After practice, James decided to head to one of his favorite haunts.  Though finding him at the Black Chimaera was not unusual, James was surprised by the lack of patrons present.  James was slightly disappointed, since he wanted to spend some time talking to a pretty young witch.  This was one of the reasons James kept showing up to the bar, he could almost always found pleasant female company.  Though his primary reason for going to the Black Chimaera seemed conspicuously absent, the secondary reason was always present. 

Whatever the reason, the shepherd’s pie here seemed to be the weight gainer of choice for James.  James did not know whether it was the choice of ingredients, the serving size, or the calorie count of the dish that caused him to gain minor muscle mass.  As long as the results were consistent though, James would not alter his diet.  James was nibbling on the aforementioned pie, while following it through with some firewhiskey.  James would have preferred to follow it through with tea or water for his health, but James assumed that the whiskey would probably be safer than the tea at this place.  Though he had long since gotten sick of the food, he was eating it for his athletic performance.  James wondered or not if it was coincidence that he was tied for first place in goals right now with Grimalken, but guessed it could be his performance as well. 

Regardless, James knew that eating right was almost half the battle in professional quidditch.  James had also eaten sour grapes, pure capsaicin, raw fish, and strange looking insects before in order to gain an edge in the sport.  If the shepherd's pie was what finally pushed him into first, he would keep eating it.  And If he kept the league leader title in scoring, James would probably not change his diet until the offseason at the earliest.  James thought that it was ironic, that as much as he and his colleagues all worked out, they watched their diets like a raptor stalking prey.  James sometimes thought that intellectuals were writing doctoral theses on what quidditch players ate, considering how much documentation there was on the subject.

James musing on diet, exercise, and quidditch was interrupted by Cinaed working on repairs.  James had learned that there had been some magical accident recently.  James debated it for a moment before deciding that since he came here, he probably should know what happened.   If the event literally rattled the Black Chimaera, James assumed Cinaed knew the story behind it.

“Cinaed, I’ve heard at least a dozen stories about an explosion outside.  Do any of them have a shred of truth, or is this the drunken rumour mill gone wild?” James asked.  Truthfully, James had an inkling of what happened, but people were saying it was runespoor venom that caused the explosion.  While he knew the Black Chimaera was not in the best area of town, James had a hard time believing such a fantastic claim.  James thought that somebody probably just misbrewed a potion and caused an explosion.   

James had been an undeniable source of confusion the first few times he'd found his way to the Black Chimaera.  As far as Cinaed could tell, he was a solid, upstanding citizen - a quidditch player, in fact.  Ex-Azzies, black market dealers and those who just needed to keep their heads out from under the Ministry's noses were Cinaed's usual clientel.  Sure, he got the occasional oddball - he'd had quite a few young recent Hogwarts grads who'd, clearly, ventured this far down Knockturn and to his pub on a dare.  Or bet.  Or, the foreigner who simply didn't know better.  But they were, usually, one time shots.  The regulars comprised of those that, for whatever reason, simply weren't as welcome any place else. 

Cinaed had assumed James had fit into the category of temporarily lost when he'd first come in.  But, the fellow's business hadn't been a one time deal.  He'd started coming.  Regularly, in fact.  Cinaed was certain the fellow could have, just as easily, fit in to the Three Broomsticks or the Leaky if he'd chosen.  In fact, there was probably a healthy supply of fans lingering in both those locations just dying to get a glimpse of a well-known quidditch player. 

Eventually, the intrigue surrounding the man's presence lost its novelty and he simply became one of the regulars.  Most of Cinaed's other regulars had accepted that fact as well, though a few were still annoyed at what they considered to be an intrusion on the part of a, clearly, mainstream bloke.  But, James' presence was relatively safe.  Everyone familiar with the WBA knew the ground rules - no one ever discussed it in literal, figurative or suggestive terms in the main pub room.  Ever.  All business was conducted in the back.  No one fancied a stint in Azkaban and everyone was careful to abide by that rule. 

The bowl of shepherd's pie had been set down in front of James and Cinaed had turned back to wiping a load of ale mugs dry when James spoke up, asking about the explosion.  "Yep, rumor's true.  Sellaphix was dabbling in some cured runespoor venom and had sent his errand boy out to hide it.  The little weasel thought it'd be a smart idea to hide the bloody stuff outside my pub."  The bastard. 

