A/N: well, the written part of my accounting exam was today, but I won't find out the results till Monday. If I passed the written part, then I will have to take the oral part on Monday (unfortunately you can fail the oral part even if you've passed the written one… so keep saying 'May the Force be with you, Agi!' :)

As for the fic, the amount of response I got for the first chapter was overwhelming, really. I never expected more than 7-8 reviews, and I got 26! Thanks so much:D

Review responses have been sent out, I hope all of you got them.

Also thanks to: Saldaen farmgirl, ., the Thirteenth Councilor, TarynMaegan, Slytherin Daughter, Hello, Musica Diabolos, Astrensi, Maddie, Gremlin, Ayleia, BobtheFrog, Queen Dragon, T, sderai

Chapter 2

An Unlikely Visitor with an Unlikely Proposal

"You've got to be kidding," Nathaniel said, as white as a sheet.

"We are not," Deveraux replied, his expression still that of a benign father (which irritated Nathaniel even more because this way he found it difficult to hate the Prime Minister as much as he deserved to be hated after such an announcement). "Listen here, John. We all know that this idea comes totally out of the blue, we know that it is highly unpleasant for you, but… we also know that you'd do anything to serve your homeland to the best of your abilities."

Nathaniel pressed his lips even tighter together so that they now formed one single line.

The Prime Minister was using emotional blackmail on him. And he was doing it in a way that left Nathaniel no option but to agree. After all, he couldn't tell the truth – that he wasn't, had never been and would never be serving his homeland, only his own interests? If he refused to do Deveraux – and his homeland – this 'little favour' now, that would be as good as starting to dig his own grave.

Focusing on the lovely mental image of himself sitting at Deveraux's place some day, having the power to instruct others to get married when they don't want to, Nathaniel forced a small smile on his face. "Naturally, Sir. I'm a humble servant to the Empire."

"Wonderful!" Deveraux clapped. "I knew you'd quickly see the importance of this matter and be willing to help us… to help saving our beloved Empire. I'm very proud of you, John. And after all, this whole business will not require a huge sacrifice from you. You just say the 'I do's, let the woman move into your house, sometimes bring her to our ceremonial gatherings… apart from that, you can ignore her. You can continue living your life as you have before." The Prime Minister leaned closer with a mischievous grin, "you can even keep Miss Farrar as your girlfriend. I'm sure no one will be scandalised if you do."

A few sniggers could be heard from the other ministers who had apparently been aware of John Mandrake's relationship to the beautiful female magician. After all, the young man had never made a secret of it and had appeared at receptions with Jane as his partner on several occasions.

"I'm glad to know that our government consists of open-minded gentlemen," Nathaniel said with a barely noticeable sarcastic edge. "I expect you're planning a big, fancy wedding to give the commoners something to gape at through the television screens…"

"We were hoping you wouldn't mind a big ceremony." Deveraux nodded. "And what would appease the average Brit more than seeing one of them walking down the aisle in a dress befitting a monarch, packed with jewels, carrying the most expensive bouquet of tropical flowers…?"

"Eye-candy for the mob, huh?" Nathaniel mused. "Not bad as a PR-trick, I have to give it to you."

"I'm so glad you agree with us, John," the Prime Minister beamed.

"Just one more thing, Sir. Who is the commoner I should take as my wife?"

"Well…" Deveraux glanced at the Secretary of State for Culture, Media and Sport.

Said minister, a thin man in his forties cleared his throat. "We thought that the best way of appeasing the commoners would be if you married one of their ringleaders. Someone from the Resistance. That would give them the impression that we, the generous magicians are not angry with them for their little… misdeeds."

"But the Resistance is still out of our reach, gentlemen," Nathaniel said matter-of-factly. "How do you expect to get one of them to marry me?" A sarcastic grin spread on his face. "I already see the headline: 'Girls of the Resistance, don't miss the opportunity of a lifetime! One of you will have the honour of marrying a powerful magician and lead the life of a princess! Please apply at Whitehall with a C.V.' Honestly. Do you expect them to respond to something like this?"

"Er… no," said Deveraux. "But we don't need to find a female member of the Resistance, John. You have already found one."

