Yeah, those customs guys are jerks.;;Malachi

[Marlon Wagner]

Marlon's mind had been reeling for weeks now, ever since he had finally plucked up the words to say to Autumn there had been a bounce in his step again. His work load seemed lighter, his stresses, less important. He could just keep reliving that hour over and over in his mind and everything just seemed brighter. It was like he was a young schoolboy all over again and he couldn't have cared less. He hadn't managed to drag himself back just yet, he was going to give her as much time as was needed to think over the things that had been said, to just ponder what was going on in her life and to figure out what she would want before his selfish desires were to come forward and make a muck of everything. So today was Thursday, the day that in only a few hours he normally would have left the building, walked down to the bottom floor and make his way out into the stale air of Alzubra, wind his way through the people walking around and purchase his two coffee's, and stand about for the remainder of his break. Until he was ready to come back into the office. Last week he had refrained, staying indoors and eating a horrible sandwich at his desk. Whenever he had informed his secretary about the unfolding of his personal life and the events of that day due to the fact that he couldn't contain his happiness any longer, she had been more than helpful. Bringing him lunches, offering to make appointments. She was the type of girl that liked to feel close to the person that they were working for and Marlon finally had something of a personal nature that he could tell her whereas he normally didn't. She had been wonderful for his resolve to give Autumn space, keeping him in check and making sure to pile on work with imaginary deadlines for him to finish quicker than he normally would have done.

Which is exactly what she had been doing today. She had started off the morning with a staff meeting that he hadn't remembered scheduling for the floor, but it had gone well indeed. His higher spirits seemed to be rubbing off on the otherwise slightly unmotivated floor. That was his own fault for being such a workaholic. He had followed up by conducting his daily interviews of the immigrants, the influx still surprised him giving everything that the tabloids were saying about these current times. He had expected more of a rush out of the country than an influx in. Of course, they were still processing travel visa's far more often than they would have before the Gringotts event, but he assumed that it was only due to the fact that people were attempting to be stealthy about it. For now, he was sitting in a silent, and brief reprieve from his meetings. Running his hand down his face and taking another drink of the coffee in the plain white Styrofoam cup next to his records book he sighed. He was going to have to send Margot for more coffee soon. He would need it to make it to lunch, he had been up all night working on a disposition for the next floor up. Something silly, but he couldn't give it less than everything he had. He moved to unfasten the cufflinks holding his shirt in place and put them into his pants pocket, then moved to roll up his emerald green sleeves up to his elbows, normally he didn't wear color to work but he had been feeling in the mood for something different. For the first time in a long time, he had worn a vest instead of a tie to work today, not wanting to overdo it. The black and green richness that comprised his outfit today only made his bright hair and blue eyes stand out all the more, which had been the point. He glanced down at the watch that he had just exposed with a sigh, only eleven. He didn't have lunch until one thirty, so he had a long way to go still. “Margot?” he inquired with a slightly elevated tone, until he could see her shadow moving about her desk in the shadowed glass pannel in his door. She opened the door readily and poked her head in with a smile. “Yes sir?”

“How many more today Margot?” He asked the slight french woman as the man he had just spent the better half of an hour talking to about his family and reasons for being in the country. His secretary was holding onto the doorknob and forced a smile, she seemed a little stressed “Just one more Sir, a man”He nodded to her, wondering what could be the matter to make her feel so uncomfortable, she had seemed alright this morning. Had this man said something to her? Had he done something to cajole her or make her feel uncomfortable in some way? Instantly he felt something negative in his gut. “Very well, send him in then” Margot nodded once and moved aside to let the man in, quickly ushering herself out “If you need me, just page” She whispered on her way out of the door. She was acting strange, why would he need her during a standard interview? Then the large man came into view and he felt like he understood. This wasn't the standard interview, but for some reason the man was wanting to make it seem like it was, off the records at the very least. He looked familiar but he couldn't quiet place him or sort out his face from the massive amounts of other men he had been looking at over the course of the past few weeks. Marlon rose from his chair to greet him, extending one hand toward the coupling of chairs opposite him on the desk, hoping the man would have a seat. Whenever he did, Marlon sat as well, offering up a kind smile. Absently, he gathered the paperwork that was scattered across his work space and shuffled the papers together and placed them out of sight in a random drawer. He ended up going through everything in his office before the end of every day so he didn't think that it would be an issue of finding it again. Whatever this meeting was about, it wasn't going to drag down his spirits, he didn't think that it was possible for anything to bring him down unless Autumn herself were to march in here and renounce him. How wrong he could be.

[Deleted]

If that bloody witch didn’t stop looking at him he was going to snap. Malachai was doing his best to avoid eye contact, but he could feel her eyes bearing his into his soul. His right leg was shaking like crazy. No amount of force applied to his thigh could keep it from moving. It was an uncontrollable quirk whenever he was angry or impatient, like now where he was both. Another frustrated sigh left his lips as he brought his free hand to his mouth. Now was not the time to say anything. One wrong word and he’d be done for. She was damn lucky they were in the Ministry. If not, he couldn’t be held responsible for his actions. She was setting herself up for whatever she deserved. Malachai was used to people staring at him. It came with the territory. That and he never dressed himself up to be an upstanding citizen. Truthfully, he knew it was to be expected and usually he didn’t care. However, these circumstances were different. He was the only one in this tiny space in the International Magical Cooperation office. Three chairs on either side of him were empty. Earlier, they had been full with other individuals with their own reasons for visiting the department. He hadn’t been interested in what they were here for. There had been a woman next to him for a solid hour and a half in the beginning of the day, trying to talk his ear off about trying to get the Austrian Ministry of Magic to work with the Russian Ministry for some reason or other. Malachai had tried everything to let the woman know that he didn’t care, but the old bat paid him no attention. It wasn’t until she asked him his reason for being here that he finally told her he was trying to get Irish DeathEater backing from the country. She shut up after that.

He was the only one left. He had been the first person here when the building opened and would probably be one of the last left on the floor before lunch. Malachai’s eyes wandered up to the clock. Normal businesses would be letting out for their afternoon breaks in the next thirty minutes or so. Clearing his throat, he sat up a big straighter in his chair and glared at the wall. He had no idea what had happened to make him the last one here. In the Ireland Ministry of Magic, appointments were seen in the order they were made or walked-in. He had tried to see if an appointment was needed to get things moving a bit faster, but was told it wasn’t. He didn’t know why he was still here. Malachai had been here a good fifteen minutes before the other people starting trailing in. He blamed it on the secretary. She had been looking at him like a monster ever since he asked to speak to the department head, some bloke named Marlon Wagner. He had been respectful, for him at least. He hadn’t demanded to see him, threaten her life if he wasn’t placed first on her list nor did he destroy the waiting space in order to get what he wanted. He had been a good boy, uncharacteristic behavior of his that he had unwillingly taken on ever since the Ministry got involved in his life. However, if this hag didn’t divert her eyes from him within the next couple of minutes, Malachai would be forced to roll up his sleeve and intimidate her with the faded mark on his arm. The thought caused a mischievous smirk to form on his face and a gasp from the opposite end of the room. The gasp quickly brought another image of Ministry officials being called and tackling him to the ground upon entrance, which resulted in more hours of the same type of questioning he had endured from his first visit to Austria’s Ministry.

The smirk disappeared, allowing the usual scowl to perch itself on Malachai’s features. He hated living under a damn microscope. Every step, every word, every time he opened his mouth to cough, he was judged. He had done it to himself. He wasn’t stupid enough to not realize that. It was the result of the many years of his life he had devoted to the Dark Lord. With the way things were nowadays, everybody was scrutinized regardless of their affiliation. He had just so happened to pick one of the worst times to change. That’s how things always worked out for him though. He should have been used to it by now. Aware as he was that his position in life had been formed from decisions he, and he himself, had made throughout the course of his life, Malachai still had resentment for practically everything. Something always had a way of reminding him of his troubled past. Just the other day he had been walking down Drear Alley into a part that opened up into the slum neighborhoods of Vienna. He didn’t have an explanation as to what kept his legs moving so far down the alley, but they couldn’t stop. When they did, he wished they had a long time ago. He had found himself in the front of an old shanty. The old, worn-down building was so similar to the one he had grown up in for all of his youth that during the rest of his day, after forcing himself away from the painful sight, he had gone through two packs of cigarettes and a bottle of whiskey. The combination had been a relieving placebo for as long as he had been awake, but not enough to forever rid him of the horrible memories of past. They lasted him just long enough to fall asleep.

Speaking of cigarettes, Malachai really needed one now. Another five minutes had past and still no word from the wench as to when Mr. Wagner would see him. He wondered if the man was using his time to look over his files to have a better understanding of him. If that was the case, he’d be even more pissed than he was now. He understood wanting to have knowledge of a person before meeting them, but spending all damn day educating himself on the man that was Malachai Hanley? That was pathetic. Not to mention, cowardly. If Wagner wanted to know all about him, all he had to do was speak to him. He was usually a private man, but had learned to become somewhat more open when being questioned by certain individuals. He hated it, but it was the only way he’d get Blaine back. Hell, his son was the only reason his arse was still planted firmly in the uncomfortable plastic chair it had been in all morning. Getting his toddler back was the only goal in Malachai’s life. He’d answer whatever questions, meet whatever people and do whatever needed to be joined with his son again. He had no idea what Austria could do to help him out, but desperate times were calling for desperate measures. Blaine had been taken from him several months ago now. The four year old had been in government custody ever since then. While the boy hadn’t been placed in the hands of a foster family, the longer it took for his papers to get in order, the more Blaine was at risk for being forced to call another man and woman his parents. Malachai would be damned before letting that happen. Everything he was doing now was to make up for the mistakes in the past that he had made. He refused to be suffering through all of this waiting just to have his boy call another family his own for nothing.

“M-M-Mr. Hanley? Malachai’s eyes narrowed to the secretary’s now-standing position near Wagner’s door. “Mr. Wagner is ready to s-s-see you now.” Of course he was. Perhaps this had been his intention all along, making him wait until he was ready to snap the woman’s neck before seeing him to make sure he was in a sour mood. That way, the interview would go horribly awry and his request would be rejected. “Is he now?” he responded sarcastically, placing his palms on the chairs beside him and pushing up. “Wouldn’t want to keep him waiting now, eh?” The woman said nothing in response. Digging his hands into the pockets of his heavy coat, Malachai followed the woman the few steps towards Marlon Wagner’s office. When the woman stepped aside to let him pass he entered the office and saw Wagner rising from his chair to greet his visitor. The look on Malachai’s face didn’t change out of habit. He had a short temper and once agitated it was very difficult to pull himself from it for a good while. And the government really wondered why he hated them. Wagner’s hand extended towards him. He looked at it for a second before reluctantly pulling his own from his pocket and shaking it quickly, but firmly. Placing himself in front of a chair, Malachai took a seat and allowed his free hand to find its way back into its hiding place. His eyes watched as the man before him shuffled papers around before putting them away, maybe trying to make himself look more professional. He chuckled to himself. If he was professional, he would have kept tabs on the way his secretary kept track of appointments.

