"Barnaby Digdon," Tamblin wheezed.

The man nodded his weathered face.

"I'm here-" Tamblin started.

"There's only one thing you could be here for," the man interrupted.

Digdon's expression was impossible to read for a moment before it too changed into a tortured and difficult smile.

"At last I can die."

"I don't have much time," Tamblin said and he touched his wand to his temple. Tamblin pulled the wand away, drawing with it a silver strand of memory. He shook his wand slightly, causing the memory to fall to the ground where it dissipated immediately. Tamblin did this again and again, removing the extra memories. Without them he might not find his way back from reverie, but Tamblin was sure he could not take any more memories until he emptied his head a little.

It wasn't until he was nearly done that he noticed the look on Digdon's face. It was an expression of revulsion and barely contained rage. The man drew himself up to his full height. Tamblin, tall hmself, was surprised to find the man loomed over him, gaunt and scarecrow like.

"To the lift," He said. "I'll give you what you came for on the way up." He must have seen the protest on Tamblin's face. "I'll not die in this hell."

Tamblin looked up at the man who had been sent to Azkaban for two murders. Carefully he backed out of the alcove and gestured for Digdon to stay in front. Digdon came out of his cell, his bones creaking and joints popping. He moved steadily towards the central shaft, if not as quickly as Tamblin would have liked. Tamblin followed, his wand pointed at Digdon's back even as he frequently looked over his shoulder for the dementors who might already be coming.

As he passed an alcove Tamblin glanced within and locked eyes briefly with the wide set man he'd seen earlier speaking to the dementor. The man's eyes narrowed, and he nodded just slightly at Tamblin.