Jason MacDonell was seldom to be found wearing his plum Wizengamot robes when it was not absolutely necessary; the heavy fabric, adorned with a silver "W", had a decidedly cumbersome feeling, and people tended to speak to him as if he was their grandfather while he was wearing it. But it did have a few advantages, and MacDonell was wearing it today as he appeared out of thin air in the Ministry Atrium, eager to exploit that formally respectful and deferential attitude.

But he was to be unrewarded in his initial survey. Though he pulled aside people from several Departments, chatting with old friends and former subordinates and even fellow Wizengamot members on their way to work, they could tell him little that was of use, and usually no more than the Prophet had already reported: Raynor had ordered a Ministry-wide lockdown and a room-by-room sweep of the entire building, for reasons and targets unknown. The Aurors evidently had not found whatever -- or whoever -- they were looking for, though the entire Corps had been mobilized for the search.

Only three comments stood out. One Unspeakable noted that even Dante Ward had been asked to comb his Department, though the emergency had apparently not been critical enough for the Aurors to do it for him. This MacDonell found as intriguing as it was disturbing. Who could possibly infiltrate the Department of Mysteries? Granted, the Death Eaters had done it in 1996, but in the dark of night, when the Ministry was empty.

The second was just as concerning, though mostly because it was Jason hearing it. An MLE Officer, tugging nervously at his collar as he was questioned by a Wizengamot Elder, admitted that Raynor herself had been noticeably shaken, snapping at her staff and looking deeply unsettled. MacDonell had known his protege for a long time, and whatever could fracture her composure that severely was dangerous.

The third piece of information he pried from an Auror, and it was the most confusing and unsettling of the lot. The Aurors and Hitwizards themselves had gotten a description of their target, though hearing it meant nothing to Jason. But it had been accompanied by the words 'known Auror killer'. Since the Azkaban Uprising, only a single Auror had been killed: Timmins, apparently felled by Gibson, though only a few weeks ago Raynor had privately confided that that theory was now null. One dead, sea-decayed corpse on Hannah Bombay's table, and a murderer still at large.

It was the only connection that Jason could make, and it did not bode well. Evading pursuit for killing Timmins and bewitching (and perhaps then murdering) Gibson too was one thing, but to waltz right into the Ministry and then escape?

And so, having milked the gossip mill for all it was worth and wound up with only a few drops of useful information, the former Head Auror finally took the lift up to Level Two to have a word with his successor. Though his Auror training gave him the desire to be better-informed than someone he intended to question, Jason felt distinctly uncomfortable trying to piece together the story before he spoke to Raynor; it seemed like going behind her back. But there had been something odd about Raynor's reply to his Patronus, not least the fact that she hadn't used a Patronus herself. Why write, why send something so oddly formal to an old friend who was just a shade off extended family?

Emerald eyes narrowed, cane muffled on the carpeted floor as he limped toward Raynor's office, MacDonell exchanged greetings with several Aurors he passed, but did not stop to chat. His eyes were fixed on the office that had once been his, and the woman he could see inside, staring at the window behind her as if the view was real.

Suspicion and annoyance dissolved as Jason noted the tension in his protege's shoulders. Stopping at the door, he tapped it twice with the head of his cane and said with concern, "Tamis?"

Holiday bonus now well behind them, Magical Maintenance had retired from their grand displays of fixing oddly broken down lifts and glitchy floo gates. The monsoon that had plagued the windows of Level Two had cleared up and the pleasant summer afternoon reflected for weeks in Tamis Raynor’s own office window had frozen to more properly reflect the weather above ground. Snow drifted among the towering buildings of muggle Westminster, scattering across ottomobile windshields and bonnets. It would have seemed authentic, if not for the distinct lack of darkly clad figures moving along the sidewalks, hunching their shoulders and bowing their heads against the chill.

With the fireplace crackling merrily and in full force, its cast the Head Auror’s face in an unreadable orange glow as she stood with her back pressed against her desk, staring at the scene as if she did not navigate its true counterpart everyday to work.

In her hand she held the source of most of the ruckus from the week before, an Auror badge, near identical to any other worn by a member of the Corps. They all had their subtleties, being individually wrought. Some were older, some were newer. Some had dents and scratches from less-than-meticulous handling and others gleamed with the smooth impeccability that suggested several years of obsessive compulsive care. Line the badge in her hand with a row of others and it would be impossible to pick it out unless the person was privy to these little nuisances beforehand. But it was different.

It had belonged to Tait Aldridge.

