AN: This should take place fourth book although earlier is fine too.

Margaret liked it when it was 8pm, because at 8 her shift ended at the Roaring Ace pub. It was a rather small place, on the side of a hill. Predominantly wood and paint wearing off in strips, it was nonetheless relatively crowded inside. Of course, it was much bigger inside but still small. Maggie liked it even better on Thursdays, because people got up on stage and sang or danced or told jokes and because she could sit down her last tray at the counter, reach behind her and undo the knot of her work apron before joining a seat with Mr Nott at the back.

Mr Nott always sat at the same table against the wall, a darkened niche in the room that threw him in shadows. She would always join him at the table and they would talk and watch the performances, opening to a cheery evening.

She heard the stories before, but not too many because she only moved to Britain in the last few years, that he was a bad man, he killed and tortured people and he loved it. He was a pureblood and joined a group that tried to make it so everyone was that way and everyone else was dead. The group, the Death Eaters, was lead by a very powerful wizard. Wickedly powerful, clever, perhaps brilliant but cruel and violent, scarring the Wizarding World forever.

But Nott? No, it could not be. Nott was a thin elderly man, hunched over through the ages and very wrinkly. He always wore a hat, tilted over to the left. When he smiled, his light blue eyes shone through the tightening of his wrinkly skin. He smiled a lot, watching the show.

Margaret really liked him a lot because, years ago, when her move to Britain didn't work out the way she wanted and she found herself scantily clad and lurking in dim corners of Knockturn Alley, he found her and took her to a motel. He gave her money, more than enough to stay off the streets and it wasn't as though he expected any favours from her, particularly of the sexual kind, which everyone warned her about. She felt a little bad still that even now her job was little better than before. Yes, she was an employed waitress, but the work blouses were revealing and tight and the skirts shorter than she would like.

"You really do come here a lot, don't you?"

"Ah Maggie, it's good to see you. You're later than usual."

She sank into the seat opposite him. "One of the girls was late to arrive. But don't you worry about me, that means less time tomorrow. What do you think will be on tonight?"

"I hope someone sings. Someone that can sing well, that is."

"Do you yourself sing, sir?"

He blushed and laughed. "It's behind me now, but yes, I used to sing. Nothing big, a few weddings—my friends'—and a few pubs sometimes."

Maggie smiled as she pulled on her coat. "You couldn't spare one for me, sweetie?"

"Merlin, no! That is," he said hastily. "I am pretty awful now. I can't get out the same notes I used to."

"Aw, that's a real pity. Another drink? It's on me."

He tipped the last few drops into his mouth. "Ah, it's hard to say no to that. Maybe one of those with a little lime on the glass?"

Smiling, she waved over at another waitress. "Those are all alcoholic, you've had them all night. You don't want to be drunk when you get home, do you? Hang on, I'll get you something sweet. Rose, number 84 and 16 over here when you're ready."

"Cheers," he said, clinking the glasses. "You remind me a lot of my Angie. And you're right this one's really sweet."

"Your wife, right?"

"Yes. There's no one else."

"D'you miss her a lot, Thad?"

"Oh," he said, eyes watching the stage. "Yes, I miss her very much so. That's why I come here so often. I, er, actually proposed to her here."

"Really? You never told me that. How'd you do it? Was the ring in a cake, in her drink...?"

"Huh?" Nott blinked. He did not watch Muggle films. "Well, actually I was a singer up there, like that bloke." He gestured. "And I got down on stage and proposed."

"You really did sing a lot back then, didn't you. You should get up there again. I'd love to hear you, honestly."

Ducking his head, he chuckled. "Aw, Margaret, don't play with an old man's heart. I'm not up to it. Ah, look at the time. I need to get home now."

"So early?"

"My son's waiting for me at home, school holidays. I'll see you next time, good night."

Before heading back home, he picked up her hand and leant down to peck it.

For a moment, an instant, the light of the candles revealed something angry under the shadow of his hat. His eye, or rather the absence of one, screwed tightly shut, the skin around it scarred and a burnt red around it. With a friendly wave, he walked out the door.

The man speaking to her was a Ministry official with dark skin. "We've been informed that you are close to one Thaddeus Lester Nott, suspected Death Eater."

"Death Eater?" She was honestly getting tired of hearing these ridiculous claims. Didn't people understand that..."No, you must be mistaken."

AN: The next part just popped into my head as I was finishing this story. Consider it crack/humor/whatever and not really part of the story.

Pettigrew's teeth chattered madly as he eyed the large manor before him. Trembling, he readjusted his deformed master in his arms as he reached up to knock on the door of Nott's home.

At home, Thaddeus didn't bother with a hat or an eyepatch; his son and elves had long since become used to it. Expecting his son had returned from walking the dog, he hurried over to open the door.

Pettigrew stared, not bothering to hide it, at Nott's left eye. The skin had obviously been burnt and was scarred and an awful red colour. The skin was permanently fused near-shut. There was a thin slit where his eye was, his milky blind eye.

After gaping at him, Pettigrew began to scream, a high shrill sound, as he stumbled back.

"ARGHHH!"

Voldemort stirred in his arm, looking up with huge, red eyes and snarled at him, grey tongue flicking around a blood red mouth.

"ARGHHH!"

Thaddeus froze at the sight on the steps. The man bore a remarkably rat-like appearance, nails long and dirty, his garment filthy, two buck teeth jutting out prominently with bugged eyes and sickly pale skin. He roared in terror, not even hearing his master's angry hisses.

"ARGHHH!"

Pettigrew bolted away to Disapparate, dimly aware of the door being slammed shut with a squelching sound and perhaps even several locks clicking in place.