Multiple reasons brought Archer to the door of Bannochdaen.  It was not the first time Archer had come here, but it was the first time under these circumstances.  Carrying the files in a protected, charmed case, he had consulting to do.  He had briefly, cryptically, and mostly secretively, informed Tamis of his intentions to talk to MacDonell about his case.  It was troubling and he really wanted perspective from someone else.  He knew MacDonell to be one of the best, even if he was more radical than Archer had ever intended to be, he was a brilliant auror and had dealt with just as complex and confusing cases.

There was also the matter of a meeting Tamis had had with MacDonell several days before.  She had no idea what they had talked about, she was cryptic – but it made Archer nervous.  He knew the relationship they now shared versus the one they had shared when both Archer and Tamis were relatively new.  The one they had shared when they had first been partnered.  It felt odd to know that they had not always worked together.  Jonas had been his first partner, who he barely saw any of these days.  He was engrossed in other pursuits, had a family (if one could call it that from what Archer heard), but his life in the auror corps had not started with Tamis.

He felt like it was almost destined to end that way though, and now that he was still her partner – in more than one way at this point – he felt it necessary to go back to the source when he needed help.  Clearly there was some sort of foresight in MacDonell’s pairing that maybe he could offer up to Archer. 

Standing at the entryway, Archer sighed.  He glanced down at his pocket watch, his seventeenth birthday present from his father, which was still in peak working condition, and he had arrived precisely on time.  An auror learned to be punctual, and Archer lifted his large hand to knock on the door.  Looking at his hand hitting against the wood, he felt odd – like he expected it to be so much smaller than it really was, like he expected that he was so much smaller than he really was.

Perhaps it was that feeling he had when he first entered the corps and was a gangly stick who really needed to hit the gym.  He had grown a lot, even through his twenties, and then filled out fully in his early thirties, thankfully having grown for the better, but when stepping up and asking for help, he went back to feeling like he was eighteen years old and seeking out confirmation on his first case report.  He was long beyond that point, but some things would never change. 

"Master."

The unnaturally deep bass voice brought Jason MacDonell out of his reverie, blinking and shaking his head to refocus. He had been looking through old wizarding photographs in his study, shots from his time in the Auror Corps. The one on the top was his favorite: a shot from one year after the Second Battle of Hogwarts. MacDonell, Belisario, and Annwyl occupied the center, smiling in a not-altogether-reassuring way and looking like three grim Angels of Death. To the one side were the junior recruits, Harry Potter and Ron Weasley prominent among them, Weasley brushing at his robes in a hurried attempt to straighten them. On the other side were the older veterans. Raynor was trying to blend into the background, looking serious and stoic, and also heavily put-upon by being forced to pose for the picture at all. On the other hand, Radley was waving at the camera, smiling his happy smile.

MacDonell laughed again and shook his head. Well, whatever made Raynor happy...

He stepped through the secret passage behind one bookcase, emerging in the sitting room and heading from there into the foyer. The tall room -- stretching all the way up to the third floor -- was always chilly in winter, but the multicolored rug on the floor and the tapestries on the wall gave it some color. But Jason's emerald eyes went automatically up to the gargoyle carving extending out of the wall, seeming totally out of place, unless Jason wanted a rain spout into the center of his foyer.

He did not. But then, the gargoyle was hardly there for decoration.

"He is here, master," it said. Though the stone face did not move, Jason thought its glowing yellow eyes were following him.

"Very good," the master of the castle replied stoically, having long since given up trying to convince his gate gargoyle to stop calling him that. It could see through the eyes of its mirror image, jutting out from the ramparts above the main gate outside, and would have seen Radley coming.

What exactly the other Auror wanted, Jason could not be sure, though he was certain it would involve Raynor one way or another. He checked the elbow-length leather glove on his left arm, glanced at his blue shirt again to make sure no glimmer of silver bled through the fabric, then strode to the door. He took his wand out of his belt -- he was wearing no robe, and Moody had beaten his trainees out of the habit of putting wands in their pants pockets -- and waved it at the door. One by the one, the heavy locks and bolts released and retracted, until finally the large oak door groaned open.

And there stood Radley, looking as tense as he had during his first lesson with MacDonell on Curses and Countercurses all those years ago. Smirking to himself, the veteran Auror took his wand in his gloved hand, along with his cane, so he could extend his right to Radley. "Welcome, lad. It's been some time since last ye were here. Come in."

It was always an odd feeling standing at someone else’s door.  He had learned, over the past month to be fully comfortable with Tamis’ door, but there was something so… unnerving.  One could never really be sure what was actually waiting behind a door, no matter how well acquainted one was with the inhabitant.  Something could always change, and they were not impermeable, though Archer had a distinct feeling some people – MacDonell and Eleor – certainly tried to attain that level of home protection.  Either could have easily been in charge of security measures at Gringott’s if the Goblins were an actually amiable race.  This was not the case, however. 

Listening to the various latches and locks clicking and clacking open, the anxiety about the other side rose within Archer’s chest.  He could feel it tighten and grip at him, wondering just who was waiting on the other side – MacDonell himself, a house elf, perhaps his wife?  It was all a mystery to him, and despite the fact Archer had sent an owl informing the man of his intentions to visit, it was something that could easily be forgotten or overlooked. 

The last bit of tension gripped him as the oak door started to open, slowly peeling back and groaning with every inch – a testament to its age – and revealed the opener.  Surprisingly enough, it was MacDonell himself, looking very much the same as Archer remembered him – having only seen him weeks ago at the trial of the student.  Still ever the guard dog he always was, he had his wand in one hand and the cane in the other, at the ready.  Of course, upon greeting, the wand left his dominant hand and it was instead extended toward him. 

He reached forward and nodded in return to his old superior’s typical grin.  They were very different people, had very different approaches to their shared profession.  He remembered his very early days, the ones in which he received the typical admonishments about his hesitance to take drastic measures or go quite as far as some others were willing to.  He had always thought there was a way to do it without violating a personal code of honor, something he held very dear – even all these years later. 

