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Yaxley arrived at his hall and immediately and swiftly made his way to his study where he locked himself in and pointedly ignored the man by the fireplace. Quickly, he poured himself shot after shot, he consumed them easily and without reservation. Who would have thought that a harmless ploy of retrieving an address would turn into a surreal joke of the past, a mockery of his buried fantasies?

He needed to forget everything he saw in the evening. The startled look. The beautiful dark eyes. The red lips. The high cheekbones. He needed to forget the young woman. He needed to forget who he thought she looked similar to. If only he had left after he got what he came for… If he had simply ignored the roaring curiosity in his head…

If… should have…

There were many things he should have done, but… At least for now, he knew she was still alive but what good was that knowledge? The last time he visited her, many years ago, she had spat at him like the young woman had. That night he had come to offer her a way out, protection and security and a life away from war – a life of peace. He had come with those promises only to be banished from her life. He had asked – implored – her to reconsider but her eyes had blazed with immeasurable contempt and anger – and even as they glared viciously at him, he still found them beautiful and lovely – and she had promised to kill him if their paths should cross. That night, she fled with them and…

I still –

A hand covered Yaxley's eyes as his head was slowly pushed back until it leaned against the back of his chair. "Why…? Why couldn't it be me?" he slurred as he clenched his hands into fists and yet, they still trembled violently, "It hurts inside, bastard. It hurts so badly. My heart hurts."

Dolohov hummed as he kept his hand over Yaxley's eyes and pretended he did not see nor feel the trail of tears. How many years had it been? For a man with a malicious streak like Yaxley to be reduced into this state because of a woman; was this how deadly the power of love could be? Was this the same soul-binding spell that caused the Dark Lord's demise? No, it was impossible for the Dark Lord to be enamored and weakened by a new-born. Perhaps, a different type of love or something entirely different? A cosmic law of life – the hero lives for as long as the villain does, and therefore the boy lives for as long as the Dark Lord does. Even so, love was such a complicated notion that he had not yet understood in its most fundamental forms, never mind its most complex. However, if love was truly such a deadly power, perhaps, it would be best and most wise for him to steer as far away as he could from it. What use would he be to the Dark Lord if he was rendered incapable every time love infected him?

As the tear trails slowly petered and began drying, Dolohov slowly removed his hand. He glanced at the gaunt and depressed face and sighed inwardly. "How was your day?" he asked casually as he surveyed the books on the shelf and kept his back to the heartbroken man, "You've funneled a good deal of firewhiskey into your system."

"Shut it. We've all got our tired days," Yaxley huffed tiredly without malice. Rubbing his face, he wiped the tear stains from his face and sighed. Luckily for him, it was Dolohov who was here. Any other wizard or witch would have mocked him, but not Dolohov. Never his best friend. Yaxley dug into coat pockets, and finally withdrew a long black wand and placed it on the table. "If your wand had been a little more amicable, I would've been a lot less stressed."

"My apologies, Corban," Dolohov chuckled as he spun around to pick up the wand to inspect it. "However, I'm most surprised you've still got your hands," he murmured as he felt his magic humming and flowing towards the wand as if the wood was an extension of his limb, "the last time someone tried to use, they lost an arm."

"Sarcastic bastard, keep your apologies if you're not sincere," Yaxley scoffed as he rolled his eyes at the Russian man who had chosen to sit on the window sill and caress the wood. Had Dolohov been someone else, Yaxley would have gagged at the sickening tenderness and affection. This was one of the Dark Lord's most savage and wicked wizards and yet, there Dolohov was sitting calmly and whispering sweet nothings and apologies to the piece of wood. Yaxley shook his head as he closed his eyes. They were hurting and burning more than usual. Perhaps, he had not fully recovered from last week's infiltration into the ministry. He must have used a little too much of his fire magic without proper rest.

"You know that I'm always genuine when it comes to you, don't you?" Dolohov teased while still stroking the wand, "I've always got a soft spot for you."

"I'm getting goosebumps," Yaxley laughed lightly as he rubbed his arms feverishly. "Your flirting is as terrifying as that moron who tried to steal an unyielding wand from a good duel-wizard."

Dolohov smiled a little as he recalled the dramatic incident. It would have been unbelievable had he not seen it happened for himself. His wand had almost single-handedly destroyed their senior. It was at that moment that Dolohov was sure that his wand was an extension of him – his personality, his drive, his menace, his principles… everything that was him flowed within the wood. His wand, like his familiar, was a bit part of his soul. He had not believed that wands contained spirits, but since then, he became an ardent believer.

Dolohov watched the Scot dug blindly around the table and the drawers until he took out a jar of salve. He fumbled a little with a jar's cap before he applied the white salve generously on his eyes. Immediately, the blonde moaned aloud and Dolohov choked on his laughter in his attempt to contain it. "Wow Corban, I never knew you could sound like a dying whale!" he wheezed as he struggled to contain the grin on his face. Hilarity was dancing in his grey eyes and they brightened even more when Yaxley flicked a finger.