The room was silent for several minutes. Neither men appeared to know exactly what to say to the other one. Malachai was still too heated to think logically. That and his gaze was fixated on the platinum-color of the man’s hair. It was unnatural. So rare, that he had only seen it on one other individual in his life. He couldn’t place the person, but he was sure that the longer he dwelled on it the name would come back to him. When it seemed that he would have to be the first to say something, Malachai shook his head and brought his eyes back to the man’s face. “You know, there’s been seven other people before me mate. Seems to me the Ministry might want to hire more capable people who can keep track of who was the first one here and who deserved to be seen first due to their arrival.”

[Marlon Wagner]

In time, there were moments where you met somebody that you know was going to change your life. Moments where you know something is bad and yet you do it anyway. The kind of moments that you look back on for the rest of your years, wondering if only things had gone just a little bit different, would the outcome have been the same? This, was not one of those moments. Although, admittedly, it should have been. After greeting the man, Marlon reached into one of the metal seperators that he used to keep all of his forms organized. It was just a standard two page request, front and boack fastened together with a small, golden staple. The gold meant that it was citizenship paperwork, primarily used for the application of the wizarding equivalent to a green card. He had been using them all day, and was going to treat this meeting like the standard kind until asked otherwise. Dipping his quill into the ink pot at the front of his blotter he finally returned his gaze up to the man, waiting. Usually, the people that he saw had little to no interest in hearing what he had to say, and ended up talking over him whenever he tried anything at all. He had found after years of experience the best thing to do, was to just let them have the floor. “You know, there’s been seven other people before me mate. Seems to me the Ministry might want to hire more capable people who can keep track of who was the first one here and who deserved to be seen first due to their arrival.”

His accent instantly marked him as Irish, which made Marlon feel slightly homesick. He knew that the longer he was to listen to the man talk, the more quickly he was going to be able to place exactly where the man had grown up. Most of his accent had faded now. The years to dialect training and his continuing study of other languages had forced it to differ from anything else. Of course, normally he opted for German since that was what most of the people that came through his doors spoke. Yet, more often than not he found himself with the opportunity to use his other languages in conversation to keep things moving more swiftly. Marlon had been born and raised in Bantry himself, just a small town to the north of the largest oyster fields one could ever wish to see. Not that anybody would choose to, given the smell that they tended to give off. Perhaps slipping back into their shared native tongue would calm things down a bit given that the man's body language shouted 'tense'. He looked vaguely familiar, like he had seen the man fairly recently but couldn't place as to where. Putting the quill back into it's holder he pushed the paperwork to the corner of the blotter, pleasantry’s first after all. “I do apologize if Margot kept you waiting, did you make an appointment?” Generally speaking it was first come first serve, unless he had done something to frighten or skive of the slight french woman, he didn't understand why she would have pushed him off if he was here first. “Or perhaps you had requested a different type of appointment then the others?” He didn't mean to sound derogatory, just inquiring so that he could figure out how best to handle the situation properly.

He felt his own accent coming back to light, stronger than it had been in a very long time. Old habits died hard for him. “Regardless, I will be sure to speak with her about how she handles things. I assure you that this will not happen again in the future” Folding his hands in his lap he watched the man with interest. He knew that he had seen him somewhere, had he already been here for an appointment in the past? If so, then Margot was really slacking. If she had known him, then she should have given Marlon his file to examine prior to the man walking in the door, and if this wasn't his first time here then he certainly should have been shown inside a long time ago since all of the preliminary paperwork would have already been completed. “What can I do you for today Mr...Hanley correct?” At least, he thought that was the name that he had heard Margot call him on the way into the office. Spinning his chair to the right he reached into the filing cabinet, letting his fingers scan over the various labels until he found one marked 'Hanley' he was going to see so unprepared to this man, the very last thing that he could have wanted. In truth, this would have been just about the third time in his entire life that he wasn't one hundred and fifty percent over-prepared for something. Being caught off guard wasn't something that he liked in the least. Opening the file, he scanned over the over the front sheet that informed him of mister Malachi's weight, height and charges. Marlon had the pleasure of sitting in front of a former Death Eater. Fantastic, that just meant that he was also going to have to struggle to contain his own questions from the man during their time together. “Whatever it is, I will do my best to assist you with it?” he added, wanting to encourage honesty. At least now he knew where he knew the man from, he had been in here not too long ago and Marlon had been asked to file the paperwork while they had questioned him on that unique mark on his arm. He wondered, if the man remembered him as well, although it wasn't likely.

[Deleted]

Wagner’s apology wasn’t satisfactory to Malachai. He was sure the man was only trying to defuse the situation, but in his rash thinking he would have been more pleased if he would have insulted the woman and her lackluster ability to do her job. That or fire her while he was here. He was a malicious individual. People who didn’t know how to do their jobs properly deserved to face the repercussions of their laziness. He was also annoyed that the man brought up making an appointment. He knew very well that one wasn’t necessary. It may have been helpful considering what had brought him to the office, but he deserved the same treatment as all the other immigrants before him. “Slipped my mind,” he coolly responded. “Or perhaps you had requested a different type of appointment then the others?” Malachai also didn’t see what that had to do with anything. If his dilemma with Blaine was to be handled by a different department, or would take longer than the others, he should have been told from the get go. Then again, he wouldn’t have been surprised if it was. The Austrian Ministry was about as clueless as Ireland’s. No one knew anything and always referred him to someone else who could ‘better serve him’. There was nothing more he hated then getting the run around. He didn’t see what was so damn difficult about getting a simple yes or no. Why did an organization supposedly dedicated to helping the citizens of their country seem so oblivious to the needs of the people they represented? The more he thought about it, the angrier Malachai got. Closing his eyes, he closed his fist tightly to his side in efforts to calm himself down. No point in getting himself kicked out after waiting hours to see the wanker.

“Regardless, I will be sure to speak with her about how she handles things. I assure you that this will not happen again in the future.” Malachai didn’t expect the accent that came with the ending of Wagner’s apology. It was reflective of his own, though not nearly as strong. His ears always had a way with tongues. He was gifted enough to be able to place a person’s country of origin fairly quickly. When it came to Irish accents, he could also always place the exact town where the accent came from. The man’s didn’t sound fake. He had heard enough of them from drunken tramps in bars across the world that mimicked his accent because they found it cute. He had also dealt with men working under aliases to try and make it seem like they were from Ireland when they were, in fact, not. Usually those men suffered the wrath of Malachai’s fists. He didn’t like imposters. It was peculiar that his strong German dialect now had Irish flare-ups, but he didn’t think anything of it. He was working on the International floor after all. The witches and wizards here were probably from all over the world. “Ay, terrible citizen satisfaction mate. I’d threaten sending a letter of complaint but I know your Ministry has bigger things to worry about right now then a letter of discontent from a mick like me.” A smile came to his face once he had finished speaking. The entire world knew about the terrible job the country’s government was doing at containing the threat from Darren Morgan. He wondered if his comment would touch a nerve with Wagner, considering he was a former DeathEater after all.

“What can I do you for today Mr...Hanley correct?” At least the bloke got Malachai’s name right. If he hadn’t, he might have stood up and threw his chair at Wagner’s head. Before he could answer, the man preoccupied himself by digging in his desk-side filing cabinet. Malachai couldn’t help but to roll his eyes. The longer he had to wait, the more his blood was boiling. Could no one get their shit together around here? At this rate, he was certain he could do everyone in the building’s jobs better than they could with his eyes closed and his hands tied behind his back. No wonder the government was so screwed up. He watched the man carefully as he spun himself forward and rested a file with his name on it on top of his desk. A smirk rested on his lips as he waited for a reaction. Most of the time when people found out he was a DeathEater, their reaction was instant fright, as the stupid secretary showed all damn morning. Wagner’s face showed no change in emotion. Hopefully this meant he could show a little more professionalism. The man had no right to hold his history against him. Malachai had no choice but to be an open book now. Any secrets he had had now been exposed. His file surely contained his family background and every personal detail that could be found. If he truly meant harm to the Ministry, there would be no way in hell he’d be okay with having such a file in the hands of an official. No way would he want them to know about his son either.

“Whatever it is, I will do my best to assist you with it?” Finally. Malachai forced himself to sit up straighter in his chair. For a few moments, he didn’t respond. His eyes searched Wagner’s face for some sort of distrust. He could find nothing. He was usually pretty good at reading a person from their body language and as much as he hated to admit it, the man seemed genuinely interested in helping him. Bringing his hand up to his head, he scratched at the side of it. This was always where things got tricky. He’d come in with optimism about getting his situation resolved before having his hopes crushed within a blink of an eye. There was only so much of it that he could take. If things didn’t go in his favor today then Malachai wouldn’t know what step to take next. “Alright mate,” he finally started, dropping his arm back to the rest. “I’ve got a son back home. Found out about him only a year ago. His Ma wasn’t exactly known for being celibate so it took awhile for me to accept paternity. Picked him up after his alcoholic of a mother got herself a ticket to the hospital and had him with me a few days before the Ireland Ministry came and whisked him away to put him in government custody. Their reasons were that we weren’t suitable parents to care for a child. I know me history isn’t the greatest, but I sure as hell am better parenting than his Ma.” Stopping for a minute, Malachai forced himself to calm down. Thinking about Blaine always made him very emotional. “Long story short, I promised to change me life around to get him back. Came here to start over and join the Order as an informant.”

“I get to see me son only once a week mate and that’s not cutting it. I’ve been going through hell and high water to get some answers from you people about how I can go about getting more visitations. Most importantly, what needs to be done to get me son back sooner rather than later. This is why I came to see you. I need someone who can reunite me with my son now instead of waiting months for an uncertain yes or no.”

[Marlon Wagner]

“Ay, terrible citizen satisfaction mate. I’d threaten sending a letter of complaint but I know your Ministry has bigger things to worry about right now then a letter of discontent from a mick like me.” Marlon smiled at the comment, nodding along with his words. They certainly were truth enough, but he wasn't going to just come right out and put it so eloquently as Malachi had. Waiting for the man to get to the point, he thumbed through the profile in front of him, arising certain questions he knew well enough to keep to himself. He watched at Malachi attempted to duplicate Marlon's posture and took that to be a good sign. He waited patiently for the man to gather himself together and come out with it, most of the people that he spoke with had very personal matters that they entrusted him with, and sometimes they could be very painful in nature so he couldn't force them. Malachi was displaying all of the classic body language clues for nerves and general uncomfortableness, something was weighing heavily on the man's mind. No wonder he was upset about having to wait, it had given him time to think about his actions and possibly made it to where he might even be doubting his resolve on the subject. Only time would tell. The longer that Marlon looked at Malachi's file, the more judgements he was starting to make about the man sitting across from him. The world of Death Eaters was so curious to him. Why somebody would choose to side with Darren wasn't the question. Historically speaking people sided with men in power all the time, it was just a personality type, it was the inner workings of the followers and how Darren treated them that baffled him. Of course, he was highly jaded to the subject due to the fact that the only knowledge that he had on the topic had been given to him by his sister over a very long time. She would offer up bits of information and how things happened, only to him of course, and only in private. Yet, the way his followers were treated, if he treated them all like Cammie he couldn't understand why he had anybody loyal to him at all.

