Harry Potter 1. Chapter 1 Fingers

**Hello, everyone! This is my first published story, so I hope you'll enjoy it. I would be very grateful for any kind of reveiws, so please r&r. Consider this chapter like a prologue, the future chapters will be longer and contain more talking. So long for now, my HP-fellows!**

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Chap. 1 Fingers

The cold twilight wind blew against Scabior as he lay flat on his stomach on the snowy hill in the forest. He smirked a little at his success; a snatcher should always be aware of such things as wind direction, camouflage and potential escape routes of the victimes. It wasn't an easy job, but the payment was acceptable and to tell the truth, Scabior was born for this. He loved to feel his whole body moving when he ran after some wizards foolish enough to believe they could escape him. The adrenalin pulsing in his pure blood making him endure the hunting longer.

His clothes was well suited for his trade: a warm black leather coat which was waterproof, two pair of gloves with and without fingers depending on the temperature, checkered tight pants that enabled fast running and, finally, old but trustworthy black boots. But even a snatcher could get tired of dark clothing and being his slightly vain self, Scabior wore underneath his coat an armystyled jacket with golden buttons and a pink scarf that he found near a lake in the middle of Britain.

And that particular scarf brought him to the place where he was currently lying and quietly watching the white tent with the young woman inside fifty feet before him. She suddenly came out to relieve the darkhaired man guarding the tent.

Scabior saw them talk a little before the man went inside and the woman settled down against a tree beside the tent. She was very pretty with golden brown curls, fair skin and a lithe body. This was his favourite part of the espionage, when he alone could enjoy the woman for two hours while she was keeping watch. When he saw what she brought with her he rolled his eyes. 'Merlin, these people are so obvious!' he thought, as the woman opened the book she always read when outside the tent. She looked content as she became engulfed with the damned book resting against her thighs.

Still Scabior stayed, because he knew that his wait would soon be rewarded. And as the wind caught her hair and continued to blow towards him it carried with itself the sweet smell of her. Scabior breathed deeply and greedily, like a starving student reaching for a Hogwarts buffet. The smell of vanilla and summer flowers intoxicated and eased him at the same time; the scarf would preserve some of the scent yet again presented before him. And so Scabior lay there for a long time feasting on the girl with his eyes and nose.

The night arrived and it grew darker but Scabior would stay as long as he could see her from his hill. He saw how she yawned and drew her wand from her jacket to cast _Lumos_ so that she could continue to read. But after some minutes she suddenly laid the book on her legs and dropped the hand holding the wand so that the _Lumos_ disappeared and her head lolled back to the tree.

Scabior raised his head a little to meet this new occurrence. The sudden darkness forced him to stare towards the girl. When he spotted some smoke appearing before her he calmed down. 'She's fallen asleep,' he thought with a slightly annoyance; a guard must never sleep on his duty. It was a clear rule amongst snatchers, but common witches and wizards could evidentially not assimilate that important rule. But when Scabior glanced at her again his mood was restored.

Now that she was sleeping her body was completely relaxed, her palms were open and even the small wrinkle between her eyes was gone. Her chest rose and sank more prominent and the rhythm became Scabior's undoing, a prison from which he could not escape. When her breasts anew thrusted up he could honestly feel how his blood began to race. The desire sparked to life and he too started to breath deeper. The woman moved a little and let out a small moan. It was enough to make him feel a stir in his abdomen.

He was getting hard, which was not pleasent when lying on a cold ground with tight trousers.

He thought about easing his problem and slowly let his hand slip under his hip and inside his pants. When his leatherclad fingers touched the hardness he bit down on his lip to mute any sounds of pleasure. He looked at the woman and imagined her naked form in front of him, moaning and writhing. The fingers squeezed his cock firmer and he managed a fast stroke before he realised what he was doing. 'I'm on duty, for Salazar's sake!' And with that he removed his hand from his pants and took a deep breath.

Scabior shaked his head and looked away from the beautiful creature to compose himself. Anyway, it was time for him to leave his post and return to the snatcher camp. Silently he began to crawl backwards and threw a last glance at her. Then he stopped his movement. She was still sleeping safe and sound, but there was something different about her hands. With his skilled eyes trained on them he registered red marks on her fingertips. 'Shit, it's frostbites!' he realised and got worried. Luckily the marks weren't black yet, but it was dangerous yet. Frostbites were very hard to treat even for wizards, and especially for wizards who didn't had the special healing potion.

If the woman continued to sleep in the cold she would suffer the consequences. Him being a snatcher knew very well how fast the body could be harmed by the forces of nature, which was why he always saw to his needs and stayed warm and dry. But this stupid girl didn't even think about wearing gloves when it was frezzing outside, and furthermore, when she was supossed to stay outside for two hours. And now she was asleep and ignorant of her reddening fingers.

Scabior didn't care. He shouldn't care about the wellfare of a prey. The internal snatcher rule No. 3 stated: "A snatcher will not pity or help victimes or he will be thrown to the inferi or something like that". The rules were not written down, but traveled from snatcher to snatcher so the rules were a bit inconsistent but they all understood the meaning of them.

So why should Scabior help the foolish girl from her own mistake? But when Scabior began to retreat something tugged in his very core. It hurt and Scabior wasn't much of a masochist. 'Fuck this!' Gritting his teeth, knowing full well that he would regret it in the future he brought out his wand and aimed it towards the woman. Because he didn't want her to get harmed, not now at least. Preparing himself to crawl away he whispered softly:

"_Enervate tranquillus_"


	2. Chapter 2 Companions

**A treat for everyone - a new chapter after one day! I'm so ashamed that I couldn't keep it cool and wait like a week. But it's so funny to see your baby story being published and accepted on that I couldn't resist. Now the story gets more exciting, at least I hope you will think so. Feel free to review.**

**Music I listened to when writing this chapter: A small measure of peace - Hans Zimmer.**

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Chap. 2 Companions

Hermione dreamt about her parents. How happy the whole family was even though she was a witch and away most of the years. She saw how her mum prepared a typical Granger Saturday Breakfast while her dad read the papers before he rose to help his wife. They suddenly heard her on the staircase and turned to greet their daughter who loved to sleep in on weekends. Then the scene shifted to a grey mist and then she was slowly awakening to the cold, dark night.

She opened her eyes calmly and started to lift her head from the tree. The movement made her grimace; her neck was paying the price for sleeping uncomfortably. She lifted her right hand to massage the neck but when the hand made contact with the neck, she yelped. Her hand hurt so much and when she looked at it she became horrified. The tip of every finger was shiny and red and upon inspection of the other hand, it had the same symptom. She knew of course what it was. The beginning of frostbites.

When she skied with her parents in the Alps years ago they always warned her about exposing her fingers too the cold for too long. Being the seeker of knowledge she was, she had started immediately to read about frostbites and how to take care of them, at least the muggle way.

She got up, reached for her wand and The Tales of Beedle the Bard and managed to lift them with her elbows before carrying them inside the tent. On the bed to the left lay the Undesirable No.1 and slept heavily after having a satisfying dinner. Hermione tiptoed to her own bed and carefully dropped her burden on it. With a guilty conscience she went to Harry's bed to wake him up.

She knew he needed to sleep more, especially with Voldemort sharing mind with him occasionally, the horcrux dangling around his neck twelve hours per day and his worry about her, the quest, and yes, even the absent Ron.

"Harry, Harry please, wake up."

Harry groaned a bit before he opened his eyes and saw a brown blur. He quickly reached for his glasses on the bedtable and put them on. Hermione, his best friend and sister leaned over the bed.

"Is it my turn already?" he sighed tiredly and began to get up.

"Yes, I'm sorry, Harry. Next time it's my turn I can take four hours, honestly."

"Sounds tempting now," Harry said as he stretched his back and rubbed his face. "But I would never demand that of you, you know that, right?"

"Always the gentleman," Hermione teased with a small smile.

"Always…But Hermione, what happened to your hands?" Harry exclaimed as a frown settled on his forehead, when he spotted the shiny digits.

"Oh, nothing, it was just me being stupid. I forgot to wear my mittens and here's the result," she answered quietly. She lowered her head in shame and continued. "Harry, I fell asleep for a half-hour outside. I'm so sorry, and I know that I endangered both of us and…"

"Stop it, Hermione, you've got nothing to be sorry for," Harry interrupted and said firmly:

"Nothing happened to us, so everything's fine and you've got to take care of your fingers with your wand now, please." And with that he rose from the bed and brought up a hand to her cheek and caressed it quickly before handing over the locket to her. He took his thick knitted sweater and went outside the tent, leaving her to tend to her hands.

Hermione immediately went to fetch the pot and put some of their water supply into it, before placing it onto the table. She started to warm the water with magic. Her elbow came to use again, as she felt the temperature with it. She had to cure herself the muggle way because of their rather spartan existence with limited capacity for brewing potions.

When the water was lukewarm, which meant that the nerves would not be damaged, she nodded contented and went outside to give her wand to Harry. When she returned she sat down at the table and slowly put her hands into the water. It burned her poor fingers so much that she let out a hiss of pain before she could control it.

She kept her hands in the water anyway, as they needed to get warm. She tried to flex the fingers slowly but stopped quickly when the pain rolled over her again. And then she waited for her fingers to recover.

Hermione passed the time by thinking about every trouble they had. How Ron had disappointed her with his leaving when so much was at stake. Their hunt and destroying of horcruxes should mean more than a fight about what Ron and Harry cared about in the war. It did to her and to Harry too, but Ron seemed to ignore that and thought that Harry didn't care about Ginny or anyone else in his life.

Hermione knew this to be utterly untrue, but Harry was actually able to hide away his feelings and focus on the task he had been given by Dumbledore. Like an adult. While Ron found it difficult to do the same. A tear escaped her eye and trickled down her cheek but she didn't try do wipe it away. She missed him so much but was still so mad and betrayed by his words and childish actions. And yet she had tied her pink scarf around a tree beside the lake where they had last been a trio. Just to offer some comfort to Ron if he returned to that place.

Her body couldn't suppress the small tremble which went through her. The movement caused the locket to rattle and the sound made Hermione forget about Ron for a moment. She became aware that the damned thing was a big reason to her emotional misery, but at least she shared the burden with Harry. If only they could find a way to destroy it so that they could weaken Voldemort and feel some conquest over the dark powers in the world.

Recently it had seemed very hopeless although she used every spare time to look through her books, and especially the book with fairytales and the strange symbol of a triangle with a circle and a line inside, to try to find an answer to their many problems. At least the stories provided something that made her smile now and then with their silly characters. In a way it felt as if she was a little girl again, with her parents reading bedtime stories to her until she could read them herself.

With a sigh she thought about how lucky she had been to have a wonderful childhood with loving parents. She asked a silent question to the almighty powers, magical or not, how come she could have a happy family, when Harry could not. Why would he not be allowed his own instead of the horrible Dursley's? Her heart bled for him during Christmas, when the two of them visited Godric's Hollow and paid their respect to James and Lily Potter.

Hermione knew it had been a hard day for Harry emotionally, and fighting a snake and losing his wand at the same time hadn't made things better. So after that day she vowed to herself that she would do anything to support Harry and perhaps, if the light won the war, make sure he would find some lasting happiness.

The water had become cooler and Hermione slowly let her fingers re-emerge from the pot and studied them intensely. They were not so red anymore and when she flexed them it didn't hurt so much like the last time. The pain would wear off after some days and Hermione considered herself lucky for having awakened before any serious damage. Suddenly it hit her that Harry would probably be cold outside and would appreciate a cup of tea. She rose from the table to prepare the kettle.

SHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSH

Scabior snaked through the little hole in the protecting shield like a fox who found his way out of the chicken yard. He congratulated himself for being such a sly man. Not everyone in his band of snatchers had the patience or wand skills required for piercing a strong shield.

It had taken a long time for Scabior before he mastered the slow penetration but now he reaped the fruits of his patience. He was able to conjure a passage large enough for him to get through but small enough to not be felt by the one who cast the repelling spells. It almost made his job too easy. Almost.

With a swift pace to warm up the body, he soon arrived at his camp where a campfire burned and spread some light and heat over the group hunched around it. He walked purposefully towards it.

"Welcome 'ome, sweetheart! Did ya want some o' that pumpkin pie before bedtime?" the young obstinate Lackie with the weird crew cut asked in a false squeaky voice as the other snatchers began to snicker.

Scabior regarded the apprentice with disdain. He was the leader of the group and should, as such, receive respect from the others. If gone too far, the mockery could endanger his position. He would not let it pass this time, and countered:

"Thanks, dear, but I would rather have some of you after bedtime," and wriggled his eyebrows suggestively, which made Lackie pale. The rest of the snatchers laughed uncontrollable at Lackie now, and Scabior saw the order restored. Smirking, he sat down on the ground and stretched out his long legs before him while he supported himself with his hands placed at the sides.

"Did our little kids do something special this evening?" one of the snatchers asked when the glee had died out.

"Na, just being obvious and usual as always," Scabior muttered, setting his eyes on the flames.

"So, why aren't we making a move for them? They could be worth hundreds of galleons each."

Scabior continued to stare into the fire and answered.

"Well, we don't know that yet. Would be a waste of energy if they're only half-bloods."

"But if we haven't found out that information after our spying, then maybe we should just take a chance and catch them?" another man proposed carefully.

Scabior turned towards him with angry eyes and said with firm voice:

"It takes days of planning before one can be sure of a successful snatching. Wouldn't be so fucking funny if we harmed them in the hunt only to find out they're some run-away purebloods. You know what happens if snatchers injure purebloods. A certain Dark Lord has claimed them all, no matter which side they stand on. If an accident happened he would get mad, and we don't want that, do we?"

The snatchers squirmed with discomfort, but no-one argued with Scabior. He sighed and promised them that he would soon figure out a way to catch the couple in the tent.


	3. Chapter 3 Beds

**Hey, fellows! Here's another chapter with more of Scabior and drama. I'd let you know that I in my story use snatchers that have appeared in the movie or pics. Lackie can be found beside Scabior in the Ministry. Rusty, a new character, is the man holding Ron in the deleted scene. But I want and need more reviews, please. Tell me what you think about Hermione, Scabior and Harry, for example. And do tell me if you think the story is too slow-paced. I wanted to build up the relationship between Scabior and Hermione properly before the good stuff, but good things come to those who wait. Enjoy your reading!**

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Chap. 3 Beds

When Scabior left the group it was more day then night but that was one of the downsides of being a snatcher. Some would take the day shift, some the night shift when spying on potential victims.

Another task bestowed upon them all was to gather food to the collective supply, according to snatcher rule No. 11: "Get food or get lost." Of course each snatcher ensured that he himself had food, it was just in case of an emergency or an unexpected difficulty to gather provision, that they could be able to rely on the collection. Scabior felt the need for a snack and walked into his tent to grab something from his own supply. He decided for an apple and savagely began to eat it.

Thoughts went past his head in a fast pace. He would plan for an assault on the woman and the man in the tent by the hill. He would not ponder the brown-haired woman or his reaction to her on the hill. He would see to gain respect from every snatcher under his command. He would think about how to spend his next payment. And he would pray to Merlin that Greyback didn't return to their group after his latest werewolf transformation.

'Shitsmelling dog!' Scaboir thought with disgust. The werewolf reeked of blood and dirt when he was around and Scabior could stand neither the stench nor his behaviour like an alpha, when in fact it was Greyback who was the outsider of the group and lacked the Dark Mark. They were better off without him but didn't dare bitch about it in case Greyback decided to run to the Dark Lord and rat on them. If they were lucky the werewolf might join another group in his desperate search for children to bite and infect.

Scaboir tossed the rest of the apple to the corner of the tent, indifferent to the growing pile of garbage that already lay there. Anyway, after he had captured those teenagers he was going to change the location of the camp once again, in hope of finding other mudbloods to snatch in a new area. Then the garbage would be left here.

He walked to his simple bed and sat down to at least remove his boots and leather coat. He lay down on his back on the mattress and put the pillow under his head, trying to make himself comfortable. Maybe it was time to buy a blanket, as it grew rather cold in his tent in the middle of the winter nights, despite his heating spells. 'Yeah, a blanket would be nice.' With a grin, he came to think of something even better. 'Wouldn't mind a bird warming me now.'

But truth to be told, it was very hard to find women who willingly joined snatchers, and victims that were kept as prisoners rarely survived two days. Sure, one could use the Imperio curse to make them more agreeable but Scabior couldn't really enjoy a charade like that. He wanted his women to submit themselves to him with their minds in their own control. It meant more of a challenge on his part to make them want him, or at least his body. Experience told him that some witches considered him to be attractive. There was always someone who wanted a go with a badboy when he was in town on business. Still, after many one-night stands he had yet to see a woman who truly wanted him as a person. The sex he had was fine, but Scabior wondered if it could be better if some feelings were shared between him and a witch. Not love; he snorted at the word, just something beyond physical attraction.

"Stop it, you stupid arse!" he muttered to himself. Enough with the sentimentality now, he was clearly tired and needed some rest. He turned to lie on his side and thinking about warmth he slowly drifted to sleep.

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Damn that Harry! She should have seen it coming, of course. When Hermione had woken up the next morning she had felt oddly well-rested. She had seen Harry's shape through the fabric of the tent before she had picked up her small hand mirror to see the state of her face. Her hair had been all over the place, a sure sign of many hours of turning in the bed. Harry hadn't swopped place with her as usual, but had stayed outside the rest of the night. Feeling both moved and angry for the sacrifice he had done for her, she walked briskly to the tent opening for a talk with Harry.

"Harry James Potter!"

The raven-haired man jerked at the sudden high-pitched voice. He looked behind him with a look of dread on his face.

"Good morning, Hermione. Slept well?"

"Actually I did, but why didn't you wake me when it was my turn to watch for dangers?" she asked him with her lips in a thin line. Harry cringed a little.

"You looked like you needed a full night's sleep and I felt fine…"

"You stayed outside for seven hours straight, Harry. Seven! You can't do that for me. It will make you exhausted!" Hermione cut him off. But Harry retorted with a more exasperated voice.

"Hermione, I felt alright and besides, you needed to sleep. It was you that looked exhausted yesterday and I thought your hands were better off resting than being in the cold again so soon after the injury." He glared at her as to dare her to keep fighting him in this matter. Hermione bent her head in surrender and glanced at Harry under her lashes. He looked so determined that she couldn't help but smile at him. A smile began to grace his lips too, and so the disagreement was over.

"Well, since you've been out here all night, then maybe I could make some breakfast for us now?" she proposed in her usual reasonable voice. Harry nodded with consent and Hermione returned to the tent to boil some stolen eggs.

They spent the day together outside, airing their theories on the mystery of the symbol and thinking about ways of finding and destroying Voldemort's horcruxes. Both expressed their concern about the sounding locket which probably contained a lot of dark magic. Neither particularly cared for wearing it but they had to keep it safe until they could annihilate it. Hermione found herself more relaxed than before and to add to her mood, the sun appeared for some time. She began to feel that they would soon make some progress with their quest.

When the sun was chased away by the arriving freezing night, she and Harry decided to go to bed early. They agreed that they could manage one night without guarding the tent if they just cast some new protecting spells around the area. Harry walked away to perform the proper spells, while Hermione changed to her pyjamas; a big dark-blue t-shirt and grey trousers. As soon as Harry had returned she dared lie down on her bed and close her eyes.

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It was a great day for Scabior. When he had woken up around mid-day he had decided to entertain himself with a search for food for his personal supply. He had ventured deep into the woods to catch some meat. After a patient wait up in an oak he had discovered a deer close to the tree, unaware of the danger above. A well-aimed Avada Kedavra spared the deer from suffering.

Proud of himself Scabior had levitated the animal and strolled back to the camp. After he had taken most of the meat he let the present snatchers take what they wanted from the rest of the body. Inside his tent he made himself a simple but warm stew and felt like a dementor in Diagon Alley a week before school start. Or at least in the Diagon Alley that was before the Dark Lord's resurrection. Now the place was just depressing and Scabior only went there if necessary.

As it grew darker he realized he should go and relieve the snatcher that was currently watching the young couple. When he arrived to the place where the hole was he spotted the snatcher outside the shield. It was Rusty, the man with the ginger hair which was hidden under his black hoodie. His coat was an ugly piece of shit, according to Scabior who didn't like the fur sticking up in the seams. But Rusty was loyal to him and that was important for Scabior.

"Hey, Rusty! What are you doing outside the shield? Can't do much of spying when you can't see them, right?" Scabior called to him. Rusty turned his face towards him and in a breathless voice replied.

"Sorry, boss. Heard them small bastards decide to cast their spells again. I had to run like a pixie on sugar to the hole and dive through before a Homenum Revelio would expose me."

Scabior swore loudly. Now he was forced to make a hole again, as the other one had been wiped out by the new protecting charms.

"But I did see somethin' interesting today," Rusty blurted out, clearly attempting to improve Scabior's mood. "I thought I'd tell ya. They talked outside an' I saw 'em fingerin' on some kind o' necklace. D'ya reckon it's valuable, boss?"

Scabior had already begun to pierce the invisible shield and said to him:

"Dunno. Maybe we'll find out when we catch them. I've almost finished the plan. You can tell the others that when you arrive at the camp."

Rusty understood that he was dismissed and made a small wave to Scabior before he took off. Scabior had to work for fifteen minutes before the new hole was created. With a growl at the couple, who at last had thought about making some new adjustments to protect themselves, he crawled inside and carefully approached the hill. Once in place on his stomach, his marvel at the two people's newly acquired caution transformed into a scorn as he discovered that no-one sat outside the tent. They were surely dense if they relied on only their security spells. Scabior suspected they would sleep through all night, making it a very boring and fruitless night for him. He rested his chin on his crossed arms as the darkness fell over him.

After one hour of worthless spying he saw a light appear in the back of the tent. It wasn't a Lumos but a more yellow light, probably from a table lamp. Even though the tent was magical and larger on the inside he could still make out a figure by the left wall getting up, from a bed he presumed, and slowly walking across the floor.

It was her! He recognized the smoothness of her movements and the fussy shape of her hair that differed from the man's unruly hair. When she reached the right wall she bent down and Scabior enjoyed the display until another figure sat up with the head hidden behind the woman's. They seemed to talk a bit before the man lifted his blankets and Scabior saw how the woman got into his bed and lay down beside him. Then the light went out.

Suddenly he was overwhelmed with an urge to vomit. He swiftly raised himself onto his arms and threw up as his insides clenched. He tried to be quiet as chunks of deer were forced up his throat and onto the ground before him. After a minute it stopped and with trembling arms Scabior rolled sideways to lie on his back. He gulped down cool air and closed his eyes for a moment. The feel of nausea slowly faded but he could still feel unease.

He reached for some leaves beside him to wipe off his mouth and was thankful for his habit of tying his hair loosely on the back of his head. But why had he been sick? He was never ill and he was certain that the deer had been healthy and properly cooked. He had felt alright just until the woman crept down into the man's bed. Oh, no. 'I did not throw up because they were going to shag,' Scabior thought with horror, but his stomach disagreed as he felt nauseous again.

He thought about it. A man and a woman living alone in a tent for a long time, of course they were lovers who, very likely, was on the run from the Dark powers. He just hadn't seen them getting it on before. Of course it would disgust him if the nerdy man began to grope the pretty woman in front of him. After his thorough studies of her, he deemed her too fragile for such activities. He didn't like the thought of her having to endure sex with that heavy, whimpish man on top of her. He looked like a lousy partner who just sought his own release. He would stain her with his disgusting smell imprinting her whole body.

Scabior gritted his teeth and quickly dug out the scarf from under his coat to smell it. The reassuring smell of flowers and sweet vanilla calmed him down. Ever since that fall night when he had first encountered her smell when he walked in a forest, he had longed for that scent. After some days he had understood that she had been concealed by a protecting charm at the time. He remembered the flavour in his mind until he found her scarf by the lake. After that he craved the wonderful smell daily, having to carry the scarf around his neck all the time.

But without refill of her scent, the scarf would soon lose every fragment of her. Scabior would not have it soiled with another man's stench. That meant he would have to stop expose himself to her smell when she guarded the tent. He knew what he must do instead. Yes, snatch them and throw them to the Ministry. That was after all what he was supposed to do.

"No fucking honeymoon in these times!" Scabior muttered to himself and began to sit up. And here he had risked his cover by helping her fingers. One would think she couldn't use her hands properly for some days but apparently he had been wrong. They were surely tightly wrapped around the man's cock by now. 'Filthy slut!' With sudden rage coursing in his blood he raised himself and marched off to the hole.


	4. Chapter 4 Feelings

**Hey, everyone! Enjoy your new chapter. I have a feeling that Scabior and Hermione will soon meet.**

**Inspiration music: "Falling" by Julie Cruise  
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Chap. 4 Feelings

When Harry's _Lumos_ had been extinguished, the feeling of happiness abandoned Hermione. The fact that she was wearing the locket didn't make things better, to say the least. It was impossible to relax, so she turned to lie on her back, staring at the dark ceiling.

The most prominent thought nagging her mind was the memory of her obliviating her parents before she left her home to fully join the Order. Suddenly it hit her that she didn't have a home anymore, no safe place, no Ron and possibly no future. But their cause was good. Destroying pieces of Voldemort's soul was the only thing that mattered at the moment. Hermione set her jaw in defiance. She would not falter or disappoint Harry.

But the sadness in her heart didn't go away and soon she felt like she was suffocating from all the anguish. It was as if a dementor hovered in the tent, taking away all faith. Hermione's lip began to tremble as hot tears began to flow down over her temples. She feared sleep and the nightmares that would surely arrive once her mind was relaxed beyond any control.

A sudden sigh was heard from Harry. Hermione turned her head to glance at his sleeping figure under the blankets. Hermione made a decision that would clash with the Gryffindor inside, but right now she was in desperate need of comfort.

With wandless magic she lit the cute table lamp and it was as if the source of light began to chase away some of her demons. Hermione rose from her bed and walked to Harry's bed. He was sleeping on his side with his face towards her. She bent down and whispered softly to him, "Harry. I can't sleep." He stirred a little before he opened his eyes and blearily saw her standing right beside his bed. This was unusual.

"What is it, Hermione? Do you want me to wear the locket, or something?" he asked with a raspy voice.

Hermione began to blush and Harry sensed that he better be more prepared for whatever she was going to say. He sat up and looked curiously at her.

"Harry, I… I just can't sleep. I keep thinking about darkness and I feel so scared. Would it be terrible if I slept in your bed tonight?" Hermione asked with a trembling voice, like a child expecting a rejection.

"But Ginny…"

"No, no!" Hermione said quickly. "I meant like just sharing your bed, so that I don't feel so alone. Because you're my best friend."

Harry saw the honesty in her eyes, and she looked very terrified, from what he could tell from his blurred eyes. He trusted her words.

"Come here, then." he mumbled and lifted his blankets so she could slip in. Hermione remembered the table lamp and switched it off non-verbally. Her feel of dread changed to awkwardness. She had never been in a bed with a boy.

Harry cleared his throat before he said teasingly, "Am I allowed to sleep now, or do you intend to wake me up again like you use to do?"

Hermione let out a giggle and answered, "Yes, you can go to sleep now. I'm not so afraid anymore."

"Good. But you have to admit, you were lousy at producing a Patronus in third year, remember."

He had pushed her buttons. Hermione went into defence mode.

"I hadn't even heard about the charm before, and the hundreds of dementors nearby didn't exactly cheer me on! But I was not frightened! I'm a Gryffindor, for Merlin's sake!" she exclaimed and when Harry began to snicker she punched his arm.

"Ouch, okay, I yield! At least you learned the spell faster than Ron."

There it was. The Forbidden Subject was breached, which sobered them up. A thundering silence followed after Harry's words. Then Hermione slowly reached for Harry's hand under the blanket and slipped her hand into his.

"You miss him." she whispered sympathetically. Harry stared at the ceiling and sighed, "Yes, but that doesn't bring him back."

"Let's sleep now." Hermione suggested softly, and inched her body towards Harry so she could lean her head against his shoulder. Her hand remained in Harry's.

* * *

Scabior was angry. Like furious. Like really fucking, lethal, pissed off. He stomped his way to the camp, almost tempted to let the innocent trees feel his wrath. Once he arrived at the camp, some of the snatchers still awake sensed that the leader was in a foul mood. They looked away quickly out of experience, and one or two men even fled to their tents.

Foolishly the cocky, apparently drunk, Lackie chose this moment to stand in the way of Scabior, and question his actions.

"'ey you! Who watches them kids now?"

Scabior growled back testily, as he was forced to stop in front of the swaying man.

"Mind yer own business, will ya!"

Scabior's accent often became more prominent when he was upset. The oblivious Lackie continued, "So, I take it ya haven't come back to set the plan in motion. Ah, na! Don't tell me they moved! I was startin' to like the bird. Looked like a nice fuck."

Before the blink of an eye, Scabior had pulled out his wand in a fluent movement and cast a _Stupefy_ at Lackie.

Lackie flew through the air and landed in a heap by the fire, unconscious, of course. Scabior turned to the silent onlookers and said in an icy voice, "Snatcher rule No. 2! No-one will ever question me! The punishment would be severe. Them kids are keepin' watch again, castin' Homenum Revelio every ten minutes. It's useless to spy tonight. The hole keeps disappearin'."

Scabior didn't feel even the slightest hesitance when he lied to his fellows. He didn't want any of them to see the thing he had seen, or more. He had his suspicions that the couple would not leave this night. And if they did, well then he would do anything in his powers to find and snatch them.

A snatcher dared approach Scabior.

"Boss, do ya think they'll move tonight?" he asked subserviently.

Scabior met his eyes and said calmly, "No, I know they're just being more cautious now. We shall snatch them soon." And with that he began to walk away from the camp.

"Where are ya goin', boss?" the courtly snatcher called after him.

"To town. I'll return tomorrow." Scabior called back, and as he held up his wand he added with the familiar smirk, "Don't wait up." At that he Apparated.

In the middle of the buzzing town of Leeds, not far from the Leeds General Infirmary, there was a hidden wizard block, concealed from the inattentive muggles strolling before it. It wasn't as big as Diagon Alley, but had sufficed for the magic people living there. Now the whole block had been darkened, literally and figuratively speaking, as most of the surrounding flats no longer cast any light upon the square in the middle of the block, and furthermore most of the families had left, leaving the place available for all kinds of dark creatures. Some insane beggars crawled in the dirt beside the former market place, wailing about their wands or families. They made no impression on the cloaked wizards and witches standing in the shadows, selling objects of dark magic to equally veiled buyers.

The wizarding Leeds was not what it had been anymore, and it was to this disturbing place that Scabior arrived with a pop. He began to walk immediately, not wanting to raise unwanted attention from the people around him. He wasn't afraid; he was after all an experienced snatcher skilled with his wand. His red ribbon around his arm made it clear to anyone that he was appointed by the new regime in the Ministry. Few dared to harass the untouchable snatchers, knowing about their ways of dealing with people. Still, Scabior thought it to be an unnecessary risk to stroll languidly along the street when alone in the night.

He hurried to one of the corners of the block and stopped outside a house with floating candles to be seen through the dirty windows. Scabior brushed away the mud and leaves on his coat and took off the gloves, before he deemed himself prepared enough and opened the heavy door to the house. The smell of liquor hit him but Scabior didn't flinch as he went inside. The few candles hovering above each table aside, the pub was rather gloomy. Even though there were many people inside, an eerie silence was settled in the room. Two tall wizards leaning against the counter talked with low voices and an old, hideous witch sat and giggled in a corner, behind a table with several bottles of brandy occupying it. Those people were the loudest in the pub. With his hand already fingering some sickles in the coat pocket, Scabior swaggered to the bar.

"Two Firewhiskey's, right now." he ordered the fat, baldy barkeeper, who with fear in his eyes hurried to comply. Scabior put the sickles on the counter and got his glasses. He emptied the first in one gulp and reached for the second, planning on forgetting the night's events fast, when a hand was placed upon his arm. Years of practice had refined Scabior's reflexes; within a second he twirled towards the person holding his arm, already clasping his wand, ready to strike. He was met by a pair of breasts and an exaggerated gasp.

"Ohhh! You gave me a fright! I didn't take you for a jumpy fellow." the woman beside him laughed before she began to get close to Scabior once more.

Scabior scrutinized her. She wore a lot of make-up to appear younger, but she was probably around thirty years old. Her red straight hair flowed down her bare shoulders. She wore a different kind of dress which left her breasts completely free, in a very big cleavage. Scabior looked lower and saw that the black and red dress also lacked material in the front that would cover her legs elsewise. On her feet sat a pair of red, worn pumps. He raised his eyebrow. She was basically just wearing a piece of cloth across her stomach, if one would look at her front. From behind it would appear she was clad in a chaste Victorian dress.

"Enjoying the show, big boy?" she asked and let her tongue slowly lick her red lips. "Why don't we take this to a room, huh?"

Scabior turned back to his lonely Firewhiskey and swallowed it down, thinking about the woman beside him. She was not a prostitute. They would rarely be allowed inside pubs and inns, as they tended to bother the customers too much with their endless chatting and proposals. No, this woman was just a witch-bitch. They had existed before, but only a handful in Knockturn Alley. When the Dark Lord had returned the witch-bitches had increased in numbers and spread all over Britain, living in every wizard district. They were women who chose to have sex with stranger wizards, refusing money for their _hobby_. They were proud of themselves and rarely let any wizard control them in any way, thus earning their name. But they often just wanted to fool around with a dangerous wizard, feeling powerful when they reduced a dark art's wizard to a begging creature.

