of trouble with the Ministry would soon make him feel very sheepish.

Unfortunately, considering that blackmail would end with his death and joking would probably get him kicked out, that left one course.

Jonas sighed.

"To be honest, there's not very much in it for Level Two," he said quietly.  "We want to play at me telling you I would run favors off the record, then I'll do it, but we both know the only times you'd ask me are the ones when I'd say yes anyhow."

He might gripe about it - or, more likely, hold it over her head and not let her forget it for months afterwards - but there were a few things in the world that he wouldn't walk away from.  Maybe it was the Gryffindor in him still.  But Jonas doubted that; he'd been away from wizards long enough to realize that labels, however popular and all-intrusive throughout a society they might be, meant very little about the individual underneath. 

Besides which, he still owed her.  And it wasn't a debt he could discharge any time soon, even if it made him right bloody uncomfortable as all hell.  Tamis Raynor had risked her life for him once, and while he certainly wasn't going to offer a blank check in return - not that a wizard would understand what that meant anyhow, what with their insistence on continuing to use an archaic commodity monetary system - if she really swallowed her pride long enough to ask him for something, he was obligated to do what he could.  It was what she had done for him.

"If you need a reason to sell if someone else gets wind of it, then I'm more useful to you without a record," he said, arching his eyebrows as he met her gaze.  It was much easier to meet her gaze when he was bartering and not skirting uncomfortably close to anything that he wasn't going to talk about.  "The blokes who live off the grid will be more like to approach me if I'm there with them.  If they do and I hear something that you lot in scarlet need to know, I'll pass it on.  The further you can keep me from the Ministry, the more valuable it is to you, innit?"

He gave a shrug.

"And I'm not asking you to forget any identities, Auror Raynor," he added, a dry note creeping into his voice as he remembered the extremely entertaining look of utter fury on Liadán Ó Móráin.  "If I bring the trouble on meself, I can reap the consequences.  Just don't go out of your way looking to bring me in.  That's all I'm asking for, yeah?"

He met her gaze and held it, then shrugged and looked away, adding off-handedly, "Well, that and possibly access to the Ministry records so that I can run a couple of bits down every now and again."

At least the man had the sense to utilize honesty. It was an effective device, particularly when trying to manipulate the situation in one’s favor. An individual was more disposed to forgiveness under the influence of honesty and Raynor fell well within the statistics. Accepting the nature of his proposal was not the same as agreeing to it, however.

They both knew that she would not accept his generous offer of running favors. It was not for a personal resentment toward the man, merely that the Auror had far too much pride. The insinuation the Auror Office could use help outside of its already established connections was not even a passing inspiration in her mind. Not to mention, she was quite sure she would never live it down. And if her pride was so egotistical one could imagine how that would play on her humility (of whose existence she constantly denied).  She grunted, not a very lady-like response but it surmised her opinion accurately.

His confidence returned, it seemed.  He met her eye-for-eye now, the impish façade long gone and replaced by serious, carefully worded logic. Logic that contained a number of decent points. It would give her less to worry about if she could avoid associating with him politically as much as possible. Merlin, another worry was the last thing she needed at the moment; she was already wading through enough of them as it was.  It kept her from having to be accountable and he was more than capable enough to ascertain the legal turmoil he was potential creating for himself. She found herself nodding subconsciously to his words, uncharacteristically agreeable. Then came the catch. There was always a catch.

“Only that?” She replied, casting him a dark look as she leaned back in the chair. The motion was not good enough, however, as her legs tingled restlessly. She stood, pushing away from the table. It was a ludicrous proposal. If it had been anyone else sitting at her excuse for a dining room table she would have laughed him out of her flat. Though, she granted, if it had been anyone else, he would not have made it in her flat. But it was not someone else perched there casually as if he had not been missing for more than a decade. It was Jonas Trevelyan. Vivid ginger hair and nerve grating personality still intact, not much changed from the cheeky Auror she had once knew, or the petulant Gryffindor rival before even that. He was the same man. The man that Tait Aldridge had always been incredibly fond of.

She scowled again.

How did she always seem to end up putting herself out on a limb for this man? This time it was less life threatening and more of a potential career disaster. To, one, avoid acknowledging the existence of a man and, two, to allow said imaginary man into the records rooms of Level Two? It was a whole different caliber of trouble to breaking hospitality in order to visit a Hogwarts Student. So much for lack of accountability.

At the same time, if this Jonas Trevelyan was the same as the one she knew, he would meddle whether she granted permission or not. In the end, it was better on their sanities if he had that permission rather than skirting around it. “You are bloody right that you will pass the information on,” she sniped back, running a hand through her hair in a trademark expression of frustration.