Thankfully, he felt as though he were on friendlier terms with MacDonell and would not receive such advice today.  It was a much more intellectual pursuit that Archer was here about, and however smart the man was, sometimes he needed another pair of eyes to freshly look upon it.  He could not go to Tamis for this; she was too emotionally connected to some of the details, not clear enough to look past the Black Chimera for its source.  Though Archer had his own suspicions, he wished to draw in someone who would not immediately cast their accusatory finger toward Tawse. 

So, with the greeting, Archer’s mouth twitched upward nervously, releasing MacDonell’s hand after a few strong shakes – a man could tell anything he wanted to about another man based on his handshake- and heeded his invitation to enter. “Ages,” Archer agreed, trying to put down the small voice in the back of his head that indicated he was now old guard in the office and the space was not occupied by men like MacDonell anymore.  “Dreadfully sorry this is on such short notice,” he started apologetically but professionally, “But I have hit something of a wall and based on your ability to be discreet, I thought I would come to you.” 

He looked around, spying no one in the immediate vicinity, but with the heavy load of keeping information perfectly secured and need-to-know only, Archer had a reservation about sharing in an open area.  He knew the man was married (to a woman with journalistic intentions) and had two children, so if any information were to be shared, it would be disastrous to get out, “The material is confidential,” he continued, “And requires extreme sensitivity.  Would that be possible?” 

"Ages."

Jason shook hands with Radley, analyzing the man carefully. He seemed a bit on edge, but not overly so; probably just the tension of visiting someone who was not a close friend, and on the other's own terms. Of course, Bannochdaen Castle itself was a somewhat imposing sight, made only slightly cheerier by the daylight. But Jason kept his pleasant expression, waiting for Radley to speak to his disquiet before he would remark on it. Terrible Auror practice to tip one's hand.

"Feel free to toss your cloak on a hook," he offered, gesturing with his cane to the row of coat racks and wall pegs along the side of the curving atrium, taking his wand back in his real hand. The circular room was wide enough, but low ceilinged, like being inside a drum. But the ceiling was decorated with a mosaic of wizards locked in battle, spells flying this way and that, and the floor was marble.

"Dreadfully sorry this is on such short notice, but I have hit something of a wall and based on your ability to be discreet, I thought I would come to you."

Intrigued, MacDonell tilted his head to one side, eyes narrowing a bit in curiosity. If Radley had come to ask advice for courting Raynor, the elder Auror was going to put his foot down. But something in his bearing suggested he was here for something far more serious than that...or at least something else was more pressing at the moment. "Sometimes it helps to have an outside mind's opinion, if ye can call me that," Jason offered. Of course, he still thought like an Auror, but he did have different experience than Radley and a very different perspective on law enforcement. "If I can help ye, I will."

"The material is confidential, and requires extreme sensitivity.  Would that be possible?"

For a second, the emerald eyes narrowed further, glittering with the light reflected off the snow outside. Wand still in hand, he met Radley's eyes and searched very gently for the thoughts behind the request. An image of Aurora flitted into his mind, along with two nondescript children -- since Radley had not actually seen them recently enough to put faces to names.

Practice and control kept the annoyance off Jason's face, leaving it with his cool, collected Auror look; Radley really was just doing his job, and even if the comment had been a slight at Aurora, he had at least had the good manners not to speak it aloud. So MacDonell contented himself with a slightly clipped tone when he replied with a deliberately broad, "Ye may trust that secrets passed in my castle do not leave it lightly. Come."

A wave of his wand closed the heavy entrance door with a BANG, perhaps a bit more forcefully than was necessary. Gesturing into the main hall, Jason strode off as quickly as his limp allowed, cane clicking on the stone floor, then muffled by the rug. Beyond he led the way through a short connecting passage, its bleak gray stone lit by glowing orbs above. At the end was a polished set of double doors, and MacDonell went through them into the library.

Bannochdaen Castle had a library in the same way that Hogwarts Castle had a few classrooms. The enormous, perfectly circular room featured a hardwood floor, and two levels of bookcases ringing the perimeter, one set on a second level above the other with a narrow walkway atop the first. Nearly every bookcase was filled to capacity, with both new books almost pristine and ancient tomes held together only by magic and good luck. The only breaks in the ring of shelves were the tall glass windows, stretching from floor to ceiling and giving a beautiful view of the snow-covered castle grounds to the north, mountains in the distance. Intricately carved wooden statues accented the room here and there, and a few study desks and chairs sat at the center of the room. The glass chandelier above was dark, the light from the windows more than enough to brighten the entire room.

With deliberate indifference, though the room was his favorite in the house, counting on the room to make an impression on Radley (especially after the Spartan stone passageways), Jason strode forward, cane clicking on the wooden floor, dragon leather boots making not a sound. A wave of his wand brought two comfortable chairs drifting over, settling themselves down with identical clunks.

"Please, have a seat," he said without turning, walking over to an antique globe and tapping it with his wand. The northern hemisphere vanished, revealing a chilled bottle of mead and a set of glasses with a small puff of cool steam. Another wave of his wand brought the bottle and two glasses following him back to the chairs, where Jason sat gratefully, leaning his cane against the plush arm beneath his own left. As the bottle popped its cork and began to pour itself, he added, "Have a drink. So what's the case?"

Archer took Jason’s offer and removed his official auror robe.  He was here for formal purposes, but he did not have to look like it.  He always felt uncomfortable when he looked like he was a total stiff; he preferred a comfortable pair of slacks and a button down, which he always wore under that stupid robe on official business.  He would have preferred this was a social call – there were a hundred things he could be here for, it just so happened that the most pressing was real business – the business of life and death, their business.

So, as that cloak was deposited on the hook, Archer felt slightly more physically comfortable, but it was not long before another level of discomfort was introduced into the conversation.  The business-like nature of his proposal seemed to increase the tension in the room, MacDonell narrowing his gaze at him.  It was either from a level of suspicion or displeasure at the suggestion that things needed to be kept secret.  It was not something Archer needed introduce into this – resentment or suspicion.  The material could not suffer because of any personal feelings.
 
He just hoped that whatever had caused that slight narrowing of eyes would not interfere with the ability to get the job done.  If it made the already precarious relationship they shared with one another slightly more strained, that would be fine by Archer, as long as the job got done.  It would make things more difficult, to be sure, with Tamis, but that bridge would be crossed when it came up.  Right now, it appeared to be miles and miles away.