Suddenly Scabior felt a warm breath tickle his ear as the woman leaned against him and whispered, "I might even let you lick me." before her tongue darted out and licked his earlobe. Feeling a bit hot under the collar, Scabior raised his head to the barkeeper.

"A room. Now." he said demandingly and threw down a galleon on the counter. This night might not have been so fun earlier, but that would certainly change now. He even took the key from the hand of the nervous barkeeper, grabbed the now smiling woman by the arm and all but dragged her into the corridor behind the bar.


	5. Chapter 5 Compensations

**Hey, there! I'm very happy that a lot of people seem to follow my story, but I would be even happier if I got more reviews. It only takes a few minutes of your time, but it encourage me very much to continue to deliver chapters. Please make me happy! Oh, and now this story is rated M for a reason, so you know. But can you write about Scabior without making it a M-story?**

**Inspirational music: "Come up & try my new parts" from Repo: the genetic opera. I recommend the music video too.**

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Chap. 5 Compensations

Once out of sight Scabior slammed her against the wall and began to assault her neck with his mouth. She raised her hands to the back of his head and eagerly pressed him closer to the crook of her neck. He managed to look at the number on the key while still nuzzling and sucking the woman's neck. With a muffled groan he pulled away from her and walked towards their room, counting on her to follow him. He quickly opened the door and entered the small, untidy, but acceptable bedroom, for there were only a big bed and a chest of drawers. A candelabra with red candles stood in a corner, being the only source of light.

Scabior heard the door slam shut and turned around only to see the witch-bitch untying the neatly knots at her hip holding her dress together. When she was finished the whole garment slid down and pooled at her pumps. 'Morgana's ass!' Scabior thought as he saw her only wearing her shoes and a black garter belt of silk almost covering her bare pussy. Her wand though, was secured inside her garter belt, which made Scabior stare at her hungrily. She tsked at him.

"You know the rules, big boy. Leave your wand in one of the drawers before we can indulge ourselves to the fun." Scabior took out his wand and even though he knew it was a common rule among witch-bitches to ensure some security, it felt wrong to put away his wand in the drawer and close it. But he glanced at the woman and a feel of arousal coursed through his body.

"Now, I wanna play." he grinned at her, starting to undress himself. He tossed his coat into a corner and began to work on the many buttons of his green jacket. When it too came off, his broad chest with dark chest hair and defined abdomen were highlighted by the soft light the candles cast upon him. The woman gazed at his athletic torso with eyes darkened by lust.

"Take of your scarf too. You look like you're French." she said teasingly while she began to sashay towards him. Scabior smile fell, as he became aware of the pink piece of clothing around his neck. He'd forgotten everything about it and its real owner since he strolled into the pub with the heavy smell of strong drink. Slowly he gripped the loose ends of it and began to untie it. When he struggled with the knot, the ruffles caused by his fingers made the scent of vanilla and sweet flowers flow into his nostrils. Scabior closed his eyes for a moment and simply enjoyed the smell of _her_ around him. Unexpectedly, he felt warmth gather below his waist. His cock began to stiffen and he couldn't contain a groan. He opened his eyes and saw the woman kneeling before him.

Staring at his growing crotch, she whispered seducingly to him, "Toss it away now, and I'll give you a real treat, handsome." Scabior took off the scarf and threw it upon his heap of clothes. Immediately the witch began to tug at his belt, succeeding rather fast in opening it. When her nimble hands unbuttoned his trousers he hissed at the relief he felt when the trousers became loosened. Finally she let one hand inside to bring out his swollen member. Scabior couldn't suppress the want to buck against her hand holding him.

"Oh, aren't you an eager boy?" she smiled up at him.

Scabior felt his cheeks get a tinge of red and shrugged apologetically.

"Yeah, it's been some time since my last shag."

"Maybe we should get to business then?" she proposed and rose from the floor to walk to the inviting bed. She got into it and spread her legs disgracefully, showing him her glistening pussy. Scabior got rid of his remaining clothing and crawled over her body. He slid his tongue upward, from her stomach to one of her hardened nipples. She sighed when his teeth clamped down a little on it. Scabior slid his hand over her garment and slipped a finger between her folders. She arched her back and moaned loudly.

"Ohhh, so good. I want your cock now. Come into me, big boy." Scabior stopped his ministrations and a crease appeared on his forehead. He hadn't found her clit, and yet she begged him to enter. He slowly brought up his hand and smelled his finger. He noticed a mix of saltyness and strawberry. Wait, strawberry? His tongue darted out to taste his coated fingers. He began to growl dangerously at the now silent witch-bitch.

"Are ya usin' a lubication spell, 'eart?" he asked with his mouth set in a thin line. The woman wriggled a little under his weight and defyed him.

"Wouldn't be so fun for me otherwise, now, would it?" she said with a steady voice, but her flickering eyes betrayed her.

"So, ya wanna control men but don't rely on 'em to make ya wet, yeah?"

"Just let go of me and I'll fuck you good, baby." she coaxed and tried to get up. Scabior let his arm held her down by her collarbones and quickly reached for her wand in the garter belt. He winkled it out and tossed it away. Now the woman looked really scared and began to struggle more fiercly against him. Scabior promptly raised himself from her and turned her over on the bed. He felt blood once again fill his manhood as he saw her round bottom and smooth back under him. He secured her arms against the curve of her back, pressing them down with one hand. He leaned over her body and nibbled on her ear shell before he hissed icily, "And now I'm going to fuck _you_ sweet and good, love. You're not allowed to make any of your fake moans, and you're going to come so hard when I'm finished with you. Do you understand, witch-bitch?"

She managed some sort of nod, and contented with her answer Scabior whispered, "Lift your hip for me."

Hesitantly she obeyed and then Scabior let his free hand wander under her body and cup her sex. When his finger found its way into her warmth he felt a shudder run through her body. He dragged his finger carefully to the top of her pussy and when she jerked against him, he knew he'd found her pearl of pleasure. He began to tease it with strokes and the woman's response was a beautiful, throaty moan. As he worked on the clit, it grew a little and he ventured a look between her legs. He groaned when he saw her flushed pussy wet with a new kind of lubrication.

"Do you want me to fill your cunt now? Say it to me." he enticed, beginning to further spread her thighs.

"Yes, do it. Fuck me with your gorgeous cock." she all but pleaded and bucked against his trapped hand.

Scabior released her arms in order to hold onto her thigh, while the other hand stayed at her clit. With a deep breath he began to enter her, grinding his teeth at the sensations he felt when she engulfed him. Her juices made it easy for him to go deeper, as if her words didn't cheer him on enough. When he'd driven his cock all the way in, he felt her inner sweet spot. Her muscles squeezed him exquisitely as she cried out in pleasure. Scabior began to thrust into her with a steady rhythm and watched how a drop of sweat trickled erotically between her shoulder blades. He closed his eyes from the beauty to prevent himself from coming before she had reached her peak. His dazed mind created an image of the witch impaled on him, undulating beneath him and meeting his thrusts. He thought about the woman's silky garment, her hard nipples and her long brown curls…

Scabior gasped when he realized he was imagining fucking the young woman he'd stared at for so long. Then he did what he would question later; he conjured the illusion in his mind, thinking only about the graceful woman with the silken curls, lush breasts and luscious lips. He drove harder into her and was met with a drawn-out moan, which almost made him spill inside her pulsing pussy. The woman tossed her head from one side to the other, making her brown locks fly through the air and fan his sweaty chest.

"Come for me. Come for me, beautiful." Scabior panted and pinched her clit. With a scream the young woman came, squeezing his buried cock and making him follow her with a guttural roar. He moved forcefully a few more times, emptying himself, and collapsed over her warm body. When he managed to control his breathing he smiled and opened his eyes. In stead of seeing nutbrown curls, he was met with red tangled strands. She was not _her_.

The bless he'd felt faltered and he slipped out of the woman. He felt more tired than invigorated as he raised himself to find his clothes. The witch-bitch turned around on the bed and sat up, observing his actions. Her face was flushed and her whole frame glistened with perspiration. Any sane man would have thought her to be absolutely alluring right now. Save for Scabior, that is to say. He'd dressed himself and opened the drawer to take out his wand without looking at her.

He walked to the door and stopped still, turning his head towards the practically naked woman.

"Hope it was as nice for you as it was for me." After that he slunk through the doorway and was gone.

* * *

"Hermione!"

A cheery voice woke her up from her deep, calm sleep and she opened her eyes, lifting her head from Harry's comfortably pillow. She sat up and looked beside her. Harry was gone. That worried Hermione. She would have thought he was going to stay with her through the night, or at least stay inside the tent, as they had agreed on. Her eyes wandered across the tent to her own bed. Their only wand was missing to. Immediately her hand went to her neck. The locket was also absent. A twinge of dread appeared in her stomach, but her logical side reasoned. 'Harry must have taken the wand and the locket and gone outside to keep watch anyway' she thought, but still felt uneasy. She rubbed her eyes before she realized that it was Harry that had called her name. She breathed out in relief and rose from the warm bed. Her skin met the cold air with a shudder. Hermione went to her side of the tent to change into her tidily folded white sweater and jeans. She ignored her messy hair and opened the tent. She saw Harry stand on a nearby hill with wet hair and slightly struggling with tucking in his shirt.

"Is everything alright?" she inquired. Harry tried to calm her down; "It's fine." A crease placed itself upon Hermione's forehead, because Harry looked very odd. She decided to walk up the hill and ask him why his hair was damped and why he had left the tent with the wand. As she went, Harry continued, "Actually, yeah, it's more than fine." while he backed away from her and pointed his finger. Determined as she was to find out why he was acting so weird, she reached the top and saw what Harry was mentioning. Ron.

"Hey!"

The first feeling was happiness. Pure, unashamed happiness. Then she remembered the manner of his departure, every night she had cried herself to sleep, the despair, shared with Harry, and how she had decided to forget about Ron and focus completely on her mission. And here he was, smiling and calling out a 'Hey'. Her happiness transformed into rage. Very aware of her actions, she went at him.

"You…complete…arse!"

She actually wanted to hit him, to wipe off that loathsome smile from him and hurt him. She wanted to make him feel like she had for so long time. It was after all, only fair.

"Don't say 'hey' to me, Ronald Weasley!" she shouted while she beat him with his own rucksack. It didn't inflict enough pain. Searing with fury she spun around to Harry.

"Where's my wand, Harry?"

Scared by her anger he backed away quickly, clearly not wanting to give away her wand.

"I don't know!" he said with panic. Hermione didn't give a damn about her wand. She was going to hurt Ron even if she had to do it with her own hands. She turned back to Ron, ready to attack when she recognized the necklace in his hand. However, the locket was opened and black inside.

"You destroyed it." Hermione said incredulously. Ron seemed to appreciate the halting of her rage and nodded. Harry interfered, "It's a long story. Tell her, Ron."

Hermione took some deep breaths to quell her feelings and folded her arms. She would listen to what Ron had to say, but she doubted she would forgive him after his explanation.

Ron began to talk about some light flying to his heart when he had spoken her name. It comforted her that he was humble enough to compliment her. She was still mad at him, but her heart began to warm up a bit. And Ron had brought a wand for Harry. That was good news for her, since she hadn't liked the dangerous time she and Harry had endured with only one wand. Hermione thought she could forgive Ron after a little more squirming. She went into the tent, leaving the boys outside, knowing they wanted to bond.

But one thing that Ron had said kept nagging her mind. He had mentioned being caught by snatchers, barely escaping them. Snatchers tried to catch runaway wizards and witches, their intention to hand over their victims to the ministry. After the trio's visit into the ministry, Harry had found out that the three of them was wanted. She suspected that her name and the other's too, were on these snatcher lists. She would have to be more careful and cast stronger protection charms from now on. And she was not going to walk too close to the barrier. The memory of that terrifying snatcher who had smelt her scent still haunted her dreams. He had been so close and so dark in the night, just standing there for ages and sensing her. Yes, Hermione would do everything in her power to prevent them from getting snatched.


	6. Chapter 6 Beginnings

**Hey, lucky you! Thanks to the wonderful DirtyThings/Not your kochanie I now know how to get around the trouble! A new chapter for you to devour. Please read & review. Next chapter will be both fun and thrilling with a certain werewolf.  
**

**Inspirational music: Orchards of Mines by Globus  
**

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Chap. 6 Beginnings

When the first barely there light was seen at a cloudy dawn, Scabior returned to his camp with a loud bang. But he felt exhausted, like he hadn't slept for weeks, and the whirling from his Apparation made his already dizzy head spin. He fell to his knees, closing his eyes for a moment in an attempt to keep his Firewhiskey and not have thrown away sickles in vain. The spinning stopped after a moment of deep breathing. Scabior was mighty thankful for his habit to not apparate directly into the camp, if he could help it. The other snatchers would get stupid ideas if they ever saw their leader kneeling on the ground, being drunk. But come to think about it, he had only bought two small glasses of the burning liquor and he had downed them some hours ago, by now. Scabior was a man who by experience knew how much he could drink without passing out. Two tiny Firewhiskeys were not nearly enough to make him sick. So why was he feeling so weak and miserable?

Scabior stifled his fatigue and got up to walk to the camp. The cool air cleared his head more and more as he walked through the frozen forest. At least he felt warm from the drinks that rested in his belly, and from his recent activity that had made his blood race. Before his mind would begin to ponder about that certain episode, he bit down on his tongue and banned all thoughts about it for now. He just wanted to go to sleep. The camp came into sight and Scabior felt the need to swagger, showing his men that he was in good mood again and very vigorous. He even started to whistle when he passed the fire and glanced at the few men sitting around it. Suddenly a voice was heard behind Scabior.

"You don't whistle for me, right? 'Cause I don't like that one bit."

Scabior stopped dead and lifted his eyes to the grey sky, as if praying that it was a joke. He was within ten feet from his precious tent, why was he denied sleep now? He turned around and the awful stench of death hit him before he saw the notorious bearer of the nasty smell.

"Well, well, Greyback. So you returned to us after your latest…seizures," Scabior retorted to the werewolf, aware that the beast would understand the double meaning of his words. Luckily, Greyback seemed at ease and smiled at Scabior, who fought to not recoil from the horrible smell coming from Greyback's mouth.

"Yeah, it was entertaining this time. Got myself some fine specimens. Let's just say, I've opened four boys' eyes to a new world," Greyback said and began to flippantly clean his teeth with a dirty fingernail. The nausea hit Scabior once more. It was usual of Greyback to talk coarsely about his victims, but Scabior didn't want to hear this time what he had done to those boys, whether he had infected, killed or maybe raped them. He began to back away from him, hoping for a successful retreat.

"Look, you can gather food for our supply, if you want. We're watching a couple right now and we're all waiting for the moment to strike, so not much to do really," Scabior informed him and turned to finally meet his bed. Greyback called eagerly after him, "Can we do it soon? I would love to run down some people who actually have wands to defend themselves with. Makes it more challenging than hunting boys from some day-care center." Scabior ignored him and went inside his tent.

'Score!' Scabior was home at last. He took off his heavy coat, the scarf and his jacket and dropped them unceremoniously onto the floor. As much as he longed for his bed right now, he really wanted to wash himself. A true snatcher could easily endure his own grime, but even Scabior had his limits. After days of lying on a dirty ground, and, in addition, some intense sex he wanted to get clean for real, without _Scourgify_. The bed would simply have to wait for a while.

Scabior poured a small amount of his precious water into a bowl and found his sponge by casting _Accio_. When he brushed the drenched sponge against his bare breast he revelled in the feeling of cool water washing away his sweat and dirt. Strange it was, how he could be surrounded by so much death and yet immensely enjoy life-giving water. Eyes followed how trickles abandoned the sponge and fell onto his chest where they began to travel downward, slowing down when they ran through his dark chesthair and over his defined pectorals before the flatness of his stomach made them race until they met the fine hairline below his navel. It tickled Scabior a little but now the drops had been warmed up by his body and caused little disturbance as they ended their journey once they reached the edge of his trousers. Scabior lifted his gaze from his torso and began to scrub away the evidents of his trade. His hand worked fast in order to rub himself warm in the chilling tent. He felt contented with being clean on the upper half and found a towel to dry himself with. A simple heating spell took care of the wet spots on his trousers.

Scabior decided to get to know his bed better and almost, almost, jumped into it, noticing how the poor thing squeaked when the surprising weight hit it. Scabior let his hands rest behind his head and crossed his legs and closed his eyes. 'So fucking good to be back,' he thought with a smile.

Just as he was about to drift into sleep a distant voice was heard from outside his tent.

"If I ask for meat, you'll fucking give me some, you moron!"

Scabior got annoyed. Apparently Greyback was making friends again, the charming little bugger. The werewolf always tried to interfere with his snatchers and claim some higher position. A pain in the ass he was, undermining Scabiors' leadership inch by inch the longer he stayed. Scabior would have to do something about it sooner or later. He was a leader or a loner, certainly not a follower and especially not under the command of a psychopathic werewolf that fucked everything that moved. Come to think about it, he wasn't so different from those witch-bitches. They loved to act like an alpha during sex.

The memory of how Scabior had disarmed that woman in the pub and fucked her from behind emerged in his mind and he frowned. It had been fun to show her some good sex, but Scabior questioned why he had thought of that other woman during the coupling. Before he knew it a smile settled on his lips and he felt blood course in all his veins, making him hot despite his shirtless torso. A terrible thought hit him. 'What if she means something to me.' It disgusted him and made him feel ridiculous but still he couldn't dismiss the idea. Maybe he had been jealous when she got into the ugly boy's bed and that's why he had thrown up. His fists clenched at the memory. He wanted her for himself to enjoy, like when he watched her from his hill.

He became aware that he had chosen to fuck the witch-bitch to try to forget the brown-haired woman. It didn't work at all. In fact she had made the whole act different for him. He had come so unusually hard and truly felt lost in pleasure, as he had imagined thrusting into that tight young witch. It had felt good until he opened his eyes and saw that red mane. Scabior reminiscented how bereft and tired he had felt just an hour ago. He lacked nothing in the intelligence area, even though school had never been anything for him. He concluded that he wanted the woman, very much. Sex was very nice when thinking about her but not without her. And his whole being shifted quickly in waves, making him feel tired or angry one minute and happy the next.

Scabior, the threatening, frightening, evil, egoistical snatcher was in love. With a victim. 'Salazar's snake!'

* * *

"We, eh… we thought we could gather some berries, if that's okay with you."

Hermione frowned at the two boys standing before her with their equally dishevelled hair and humble faces. After some days they still looked rather miserable, as if they were attending the funeral of a dear friend and most strikingly, their eyes bore the resemblance of puppies. Hermione wasn't fooled by the act they had put up with; they wanted to talk on their own. She realized that maybe her want to punish Ron had gone a tad too far and now it was time to cheer up and let him of the hook. She raised her hand and wave dismissively to them in an almost royal way, as her gaze returned to her book. Once they both had exit from the tent, with a new spring in their steps Hermione noticed, she put her book away and took out her wand. She felt safer now that she could have her own wand with her always and not being forced to lend it to Harry.

Her eyes hurt from all the reading; she needed to do something else for a while. Privacy was a rare occasion even when sharing a magic tent. It was understandable to her that Harry and Ron wished to be alone outside for a moment. Of course it was wonderful to live with your two best friends, but they all got testy after spending a longer time inside the tent in the others' company. Apparently the locket wasn't behind all the annoyance in the trio. Anyway, Hermione wasn't going to waste her sudden solitude by sitting with a book. Stiffly she got up from her chair and fetched her purse and opened it. She let her eyes wander over books, food, bottles with various potions and clothes until she found her own belongings. She reached for a bag which contained her dirty laundry. Unlike the boys, she didn't want to mix her clean clothes with the unfresh.

When Hermione had brought out the bag she brought in snow by magic and let it fall into a big bucket. A heating spell made the snow transform into hot water. She tipped the clothes resolutely into the water and added soap. A simple rotating charm made the content swirl vividly. Hermione thought it to be quite fascinating to observe the laundry. She sat down by the bucket and watched, just like when she was small and helped her mother doing the laundry. She remembered how her mother used to leave the room once the washing machine was on, leaving her happy daughter behind. Hermione had watched the spinning differ in course with the washing program. She had touched the glass with her tiny hand and felt vibrations transfer to her arm. When she got taller she began to sit cross-legged on the machine and feel her whole body trembled. Rides on fairs had never been anything for her; she was terrified of heights and speed. So in a way, the washing machine had become her way of having fun and still feel secure.

A splash of water brought Hermione back from Memory Lane and she noticed how her laundry had begun to spin faster than required. A wave of the wand stopped the movement and another twist made the clothes wring out the water from themselves and hang them on a clothes-line in the back of the tent. Hermione remained on the floor and turned her eyes towards the now calm water. Not sure why, she put her hands in the water. It was still a bit warm and a scent of apple spread when her hands stirred the water. Closing her eyes and surrendering to the sensuality of the moment, she moved her hands slowly around, occasionally intertwining them with each other. The water was so perfectly warm and soft, almost like a caress against her fingers. As if a person was touching her with soothing intimacy. In her abandoning of the present, she imagined that this was how it felt when a man kissed her fingers, licked her wrists, and that she in return could feel his warm body shift against her gentle caresses...

"Don't say his name!"

Hermione flinched at the sudden loud voice and opened her eyes while she pulled up her hands from the bucket. She turned her head to the tent opening and saw Ron helping Harry escape some bushes. They had returned and her privacy was gone. She scowled at them and unfortunately Ron caught her look of disapproval and turned away from her. But when he continued to explain about the Taboo on Voldemort's name he talked louder so she could hear too. Hermione walked outside to join them and inform Harry about her discover of the mysterious triangle in Dumbledores' name in Rita Skeeter's book The Life and Lies of Albus Dumbledore. She declared that she wanted to see Xenophilius Lovegood and perhaps get to know more about the symbol. Ron immediately voted for her suggestion, which made her unsure if she thought the action to be endearing or just plain silly.

Suddenly it dawned on Hermione. Who was she kidding? She sure was Ron's friend but she didn't have a crush on him anymore. And she didn't feel too sad about it, to be honest. If she ever survived the war she wanted to find someone who was, well, not like Ron. She desired a man with different qualities. Hopefully she could find one if the light won over the dark powers. Hopefully, perhaps, maybe.


	7. Chapter 7 Fountains

**Here's my treat for you: a new fun chapter, mostly about Scabior. Aren't you a lucky lot? Please read and review.**

**Inspirational music: Drunken sailor by Irish rovers or The Sandsacks  
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Chap. 7 Fountains

Scabior slept like a unicorn foal until around 2 p.m. Apparently he had been exhausted from yesterday's events and discoveries, for he could not remember having any dreams at all. Now he felt like the usual energy had returned and he was in a good mood, despite everything. When he had eaten a piece of bread and some cheese, he decided to not think about his special interest in the woman until he was alone. Right now, his snatchers needed him to give them orders. He strolled outside and was met by a curios sight. His men stood together and mumbled while they glanced at a passed out Greyback lying on the snow-covered ground on his stomach in a very awkward angle. One of the snatchers saw the leader and Scabior lifted an eyebrow in query about the scene. The man beckoned to him to come over to the gathering. It was hardly difficult for the experienced Scabior to sneak by the snoring werewolf and join his fellows.

"What's going on out here?" he muttered to them.

Rusty answered with a subdued voice, "The beast o'er there wasn't satisfied with takin' most of our meat. Then 'e wanted our booze too. The one we lads didn't steal, but bought with our own dough! 'E drank all morning 'til 'e fell asleep."

"Why didn't you hex him? I know you know some nasty spells."

Another snatcher cleared his throat, which earned him a lot of hushing form the others.

"Boss, he threatened to bite us when we were least expecting it if we refused him. And besides, what can we do against the Dark Lord's little pet without getting into trouble?" The whole group turned their concerned faces towards Scabior who could almost touch the depression that floated in the air. He tensed his jaw in response to Greyback's audacity and knew that the time for revenge had arrived.

"You're all aware of snatcher rule No. 15. No one steals from another snatcher. The Dark Lord permits us our rules. I reckon we're entitled to payback." Many set of teeth appeared as the whole gathering grinned with Scabior, even the now sober but black and blue Lackie.

"So, if we can't hex him without risking our arses we have to find another way to bother him," Scabior reasoned before he queried, "Any ideas, gentlemen?"

After some seconds of shuffling, Rusty pulled out his hand from the pocket of his hideous coat and opened it for everyone to see the small orange sweet in his palm. As if sensing the confusion he whispered quickly, "Bought it for a knut from a salesman in Knockturn Alley. I 'eard 'im describe these as cruel weapons if yer enemies eat one."

Scabior picked up the pastille and held it between his thumb and index finger to examine it closer.

"What does it do, Rusty?" he asked with suspicion. There were many objects with dark magic circuiting in the wizarding world now that the Ministry was on their side and had ceased to control products. Rusty shrugged, "'Fraid I dunno, boss. That man only promised that the one who ate this would be sorry. Figured it could be fun ta try it on Greyback an' see what it does to 'im."

"Excellent idea! We can always blame the bad booze if he wonders what happened," Scabior said with praising voice. This could indeed be fun to watch.

"Those in favor of giving our dog a treat with unknown ingredients?" Every snatcher raised their hands at the same time. Scabior understood Greyback had gone too far when he took their alcohol. Hell hath no fury like a snatcher robbed.

"Okay, who volunteers to Levitate this shit down his throat?" he asked, wanting to see if there was a brave man in his group, but expecting he himself would have to do the dirty work. Surprisingly, Lackie bowed to him, even though he winced a little from his bruises. "I'd be 'appy an' 'onoured ta execute yer orders, boss." Scabior smirked to himself, 'Someone's trying to get into my good grace again.' But Scabior would lie if the action did not please him. He wanted his snatchers to earn his respect by carrying out his orders.

"Fine Lackie, you'll put this in Greyback's mouth." He passed the orange sweet to Lackie who without hesitation waved his wand and levitated the pastille to Greyback's sleeping form. Once the beast grunted and opened his mouth the pastille flew by his sharp teeth and down his throat. Greyback coughed before he snapped open his wild eyes. A moment later retching sound was heard as he started to throw up. And not just throw up. It looked fan-fucking-tastic when cascades were forced out of his mouth. The pastille seemed to make the consumer sick and, obviously, rendering him unable to do anything about it. When Greyback stood on all four and fought to breath between vomits and clutched his stomach, Scabior mentally high-fived himself. The others around him snickered at the display until Greyback found his wand and wheezed out, "_Finite Incantatem_".

'Oh pity. Fun's over," thought Scabior and watched how Greyback struggled to stand up. He took a deep breath before he roared, "Who the fuck did this!" The snatchers continued to laugh as Scabior said indifferently, "Maybe it was something wrong with the booze you drank, Greyback. You should take it more easy next time, or bring your own liquor. One can never trust them vendors."

Scabior smiled innocently to him and began to finger his ring. Greyback walked menacingly towards him with flames in his eyes. Immediately the whole group sobered up and gathered around Scabior like a protective hippogriff horde against a threat. Scabior sharpened his voice, "Look, you won't rob my snatchers again. Perhaps future drinks might contain something more dangerous..." Greyback snarled aggressively, "I knew I couldn't trust you lot. The Dark Lord will hear about this!"

"Oh," Scabior said falsely haltingly, "So you would run off and bother the busy Dark Lord with your silly problem? After all, it was you who drank so much stolen alcohol you began to throw up. We all saw it, right boys?"

All the snatchers confirmed this with equally honest faces. Greyback looked positively mad now and reached for his wand in his belt. It did not take two seconds before the group aimed their own wands and Scabior had a smug look on his face.

"Or maybe it would be best for everyone if you just leave us? Find yourself another snatcher group to annoy, will you?"

Greyback opened his mouth and dove for Scabior, intending to bite his neck. Luckily with impressing rapidity, Scabior jumped to the side and raised his fist. He managed to hit Greyback squarely on the cheek with striking force. Greyback fell to the ground and screamed with pain as he pressed his hands to the injured cheek. Scabior had never thought about his silver ring as a good weapon against raging werewolves. He put his shoe on Greyback's throat and put some weight on it. Greyback struggled to breathe but Scabior did not budge. He leaned down and purred, "Leave now, you fucking mad dog." He stepped down and watched amused how Greyback took up his wand and Apparated.

It was like being released from Azkaban. All tension left them at once and the happy cheers sounded deep into the forest. Scabior received a lot of appreciation but he knew he had to share the glory. He rested his arms on Rusty's and Lackie's shoulders and declared to everyone around, "Gents, I think we should thank these fellows too. Now, without Rusty and his lethal pills from hell, it would have been hard to find something else to chase away Wolfie with." He squeezed his arm affectionately around Rusty's neck.

"And thanks to Lackie's phenomenal wand skills we could all enjoy the display of Greyback, the vomiting werewolf!" Several snatchers lay on the ground now, roaring with laughter. Even Scabior began to snigger despite his attempt to keep a straight face. He composed himself though, before he would ruin his black paint around the eyes and decided to re-establish order in his camp.

"Alright you crazy bastards, time to work. I want a pair of you to go to Leeds and get us a lot of booze from the pub. Give the innkeeper my kindest regards and I'll bet he gives you the Firewhiskey for free. I want someone to clean up this mess on the ground. Melt snow, we better go easy on the water supply. The rest of you, do something useful." A feverish activity began when everyone eagerly wished to obey Scabior's orders. He called, "Hey, Rusty! Come here. I want to take a look on those teenagers." Rusty joined Scabior and they marched away. Or more accurately; Scabior marched while Rusty almost bounced with excitement.

"That knockout was brilliant, boss! I would nevva' mess with ya after that performance. An' did ya see 'ow the cheeky bugger looked like a fucking fountain?"

"Yeah, quite the resemblance," Scabior agreed. "What the hell are you buying, Rusty?" The happy man was keen on explaining, "I wasn't sure before, but now I remember. Last year my wee niece got a box with sweets, like those vomiting pastilles, from that orange joke shop in Diagon Alley. Ya know, with the ginger twin owners." Scabior nodded, "Ah, yes. Pity they belong to the blood traitor family the Weasley's. They could have earned a lot of money on inventing weapons for our side. Wonder what they would say if they knew their products were sold by cloaked men in Knockturn Alley these days." Rusty grinned with Scabior until they stopped beside the protecting shield. Scabior began to penetrate the invisible wall and Rusty waited patiently. "That's it. A new hole," Scabior proclaimed as he wiped the sweat from his forehead, "Maybe I should go inside alone and see if they're casting protecting spells as often as before. I would hate it if one of us got caught." Rusty agreed but stayed by the hole to, if necessary, help Scabior should trouble appear.

Scabior moved swiftly, not wanting to be discovered if the couple sent spells regularly. He casted a Homenum Revelio and saw all three of them by the tent. Wait, all three? Frowning, he reached his hill and crawled the last distance to his usual spot. A small thump stirred his core when he could not see his woman. 'Probably inside,' he thought, appreciating the fact that she at least kept herself warm. The people he did see were not improving his mood. The dark man sat on a chair by the tent opening and talked to a ginger one. Scabior immediately thought of the Weasley's with their characteristic flaming hair. But he was not entirely sure, after all he lived in England: the land of gingers. Scabior smirked when the lanky man mumbled something to the sitting man. The darkhaired man looked very troubled and depressed. 'Maybe a cockblocker is in town.' Scabior's theory grew stronger when the woman appeared with tangled hair and a murderous look on her face.

"You're disturbing me! Talk somewhere else, please!

Scabior watched fascinated how the two men flinched and run off in opposite direction to him. 'Spineless little cowards,' he thought contemptuous and turned his gaze back to his woman. She wore a figure-hugging white sweater and dark jeans. He breathed out; she was so fucking beautiful, even with her wild curls that were caught in the wind. Then something happened that made Scabior's well concealed and deeply hidden heart throb. Tears escaped her eyes and ran down her rosy cheeks. She fell into the empty chair and covered her face with her hands. The trembles that shook her body were noticed by the snatcher, even from his position. When her scent reached him he could swear he caught saltiness among the vanilla and summer flowers. It pained Scabior that he was unable to comfort the poor girl. She looked so miserable that the longing in his limbs burned when he denied himself the bliss of holding her against him.

Suddenly the sad woman pulled out her wand and pointed it in midair. 'Time to get out of here.'

Scabior dashed away and crawled through the hole just in time. "Well Rusty, we can spy on them again but we ought to be more careful and only spy some minutes at a time. And there's another one now. A ginger, stupid looking boy." Rusty threw a confused look on the already retreating back of his unexpectedly gloomy boss before he hurried to catch up.


	8. Chapter 8 Captures

**Hey, my fellow readers! At last a young woman will meet a dashing snatcher. Give me your thoughts by reviewing, please. Have fun!**

**Inspirational music: "I will find you" by Clannad  
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Chap. 8 Captures

Days passed and the snow finally began to melt, an early introduction of the spring. The entire snatcher camp transformed into a swamp of mud and puddles before Scabior decided to move the tents to a dryer place in the forest. Despite the birdsong and warmer nights, there was an unsettling tension among the snatchers. Greyback's rather embarrassing departure had of course provided many laughs for some time but now the camp had become silent.

Scabior sat by the intense camp fire, not caring that the nearby flames scorched his weather-beaten face. He knew too well he was one of the reasons to the bad atmosphere. He had with his unusual silence and sudden outbursts caused the surrounding snatchers to quiet down and avoid him if possible. The amount of men who volunteered to spy on the ignorant trio increased rapidly. To stand in a queue by the still existing hole was considered to be a refuge from the moody leader and his wrath. Only a few men stayed by the fire, they preferred to hide in their tents when they were not on duty. Scabior kicked a log into the middle of the camp fire, intent on keeping the fire burning.

