For the first time since early January, bright light spilled out into the misty, dusty shadows of the foot of Knockturn Alley.  Ever since Cinaed Tawse's flight with his son, the Black Chimaera had stood vacant, dark and shuttered.  During the first few weeks following its closure, Aurors had made almost a daily appearance - surveying every crevice and corner of the building with wands and lights for any sign or clue that might lead to the pub owner's whereabouts.  There were rumors of the occasional muttering and cursing from the depths of the darkened pub but no other confirmed signs of life.  With no steady flow of booze and the all too common Auror sighting, the tail end of Knockturn had remained almost completely abandoned. 

But, this week things were different.  The end of Knockturn was lit, again, and voices filtered through the windows out into the alley.  The inn rooms upstairs were, as of yet, still empty but the bar had reopened for business and the pub's usual tenants were slowly making their way back to the dusty barstools and seats.  Seamus had, once again, taken his usual spot on the rug in front of the fireplace.  Almost everything had returned to normal.  Except for one important detail. 

There was still no sight of Cinaed Tawse.  But, he was well aware of the pub's reopening. 

Christian Colburn had taken over management of the pub though, aside from a small stipend, most of the profits were still being deposited in Tawse's vault at Gringott's.  The Ministry was hoping, eventually, the need for gold would draw the man back to his coffers.  The goblin's had been instructed to send word if he did.  With Malone's 'approval,' Chris had taken on the task of reopening the pub as part of his cover.  The Ministry was hoping, eventually they'd come across evidence of Tawse's whereabouts through a carelessly dropped comment from a tenant. 

At the very least, they might be able to identify an additional WBA member or two.  Aside from the current manager. 

Business was still relatively slow.  Most of the usual clientele were a little jumpy about places that had had a recent abundance of Ministry activity and, even without Chris enlightening them, most were smart enough to figure that the place was still on regular surveillance. 

"What will you have?" Chris asked the familiar face across the bar, taking care to keep the surprised recognition free from his face.  Outside of Knockturn, they were, so Chris understood, colleagues.  Here, Chris would practice discretion until someone of a higher rank than both of them told him otherwise.  As far as he could remember, Jonas hadn't been one of the handful of faces to inspect the Black Chimaera.  If that was the case, there was no reason for him to be recognized by the other tenants on sight alone.

The Black Chimaera had changed in its months of inactivity.  It had never been the height of style or fashion - Jonas half-suspected that at least a handful of the regulars who drank there were probably embarrassed to admit the fact in company - but it had always had a certain life about it.  Even with the reopening, something was missing.

There had always been a sense of camaraderie in Knockturn Alley that he'd only ever seen flashes of as an outsider.  Underneath the grunge and the dirt - and, Jonas had to admit, the uncomfortable propensity to kidnap, torture, and/or attempt to murder others who either proved inconveniently employed by the Ministry or to be of a less than ideal magical heritage, of which he qualified for both - the people there shared a brotherhood that went beyond the dark magic and bad reputation.  The images still resonated strongly in his mind.  Dazmond Wiedman, taking Lexus under her wing.  Cinaed Tawse, with his talk of looking out for the less fortunate.  This was more than a neighborhood; the witches and wizards who lived here, for all of their darker inclinations, were as close as it got to a family.

That feeling, that camaraderie, was missing in this new, Ministry-sterilized version of the Chimaera.  The interior of the pub was much cleaner than he ever remembered it, but then, he hadn't been in to visit since early January.  Jonas had chosen to pay his visit earlier in the morning in hopes of finding the establishment nearly empty, and he had clearly gotten his wish.  Seamus still snoozed by the fireplace; the young man that he recognized from the office had taken Ashford's place behind the bar. 

Jonas had stopped to scratch the dog between the ears before ambling over, keeping a careful eye out as he claimed a bar stool.  Walking into what had been the heart of the WBA's territory, even if it was technically under Ministry control now, was probably not on his list of Raynor Approved Field Activities.  But approved or not - suicidally stupid or not - this wasn't something that he wanted to do with a partner.

