In the right hands, even nonchalance could be turned into a practiced weapon.

After twelve years, Jonas considered himself an expert at such strikes.  So long spent as a private investigator, left without any sort of magic or any sort of authority beyond what he could imply or scrounge up for himself, meant that he'd had to turn to other tricks of the trade in order to ferret out information.  In the short weeks since he'd rejoined the Auror Corps, the practice had continued to serve him well.  Over a decade gone meant that he was either seen as an interloper in the camaraderie of Level Two or as an unchanged version of his twenty-four-year-old self.  Needless to say, he was getting plenty of practice at letting things roll off his shoulders.

But nonchalance could be used as  weapon in so many other ways.  Jonas kept this firmly in mind as he strode into the Head Auror's office, whistling cheerfully until he stepped through the door.  He'd waited until the end of the workday; most of the Aurors were obviously in the habit of staying late, but paperwork still had to be turned in by five or risk getting doomed to the dreaded 'Have it on my desk by the morning,' which without fail signified an even later night than usual.

Tamis was, unsurprisingly, still at her desk.  Jonas tossed the paperwork on the ever-constant pile that seemed to function as the inbox - it was, he had noticed with fascination, rather like an accordion, forever growing and shrinking in succession as the Head Auror did battle against the ouroboros of her work load that seemed constantly on the verge of swallowing her whole - grabbed the chair reserved for visitors and victims alike, and, without waiting for any hint or indication of permission, lowered himself to take a seat.

"There's the report," he informed the Head Auror cheerfully, stretching his legs out in front of him.  It was clear from his body language that he wasn't going anywhere.   "You need help with any of the big words, feel free to ring me; finally managed to convert that woolong signing bonus into a proper thesaurus, so I might be able to assist a bit.  Oh, and you'll want to come over for supper on Friday, yeah?" he asked smoothly, as if the question had already been decided.  If one let Tamis Raynor dictate the timeline of one's social interactions, one would be left politely inquiring about the weather all day. "Anna needs to know how many places to set."

Scratch. Scratch, scratch. Scratch, scratch, scratch. No matter how fervently Tamis Raynor pressed her quill to paper she could not drown out the incessant, cheerfully pitched whistle getting louder and louder as it edged closer and closer to her open threshold. Absit Omen, she wondered it if would work as an incantation.

The whistling continued to climb in pitch until it reached the very cusp of its destination. Then it ceased.  The Head Auror might have bent a little closer to the document she was reading; concentrated a little harder on the calligraphy than was necessary. The woman remain unmoved by the entrance of her red-headed comrade, not looking up as she heard his deliberate footsteps tread against the old, fraying rug encompassing the floor space. He might have been nonexistent as the chair across from hers “whooshed” with expelled air under his added weight.

It was too much to hope that the man was on a peaceful mission at the close of the designated work day. Not with that precursor.

The intruder began talking in characteristic accent. They had reached the point where further ignoring the man would become rude. Something she had been avoiding with this particular Auror for several weeks now, at least with issues other than the one she had been hoping he would not bring up, but inevitable knew she could not escape forever. With some resignation, gray eyes lifted to consider Jonas Trevelyan lounging in a seat that usually accommodated much less at-ease guests.

The parchment landed on the never-ending pile on her desk, tousling her hair. Immediately, the pile began to shuffle as if guided by a pair of imaginary card dealer hands, organizing the new documents into a system only Tamis Raynor very well understood. She dotted her last “i” in the sentence. She could at least ignore the muggle reference.

“Glad to hear you are taking measures to improve your vocabulary,” she commented readily, placing the document to the side to allow the ink to dry and reaching for another one. 

Her hand slipped on the pile -- She would want to do what?

Slowly those same gray eyes lifted to regard his blue with much more intense consideration, reflecting very little of the surprise behind them. She would want to come over to supper? There were a million and one reasons to say no to that offer; most of them began with “Archer”. Her mouth opened soundlessly, reflecting the uncertain state of her reply when he verbally walloped her again. Anna needed to know what preparations to conduct.

Oh Merlin.

“I am otherwise engaged,” she lied. A touch too quickly.

Watching Tamis Raynor studiously ignore him was like observing an artist at work.  Jonas leaned back in his chair, doing his best to appear an appreciative audience as the Head Auror continued to painstakingly dot her Ts and cross her Is (or, quite possibly, the other way around).  She only looked up after he'd started to talk, barely flinching even when he threatened her with the thesaurus.  If he hadn't had the curveball of dinner with the family to throw at her, Jonas had no doubt that Tamis would have made it out of the conversation without saying anything of substance whatsoever.

A lesser man would have been hurt that she turned down his invitation so quickly.  The dig at his vocabulary aside, Jonas was certainly not a lesser man -- and on top of that, he'd been ready for refusal.  He knew Tamis well enough to be certain that she often wasn't aware of what she actually wanted.

"No, you're not," he countered cheerfully, drumming his fingers on the armrest of the chair.  "I checked your appointment book this morning.  You're clear straight through the weekend, Tam."

Admitting that he'd gone digging through her calendar was probably a death sentence for a mere mortal, but Jonas was banking that he'd built up enough goodwill over the past few weeks to earn himself a reprieve.  In the month since he had accepted the position at the Auror Office, he'd done everything that he could to play by the rules.  He'd turned over files.  He'd filled out paperwork.  He hadn't murdered Eddie Pratt.  He had even, without complaining, allowed Tamis to move him around like one of her personal chess pieces, not calling her out on the manipulations even when they irked him beyond all regard.  It was one thing to use employees; it was quite another to do that to a friend.