He was aware of the other reason to why the men had gone restless. As snatchers, they were all consumed by the need to run and hunt down victims. It was a native characteristic that flourished once they had learned how to walk. They wanted to hunt and catch things, whether it was gnomes, enchanted objects or animals in the woods. Scabior did not know about the others, but when he had entered adolescence he had begun to chase girls. That was when he learned how to be charming and flirtatious enough to get into their knickers. The more a girl played hard to get the harder he tried to capture her heart, rendering her desolated and heartbroken once he had bedded her and moved on.

Initially it had been an entertaining game to him, but little by little he found that schoolgirls could not satisfy his longing for new things. He needed to hunt something more challenging and started to sleep with elder women who gladly welcomed a young man to warm their beds. A few times he fucked women in the Ministry, literally, for small favours, like how he could avoid getting caught by certain laws, but in the end it made him feel cheap so he ceased it. And now he had fallen in love with that young woman and had come to the conclusion that sex was not enough anymore. He must try to share some feelings with a sexpartner and see how it goes.

His snatchers had reported nothing of interest from the espionage and they were beginning to feel the urge to finally make the move and attack the trio. Meanwhile, Scabior had got into touch with some hardcore Death Eaters who had explained how to create an alarm if victims Apparated from their current position and how one could trace Apparating people easily with the right preparations. Should the trio disappear Scabior would know instantly their new location and follow them with his band. They needed a proper hunt to feel adrenalin rush and satisfy their thirst for the moment when the prey was caught. And Scabior needed it badly.

He intended to catch the girl and her companions and leave them at the Ministry for a tidy sum. No matter how much he wanted the girl, he would not keep her in his camp only to lose her after some days of hardships. A snatcher camp was not a safe place for a woman, simple as that. Besides, the thought of having her available in his tent might tempt him to dive in, so to speak, while she did not want any of that. Scabior had much darkness inside but he had never and would never take a woman without her permission. At least some pure-blood manners had stayed with him. 'Better not risk anything,' Scabior thought as he absentmindedly played with the strings of the pink scarf.

An unexpected voice was heard loudly in the camp and made Scabior jump up and turn to the disturbing sound.

"Apparation alert! Apparation alert!" A bunch of snatchers came running from the watch by the shield and held their wands, ready to follow the teenagers. The tents were emptied and everyone gathered around Scabior. He could already see the sparks in their eyes, a sign of their excitement to the prospect of a wonderful chase. Suddenly a seething pain coursed in Scabior's left arm and he clutched his Dark Mark through his many layers of clothing. He heard a dragging voice in his head, "Don't follow them now. They're with Mr. Lovegood; our territory. If they escape, catch them." Scabior closed his eyes for a moment as the pain slowly subsided. His Death Eater source had made it clear. It was a fifty-fifty chance if a chase was to take place or if the professional Death Eaters would take care of the trio.

"Where are they, boss? Should we follow?" an eager snatcher asked. Scabior opened his eyes and gave a sigh, "No, they're on Death Eater territory. But be prepared if they Apparate again soon. And please, if we get to hunt them, don't fucking kill them like last time. I want my galleons." Two snatchers saluted Scabior and grinned, "Yes, sir!" The small feeling of anti-climax that had settled among the poised snatchers after Scabior's news disappeared and they all began to laugh. 'Merlin, they need a chase," Scabior thought troubled as he began to pace across the camp. After a dreadful hour of waiting, the alarm switched on once more but was accompanied by an image of the place were the trio were going to land; a clearing with surrounding pines.

"Alright, let's go and snatch them," Scabior said calmly, but experienced an odd fluttering in his stomach when he lifted his wand to Apparate.

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"They've taken my Luna. Where is she?"

Hermione had a bad feeling about Mr. Lovegood's more than strange behaviour. She asked him, "Mr. Lovegood, what are you talking about? Is Luna gone?" The man turned his mad eyes towards her and pleaded, "You can't leave, you must stay here!" A moment later Harry looked through the window and saw a bunch of Death Eaters approaching on brooms.

"It's a trap!" he cried and brutally took Hermione's and Ron's hands and forced them to follow him upstairs where they hid under the invisibility cloak. Hermione's heart beat hard in her chest as she heard the evil men come inside and begin to question poor Mr. Lovegood. And then she heard those familiar but now so terrifying words, "_Homenum Revelio_". They were in deep trouble. She trembled of fear when she heard footsteps on the staircase. However, her quick brain thought of a way out. She whispered to Harry and Ron, "Follow me when I Apparate," and took off the cloak. For an ounce of a second she met the eyes of a darkhaired wizard before she thought of a place in the familiar forest and felt the unpleasant hitching in her belly button as they disappeared form Luna's home.

She managed to land on her feet and looked for Ron and Harry who had ended up behind her. Ron seemed offended. "What a traitor! Is it not possible to trust anyone these days!" But Harry defended Mr. Lovegood, "He's just desperate." Ron walked away a bit until a man raised himself before him. Harry looked at Hermione and she saw several grim men appear around Harry. She turned her head and was met by a purr.

"Hello, beautiful."

Fear squeezed her heart for she recognized the tall man leaning against a tree. It was he who had noticed her scent through the protecting shield last autumn, the man she had been haunted by in her nightmares since.

Her gaze fell to his hands that played with, oh, God! Her scarf she had left by the lake for Ron was in the hands of a snatcher. The symbolism of the sight finally seemed to wake her from immobility and she took off with Harry and Ron beside her. She heard that snatcher yell something and when she dared a glance over her shoulder she saw how a gang of snatchers was chasing them. She began to run as fast as she could, trying to reach Harry and Ron so they together could Apparate again to a safe location. Suddenly a blast hit a tree in front of her and the fear increased. Pure instinct made her run in zigzag and occasionally throw spells over her shoulder. She lost sight of Ron but tried to keep pace with Harry. A glance forward made her stop in her tracks. There were snatchers before her too. They had been surrounded.

She quickly turned to Harry and cast a Stinging spell on his face that made his face puff up, hopefully making it impossible to recognize him. She did not notice the figure behind her before strong hands grabbed her arms and held them painfully behind her back. She struggled fiercely to get away and watched how Ron managed to free himself and run to her rescue. He did not succeed, as a snatcher punched him hard in the stomach and he fell to the ground. Hermione wanted to close her eyes from the frightening scene, as a boot was placed against Ron's neck, holding him down. Harry, on the other hand had a man behind him who held him by the scruff. At least his glasses had fallen onto the ground which made him look even less like Harry Potter. She twisted in the vicelike grip before a victorious voice sounded.

"Your _boyfriend_ will get much worse than that, if he doesn't learn to behave himself." The snatcher had a smug smile on his face as he put his hands casually into his pockets. "And you are?" he asked Harry who, thankfully, answered Vernon Dudley. "Check the list," the snatcher drawled to another man. It seemed like he was their leader or something. But when there was no Vernon to be found on the list, Hermione held her breath. She thanked the Hogwart's founders or whatever power that helped them, when the leader remembered a Dudley in the Ministry and left Harry. Ron was next to be questioned and he said, "Stan Shunpike." Hermione turned away when a snatcher aimed a fist and she heard how it connected with Ron's face. The leader roared with laughter, "Like 'ell you are! Stan's on our side." She ventured a glance at Ron, who's nose was now bleeding.

"Bardy Weadley," he blurted out. This answer seemed to please the leader who knelt beside Ron and asked in an insidious voice, "A Weasley? Are you by any chance close to that blood traitor Arthur Weasley?" Ron promptly shut his mouth and the snatcher snorted.

He got up and turned to Hermione. She thought he invaded her personal space when he stopped just before her. For the second time that day she met his dark brown eyes that sparkled with glee.

"And you, my lovely? What do they call you?"

Once again he had that soft-spoken voice which was far more terrifying than the violence against Ron. She swallowed hard and lowered her eyes.

"Penelope Clearwater. Half-blood."

He said nothing as he put his large hand against the back of her neck and leaned in. His hand prevented her from recoiling when his head came within inches from hers. His gaze scanned her face, and she could swear his eyes lingered on her lips before he leaned into her ruffled hair and breathed deeply. Hermione felt tears begin to gather in her eyes, for she had never been so uncertain and afraid before. The man did not behave like the other snatchers or the Death Eaters she had encountered and it scared her immensely.

She felt his breath against her sensitive neck and began to shiver. He moaned a little before he at last stepped back.

"You smell like vanilla, Penelope. I think you're going to be my favorite," he purred. He turned to the surrounding snatchers and opened his mouth to say something when a young man cut him off.

"Boss, I've found somethin' on this one's fore'ead! It looks like a scar!"

Hermione experienced anew a sinking in her stomach when they gathered around Harry. One of them discovered the glasses and put them on him. She heard several gasps as the snatchers understood that they had caught the Undesirable No.1. They turned to Ron and one of them said hoarsely, "Weasley." Then the leader looked directly at her and whispered with amazement, "'Ermione Granger, the Mudblood who is with 'Arry Potter." She looked away and felt a tear escape the corner of her eye. How could they possibly free themselves now?

The cocky leader clenched his jaw for a moment before he growled, "Ya know what ta do! Three o' ya will come with me an' take 'em ta' the Manor!" Hermione flinched at his sudden loud voice and wondered why his accent had become even thicker. The man behind her mistook the movement for a new escape attempt and pressed her arms forcefully higher. She cried out in pain which caused the leader to look her way and frown sternly. She turned her vulnerable eyes to his but he lowered his head.

"Are you ready?" he asked no-one particular before he held out his wand and Apparated. Hermione noticed how her capturer took out his own wand and gripped her tightly. With a pop they too disappeared.


	9. Chapter 9 Bloodsheds

**Hey, my dear friends! New, long chapter for you. But know that the M-rating is also for violent, tragic scenes. Things might get more horrifying from now on. Thanks for your reviews, but I would love some more, please. Have fun!**

**Inspirational music: Burning the past by Harry Gregson-Williams (it has a certain tragic melody IMO)  
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Chap. 9 Bloodsheds

The great black gates of the Malfoy Manor truly was impressive and intimidating at the same time, especially when seen in the grey light of a gloomy afternoon. Scabior fixed his eyes on the gates while he himself held the Boy who Lived securely by the collar. He heard the footsteps of the others around him, thanks to the crunching gravel, but refused to throw a gaze at them, as he felt out of balance. It had started out so nice, with an exhilarating hunt which made all his penned up stress vanish because of the primal chase. No time for brooding, just running as fast as you can to get the prey. Scabior's snatcher nature and good shape saved him from being exhausted once he had caught the trio. Then he had chosen on purpose to first interrogate the boys so that he could fully focus on his woman afterwards.

It had felt strange to stand openly before her at last and not hide from her gaze. He thought her to be even more graceful close-up and had been unable to resist closing the distance between them. Shivering like a deer under his gaze, she had turned away her chocolate brown eyes when he had asked for her name. Her neck had felt so smooth and delicate against his calloused palm and her hair! He had buried his nose in her unruly curls and smelt her sweet scent that had teased him since that dark autumn night. The now concentrated mix of flowers and vanilla had affected him more than he would admit, as he had felt lost in the moment with his face on her shoulder, surrounded by heaven. The intoxication had caused his blood to rush south and when he noticed her trembles he had let out a small moan. It was brought by both bliss and torture. Bliss because of the new proximity to the beautiful creature and torture because it still was not enough; Scabior wanted to be closer yet.

And then he had found out that she was not even a half-blood but a mudblood. The Mudblood. Hermione Granger who, according to his sources, was best friend with Harry Potter and had a crush on Ron Weasley. Scabior thought it to be neither amusing nor relieving to finally be sure that she had probably not slept with Potter that night, as they only were friends. It did not matter when he was going to turn them in anyway. He would never see her again and that was how it was supposed to be.

The voyeurism had been, well, interesting, but now when he knew she was a stinking trollop of a mudblood, she disgusted him to the point where he could not stomach to look at her since the Apparation. 'Everything's as it should be,' became a mantra in Scabior head, until he reached the gates. Unexpectedly, an impulse ignited within him which he could not explain. Despite his disapproval of the mudblood he muttered to Lackie next to him, "Mind if we switch? She's my favorite." The man complied without a fuss and Scabior grabbed Granger's arms and held them tightly against her sides as her back by accident bumped into his chest. He righted her, making sure to keep some distance between them and waited for an invite to the Manor.

* * *

"Draco, come closer."

The creepy voice of Bellatrix Lestrange was hushed but nevertheless her words echoed in the chilly, dusk room, being heard by every person around. She ushered her nephew forward towards a kneeling Harry Potter. Scabior thought it to be pretty damn clear that they had caught Potter; alas the utterly mental and erratic Bellatrix thought differently and wanted to check for herself. The nervous blonde boy had trouble confirming the identity of the catch and Lucius Malfoy walked briskly across the room to insist on a closer look. Scabior tsked at the ridiculous thinking of the wealthier purebloods but none of them noticed him by the wall with the rest of the snatchers and their prey. His sharpened hearing picked up some words from Malfoy Sr.

"If we are the ones to hand Potter over to the Dark Lord, all will be as it was!"

'Fucking tricky bastard!' He wanted to get the glory and reward from the Dark Lord! It was in Scabior's nature to fight for what was his. He promptly thrust the woman into the arms of a snatcher before he stepped forward.

"We won't forget who actually caught them, will we?" Lucius became very indignant before his wife calmed him down. In his mind, Scabior wondered when every wizard except him had become cowards in front of women.

At last Bellatrix seemed to acknowledge Potter and turned to the rest of the assembly with glee. She grabbed Weasley by the hair and lifted him with quite extraordinary strength for such a thin woman. The wincing from the pained boy brought on a smirk on Scabior's face. Bellatrix was certainly a madwoman but her shows tended to be very entertaining. She whispered quite loudly in Weasley's ear, "Why, thank you boy. You brought me a mudblood to pass the time with. Perhaps that will make up for your time as a blood traitor." The boy's face contorted into pure craze and he tried valiantly to escape the arms around him.

"You leave her alone, you evil…"

He was silenced with a hard slap from Bellatrix.

"Oh, this is definitely Ronald Weasley," she exclaimed with returned joy and moved over to Granger. Scabior regarded her cautiously as she brutally pulled out a purse from the woman's pocket.

"Let's have a look, whore," Bellatrix crooned and began to rummage through the unexpectedly large bag. Scabior understood it had been charmed with a difficult spell and was impressed by Granger's skills. He guessed she had transfigured the purse, as the other two looked like dunderheads.

His eyes widened when Bellatrix pulled out a fucking sword and dropped it on the floor. Her face transformed into a mask of white rage, which made her resemble a ferocious dragon. She screamed to Granger's face, "Did you steal this, you filthy mudblood?" The woman shook her head and twisted against the hands that held her arms behind her. When the fist connected with Granger's chin, Scabior lowered his head and dug his hands deeply into his pockets. 'As it should be, as it should be,' he thought repeatedly as Bellatrix began to beat the defenceless woman. The shrill screams of pain echoed in the large room, mingling with the desperate outcries of the two boys to a terrible symphony of agony.

The snatcher behind the woman let go off her and she fell to the floor helplessly. She had quiet down, which unnerved Scabior even more, and only whimpered in the pool of her own blood. Scabior ventured a look at Bellatrix who laughed sadistically and brought out her wand. It sent a shiver down Scabior's spine despite the fact that he had seen much worse. When the Cruciatus Curse hit the nearly unconscious woman she jerked and shrieked hoarsely. Then the blonde lady of the Manor, Narcissa Malfoy, rushed to Bellatrix' side and lay a manicured hand on her sister's shoulder.

"Enough, Bella."

She had spoken calmly but the glistening drops on her forehead revealed her distress. Bellatrix looked sternly at Narcissa and lifted the curse without a question. Scabior scanned his eyes over the still body on the floor and discovered his body was shaking.

"Lucius! Call the Dark Lord! We've found them," Bellatrix commanded the former immaculate man who hesitantly rolled back his left sleeve. He took a deep breath before he pressed two fingers at the Dark Mark. Six men and a woman in the room squirmed uncomfortably when their Marks began to burn. In a mere of seconds, Lord Voldemort emerged from black smoke in the middle of the room. Scabior sank to his knee immediately, as did everyone except the two snatchers who still struggled with Potter and Weasley.

Voldemort turned his red eyes to Bellatrix.

"Why did you disturb me this time?"

Bellatrix answered excitedly, "My Lord, we've found Potter and his friends!" Voldemort lifted the muscle where his eyebrow would have been and looked around until he found Potter. He almost floated towards the boy and lifted his hand. Scabior heard some mumbling and saw how the swelling disappeared, leaving the boy with a thin face and a remarkably scar. Voldemort threw his head back and let out a happy laugh. The boy joined him and had a look of mirth plastered on his face. Scabior did not understand what was happening but did not like. The Dark Lord composed himself and stared at the boy.

"Ah, Potter. At last I have won. And I share my mind with you, is it not so?" The boy had stopped laughing and looked at Voldemort with utterly hate in his green eyes.

"So kill me then! After all, it's what you've tried to do for seventeen years," Potter said without any fear in his voice. Scabior could not deny the boy had courage but he had been in Gryffindor, after all.

"Shall I kill you here, Potter? No, I do not think the Malfoy's have deserved such an honor; to have Harry Potter killed in their home. I think another place would be more suitable for you to leave the world from. You will come with me," Voldemort decided and immobilized Potter with a wandless Body-Bind Curse.

"Noo!"

Scabior turned to the cry and watched how Weasley freed himself with magic from within, like the magic children had before they got their wands. The ginger lunged for Potter but Bellatrix made him stop in midair and gagged him with a wave of her wand.

Voldemort strolled to Weasley and said amused, "Ronald Weasley, you are a brave boy. What to do with you now? Shall I use you as bait for the rest of your family? Surely someone will reveal themselves when they see their dear Ron being tortured in the open," Scabior knew that the Dark Lord was evil, but a victorious Lord took the price in cruelty. Scabior actually thought it was cowardly of him to find enemies through captured family members, until he realized that he had done the same in his snatcher trade.

Voldemort continued, "On the other hand you are a young, strong pureblood with good qualities. I think you will do fine as a stud. Would you like that? Providing purebloods for my new world, a new woman every day?" 'Okay, the Dark Lord really is twisted,' Scabior thought and watched how Voldemort caressed the hair on the boy almost lovingly before he took out a wand from his black robes. Then he recognized the unconscious woman on the now red painted marble floor. He snorted in annoyance.

"I do not want that filth in my presence. It would taint my person" He looked directly at Scabior. "You, snatcher! Was it you who caught it?" Scabior thought it best to nod. "Well done. You can have the dirty mudblood as a reward. Do what you want with it; I could not care less about such grime." With that he returned to the boys and took each of them by the arms and Apparated.

* * *

It was an odd atmosphere in the room, to say the least, when Voldemort had left. They all felt lost and uncertain now that the Dark Lord apparently had won and would kill Harry Potter within hours.

The Malfoy's gathered in a corner and Scabior watched how Lucius in the middle held his wife and son against his chest with each arm and they all leaned their heads together in silence. 'Aww, how sweet,' Scabior sneered and looked at the rather lonesome Bellatrix. She gripped her wand hard and let out a feral cry.

"He promised! He promised to take me with him when he won! Why am I here! Why!" She began to claw at her scalp with sharp nails and scream with terror. Suddenly she raised her now bloodshot eyes to the silent body.

"You filth! If it hadn't been for you disgusting him with your sickening stench, he would never have left me!"

Bellatrix approached Granger and held up her wand. Scabior stepped in between them, aware that his boots stood in the scarlet blood. He held his own wand at the ready and showed his teeth menacingly.

"She's mine. I was promised her by the Dark Lord. Lower your wand."

He talked composed but his inside boiled with anger and something undefined. Bellatrix spitted him in the face and tried to sidestep his blocking body but Scabior used his snatcher reflex and caught her by the waist and simply threw her away from his woman. Bellatrix landed in a black heap on the floor and hissed out, "Maybe it would be better if you take her. After all, it's probable that she'll get raped so many times within hours that she'll die soon anyway. I could live with that knowledge."

Scabior growled and made to move towards the witch but was caught by three pairs of hands. A hoarse voice mumbled in his ear, "Don't do it, boss. She's a mad loser. Let's just leave." Scabior nodded quietly but threw a nasty look at Bellatrix who was now being shielded by Narcissa who trained her pleading eyes on him. Scabior shrugged off the offending hands and turned to kneel beside Granger. A metallic scent surrounded the body.

She breathed but in a sad comparison to how she had breathed the night when she had slept outside and hurt her fingers. Her face had been beaten to a pulp and blood still trickled from her nose and mouth. Scabior steeled himself from going mad and discovered that her wrist was broken. Surely she had more injuries and Scabior wanted to get her to his camp fast and treat her with his stash of healing potions.

He slipped his arm carefully under her back, not caring the slightest that her bloody curls stained his coat. The other arm held her by the knees and he began to lift his limp burden. He looked only at the woman in his arms as he muttered to the snatchers, "We're going to the camp." He waved his arm that held both her head and his wand and disappeared from the Manor.


	10. Chapter 10 Flasks

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**Inspirational music: No life without you by Joseph Loduca**

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Chap. 10 Flasks

It burned. Hermione's body burned with unrelenting intensity.

She had trouble breathing. She could feel something restricting the air in many places and it hurt. She could not open her eyes. Her nose was stuffed with goo that smelled metallic. Her throat seemed to have the same problem and out of instinct she clenched the muscles in the throat in a feeble attempt to clear her respiratory ways from what she assumed was blood. Her small cough brought on pain she had never experienced, as her chest stung when the unexpectedly expanded lungs pressed against the broken ribs.

A sharp pain exploded in her neck after the coughing, as she could not prevent her head from lifting when her body prepared for the cough. She had at least cleared her throat, but the cost was high. Her head lolled back again to the soft surface under her and she let out a cry of agony. She was barely aware of the warm hand touching her face and a scent of apples before she drifted again into unconsciousness.

* * *

Scabior carried Granger in his arms with greatest care and yet at the fastest pace possible, trying to get her to the camp within a few minutes. Apparation never was a good choice for a wounded human, so he had decided to apparate to the outskirt of the familiar forest and walk the rest of the way. He marched alone, having sent his three snatchers in advance to prepare what they could to help the wounded woman.

His worried gaze drifted to her red face once again and he thought he saw her swollen lips twitch for a moment but otherwise she showed no sign of life. Before fear and ice sieged his heart, she lifted her head a couple of inches from his supporting arm and coughed up blood with gargling sounds. He stopped immediately and sank to his knees, keeping her body on his thighs rather than laying her down on the cool, moist ground. A scream of torture escaped her and Scabior freed his arm under her knees to relieve her of pain for a while. He wiped the blood off her nose and mouth to allow her unrestricted air and reached for the wand in his pocket. She seemed unconscious again but he wanted to make sure she could breathe and slipped the wand slowly into her mouth.

"_Evanesco sanguis_,"

He was filled with relief when Granger began to breath easier as the blood disappeared from her throat. He wanted to comfort her and kiss her so bad in that moment and lowered his head to hers.

A voice in his head scolded, 'She's a dirty mudblood!'

He hesitated, resting his lips mere inches above hers and gazed upon her beaten face. The blood was not muddy brown, but of course he knew that; he had snatched mudbloods before who bled red blood just like any purebloods. But there was something bad running in the veins of the mudbloods, he had always heard that and was certain of it himself. It was surely just the silly sex drive messing with his head that tempted him to kiss such filth.

He slipped the arms under the woman again and lifted her promptly to resume his walk. After a while he remembered that his fine boots still bore specks of her blood. Luckily that could be fixed with a wave of his wand once he had been relieved from his burden. A groan went passed her lips and she turned her head to lean it against his warm chest. Scabior rolled his eyes; clearly someone had cursed him with trouble. Was it too much to ask for a silent and ugly mudblood woman? No, now he had to endure this fragile siren who had already managed to crumble his resolve many times over. He decided to not kill her; what would be the point of that, if he planned to waste his expensive potions on healing her only to get rid of her afterwards?

Even though she had been given to him by the Dark Lord himself, it was nevertheless problematic with her staying in his snatcher camp. A lot of brutal, lonely men lived there and they might try to have a go with her. Scabior understood their frustration but was all the same opposed to lend out the woman. He suspected he did not want to her to get harmed that way, whether by him or his men. So what to do with her, then? Keep her locked in his tent until a better idea arose? Scabior clicked his tongue. He enjoyed his privacy when he could relax from everything. Was it really worth it to surrender his private life for this woman? He doubted it but decided to deal with those problems after she was saved from wandering between the land of the living and the land of the dead. That would be his top priority for now.

He reached the camp slightly flushed from carrying an unconscious body for so long and was met by all his snatchers.

"Hey, boss! It's true that the Dark Lord's got Potter, yeah? Wanted to hear it from you yourself before we believe Lackie."

Of course! That was the most important thing happening in the wizarding world at the moment and here he had been distracted with what to do with a simple mudblood. Scabior looked up completely composed as if he did not carry a woman drenched in her own blood.

"Yeah, it's true, alright. Potter is as good as dead and the Dark Lord has won," he informed and shifted his grasp of the woman a little which caused her to moan out loud. The snatchers seemed to just now acknowledge her, apparently more distracted by the news about the downfall of the Boy who Lived. Rusty leaned his head sideways.

"Is that the bird we caught earlier? Looks like a bleedin' deer now. Whatcha gonna do with 'er, boss?"

Scabior lifted his eyebrows and said, "Well, I guess the most important thing now is to stop the bleedings and heal whatever other injuries she has. Have you prepared my tent?" Rusty nodded eagerly and Scabior headed for his tent, grateful for the obedience of his snatchers. They were in a good mood after the hunt but waited for some reward from someone, may it be the Ministry or the Dark Lord himself.

Scabior entered his Spartan home and discovered his big table had been placed in the middle of it. His own pillow was placed at the end of the table, along with his many bottles with different potions and some pots with creme. The gang had brought up the whole emergency kit, even the potion that prevented mosquito bites. 'My, my. They really have exerted themselves.' Scabior couldn't stop the small smile at the men's helpfulness.

He walked to the side of the stable furniture and lay down Granger on it, making sure her head rested on the pillow. He stretched his arms a little and took off his black coat. It was likely he would get blood on his jacket and pants too, but he wanted to be able to work unrestrained of a heavy leather coat. Then he set to work. He aimed his wand towards her still body and mumbled a diagnostic spell to find out where she was most seriously hurt. Many spots on her body began to glimmer, indicating several broken ribs; one broken in two places, concussion, a damaged kidney, an injured neck, bleedings in her womb and swollen eyes. Apart from that, Scabior could of course see the bruises on her face and suspected to find more on her body once she was undressed.

Impatiently, he made her clothes disappear; leaving her only in light blue knickers and a matching non-transparent lace bra. He had to turn away and take deep gulps of air to calm down. Granger's pale, smooth body covered with blood and bruises had upset him far too much for his liking even if he had seen worse. But if he wanted to save her he had to get a grip on himself and just heal her already. He turned back to her and whispered a charm while he pointed his wand at her abdomen to stop the internal bleeding.

Then he proceeded to heal her ribs, hating himself for having to lift her bra a little to get better access to her ribs with only her skin in between the bones and his wand. It was not possible for him to resist a quick look at the round undersides of her breasts before he reined himself in and continued with his work. She began to breathe deeper once the ribs were fixed but was still in a state between sleep and unconsciousness.

Scabior did not know how to heal her kidney with spell work and decided to give her a rare potion that was able to heal injured organs within a day; a very useful potion if you got into a serious fight. He fetched the small flask and poured a spoonful of the liquid into her mouth. Granger stirred suddenly from the sour taste and gasped with split lips. Her movement obviously hurt her untreated neck and she whimpered. Scabior hurried to lay a hand on her forehead and keep her head still.

Tears managed to pass through her swollen eyes as she moaned, "Mum, it hurts! Please make it stop. I'm in the laundry room, Mum. Help me, please." Scabior was not sure what he should do but began to softly hush the hallucinating woman and caressed her forehead. When she had quiet down he kept his hand on her forehead and let the other with the wand heal her neck. He then reached for her hand and fixed her broken wrist but wrapped a bandage around it to keep it stable for a couple of days.

After having given her a mouthful of another potion that would heal her concussion, smeared paste on her beaten face and, although decently, on her black and blue stomach; Scabior considered his most prominent work to be over.

A Scouring charm cleaned his jacket and trousers and after a quick wave at his abandoned coat, it too returned to its usual state. Very carefully he levitated the woman to his bed, letting her down slowly onto his simple but soft bed. He brought the pillow to her and managed to lift her head without interrupting her sleep.

Felling exhausted physically and emotionally after the long day, he cast _Accio_ on his only chair and sat down right beside the bed. He wanted to keep an eye on the woman through the night and eventually help her if she woke up and was in pain. He lifted his arms to let them rest on the back of his neck and crossed his long outstretched legs.

Here he was with the bird his body desired, in his bed, being all his. He thought about his own pureblood values, what the world would look like now that the Dark Lord had conquered it and whether his snatchers would get paid for their work from the Ministry. 'So many fucking problems,' Scabior thought and rubbed his face with a rough hand before he glanced at the sleeping woman beside him. She really was a beauty even with half her face crushed by a psycho-witch. And he was far too tired to occupy his thoughts with such thinking. He switched off the light in the tent and fetched a sandwich to chew on while he sat by her side, waiting for whatever the morning might bring.

* * *

Hermione flew, she could feel it. She fluttered high up in the air but surprisingly it did not bother her. The fear of heights seemed to have disappeared and she could enjoy floating on soft clouds forever.

Suddenly there was something in the clouds disturbing her mirth. Voices, and a scent of metal and apples. She squinted to see two misty figures standing on a cloud in front of her. Harry and Ron! She tried to call out to them but was unable to tell if words were coming out of her mouth. They must have seen her; she was just standing a bit away from them. She attempted to wave, and why had her arms begun to feel utterly heavy? She lost her footing and fell from the safe cloud, losingt of her two friends. Plunging towards the ground far beneath her, she desperately tried to wave her arms but pain seethed in her whole body. She heard a woman's vicious laugh and screamed of fear and pain as she fell.

With a gasp she awoke but saw nothing but darkness around her. Despite her inability to open her eyes, she guessed that she was in a bed and realized that she had had a nightmare. And yet the pain stayed with her. Hermione felt a little dizzy but was quite sure she was awake. The pain caused her to moan out loud and immediately a hand was placed on her forehead pressing her down into the mattress.

Someone probed a thumb between her teeth, forcing her to open her mouth while a sweet tasting liquid was poured down her throat from a small flask. She coughed a little but the pain already began to leave her.

Still, her body demanded more of it but nothing came so she settled for eagerly closing her lips around the drenched thumb and suck on it while her tongue quickly licked the fingertip. A sharp intake of air was heard in the darkness before the digit bend and made her mouth open once more. A new liquid was poured into her mouth. This time she began to feel very sleepy and closed her unseeing eyes, not feeling the thumb carefully being withdrawn from the inside of her mouth.


	11. Chapter 11 Cages

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**Inspirational music: El diablo en el ojo by Tindersticks  
**

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Chap. 11 Cages

Scabior was going mad. In three days there had been nothing but whimpering and tossing in the bed he longed to sleep in. The healing took longer than expected and it had made him testy. Sure, he was use to not sleep many hours, being a snatcher and all, but sleeping on a chair or on a hard table proved to be very uncomfortable and therefore it was hard to go to sleep in the first place. And then, when the woman cried in pain it woke him up easily. But he had decided to stay at her side and help her through the prolonged healing process and so, he would not leave his tent to sleep in another tent. And he did not trust his snatchers enough to let them relieve him from his task; they knew embarrassingly little about healing.

Wearily, Scabior reached for a bag of peanuts and his bottle of Firewhiskey to cheer himself up. He leaned against his table and took a swig from the bottle before he tossed some nuts into his mouth. He observed the girl under the blanket before him. The time between her pleadings for something to help her from the pain had grown longer. At least that was a good sign. The bad news was that she still had her eyes sealed shut by the swollen flesh around them, she completely refused offered nourishment, except for a small amount of water now and then, and she still seemed to be hallucinating whenever she woke up.

Unexpectedly, a piece of a peanut got caught between two teeth and it annoyed him immensely. He tried to free it with his nail but was unsuccessful. He tore his ring from his finger and angled it in his mouth, desperately seeking to jam one of the small horns in-between the two teeth. Of course the fucking piece did not budge and had it not been for Scabior's fondness of his teeth, he would have cast a _Reducto_ and gotten rid of his problem.

"Damn you, little bugger!" he growled and reached for the peanut with his nail again. This time it happened to loosen and fell out from it's hiding place. Scabior breathed out in relief as all frustration vanished along with the nut. He even smiled a little before he caught a glimpse of the woman who had turned her head with unruly curls to him and watched quietly.

He spotted her mocha brown eyes that were no more than thin slits between the swelling, but the eyes were definitely fixed on his person. He had not anticipated her awakening and felt a tad stupid for having had a downright battle against a tiny peanut only seconds ago. Scabior did not do awkward and put on his usual charming mask.

"Hello, pretty. Have we finally woken up, huh?"

He made a move to leave the table and sit on his chair by the bed but Granger flinched and moved to the other side of the narrow bed with a scared look on her face. Scabior's grin fell. He figured she was afraid of him, which she was perfectly entitled to, after what had happened the last time she had seen him. He stayed on the table and stared back at her.

"I'm not gonna hurt you. Would be pretty pointless after healing you with my collection of healing potions," he assured her and tilted his head to the side as she opened her mouth.

