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Matt had no clue where he was. Matt had no clue how he was. Matt had left the building long ago.

The stages of the depression that had recently plagued Matt had steadily grown worse over a brief period of time. He had found himself locked in the cellar of the Three Broomsticks for hours on end. Only entering the daylight to gather up alcohol which he would drink by the gallon. Of course alcohol and depression were never a good combination. Not only was he battling his inner demons but he had received news horrible enough to make a grown man cry. All of his family was head. Every last Lestrange to anyone's knowledge had been erased from the planet. All of them dead. A few of them to that brand new disease. Of course Matt had never been closed to his family but this was still news he dreaded to hear. He was the last of his own family. It was times like these when he needed a reality escape more than most. Unfortunately for him all of his healthy reality escapes were untouchable.

Everyone had gone wrong in his own life. At least that's what the alcohol and depression were telling him. For the first time in years Matt was feeling the effects of his dive into the countless bottles that littered the floor of the cellar. Only a few months ago he had escaped from the living hell that was the Death Eater torture chamber. The nightmares that plagued him were also a gift. They allowed him to remember. Bits and pieces here and there. Enough to make him a dangerous man to any of the Death Eaters. But no, it wasn't just the Death Eater's that sent him spiraling into the state he was in now. There was a woman. The woman who had saved his life then ruined it. Jack Dyllan. Of course, when he first met her, he held her highly above most people in the wizarding world. But that changed quicker than he had imagined it would have. That B**** only added to the weight on his shoulders. She was the reason his one reality escape was out of reach. She was the reason he couldn't see Nemo Omara. The one person he trusted above most people nowadays.

The shadows were closing in on him. He was feeling the effects of the alcohol. His eyes had been shut this entire time but he opened them at last. They were blood red. But not the normal blood red, they screamed hatred. But not hatred towards the general public. Hatred towards himself. Of course it was easy to blame this whole situation on someone else. But his mental state was not one for making proper choices and correct thinking. He was placing the blame on himself. And for such crimes he must be punished. He attempted to regain his footing. As he moved he was greeted with the sound of bottles clanking together. The floor was barely visible, bottles were everywhere. He gained his footing after a minute or two of attempts. He huffed himself up and burped loudly. Smacking his lips he made towards the cellar steps.

After many minutes of searching in the darkness he found them. Placing his knee on the bottom step and his hand on the step above he crawled up the steps. Slowly but surely, he may be drunk but he wasn't stupid was very careful. After hitting his head on the cellar door he pulled out his wand. Drunkenly muttered a few words and the door was sent blast off it's hinges at the roof. Falling with a definite thud inches from where Matt's head now was. The light hit his eyes hard and he had to shut them quickly. It was daybreak, he had been under there for days. The bar wasn't open yet. Matt stumbled forward and steadied himself on the counter top that was the bar. He grabbed a bottle of firewhisky and pulled the cork out with his teeth and took a generous swig. Bottle in hand, Matt shuffled towards the steps leading towards the roof of the Three Broomsticks.

In a drunken fashion he had stumbled up the steps and hit his face on the stairs. The bottle had smashed open, sending firewhisky and glass everywhere. Matt felt various pieces hit his face and suddenly his face was warm and sticky. He began to bleed. Rather badly from a specific place on his chin where a rather large shard was sticking out. Matt shrugged it off, no need for pain. It would all be over soon enough. He got back on his feet and finished the trek up the steps. Finally, he made it. The door that would lead to his demise. The door to freedom. He opened it with a very large shove and the cool air hit his face and he winced as the cuts began to sting slightly. His hair was sticking to his forehead he was sweating heavy.

