7:30 PM


The stormy gray eyes of a stranger stared back at her with an unfamiliar uncertainty from the looking glass. Straightening her back, Tamis shifted to view her right profile and then her left, and the stranger mimicked her both times, copying her movements with effortless ease.  The traitorous reflection even ran a hand through its long, free-flowing strains of chestnut hair simultaneously.

“This is ridiculous,” she chided herself, turning away from the full-length mirror in her bedroom with an exasperated sigh. In mid-step her jaw set tightly and a tension built around her nose until, muttering under her breath, she pivoted to evaluate her likeness once more.

Tamis Raynor could not remember the last time she wore a dress.  Nor could she remember the last time she had revealed so much skin. The dress was not strapless and was, in fact, held up by two wide, translucent bands of fabric, but they sat almost off shoulder, leaving her chest and arms barren. While the dipping neckline was not revealing, modest even, it certainly was steeper that those in her normal wardrobe. Several times she had reached for a shawl and reprimanded her insecurity.

Twirling, she allowed the ends of the frock to swirl just below her knees. The stranger scowled at her. They were in the middle of a number of important cases. Every month that passed the Department seemed to get further over its head as the severity of the investigations escalated. Her own office was grossly understaffed. She had not premeditatedly gone out in -- -- well, that was a depressing thought. Regardless, it felt wrong to be going out to dinner when they should be pouring over case files, brainstorming leads, and trying to find connections. And she most certainly should not be battling against her nerves.

 Tamis Raynor was not a romantic soul. She did not plan her wedding when she was five. She had not dreamed about knights in shining armor rescuing her from the top of Ravenclaw Tower . Even when she had dated Tait, she had never felt the need to cling or spend every suffocating minute with her significant other. She had gone fourteen years without more than a passing handshake or a brief touch of the shoulder. Therefore, she did not worry about physical appearance. She absolutely did not get self-conscious.

“This is ridiculous,” she repeated, throwing her hands up and forsaking the mirror for the bed.

Perching on the bed’s edge, she hiked up the dress, exposing her left thigh and reached for the concealed holster on the covers, strapping it tightly into place and securing her wand before rearranging the skirt and allowing it to settle again. There simply was nowhere else to put it and she was not going anywhere without out it. 

A knock resounded on the door and Tamis’ head automatically whipped up, hand reaching for the wand she had just stowed. Sheepishly, she retracted it and reached for a shoe instead. It was not a sound she was accustomed to at her residence. Visitors were, still, a very new concept. It made her auror instincts jumpy – at least, that was the excuse she was using tonight.

Zipping the second shoe into place, the well balanced Auror wobbly claimed her feet. Never one to spend impractically, she had allowed a delighted Squeak to investigate Raynor Manor in search of footwear. Once a prestigious aristocratic family, the heels could have belonged to any of her various ancestors, frugally hoarded over the years. Whoever it had been obviously had not prized stability. But, as Squeak pointed out, they fit. And matched. She took a shuffled step forward and when she did not immediately fall flat on her face in those dangerous spikes, she took another.

Consulting her reflection one last time, she tossed her hair from her neck a couple of times and rearranged the pendant -- the only item of jewelry she was wearing. The small rune hung from a simple link-chain around her neck, which rested dead center in the open space between her shoulders. It was, in fact, the first time she had worn it openly.

If he did not consider this ‘trying’ she would take immense satisfaction in transfiguring him into a pig.

As content as she was going to get, she snatched up her clutch and as gracefully as possible walked (more like shuffled) into the living room.

Squeak, normally, would answer the door. While Tamis had not ordered her from the premise, she had ‘requested’ that the elf make herself scarce. Still under heightened security, the elf often thought her as Raynor’s “protection” when Archer was not present. Both would surely give her a lecture if she had demanding the elf out of the flat, despite how much Squeak and Archer disliked each other. It was rather frightening when those two collaborated.

Taking one last deep breath, she opened the door.

Archer had been reasonably sure that it was safe to leave the flat for a little over two hours.  The past month, however busy it had been, was not presenting any threats to her – except, perhaps exhaustion, but even then, he highly doubted she slept more than a few hours a night regularly.  But tonight he intended to make up for the fact he was intruding on her life – even though he had basically barged his way into it before October 1st even happened.  It had forced them to confront some issues, which was good, and learn how to function together on some level, but it hadn’t really allowed for any even half-assed attempt at relationship normalcy.

This being the case, Archer proposed a real date.  The day after Halloween, one of the most stressful nights for patrol (particularly when understaffing was such a damned problem), and the most idiots decided to get up and out and cause problems.  So, November first was mercifully on a Saturday and the two partners were off duty.  He was able to return to his flat to get ready, but of course, he could not only do that. 

On the way back, he had stopped at a florist.  After paying off Squeak with a promise to not forget to take off his boots again, he managed to get her to tell him Ray’s favorite flowers – amaryllis (he suspected, but had absolutely no idea and didn’t want to miss-guess), and while there, got a little package for the bouquet and toffee cookies.  They could both enjoy those, he reasoned.  And at the shop next to his building – some weird old witch’s odds and ends shop, he was able to pick up a little tin of tea for relaxation and the same shampoo he saw in Ray’s bathroom (more of a joke on that one). 

When he did get inside, he went into his own bathroom to shave and wash up, present himself like he would to any other woman.  He was determined that he should give her that and himself as well!  They were not going out to patrol tonight – they were going out to have a good time.  It was probably a foreign concept to the both of them (more so Ray, he hated to admit), but he was glad for it and getting ready, he was almost tempted to turn on the wireless and listen to something other than quidditch.  Didn’t happen though – Quidditch always won and he listened to the previous day’s recaps as well as the week wrap up on the news – nothing good, of course. 

