Six months before.

It was one of those hatefully long nights, with all the tables taken by customers who decided to stay for hours over the same bottle of cheap Butterbeer, minimizing the chances of a good tip, but making sure there would be no early closing either. So as soon as the clock struck eleven and Madam Scrooge decided to leave for her bed upstairs, Tamora dragged a stool behind the counter and perched herself on it.

Sadly enough, she didn't even have time to decide if she wanted to read her book or do the crosswords in the Prophet, before the door opened for a newcomer. She slipped off the stool without much haste or enthusiasm, and put only a quarter of a smile on as the wizard took a seat.

"What can I get for you?" she asked, walking up to him.

"Whatever's the strongest," he said with a sigh, sweeping back his long hair from his face, and he looked like he could use it, if not exactly afford it. He must have sensed her hesitation, but didn't take it to heart, only leaned back slightly to rummage in his pocket and put a handful of coins on the counter.

"Shall I leave the bottle?" she raised her brows, pouring him the first shot.

"You read me, love," he smiled, reaching for the glass and emptying it in one go. It was always good fun to see men trying to impress her with their drinking skills, so she cocked her head and watched him pour and devour a second round. "Got anythin' to eat?" he asked, clearing his throat, before going on for the third.

He looked like he needed food even more than drink. And a good night's sleep. And a long bath. And–

"There's some stew left," she nodded, cutting her own train of thoughts, and leaving for the kitchen in the back.

It wasn't much, but luckily it was still warm enough to be served without a fuss, so she ladled all of it out of the pot and returned to him, before walking on towards the tables to give him some privacy by collecting empty glasses from the other customers. There weren't too many, but at least the witches at the table in the corner noticed it was time for them to say good night and leave.

By the time the man finished his stew and returned to finishing his drink, two more tables cleared, leaving only four more people in the room; a wizard playing chess against himself and three other regulars, deep in some very secret conversation.

"Anything else?" she asked, taking his empty bowl.

"Nah, I'm fine," he shook his head, not bothering with the glass any more, but taking a sip from the bottle. And almost spilling some of it when there was a loud crash, as the lonely wizard flipped his own chess board with an angry yell, sending pieces flying all over the room.

"Sorry! Sorry about that!" he cried before Tamora or the wizards at the neighbouring table could even make a step towards him, swishing his wand and re-collecting the pieces. "For... for your trouble," he coughed, putting a coin on his table and leaving the room as fast as he could.

"We should go too," said one of the wizards, cleaning the front of his shirt with his wand while his friends quickly finished their drinks. "See you tomorrow," he smiled at Tamora on their way out, putting their payment on the counter for her.

"Good night," she smiled, pocketing the money, before walking to the tables to clean up.

With her wand she could have finished in a blink of an eye, and it could have been even more easier to yell for Zizzie and let her do it, but she had no wand and Madam Scrooge didn't want the elf to be seen by customers, so she collected the glasses and mopped up the spilled drinks first from the tables, then from the floor herself. She could feel the eyes of the last customer on her, but she finished the floor before getting up and turning back to him.

"If there's nothing else I can get for you, I'd like to close," she said, gathering her tray with the glasses.

"A room for the night," he said, still holding on to his now empty bottle.

"Of course," she smiled politely, if not too keenly. "Thirteen Sickles and nine Knuts. Ten if you want an extra blanket," she reached for the keys and walked to the door to lock up while he counted out the money for her. If he didn't want to leave, she didn't want to let anyone else in. Not that anyone was on the street, threatening to come in for a last minute drink. These days even Diagon Alley became deserted after dark, and they were only a side-street to them.

"Thank you," she pocketed the money on her return. "Follow me," she nodded, heading towards the stairs and waiting for him at the bottom. She couldn't tell if it was the drink or just a bit too much of manly swagger, but decided not to worry about it, and slowly led him upstairs. "There you go," she opened the first room on the left for him. It wasn't big, but it was clean and had a good bed. She was quite sure he didn't want or need anything more.

He walked in as she stepped away from the door, taking off his coat and tossing it on the armchair beside the window with a content nod.

"Bathroom's at the end of the corridor, and that's for the elf, if you want something cleaned," she motioned towards a basket in the corner as she walked around, lighting a few candles and the fireplace for him.

"Is there a chance you could wake me at 'alf past six?" he asked, standing beside the window and admiring the view on the roof of the neighbouring house.

"Half past six," she nodded. "Good night then," she said, heading towards the door.

"Sweet dreams," he said, dropping himself on the edge of the bed to take off his boots and giving Tamora a smile that made her regret that she let him get this drunk. He could have helped her have a good night and some very sweet dreams.

