Word count: 493

Pairing: Dolores/Scabior

Prompt: "I don't take orders from no f*cking woman!" - I Spit on Your Grave

Unlikely Lovers

Dolores watched two beefy security guards march a struggling man into a service elevator. So many criminals, she thought. And so few get the punishments they rightly deserve.

. . . . .

Scabior winced. "For Merlin, let go, will ya?" He tried to shake free, but did nothing but scrape them against the magical restraints. "I came 'ere like you said! I don't 'ave to listen to you blab. Maybe if you got out more you'd be less of a-"

The guard knocked his head, and Scabior's vision faded to black.

"That'll teach him," someone muttered.

. . . . .

She pounded the gavel, silencing the Wizengamot with one sound. "This court will recognize I, Dolores Jane Umbridge, as the assumed judge of the criminal trial of one Scabior."

"Well, 'ere I am," the defendant called helpfully. Every head turned, and the nearby guards shuffled their feet, already pointing their wands at him.

Dolores narrowed her eyes, dipping them down to read. "Scabior is accused of thirty-one counts of petty thievery, one mugging, and one exposure of magic in the presence of a muggle. We will begin questioning at this time."

"'Ere we go..." Scabior muttered. No one batted an eye.

. . . . .

"Did you or did you not assault and rob a witch named Cassandra Buckley on 18 May?"

Scabior groaned. "I already told you. Yes, an' I regret it now. 'Er bag was worthless. She was 'eading for the shops, not leaving, which was my mistake-"

The short woman questioning him was staring. She probably wasn't used to someone with confidence or an ounce of self-respect sitting in his chair.

"I didn't ask for other details."

"Thought you might be interested," he said, shrugging.

The woman frowned, but as she spoke again, her lip quirked into a smile.

. . . . .

"I'm afraid you only have a day before you're sent to Azkaban," Dolores spoke, whispering into Scabior's cell. She couldn't actually stick her head in - there was a magical barrier - but both she and the man inside could hear each other.

He gulped for effect, then winked at her. "I'm afraid too - only reason I haven't broke out of 'ere is you."

"You couldn't escape!"

"Oh, yes I could!"

Dolores frowned. The prisoner was slipping through her fingertips. She didn't think he could escape the ministry's darkest, darkest holding cell - but what if he did? She would be left alone again. "Then I order you to stay here in the ministry as long as you are supposed to!"

"I don't take orders from no effing woman," Scabior spat. "This is my life, ma'am, and I do as I please."

She walked out.

. . . . .

At dawn, Scabior's cell will be found empty. His belongings will vanish from the room they were kept in, and nothing will prove he ever existed except for a single long-stemmed rose placed in Umbridge's office.

I did what I'm supposed to, ma'am, and nothing more, the note will say. All prisoners escape, one way or another.

Come and find me.