The news was seldom pleasant these days.  For a long time, a very long time, rates of crime had gone down considerably – at least in comparison to the few years previous.  He remembered coming back to full duty after the war was over – his suspension and dishonorable charges alleviated from his record and reestablished as an auror, it was like a cakewalk compared to the years before.  Now, well, it was picking up again.  He resolved he was not going to carry this with him this evening though, and straightened his tie for the last time before grabbing his wallet (stocked with muggle cash and galleons, amongst other things, just in case), and his wand.  He resolved he did not have nearly enough hands for all of this, but did not need to hold on for very long, he was just going to apparate. 

And so he did, out of his bedroom and into the alley next to her building.  He went in and was unafraid of the lift (had found them plenty useful in the past – and with hands full a much better option), and went up.  No one gave him those sidelong glances anymore – he was a permanent fixture in the building as far as they were concerned, and an odd one at that – connected to the shady resident in 217.  Approaching the doorway, he cleared his throat and looked down at himself – he would have adjusted his shirt one last time, but lacked the capacity to do it.  Instead, he rapped his knuckles on the door.

He did not know who would answer, but when the door opened and he saw Ray standing there – in a dress of all things, with those shoes, and – most noticeably – the charm he had slipped her that night in the office, well, the auror could not help but grin like an idiot.  “Excuse me, but is a Madame," such a ball-buster, "Tamis Raynor home?  I hope I haven't knocked on the wrong door..."

There was only one possible source for the knock on the door. The complex was far too exclusive to have allowed anyone to have reached the fifth landing without resistance or confirmation from the tenant of room five hundred seventeen. Of the two exceptions that knew her residence and could thwart security, neither would force their entrance. And after his award-winning performance to security on his premier visit, there was not a chance for all the galleons in Gringotts that Jonas Trevelyan would be allowed in unless she retrieved him in purpose. Which left – and a quick glance on tip-toes catching the large build and dark hair through the peeping tom confirmed – just one person.

Archer Radley had become such a commonality that it was doubt he was given more than a reproachful glance every once in a while. It was the staff’s job to become familiar with their residents living habits and to accommodate them. They did not ask questions. But Tamis Raynor could only imagine the rumors soaring through the building. She, quite decisively, did not want to know.  As she turned the knob and slowly drew the door inward, she could not help but wonder what they had thought seeing him tonight – what they could see of him.

A rather large and athletically built man, it was not easy for him to look burdened. Which was exactly how he looked standing there in her threshold, grinning over laden arms. Unease and uncertainty drained from her as surely as her confidence did. Progressing into a more … intimate… relationship with her partner had been an easier transition when she had been able to still fall back on him in that capacity. Even while he was staying with her there was a protective barrier of work and obligation to fall back on. The five o’clock shadowed, scruffy companion lounging on the couch with her debating Quidditch tactics as they were announce from the wireless was the familiar friend of thirteen years. This clean shaven, sharply dressed man bearing wooing gifts was a stranger.

It scared her. The anxiety gripped her almost to the point of suffocation.  She had avoided this situation for years. It was no secret that Tamis Raynor did not date. She did not have time to date. Old insecurities and emotional baggage began to stir – but then he spoke. It was so incredibly … Archer … under all that prime and polish that relief swept everything away. Whatever changes were made to his physique it was still the same man.

Her back straightened subconsciously as he scrutinized her appearance, chin lifting defensively, ready for him to laugh and agree on the absolute ridiculosity of her apparel. She had over dressed. She knew it. But he had not told her where they were going just that, in mimic of their shooting range outing, that what she had been wearing when he announced this little diabolical plan had not been ‘appropriate’. But the laugh never came; the grin just seemed to get bigger.

Her confidence trickled back. She shifted her weight – a mistake. A heel slipped on the smooth, polished hardwood flooring (thank you Squeak). She straightened immediately, trying to pretend it had not happened, but the brief flicker of alarm that flashed across her visage and widened those already attention-grabbing eyes was unmistakable … and irreparable. She cleared her throat. It did not mean she was not going to try.

It was perplexing how the use of ‘Madam’ in this situated disturbed her. For a woman that concentrated so much effort in avoiding the ‘Miss’ appellation to her name, she was normally be elated. After all, no respectable woman over thirty wanted to be reminded of their lacking marital status. While Tamis was considered fairly liberal for a pureblood, she did have some sort of sense of decency derived from that society.

One of her eyebrows arched and one hand on the doorknob (‘discretely’ as a crutch), she backed against the door panel to let him in.

“That depends on who is inquiring. It would be disappointing if she admitted an imposter.”

Certainly not nearly as smooth or sharp as a typical response from her would have been.

For the first time in a while, Archer almost didn’t want to call her Ray.  It had been designed to make her more manly (mean, of course – but he was a young guy and she was a newbie), but now it was affectionately used in every day terms as routine.  She did not look every day though, and certainly not routine.  Her long hair was done up nicely, she was wearing a very flattering piece of clothing – that dress which, though modest, was completely suitable in every way.  It was perfectly her – and perfectly sexy – without being over the top. 

Thankfully, he had picked a nice restaurant to bring her to – he didn’t want her to change.  Even the shoes – so uncharacteristic of her! It made her look very much more like a Tamis than a Ray.  That was, of course, when she was standing straight and looking cool.  She started to smile and shifted, causing her foot to slip. 