Nathaniel's face darkened. "You don't mean it. Not her."

"Why not, John? She's been one of their leaders, after all. They look up to her. For over a month they've been trying to take revenge on us for imprisoning her. There's no better choice than Kathleen Jones."

"If she kills me, make sure that you bury me in Westminster Abbey," Nathaniel said dryly. "Perhaps in Gladstone's tomb. He's no longer using it, and I have always been his admirer."

o o o O O O o o o

"Jones!" The jailer beckoned to Kitty from the door of her cell.

"Isn't it too early for lunch?" the girl asked sharply.

"I'm not bringing your lunch, I'm bringing you out of here," the man grunted.

"What?" Kitty's eyes widened. An amnesty? Had the oh-so-great magicians granted her an amnesty? Had the Resistance forced them to let her go? Or were they giving her a trial at last? Not that it would matter; after all, she was caught red-handed, trying to steal magical artefacts from a Ministry official. Even if she had a trial, she wouldn't have a chance to win. But perhaps she'd have a chance to call a few magicians arseholes before a huge audience. That would be more than satisfying. Especially if that Mandrake was present…

Mandrake had been the one who sent four policemen at her, and no matter how tough a fighter she was, she couldn't tackle four muscled magicians. Mandrake had been clever to make policemen catch her instead of siccing his demons at her. He knew she was resilient to magic.

Kitty's hands clenched into fists as Mandrake's pitiful grimace came to her mind – he had given her a patronising glance as the four musclemen carried her to the car that took her to the Tower.

It had been over a month, and Kitty had had spent that month in a dirty little cell, separated from everyone. She was given meals twice a day and a chance to wash herself once a week, but she had to use the 'toilet' (that happened to be a hole in the floor) in her cell.

"Move, Jones," the jailer snapped.

Reluctantly, Kitty got up from her cot and headed for the door. She saw that two guards were waiting outside. This obviously couldn't mean an amnesty, or they wouldn't take so much care of their prisoner. Perhaps a trial…

"Where are we going?" Kitty enquired, following the jailer while the two guards followed her.

"To the bathroom," came the reply.

"But… but it's not Sunday," Kitty said. "It's Wednesday, and I always get to use the shower on Sundays."

The jailer turned around. "You have a visitor, missy. Someone for whom you can't appear in rags like these, and smelling like this…"

Kitty looked down at her clothes. They were tattered and dirty and smelly, but she'd got so used to them that she no longer noticed her own stench. "Does this mean I'm getting fresh clothes?"

"Just for today," the jailer replied gruffly and stopped before a door labelled 'bathroom – women'. "Go and take a shower. Wash your hair and your teeth as well."

"Is the Prime Minister visiting or what?" Kitty crossed her arms.

"No, but someone almost as important as him," came the cold reply.

"I can't wash my teeth," the girl said.

"What?"

"I don't have a toothbrush," she pointed out. "I never had a chance to pack my things before that arsehole Mandrake sent me here."

"We'll get you a toothbrush," the jailer grunted. "And a comb. You'll find everything here by the time you finish your shower. And now, go!"

Kitty didn't need to be told twice – she entered the bathroom and headed for the shower, delighted to have a chance to clean herself four days before she normally would.

As the somewhat cold water ran down her body, she wondered who that important person could be and what they could want from her. Hmm, must be some interrogation, she thought. Then again, why would magicians want their captives to be clean for an interrogation? Kitty had heard stories about magicians torturing commoners for information – why would they want her fresh and primp for a torturing? No matter, she wouldn't say a word. She wouldn't reveal the location of her friends to any stupid magician. She'd rather die. Dying is much better than living in a cold and dark cell where her only mates were rats…

By the time she stepped out of the shower, someone had brought her clean clothes (even though they looked old and very plain), a comb, a toothbrush with a tube of toothpaste, and for some mysterious reason a small flask full with something that smelled like medicine.

Kitty got dressed, dried and combed her hair, brushed her teeth but left the flask alone.

"Hey, you ready in there?" the jailer's voice spoke up outside.

"Yeah, I am," she answered.

The jailer entered. "Drink it up." He pointed at the flask that stood on the basin, still full with the mysterious liquid.

