It had been a successful start of the day.  Hanging around in Knockturn Alley, watching the Black Chimera, but not necessarily going in it had paid off.  Two punks who came out of the building were acting shady and Archer had decided it was worth his while to approach.  After all, the young ones who had to keep looking over their shoulders weren’t doing it because they were old dogs who grew up in the alley. 

After a little footwork and practiced eaves dropping, Archer saw a little bottle and he was able to stun both of them.  Turned out it was a bottle of billywig venom, far above the legal limit for people without an apothecary’s license, and he was able to drag the two in.  Now, of course, that’s not what Archer was going for, he didn’t really care about some giggle-juice, but he did care that they were coming out of the Black Chimera and that meant trouble to him.

Everything had been happening quickly in the office – particularly with the Fox family.  Archer suspected it was all coming from here – especially when he learned MacDuff was a family member to Tawse.  They put extensive watches on the building for either of them, and others who might be involved, so they were going to get lucky eventually – and Archer was lucky today. 

Thankfully, he was able to haul them in, still stunned, and throw them in holding cells until they came to – their wands held in the office. He kept them apart, naturally, so stories could not be corroborated, and he told a hitwizard to notify him immediately when either of them woke up.  They just had to wait at this point.  He told Jonas he had two young men in holding and would need back up.  He, of course, filled him in on the aims of the whole thing – since it was rather important, and then went back to his own space to determine a course of action. 

Even if it was just a few days after the birthday party, honestly, Archer had gotten so drunk he couldn’t remember most it and the blessed part was that everyone kept getting better looking –and not even from the beer goggles!  A lot of hims in one room couldn’t keep him angry for too long, and he had to admit, it was well played.  Jonas would get his when he did, and Archer would be twice as clever about it.  For now though, work was taking top priority. 

It felt like an eternity, but when Archer got the notification of the first, he could barely contain himself.  He jumped out of the cramped cubicle and yelled for Trevelyan to meet him in questioning room 4.  It was the farthest back and he wanted to keep it as far from everyone else as possible.  He had to go up to level 10 to escort the punk down and the ginger in the room would be a good way to greet him, immediately out numbered. 

Even if Jonas was still as magic-less as he had been for the past months, the suspect didn’t have to know that.  Thankfully, the transfer to the questioning room wasn’t that rough – the suspect was still a bit disoriented, but it would wear off soon enough and Archer tugged him along throwing open the door and put the young man in the chair, wind whirling in his hand ominously.  “Stay in the seat,” Archer commanded in a rough voice, “or I’ll have to body bind you.” 

There were some things that one just didn't forget.  It had been over a decade since Jonas had really worked closely with Archer Radley.  He'd been assigned to the slightly older wizard during the latter part of his training as an Auror, and had continued as his partner once he'd finally earned his own badge.  Much of what Jonas knew about investigative techniques, about dealing with witnesses and suspects, he'd learned from the other man. 

He'd once known Radley well enough that he could read into the nuances of his behavior.  They'd teamed together effortlessly, with a familiar ease that he was only just beginning to develop with Adon.  Since he'd come back, Jonas hadn't worked with Archer nearly as closely as he once had, but in their flashes of interaction, there were subtle differences to the man as he was now.  Radley hadn't lost his good-natured ease or his steady sense of self, but there were flashes of temperament that Jonas didn't remember from ten years earlier.  Rushing in after Tamis without stopping to think.  His complete helplessness as he sat forlorn by her bed.  It was an odd feeling, knowing someone and yet not really knowing him anymore.  His decade absence often felt longer than it really had been.

Fox's resignation earlier that morning, coupled with the attack on the man's family only a few days before, had left the air on Level Two feeling suffocatingly heavy that morning.  Jonas was dying for something, anything to do.  The investigation into Atalana Kanika's background was wrapping up, the search for Robin Adani had stalled out, and until he heard back definitively from Adnan Musallam, there was no more inconspicuous digging he could do into Vedir Prideaux.  The only other option was mulling over the man from the book fair, but his frustration at letting Tait's murderer escape was beginning to tear at his seams.  When Radley had asked if he'd mind helping out with the interrogation, the red-haired Auror had leapt at the chance.

