A/N: Thank you for the support and reviews! Happy 2020!

A week and half passed since the Azkaban breakout, and closed grey eyes finally fluttered open. They roved around carefully and curiously took in the sight of the huge room that was painted in black and grey. Apart from the impressive collection of books, papers and scrolls that lined along the walls, and stacked from the floor until the ceiling, the room was sparsely furnished - an ancient square table that looked like it would shatter any moment took residence by a closed window, a pair of simple chairs and a chest at the foot of the bed.

Everything in the room was as he remembered. Nothing seemed to have been moved. A sigh that sounded more like a painful wheeze escaped his chapped lips as he closed his eyes contentedly and a faint smile curled weakly on his lips. He was safe, he was in haven. Weakly, he moved his fingers and breathed another contented sigh when they responded. It was good news at least that his muscles were not completely gone.

Mustering as much will and pain tolerance, he forced himself to wriggle out from under the heavy suffocating purple comforter and roll onto the floor. Very slowly, he crawled to the nearest bookshelf and painfully heaved himself onto his feet. Almost immediately, he leaned the entirety of his weight as he panted and squeezed his eyes.

Just as he was ready to take a tiny step towards the door that was a little too far away, a pair of small hands pressed gently but firmly enough against his trembling knees. Groaning loudly, he looked down at a pair of huge round eyes and overly large rabbit ears that was pressed against the back of a round head. "Potsie? Is that you?" he rasped as he turned and pressed his entire back against the shelf, and gritted his teeth when he felt his legs trembling under him.

"Potsie is happy!" the elf chirped as she continued to look excitedly at him with her huge pair of watery eyes, "Grumpie Wizzie lives! Grumpie Wizzie remembers! Come, come! Potsie help!"

Instead of replying her, a sound that was a mixture of a frustrated grunt and a startled gasp croaked out from him as his legs suddenly gave out. He would have crumpled painfully onto the floor if the elf had not cast her magic to soften his fall. Lying on the floor face first, he whined frustrated as his body trembled weakly.

"Potsie help?"

He raised his chin high enough to look at her and huffed as he diverted his gaze. He was a Death Eater. He was a dark wizard who terrorized and killed hundreds. He was an expert duelist and yet... Humiliated, he shamefully nodded before he allowed his chin to drop. Holding onto one of his hands, she teleported them from the room into a dining room where she helped him into a seat and made sure he would not slide off the chair before she disappeared to the kitchen and reappeared with a tray. She presented him a bowl of green disgusting bubbling broth that looked more like the hot bile of a centaur and smelled like a dragon's dung. He turned to her with his lips twitching and his face twisted into a most disgusted expression. Potsie nodded vigorously and encouragingly, and smiled a little too brightly to be friendly as she pushed the bowl closer to him. Dolohov was sure if anyone saw her now, they would never mistake her links to her roguish master. The way she was now was exactly how the prick would be when he was channeling the mad alchemist in him and experimenting new concoctions for his signature menu.

Dolohov sighed heavily as he silently prayed for his mortality and shakily dipped a spoon into the ... broth. Shutting his eyes, holding his breath and scrunching his face, he scooped a generous amount and forcefully shoved it into his mouth. Immediately, he shut his mouth and forcefully swallowed the thick liquid with huge chunks of unidentified ingredient as quickly as he could before he choked and spat all of it. As detestable as it was, Dolohov continued ploughing through as he force-fed himself spoonfuls of whatever it was until his bowl was clean.

Finally, he slumped over the table and smiled weakly in victory. Whoever created that was an excellent medi-witch or medi-wizard – his body hurt a lot less and he had felt a violent surge of vigour and new breath of vitality bursting through his veins. This was not a feat anyone would be able to create – it required high level of understanding of the ingredients. "Potsie," he called aloud as his eyes searched actively for the energetic house elf, "who made that… those things?"

"Master!" she shrilled as she suddenly appeared beside him and cleared his bowl away and presented him with another repulsive thing – a tall glass of thick yellow liquid, "Master makes all! Genius Master! Grumpie Wizzie likes?"

Dolohov looked from her to the yellow liquid and winced. Anything from Corban would not kill him, that he was sure. The man had a divine green thumb and an unnatural acute and gifted connection with nature. If there was anyone in the world that Dolohov trusted to feed him, it was Yaxley. However, as well as that sounded, Yaxley had a mean streak for being a prick and concocting the filthiest things just because. Of course, all his inventions were edible in the sense that nobody would literally die but some of them were simply too despicably unpalatable.

