It hadn't become habit, exactly, but Jonas assumed that the young witch who acted as Cameron Rosier's magical secretary must have grown used to the men and women of Level Two marching past her desk with barely an acknowledgment on their way to see her boss.  At the very least, she'd barely bothered to squeak out more than the word "Appointment!" as he'd gone breezing by, waving a hand to communicate the urgency of his visit, his eyes already locked on the Department Head's door.

The week off had been far from a holiday, but he still felt much more at ease than he had before he left.  There was plenty that was still unresolved.  He'd promised his brother-in-law that he'd look in on Grace, who was still planning to move to London with her friends despite her mother's death.  Adon was leaving for Israel in less than a month.  Robin Adani was still missing, and even if Macduff had been neutralized, they were no closer to tracking down Cinaed Tawse or ameliorating any of the other threats to the Ministry or the populace as a whole.  But even so, he was alive.  His friends and family were safe.  Things happened when he waved his wand.  The world was certainly looking up.

It was looking up for everyone but Rosier, at least, who despite a return to his usual well-groomed look (maybe he'd taken the wanted poster to heart) did not look very happy to see him.  Jonas ignored this; four months of partnering with Adon had taught him that he could sometimes force sour moods out of existence through sheer cheerful refusal to acknowledge them.

"Morning, boss!" he greeted him in a chipper tone.  He took a moment to cast an eye over the lavish office, just to make sure that some of the added touches from the Mixer were still there.  Thankfully, enough were.  The charmed mound of leprechaun gold still sat in the corner, adding another coin or two every few seconds with a metallic 'clink,' and the and the giant sign that read 'CASHIER' still hung over the Department Head's desk.  Either Magical Maintenance had had their work cut out for them banishing all of the enchanted tumbleweeds from Level Two's halls, Rosier had decided that the entire thing was too much of a headache and left it for Monday, or Hunter Radley's charms were just that good.

"Proper job on the decor, by the way," the red-headed Auror added cheerfully, making a beeline for the visitor's chair on the near side of Rosier's desk.  Like appointments, invitations to sit were only necessary for the polite and the non-Aurors; Jonas took it for granted that if he were there, his boss was going to talk to him.  "Nice of you to add to Department spirit like that.  'Long as we're not getting Leprechaun gold in lieu of our next paychecks, yeah?"

Jonas pulled back the chair and eased himself to sit, looking expectantly at the man on the other side of the desk.  "So."  He kept his tone easy, relaxed, good-humored -- not the least bit irritated or challenging.  "Funny bit I noticed when I came in this morning,  You know how I've been out on leave for a week, Mr Rosier?"

His desk was again covered with parchments, documents, papers…random trash. Truth be told, it looked worse than ever. Since that awful Ministry mixer, Rosier just felt like trashing the place, so he scattered books all over the floor, left some dirty tea cups lying around and spilled some ink just to make his office gain that “charm” again. But that wasn’t the only reason for this “creative” mess. Since the night of his attack Rosier was unable to sleep properly. He swore he would find the person who crossed all the lines, who made him so, so incredibly angry…who dared to injure him in his own garden while he enjoyed a late-night cigarette.

He had some ideas by now, but it was all vague. That was why he stayed in the office until ridiculous o’clock these days; he wanted to get his hands on the files he normally wouldn’t necessarily have. Of course, as the Department Head, Rosier had access to all case files, but the Aurors liked to play it sneaky sometimes. They had their own little notes, their little “special” reports. The Auror who gave Rosier the most headaches about this matter was Jonas Trevelyan, and conveniently Trevelyan has been on some sort of holiday for the past week. So Rosier had plenty of time to snoop around the ginger man’s desk.

Unfortunately, Rosier was arrogant and reckless. He would never cover his tracks, making it obvious he was going through the desk and taking (borrowing) things which don’t belong to him. Of course, without ever returning them…But that was only fair (he thought bitterly), after the heresy that was done to his own office. To even think of transforming his office, his sanctuary into a…whatever it was. There were still traces of it left! He wished he had time and enough patience to deal with it once and for all.