He hadn't been working closely with Archer on any investigations since he returned, but with Adon still at Hogwarts, the hunt for Tawse was a man short.  Jonas was vaguely familiar with the details from the Adani case and his own digging into Manfred Ashford's death, and even though it had been ten years, he knew what Radley expected out of him in an interrogation.  At the other Auror's shout, he'd grabbed his notebook and a pen -- he still couldn't get used to parchment and quills -- and made his way carefully down to the indicated interrogation room.

Jonas was lounging in a chair by the time the other two entered.  He glanced up as the door opened, his eyes snapping to look over the stumbling figure that accompanied Radley.  Young.  Still looked shaken up from his arrest and treatment since.  As he well had right to be -- no one in Magical Law Enforcement was happy about what had happened to Fox and his family.  There was a hard edge to the Auror Corps at the moment, and it was only a matter of time before the hammer dropped on someone. 

"Probably for the best, that," he told the younger man amicably, not bothering to move from where he sat, legs stretched out in front of him and ankles crossed.  "No reason to make this worse than it has to be, mate.  How's the morning been so far?  Alright, yeah?"

With an indignant flop of moppy blond hair, the young man dropped himself into the lone chair with such force that it likely would have toppled over had it not been secured to the floor.  His nose wrinkled in a scowl that sported as much disgust as it did disdain.  He glared at the single, nondescript table in front of him with such intensity that he may have been trying to bore a hole in the surface with the strength of his gaze alone. 

Illiam Clague[1] folded his arms across his chest and, other than the sour expression, gave no indication that he acknowledge either of the other two blokes' presence. 

Illiam had, thus far, managed to avoid the clutches of the Ministry before this.  Patrick McLeod, the other man the Aurors had brought in, had a growing record on Level 2 though they'd yet to nail him with anything that stuck.  Hopefully, though, that meant McLeod knew the rule: Keep Your Trap Shut.  They owed the Ministry nothing. 

The Dark Auror's threat was met with the sound of throat clearing and a glob of spit spat in his direction that landed with a splat near where the Auror stood.  He, however, remained firmly in his seat.  Immediately, he turned towards the Ginger.  "Piss off, bloody codger." 

Illiam pushed himself more upright in his chair though made a great show of illustrating that his buttocks, indeed, remained firmly connected with the seat.  "Don't know what the feck you want with me!  I was on my way home when this rabid blighter jumped me and dragged me in here.  Really desperate to show you're lot's earning their galleons, eh?  Stooped to dragging in people for drinking too much, now?"

1.

NPC - bio

Jonas was a good counter-point to Archer’s intensity.  Trevelyan was calm, collected, and while Archer generally remained both of those things, there was a very clear level of malice bubbling just under the surface.  Trevelyan had no such obvious layer – at least he didn’t when they used to work together.  It seemed like ages ago, really, and ten years was a long time, but outside of losing some of his obvious obnoxious behavior, Trevelyan remained largely the same. 

So when he walked in with the perp and Trevelyan was already waiting – it felt like they had gone right back there, and the routine of the whole thing helped settle Archer’s throbbing temple.  Of course, Trevelyan could have picked a less… enraging question to ask.  He supposed that’s what he was good at – not so much the good auror to Archer’s bad, but more the annoying to Archer’s hostile. 

Though he wanted to smirk at Jonas’ lines, he kept his face calm, watching the blonde punk with a death glare.  If looks could kill, Archer would never be allowed to interact with criminals. 

Archer watched the spit fly toward him without much of a care – at least not outwardly.  He hated bodily fluids; he really did, particularly when they came from questionable sources.  Some of his worst memories on the job came from body fluid.  Things that came to mind, definitely carrying Katz from the Shrieking Shack.  That was the worst, to date, and he had been involved in a lot.  It was just… he shook his head, only a little from side to side and glanced up as the wad landed on the tip of his boot. 

“Not quite far enough, Ace,” he pointed out dryly, walking behind Trevelyan’s seat.  He didn’t intend on sitting, that was not Archer’s style.  “You were doing more than drinking and you know it.” 

