Hunting the Hunter

Oh, lord, it had been a long couple of days. If that's what it was. Michael honestly didn't remember when he'd slept last. It had been easier to go indefinitely without sleep when he had been a few years younger.  As it was, he ached, he was tired, and, the fact that he'd had to arrest the woman he had been living with off and on for 40 years didn't make him feel any better.

Oh, sure, he'd gotten back the contents of the safe in Robert's office. The classified documents were safe and sound. But Alete. The look in her eyes when he'd actually handcuffed her was burned and indelible in his brain. She had honestly not seen it coming. She'd truly thought that no matter what he would help her escape anything and everything. And, to make matters worse, she'd never owned up to the fact that her arthritis in her hands had taken away from her the ability to have "the touch" to do the work of catburglary anymore.  He'd protected her far too long. But this time, she'd stolen from the Ministry, from Robert, and had intended to sell the highest level governmental documents to the highest bidder. Then she'd deliberately left one of Michael's cigarette butts behind to frame him for it in the process, believing that if he simply took the fall for it, Robert would forgive him for anything.

Michael knew better. He had had to choose between England and Alete.  And now the loser was in handcuffs in the hands of the aurors.  He hadn't been able to look at her once they took her. He hadn't been able to listen to her begging that had risen into panicked shrieks as he had turned and walked away.  

"Think you're done here, do you, Tremaine?" one of the aurors had asked.

"What?" Michael asked, not intending impertinence, rather simply preoccupied with watching his lifemate being escorted to a cell. 

"Oh, you're funny, you are," the auror was sarcastic and bitter, and Michael wasn't in the mood. "I'll be taking that..." He moved to take the messenger bag with the documents from Michael.

"I don't think so," Michael leveled a wand at the heart of the auror before he stopped to think. Bloody hell, this was complicated.  These papers belonged to Robert, and Michael would defend that beyond all else, even if Robert never spoke to him again.  Further, the auror wasn't even entitled, by his lack of rank, to even know these papers existed, much less read them.  Despite the warrant that had been posted for him, Michael was still an unspeakable and was still entrusted with protecting them. Well, now what? Kill an auror, right here in the Ministry? Would I really do that? I dunno. Shit. he thought.

‘Corruption’ was a subjective word. It rolled off the tongue: a damning sentence for anyone it was levelled against. Strangely, of all the politicians who had been called such over the years, it had never been coolly, calmly thrown in the face of Elijah Krum. The Deputy Minister was a slimy sort of Slytherin in that respect. His dealings were cloak and dagger, his corruption to benefit him and his own. Of course, he was not siphoning money out of departments like certain other people he knew of – and indeed the inner workings were starting to turn in opposition of their favour. He would get them eventually.

Corrupt? Yes. Totally morally bankrupt? Not just yet.

He did tend to call it curiosity. He liked playing with people in that regard. He also liked holding the favours. A pardon here, a little escape there. He was stacking up the debts and he was looking for the most prolific of all. He wanted a faction leader. You don’t know when that sort of leverage comes in handy, after all said and done. In lieu of getting one of them, he was content to help old friends. Indeed, he was content to quietly help the Lupins in such a way that he helped all of those he loved, garnering no thanks nor notice. He didn’t want it, either. He just wanted the job done.

Helping them meant helping Michael, too. Preventing the Aurors from exercising their perceived power was just a plus.

“Gentlemen,” Elijah swung coolly into the situation at hand, a sardonic smile on his face. He lifted his own wand aloft though he pointed it at no one in particular. “Move along, Auror …” he squinted at the embroidery in the man’s robes. “Gresham. Or shall I find myself in an hour writing a recommendation to your head of department that you be let go? Hm?” Elijah raised a dark eyebrow. “I’ll be taking Mr Tremaine into my custody, thank you very much. We have some things I’d like to discuss.”

"Michaaaaeellll!.." Alete's voice, now in high panic, faded into the distance and then finally disappeared. His wand was still trained on the heart of the auror in front of him. The heartache he felt was not something he wanted to display at the moment. He saw the last flash of the 1935 bright red and white and black above-the-ankle station ensemble with the wide cartwheel hat, her intended victory ensemble, as the aurors finally turned a corner in the corridor, taking her from his sight, as he saw her make one last vain struggle to break free from them.  He tried to look as if he didn't give a damn. He didn't know if he was managing to pass that off, but he was going to give it a try all the same.