He smiled toothily. But it wasn't Matt's normal toothy smile. It was eerie, very unlike him. When he was drunk he was a different person. Not that he got drunk often. It was nearly impossible, and he hadn't been in seven years. But he began to walk towards the ledge on which he would fall to his freedom. He shuffled drunkenly and leaned on the ledge. He looked down, it wasn't that big of a fall. Not much was going through his head though. The only thought he had was how alone he was and how it was all his own fault. There was nobody left on this planet that could save him now. He put a foot up in the ledge and drunkenly stood up. Just like Nemo

The sweetie pie who had... 'lent him lodgings' for the night was a dancer at a local club at work started for her at 4:30 in the morning. The poor darling was a good-hearted girl with a soft spot for animals and Milo had spent a few nights since his arrival with her. She was gentle, and Milo was lonely. Though he had his family, he had no one that seemed to care that he was back. Emma was not committed to him, but she was a good girl and Milo liked treating her to a night out.

She had warned him ahead of time, so he didn't feel too bad waking up so early. He walked her to work, as she did not apparate well, and after he had deposited her at Satan's, he hurried out of Knockturn and settled on a sauntering stroll through Hogsmeade. Sure, it was four in the morning, but he was up and alive. The misty blue hours before dawn always had a strange draw to Milo. Apocalypse weather, he called it. It was always that time of day that the final zombie attack struck in movies.

Besides, it was interesting seeing Hogsmeade in this light, in this atmosphere. It was like looking through the mirrors at a twisted carnival- you could see the object for what it really was through your memories, but something about it was distorted, and darker and... wrong. Milo enjoyed the air, though, for it was sweeter and crisper. Oxygen was reaching his brain. He was feeling good.

He had reached The Three Broomsticks and was making his way past when he felt a small impact on his head. He paused and reached up, finding and grasping the object that had attacked him. As he did, his finger cut into the edge and broke skin. He hissed and dropped it at his feet.

Weird. It was a small piece of glass. Luckily, it had landed flat on his head and had not killed him- or, you know, given him a bad boo-boo. He rubbed his head and squatted, picking the glass up and turning it around in his hand. He leaned his head back and observed the skies...

There was a figure against the sky. Milo blinked and straightened his knees, standing and looking up at the building. A man was standing at the ledge. Milo's gut twisted instinctively, though he felt his inquisitiveness trumping it. Milo liked to live- perhaps there was another guy out there who got a thrill from standing on the roof at four in the morning with pride. "Oi!" he called up. "What're you doing up there?"

The wind was picking up and the temperature appeared to drop. Matt seemed to enjoy the cool air as it touched the skin that showed through the tears in his clothes and his face. He gave a sickening laugh and just as he was about to jump he heard a familiar voice. A voice he hadn't heard in years, and he frowned. No. No it couldn't be him. That was imposi-*hick*ble even in his own mind he hiccuped. He looked down and only saw the blur that was the ground. He staggered now and took a step backwards and almost lost his footing. He closed his eyes, he was hearing things. It was the alcohol, he had to punish himself. He had been a horrible person. Now was no time for a ghost from the past to come back and haunt him. But he couldn't quite shake the feeling that it really was his old friend.

"Milo?" he said, quietly to himself. His words were barely audible over the wind.

His visioned steadied if only for a second but he definitely saw him. Milo D'eath was home. Matt's eyes widened and he stepped back as if a force had shoved him back from the ledge. He fell backwards and hit his head on the hard floor of the roof. Immediately he was aware of his surroundings and the searing pain inside his head. His ears were ringing and he tried to get up but he couldn't. He lay there, gasping for breath. He found it very hard to gather air at this moment. There was no way it was him, but it was. He closed his eyes and blacked out. He knew that Milo was going to save his ass like he always did.

The man said something, but the distance and obvious drunkenness of the man prevented Milo from hearing it. Moments later, the man stumbled and Milo braced himself, whipping his wand out to catch the man by magical means, but his actions were unneeded. The man stumbled backwards and fell. The subsequent thump alerted Milo that the trouble had not ended. The man needed help.