“Cause me any trouble, Trevelyan,” she returned formal address for formal address, “and I will see to your funeral arrangements personally.” His real funeral. 

She paced a couple of times, creating an even more animated outlet for the thoughts cluttering her brain. Then, with brutal efficiency, she reined in sharply on the rest of it, pulling it back inside and locking the door on it. When she sat back down on her side of the table, she was the calm and collected Head of the Aurors Office she had been when the conversation started. “If Jonas Trevelyan is still missing, who am I granting security access to?” That paperwork they would not be able to avoid.

There were times when Jonas wished he had more of a poker face.  The concern was a bit ironic, considering how easily he could disguise his thoughts and emotions most of the time.  Fear, worry, contrition - all of those were simple to hide, but he couldn't say the same for the positive half of the emotional spectrum.  Give him a bad run or a pair of twos and he could bluff with the best of them, but the second he was dealt anything stellar, he knew from experience that he wouldn't be able to hide his grin.

Now he was attempting to keep a straight face when in reality he ought to be grinning from ear to ear.  Jonas made a drastic effort to swallow the smile, but finally gave up in futility.  He'd just have to hope that the Auror wasn't so offended by it that she rescinded her implied permission.

"That would certainly be appreciated," he replied, rubbing a hand over his face to give himself a chance to recover decorum.  "Takes a load off the mind, it does, knowing that you'll be there to handle any preparations.  I never really was much of a fan of flowers, but maybe you can pick out a nice charity for everyone to give to instead?" he suggested helpfully.  "And I'll have to approve your eulogy in advance.  I'm not in any rush, though, so you can take your leisure getting me a copy.  Just on your own time, yeah?"

The sarcasm was both a helpful and effective outlet.  Jonas took a deep breath, composing himself again.  Knowing just how far he could push Tamis Raynor without causing an unintended lynching was always a bit of a challenge, and tonight was not the time to accidentally cross the line.  It was better to draw back, to take the personal out of it. 

She was right, though, that she couldn't just give him access if he was supposed to be dead.  The Ministry loved nothing if not its bureaucracy, and Jonas had no doubt that there were at least three officials who did nothing all day long but check and double check permissions for each file that was accessed.  If he did get access, he'd have to be careful to moderate its usage.  It would be much more effective to save the boon for when he really needed information rather than draw attention to its existence by using it too much.

"Depends on what would be easiest," he said with a shrug.  "You know better than I do whether you could just reactivate old codes without anyone raising an eyebrow.  If you need a fake name, I'd be happy to think of a few."  Just off the top of his head, he could think of several, all of them amusing.

"And you know," he began thoughtfully, "if you're planning to move now that your personal security has been jeopardized, I could even help you come up with a better alias."  The helpful earnestness in his tone was somewhat undercut as he shot the woman all too cheerful grin.  "Would you like me to make you a list?  I don't mind lining up some uncompromised apartments if you're going to be looking into that sort of thing, too.  Might save you some time," he concluded helpfully.

“Charity denotations and an eulogy? You have grand aspirations, Mr. Trevelyan,” he was rewarded with a small smirk. She had been brainstorming something a little less ostentatious. He just might get the flowers, if he were lucky. It felt morbid to jest (or not jest) about killing a man that was, technically, dead. And more than a tad ironic.

His mission and true objective behind this little reunion accomplished, he was more thrilled than a hippogriff with an endless supply of hare. To give him some credit, he did attempt to control his delight to some degree – in the beginning. The struggle flashed across his face, twitching muscles into spasms as he tried to restrain the invisible hooks relentlessly yanking the corners of his mouth upward. Once he forsook the battle, the grin that broke across his face would not only make a Cheshire cat envious, but it would put one to shame. Raynor had the decency to bear into him with those shock of gray eyes, not quite glaring but most certainly not appreciative.

A corner of her mouth quirked as she contemplated her response. Finally, she sighed. “Creating a false identity would be troublesome. I will contact you in a few days with a sound solution.” She would think of one, but after a long day of work and a nerve shaking reencounter, she was simply too tired at the moment.

That did not stop him from continuing on about aliases, however. This time not his own.

The humor did not have the effect he may have been hoping for. “Your assistance is unnecessary,” she replied tensely.  It had been an idiotic sentimental move, all those years ago. The flat she had with Tait had been unbearable, too many memories, and the Aurors had advised changing address regardless. The perpetrators had undoubtedly known their residence as they had attacked the young couple on their way back to it. ‘Aldridge’ had been common enough; there would have been no reason to suspect a muggle woman by that name. ‘Tamis’ would have been more conspicuous. She had lost the opportunity to take his name and when she needed an alias … it had not dawned on her that she would come to regret that stroke of sentimentality. It still did not give him the right to criticize her. 