He was relieved to hear Eli's voice. He had never thought of Elijah Krum as being the voice of hope, but that was how it rang in Michael's head, oddly enough.  It distracted him, and he looked back to see he didn't have to kill the git in front of him. The auror turned and walked away, deferring to Eli. Michael had no desire to be in custody at all, but at this point, since there were wanted posters all about with his face on it and a reward attached to it, there could be worse than to not find himself in handcuffs as well.  He got a closer look at the wanted poster and the reward. One hundred thousand galleons? Paultry, he thought, That's just sad.  For a man of his skills and reputation and past successes....well, on second thought, perhaps the less said about those successes the better.  If they saw him as relatively harmless, then that was better for him. 

"That's all you figured you could get for me? " he gestured to the posters, his thoughts coming out of his mouth before he could filter them. Then he looked at Eli, changing gears to get back to task.


"Thank you," he said to Eli, trying to look a bit like the old Michael that Eli was far more familiar with.  "I'd like not to kill anyone. Although, without a bit of caffeine soon, I might be a bit more testy. Would you mind very much temporarily suspending the arrest warrant they've put out on me for something I didn't do, please? Lame as this sounds, I really can explain. Sorta. Well, maybe.  Okay, so its not pretty. The muggles are gonna be pissed, and Robert's gonna be even more pissed. He's probably never going to speak to me again. But the alternative was worse. Haven't seen him become a raving lunatic yet, have you? Well, its coming."


He realized he wasn't exactly making sense, which he was sure was going to amuse Krum to no end. 


"Can I get some caffeine and start again?" he sighed.

“I confess, I’m more in the business of arbitrary pardons than arbitrary arrests,” Elijah chuckled, holding his hands up in mock surrender. “I would have at least plumped for a 250,000 galleons.” He winked and chuckled again before gesturing for Michael to follow him into his office which had just, not five minutes before the ruckus had erupted, been delivered of a tray of coffee and an array of biscuits – not that the Deputy Minister was much of a biscuit eater, mind you.

“It would be a little bit messy,” Elijah commented wryly. “And think of all that paperwork. Plus, Aurors are expensive to train. It would make economical sense not to kill him,” Elijah laughed again and shook his head before closing the office door behind them and shedding himself of his stuffy outer robes once more so he was just in his normal suit. He loosened his tie and popped open the top button before gesturing to the coffee tray.

“Take what you need,” he told the man before sitting down on the edge of his desk. “Then I suggest you do some explaining and we’ll see if we can’t get your wanted posters ripped down. I believe there’s some whisky in the cabinet if you prefer,” he added his last sentence as an afterthought.

"Robert did that, I'm sure," Michael sighed. "It's his passive aggressive bit directed to irk me. He followed Eli to his office.  He was grateful for the coffee.  He wasn't going to tell Eli that he'd had probably far more firewhisky overnight than he figured most people could do and remain sober. Still, sober he was.  There'd been nothing amusing about the nights events.


He poured himself a cup of coffee.  "That train wreck of a woman I brought in is Alete Foster. Don't let her French accent fool you. She was born in Bristol. She thinks it makes her more exotic as a catburglar. So she's been doing this whole 'I'm-a -French-debutant' farce about 50 years too long." He sat down and sighed, taking a moment to savor the aroma of the coffee. Warm, nutty, fragrant. Heavenly. His refined palate said this was just a decent blend to begin with, and someone had known how to prepare it properly.  His brain was already preparing for the welcoming sensation of a caffeine jolt. He took a sip and felt already like there was relief in the cup.

"I met Alete when I was, oh, maybe 20.  God, she was gorgeous. Absolutely the sort of face and body that makes a man forget everything else he ever knew. She was already in the business, and she was damned good. She specialized in the rapeling from skylights stuff.  And there never was a more exotic form dangling from a skylight than she was.  When she worked, it was pure art. Anyway, long story very short, she and I own a beach house in southern France. Well, more precisely, I own it, and we live there--when I'm actually there. And we have--for forty years now. She's the closest thing I ever had as a wife until that damned law forced me to marry someone else. The only way we weren't married was legally, and that was my fault because I just don't do weddings very well. Rather not do them at all, actually.


"The last 5 or 6 years have been tough for Alete. She's developed arthritis in her hands. For our business, that's a living death.  To lose our sense of touch, that takes everything from us. Alete just couldn't deal. She kept trying to work, getting caught, and, what could I do? I kept bailing her out or breaking her out.