"Had a swarm of those meddling aurors and they've been nosing around since.  Bloody annoying, if you ask me."  Under the guise of 'investigation,' in the light of day, it still wasn't uncommon to see some young, greenhorn Auror nosing through the alley and the dumpster.  It was a shame the searches were probably official - if they were hear on their own, hoping to be the one to find the evidence that would nail him, it'd be harder for them to peg him if the greenhorns went missing.  "Repair's almost done, though.  The contaminated stuff's gone - it'll be safe for my mates to use their wands and finish up the last of it.  You'd think the Ministry would have the common courtesy to loan me one to finish the repairs.  But, apparently, they're really only concerned with victims if their mudbloods."

James was surprised when Cinaed confirmed the rumour.  He idly wondered if Cinaed had not beaten the aforementioned weasel, since he did not seem like the type to tolerate idiocy on any level.  James knew a barkeep in this end of town had to be a bit rougher than the usual.  James was even more impressed by the barkeep when he realized that he had yet to see a bouncer here.

Chuckling at Cinaed’s diction, James asked, “Weasels and meddling aurors.  That cannot be good in this end of town,” James commented.  James knew knockturn was not the best part of town, and he did not doubt for a second that the Chimaera was a front for something else.  James did not know if it was a laundering scheme, a thieving ring, a smuggling operation or something else entirely.  However, James did not want to know what service the Black Chimaera actually performed.  ‘Who cares what this place actually does.  As long as the pie and the women keep coming here, I will too,’ James thought to himself. 

As Cinaed finished with the word mudblood James could not hide the surprise on his face.  Even though Cinaed had not asked for his opinion on the ministry, James decided that he should give it.  James knew Cinaed was asking for something beyond the obvious, but did not know what.

“Cinaed – The ministry may claim to keep muggles from finding magical solutions to their problems, but you know as well as I do that is a load of dragon dung.  The ministry only seeks one thing: Power.  The more power you have – the more they want to take from you.  If I recall correctly, the ministry has tried to oppose Harry Potter, Albus Dumbledore, and Voldemort.   It failed on all three occasions.  The point is – anyone with sufficient power can oppose the ministry.  I sincerely doubt you lack  that,” James started, and then paused for a breath.

 “If you want the quickest solution to your problem, I would tell you just to bribe the appropriate official.  I have no doubt that gold landing in the right place will make the ministry return your wand to you.  If I am reading you correctly though, you want more.  I am guessing you want to embarrass the ministry and get your wand back.  Am I correct, or have I completely missed the mark?” James asked somewhat carefully.

Though James had always suspected that Cinaed did not have a wand, he was surprised at the confirmation.  James was also surprised at how Cinaed spoke the word mudblood.  James did not know why Cinaed was being so open, and James had a strong suspicion that there was another subtext to this conversation.  James’s mind was working overtime to figure out what he was missing, but could not come up with a satisfactory answer.

Remembering he still had about half a pie to eat, he dug in with gusto.  ‘The way this conversation is going, I doubt I am going to order another whiskey.  And this pie might be the last one I eat.  Ironic how I will  miss the culinary concoction if Cinaed kicks me out,’ James thought to himself.

"Vermin are liable to inhabit even the most carefully kept neighborhoods."  Indeed, Cinaed said, speaking primarily of the Aurors though he didn't feel the need to specify.  James was a regular but he wasn't on the inside circle.  Not yet, at least.  He certainly wasn't WBA.  As much as be was frustrated with the whole situation, the Aurors were, of course, the big nuisance.  Briggs was a pebble in Cinaed's boot - the Aurors were the landslide in the road.

But, he still held some bitterness towards Briggs, despite Dazmond's attempt to encourage them to find a common enemy in the situation.  Cinaed had to give the woman credit.  It was a good idea.  The only difficulty with that theory was it had been Brigg's stupidity that had drawn the Auror's attention to his pub.  It had been Briggs that had decided to turn tail and run after his stupidity was sure to draw the aurors' attention.  It was hard to bond over a common enemy when one of the two individuals was drawing that said enemy's attention towards the other person.  Not to mention, Brigg's never ending jabs at Cinaed's wandless status just grew weary sometime. 

And, James seemed to hit the nail on the head.  "Well, I have every intentions of continuing to provide and enjoy both of those as long as the idiots can avoid blowing it up."  Perhaps, that had been what had bothered Cinaed the most about Brigg's stupidity and callousness.  The Black Chimaera was one of his greatest accomplishments - he was proud of it and loved it.  He knew it was unreasonable to expect others to care so deeply about the place - even if they benefited from it themselves.  But, to treat it so callously, like it was disposable - it more than angered Cinaed. 