But he was trapped in his own world and nothing could sidetrack him now. Not even a nice, warm cup of tea next to him. However, apparently Jonas Trevelyan could…Grimacing at the Auror’s usual entrance style and annoying greeting, Rosier just remained seated. He didn’t say a word, he was too used to this sort of rudeness. And then Trevelyan rambled on…and Rosier listened even though he knew where this was going…

"Nice of you to add to Department spirit like that.  'Long as we're not getting Leprechaun gold in lieu of our next paychecks, yeah?"

Rosier wanted to curse him, but instead he skilfully fished out the fake name plaque (which said "Cameron 'The Boss' Rosier - Bank Manager"  from underneath all the parchments and threw it at Trevelyan.

"Careful, or you won't be receiving your next paycheck,” he said ominously while he watched the man sit down.

“Yes.” Rosier answered his next question impatiently, wanting to return to his work, his small obsession. “What do you want?”

Rosier had a better throwing arm than he would have suspected.  If Jonas had been a second slower or an inch taller, the heavy metal name plate would have connected with his forehead; as it was, he barely managed to intercept it, juggling it for a moment before getting a grip he could maintain.

"Yeah, thanks.  I appreciate the warm welcome, boss," he said cheerfully, ignoring the fact that Rosier had just tried to give him a concussion.  "Reckon I'm glad to be back too."

It was nice to see that the name plaque had survived the weekend as well.  Obviously, beneath his curmudgeon outer shell, Rosier appreciated the show of affection.  Jonas studied the front of it for a moment, and then tugged at his sleeve, making a show of using the red material to polish the metal inlay.

"So, I noticed the funniest bit this morning," he began, in a conversational tone that clearly signaled that this was going to be a long and detailed story.  "Because like I said, I've been gone for a week -- well, I was in on Friday for the Mixer," he interrupted himself, glancing up briefly from his polishing work, "but I didn't exactly go rooting through me desk or anything.  This morning was really the first time I had a chance to sit down and take inventory of everything.  Sort through papers, catch up on casework -- you know, yeah?"

"And you'd think, me being gone a week, someone'd need to go through me files or something," he went on good-naturedly, still scrubbing at an imaginary spot of tarnish.  "But Radley's got his own copy of most things, and Adon's probably the neatest bloke in the office when it comes to filing systems; if he'd been rifling through me stuff, it would've been reorganized and alphabetized, not just pillaged.  And then," he added, glancing up to meet Rosier's eyes across the table, "I realized that someone hadn't just gone through the files, it looked like they'd snagged a proper few of them.  All having to do with that attack on your home, coincidentally."

There was no point in pretending that there was still tarnish on the name plaque.  Jonas placed it carefully back on the table -- "Cameron 'The Boss' Rosier" -- and then leaned back in his chair, eyebrows raised and smiling slightly.

"Funny, innit?" he asked easily.  "You got any idea what might've happened to them, boss?"

The heavy metal plate unfortunately failed to hit its target. And Rosier guessed this was Trevelyan’s turn to act all smug…except he was doing a very poor job. The only reaction he got out of his boss was a lazy, fake yawn and then he returned to his notes. However, the Auror continued to ramble and Rosier only half-listened – yes, he went through his desk, yes he made it obvious he took things without any intention of returning them and yes – he cared very little about all this. His investigation was more important than the feelings of the man before him.