"Its not like Robert didn't warn me. Hell, he talked to me until he was practically purple, over and over, saying the day would come when I'd have to make a choice I didn't want to make.  But the longer its gone on, the more...well,...unstable..." He abruptly stopped. There. He'd said it. Unstable. What Robert had been telling him for years had finally hit home with Michael. Right here, right now. Alete was not now the woman he'd slept with for forty years. This woman had a mental world of her own.


"Anyway..., I think you get it," he said quietly. For himself, he needed to change gears, go to a new page with the tale.  "New piece of the story now.  After the Grindlewald fiasco, Robert wanted a safe in his office. A safe that only he and I knew about. A safe that would be as impregnable as I could make it. So, that's exactly what I did. I designed it, I made it. Hell, I installed it. The only ones that had the combination and the workings to the protective spells were Robert and me.  I knew he had documents in there that were Eyes Only, that held secrets about the Unspeakables and information that was incredibly sensitive. Information even you weren't entitled to. I never opened the safe once I installed it. Never needed to, but I assure you, if I'd needed to, I'd have just walked in and done it. I've got the bloody combination. Why would I need to break in?


"I didn't tell Alete about the safe. Why the hell would I? The only contact I had with her, pretty much, was bailing her out of jail wherever in the world she'd ended up, and taking her home and spending a few days with her to try to talk her into giving up the business. Done that far more than I should have, clearly.


"Anyway, yesterday, she contacted me to tell me she'd found this lovely safe in Robert's office, and she just knew I'd be so proud of me because she managed to crack it and take everything in it. I don't know how. Maybe she was ridiculously stoned on pain potion. But she shouldn't have been able to crack it. Not at all. I certainly didn't tell her it existed, nor did I give her any levels of incription. Why would I? I'd never betray England like that, and, almost more importantly, I'd never betray Robert. Not ever. 

"Nevertheless, she had this buyer that was going to pay her enough to set both her and I up for the rest of our lives. The score that was going to make her legendary, she said. There was one little hitch. She left one of my cigarette butts in the bloody safe to buy her time. She told me all I'd have to do was tell Robert I did it, and bygones would be bygones. Oh, suuuure he would. Right. You and I both know Robert doesn't work like that.


"Crazier than I thought she was if she honestly believed that. Does this make any bloody sense so far?"

“So…what? He wants you back or he actually wants you arrested?” Elijah queried, crossing his arms over his chest. He nodded in the direction of the tray and a little flair of magic lifted the cups and started to pour him out some coffee of his own. He then turned round a little bit and picked up a fountain pen to scribble a note on a bit of enchanted parchment. Once he’d ended his note, the parchment folded itself up and flew out of the window.

“I’m going to get those posters taken down for you,” he told Michael airily, adding, “there are aurors all over the show and if you nearly killed one, I’m going to have the lot of them thrown in Azkaban.” He shook his head and opened out his hand to receive the coffee cup that was floating by his shoulder. He took a long glug of it and then held it out for the pot that had come over to fill it back up again as Michael began to explain.

Elijah sucked a breath through his teeth and nodded solemnly. He’d woken up surprised having gone to bed with women he was sure he’d had nailed down. In the cold light of day, the cliché was ever relevant, they were sometimes very different indeed. That was possibly why he’d decided against all kinds of relationships in the last year or so. He was lonely but his heart was safe and it meant he had more time with his children.

As the story went on, Elijah began to be gladder and gladder that he was single. He idly twisted the signet ring on his little finger and he released a gush of air once Michael finished, nodding his head as he readjusted himself on his perch. He lifted a hand and dew his fingers through his hair before bringing his fingers down across his jaw to tug at the longer scruff at his chin in thought.

“And now she’s in lockup,” Elijah determined, feeling quite satisfied the aurors had sorted this one. “And I presume you’re not going to try anymore breakouts?” He arched an eyebrow. “I hate to be so crude, Michael, but there are only so many times you can go to bed with crazy. It’s time to jump out, my friend,” he chuckled and held his coffee out for the whisky decanter which promptly hopped over to dump a few fingers inside. “Go on,” he encouraged. “It’s all making sense.

"Well, you're right, of course," he sighed, sipping on the coffee. He had been sleeping with crazy much too long. "I don't know why I thought I could talk her out of it, as if I could convince her to be who she was before.  And when the stupid law made me marry Maddie, Alete just went in denial about that whole thing.  She was used to be being gone for months at a time, so she just pretended that never happened.  She contacted me back in January, right in the midst of that shitty snowstorm that had most folks snowbound for a couple days. Alete sent me word. She'd tried to rip off the Uffizi gallery in Florence and had gotten caught and tossed into the wizarding jail in Rome.  She expected me to get her out. I'm guessing you know the place. Planning a heist on that was ludicrous to begin with.