Bribe the appropriate official?  Leaning his head back, Cinaed considering both the fellow's recommendation and his comments about the Ministry with curiosity.  Was there a rebellious side to the Quidditch pro?  There were plenty of respectable, mainstream witches and wizards who believed in wizarding supremacy.  Most of them were content to support the concept in theory but there was a handful of them who were willing to risk their reputation for wizarding liberation.  Cinaed was always on the lookout for new potential supporters but it was a dangerous proposition feeling them out.  This fellow could just as easily be a hired mole for Level Two - trying to fish out a confession for the Ministry. 

Merlin help him if that was the case.

"Unfortunately, bribing my way back to a wand's easier said then done.  The appropriate official you speak of would be my Ministry Supervisor and I doubt there's any amount of gold that would convince her to allow me to carry a wand."  Especially not after the last escapade. "A wand's nice.  But, if it lands me back in Azkaban, I'll loose it again, anyway."  And, so far, it was proving easy enough to procure a wand temporarily when he needed it. 

Now, to feel out the fellow's comments on the Ministry.  Of course, there was no reason not to be blunt about his stance.  Words were, for the time being, still free.  "Not a fan of the Ministry?" Cinaed asked, cutting straight to the chase.  "Just a personal decision or have they done something wrong by you?"  Giving the fellow another appraising once over, Cinaed asked, "what's your blood status?"

As Cinaed commented on vermin, James politely listened.  James did not know anybody who considered Knockturn a well kept neighborhood.  James was aware that this conversation was going on in two-levels, but these double meanings were flying well above his broom.   James did not contemplate the idea of Knockturn as well-kept for very long when Cinaed surprised him again. 

James did not think his comment about woman and pies was said aloud, but he could have been wrong.   James then thought about the implications of that statement and jumped to the completely wrong conclusion.  ‘Cinaed provides women.  This place is a berlesk house?’ James thought incredulously, a puzzled expression upon his face.  James realized it made perfect sense.  ‘Cinaed has trouble with the aurors, people gambled here, there is a dueling platform present, and he has rooms available upstairs’ James thought to himself.    James guessed a few whores were not completely out of place. 

Before James asked Cinaed about it though he realized that he should have received a couple of solicitations by now.   James mind was working a mile a minute trying to determine why he had not been approached.  He could not think of one by the time Cinaed asked him if he was a fan of the ministry. 

James forced his mind to switch gears, and took a couple of moments to think and compose his answer.  He carefully replied, “The ministry is a necessary evil.  Unfortunately, it seems to have made itself pervasive throughout every aspect of the wizarding world.  Considering the amount of corruption present there, I find it a bit alarming,”

After Cinaed asked about James blood status, he began to wonder if Cinaed knew how frequently he was derailing James's trains of thought.   James was still thinking a mile a minute, and Cinaed had him slightly off balance.  Trying to get some time to put his thoughts together, he answered Cinaed’s latest query.
 
“I am a pureblood,” James responded automatically, wondering what that had to do with this conversation.   James was also surprised Cinaed had to ask the question.  He thought the barkeep would have learned that piece of information by now.  Still, James could not deny the fact that there were two conversations simultaneously.  In an attempt to reduce it to one, he asked

“Cinaed are you in trouble or something?”

James thought a wandless wizard asking about the ministry implied legal trouble.  The way Cinaed emphasized victim and mudblood earlier made James wonder if the exploding bar incident had somehow implicated Cinaed in a ministry investigation or something.  ‘If Cinaed claimed to be a victim though, what could the ministry be holding against him?’ James thought to himself. 

Needing some distraction, James looked down at the pie.  It was almost gone.  He finished it off and chased it with some whiskey.  He waited for Cinaed to answer his last query before doing anything else, wondering what Cinaed wanted.

"Necessary?" Cinaed repeated, a curious and surprised expression drifting across his features.  That statement could have been meant in a number of different ways - acknowledgement of the unavoidable necessity or actual belief in its inevitable necessity.  If it was the later, James was unlikely to find many who agreed in this pub. Supporters, believers of the Ministry were few and far between - most were rather hesitant to declare any amount of belief or loyalty to it. 

Either way, even if the man was a mole for the Ministry, there was no harm in speaking the truth.  Though they might try in his case, the Ministry still wasn't free to lock him up just for speaking ill of them.  Besides, they'd knew he'd be lying if he offered them a glowing report, anyway.