So, he lifted his head and nodded curtly at his assertion that the secrets would not leave.  That was all Archer needed to hear, and he gave a tight smile, “Thank you,” was his honest response, and he heeded the auror’s direction to follow.  He was sure not to follow far behind either, knowing that there was a distinct possibility that this place was not originally designed for easy navigation.  Castles were not made to be able to move freely and easily between corridors and rooms – they were fortresses above all things, very fitting for the MacDonell family, but he did not wish to get lost. 

The sounds of the castle were heavy, lumbering and dark, it was just what he pictured moving through a castle would be like – what he remembered being in Hogwarts had been like, though he could not picture it as having been this stressful.  He moved swiftly behind MacDonell, who also moved quickly, despite his cane, and he observed his surroundings in passing, the rug, the marble floor, the ceiling decorated with scenes of dueling – it was impressive, imposing, he could see where anyone could be intimidated by this place.

He tried very hard not to be, however, and when the library doors flew open, Archer did not hesitate to step through behind MacDonell – though he hesitated as soon as he passed through the entry way.  It was a magnificent room – lined to capacity with books and with a brilliant chandelier, long windows, and hardwood floors – it was the sort of room that made his flat look like a cardboard box on the side of the street.  Part of the reason that he had been so… hesitant to bring Tamis into his place, it was just not… up to this caliber, and he was acutely aware of what she was used to. 

It was heavy, even for him, and he felt that sense of inferiority again.  It was devastating to know that his girlfriend’s father figure – and her actual parents – were living in these sorts of accommodations; these places that made his place look like a bear’s cave or something of the sort.  Clearing his throat, he tried to cough the thought out of his head, focusing more on the thud of the chairs as they landed. 

“Thank you,” he spoke quickly, moving to the chair and taking a seat.  The sounds of moving objects and things rustling was comforting in the starkly, silent library.  It was less disquieting now, and he felt like there was something positive going on here.  “Thank you again,” he added as the glass was filled with mead – not his particular drink of choice, but he would not say no to a drink, and most assuredly not turn anything down after the awkward moment earlier. 

He took a sip of the mead, pleasantly surprised that it was not as bad as he remembered it being, chalking it up to the fact it was actually quality, rather than something cheap purchased from just anybody.  He could tell by looking around that nothing was bought without quality control in this place.  And sighing, he took in the question – what was the case.  It was a difficult and long question to answer, but a necessary one.  He became aware of the valise by the side of his chair and he put down the glass to grab it up. 

“An organization,” he started, “suspected terrorist grouping.  Their calling card,” he opened up the case and pulled out a rendering of the symbol found at each of the sites of an attack – the skull, the juvenile barbed wiring – all the consistencies they found, “has been found at several key locations, including the location of a confirmed kidnapping, torture, and memory modified victim as well as the location of Gawain Robard’s murder.”  The sentence was hard to say, remembering the nearly starved woman he had carried and the man that was killed under their noses. 

He took a deep breath and recollected himself, moving on.  “We have reason to believe they are connected to a group in Azkaban – possibly some relation to death eater sentiments, based on the insignia as well as their targets – a Muggleborn and government figure, to start.  Ranks are closed around the alley, however, and there is not enough evidence to take any drastic measures.”  He pulled out the accompanying file to the picture and held it out to the man.  “I have been looking over this material for months, and I feel as though a new set of eyes is required.  You’re free to take some time to read over the material.  As much time as necessary has been cleared for this.”  Almost entirely true… But, it would be worth it. 

Jason watched Radley carefully as he sipped his drink, seeming to enjoy it with some surprise. It was an old, well-matured bottle; not his best, not here on the more public main floor, but good nonetheless. Extending his gloved hand, MacDonell took the second glass as drifted toward him, waving his wand to recork the bottle and send it zipping smartly back to the globe, which shimmered back into reality over it, looking for all the world just like an average spherical map. Taking a swallow of the drink with a contained smile, Jason listened as Radley began.

"An organization, suspected terrorist grouping.  Their calling card has been found at several key locations, including the location of a confirmed kidnapping, torture, and memory modified victim as well as the location of Gawain Robard’s murder."

Automatically, the patiently pleasant look left Jason's face, replaced by a harder, colder look. His bright eyes seemed to shine almost reflectively, and there was an air of all-business about him, almost dangerous. The rune-covered wand in his real hand drew the eye with a sense of disquiet, as if it were a serpent ready to strike that MacDonell was keeping only halfway at bay. It was the same look he had worn on the flight to Azkaban.

"Akiva Katz," he supplied as Archer mentioned the victim. He gave the younger Auror a pointed look. "I read the Daily Prophet, Radley. I'm concerned to hear that annoyance Irallis might be on to something for once."

He looked at the symbol for a moment. Though it was unfamiliar on its own, its elements were uncomfortably reminiscent of the Dark Mark.

"We have reason to believe they are connected to a group in Azkaban – possibly some relation to Death Eater sentiments, based on the insignia as well as their targets – a Muggleborn and government figure, to start."

MacDonell frowned, taking another swallow of his mead. "Mmm. That was my first instinct also. The core fanatics would never take a standard other than Voldemort's Dark Mark, but the fringe members...it's possible. Blood prejudice has hardly ceased to be, and Gawain had a lot of old enemies in Azkaban."

"Ranks are closed around the alley, however, and there is not enough evidence to take any drastic measures."

Jason smirked at Radley as he waved his wand and then opened his left hand, letting his drink just hover in midair, but the expression was chilling. "Thought you'd rule that out right off the bat, since it's me?"

"I have been looking over this material for months, and I feel as though a new set of eyes is required.  You’re free to take some time to read over the material.  As much time as necessary has been cleared for this."

"I'm a quick reader, and not entirely new to case files," Jason replied dryly. "Give me just a few moments, please. Feel free to peruse the shelves, read anything ye like."

He stood, taking the file with him to one of the study desks and setting the three files before him. He pored over them for several minutes in silence, ignoring the glass of mead that had followed him over, eyes narrowed. Once or twice he looked from one file to another, occasionally at the picture of the mark.