He would have dropped everything in his arms to help her, if he had to, but thankfully she recovered and he did not have the heart to say anything that would kill the confidence she had.  He was well aware this was out of the ordinary for her, and even more than that he wanted to make sure that it was a good experience.  Archer Radley, despite some of his rougher edges, did have a strongly traditional sensibility about him (drummed into his head by his mother), and he liked to take the opportunity (when it presented itself) to make a show of how much he cared.

It was apparent from past relationships that he didn’t really spend the kind of time he should have on making his girlfriends feel like he cared about them, and after all of the things that had gone on, it was blatantly obvious that the girlfriend he had currently was in desperate need of some of that – even if she didn’t know it.  Smiling easily, he extracted the flowers first, from his arms and held them out, “The inquiring has a delivery of the intended’s favorite flowers – amaryllis,” he smiled, “and a few other gifts he is quite sure she would enjoy.”

He grinned at her, looking her over again as she leaned on the doorknob, looking up at him with an attempt to keep that cool look on her face, like nothing had happened.  Her pride was incredible – not that he minded that much, it was endearing, and he enjoyed one-upping her.  He certainly felt like he had tonight – from the flowers to the dinner reservations and the extra gifts, it was certainly something no one would have expected from him. 

“An imposter would never know this kind inside information,” he teased, presenting her with the large box of the few presents in his other arm – he hadn’t had time to wrap it… but it was the thought that counted…

The door to room five hundred and twelve opened and a man stepped out, primed and polished from the gloss of his shoes to the crisp black of the suit jacket he was shrugging into. Another single high-society businessman off to one of Saturday nights various social – and political – gatherings.  There was little that differentiated him from the other tenants on the floor. Which was not the same that could be said for the resident five doors up the hall.

Everyone knew about the woman in room five hundred and seventeen and how she was a little… off. No one lived here for neighborly hospitality but she was not the most sociable sorts. None of them were sure what she did for an income (though many creatively speculated) yet she seemed to work long hours. And when not working, she walled herself away.  It perked even his disinterested curiosity to see a suitor burdened with gifts of chivalry at her door. The mystery man himself was not a surprise. Seemed like a decent bloke but something never seemed quite right about him either, the few times he had seen him. Rumor was he had been “suiting” her for a month now. How that one anatomically worked he was not creative enough to imagine. None of his business he reminded himself, heading to the lift. He just hoped they were not going to the same party.

If they made it to the party. The businessman understood that grin well enough.

Granting Archer access to the interior of the flat, Tamis closed her door and secured the pair from any other curious eyes. She had enough nonsense on her hands to not have to deal with that.  From murder to werewolf attacks to Knockturn Alley blown half away and to unsolicited letters of recommendation, Tamis Raynor could not bid October farewell fast enough.

Surprise was still evident in her gray eyes as she gingerly took the offered bundle of flowers, not even bothering to hide the astonishment from her features. Not accustomed to receiving gifts, she was unsure of how to respond, holding the amaryllis almost awkwardly – and her eyes narrowed suspiciously on the taller man.

“No one knows my favorite,” she replied slowly, tone dripping in curiosity from her implied question. She trailed a finger along one of the golden petals. How had he known? That was detective work even for an Auror.

Behind her Mistress, Squeak the House Elf froze guiltily in place, one foot suspended in the air. Her large ears twitched sporadically and oversized eyes turned toward Archer but not to his face – but his feet. Checking to see if he had upheld his end of their deal. Revealing the information had not been a betrayal to her Mistress and would not harm her. Even still, she slowly backpedalled into the bedroom trying to make each step as carefully unobserved as possible.

Water, Tamis decided, oblivious to the elf’s trauma. The flowers would need water.  Moving into the kitchen, she found a vase and while it was filling was presented with another parcel of his load. An assortment of toffees by the looks of it. Looking up at him, still grinning like a fool, she shook her head getting the statement he was trying to make loud and clear. From the gifts to the dress clothes, it was a statement as assuredly as the ones she was trying to make were.

Forsaking the running water, she reached up and kissed him, a task made possible by the monstrosities on either foot.  It would have been easy to lay her head under his chin, wrap her arms under his and forget that she had responsibilities and a mountain of problems awaiting her on Monday. But, pride truly was a cruel master. So, instead she pulled back, and offered him one of those small rare smiles as she turned the water off from the overflowing vase.

“Thank you.” She brushed a finger across his smooth jaw. “I was becoming accustomed to the scruff.” The month had been difficult on both of them. All of them, she corrected, considering Aberdeen Spencer and Adon Eleor. Mentally, she shook her head. It was impossible for her not to not think about work.

As soon as Archer entered the flat, there was a little tick in the back of his head that reminded him to take off his boots.  He did not want to violate the agreement he made with Squeak, much less did he want to give up the source of information he was so grateful for.  So, with the skill of a practiced veteran, Archer slipped off his boots and avoided looking at the creature while Ray questioned him about how he found out. 

Smirking to himself, Archer put his hands in his pockets and shook his head, “It’s my job to know what other people don’t,” he suggested breezily and waved his hand, proud that he kept the secret and his promise so more of those little things would sneak out of her head and into his.  There was something to be said about his tenacity in relation to pleasing his girlfriends.  Generally, he had a cycle of things he did – he’d be very involved, and then slack off a bit as he got caught up in a case, then he’d finish the case and become reinvested, and then he’d get a new one… but because of the peculiar circumstances revolving around this girlfriend, the cycle was going to change in some way. 