"Can't say that I agree.  It may be temporarily unavoidable but - let's just say I'd consider myself a lucky man if I lived to see the day the Ministry was ... found obsolete."  Crushed had been the word he would have preferred using - and, of course, what he wouldn't give to be one who had had a hand in the final crushing.  That, however, wasn't for sharing with the non-inducted, even regular customers.  But, the man's reaction would be rather informative.  "What you call corruption, I call a disgrace.  They're keeping us bent over like a bunch of begging dogs.  The bastards."

“ Cináed are you in trouble or something?”

His eyebrows arched as he regarded the fellow, watching him carefully, trying to gauge the reasoning behind the question.  Was he in trouble?  Depended on one's definition of trouble.  Slowly, a grin creased across Cinaed's face, his beard twitching.  "I've been in trouble since they snapped my wand at seventeen," Cinaed admitted with a coy grin.  "I've done a few odd stints in a Bridge House since my release.  They weren't too pleased when I took that wand and apparated away with that Groust woman but they seem to know I meant no harm.  So - in the grand scheme of things, I could be worse off."

"Are you offering help?"  He tagged on, casually. 

 Cináed seemed perplexed at the word necessary.  As  Cináed described how he wished the ministry was obsolete, James was slowly beginning to realize where this conversation was headed.  Hearing  Cináed’s response to James last query, he could not hide his shock.  Did  Cináed get into a bureaucratic loop that somehow gave him a kidnapping charge?  He knew that the ministry had little tolerance for repeat offenders.  While James knew fools rushed in where Angels feared to tread, he was slightly relieved that it was some bureaucratic mix up that implicated his favorite bar tender.

“Are you offering to help?”  Cináed asked.

“Maybe.  I am not entirely certain what I can do that is beyond your ability though.  You need somebody to make a flyby or something?” James asked, wondering what  Cináed could want.  James knew his only well known skill was with a broom.  While he had some knowledge of the dark arts and a fair amount of knowledge about potions; he doubted that  Cináed would ask him for help with those subjects.  James did not plan on volunteering any more information than necessary, since this conversation had gone from double meanings flying above his broom to  Cináed asking if he wanted to help.  James had no clue what  Cináed had wanted help with though; which was the problem.  Though James doubted  Cináed would ask him to commit murder, he had the distinct feeling that he was not going to ask for a cup of tea.

Then James had an ephiphany, and jumped to the wrong conclusion.  He assumed that the downtime at the bar would have been covered by something, either with family helping out or vendors lending him a hand.  Perhaps he needed some gold to help him get him back on his feet till the regular customers came flying back in?  James thought that maybe  Cináed was too proud to outright ask him.  Granted, James did not know the barkeep that well, but that was about the only conclusion he could reach at this point.

As James waited for  Cináed to reply, he too had a small smile on his face.  For a minute and a half there, he had thought  Cináed was going to ask him to help him bury a body.  He felt a little bit of relief, thinking that the conversation about the ministry corruption had something more sinister in its undertones.  As James waited for the man’s answer he took a sip of his whiskey.  ‘I wonder when he is going to make the sales pitch,’ James thought to himself.

Cinaed had always recognized that one of the biggest differences between the WBA and the Dark Lord's Death Eaters was that the Death Eaters had been the pawns in one wizard's quest for domination.  There were many former Death Eaters in the WBA's ranks and many still abided by the Dark Lord's beliefs.  But, even they had come to recognize their fight wasn't about one wizard's rise to power.  It was about total wizarding liberation.  It was about the race of wizards seeking their rightful place of domination over muggles.  Muggles, and the Ministry that elevated them to an unnaturally high status, were the enemies.  Not their fellow wizards.

For years, the WBA has survived without a leader though, naturally, a few members have risen from the ranks to provide some leadership.  Cinaed considered himself among them.  But, the WBA was, as the name stated, a cooperative.  An alliance in every sense of the word.  Unlike the Dark Lord, who mercilessly used his pawns for his own agenda, the WBA held a strong sense of loyalty to fellow witches and wizards.  Some members were more like Manfred - old Death Eaters who could find acceptance and community no place else.  They had been the backbone of the original Wizarding Blood Alliance.  Most had seen fighting before.  Most were ex-cons like Manfred and Cinaed.  Most were wandless.  Leaving the WBA little more than a social club for Wizarding Britain's outcasts. 

It had been the influx of new blood that had elevated the WBA to a potential fighting force.  In order for the WBA to have any chance of being successful at its endeavors, they needed more in that rank.  Young, dedicated wizards who were willing to fight, willing to take a chance and who could walk in mainstream wizarding society without raising suspicion.  And, who more importantly, had wands.  Those like Landis Morgan or Christian Colburn.  And, Cinaed had to recognize, potentially like the young man who's original interest in the Black Chimaera had been its hearty and less-than-gourmet pies.