"What happened?"

Her weak voice had a croaking tone after the hardships she had been through lately.

"Well, you passed out after Bellatrix' game with you, the Dark Lord was summoned and he took Potter and Weasley with him to kill them or something. He said I could take you, as you were just an insignificant mudblood, I brought you to my camp and then I healed you."

He talked fast, deliberately omitting the details about what had happened after the Dark Lord's departure from the Manor and how he had watched over her for three days straight. As a snatcher he knew that knowledge is power and furthermore, he was not keen on upsetting her with gruesome stories. He seemed to have failed.

"No! He's got Harry and Ron? I must help them, I must find them now."

She spoke frantically and even managed to sit up, before her injuries reminded her about their existence and she clutched her stomach with a gasp. Scabior held up his hand.

"Now miss, I don't think you're fit for fight yet. Besides, you lack both clothes and wand." She looked down at her torso and discovered that she only wore her bra and her knickers. As fast as she could, she reached for the blanket pooling around her hips and covered her front modestly. A different shade of red than the one Scabior had seen lately bloomed out on her cheeks and she avoided his gleaming eyes.

"Where is my wand and my clothes?" she asked quietly and blushed even more. Scabior crossed his ankles and dangled his legs.

"Your clothes are on the floor behind the bed. Managed to clean them from all blood but don't expect me to iron them," he joked despite her serious look. "And your wand was picked up by one of my snatchers when we caught you. But I'm afraid you can't have it, love. You're not a free bird anymore." She met his eyes and whispered incredulously, "I'm a prisoner?" Scabior snorted.

"And here I thought you had the brain in the trio." She rose to the occasion.

"Excuse me _sir_, for trying to get all the facts about my predicament," she said with a haughty tone and glared at Scabior. His eyes darkened to a nearly black brown colour at her arrogance.

"I must 'ave underestimated ya, pretty. Yer strength apparently returned while ya were asleep for three days straight. Maybe ya should thank me for takin' care o' ya the whole time." Her eyes widened at the information but she seemed to gain control over herself and hissed, "I bet you had a real good time staring at me in only my underwear, you sick pervert!" This made Scabior's blood boil and he jumped off the table but kept his distance from her.

"No, love, I was too busy tendin' ta yer fuckin' kidney, yer broken ribs an' everythin' else that was damaged. Merlin forbid a mudblood would ever thank me for such a favour!" he shouted. She flinched at the foul word but continued with a scream that could challenge his own, "I would rather meet an army of Inferi than give my gratitude to you, you ugly snatcher warder!"

'That can be arranged,' Scabior thought cruelly before he took a deep, calming breath and said with a silky voice, "You're right. You're my prisoner and if you don't shut up or please me, your stay here might become more, what's the word...disagreeable."

Granger turned her eyes, which were now filled with unashamed hatred and disgust, to meet his and spit on the floor beside the bed.

The act enraged Scabior to a dangerous point where he would consider to slap the woman for her insolence, but something in his burning body stopped him. He simply sneered at her daring face and began to walk to the tent opening. Before he left he threw some words over his shoulder, "Enjoy your time here, miss."

* * *

Hermione looked after the retreating back of the snatcher she had just had an uncharacteristic fight with. When the material fell back to its place and shut out the light from outside, she really began to understand the danger of the situation. She had not learnt much from the snatcher but thought that he might have told the truth about Harry and Ron. Regardless of how they were doing, they needed her.

She put her bare feet on the cold floor and ignored the throbbing ache in her torso as she carefully tried to stand up. It took three attempts until she managed to stand with bent back by supporting herself with a hand placed on the bed. Nausea hit her as she swayed from the strain. She limped to the neat heap of clothes and was happy to find nothing missing. Slowly she put her clothes on and cursed the snatcher for taking her wand away, as she struggled to reach her feet and tie the shoelaces without magic. Once fully dressed, including the grey coat to keep herself warm, Hermione looked around in the tent.

There were few things occupying space in the tent that was remarkably smaller than the one Hermione had lived in for several months. The bed behind her, the solid table before her, a chair, an emerald green chest in one corner and a heap of trash in the other. Not even a lamp was there to make the tent more cosy, although that was what one could expect from a common snatcher. Hermione had got the impression after her latest encounter with him that he was aggressive, dangerous and sly. And she wanted to get away from him as fast as possible.

She walked warily across the floor to the chest and sank to her knees. She did not expect it to be unlocked but tried to open it anyway. She was right in her assumptions and could only speculate what it contained. Probably the potions he had used when he healed her, money from his snatching career and various belongings. Maybe her wand was locked in there too. She knew that without a wand she was not going to last long in the world, but she would sooner try to find Harry and Ron than be stuck here, waiting for an opportunity to take back her wand.

Hermione rose from the floor and tiptoed to the tent opening. She lifted the drapery and looked outside. Several tents were placed nearby a small campfire and lucky for Hermione no-one was around. It was worth a try. She lifted her foot but hit something hard with it. She saw nothing and tried to stretch out her arm. 'Godric almighty!' There was an invisible ward preventing her from getting out. She dropped the drapery and began to examine every side of the tent; lifting the fabric, always to meet an identical ward before her.

She was caged.

It felt like all hope abandoned her and with tired steps she made her way to the bed to sit down on it. Tears formed themselves in her eyes and she felt more alone than ever. What to do now? What would happen to her? And most importantly, was there still a chance for Harry and Ron to escape the firm claws of Voldemort? She hugged herself tightly and sobbed quietly.


	12. Chapter 12 Beasts

**Hey dear friends! Drama, drama, drama. Have fun, or something... Please, feed me with more reviews.  
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**Inspirational music: Me and a gun by Tori Amos (it's so heartbreaking because what happens in the song, happened to Tori)  
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Chap. 12 Beasts

"Aw, don't cry. Scabior's just like that; always 'urting pretty girl's feelings."

Hermione lifted her head immediately to the squeaky voice and discovered a young, rough man standing in the doorway. He looked broad in his worn black clothes and his zig-zag crew cut was enough for Hermione to deem him as a thug. He smiled at her and she could see his yellow teeth as he looked far too pleased with himself.

"What do you want?" she asked as she wiped away the tears from her face. The man began to swagger towards her.

"I see yer wounds are all 'ealed now. Good fer ya, it looked very bad when ya first came ta us. I'm Lackie, by the way."

He sat down heavily beside her on the bed and Hermione thought it best to put some distance between her and this menacingly snatcher. She made to stand up but before her sore body could manage it, a large hand pressed down on her thigh, preventing her from moving. She turned to the smirking man.

"Please remove your hand from me, sir."

She spoke clearly although her insides clenched with fear. The hand remained on her leg as Lackie leaned towards her and said gleefully, "Sir? Oh, I always love a bird with a submissive and articulate nature. The thing is mudblood, I 'ave every right to put my hands on ya." Her confused look spurred him on.

"Ya see, when the Dark Lord came ta the Manor, 'e wanted ta know who had caught ya. Our dear Scabior stepped forward when it was actually the whole snatcher gang that snatched the three o' ya. The Dark Lord said, an' I quote; ya can 'ave the dirty mudblood as a reward. Do what ya want with it. My interpretation is that by 'ya', the Dark Lord meant the whole camp. So I'm 'ere ta take my share o' the pretty treasure."

Hermione's heart leapt and she tried to tug at the firm grasp keeping her in place.

"Don't hurt me, please!" she begged him and felt the tears began to gather again. Lackie frowned at her and his eyes narrowed.

"Don't tell me what ta do, mudblood whore! I don't like that one bit."

Quickly he took hold of her bandaged wrist and the pain made Hermione cry out. She struggled against the stronger man to no avail as she felt his hand creep up her thigh. Desperately she whimpered, "He'll come back soon! Scabior will come back and see you!"

That earned her a punch to her head that made everything in the tent spin before her eyes. Before she could protest, the man threw his entire body on top of hers and forced her back down onto the mattress. Hermione screamed as loud as she could, hoping for someone to come to her rescue but Lackie reached for his wand and muttered with a maliciously grin, "_Silencio_".

Hermione continued to scream her lungs out but no sound left her mouth anymore. She trembled in fear and bucked under the weight, trying to throw the man off her. He simply threw away his wand and adjusted himself to make it impossible for her to move. He leaned down to her ear and whispered sadistically, "Poor slut, did ya not know where Scabior's gone? 'E's out ta 'unt down a deer. 'E'll be gone for hours. An' ya'll be 'ere with me in a quiet tent. Now, let's see what's under that coat, whore."

He ripped her grey coat open and gasped when he saw the form of her heaving breasts under her tight sweater. Hermione wriggled but he simply put her hands together and held them above her head. She could feel his free hand wander under her sweater and reach the underside of her bra. He pushed it up and kneaded her mounds hard, which made her release yet another silent cry as both the breasts and the ribs hurt.

When he bent down to lick her ear, Hermione saw her chance and lifted her head and bit down on his own ear. He screamed and reeled back from her. He did not release her but his free hand left her torso and flew to his bleeding lobe. Lackie examined his reddened fingers and snarled at her, "Ya like it hard, huh? I'll show ya hard, bitch!"

His dirty fingers found the fly in her jeans and opened it. Hermione closed her watered eyes as the pants were yanked down and only felt how the man dug his fingers inside her knickers and violated her most private parts. When he suddenly thrusted two fingers into her untouched canal she choked on a shriek and wanted to die and escape the terrible pain that spread inside her.

"A mudblood virgin? And 'ere I thought that Scabior 'ad popped yer cherry days ago. Well, 'e won't get the chance now," Lackie chuckled as he continued to harm Hermione's neither parts. She whimpered in despair and agony from the ruthless ministrations of the man above her. Despite her closed eyes, she could not shut out the grunts from Lackie or the feeling of a hard thing pressing against her bare thigh. She shook her head from side to side and in her head a mantra voiced a soundless plea, 'No, no, please no, don't.' The fingers stopped between her legs and the brute loomed over her.

"Why are ya shakin' yer head? Ya want somethin' different? Alright, whore. Ya can use yer pretty mouth."

The fingers were removed from her and Hermione winced from the excruciating pain that remained inside her until she heard a zipper open and felt how a hand grabbed her by the hair and brutally hauled her up to a sitting position. The next second she was being pressed forward but decided to put up a fight. Still with promptly closed eyes, she visibly bit down her teeth so hard that they clashed against each other. A tug at her hair made her open her eyes and she stared into the mad face of her raper. Without a word he bent over the edge of the bed and picked up his abandoned wand. Hermione shivered when the wand was pointed at her face but refused the urge to close her eyes; if she was going to die she wanted to haunt the murderer forever with the look on her face.

"_Imperio_" She opened her mouth in surprise at the curse the man had thrown at her, before she realized that she could not close it. Lackie smirked contently.

"Now, my obedient slut, I want ya ta suck my cock an' enjoy it." Every cell in her body screamed at her to break the control he had over her and she tried to fought the invisible force that made her move towards Lackie's midsection, just as she had once seen Harry do in a DADA lesson during her fourth year. Her magic failed to free her from the Imperius curse and subconsciously her mind fled from the traumatic scenario soon to be set upon her. She closed her eyes once more and began to think about the Goblin Rebellion of 1612 in Hogsmeade, listing the names of the leaders on either side at the same time as a pungent scent of musk and dirt hit her nostrils. She felt her jaw open wider and her tongue leave its safe cavern and stretch out.

"_Stupefy_!"

Hermione snapped her eyes open and caught sight of Scabior by the tent opening; a vision of ferocity with his wild hair, the still open leather coat, probably due to his recent movement, his wand pointing at her on the bed and last but not least his face contorted by pure anger. His fury made her feel dark magic radiating from his very being and spread in the now very quiet tent. Deliriously, she looked at Lackie who had been hit by the spell and fallen down to the floor, still with a semi-hard penis in the air. Suddenly it occurred to her that the Imperius curse had been lifted from her when Lackie's concentration was broken by Scabior's spell. She closed her mouth quickly and turned her gaze to her rescuer before she was reminded of the pain in her molested body.

"What the fuck is goin' on 'ere?" Scabior shouted at her and made his way over by kicking away the body blocking his path. Hermione felt her whole body tremble as chock took over and she feared the ablaze eyes shooting flames at her. She wanted the man to back off, she needed to get away from the new rapist. She tried to roll from the bed and crawl away but he was faster, taking her arm firmly and throwing her back onto the bed. He was going to rape her! She had known it since the day he leaned his head on her shoulder and smelled her hair.

She was tired and sore and could not find the strength to even attempt to fight him. She began to scream in fear, clutching the blanket to her body and moved to the other side of the bed, trapped between the man and the wall of the tent. Tears flowed from her eyes and she was awfully aware of his approaching hands. She kicked at them and screamed directly into his face. He stopped dead, looming over her beside the narrow bed with a confused look on his face. Hermione could not care less about the snatcher and curled into a ball with her back to him and cried her heart out, waiting for his large hands.

* * *

Scabior looked at the small witch sobbing on his bed and felt the remnants of his rage fade away. Why was she acting like this?

He had only been gone for an hour to blow off some steam in the forest, aiming for the trees and casting spell after spell until he was drenched in sweat. Granger had annoyed him very much with her insults and her inability to utter some kind of gratitude. Was common decency too much to ask for?

Scabior had walked back to the camp, knowing that she could not escape from his wards and intent on demanding a thank you from her. Once he arrived at his tent he could hear noises coming from it. They were muffled but he was able to make out a male grunting and chuckling. Needless to say Scabior had reached for his wand and prepared for whatever might meet him inside.

He flung open the door and saw a man kneeling on his bed, keeping his balance with the arms placed at his sides, and Granger with closed eyes and wide open mouth almost touching his rigid cock with her pink tongue. Before he had a chance to reflect on the scene, a fire flared up within his chest and he experienced the familiar tingling of dark magic surging in his blood. He cast a Stunning spell at the man and watched how he fell from the bed and landed immobilized on the floor. Lackie! Why was he in his tent? He glanced at the woman still gaping with her tongue visible and discovered her wrinkled sweater and her trousers by the knees. Lackie had not forced her to suck his cock, his hands had been on the bed. She had done it willingly! And perhaps more.

Scabior had never experienced the feeling that suddenly scorched his core, clawed at his sanity, dried his throat and weighted his shoulders. He felt possessive, hurt, betrayed, angry and disgusted at the same time but it was not the accurate feeling. He pointed his wand to the mudblood who held his gaze.

"What the fuck is goin' on 'ere?"

Was it a whisper or a shout? He could not tell but regardless of which, he would get answers from the filthy woman on the bed. Impatiently he kicked Lackie out of the way and reached the bed. She made to escape him but he caught her by the arm and pushed her onto the bed. 'Not today, mudblood whore!' he thought but was surprised to see her let out a shrilling scream and work herself into a frenzy. Clearly upset, she moved to the other side of the bed and stayed along the wall. Scabior wondered why she behaved like this and tried to bring her to him by reaching for her shaking form. A defensive kick hit his left hand, inflicting pain and he retracted it swiftly.

Confused by her actions he simply observed how she screamed at him before she curled up and sobbed. He took a look at Lackie again, ignoring the nausea that hit him when he saw his ugly cock. With female whimpers in his ears, Scabior discovered a wand in the stunned man's hand. He looked back to Granger's small frame and suddenly understood the whole situation.

She had been assaulted by Lackie and cursed with an Imperius! Both relief and distress flowed through Scabior and he was not sure how to handle the situation before him. He had never raped a woman although he had seen his share of women after a rape and women being raped. However, he had never taken care of a raped woman, what should he do?

Being the practical snatcher he was, he figured that it would be appropriate to first remove the awful man from the woman. Scabior was not above touching Lackie and so, he brutally took hold of Lackie's hood to drag him out of his tent. He tugged now and then to hurt the man's neck and once outside he lifted the unconscious man as high as he could manage, in order to drop him carelessly to the hard ground.

He aimed some hard kicks at the man's ribs and one satisfying kick at his precious body parts. This brought Lackie to life and he clutched his sex, moaning. The other snatchers emerged from their surrounding tents and watched how their leader manhandled Lackie. Scabior needed to inflict more pain on the dirty creep and raised his wand.

"Crucio" he hissed and saw with gleaming eyes how the man began to scream and writhe on the cold ground as all kinds of agony went through his flesh and bones. After a few minutes of torture, Scabior remembered the woman inside his tent and released Lackie. The man panted but was foolish enough to dare a look at Scabior.

"You stole from me, Lackie. You stole what was mine, just like Greyback did. Snatcher rule No. 15 permits me to choose a punishment for you."

Scabior's voice was laced with neutrality although his brown eyes were as dark as the cloak of a dementor. Lackie quivered, beyond the point of objections.

"Since you seem to like groping defenceless girls I think you'll find it very fun to be surrounded by a bunch of females. Inferi females. Take him away, lads." Two snatchers hurried to fulfil Scabior's wish and grabbed Lackie by the collar. A white face was the last thing Scabior saw of Lackie before he side-along-apparated with his former companions, now turned to guards.


	13. Chapter 13 Fallacies

**Long chapter for you, but only in return for reviews. :) Convince me to keep writing on this story by giving me a few words of appreciation. And I'm grateful for everyone who has added my story to their favorite lists. So long!**

**Inspirational music: Tell me now by Maire Brennan/Hans Zimmer  
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Chap 13 Fallacies

"I know you all want some kind of payment for our last snatched prey and I'm sure that the Dark Lord or the Ministry will reward us soon. However, I'm gonna make you a deal. I get the mudblood, who was given to me in the first place by the Dark Lord himself, and you boys don't come near her. For that I'm willing to give my share of the reward to you all, fair and square. It's a deal?"

It was odd for Scabior to bargain with his own snatchers but it was a necessity. Even the most loyal and collected men in the group could be tempted to have their way with the only girl in the area and that was not something Scabior would approve of. He knew he was basically giving away thousands of galleons for the sake of one mudblood but it felt strangely right. Hopefully he could put his men up to it and ensure the woman's safety in the camp. He cleared his throat impatiently, exhorting the men to deliver an answer. One snatcher emerged from the huddled bunch.

"Boss, we appreciate the offer but we're wondering how you define 'near her'. I mean, if she'll be let out from your tent, does that mean we all have to disappear into the forest or our own tents? That could be inconvenient for us, if you get my drift." Scabior held up his hands.

"That wouldn't be the case, gentlemen. Just keep yourself at least three feet away from her and I'm good. And no fooling around with innuendoes. Let me take care of that."

He smirked at the relaxed snatchers who grinned back. Even if Granger, well, _meant_ something to Scabior it did not erase the fact that she was a filthy mudblood in the eyes of others, especially in the current climate of the wizarding world. Scabior would not betray himself and his changing attitude against this particular mudblood and so, he had to keep up appearance in front of his men.

"Alright, boss. It's a deal."

"Good. Now I suggest you take the weekend off. Throw a party or something to celebrate the victory of the Dark Lord. Just make sure that you're back fairly sober on Monday morning, okay?" Several snatchers nodded like obedient pupils and some of them high-fived each other, apparently looking forward to a two-day non-stop drinking feast. Already there were sounds of apparating echoing in the forest as a bunch left, probably to find a pub and get plastered.

Scabior shook his head at their giddiness as he began to walk back to his tent to take care of the damage caused by Lackie. He scolded himself; had Bellatrix not in her manipulative kind of way warned him about the risks with bringing a woman to his camp? And he had forgot all about it since the day at the Manor, too busy healing Granger and then tending to her day and night until he felt fatigue take its toll on him. That was probably the main reason to why he had snapped in the argument between the two of them. Still, Scabior felt rather bad, blaming himself for the heated discussion with a barely recovered woman in chock, creating a one-way ward; thus making it impossible for her to escape but enabling whoever on the outside to trespass, leaving her alone and defenceless for an hour in a camp with ruthless snatchers and, to top it all off, assuming she had given her consent to perform sexual acts to disgusting creatures like Lackie and afterwards threatening her in the confrontation. 'Scabior, what a bloody mess!' he thought, carefully lifting the fabric from the doorway and entering his tent with a tightening in his chest.

She had not even moved from her previous position close to the wall. Scabior put his wand in his coat pocket and let the hand stay there while he awkwardly rubbed his neck with the other. Just take the dragon by the horns.

"Granger," he called out with his softest voice in an attempt to coax her to turn to him. No response. He stepped nearer the bed and repeated a little louder, "Granger!". She sniffed and a shiver through her body proved her misery. This required far more effort from Scabior than he had ever spent on a woman. 'Win her trust by charm and allure. Charm and allure.'

Using the seducing skills from his youth, he tried again, almost whispering, "Hermione." It was a special feeling, using her real name and it had a certain smoothness as it slipped from his lips. The trembling stopped and the woman began to little by little turn around on the bed, wincing as she moved. Scabior was flabbergasted at her appearance.

A red bruise covered her cheek; the eyes were also red, though from crying. Her hair was all tangles. She held her hand around her bandaged wrist as if supporting and protecting it from further harm. The jeans were still by her knees but Scabior could not see much of her thighs from her foetal position. She turned her wounded eyes to his and Scabior almost gasped, for there was a hazy mist preventing the glittering mocha colour to reach him. This must be the look of a raped woman. Almost dead irises staring without focus. It unnerved Scabior and he made it his quest to bring the real Hermione back. He sat down on his haunches a couple of feet away from the bed to not appear as a threat to her.

"Hermione, are you hurt?" He knew it was a silly question during the circumstances but he had to make her talk to him. After a dreadful minute of waiting she nodded, not breaking eye contact with him. Summoning all his patience for the following questions, Scabior continued with a low voice, "Where does it hurt?" She blinked but otherwise she stayed immobilized. Scabior tried another approach.

"Is your wrist damaged?" He could tell that it was, it was only a try to get her to let him help. Hermione slowly let go of the arm and stretched it out hesitantly on the bed. Not wanting to break her newly founded trust, Scabior asked, "Is it okay if I heal it, Hermione?"

She took a deep breath, the veil faded a little from her eyes and she mumbled in a broken voice, "Make the pain go away." This time he was not angered by the bluntness or a missing 'thank you' but more concerned about her health.

He slid forward and took out his wand. She began to cry once she caught a glimpse of the piece of wood, so he hurried to hush her soothingly and reached for her hand with his free one. A tingling spread through Scabior when his calloused hand once more touched her soft, pale skin. He had missed the feeling of it under his fingers when he took care of her. And now it was time again. He began to caress her open palm with his thumb and raised his dark eyes to hers.

"What I promised after you woke up still stands. I'm not going to hurt you. I'm going to heal your wrist now." Before she had time to maybe object, Scabior made the bandaged disappear and saw a small bruising on the frail wrist. Not so quick to scare her but not slow enough to make her protest, he pointed the wand at her arm and whispered an incantation. They both watched how white skin replaced the bluish mark and Hermione let out a sigh, surely from the retreated ache. Proud of his first feat, Scabior bandaged the wrist once more and let go of it. In a normal tone he asked, "Where else are you hurt?" and could literally see how the veil returned to her eyes as she closed up.

* * *

"Where else are you hurt?"

The sound of his voice was pleasant although his words were far more terrible. How could she trust anyone at this point, and especially the man before her, to not take advantage of and abuse her even more?

Hermione was certainly not stupid. She had known since she left the Burrow in a hurry with Harry and Ron that she would not be safe anywhere. And if she got caught by dark wizards she could only count on them to harm her in various ways. But it had wounded her, more than she could ever imagine, having a man thrust his fingers inside her and take control over her entire being. If it hurt like hell from that experience, how much worse would it not be to be raped?

She closed her eyes, ignoring the snatcher who had just healed her wrist. Could she trust him to heal the rest of her? He seemed to be so dangerous sometimes, whereas now he had spoken with a soothing voice. And his calm eyes resembled the colour of dark chocolate and coffee beans when he fixed his gaze on her.

Hermione had to face it, she was vulnerable to Scabior. He could decide to rape her anytime he wanted and there was nothing she could do about it. She better take what help he was willing to give before he switched his mind. She opened her eyes and felt a small blush appear on her cheeks as she prepared to let him know she allowed him to help her.

"He…he grabbed my breasts very hard. They hurt," she let out in a defeated voice. Scabior bared his teeth for a moment before he calmed himself and lifted his wand once more.

"Can I see them, love? I need to see how big the bruises are to know when to stop healing them." She could only manage an understanding nod and lifted her wrinkled sweater over her mounds and carefully pushed her bra upwards. She ventured a look for herself and it was as if it hurt more upon seeing the purple marks around the disturbingly red nipples.

"Please," she begged the man who looked very upset when he saw her bruised chest. He proceeded to cast a healing spell on her and the pain vanished, to her relief. When the colour on her breasts was restored, she decided to ask Scabior to take care of the pain in her centre. 'To late to be embarrassed now', she thought cynically. But the man had gone from composed to defeated. His broad shoulders slumped, his head hung low and his eyes avoided hers. Surely he had seen worse done to a woman, had he not? But regardless of his mood swings, she desperately needed him to use his wand on her.

"He hurt me in…another place too. Can you help me?" she mumbled but he gave no response; as if he had not heard her.

She tried again.

"Please, make the pain stop."

Nothing.

"Sc…Scabior?"

It was the first time she used the man's name in front of him and this seemed to work. He released a shuddering breath and met her eyes. In an anguished voice he asked, "Where did that bastard hurt you, and how?" Taken by his forwardness, Hermione answered quickly, "Down there, my…my vagina. He pushed his fingers inside me. But…but I don't think he broke my hymen. But it hurts very much when I move."

"I'll take care of it," he said darkly through clenched teeth and reached for her legs. She could not prevent the hesitation at spreading her thighs for him not one hour after another man had forced himself on her. Luckily, Scabior understood her fear and placed his hand slowly on her naked thigh. With a reassuringly tone he whispered, "Don't worry about a thing. I'll never hurt you."

All anxiety disappeared and she opened her legs. A whimper got out when the pelvis was moved. Hermione felt his warm hand massage her thigh as if trying to distract her from the pain. Thankfully, he did not look at her when she slid down her underwear to her jeans and revealed her most private parts, perhaps to spare her from more humiliation. She knew he would not be able to see the bruises deep inside of her and understood she had to alert him when she felt fine again. The wand barely penetrated her and she felt the need to seek his eyes. He locked his eyes on her and whispered the accurate incantation. She gasped when the throbbing diminished.

After a silent minute she nodded to let him know that the healing was not necessary anymore. Scabior carefully removed his wand and got up from the hard floor. As she brought up her underwear and jeans and covered herself with the blanket, she watched him walk to his green chest and take out a key from his pocket. Once the chest opened he picked up a small jar, a potion bottle and a pink box. He lifted the items easily and made his way to the bed where she waited quietly but not without curiosity. He dumped his burden onto the soft surface beside her. She wanted to sit up and realized she was able to move unrestrainedly. He crouched by her side and pointed on the jar.

"If the ache returns, smear this on the area." Over to the bottle.

"It's the Dreamless Sleep Potion. Use it as you wish. And this," he referred to the pink box, "is just something I think you'll like."

He lifted the top and Hermione's eyes widened.

"Is it really…?" she asked, too surprised to fully believe the content. A smile graced Scabior's lips. He actually looked quite handsome when he smiled.

"Yeah, it's the finest ice cream in England, right from Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour, Diagon Alley. Bought just before the shop closed two years ago, but the ice cream's still okay. Been saving it for a time when it's absolutely needed. Take a spoon and dig in."

Hermione could never have guessed that this dark wizard, in the middle of nowhere, during a war, had a box of ice cream. And he was willing to give the rare food to her, a prisoner and a mudblood!

She was touched by his generosity and kindness. No one had ever given her such a precious gift, considering the circumstances. 'This ice cream must be worth a grand deal of money now. But what if it's poisoned?'

Hermione did not see herself as naïve or innocent anymore. It was a dangerous world and one could not trust anyone. Friends and allies turned to traitors, like Mundungus and Mr. Lovegood. Wards were breached, like at the wedding or just this day by the horrible snatcher.

"I want to share it with you," she declared without showing her suspicion.

"Never thought you'd ask, beautiful!" he exclaimed with a smirk and conjured a spoon for himself. 'Okay, the ice cream's probably harmless,' Hermione thought and took a spoonful of the ice cream, as equally pink as the box, at the same time as he.

It tasted delicious. Once it touched her tongue it melted slowly which brought out the flavour of strawberries with a touch of summer rain, giving the ice cream a certain lightness that could not be found in the muggle world. Hermione reached for another spoonful, suddenly aware of how hungry she was. She assumed she had not eaten anything substantial since the day when she got snatched. As the sweet molten coldness trickled down her throat, she could not ignore a happy feeling appearing within. Of course she was still afraid of what the future might bring for her, but at least it looked like she had judged her host too quickly.

Here he sat on the floor after healing her wounds twice and very civilized shared a box of ice cream with her. How odd!


	14. Chapter 14 Changes

**Hey fellows and followers! New chapter for you. This time I think the swedish band Cue and their hit song fit this chapter tremendously. Please read and review.  
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**Inspirational music: Burnin' by Cue  
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Chap. 14 Changes

"Scabior?"

He smirked upon hearing his own name from those full lips. He turned from the food stash in his chest to find out what Hermione wanted.

"Yes, beautiful?"

She sat cross-legged on the bed and he could see her whole face flush. That seemed to be her constant response to his pet names and he never got tired of it.

"I'm bored. Can I help you with dinner?"

Scabior huffed. She had recovered from the _incident_, as they called it, one week ago but he had insisted on her staying in bed. At first she had slept most of the time, using his Dreamless Sleep Potion to make sure she had no nightmares. He had managed to get her to eat more and she had told him that she and her companions had not seen this much tasty food for a long time. He had been annoyed at the typical teenage behaviour; not properly planning for a camping trip in the middle of the winter. Food was essential to keep yourself warm and strong which Scabior was well aware of.

"Fine. You can slice the cheese and put it on the sandwiches," he yielded and kept his eyes fixed on her as she got up and made her way over to the table. He put the bread on the wooden surface and stood beside her.

He had won her trust little by little and they found themselves indulging in conversations occasionally. But he could tell she was still hesitant to speak about her friends who were most likely dead by now. In return, he did not reveal every detail about himself or his trade. Besides, he assumed she would be rather horrified to hear about deep pits with inferi, mental beggars crawling in the streets and housebreakings in the dead of night to snatch entire families. That was not things for the ears of a nice lady he had decided. No, the topics were often about safe, common things like the weather, meals or the measures of their wands.

From time to time Scabior realized Hermione tried to cajole him into spilling information about the camp's location, where her wand was hidden or what the unusual silent Dark Lord was up to. He saw through her every attempt but enjoyed the questions that kept him on his toes.

"Excuse me, I'm just going to take the cheese slicer."

The soft voice woke Scabior from his thoughts and he watched his prisoner reach for the tool far on his side of the table. He found his vision clouded by a mass of golden brown curls that bounced as the woman beneath them stretched. To complete the hypnosis, he was suddenly surrounded by a heavy scent of sweet vanilla. He opened his mouth in pure awe at the beauty she unconsciously brought to his senses with her presence. The moment of bliss probably only lasted for barely a couple of seconds and yet it disarmed him completely and would sustain him through another night on the cold mattress he had brought from an abandoned cottage in the forest.

Scabior glanced at her retreated form, afraid that she had seen his reaction but she just lifted her head and smiled a little. He cleared his throat.

"You know I can get us something more than sandwiches, if you're tired of eating bread all the time."

"Oh?" she exclaimed with a teasing tone. "I'm guessing a dinner that can equal a Hogwarts feast isn't too much to ask for, then."

He rolled his eyes but could not prevent the grin that spread on his face.

"Ha, ha. Very funny, miss. Before I go out to fetch the proper ingredients I must ask, would you like a pumpkin pie with jumping chocolate frogs as topping, or perhaps cauldron cakes with sugar quills sticking out?"

He lifted an eyebrow in pretended query and was pleased to see her bring her hand to her mouth, trying to stifle a laugh. No, it was not easy to find food in the wizarding world after the war broke out. A grumble from Scabior's stomach reminded him of his present hunger, so he quickly made a sandwich and took a bite of it, savouring the taste of cheese and ham. She followed his lead and they settled on the solid table.

"No, but seriously," Scabior said after having swallowed down his first sandwich, "just tell me what you want to eat and I'll try to get it."

She seemed to contemplate his words and took a sip of water from her bottle.

"How would you get the food?" she asked slowly. Being distracted chewing on the nourishment his male body craved, Scabior answered without thinking, "I'll buy the rare stuff and take the rest from houses."

Sensing more than seeing her tensing up, he halted his eating and turned his head to hers. She chewed on her lower lip before she said, "You steal food from families?"

He put down his unfinished second sandwich and chose his words carefully.

"I only take what I absolutely need and search empty houses."

"Are the houses abandoned or do you just pop in while the families are away?" He did not like her complicated questions for he had not a good answer to them. Feeling defensive he growled sternly, "I cast Homenum Revelio on the place, and if there's no one home I go in, take some meat and potatoes and leave. It's not like I'm emptying the fucking refrigerator."

"But what if the people living there are really poor and only can afford one piece of meat and a few potatoes a week! How dare you steal their food they bought with hard-earned money?" she inquired haughtily as her cheeks turned red. Scabior's blood heated up from anger at her accusations and arousal at the sight of her deliciously tinged face.

"Don't exaggerate, pretty. I said I look for what they've got an' then take just a small amount of it for myself. An' if ya've not noticed, there's a fucking war goin' on! Ya must fight ta survive an' sometimes it's necessary ta borrow things from people unless ya'd rather starve!" he barked.