“Alright mate,” Snapping the file shut he slid it to the upper corner of his blotter, and folded his hands together in front of him, his elbows just slightly resting off of the desk. He needed to go into this is new eyes. “I’ve got a son back home. I know me history isn’t the greatest, but I sure as hell am better parenting than his Ma.” He could hear it in the man's tone, the hurt that was resting so shallow under his chest. Marlon could certainly relate. Children of broken homes was a very sore subject with him. Very close to home. Certainly, he had made the very best of himself given what he had, and he liked to think that Cammie had done the same. They were the exception, certainly not the rule. More often then not, children got lost in the system, and grew up to produce home lives of their own, to be...unsatisfying at best. “Long story short, I promised to change me life around to get him back. Came here to start over and join the Order as an informant.” He shook his head slightly, getting lost in his personal thoughts on the matter. He didn't say a word, it wasn't his place to. He only listened. The comment about the order shot up a few warning signals with him. Marlon wasn't even aware that the Order was in existence, he had heard rumors, but nothing concrete. He had once considered pursuing it to think about joining, a man of his intellect was bound to be an asset to whomever he aligned himself with. Yet, it was a moral dilemma for him, since he was related to somebody who had once been fairly high up within Darren's ranks. The comment about being an informant made him wonder why he didn't just give the ministry all of the information that he had in exchange for his record being pardoned. It did seem like the more logical choice, but given that the man so obviously didn't put much stock in the government, he could understand why he hadn't gone down that road.

“I get to see me son only once a week mate and that’s not cutting it. I’ve been going through hell and high water to get some answers from you people about how I can go about getting more visitations. Most importantly, what needs to be done to get me son back sooner rather than later. This is why I came to see you. I need someone who can reunite me with my son now instead of waiting months for an uncertain yes or no.” Once a week? That seemed interesting since it was a hell of a commute and he didn't know of anybody who could apparate that far. Perhaps he traveled by port key right into the ministry, taxing, but it was possible. Now he understood why Margot had saved him for last, this was going to take a good while to sort out a plan of action, if Marlon could do anything at all. Normally he didn't handle custody cases. Malachi must be desperate. As if his tone hadn't already given that away. “I have a few questions, if that's alright?” He paused, but didn't seem to be getting any resistance. “Firstly, I need you to make your long story, well, long. The more detail the better.”He pulled out paper to write on, the kind that was obviously not meant to go into somebodies file. So he should feel a tad more at ease about that. “Second, if visitation really what you want, or do you just want him back? The distinction is important” If Marlon couldn't do anything at all, it certainly wasn't going to happen overnight, it would take months, no matter what he wanted. People didn't like to look between the lines and he could already tell that in Mr. Hanley's case, no case worker was going to see it as anything but black and white. They would think him a monster, and that they were saving the child from a life of Dark Lord worship. “Unfortunately Mr. Hanley, any course of action that we take is going to take months”

This wasn't the first time he had heard a sob story like this, and it certainly wasn't going to be the last. He got women In here all the time looking for ways to bring their illegal children across borders and looking into other measures to help him. That wasn't to say that he didn't sympathize with the individual cases. In many ways, this man's story could have been him. It could have been him, his family, his sister. He knew that he would have done anything to keep that from happening. He knew from experience that he had done everything in his power to help her, to save her in every way that he could. All of those times, that their father had gone after her, all the horrible noises that he knew had to of been coming out of his house at all hours of the night. Somebody could have called, they both could have been taken away. He could remember one day vividly at the man's words. The day he had come home for Christmas break and the ministry had been standing outside of the house, littering the lawn with their bodies. How he had hated them, with their formidable black robes that billowed around in the snow. They had seemed so big, so imposing and the way that they looked at him, such pity in their eyes. It was the only time that he had interacted with the Irish ministry, outside of his professional life anyway. One man had stopped him on the way into the house, and had to force Marlon to make eye contact with him, the man had knelt down to his level, gotten on one knee and took Marlon's suitcase out of his hands. He couldn't have been more than nine years old. He had been wanting nothing more than to come home from his prepatory academy and bury himself in his winter reading. To spend his couple of weeks placating his father, keep him off of his sister, just for a couple weeks. ”Son” the man had said, and it made Marlon feel sick to his stomach, and just at that moment, his real father had ripped open the front door to the house and blasted off a hex at the first face he could find. The smell of alcohol was wafting out of the door, Marlon knew before he had been told what must have happened. His father had to of beaten somebody up again, done something, hexed the mailman. They didn't know, they didn't know Cammie was inside, how could they? She was their best kept secret.

He had looked at the man, feeling so small, so ashamed, more than he had ever felt it in his life. His father was yelling, if they didn't let Marlon go inside it was only going to get worse, the yelling was going to get louder, he would just get more angry...and that would hurt Cammie. He couldn't be the reason she hurt again...father would make him watch again. He felt his eyes close at the memory, but it wouldn't stop playing. “Do ye live here son?” Marlon felt the hot shame run down his cheeks as he nodded mutely “Son, if you come with me now, you won't ever have te walk back into that house again, we can find ye a new Pa, a sober pa, son, just come with me...” the man had pleaded, they must not have had enough to go on since they weren't forcing him to leave. Obviously they couldn't make him, and he was ashamed to admit that he thought about it. For a second, he thought about walking away, leaving with the man and his salt and pepper hair, his light grey eyes and just leaving...but not without Cammie. They must have thought that since there hadn't been any children present whenever the man had gotten drunk, that they couldn't convict him. Their father was a powerful man, no doubt as soon as he was sober again, he would make all of this, and the grey-eye'd man go away...forever. Tears had run freely down his adolescent cheeks as he shook his head in refusal. The man had given Marlon a hug, a real hug and It had to of been the first one that he had gotten since his mother had died, which only made things so much more worse. His suitcase had been returned to him, and Marlon dragged his feet up the path, leaving the pitiful faces behind as he allowed his father to pull him inside of the threshold, no doubt as to the smug look on the man's face that he had won, yet again. He couldn't have left, not really, not without her.

The rest of that night, was far too painful to remember, the events that followed whenever his father had shut the door on the officials, and properly muted the house...were, sickening. He often wondered what would have happened if he had just been a man that night and told the official that he had a sister, and to take them away. He always just assumed that in his childish state of mind he had been too afraid, that there wasn't any real way for them to get away. That he hadn't been able to see the lighter side of things at the time. Now, as an adult he knew that sitting in an orphanage, he wouldn't have been much better off. Things had gotten better, minus Cammie's lack of ability to adjust to life as a normal woman. Of course, that much could have been expected. He gave himself a moment to clear his head, to focus on the man in front of him, to steady his own breathing before lifting his head up again. He knew it wasn't exactly the most professional, but he didn't think that the man across from him would think very much of it. His personal reflection couldn't have lasted more than a few moments. Clearing his throat to regain composure he steeled himself, willed himself to turn neutral. He had no affiliation with this man, this wasn't his sister, it was just a client...he had to view it that way. If he failed, having any personal investment in this, wouldn't be beneficial. He switched to English, knowing very well that Malachi would understand everything that he said because it was the primary language of Ireland, Gaelic was minor due to it's complexity. However, his secretary didn't need to know about this, and bless her heart she was only bilingual. French and German. “I can tell that you are a man who doesn't like to waste time, or 'beat around the brush' as you might say, so there's good news, and bad news. “

He pulled a form from the divider on his desk and set about looking for a few others. Pushing a pen in Malachi's direction at the same time. Stacking his collection of forms together he pushed them in the direction of Malachi. He wasn't going to be happy about having to fill out paperwork, again. No doubt he had memorized all of these forms by now. Tapping them once to indicate that he might as well get started since the sooner the were completed, the sooner he got to work on them. “If it had been anybody, but me, you would have been out of luck. Being that this is Austria and your son is in Ireland, we wouldn't normally have any jurisdiction to go mucking about in any of their files” He shrugged “Their country, their rules so to speak” He was more than certain that Malachi had been getting the run around for a very long time. He had gotten it himself within various ministry's. Nobody ever wanted to deal with the problems, it was just so much easier to pawn it off on the next person and have somebody else deal with it, or just continue the vicious circle. Offering the man a smile he waited for Malachi to start filling out the forms as he started on a couple of his own. He didn't mean to make light of the situation, and he didn't want to make the man across from him feel like Marlon was making little of his situation. In fact, it was quiet the opposite. In truth, he had no idea if he really could help this man, or if he had any grounds to get the man's son back. To just about any government, this was just a Death Eater wanting a child back in his possession. People tended to see black and white about that.

Marlon had a skewed perspective about Death Eaters, both current and reformed since he was related to one. Of course he was against them, he had chosen to align himself with the Ministry and all that it stood for, good or bad. Yet, he couldn't look at Darren's followers as monsters, because he had far too much love in his heart for his sister. They all must have had their reasons for doing what they did, at least Mr. Hanley knew that he had done wrong, and was suffering for his mistakes and willing to try and make them better. That was all any man could do, try. “I can give you my word that I will do everything within my power to help you get your son, or at the very least pick which home he gets placed into. Possibly an open adoption, to get what's best for your son. I can do that much, and I can assure you that I won't pawn you off on another department.” He tried to look reassuring. “I know that you don't know me, Mr. Hanley, but I am a mad of my word.”

[Deleted]

Malachai had done it. Yet again, he had put himself out there. He hadn’t displayed any vulnerability, but the explanation of his situation was enough to show the man sitting across the desk from him that he was. Despite knowing that he had no choice, he was disgusted with himself. He considered himself to be a manly man when it came to his emotions. No outward exhibit. Everything needed to be kept inside. It was nobody’s business how he felt about anything. Usually, the only time he did let someone know how he was feeling was when he needed an outlet for anger. That often came in the form of balled fists or smashing items over some idiot’s head. If he had friends, he would never seek them out for advice. He had no desire to be emotionally intimate with women, they weren’t to be trusted. Nor had Malachai offered up much insight to the therapist the Ministry had assigned to him after discovering his reformed ways. He supposed his lack of interest in expressing himself came from his terrible childhood. When he was younger, his parents didn’t give two shits about how he felt. He vividly remembered that up until the age of six, whenever he cried about something his mother gave him a bottle in attempts to shut him up. Her and his father didn’t know how to take care of a child because of their own self-absorption. Actually, it was a miracle that he was able to be so responsive to Blaine since he had never had a positive parental influence in his life. Some about his toddler brought out the best of him.