Breathing in deeply, he held his breath as he readied himself to endure and overcome his second tribulation. He tilted the glass and swallowed the liquid as quickly as he could. "Do not puke, keep it all in," he mentally warned himself as he struggled to keep himself from gagging. If he were caught puking even a little, it meant another serving of whatever it was, so it was better to get it over once and for all. In that sense, Potsie was truly her master's most loyal subject – she could be as uncompromising and sadistic as her master.

Closing his eyes, Dolohov huffed and leaned his head back as he felt the powerful effects of his wicked meal. His strength was rapidly returning, his blood was roaring in his ears as he looked at his hands – his color had returned. As his hands patted his faces carefully, his lips curled into a contented smile. Gone were the hollow cheeks and chapped lips, and even his turbulent magic was humming more contentedly in his veins. The prick was truly blessed with an unmatched gift. "Where's Corban?"

"Master be meeting witch!" the elf giggled as she danced and skipped as she cleaned the room, "Master loving!"

Dolohov frowned as he tried recalling if there was any woman, except for that particular brunette, that had caught the prick's eye. It was unlikely for someone who was deeply in love and committed to a woman for years to suddenly change his fancy. After all, Yaxley had rejected their plan at the last minute because of her. Perhaps, something did happen during the five years he was in Azkaban, and perhaps, Yaxley had finally moved on from her.

Dolohov huffed as he massaged his temple. What had happened in the five years? Could it be that Yaxley had finally understood and accepted that his unconditional affections was wasted on the woman? Did it mean that the Scottish prick had finally decided to harden his heart against her? Dolohov folded his arms as he closed his eyes and leaned into his seat as he continued mulling. If the woman had finally left her free rent in his mind and heart, who was the new woman who has taken over? Was the new woman worthy of unfaltering devotion? Would this mean a repeat of their earlier years? Was the lovesick fool doomed to gamble everything for women who would never love him as he did them?

Dolohov shook his head as he sighed heavily and hung his head. Truthfully, it did not matter who Yaxley was devoted to or what his desires were. The only thing that truly mattered was Yaxley's commitment to their mission. With Dolohov's magic still turbulent and erratic because of the Dark Lord's curse, Dolohov needed the prick to focus until, at the very least, his lordship returned to his former glory or their years of excruciatingly detailed plans would be all for naught.

"I'll be in the study if you require me," Dolohov informed the dancing house elf but it did not seem as if she heard him. He sighed, shook his head and quietly climbed the stairs to make his way to Yaxley's study.

Once he was there, he summoned a stack of parchments and envelops, and enchanted quills. As the quills began scratching his letters, Dolohov walked around the table and touched the heavy curtains. If his memories were to be believed, Dolohov had no recollection of his best friend ever closing the curtains. The prick had always enjoyed the sun lighting up he room, and the expansive view of his compound. It was a peaceful beauty that he had claimed only true herbologists could admire wholly and openly.

Dolohov frowned as the feeling of caution and hesitation arose in him. It was strange that he would be wary of opening the curtains. After all, what was so precious outside the four walls of the Hall that the prick wanted to hide it behind the curtain? Tightening his grip on the curtains, he very carefully drew them and stared at the scene outside.

Nothing outside was as he remembered them to be. What should have been a healthy beautiful flower field was now a ghastly field of wilted crumpled brown plants with many huge bald spots. Grass that used to be short and green were now almost too tall, unmanaged and yellow. Even the hall was wrapped with thick thorned vines. Dolohov ran his finger gently on a thorn and stared at the massive monstrous trees behind the wicked field. Those trees used to be huge welcoming shades; now they stood like unruly, defiant and dangerous warriors whose duty was to act as barricade to a forbidden haunted forest.

Dolohov sighed heavily and shook his head. "In the five years, what happened here, Corban?" he murmured as he looked at the setting sun a little distracted. He rested his head against the window frame and closed his eyes. It was a little too disconcerting for him that things he had hoped would not change had changed so drastically, and things he had hoped to happen still had not happen. It was almost as if he had stepped into a world that no longer had space for him. Was society telling him that his existence was redundant? That his escape from Azkaban meant nothing? How could that be? He was one of the most feared wizards in the last decade. On some occasions, he was even dubbed to be the true epitome of Death by both enemies and allies alike. How could he ever be considered inconsequential?