He wasn’t trying to figure it at this juncture because it was sure to become too complicated and distract him, which he was not seeking this evening.  He wanted something that seemed normal and fun, and he grinned easily as he watched her turn toward the kitchen.  “Do you like them?” he asked, prying her for information about what he could do differently or better next time, following her to the kitchen – though not until he watched her walk for a little ways.  She looked so different with the dress swishing around her legs – a good different.  She was even inspecting his other gifts – yea, he did a good job. 

Leaning against the counter as she started to fill a vase, Archer was surprised when she suddenly gave him a kiss – out of nowhere, very uncharacteristic of the reserved woman, and it caused his grin to widen.  If physical contact was to be established on a normal basis, he usually had to bend his knees to an uncomfortable point or lift her up – those spikes on her feet were sexy, but also functional for that particular reason.  “You’re welcome,” he quipped, stealing another quick kiss before she turned back to the vase that was overflowing with water. 

He laughed softly and cupped his hand over her’s as she touched his jaw.  “If you like that better, it’ll be about a day and a half,” he chuckled and put his hands on her hips.  He had no working memory of her looking like this and Archer really appreciated it.  Too bad he had made the reservations for eight or he would have suggested they take some time before dinner… when he almost involuntarily leaned down, he stopped himself – don’t start down a road you’d have to turn on, it was just painful. 

“Likewise, I thought the combat boots were a permanent fixture,” he looked down at her feet and back at her face, classically done up – never too much and always classy – he loved that about her, so understated.  It was a breath of fresh air and curling a lock of perfectly straight hair around his index finger, he tugged her closer with his other arm.  “So, I hope you like Italian,” he smiled at her, "our reservations are for eight.  You'll need a coat, it's a bit chilly."

“This is nice, too” she smirked, trailing her fingers experimentally across his cheek.  It was still a disconcerting action engaging in simple touching or holding; small, frivolous gestures she had never quite understood. Her childhood had not exactly been affectionate and, well, she and Tait had been young and more concerned with … larger… exhibits. It had always seemed mediocre, what, at the end of the day, was a handshake really worth? She was beginning to understand, she mused, as Archer’s hands settled around her waist.

Tamis did not know much about his family other than that he had a pair of brothers and grew up in Piddlehinton. Aurors, as a rule, did not divulge in their personal lives even with their partners. Most of them had that division, a protective measure to keep their work separate from those close to their hearts. Tamis had never questioned it and respected it. And this was all still too new for her wish for an amendment. Yet, she knew he had grown up in a much different environment. He might claim he was not close with his brothers… but he was also not aware of that affectionate spark in his eyes when he mentioned them.

Shoving the uncomfortable thoughts of family aside, the smirk softened slightly. Archer was accustomed to physical measures, so she was trying. He claimed that she had not been putting enough effort into what was growing between them, so, she was trying there too. She may not be a romantic and she had never excelled at verbal expression, so she tried to make her statement in other ways. It appeared to be working. Maybe a little too well.

His hands flexed on her waist in a contemplative measure she was not positive that he was even conscious of. She did know him though. Well enough to know what he was thinking and not entirely with his brain. To his credit, he brought himself up short when he started to lean down, as if realizing the impracticality. She did not quite laugh nor quite chuckle, but it was definitely an expression of amusement as she let her hand fall from his face to his chest, patting him once sympathetically there.

One of her eyebrows arched up, still smirking, “I want to at least get as much time out of the dress as it took to put it on.” 

It was perhaps both a blessing and a curse that she did not realize her statement sounded more suggestive than the intended contrary.

Keeping face, she felt a stab of guilt when he mentioned her footwear and the inference on how he was obviously enjoying the change. It was the downfall of dating one trained to be attentive, even in areas men were suppose to be oblivious in. Granted, it was difficult to be oblivious when she was suddenly four inches taller than she should be, but that did not make it easier. Her intention had been to decrease the height difference between them but they were also other important factors to consider -- such as walking.

“I regrettably grossly underestimated my mobility,” she admitted, “I have flats. No boots, I promise.”

It was his turn to surprise her, apparently. He pulled her closer to him, one finger ensnaring a lock of her hair. Yes, she was very much beginning to understand this physical contact concept. Only with him, she corrected. There was a sense of normalcy standing there in her kitchen. For a moment she could believe that they were just an ordinary couple with ordinary concerns and that she did not have a mountain of parchment worth of worries awaiting her on Monday. Archer Radley had always given her that stability, just not as profoundly. He was her best friend and her partner. Her large, arrogant, brutish partner that always had something to say and never bothered to sugar coat it. She never had to have false pretenses or political concerns with him. Here she was not expected to be anyone other than Tamis Raynor. And he knew her, with all of her faults as well as she knew his. She did not have to hide from him, something she had learned the hard way.

They were never going to get out the door on time if they continued on like this, something he seemed to be similarly aware of. Italian. So now at least she had a genre to associate with where they were going to dinner and an actual time. She offered him a small encouraging smile, she did not mind Italian. Not that she really ate out that often. The only culinary category she was very familiar with was Squeak-nese and that tended to compose of whatever was fresh at market that day. He brought up lack of coat without moving and she smiled.

“It is on the chair,” she explained, meaning the chair in the hallway that seemed to serve the purpose of the coat rack often forgotten adjacent to the door. Squeak had already set it out there so that her Mistress could grab it on her way out. A pair of plain black flats had also materialized on the floor next to it. One had to give the house elf credit, she knew her owner well. Still caught in his embrace, one side of her lips pulled back, amused once more. “Unless you are planning to act as substitute.”