"Thal--" he started to say aloud, then cut off, remembering the elf was out with Aurora. Grumbling, he got to his feet and approached a bookshelf, running his gloved hand over the papers piled there, pulling one or two out and putting them back, taking out others and waving his wand to send them back to his desk. After a minute of this, he limped back, opening one Prophet, then another, his frown darkening to a scowl.

"Archer," he called, waiting until the man came over to point to the files. "First, this girl, Delia Morris. You need to put her in protective custody, or at least assign her a bodyguard who knows what he's doing. Someone with no family, no distractions. She's important, which means if there really is a network here, she'll be a target."

He looked up at the younger Auror, expression grave. "It concerns me that Tawse is a suspect, because if he is involved, this could be nasty. Little bastard should be rotting in Azkaban still..." He sneered for a second before composing himself. "The fact that he doesn't have a wand doesn't mean he isn't involved. Ye've heard what Potter said about Voldemort's years before he regained his body. He didn't even have that and he was still dangerous. And Tawse is out free."

Thinking for a moment, he added slowly, "The girl was at Tawse's pub. Use that as probable cause, get someone on the inside. Undercover job, with Transfiguration. Polyjuice Potion is too unreliable, needing it every hour. Not to mention a supply of hair from the original. But anyway, ye close down the Black Chimaera, ye'll spook Tawse and his people and nay learn a thing. Get on the inside...might be a different story."

"It may be unconnected," he added, though his tone made it clear he did not believe this, "but take a look at this."

He handed Radley an article taken from one of the Prophets. "I meant to write Raynor about this when I first read it, but then we got sidetracked with all this Bloxham business." He tapped the article with the eagle device at the head of his cane. "Whoever wrote this is dangerous. Normally I'd think only to himself and his immediate neighbors, but in light of what you've shared with me?"

He gestured to the case files. "Could be just the average nutter, but it could also be much worse."

He opened his mouth, then closed it again. He had more observations, but wanted Radley's reaction before he went on.

Archer did not feel like moving, to be perfectly honest with himself.  He wanted to get his answers, to know what MacDonell thought.  He was not under the impression that he was in any way in the man’s good graces, but he wanted the guidance and would take any curt remarks with a grain of salt.  He had always known he was not a favorite of Jason MacDonell, he was too cautious and wasn’t willing to drop the reservations about unforgivable that had been used during the Second War. 

There was just nothing in his mind that could make him use any of them, unless an immediate and direct threat was upon him, and even then, he would try everything else first.  It had gotten him in trouble a few times, at least unofficially, before he was removed from his position.  It was still a sore spot with Archer who avoided discussing it with anyone, even others who went through the same thing.  It was just a part of his life he put behind him, and sitting quietly in his chair, he swirled the liquid slowly. 

It was something to distract him as the liquid moved and swayed, he watched it with his dark eyes.  He was only barely distracted by the beginnings of something coming from MacDonell’s mouth, but it quickly died and there was an almost unbearable silence.  He appreciated the intensity with which he looked at the material and knew that he was going to do well with it.  It was not in Archer’s favor if it did not turn up at least something to look into.  He had to pull about fifty strings to get the go-ahead and being cryptic about it had not earned him any points, professionally or otherwise, so MacDonell really needed to be worth the return. 

He took a slow draw from the mead; Archer was stirred out of his reverie by MacDonell’s voice, summoning him back to the present.  Sitting up straighter, Archer was ready to take in what he was saying – like an auror sponge.  He needed to know what he was going to do and how he was going to tackle it, so the first part, he was glad to be reassured that he had done something right.  “Delia Morris is currently placed on the Hogwarts grounds with ex-Auror, Tulojow Nadge,” Archer commented, “though; I can make other arrangements, depending upon the possibility of violence.”  It was a precursory comment, just in case his actions with placement were scrutinized. 

He just had a need to be thought of as competent in the eyes of one of the greatest auror s of the twentieth century, the one person who Tamis looked to as something of a family member.  If he was not thought to be even good at his job, what chance did he have at making a good impression otherwise?  He felt measured by his performance, and with Tamis he always felt as though they did well – they had never dropped anything big and worked well together (now), but on his own, he still had a lingering sense of insecurity, particularly in the face of one of the men who trained him. 

So, he listened quietly  and only reacted at the name Tawse.  Archer had a lot to say about Tawse, and not all of it was accusatory.  He did not know how to deal with any of this, Tawse was a bad person, yes, he understood that, but he also wasn’t sure a man so young and so… inexperienced could pull this together.  He agreed on the point that he should be rotting in Azkaban, but he tightened his jaw and refrained from saying anything.  MacDonell had a point, though he hesitated to put Tawse in the same category as Voldemort. 

It was enough though, and he had a point – even if it was small.  Morris had been there, that was true, and she did mention seeing something like the symbol – something she thought she saw in a conference room?  Since when did seedy pubs have a conference room?  But was that probable cause?  He knew that there was an undercover in there, he knew that – but was that passable information?  The fact that MacDonell had immediately gone down the same road that Tamis had was a good sign – a sign that perhaps everything was taking a positive turn, even if Archer failed to see it. 

Taking out his parchment, Archer wrote down the suggestions without much provocation.  He could at least take care of looking into the possibilities – a more consistent and less distracted guard for Morris and a solid look into what Colburn was doing.  Archer would have to talk to Malone, but it would be worth it.  She was collected and organized, it would be a quick and informative talk.  There was the matter of looking at what MacDonell was getting out for him though, which piqued his interest more than anything else that had been given to him previously. 

It looked like a newspaper clipping, which concerned him for the mere point that it was a Prophet article and he did not put much stock in the paper as of late.  He looked at it though and quirked an eyebrow.  It was some kook, clearly but did it really merit as much looking into as MacDonell asserted?  Usually the people who wrote about things were far less dangerous than those that actually did things, but here he suggested that they might be one in the same, or at least a lead from one to the other – which was something Archer could see.  It took very little to convince a person on the edge to go either way, and perhaps this was something triggering that behavior. 