If there anyone who deserved to the real man he was, it was Blaine. His son was the only person who had ever made Malachai smile. It was all due to his innocence. He was too young to understand the cruelties of the world around him. Too young to be forced to deal with stress. But his son was smart. Blaine was able to read into emotions like no one he had ever seen before. Anytime he was upset, his boy would wrap his small arms around his neck and tell him, “It’s otay Da. Smile.” Blaine knew how to make him more cheerful no matter what the situation was. He loved that kid with every fiber of his being. As each day passed without waking up to the bright face of his child, his pessimism grew. He knew he had to be strong for his boy, but there were days when he just couldn’t help it. The world had been knocking Malachai down since he was born, even when he had been too young to be rebellious against it. Now that he was making an effort to permanently change his ways, he couldn’t fathom why it had to be so damn difficult. He got that people didn’t trust him. Besides the dark mark on his arm, he conducted himself in a manner that made him look suspicious. It came with the territory he supposed. The constant negativity coming from outsiders though didn’t make things better. It would just be his luck that the time he decided to reform himself would be after Darren Morgan had come back with a bang. The Ministry had made itself out to be a joke so they had to grasp at anything they could to reassure the citizens that things were under control. Malachai had a feeling that if he had come out earlier that his background checks wouldn’t be nearly as thorough as they were now.

“I have a few questions, if that's alright?” Smirking, Malachai shrugged his shoulders. “Doesn’t seem like I really have much of a choice mate. “Firstly, I need you to make your long story, well, long. The more detail the better.” His eyes rolled their response. His behavior was rather child-like sometimes, but he felt he couldn’t be completely blamed when he dealt with Ministry officials who treated him like one. “Second, if visitation really what you want, or do you just want him back? The distinction is important.” His face showed nothing but confusion. What part of his story had indicated he only wanted visitation? Why the bloody hell would he face dealing with the wrath of Darren Morgan if not to get his child back for good. “Well, judging from what I’ve told you mate, I thought I made it pretty clearly that I want him back with me. For good. You really think I want to see me kid under the supervision of Ministry officials until he is eighteen?” The thought had often occurred to Malachai, each time making him feel worse than the next. He’d be damned before permitting his son to grow up under the not so careful watch of the government. Who knew how capable they were of manipulating him? What if they tried to do tests on him to see if joining the Dark Lord’s ranks was heredity? He could vouch for that not being true. His Ma and Da were the furthest things from supporters. They were neutral because of their selfishness at not wanting to be killed from picking the wrong side. Plus, the Dark Lord wasn’t stupid. If he had gone to recruit the two, he would have wound up smacking himself in the head for his poor decision making.

Malachai didn’t begin to explain his answer to Wagner’s first question. It looked like the man had more to say. With wanting to know everything he possibly could, he chose to wait for the man to fully finish speaking before deciding on a good starting point. His curiosity about the man’s accent from earlier had come back. “I can tell that you are a man who doesn't like to waste time, or 'beat around the brush' as you might say, so there's good news, and bad news.” He did his best to ignore the latter by trying to place the accent. He had been born in Ireland. He could hear it. However, by the sounds of it, it had been years since he had been home. Traces of his new language weaved itself into some words making them sound peculiar at times. Malachai’s foot began tapping nervously on the ground. “Not really the thing I want to hear mate, but you’re right. Give it to me straight. Tell me what needs to be done.” Wagner took his time in replying. Instead, he began moving about his desk again, pulling papers from all sorts of nooks and crannies. He peered down at the desk when the man slid papers in front of him. Merlin, he was so tired of paperwork. Every time he came to the Ministry, whether it was here or back home, he was guaranteed to not be able to leave without signing his life away for something. If he wasn’t irritated already, it was one thing after another. Clearing his throat, he pushed himself to the edge of his chair and grabbed the pen that Wagner had gotten for him. When the man tapped at the pile of forms, Malachai held his hand out. “I got it. I got it,” he bitterly said, making no secret of his dissatisfaction. Mostly he was irritated because he didn’t have the greatest handwriting. Already since he had been here, he had been forced to fill out ten new sheets of various paperwork because of his messy scribble.

Breathing deeply, Malachai began writing. This time, his movement was slow and precise, wanting to avoid having to do all this again because Wagner couldn’t make out the lines that normally weren’t connected. “If it had been anybody, but me, you would have been out of luck. Being that this is Austria and your son is in Ireland, we wouldn't normally have any jurisdiction to go mucking about in any of their files.” He remained silent, but a glimmer of light began to shine from deep within his soul. That sounded promising. It was more than he had heard for the few weeks he had been here now. Everyone’s answers were always the same. “So and so can give you more information.” or “I can’t help you with that. And if I can’t, no one can.”’ No one cared about helping him. They all thought Malachai was the same. Gum on the bottom of their shoes. Normally, it wouldn’t matter to him. This time, unfortunately, their opinions counted. They decided whether or not he would ever have Blaine permanently in his life again. A few minutes had passed and he hadn’t made much progress on his forms. After slowing down his normal writing pace, he had only managed to fill out six boxes of basic information. He had more than a half of a page to go. He wasn’t even ready to look at the sheets that lay underneath. He prayed he wouldn’t have to write a bloody essay or something. If that was the case, he wouldn’t be finished until the office closed for the day. That and he was already frustrated with himself for taking this long as it was. It was better to blame his ill behavior on the Ministry. They never did anything right, only made him hate himself for trying to be peaceful with them.

“I can give you my word that I will do everything within my power to help you get your son, or at the very least pick which home he gets placed into. Possibly an open adoption, to get what's best for your son. I can do that much, and I can assure you that I won't pawn you off on another department.” Malachai’s hand stopped moving and the words in front of him became a blur. Open adoption? He was beginning to see red. Something like that wasn’t even an option in his book. The grip on his pen increased to the point where the cap was beginning to leave an indent in his palm. “I know that you don't know me, Mr. Hanley, but I am a mad of my word.” His knuckles were turning white. Breathe he tried to tell himself. He needed to remember where he was. His son was a very emotional subject for him though. Any mention of something happening to Blaine that he didn’t approve of was bound to get his temper flaring. And it was. Closing his eyes, he forced his fist to open to release the pen. Placing his palm on the table, he slowly began raising it up and down as if keeping in tune with the silent music preceding his wrath. Remain calm. Don’t muck this up. Trying to talk to himself never really worked for him though. If it had, he probably wouldn’t have pursued a career in the Dark Arts for as long as he did. Feeling his face began to flush, Malachai placed his other palm on the table and raised himself up to lean over the desk. “Open adoption?” he asked slowly, his tone deadly. “Whatever is best for me son? Mate, the best thing for me son is being with me. That’s unacceptable.”

[Marlon Wagner]

Obviously, Marlon hadn't been in the system himself. He hadn't been subjected to foster homes, or bouncing around from orphanage to orphanage. He didn't know what it must feel like to grow attached to somebody, and then to be torn from them whenever they couldn't handle you any longer or found you a better match. He had no idea what those children must feel knowing that at any time, they would have to stuff all of their belongings into a suitcase and move. He could imagine, but he had been given every opportunity growing up, which was a lot more that other people, and he knew that. His life could have turned out so much different, he could have been taken away that fateful day. Cammie would have been left to die if they didn't search the house for her, and Marlon would have been pushed into the public school system and living out of a bag. He had heard rumors about how horrible it was, that people were only helping the children to get some coin out of the ministry. Some even got so bad that they were pushed outside of the wizarding community and placed with trusted muggles. Only in extreme cased of course, but it had happened. Since Marlon had given Malachi his word, he knew that it wasn't going to happen to his son, he would make sure that a good family got him at the very least. One that would be able to provide for him, and keep him happy. It was the very least he could do, and if he didn't come into a streak of luck, it was going to be the very best he would be able to do for a child outside of his jurisdiction. The only reason that Marlon was going to be able to even speak with these people was because he held dual citizenship. Being a legal citizen of Ireland and Austria was going to really help him out on this one. The Irish ministry were good people, they meant well, but they certainly didn't like outsides and more often than not had their hands tied in much deeper pockets outside of the ministry. They meant well, and did the best with that they had, but that wasn't much. Which is why Marlon had chosen to work here, instead of there.

Certainly, he might have been able to do far more good over there then he would be able to do here, given the size of this Ministry branch. Yet, his own vanity wouldn't allow him to pass up all of the resources that were available to him here. He was able to be always learning new things. Just last week he had taken a seminar given by the Mr. Rutherford on the first floor about the methods used to detect emotions without potions. Techniques that they used during their questionings, perhaps that was why he was staring at Malachi the way that he was now, wanting to make sure that he was being entirely truthful with him. If he wasn't, Marlon assumed he would be able to tell even though he only had a basic knowledge of the man in front of him. He watched the confusing flash on his face at Marlon's words, perhaps he hadn't been clear about something? “Well, judging from what I’ve told you mate, I thought I made it pretty clearly that I want him back with me. For good. You really think I want to see me kid under the supervision of Ministry officials until he is eighteen?” Marlon could understand where he was coming from, but there were things about that Ministry that he simply didn't understand. “I sympathize, but the fact that they are letting you see you son at all means a lot, normally once the kid is taken into custody, that would have been the end of your communication with him.” his tone was a little bit more professional than he meant, he knew he was coming off as cold but he couldn't help himself. He couldn't be pulled into an emotional involvement with this story, this was his job and he had to treat it as such. Whenever he was done protesting, Malachi went about starting on his paperwork, which was good considering it needed to be done in triplicate and before close of business today. Marlon started to take notes of his own, ideas and the like.

He missed the warning signals because he was focused on his own paperwork, in the event that a client got upset with them, they were supposed to call in a witness as soon as possible so that they would have enough evidence if the client did choose to become verbally, or physically abusive to the Ministry Official. Marlon actually didn't even look up until he heard the scrawl of the quill stop. That was only the beginning of the paperwork, he needed Malachi to be writing the entire time he was in here. By the time that he was done, he was going to be lucky if his hand didn't rot off from exhaustion. Marlon would know, he filled out four times that amount of paperwork every single day. Tapping the desk once more in hopes to get Malachi writing once more went in vain, soon the man was rising from his seat. Now, Marlon was a fairly large man, and he kept himself in good shape. He had taken classes on every style of combat available, so he wasn't frightened. But Malachi was also a large man, and a former Death Eater, he was bound to have a trick or two up his sleeve that Marlon knew nothing about. Placing his own pen down, he looked up at Malachi as he stood to lean over the desk “Open adoption?” Marlon nodded once, if he was getting angry, this was only going to take longer and he was going to feel less inclined to help the man. Marlon felt for the child, and genuinely did want to help him, but the little that he was seeing of his father wasn't going too well. If he had to decide based off of this one meeting, he wouldn't have returned the man's child either. “Whatever is best for me son? Mate, the best thing for me son is being with me. That’s unacceptable.” Folding his hands into his lap, Marlon leaned back in his chair, returning Malachi's deadly stare with a calm, neutral face of his own. “According to whom?”

