Remembering Day meant nothing to Jonas.  Certainly, he could understand what it meant -- the heroes who had died, the evil that had been vanquished, the victory that could finally be celebrated.  But that was context; that was processing.  It wasn't really understanding.  His war had begun years before one boy had finally stood against the darkness, and it had lasted for years beyond the end.  Pretending that 2 May held the same meaning for him as it did for everyone else felt a little bit like he was appropriating some other country's holiday, as if he'd suddenly decided to set off explosives on 4 July or burn down a tower for Bastille Day.

The sensation set him apart from the rest of the office, which was a feeling that he hated.  That wasn't to say that the holiday brought only cheers and happy memories with it: any fond recollections of You-Know-Who's defeat were overshadowed by the current tension, which had started on the prior year's Remember Day.  With that shadow hanging over them, matched by the ever-present ghost of Ed's parents and Macduff's ongoing attacks, the tension on Level Two was as high as he could ever remember it, even during the last war.

All of the Aurors handled the pressure differently.  Malone covered her desk in miniature fountains and pretended to meditate on her lunch break.  Pratt exploded at whoever happened to be walking by.  He'd heard from Adon that Daphne Depardieu had broken down in tears at her desk the week before.  Archer was getting closer and closer to his breaking point, more tense than Jonas had ever seen him.  Sooner or later, one of them would crack.

For his part, Jonas felt like he could deal with the increasing stress levels.  He alternated between burying himself in his work and relishing his time with his family, occasionally interrupted by cracking jokes to whichever Auror appeared to be the most on edge.  Recently, that had been Potter -- Remembering Day was not an easy time for the Boy Who Lived -- but unfortunately this time, the  jokes didn't seem to help.  The time-honored classics about lightning bolt scars and world domination conveniently timed around the Hogwarts calendar were not nearly so funny when one was talking to the punchline.

Jonas half-suspected that that was why Tamis had broken her own rule and pulled him for patrol that day.  With Macduff and Tawse still at large, the Aurors were responding to every singed mark of dark magic that burned its way onto the Map[1] in hopes that they would, sooner or later, get lucky.  For the most part, the red-headed Auror had been spared from the response teams due to his current lack of magic.  This time, Tamis had materialized in the breakroom in the middle of his latest attempt to try a new joke on Potter (this one was about a dragon breaking into Gringotts, which would have likely gone over better since it had nothing whatsoever to do with Remembering Day) and ordered him to come along.

It had taken some doing to get to the tiny village near the Scottish border.  Neither of them could apparate, and there were no nearby wizarding houses to which they could floo.  Finally, they had compromised and taken the Knight Bus, asking the driver to let them off at the outskirts of the town.

Working directly with Tamis was a new experience.  Ever since he'd returned, Jonas knew that she had changed from the days when he'd known her well -- but like with Remembering Day, even though he'd known, he hadn't really understood.  She'd grown; she'd changed -- he could see it in her, but it wasn't until he'd accepted her offer to return as an Auror and had taken up Tait's old badge again that he had finally been able to really see his old school rival in her new element.

Ever since Tait's death, Tamis had been distant, but the years had hardened her further.  She'd grown into the leader that the Auror Corps wanted, into the figurehead that her people needed her to be.  Before he'd rejoined the Corps, Jonas felt as if he had been allowed to see through the chinks in her armor -- the first night when he'd surprised her at her flat[2], when they'd weathered the occasion of Tait's death[3], when he'd outstayed any reasonable welcome in Scotland and she'd bested him at crossword puzzles[4] -- but his return had signaled the end of that.  Once he'd become a regular in the office, their interactions had become entirely professional.  There had been no crossword puzzles, no begrudging admissions of trust, very little banter. 

It was a frustrating sensation, and one that he didn't entirely know how to deal with.  He and Tamis might not ever have been friends, but even when they'd professed to hating each other, there had been a profound duality to their relationship.  They had dealt with each other because of Tait, and then they had survived Tait.  He had watched as she'd joined Level Two as an Auror, with an outward disapproval that had grown into quiet support.  And then, finally, when it seemed as though the world couldn't get any darker, she had risked her life to help him leave.  Suddenly, it was as if nothing of that mattered, as if they were employer and employee and nothing more.