“I certainly know it, and I don’t get lied to -”  He swung his wand slowly in his fingers, leaning against the wall farthest from the suspect and across the room.  “Never more than once.” He raised one eyebrow, as though he was challenging the kid, and sighed, pushing himself off the wall, “You seem a little young to be associating with scumbags, Clague,” he pointed out. 

He looked him over, glancing at Trevelyan, “Punk’s dealing with the Black Chimera and Billywig venom.” Archer did not even regard the young man at this point, “I imagine he’s got some deeper connections to that place, considering the sordid clientele.”

He still knew the rhythm, even after all the years that had passed.  Good cop, bad cop had never been one of their strengths before -- for one thing, the twenty-five year old Archer Radley who had been his partner had never really been all that intimidating, especially when dealing with the hardened Death Eaters that they'd been hauling in during the 1990s.  But times had changed; the population of purist sympathizers with criminal leanings seemed to have gotten years and years young, and although Jonas would probably get punched if his ex-partner knew he was thinking it, Radley had gotten much older.

Outwardly, none of his old friends and comrades appeared to have changed much.  They were still largely identical to the individuals he had known: the same tics and habits, the same personalities and hopes and dreams.  But underneath it all, Jonas could note the differences.  The years had made Archer Radley a few pounds heavier and a hell of a lot scarier, and the increased intimidation factor had nothing to do with the age that showed in the other Auror's face. 

Radley had an edge to him now, much like Adon did.  Jonas had seen him snap once in Scotland, but even now, there was that dangerous loss of control lurking just under the surface.  He paced behind the red-headed Auror's chair, forceful and restless, and then shifted to lean menacingly against the wall.  It was perfectly practiced, like something out of a crime drama; Jonas had to consciously stop himself from glancing around for the two-way glass.

The lines were right out of a crime drama too, save for a few minor modifications.  Jonas masked any hint of a smile at the mention of Billywig venom, keeping his face carefully expressionless, and then shifted his gaze back to the kid, studying him intently from across the table. 

"Well, if the potion showed positive for Billywig venom, that's enough to hold 'im," he remarked evenly.  "Seems a shame to do it, though; every bloke tries Billywig once.  You got mates at the Black Chimera, kid?" he asked, arching an eyebrow at the young man.  "Reckon if we all chat for a bit, then maybe we can work something out."

“You were doing more than drinking and you know it.”

"I don't know what you're talking about."  Illiam barked without hesitation, shifting indignantly in this seat.  It was the reflexively, natural rebuttal of a man trying to say anything that might be of relevance and one he hadn't given much thought to.  There was some truth to it, though.  He didn't know what the man meant or wanted though he could hazard a guess.  The Auror could be referring to any number of things but Illiam wasn't about to offer any suggestions. 

The moment of reflexive defense past, the lad snorted a derisive laugh and tilted his head back with a renewed arrogant veneer of calm.  "Nonsense.  You get lied to all the time."  Illiam raised an eyebrow at the red-headed Auror before shrugging.  "I'm sure your bint's told you your her favorite many times before."  Illiam didn't know if the man had a girlfriend or not.  It had seemed a safe bet, though.  Chicks digged uniforms, after all. 

He shrugged at the Auror's bit of 'advice.'  Again, his shoulders hunched in a dismissive shrug as he shook his head.  "Is that what it was?" he replied, trying to sound surprised, looking between the dark auror and the red-head.  "Billywig?  I'd been told it was essence of murtlap.  My crup got bit by my neighbor's cat.  Nasty wound.  I'll be sure to get my money back." 

"That Chimaera's the image of reputable business!"  Illiam gestured his arms wide with a mocking laugh.  "Their fare's the best in the alley - you can't hold it against me that they've got the best firewhiskey.  You should try it.  It'll change your mind right..."  The red head mentioned working things out and Illiam's eyebrows inched up slightly.  He leaned forward, resting his folded arms on the table top. 

"This is about Tawse, isn't it?"

