Evey gave a firm knock on the door. She waited a moment, wondering if they'd heard it, but the door opened abruptly before she could knock again. It revealed a tall, shirtless man.

His left forearm was missing, and his swarthy, muscular chest was a maze of scars in all shapes and colours. It was difficult for Evey to focus on his face, all the more since her head was level with his trunk. Finally, she willed herself to look up at him. He sported a scruffy beard and there were more scars there as well. A thin, black one came across his right eye, starting from his forehead and descending almost to the corner of his mouth. His nose must have been broken more than once, and there was another scar on his left cheekbone, this one star-shaped and of an odd, bluish hue that matched the colour of his left eye. Evey wasn't sure if it qualified as heterochromia or if it was somehow due to the scars, but his left eye was a deep, almost violet blue, while the right one was as clear as a cloudless summer sky.

He was absolutely stunning.

The man – Macnair, Evey assumed – hadn't said a word and was looking down at her with a bored expression. She realised that she was gaping slightly and blushed with embarrassment. "Ahem. Good afternoon," she told him with a bashful smile.

He was still silent, but a moment later Tony was beside him. He looked frighteningly pale and skinny next to the other man, although they were about the same height. "Evey," he said with a frown. "What are you doing here? Not that I mind, you see, but I told you…" Macnair turned away to walk back inside the room and Tony moved aside to let him pass. "I told you we're not supposed to talk to anyone, especially the kids."

"I'm not a kid," she said coolly. "Look, nobody knows I'm here, I promise. I just needed a break. Please?"

Tony hesitated, but eventually stepped back so she could enter. "Alright. Welcome to our lovely…dump." As Evey took a look around the room, she thought that he was more than exaggerating. It was nothing fancy, but they had a large space all to themselves, and it was cosy enough. "What can I do you for?" he added with a grin.

"I just… I'm tired of everyone hovering over me all the bloody time. When I told them I was going to the loo, I almost thought they would offer to come with me." She grimaced. "I feel like I'm on suicide watch."

"Well, they're worried about you. You can't blame them."

"I don't, not really, but it's getting on my nerves. It's making it sort of worse, actually. Look, I don't mean to intrude. I'll go if you want."

"No, no, don't be silly. It's fine. Mi casa es tu casa," Tony said, spreading his hands wide.

"Muchas gracias. And with that, I think I've about exhausted my meagre supply of Spanish vocabulary. Can we continue in English?" Evey asked with a small grin.

Tony laughed. "Yeah, fine with me."

Macnair was reclining on his back in one of the beds, watching television. Evey did a double take. A television? "Wait a second. How did you get that to work?" she asked, pointing at the device. "I thought Muggle appliances didn't function in these old magical houses. They don't even have electricity!"

"Oh, that. I used to be an engineer," Tony said with a shrug. "I worked something out. We have a VCR, too, and exactly eight movies that we watch on repeat. I can quote Raiders of the Lost Ark in its entirety from memory, if you'd like."

Evey could only stare. She had been sure that she wouldn't see one of these for the next few months, at the very least. The television looked tantalisingly familiar, almost comforting. "It's hardly fair. Why do you have a television and we don't?"

"Because we're stuck inside this tiny room with no other distraction whatsoever?" Tony supplied. "I mean, we've got books, but reading gets boring, after a while." Reading could be boring? That was what she usually spent most of her free time doing. "I was never much of a reader," he admitted. He indicated the empty bed. "You can stay and watch telly if you want, but we're halfway through the movie already."

"That's not a problem. I know all the Monty Python movies by heart." She'd recognised The Life of Brian right away. "You sure you don't mind?" She glanced toward Macnair, who still hadn't said a word. His mismatched eyes were riveted to the screen.

"Absolutely sure. And don't mind Wal. He doesn't like people. It's nothing personal. I'm not even sure he likes me," Tony said with a sigh. "Anyway, if we're going to get scolded to death by Molly, we might as well make the most of it," he added. "Wait, I'll turn the bed around." He did, and with surprising ease for someone so skinny. He was a lot stronger than he looked.

There was something odd about the former Death Eater. Evey had already reflected upon it when she'd met him the other day, but it wasn't until then that she'd realised what troubled her: He looked impossibly young, barely older than Evey herself, which made no sense. He had been an adult when he'd served Voldemort during the War, so he ought to be in his late thirties or early forties, at least, just like Macnair, who did look about that age.

Granted, some people aged remarkably well, but Antonin Dolohov had spent the last fifteen years or so in Azkaban… The picture from the Daily Prophet article relating his sudden death had been taken on the day he'd been incarcerated, and even then he'd looked older than he did now. Perhaps being away from that dreadful place for a few months had had a positive, rejuvenative impact on his appearance? It seemed a bit far-fetched. No, something was most certainly off, but Evey couldn't say exactly what it was.

When the credits began to roll down, Macnair grabbed a book on his bedside table. Evey wasn't particularly sociable, but he was taking it to a whole new level. No wonder she had been told to find another occupation. Well, she would ask him anyway. This was her only career option - her vocation. She couldn't begin to imagine doing anything else.

There was something that bothered her, though. She turned to Tony. "You know, when you said you weren't Death Eaters anymore, I didn't think you meant it quite so literally," she said, indicating his left forearm, where Voldemort's mark must have been branded at some point. It wasn't there now. "He didn't actually chop off his own arm, did he?" she asked in a lower voice, cocking her head toward Macnair. "Wait. Did Dumbledore ask him to do it, so he could join the Order?"

"No, of course not. It's nothing like that. Dumbledore was quite glad to see us. We're only confined here because the kids are here for the holidays. He said we could move about more freely when they're gone. As for Walden's arm, I cut it off myself," he told her casually.

"No you didn't." Tony shrugged. "Holy shit! You chopped off your brother's arm?"

"Well, he asked me to," he said defensively, "when he felt Voldemort summoning us in June. He said he didn't want any connection to him and it made sense, you know, since we'd decided to join the Order. We were afraid that Voldemort might track us down by using the Dark Mark somehow. And Walden couldn't cut off his own arm himself, so… Let's just say there was a lot of rum involved."

"Yeah, I'll bet," Evey said. "But why couldn't you simply remove his mark, like you did yours?" She pointed to his left arm again.

"Oh, I didn't remove it. It removed itself, so to speak." He was gazing at her intently, as if considering how much he should tell her.

"I feel a big revelation coming," Evey said wryly.

Tony grinned at her then and, in itself, his smile revealed part of the tale.