But at least she didn't stay up until very late, and when she woke early in the morning, the bed let go of her without much fight. Still, some coffee would have been nice, so when she couldn't find any in the kitchen she went to look for Zizzie, and got even angrier when she found her in the laundry room, elbow deep in the soapy water.

"Are those mine?" she frowned, stepping closer and almost frightening the elf off her stool.

"Yes, Miss," squeaked Zizzie, balancing herself with great difficulty.

"And those?" asked Tamora, pointing at a pile of clothes still dry and crumpled.

"From the guest in room three, miss," said the elf with a heavy gulp.

"Start with those and be quick about it," sighed Tamora, walking back to the kitchen. She could have told Zizzie for the hundredth time that the requests of customers always came first, but that would have ended in the elf beating herself up with a bar of soap or a wet pair of jeans, so she decided not to say a word about it. Instead, she walked back to the kitchen to make some coffee and have a look at the Prophet.

Sometimes she wondered if it was worth the paper it was printed on, and concentrated on the crosswords or the astrology section, but today she couldn't tear her eyes from the article on the front page.

Above a picture of the prison itself, large black letters screamed at her about a general pardon for the convicts at Azkaban. According to the Prophet, the New Ministry of Magic saw fit to re-evaluate the verdicts of the old regime, and released people who could no longer be considered a threat. After that it went on and on about the many misconceptions and injustices in those verdicts, before it concluded in announcing that the Ministry also decided to employ these people, giving them a chance of reintegration into society.

"Zizzie is finished, Miss." The elf appeared in the kitchen with a pop. "Shall Zizzie return the clothes, or shall she make Miss breakfast first?" she chirped.

"What?" asked Tamora, still absorbed in her thoughts about the Prophet.

"Shall Zizzie return the-"

"Just leave them," said Tamora. It wasn't even six o'clock and she didn't want the elf to wake him with her clumsiness. "Get the breakfast going".

It was hard to close the Prophet and put it away, but by the time she finished eating and left to wake the guest, she made herself get over it.

"Good morning," she said, knocking on the door, but there was no answer from inside. "Morning," she repeated, this time a bit more firmly. When there was not a sound even after her third knock, she transferred all his clothes to one arm and reached for the keychain in her pocket.

"Good morning?" she whispered, poking her head through the opening door.

He was still in the bed, lying on his stomach, with a leg hanging over the edge and tangled in the sheets, but she could tell he was alive, and that was all she was hoping for. She would have hated to find another dead body.

She could feel the urge to creep closer and get a proper look, but as she was about to put his clothes down on the armchair next to his coat, she found something even more tempting. Under some coins and a pack of cigarettes, lay a piece of parchment. Parts of it were typed and parts were hand-written, like most Ministry papers. It ordered his release from Azkaban, and also the return of his wand.

It was almost identical to her release, from two years ago.

Except she never got her wand back.

Glancing towards the bed and making sure he was still asleep, Tamora bent closer to the armchair to get a better look. Touching the paper lightly, she could tell it had the usual basic spells on it. Nothing she didn't forge a thousand times before. Her plan was only beginning to form, but she could already feel a grin tugging the corner of her mouth. Dumping his clothes in the armchair, she fluffed her hair a bit and walked closer to the bed, putting a hand on his arm.

"Morning," she whispered, and screamed when his hand lashed out to grab her just above the elbow. "It's me, it's me, sorry, I'm sorry," she winced, putting one knee on the bed to keep her balance.

"Damn, girl," he let go of her with a tired sigh. "That's not 'ow you wake a man."

"Sorry," she said again, rubbing her arm and getting off the bed, back on her feet. "Your clothes are there, and there's breakfast downstairs if you want some." She walked to the door. She could have told him that she knew perfectly well how to wake a naked man, but she had to move fast to get her plan going.

oOo

She still had some supplies back from the old days, hidden at the bottom of her trunk, so writing her new release papers wasn't a big deal. Borrowing Madam Scrooge's wand for a few minutes and adding the proper spells wasn't too complicated either. The fight she had to have to get an extra day-off, and navigating to the Ministry through Muggle London in time were far more challenging, so when she finally got there, she felt like she could slump on the floor next to the wall like some of the others already in the queue and not move an inch more.

"Single line along the wall, please!" shouted a Ministry official, walking up and down the corridor leading to the Main Hall. Tamora didn't envy him for his job, but stepped closer to the wall.

There was a queue reserved for the freshly pardoned, and she was happy to see so many security witches and wizards keeping their eyes on them. Most of the people on her side of the barrier looked like they should have been kept locked up for the rest of their lives, but she couldn't feel bad about the Ministry's sudden rush of leniency. And who knew, maybe some of them were just in the wrong place at the wrong time like her.