The kid was a right punk.  Archer hated the type, arrogant beyond their years and with nothing to lose at that.  He was just some poor, loser kid who got involved with the wrong people.  Unfortunately for him, unlike others in the department, Archer had no sympathy.  Everyone was given the ability to make choices, and if you made the wrong choice, you had to live with the consequences.  This kid would be paying the consequences for years. 

Jonas was doing his job well though, and Archer hoped that the same eons of punishment that this kid was going to undergo would not translate to his own torture during this business; of course, the smart mouthed youth could do well to keep himself quiet.  Archer twitched his wand in his hand, sending a little – (maybe more than a little) shock at him, keep him in line.  “Slipped,” he commented idly, pacing behind Jonas’ chair as the man pointed out that everyone tried it – moot point, not everyone got caught – and that they could “work something out” with a chat.

That part, probable.  Archer didn’t want to say so, of course, that’s why Jonas was there. 

Of course, despite the young man’s smart ass mouth, they weren’t in the business of being lied to, and Archer snapped a laugh at him.  “Now I know you’re lying,” Archer snorted – the BC was the last part Archer would consider reputable.  It was shady, and so was the kid.  He wasn’t stupid though.  Knew the right answers, knew what they were after. Archer could give him credit there.

Archer was standing still by this point, arms crossed on his chest and one foot tapping. He was anxious and couldn’t stand still for too long.  It was like being a lion in a tiny cage, and a bunny rabbit was just thrown in to him.  Well, bunny wasn’t going to last that long if Archer had his way.

“We never mentioned Tawse, did we, Trevelyan?” Archer cricked his neck from side to side before moving closer to the table, “Seems the boyo has a guilty conscience, yeh?” he accented the ‘boyo,’ putting his hands on the edge of the table, standing next to the still seated ginger, glancing at him with his dark eyes. 

The spell snapped by him, electrifying the air enough to make the hairs on his arm stand on end.  Jonas's eyebrows shot up, and he very carefully shut his mouth, deliberately keeping himself from glancing at the other man.  Radley had fired off the spell so casually, it was hard to believe that it was anything out of the ordinary, and the callousness of the act was startling.

He wasn't here to undermine the other Auror.  Radley had years of experience beyond Jonas now, and when it came to things like questioning suspects, the former private detective was well out of practice.  But the thought of introducing force into an interrogation, even magical force that would likely leave no lasting physical effects, set his teeth on edge.  There were things that one didn't do, whatever the context.  It didn't matter how much things had changed since he had quit the Auror Corps.  It didn't matter what the stakes were.  It wasn't right.

Pointing out the fact, though, would just show friction in front of their suspect, ruining the rhythm that they were trying to create.  One spell, one slip, wasn't worth blowing the entire interrogation, but letting it pass without comment felt too much like taking the first step down a slippery slope.  Jonas took a deep breath, letting it out slowly as he focused on the kid.  Now might not be the time, but they'd be talking about it later.

Radley had seized on the mention of Tawse, taking up position next to him at the table.  Jonas glanced up at his former partner, meeting the taller Auror's gaze silently before looking back at the Knockturn rat.

"That or he reads the papers," he replied, still calm, still cool, as he arched an eyebrow at the youth.  "Bit of a challenge for you to frequent the Chimera without knowing Tawse at all, mate.  When was the last time you saw him about?"

A sharp pain struck him in the side and Illiam leapt to his feet.  "Troll shit!  It slipped, my ass!" he spat at the dark-haired bloke, glaring at the wand in the man's hand.  He didn't have to deal with this!  They were going to abuse their power over a few doses of billywig?  Bastards!  "You fu-" he started, his hand raised as he started to move around the table before reason caught up with him and he forced himself to sit back down. 

Illiam glared at them man incredulously.  "Or," he quipped, sarcastically.  "I go to the Chimaera regularly enough to know the proprietor is on the run and wanted by the Ministry?"  It really didn't take a genius.  And, while it seemed the Ginger was able to show a little more common sense, it didn't even take reading the paper.  Gossip spread through Knockturn faster than a wildfire.  "Or, perhaps, you routinely perform full interrogations with two aurors on everyone you bring in for a little billywig?" 