Gradually, his amusement mellowed until he was just smiling at the blond-haired wizard. If this was a different time, Dolohov would have admitted aloud that he missed this. This was exactly how they used to be. This was how they would have passed the time when they were in school and they were simply not in the mood to do anything but to mess around. This was how they tried to keep the other sane during the war, especially during the heights of the war when slipping into madness and bloodlust were so simple and convenient. This was who they were as orphans, as boys who never really grew up. Trolling and bantering each other, laughing and just living in the moment instead of staying alert and wary of their surroundings. This was…

Dolohov shook his head. There was more important things to do than to tease and mess around with Corban. He touched his wand carefully and raised it against the light to inspect it better. After a few acute observations, he brought the wand to his lips and he kissed it lightly. "No one will ever abuse you again, I promise," he apologized softly. As if the wand had accepted his apology, purple sparks spurted out of its tip.

"Looks like all is forgiven," Yaxley mocked with his eyes closed. He did not have to open his eyes to check on his best friend. Dolohov had always thought it necessary to apologize to his possessions, especially those he deemed to be useful. "Put the foul-tempered stick away, Antonin. I've enough traumas as it is; don't need to add that to the list," Yaxley deadpanned as he moved his hands over his face to clean the stray blood trails. For as long as he could remember since his mastery over the fire elemental magic, his eyes would hurt as if they were burning. Cooling them with the salve he made from fairy dust, unicorn tears and murlock goo seemed to work but they would always leave his eyes bleeding for a while.

Dolohov laughed softly as he slowly looked up. With the wand twirling carelessly in his wand, he asked curiously, "Do you feel threatened, Corban?"

Slowly, Yaxley reopened his watery-eyes and turned his head to look into grey orbs. "Do I have a reason to be?" he challenged with a gentle smile that was more malicious than friendly.

Dolohov stared at the violet eyes. He would not be fooled by the teary eyes. If anything, the shade of the eyes was always the true measure of Yaxley's seriousness. Dolohov slowly closed his eyes and shook his head. "No, you have no reason to be," he hummed with a smile and carefully tucked his wand away, "we are not enemies."

"But are we on the same side?" Yaxley mused aloud as he slowly rose to his seat and took a few deliberately small steps to cover the distance between them. Very slowly, almost as if taunting, he fished out a sealed letter from inside his coat waved it a little as if to straighten it a little. He took a long mocking look at it. Raising his eyes to lock with grey eyes, he sneered as he read the address aloud, "Winchester, London. Hermione Granger. Do you want to explain?"

Dolohov shrugged helplessly as he puffed and blew his cheeks out. "What does it look like?" he deadpanned.

"I'm asking why," Yaxley growled with obvious restrain as he crushed the letter in his fist, "What reason could a Death Eater have to write to a child? A muggle child!"

"I'm taught to repay kindness."

"She is muggle born! A mudblood!" he snarled every word viciously and exasperated at the dispassionate face of the Russian wizard. He rubbed his face in frustration, slammed the crumpled letter on the table in disgust and burnt it with a quick spell just for added assurance that the offending item would never see the light of another day. "She is undeserving to walk among us – letting her live another day is kindness enough!"

"Admittedly; and you've shown her kindness and mercy," Dolohov agreed easily as he closed his eyes, and leaned against the window and crossed his arms. After a moment, he sighed softly and slowly reopened his eyes to observe the furious violet eyes. No, not fury but… something different. Exasperation? Dolohov felt the corner of his eye twitch as he narrowed his eyes just a little. Very softly, he continued as he watched the usually carefree man through suspicious narrowed eyes, "I, however, still remain in her debt. Now that you've burnt the letter, I've to recompose another one. Honestly Corban, this is troubling me unnecessarily."

"Don't change the topic, Antonin," Yaxley growled deeply even as he noticed the flickers of irritation in the grey eyes. "Exactly what is your idea of payment?"

Dolohov raised an eyebrow in mock incredulity even as he bit the tip of his tongue to manage his irritation better. There was a warning in Yaxley's words that Dolohov knew. He had better thread carefully or things could turn very ugly, and someone was definitely meeting their maker tonight. However, as it stood, he was usually always the one in control. He was always the one with the upper hand. After all, where Yaxley's trigger points were obvious, his were still a mystery to most. This, alone, was enough to tip the advantage, however marginal, in his favor.

Dolohov allowed himself a knowing sly smirk, pushed himself off the window and stood to his full height. He stared meaningfully into violet eyes and smiled a little more menacingly. That woman and anyone directly associated to her had always been enough to trigger Yaxley; and Dolohov wanted, almost a little too desperate, to know if anything dramatic had changed during the time he was in Azkaban. He took a breath and released it "Exactly what you offered Narcissa Malfoy, I'm sure," he spoke deliberately and slowly, and took extra care to pronounce her name very, very precisely.

Are you still the same?