She got up and staggered further away from him with a disgusted look on her face.

"How can you eat at some poor child's expanse? Maybe I should inform you that I and Harry and Ron lived on mushrooms and beans the entire autumn. So perhaps it's not impossible for you to survive on things you find in forests or stores."

"That oughta explain yer gaunt cheeks an' 'ollow eyes. Ya can't survive on that for long. An' ya're tellin' me ya never stole any food last fall. It's a bloody miracle that ya didn't starve ta death, Hermione!"

She lifted her chin in a display of defiance.

"You're right, we did steal food. We took eggs from farms but we compensated the people by leaving money. Every time."

He tsked but tried to calm himself, not eager to repeat the mistake from last week. It was not an option to run away from her anymore, they had to settle the argument in the tent where they both lived. He clenched his fists and stared at the floor.

"I've learnt to hold onto my galleons for dear life, and do whatever it takes to stay alive. Is that hard to understand?" he asked in a low voice.

Hermione stood still, but not scared. She mumbled, "I just feel that in this mad world, someone has to keep doing good things or else we're all doomed."

Scabior heard her clearly and ran a frustrated hand through his tangled brown and red hair.

"Do you think I'm a doomed and evil man?"

"Why don't you tell me?" she countered.

"I'm not so sure I'm good enough to accommodate to the needs of others, apart from myself." He talked without reasoning with himself, which made him feel very exposed to the untainted woman before him.

She met his eyes, chocolate mocha to coffee black. With his gaze fixed on her, he observed her hesitantly walking closer to his place on the table, lifting her hand to his face and carefully resting it against his unshaved cheek. He closed his eyes and leaned into the soft touch as the remaining irritation floated away. His nose was placed near her wrist and he inhaled deeply, appeasing once the smell of her filled his system. He liked her for everything she was and hated himself for everything _he_ was. And she reminded him of the fact that he could not hold a candle to her.

"Scabior."

He opened his eyes, hoping to be able to throw her an apologetic look. "I think you did quite well when you took care of me after Bellatrix _and_ the other incident. That must mean that you do have some goodness within."

He sighed into her warm palm, relieved that she did not deem him a lost cause and judged him for some of his actions.

"Thank you for saving my life and my mind, Scabior." He looked deep into her earnest eyes as he responded with a somewhat husky voice, "I've always been keen on self-preservation but now, I want to keep you alive as well."

She blushed magnificently and removed her hand from his cheek. Despite covering her burning face with her curls, it was still impossible to not notice her cheeks. Scabior smiled as he watched her make her way to the bed and get into it, with her clothes on. He turned to the remnants of their interrupted dinner and threw them on the growing garbage pile in the corner.

Then he prepared for the night by taking off his leather coat and undoing the golden buttons on his jacket until it could slide down his muscular torso. He felt no inhibition at showing his body to the woman but deliberately chose to not see if she stared at him, wanting her to enjoy him without interruption of another blushing attack. At last he removed his boots and lay down on his mattress on the floor. He covered himself with a blanket of his own and turned off the light in the tent with his wand.

As he closed his eyes, he thought that every day with Hermione would be an adventure, but he was not too bothered by it, to tell the truth.

* * *

When the light disappeared, Hermione turned her head to face the soft wall. She could not believe she had just ogled at a half-naked man who was unaware of her looking.

The damned cheeks blushed at the unfortunately memorized image of Scabior's handsome profile. He was pale but strong with broad shoulders that used to be hidden beneath his black coat. From what she could see, the muscles on his back had been visible when he had let the green jacket fall to the floor. And his front! Hermione began to feel warm and fussy when she thought about his shaped torso with defined pectorals and an abdomen she had never seen before.

But then she did not have much to compare with, having only seen Ron and Harry a few times. Some years ago thay had both been lanky boys but recently they had begun to fill out; Harry becoming a bit broader and Ron getting more bulky. Neither of them could compete with Scabior in that area, as his grown-up body looked like something from a perfume commercial.

Then Hermione remembered that Ron and Harry most likely were dead now. Tears gathered in her eyes when she thought about her best friends being tortured and killed by the hands of Voldemort. Of course she did not know any details since Scabior had not told her anything concerning Voldemort, but she found it impossible to believe that her friends were alive.

She wiped the tears from her face with her sleeve and sniffled quietly, not wanting the snatcher to hear her. Her feelings towards him were truly ambivalent, as he in fact was an enemy that did the dirty work for Voldemort and held her as prisoner. On the other hand he took good care of her all the time and even if she had not been given permission to leave the tent, she was not sure se wanted to, knowing that she was a defenceless mudblood woman in a world of dark powers.

So for now she bided her time in the tent, waiting for an opportunity to find out where her wand was and then perhaps try to get in touch with the Order or whatever resistance movement there was. Because Godric help her, she would find the rest of the horcruxes and destroy them even if she had to do it herself. She had made a promise to herself to assist Harry in his hunt for the pieces of Voldermort's soul and even though Harry was dead, she still wished to fulfil her promise and get rid of the insane wizard.

As she yawned she let one of her arms drop to the floor beside the bed and feel for the bottle with the Dreamless Sleep Potion. She had begun to cut down on the dosage a few days ago and was relieved that she did not have any nightmares at all. But then she did not remember the content of her dreams. 'Well, at least I don't wake up scared senseless.'

Perhaps she should try to sleep tonight without the pointless potion. She drew up her hand and buried it under the blanket, ready to fall asleep.


	15. Chapter 15 Breathings

**Hello, my lovely followers**. **This is like the calm chapter before the storm. Unfortunatley I have an essay to write for the uni and I tend to focus too much on this fanfic. Please, bear with me and feed me with reviews. I promise I will not desert this story, after all I have the plot figured out. Maybe I'll manage to update around the fifteenth of May. Enjoy your reading.**

**Inspirational music: I turn to you by Melanie C**

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Chap. 15 Breathings

"No, please don't! I'm begging you! Please don't hurt me! No, no!"

Scabior was usually a light sleeper, due to his snatcher nature. It was as if he had a constant need to be awake and use his energy instead wasting hours on sleeping. It was also an advantage in his trade to sleep with one eye open in case of emergencies and dangers. Now his ears were disturbed by the female mumbles and screams which had roused him.

He sat up and whipped out his wand in the darkness; a reflex from years of living on the edge. His keen eyes searched the dark tent for intruders but found none. Feeling more awake, he trained his eyes on the tossing figure on his bed. 'She's having a nightmare.'

He got up, ignorant of his scarcely clad body as he hurried to his distressed prisoner. She was wrapped tightly in the blanket and her forehead covered in sweat. A few brown strands lay stuck to her face and did not move even when she turned her head rapidly. Scabior figured she would rather be woken up than continue to walk in the torturous land of nightmares. He cast Lumos and put the wand in his messy hair to free both his hands.

He sat down on the bed and leaned forward.

"Hermione, wake up," he said softly but she only let out another pained moan. With a sigh he reached for her shoulders and shook them gently. Her eyes snapped open and she gasped loudly as she bolted up, and knocked him in the nose.

"Ow, what the 'ell, 'ermione!" he grunted as he leaned back, clutching his poor nose for dear life. She panted heavily, probably because of her recent nightmare and the chock at seeing him so close. He felt something wetting his fingers and could suddenly only smell metal. The horrified look on the woman's face confirmed his suspicion that his nose had begun to bleed.

Before he could react she had launched for his wand and pulled it out of his tangle. The light was extinguished and fear gathered in his core for a millisecond at this unexpected event until she lightly tapped his nose and breathed out, "_Episkey_"

Scabior gasped when his nose was being painfully but quickly fixed. Once the pain had worn off he let go of his nose and narrowed his eyes; she had his wand. She seemed to realize the same thing and turned her scared eyes to his. As a lonely tear escaped the corner of her eye and slowly trickled down, leaving behind a trail of watered skin which gleamed in the once again gloomy tent, Hermione opened her hand and dropped the wand in the small space between them. Scabior snatched his life-depending weapon and tossed it across the tent to his own simple bed.

Completely forgetting his bloodied hands, the only remaining evidence of his injury, he grabbed the woman's arms, staining her white sweater and hissed, "Who gave you permission to take my wand?" She began to tremble in his hold and said in a weak voice, "I'm so sorry, it was just a reflex. I swear, it was only my instinct."

"It was yer instinct to steal my wand?" he snarled and bared his teeth menacingly.

"No Scabior, my instinct to heal you."

His eyebrows lifted upon hearing this surprising explanation. He had suspected she had wanted to use the wand to attack him and then run away from the camp. But she seemed to tell the truth, after all, she had let go of the wand quickly and even in the darkness he saw her beautiful eyes shimmer with both unshed tears and honesty. Suddenly Scabior became aware of his firm grasp of her arms and released her. She brought her arms around herself and sniffed.

He remembered why he sat on her bed in the first place and explained with a calm voice, "You were having a nightmare so I tried to wake you up." The shudder that went through her body did not escape his observant eyes.

"Don't you take your potion for it?"

In a shaky voice she blurted out, "I wanted to try to sleep without it for one night. I thought it would be alright. Guess I was wrong."

With that Hermione burst into tears in front of a very uncomfortable Scabior. He rubbed his bristles absentmindedly and thought that maybe she would feel better if she got whatever upset her off her chest.

"Care to share with me what you dreamt about?"

She hiccupped and mumbled with a broken voice, "There was a dark room. I was trapped in there alone when Bellatrix Lestrange entered with the intention to harm me. She beat me until every inch of my skin hurt. She...she laughed at me and said that now I was going to be damaged on the inside as well." Hermione closed her eyes and rocked back and forth. "And then, she let that man into the room. Only this time he did rape me and no-one came to help me. I was all alone."

She sobbed loudly, unable to further keep her emotions in check. Scabior swore in his mind. Clearly she still needed the potion to sleep without being haunted by those who had harmed her. He was enraged by the obvious fact that those cruel people still, even in their absence could make her cry. Gently this time he reached for her upper arms and pulled her forward, towards his chest, finally getting an opportunity to satisfy his need to comfort her when she was sad. She did not resist but rested her head in the space under his chin and wept.

As he held her, Scabior recalled a distant memory from his time at Hogwarts. He had been stuck in the infirmary after getting into a fight with two fifth years; doing quite well for a third year until they broke his arm. As he lay in the soft bed resting Madame Pomfrey had walked by, a protecting arm draped over the shoulders of a tiny first year boy. He had cried over a deceased family owl. Scabior had silently observed the scene from his position. The mediwitch had lifted the upset boy onto a bed and seated herself beside him before she hugged him to her chest, soothing him. At the time, Scabior had thought it to be awkward to witness the nurse comforting the young pupil but now he embraced the memory, as it gave him a hint of how to calm Hermione down.

He held her close with one arm placed on the small of her back and buried the other hand in her soft brown waves. She kept shedding her tears like before, only this time Scabior could feel them making their way down his torso. An especially distressed sound from the woman made him begin to rock her slowly as he hushed her.

"It's alright, love. I've got you, you're safe here. You're safe." 'With me,' a possessive voice in his mind added but he suppressed it, concentrating on the witch in his arms.

The occasional shivers in the other body declined after some time and he heard her breathe heavy against his wet chest hair. The warm air hit one of his exposed nipples. He was awfully aware of the sudden rush of arousal coursing south as the nipple hardened. But Merlin, he would be damned if he scared her with his own desire. Reluctantly he pushed her away slowly, immediately missing her warmth as the chilly air hit his naked skin, although it did help him to fight down his lust.

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Hermione felt exhausted but comforted as Scabior let go of her arms carefully. She brought up her sleeve to dry the few lingering tears on her cheeks. With bleary eyes she watched the motionless man who sat near her. It suddenly occurred to her that she had cried onto his bare chest. Oh Godric, she could even see the traces of her sadness among the dark chest hair.

Regardless of her inexperience with men, the sight of his toned torso so near her made her heart leap. He looked very good. And now that she thought about it, he carried with himself a scent of fresh apples, and something else she could only describe as wilderness. It suited him and calmed and excited her at the same time. She waited in silence for something, anything from him but was unsure of what she exactly expected.

He exhaled before he muttered, "Take your potion already."

A thump of disappointment at his dismissal of their rather intimate moment struck her but she complied and found the rejected bottle and a spoon on the floor beside her. Scabior played with his fingers as she drank a whole spoonful, thus assuring herself that her mind would not create more nightmares this night. Once she had put down her things Scabior lightly tapped her knee hidden under the blanket and made to leave which panicked her.

Desperately she launched her body to grab his hand, almost losing her balance and tumbling off the bed in the process. He haltered his movement but frowned at their joined hands.

"I'm sorry, I... It's just that I want you here."

He stared at her and she blushed in embarrassment. Yet she continue in a hurried exclamation, "I have trouble falling asleep when I'm alone in darkness with my thoughts. I know it's silly but I can't help it, I get scared. But it usually helps if I sleep next to somebody; I did it with Harry recently and everything felt fine again."

Too busy with her ranting, she missed the flinch in Scabior's otherwise stony features and the gleaming look of revelation in his dark eyes.

"Anyway, I was just wondering, oh this is so mortifying, if you would consider sharing my, or well, _your_ bed tonight. You only have to lie here until I'm asleep. I know I'm beyond audacity for asking this of you but it would, as I was saying, help me through this night. Could you do it please?"

After her last word Hermione breathed in much needed air and saw him looking at her with curiosity. 'Oh shit, I've made a fool of myself,' she thought with increasing fear of rejection. To her surprise Scabior began to intertwine their linked fingers and a corner of his mouth twisted.

"Well, it's not polite to deny a lady such a request," he smirked and came back to the bed.

Hermione's stomach fluttered with equally relief as nervousness; no matter how you looked at it, she was to share a bed with a grown man who most certainly was not a friend like Harry. She shifted to the side, making room for his bigger body while he lifted the blanket to get in. A loud squeak was heard from the poor bed, undeniable protesting against the added weight on it. Hermione giggled at the amusing noise and Scabior let out a snigger in a masculine voice. However the short respite from their current situation was soon over and Hermione found herself too jittery to go to sleep just yet. Scabior turned his head to her.

"Do you know who is the best teacher at Hogwarts?"

Caught off guard by his random question she blurted out, "McGonagall?"

He shook his head the best he could against the pillow and drawled out in a deadpan tone, "Dementor."

Despite Hermione's otherwise intelligent brain it took some while until she understood the joke, since she was not familiar with any jokes from the wizarding world, if one of course did not count the Weasley twins fooling around. She began to chuckle along with a very cheerful Scabior.

"Fancy hearing another one?" the snatcher asked in an eager voice which Hermione could not bear to destroy.

"Let's hear then," she said with a smile and Scabior got the look of a child who had found a rare Chocolate Frog Card.

"Okay, who are the weakest creatures in the world?" This time Hermione had learnt her lesson and shook her head immediately and Scabior continued, "The inferi or..."

"Or what?" she wondered, confused by his unfinished sentence.

"That's it, beautiful. The inferior's the weakest creature, obviously," he exclaimed and rolled his eyes in pretended annoyance at her stupidity. She laughed but even in the dusky tent Hermione could see what he did; his dark irises contrasted with the white colour around them and she caught the way the brown circles went.

"Hey! I bet you wouldn't understand ninety percent of the muggle jokes I know," she retorted and pouted. He snorted with laughter until those deep brown eyes settled on her outstretched lower lip. Hermione's mirth gave way for the returned anxiety. She retracted her lip and yet his gaze stayed fixed on her mouth. His eyes darkened and he seemed to be completely obsessed with her lips. Hermione felt anew a flutter behind her ribcage as she was being so thoroughly studied by the burning gaze of a man.

For a moment she thought she got a lump in her throat before it strayed upwards and developed into yawn. That brought Scabior back to reality and he blinked rapidly.

"Aww, look who's tired. Time to sleep, eh?" he teased, as if he did not want to recognize his strange behaviour just a moment ago. But Hermione did not bother to question him, feeling rather sleepy after the eventful night. She brought the blanket over her arms and mumbled with closed eyes, "Goodnight Scabior."

Right before she entered the dreamless tranquillity she heard him respond quietly, "Sleep tight, beautiful." which made her fall asleep with a smile.


	16. Chapter 16 Fires

**Hello, dear friends! Happy update to you all! Thanks for every review, and even the alerts and favorites. Keep making me happy, please. Oh, and we'll soon know what's happened to Harry and Ron. Have fun!**

**Inspirational music: Nothing else matters by Metallica (if you want, try the instrumental version by Apocalyptica with a very haunting fiddle)  
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Chap. 16 Fires

Hermione's skin was on fire. She lay on her side and was so unbelievingly hot as if she dwelled with heat-loving salamanders. She stirred but found she could not move.

Hermione's eyes fluttered open, revealing to her a sunlit textile wall which brought both light and warmth to her face. However, there was something behind her that warmed her back. Slightly disoriented by the dry air she tried to sit up when a hard thing put pressure on her abdomen and prevented her from getting up. Determined to get away from the heat around her, she pushed down the blanket and was grateful for the small measure of cooling until she glanced down and saw a strong arm speckled with brown hair tightly secured around her midsection.

'No, it can't be…' Hermione thought incredulously and craned her neck to manage a look over her shoulder. An utterly relaxed face in the midst of a tangle of brown waves and a red stripe confirmed the unlikely; Scabior slept behind her. And not just behind her.

She was suddenly aware of his whole front pressed into her which must have caused the overheating. She even felt his legs fitting into her form and could make out a soft noise of his trousers occasionally brushing against her jeans. Still, she had a hard time believing that Scabior had not returned to his mattress once she fell asleep.

The unconfident, doubting part of her told her the explanation simply had to be that he indeed had intended on leaving her but gotten tired and fallen asleep before he could. After all, why would he otherwise sleep in a narrow bed with an ill-looking, frightened mudblood girl? Unless, as another voice in her argued, he had chosen to stay with her. He was a man and as one maybe he had discovered something about her he liked. Had he not looked positively mesmerized yesterday by her lips? The memory alone made Hermione smile and she felt a pleasant flutter in her belly.

Suddenly she was overcome by the urge to once again feel Scabior's arm tense around her. She rested her head on the pillow, careful to appear as sleeping, should he wake up. Fighting down the wicked smile, she held her breath and thrust her hips forward. In response the muscles in Scabior's arm flexed and squeezed her stomach. She heard him let out a small growl that brought shivers down her spine despite her hot skin. She waited patiently until he relaxed his grip and breathed calmly again.

Quite pleased with herself, Hermione relished in the mixture of her Gryffindor courage and her newfound outrageous, almost Slytherin, behaviour and she decided to throw caution to the side. If everything she had fought for was going down as Voldemort seized the world, maybe it was time for her to enjoy the touch of a man before she too perished. Hermione felt no guilt whatsoever for wanting some intimacy while others suffered. It hurt too much to think about the world outside this warm tent.

Intent on getting her bliss she moved the opposite way this time, wriggling into the naked torso of Scabior. Unconsciously he cocooned her body and she gladly endured the heat in return for his protecting proximity. Then something unexpected happened. Scabior inched himself even closer and buried his nose in her hair.

All confidence left Hermione and she became more nervous than smug. She heard him breathe in near her ear, just like he had done that day he snatched her. Was he still asleep? Before Hermione had time to ponder it she felt something hard press into her lower back.

'Oh, God! Is that…?' she thought and tried to get away from Scabior's firm grasp. Unfortunately her movements made him once more hold her down and she heard him groan against her head as her body rubbed against that hard part of him. This had certainly not happened when she had slept next to Harry! Her face flushed with embarrassment and she felt the blood heat up until it boiled within her. She barely recognized that the fluttering had returned. At that particular moment it hit her that she was not scared by Scabior or his male body.

Despite the incident earlier with the awful snatcher, Hermione now willingly trespassed the border to the adult land of fire, frenzy, lust and desire.

The revelation made her flinch with her still unsure face, whereas her beating heart warmed her body to an almost unbearable degree. In her core she felt an unrelenting need for more from Scabior. But that need frightened her. Overwhelmed by her conclusion in the sunny morning, Hermione found herself longing for some time alone, away from the tight embrace, to clear her head and find logic among her thoughts. She put her hand on the strong forearm, not unaware of how the brown hair tickled her palm.

"Scabior? Wake up."

After shaking his arm gently to rouse him, Hermione heard a sharp intake of air and felt how he swiftly removed himself entirely from her. Immediately she cooled down but she kind of missed the gone moment of stillness and, well, _half_ innocent intimacy. Now it was impossible to further delay the merciless course of time. She tuned to lie on her back and found herself trapped under the intense gaze of a snatcher.

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'Dammit! Dammit to Merlin pissing his pants!'

It was the first thing that came to Scabior's mind as he bolted to a seated position on a very soft and very familiar bed. He spotted the female with the unruly curls beside him and watched how she turned around. He was truly amazed by her feature as a golden shimmer from the canvas lit up her reddened cheeks and slightly damp forehead, making her look like something to hold onto and keep safe and treasure forever.

He shook his head disbelievingly; why had he not woken up early like he used to? 'I'm loosing my touch here,' he reprimanded himself before he became aware of a part of him that indeed had risen, and he was painfully reminded of it.

Little Scabior was very aroused, straining eagerly against the abrasive fabric of his pants. And Scabior remembered how he only seconds ago had lay pressed into Hermione. This was a new experience for Scabior; he had never stayed the night or been in a relationship long enough to wake up next to an already awake woman. 'How to sneak out of this with elegance?' He cleared his throat.

"Morning."

'Great line! Really smooth, you fucker!'

She remained on her back but replied softly, "Good morning, yourself."

'Okay, no hostility here. I can work with this.'

"I usually get up early, but, ya know, 'ectic night an' nice bed. Sorry 'bout squeezing the air out o' ya, love. I wasn't aware o' it, 'onestly." He could tell his cheeks were heating up, a very rare occurrence, and knew he was nervous as his accent became thicker. He cast a quick, apologizing glance at Hermione who chose to smile at him, making herself even more beautiful and causing his hard on to jump in the process.

"How's your nose today?"

She completely threw him off the track but he decided to leave his pathetic explanations and go for the offered change of subject.

"Fine, it's just fine. You're really handy with a wand." he grinned and brought up his left hand to investigate his healed nose.

She paled and stared in terror at him, or rather, at the exposed underside of his arm where a black skull with a snake crawling out of it's mouth were carved into his skin.

One silent heartbeat, two silent heartbeats. She inched away from him despite the fact that she could only move a small distance before she reached the tent wall.

Five heartbeats, six heartbeats. He clutched his arm to cover the Dark Mark that he had not minded before this woman entered his life and turned everything upside-down.

Ten, eleven, twelve. He searched for her eyes, trying to get her to meet his gaze. She promptly lowered her mocha brown pools of goodness, innocence and faith, only seeing the wrinkled blanket that rested on the bed where the two of them had slept together. She avoided him.

"'Ermione, ya know I have it, right?" Scabior croaked and suddenly felt very naked without his vest and coat. She shook her head, speaking to the bed, "I haven't seen you in daylight without your clothes on."

"Well, now you know. I wear the Dark Mark day and night. I'm a snatcher and, if you can put it that way, a minor Death Eater," he stated in a business-like tone but steadied himself for whatever may be Hermione's response. After a torturous minute of silence she spoke.

"I would want some time to myself now, please."

Worried by the lack of fight, Scabior frowned. "What do you mean by that?"

"I need to gather my thoughts, to think a little. Can you leave me alone for a couple of hours?"

A sting in his chest assaulted him after her request but Scabior fought down the acid taste of rejection. "Okay, beautiful," he said slowly. "I'll go to town and _buy_ supplies and check for news about the Dark L...eh, the current boss of the world."

He got up from the bed, not feeling the slightest excitement anymore and went to fetch his clothes. As he dressed he was sure he could touch the sudden cold tension in the warmed-up tent. Once his boots were on he picked up his discarded wand from the floor and went for the doorway. He stopped in front of it and turned to Hermione who still lay curled up on the bed. She refused again to meet his gaze.

"I've put up a new ward on the tent so no-one except me can get inside. But you can leave the tent if you wish. Just don't consider running away, 'cause my snatchers are keeping an eye on you for me. They won't harm you unless they want me to kill them. I'm off."

He stepped out to meet a glorious spring morning that even the dark powers ruling Britain could not prevent with their dark magic. A scent of burnt sausage and toasted bread filled his nose when the gentle wind went through the camp and across the open fire where a bunch of men prepared their breakfast.

Upon hearing steps on the ground, Rusty lifted his head and saw his boss standing amidst the burning flames of the camp fire. At least it looked like that since Rusty sat on the other side of the fire. Still, it was a rather eerie image in the otherwise calm, sunny morning.

Scabior felt a tad unhinged after the odd exchange between him and Hermione but figured that maybe he could use some time alone too and get his act together. Snatchers were not known for being considerate to people. Nor did the few of them who had earned the honour hide their Dark Marks to calm down women. Scabior felt lost, this was not him.

He kicked the ground and brushed some strands away from his face before he walked up to his snatchers, sensing they needed their somewhat absent leader.

"Hello, lads! Sunny side up, huh?" he joked, referring both to the eggs in the frying pan and the sunrise. Rusty and another man grinned but the others just yawned, still tired.

"Mornin', boss. All well with the bird?" Rusty said carefully, not seeking to provoke his leader. Scabior shrugged and said indifferently; "Yeah, she's doing great, 'cept she's very cheeky. Nicks my food whenever I'm not looking. You'd be surprised by how much a gal can eat." The audience raised their eyebrows in wonder at this new information.

"But you put the mudblood in place, right?" a man grunted before he spit on the bonfire. The others scoffed at him for nearly ruining the breakfast. Snatcher rule No. 17 stated: "Don't come between a fellow snatcher and his food, or you can expect smaller bollocks". Lucky for Scabior, his men got too distracted by the criminal to listen for an answer to Scabior's lie. He did not want to mention anything about Hermione, really, but realized that she may come outside and meet his men today. He had to prepare them for that.

"Oi! Listen, you tossers!"

They calmed down and gave him their attention.

"I'm going to Leeds again. Gotta buy food for myself and her, and perhaps find something for you lot." Suddenly the gang looked like a pack of hungry and greedy dogs.

"Whatcha gonna buy fer us, boss?" Rusty asked curiously.

Scabior pinched his nose in annoyance. Sometimes he thought his men were too childish for this job, only caring about their food. But they were the best snatchers in the country and their snatcher nature made them catch people easily under his command. At least they had done that until a week ago when they snatched the famous trio and handed over two thirds of it to the Dark Lord. Now, with no new orders or lists from the Ministry and silence from the Dark Lord, the snatcher gang became more and more restless. That explained why they suddenly only were concerned about getting food.

In a way, the hunt for food was a replacement for the hunt for people, although a poor one. They needed to use energy, just like Scabior. He sighed.

"Alright, I'll tell you. You're gonna get something that's not from before the winter. I don't know what I'll find, but I'll buy something fresh for you, okay?"

They looked sated with his answer so he continued. "Now, boys. I'll be gone for a couple of hours. Make sure at least on of you stays in the camp all the time, 'cause I might need you to look after my prisoner. You see, I gave her permission to go outside as long as she stays in the camp. Should she try to escape, catch her and keep her here until I return. But no funny business with her! She's mine. You got that?"

They nodded obediently but in his mind Scabior hoped that Hermione would not choose to run off, since a fidgety snatcher is an unstable snatcher.

He gave the men a casual wave and went to his usual spot for disapparating. On the way he felt he needed to go somewhere and think through his behaviour with Hermione 'Boy, I need a drink!" he thought before he concentrated and felt the ordinary pull of his navel.


	17. Chapter 17 Complications

**Hello, old friends and new! Thanks once again for the wonderful reviews and the alerts, etc. If you feed my confidence with more, I'll give you the first "special" moment between Scabior and Hermione. Now that's a cruel blackmail, huh?** **Until next time, enjoy your reading.**

**Inspirational music:** **The Swan Song by Within Temptation**

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Chap. 17 Complications

After Scabior had left the tent, and Hermione had waited a while to see that he really was gone, she tumbled out of the bed wearily. She was not hungry, as a queasy feeling settled in her stomach. What had happened this morning? Instead of figuring it out, Hermione chose to clean herself first, always one to appreciate the rare times of privacy. She headed to the small bathroom located in the corner where the trash had used to be.

Scabior had installed it the day after her assault. Of course by then she merely slept or drank her potion to sleep undisturbed. But during one short period of consciousness she did see him carry a small toilet and a tiny shower cubicle in each hand and heard him mumble the incantation for enlarging charmed objects. Then she fell asleep again and some hours later there had been proper walls to the ceiling secluding the corner and a door with a lock. She remembered how she had asked Scabior about the new room and he had explained to her that this was her own bathroom. He still felt more comfortable with tending to his own hygiene alone outside the camp and promised her the room would be all hers.

Now Hermione opened the door and entered the small but well-equipped bathroom. She locked the door to be safe, even though a simple _Alohomora_ from the outside would open it.

As she removed her clothes she considered washing them in the shower before she washed herself since she felt powerless when she asked Scabior to cast a _Scourgify_ on them. Always keen on being clean Hermione decided to follow her instincts and take care of the only things she owned at the moment apart from her hidden wand.

Scabior had been kind enough to provide the bathroom with apple-scented soap and a small bottle of shampoo for witches. She had not yet dared to ask him how he had been able to lay his hands on the shampoo; it was not like there were beauty shops open anymore in the wizarding community, although she had caught him muttering about the insane price for simple _hair-soap_.

She put the neat pile of clothes in the shower and turned on the water. As she methodically cleaned her laundry she remembered the last time she did the laundry when everything still was fine. Sure she had been annoyed at Ron and brooded about her parents, but she had been with her friends and thought the three of them could destroy Voldemort. A pang of sadness hit her and she realized she missed Harry and Ron immensely. 'Poor boys suffering before Voldemort and his bloody Death Eaters. And here am I!' Hermione thought with sudden self-contempt.

They may have died for what they believed in while she enjoyed a downright holiday. With guilt flooding her mind she thought about her imprisonment. She had eaten food stolen from families. She had not once begun to plan a way to take back her wand and escape. She had been civilized to her guard because he had treated her the same way. And, oh Merlin, she had put her trust in the same guard and invited him to sleep in her bed. She, Hermione Granger had grinded herself against a Death Eater like a wanton Slytherin slut while the world might be on fire.

She felt sick and launched herself to the toilet as bile came up her throat. She vomited loudly and began to cry, still holding onto the porcelain. When her stomach had emptied itself she flushed and forced herself up despite wobbling knees. She staggered to the shower and washed her mouth.

Still careful of her laundry, Hermione clenched her teeth together and bent down to rinse her soapy clothes before she wringed out the water and hanged them on hooks on the wall so they could dry as much as possible while she showered. She sobbed when she once more stepped under the stream of heated water and let her tears mingle with the drops. Never in her life, not even that time when she only managed an E in DADA on her OWLs, had she been so disappointed at herself.

She was disgusted by her lack of resistance or attempt to free herself. Was it only because Scabior had been nice to her? How could she think he was good after a little healing and an amiable attitude? Surely it was all fake; a devious cover for his true nature as an evil, corrupted follower to Voldemort. Godric knows how many people he had murdered directly or indirectly by snatching and turning them in at the Ministry. He most certainly was not a man to long for, but a brute, a scum not worthy of licking her shoe. A pureblood pig to treat like his kind now openly treated hers.

Hermione braced herself as she leaned against the damp wall. He might have fooled her before. Now she was aware of it and would only care about getting away as fast as she could. She took a shuddering breath and turned off the water. The soft green towel waited as always, thanks to her tidiness, on its hook. As she dried herself she could not deny the small but ignited feeling of resurrection.

Gone was Hermione, the crying victim of war and in her place stood the returned famous Hermione, the bright witch who fought Voldemort with Harry Potter and Ron Weasley, among others. Suddenly it did not matter if her clothes were still wet and she had to sit in the bathroom and wait for them to dry. She would use the time to design a plan how to trick Scabior right back and flee from the camp of stinking vultures.

* * *

The first thing that hit Scabior once he yet again arrived to the wizarding block in Leeds was that it hardly looked more appealing in daylight. The mud, the waste and the beggars were all clearly visible but they did not seem to fit in the sunlit square, as if they were abominations to the first warm spring day. Although, every dirty thing scattered on the ground bore witness of the Dark Lord's final victory over the offending mudbloods.

No-one had bothered cleaning up after the raids in Leeds. Scabior crushed a newspaper under his boot and for a second he wondered why the wizarding world had become uglier when the Dark Lord had promised prosperous villages and gold to the purebloods who rightly deserved it.

Well, never mind that now; Scabior was on a mission.

He marched to a still shadowy corner, deaf to the wailing mudbloods, and whistled. A short man stepped out of the wall but upon closer inspection he had just hidden himself with a powerful concealment charm. He grinned with an almost toothless mouth.

"Mr. Scabior! It's been a while. You're not in trouble with the Dark Lord, I hope."

Scabior returned th greeting with a forced smile. "Morning, Chuck. Got anything new in store?"

"I think the accurate question would be; what don't I have?"

Scabior made a silent prayer for patience.

"Ah, well then, I want food. Nothing posh, just something that's not from before this winter or covered in mold."

"Hmm," Chuck answered and scratched his neck. "You're an alright costumer, Scabior, and I hate to say this but it's going to cost you. I mean, even I have to pay for the things I stock."

Scabior observed the dodgy seller coolly and reached into his pocket to find one of his last sickles.

"Here you go, Chuck. Now go fetch me some food, will you?"