The woman was not particularly verbose, yet she grew unnaturally quiet. Her hands stilled, palms flat against the table, capturing her teacup in the center of a triangle created by her connecting forefingers and thumbs. The change was so sudden, one would wonder if she had been spelled to stone. The just detectable rise and fall of her chest nullified the suspicion, though her breathing had slowed. Eyes downcast, she stared at her reflection in the still, murky liquid. The exchange had been long enough for it to cool. There was nothing submissive about the stance. No suggestion that she was particularly avoiding the man across from her. It was simply a… withdrawal; an inward distancing.

She had to tell him. He was going to find out, regardless, it was inevitable. It was… better… if it came from her.

“The Runespoor investigation reopened. Trade routes are active again in the United Kingdom.”  Concise and blunt. Tamis Raynor in a nutshell. Yet, what went unsaid spoke volumes. After Tait was murdered back in nineteen ninety four leads on the trading operation had fallen off the map. Which meant Tait’s case had gone cold. As the sole surviving witness, Tamis had not been of any particular help. She refused to divulge intimate details of what had happened; they had been irrelevant as she had not been able to identify the perpetrators beyond voice recognition.  To this day, she had never talked about it and never would. She owed the memory of Tait Aldridge that much. Hopes for leads on the case were long gone. But, after fourteen years, the sect responsible for his death was back. Jonas Trevelyan would want to know. He deserved to know.

Clearing the uncomfortable lump in her throat, she looked back up at him, but the distance was still there. It might as well have been the Atlantic Ocean between them. There were a number of unaddressed insecurities there and Jonas Trevelyan was the last person in the world she wanted to see that vulnerability.

“I trust you will respect the details of my privacy,” she said, indifferently, redirecting the conversation. “I do not need to relocate.” After a moment she added, in an attempt to remain polite, “is there anything else that you need?”

The words hit like a steam engine, driving any trace of humor from the private investigator's expression. 

He could instantly think of a dozen questions that he wanted to ask, but almost as quickly, he could come up with most of the answers himself.  There had to be reason to suspect that the same group was behind it or the case wouldn't have been reopened and she wouldn't be telling him.  Besides, there could only be a limited number of bloody idiots in the world who were both stupid and foolhardy enough to raise giant multiple-headed snakes and transport their highly volatile venom over international borders.

The Runespoor case still felt quietly, intensely personal.  It had been his first encounter with how real life as an Auror was.  Jonas had never had any illusions about the dangers of his once-chosen career.  From the moment that he and Tait had applied for the program out of Hogwarts, they'd been subjected to a battery of psychological analyses and cautioned against what could happen.  Everyone knew the risk.  You could be cheerfully questioning a suspect one moment, done in by a well-aimed spell the next.  It was something they joked about to breeze through the tension; it was either that or let the weight of it hit you, and you might as well choose a different career then.

But when he'd been young, the line of threat had been clearly drawn between the personal and the private.  Their careers might be a risk every day, but off duty, they could relax with their friends and family.  Not that any Auror ever did much relaxing - if they did, they'd be the target of too many intra-office jokes, let alone revenge spells cast by bitter criminals - but the boundary should have been present and firm.

His best mate's death had destroyed any illusion of that division.  Tait Aldridge had been brutalized and murdered.  His girlfriend had been tortured.  It had happened off hours when they should have been safe, when Tait shouldn't even have been at risk, let alone have been worried about putting anyone close to him in danger.  Jonas could probably still recite the cold, mechanical facts from the case file from memory if he tried, but thinking about it still brought a stabbing pain, even ten years later. 

He had learned then that there were no boundaries.  That was why you didn't put anyone close to you at risk.  You took precautions at all times.  You kept them away from that part of your life, and you were always, always on guard.  It was what kept them alive and kept you sane.

The Auror coolly redirected the conversation, and Jonas could recognize a dismissal when he heard one.  He set the teacup and towel both down and braced one hand against the table as he rose to his feet.

"No," he said, and then added, "thank you."  Whether the gratitude was for the inquiry, the refreshments, the assistance, or the ten years that she'd given him a lifetime ago, he figured he'd let her decide.

Jonas almost turned towards the door, but he paused for a moment.  Reaching into his pocket, he drew out a business card and set it on the table, turned towards her.  Any offers of help, of let's get a brew and catch up, would have been cheap.  She wouldn't have taken them.  He couldn't suggest them.  At least giving her his address meant he'd trumped any attempt to return the favor by tracking down his own abode. 

