He was deranged and completely dangerous. He was the first wizard to have ever escaped Azkaban so meticulously and secretive that not even the Aurors can quite figure out how.

For a few months, he had been in hiding, desperately searching for a way to get away from the dementors that were after him. He hid well, but not too well. Not well enough to stay for long. But then he heard of the whispers about that strange girl at St. Mungos whose memory completely vanished after a terrible accident. Tom then began forming a plan—a twisted one.

The day she was taken back to her home out in the rural countryside of France, there stood Tom with a warm smile, a calm he can naturally perfect, “darling, you’re home,” he greeted, all fake, of course, “you’ve taken a terrible accident. It’s me, Tom—Thomas. Your husband,” He took her trembling hand, hiding the dark mark on his wrist beneath his sleeve. The dementors were closing in, and he needed cover—something innocent, something human. And in her fragile trust, he saw the perfect disguise.