Chuck took the offered coin and winked at Scabior before he disapparated. Scabior was used to this because ever since the Ministry began to host Death Eaters who loved to harass sellers, the clever vendors tended to hide their stash. After some minutes of waiting and a protective shield against the slowly approaching maniacs, Scabior relaxed when Chuck reappeared with his arms full of tasty things.

"I guessed you'd like meat and I got you the finest lamb chops. These babies are hard to come by, so you have to pay more if you want them," Chuck warned him and cursing for the expensive prize, Scabior gave away a small heap of knuts.

The meat switched owner, as did potatoes, onions and a small basket with apples; a small treat for Scabior himself. He altered the size of the edible things to be able to fit them inside his many pockets. C

huck thought the transaction to be over and gave a small bow to his customer before he turned to his wall again to await another one. In these times the customers had to know the sellers to know where to find them. The Ministry had given the street vendors a hard time.

"Hey, Chuck!" Scabior called, not entirely satisfied yet.

The short man narrowed his eyes in suspicion and reached for his wand. "What, Scabior?" he hissed very hostilely.

Scabior held up his palms in a gesture of surrender. "I only wanted to ask you if you've got any information 'bout the Dark Lord and his latest prisoners."

Chuck let go of his wand but shrugged indifferently. "Why would a simple poor salesman know anything about what the Dark Lord is up to?" he said with a bored voice.

Scabior gritted his teeth and fingered his only and very rare galleon. "Here then, you greedy bastard!" he snarled as he thrusted the precious coin into Chuck's conveniently open hand.

Immediately Chuck changed attitude and beckoned Scabior closer.

"You mean Potter and the blood traitor?"

Scabior nodded.

"Last thing I heard from a man in the higher ranks was that they are both held in the Ministry. Apparently the Dark Lord wants payback and is wise enough to keep them in a safe building, surrounded by Death Eaters. Weasley is hidden deep down in a cellar where he's fucking pureblood girls day and night."

Chuck shook his head in bewilderment. "I understand His motive but this is just crazy. They keep pouring love potions from Weasley's own twin brothers down his throat and cast stamina spells every other hour to keep him going. I wouldn't want a fate like that even if I get virgins delivered right into my bed."

Scabior raised his eyebrows. "So it's true? The Dark Lord tries to breed purebloods?"

Chuck nodded solemnly. "Yeah, and it's not beautiful one bit. Weasley got contaminated with spattergroit by a bird a few days ago. But that won't excuse. He's forced with blisters and all to fuck girls that in return get infected by him. Still, he got more lucky than Potter."

"What happened to Potter?" Scabior asked, not sure if he truly wanted to hear. Chuck cleared his throat and held out his hand.

Scabior with his black coat and wild hair stepped into his space and loomed over the podgy man.

"I gave you a fucking galleon. I think it'll give me more information so spill it, you cunt!" he muttered darkly and Chuck yielded.

"Alright, take it easy, snatcher boy. I'll only eat bread the whole week, then."

Scabior backed down and Chuck took a deep breath. "The Dark Lord wants to show the torture of Potter in public. He wants to break the boy slowly and painfully. Potter is tied to the new statue in the Ministry and stripped of all clothes. Every day they bring beasts and plants to harm him, never enough to kill him but enough to keep him screaming in agony. We're talking about doxies, inferi, fire crabs and boggarts here. And that's just the animals!"

Chuck seemed a little distressed, whether it was because of the amount of information he gave away or the horrible torture of Potter. But Scabior sensed there was something Chuck was not telling him.

"And during the nights?" he whispered and watched how Chuck squirmed before he spoke hoarsely, "Then the most accomplished Death Eaters get the honour to have their way with him until he begs the Dark Lord for a mercy that never comes. They make him do degrading things with the Imperius Curse and cast the Cruciatus Curse when they get bored of seeing the Chosen One crawl in his own shit."

Chuck licked his trembling lips. "And sometimes the Dark Lord joins in. He touches Potter's scar which results in screams that echoes in every corridor of the Ministry. And He _licks_ Potter's face!"

Scabior rubbed his chin, quite unsettled by the story. The scared Chuck shifted nervously on the spot. "That's all I know. Can I go now?" he all but begged Scabior who dismissed him with a wave of his hand. The salesman was really afraid now and chose to disapparate, probably to hide among his expensive articles, waiting for new courage to venture outside and sell more goods.

Scabior discovered his own fingers trembled at the thought of being the Dark Lord's prisoner. It was not a matter of fear or valour and he was not a coward. It was only common sense to fear the Dark Lord and his ways. But there was another reason to Scabior's sudden dread.

He was not a saint; he had been imprisoned in Azkaban a few years ago. And the snatcher nature inside him had clawed at his sanity every second of his staying; begging, praying, pleading for freedom. And none had been granted to him. The snatcher nature did not make allowances for the circumstances and kept craving fresh air, runs in the forests and satisfying captures of fleeing creatures, but in vain. In stead it was given small cells, life-sucking dementors and constant surveillance.

The staying had damaged Scabior's soul and he knew he no longer would be the man he used to be. Gone was the careless womanizer, the cheeky monkey, whereas a man only submitted to his snatcher urges arose.

Once outside Azkaban Scabior had anew become a prisoner but to his own being; demanding hunts no matter how trivial they were. The slave sought constant freedom even when he had it in his firm grasp. It did not satisfy him anymore. And just the thought of once more being a prisoner made him shudder in the bright light. 'Must have a Firewhiskey now,' he thought and went to the close by pub.

He could only afford one shot this time as he did not want to be completely stone-broke. At the moment he would not even be able to pay a prostitute. But he was not in the mood for that anyway. Not even if a witchbitch walked through the door would he get himself laid. Scabior had woken up pressed against a creature of light. Even if they had had an awkward conversation when he had destroyed the moment with his Dark Mark, nothing could compete with that.


	18. Chapter 18 Blazes

**Hello, everybody! Guess who managed to write an essay in only three days and still get praise from her teacher? Me, silly! It wasn't an experience I recommend, but it was thrilling at least. Only one test and another essay to go and then I'm finished with uni! And thank you so much for every review. I admit I got tears in my eyes this time because you are all so kind to me and my story. Anyway, here's the chapter. I'll try to update next week, so hang in there. Please review.  
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**Inspirational music: The virgin queen/ track 1 from the movie The virgin queen  
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Chap. 18 Blazes

There always comes a time when, whether one like it or not, someone else is in charge. The first memory Hermione had of such an occasion was in primary school when a very obnoxious girl had decided she owned the right to boss the other children around. Hermione had been one of many on the receiving end, having to suffer through months of bullying and teasing.

Now she sat hungry in an empty tent waiting for her capturer to come back and give her food. Even if she had seen Scabior put a lot of edible things in his green chest, she was unable to open the mechanically locked chest and take food for herself. So despite her determination to change her attitude towards Scabior, she was still dependent on his return. Approximately three hours had passed since he walked out of the tent and her stomach had begun to rumble.

She sat on the solid table in her almost dry clothes and inhaled the both soothing and tempting scent of apples from her white t-shirt. The temperature inside was still high but not unbearable. She had her plan all figured out. She would not be obvious but slowly disarm possible suspicions by making lunch for the two of them. Then she would ask him to give her some of his cheap booze to spice up her stew. After that Hermione would of course suggest he took a drink to celebrate the spring. And another one for snatching a woman who could cook. And he simply had to toast to the victorious purebloods.

Once Scabior had downed his third glass she could make her move. She believed his liquor was very strong and hopefully he would become sleepy. Perhaps a nap was in order for the drunk snatcher. She would insist he took her soft bed to sleep in before lunch time. If she was really lucky Scabior would shed his coat before lying down. If not, then Hermione had to sneak up beside him when he slept deeply and nick the key to the chest from his pocket. When she had accomplished that, she was almost safe and could open his secret chest and get her wand back. And then she could easily disapparate, thus escaping the snatcher camp.

Hermione chewed on her bottom lip. She did not exactly know what to do once she had regained her freedom, but she hoped there was still a way to contact whatever was left of the Order and ask for help to destroy horcruxes. It would work out. It had to.

She inhaled deeply and lifted her chin in a private act of defiance. There was still one living part of the famous trio that could bring Voldemort down. Hermione felt a small smile to settle on her face.

A sudden bang followed by a cheerful choir of male voices ended her daydreaming and she turned her head to the tent opening. Perhaps Scabior had returned from the city. She hopped down the table and decided to stand beside it, waiting for his entrance with dignity.

The tent door moved and for an instance the sunlight shone through it and blinded her sight before a large figure covered the rays and allowed her to see a dark man embedded by light. But then the textile fell into place and shut out the sun and the odd moment was gone.

Scabior lifted his eyebrows at her before he strolled to the table and began to pick up food from his pockets. Hermione felt a tad ridiculous for just standing in front of him, as if she had done nothing else since his departure. And she supposed that was what Scabior thought too. She crossed her arms and glanced at the food he had brought back and enlarged. She felt her mouth water when she looked at the potatoes but then a big piece of meat caught her eye.

"Oh, my! Did you found ribs?" she exclaimed, unable to hide her surprise.

Scabior grinned and patted the meat fondly. "Actually it's lamb chops, love. But I've promised to give some to my boys, so no gluttony here."

Hermione reined herself in and thought of something.

"Are you sure it's not poisoned?"

Scabior placed a hand on his hip and said cockily, "Always the pessimist, Hermione? If you want, I can examine the food with my wand."

She huffed in annoyance. "I only wanted to be sure we're not ending up cursed by a sneaky vendor. How much did this cost you, anyway?"

Scabior's demeanour changed drastically and he muttered under his breath, "Too bloody much."

Suddenly he took a step closer to Hermione while he frowned. She nervously observed him and silently wished she had her white thick sweater back on. He leaned over her petite form and sniffed.

"What's the matter?" Hermione whispered, afraid of his behaviour and of his breath of alcohol.

"You smell different. It's all apples," he told her and his confused look made her take pity on him and admit her shower.

"Yes, I washed my clothes today. I used the soap you gave me."

"Why?" His abrupt question almost made her forget everything about her escape plan. She even stuttered when she answered, "I...I had nothing else to do while you were away. And quite frankly, my clothes needed a p...proper wash-up."

"I see."

Hermione was unnerved by his response and dared a look at the face that loomed over her. It was as if he was an enigma, with neither discontent nor delight. He looked as if he himself was not sure what he felt. She bravely met his dark but warm eyes and tucked a strand behind her ear.

"I didn't mean to upset you with my Mark," Scabior sighed with defeat in his voice. Hermione pulled herself together and shook her head. "Forget it. I just wasn't expecting it, but I guess I should have."

And as she turned away and broke the connection between them she missed the dejected look that appeared for only an instant on Scabior's face.

Another protest from her stomach made her remember her hunger and her plan. She stared at the food and forced herself to begin her quest.

"Scabior, would you mind if I made some lunch for us? I'm very hungry."

Scabior had buried his hands deep into his pockets and withdrew himself from her. "Sure. Do what you want."

A nervous shiver ran down Hermione's spine. Why was he acting so weird and short-spoken all of the sudden? Did he suspect her? But she summoned her inner Gryffindor and dismissed her doubt. She opted for a lamb stew with onions and potatoes. Scabior brought her the required utensils before he sat down on her bed and simply eyed her performance.

When she asked for liquor he did not say a word but made a key fly from his coat and unlock the chest. Once the chest opened, a small brown bottle was levitated to Hermione's hand at the same time as the chest closed and the key returned to Scabior. She offered him a drink after she had poured a spoonful into her boiling stew and he accepted with a shrug.

'If he had a drink before he came back, maybe I won't have to trick him into having two more to make him sleep,' she thought cunningly. Scabior himself asked for another glass and she complied quickly. Right accordingly to her plan, Scabior's cheeks reddened and he started to remove the coat. Hermione watched him through her eyelashes and registered how he dropped the coat to the floor beside the bed. She prepared to propose a toast to the spring when Scabior spoke.

"Hermione, I've got something to tell you."

She raised her eyes as she held the pot and stirred the hot stew. Scabior looked very pained and ran a hand through his hair. Whatever he was going to tell her, it made Hermione jumpy.

With lowered eyes he said, "I found out something about Weasley and Potter today." Hermione gasped and for a moment she abandoned her whole plan as she hang on to every word that left Scabior's lips. Her torment did not last long before Scabior continued.

"They're alive but only barely. The Dark Lord are keeping them locked up and it's only a matter of time before they die."

How easily a person's determination can crumble. Hermione felt absent-mindedly how tears gathered in the place where she had only hours ago forbidden their appearance. Her gaze clouded and oblivious to her surroundings her inner magic broke the pot. Steaming stew drenched her hands and when the pain from her scalded hands reached through the mist she cried out. Her knees gave way but someone caught her before she crashed onto the floor.

She was lowered slowly and felt a strong arm wrap itself around her waist, holding her in a seated position. Unable to stop the tears now, Hermione continued to scream for both the excruciating pain and her despair for Harry and Ron. A body pressed into her back and kept her from moving and she momentarily saw a rough hand waving a wand before she closed her eyes and surrendered to the privacy of empty darkness under her lids.

* * *

Scabior swiftly cast a healing charm on Hermione's hands where raw flesh gleamed between blistered skin. If treated immediately, the burn marks would not scar the skin.

He secured the woman in his arms through the healing and heard her tortured screams, though he was not certain she only cried because of the physical wounds. After a while the burns had disappeared and he knew she should not feel anymore hurt. Yet she cried her heart out just like the banshee he had once encountered on the coast of Ireland.

Scabior began to rock her and whispered comforting words into her non-listening ear.

It did not matter anymore that her words about how she should have expected he was a Death Eater had wounded him. For a reason unbeknownst to him he could not stand her harsh words concerning him, especially since she had only a day ago declared her faith in him being good and even caressed his cheek.

Scabior cursed himself for revealing the news to Hermione as he carefully nuzzled the shell of her ear and inhaled her scent. 'Apple's fine but vanilla's better,' he decided and concentrated on finding her original smell among the waves of apple perfume that surrounded her.

After a while he discovered she had ceased screaming and only whimpered from time to time. He spent a minute on watching her chest sink and rise at a slower rate until he realized she had begun to follow his own calm breathing pattern.

He released his firm grip but on the contrary to what he thought she would do, Hermione slid around and faced him while her arms went around his neck and she pressed her wet face to his vest-clad chest. Scabior recognized a flaming heat within that had nothing to do with his recent shots of Firewhiskey.

"Talk to me, beautiful," he begged her with a muted voice and began to twirl one of her shining curls around his finger. She hiccupped and her words were muffled against his chest.

"I...I thought they were dead." She had to pause and started to tremble so Scabior hurried to sooth her with resumed unimportant words until she calmed down.

"It would be better if they were gone, bec... because then they would not be alone with him."

"I should have kept my mouth shut," Scabior muttered but then Hermione raised her head and swallowed hard.

"No, it's always better to know than wonder. You couldn't know that I was going to be so shocked by the news," Hermione objected with a small but steady voice.

Scabior saw she had some snot under her nose and cast Accio on the bathroom. A green towel floated through the air like a deformed owl until it settled in Scabior's hand. He let one hand lift Hermone's face and wiped her face with care he had never used on another human being.

"Thank you," the woman whispered before she seemed to remember something. "And thank you for healing my hands." She laughed a little and to Scabior's ears it was like the song of a bird in stead of the previous wailing of a dying creature.

"You know, I better be more careful with my hands. I burnt them this time and one night a month ago when I was keeping watch, I fell asleep and nearly got frostbites."

"I know," Scabior smiled and glanced sideways at her soft wrists that showed no sign of scars.

She frowned in his grasp and asked, "What do you mean by that, Scabior?"

His brain caught up with his quick mouth and he silently berated himself for repeatedly loosening his tongue in front of Hermione. He contemplated ignoring her question but then, the truth was so simple.

"I know because I woke you up that night."

She sat up and he let her as he steeled himself for her anger. "No, you couldn't have done that, and there are several reasons why," she said sceptically as if she was in school and disagreed with a teacher.

"First of all, me and Harry cast protecting charms frequently, so I would have felt if someone breached the shield. Secondly, I woke up by myself so you couldn't have woken me up, because an Enervate awakens a person very brutally. And thirdly, I'm positive I saw no signs of life around me, not even footprints in the snow. Scabior, how can you know about my frostbites if you weren't anywhere near me that night?" Hermione seemed to be out of breath after her long tirade and Scabior seized the moment of silence.

"The thing is, love, I've learnt how to get through protective shields unseen. So, I could easily observe you lot by the tent from a distance so no footprints needed to expose me. And for your information, there's a much more merciful Enervate charm called Enervate tranquillus and that's the one I used."

Her mocha eyes widened and it looked like she weighted her words carefully before she spoke softly, "Why did you wake me up?"

Amazed by her lingering presence in his arms, Scabior chose to not lie to her.

"Because I cared about you, sweetheart."

She stared into the very depths of his eyes and only two roses blooming out on either side of her face showed her somehow rushing blood. She truly was beautiful.

Scabior found his gaze once more captured by those luscious pink lips. He was aware she could see where his eyes had travelled but was unable to resist the temptation that lay too few inches away from him. Hermione studied him for seconds and eons before she tilted her head upwards, both baring her neck in a submissive act and offering him her own lips. He lowered his head but stopped for a moment to allow her one chance to back out. In stead, he felt her hands tug hard at his neck and bring him down to her awaiting face.


	19. Chapter 19 Frustrations

**Hellow eweone! *chewing dark chocolate while reading this chapter* Thank you so much for your support, interesting thoughts and alerts! I'll be free from uni in a week and will have so much more time to write to my precious readers. I've been thinking about making other hp-stories too, so watch out. And as a note to those wondering, sometimes a person going through chock or trauma just reaches for another person because it's a small escape from the horrors the mind experience. The brilliant show Single Father with David Tennant showed this, and it inspired me. But you are of course allowed to think differently about Hermione. Enjoy and review!**

**Inspirational music: Curly Sue by Takida**

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Chap. 19 Frustrations

With every nerve poised with anticipation, Hermione felt how Scabior's lips touched hers. Never would she have thought that the impact of two soft things clashing together could be so great and send tingling sparks through her body.

His lips pressed tenderly against her, neither demanding nor passive. Hermione wanted more and firmly pulled his head nearer with her hands secured around his neck; the only anchor in the midst of a ferocious sea. She heard him let out a small growl through sealed lips and before she could comprehend it, Scabior's arms on her back gripped her steadily.

This time it felt so much better because now he was fully conscious of his actions. Suddenly her every thought vanished as she felt him open his mouth and let his warm tongue leave its cavern, and slowly glide on the still closed line between her lips that created the thinnest and yet most evident barrier between outside and inside. His ministrations became more insistent, even impatient, and Hermione understood his intention without much pondering.

She opened her mouth and there was barely air between the two of them. His hand came up to cradle the back of her head which made her sigh into his mouth contently. He took a sharp intake of air and charged, forcing her head forward while he entered and conquered her mouth with his tongue. Had she not had Scabior's arm on her lower back and his other one holding her head, Hermione was convinced she would have descended to the floor and melted into a pool of non-being.

She settled for closing her eyes and just enjoy how he roamed her sensitive mouth with unashamed skills that caused her heart to nearly break through her ribcage. It was not curiosity or courage but simple _need_ that made her reach out for him with her own tongue and gently caress him. Upon the hot contact, both moaned in the oldest symphony on earth and began to cling to each other more desperately.

Hermione was aware of Scabior's lower hand that had quite swiftly ventured in under her white t-shirt and frantically stroke the small of her back, the big calloused palm leaving shivers in its trace on her soft skin. All the while their lips remained sealed together and only occasionally, sounds from the consensual dance within reached Hermione's ears. Astounded by her unlikely ability to muster up enough strength, she lifted her arms and began to wound her fingers in Scabior's nest of snarls before she dug her nails into his scalp.

"Oh, beautiful…" Scabior groaned before he once again attached his lips to hers. Hermione felt something growing warmer by her stomach and then Scabior leaned back to lie on his back. He brought her with him and with a feral desperation released his hand from under her clothing and grabbed her thigh. Hermione was unable to do something before Scabior pulled down her thigh to rest beside his. The other leg slid down too when Hermione tried to regain balance, making her straddling Scabior.

The heat between the two of them seemed to increase even more, especially where his hips rested beneath Hermione's thighs. The hand on her leg began to go back its path but stopped on her bum. Hermione moaned into his mouth when the hand caressed her while the other held her pressed against the firm chest. She wanted to touch Scabior and slowly let her hands wander to his decorated jacket to unbutton it with nimble fingers. Once three buttons were undone, she could swear there was a wave of heat rising from the exposed skin. She placed her hands on the muscular chest and began to carefully play with the patch of dark chesthair.

When Scabior started to massage her cheeks with both hands, causing her hips to bump into him, she distinctly felt the warm, hard body part hidden under checkered pants.

She shook her head which made all her curls fall down and frame Scabior's face.

"I'm afraid," she whimpered but hissed exquisitely when a particular strong stroke on her bum sent her right to his hardness, sending a pang of longing to her very womb.

Scabior left her lips and panted as his mouth made its way to her ear, licking along her jawline in passing. Hermione sighed from both arousal and relief when Scabior's hands stopped their movements and in stead began to travel upwards and nestle again on the small of her back.

"I want ya," he whispered passionately and pushed his hips up, eliciting moans from both of them. "Feel 'ow much I want ya, love."

Hermione struggled for composure when Scabior began to suckle hard on her earlobe, the now only moving thing on his body. "Scabior, I don't think we should. Please stop, mmmnnnn…"

Her ability to speak disappeared when teeth lightly bit down on her ear shell and Scabior hummed pleasantly. With her mind occupied with the slight pain, she was not aware of his hands before she felt them wriggle inside the top of her jeans and rest, with only one thin layer between the still hands and her bottom.

"Just let me feel ya 'ere for a sec, Hermione," Scabior begged and nibbled on the corner of her mouth before he continued, "I won't 'urt ya, beautiful bird."

But Hermione's brain caught up with her and she resisted opening her mouth to him. 'He's evil! Evil!" she thought repeatedly and yet her body responded to the warmth and comfort his body offered. His hands lay motionless and almost innocently on her, only radiating more heat to her.

She decided she needed to get away from atop of Scabior to be able to think through this unexpected event when Scabior hissed sharply and tugged out his hands from her trousers.

He promptly lifted her lithe body off him but stayed down on the floor. Hermione blinked where she sat beside him, confused by his actions, when Scabior began to groan through clenched teeth and writhe. His face was marred with a look of agony and he clutched his left wrist. This was beyond Hermione's comprehension and she began to feel really scared.

She launched herself to grab hold of his jacket and said nervously, "Scabior? What's wrong?" Scabior did not answer but pushed her away from him and during a few seconds of pained cries, he savagely ripped off the green jacket, scattering golden buttons on the floor and turned his head to examine his Dark Mark. Hermione followed his gaze, and would forever be haunted by the ghastly sight that met her brown eyes.

There, on the naked skin was the horrible tattoo but it looked different. The black colour seemed to be darker than the night, the snake now moving unrelentingly as if it was alive but trapped under the skin and the tattoo itself had risen, creating a sickening bulge on the pale wrist. Scabior tossed and turned as in a fever and every time he breathed it was with a wheezing sound. Small beads of sweat gathered on his forehead and his whole body went stiff, as if preparing for more torture.

"Scabior! What's happening!" Hermione cried out but he did not seem to hear her. Then he began to tremble and screamed loudly which made Hermione flinch and back away from him. Scabior flung his hands to grasp his head, his nails clawing at his temples and he jerked his head, apparently not caring that he smashed his skull on the floor repeatedly.

Hermione found her sense and began to look for his wand, wanting to save him from whatever thing that hurt his body. As she spotted the wand under the table and reached for it, she heard male shouts form the outside sounding equally distressed as Scabior. Her hand clasp around the wand and she felt strength and calmness flood her system at her reunion with magic, no matter that it was somebody else's wand.

She turned back to the tormented snatcher and stared at his Mark. Red, liquefied life trickled along the outlines of the tattoo and stained the floor beneath Scabior's arm. Hermione nearly bit her tongue out of horror but became determined to end this dark magic. But before she had time to think up the proper spells, Scabior's body relaxed in front of her and he closed his eyes. His breathing slowed down and his face was free from wrinkles, although very grey.

Hermione cautiously placed her left hand on the bare chest and tried to distinguish heartbeats. And something did beat steady and reassuringly against his ribs which made Hermione slightly less worried. She turned her eyes to the irritated skin on his wrist and discovered that the blood had stopped; only the swollen Mark remained as a terrible reminder of the previous state. Hermione leaned over Scabior's damp face and cupped his cheek.

"Scabior, can you hear me? Wake up," she said quietly. Scabior frowned with his eyes jammed shut and growled menacingly. Feeling unsettled, Hermione retreated and put a couple of feet between them, to be sure.

After a minute the male body began to move slowly, bending the limbs and placing the hands and boots flat on the floor. Scabior opened his dark eyes but looked straight up at the roof and frowned in what could be deep concentration. Then he flexed the exposed biceps and struggled to sit up.

Hermione blamed her Gryffindor courage when she scrambled forward to help him. Now the tables were turned, as she was the one who supported Scabior by his back. She was concerned by the sudden green look on his face but stayed at his side, holding up his heavy form. Scabior coughed and brought up his right arm to wipe his face. The left one hang limply, with only the snake tediously wiggling under the black skin.

"What was that?" Hermione asked anxiously.

"It was Him. He called us," Scabior breathed out with a raspy voice. Whether it was from insidious desire or pure weakness, Scabior leaned his head against Hermione's shoulder.

"There's something more to it," Hermione whispered and brushed his wild hair out of her face.

"He was furious. The calling has never been like that. I think we all got a taste of His rage."

"When must you leave?" Hermione wondered, not unable to hide the quiver in her lowered voice. Scabior sighed tiredly.

"He wants us now. Everybody." He threw a look on his left arm and only lifted an eyebrow at the red stripes on the wrist. "Even the most insignificant snatchers," he mumbled absent-mindely and suddenly turned his head to look at Hermione.

"Sorry 'bout giving you a fright, love. And I'll be needing my wand back."

Honestly, Hermione had an urge to free herself from Scabior and disapparate with his wand but a thought nibbled at her mind. If Voldemort had called every Death Eater after days of silence, surely something was up. Was she ready to land somewhere in England without any news of him? And beside, she could perhaps find out where Harry and Ron was held prisoners if Scabior told her. She hoped with every fibre of her heart they were alright wherever they were. She would not want to be near a raging Voldemort.

With a sigh of disappointment, she surrendered the wand to Scabior.

"Thanks. Now help me up, will you?" he smiled weakly and she used her muscles to the point of straining to bring Scabior to his feet.

"Can you manage?" she asked sceptically when she watched him stumble to the table and leaned heavily against it. He waved her question away.

"It's fine. Just a tad exhausted, that's all."

He pointed the wand at his discarded coat and it returned to him and he put it on. The gleaming buttons on the floor flew up and re-attached themselves on his jacket and with another flick with the wand, the jacket was buttoned up and proper. Scabior grinned cheekily at her and Hermione felt herself blush from their earlier activity. Her t-shirt was wrinkled at the seams and it was almost possible to see her navel. She readjusted it hastily and through her lashes she saw Scabior not looking away.

"Listen, Hermione. This is very important." She lifted her gaze and Scabior continued with a serious voice, "I'll give you your wand back if you promise to not fucking run off until I'm back."She opened her mouth to answer but Scabior interrupted her.

"I suppose you'd want to, but trust me, you are safe here. I don't know what the Dark Lord is up to but I don't want you wandering into his grasp. Hermione, listen to me, you must stay in here."

The last part came out a bit harshly and Scabior began to look stressed. Hermione quickly made her decision. A wand was her only reliable weapon in the world.

"Fine, I'll stay here. But promise you will come back," she replied and observed how a key left Scabior's pocket and opened the chest. Her old wand emerged from it and flew to her outreached hand. She undoubtedly felt more confident now but knew she had to remain in the tent. Scabior beckoned her forward and she stopped in front of him, almost as tall as him now that he leaned on the table.

"Don't let anybody inside the tent but me. Do whatever it takes to disarm any strangers," he muttered in a voice she could barely hear. "And for Salazar's sake, use the Unforgivables if you have to. It's your life against theirs."

A chill went through Hermione and she became aware of the sudden dimness in the tent. The sun had been swallowed by dark clouds and she could make out a faint rumble from thunder in the distance. Scabior took a deep breath and raised his right hand, which held his wand, to catch a loose strand of her hair and gently put it behind her ear.

"You're beautiful."

He said it simply, stood up from the table and limped to the doorway.

"Do you really need to walk outside to disapparate?" Hermione asked quickly, compassion rising in her at the pitiful figure of the tall snatcher. Scabior huffed back, "Need to make sure the others in the camp come with me. Not everyone has a young witch ready at their side." He gave her a wink and walked out of the tent, leaving Hermione all alone. She turned her eyes to watch the pool of freshly spilt blood mingle with a ruined lamb stew.


	20. Chapter 20 Crises

**Hello y'all! One essay and one test left of uni. Thank you so much for your reviews, and alerts as well. If you keep doing your thing, then I'll do mine faster:) This chapter focus solely on Scabior, just like the last was entirerly written from Hermione's POV. Hope you approve of this chapter! Have fun!**

**Inspirational music: Dance with the devil by Phenomena**

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Chap. 20 Crises

The birds sang no more. The only sounds in the forest were the rustling leaves and the eerie creaks from the trees. There was a rainy weather coming in, Scabior could smell it. Gone was the sun and he suspected it was the work of the Dark Lord.

Scabior scanned the camp and hissed when he accidentally bumped his left, throbbing arm into his own hip. 'Crazy bastard,' Scabior thought bitterly, not amused by the Dark Lords' games with both victims and Death Eaters.

A cough brought him back to reality and he turned his head to the right. Rusty was on all four with a very white face that did not even complimented his flaming hair. Scabior went to hoist him up and asked in a concerned voice, "Alright there, mate?" A heavy arm was thrown over Scabior's shoulders and the weight nearly made his weak body drop to the ground; a clear sign that both snatchers were in a bad state.

"Thanks fer lendin' a 'and, boss," Rusty said hoarsely and blood was slowly returning to his cheeks, although Scabior caught look of red drops falling from the fingertips of his left arm.

"Same thing happened to you, yeah?" he spoke and Rusty finally met his eyes and betrayed fear, insecurity and pain.

"Why did 'e call us this way?"

Scabior had no good answer but his position as leader required that he helped restore the confidence of his snatchers. "Why don't we ask the tosser when we see Him? I reckon it was just a badly peeled orange," he joked and Rusty smirked but said nothing.

"Can you stand here while I get the others? Scabior asked, feeling himself draining of all stamina the longer he had to support Rusty.

"I'm not one of them first years at 'ogwarts. I think I can manage," the man answered but when Scabior lifted the arm off his shoulders, Rusty swayed a lot.

"Go fetch the others, already," the red-haired man insisted, as a look of determination settled on his face and he seemed to will himself to stop tremble. Scabior turned away with a grown admiration for his brave man and looked for the rest of the Death Eaters.

Some were just outside the camp area, growling and limping their way back, and others were struggling to get to their feet again in their own tents. At the present there were eight men, Scabior included, among the snatchers who bore the Mark. The Dark Lord only accepted the ones he considered smart or useful, to join his large number of close followers. But even the common snatchers, who did not have any allegiance to the Dark Lord except spoken words of loyalty, gathered in the middle of the camp, anxiously holding up their fellows.

Scabior saw black stars before his eyes from the exhaustion of bringing all Death Eaters together, and yet he refused to conjure a chair to lean on. It would frighten his snatchers, perhaps even more than the summoning from the Dark Lord. He cleared his throat to stop the mumbling.

"This was a surprise to us all. Did no-one tell the Dark Lord that if He had any experience of anger, he ought to just write down His feelings on a fucking paper?"

Scabior's feigned scolding voice caused many sets of shoulders to slump but perceptive eyes still lingered on him.

"I have no idea about what's going on but it could be big. I want you who comes with me to stand in the background as much as possible and be invisible as ghosts. You don't want to get in the way of the Dark Lord's rage." He spoke sternly for he did care about the welfare of his men and was aware of the Dark Lord's habit of firing spells randomly at his followers.

"Those who are left behind are going to stay here and protect the camp. I don't expect you to risk your lives for my mudblood…" How wrong that word tasted in his mouth after having Hermione's sweet tongue caressing his. "But please stay put and be ready for attacks. If anyone runs away, he's not welcomed back. Snatcher rule No. 2 still stands. Respect your leader and obey his commands. We stay as a group and we die as a group if we have to, and that's an order."

The healthy men understood him and nodded while they pulled out their wands and already began to look around for assailants. Scabior held up his own wand to disapparate until he thought of something important.

"Oh, and are everybody fit for disapparating on their own? We must all attend and I've no time for lost snatchers or splinchings. If anyone feel unsure; forget your pride and grab onto a stronger mate."

Only one man stumbled to another Death Eater but Scabior let his dark eyes scan the other six men and was worried about Rusty, who still clutched a man's arm. But the choice was Rusty's own and with a shake of his head to clear his mind, Scabior concentrated on getting to the Ministry where the Dark Lord wanted them.

He began to fly away, getting dizzier with the swirling images before him. Suddenly he could only make out a brown colour and was confused until he realized it was the floor in the Ministry of Magic. He had not prepared his body for the landing and crashed on the hard wooden surface, inflicting pain on his already beaten form.