"Probably too much to hope that you still have that stout on tap, yeah?"  He flashed the young man a quick smile, turning his attention to the lists posted behind the bar.  He didn't know much about Colburn; he'd done some mild sniffing around the office, but getting ahold of a coworker's file seemed slightly invasive, even to him.  Though the wizard struck him as a bit old to be a trainee, he clearly had a connection to Knockturn.  Colburn had been the one to raise the alarm about Tamis's run-in with Tawse, and from what Jonas had gathered, he'd been working undercover inside Tawse's organization even before that.

Colburn's role with the Ministry wasn't why he had come today.  Jonas needed information, and as a one-time regular at the Chimaera, the young trainee-turned-bartender seemed to be in the best position to provide it.

"I've got to say, even though it'll land me in all kinds of uncomfortable conversations for stating it, like as not, it's nice to see this place up and doing business again," he remarked lightly, letting his gaze play across the pub.  "Glad Seamus came out alright through it all, too.  Poor old fellow's been through plenty."

"Not at all."  Chris nodded in confirmation before reaching for a pint glass and setting it on the counter.  His expression betrayed none of his uncertainty and curiosity.  As far as Chris knew, Trevelyan wasn't assigned to the pub as any detail though it wasn't outside the realm of possibility that the man had been assigned without Chris' knowledge.  It was more than likely, though, that the man was here on unofficial terms.  Chris was aware Trevelyan had had past dealings with Cinaed, of course.  He was also aware that both Cinaed and Trevelyan knew Trevelyan was amongst those that had tried to help the Ministry reclaim Cinaed's kid. 

Which made showing up here not the wisest of moves. 

"Got some fresh shipments in on Friday."  Chris set the glass of near-black chocolate stout on the counter at Trevelyan's elbow.  "Time to see the place come back to life."  Chris was glad Mannie seemed to be floating off somewhere else.  He would have, no doubt, expressed his dismay at the choice of words. 

Chris followed Trevelyan's glance around the pub.  It was still relatively early in the day and business, on the whole, hadn't gotten anywhere near it's pre-raid levels.  Chris suspected it was unlikely the place would see the same popularity it had before.  The doors may be open, that blind dog may give the impression it hadn't moved through any of the ordeal but there was still something missing. 

"It won't ever be the same without Tawse around," he offered, without hesitation.  Politics and alliances aside, it was the truth and Chris didn't have the slightest concern about voicing it.  "It's a shame, that.  But, it'll keep coming back.  Truth is, though.  Everyone who has their own story about what brought them back."  So far, 'I didn't have anywhere else to go' had been the prevailing explanation.  Much as it had been in the early days of the Chimaera. 

The red-haired man shrugged, looking thoughtful as he studied the dark concoction within the glass.  "I'd reckon that most of the reasons are the same once you get down to it," he remarked off-handedly.  "The lot that frequents here needs a sense of community.  The Ministry doesn't strike me as giving 'em much to latch on to, and I think Tawse got that.  A bloke'll go quite the distance to feel like he's a part of something, particularly if he hasn't got much else."

That had seemed, more than anything else, to be Tawse's secret.  It was the biggest change that Jonas had noticed between the last troubles and the growing conflict this time around.  Before, the purist Death Eaters had been carefully chosen, perfectly mannered; they had been fighting the upper echelon of wizarding society as much as they'd battled the shadows.  At least from what he had seen, the Ministry today seemed to be far more sympathetic to the plight of non-purebloods; the old guard that remained in the government seemed to have become much more liberal.  But without anyone in power propping them up, the undercurrent of society seemed to feel much more disenfranchised.

All it took was a leader who recognized that to turn the disenfranchised into a movement.  Jonas had no doubt that the old regulars of the Black Chimaera would start trickling back in; Tawse had made the pub part of their identity, the place where they belonged.  He wasn't sure whether or not he agreed with the decision to reopen it, good beer aside, but he could understand the temptation to Tamis.  It would be interesting to see what surfaced here.

He tried the stout; it was, indeed, just as full as he remembered.  Jonas sighed.  It was unfortunate that the only establishment that he'd encountered in the magical world with worthwhile brews was frequented by individuals who very probably wanted him dead.  All in all, braving the world of the Wizarding Blood Alliance was almost worth the risk.

"I've got to say, though, it's not the same without Ashford," he remarked, flashing Chris a dry smile as he raised the glass to take another drink.  "Bit of a character, but he grew on you quick, he did.  You must've known 'im well, yeah?" he asked, giving the younger man an inquisitive look.  "From what Tawse said, it sounded as though he'd been working here for a while."