Bowing her head, Tamis Raynor rubbed her thumb across the surface of the badge that, until a week ago, had been missing for fifteen years. She would have remembered it from anywhere. Coming home after her shift at St. Mungos and lounging on the couch with Tait, only half paying attention to the wireless while she snatched his badge, playing with it while he told stories of the guys and their many adventures. Never anything confidential. A small smile tugged at her lips. He had loved the job as much as it could have been loved; loved saving people. It had been the one thing they had most in common, even if their opinions differed on what ‘saving’ meant.

Pulling a lock of hair back behind her ear, she looked back up at the “window” much more oblivious and trusting with her open doorway that she likely should have been. She had messed up last week, she knew that. The Irish Man was long gone by the time his little package had been delivered, she knew that when she had ordered the Lockdown. But she had to look. She could not know he had been there, possibly gone merely minutes, and not have done anything.

Why was that bastard back?

She remembered that alley way. Her naivety and oblivion. His hair. Those dark cruel eyes. His eyes had been so cruel she had not been able to look away from them, knowing he was getting some satisfaction, some pleasure from…

A cane rapped on her open doorway. A familiar voice called out. She jumped.

“Jason,” she acknowledged, running a hand through her hair and pulling herself back together. She gave him a strained smile, “punctual as always.” It had been her that had lost track of time. 

Jason frowned as he saw Raynor jump, clearly startled by his presence. Of course, she hadn't been quite as much for Stealth and Tracking as he himself, but more concerning, there were those rare, inexplicable moments when she would seem to sink into herself, lost in whatever thoughts or memories plagued her. Certainly all Aurors needed time to brood and self-analyze now and then, and Raynor had definitely seen as horrific things in her career as anyone else. But in an Auror, becoming lost in self-reflection was a dangerous habit. It allowed one to be snuck up on.

This was MacDonell's secondary concern. First in his mind was worrying about what could make his protege look this lost to begin with.

"Jason, punctual as always."

The former Auror frowned, his emerald eyes narrowing. Her words were normal enough, even had the slightly teasing edge the two often traded back and forth. But there was something just slightly off, some weight on the syllables that made it sound like she was being lighthearted only with great effort. Her smile was a weak, less real version of itself.

"I try," Jason replied, but it was an automatic thing, his lips forming the words without his mind involving itself in the process. He stepped slowly into the room, drawing his wand with his real hand and flicking it at the door, which clicked softly closed behind him.

Stepping up to Raynor, his expression full of concern, he replaced his wand in the pocket of his flowing, deep blue robe and touched her cheek gently with his fingertips. "What has happened? I've barely heard a word about the lockdown..."

His eyes fell on the gold badge in her hand, then widened as he looked back up. Raynor holding an Auror's badge, looking lost...a Ministry lockdown...'known Auror killer'... "Raynor, did we lose another one?"

He tried to keep his tone gentle, knowing how hard it would be for her if it was true. Timmins had been bad enough; the first Auror killed on duty since Azkaban. Raynor had been stoic enough about the whole affair for the most part, but MacDonell knew she suffered from it, though there was nothing she could have done differently. He himself had led ten of his brothers to death at Azkaban, so he could definitely empathize. But how could another Auror's death have been kept quiet?

Some instincts never quite died, like Jason MacDonell advancing into a room with the predatory grace of a cat with narrowed eyes and wand at the read; that would sympathize with anyone’s sense of survival. Maybe it was the formal, judging robes that made her feel like she was on trial or the wary look in those emerald eyes as he regarded her. Or even the emotionless arbitrary response. Whichever, or which combination, it might have been she straightened her back and following the man cautiously with her eyes, her left hand twitching instinctively to the wand holstered at her hip. It would not be the first time he had picked a fight about something that was bothering him. He had not explained as of yet, though those likewise tended to come after the action. But it was a hell of a way to start an argument conversation about the Lockdown.

The hush of the door closing remained the only sound between them from several moments.

 If her Office was damaged, she was making him fix it. She almost told him as much but something stayed her tongue; something was off about the situation and her initial assumptions. Something was not right. There was no threat in her predecessor’s stance. None of the usually warning signs. He had not tried to hex her yet. Raynor’s hand stayed, caught somewhere between still reaching for her wand and drawing her hand away from it.