Rosier let Trevelyan finish his rant. ‘Oh my papers….someone took them!’ He could only roll his eyes at this. What did the Auror want? A confession? It was obvious who took the files. Was he trying to make him feel guilty? Fat chance…”Yes, I’ve got plenty of ideas Trevelyan, one more bizarre than the other, in fact.” He sighed, still not lifting his gaze from the piled up mess in front of him. He stared down at some tiny print on a document, struggling to read it. Maybe he should consider wearing reading glasses, even though they made him look about ten years older than he was. It wasn't a good look. “How about this one though – I took them! They are all here!” He finally looked up at his colleague and indicated at the messy desk. “Feel free to take what’s yours…feel free to dig through all this”

The mess was horrendous. Even if Trevelyan was foolish enough to listen to Rosier’s “advice”, he wouldn’t be so lucky to find exactly what he was looking for. Even though he was struggling with his unorganized workspace, Rosier enjoyed it. He would never be able to work somewhere where everything was perfect and neat. With a small shrug, he returned to the notes once again; now he was almost frantically looking for something – at first just digging through unorganized parchments, then a bit more violently, flinging things on the floor and opening the drawers with unnecessary force. “Where was the--…” he grumbled to himself, getting out of his chair onto the floor, looking through the papers that have fallen from the desk. 

At this point, Trevelyan was being completely ignored. Realizing this while crouching under his desk on a pile of messy documents, Rosier finally spoke; “Erm did you need something else? If not, then goodbye.” He found something that resembled the paper he was looking for. He sat on the floor and started reading it, then realized that wasn’t it – so he causally flung it over his shoulder.

“On a second thought Trevelyan….Why don’t you make yourself useful for once and help me out with something.” He didn’t like asking others for help, but it was this guy’s job to help him out…so, it was only fair to ask this. “Also, have you got any Gin?” He wouldn’t even ask for Champagne – Aurors had no class.

Whatever reaction he'd been expecting -- denial, anger, excuses, a return accusation -- outward admittance to the crime hadn't even entered the list.  Surprise showed through his expression as Jonas gaped at the man across the desk.  He opened his mouth, then shut it, giving the rest of the room a disbelieving look.

Had Rosier lost his mind?  This was certainly not the office space of a man who had everything under competent control.  For the first time, Jonas really looked at the piles of papers, cigarette butts, and dirty tea cups -- the signs of uncontrolled chaos that did not really indicate a man in a healthy and orderly state of being.  He'd noticed the signs of strain in Rosier since the man had taken on the role of Department Head; they all had.  But he hadn't ever considered that matters had moved beyond 'strain' and more towards 'breaking point.'

Even Rosier himself did not appear to be his usual polished self.  The man looked harried, exhausted -- none of the cool control that he had originally exhibited when he'd taken on mastery of Level Two.  Though there was no blood matting his face, he looked every bit as awful as he had that early morning when he'd summoned both Jonas and Pratt to his residence to tell them of the attack, greeting them at the door in his skivvies.  That had certainly been a sight that Jonas did not need to see twice.  Although come to think of it, from this vantage point, he couldn't really tell if Rosier was wearing any --

“Erm did you need something else? If not, then goodbye.”

Jonas froze; whatever he'd been craning his neck to see, he decided that he didn't really want to know.

“On a second thought Trevelyan…." Apparently, he'd missed his opportunity for a quick escape.  The red-haired Auror could have cursed.  Lesson learned; next time, he'd just take all of the bloody papers home so that he could scan and photocopy them.  That way, Rosier could do whatever the hell he wanted with the files. 

He'd half-tuned out his boss's request -- something something, being useful, and then 'help me out with something.'   “Also, have you got any Gin?”

"Yeah, keep it in the liquor cabinet at me desk, right between the scotch and the arak."  He'd fired the response off before really thinking about it; belatedly, it occurred to him that Rosier wasn't kidding.

He swallowed, and then leveled a look at his current supervisor.  Was he actually wearing trousers?  Damn it. Now he wasn't going to bloody well be able to think about anything else.

"What do you need help with, boss?" he asked, more than a little warily.  If Rosier even mentioned undressing, he was going to be off like a shot.  "I mean, I've got a bit to catch up on today.  And, uh --"  He waved a hand generically at the mess surrounding them; tracking down the physical location of his papers hadn't been on his to-do list, but apparently it was going to be.  At least digging through the mess would give him plenty of practice at casting Accio. 