Or maybe not, she couldn't care less, not with all the worries that started seeping into her mind after two hours of standing on the same spot. Gone were the thrill of excitement and adventure, and when in the distance she saw the man, Scabior being questioned, searched, and then lead away, for the first time she felt like she should have stayed away and carried on with her life as a Squib, so she pulled her hood deeper down before her face and tried harder to keep it together.

It was well into the afternoon when she finally got past the first security check and was lead into Room 378, where they had five tables set up waiting for them, so she walked to the only free one with shaking knees.

"Good afternoon," she nodded, putting her papers before the elderly wizard sitting behind it. He didn't look too intimidating, but the two guards on each side of his chair made up for that.

"Good afternoon," he nodded back, taking the papers and giving them a quick scan. "Tamora Malory?" he asked, adjusting his spectacles and looking up at her in a way that made her feel like she was just caught cheating during her O.W.L.s on Herbology. It was perfectly absurd. She never ever got caught cheating. And it wasn't the time for thinking about cheating on tests anyway.

"Yes," she said in a small voice as he turned to his own list.

"M-a-l-o-r-y?" he adjusted his spectacles again as he reached the last page and failed to find her name on.

"Yes," she whispered. She tried very hard not to look up at the guards standing behind him, but she could not resist it, catching the eye of the witch on his right. She had a haughty look about her, and in her hand she had a wand ready.

The wizard took his time reading and re-reading her papers, and he even lifted it up once to let the light of the candles and torches go through them. Tamora knew he'd find them perfect, but when he nearly touched them to his nose, she could almost feel her fingernails breaking the skin on her palm.

"Just a second," said the wizard, and Tamora nodded obediently, even though he probably was speaking only to the guards and not to her, as he stood up and walked to the back of the room, where more people with drawn wands were waiting. "Sorry, Albert, but there's another," he stepped to one of them, a tall man with a face like a bloodhound.

When she came up with the story back in her room, it sounded perfectly believable, but now that this Albert was reading her papers, suddenly she felt like it was the stupidest thing she ever had the misfortune of thinking of. This man wouldn't ask for her forgiveness and let her walk away if she told them it was their mistake to send her new papers, making her believe she was part of all this. He'd probably take her back to Azkaban personally.

"Murder," he said slowly, putting a finger on her registration number at the top of the page. "Of a Muggle?" he added as he got to the end of the runes and numbers.

"Yes," she croaked, wondering if telling the whole story would make things better or worse this time. It didn't help her much during her trial.

All he gave her was a curt nod before putting down her papers, writing something on them and adding his signature. "Put her on the list," he said to the other wizard, straightening his jacket with a single tug and walking back to the others.

"Right away," said the old man, but all Tamora could hear was her own voice screaming in her head. She did it!

oOo

When Scabior finally got out of the Ministry, he walked into the nearest park and took a seat on one of the benches, burying his face in his hands. He could feel a scream building up in his throat, which he knew was the grown up male equivalent of crying his eyes out, but couldn't tell where it was coming from. Probably had to do with the Dementors. He truly hoped it would pass soon.

Lifting his head, he looked around and saw trees. Sweet smelling, green trees, with leaves dancing. He never knew they could be this pretty.

He even toyed with the idea of sleeping here, on the bench, to get as much fresh air as his lungs could take, but then he remembered that the last time he had anything to eat was in the morning. Reaching into his pocket, he quickly counted the coins he had. He was happy he left some money with his clothes when he was taken to Azkaban, because he would have hated to share whatever the Ministry had to offer for the likes of him before they got their first pay-checks.

He was all right for a few more days, even if he had a decent meal every once in a while, and the Ministry promised work soon, so he decided to treat himself to another dinner, a good bed at last night's inn, and maybe some company too, if he managed to woo the barmaid. She looked wooable enough.

It sounded tempting, even against a night of fresh air and watching the stars, so he got off his bench and started walking back towards Diagon Alley, breathing deeply and enjoying the sight and sound of other people around him.

The shouting could be heard from the other end of the street, but Scabior walked on curiously, watching them from the shadows. The sun has only started to set, but the street was so narrow it turned dark right away, and with so few streetlamps, it wasn't hard to keep out of their sight. And they were too absorbed in their row anyway.

"I owe you nothing," stated the middle aged witch with a wild mane of silvery white hair, guarding the door with her body, wand in hand. "I took you in, when nobody else would have touched a dirty little Squib like you. I put a roof over your head and I have fed you; you should be thankful."