Sometimes, Archer adored the fact that Ray was completely oblivious.  Her lack of social grace or understand was, at times, the greatest gift he could have gotten, and appraising her with the knowledgeable eye of a man who knew exactly what it was he wanted.  Clearly, Ray was lost on where he was going and he gave her hips just a little squeeze, smirking as he leaned down, “I doubt we will have any problems getting you good time out of that dress…” he kissed her on the cheek and pulled away with the roguish smile that was sure to bring color to her cheeks and a furious little pout to Squeak’s face.

Archer had the great fortune of being able to make both of them behave just the way he wanted with the same comments.  Now, that wasn’t to say he really wanted to make her exceptionally angry, but it was fun to tweak the little thing’s nose a bit.  And the best way to do it was to talk like he did and smile like he did and generally make both of them uncomfortable – though he hoped it was two very different sorts of uncomfortable. 

And then she laid the bombshell on him – she would, regrettably, not be tall enough for him to save the trouble of leaning down too far for very much longer.  With a heavy, drained sigh, he leaned down and took the opportunity for another kiss while she was still in the shoes.  “Promise to put them back on later?” he raised his eyebrows, sort of inquisitive, but at the same time almost an order – if he thought he could get away with ordering her to do anything.

At one point in his life, he wouldn’t have thought twice about telling his girlfriend what he wanted and when he wanted it – and not in the nicest way either.  It had been a wonder he ever had a girlfriend with the attitude he usually portrayed, but it was about being with the ones he knew wouldn’t put up with it.  Some of them didn’t know how to do it the right way (Claudia – he still couldn’t get over how annoyed he was with her all of the time), and then the one who did it the right way (Ray). 

Maybe it was just that he actually respected her, as horrible as that was.  Now, he was a vastly different person than he had been seven years ago, and he could not get rid of some blame on his part, but really?  She had just been… ugh.  Looking down, he realized that Ray was most assuredly NOT her and that he shouldn’t be thinking about anyone else (when he was not in work mode, somehow thinking about only one thing got much harder), and he remembered that he was here for her – something he had never really expected. 

And ready to let her walk toward the door, Archer removed his hands from her hips and instead took her hand in his and led her toward the doorway and the chair where she indicated her coat was.  Naturally, there it was, neatly folded over the top with the flats she spoke of on the floor, far smaller than his boots, and in a neat row – Squeak must have been by.  That little thing was so creepy at times, sneaking around and doing things when no one noticed.  It was weird, though appreciated when breakfast was hot and waiting in the morning – that he could get used to. 

He could also get used to the woman pressed against his side and laughed as she teased in her own particular way.  The way she distinguished herself was a unique one and he chuckled, deep in his throat as he pulled on his boots.  Looking at her with the same look he had whenever he responded to most anything she said that could be misconstrued, Archer smirked, “Though I would love to keep you warm all over, I think a coat is more appropriate for going out in public.”  With the last syllable, he finished pulling on the boot and stood up straight, brushing himself off, tugging his jacket down and smoothing out the wrinkles as he opened the door – making sure Cat wasn’t around, before sweeping it wide and gesturing broadly with his free arm, “After you, my dear.”

Tamis Raynor had a reputation. She was hardened, usually coolly civil, and almost impossible to read. Her poker face was undefeated on Level Two and she did not hold any qualms about remaining champion. The color that warmed her cheeks was absolutely traitorous. Her facial expression abandoned her, traded allegiances for that roguish grin. The chaste kiss against the heated surface, in complete contradiction to his implication, did not diminish the pigmentation.

“That is not what I meant,” she scowled up at him. Oh, she was not adverse to the suggestion, but did not approve of being verbally bested. The annoyance lacked integrity, even to her own ears, so she cast him a reproachful eye and abandoned the charade before he could call her out on it.

Raised eyebrows were met with a delicate single arch of one of her own. Becoming … accustomed… to Archer’s particular brand of machismo and it had not always been met with such imperturbation. The hostility that the petite woman had received when she first joined the Corps had been fierce. Tait Aldridge had been one of their own and in their eyes she had been nothing more than a vengeful girlfriend trying to play with the Big Boys. Archer Radley had been one of the forerunners and the subsequent arguments and cycle of revenge battles had landed them both in front of MacDonell’s desk. And a partner assignment not long after.

They had been given thirteen years of trial and error to figure things out from there. A younger version of her might have bristled at the underlying command. The present day woman appreciated the effort to at least try and word it as a question. She returned the kiss, slipping a hand out from behind his neck as they parted, offering a small smirk, “We will see.”

One of his hands covered hers, the warmth engulfing her digits as his larger ones fully encased them. Always one for a physical connection, she entertained, allowing him to lead her from the kitchen to the entryway. It was an endearing fact about the intimidatingly built man. For all of his size and professional demeanor, he was compassionate and doting at heart. If still arrogant.

Using the back of the chair to stabilize her, Tamis unzipped one of the heels and slipped on the first flat while Archer attended to his own footwear.  Then, regrettably, she was forced to sit down to exchange the second one, the height difference making the motion awkward while standing. By the time she had shrugged into her coat and picked up her clutch, Archer was making final adjustments to his own attire and flourishing the open door.

Much more confident at her more familiar height, Tamis approached the threshold, pausing to give the doorman a final analysis. Reaching up, she readjusted his tie, her hands lingering for a moment.  The memory of a little girl, barely older than a toddler attempting to help daddy get ready for work by doing his tie was unexpected. To Renwick Raynor’s credit, he had always waited until he had left the house to undo the atrociously mangled knot. The past few weeks had not been kind particularly the reunion with her aunt and its shocking revelation.  She was not sure if it was that encounter or the pair of trinkets stowed in her clutch that had provoked it. Or, Archer Radley was affecting her more emotionally than she had intended on letting initially letting him.