"And of course, when she got tossed into an Italian jail, I went. Miserable places--couldn't leave her there. I tried repeatedly to bail her out, sweet talk the Italian officials, and it was no go. So, I did what I do best. I worked on breaking her out. It would have gone fine, but she decided she could disarm an alarm that, honestly, wasn't going to be tripped in the first place if she'd have just listened to me. But, no. She wouldn't listen, tripped the alarm, and we both were caught.  I was in deeper trouble this time than she was in. And, because of my role in the Unspeakables, the Italian magic minister called Robert.

"Probably was the ugliest I'd ever seen him get. He got us both out, but he had to grovel to do it. Watching Robert grovel? So not pretty. I'd not advise against anyone ever pushing him to it again. He told me that if Alete got into any more trouble, and if I was stupid enough to try to save her, he didn't want to know about it, and if it went sideways, he wasn't ever speaking to me again. You know how he is. The more stonefaced he is, the more he's liable to follow through just because he can.

"When I got this from Alete, all I could see for both of us was adjoining accommodations with the Dementors.  So, I went to Jack Dyllan for help. I couldn't get Alete out this time alone.

"The first thing I had to do was to try to track who the buyer was. That was the only way I was going to find Alete." He paused and looked at Eli. "This does get uglier, you know. Just so you know that."

"Anyway, we tracked her to Kings Cross. Her and a couple of thugs. I did manage to throw them off the track, but I'm sure my fireball looks amazing on the muggle security camera footage.

"And, I'm equally sure they're amused watching me use magic to steal a black sedan that belonged to the muggle minister. Well, they can afford it more than the civilians, can't they? Besides, the muggle police cars have fabulously fast engines. Decent machines. There was some thought in that. But, I also know the cameras got some lovely full on footage of me hexing the electronic locks on the car and starting the engine with my wand. Hotwiring would have taken too much time.

"But, we followed her north out of London to a farm where she just happened to have set up a meeting with our special friend, Mr. Gideon Pierce.  Eli, I couldn't let her sell him a chocolate frog, let alone the deepest secrets of our government.

"Long story short, We incommoded Mr. Pierce, and got the papers--and I arrested her. If I hadn't, she'd have been perfectly willing for me to take the rap for something I hadn't done.

"So," he gestured to the bag, "there are the contents of the safe--every last scrap of paper. Safe and sound.  Whether or not Robert ever speaks to me again. He's not to blame Jack for anything. If there's credit to be given, its hers. If there's blame to be cast, its mine.

"And," he said, taking out some additional paperwork from his jacket pocket. "There's one more thing. Can you help me with these?" He handed the papers to Eli. "Maddie left at Christmas, right when our baby was due. I haven't heard a syllable from her. I don't know whether my child is dead or alive. Flat out, that doesn't wash.  Maddie can do what she wants--except for our child. I want a divorce. And, if my child is ever found, I want full custody."

He paused. There. He'd said it all. "Outside of that, everything's just peachy."

The law. Elijah winced, his mind taking him out of the room, beyond London, and into whichever sweet apartment that his former fiancée was inhabiting. Mira. He would have been a torrid liar if he’d claimed not to miss her. Perhaps his heart, in that respect, was not as neatly guarded as he had originally first thought. He swallowed a heavy breath and focused on what Michael was saying, willing himself to forget and let go of the guilt. It was too late to make it better, after all said and done. It was all about the here and the now. It had to be.

“My father used to take us there occasionally,” Elijah nodded. He remembered the gallery well, and how much he’d hated it and Italy. The distaste had been a by-product of visiting the country in the company of his father rather than any great genuine disdain for it. “I suppose you should give Alete some credit, mind you,” Elijah considered with a wry smile. “It’s no mean feat to do that.” He chuckled and shook his head, his eyes flicking up to continue listening to Michael.

At the man’s pause, Elijah decided he had better sit down properly. He hadn’t envisaged it could get much worse than that and he was already regretting sending the note off for the pardon papers. If this was going to get any worse, he’d need to sign a pardon for himself, forgiving him for pardoning Michael. Elijah smiled at the thought as he lowered himself into the chair and he gestured for the man to continue as he brought the cup to his lips.

Elijah nearly choked on it when he mentioned stealing the Muggle Prime Minister’s car, though. He hastily put the cup down, casting a wary look in its direction.