Rosier decided to ignore his colleague’s sarcastic remark about the gin. He didn’t actually expect the ginger man to understand his troubles anyway…Aurors rarely did. It was rather frustrating though how Trevelyan tried to worm him way out of this situation now, when just less than a minute ago he was all bossy and confident. “You don’t need to catch up on anything,” Rosier growled unpleasantly, finally getting back up on his feet. As much as he liked swimming in the endless parchments on his floor, he didn’t like the fact that Trevelyan looked down at him. One thing was for sure – Rosier enjoyed being superior. “Take a seat,” he said, finally paying more attention to the Auror than to his documents.

He looked at Trevelyan somewhat analytically. He already decided what he wants to tell the man and what kind of information to share. “As you can see, I’ve been researching these days,” he said unnecessarily.  Research – that much was obvious, but a clever person would conclude that the term “research” was used loosely. In Rosier’s case “obsession” would probably be more suitable. “The thing is…” He took out some random papers from a folder and placed them in front of him, trailing off already with his story. “Basically, I know who attacked me. I figured everything out – I just need your help now to prove it. Because without proof we obviously have nothing, even you Aurors know that….And you know, if you can still remember, I burnt down most of our evidence.” He was still bitter about that. But that curse saved his life, no matter how many problems it caused.

After mumbling something to himself, Rosier took out a tattered-looking blueprint of Knockturn alley that was so scribbled out in red ink that it was almost hard to see what it actually represented. “We will infiltrate this place,” Rosier said with no other explanations and pointed his finger at a small, circled plan of a building. He knew he made no sense, but he expected Trevelyan to shower him in questions anyway…which he will then attempt to answer. But just to make it a bit more clear to his colleague, Rosier added; “The place is owned by Tawse, by the way.”

It had taken less than two minutes for the situation to degenerate.  Suddenly, the execution of a plan that seemed like a bright idea only moments before -- waltzing into Rosier's office, casually asking if he happened to know the location of Jonas's papers -- was making the red-haired Auror wish that he'd taken an extra day off. 

"Uh," he said intelligently, as he mentally scrambled to follow the former lawyer's train of thought.  'Research.'  Needing 'proof.'  He could practically hear the air quotes around both terms.  Rosier had latched onto this like a madman, and he still wasn't sure if the older wizard had decided to wear trousers today.

That last thought was the most unsettling out of all of them.  Quickly, Jonas dropped his gaze to the map, squinting at it as he tried to spatially assign locations to the different buildings.  "That's...the Black Chimera?" he ventured uncertainly.  The scribblings made it hard to tell -- had Rosier colored on the bloody thing? -- but it was the only real estate that he knew was owned by Tawse. 

But infiltrating the Black Chimera didn't make any sense.  Jonas bit his tongue for a moment, trying to decide if there were an easy excuse he could seize on to make a quick escape.

"I don't really think we need to infiltrate it, boss."  He regarded Rosier warily, his forehead creasing, as if he weren't sure which discreetly chosen bit of logic was going to set him off.  "I mean, we've got control of it now as it is, don't we?  Tawse isn't running it anymore.  If you want to poke around in there, I think you've only got to waltz inside," he said uncertainly.  "But he hasn't used it as a base for months.  I can't reckon that you're going to find very much."

Rosier was annoyed. Trevelyan understood nothing, he stared at him like some rookie trainee who had no intelligent ideas to share so he just threw at him what sounded ‘reasonable’. But Rosier could be patient, he was always patient – with his impossible employees, the insufferable women who usually kept him company, his poor excuse for a family or his fake friends. But he could handle it, or at least he thought so. He thought he was doing a fairly good job, despite the circumstances. “That’s not the Black bloody Chimera,” he said impatiently, pointing his finger at the circled spot. If one looked closer, it indicated the space located just next to the infamous Knockturn pub. It looked like a small annexed flat from what the blueprints showed. What was interesting was that this property wasn’t registered under Tawse’s name in the Ministry records, but with a bit of digging, Rosier found out the truth.