He groaned against the polished floor and watched how his breath made a small mist on the wood; a merciless proof of his still living body. In his mind, Scabior felt so tired of the darkness that continued to harm him when there was a young beauty with doe-eyes and earnest heart waiting for him in his tent. He lifted himself from the floor, his arms protesting against the required effort, and brushed off his coat. The fireplaces were all closed and the Ministry was unusually silent despite the throng of Death Eaters that kept growing with every apparition.

Scabior looked around for his men and spotted them all standing with lowered heads by the wall, trying to look anonymous. He made his way over, warily avoiding colliding into anyone; he did not wish to raise attention to himself. A discreet nod to his snatchers was the only thing Scabior dared at the moment. With his tall form, he could spy at the mass of people who slowly moved towards the grand statue in the middle of the Ministry entrance. The Death Eaters who were close to the Dark Lord were dressed in fancy black robes and had gathered in a crescent in front of the others, facing the statue.

Scabior stood on his toes to see more and managed to make out Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy at the end of the crescent, on the other side of the room. The lady seemed very troubled and took a step nearer Lucius' left side and kept her left arm behind her back in a very odd way. Then Scabior discovered with his sharp eyes Draco Malfoy standing directly behind his parents, looking like a sad puppy and covered his head by leaning it on Lucius' broad back. The husband and the wife tried to hide their son the best they could, with arms and torsos. The display of true family love only made Scabior think about his moment of warm closeness to Hermione. He let his tongue explore his mouth and found her sweet taste still present. He savoured it, conjuring his own moment of sanity and privacy among hundreds of dark wizards and witches.

Without comprehending what was happening, his tongue suddenly glued itself to the bottom of his mouth and his lips sealed shut. Scabior looked around and people were clutching their throats and staring forward with a look of panic etched on their faces. Scabior turned his gaze too and saw once more the terrifying figure of the Dark Lord.

"I have silenced you so you can hear what I have to say," his silky voice whispered but the words spread around the mute hall.

"Let me show you the reason for my summoning." The powerful wizard simply waved his wand and behind his back, the solid statue began to levitate, rising higher and higher until a shadow was cast upon the Death Eaters. Scabior could smell fear in the air, but then a metallic scent reached him. The bottom of the grey stone was smeared with old, brown and fresh, red blood. A pair of thick shackles were attached to the hard material but hung down, broken at the ends. Harry Potter was not there.

"I have been merciful," Voldemort whispered venomously and lowered the statue. "I let Harry Potter live, granted him his deep wish to breathe. I gave him what he did not allow me; life. I even made sure he knew what was night and what was day in this permanently illuminated hall."

'No shit?' Scabior thought as he recalled the story he had heard this very morning about creatures in the daytime and spells during the nights. The Dark Lord frowned.

"Apparently there are those who do not appreciate my care for the boy. A battle began here when the _Order of the Phoenix_ arrived in the company of mudbloods and blood traitors." The wizards mouth twitched and his face was the face of malcontent. "They charged and carried with them dishonouring weapons from the muggle world. Three of my most loyal servants died from holes in their bodies. The Order took Potter and Ronald Weasley and left within minutes."

Scabior widened his eyes at the news, as did several Death Eaters in the midst of the crowd. Voldemort sneered loudly and whispered something Scabior did not understand. From behind the massive statue slithered a giant snake who's sheer size was a sign of its need for quantities of food.

"I do not see how skilled Death Eaters can lose against filth. And every guard who was here this morning blame the others. So I have decided how to make sure you all do not find yourselves defeated again by children and mudblood friends."

The snake crawled around Voldemort and hissed menacingly.

"Nagini here get to choose her meal today." With a flick of his wand, the Dark Lord made a dozen men and women step out from the crescent and Scabior stared intensely at Narcissa Malfoy who was forced to move forward.

The Imperius stopped her from turning her head but her irises darted to her left. She could probably make out her husband and son from her peripheral sight, because she began to tremble as if fighting the curse. Lucius Malfoy had his eyes fixed on her as he struggled to hold back his frantic son. No sound was heard from the tragic scene but Scabior felt his heart beating faster. He caught a strand to smell it, desperate for an ounce of Hermione, if only a faint scent of apples caught in his hair.

The snake opened her mouth and showed the victims her fangs. She moved her head back, preparing her attack. Scabior actually felt true pity for the small group in front of the snake. And then Nagini launched herself at a young man who fell to the floor with an echoing thud, cracking his skull. He remained still, not even free in his dying.

Scabior chose to look away when the snake began to swallow the body inch by inch. He narrowed his eyes at Voldemort who now grinned openly while caressing the tail of his precious snake. The snatchers around Scabior turned their dilated pupils to him but he had to ignore them. He could not give them any comforting words.

After hearing bone cracking and seeing blood stain the floor of the former crown jewel of wizarding Britain, Scabior observed how Voldemort clapped his hands like a happy child. 'Bonkers, that one,' he thought and unconsciously clenched his fists.

"Well done, Nagini. We are better of without him. And this, my friends, is what you are going to face if you lose one more time." He lifted the spell from the group before him and they turned their backs to run back to safety in the crescent.

Not a second later Voldemort cried, "_Petrificus Totalus_," and made the running people stop dead, now facing the other Death Eaters. Voldemort rolled his eyes.

"How could I forget to ask. Nagini, you want desert, of course." The snake bobbed its head and flicked its tongue. It slid forward and Scabior felt nauseous as the horrible display would repeat itself. The petrified faces he could see would probably haunt him for the rest of his life. The snake slid behind the backs of the victims before it halted right at the still rustling satin dress of Narcissa Malfoy.

"Mother!" Young Malfoy managed to break free from the silencing charm but not from the tight grip of his fathers arms. "Let me go! Mother! No!"

Scabior admitted he was impressed by the fight Draco put up to reach his mother. Tears ran down his gaunt but enraged face and he managed to hit Lucius in the abdomen. But the father did not let go.

"Draco Malfoy. _Toujours pur_. I am aware of your familys' loyalty, but why are you always disappointing me?" Voldemort walked towards the Malfoys and said something in Parseltongue to Nagini who lowered her head. "Do you not think you would be able to help me more in the future if you got rid of your pampering mother? Do you not want to be a man?"

Draco panted from his struggle and mumbled something Scabior could not hear. "Take you in stead of your mother? No, I learnt my lesson about sacrifices a long time ago," the Dark Lord taunted and took a step nearer. A white hand extracted from his black robe and brushed away the blonde fringe from Draco's damp forehead. Lucius looked positively scared shitless but could not find the strength to throw Draco behind himself.

"If I spare your dearest mother, will you do anything for me, and succeed, Draco Malfoy?"

The boy swallowed and looked over Voldemort's shoulder, Scabior guessed he sought out the eyes of his mother.

"Yes."

No-one besides the males in the Malfoy family moved.

"Beg."

Scabior had a bad feeling about this and felt his snatcher nature begin to fill his system, demanding him to flee, to find freedom and clean air.

The boy blubbered out to the whole hall to hear, "Please, my Lord. Show mercy and spare my mother. Let her go, please." "Good boy," Voldemort whispered sadistically and continued with a clearer voice, "Take my _servant_ back to your Manor, Lucius. Make sure he is a man of his word."

Lucius looked ready to faint but kept a fairly composed appearance. "And do not forget your wife."

Nagini's master turned back to her and talked to her before he nudged her head away from the still woman. Upon returning to his place in front of the sullied statue, Voldemort waved his wand and the eleven humans, who had been so cruelly treated, inched their way back into the black lines of quiet people. Narcissa took a leap forward and was immediately embraced by her crying son and relieved husband. Instead of snorting at the scene like he had done at the Manor, Scabior found himself, in a way, very affected by their shared love and devotion to each other. That is, until Narcissa leaned back and slapped her only child before beginning to kiss his forehead repeatedly, apparently not caring who's hand had touched her son there.

The trio quickly disapparated from the Ministry and Scabior discovered that he had not been the only one carefully following the event. Many heads turned to face the Dark Lord who did not appear to be furious.

"I order you to search for Potter. Find him and bring him to me alive. And if you capture anyone within the Order, you will receive a generous reward. But make sure they are alive, too. Look for members of the Weasley clan, even the most distant relatives and bring them to me. I am going to gather so many hostages I possible can so that Harry Potter simply have to bargain with me. Surely his Gryffindor heart will understand that his life is less worth than one hundred of his friends."

It was as if the Dark Lord was more talking to himself at the last sentence but his words carried over the crowd like sinister vultures. Scabior crossed his arms before him and lowered his head to not stand out in the crowd. He who currently had the most valuable witch waiting for him in his tent felt no want whatsoever to turn her in, in return for a mighty bounty. Voldemort waved his hand in dismissal.

"Everybody can go and begin the hunt. Except the snatcher called Scabior. You will come forward."


	21. Chapter 21 Betrayals

**Hello my friends! Loooong chapter served to you all. And perhaps you'll take the time to make me some reviews? (puppy eyes) See you at the bottom!**

**Inspirational music: Crazy by Cue (the lyrics really fits this chapter)**

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Chap. 21 Betrayals

'Run! Move your sorry arse!' The snatcher within had made up his mind. It was time to flee from the Dark Lord who stood with a grim look on his pale face.

It took a great deal of Scabior's power to not give in to the alluring voice and disapparate with the rest of the gathered Death Eaters. He was not afraid yet, but deeply worried by Voldemort's request. Somehow he found the strength to walk forward, although he did not feel particularly cocky like he had been, many times over, when he had strolled through the Ministry with snatched people.

Some Death Eaters remained in the suddenly emptied hall. They were probably bodyguards as they held their wands at the ready. A spell tickled his mouth and he found himself able to move his tongue. Voldemort had removed the silencing charm. Scabior straightened his back, wanting to resemble the idea of a strong and loyal follower.

"Scabior. One of the finest snatchers in Britain. You have certainly proved your allegiance to me over and over."

"My Lord," Scabior said silkily and bowed to the wizard, swallowing back the wave of nausea that hit him when he spotted the blood smeared on the floor.

"And the men serving under you seem very reluctant to leave without you," Voldemort added and looked past Scabior's shoulder. Scabior turned around and saw his seven men still standing huddled by the wall.

"Let them go back, so we can talk in private," the Dark Lord suggested almost kindly but Scabior would not be fooled. He called across the room, "You go to the camp. I'll come back soon."

The men disapparated without protest and suddenly Scabior felt very alone.

"To more important things, then. As I recall, I gave you a well-known mudblood as a reward for capturing Potter." Scabior did not know how to respond but settled for a polite affirmation. "That's correct, my Lord."

The Dark Lord smiled maliciously. "Was it of any use to you?"

"After getting rid of the filthy blood on the creature, it amused me for a while, alright," Scabior said in a bored tone and buried his hands in the pockets of his coat.

"Amused? So the mudblood Granger is not alive anymore?" Voldemort asked harshly and the very air between the men began to tremble from the frustration brewing in the master.

Scabior may have been an accomplished liar, but he knew too well he was lousy at Occlumency. Up until now he had answered half truthfully to Voldemort's questions but if the stronger wizard decided to probe his mind, Scabior was fucked. He had to tell him the truth to save his life. All the while his heart went out to Hermione who was alone in a world of evil.

"No, my Lord. The mudblood is still spreading its stench in my tent as we speak." The other man relaxed and tapped his chin as if contemplating something.

"Have you relieved your urges inside it?"

It felt utterly degrading to be asked such a question because the Dark Lord made it sound like Hermione was some kind of a walking pussy and nothing more. Scabior could not even picture himself only _relieving his urges_ in her without showing some feelings for her. She deserved to be cherished. Scabior found his words.

"No way in hell, my Lord! Why would I want to pollute myself for a fuck? I know the mudbloods are a bad breed." After his gruesome answer, Scabior searched his mouth with the tongue to once again taste the faint trace of Hermione.

"You seem like a fine pureblood, Scabior. If only there were more wizards like you," Voldemort sighed theatrically and glanced at the golden lifts. Scabior suspected that one of them led to the deepest cellars.

"I apologize for this, but I must take the mudblood from you."

How he managed to stand proud before the Dark Lord when his heart stopped beating and a knife was stabbed in his back, was beyond Scabior. A raised eyebrow was the only response he permitted himself to.

"Of course I grant you compensation for the inconvenience. We are soon going to search Hogwarts for friends of Potter. You may choose a half-blood witch to entertain yourself with in stead. I assure you she will reek less."

"Forgive me for asking, my Lord, but what are you planning to do with my mudblood?" Now Scabior began to feel really scared; scared for Hermione. "Use your brain, snatcher! With Granger as my hostage, it will only be a matter of time before Potter cave in and surrender himself to me," Voldemort barked. Apparently his patience was running low and he added with an annoyed hiss, "What are you waiting for? Go and bring the mudblood to me."

Scabior understood he was dismissed and bowed before he turned around and took hold of his wand. His body had recovered slightly from Voldemort's calling but the Apparation still made Scabior retch, only this time he was convinced it had to do with the Dark Lord's request.

He managed to land on his feet this time and scanned the camp. Heavy raindrops splashed on his head, making him shiver from the cold. Through the grey curtain he could make out familiar faces crowding the doorways of the many tents. The snatchers had waited for his return.

"I'm okay! Go rest now!" he shouted at them and relished his moment of solitude when the heads disappeared. Against his own rules concerning rain and self-preservation, Scabior stood rooted on the spot and breathed in and out. In and out.

Water managed to stream through his thick braid and tickle the sensitive skin on his neck. It felt almost like Hermione's nails on his scalp. Scabior tilted his head upwards and felt the rain land directly on his tired face. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. In his heart he knew this was the moment.

The very moment he had anticipated since he saved Hermione's fingers by waking her. He regretted helping her. Regretted his capture of her. And most of all, regretted he had let her capture his heart and bind his snatcher nature to her. It made everything so difficult.

The coldness spread in his limbs as the rain soaked him through his clothes. He could no longer feel his hands and his face was going numb as the raindrops mercilessly continued to sting him. '_I want to keep you alive as well_.' His own words echoed in his mind, further wounding him. Scabior brought up an arm and wiped of his face roughly. He could smell spring, rain and salt. Did he cry? '_You do have some goodness within_.' Her trust in him when she begged him to sleep in her bed. Her soft body providing warmth this morning. '_Thank you for healing my hands_.' Scabior shuddered when he recalled her lips moving eagerly against his, arousing him to a point when he almost shattered his sanity. '_Trust me, you are safe here_.' He had said that to her an hour ago.

He lowered his head in defeat and shook his head, banishing every voice that assaulted his conscience. He had decided. He clenched his jaw and frowned. Hermione had to go.

With the swift pace of a determined man, he marched to his tent and went through the opening. His resolve almost crumbled when he immediately was met by her dishevelled hair and swollen lips. But his will was strong and he became angry at her for affecting him so much. "I 'ope ya ate, 'cause I don't think ya'll get much food where ya're goin'," he muttered sternly while he passed her and sat down on his haunches before his green chest.

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Hermione jumped when she heard Scabior's voice pierce the silence. She grabbed her wand firmly and got up from the bed where she had anxiously waited for either his return or intruders.

She had not dared to make something to eat, feeling too poised and nervous to let down her guard even for a minute. A moment of resting when she put on her thick white sweater to rid herself of the cold was the only thing she had allowed herself.

She made her way over to Scabior's crouched form to ask him about the meeting.

"What happened?" she asked carefully and let her gaze linger on the wet red stripe in Scabior's hair. He did not even acknowledged her by turning around when he answered.

"Oh, the usual. His snake ate a man, the Malfoy son's now forced to obey the dark Lord's every command and He's angry because the Order of the Phoenix freed Potter and Weasley." Hermione inhaled sharply. The news Scabior brought were both disturbing and happy. 'They are safe! And the Order is still working!' Her diminished flame of hope flared up to a fire, warming her core.

But Scabior's tense behaviour and harsh voice made her momentarily focus on him. Tentatively she reached out her wandless hand and lay it on Scabior's slick back. "How are you, Scabior?"

He shrugged off her hand and growled testily, "Leave me alone, will ya? I need ta find somethin' in this shit-deep fuckin' trash can!" He shouted the last part and Hermione jerked away like a scared rabbit. It was evident that something was wrong. Something more important than their shared kiss, that Scabior hid from her. Despite what her gut told her, it nagged at her heart when the man she had given her first kiss to rejected her.

"Why did your companions arrive earlier than you?"

Scabior raised himself at last from the floor, ignorant of the puddle at his feet, and swirled around. His face was agitated but Hermione summoned the courage to look him in the eye. His arms fell to his sides and he glared down at her.

"The Dark Lord wants to collect friends and allies to Potter. They're going to be held hostage until Potter turns himself over. And just guess what He ordered me to do." There was no warmth in the dark brown eyes and it unsettled Hermione before the words sank in. Scabior's face was damp too and void of emotion. She had never seen Scabior like this and she did not like it.

She almost dropped her wand when she figured it out, feeling the thin wood slide on her newly healed fingers. First came denial.

"No. No, you can't be serious." She backed away slowly, shaking her head and desperately whishing to forget the revelation. Scabior frowned at her retreat and took a step forward. He opened his mouth and Hermione concentrated to hear his voice through the confusion.

"Of course, love. He thought you'd be the perfect bate for Potter. Once you get tortured and He spreads the news to the world, I bet one hundred galleons Potter will come to your rescue within twenty minutes."

Not even Scabior's body radiated any heat and Hermione trembled when his soaked form moved purposely closer. The backsides of her thighs suddenly hit something hard and she threw a look behind her. She had backed into the table, and with Scabior closing in, she actually feared for her life.

He invaded her personal space with speed and grabbed hold of her right wrist. His tight hold made her wand leave the hand and clatter on the floor. His thighs brushed against the top of hers and his presence made her react to the danger.

"Let go of me, you creep! Don't you dare!" she yelled at him and tried to hit him in the groin with her knee. Unfortunately it was efficiently trapped between the table and his cold leg. Angry tears gathered in her eyes and she exclaimed with sorrow and a broken heart, "You promised! I stayed here to be safe like you wanted! And you promised you'd never hurt me! Scabior, let me go!"

She tried to fight him, but he managed to secure both her hands in his left hand, while he placed the other on the back of her head. Just like when he had kissed her and made her feel things she had never experienced. He forced her head nearer and leaned down to her. His cold nose nuzzled the side of her neck and sent shivers along her skin. She heard his ragged breath and was reminded of that time when he snatched her. Her first impression should have been followed. She should have fought him.

His scent of apples and wilderness caught her off guard and she let out a sob when she now understood that the Scabior she thought she knew never really existed.

"I trusted you," she wailed in despair. His ice cold lips travelled up her neck and around the shell of her ear.

He kissed her earlobe softly before he whispered, "Hit me." Hermione gulped down air and tried to free her head so she could see his eyes. His hand was unrelenting and continued to hold her still.

"What are you talking about?" she snapped and felt his stubble scratch her cheek. "I'm not going to take you to Him. Never planned to."

"What are you going to do, then?" Hermione breathed out, still too cautious to believe him.

"Create memories and send you to a safe place," he announced enigmatically and nibbled affectionately on her ear.

"Care to explain what you're talking about?" she yelled, tired of his game and Scabior left her neck only to gaze into her eyes. He was serious but not intimidating anymore and his eyes carried a warm brown colour.

"I've tried to learn about Occlumency," he began in a low voice and brought his hand from her neck to her cheek where his thumb brushed away the tears. "I'm no better at it than trolls are at flying. So I'll go to the Dark Lord and tell Him that you escaped. But we must make it happen, so He'll see for himself if He checks my mind. Otherwise I'm a goner."

Hermione said in a weak voice, "You're not going to hand me over?" She had been so afraid of his grim person and found it hard to fully trust him.

"No, I'm not, beautiful," he whispered fervently and cupped her chin. "But you must be a brave girl and do as I say. Both of our lives are at risk." Hermione finally believed him, seeing and hearing the familiar Scabior before her. She nodded silently and Scabior exhaled loudly as if he had been holding his breath.

"Okay, Hermione. There's a portkey activated for a quick getaway on top of my things in the chest. It's a black dagger. It'll take you to a safe place where He can't find you. You'll be perfectly fine."

"What about you?"

Scabior released her hands but started a second later to caress her knuckles with long strokes.

"I'm a survivor, you know, and a hell of a juggler. Besides, what could the Dark Lord do? You hit me and stole your wand back when I was busy seeing stars. He can't blame me for that."

Scabior sounded sure of himself, and yet Hermione saw several flaws with his parts of the plan but Scabior interrupted her before she could object.

"Time's ticking, love. If it takes any longer He'll come visit and take you Himself." Scabior gripped her hands hard and put his free hand over her throat.

"Beautiful," he mumbled and closed the distance between them. His lips might be chilling but his strenuous insistence made Hermione aware of a warm feeling inside. His tongue was considerably warmer as it quested into her mouth for a moment before Scabior withdrew himself from her. His hand clenched a little around her throat and Hermione looked at Scabior for reassurance.

"Let's stage a fight. You only get one shot," Scabior blinked at her and made more room for her legs. The hand that her breathing depended on clamped down and Hermione could barely breathe.

"Ya filthy mudblood slut! Ya should know it's an 'onour ta meet the Dark Lord personally! Relax so I can fetch my fuckin' wand!" he screamed at her and shook her brutally. Hermione spotted his wand by the chest and already knew her wand was on the floor beside her.

She bucked against Scabior's hard chest but saw him spread his legs a little. She did what she had to do. With surprising force and aim, her knee hit Scabior right in the groin. He probably did not fake his reaction when he wheezed out air and released her. He crouched down to clutch his dearer parts and that was when Hermione went for his face. A right hook sent him tumbling to the floor and she quickly bent down to retrieve her wand.

She wanted to help him, although it would ruin his memories. In stead she leapt past him and reached for the black item in his open chest. An invisible hook took hold of her navel and the tent began to swim before her. She could make out Scabior lying on the floor with his checkered trousers and big leather coat before he dissolved and she flew away with the portkey to an unknown destination.

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Scabior watched her succeed escaping the tent and momentarily rested his head on the floor. He had done it.

He had willingly betrayed the Dark Lord to save his woman.

It felt okay, had it not been for the fact that he was the one who had to break the news to Voldemort. Would he live another day? He groaned when he moved a little. 'She's good at this. Maybe too good,' he thought as he for the third time that day struggled to his feet.

But he did felt a bit less sorry for himself when he thought about where Hermione had been sent. 'Hermione will lose it when she meets _her_.'

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**Oh, so you've worked your way down now? He he. Tell me please, did I fool you that Scabior would take Hermione to Voldemort, or were you trusting Scabior all along? Send a review!**


	22. Chapter 22 Fatalities

**Hello, lovely readers! Let's see what's happening with Scabior, shall we? And thank you from the bottom of my heart for your kind and interesting reveiws. They really boost my confidence. Enjoy this chapter.**

**Inspirational music: Unforgivable sinner by Lene Marlin**

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Chap. 22 Fatalities

Scabior rubbed his throbbing jaw and chuckled at the woman's strength. He longed already to be by her side but knew he would be one lucky bastard if he ever got to see her after meeting the Dark Lord.

It was tempting to search his chest for different pain relieving potions, but that could appear in his memory if Voldemort decided to use Legimency on him. Scabior suspected the wizard would be very angered if he discovered that his servant had ingested potions in advance to avoid pain from punishments.

Scabior looked around the tent. It seemed empty now that Hermione had gone. Only signs of her staying lay scattered in the tent, each an inevitable reminder of her departure. His gaze travelled over the wrinkles on his simple bed, to the utensils on the far end of the table which she had used to make him a lamb stew that got ruined, to the walls of the bathroom he had built single-handed for her.

A grey textile garment under the bed caught his attention and he cast _Accio_ on it after having fetched his wand from the floor. The item fleeted to his hand and he felt the warming wool against the callous skin of his palm. He sniffed the air and was assaulted by perfumes of vanilla and summer flowers. He felt an ache in his core and yet he persisted torturing himself by bringing Hermione's forgotten coat to his nose and breathe in her original scent. He scolded himself for letting her leave without it. The summer may be approaching but it could be windy and clammy where she was going.

A sting on his left arm brought him unceremoniously from his somber thoughts. It was a warning from the Dark Lord. He was expecting Scabior to disapparate to the Ministry. Scabior closed his eyes for a short moment. Why did it feel like he was saying goodbye to his tent and to Hermione in her absence?

Scabior held out his wand and dropped Hermione's coat on the floor. He regretted that he had not cast a drying charm on himself before Hermione's _escape_; it would have been hard to explain to Voldemort that he had lost his prisoner but had had time for making himself comfortable before announcing the news.

Scabior disapparated from his camp once more without bothering telling his snatchers about it. The less they knew, the better.

He landed smoothly in the Ministry and alerted the guards who all at once aimed their wands at him. Scabior caught look of the Dark Lord for barely a second before he was hit by a _Flipendo_ and landed on his back. His arms had flown up to protect his head on instinct, but that also meant his wand was clearly visible. A non-verbal _Expelliarmus _made his wand disappear from his loose grasp and Scabior followed its flight to the Dark Lord's free hand.

"Where is the mudblood?" an ice cold voice asked.

Voldemort walked slowly to Scabior. The snatcher thought it best to remain on the floor.

"My Lord! It…it escaped me. Just now in my own bleedin' tent!" Scabior croaked out and thought he sounded innocent enough.

Voldemort frowned until his face was a terrifying mask of rage incarnated and hissed something under his breath. Ropes emerged from thin air and began to wound themselves around Scabior. It was pointless to fight them even if Scabior had the ability to perform a counterspell without his wand. If the Dark Lord preferred him to be tied up, he would certainly not challenge the stronger wizard. Scabior watched him come nearer until the pitch black robe brushed against the tight ropes. The Dark Lord really was intimidating up-close.

"How could a defenceless, _weak_, mudblood slut flee from an experienced snatcher?"

Apparently the Dark Lord did not have the courtesy to wait for an answer before he plunged into Scabior's mind and began to rake around. Scabior had seen it coming and had quickly put up walls between the sweet memories of Hermione and the prying man. He focused on the memory of her violent fight, and thus made sure it was viewed by Voldemort.

The red eyes looked away and the connection broke, leaving Scabior in cold sweat and with a splitting headache on the floor. Legimency was not a particularly comfortable thing to be subjected to. Voldemort flashed his yellow teeth in a disturbing smile.

"I personally praise your work and ask you for one single thing. And you even has it trapped against a table and only has to get your wand and dissapparate with it to me. Think very carefully before answering my questions, snatcher. Why was your chest open and why did the mudblood's wand lie on the floor beside you?"

Scabior thought on, well, his back. "My Lord, I thought you'd approve if I took her wand with me so you could torture her with it! Far more degrading, and exactly the thing she deserved for her filthiness. I had put the wand in my chest but opened it just now for that purpose only."

Scabior spoke frantically, aware of his dangerous dance on thin ice.

"While I cornered the bitch, I dropped the wand. Please believe me, my Lord!"

"You may speak the truth but you will nevertheless pay for your stupidity, _Scabior_," Voldemort sneered before he levitated Scabior.

Scabior knew he would not be released without pain but hoped it would be over in a short while. After all, he had never been a fan of masochism.

His face was thrown ruthlessly against the cool white stone that was the statue, the pain tingling through the back of his neck. The ropes disappeared from him but he remained levitated, pressed into the stone. He was brutally turned over and watched Voldemort before him.

"How does it feel, pureblood? To be stained by disgusting traces of a half-blood?"

Nailed by invisible powers to the stone, Scabior found he could still move his head and looked on either side of him, and saw the blood from Potter around him. He said nothing but felt a twinge of fear surge through him when the two thick shackles rattled like the chains of the Bloody Baron.

'Okay, the tosser's always been keen on big displays. I'll be alright,' Scabior calmed himself with, as the metal enclosed his wrists. It brought on the memories of his stay at Azkaban. To be trapped and incapable of resistance was a nightmare. The snatcher within havocked in his head, tugging at his sanity slowly while craving freedom now.

The chains were being shortened until Scabior's arms were outstretched at his sides and he feet dangled helplessly above the floor. The Dark Lord hummed appreciatively.

"Let me see just how much you are willing to suffer until your mind or body give in," he mumbled and lifted his wand. Scabior stared defiantly into the red eyes as the Cruciatus Curse hit him.

He could not help the cry of torture that slipped out once seething pain spread inside him. He trashed against the rock when his limbs began to boil and his head seemed to be eaten from the inside. The eyes were closed and yet he could see white light under his lids, the evident sign of terrible pain.

After what could have been minutes or hours, the curse was lifted from him and he concentrated on breathing, only half aware of his trembling body. He squinted his eyes and saw Voldemort leaning his head to the side.

"Not used to the Cruciatus, snatcher?" he asked with a sympathetic tone and stepped nearer.

For a fleeting moment, Scabior was warmed by the thought of having saved Hermione from this, even if he himself had to suffer the consequences.

"Consider your position as snatcher leader gone. I will let your men know after I am finished with you. I will be merciful and let you live, Scabior. But I do not want to see you in my presence for a long time. However," Voldemort grinned and stroked the fabric of the checkered pants languidly, while Scabior fought to remain conscious, "I need to make sure you do not make another mistake on my behalf. Oh, Nagini!"

The dreadful snake slid around the corner of the statue and moved to its master upon his call.

"Surely you will not mind if I give your legs to Nagini as desert, snatcher," Voldemort stated and began to whisper in Parseltongue.

Scabior tried to gather some strength to fight his fate but his body was too weak after having endured the Unforgivable Curse. Although, his mind protested. He did not want this. He was a snatcher at core who was fiercely dependent on his ability to run. In his sorry life, that was one of the few things he treasured the most. Even if he survived the snake's attack, he was not sure if he could cope with a life without legs. Then, he would truly be robbed of his precious freedom, trapped with a useless body as a simple but effective prison. And what would Hermione think of him if he, pray Merlin, ever got to see her again?

Scabior had certainly not been prepared for this when he entered the Ministry. The snake hissed and opened its gape. Scabior frowned to chase away the confusing mist before his eyes and watched the Dark Lord stand back with an amused smile. Why did the Dark Lord not chop off his legs?

'Wait, is the animal gonna eat of me bit by bit?' The revelation almost made Scabior throw up in fear as he hung defenceless on the white and red statue. Just as the snake coiled itself to prepare its launch forward, a loud pang stirred the scene in the Ministry. Scabior saw Voldemort turn around quickly and aim a wand at the apparating person. It was a blonde young man in black Death Eater robes. The impaired snatcher recognized the man somehow but could not remember the name.

Nagini began to lower herself to the floor and hurried away from the grandiose hall, to Scabior's relief.

Suddenly his throat was filled up with something and he coughed hard to get the stuff away so he could breath. A glob of blood landed on the floor under his feet. Somewhere in the back of his dazed head, he figured that this was not a good thing. A shrill voice pierced his skull and made him moan from the aggravated headache.

"My Lord! We've got him! We caught Hagrid! But we need Your help to bring him here. Our powers combined doesn't affect him much."

"Well done, Draco. A creature like that is not easy to take on. I will see my first hostage now."

Through his semi-closed lids, Scabior could see Voldemort turn around and toss his own wand at him. It hit the floor beneath him.

"I have more important business to attend to, snatcher. Go and be grateful for your extraordinary luck."

The chains opened unexpectedly and Scabior fell to the floor. It felt like he had severe wounds all over his body and that they all reopened when he met the hard surface. Instinct alone made him curl up, almost like a baby, and stretch out a throbbing arm towards his wand. Once his fingers felt the magical wood, he breathed out and clenched his teeth to keep the darkness that threatened to overtake his eyes at bay.

He had to disapparate all alone. No-one would help him and only he knew where to go. If he failed and splinched himself, he would die in his weakened state.

Then, he thought his pants were wet and warm but he could swear his legs had dropped in temperature. He glanced down along his body and saw his pants changing colour. In stead of the playful checkered pattern, a scarlet red wetness began to cover his cold legs.

'Oh, fuck.'

Scabior felt his whole body work against him but he knew he had to hurry before it would be too late. He thought about that place where Hermione hopefully would be waiting for him. Scabior smelt more than felt a lonely tear of pain leave his eye and trickle over his temple. What he would give to smell her scent right now.

He drew a rasping breath and managed to wave his wounded wand hand a bit. The world around him dissolved but he had to resist the temptation of surrendering to the darkness.

Suddenly he was thrown down onto a hard ground, smashing his chest against a grass covered sharp stone. He had to close his eyes, groaning loudly when his ribs broke. And yet, despite his serious wounds, he was convinced he could smell her perfume in the air. But maybe it was only his imagination; his own mind finding comfort in his dying hour.

The darkness came and drowned out everything. Scabior could not sense anything anymore.


	23. Chapter 23 Confusions

**Hello! I'm finding it easier to write longer chapters now. Maybe I'm getting better at writing? Anyway, good for you. Thank you so much for the reviews and alerts, etc. Many of you worried about Scabior in the previous chapter. Well, so does Hermione. Enjoy and spoil me with more reviews, please.**

**Inspirational music: Here with me by Dido**

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Chap. 23 Confusions

It had been a while since Hermione disapparated so when she was transported by the portkey, she began to feel even more dizzy, disliking the spinning that reminded her of the insecure rides in fairs she had encountered in her childhood. Then the flashes melted together to one image before her eyes. Hermione bent her legs slightly so she would not hurt herself more than necessary once she hit the ground.

She felt the impact through her body and started to roll on the ground until her speed had slowed down.

She kept the dagger in her left hand, as she thought that it could provide further security. She got up but was nearly knocked down by a strong wind that played viciously with her hair. Hermione shuddered in the freezing wind but at the same time, she savoured her time in the open after having been cooped up in a tent for a fairly long time.