The building before them had obviously stood alone for years, paint peeling and cracked.  Jonas looked up at it, studying the faded sign over its entryway for a long moment.  Judging by the exterior, there was nothing extraordinary about the place; as the bartender had said, it was simply an old bakery, abandoned before its time.  If Macduff or his allies had taken up residence here, they either had quite a fondness for stale bread or were desperately running out of options.

There was really no particular reason to think that the magical disturbance had come from here, other than a hunch.  After visiting the local pub and striking up a conversation with the bartender (Tamis, normally taciturn, had simply resorted to eyeing him after he'd introduced her as his American wife), Jonas had nonchalantly asked how the village was faring.  It had taken some bemoaning of the current state of affairs in the country  -- the bloke was obviously a Tory, but Jonas could grit his teeth and play along -- but the effort had finally paid off when the man mentioned a bakery that had closed a few years before.  It had been built on the outskirts of town, and the bartender dismissively said that no one even bothered to walk by it anymore, which was what had caught Jonas's interest.  Muggle-repelling charms often worked in innocuous ways.

Standing here now, he didn't feel particularly repelled, but he didn't exactly feel interested by it, either.  Jonas frowned, watching it a moment longer for any sign of life, and then glanced at Tamis.

"This looks like the place," he said unnecessarily.  Stating the obvious was step one in any investigation; with that out of the way, he cleared his throat.  "Seem like anything's out of the ordinary to you?"

1.	The 'Profound Magical Disturbances' map, which shows instances of unusual or dark magic performed around Great Britain.  Explained in more detail here.
2.	The Adventure of the Creeping Man
3.	The Adventure of the Veiled Lodger
4.	Flowers Only Do So Much

Call it a hunch. The “gut instinct”. That chill that ran down the back of one’s spine that could not be supported by Divination. But it could not be disproved by it either. Most investigators had it, but it did not take a seasoned sixth sense to suspect a terroistic action on the eleventh anniversary of Remembering Day; the one year commensuration of the first assault on the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. It would be ridiculously predictable of Tawse, many would consider it foolish. But with the growing audacity of his… movement… foolish could appear brilliant to the right tier of society.

Which was the Head Aurors greatest fear; that the public may once again fall victim to propaganda. Except this time they would hearken not from fear, but mistaken hero worship.  The petite woman compressed her lips. Not if she could help it.

Much of what she uneasily predicted had already happened and many of the Aurors were already feeling the strain. It affected her least of them, she had the least to lose – and those she did were the ones doing the attacking. Others had not been so lucky. They had lost Ackerly Fox, the defeated and resigned way he had handed over his badge still rested uneasily on memories. And Pratt… she mentally nodded, Pratt was an entirely different ordeal. Archer… she was slowly losing him, they all were. And she did not know how long she could sit on the fence with that one before he became a danger. It was her job to keep the Aurors together, to protect them, and she was growing wearisome of being simply reactive. But at what point did proactive threaten the integrity of law enforcement and become the actions of vigilantes? When did they decide the distinction no longer mattered?

The responses to these Magical Disturbances was as much to give the Aurors Something To Do as much as it was covering all the hoops[1]. Dugan was still out there and they all wanted him, it was a useful distraction rather than having the lot of them sit on their hands. But to have one show up this far north on the eve of the memorial for the Battle of Hogwarts? She decided it was best to respond to that one herself, and bring one of the few that seemed further from their breaking point than most…

Sidling a sideways glance at Jonas Trevelyan at his question, Tamis Raynor analyzed the bakery with a critical gray eye . A new coat of paint, a cast or two of cleaning spells on the windows, and a complete refurbishment of the integral support beams and the establishment would be as good as new. It was not so much on the verge of collapse as it was desolate. Secluded. As if it had lacked proper maintenance for several years and suffered the fate of disinterest.

“It is a little too stereotypical,” she responded simply. Deserted random building at the edge of town that Muggles no longer had an interest in approaching? Dark Wizards were not exactly known for originality.