Illiam rolled his head in the Ginger's direction, and regarded the man a moment.  And, there they were, asking about Tawse.  Despite the Dark-haired's posturing and loose wand.  He'd been right about their motives.  Illiam had offered to cooperate and make a deal; they'd made it clear they were content to sit back and hex an unarmed man. 

"Sorry," Illiam said, turning back to the Ginger and shaking his head.  "I'm not talking to him.  Not without a lawyer and not without a deal on the table."  He leaned back in his chair, pursing his lips as he looked back at the Dark-haired.  One side of his nose wrinkled in a sneer.  "Thank you for proving to me, though, that Tawse is right.  You lot are just a bunch of power-sick bullies.  He's got it right!"

The satisfaction of stinging the blighter wore off fast.  He was pushing his patience and despite his foolish behavior, the kid wasn’t an idiot.  That made Archer’s job harder in a lot of ways.  If he was dumb as a rock, he’d be able to just get what he wanted and send the kid packing.  Archer had no interest in what happened to him legally beyond this point, unless of course he ran out and started killing and torturing people for no good reason.  Then they’d have something to talk about.  Right now, he didn’t even care about the bloody punk.  Could have been any Knockturn scum in the chair and Archer would have behaved the same way.

Feeling the tension growing in his jaw, Archer cracked his neck and took a deep breath in through his nose.  He was a smartass – though he deserved some sort of respect.  Young punks on the wrong side of the law didn’t deserve any respect, and he certainly wasn’t going to start with this one.  Archer rubbed the bridge of his nose, and leaned over the table again, fingers wrapped around the edge.

“Fine, then,” he stared straight into the kid’s eyes.  He felt like if looks could kill, the kid in front of him would slump over and die, “since we’re on the subject,” his voice was cutting, punctuated at every syllable, “heard from the proprietor recently?”

It seemed his question was going to go unanswered though – and the kid cried wolf.  He was going to bring the legals in here?  This was a bloody joke.  Archer could feel the frustration well up in him.  He flexed his fingers over the edge before lifting the metal table up and slamming it back down on the ground – hard enough to actually bend one of the legs.  He was frustrated, beyond entirely exhausted, and frustrated, and he was going to call the lawyers in?

Walking to the other side of the room, Archer was going to put his fist through the wall, but thought better of it.  He just turned and stalked back toward the table.  “Tawse," the name was practically acid on his tongue, "is a criminal - and worse, a coward who will get what's coming to him,” he spat, shoving the table as he pushed himself back and stalked to the door. “Kid wants a lawyer, he’ll get a lawyer,” Archer grunted, slamming the door behind him as he exited the interrogation room.  He barked at Bailey to get a rep for the perp and took a moment for himself.  The ginger practically flew out, Archer Radley was not playing games today.

He stood behind the double sided glass and stared in, breathing heavily.  Jonas was going to handle it for a moment.  Archer could come in at a moment’s notice; the kid didn’t have a wand either, so it should be fine.  He just needed a few moments to himself. 

If he were able to put money down on the outcome of exchanges like this, Jonas would have been making far more than his regular Auror's salary.  Archer fired off a remark, the kid ran his mouth off in response, and the tension continued to grow.  The red-haired Auror stayed silent, keeping himself from glancing at Auror as the youth treated them to an eloquent treatise on the virtues of  Cináed Tawse.

There was no way he would have predicted Radley's response.  Jonas jerked back as the table slammed, sending the papers in front of him scattering with a jolt.  His control faltering as he glanced up, startled, at the other Auror.  It was all he could do to shut down his response, to keep from demanding to know what the hell his friend was doing, what he was thinking.  If this was Archer's way of intimidating their suspect, he was bloody well taking it several steps too far.

But Archer, at least, got himself back under control.  He snapped off a response at the kid and then stormed out of the room, slamming the door shut with a thunderous boom behind him.  Jonas watched him go, his jaw tight, and then took a deep breath.

Good Auror, Bad Auror.  That was the game.

He let the breath out slowly, allowing the moment to settle as he gathered up the papers, shuffling them back into a pile.  The basics inside the kid's file were simple enough to recall.  Illiam Clague.  Former Ravenclaw.  Pureblood roots.  Young, worked as a clerk in Knockturn.  An older sister and a younger brother -- that was something, especially to someone involved in Tawse's cause. 