There was always an inherent risk in recruiting new members and Cinaed had often wondered how the Dark Lord had managed such things.  In order to gain strength, any subversive organization needed members - the more, the better.  But, there was safety in secrecy.  Learning to guess when it was safe to reveal the Wizarding Blood Alliance to a stranger and admit to his illegal efforts.  It just took telling the wrong person for the game to be up.  Cinaed recognized the Dark Lord had some advantages many in the WBA did not.  The most significant being the consistent use of a wand.  If someone betrayed him, he had a solid recourse.  He could make threats he could readily back up.  Cinaed had as formidable a reputation as a wandless wizard could have in Knockturn, but the reality was he was still wandless.   

The fecking Ministry.

The truth was, there was no end to the man's potential uses if he were a WBA member.  If he was trustworthy enough to approach.  If he was worth taking that risk for.  Cinaed nodded, knowing that was a topic worth coming back to.  There were a few things to feel out first.

"What do you - or did you think of the Dark Lord?"  He asked, bluntly again. 

James was surprised.  Not that a question about the Dark Lord would be unheard of in this part of town, but by the fact that Cinaed did not even make a pretense of dodging the question James asked him.   James thought Cinaed was going to ask him for money.  He was caught so off guard by the change in topic that his face registered surprise.  Thinking for a moment, he answered carefully.

“Cinaed – while the Dark Lord was active, I was in Durmstrang.  I never met the wizard, and any of his machinations took place far, far away from where I went to school.  I know you will find this a shock, but I was more concerned about quidditch in my school days than a war going on in England.  This was compounded by the fact that my family somehow managed to stay neutral in the entire conflict, and neither celebrated nor mourned his rise and fall.  Personally, I was kind of apathetic towards the entire thing.  That being said, it is interesting to note that his rebellion consisted of people who had a lot of wealth and power,” James said, unconsciously channeling his elder brother’s Ravenclaw tone.   Taking a brief second to pause, he continued along in the same didactic manner, “The reason I find that interesting, because usually it is the have-nots in society who are more likely to rebel.  I am not sure what this means for Wizarding society, but when the people with wealth and power are rebelling before the people who have nothing to lose…that makes me think something is wrong with society.  I think that Voldemort was a symptom, not a disease.  Until that disease is treated, society will not be able to get better.  Unfortunately, no one can diagnose the problem since we do not know what we are seeking,” James explained. 

James was wondering what Cinaed needed help with.  Asking about Lord Voldemort and the ministry had James a little bit on edge.  It almost sounded like he wanted James to act like his advisor, voicing opinions on various topics.  Cinaed said he wanted help, but he had yet to ask James to actually do something.  It seemed like he just wanted to shoot the breeze and talk philosophy.  James assumed that came with the job description of being a bartender, but James had finished his pie and could not have any more calories beyond a nutrient potion when he got home.  He should probably try to see what Cinaed wanted though.

“Cinaed you have said you are in trouble, and you have asked me if I wanted to help.  Forgive the change in subject, but what do you need help with?  You still have not asked me to do anything,” James stated.  He was wondering why Cinaed was changing topics as often as James changed directions on a broom.  It was unlike the bartender to beat around the bush, and James was wondering why this conversation seemed to be circular.  Focusing his attention on the bartender, James wondered when Cinaed would speak his mind.  James thought that customers were supposed to unload their problems on bartenders, but James figured that roles needed to b e reversed every now and then.

His fingers grasped the frayed lip of a barstool and pulled it over to the edge of the backside of the bar.  By the looks of the poorly patched leather, the stool had seen better days - the stool once served the customers but had since been relinquished to staff only when its cracks started pinching robes. But, his movements were casual, almost negligent as he took a seat opposite the man.  He poured himself a drink as he settled on the stool, ignoring the slightly startled and highly curious look on Manfred's face.  Manfred knew what Cinaed was getting at - he knew the goal of this conversation.  Cinaed just wished he could be more subtle about it.

The man's answer wasn't conclusive in either direction.  It certainly wasn't an 'oh my bloody Merlin you said 'Dark Lord.'  It also wasn't a 'Voldemort for Prime Minister' answer, either.  In fact, it didn't sound like the fellow cared much about Lord Voldemort one way or the other.  Which all just meant he had to continue carefully and cautiously.  And, at least for now, keep the conversation casual.  As casual as a conversation could be about the fallen Dark Lord. 