He remembered the reply to such an article – written by a friend and close relation to the victim of the first breakout crime of this group that was indentified, it was slightly unnerving.  Archer probably would have cautioned him against such a thing if he made any connection earlier, though he suspected Dreogan Eleor was not the type to be talked out of an action.  That was not important right now, however, and he chewed on the inside of his cheek momentarily. 

“I can submit an inquiry.  I’m aware of identity protection, but with such… heavy implications, I believe at least a little information can be gleaned about the submitting writer’s form of delivery or the original piece.”  That would be able to be submitted for evidence testing and would perhaps produce some interesting results.  “I would not hesitate to look into the writer or the article; it could make something of a link, even with unpublished return articles.”  It couldn’t hurt to try, and maybe in the midst of many crazy, shut-ins who only communicated through writing to the paper, he could turn up some names that would make the Chimera – or elsewhere – more tantalizing targets for further investigation. 

He tucked the article into the stack of papers, poking out with the name ominously poking up – A Call to Action.  It was enough to make a sane person feel sick.  Looking back up, exhaling deeply out of his nose, Archer nodded affirmatively – he had a plan building in his head.  “There has been some movement toward infiltration of the Alley, but it is slow moving.  Many of us are recognizable, so it’s taken some… creativity.”  That was just about as much as Archer felt comfortable revealing for the time being, seeing as the work was still new and fairly untested in its ability to create leads. 

“I have my reservations; however,” Archer finally voiced, his voice slow and low, trying to gauge MacDonell’s reaction at the same time, “about Tawse.  I know… Ray,” he reverted to the nickname he had given her back before either had entered the auror program, “has a particular interest in implicating him.  It makes my investigation… all the more thorough, I suppose.  I don’t want to present flawed information, regardless of how much it would matter…” he considered the public reaction and the thought that Tawse would be guilty before he even walked through the door, but Archer was a man of integrity, and he wanted to do his job properly.  He needed to be sure. 

"Delia Morris is currently placed on the Hogwarts grounds with ex-Auror, Tulojow Nadge, though, I can make other arrangements, depending upon the possibility of violence."

Jason frowned automatically. Nagde had been one of the most unreliable Aurors of his new Corps, albeit proficient in her areas of expertise. She could always be counted on to do what she thought was right, but rarely what she was told, which in as delicate a climate as the newly-rebuilt Ministry had been could be a serious liability. She would not have been his first choice...or second...or probably even third. Still...

"Whatever her faults, Nagde is a capable duelist," he answered slowly. "And Hogwarts is the safest place in Britain." His emerald eyes narrowed. "I wonder..."

He fixed Radley with an unreadable look. "Do you think this group, if it exists, is purely British? Or would there be influence from the continent? If it were the latter, I'd worry more about the devils inside the walls than out..."

MacDonell appreciated Radley's attentive look, though he caught a few flickers of emotion here and there. Not quite so firm as disagreement...perhaps simply hesitance? Did he have reason not to suspect Tawse? Or was there more Jason himself was not being told?

"I can submit an inquiry.  I’m aware of identity protection, but with such… heavy implications, I believe at least a little information can be gleaned about the submitting writer’s form of delivery or the original piece. I would not hesitate to look into the writer or the article; it could make something of a link, even with unpublished return articles."

This time the elder Auror's frown was much more pronounced. "I would be very, very careful about that. Irallis is already all but saying the Ministry is orchestrating a coverup. If ye give the impression that the Aurors are leaning on the Prophet for information and word of that gets out, it will make matters much worse. Cornelius Fudge all over again, aye?" Jason's lip curled at the former Minister's name. "If ye ask, make sure it's someone ye trust personally, and who can be trusted to keep the inquiry discreet."

"There has been some movement toward infiltration of the Alley, but it is slow moving.  Many of us are recognizable, so it’s taken some… creativity."

Slowly, a smirk crept onto Jason's features, a knowing expression. He crossed his arms. "Ye had that same look when ye told me that you and Tamis had a 'mishap' in paperwork, and ye'd really burned an entire filing cabinet to ash. Ye're nay telling me something, Radley." He held up his gloved hand to forestall the objection. "And nor are ye obligated to. I'm not an Auror anymore, and I appreciate the need to keep the circle tight. But work on your...what do the Muggles call it...poker face."

"I have my reservations; however, about Tawse.  I know… Ray has a particular interest in implicating him.  It makes my investigation… all the more thorough, I suppose.  I don’t want to present flawed information, regardless of how much it would matter…"

Jason's eyes narrowed slightly as Archer expressed his 'reservations', then a little further when he called Raynor 'Ray'. "Ah yes, you and 'Ray'. We'll come to that," he promised in a foreboding tone. "But more relevantly, ye're a man who sees the best in others, Radley. That's not a fault, but it's dangerous in our line of work. Of course ye can't create evidence where none exists, but do nay hesitate to seek out all possible ends either. Tawse is slime, Archer. If he's a suspect, there's a reason."

He pointed to the picture of Delia Morris. "As if this isn't proof enough."

Sighing, finally taking his mead glass out of the air and having a swallow, he relaxed a bit and added, "And on the subject of all possible ends, ye mentioned there was a possible connection to Azkaban? Then start reading all correspondence, in as well as out. Focus on Death Eaters or anyone on a life sentence. If it seems coded and ye can't break it, send it down to Ward's department, see what he can do with it."

"And on the subject of the Ministry," he continued, pointing to the stack of Prophets, "this stonewalling the public has to end. I know it's nay your decision to make, but pass it along to Raynor. The last time the Ministry tried the 'it's fine and dandy, don't worry about all these horrible events' approach, it was with Fudge. I do nay need to remind ye where that got us."

On a sudden thought, Jason took the article back from Radley, rereading it with a furrowed brow. Without looking up, he asked, "Thoughts?"

It seemed most people felt the same about Nadge, Archer included.  He could trust her with a kid though, that was for certain, and like MacDonell said, whatever her faults, she was a good duelist and was at the safest place he could imagine at this point in time.  Whatever happened, it was a good decision.  He decided he had succeeded in that realm, at least, and raised his eyebrows as he went on – suggesting a possibility that Archer had considered, but had not found any supporting information for. 