Tonight was not a night for such thoughts, she deduced, and retracted her hands, eyebrow twitching in amusement at the endearment.

“Thank you, dear,” she teased back, smirk turning into a more genuine smile as she lead the way, resignedly punching the button for the elevator with more repetition and force that was necessary. Bloody muggle contraptions.

Archer knew she did not mean it when she scowled at him like that.  She wasn’t the type to actually chastise him for being who he was.  Contrary to some of the women he dated in the past, Ray was not going to expect him to be anyone different, nor was she going to ask him to change a thing about himself – much like he would never return that sentiment.  Thirteen years was as long a time as anyone needed to get used to someone’s behaviors and if he wasn’t ready to accept all of them, he wouldn’t have started anything. 

So, when she defiantly refused to give him a straight answer on those heels, all he could do in response was laugh.  She was a funny thing and he smiled agreeably, putting one of his hands in his pocket and the other running through his hair, “I hope we will see that,” he winked, teasingly.  She was going to play the game and so was he.  Years of comments later had conditioned him to answer in such a way automatically, though he did not mean it in any demeaning sort of way.

He knew Tamis was respectable and respected, and he was not outside of those categories.  She was his best friend and partner, now also girlfriend.  It was not surprising, Aurors ended up married and dating all of the time.  Their situation was, of course, slightly different because Archer Radley and Tamis Raynor could do nothing like anyone else, but it was not unfortunate or irregular.  They were just the kinds of people who didn’t want everyone in the office involved in their personal relationship. They were private people, though sometimes Archer had a hard time being as private as they liked. 

She wasn’t having a problem being showy this evening, it seemed though, and Archer couldn’t help but smile wider as she reached up and adjusted the tie he was wearing.  He never put the things on right and it felt oddly pleasant to have someone other than his mother there to fix it for him.  Usually, he’d just cast a quick charm – he must have forgotten before he rushed out the door, and leaned down so she could have an easier time reaching.  He could see this happening on more than one occasion, really, and looked forward to it. 

When she finished adjusting, Archer didn’t really enjoy the lack of physical contact at that point and leaned to give a kiss, snagging her lips for a moment before shutting the door behind them.  The familiar size difference was reestablished and he put his arm around her as they walked toward the lift, letting her push the button.  He figured it would be absolutely entertaining and he was right as she repeatedly pushed the button, quite hard at that. 

He laughed and squeezed her shoulder, “I think it’s on its way,” he assured her after the fourth push, and paused to listen to the lift coming up the shaft.  It was most assuredly on its way and he smiled easily, looking at the doors started to open and the comfortable – safe – lift was there.  Of course, he knew Ray did not like them, and he walked on first, “Perfectly safe,” he assured her as he waited for her to get on and pressed the L button.  The doors started to shut and then the little box began to move down by cables. 

Thankfully, no one else was trying to leave at the same time or he feared he might have to explain she was claustrophobic or something.  Rubbing her shoulder, he chuckled softly and kissed the top of her head, within reason for the muggle-machine hating auror.  The numbers going down lit quickly and the little L was quickly lit, the doors opening as the little bell went off.  “Not so bad,” he looked at her with a warm smile and stepped out, ready to lead her down the street to their dinner destination.

The creak and groan of the mechanics provoked a queasy twist in her stomach that she promptly ignored. The unpleasant reaffirmation of grating metal against metal and the squeal of the effort to haul a heavy, and fairly unsupported, metal box through a gaping hole cut in the middle of the building was unnecessary. Fate remained unkind to Tamis Raynor as said lift made a slow – and noisy – procession up the six floors. It arrived with an audible jostle and, a notable moment later, the doors screeched open.

 There was nothing supporting that lift other than cables and wires and ‘science’ that muggles tried to conveniently rationalize in the absence of magic. The mundane sort had to get on without, but that did not mean she trusted their unconventional methods. Since Tamis Raynor never hesitated, she did not hesitate to cross the barrier between solid floor and the unreliable. She merely… took a momentary pause to fully rationalize the soundness of the situation.

It was long enough of an assessment for Archer to assume command, stepping with commendable grace for a long man onto the lift, justifying its proven dependability with a flourish. Amusement and bemusement filtered into Tamis’ emotional range in waves, quirking one corner of mouth just slight enough to be noticeable. This was not her first venture with the contraption and, in her opinion, ‘completely safe’ was a matter of debate. Yet the cheeky grin in combination with her competitive urge not to be outdone propelled her foreword.

Ignoring the small gap of space defining the fifth floor from the mobile compartment , Tamis took a small comfort in knowing that if the lift could withstand Archer’s greater weight, it would most likely be unaffected by the addition of her slighter mass. She wisely neglected to mention this logic as she forsook solid footing for the lift’s interior. Her date … such a bazaar word … took the liberty of punching the button for the ground floor (only once and with less force) and the steel doors clunked and clattered closed once more. A downward jolt later and the countdown began.

The petite Witch did not fear muggle technology, nor did she (consciously) consider it inferior – she was not nearly so ignorant. She did, however, respect it and its imperfections. The comfort bestowed in the arm Archer slid back around her shoulders in a growingly familiar matter was unnecessary but the intention appreciated. Since they were alone she leaned against him as he squeezed her shoulder and pressed his lips to the top of her head, a soft smile forming on her lips. Little gestures.  Raynor did not have much regard to trivial, every day physical exchanges between others – handshakes and the sort. Archer was very fond of little gestures and Tamis had to admit, these ones were not so bad.

“No. Not so bad,” she replied unable to resist flashing a grin back up at his smile; the one that showcased the crows feet he stubborn refused to acknowledge.