"Interesting," he commented, almost off-handedly.  He inwardly cursed Mannie as the man shifted towards them none too subtly.  They'd talked about this!  Mannie was supposed to be impassive - try as much as possible not to exist when Cinaed was doing his thing . The whole endeavor was iffy and precarious enough without the reactions of a man he couldn't control completely.  But, he tried to give no note of it.  Tried to be, again, be casual.  Nothing was worse than admitting one's guilt through awkwardness.  "Well, I'm hardly a fan of the hypocrite but you do have to admit, he himself came from neither wealth nor power.  He built his own off of others.  You can excite change from the bottom of the pack but it's neither as efficient or as quick."  Yes, most of the Death Eaters had been upper class.  Not all, though.  As, Mannie was a fair example of.

Then the fellow offered up the very question Cinaed was trying to ask without precisely knowing what he was asking.  This whole leading the group was still a new thing - there was, definitely, a learning curve.  "So, in your opinion, what is the disease?" 

It was that moment - that time of chance when one decided if they risked gaining an ally at the cost of exposing themselves.  No, he wasn't normally one to beat around the bush but ... well, one one's freedom was on the line, a little tentativeness was understandable.  "It's not, exactly, what you could do for me.  It's not really about me being in trouble - that I can handle.  Its about all of us being in trouble.  And wanting to see the disease finally cured.  Well, my perception of the disease.  Some of us aren't happy with the status quo.  But, we want it done right this time.  This is no one man's rise to power and riches, like you mentioned.  We're wanting liberation.  And, it's every witch's and wizard's fight."  He paused, waiting to gauge the man's responses so far.

James noticed Manfried(sp?) walking up towards Cinaed and himself.  He looked like he wanted something, but did not want to interrupt the bartender during a conversation.  Since Cinaed was still speaking, James kept his focus on the bartender.  After Cinaed called the Dark Lord a hypocrite and praised him in the same sentence. 

“Interesting,” James unintentionally echoed the bartender's previous comment.  ‘Where is Cinaed going with this?’ James thought to himself.

"So, in your opinion, what is the disease?"

James debated that for a moment, but apparently Cinaed had caught a train of thought and decided to railroad anyone who would stand in his way.  James never got a chance to answer before Cinaed got going into his speech.  James thought that this was getting closer to the real truth of the conversation, and that Cinaed was almost there.  There were three problems for James though: he did not know which group made up this “we”, he did not know Cinaed’s perception of the disease, and lastly there was a fight involved.  But James did not know what, who, or why they are fighting.  James decided that this needed to get cleared up.  He just had no idea how to broach the subject though.  James decided to start with the disease though.

“This begs the question, what do you think the disease is? But I believe you asked me first, so I’ll give you my opinion,” James started. 

After taking a moment to collect his thoughts, James continued, “ The disease plaguing society consists of two obvious things.  The first is fear.  Not so much fear itself, but misplaced fear.  It amazes me, that despite one of the best schools in Europe having seven full years teaching the dark arts, the wizarding world fears it more than most dragons. Never mind the Welsh Green in the backyard, you go to Azkaban for casting a dark cutting spell.  Because everyone knows a parchment cut is more dangerous than a dragon .   Fear is a healthy survival instinct, but I think society has misjudged what needs to be feared in many cases.  Some witches and wizards still fear flying, despite the fact that some toddlers do it accidentally.  Society has a large amount of misplaced fear, flying and the dark arts seem to be the clearest example of it,” James explained.  Taking a moment to catch his breath, he continued.

“The second thing plaguing society is corruption.  In the interest of time, I will just emphasize one of the more obvious effects of corruption:  Look at how widespread bribery has become.  It takes place everyday and seemingly everywhere.  It occurs in the Wizengamot and in the most obscure corner Knockturn Ally.  While it is human nature to want to get a leg up on the competition, the sheer amount of graft in society makes me believe that there is something besides basic instinct.  Trying to get people to go against their instincts is like climbing a glacier though.  While it can be done, few want to do it and fewer succeed,” James said.  Not letting Cinaed get a word in edge wise, James began his counter interrogation.

“So tell me, what is your opinion of the disease?  And who does ‘we’ consist of anyways?  Are you running for office or something?” James asked.  It was about the only conclusion James could jump to at this particular point, and this conversation had more political connotations than James would care to admit.