Jonas spared the kid a careful glance, returning the pages to the folder again.  It was frustrating that these were the sorts of people they were losing, that this was the lot being brought in to Tawse's cause.  The former Azkaban inmates like Ashford, he could understand; with the wand restrictions, there was no reason for them to ever support the Ministry.  But the young pureblood wizards, most of whom had come to age after the war -- none of them should have turned.  Tawse certainly had a gift for drawing others into his own makeshift community.

"Yeah, don't know if I can disagree with you about the bullying, mate," he remarked quietly, not glancing at the door.  "Don't reckon it's being sick for power that's causing it, though.  When families start getting brought into things, anyone'd lose their cool."

He shrugged, closing the file and tossing it back onto the table.  "Not still serving the same stout at the Chimera, are they?" he asked Clague thoughtfully.  They weren't going to get a straight answer out of him, not about Tawse, and he doubted that having a lawyer would make the kid any more talkative.  But there might be more to gleam from the situation.  "Can't say I'm all that surprised if the crowd's trickling back in.  The place had the best beer in Diagon, never mind just Knockturn Alley."

The disdain and contempt dripped off of every posture and every gesture of the dark-haired Auror.  Illiam met every creaked joint and every glare with equal disdain in his own steely, aloof glower.  He tried his best to appear to be ignoring the man's loud tantrum and to conceal how much he was expecting to get hexed, again, at any moment. 

But, then, what more could he do?  The balance of power was obvious to everyone present.  Illiam had none; the two men who faced him held complete control over everything.  If the man decided to hex him - or worse - there wasn't a thing Illiam could do about it.  Illiam had no wand, no allies, no idea what they planned for him - he couldn't even get up out of the bloody, damn chair.  And, right now, he only had one last chip to place his bet with: any information he might have about Tawse.  And, Illiam was convinced that if he played that chip with that Dark-haired auror in the room, he'd be broke and they'd sent him up-seas to Azkaban regardless of any deal struck. 

That chip was just too valuable to play without any hope of a pay out. 

So, despite his posturing and despite his terse rebuts, Illiam let out a long, shaky sigh the moment the door clicked shut behind the dark-haired Auror.  Illiam drooped over in the chair and rested his head on his crossed arms on the table top.  He'd almost completely forgotten about the Ginger's presence until, after a few moments, the man spoke up, quietly.  Illiam lifted his head and quickly plastered another expression of disdained indifference on his face. 

"Yeah, well, I didn't do anything to his family.  I wasn't even planning on selling that billywig - just for my own use, you know?  That bloke, though, needs to be the one going to those Azzie's anger management classes!  He doesn't care, though - we're all the same to you Ministry types.  They all act like being in Knockturn's some crime.  And, you point fingers at us for being intolerant." 

Curiosity flickered through the indifference but quickly turned to suspicion.  He offered a hesitant reply, anyway.  "From what I heard.  I go for the red ale, though.  Just because its down Knockturn doesn't mean its second class."

It was good to take a moment to himself, and looking into the double sided glass, Archer could see that the kid was rattled.  He slumped over the table.  Jonas, despite what Archer really knew about the man, looked calm and didn’t seem to give much concern to Archer.  He knew, probably in the back of his head, he was evaluating what happened as much as Archer was.  He knew he was always rough around the edges, but he couldn’t remember the last interrogation where he had behaved that badly.

Sure, he yelled and occasionally slammed his fists or hit the wall, but he had almost broken the interrogation room table.  Rubbing the bottom half of his jaw, he just couldn’t keep it together – and thankfully he had at least asked Jonas to go in there – asked him to temper him a bit.  And he was doing a good job – despite the fact that he did call him a bully, but at least he was giving the proper reasons.  It seemed Archer had done enough to make Jonas an acceptable alternative though, and the kid knew what was up.