“There’s nothing to suggest it has gone beyond Britain,” Archer commented with a reasonable amount of certainty.  “There is no sign of anything similar across the Channel, or even as close as Ireland. It seems insulated.”  The outward sentiment of the article was the thing that bothered him most, if it did come from even the fringe elements of the group, their notions of right and wrong were very strong – could induce violent actions.  He breathed slowly from his nose and nodded, reaffirming his interest in contacting the Prophet.

But, he was going to heed Jason’s warning.  Certain people in the Prophet, Irallis amongst them, would not hesitate to print up an article and openly talk about the material Archer was investigating.  It wasn’t going to end up well if he didn’t play his cards safe and right.  He just needed that contact – a person he could trust to be discreet and keep the Auror’s inquiries safe and down low – though he cringed at the implication that it was the Fudge ministry all over again. 

That had not ended well.  The incessant cover ups, the denials of what was actually going on.  Archer did not deny what was going on, quite the contrary, but he also did not want to leak his information and ruin what he had gathered so far.  He didn’t want this group to find power in frightening the public, nor did he want them to learn that he was gathering information like he was.  It would change patterns, change routines; he wasn’t interested in exposing any of that.  So, he nodded and took into consideration possibly inquiring to Aurora MacDonell, perhaps she could be trusted with her husband – he would have to consult Tamis on this particular move.

She came up in conversation again and Archer could not help but let a grin slip onto his face.  He remembered the incident vividly.  An argument had come up, a harmless little exchange of electric charges to startle and anger the opposing partner and eventually, one was misfired and landed in the paperwork.  To this day, it didn’t come up – they never decided who was actually at fault for that… he doubted they would arrive at a suitable conclusion now either, to be perfectly honest. 

Rubbing the lower half of his face, Archer chuckled softy – fair enough.  He was not good at keeping secrets that he did not particularly need to, and though this was of a sensitive nature, he trusted Jason to be as discreet as humanly possible.  Still, he had to shake his head and offer a sympathetic sort of smile, “I will work on it, but for now, I am afraid this part of investigation, even to the most trustworthy, would not be advised.” 

The friendly exchange ended quickly though and Archer could feel his throat cinch up a bit when there was a promise of coming back to the subject of Ray.  His insides froze and he immediately started to swear in his mind.  So she had told him – it would make sense, he was like a father to her… but she had been so… vague about the whole thing, maybe that was why.  He felt like his stomach turned over, but here was where he could keep his jaw straight and eyes forward, ignoring the comment.  He would not make a big deal of it, perhaps it would be forgotten in the face of important matters.

Archer figured it would – and it was slipped into the conversation so casually – it was to shake him.  Yes, he nodded, and moved on to Tawse – admittedly a far less intriguing and pleasant subject, though with MacDonell at least they could agree on a mutual hatred for the man.  He looked down at the picture of the child and nodded, feeling a bit of a snarl welling up in his throat.  The child was doing labor when he found her there, and he took her from the situation, so he understood what the situation was with him – if anything, he was just a creep and an ex-con who wouldn’t change.

He was right though – there was something else to look into.  Archer would have to prepare himself for a hefty amount of reading.  His mind immediately raced toward the top drawer of his desk, tucked in the back corner, a very small black case that had a pair of reading glasses in them – things he denied he needed, but, in the solitude of work, would put on to get a heavy amount of work done.  He frowned, but knew it was a necessary evil.  “I will start collecting the correspondence immediately,” Archer informed him, graciously taking that advice.  There was a filter there, he could figure things out from there – and they had supports from there, Unspeakables (good ones) were a good place to start. 

And then Ray came up again – the whole issue that everyone was trying to avoid came up.  Archer frowned lightly and knew that the older man was right – he knew that there was something that had to give, but he did not know what the best decision to make would be.  MacDonell seemed to suggest a more open approach, but even Archer feared the response.  Again, rubbing the bottom half of his face, Archer shifted his weight from his right to the left, heaving a sigh. 

“I will mention it to her,” he said evenly.  “I worry about the reaction, but it is valid to bring up Fudge, though I do not believe Ray’s intentions are the same,” he had to stand up for her, she was doing what she believed was right, and had noble intentions – she did not have the same fears as Fudge did, nor did she have the same inability to listen to reason – at least most of the time… “It is concerning, however, that there are implications of a cover-up, when it is not exactly that, we have very little and to offer anything to the press now would be a frenzy for ‘artistic license’ as some on the Prophet staff like to exercise even with the most… trivial… information.” 

"There’s nothing to suggest it has gone beyond Britain. There is no sign of anything similar across the Channel, or even as close as Ireland. It seems insulated.”

"Good," Jason replied, meaning it.  "Let us endeavor to keep it that way."

He simply waved a hand of dismissive unconcern to Archer's reluctance to share details at the moment. Though he was a Wizengamot member, this issue was not yet ready for an actual trial, so he had no right to any of the information. And more to the point, it was no longer his job. He was a consultant for the moment, nothing more.

"I will start collecting the correspondence immediately."

MacDonell nodded. "Just make sure ye get through it quickly. If there's too much of a delay in getting it from sender to recipient, someone will figure out ye're reading it. That will still help prevent instructions from being sent, but ye'll lose a chance of finding the culprit. Or culprits," he added thoughtfully.

"I worry about the reaction, but it is valid to bring up Fudge, though I do not believe Ray’s intentions are the same."

"Of course not," Jason allowed, taking another sip of mead. "Quite the opposite, I'm sure ye really are just trying to keep from spooking this group. But at least go with something vague like 'the investigation is ongoing'. It stills sounds lost in bureaucracy for the enemy, but it gives the impression to the rest of the Wizarding world that you are doing something."

Pausing a moment, he gestured vaguely at the Prophets he had put beside the case files. "Feel free to copy any of these ye'd like to take, for reference. I'd add them to the case files, just as potential leads." He almost mentioned that this was an important precaution in case the group got to Archer and someone else had to take over the case, before reminding himself that Archer was a professional Auror and did not need to be told this. And also that he himself was no longer Archer's boss. "Now, the simple matter of domestic terrorism as much addressed as I can make it, let us move on to more crucial matters, shall we?"