So, the man across from him was a fan of the Dark Arts.  That, really, came as no surprise - the broader range of subjects covered at Durmstrang tended to foster that.  Kids in Durmstrang, unlike at Hogwarts, weren't forced to seek the help of a raving, power hungry lunatic to just learn a few dark curses.  Students there could learn those styles of magic without sacrificing their personal freedoms.  Durmstrang students had the luxury of being interested in the Dark Arts without being immediately considered a criminal.  That answer, though, didn't provide much insight into the man's real political views.  The brief statement about misplaced fear was a step in the right direction but ... well, it still certainly wasn't a declaration of revolution, was it?

The complaints of corruption were less intriguing to Cinaed.  If anything, they seemed to point to a desire for more structure and sticking to the rules.  Such traits were generally not conducive to joining in Ministry-overthrowing movements.  It was time to draw the conversation back and point it towards the more casual.  Chances were, this fellow wouldn't be against the WBA but it seemed unlikely he'd actively participate.  At least, the chances seemed slim enough it wasn't worth the continued risk of exposure. 

"I'd probably have to say that misplaced fear is a part of it.  A misidentified enemy.  This misperception that we should be, for some reason, fearful of being who we are.  That the powers that be have our best interest at heart when they tell us we must hide our true faces for our own safety.  I can't help but believe that's where all this corruption and fear of the Dark Arts stem from.  But, perhaps, I have a unique perspective of it." 

The perspective one formulates from the interior of an Azkaban cell. 

Cinaed let out a bark of a laugh and shook his head.  In an uncommon bout of keen perception, Mannie chuckled.  "Cinaed?  Run for office?  I'd like to see that." 

"No, I'm not the political sort," Cinaed insisted with shake of his head.  "And, I hardly have a face for the front page of the Daily Prophet.  There's no we really.  Just Mannie, myself and a few other ex-Azzies that like to gripe about the unfair stupidity of the world.  We have fun, but it's really not much more than a bunch of complaining, bitter excons."  Which, had been the roots of the WBA and all an outsider really needed to know of Cinaed's political ambitions.

"I'd probably have to say that misplaced fear is a part of it.  A misidentified enemy.  This misperception that we should be, for some reason, fearful of being who we are...  But, perhaps, I have a unique perspective of it." Cinaed declared.

James was amazed at well spoken Cinaed seemed.  Though Manfred seemed unimpressed at the idea of Cinaed running for office, James was beginning to think it was a great idea.  A person who had seen the worst the ministry had to offer and lived to tell the tale would be the best person to go about fixing it.  He seemed to slightly mirror James’s political views to this point, even though James had no idea why he had been discussing politics with the bartender.

After Cinaed said he had a couple of others behind him, that cinched it as far as James was concerned.  It was his turn to make an impassioned speech, and railroad Cinaed’s train of thought.

“Cinaed –you have already stated the ministry is a disgrace.  You claim that you and a group of people have similar ideas, to me this sounds like a reason to start a political party.  You have undoubtedly seen the worst the ministry has to offer, and you are the best person to clean it out.  While you certainly would need a shave and a hair cut to make yourself photogenic, that is something that can be easily fixed with magic.  The ministry consists of people Cinaed; put better people in power, and the corruption and disgrace we have commented on all evening will begin to fix itself.  You have already stated its ‘every witch and wizards fight’, which implies a higher level of dedication than a group of ex-cons complaining,” James started.  Taking a breath, he continued.

“Yes – I know, you say you are not the political sort – but we have been talking politics almost the entire evening.  Your views, if I am reading them correctly, would appeal to a large subsection of society.  Maybe not a majority, but certainly enough to become a voting block.  You are also a bartender, which means you have some empathy and can say what people want to hear.  The question is not if you could be elected, the question is which office you want to hold and what you want to do with it.  You could very easily start reducing that ‘need to hide who we are’ and other stuff we have talked about this evening,” James finished.

While he was waiting for the bartender to respond, James held his eyes.  It was a trick and a half since Cinaed was a head taller than him and he was sitting down, but somehow he managed it.  Once again, James mind was working a mile a minute, but Cinaed running for office would probably be an improvement over…someone.  Unfortunately for James, being a professional athlete did not allow him to read anything beyond the sports section, so he could not name any of Cinaed’s potential opponents. 

Him?  Start a bonafide and official, by-the-rules political party?  Cinaed?  The long-haired pub owner sitting opposite James?  There was no shortage of jokes Cinaed had heard over the years at his expense - many of them involving his hair and choice of attire.  Even more capitalized on the many insinuations of his wandless status.  This was the first time anyone had used pursuing a career in politics as a joke though, no doubt, it had to be one.  For several beats, Cinaed waited for that proverbial grin or laugh - whatever behavior typically followed such goofy and amusing jokes. 