Chris was and would always be loyal to Cinaed Tawse.  There was no question to that - that Chris was here, risking his own neck and liberty in a double effort to pull the wool over both the WBA's and the Ministry's eyes was a testament to that. 

So, he would be the first to confirm that Trevelyan had just about hit the nail on the head with his assessment.  In any other setting, Chris would have been cautious about revealing too much of his loyalty in any response to Trevelyan but this wasn't any other setting.  Trevelyan was visiting him here on Tawse's turf and that made things, in some ways, surprisingly simpler.  He was supposed to be loyal to Cinaed's cause here.  Trevelyan should be expecting it.  To do otherwise would blow Chris' cover.  Chris could speak the truth without any filters and he'd be seen as simply playing his part.  Drop in a few safe insights and the bloke across from him might even leave thinking he'd gotten some carefully revealed and pertinent information. 

"The bastards certainly don't give them much," Chris agreed.  "We've mostly been seeing the ex-Azzies.  Like Cinaed.  Like when it first opened.  They get shoved to the side everywhere else.  The Ministry locks them up, brings them back out and dumps them back on the streets with five galleons. And, where are they supposed to go?  No one's going to hire them.  And, if you've got wand restrictions, you might as well be wearing a badge that reads 'ex-azzie - don't hire me.'  Cinaed, though, never turned away an ex-Azzie because he had no money.  He put them up, fed them and even employed them until they found their feet.  The others will start trickling back soon, though.  I'm sure." 

"Take Manfred for example-" Since, strangely enough, it had been Trevelyan who'd brought him up.  "You think anyone would have hired him?  I wouldn't say he worked here, either, but he served a few drinks when Cinaed was tied up, that's about it."  To say Mannie worked at the Black Chimaera would be about as accurate as saying a hobo worked for the train yard.  "Cinaed always felt he owed Manfred.  I knew him Mannie well enough, I suppose.  It was he and Cinaed who were close, though."  Chris had always been the third wheel. 

Knowing he'd cough it up to playing the part should the comment be questioned, he leaned across the bar and dropped his voice.  "But, you're right - the folks down here don't get anything.  If some little worthless brat had turned someone up on Diagon into a sieve, someone would have been arrested by now.  But, because it's an ex-Azzie, they don't give a crap.  Which - whatever.  Justice will be served, whether or not it comes from the Ministry.  Someone will extract revenge.  Rumor has it, Cinaed's offered free drinks for life to whoever does.  It's only a matter of time."

Ack!  Sorry - I don't know how I managed to miss this reply completely.  But, here you go!

Jonas listened carefully to the younger man's speech, his forehead creasing with thought as he intentionally shifted his gaze from the supposed-bartender to the mug of stout.  The wand restrictions for ex-Azkaban inmates were something new that he'd learned about since his return to life as a wizard.  They made sense, in a way -- any Death Eaters who had been sent to Azkaban likely had done terrible, treacherous things with their wand, and taking away the essential key to magic seemed a stalwart guarantee that.  But he knew better than anyone that one didn't need to use a wand to impact the magical world.

On the surface, the story about Ashford and the boy made sense as well.  A former inmate, stripped of his identity as a wizard and left to feel powerless when so many around him were raising the hue and cry once more.  He'd stolen a wand somehow -- how and from whom seemed to have been easily glossed over -- and seized on a target, a Muggleborn boy whose heritage had been publicized by the Daily Prophet.  Ashford had arrived at his family's house, hoping to make a statement by murder, and had almost succeeded until the kid had gotten lucky.

But there were the bits that didn't quite fit.  Ashford's general demeanor, for one.  Though the older man certainly hadn't been pleasant, he hadn't struck Jonas as the sort to dive headfirst into a fight undirected.  The hints of the Imperius Curse were another.  That had a shade of Tawse, for certain -- the pub owner had certainly adopted the spell as one of his personal trademarks, along with Polyjuice potion -- but it didn't match the relationship between the two men.  Cináed always felt he owed Manfred, Colburn had said, and Jonas had seen the bond himself.  He couldn't believe that Tawse would send Ashford directly into the fire. 

