Not two weeks later, Hermione Granger awoke with a start. A loud clap of thunder had startled baby Rose, who began crying and squalling almost immediately. Hermione raised her head and realised that she still hovered over her Potions tome; quill in hand, working on her assignment. She must have been so tired she fell asleep on the book. Rose let out another shriek, as Hermione lifted her tired body from her table and strode to the bassinet.

Still in her school uniform, she picked up the fussing baby, holding her close and wrapping her in her pink baby blanket. Hermione cradled her gently and rocked her as she paced the wall of her flat. Glancing down at the alarm clock by her bed, she realized it was only three in the morning.

'Bloody thunder,' she thought.

Rose had other plans, for she did not quiet down immediately. In fact, if anything, she cried louder. Hermione let out a sigh of exasperation as she held the baby to her more tightly.

"Oh Rose, please be a good girl for Mummy and quiet down, please-," she started, pacing faster.

Suddenly remembering Cho had lifted the baby up and down rather than rocking her, she tried that immediately. Rose quieted and her movements slowed. Hermione let out an exhausted breath as she raised the baby up and down, pacing the room a little more slowly.

When the baby had quieted and the storm had settled somewhat, fading into merely angry rain, she was able to lay Rose back in her bassinet.

Hermione moved to her bed. She was exhausted. She was beyond tired. Whatever the word for that came after, she was that. It hadn't even been two weeks, and she was still playing catch up in all her classes; classes she'd missed while being held by Scabior.

Scabior.

She looked out the window at the pounding rain, and again, wondered how he was faring in Azkaban. If he was cold, or hungry. If he would ever be released. If he was thinking about her.

That did it. The tears began to roll down her face, and she found herself in an odd predicament where she didn't want to wake her baby, but had to let out all the tension and stress she'd been experiencing. So she cried silently, pressing her face into the red and navy somewhat appropriately named comforter, her body wracking with wave after wave of tremendous sobs.

And through all of it, she felt angry at herself. Angry she had let it come to this. Anger about that night, anger at him, anger even at her decision. And this made her even more upset. For she would never wish Rose's life away. But she had severely underestimated how difficult it would be for her alone, even with all the help, a supportive school and friends behind her. And she suddenly felt old. Old and very tired. And she had a sinking realisation that she could never go back to her life before. It was a horrid thought that destroyed the last thread of hope from her sleep deprived brain.

Her depression did not lift as she cried herself to sleep in her flat.

The same thunder had roused Scabior from his sleep. That and the rain that dripped onto his face from a leak somewhere above. All his days seemed to blend together lately. He hadn't even been in that long.

There were strategies for dealing with Azkaban. He'd made use of every bit of advice he'd received from the more seasoned dark Wizards regarding how to weather the intense mental anguish which came from being locked up the first time he was in.

But this time, he didn't care. He had stopped caring what happened to him, and about getting out. His re-sentencing was in a week and he knew the outlook was grim. Not only had all his wartime crimes still stood, he'd abducted Hermione Granger from Hogwarts using a blind spot in the castle he'd created as a student; in so doing, rendered the entire castle unsafe; held Hermione Granger in his flat, and, oh yes, escaped from custody and eluded capture.

He'd be lucky if he ever saw the light of day again.

He was angry at himself. If he had only known at some point he'd have something to live for, he might have lived his life a little differently.

But Scabior had had it rough, from childhood. Fallen in with the wrong sort, and become a problem at an early age. All to escape a home riddled with abuse and the reality of being an unwanted child.

He sat up abruptly, shocked at his train of thought. His heart pounded so fast he brought his arm up across his chest.

He hadn't thought about those things…ever?

Why was he thinking them now?

Briefly his mind drifted to Hermione.

No!

He made sure to try and not think about her. Because when he did, the hopelessness of his situation became ever more apparent, and his thoughts became ever more dejected.

He got up, moving over to the corner to his piss bucket to relieve himself, when he noticed a letter inside.

That's odd.

He bent, picking up the letter. Thick stock, finely bonded. This was no poor man's scribbled note. His fingers scratched at the heavy envelope simply addressed to 'Mister N. Scabior'. He pried the letter out and unfolded it. A small, golden quill pen dropped into his hand.

Magic!

But how did someone have magic inside?

His eyes scanned the letter quickly, searching for answers before reading it.

'Dear Mister Scabior,

There is a matter of some importance I must discuss with you if you are willing. I am told that you are the right man for the job, as it were. The job, I will discuss in detail only in person. I am currently being held directly one floor above you. If you would like to find a way out of Azkaban, and I'm assuming to your daughter, I can help. I require a favor in return. Please use the enclosed quill to write whether you accept this post or not. Then, place the letter and quill back in the envelope. It will find its way to me.'

And then, Scabior noted, at the very bottom of the letter, after the 'Sincerely', two initials.

L.M.