Smirking a dark version of his normal grin, he got to his feet and returned to the two chairs he had originally set out, resuming his seat and gesturing with his cane for Radley to do the same. Summoning a small end table over to him, he set his glass on it and fixed Radley with his unreadable emerald gaze. "So. You and Tamis, eh?"

Again, Archer’s confidence was boosted by the affirmation that he had picked a good course of action, though the warning to do it quickly was taken with as much eagerness as the compliment was.  He knew he would need to do things quickly, time was of the essence, trying to get things done without having another incident occur.  The clock was constantly ticking, but Archer had no idea at what hour the chime was going to strike.  It was unnerving and he spent more hours than he could count in the office, after hours, before hours, and during hours to find something out. 

It seemed as though MacDonell recognized his reasoning and the reasoning of the department, combined with their hesitancy to speak and the necessity for time-efficient fact finding.  He had the block right there- the vague answer, but Archer didn’t know how felt giving that sort of answer to the press.  It would certainly give them something, but they would run with it – surely, and he didn’t want to feed into the paranoia that would circle around them like vultures.  He also didn’t want to remain silent, feeding into the conspiracy therorist’s dream about the Ministry. 

He would consider it and gave a nod as he shifted in his seat.  He hated the moral dilemma that came with informing the public of anything, especially of things that they were not even sure of, but if it would satiate the hunger for information that the public had and increase his productivity on the case.  He would consider it, and followed MacDonell’s hand as it gestured to the papers, accompanied by the permission to copy whatever he would like.

“Thank you,” Archer said with a nod, “I’ll do that – I can get them from the archives in the Ministry as well.”  The library would be a quiet, safe place to work – somewhere he could get a lot done without having to worry about too many prying eyes – at least copying papers.  Aurors did that all the time; it was part of their job.  He probably had copies of things already, but lost in the mix of things that piled up on his desk and around it.  A spring cleaning would be necessary soon – perhaps he could persuade Ray to help out. 

Scarier than any talk of work could ever be, Jason MacDonell was cryptically shifting from one topic to the next – apparently more important than internal terrorism – he frowned gently, the tongue in cheek was signature, but Archer didn’t know what he was getting at.  Well… he had an inkling but he hoped it wasn’t that – anything but that! 

Being motioned back to the chair, Archer moved slowly, very slowly, glancing at MacDonell with a sense of dread welling up in him.  He took the seat, sitting like the boy who came to take the daughter out for the first time and she was running late, so he got to have a talk with Dad.  It was the most uncomfortable feeling, and he really hoped that the matters more important were not concerning that daughter who was late…  And his blood ran cold when the subject came up. 

So. You and Tamis, eh?"

His expression and the question were entirely blank.  He could not gather any sort of emotion – positive or negative from it and that was disconcerting.  Archer understood that it was necessary when dealing with criminals, but not with… did he consider this crime?  He did not know how to answer, except to be honest, he supposed.  Wasn’t that supposed to be the best way to go about it? Tell the truth.

Taking a deep breath, Archer nodded slowly, glancing at the man with a steady, feigned easy gaze.  “Not exactly what anyone expected, I am sure.”  It was a safe comment, as far as he was concerned, and would give MacDonell a chance to return with either disapproval or approval, depending on how he was going to answer.  Taking a sip of his mead, Archer felt his throat still tight, struggling a bit to swallow. Hopefully he would answer in a positive way, or Archer would not know what to do. 

"Not exactly what anyone expected, I am sure."

Jason's eyes did not narrow, though only because he was in smooth control of his expression. It seemed Archer could be just as cagey as Jason himself, though his posture and hesitance a moment before had clearly shown that he was on edge. Part of MacDonell enjoyed that disconcert in his old colleague.

Though he had no particular enmity against Radley, and indeed considered him a good man, Jason was very protective of Tamis Raynor. Their relationship had been difficult to define even when they worked together; sometimes teacher and student, sometimes leader and subordinate, sometimes parent and child (though which was which varied; Jason had a distinct memory of being scolded by Raynor when he and Belisario had gotten carried away with one of their 'let off steam' duels). But always friends and comrades, and always with deep affection. Though he trusted Raynor's judgment, Jason would not easily be sold on just anyone for her.

"And undoubtedly there's a reason for that," the warlock returned cryptically, resting his arms on the chair and swishing his wand slowly back and forth in his right hand, a faint flicker of sparks following its path now and then.

"It's a sticky matter, the Head of Aurors being involved with a subordinate," he noted. And this was nothing but the truth. There would be accusations of favoritism and bias to field if anyone ever found out, not to mention the much more serious potential concern that Jason had raised openly to Tamis when she had told him.

"Then again," he finally offered, relenting a bit from keeping Radley dangling, "it's been far too long since she had someone in her life. It's bothered me, I admit it. I managed to find love even in the Second War, and Tamis is a much better person than me. If anyone deserves happiness, it's her."

Pausing to take another sip of mead, leaving just a bit at the bottom of the glass, he gave Radley his trademark smirk. It was partly challenging, but also a bit indulgent. "Think ye're up to the task, Radley?"

Archer did not like this.  He would be the first to say later how awkward and awful this conversation was, particularly with MacDonell’s wand out and waving, like the father who would take out his pistol and clean it whilst the young man waited at the bottom of the stairs.  It was menacing, and Archer figured at this point it was a pure intimidation technique.  He reminded himself of this over and over again, trying not to look at the sparks that occasionally popped and jumped from the tip of the wand. 

If that wasn’t bad enough, Archer felt all the issues that he had with Tamis in the past few months, all the things he had to beat out of her – the worries that he had insisted were unfounded coming up in this conversation, probably validating everything for Ray and setting him back in everything he had tried to do.  Archer felt his jaw tighten, frustrated that someone else saw the inherent problems in whatever they were cultivating between one another – whether it was what people would conventionally call a relationship or it was something else, Archer still couldn’t put his finger on it. 

But, at the same time, even Archer was aware of the problematic nature o their relationship, he just chose to ignore it for the time being and really hope that these things wouldn’t come up.  If he was the worrier, nothing would have happened between them at all, and Archer was fairly sure that would have been worse than any idle gossip the Prophet could spew out. 