It was a loaded question. Marlon was testing Malachi, if he took the bait, and lost his temper, there was going to be literally nothing that he could do to help the man other than go over to Ireland and personally place the child into foster care, or in best case, with an adoptive family. If Malachi sat back down, then they might have a chance. “Your anger here will not help this issue. You said to give it to you 'straight' and that is exactly what I am doing.” He waited, watching Malachi very carefully. “The parent always believes that they are what is best for their child. I'd wager that his mother thought she was doing a wonderful job, but you didn't. You think you are going a grand job, but the Ministry doesn't. Do you see where I'm going with this?” He leaned forward, his elbows just off of the blotter once more. “If all parents really knew what was best for their children, social services and child intervention departments wouldn't exist. I gave you my word that I will help you, and I will. But this, your temper, isn't the best thing to have around a child” He knew that was bound to set hm off, so he lifted a hand to signal that he wasn't done speaking just yet. “Not to say that you would ever harm your son, I can see that you love him very much. Sometimes, that just isn't enough” Exhaling deeply, he needed to get a point across before Malachi spoke again. Reconsidering for just a moment, he pulled the man's file closer to himself once more. Looking over the credentials and information already in there. Looking for somewhere, anywhere to get a good foothold to start. “I see here that you didn't stick with your court ordered therapy?” Marlon inquired “To a jury, that's going to show a major lack of commitment as well as that you are hiding something” He sighed, he really had his work cut out for him on this one “Whether it's true or not, doesn't matter. In the court, perception is reality. Your best bet is to just keep this out of the courts all together, to give you a better chance. But, that will take time Mr. Hanley, and will certainly be more difficult.” he flipped through a few more sheets of paper and pointed to the mark on Malachi's arm as he did so. If he wasn't careful, Malachi was going to take an interest in why Marlon didn't react to the mark the way that most people did. Marlon was just so accustomed to seeing it on the arm of his sister, that he almost felt jaded to it's presence in his life. Most people would at the very least cringe at the sight of it “Not to mention, you are going to need to make a tremendous effort to revamp your public image” It was just a formality, but if he wasn't even willing to play dress up for the sake of his child, then he didn't deserve to have the kid back in the first place.

[Deleted]

For as long as he could remember, Malachai had always been a man that dwelled on the past. He had difficulty with letting go. Letting bygones be bygones. His childhood, as the events in his life were usually blamed on, attributed to this greatly. With all the verbal and physical abuse he had suffered at the hands of his parents, it had all built up until he had been unable to take it any longer. Thirteen years. He had allowed rage to remain pent up inside of him for thirteen years. Once that rage had been unleashed, it had very nearly killed the bastard that he was forced to call his father. Even now, he still held lasting hate for the man and woman that had made his childhood such hell. There were still names in Malachai’s head of people that had done him wrong in his life and would forever remain until he enacted his revenge upon them. The bright signs of bars that had kicked him out for being drunk and disorderly were etched into his brain, saved until the day he could return and set them aflame or rob them of their entire liquor storage. Even with all the years of abuse on his body, he kept a remarkable memory. It was a trait that had served him well in his tenure with the Morgan family. Now, it would be used against them as he slowly but surely began to reveal everything that needed to be confessed to in order to get Blaine back. Malachai didn’t always need his fast reflexes and damaged nerve endings to be a dangerous man. His brain could do well enough on its own.

Every word that came from Wagner’s mouth had rooted itself deeply in the core of his mind. Every look, every change in tone, every movement of a limb, all of it would come back easily with Malachai replayed the day in his head. It would also serve to remind him of why he hated the government so much and why he felt like ripping the man’s head off from the large mass of muscle that was his body. He wasn’t just going to dwell on Wagner’s comments, they were going to consume him. His blood was already boiling from it and his grip on the desk was so tight that he could feel the stinging of small wooden splinters stab themselves underneath his nails. The pain would be dealt with later. More important issues were at hand, like being haunted with the image of Blaine being locked away behind an unbreakable glass window with another family while Malachai helplessly looked on. His chest was moving at such a fast pace that he was beginning to feel out of breath. Damn cigarettes. Those blasted things didn’t help matters either. He wasn’t getting enough air into his lungs with as fast as he was exhaling. Trying to calm down now was pointless though. Wagner’s words kept repeating themselves over and over in his head. Open adoption…pick which home he gets placed into…man of my word. He wanted to kill this man, even more due to the calm expression that was looking across the desk at him. His temper was once again getting the best of him. It had always been something that he had problems containing. He harmed others as an outlet, never having a better way to deal with it present itself to him.

“According to whom?” Malachai saw red. Literally, the entire scene before his eyes had darkened to a bloody shade of red. His body began to shake as he narrowed his eyes into even smaller slits. This was a dangerous level of anger for him. In normal circumstances, further prodding by his opponent would cause him to snap. He’d inflict harm, whether by insulting or hitting until he blacked out. In situations when he was abnormally stressed, he would take out his wand and let his mind take over, his dark imagination running wild. It was threatening to come out now. This disgusted him, having his child’s life in the hands of someone who wasn’t him. Malachai understood how the circumstances looked. A man, who had grown up in poor conditions with parents incapable of giving affection to their only son, resorting to the Dark side to survive in a corrupt world. A man who had spent his youth on the streets lying, stealing and breaking every law possible. A man who denied paternity of a son who was surely set to follow the same path that he himself had without his father in his life. Everything was against him in this. With Blaine though, everything came natural to him. He was the only person in this world that he would never hurt. He was willing to place his life on it. How dare he be judged by others who thought that a child’s best interests included shoving them in those displays that were orphanages? It wasn’t like that was it was a perfect formula for swaying the mind of an innocent child to join the side that could ensure its rebellion against the authority that had placed it there.

The last thing Malachai wanted for Blaine was to grow up and join Darren Morgan. The thought of it alone made him want to drink an entire bottle of Irish whiskey. He’d be damned before ever letting his son succumb to the self-absorbed, power hungry man that was the only son of the former Dark Lord. “Your anger here will not help this issue. You said to give it to you 'straight' and that is exactly what I am doing.” He shook his head angrily. “No mate. What you’re doing is sounding like all the other idiots who really don’t give a fuck about anything other than their damn paycheck!” It was better for him to yell and shout then do what he really wanted, lunging across the man’s desk and snapping his thick neck. “The parent always believes that they are what is best for their child. I'd wager that his mother thought she was doing a wonderful job, but you didn't. You think you are going a grand job, but the Ministry doesn't. Do you see where I'm going with this?” At this, Malachai pushed off from the desk, placed his hands behind his head and turned his back from the man. There was so much he could say in response. Laughing, he turned his gaze up to the ceiling. “I call bullshit on that mate. My parents never did what they believed was best for me. They could have cared less what path I chose for me life. The only reason they kept me around when I was younger was for sympathy money. They used me out on the streets to get money to fuel their own addictions. I wouldn’t be surprised if the bitch that me son has to call his mother did the same damn thing!” Maureen had never confessed to such behavior, but he wouldn’t have put it past the crafty wench. She had always been a master manipulator.

Malachai wanted to say more, but Wagner began to speak again. “Not to say that you would ever harm your son, I can see that you love him very much. Sometimes, that just isn't enough.” He was sure that there had never been another man he had come across that he wanted to kill more than this prick. Judging from his appearance and the papers that were shuffled all over his desk, the man had no idea what it was like to be a father. He had no idea what it was like to watch something that he had helped bring into this world cry when he was forced to say goodbyes. No idea the sorrow that filled his entire being as he watched his only son being taken away in the arms of another. The man probably didn’t even specialize in this sort of thing. “I see here that you didn't stick with your court ordered therapy?” Malachai rolled his eyes before forcing his attention to a painting on the man’s wall. “I don’t need to talk about my feelings with someone who is going to judge me from the very beginning,” he responded, coldly. “To a jury, that's going to show a major lack of commitment as well as that you are hiding something.” Another laugh came from deep within his throat. “You really think a jury is going to look at me differently once they found out what I used to do for a living? Are you oblivious to what is going on the world nowadays Wagner? Nobody is going to give two shits about someone who has or once had association to the Dark side. Period. After the stunt Morgan pulled at Gringotts back in August, nothing is going to change the minds of those terrified by what he is going to do next.” From all the papers Malachai had read in regards to the subject, his words were the truth. Everybody was on edge. One would forever pay for the life they had chosen at a whim at a young and immature age. He finally turned around to face the man, dropping his hands from his head as he did so. “Your type is so bloody ungrateful for the opportunities you have available to you.”

“Whether it's true or not, doesn't matter. In the court, perception is reality. Your best bet is to just keep this out of the courts all together, to give you a better chance. But, that will take time Mr. Hanley, and will certainly be more difficult.” The garbage kept spewing from Wagner’s mouth. “Not to mention, you are going to need to make a tremendous effort to revamp your public image.” That was the last straw. Picking up the chair he had been sitting in only a few minutes earlier, he turned his body to the side and threw the chair into the wall with the painting he had been staring at with all his might. Two of the legs and an arm broke instantly and crack formed in the middle of the backboard. It had also left a nice dent in the wall that would hopefully forever remind Wagner of the fire he had caused today. Stomping up towards the desk, he leaned in close enough and nearly stuck his right forearm in the man’s face. “Why the fuck should I be ashamed of the person that I am? Why should I be afraid of this mark on my arm when it doesn’t even matter anyway? This tattoo is a reminder of where I bloody started and where I ended. It’s a reminder of what I gave up to receive. It’s a reminder of what caused me to fight for what I’m fighting now!” Malachai held his arm up for a moment longer before bringing it back to his side. “Most importantly mate, this DOES show my commitment to my son. I’ve given up everything I know to make a new life for a little boy who deserves more than this twisted world can offer him. After seeing the cruelties of society from both sides of the spectrum, I do know what’s best for my son and it’s getting him to a place where choosing a side doesn’t matter. He needs to be with someone who can tell him that it’s alright to be his own person and not let anyone dictate what he thinks he wants for himself. Not you, not Darren Morgan, not anyone but ME can show him that.”

For the second time, Malachai pushed himself from the desk and stepped away. Shoving his hand into the pocket of his heavy jacket, he grabbed his pack of smokes and a lighter. If he didn’t have a cigarette now, he would be travelling by boat to Azkaban within the next thirty minutes. He quietly pulled one of the tobacco sticks from the pack before putting the carton back into his pocket. Sticking the cigarette between his lips, he ignited his lighter after five attempts and brought the flame to the end of the stick. Once it had lit, he waved the flame away and pocketed that as well. Bringing his index and thumb to the cigarette, he puffed heavily four times before pulling the thing away and blowing out a thick cloud of grey smoke. Instantly, his nerves began to feel better. Looking back to the man, Malachai was once again filled with a sense of recognition. Perhaps he had seen the man around the offices of the Ministry. Maybe they had fought out in one of the sleazy bars he visited so often. Either way, there was something about Wagner that he had seen before, though it was difficult to place if it was in him or someone else. “You wanna tell me why you look so familiar mate?” he asked, taking another drag from his cigarette. “I can’t stop thinking that I’ve seen you before. That hair is awfully hard to miss.”