Yaxley clenched his fists tighter, his knuckles quickly turning white and blood dripping from his palms. His teeth grounded painfully tight as he looked away from Dolohov whose eyes were no doubt laughing at his misery. Almost patronizingly, Dolohov patted Yaxley's shoulder, squeezed it once in mock comfort before he excused himself. Before Dolohov could take more than two steps away, a bone crushing grip held onto his elbow stopped him in his step. Dolohov looked over his shoulder and down at the death grip before raising a quizzical eyebrow at the blonde. "Remember your role," Yaxley hissed as he squeezed the elbow once more just for good measure, "don't fraternize with the enemy. Ever."

The chandelier above them swayed dangerously, casting moving shadows across the floor and on the walls. The cold fireplace suddenly began sparking as the magic tension between the men began picking up. Dolohov covered Yaxley's wrist and squeezed it just as tightly as Yaxley did to his elbow while he whispered softly, venom seeping into his voice, "Naturally, I never forget my allegiance."

"Nobody here is doubting your loyalty," Yaxley countered just as ferociously, "but feelings cloud judgement."

"I hear you; after all, you would know that very well."

Immediately, the fireplace exploded with uncontrollable blaze that began licking the furniture surrounding the fireplace. The lights on the chandelier flickered erratically as the windows burst open and strong cold wind swept and swirled around the wizards. Books flew off their shelves and gathered around the men in a maelstrom. "Bastard." The single word while spoken quietly and harshly seemed to echo loudest in the chaos. Dark violet eyes that held depths of fury met cold grey eyes that boast its own impressive depths of fury. A second more, and Yaxley folded his hand into a gun and pressed his finger against Dolohov's temple. Simultaneously, the Russian wizard had trained his wand to stab painfully against Yaxley's neck. Shame and fury swirled in a maelstrom in those violet eyes, and it met its match in the silent cold fury that swirled in deep grey eyes.

"Infe-"

"Ici-"

Just before one of them could complete their spell incantation, Potsie popped and easily sliced through the aggressive chaos effectively dispelling the murderous atmosphere as if it were never there. The house elf looked from one man to the other who had dropped their wand hand limply before she looked at the aftermath of the rage, and she puffed her cheeks. Quickly, she rushed to her master, pulled him into a seat and checked him once over while the black-haired wizard leaned against the table and breathed a little harder. Satisfied that her master was fine, she asked him hopefully, "Would Master like dinner? Potsie make dinner!" Yaxley nodded his head, believing his voice would croak and rasp instead of its usual smooth timber. Potsie cast Dolohov a glance that was almost a little too motherly before she returned her attention to her master and asked in a voice that barely masked hope, "Grumpy Wizzie be joining?" Yaxley glanced at the Russian wizard before he nodded again and waved his hand to dismiss the elf which disappeared with a pop.

Gripping the arms of the chair tightly, Yaxley huffed and panted while forcing his body to calm down. He was sure if Potsie had not appeared when she did, he was very certain the study would not still be here and both of them would be invalid for a long time. They were so close to viciously dueling it out and over what? An old wound. Yaxley shook his head and peeked through his messy fringe to look at the recomposed Dolohov who was rotating his wrist and fixing the room to its former state.

"Have you finally caught your breath?" Dolohov asked as he walked towards Yaxley after he was satisfied with his work, "That was some tantrum, brother."

"Speak for yourself," Yaxley snorted.

"Yes, I am the one with the vicious temper," Dolohov surrendered easily in between chuckles as he turned away to leave. He did not have to turn around to know his closest friend was chuckling as well. This was them. This was their exclusive bond that no one could ever threaten to join, much less destroy. Almost as if he suddenly remembered something important, he paused in his step to look over his shoulder and asked, "How's the little boy?"

"A man now if he's still alive," Yaxley answered easily without batting an eyelid. The little boy had gone his own way after he graduated from Hogwarts. Of course, Yaxley was more than willing to let him go. After all, the Scottish wizard was never a fan of holding people against their wills – he would very much rather deliver their desires. That also meant, any desire spoken without specifics gave him the freedom to interpret them as he desired, and that often ended up with his victims suffering for their own desires.

"Are you hiding him?"

"Am I?" Yaxley echoed with a smile as he relaxed his posture to lean further into his seat. "You wanted him to graduate, I ensured that. I can tell you he did not do exceedingly well but well enough that he won't embarrass you… didn't you know that?"

"I must've forgotten," Dolohov hummed as he closed his eyes and turned away from his best friend. "Now that he's no longer the little boy," he spoke softly as he slowly reopened his eyes, "I no longer need to hold back. It's time to finally put an end to the game."

"You saved him from the flames just to kill him slowly," Yaxley laughed as he stood up and walked until he stood beside the grey-eyed wizard. "You're a sick bastard."

"I've never denied that."

"When will you ever change your ways?" Yaxley teased as he left the room, "One day, you're going to regret not trying to be the good guy. Don't be late for dinner, or you'll face an elf's ire."

"If only..." Dolohov murmured as he watched the Scot's retreating back with a small sad smile, "keep your friends close, your enemies closer, Corban. It's the way of survival."

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