“This place was never searched,” he continued more coherently this time, quickly snatching a tattered case report. “According to all your records, you didn’t even know of this property.” He was using the term ‘you’ meaning ‘the Aurors’, but it sounded like he was only blaming Trevelyan. Well, the ginger Auror was here – he might as well take the blame. Hopefully Trevelyan will understand the greatness of his discovery (Rosier literally put weeks of senseless, obsessive and meticulous research into this and his brilliance will not be so easily dismissed) – perhaps Tawse still dwelled in this small flat. Perhaps essential information was hidden there.

But as per usual, Rosier trusted no one. They would all want to take this into their own hands…Aurors did that. And then they took all the glory. It happened every time. But this time he won’t have it – Rosier didn’t want glory, he wanted revenge, he wanted to be responsible for the capture of the man who dared to injure him in his own home. That was unforgivable.

“I’m offering you a chance to search the place with me,” he said to him, speaking of this mission as if it would be some sort of an honour. “You’re not allowed to tell anyone of course,” he added slowly, eyeing his colleague and anticipating some sort of an argument. Trevelyan never gave in without a fight and as annoying this trait always was, it was the one thing Rosier absolutely loved about the man.

“What do you say? Shall we give it a go?”

It was hard not to get defensive with Rosier.  Jonas nearly opened his mouth to blurt out that of course he didn't know about some bloody piece of property -- he wasn't on the WBA investigation, and although he might occasionally make a hobby of researching cases that he technically had no official interest in, doing so wasn't a lifestyle -- but he settled for merely snapping it shut.  He had no idea if the building-shaped scribble had ever been searched; for all he knew, Archer Radley did so weekly, and had just been sharp enough to keep mention of such a fact out of anything that Rosier could easily steal.

This conversation was quickly lining up all the hallmarks of what was probably a really bad idea.  I'm offering you a chance...you're not allowed to tell anyone, of course.  Jonas quickly let a breath out, pressing his tongue against the back of his teeth.  This was not going to end well.  He didn't know what Rosier was saying -- had no idea if the building really had any connection to Tawse, or what significance it might have, or why he was suddenly being roped into this mess when all he'd done was come to ask for his files back.

"Rosier, have you ever had any formal investigative experience?"  In his current state of exasperation, Jonas didn't even bother with honorifics.  He leaned back in his chair, expression doubtful as he eyed the other man.  "I mean, not to put a damper on it, but let's assume you're right.  You've managed to stumble upon some place that Tawse has been secretly using as a hideaway for months.  Nobody else knows about it.  Cheers to you, mate."

There was a chance -- a very small, minute, almost nonexistent chance -- that Rosier was right.  Sometimes you got lucky.  Maybe he had stumbled upon something that the Aurors had missed, or maybe his obvious obsession with the case had driven him to feats of logic that no mere mortal could achieve. 

But that didn't change the fact that this was a very, very bad way to go about looking into it.  It sounded like something that Jonas would have done a year ago -- well, to be fair, it sounded like something that he was perfectly capable of going and doing now with the right impetus, but at least he was usually smart enough to haul his partner along as backup.  Just walking into a deserted building without backup or planning ahead was not his idea of a good night out anymore, even if it was apparently just that for Rosier.

"So we'll assume that you're right.  And now," he said, putting a pointed edge to the word, "now that you've made your break in the case, you want to go stumbling around some building that Tawse has very possibly had months to fortify?  Despite the fact that you're not a trained investigator and will just as likely muck up any evidence that we're lucky enough to happen across?  Without even telling anybody?"

He met Rosier's gaze, direct and unafraid.  "How the bloody hell does that sound like a good idea?"