Chapter 81

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Respite for Some



It had been so long since he had partaken in the simplicity of being propped up against a bar with a glass of liquor in one hand and a cigarette in the other, not without the threat of an attack from Grindelwald's men or even a muggle bomb falling on him whilst he did so.

The Downed Unicorn was an old haunt of his, the stomping ground of many an unsavoury character that often found themselves on the wrong side of the law.

Derek Gilbert had been coming here since he'd graduated Hogwarts, having been shown the establishment by one of his accomplices as they fled the scene of a robbery gone wrong.

Gilbert had gotten away with that particular crime, but he had not been so fortunate in others, even with the bolthole he found himself in now.

He shook his head and took a deep draw on his cigarette, pushing his empty glass towards the barman for it to be refilled.

"Well, well, well, if it isn't my old mate Gilbert," a familiar, though unwelcome voice called from the door. "Just got out again?"

"Something like that," Gilbert sighed as he sipped the whiskey the barman handed him.

"I haven't seen you for a while. How long did you get this time?"

"Eighteen months."

The man whistled appreciatively.

"It shows," he chuckled. "Bloody hell, you look like shit."

Gilbert snorted.

He didn't doubt the truth of the man's words, but despite all he had endured, he didn't feel as bad as he would have had he been in the company of the Dementors for so long.

In truth, Derek had never felt so good his life having gained a purpose since Moody had offered him a way of avoiding a stint in Azkaban.

At first, he thought the war would be a doddle compared to prison, but he had been proved wrong quite spectacularly.

War was hell on earth, and more than once, he had considered going AWOL.

That was until he had made the acquaintance of Yaxley, and then William Potter.

Here, in Britain, the two men would not have given him a second glance, nor likely a moment of their time, but Derek had somehow found himself on friendly terms with them both.

When William had been killed, he'd been devastated, but it had brought him and Reg closer, and even more so with the arrival of William's son and Harry Evans.

Arcturus Black too, though he had come later.

He snorted at the thought of the foursome, four men he considered to be brothers, who he would die for if necessary.

Never had he held any other in such esteem, the world he'd existed in full of honourless scoundrels that would sell you out to save their hide.

Not those in the trenches.

The friends he had made there would equally give their lives for him, for what little his was worth.

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