Author's Note: Hello readers! This story has been running around my head for a while now and I thought it was finally time to put fingers to keyboard, and start working on it. This is a new pairing for me, and I'm really excited, although some of the plot is still not clear. I hope you enjoy!

Chapter One – Room With a View

Four years of living in varying degrees of squalor. Four years of living in fear and peeking through fingers. Four years of living as something less than wizard. And yet, as far as things went, Antonin Dolohov had been in worse situations. In fact, this new place was luxury compared to the terror he had experienced, and the dingy conditions of the prison cell he had inhabited in Azkaban.

Nowadays, Antonin had more than one room to his name. Whilst the bathroom was always cold and often reminded him of his time in prison, it did at least have running water, and there was always a clean towel to hand. The living room was still quite bare at times, but he didn't mind – it wasn't as if he had many friends anymore that would call over for dinner or want to share a bottle of wine with. From his bedroom window, he could see the sprawl of London, and imagine that all was still well with the world. If he concentrated really hard, he could almost see a Dark Mark floating above a building, but those days were long gone. All that was left of that symbol was scarring on the arms and a faded tattoo.

Was he a coward for fleeing after his master fell? Probably yes, but at least, he had managed to keep his head down since the battle. He had travelled the length and breadth of Britain, occasionally wondering whether he should head back to Russia and seek refuge amongst his own people. The only reason he didn't was because he didn't want to face the look of shame on his parents faces.

Instead he took a leaf out of the Boy Wonder Potter's book, camping in forests and barns, concealing himself from others, or otherwise making himself appear as small as possible, never staying in the same place for very long. He stole from country and farm houses that advertised their wares, even setting traps and snares. He was reminded of the camping trips he took with his father when he was a young boy, and still recalled all those lessons. His father would be proud of him for this, at least.

When Antonin was able to get a copy of The Daily Prophet, he sometimes spotted articles about the men and women he had once called friends, and how they now fared. Many had gone back to Azkaban to face the perils of the Dementors – some of the Inner Circle had even been subject to the Kiss after they had been found guilty at the trials. Antonin felt himself lucky - he knew he would experience that fate if he were ever caught. He had killed a member of the Order, one of Potter's dear friends. They would want him to pay for that crime in blood, if they were allowed.

At least the newspaper thought him long gone, although they had never found his body. And they never would.

The Malfoys, he noticed, had escaped punishment. They claimed that they had changed allegiance before the final duel occurred. He hadn't dared to approach Lucius for help – they had been friends once upon a time, but now, he couldn't trust him. He would hand him over as soon as look at him.

The only wizard he was still in contact with was Thorfinn Rowle. Thorfinn had gone underground after the war ended, emerging a year later. He was caught minutes away from a country pub, a foolish mistake. He had undergone trial. Antonin wasn't sure how the man had managed it, especially when others around him had been sent down, but Thorfinn had gotten off with six months inside Azkaban, following a release where he was magically cuffed and forced into a job mopping the floors of Gringotts wizarding bank, and making his way along the shops of Diagon Alley.

Not long after he had gotten the cleaning role, he had found the London flat, and gotten in touch with Antonin, inviting him to live with him. And the Order only thought that they could produce a Patronus - what fools they were! Why Thorfinn's was a gazelle, he had no idea, but he had managed the tricky art of making it talk, and finding its desired target.

Whilst Antonin still wasn't able to get a job in the wizarding or Muggle world, he did what he could about the flat. He made meals, relying on memories of being in his mother and grandmother's homes. Thorfinn ate each meal with gusto, often asking for his favourites several times a week. Antonin also cleaned up the house, moving swiftly with a duster, and made sure that clothes were clean, as if he were a bloody House Elf. Before Hogwarts, he had been used to manual labour - his family home had not come with magical creatures, although they had lived an hour or so's walk away from a unicorn forest.

In the day, he read free Muggle newspapers, sometimes taking a walk around the park. He noticed that when he did this families veered well away from him, sensing he was a danger to others. Sometimes he found Muggle coins or notes in the street and ventured into charity shops. Here he found new shirts, trousers, shoes and books, which he read and then donated back to the stores.

In the afternoons, he watched the television in the corner of the living room. It was a strange contraption, displaying sound and moving pictures. His dislike of Muggles had lessened when he found competitive programmes and furthered his knowledge with quiz shows.

In the evenings, he and Thorfinn would eat in front of the screen, complaining about how much their lives had changed. Both had grown accustomed to the new way of the world, and both didn't overtly mourn the loss of their magic. Thorfinn's golden bracelet prevented him from using it, and every store he visited, he had to push the mop and fill the bucket by hand.

Antonin kept his wand in the top drawer of his bedside cabinet, and every few days, he would open the drawer and check it was still there. Occasionally, he stroked the piece of mistletoe, almost feeling the power of the Abraxan core surging through his fingertips. He was tempted, so tempted to cast a spell – any spell – but it was not worth it. Bringing the Ministry down upon him would endanger Thorfinn, and he couldn't betray his trust, nor his friendship.

Outside Antonin's bedroom window, rain splashed down, droplets clinging to the glass. Heavy clouds passed by, bringing with them the flash of lightning and the rumble of thunder. Muggles hurried along the street, hidden under thick coats and hats. Their scarves were tightly wound around their necks, the ends trailing in the wind like a snake. Gloves held on tightly to the handles of various coloured and sized umbrellas that were being battered by the winds.

"Poor sods," Antonin muttered, turning his gaze to the flashing neon lights of the kebab shop across the road. Inside men were moving stacks of orange polystyrene boxes about and flipping the sign from Closed to Open. The lights of the shop were hypnotic, and he felt tiredness creeping upon him.

He felt his eyes closing when there was a great banging on the door. Antonin leapt from his seat on the windowsill, readying himself a fight, when Thorfinn burst through, still in his work uniform. His blonde hair was mussed, and his eyes were agleam. Antonin's eyes were drawn to the enforcement bracelet on the man's wrist, where it continued to shine brightly.

"Ant, get your coat."

Antonin scowled at the use of the nickname. It wasn't one he particularly liked, but was helpful to use in the Muggle world. He forced a smile on his face whenever one of the charity shop or café workers called him that.

"Why? Where are we going?"

Thorfinn rubbed his hands together gleefully. "Oh, you'll see mate! You will see!"