No, of course not. They had forgotten him. They had chosen to assume the gates of Azkaban would lock him in forever. They had believed the peace was true. They had taken the fall of the Dark Lord as the gospel. They believed. How utterly foolish. He had defied all of their assumptions and he would rise steadily and quickly. His revival would be a bolt from the blue. It would be too fast for them; and all too soon, they would reawaken the instinct - to tremble and surrender in his presence again.

Dolohov reopened his steel-coloured eyes and gone were the wariness and uncertainty. Cold arrogance and apathy filled those orbs as they gazed at the orange sky. Summoning his stack of written letters, he held them in one hand while he pushed open the window with his free hand. Throwing the papers outside, he watched with indifference as a flock of birds swooped down, and each bird captured a letter in its beak. As soon as he commanded them to deliver, the birds squawked in a singular loud sound and they flew swiftly into the sunset. Dolohov watched their silhouettes disappear with a cold smile.

The addressees would see his seal, and they would remember the horror that was him. With that too, shall spell the end of this peace. All of who shall stand in his way to the Dark Lord will not be forgiven, and so they shall be looked at without mercy. Those amongst them who had dared to betray his lordship would certainly meet their judgement. Dolohov was sure it was only a matter of time before the war that was never over would resume.

Soon, very soon, the world shall tremble.

Just an hour before Dolohov had finally regained consciousness, Yaxley had disapparated from his home to a little town. The smell of freshly baked bread permeated the air as he walked the busy streets. There were modest shops for men's wear and dresses, and daily robes. There were also shops for books and school supplies, a library and a wandmaker shop. It was a quaint town – the sort where everyone knew everyone, and a traveler was easily spotted. Smiling lightly, he nodded at everyone who stopped and stared at him as he made his way into one of the small restaurants.

Standing at the entrance, he glanced at every patron before he smiled just a little wider when he spotted a beautiful woman in a pink dress. Her long blond hair tied in a loose ponytail, and her fringe falling gently over one side of her face. Her lips were painted a demure pink. She stood up and smiled when she noticed him walking towards her.

Taking her hand gently in his, Yaxley placed a light chaste kiss on the back of her palm before helping her back into her seat. "Ms Williamson, did you wait long?" he asked as he smiled charmingly as he took off his spectacles and flipped the menu, "I must apologize for my lateness. It is good, however, to finally meet you after a couple of delightful exchanges."

A week ago, she had been surprised to receive a private letter from a man who revealed himself to be her husband's superior. In that letter, he detailed about Peter's performance at work and wanted to discuss with her about Peter's abilities to perform at a higher standard should he be promoted. One letter turned into many letters over the week as she continued corresponding with him and agreed that their discussion be kept a secret. After all, she understood that revealing their connections might ruin Peter's chances of promoting to Senior Auror because everyone would have easily misunderstood that Corban Al-Tair was bias when in fact, he simply wanted to get to know his subordinates better.

"It's fine, Mr Al-Tair and likewise, it's a pleasure to finally see you too," she waved his apology away as she delicately summoned a wait staff, "I must recommend their pastries! They're a savory delight!"

As the pair was served their order, Yaxley took a polite bite of his cake and hummed, "Your taste is exquisite, Ms Will-"

"Please call me, Mary," she insisted and Yaxley was more than willing to comply. As they continued to inane conversation, her shoulders relaxed as she began to enter a comfortable feeling around her husband's superior.

"Mary, tell me, has Peter been a good husband to you?" Yaxley asked curiously as he rested his arms on the table and leaned in.

Mary smiled shyly as she diverted her eyes away. Mr Al-Tair was truly unlike most men in their town – he was straightforward, attentive, considerate and delightfully intelligent and charming. What was he trying to achieve by asking her this? Was he hinting at a possibility of her running away with him and leaving Peter behind? Clearing her throat as delicately as she could, she raised her chin to look at him in the eyes. When she saw her reflection in his eyes and she frowned just a little. It had to be her imagination and a trick of the light that his eyes had turned a few shades darker and redder, and malice seemed to dance in place of the friendly twinkles. She closed her eyes and swallowed the lump that had gathered in her throat, before she timidly peeked at his strange eyes again. They had returned to the state she was comfortable and found to be most dazzling. She breathed a sigh of relief as she reopened her eyes fully. Of course, it had to be a trick of the light – it was unfathomable that the charming gentleman could be vicious.