But, instead of the expected laugh, James continued with his argument.  Cinaed met the man's gaze, not letting his own falter even as his mind came to accept the man was serious about his recommendation.  Even the mention of cleaning himself up via a haircut and shave didn't spark much of a reaction.  It took a few moments for Cinaed to fully believe no expression of humor was going to follow the other man's words. 

"I ... wow, mate.  I must say that's the first time I've ever heard anything like that.  Not quite sure if it's a compliment or your off your rocker.  Or both."  Alright, so, if the fellow meant it in all seriousness, Cinaed could respond in kind.  This vote of confidence was, however, rather unexpected.  Had Cinaeed's assumption from a few moments before been too hasty?

Slowly, Cinaed shook his head.  "I'm no politician.  And, most people won't see me as such.  Not with the way things are.  I could cut my hair, I could shave - I could even dress in long, satin wizard's robes but the first time someone asked about my wand, they'll see me first as an ex-Azzie.  I'd used that wench's wand to try to get my dog out of there and that almost landed me back in Azkaban.  I've got a lot of supporters down this way but beyond the foot of Knockturn ... well, you saw that Halloween Party."  Cinaed leaned forward across the bar so his voice wouldn't carry as far across the pub room.  "For better or worse, I've spent a great deal of time and effort fostering the reputation and image I have.  Knockturn's a rough place for the most capable wizard; surviving without a wand down here ain't for the faint of heart.  That reputation doesn't exactly foster trust in my mainstream wizarding brothers and sisters." 

He shook his head as he leaned back, again.  "There's no place for me in a Ministry as corrupt as this one is.  Sometimes, a building's so rotten it does no good to pull out a few boards replace them.  They'll just rot out as well.  Sometimes, you've got to level it out; tear it down before you build it fresh.  The other changes will come." 

“… I must say that's the first time I've ever heard anything like that.  Not quite sure if it's a compliment or your off your rocker.  Or both."

James knew he was a little bit off his rocker.  He was not thinking in terms of politics, just that he sometimes wondered why he willingly got into the pitch with bludgers going over a hundred miles an hour almost on a daily basis.  He did not voice this concern to the bartender though.

“I'm no politician…well, you saw that Halloween Party." 

James thought about that for a moment.  So a reporter could cause him too many problems?  Beyond learning the fact that Cinaed had an ex-girlfriend who was a prophet reporter, he did not see anything wrong with that beyond the obvious, and that Niobe apparently had a fair amount of friends.  Still, he would ask him what the issue was between him and Niobe at a later time. 

Lowering his voice so he could not be overheard, James listened Cinaed comment how he would not be welcome by the mainstream witches and wizards.  The wandless thing would have been a problem, but James already had an angle that he wanted to work with.    After he commented on leveling the building to build fresh, James knew he had an angle to the snitch.

“I think you are underestimating your image problem.  For whatever reason, when a person drastically changes their appearance, he usually gets a second chance to make a first impression.  Unless you have killed someone's brother, it is doubtful that they will cling to their former perception of you if the two images are diffferent enough.  While some people may not like your platform; they are not the wizards you are representing anyways," James addressed Cinaed's first complaint, and hoped that he had reassured the bartender.

" The only other substantive complaint I see is that some members of the press do not like you.  You could get some bad-press, but that would not be the end of your campaign.  You have a large number of people come through this bar on a daily basis, and you would cater your political party to the same people who frequent your bar.  You could comment on how much of a disgrace the ministry has become, and how it would take someone who has seen its uglier side to get to the root of the problem.  If you can find a good wordsmith, you being an ex-con could even be seen as a positive rather than a negative.  People might see you as a reformed person trying to change things for the better.   Once elected you could, as you so aptly put it, tear down the ministry before you rebuild it anew.  You could start to literally reform the ministry, as a leading member of the Reform party” James offered, trying to gauge his reaction. 

James then adjusted his body posture a slightly more relaxed position and hoped he was reading all of his cues correctly.  James knew Cinaed had an axe to grind with the ministry, but James did not know his motivation.   James did know that Cinaed did not like how the Aurors handled the runespoor venom, so that was where he started.

“And if you wanted, once you were elected you could start by reforming the Auror office,” James gambled, wondering if Cinaed would bite.  James knew that trying to sell the bartender on politics would be a hard sell, but James thought that Cinaed was the type to do something about his problems.