It was slightly confusing, the way he spoke of the negatives and then brought up how Tamis deserved happiness – had she said that he made her happy?  Was she in love with him?  MacDonell mentioned finding love and Archer wasn’t sure about that – he didn’t know if that was the case, he definitely had strong feelings for her, deeper than he had for most other human beings, and he certainly loved her as one of his best friends and his longtime partner, but he didn’t know about love-love.  In the back of his mind, he wished to tug at his collar – cursing the fact he had decided to go for business on this trip, but could not betray his anxiety. 

At least he could rely on the happiness factor – some of that he could certainly see, and he hoped that was the case, it would make him feel a little better about the challenge being levied at him, one that Tamis had given him from the beginning.  “With all due respect, I don’t start anything I don’t think I can handle all the way through, MacDonell.”  It was an honest response, one he truly believed, and taking a sip of his mead, he sighed. 

“She is not an easy person to deal with, you know,” he quirked a bit of a smirk, feeling as though that was something he could most assuredly get MacDonell to agree with, “and convincing her that all those things don’t matter is an ongoing battle, but I’m tenacious.  It’s a badger trait, I believe,” he smirked – knowing the witty Ravenclaws usually didn’t have much tolerance for the not so intellectually stunning, but very hardworking and loyal Hufflepuffs.  “And I intend to do my best to avoid any professional ramifications, especially for her.”

Having been retired for years now, Jason occasionally feared that he was losing his touch. Not magically; he and Aurora dueled regularly, each keeping the other sharp and crafty. Between them they had enough nasty tricks to make Bellatrix Lestrange think twice. But some of those Auror traits he had picked up -- noticing small details, instinctively sensing when something was wrong, putting together pieces of a puzzle to make a logical whole -- he occasionally feared might slip from his grasp. He was privately a bit pleased Archer had brought him the case files today, for it showed he could still find patterns, and clearly he and the present Auror had shared several thoughts.

And now it was also nice to know he could still make people fidget under his scrutiny.

"With all due respect, I don’t start anything I don’t think I can handle all the way through, MacDonell."

Nodding, MacDonell said, "Good. I'd expect no less from an Auror, of course, but it's reassuring to hear regardless."

"She is not an easy person to deal with, you know."

From a mutually waspish confrontation at the Shrieking Shack to her outrage at being promoted to Head of Aurors, Jason had many years' worth of reasons to reply dryly, "I feel I do know something about that, yes."

"And convincing her that all those things don’t matter is an ongoing battle, but I’m tenacious. It’s a badger trait, I believe. And I intend to do my best to avoid any professional ramifications, especially for her."

Again, Jason was struck by his comrade's desire to see things in the best light. "Tenacity is nay a bad thing," he replied slowly, with a note of hesitance. His emerald eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "But be aware that the professional ramifications go both ways. And I'm not just talking about promotions."

He sighed, leaning forward. "I'll tell you the same thing I told her, Archer. She's the Head of the Auror Corps, and it's her responsibility to make sure you all fight, capture, or kill Dark wizards to the best of your ability. She may be in a position some day where she has to choose between doing her job, and protecting someone she cares about. She needs to know herself well enough to know what she'll do." Pausing, he added, "And I'll tell you something I didn't tell her. She can nay choose you. Protecting innocent people is always more important than the life of any Auror."

His emerald gaze was inscrutable again. "Ten of our brothers died at Azkaban because I led them there, and it kills me. But I'd do it again for the victory we obtained."

While Archer tried his best to view everything positively, to make the best out of situations that could easily turn ugly and awful, or see something through in its entirety, just because he felt it was proper to do so, Jason MacDonell could always bring into light Archer’s worst fear about a situation.  He had always dimly considered the possibilities for himself, but had never minded much – he didn’t worry about getting promoted or anything of the sort, he had no desire to move up in the office or be anything more than he was – it was already an accomplishment and he wouldn’t want to give up a majority of field work just to sign and stamp papers. 

But he meant something else – Archer could feel it, he meant something more important than being a decorated auror with a higher position.  He was talking responsibilities and duties, which Archer would never put behind his personal relationships – it had killed a lot of relationships in the past, most notably with Claudia, it wasn’t a habit he was going to break lightly.  Thankfully, he had always seen Tamis as having the same views as he did – they could enjoy what they had, but the second the call of duty came, they were going to be out the door and doing what they had to do. 

Everything he said he told Tamis did not surprise Archer.  It was something they had danced around talking about, giving it a cursory overview, and Archer explaining that he wasn’t going to just sit at a desk to avoid the less than safe part of the job.  But there was more, more that was coming up than what had been presented to Tamis.  It made Archer swallow hard and put down his glass.

"And I'll tell you something I didn't tell her. She can nay choose you. Protecting innocent people is always more important than the life of any Auror."

Archer nodded slowly.  He was aware of this.  It struck him deeply and he was always going to live by that creed.  It was hard to imagine, and he hoped that Tamis was as tough emotionally as she let on.  There were times where he could crack that exterior of hers and get glimpses of a softness underneath, but there were times that he did not want to see a soft woman when it came to that decision.  He didn’t exactly love the idea, but it was what it was. 

“I know,” he finally said, firmly even with his hesitance, but it was only because he had been thinking of a way to craft an answer.  He did not question his duty, nor did he question hers, but he worried about it sometimes.  Worried about what would happen and if he would have to actively defy orders to stay behind and head into the fray, what would happen.  He thought Ray was stronger than that, but MacDonell seemed to suggest that it was possible she was not.  “The work always comes first, and I believe Tamis knows that as well.” 

MacDonell's own seriousness about the issue - having to send ten good aurors to their death in Azkaban was something Archer could see still gave pain, but he understood what he was saying.  It's winning that matters, and whoever goes down will be missed, but they paid the price of their duty.  Archer walked into work most days with that in mind - it was just part of what he did.  He trusted that if what he was doing put him in harms way he would not be obstructed from completing the ultimate goal.  He trusted that Tamis would see that.

Briefly shaking his head, he looked MacDonell straight in the eye, “She would not compromise her integrity.”  He firmly believed that, and wanted to make sure he knew that too.  His gaze was unwavering and voice was completely serious.  “I would resign if I thought any differently.”