[Marlon Wagner]

He could see it grow, and grow..it was almost like a cartoon thermometer was hovering above Malachi's head. It was slowly filling up with a red matter, and any moment now it was going to boil over and the glass bulb was going to shatter, and the red matter was going to spatter across the room, making a horrible mess. The meter just happened to fill up far more quickly than he had been originally expecting...The same time that Malachi started to push himself up and away from the desk, Marlon was reaching for his desk drawer where his wand hand been safely tucked away up until now. He had no idea what the man across from his was capable of, and he felt that it was only logical to be as prepared as he could possibly be. With the level of anger that he was displaying, it was very possible that he was going to experience an emotion surge that was going to set them back, and make this whole meeting moot. His brain began to take on a life of it's own, speculating the best chance of a positive outcome. He could hear a catch in Malachi's voice, his lungs had a rattle, no doubt he was a smoker. A chest shot, or anything to knock the wind out of him would subdue him long enough in order to get the Auror's from the first floor, up to this one to take him into custody. Hopefully, it wouldn't come to that because he did genuinely wish to help the man, but if he struck a ministry official then he would be deported back to his home country...and that would be the very end of Malachi's custody battle. He would lose his son for good. Nobody wanted that.

He could only hope that Malachi had enough sense to see that far into the future. His actions had consequences. Of course, given what he knew about the man he had not only a trouble with authority, but also with having to face the repercussions of his actions. He wanted this all to be in black and white, but it wasn't that simple. Malachi had been a Death Eater, he didn't just get to sweep that under the rug just because he decided that he wasn't active anymore. Just like the actions that had led up to his child being taken from him. All in all, Malachi had taken the bait, he had failed the test. There, was going to be almost nothing that he could do to help him. Sure, Marlon would be able to help the child, and he would do that either way because now that he had been made aware of the situation, he was taking a personal interest. Yet Malachi, seemed to be a lost cause. He needed some serious, ongoing mental health care. In fact, Marlon was highly interested in meeting this child for himself to get a feel for his mental aptitude. To see what, if any, lasting emotional and mental damage he had withstood from being in the environment he was born into. To see if there was a chance of him being an upstanding member of society. “No mate. What you’re doing is sounding like all the other idiots who really don’t give a fuck about anything other than their damn paycheck!” Marlon knew that wasn't really a personal attack, because Marlon had only been doing what he had said that he would. Nobody could be helped that didn't really want to be helped. Keeping his wand on his lap, he brought his spare hand up to rub at his temples, this was going to be a long day, and an even longer night.

“I call bullshit on that mate. My parents never did what they believed was best for me. They could have cared less what path I chose for me life. I wouldn’t be surprised if the bitch that me son has to call his mother did the same damn thing!” Marlon shook his head “You cannot possibly have the insight to assume that accurately, you have no method of knowing their personal thoughts. Some people, do the best that they can, but lack the moral enlightenment to know that they are doing wrong” While he knew for a fact, that it was very possible for a parent to want nothing to do with their child, it was normally all emotion based. Parents have a chemical that is released from birth to bond them with their infants. He knew, that his father would have loved his sister had it not been for the tragedy surrounding her birth. Daniel had been a good man, a good husband and an amazing lawyer...but life can change people. This was just one of many instances where his personal and professional opinion differed. Clicking his pen he leaned forward, taking care to keep his wand in place that he can get to it at a seconds notice. If it were possible, he watched his words take effect, and that meter that had exploded once before, did so again, Malachi was at his boiling point. Then again, Marlon had thought that he was at his boiling point in the first place and had been mistaken. How much angrier can one person become? Marlon didn't know what it was to be a father, and he certainly had no experience with what a good father would even act like. Sure, he had been with his father during the years before Cammie's birth, but he had been so young. He could speculate about what it must be like, to have such a young person so wholly dependent on you. Marlon did however know what it was like to support somebody, to raise them and take care of them the best that they could. He knew that it was like to have another person suffer because of his actions and choices.

“You really think a jury is going to look at me differently once they found out what I used to do for a living? Are you oblivious to what is going on the world nowadays Wagner? Nobody is going to give two shits about someone who has or once had association to the Dark side. Period. After the stunt Morgan pulled at Gringotts back in August, nothing is going to change the minds of those terrified by what he is going to do next.”It took a lot for Marlon to become frustrated, but he was finding that talking to Malachi was similar to knocking his head against a brick wall. Exhaling very slowly, he placed his pen back down on the blotter, and slowly turned his gaze back up to Malachi. “Despite your numerous attempts to make me feel substandard to yourself, I am very well versed in the events going on around us.” He closed the folder that had 'HANLEY' printed in bold on the side, there was no point in even looking anymore. “To your question, yes, I do think that they can look at you differently but you are doing nothing to even give them a reason to try. You laziness and careless approach to this subject is counterproductive. You are only pushing your son further and further away from you. Yet, for some reason you seem to wish to place blame on everybody but yourself for things that are only your fault.” His tone was neutral, cold, very matter of fact. Malachi was going to accept this as truth, or he was not. It was true that everybody was on edge, but Marlon had already told him that their best option was to keep this out of court since there were more pressing matters. “Your type is so bloody ungrateful for the opportunities you have available to you.” He could feel the vein in his forehead start to pulse at Mr. Hanley's words. “My type?” He knew he sounded less than professional, but he wished to know exactly what he meant. Intelligent? Employed? Handsome or wealthy? There were so many options but he knew it was meant negativity. “Once again, you cannot presume to know that I am ungrateful for anything. I don't appreciate your continued conjecture”

The chair smashing against the wall was surprising. It had happened all so quickly, somebody had to of heard that, their meeting wasn't going to be private for very much longer. His hand flew to the wand in his lap and his fingers wrapped around the hilt and had it aimed directly at Mr. Hanley in only seconds after the chair had flown. He was breaking a lot of rules for not petrifying the man at the first sign of violence. He rose to his own feet, his chair flying out back behind him and hitting the bookshelves there. “Take a seat Mr. Hanley” Scraps of wood were now littering the floor of his office, like he needed anything else piled onto his work load for the night. Malachi came over in a fluster, and Marlon didn't budge, by the time the taller man had stopped walking, the tip of Marlon's wand had to be pressing uncomfortably against the man's sternum. He didn't look down whenever the tattoo was shoved in his face, choosing to maintain eye contact instead. He had seen enough of that disgusting mark to last him a lifetime, he didn’t need to see it ever again. At least Cammie had the decency to cover hers up in public, Malachi could do the same. “Why the fuck should I be ashamed of the person that I am? Why should I be afraid of this mark on my arm when it doesn’t even matter anyway? This tattoo is a reminder of where I bloody started and where I ended. It’s a reminder of what I gave up to receive. It’s a reminder of what caused me to fight for what I’m fighting now!” He could understand the desire to not apologize for one's actions, but Malachi wasn't in a situation where being crass would get him anywhere. He needed to bend himself to the public eye, and plead forgiveness. Anybody would tell him that if they bothered to talk to him at all. He was beginning to see why nobody wanted to help this man.

He was far too intimidating, at least to most people he would be. It might not matter to him anymore, but it mattered to those around him, to those who were going to judge him. Like it or not, fair or not, that was simply the truth of it. “Most importantly mate, this DOES show my commitment to my son. I’ve given up everything I know to make a new life for a little boy who deserves more than this twisted world can offer him. Not you, not Darren Morgan, not anyone but ME can show him that.” New life? That was the very first that he had heard of it. If it was true, that was what he should have lead with. Did the man have a home and a steady, respectable job? Did he have the money to support a child, had he registered for child care and looked into schooling systems? Those were things that were important, not this 'he's my son so I deserve him' rubbish he was sticking with. While Marlon did personally feel that he would be a few better candidate to show this child how to be a good person than Malachi was. Arrogant or not, he saw himself as a better, and more stable person. Whenever Malachi turned to walk away, Marlon lowered his wand a fraction, waiting to see what was going to happen next. He would have considered telling Malachi that there wasn't any smoking allowed inside of the building, but he knew that it wasn't going to do any good. If that was what he needed to calm himself down and become a rational person once again, then so be it. He watched at he struggled with the lighter, Marlon was at a loss. He couldn't help a man that wasn't willing to be helped. It seemed like every single time that he presented a viable option, Malachi flipped his lid because it didn't fit the exact picture that he had in his mind. It seemed like, Malachi wanting to be in control of a situation, that he had no grasp over. This attitude that he was exhibiting, was only going to condemn him further. There was no way that Malachi was going to be able to be in control of this situation, he was going to have to trust that Marlon would act in his best interest...but he didn't think that was possible for the irate man.

Finally, since things seemed to have mellowed for just a bit, Marlon took his seat back behind his desk. He should have been surprised that his assistant hadn't come in here to check on him yet. Then again, with her timid nature it was more likely that she had just summoned an Auror or two that would be here in no time at all. “You wanna tell me why you look so familiar mate?” Marlon looked up from his paperwork, a puzzled expression on his face. He paused, allowing his hand to wave away the small cloud of smoke that had started to drift toward his face. “I don't think I understand your meaning?” He placed the pen he had been writing with back onto his blotter, waiting “I can’t stop thinking that I’ve seen you before. That hair is awfully hard to miss.” “It's amazing the things that they can do with bottled color and potions now a-days.” The only other person he had ever known to have hair the same color as his own was his sister. No way that Malachi would know his-..Marlon could feel the blood drain from his face slowly, he felt like he had just walked through a ghost. He was being presented with a very unique threat. He hadn't once considered the possibility that he would have a run in with somebody who would have known who his sister was, or know that she too, had been a death eater. It was most unsettling, not knowing if the man was toying with him or if he was just attempting to make a connection and ease some of the tension that had formed between them already. Marlon could feel his knee start to bounce and shake underneath his next out of nerves. It was a highly sensitive subject, and if he wasn't careful he was going to give something away. Running his hand down his face he lifted his shoulders to his ears and let them fall, attempting to seem like he wanted to get back on subject, that they weren't here to talk about Marlon, they were here to talk about Malachi. Taking a second, he faked a revelation, and shook his finger at Malachi “You know what? I think I was there during your first meeting here” He nodded with a reassuring smile. It wasn't a lie, he had been the one to hand Malachi a large stack of papers and to pick them back up once more whenever the man had been finished. He just needed to distract Malachi again, get further back on topic. He could dislike Marlon all that he wanted but he couldn't be allowed to make the connection to his sister. If he did...he didn't know what he was going to do with himself. Reaching across the desk, he pushed the pen toward Malachi once more, just slowly this time in case the man were to lash out again. “Paperwork then, and paperwork now”

[Deleted]

The man sitting across from him was a worthy adversary. He had strength. That much was clear. However, Malachai had battle many opponents who had the size, but the inability to move fast because of their large stature. If there was anything he could be thankful for in regards to his height, it was his legs. They were long and knew how to elude capture, which was surprising given his at least two pack a day smoking habit. He could usually only run for short lengths of time but was usually given enough time to get the job done. He could also tell that the man was smart, unlike some of the other birdbrains that called themselves Ministry officials. Looking at the wall to the right of him, he saw many certifications and diplomas. It was likely that Wagner could beat him in a game of smarts. Especially considering how knowledgeable the man seemed of laws from both Austria and Ireland. Lastly, he was level-headed. Men like him tended to think of the lasting repercussions as opposed to being completely in the moment. Malachai was the exact opposite. He could have an advantage there. Yet even if that were not the case, Wagner had a weakness. They all did. He just needed to dig up whatever the man had buried and expose it to the light. Two could play at this game. His heavy breathing had finally begun to soften. Like his opponent, if he was going to take the advantage he needed to think. He needed to disregard all of the nonsense that had just come spewing from the man’s mouth about being lazy and careless. If he was, he damn sure wouldn’t be here being reminded of how inferior he was to this blond brute.