"I'd say I've been thankful enough," shrugged the barmaid, stepping away from a small trunk that most likely held all her earthly possessions. There were items of clothing poking out from under the lid here and there, as if they were just thrown inside in a hurry. "I've kept my eyes turned away from your business and my mouth shut tight about it, haven't I, Mistress?" she said in a voice so low it was getting difficult to hear.

It was also hard to tell if the older witch turned pale with anger or with fright, but when she looked around and saw Scabior, she put on a forced smile and straightened her shoulders. "Can I help you, sir?" she asked in a voice so cheerful it must have strained a muscle. "We're open, have our own Firewhiskey, a nice pot of stew on the stove, and rooms clean and comfy if you like."

"That's very kind, ma'am," nodded Scabior pleasantly, taking a step towards the light, "But I'm 'ere for your girl."

Even if nothing else came out of it, their faces were worth his effort. The crone's face soured as if she'd just looked under a pile of gold and found what came out of the dragon guarding it, and the maid gave him a grin that said she was willing to kiss him wherever he pleased, so he smiled back at her and walked up to them.

"'Ello, beautiful," he offered the girl his arm, pulling her close when she took it without missing a beat.

The witch eyed them suspiciously for a moment, but then she must have thought it didn't make much difference if they really knew each other, or if the girl was just jumping on the first knight in shining armour that came her way. "Wait here," she spat, turning on her heels and shutting the door behind herself with a loud bang.

"Thanks," whispered the girl, giving his arm a squeeze. "I owe you a drink."

"Yes, I think you do," he nodded, suddenly feeling very thirsty indeed.

"There," said the witch, not even stepping back out on the street, just throwing a handful of coins on the cobblestones. "Good luck finding a new place!" she laughed bitterly, before closing the door again.

"I'll miss you too!" huffed the girl, letting go of Scabior to collect her money.

As he watched her bending for coin after coin, he could feel his hand reaching for his wand on its own accord, and his chest expanding with a sigh of relief as he touched it through the fabric of his jacket. He would have hated to live like this, without magic. Two more months in Azkaban would have been bad enough, but not getting his wand back for another three years... Just thinking of it made his skin crawl.

"Need an 'and with that?" he asked, as she marched on to her trunk and kneeled before it.

"No, thanks," she shook her head, quickly pushing all her stuff inside and closing the lid properly. "It's self-folding," she added, getting up and dusting her knees as the spells in the fittings started to work and shrunk the whole thing until it was no bigger than a Ministry official's briefcase. "So," she said cheerfully, grabbing the handle when it was ready, lifting her other hand towards him with a playful smile, "Drinks?"

"Drinks," he took it, hoping her fingers were not always this damn cold.

They remained cold even after an hour at the bar and then in bed, but he only pinned them above her head when he had enough of her on top. Not that he didn't enjoy her riding him like there was no tomorrow, but he wanted to give her something to remember him by, so when she finished getting him ready again, he took her by the waist and put her on her back, pushing her wrists into the pillow with one hand.

"My turn," he whispered, wiping her hair out of her face before lowering his head and kissing her long and hard on the lips, taking the last of her remaining breath away and moving downwards to her throat.

"Sorry, love," he chuckled, giving her one last bite before lifting his head and feeling his own jaw when she tensed under him and tried to nudge his head away with her chin. He was quick with the shower and even quicker with the razor upon his release from Azkaban, and while he enjoyed soaking in the warm water last night, he didn't care much about shaving again. "Sorry," he crooned, caressing her shoulder and neck soothingly, even though he wanted nothing more than to go back and mark them. They were so smooth, so white, so–

"What's this?" he asked, rubbing his thumb against her skin to reveal more of it.

"Nothing," she said, raising her shoulder closer to her jaw to cover it, but she was way too late. He saw the runes and numbers she tried to hide under the paint, and it made him smile.

"You're not a Squib. You've been to Azkaban," he nodded slowly, searching her face, as he let go of her hands and brought his fingers down on her arm until he reached the other, truly unmarked side of her neck. "Naughty girl," he whispered with a smile.

"I don't want to talk about it," she said in a voice she must have thought firm, bringing her arms down in front of her chest before putting her cold hands on his shoulders. "Just fuck me, will you?" she added, burying her fingers in his hair.

"Your wish is my command, love," he said, giving her a feral grin before claiming her mouth once again.

Thanks for reading! Please, leave a note if you liked it :)
I would also like to thank my friends, Gitta, Anna, Sam and DolbyDigital for all their help and support with this story.

Want to read a more detailed version? Check out my new story, "Just Don't Think I'm Finished With You"!