He was probably telling the truth; Archer couldn’t see a young kid like that killing anybody.  He was probably just going to go hang out with his other punk friends, but he could give them something – anything.  Archer would take it and let the kid go, undocumented if he had to, just for something.  Archer didn’t even care about the insults, really, he got those all the time – he cared about the information and the families that would continue to be hurt if they didn’t get it. 

He hoped Jonas could find something useful – of course, the types of beer available was not exactly what Archer was looking for.  He could get that on a menu.  But it was opening the kid up – Jonas took the “let’s all hold hands and sing” approach to this stuff – Archer couldn’t pull it off, but the other man could. 

Glancing over his shoulder, he saw Bailey on the complete other side of the office with the lawyer, making their way over.  His eyes anxiously searched back in the room, hoping that in the minute or so it would take for the very young, nervous looking lawyer (probably new – even better, perhaps Bailey was intelligent underneath the blank expression and stupid hair) and the ginger to cross the office.  “Come on,” Archer growled under his breath, anxiously switching feet and scratching his neck, “Something…”

Discussing the finer points of beer drinking, even briefly, was certainly a pleasant change from what the rest of his day would entail.  Jonas cracked a grin, putting one hand on the table to wobble it and test its stability, just to make certain that it wasn't going to collapse. 

"Naw, like I said, innit?" he replied nicely.  "Best place I've found in either Alley when it comes to what's on tap.  Tawse has a pretty good nose for beer.  Shame we can't all drop in anymore."

He wouldn't shy away from the fact that the kid had a point.  Knockturn's contempt for the Ministry was only matched by that of the Ministry for the Knockturn rats.  Jonas had seen both first hand and parts of both still frustrated him, but it wasn't as if there were anywhere in the world that was free of judgements and prejudice.  Dismissing Tawse and his allies as despicable purists ignored the weight that was in the rest of their message.  Communities could be powerful , whatever their motives for forming.

"Reckon the finger pointing goes both ways," he said quietly.  "But Tawse made it personal this week, and the Corps are a bit stirred up now as a result." 

Just the thought of Ackerly Fox, the memory of the worn, resolute expression on the Senior Auror's face when he'd left the office that morning, brought a hard edge to his thoughts.  It was as if the same nightmarish world that Jonas had once walked out of had resurfaced once more.  There would be no mercy given to Macduff or whomever else had attacked Fox's family.  He knew that with steely certainty.

"Look -- Illiam, innit?" he asked with a frown, his gaze shifting back to focus on the kid.  "Reckon I hear you on not selling the billywig.  But fighting that's a losing game right now -- Radley's s0 h0t-headed about this all, he's been throwing blokes in detention left and right for contempt over a lesser charge," he lied effortlessly.  He gave the younger wizard a thoughtful look.  "Once we get a lawyer in here so we can do this right, you reckon you could answer some questions for us?  If you cooperate, that'll take the wind out of Radley's sails, and it'll give me something to work with so that I try and head him off on pressing charges."

"He took pride in that place."  Illiam straightened back up in his seat, both palms flat on the table between them. There often wasn't much to take pride in down their way.  Knockturn was dark, crowded and attracted a fairly mismatched segment of the population.  Tawse had taken pride in the Black Chimeara and, at the same token, had made it clear he took great pride in being in Knockturn Alley. 

But, they weren't here for small talk - whether it be about beer or anything else.  Illiam leaned back in his chair, draping an arm over the back of it as he turned his head to gaze at his reflection in the mirror. 

"I don't know what you're talking about," Illiam insisted, truthfully.  What had been rumors about an underground group before had become broadly known facts in the Alley since Tawse's flight.  Everyone down there knew of the WBA, now, whether or not they were members.  Illiam had been dabbling non-commitally but he knew enough to know there was some things Tawse did as a WBA member and there were somethings Tawse did for himself.  Either whatever it was that had gotten the Ministry all excited was one of those personal endeavors or Illiam simply wasn't important enough to know the details.  Both were equally likely.  "And, I don't really care." 

A lack of a correction was all the confirmation Illiam gave as to his name.  He wasn't eager to double cross Tawse but he also wasn't very eager to go to Azkaban, either.  "Yeah, whatever."  Illiam turned back to look at the Ginger.  "I'll cooperate.  If I get to go home."