"Yeah, reckon free drinks might give some poor bloke the motivation," he agreed easily.  It would likely be a nice gesture if he passed on that bit of information to Depardieu, just in case.  The young Frenchwoman was the Auror assigned to the investigation.

"The whole thing with Ashford seems a bit of an odd situation from the beginning though, innit?" he asked mildly, glancing up at Colburn.  "I mean, if I'm going to go through the trouble of stealing a wand so that I can stick it to the Ministry, I can't think that killing some kid is the statement I'd pick.  Did you see him at all the week before he died, by chance?"

Chris' eyebrows hitched up, slightly but he kept the inner vengeful grin well concealed.  If Cinaed wasn't so insistent that it wasn't worth blowing his cover, Chris would volunteer to dispatch the boy himself.  It would be an easy task; his badge would offer him easy access.  But, they both knew doing so would expose him.  It was unlikely that the Ministry would accept any explanation as legitimate for offing the kid. 

He'd have to settle for living vicariously through someone else's revenge.  "There's plenty of motivation already," Chris offered, casually.  "It just offers added incentive." 

Slowly, Chris nodded his head.  He agreed there seemed to be some odd things about the whole situation.  There were members of the WBA he could see wanting to make such a statement - but, they were generally the younger members.  Those who didn't quite understand what they stood to lose. 

"I don't even recall Manfred showing any interest in getting his hands on a wand.  Some of the younger ex-Azzies, maybe."  Like Cinaed.  "Manfred was bitter about being denied a wand but he spent over twenty-five years in Azkaban.  He never talked about it but you could see it - the man was pathologically afraid of getting sent back to that place.  He wouldn't have risked going back because of some brat.  No matter the stories." 

Chris cast a careful glance around the room after the man's last question before looking back and giving a slight shake of his head.  No.  He had not seen Mannie that week.  He'd been trying to build his credibility with Level 2 as a new recruit sent on assignment and was getting ready to re-submerge himself in Knockturn culture.  It was almost entirely because of Cinaed's support that the residents of Knockturn bought Chris' story of joining the Ministry to gather intel for their benefit.  There were still plenty that didn't trust the apparent change of heart.  It was best to avoid bringing up the topic in their company.

Colburn's recollections matched his impression of the ex-inmate.  Jonas raised his mug to take a long drink, watching the sometimes-bartender over the top of it.  Something had obviously happened that had triggered Ashford's change of heart. Even so, Jonas doubted that he would find anyone else here who would be willing to talk to him, and the casefile as it stood held no answers. 

Ashford being under the Imperius Curse made the most sense; someone else had cast it, used him to attack the kid.  But who the hell would go through so much trouble for a fifteen-year-old?  One of the more ludicrous solutions was that the entire mess was the work of one of Malvivicus's rivals, but even that didn't entirely make sense.  Could someone be trying to maneuver the pro-Muggleborn and purist factions into some sort of all out war?  That fit with framing Schlagenweit for the murder of Ava Grosvenor, but like everything else, it still seemed ridiculously nonsensical.  Why would anyone willingly go to so much trouble when tensions were so high to begin with?

Jonas was certain that he was still missing something, but he had no idea what it could be.  Still, Occam's Razor had yet to fail him; sooner or later, the missing piece would fall into place and everything would suddenly make sense.

"Well, that'll be one to think on, then," he remarked, setting the empty glass back down on the counter.  He started to his feet; he'd downed the rest of the stout quickly enough that it took a hand on the countertop to make it all the way.  "Thanks anyhow, mate."

The red-haired Auror dug in his pocket for some change, looking distantly thoughtful as he pulled out a handful of silver coins.  Technically, he shouldn't be doing this.  He hadn't even been assigned to the investigation involving Ashford's death, and Tamis had been very clear on which risks he was and wasn't allowed to take.  But then again, he'd technically already violated those edicts by coming here in the first place.  It wasn't as if he could be fired twice for the same offense.

Jonas set the proper amount of coins carefully on the countertop and then glanced up, deliberately looking back at Colburn. 

"Reckon it's improbable to expect anything," he said lightly, holding the younger man's gaze, "but if Tawse ever gets bold and happens in on a lark, think you could pass on notice that I'd like a word with 'im?  I've got a couple of thoughts that he might like to hear about -- especially if he's as mystified by the whole mess as the rest of us," he added, turning toward the door.  "You can let 'im know that I was asking around."