"Why, what is it? Poison?" Kitty asked casually.

"Do you think we would have let you shower and given you fresh clothes and then poison you?"

"Well… no."

"It's an extra-strong penicillin that works within minutes," the jailer explained.

"Why would I need penicillin? I'm not ill," Kitty protested.

"For all you know, you might be carrying some disease that our guest would not be happy to contract. Go on, we haven't got all day!"

Reluctantly, Kitty uncorked the flask and downed its contents. It tasted bitter.

"And now, move!" the jailer's voice was peremptory, and with a sigh, Kitty followed him out of the bathroom, wondering who this mysterious pansy was who didn't dare meet a prisoner unless it had been force-fed some foul medicine.

They walked for about five minutes through parts of the building unknown to Kitty, until the jailer stopped before a door and gave the girl a nasty grin. "Go in there, and be careful whom you call an arsehole."

o o o O O O o o o

Kitty entered a Spartan-looking room with only a table, two chairs and walls painted an unhealthy shade of yellow. Still, it looked like an elegant salon compared to her cell or the rest of the rooms she had so far visited within the Tower. It even had a window, which seemed to be a luxury to Kitty, as her cell didn't have one. Not even a tiny one with bars – the only light that usually came into her cell came through the cracks on the heavy wooden door.

At first she didn't even notice the man standing by the window, looking outside, as his dark cloak blended with the dark curtain.

It took Kitty a few seconds to realise that her mysterious visitor was present, his hands clasped behind his back. Black hair cascaded onto his black cloak. It looked long enough to put into a ponytail, but the man (was that a man at all? – she wondered) apparently liked his hair down.

The person by the window still didn't turn around, and Kitty had another few seconds to observe his hands – those were male hands, no doubt. Long hair or not, her visitor was a man. And an important one at that.

The only 'important' person with ridiculously long hair that Kitty knew was…

"You?" she breathed as the figure turned around.

"Good day to you too, Miss Jones," said Nathaniel.

"So that's why the jailer told me not to call you an arsehole," she muttered.

"Excuse me?"

"Before I entered this room, the jailer kindly advised me not to call the visitor an arsehole because earlier today I referred to you as that."

"Charming," Nathaniel replied coldly. "However, I'm not here to discuss if I'm an arsehole or not, Miss Jones."

"Then?" Kitty asked with her arms akimbo.

"Would you sit down?" Nathaniel pointed at the chairs that were at opposite ends of the table.

Kitty gave him a withering glance. "Do I have to?"

"You don't have to, but it would be more comfortable, wouldn't it?"

"As though you cared for my comfort!" she hissed. "You have no idea what 'comfort' means at the Tower, do you, Mandrake? You have no idea how 'comfortable' it is to sleep on a hard cot that you share with a dozen rats; how comfortable it is to shit into a hole in the floor, and how bloody comfortable it is to be able to take a cold shower once in every week!"

"Is the shower really cold?" Nathaniel blinked. "How ruthless." He sat down on one of the chairs, but Kitty remained standing. "Well, Miss Jones, I'm here to tell you that it is only up to you whether your current situation changes for the better or not."

"I won't betray my friends, if that's what you have in mind!" she snapped.

Nathaniel leaned back on his chair, examining the girl with an amused expression. "I never expected you to do that."

Now it was Kitty's turn to blink. "You did not?"

"No, I did not. I know you too well for that. Someone who risks her life to save her enemy from a golem isn't the type to betray her friends, no matter how long she's tortured or how big a reward she's promised. You're a loyal person, too loyal to your friends and your beliefs. Therefore I wouldn't even try to coax you into turning traitor. I know I would fail."

"Well spotted," she said sarcastically. "But, if you don't want me to betray my friends, then what – do – you - want?"

"I have a proposal for you, Kitty Jones."

The girl's eyes narrowed and she put on as hostile an expression as she could muster.

Seeing her facial reaction, he merely grinned.

How she hated that smug grin! How she hated him!

"What… what kind of a proposal?" she asked, feeling unnerved but determined not to show it.

His grin turned even smugger, if that was possible.

"A marriage proposal, Miss Jones."

o o o O O O o o o

A/N: review, please:)