Working alongside Jonas was as surreal for Tamis as working with her was for him. The Auror she remembered had been arrogant, considerably cocky, and carefree in his use of magic. He still had that gritty, real world charm to him that made him excellent with human relations (not so much creature), but he was more subdued now. That brash Gryffindor disposition to heroism still lurked under the surface, but there was a caution about him now. And he was quite distinctively operating without his magic.

But there was more to it.

When she handed him the memory of Tait Aldridge’s death along with his badge, Tamis knew she had ended the budding camaraderie between them.  He had selfishly been the one person she had hoped to shelter from the whole truth of how Tait died. Mercifully, they had not had much of a chance to interact on a personal level since. She was not avoiding him, but she was not rushing into the inevitable conversation either. She knew the tension was there, underlying their interaction, but he seemed as content to ignore it for the time being as she.

The continual metaphysical war between them to best the other was comforting – not that she would admit it. Especially not as the bartender down at the pub had amiably slid a beer down to “Trevelyan’s little lady” and then not so apologetically apologized if it was not chilled to her yank tastes. She had forced a smile while Jonas had choked down his. She could not deny it had worked though; his display down at the pub had got them here sooner than she would have been able to.  Tamis Raynor was not noted for her people skills and with muggles… she had left it to the expert on both accounts.

Her fingers curled around her wand hidden in the sleeve of her very muggle coat. There was a chill to the air, but that was not uncommon this far North even as Summer approached. Nor was the darkening thunderclouds looming with threatening promise overhead. That did not help make the scene less ominous. She murmured a quick magic detection spell under her breath. Nothing happened. It either meant there was nothing to find or what was there was serious business.

This was, in all likelihood, just a routine response anyhow.

Glancing back over to Jonas she shrugged, “There is one way to find out.”

1.	Quidditch equivalent to the baseball phrase “covering all their bases”?

Evidently the stereotypes and cliches hadn't stopped with the building's appearance.  Jonas slanted his boss a cool, even look, and then sauntered up to the porch, his long stride made uneven by his usual limp.

The deserted bakery looked like anything that he might have expected.  There was no sign of damage to it; it had not been abandoned in some calamity.  No one had even taken the time to board the windows when they'd left.  The paint on the walls was faded, peeling into short strips that separated from the dry wood that was only beginning to rot.  Disinterest and financial decline had left it in such a state, not fires or floods or anything more exciting.  It appeared to be exactly what the bartender had said.

Frowning, Jonas studied the front facade for a long moment:  listening, watching, reaching out with his senses.  He'd never be able to sense most magical spells with his current limitations, but Muggle repellent charms were easy, and something that most wizards cast as the first round of protections.  If he wasn't feeling a sudden urge to go racing off to a dentist's appointment, that meant that there probably wasn't one here.

The red-haired man paused for a moment, entirely conscious of the woman behind him.  He didn't always trust Tamis Raynor's motivations -- or her ability to get through the day without involving him personally in her machinations -- but he trusted her.  If she couldn't sense anything dangerous, if she thought the building was safe enough to approach, then it was.

Jonas raised his hand and gave a quick, brisk knock on the door.  He stepped back, straining for any sign of life, of movement through the dirty windows.  "North Yorkshire Police!" he called, affecting his best impression of Pratt -- although he could have been pinching his nose and gargling water and still sounded like Pratt, considering how well most folks could understand him.  "Open up!"

There was no sound.  No movement.  Jonas counted to ten, and then counted to thirty more, watching and listening for anything that might give away a presence.  Still nothing.  Raising his eyebrows, he glanced back over his shoulder at Tamis, and then raised his hand again to try the door.

The metal doorknob was cool and rough to the touch, as if the years had worn away at it.  Jonas tapped it tentatively, quickly yanking his hand back, and then tried once more, closing his hand around it.  When he tried to twist it, it didn't give.

Whoever had abandoned the bakery might not have taken the time to board up their windows, but at least they'd remembered to lock the door.

The onetime private detective sighed, and then ruefully looked up at his compatriot, tapping a finger against the uncooperative doorknob.  "You mind?" he asked, obviously resigned to the fact that she was going to score one over on him for this one.  "I would, only I reckon I left me wand at home."