MacDonell kept moving forward, way past the intelligent distance to maintain if one was going to initiate a duel. His wand disappeared back into the folds of his official Wizengamot robes as he stopped well within the “danger” zone of Tamis Raynor’s personal space. Her gray eyes flickered up to meet his and she felt a small pang of surprise at the concern in his. It was not irrational for it to be there, given the years of friendship, it was a mutual endearment but sometimes Raynor forgot that people could care – did care.

The Scotsman, infamous for his brass cool nature and affinity for The Killing Curse, reached out to touch her cheek with a gentleness that was blackmail worthy. Bemused, Raynor took a step back arching an eyebrow up at Jason with an amused smirk, “You,” she accused, “are getting soft in your old age." And then, "Jacquelynne force you to play tea party again?”

It was a diversion tactic, meant to dissuade him, but it was too late. Her eyes followed his to the badge held loosely in her hand, her grip on it had slackened when she had become preoccupied with whether or not she was about to enter a duel. She tightened it again, eyes following his back up, practically watching the conclusions form across his face. They were not the correct ones.

“No,” she negated solemnly. Thank Merlin. For a woman that rarely hesitated she hesitated now. Then with great reluctance, she held out her hand, offering the badge to him. “This was delivered to me by one of the new recruits, from a man in the atrium.” She paused again. How long had it been since she had said the name out loud? “It belonged to Tait Aldridge.”

She kept her face completely neutral, an Auror mask at its finest. There was not any emotion to show.

"You, are getting soft in your old age. Jacquelynne force you to play tea party again?”

Concerned he might be, but Jason was still enough himself to roll his emerald eyes. But he recognized Raynor's diversion for what it was, and kept his mouth shut, waiting for her to address the real issue.

"No."

The simple word relieved much of the tension from Jason's shoulders. It was a terrible thing, a catastrophe, to lose an Auror; he could easily understand how that might have created the dark weight Raynor was obviously bearing upon her shoulders. That no other one of their brothers had been harmed was a relief.

But after a second, it occurred to MacDonell that, even with all her Aurors accounted for, Raynor still looked as if someone had reached out and turned off the sun -- and not the way Magical Maintenance did when they were in a particularly foul mood. His wary expression returned. "Then what--"

"This was delivered to me by one of the new recruits, from a man in the Atrium."

Taking the badge automatically in his real hand, Jason glanced down at it. Still gleaming and bright, goblin gold. Then his eyes fell on the badge number, and the color drained from his face.

"It belonged to--"

"Tait Aldridge," the former Auror said in unison with his protege, eyes narrowing again in consideration, mind working quickly. Every Auror from 1994 and before knew that badge number; Aldridge's badge had never been recovered from the scene of his murder. It was one of the highest-priority cold cases in Wizarding Britain, the grisly murder of an Auror and torture of a civilian. But in almost fifteen years, they'd had nothing resembling a lead. Of course, the intervention of the Second War had pushed the investigation to the backburner, and the trail had long since gone cold.

Now, apparently, it was warming again.

"He was here?" MacDonell said, looking back up at Tamis, his tone half aghast, half outraged. "Here, in the Ministry building?"

The older man finished the name with her and she quickly shut her mouth, jaw tightening. The badge slid from her numb fingers as MacDonell claimed it with his own, but her eyes never left it. Leery reluctance gripped her as she relinquished the badge, as if afraid she would not get it back.

Finally, she tore her gaze away, crossing her arms to give her now empty hands something to do as she regarded her mentor carefully. His face had become equally expressionless but his mind was clearly working behind the façade, Ravenclaw intellect well at work. She waited in silence, not quite sure how to break it or if she truly desired to.

The outrage in his voice provoked her own irritation, even if it was not intentionally directed at the Wizengamot Elder.

“I would not have demanded the Lockdown if I had not believed so,” she snapped back and then drew a long ragged breath, lifting a hand in apology before rubbing at her temples with it. Mentally counting to ten, she gathered herself. Misdirecting anger was not going to get her anywhere. “He had it addressed to the Head Auror, Jason. Fifteen years in silence and then he makes a point to send a calling card.”

Had the calling card been for her, personally, or had the fact that one of the Irish Man’s victim’s was the Head Auror been a coincidence. She did not think he had known her name all those years ago. She had not been his target. Only the means to the end. Would he have bothered to figure out who she was, these many years later. Would he have… She shook her head.

“Runespoors reappear and so does that badge. I do not believe in coincidence.”

Whatever Tait had stumbled into a decade and a half ago was going on again. Something than the organizers had made an example of an Auror over in order to silence him and make a point. It was trouble on top of trouble and she was not sure if Level Two could handle it.