As Albiorix turned away from him, ignoring his bark with that aloof attitude Hawke had grown to expect from him, Hawke's eyes didn't miss the way he seemed drawn to that damned ring, the lone object seated in the only dust-free space above the fireplace. He forgot about the other's meddling in his mind for now, perhaps growing used to that constant presence. A thought he didn't care to analyze. Maybe Hawke hadn't seen the look in the Death Eater's eyes when he'd handed it over at the pond, too busy staying on his feet and the man's face hidden away by that incriminating mask. Regardless, he'd seen the way he handled it, holding it in his fingers as if it were something quite precious. Not to mention, the great and terrible Albiorix had chosen to work with an enemy in order to obtain it. Perhaps he shouldn't have handed it over, but he'd been more focused on getting to safety before dropping like a stone.<span class="fixed-color" style="color:#b30000"><i>Lot of good that did you.</i></span><br/><br/>Sitting on the edge of the table, which he assumed must have been magically reinforced to support his weight, his gaze followed the other across the room, taking in the manner of disuse his home seemed to present. Of course with his profession, no one place would be safe. In fact, chances were, as soon as Hawke took his leave, Albiorix was sure to magically ward the place from his mind or move away altogether. Then again . . . the Auror was sure neither would work thanks to the mental binding they now shared.<span class="fixed-color" style="color:#b30000">"Your step-mother will soon find her face plastered on every street corner in wizarding London as well as the Daily Prophet."</span>Of course it wasn't likely to do much good.<span class="fixed-color" style="color:#b30000">"It may reveal my profession to her, but I don't plan on finding myself in her . . .<i> loving care</i> ever again."</span>He wondered if Albiorix knew of his ruse, the lies he'd told the woman about his lack of relationship with the other, a falsehood that had backfired horribly. His body still ached from her onslaught, muscles strained beyond their capabilities, mentally exhausted from her mind games. And Albi's. Hawke's brow creased as he stared at the man.<span class="fixed-color" style="color:#b30000"> "I realize you're relying on the Ministry to stomp out this threat before they find you. As I'm assuming you were never meant to escape after you refused their offer. And as ludicrous as this sounds, I'm not above working with the information you've provided. But let's set one thing straight. You ever so much as think about Theo again, you become my target number one. I'll hand you over to them, myself."</span>Hawke's eyes made a promise before he slowly made to stand.<br/><br/>Obviously the Death Eater had seen the scars littered across his back, but Hawke still needed them hidden as he lifted his robes off the back of the only other chair in the room. Stiffly, he slid his arms into the sleeves, careful of the surprisingly well-done stitching. Albiorix's threat of the killing curse rolled off him, Hawke more than convinced the other would hold true to that promise. And so would he.<span class="fixed-color" style="color:#b30000">"You've no need to worry about me turning you in. Not yet, at least." </span>He felt his wand in his pocket, relief washing over him as he turned to face the other once more.<span class="fixed-color" style="color:#b30000">"This," </span>he nudged at the mental link to prove his point,<span class="fixed-color" style="color:#b30000">"has become quite personal. If any Auror is going to bring Albiorix, the last known Death Eater, to his knees, it will be me. I get to decide when and how justice catches up with you. Not some green upstart or old codger who hasn't left the office in decades."</span>It was true. The thought of anyone else arresting this man left Hawke feeling slighted, too proud to let anyone else share in his victory. Although he still hadn't quite decided on Albi's fate. A part of him didn't want the other dead, curiously enough. Still, being mentally connected to the inside walls of Azkaban appealed to him about as much as a serving of The Three Broomsticks' maggoty haggis.<br/><br/>Besides, he couldn't morally settle with himself if he back stabbed this man after today's events. Or was it yesterday's? It occurred to Hawke that he had absolutely no idea how long he'd been in that bitch's clutches. The man could have left him there to die of madness, severing the link for good. He could have left him to bleed out, as he'd said. But he hadn't. For his own selfish purposes, of course . . . and yet Hawke was alive, patched up even.<span class="fixed-color" style="color:#b30000">"Impressive, considering you couldn't make use of magic." </span>Hawke held his shoulder lightly as he lowered himself in the chair opposite the other man. He refused to thank him, regardless.<span class="fixed-color" style="color:#b30000">"I'm sure the Ministry will have a grand time dispelling this trace of hers."</span>His wings had been clipped as it were, unable to duel for now. And Albi unable to force him to defend himself, lest Analiese could apparate right to them. And admittedly he didn't yet feel up to the task of wandering across London. Palms on his thighs, Hawke leaned back in the chair.<span class="fixed-color" style="color:#b30000">"So what's so important about that trinket that you nearly got me killed to get your hands on it?"</span>