It was a shoddy way to end a conversation that probably should have concluded with him pulling out photos of his children to share and her unfolding - well, he really didn't know what she'd be unfolding, but he was certain that there could be something - and a general cathartic release that left them both feeling better about the entire thing.  But there was the way things should be and the way things were.  The two very rarely overlapped.

He nodded to the card as he adjusted his hat, and then turned towards the door.  "Once you find the sound solution, that's the address to reach me at.  You can send the funerary flowers there too as long as they can fit through the mailslot.  It was good to see you, Tamis," he added quietly, starting for the exit to the hallway.

The change was so eminent that she almost regretted her words. The jovial mood sloughed off of his face leaving a stoic stranger behind. He turned inwardly contemplative and while the emotion did not quite reach his face it was in his eyes. Tamis turned hers away, staring back down at her forsaken tea again, feeling like an intruder to those private reflections.

Tamis Raynor and Jonas Trevelyan had never been particularly close. It was doubtful they would have ever crossed paths at all, if not for their mutual ties to Tait Aldridge, and that had not exactly improved relations. He had been the best mate, fellow Gryffindor, the practical brother as they both strove for the same goal of the Aurors Office. And she had been the girlfriend, the love interest. As teenagers, that was enough to make them bantering adversaries, their individual personalities had furthered that. When Tait died… she felt they had come to a mutual understanding. Jonas Trevelyan was, in many ways, one of the last connections that she had to the departed Auror.

She knew, at the very least, Tait Alridge’s death had been as much as a reality shock for him as it had been for her. No one ever wanted to question mortality. Especially in world where one knew, for horrendous prices, immortality was possible. It was a hard lesson learned. And to hear of the Runespoor investigation having reopened… it was better that it had come from her, she continuously tried to reassure herself.

Professionally, she could not reveal intimate details about the case as it was an ongoing investigation. But he would gleam enough to draw conclusions for himself from the case files, which, she knew he was going to look into. She could have told him to stay out of it, to not get involved. But not only would it be hypocritical, she knew it would be pointless.

Finally, he spoke, rising as he did. She did not rise with him. The revelation had been a mood killer and they both knew it. Her gray eyes lifted to his as he thanked her, reading many possibly connotations in that simple farewell. Never a woman of many words, she simply nodded her head once in acknowledgement not wanting to cheat him with a cheap composition of words.  She glanced at the business card without picking it up. “I will do that,” she forced a corner of her lip to tug back at the funeral jest that now seemed just that much more gruesome.

He turned for the door, leaving a dreaded tension of unfinished business between them. She fought with the emotion for a long moment before calling after him,

 “Jonas.”

She almost told him. She considered in that moment, as he walked away, enlightening him on what had transpired the night of December twenty-first nineteen ninety four. But there was a reason Tamis Raynor had not been a Gryffindor. Her courage fled. Fled and took the words with it before they could fully form on her tongue. She could not do it. Even after these many years, she was not brave enough. She was too ashamed and… she wanted to protect the man she had loved so very strongly. She did not want Tait’s best mate’s memory of him to change knowing how the end had come; to know why it had taken his fiancée fourteen years to begin recovery. 

Her throat worked silently until she gave up. “It was good to see you, as well.”

It might have been appropriate to say something of more sustenance. If she could not give him some amount of closure, then to at least let him know his company was welcome. Inform him that she was glad he was alive. Or that she would like to see him more frequently than in ten year intervals.  Inquire into his life from the past decade. Even that his presence was not nearly as despised as he might infer. Once again her voice failed. Etiquette suggested that she should have walked him to the door; shown him out. Yet, for once, Tamis thought rejecting society’s manners was the correct move.

The red-haired man paused at the sound of his name, his hand on the doorknob.  The silence that stretched out could have heralded any number of things.  Jonas imagined that she probably wanted to warn him away, to caution him with a reminder that nothing that Level Two did was any of his business - not that it would have done any good.  He might have listened to the Ministry once, but he was years beyond it now.

He had gotten what he had come for and it still felt like a defeat.  Needling the promised permission out of her hadn't been nearly as difficult as he'd feared, and Jonas knew better than to abuse it once it was granted.  If he started looking into anything that really mattered, raised any eyebrows, the allowance would be gone in an instant and he'd probably be hauled away for that promised funeral.

And then Tamis Raynor echoed his sentiment.  Jonas glanced back at her, an eyebrow arched, and flashed her a tight, crooked smile.  It was as much of a concession as he'd ever expect to get.

"Just a thought, but you might want to consider keeping the umbrella by the door next time," he suggested, unable to resist the temptation to get in the last word as he turned the handle to push the door open.  "Reckon it'd be a lot harder to forget it that way."

He limped into the hallway, letting the door close behind him, and slipped his hands into his pockets, beginning the long walk back to the lift.

[End.]