"Mr Al-Tair, I have a son and Peter is kind to me," she whispered as she noticed the corners of his lips curled just a little more. Mr Al-Tair was truly unlike the men she had known in her life – he was able to take rejection gracefully if his kind smile was anything to go by.

"Your son, how old is he?" Yaxley asked as he smiled softly and gently.

"Dylan is seven years old, and he looks just like his father," she answered proudly as her eyes twinkled and she showed Yaxley a picture of her family of three. As she continued babbling about her son, Yaxley continued listening attentively before his attention was stolen by a patron with a strikingly familiar face leaving. Yaxley turned his head to take a better look at the hooded patron's face but the patron had already disappeared.

"Perhaps Mary, we should meet another time," Yaxley interrupted her as he quickly finished his drink and food and made a deliberate show of reading his watch as he rose from his seat, "with your husband and son as well, of course."

"Peter will be taking leave from his work in a few days," she tapped her chin as she opened and stared at her schedule, "perhaps you could have dinner with us at our house then?"

"That would be lovely," Yaxley agreed easily as he paid their meals while she wrote her address on a piece of paper to him, "I shall see you soon then." Looking at a point just beyond her head, he caught sight of a hooded person. "I would like to caution you," he dragged on a little distractedly as he followed the hooded person with his eyes and blinked when the person disappeared around the corner and returned his attention to the woman in front of him. "This is a dangerous world; not everyone is as kind as me. For your son's and your sake, I hope you do not open your doors to strangers."

Shea stared at him for a moment before she waved away his advice with a serene smile, "There are no strangers here; only old and new friends."

"That's a fine dream," Yaxley chuckled as he helped her into her coat, kissed the back of her palm lightly and watched her leave. He waited until her retreating form was far away enough before he turned the other direction. Now that he had found one of them, it would be easier to get to the other.

Yaxley stared at the address and committed it to memory. Just as he was about to burn the paper away, a huge eagle glided past him and dropped a letter before it disappeared past the clouds. He stared at the addressee and address, and flipped the envelope to see the seal. It had been years since he saw the seal and who could blame him for his delight? This was something he had been agonizing over for years and the loneliness was finally lifting. The bastard was finally awake! If he was able to write, perhaps, Potsie had fed him the concoctions he created but even then, Yaxley hoped his little elf had endeavored to keep the bastard in bed. As good as his food were, there was no chance he could reverse the effects of years of decay with just one meal. Given these circumstances, it would make little sense to agitate the poor wizard. Perhaps, it would be best if he simply pretended he did not know and burnt the letter along with the piece of paper Mary Williamson gave him. Just as his fingertip glowed, he had to somersault and dodge a spell that struck the spot he had been just seconds ago. Turning his head around, his eyes narrowed as he finally spotted the hooded figure on the roof.

Annoying child.

As another spell came rushing towards him, Yaxley flicked out his wand and fired his own offensive spell. As the spells clashed, a shockwave erupted and blew a few bricks from the roofs of nearby shops. Quickly, without hesitation, he fired a multitude of spells including one that caused the assailant to skid and fall from the roof, and a sound that resembled a painful feminine whine echoed in the air. As he leisurely closed the distance between them, he smirked when she quickly scrambled to her knees and pointed her wand shakily at him. With quick lazy wand flicks, he easily disarmed her before she could begin to cast a spell. With another lazy flick, he cast his signature spell and a dark red mist spurted out of his wand's tip and surrounded them. Phantom hands quickly formed within the red mist and kept her in her kneeling position.

"Child's play," Yaxley chuckled as he covered his mouth and shook his head while he observed the struggling hooded girl with growing amusement. "You should know better than to try ambushing a Death Eater."

As the hooded girl continued to squirm against the hands, Yaxley raised an eyebrow as he followed the direction of where her head struggled to move towards. His lips puckered as he breathed amusedly and silkily, "Oh, ho… this must be really precious, no?" He rolled the stray wand gently away from under his shoe and smiled devilishly. He pointed his wand and looked at her half-face mask and the obvious tear trails. Slowly, mockingly, he slowly disintegrated her wand with a curse he had created with Dolohov. As fresh tears flowed more freely, her head hung and sobs wrecked her frame. "When kids don't know how to handle their toys, I've to take them away," he chuckled as his lips curled into a cruel cold smile and his violet eyes danced with cruel delight, "Now, let's see who you are." Nudging her chin up roughly with the toe of his shoe, he flicked his wrist as he cast a revealing spell that blew the hood away and shattered the mask.