That sense of team spirit didn't stop him from going all out on this particular self-given assignment, though.  Very likely, Jonas thought, he was actually doing his old rival a favor with all of this.  Tamis had gotten far too comfortable in her superiority.  Once dinner was through, she'd thank him for reminding her that others could cast a net just as well as she. 

The moment had come to reveal just how far his reach stretched.  This time, he was the chess master.  Tamis Raynor was coming over for supper, whether she liked it or not.

"Arch mentioned at lunch that the two of you didn't have any antecedent assignations that night, anyhow," he put in lazily, leaning back in the chair.  The amount of enjoyment that he was already getting out of this conversation could be neither healthy nor humane.  He'd have to apologize to someone for it later, if only to clear his conscience.  "We reckoned it might be fun if you both lingered dilatorily for a bit, too.  You know, have a couple of drinks to consummate the evening whilst we macerate and chymify, yeah?"

No.  The single syllable successfully grabbed the woman’s complete and undivided attention. She put her quill down, still full of ink. There were not many who told Tamis Raynor that word. There were even fewer who believed they could get away with it.

It took the rest of the sentence attached to that foreign word a moment to set in, but when they did – one of her eyebrows spiked.

“You stole my appointment book?” she cut in abruptly, yet amazingly calmly -- but Jonas Trevelyan pressed on smugly and perpetually cheerfully.

 He had already discussed it with Archer. Assignations!?[1] The eyebrow crept ever-closer to her hairline, disappearing into her side bangs and her eyes narrowed. Her vocabulary was vast but she had trouble determining what exactly he meant.

It was difficult to determine how to feel. Glancing at the clock, it was technically the end of a work day for the Ministry but the Aurors Office often pressed on well after that. He had invaded her work environment and was addressing her in a manner that lacked professional courtesy, borderline disrespectful of a superior. She was having difficulty determining if this was a conversation between an employee and employer or two (not) friends. On one hand, she was touched at the invite, but on the other the extension of friendship completely and utterly terrified her. The fact that he was cornering her into it infuriated her and trumped all the other points. 

She wondered if she could morally justify hexing a man who had the current magical prowess of a muggle.  Instead she leaned back until her shoulder blades came in contact with the back of her chair and stared at him in an unspoken contest of wills.

“You stole my appointment book?” she repeated.

1.	Assignation (as·sig·na·tion) noun 1. an appointment for a meeting, especially a lover's secret rendezvous

"Checked your appointment book," Jonas retorted, this time taking care to emphasize what was apparently the key word.   "'To steal,' also known as 'to thieve,' 'to pilfer,' or 'to misappropriate,' implies ill-gainfully 'taking possession of.'   And the book's still there, innit?" he concluded cheerfully, flashing the woman a crooked grin.  Apparently his former rival's flair for the dramatic extended to misjudging her employees' investigative skills.  "I looked at it, Tam.  Don't act like I was plotting to take down half the Ministry just because I saw it sitting on your desk and took a peek.  Hired me to be a detective, didn't you?"

Clearing his throat, he stretched his legs out in front of him.  It was really too bad that there wasn't enough clearance to allow him to kick his feet up on her desk. 

Part One of Operation: Get Tamis Over For Dinner -- catching her off guard with the initial offer -- had been cleanly executed.  He had also neatly tossed Parts Two (head off any excuses) and Three (prevent summoning her obvious potential ally) into play.  That meant it was time to implement the final section of his master plan: the Unavoidable Guilt Trip. 

It wasn't that he was hurt that Tamis didn't seem to give a damn about interacting with him on anything but a professional level, not exactly.  Even as schoolmates, they had never been friends, and ever since his successful return to the magical world, his normal strategy for interacting with her was to do everything humanly possible to get on her nerves.  Showing up at her flat unannounced, bonding with Adon, lingering around the hospital, even accepting the Auror badge -- nearly every major decision he'd made in the past few months had been done to intentionally cause Tamis Raynor irritation.

Except he was hurt.  Well, a little hurt.  In a very minute, almost undetectable way.  Tamis Raynor had been the one person he'd trusted to help him get away back in 1997 when everything had gone to pieces.  She'd been one of his last connections to Tait.  He'd always assumed that, though they had never been friends, they had at least understood and had been willing to look out for each other.  And yet in the decade he'd been in hiding, she'd never bothered to track him down or investigate what had happened to him.  The nicest thing she'd said to him since his return was that she'd plan his funeral if he managed to get himself killed. 

It wasn't as if he cared, Jonas told himself firmly.  He wasn't looking for reassurance or affirmation or any sort of bloody useless emotional return from this mess.  He knew that Raynor really gave a damn deep down, even if she wouldn't admit it. 

It would simply be nice if, just once, she dropped her guard long enough to show it.

"Besides," he added, giving the Head Auror an injured look that was only partly feigned.  "You haven't even met the kids yet.  And you only met Anna the once, Tamis.  It doesn't count if you're only half conscious."  A plaintive, almost pleading edge crept into his voice.  "The only reason I stayed alive long enough to have a family was because of you helping me get away.  You really going to tell me that you don't care enough to even go to dinner with 'em?"