The brisk night wind that greeted them as they exited the building carried the biting reminder that November had arrived with the eve of winter not long off. She should have known. A slight chill to the air for Archer usually meant nose-reddening onslaught for Tamis. With the tolerance of a cold-blooded reptile (another circulating joke), the very slender built woman usually began to feel the effects of the colder months long before anyone else, stroking up the fireplaces early into September. Glad for the wool coat about her shoulders, she nevertheless stuck close as Archer steered them toward their destination. Little gestures, she reminded herself, experimentally intertwining her fingers with his.

There were things Archer Radley had come to do out of no conscious effort, just by the evolution of a personality.  One thing he had learned over the years was the little stuff mattered.  No matter what anyone thought, it wasn’t a big gesture that let someone know you cared about them – that was overstated and led Archer to believe that anyone who relied on those big things used it as an excuse to be negligent when they weren’t giving the big stuff.

Personal experience led him on that one, as he had previously been the big gesture kind of man.  He thought that it made up for the fact that he barely paid attention to his girlfriend during the week if it meant he was going to give them something on the weekend, and though he still very much enjoyed making grand gestures, he tried to work on being more… appreciative during the times he wasn’t.  If Claudia had taught him one thing, it was that.  Perhaps it had compiled part of their relationship demise, though he still put a brunt of it on her shoulders (as any person in a relationship that ended terribly would most likely do), he worked on it. 

So, when they walked out of the building and the cool breeze hit them, Archer moved toward her, though did not want to overstep too many boundaries.  He knew how conservative she could be at times and didn’t want to make her uncomfortable when tonight was really about enjoying themselves.  Despite the fact he was used to public displays, he was getting used to the importance of small things – all these little things he had to look for, it was really helping him focus on his goal.  He looked over at her momentarily, making sure she didn’t look like she was freezing – thankfully she looked at least somewhat comfortable, and turned his eyes forward again, searching down the street for the turn they would have to make before arriving at the restaurant. 

He was surprised, suddenly, when he felt a warm, small sensation on his hand, glancing down to see her hand fumbling to entwine with his.  A grin settled across his face and he obliged with helping her finish the goal, lacing their fingers and standing even closer to her.  He liked this, he realized, and made no move to comment on it, instead, just continuing the comfortable walk.  Neither was an exceptionally verbose person (though, at times, he did realize Tamis could say quite the mouthful), so silence was a happy medium for the pair.  Clearly, actions spoke volumes to the both of them. 

Giving her hand a tiny squeeze, he did want her to know that he noticed and saw the street corner coming up.  “We’re going to take a left here,” he leaned down to say somewhat quietly – never knew who could be listening, after all, and since he was technically still responsible for her safety – on duty or not – he was going to take the same precautions. 

And once they reached the corner, he turned with her, unable to resist giving her a charming smile as he saw the awning for the restaurant approaching, the golden glow of low lighting apparent through the front window.  It was close, and he was glad to take the front on this one and hold the door open for her once they got there, “After you,” he chuckled and waited for her to pass, watching her as she went through, smiling to himself as he watched the dress swish about her calves.  Walking up behind her, he reached his hands around front to help remove her coat, his mouth near her ear with a devious grin, his voice low - only for her ears, “If we weren’t already here, I’d say let’s skip straight to dessert.”

The fear of rejection was irrational, but it did not hinder the little butterflies of relief from stirring in her stomach as his much larger digits consumed hers, interlocking between the grooves of her fingers and trapping warm between their palms. Swallowing she waited for him to comment and when he squeezed her hand instead, she relaxed.

The silence that spanned between them was not uncomfortable or awkward. Streetlamps twinkled overhead and Tamis, for once, was not bothered by the eerie, unnatural glow that washed over the pair as they passed under one. The murmur of conversation drifted on the heels of passersby and the overcast night sky highlighted purple above the glow of London. To a foreign eye, they were just a couple, albeit a disproportional one, walking side-by-side that the hands clasped between them was not visible but the mind knew they were there.

It almost felt normal.

Almost being the operative word.

Archer tilted his head down in confidence and Tamis shifted closer, shoulder brushing his to hear as he gave a directive. She offered him a small, coy smile as if the words had been much more intimate, inclining her head once. It was a reminder that, whatever front they put out, this was still a façade of normality; a break from the standard. The weight of her wand against her thigh reinforced that reminder, neither one of them would trust going anywhere unarmed. As they turned the corner, it was with the precision of a pair that had spent many years serving side-by-side than a love struck and otherwise more ignorant couple.

That did not mean they could not enjoy the illusion.

The street-front of a restaurant came into view, quaint yet unmistakably elegant, and given the menu written in Italian on the sidewalk, Tamis assumed correctly that it was their destination as Archer parted hands to see to the door. As apparition was not ideal transportation for the petite witch, and as her flat was not connected to the floo network, she traveled within the city mostly as a pedestrian. She had passed the restaurant several times without consequence. Dining out was usually a luxury done in company and as Tamis Raynor never had company, she never felt the need to give it more than a passing glance.

Smirking her thanks up at her taller companion, Tamis passed through the doorway and – was surprised. The interior was lit by natural sources. Candle bearing chandeliers illuminated overhead and small, stained glass lanterns floated lazily in the air above individual tables. Portraits displaying several scenes of Italy moved subtly as the leaves of trees blew or people walked the streets of ancient and iconic buildings. There were more than enough muggle-inspired garb seated inside, but she spotted several pairs of more traditional dressrobes and a congregation of goblins bent over a business deal in a corner to themselves. No wonder the muggles walking by had not seemed to notice the restaurant.