It was more than frustrating hearing that Wagner thought a jury would be biased if Malachai were to ever stand in front of one. All it took was one person to ruin that for him. One spy to be caught and revealed to the country to forever tarnish the reputation of those trying to better themselves in this dysfunctional world. Nothing anyone could say could change his mind of that. But he remained silent. He even stayed quiet when the man accused him of not being able to take the blame for any of this. The reality of the situation was that he could. If he had been in Blaine’s life from the very start, then this would have never happened. If he could have taken his young son away from Maureen before she could have been admitted to the hospital, maybe he could have been picking Blaine up from preschool right now. Malachai lived with the guilt everyday of his life. Had it not been for the young boy’s mother’s whorish ways, he could have accepted his son the moment he laid eyes on him for the very first time. This was all too personal for him to talk about though. Even when custody was dangling on a thread right in front of his eyes, he couldn’t be honest with the man. It simply wasn’t in his nature. Hell, he doubted that he’d ever be able to reveal to Blaine what he had done when the boy turned of age. For that, he knew he was a coward. Unfortunately, growing up in a home where it was impossible to show emotion had done that to him. Malachai had sworn to himself that if he ever got Blaine back that his son would grow up in an open environment where he was encouraged to talk about his feelings. He wanted that chance to provide fatherly advice he had never received.

But how could he ever be expected to do those things with the way he was behaving? Malachai’s gut told him that what he was doing was wrong. Yet his brain was so used to reacting spur of the moment that it was difficult for him to rationalize anything Wagner was saying to him. This was not the way to get his son back. Could he really be blamed for behaving in such a manner though? When he knew the whole world was against him? He sure had picked a doozy of a time to change his alliance. At least with Morgan, the chances of getting Blaine back by abducting the child from Ireland’s Ministry were better. He would never allow his son to be returned to him in that manner though. It would only be the start to a potentially troubled life for the boy further on down the road. Not to mention, Darren Morgan’s presence would weigh heavily on Malachai’s shoulder. He knew the man would spare no expense to get what he wanted. If he ever refused a mission or battling to stay at home with Blaine, the man could easily abduct the child again or worse, kill him. His whole world would be shattered if anything happened to his son. If his mental state was shaky at best already, it would completely collapse if Blaine never got the chance to live long enough to learn to tie his shoes. The thought made his lips quiver and he quickly took another three puffs from his cigarette to prevent making himself upset again. If only Wagner had a device that could see into his mind, then maybe this whole process could go a lot easier. But he couldn’t. Malachai had to find some other sort of outlet to express his feelings since breaking a chair against a wall hadn’t done the trick. All that had shown was that he wasn’t afraid to use force if necessary. Wagner presumably thought he’d be the same way with Blaine. Little did he know, that form of punishment made him feel uneasy.

The situation was now tenser that it had been in the beginning. Honestly, Malachai was surprised that Aurors hadn’t barged in yet with wands pointed at his throat like Wagner’s had been. It was likely that they had already been summoned and were waiting for another signal before coming in to save the day. He didn’t have any intentions of permitting it to go to that level. Even he wasn’t dumb enough to know to do that. Actually, now that he had half of a cigarette in his lungs, he’d be more stable until the itch for another one overcame him. For the present, he was fine. Unless the man was stupid enough to insult how he planned on raising his son again, the need to punch Wagner in the face had ebbed back. Now he was more interested in the man answering his own question. Malachai never forgot faces. He knew he had seen this man elsewhere before. He just couldn’t place his finger on it. “It's amazing the things that they can do with bottled color and potions now a-days.” He looked at the man in silence, sucking in a deep drag from his cigarette. “So you’re saying you chose to have that hair color?” he finally asked. “Seems a bit strange to me that a bloke would want his hair color so bright that you need sunglasses to look at it properly. Don’t really see why you would want to be the envy of women all around the world. This man was a liar. Malachai considered himself to almost be an expert when it came to lying since he had been so bloody good at it all of his life. His thoughts were practically confirmed when he noticed the color change in Wagner’s face. Was he on to something? He took one final drag from his cigarette before dropping it in a half-full coffee cup off to the side of the man’s desk. “You know what? I think I was there during your first meeting here.” He thought back to the meeting. Now that he mentioned, he did remember seeing the large man. He had even made a snide remark about him to the other man he had been meeting with.

But that wasn’t just it. No way would an innocent meeting like that cause Wagner to look so distressed all of a sudden. There was more to the story. “Paperwork then, and paperwork now.” Malachai looked at him suspiciously. Something was definitely up. The man had seemed so keen on bringing their meeting to an abrupt close not even two minutes earlier. Now he wanted to get back to signing paperwork? Perhaps he had found the edge that he had been looking for. Turning around to grab the other chair he hadn’t smashed, he pulled it closer to the desk and took a seat. His eyes never left Wagner. Extending his arm forward, he picked up the pen and clicked the top to reveal the ballpoint. Slowly, he began to write his current address. The image of a mass of platinum hair was at the forefront of his mind. Where was the last time he had seen it? Finishing the current address, he began to write his previous one. The man wouldn’t be caught in some shady pub. His clothes were an indication of that. Malachai ruled out noticing him in Drear Alley. He was also aware that he hadn’t seen the man elsewhere in the Ministry since he had been confined to this floor and the Atrium. He would have to ask him the next best thing. “I heard the accent in your voice earlier mate,” he spoke up, “you got any family around Dublin?”

[Marlon Wagner]

Really dodged a bullet with this one. At least, so it seemed as of present. One couldn't ever really tell the outcome of all events, even if he liked to think that he could. No matter how this all played out, if he was able to keep the focus away from his family and on the matter at hand he would consider this a successful meeting. If worst came to worse, he could always just bring up the man never seeing his child again. In which case, he might get irritated enough to forget the whole thing, which would be best for him. For the first time in his life, he was actually considering going home and coloring his hair something in a more natural hue. His one weakness in this life was his family, and since there was only one member remaining, he liked to hold her close and keep her safe. He wouldn't ever be able to forgive himself if anything ever happened to her. She was almost all that he had left, and she was to be protected at all costs. Yes, he needed to keep conversation away from family matters that weren't Malachai's own. He was more intelligent than Malachi, he was confidant in that fact. He could outwit him, he just needed to keep his own emotions in check. “So you’re saying you chose to have that hair color?” That familiar panic that overcame him whenever he was forced to lie started up again, but his tone betrayed nothing. “Not mine personally, no” He stated matter of factly and turned back to his paperwork, flipping through the pages that he was going to no doubt, redo later once he was more in his right mind “But I have no claims to this hue, I'm sure many other people have it” his hair color was a birth right from his mother, and it was just about the only trait that he had inherited from her, he wouldn't change it if he could. His sister looked more like their mother, which had been the majority of their fathers issue with her. . “Seems a bit strange to me that a bloke would want his hair color so bright that you need sunglasses to look at it properly. Don’t really see why you would want to be the envy of women all around the world.” That wasn't the first time the brightness of his hair had been insulted, back in the day the very same insult was used on almost a daily basis. The small bout of nostalgia calmed his nerves, a telling smile on his face as he shook his head, choosing more to respond.

The hissing sound of a cigarette being extinguished in liquid stirred him, his small smile instantly turning into a frown. Guess he was done drinking that. Glancing up at Malachi he noted a strange expression on the man's face that he couldn't seem to tear his eyes away from. They were caught, staring at each other awkwardly, like it was unspoken that both knew what the other was thinking, but didn't wish to say anything. Malachai knew something was up, he just hadn't figured out exactly what...but it was only a matter of time. He needed to get him out of the office, and quickly. Slowly, almost reluctantly Malachai turned back to his paperwork, filling in the slots in his messy scrawl. Handwriting told a lot about a person, Marlon's was neat and elegant, but most importantly, legible. He was going to have a nightmare of a time redoing all of these forms later on in the evening. “I heard the accent in your voice earlier mate, you got any family around Dublin?” His eyes had not yet left Malchai's face. He couldn't decide if he should just give up the ruse and make the connection for himself, if he should just lay down his cards and go from there. He would have the upper hand, he would have to. He was smarter, he could come up with something couldn't he. The small shake no of his head was hardly visible. “No, my clan hails from Bantry” which was more south in Ireland but not quiet along the coast. A small town, known best for it's oysters and the fact that it almost always smelled just a little bit too salty, but it had a fair amount of tourist attraction spots that brought in a decent amount of money. He loved his homeland, and hadn't been back in far too long of a time. The last time he had been back though, had not ended well, perhaps that was why he kept delaying his return trips. “Is Dublin where you originate?” It was harmless conversation, but there was an edge to his voice, to both of their voices since they were not asking the questions that they actually wanted the answers to. His words fell on stale air, falling easily into silence. There were so many accusations floating around in the air above them.

The knock on the door was a little later than he had been expecting people to come in and check on them. The person behind the knock didn't wait to be invited in, they knew that if Marlon was in a sticky situation he wouldn't be able to. Mr. Wentworth from the first floor poked his head in, scanning the room. His eyes lingered on the shattered chair on the side of the room, laying in bits but said nothing. He saw the two men sitting calmly at their desks and exchanged, what could only be a greeting of recognition with Mr. Hanley. Did Wentworth know something that he didn't? Were the two acquainted in some fashion? It wasn't his place to ask but he couldn't help but to be curious as to their history. They were just unlikely friends, but had matching tempers from what he had seen...so it wasn't too far fetched. Instead of inquiring like his brain was itching to do, he simply nodded once in Ashton's direction and watched as the Auror turned around and left, closing the door behind him. That was just about the only thing that he liked about the man besides the fact that he was so good at his job, was that he didn't go asking a million questions like some of the others in his department were apt to do. Marlon's chance to get Mr. Hanley thrown from the building was gone as soon as Ashton left. Why hadn't he thought of that sooner?Regardless, he needed to get him out one way or another. “Have you given any thought to what will happen if and when you get your son back Mr. Hanley?” he was still staring, the same blank expression on his face. “Even when he is back in your arms, your battle to keep him will be far from over.” He paused, his words dry “There will of course be follow up checks, home inspections and the like” It wasn't something that anybody could do anything about, it was just something that he was going to have to accept.