Milo cursed- he had already done one good deed today. If he kept this up, he would be considered a good citizen. What a terrible blotch on his perfect rebel reputation. He jogged towards the alley next to the Broomsticks and clambered atop some discarded crates, climbing up the rest of the way. He rolled onto the roof and stood, looking around for the troublemaker.

He approached and peered down into the unfamiliar face. Something about the way the expression was set struck a nerve, but Milo assumed the strange situation had heightened his sensitivity. He spotted glass shards and cuts on the man face, which were simple enough wounds for his wand to heal. He brushed away the glass and healed the cuts, before heaving the man over his shoulders.


The manager of the inn was not present, and neither was the owner- typical. Probably off getting wasted, he was sure. Like that dramatic irony, eh? Get it, 'cause Matt owns/manages it. aha So Milo helped himself to breaking a door down and settling the man there, before doing what he could do to nurse him to health. He found a few helpful potions in the storeroom for the man's awakening, and he prepared a meal and some water for that hour too. Then he settled himself in a nearby chair to wait the stirring of this mystery man.

The alcohol intake that Matt required to experience inebriation was far more than most men could live through. His liver was in bad condition after this latest episode. And there was still a very massive amount of the various liquids inside of his body. Which made a recovery period of a few days pretty much required. As Matt lay there in a dreamless state his breathing returned to normal and his liver was working double time. It would be a hell of a week following this one.


It had been a hell of a week for Matt. And had he never woken up from his sleep it may have been considered a good thing. He had nothing left to go for in his own world. The wind was howling outside the walls of the Three Broomsticks. The sky was filled with clouds, rain was on the way. Such contrast compared to how it was when Matt was on that roof. Suddenly Matt's eyes were open and he wished they hadn't. He was becoming aware of his surroundings and the sudden pounding in his head. He remained laying still out of fear. Last thing he remembered was the wind hitting his face and then a fall. He closed his eyes, he knew he wasn't dead. If he was dead the ringing in his ears and pounding in his brain wouldn't be with him. Someone had saved him, he wondered who.

He opened his eyes once more and groaned as he shifted himself. He gathered as much as he could without using his brain too much. It was very angry with him after last night. He was on the floor and he was in the Three Broomsticks. He sat up with his back against the wall and coughed, a bit of blood came with it. He sighed, his vision was no longer blurry but his head was making it very difficult to see. He tilted it back to rest on the wall. He gathered that he had been unconscious for about a day or so. Judging by his watch which had broken on the roof. A small tear fell from his eye and down his cheek. He had tried to kill himself.

But he soon realized that he wasn't alone. He wasn't even going to try to stand up and look over at the man who he assumed had saved his life. Instead he decided to call out "H-hey." his voice was gruff. He coughed loudly again, more blood. "Excuse me!" he said louder, his voice remained gruff. He hated the aftermath of his drunken escapades.

Milo was pretty sure he had earned the right to live at the Three Broomsticks for the few days he had awaited the awakening of the man. He had called in a Healer that first day and left the two alone. The Healer, new to the business, did not know the identity of the man and had only said she had done what she could and now natural healing would have to take place.

Milo was glad he had picked a room that had the bedroom, parlour, and bathroom all connected. He had been sleeping in the parlour, happy to check out of the Hog's Head for a few days, and had kept himself on the down low. If the employees knew he was there, he would surely get thrown. He had only risked asking a cleaning woman if she knew the man, and he was confirmed to be the owner, but Milo had never been given a name.

This morning, Milo was in a steaming shower, singing muggle rock ballads at the top of his lungs when he heard a faint voice. He left the shower early, pulling on boxers and gym shorts, before pulling on a fluffy white robe and then tying a towel around his head to dry his hair. Because, as we all know, Milo was special.

He left the bathroom and found his patient awake. "Well, good morning, beautif- Ew. Blood." Milo grabbed his wand from the robe pocket and cleaned away the blood. "Have a nice sleep, I'm guessing?"