Instinctively, her eyes scanned the crowd for familiar faces and did not find any. He could have picked somewhere muggle, but he had decided to stick to her comfort zone.

She could not help return the dazzling smile Archer offered earlier, but as she turned he came up behind her, hands grasping either lapel of her coat. The familiar warmth against her back, not actually touching provoked memories of the gun range almost two months ago to the date. Shifting her shoulders back, she allowed him to slide the coat from her arms, breath brushing her ear with words that, this time actually were intimate. Biting back a laugh (as Tamis Raynor did not laugh in public), she turned, a hand on the collar of her coat as she handed it to him. Both her eyebrows raised, head tilted sharply up so that her eyes could meet his own in the close proximity. There was amusement there.

“That sweet tooth is going to get you into trouble,” she replied just as subtly and released her grip on the coat as an usher approached bearing a pair of menus.

Archer was happy with his choice.  He knew Tamis’ aversion to electricity (not his favorite either) and the subtle bit of his choice that would keep them comfortable.  He wanted to be able to talk to her about anything, and that meant anything but work – since most of it was classified anyhow, he knew they could not slip into that conversation, but now they could talk about quidditch, memories, anything they felt like, really.  He was glad for it, and looking at the clientele of the restaurant, he could not help but want to look for people they knew, just in case. 

Spying over the top of the separator, he saw no one he immediately recognized, glad for the change of pace, considering their profession and how involved Tamis was in the media (not by choice).  Hopefully she would not be spotted by someone wanting something from her, because he was ready to hex someone into next week.  By next week, he would gladly let them talk to her, but tonight – well – tonight was his night with her, meaning no one else was taking her attention away.  It felt selfish for only a second, because as she turned with her hand on the collar of her coat, he could not help but smile.

Sometimes, she had this innate talent to be a much bigger tease than she might have intended to be, at least how he saw it.  When they were back in school, he was well aware she was quite the flirt.  In his last year, she had made things exceptionally difficult for him – no surprises there.  Now, however, it was him who was pushing her, and sometimes she responded with a little shove of her own, that playful look on her face was the only thing that betrayed she was being far less than professional.  “Is it?” he questioned, ready to lean in for a quick kiss, but was interrupted by the drop of the coat and the approach of the usher; clearly they were going to be seated.

He sighed and stood up straight, taking his own jacket off and hung them up, a subtle clamp closing over them so they would not be stolen or accidentally grabbed by someone else before the usher confirmed, “Radley?” to which Archer nodded, and the usher extended his long arm, “Right this way,” he ordered with a genteel and discreet bow before leading the way.  Archer, of course, offered his arm to Ray and smiled down at her, following the man past the podium and toward the… the front? 

Archer had requested a spot in the back.  He didn’t want to be anywhere they could be seen and bothered, but they were headed straight for the front, and when Archer glanced at the back, there were no tables left.  They had been shafted.  Sighing, he would have said something, but preferred not to cause a scene.  Ray wouldn’t appreciate it and he didn’t want to be in a bad mood for the rest of dinner.  Instead, he took the table near the window graciously, though not exactly happily and nodded at the usher as he put the menus on each side of the table – each setting fitted for the type of dinner Archer was going to be paying dearly for, but well worth it. 

When the usher left, instructing them someone would be over for their drink order soon, Archer moved behind one of the chairs and pulled it out for Ray, ready for her to sit and he could push it in for her.  Really, it was the last small thing he could do before they sat down.  “You can pick the wine,” he said with a bit of a grin, waiting for her to sit before he moved to his own seat.

The two syllable response carried the hint of a challenge that lingered in the vanishing space between them. Archer leaned down further toward her upturned face but before she could contemplate her stance on public displays of affection, the usher interrupted them. Unsure if she was resentful or grateful to the host, she touched her fingertips linger on Archer’s jaw briefly when he sighed and offered him a small knowing smirk before they separated and he dealt with the coats.

Her partner was on a gentleman’s mission tonight, she decide, as she settled her hand on his extended arm – and felt the tension in it as the they were lead to their seats. Glancing up, she caught his backward peer and followed his gaze. The Goblins still had their heads bent together, long noses almost touching as their feet dangled over the edge of their chairs. Their table conveniently had a reclusive radius around it and the nearby tables that had been crammed together were now full.  Hiding her amusement tactfully, she gave the large man’s arm a squeeze.

The location near the window was not preferable but there were few wizarding residences on this side of London and she hoped the drastic change in her appearance would prevent recognition. Those concerns were swept from her mind as she took in the place settings. It reminded her of the torturous aristocratic etiquette lessons she had been subjected to by the time she could retain them. They would not have to worry about being spotted by someone they knew, most of those individuals would not be able to afford the dining. Archer could not afford the dining. She knew. She paid him.

Mentioning it would not end well, so she offered him a small encouraging smile before taking the chair he held out for her.  It was nice to not have to make decisions for once and to just follow along. Even if she did feel a pang of dread when the menus the host handed them lacked prices.

Alcoholic beverages were not her forte but wine happened to be one of the few she would partake in.  She knew enough to keep herself from getting into trouble, but Squeak usually made those types of decisions and the item in question usually just appeared in the pantry. Having her pick the wine was probably not only ill-advised, but dangerous – and she was still lamenting the lack of numbers.

“The Chianti is fine,” she told the waiter that diligently replaced the usher, recognizing the name from a label she remembered reading from a Squeak purchased bottle. The man bowed formally again and departed leaving them in their own company to converse and inspect the menus.

“This is very nice,” she told Archer, remembering to use verbal approval, and not without sincerity.