A roll of thunder echoed through a small flat, shaking even the heaviest of furniture. Light grey clouds had settled atop the streets of an unseasonably warm outer London. Rain pattered softly on the windows, muffled by the heavy curtains drawn to deflect visitors even more so than it’s occupant.

Susan Bones woke with a start.

She took in her surroundings as her eyes adjusted — a dramatic bed frame, sculpted with a single crest on each post and indicative of a wealthy family. Dust in the corners of the room. No woman lived here. This was most certainly not her flat.

A muffled snore caused her to jump. The movement sent blood rushing through her head, spurring a jolting headache. The room’s eerie light did not help matters.

Although the pounding in her head was clouding her thoughts, she still had a vague idea of what had happened the night before. She wasn’t very proud to admit that waking up in this kind of situation did not scare her as much as knowing what kind of information she could have revealed in her blotchy memory.

As the haze her mind began to settle, she stared at the man next to her. The previous night’s events came into focus at the sight of the jagged scar running down his jaw line.

“What’s a pretty lady like you doin’ here on Christmas?”

The man, almost certainly twice her age, handed her a mysteriously blue drink and winked. She ignored him.

“You can’t tell me you don’t ‘ave anyone to spend it with…” he winked again.

“Just mind your own damn business,” she muttered to the barman. She was not in the mood to answer questions — especially from someone as deluded as this man.

He took the hint, mumbling something about ‘none of ‘em bein’ good nowadays,’ but she ignored that too. What was so wrong with being alone on Christmas? Had she wanted to spend it in merriment, she would have gone to the Leaky Cauldron, not tucked away in a corner of Diagon Alley.

Her parents had, of course, chosen to take a holiday over Christmas, leaving her here in self-pity with no real place to settle in for joy. Her job had her traveling around Europe constantly, and her parents had just skipped off to France like she actually had somewhere else to go.

Most of her immediate family were dead, and she had made a career by making sure there is some sort of protection against the curses that had killed them.

Before she could even throw the barman’s drink aside, another man sat down by her.

“You don’t have to turn everyone away,” his low voice hinted amusement.

“You don’t have a creep asking to take you home,” she retorted, glancing at the man. He was thin, his dark hair long enough to cover his forehead, with an old scar deforming the lower part of his face. Had she not felt a hint of pity about staring at the scar, she would have most certainly sent him away, too.

He shrugged. “You are the one alone at a pub on Christmas.”

“And you’re not?” She said, this time hotly.

“Actually,” he smirked. “I am. Theodore Nott, that is.”

Susan’s stomach sank.

“You... I... Hogwarts…” She couldn’t find words. The smirk he had on his face should have been a dead giveaway. She had seen that look so many times.

“It’s nice to see you, too, Susan.”

Reaching for her wand, she nearly Apparated out on the spot, but he grabbed her arm.

“I’m clean,” he rolled up his sleeve, revealing a pale, but mark-free arm. “Just let me buy you another drink.”

 * * *

She should have known better than to take that first shot of firewhiskey, if the pounding in her head was any indication of how much she had gotten into afterward. She was never a heavy drinker, but being alone for the holidays had made her want to forget the day in general.

Theo had a way of catching her at the right times. It never failed. However, it was typically more for his benefit than hers.

Theo always found her when she was at her lowest. His smirk, the line of his jaw when he spoke soothing words to her was his most threatening weapon against her. Maybe that’s why it had taken so long to recognise him… The scar and lengthened hair had done something to offset the teenage boyish charm she had snuck around with throughout her years at Hogwarts.

The story that wove their relationship was lined with fire. Even from the start, he had a way of getting her hopes up and sending them up in smoke.

After her first potions lesson, at eleven years old, scolded by Professor Snape — he had assured her that he even hated some of the Slytherins. Then he went and let Draco Malfoy walk all over her friends. At the Yule Ball, the way he kissed her in a slow dance after her date decided he really wasn’t all that interested in her. Theo had whispered that he’d always be her best friend. He did not write her back at all the next summer. After her aunt was murdered, how he had sworn his family had nothing to do with it. She just knew better than that one. Of course she had fallen for him despite that.

What else would she do when she hit rock bottom?

As she sat up, she found her wand on the bedside table and summoned the clothing she was sure that her drunken self had neatly folded in the corner. She always wondered why she did that, but she never bothered to ask her friends to inquire about that while she was inebriated.

Sure enough, her blouse was folded in perfect fashion to keep it from getting wrinkled. You just can’t get such a fold by flicking your wand. Peeling off whatever shirt of his she had on, she dressed quietly. She continued to analyse Theo’s features, hoping in some way to find a reason to really be attracted to him.

She was ten years out of Hogwarts, though, and her searches were coming up empty. He was a liar, she knew that much. He never had a solid foundation of what he believed in — it was just whomever he was with at the time, — and even then he never acted too interested in it.

He rolled over, rocking the mattress forward. His left arm fell carelessly across the bed, catching Susan’s attention.

Curiously, she drew her wand around the area of interest, gently pushing any kind of disguise away from the centre point. The spot paled for a second, until another wand stroke revealed faint black lines… in the shape of a snake. She pressed upward. The skull came into view.

Surely he had known that Dark Magic like that does not just go away. It leaves traces.

Susan wished she could say that it really changed her opinion on Theo, knowing that he had purposely covered up to hide who he really was from her. But, in reality, her mind reasoned that had he not, she would most certainly have Apparated away and he would not have gotten yet another fling with her, ten years after they had last spoken.

Still, the sight hit home with her.

Standing up tall, as if she was not even affected by the man she had tied into her life in so many fashions, she strode out of the room, down the stairs, and out the door. She stood on the steps for a minute, soaking in all of his lies like the rain on her shirt.

Susan Bones walked away from the flat, Apparating two blocks south of the area. It was harder to trace the magic the further away she went, like burning a bridge with each step. She didn’t particularly want Theodore Nott looking for her.

Then again, she knew that she had said that very same thing many times before.