"You!" Yaxley laughed as amusement danced in his eyes. "So we meet again; quite the misfortune for you." As terror continued growing in her eyes, he smiled a little sharper. She had seen him, attempted to duel him but most importantly, she had ruined his good mood; so, it was time for her to die. As his magic spilled out of his pores, she struggled helplessly against his phantom hands. Fear tightened her its hold on her heart, and her instinct to flee became stronger. As her heart continued pumping erratically, and her blood roaring in her ears, her magic began awakening its defensive mechanism.

Merlin, please! She needed to escape. Godfather, help me, please!

Her blond hair slowly but surely transformed into long dark blond, wavy hair, and her brown eyes changed into a pair of very familiar eyes. Immediately, Yaxley stumbled backwards and fell as if he had been delivered a powerful sucker punch and his throat felt painfully parched. His heart thundered as he stared at her mutely. Her face had changed to someone too familiar, and the eyes… it was nauseating. "You…those eyes," he whispered hoarsely as he stared at her as if she were a ghost. "Who are you?"

"Stay away from me!"

"You're her daughter..?" Yaxley asked a little bewildered and a little too breathlessly. Of course she had to be her daughter! Why else would she look like her mother? Oh Merlin, what has he done? "Let me help you." He quickly dispersed his spell, climbed up to one knee, and held an open-palmed hand out to her.

"Don't touch me!" she spat as she struggled backwards and away from his offending hand. Her eyes blazed with vicious vengeance and stubborn defiance. Her eyes were the same as her mother's on the night when madness reigned… it was nauseating. Too nauseating.

Yaxley reluctantly withdrew his trembling hand, took his spectacles off and clenched it by his side while his free hand wiped her spit off his face. Swallowing thickly, he looked at a point behind her almost as if he was too afraid to look into her eyes and asked cautiously and slowly, "Is your mother… is she ali- I mean, is she well?"

"Leave her out of this! You murderer! I won't let you kill her like you killed my godfather! Monster!"

Yaxley stared at her mutely before he closed his eyes as shook his head tiredly. "You look nothing like your father," he chuckled bitterly that sounded like a mournful laugh to his own ears as he dusted his knees and, slowly and tiredly stood up, "but you have the same stupidity as him… a trait she is foolishly fond of and one I lack." Sighing heavily, he turned away from her and forced himself to walk away. He would not fight her.

"Don't turn your back on me, you mad Jester!"

"You're too young to fight a Death Eater, child," he scoffed but it had sounded too weak and soft to his ears, "never mind the Dark Lord's Jester." If anything, it sounded like a plea for her to understand and heed his advice. "Your mother would not want that life for you," he whispered as he tightened his fists and forcefully walked away, "never in this lifetime."

"Don't talk as if you know her!"

"Oh, but I know her very well," Yaxley murmured as he stopped walking and frowned a little when his vision of the evening sky began to blur, "so very well. Looking at you feels almost like I'm looking at her."

Don't come after me.

"I'll kill you!"

Sighing loudly and forlornly, he closed his eyes as he intercepted the fist that was rushing towards his left cheek. Chucking his spectacles into one of his pants pockets, he quickly returned her punch and sent her crashing into some discarded crates. Huffing, he stalked towards her as he lifted her by her neck with his left hand and slammed her into the wall. She gasped loudly as he strangled her just a little harder while his right hand grabbed her left wrist to slam it just beside her face. "Don't force me to kill you," he snarled furiously as he watched her eyes rolling backwards and her lips turning pale, "don't make me break her heart again."

Don't turn me into a monster.

Releasing his hold on her, Yaxley dropped her amongst the crates as he stormed to the apparition zone. He would not, should not turn around even as her painful whimpers echoed in the evening air, and even though his heart felt a little too strange – too constricted – to be comfortable.

Upon reaching the apparition zone, he stared at where she was for a long time. Closing his eyes, he sighed heavily and drew hasty wand movements. A humongous white sigil brightened the night sky above her. "Mercy doesn't visit the same home too often, so don't come after me again, little one," he sighed as he disapparated home.

Because I'll have to kill you.

I hope you enjoyed this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it. If there is anything you want an answer to, or you would like to read, let me know. Once again, happy 2020!