(Sorry this sucks so very bad)

[Deleted]

That hair. This was getting damn annoying. Malachai wished he was able to remember more, but the years of drinking and occasional drug use had dumbed him down a bit. He was still intelligent when it came to certain things, but when it came to placing names to faces, it was damn near impossible. It was more irritating knowing that there was some reason behind his curiosity, like there was something he needed to know. Wagner was playing it off as there was nothing to be concerned with, but he knew better. “But I have no claims to this hue, I'm sure many other people have it.” At this, Malachai arched an eyebrow. “You sure about that mate?” If only he could get him to slip up and reveal something he wasn’t supposed to. Maybe then could he run with it and see where that took him. At this rate though, it seemed impossible. Wagner wasn’t budging and Malachai could feel his temper starting to flare up. He couldn’t prove that the man across from him was lying, but his instincts never failed him. It was what had made him so successful in his previous career. He didn’t press the matter, instead moving on to the next question that needed to be answered in his paperwork. He did his best thinking when he was silent anyway. In addition to feeling as if he knew these forms from backwards to front, no additional thinking would needed to be given to answer the questions. Malachai could only think that things would be going in his favor somehow. They had to.

When Marlon answered his question about his family’s whereabouts, Malachai couldn’t deny the disappointment from the man’s answer. He should have picked up on Bantry. The Bantry accents differed that they were slower, more articulate in their speaking as opposed to where he came from in Dublin, where most of the people he had ever known spoke fast, slurred their words together and without much thought. On occasion, even he had been unable to decode what some of the blokes around there said and liked to think he had a fast tongue. “Is Dublin where you originate?” He stopped briefly to look at the man and nod. “Aye, couldn’t you tell?” The two men held their stares for a minute longer. They were both trying to place the other. Malachai hoped he was making Wagner uneasy. If he was, it was more likely the man to slip up and that’s all he needed. One simple mistake. A look away, a stutter, a prolonged silence. Anything. Clearing his throat, his eyes went back to his paperwork. The first side was done and he turned the page over to the second, scoffing they landed on the criminal background section. This was the part he really hated filling out since this could make or break getting Blaine back. He had no choice but to be honest. Have you ever been arrested? He scribbled yes. Have you ever been convicted of a crime? Malachai rolled his eyes. Yes. Please describe in detail any previous arrests and convictions. This was going to take the longest. Although most of them were innocent enough public intoxication and bar fighting arrests, he did have three breaking and entering convictions. Those ones he had spent the most time in jail for. However, the killer was his DeathEater conviction, which he had been forced to plead guilty to as stipulation of his residency in Austria. It was the one that was going to haunt him most of all. It was why he found himself in this situation after all.

Everything on paper was going to make Malachai look like a monster, which he was completely capable of being. He had done things that most ordinary people couldn’t even imagine. It all had come with the territory though. He simply couldn’t bring himself to open up to this stranger. Despite holding custody in his hands, it was none of his fucking business. Even if he did take that risk, it was unlikely the man would see him as anything other than an untamed animal. He would naturally think that Blaine was in immense danger being in his care and would do anything and everything to make sure Malachai never saw his son again. He couldn’t take that chance. Halfway through his second paragraph, the door opened and the two were no longer alone. Malachai only tore his eyes from his paperwork for a second to look at the new intrusion. Once he did, he wished he hadn’t. He couldn’t remember the other man’s name but he was reminded of himself at that age. Young, vibrant, and determined to be successful and respected at what he did. It was all he could hear in the man’s voice and demeanor when they had met briefly the other day during his fingerprinting. The two barely said anything to one another, but he had observed the interactions with what he assumed to be his boss and cohort. Shaking his head, Malachai continued with his writing, this time pressing a bit harder then needing and accidentally making a small hole after one of the sentences. Great. Something else to be chastised for. He was relieved when he heard the door close soon after. He didn’t like dealing with more people than necessary, especially when it was authority. Authority younger than him. He preferred to be in Hell then being here. It seemed like every one he ran into, with the exception of a few, were younger, in or barely out of their twenties. Youth was not an advantage in this business which was how Malachai assumed the Ministry was such shit when it came to defending themselves against Morgan.

“Have you given any thought to what will happen if and when you get your son back Mr. Hanley?” He closed his eyes, forcing himself to breathe in and out deeply. “Even when he is back in your arms, your battle to keep him will be far from over.” Inhale. Exhale. “There will of course be follow up checks, home inspections and the like.” Did he honestly think none of his shit had crossed his mind? That it hadn’t been drilled into his brain by the other Ministry officials he had spoken with over the past few months? Malachai knew that no matter what the situation one, any child that had previously been in government custody would be under close observation for several months after the initial disbanding. He understood that much. They had to make sure the child was safe and being well taken care of. However annoying it was, he accepted that and would only be too happy to slam the door in their faces when they came to their future home for the final time. There were no ifs about this situation. Only when. “I’m taking him to Dublin’s countryside,” he finally responded, opening his eyes to look Wagner in the face. “To a spacious two bedroom cabin whose closest neighbor is a sheep farm about a mile away. There’s an elementary school about ten miles away with a playground and lots of friendly kids so Blaine doesn’t get lonely.” The last sentence dripped coldly from Malachai’s lips. He was tired of having to prove himself. “There’s a town a bit further away so I will make sure he is always clothed and fed. Even better, I found about this all on me own. But I guess you wouldn’t have known that, eh?” He paused for a minute, wishing he had a cigarette. His need for a nicotine fix was going to make his hands start shaking soon. “Then, when all is said and done, hopefully we don’t have any brothers or sisters coming out of the woodworks so I don’t have to get you bastards in our business again.”

Malachai said the last part with a smile. Leaning back into his chair, he sighed. “Though if that were to happen again,” he thought aloud, “I’d rather he have a brother than a sister. I don’t think I could handle having a daughter. Females are too much bloody work.”

[Marlon Wagner]

Maybe people would have assumed from just looking at Marlon that he hated Death Eaters, but that simply wasn't true. It wasn't something that he went around advertising about himself, but he could somewhat see the appeal. The seduction of doing something that they weren't supposed to, of having a glaring secret, of working with such a great power. Perhaps, under different circumstances, under a different Dark Lord, Marlon himself might have eventually been swayed. He knew from Mr. Hanley's statement that once Darren had come to be in charge was whenever he had his reformation moment, for whatever that was worth, he had that in his favor. Marlon had heard about Darren, having attended school with him for a few years, but never speaking to the man in person. He understood how persuasive he was, his sister was gullible, but not a fool. He liked to think that he had raised her better than that, given her all the tools that she had needed to make her life better, even if she had made some very, very poor choices in friends. He knew she had pain in her life, he couldn't even begin to grasp how much but it was his personal opinion that had she been in a different house, had she made different friends, her life never would have taken her down that path. As for himself, the Ministry was just where he found himself relating, the most opportunity for personal growth and professional expansion. Where he could climb the highest and he just so happened to love what he did for a living, he was passionate about it. He wasn't one of those poor saps who had to drag themselves out of bed in the morning, punishing themselves with their jobs in hope of a decent paycheck. Quite the opposite for himself, he worked so much that it was rare that he would force himself away from the office to actually use much of his paycheck on anything other than food. No, Marlon didn't hold grudges against Death Eaters as people, everybody could be twisted from the person that they wanted to be. It was their leader that Marlon had an issue with. While they hadn't interacted just the two of them, Marlon took Darren's actions very personally.

It was abundantly obvious that neither man in this room had even the smallest smidgeon of confidence in the other, Malachai distrusted Marlon because of his job, and Marlon distrusted Malachai because of his attitude. “I’m taking him to Dublin’s countryside,” Dissatisfied with the answer, Marlon leaned into the back of his chair, the time for professionalism was apparently over. He stared at Mr. Hanley in disbelief. After all of this trouble that he was going through, after all of this drama and moving to another country, the hell that he was raising on his behalf, he wasn't even planning on staying a citizen of Austria. He had brought this trouble to Marlon's door for no reason whatsoever. Slowly, Marlon pinched his thumb and forefinger over the bridge of his nose. This was all so pointless, he didn't have the luxury of spare time, he couldn't be wasting his time like this. “To a spacious two bedroom cabin whose closest neighbor is a sheep farm about a mile away. There’s an elementary school about ten miles away with a playground and lots of friendly kids so Blaine doesn’t get lonely.” While that was a lovely picture, certainly better than the environment that he had grown up in himself, no doubt great for children it was irrelevant. He knew what Mr. Hanley was attempting to prove, but it was getting them nowhere. Marlon wanted to tell him to please stop talking, that this meeting was over and if he was just planning on wasting Marlon's time because he couldn't get enough done with the Irish Ministry, that Marlon wasn't going to be able to help him either. Now, on top of everything else that Marlon was already. Thinking about him, he assumed the man to be lazy. A trait that Marlon wasn't willing to overlook. He had no business coming to another country, running his mouth about how incompetent another branch of ministry was whenever he was just too lazy to pursue what it is that he wanted.

“There’s a town a bit further away so I will make sure he is always clothed and fed. Even better, I found about this all on me own. But I guess you wouldn’t have known that, eh?” His hand slid down his face to the arm of his chair, the fingers on his hand tapping a few times at the leather arms until he could figure out how to say what he wanted, how he wanted to say it. “Then, when all is said and done, hopefully we don’t have any brothers or sisters coming out of the woodworks so I don’t have to get you bastards in our business again.” Marlon forced a smile, attempting not to let the fact that he had just been called a bastard bother him. His fingers inched the manilla folder closer to his body as he rearranged the contents of the folder. “Though if that were to happen again, I’d rather he have a brother than a sister. I don’t think I could handle having a daughter. Females are too much bloody work.” Marlon nodded sympathetically, he understood the plight, he personally didn't think that he would ever be able to have children, too afraid of even being an inch like his father. He didn't want to risk it. Yet, he knew how much of a pain sisters could be and he personally felt like he had gotten very lucky in that department. “Agreed. Little sisters most of all” he said without thinking, without realizing that he had just given the link that he had never meant to let slip as he shut the folder, condemning this case, there was nothing that he was going to be able to do to help him, not with his attitude the way it was. Perhaps if he underwent therapy, some sort of behavioral modification, they could try again in six months to a year. Shaking his head slowly he gave Malachai an apologetic look. “Unfortunately, I cannot help you”