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A crack broke the silence of the devoid alleyway when Antonin Dolohov re-manifested. Weak as he was due to his impending starvation in Azkaban, nearly using every drop of prowess he possessed to escape, he staggered, tripped, but luckily caught himself against cold brick. Tremors racked his body with the contact. He’d just come from raw, numbing brick, and now here he was.
More cold. More fucking brick.
After obtaining his bearings, Antonin smoothed his hands across his tattered, ill-fitted uniform, trying to produce some heat in his fingertips as he looked left, right, then left again. He was in a seedy, very muggle part of London, the furthest he could manage to apparate. Not yet far enough, but it would do for now.
He started to walk, his bare feet slapping against the harsh concrete, but stopped when at the end of the alley, there stood a row of candles arranged amongst a bundle of fabrics. Most were long extinguished, the blue wax puddled around the bases in an assemblage of crags. But one still flickered, and with its light, it illuminated a face.
Antonin cautiously knelt to examine the woman; her lifeless eyes fixed on a dirty bent spoon, her left arm still constricted by the tourniquet, a needle just barely hanging from the tracked-up skin.
With nothing to be done, her life long extinguished, Antonin moved to stand but stopped when he saw movement behind the deceased. The blankets blipped…and…gurgled.
Peeling back the stained bedding, Antonin was met by two small but open, frantically moving eyes. They blinked and the little mouth gaped, emitting desperate noises while tiny fingers reached.
Antonin looked around again, for someone, anyone. He needed to go, but he couldn’t leave the baby there unattended. It would die, same as its mother.
And maybe that was for the best, Antonin thought. The world was a dreadful place, especially for someone so little, helpless, and alone.
There was nothing Antonin could do about it. He was a wanted man, a criminal.
Best he leave things as he found them.
when Antonin reached over to cover the child back up, minuscule fingers grabbed onto one of his. The grip was nearly nonexistent, but it still thawed the ice that had formed around Antonin’s heart during his measly excuse for a life. The child regarded him with no fear, even granted him a smile followed by a burst of giggles.
Pinching the bridge of his nose with his free hand, Antonin quickly scooped up the baby, taking with it one of the blankets. He stood, cradling the baby against his chest, and sniffed. The child did not smell very nice but then again, Antonin supposed, neither did he.
“What do you say we find someone where to wash and warm up malysh?” Antonin asked, just knowing he was going to regret this.
But, at that moment, the baby's answering coo was the only opinion that mattered.