When the papers hit his desk, Elijah found that he had nothing left to say. He also wanted to know where on earth he’d been while all of this was going on. Possibly playing with his yo-yo, harassing the secretary for a cup of coffee while chatting to the French ambassador about something or another. He was a terribly irate man. Elijah didn’t enjoy him at all. He would have much rather been involved with all of this, mad though it was.

“Okay,” he breathed, pushing his glasses onto his head. He looked down at the pages and nodded, picking up his pen again before scrawling his signature across the line. With his say so, he thought as he lifted a candle out of the holder and began to warm it with a bit of magic, at least Michael would be free from the law finally. Once the wax dripped, Elijah placed the candle in its home once more before pressing his seal against the wax. There. Official. He handed the papers back to Michael.

“When she resurfaces, we’ll sort it out,” he promised before casting his eyes to the bag. Elijah clucked his tongue against the back of his teeth and exhaled. “What…” he gestured to the bag with the end of his pen. “What are you going to do with those? Oughtn’t they go to Robert, at least?” He rubbed his hand across his forehead. “I can go and speak to him, if you’d like, or you can sort it out between you if you’d prefer?”

The pardon papers flew into the office then and Elijah snatched them out of the air, almost tempted to write his name across the dotted line.

“Ever feel like you should be on a tropical island somewhere sipping cocktails out of coconuts with little umbrellas in them?” Elijah asked, filling out the pages. “The Daily Prophet is going to love this,” he told Michael as he scoured the page with his signature, the long, looping calligraphy making it official. “Have you spoken to Khaat, actually?” He looked up from the page, rolling the pen between his fingers, guilt smarting at him. “She might … she might be able to make Robert a little bit more … I don’t mean reasonable, that’s not the right word, but she might be able to make him more likely to forgive you, at least.”

"Well, yeah. We did take a couple of things some years ago, but she just isn't what she used to be, sadly. I admire her for trying, but her utter denial just frustrates the shit out of me."


He watched Eli sign the divorce papers.  "Thank you," he said. "I presume if we find any traces of her, someone will let me know."


When Eli asked about the papers, Michael said. "Oh yeah. Those.  You're right. Robert should have them back.  I sure wish I could have handed him Gideon Pierce along with those, but that didn't happen. He's got some weird spell I've seen him use a couple of times now.  Just simply turns himself to smoke and floats off wherever the hell he wants. I don't think I've met anyone that interested in elemental magic.


"As far as my dealing with Robert? I usually have some clue, but this time I really don't. He was absolutely right about Alete, and I didn't want to see it. What I'm more concerned about is how the heck Alete found out about a safe that only he and I allegedly knew about. I'm surely not known for talking in my sleep.


"If I know Robert at all, it would start off with him asking, 'What the hell were you thinking?' when he knows precisely what I was thinking. I suppose I thought that by making my magic so public, he might well see I obviously wasn't hiding anything."

He didn't think Robert would be overly gracious regardless. He would either be irritable and angry because he was right. Or--he would be wanting to make a point that he had warned Michael, and Michael hadn't listened. Not only had he not listened, but he had dragged Jack into his mess. Either way, Michael knew he was due for a rather fierce "I told you so." Still, whether Robert ever forgave him or not, he was still Khaat's godfather, and not even Robert could come between him and Khaat.



"I think I might just give him the papers and keep my distance for a few days. In the meantime, I think I might leave the bag with you. Watch this old bag, though. It bites. The damned thing is password protected.  I'll give you a clue to it, though," he said, slightly amused. "This is Robert's sense of humor. If you want the password, the old bag is the old bag. That's the clue. Until you can get that, I'd suggest you not try to open it. If I'd been thinking, I'd have turned the bag loose on that auror because it can almost take care of itself."

“Let Gideon float wherever he wants as long as it’s the quickest route to hell,” Elijah sighed, waving his hand through the air dismissively. He’d long lost the palette or the stomach for Gideon Pierce. As far as Elijah was concerned, if the man wanted to turn to smoke – or even dust if he fancied – as long as he was a million miles away from the Ministry and from anyone he could hurt.

Elijah shook his head and found himself smiling a little bit. He cast a bit of a wary look at the back, knowing he was no Ravenclaw so it was infinitely better off staying closed. He didn’t want to incur its  wrath. He found himself wondering if it enjoyed shortbread or custard creams better. He had no idea what would placate it. Perhaps liquorice.

“It’ll work itself out, Michael,” Eli promised. “It always does. Robert will give you grace eventually.”

(OOC: Such a small post! I dunno what happened here, sorry!)