She looked at her surroundings. A field of grass and a few windblown, stubborn flowers covered what she believed to be a stony landscape. Stones peeked up everywhere from the short grass as if intentionally wanting to make a walker twist an ankle.

A movement in her peripheral sight made Hermione aim her wand to her left but was relieved to only see some seagulls flying around. They had probably been disturbed by her sudden appearance. And then Hermione saw it.

A small, one-storey house was perched on the mountainous ground a couple of hundred feet away. There was no light in the windows despite the dark clouds that raced across the sky. The house looked abandoned. But it was the only building Hermione could spot and she presumed that this was the safe place Scabior had talked about.

'Scabior.'

Hermione sighed sadly. She had thought that he would bring her to Voldemort and had been devastated by his betrayal. That is, until he explained his plan and managed to send her here in stead. Her heart throbbed when she imagined what would happen once he stood face to face with the Dark Lord. At least he had seemed confident enough and she could only hope that he survived the meeting.

An ominous drop landed on her bare hand, announcing the arrival of rain. If Scabior thought the cottage to be safe, then Hermione would go there rather than staying outside in a freezing rain. She walked cautiously towards the house with her eyes trained on it.

When she could take a good look on the house, she decided on the spot that the Burrow was far more inviting.

This house bore more resemblance to the Shrieking Shack with its darkened walls and dirty windows covered with spider web. How could this house be deemed fit for humans, and to a more important question; why had Scabior sent her here?

Hermione found the frail door and cast _Alohomora_ on it. She could hear the lock open and grabbed the doorknob with two fingers that did not hold the dagger. As she hesitantly entered the strange building she felt a wave of heat reach her frozen skin. Someone had to be living there.

She gazed into a gloomy corridor in front of her when she unexpectedly felt something pointy press into her unprotected neck.

She gasped and looked at her side. A menacingly wand was held by a grimy but smooth hand. Black clothing covered the arm and Hermione had to squint to be able to make out the face in the shadow. It was a woman, approximately fifty years old with a puffy and tired face and a bun of flaming red hair. The hair was nothing like the Weasley's trademark, as it had a clear red colour to it. She was thin but had a strong look to her and her blue eyes narrowed.

"Wha' d'ya think yer doin' in my 'ouse, little bitch?" the woman asked in a very hostile voice.

Hermione fought to not recoil when a puff of sour liquor reached her. She was suddenly aware of that the older woman swayed in her black dress as she still kept the wand against her throat.

"I'm terribly sorry, ma'm. I assumed the cottage was abandoned," she whispered in an apologetic tone but the other woman did not move.

"'ow did ya get through them wards an' all?"

The woman actually growled at her and Hermione began to feel scared for herself. "I…I took a portkey and landed outside the house only minutes ago. Maybe I went through your wards with it," she suggested kindly but stopped smiling when the woman snarled at her.

"D'ya think I'm a fuckin' wanker? I may be tipsy but don't take the Mickey out o' me! I'm gonna ask ya one last time, lass. 'ow did ya get through the Fidelius Charm that protects this place, huh?"

Hermione swallowed nervously. Clearly the woman had not expected her. And how on earth had she been able to travel through protective wards, not to mention a powerful Fidelius? Unless…

Hermione lifted her hand slowly to look at the black dagger. The other woman lowered her gaze too before she snatched the item from Hermione. Within seconds, Hermione was thrusted against the wall and the woman pressed the wand further into her neck, making Hermione's eyes prickle of pain. The mad woman stared at Hermione and a distant thought about their shared height fluttered through her head.

"This is a family 'eirloom! Where the fuck did ya get it, an' answer quickly if ya wanna keep those cute eyes!" she screamed and waved the dagger in front of the scared woman.

Hermione did not want to expose Scabior to a possible enemy if she could help it, but knew she had to say something to the enraged woman. She opted for innocent hints of truth.

"A tall thug gave it to me and said I could use it to get away from dangers. Please believe me, ma'm."

The woman widened her blue eyes and sucked in her breath. Hermione observed how the dirty hand with the dagger began to tremble a little.

"Describe 'im, bitch"

The voice was commanding, although considerably more calm. Hermione surrendered more vague information.

"I remember he had brown eyes and brown hair. He was tall, as I was saying, but not fat. He was quick, too."

She met the eyes of the woman who frowned at her before she said, "A quick fellow, eh? An' did 'e 'appen ta 'ave a red streak in that brown 'air o' 'is?"

And when Hermione thought about Scabior's red stripe, she discovered that the colour was identical with this woman's. She used the Gryffindor courage to dare reveal Scabior's identity.

"Do you by any chance know who Scabior is?"

The wand left her neck and Hermione watched for any other reaction from the suddenly withdrawing woman. The elder witch stared intensely at a spot on the wall beside Hermione, as if refusing to meet her gaze.

The woman took a shuddering breath before she muttered with a bitter chuckle, "O' course, lass. Aren't one supposed ta know one's only son?"

In a very unladylike manner, Hermione gaped at the other woman who suddenly reminded her more and more of Scabior. The hair colour was striking, her eyes were shaped the same way and Scabior most definitely had inherited her proud nose. The world began to swim before Hermione's eyes and she heard a protesting rumble from her empty stomach. The revelation had chocked her already exhausted body and mind.

"Oi! Ya alright there, lass?" a female voice with his accent called. Hermione sagged against the battered wall, too tired by this day's events to do anything else. "Do you have anything to eat, Mrs…" she said haltingly. Scabior's mother snorted indignantly, making waves of alcohol-smelling air assault Hermione.

"Now, love, I want ya ta call me nothin' but Claire, an' then I'll give ya somethin' ta chew on. No Mrs here, please. Makes me feel like a bleedin' gammer. And I'm no wife either so that title's wasted on me."

"I understand, Claire. And I'm Penelope Clearwater. Nice to meet you," Hermione greeted and praised her instinct to still be careful about her real identity. Claire glanced at her with a bored look and swung her wand. Apparently she had used a non-verbal Summoning Charm because a piece of meat flew out from a door in the corridor, against the women.

But using magic with a drunken mind tended to dull the spells. The meat missed Claire's outstretched hand and would have landed on the floor, had Hermione not caught it, her actions driven by hunger.

"Fuckin' 'ell!" the red-haired lady swore at her quite innocent wand before she turned her attention to the already chewing Hermione.

"Long time, no tea, dear?" she sneered and Hermione felt two red flowers bloom on her cheeks at her imprudence.

"Sorry. I was very hungry," she offered as excuse. The meat was some sort of steak that tasted deliciously on her tongue. Suddenly she realized something when her nose remembered fragments from the taste.

"Is this lamb, Claire?"

"It was 'til ya came by an' ate it with great appetite. Come. I've kept some o' my questions an' I need ya ta answer them now."

The elder woman beckoned Hermione to follow through a dark corridor with two doors at either side until they reached a larger room. Claire lit some lights with her wand and Hermione looked around eagerly.

It seemed the room was like a living room because a quite grandiose fireplace was placed on the further wall and a long enough sofa covered in rich burgundy velvet. A ridiculously small fire for such a large fireplace spread warmth in the house and Hermione felt how the coldness was chased away from her. She saw a couple of paintings hanging on the wall but found it hard to see the portraits in the scarcely light.

Claire suggested she sat down on the sofa while she herself remained standing.

"I think you've already figured out that ya was able ta travel through the Fidelius because o' the portkey that 'e 'ad. Only Scabior an' I know where ta find this place," Claire said matter-of-factly and Hermione followed her thinking.

"Excuse me, Claire. Can you please tell me where exactly I am?" she asked politely and Claire clenched her jaw.

"First I need ta know yer relation with my Scabior, since 'e gave you 'is emergency portkey. Are ya 'is bird or somethin'?" Claire asked in a hard voice.

Hermione gulped and literally shrunk on the soft sofa. Scabior's mother was forward like her son, and as frightening at times.

And how should one describe this relation to Scabior? Hermione decided that revealing the fact that she had been his prisoner would not favour her, as Claire might guess she was a wanted witch who was worth galleons.

"I visited him in his tent a couple of times. He seemed to like me," Hermione tackled the question with and blushed at her last words. She firsthand had felt just how much Scabior liked her when they snogged on the floor. Claire persisted.

"What d'ya mean _liked_ ya, Penelope? Liked ya fer spreadin' yer legs?" she asked coarsely for Hermione's ears. She tensed on the sofa and straightened her back defiantly.

"No, it was nothing like that! He just did nice things for me," she exclaimed as she began to twirl her wand in her hand to rid herself of the frustration. Claire's blue eyes gleamed and she looked amused.

"Good girl. I needed ta check if ya were only one o' 'is usual skirts, an' it seems like you're not. Now tell me why Scabior chose ta send ya 'ere without 'im."

'One of his usual skirts?' Hermione distinguished a flare of anger at this new piece of information but had not time to ponder about it, as she sensed the importance of telling Claire about the fate of her son. As the fire made Hermione less tense, she told a story of mixed truths and lies.

Penelope Clearwater had searched for food in the woods but an animal attacked her. Scabior had found her wounded and healed her in his snatcher camp. As the orphan she was, she had chosen to stay with him. That is, until the Dark Lord wanted her for entertainment and Scabior provided her with a way out.

Once Hermione had finished her story, Claire began to pace between the sofa and the flickering fire.

"Sounds like my lad's a fancy gentleman nowadays. Pray tell, where's Mr Perfect now?" Claire inquired and glared at Hermione who felt her throat dry when she understood she had to tell the awful truth to the mother. Merlin, she already felt fear infect her at the thought of poor Scabior. She lowered her head.

"He had to go to the Dark Lord and explain my absence. I don't know what's happen to him," she whispered in a defeated voice. She knew Claire had the eyes fixed on her but did not dare meet them. A hoarse whisper sounded through the large and yet empty room.

"Scabior's with the Dark Lord." It was a statement, not a question. And then, "'e'll never make it out alive."

Strange it was how two strangers could share thoughts and emotions with close to no knowledge about each other. Hermione heard footsteps come closer and bounced a little when Claire sat down heavily beside her. Silence reigned the room as both women stared into the dancing flames before them.

After some torturous minutes, Claire muttered without looking away from the fire, "You're in Ireland. I left England when Scabior moved out. Found this 'ouse an' bought it. Once the dark powers took over again, he came by fer a day. We decided ta put a Fidelius on this place."

Claire chuckled humourlessly. "Funny really. We had our rows when 'e was a teenager but when 'e visited me, 'e made me swear ta keep them protecting shields up all the time."

Hermione shifted awkwardly on the soft material, feeling like an outsider who was not supposed to hear this private information. The worst part was that she recognized the Scabior Claire talked about as she had fought with him too, and knew how protective he could be in times of immediate danger.

He had truly saved her when he sent her to Ireland; the least pureblood-obsessed part of Britain, according to her books. Voldemort had almost let the island alone from his raids after muggleborns, probably more focused on defeating Harry Potter than challenging the reluctant but calm wizards and witches on Ireland. The Irish wizarding world was, in the latest editions of history books, neutral to the Dark Lord but was expected to fight against him if he sent his Death Eaters across the sea to enslave the population.

Hermione had no idea about the current opinion but hoped that the people were still friendly towards _half-bloods_ like herself.

"And you and Scabior are purebloods?" Hermione asked, although she had her suspicions when she recalled her first day in Scabior's tent and his harsh words.

"Yeah, poor ones, but purebloods nonetheless. Or more accurately, I am. He was." Claire hissed and rubbed her face angrily. Hermione could almost see new wrinkles settle on the still beautiful face. The face of a mother mourning her only child was haunting and tragic. Hermione's own heart shed tears of sorrow but she still carried the hope of youth.

"Don't talk about Scabior in the past tense. He assured me he was a survivor."

Hermione tried to comfort Claire as she heard raindrops drum on the windows, cleaning them on the outside at least. The night had arrived earlier with the dark clouds covering the daylight. In a different world she would have been very scared in a creepy cottage in the middle of nowhere during a rainy night, but now it did not matter. She could breath, talk and live thanks to Scabior's sacrifice. But what had he paid for her safety?

Hermione sniffed and tried faintly to hide her teary eyes.

"Don't ya dare tell me 'ow ta talk about my late son, pretty!" Claire said icily when Hermione heard a clap of thunder echoing over the hill outside. Claire continued, more upset for every second that passed, "Scabior was good at savin' 'is arse but d'ya know anyone who got away from the fury o' the Dark Lord? Well, that Potter boy might 'ave seventeen years ago, but for some reason, I don't see my son defeating the Dark…"

Hermione interrupted the woman by hushing her. The woman took it as an intended insult and held up her wand, aiming at Hermione.

"Now that was very stupid."

"Didn't you hear that?" Hermione asked brusquely and got up from the sofa. Claire shrugged, however following the younger witch with her puffy eyes.

Hermione moved purposely to a window and peeked out, getting hotter when the adrenalin made her blood course at a quicker pace. Only the darkened night met her gaze with gleaming rocks and grass flattened to the ground. Still she felt the presence of something out there.

She mumbled to Claire, "Did you hear that one clap of thunder just now?" Claire sighed.

"Blimey! I've lost my son and got a loony. Yes, yes, I 'eard the thunder, alright."

"But there was no lightening," Hermione hissed and clasped her wand firmer.

"Maybe someone apparated here." Hermione knew what her heart was hoping for, but it could be a danger. Something dark waiting to harm her and the other woman. She waved at Claire.

"Come! We must see what it is."

With a reluctant groan, Claire got up and followed Hermione through the corridor.

Nothing had happened when Hermione's face peeped out from the door and she hurried outside. The merciless rain soaked her warm clothes and made her hair cling to her back but she did not care right now. Claire joined her with her wand pulled out and whispered in her ear, "The wards're broken. I can feel it."

It would be foolish to use a Lumos and expose them to whatever hid in the dark. Instead, Hermione remembered the spell she had often used these last months.

"_Homenum Revelio_"

A human shape along the ground lay motionless on the other side of the cottage.

Hermione began to walk towards the person she could not yet see, her wand at the ready and with an Unforgivable on her tongue. As she drew nearer, she heard Claire stumble a little and breathe out a curse. There were many stones here and they had to tread carefully.

And then she saw him. A wet leather coat and tangled hair covering the form of Scabior.

His back was displayed at her and that troubled Hermione.

She hurried to kneel beside his silent and unmoving body as Claire cast _Lumos_.

"My boy!"

"Scabior, do you hear me!"

Two voices challenged the relentless wind but no response was given. Hermione took a look at his face. His eyes were closed but his mouth was open in an unnatural way. And his face was so white. Almost as if he was dead.

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**What do you say? And I'm thinking that Scabior's mum was like Mama Fratelli from The Goonies and Ma in Boondock Saints, but in a more beautiful version. Scabior must have gotten his good looks from someone, eh? Did you like Claire, or is it boring/hard to read her accent all the time? Let me know and send a review! **


	24. Chapter 24 Bruises

**Hello**,** y'all! First I want to apologize to everyone who might have felt offended by the fact that I in the last chapter listed Ireland as a part of Britain. I know that it's not! I swear it only slipped my mind. But as Voldemort would say; no matter, no matter. One big mistake in a 23 chapter long story is not that bad (I think). Thank you for your approval of Claire and every review you sent me. Keep doing that, ha ha. Enjoy.**

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Chap. 24 Bruises

To see Scabior dead before her caused more distress inside Hermione than she had ever expected. But he had as good as promised her he would be alright, and he had managed to apparate here. That meant he had only been lifeless in mere minutes. There was still hope.

"Come on. Help me turn him over," Hermione said in a steady voice as resolve settled in her body and ushered her to do anything in her powers to save Scabior. With joined efforts, the women managed to flip Scabior so he faced the weeping night sky.

Hermione groaned and she heard Claire cry out in anguish when they saw the front.

Blood had soaked Scabior's pants and only left some small patches in their original state. But as the rain began to further wet the man, the blood mingled with the water and completed the colouration. Hermione knew that losing so much blood was very bad.

With trembling hands she opened the leather coat to examine the torso.

"No!" she whispered when she gazed upon a shattered chest. Blood had once again stained Scabior's clothing and his green jacket was torn apart.

"Those fuckin' stones from 'ell," Claire mumbled as she softly caressed a white hand.

Hermione discovered the culprit too; a particularly sharp stone wedged between shorter grass. It was smeared with blood. At least Hermione now had some hints about Scabior's injuries. She became determined to help Scabior, just like she had been when Ron splinched himself.

A _Diffendo_ made it easier to open the tattered jacket, although Hermione silently winced when the fabric had to be separated from the cloggy wound. The area around the open wound was bruised and bore witness of several broken ribs. Hermione held her wand over the ribcage with her teeth clenched together.

In order to allow Scabior to breathe easier, she had to hurt him momentarily.

"_Episkey_. _Episkey_. _Episkey_. _Episkey_."

Each incantation was followed by an ominous snap when the broken bones mended themselves and rose, thus making way for the lungs to expand.

Hermione panted after the suspense. Despite the terrible pain, there were still no sounds from Scabior. She took to muggle methods in her desperation. She reached out her free hand and felt on Scabior's neck, searching for a beat of life. Nothing.

"Oh no, you don't," she hissed and tossed her wand away. Not caring about the newly healed ribs, as air was more important, Hermione began to press repeatedly on the white and red chest. More blood seeped from the chest wound but she did not care.

"What're ya doin'? Leave 'im alone!" the confused and protective mother shouted but Hermione threw a composed glance at Claire while she continued to help the weak heart to beat.

"I'm trying to save him by muggle healing. If we're lucky, he'll beat death, but right now I need you to let me do this."

Hermione was aware of her rather bossy tone but at the same time it was effective around panicked people. Claire looked at her son and raised her wand. She began to unstitch Scabior's pants and heal the injuries that marred his strong legs. Grateful for her compliance, Hermione returned her attention to the non-existent pulse.

She stopped her ministrations and lowered her head to Scabior's. She bent his head back slightly to clear his throat. A firm hand closed his nostrils and she bent down and breathed into Scabior's mouth. His chest rose which confirmed her efficiency. Once the chest began to descend, she retreated from the softness of his lips and felt for a pulse again. Nothing.

In an act of frustration, and yet in accordance with lifesaving, she hit Scabior forcefully on the ribs to shock the heart into working. Her hands returned to his chest and continued to massage the muscle hidden beneath the ribs. Water drops trapped in her hair fell onto Scabior, and maybe tears too.

"Breathe! Dammit Scabior, breathe!" Hermione yelled when she felt hope and energy slowly abandon her just like the blood abandoned the silent body before her. One of her hands shot to the neck again and pressed down to recognize a pulse.

And there it was.

Hermione swallowed hard and kept her fingers on the spot to reassure herself that Scabior indeed was alive. The beat was weak but regular and it was there.

As if letting her every nerve-end tune in the pulse, Hermione ceased her compressions. The pulse stayed by itself.

Relief flooded her mind and she sobbed when all penned up anxiety left her tired body.

"What? What?" Claire asked and gripped Hermione's wet shoulder. Hermione gave a genuine smile and sighed contentedly, "His heart's beating on it's own accord. Scabior's alive."

The woman clasped both her hands to her mouth and tears welled in her eyes. Hermione looked back at Scabior and stroked the hair gently off his forehead. He was definitely becoming better, judging by the decreasing paleness on the skin.

"Let's get him inside now. He needs warmth," Hermione stated as she picked herself up from the cold ground and retrieved her wand. Claire watched her with an odd expression on her face.

"Ya're really fond o' my lad, aren't ya?" Hermione felt a temptation to confess but her concern for Scabior was the most important matter right now. She shrugged.

"As I said before, he did nice things for me. Now I did a nice thing in return."

Claire nodded and changed the subject.

"Thank you, Penelope fer savin' my son."

Hermione smiled at the calm woman who she now counted as one strange but steady ally. Purebloods had their honour and paid any debts that came in their way. Especially life-debts.

Claire got up from the ground but continued to hold onto Scabior's hand.

"Ah, there's 'is wand," Claire pointed out and made the magic piece of wood fly from the grass into her already wand-carrying hand.

"Maybe we should levitate him together. If one of us slips on a stone and loses concentration, he won't fall too," Hermione suggested and the two women lifted the unconscious companion and began to head back to the cottage.

The heat on the inside was a true blessing and Hermione was keen on rubbing the chill out of her bones as soon as Scabior had been taken care of. One of the rooms in the corridor seemed proper enough according to Claire and they entered with a floating Scabior.

The first thing that Hermione noticed was that the window in the room was equally as dirty as the others she had seen. When she looked around she saw an invitingly broad bed with frayed but clean linens, a small night table, an armchair with the same burgundy velvet as the sofa in the living room and a chest of drawers. No paintings covered the walls in here, although green and silver Slytherin banners and a poster with a quidditch player dressed in blue, who at times mounted his broomstick and quickly soared out of the picture, made the room look cosier. Hermione had no idea who the player was.

As she and Claire lowered Scabior onto the bed it suddenly occurred to Hermione that the ruined pants and the soiled jacket would smudge the white linen so she charmed the coat and the jacket off Scabior. Then she addressed Claire.

"Do you have anything else for him to wear while he's recovering?" Claire huffed. "I've saved some o' the old pyjamas, alright. Even though Scabior almost never visited me. Reckon they're a bit teeny now, though."

She aimed her wand at the chest of drawers and one drawer released a pair of trousers and one shirt. A simple _Engorgio_ made them fit Scabior's muscular body.

Feeling a little embarrassed, Hermione let Claire change Scabior's clothes with magic while she turned to look out the window. She suspected that Scabior might not have any underwear under his checkered pants.

As she turned back she caught sight of the healed calves and simply had to compliment Claire's handiwork.

"Good job with healing the leg wounds. There might not even be scars. Have you used many healing charms before?"

"Used them? Did Salazar Slytherin speak Parseltongue? O' course I've healed Scabior before. That damn kid runnin' around every day 'til he fell an' 'urt 'imself. Scabior would 'ave been a bloody cripple if I hadn't done anything."

Claire made the dirty clothes fold themselves and land on top of the chest of drawers.

"Claire, do you mind if I treat Scabior's chest wound and watch over him tonight?" Hermione asked meekly, not wanting to get in the way of a fiercely protective mother. In her heart she wished that the mother would allow her to take care of her... well, her dear man. Fortunately, Claire yawned and scratched her chin as if considering the proposal.

"Yeah, ya're a lovely bird an' all, Penelope. I'm knackered an' need my beauty sleep. I'll be in the room just across the hallway. An' there's a bathroom in the room beside this. The kitchen's the one beside mine."

Claire stepped closer to the bed where Scabior was between sleep and unconsciousness and caressed him lovingly on the cheek before she gathered her black dress and lifted an eyebrow at Hermione.

"Ya better get dry fast, love. I've certainly not time fer a cold above all else. An' feel free ta transfigure that armchair into yer own bed. Unless you'd rather..."

Hermione blushed furiously and Claire chuckled to herself as she left the room and closed the door.

Hermione saw to Scabior's needs first and sat down on the bed beside him. Gone was the eerie mask of death; a more healthy look had settled on his relaxed face. He was going to be alright.

She unbuttoned the shirt and studied his chest. Blood was still trickling from the nasty wound but the ribs were mended. Scabior would feel a small amount of pain due to the internal bruises around his ribcage but that would go too.

Hermione whispered out a spell that sealed the open wound but was aware of her throbbing head as she used her last reserves to heal Scabior. Once she was satisfied, she buttoned the shirt with her hands and put a blanket over Scabior's sleeping form. She remembered how he had said that he had watched over her in three days straight after Bellatrix had harmed her. But Hermione was exhausted both mentally and physically after the long day.

While sitting down, she transfigured the armchair into a much simpler bed than Scabior's, unable to stretch the piece of furniture to a more comfortable bed. That would nearly be impossible for the magic, just like it was to turn a match into a sofa.

Hermione wavered on the bed, almost falling onto Scabior in the process. With great effort she stumbled to her bed and laid down on the squeaky thing.

'That's okay. Makes it feel like I'm in Scabior's bed in the tent again,' she thought absent-mindedly and waved her wand one last time to dry her clothes. The spell worked passably and she slipped to sleep immediately.

* * *

Something disturbed him. A noise. Or rather several noises that would not stop.

After a while Scabior managed to determine the sounds.

Seagulls.

So he was by the coast. He tried his other senses.

A smell of apples and vanilla floated around him and would have lulled him back to sleep, had he not decided to examine his surroundings.

'Hermione.'

She was near, thank Merlin! As on cue his instincts told him to find her, to capture her in his arms and never let go. His arms even moved a couple of inches only to result in great pain fluttering in his chest. He gasped and ceased his movements.

'Oh, right. The Dark fuckin' Lord,' he thought when the memory of his torture returned. And he had apparated to Ireland, to his mother's house. And Hermione was here. The wrinkles disappeared from his forehead as he realized his success. That is, if his legs were still...

Wanting to see them for himself, Scabior slowly opened his eyes. A bright light shone through a familiarly dirty window and stung his eyes before they got used to the sunshine.

He laid in his old bed in the room that his mother had insisted on keeping as his temporary bedroom if he ever visited. Despite his loud protests, she had decorated the walls with memories of his childhood: Slytherin banners and a rare poster of Roderick Plumpton, the seeker for Tutshill Tornados who once caught the snitch after three and a half seconds. Scabior had admired Plumpton for the extraordinary speed, but then again, it probably had something to do with his own snatcher nature.

Scabior's gaze fell upon the blanket that hid his legs. Ignoring the seething pain that left him soaked in cold sweat, he forced his arms to cooperate and move the obscuring blanket to the side. Two legs clad in his old pyjamas and ten toes greeted him.

'Looks fine, at least.'

He flexed his muscles and spread his legs. They worked. And then he bent them so his bare feet were flat against the soft linen beneath. His legs were alright.

Scabior smiled at himself and breathed out his relief. He would be able to run again. A snore brought his attention from his healed body to a person lying in a bed by the wall.

The wild golden brown curls gave her identity away. It was as if they were back in his tent, sleeping in separated beds in a narrow space. Scabior felt a need tug at his core, imploring him to make sure she was fine. He could not imagine how her day had been like yesterday, what with spending time with his mother. He must check for any lingering damage.

"Hey, Hermione!" he called softly and there came a reluctant groan from the curls. Actually, it was a very pleasant sound.

"Hermione! Wake up sleepyhead."

The curls bounced when the head began to move around. Her beautiful mocha brown eyes stared back at him and gave him peace at last.

"Scabior! You're awake!" she suddenly screamed and jumped off her bed in a hurry, almost knocking over the night table in the process, before she sat down on his bed. She studied his face and Scabior felt very content at being so thoroughly examined.

"You feel okay? No headache or anything," she asked seriously and held her hands against his cheeks.

"Nothing to report, love. Except, I feel like a centaur herd ran over me."

"Oh, I guess it's that darned chest wound and your ribs. Scabior, when you apparate, you're supposed to land on you feet, not flat on you stomach."

So Hermione was in a joking mood. Two could play that game. "But I love to make a spectacular entrance. Tell me, was there a fan-fucking-tastic symphony of musical wonder when I let a stone play on my ribs?"

She hummed but lowered her gaze and began to finger on her sweater.

"Hermione, what's wrong," Scabior said, worried by her avoiding posture.

She mumbled quietly, "You have no idea how bad it looked yesterday, do you?"

Scabior swallowed nervously.

"Eh, the Dark Lord punished me for losing you, and there was a certain amount of blood. But I suppose you healed me right away, honey?"

"You were dead. You didn't breathe at all. You were gone, Scabior." Her voice was a mix of harshness and yet weakness. Scabior's smile faltered as he watched Hermione chew on her lip.

"Then how do you explain me being here?" he asked calmly despite the raging storm of emotions within.

"I had to press your heart to get it to work again. Dammit Scabior, you kept being dead until I breathed air into your mouth!"

She yelled the last at him and covered her eyes as her shoulders began to shake. A sobbed escaped her defeated form and Scabior wished her tears away. He lifted his arms, ignorant of the pain, and clasped her wrists. A tug made her lean closer to him, making it more intimately as she rested her head barely a few inches above his face.

"Hey, beautiful. I'm here and I'm alive now. You healed me just like I healed you. Thank you," he murmured into her veil of scented curls and jerked her hands from her face. In an odd way, her tears upset him more than Voldemort's threat about taking away his legs. Dark circles dominated the skin under her eyes and a grey tone covered her tired face. She looked utterly exhausted. Scabior decided on the spot to remedy that.

"Come here."

Without having to force her, she leaned down and rested her head on his shoulder after asking if it did not hurt.

'This is nice,' Scabior concluded as the snatcher within revelled in the presence of a delicious woman.

"Tell me a joke, please," Hermione murmured beside him.

"What's the most boring creature in the wizarding world?"

At first she sniffed but then she sighed soberly against his neck, bringing shivers down his spine.

"I don't know."

"The draaaaaaag on."

"Oh, you really are silly."

"And you are beautiful."

She coughed and made to leave. Scabior held her down determinedly.

"Can the performer get a just enough sloppy smooch?" he begged playfully.

Hermione locked eyes with him and moved towards his mouth. A delicate, soft kiss graced his lips, as if something vulnerable was baring its soul to him. The kiss was different from the first heated one between them, but it still made Scabior's heart ache and his head spin.

Hermione had disarmed him and distracted him so much that Scabior did not had time to catch her when she left the bed and moved beyond his reach. She cleared her throat.

"You need to fully recover. I'll get some breakfast for us," she said neutrally, although her red cheeks betrayed her attempt to complete composure.

She left the room before Scabior got a chance to answer but he did not mind. Aside from the throbbing in his chest he felt like a king, as he had found a haven where the Dark Lord would not disturb him for a while and was treated by Hermione.

But his mission right now would be to protect Hermione from any malevolent seeds of doubt his dear mother could plant in the innocent woman's head.

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**I'm awfully aware of the lack of smut in this story. But I appreciate a good build-up. And who knows, two young people in a lonely cottage in a romantic environment; there might be sex. See you at the next chapter release!**


	25. Chapter 25 Facades

**Hello to you! I was so intent on publishing last chapter that I forgot to add a song and to mention that I have _Fantastic Beasts_ and _Quidditch through the Ages_ by J. K. Rowling. I use the books now and then in this fic, just so you don't think I'm making those things up. Now, this chapter deals with some disagreements and stuff. Turns out there's trouble in paradise too. Tell me what you think by sending me a review, please!**

**Inspirational music: Johhny I hardly knew ye (preferably by Karan Casey)  
**

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Chap. 25 Facades

The following days followed a certain pattern, Hermione discovered after a while.

She would nick food for Scabior and herself when Claire was not looking. The mother often complained about the amount of food her two guests required, even if she only had to cast a simple replenishing charm. On top of that, Claire also seemed to grow more vile and hostile as she shuffled through the house.

Perhaps Claire was one of those people who felt a difficulty to express kindness and love all the time, even towards their own children if they were not threatened by grave danger, Hermione mused.

The tension in the small cottage grew for each day that passed.

Scabior on the other hand was an unpredictable enigma. Sometimes he was thankful for Hermione's efforts to make him fully healed. But once in a while he seamed eager to be close to her; something she was not keen on for various reasons, his mother's presence in the house one of them.

Then Scabior began to sulk and beg she would allow him to leave his bed and walk outside. She denied his request since she saw and heard how his chest still hurt.

And then there was Hermione herself. She felt like she was an outsider in the house, and Claire made it clear she should not feel at home here. It badgered on Hermione's nerves to constantly be watched by a hawk who scolded her for taking too much food.

Flooded with guilt when Scabior demanded more food, she began to make Scabior's meals bigger by taking food from her own plates. He needed to eat a lot because of him being a full-grown man and a convalescing one at that. She ate her meals in the kitchen, away from Scabior's curious eyes.

Hermione felt like she was slowly going insane in the small living space and needed a break. She stood by the door to Scabior's bedroom and settled her mind. A sigh escaped her before she opened the door and entered.

"Look at that! Someone's visiting me at last! Merlin knows I need to show you the surroundings. Care to come with me?"

Hermione dreaded that tone from Scabior, knowing from his both hopeful and sarcastic voice that he wanted to get out of the house. And she hated to disappoint him.

"I heard you growl all through last night. You're still in pain," she mumbled as she avoided his searching gaze and opened one drawer to take out a borrowed red shawl. The wind here really was freezing as if mocking the early summer sun.

Scabior huffed.

"I'm going bloody mad, love. I need to get outside and you don't let me. I say I want my wand back and you don't talk to my dear mother about it. And I'm lying in agony from those fuckin' ribs an' yet ya refuse ta give me any pain relieving potions!"

Hermione cringed by the chest of drawers. She understood his frustration but when he blamed her, he unknowingly fuelled her guilt-ridden mind. With her face turned from him, she answered in a pleading voice, "I've told you already. You'll become addicted if you keep drinking the potions. And I have talked with Claire about your wand but she wouldn't give it to me. I promise I'll take you outside soon when your wounds are completely gone."

A disgruntled snarl reached her ears from across the room. "This is just like being with the Dark Lord all over again."

Hermione's patience ran low and she snapped.

"I take care of you almost around the clock to see if I can speed up the healing. Do not speak to me like that!" she yelled before she wrapped the shawl furiously around her small shoulders and left the room with its miserable occupant. As she stomped through the corridor she heard him call but ignored it, desperate for a moment of privacy and tranquillity outside.

When the frail front door was slammed shut behind her from the fickle wind, Hermione inhaled deeply. 'Boy, is he annoying.'

She began to make her way through the insidious labyrinth of stones in the grass, strolling away from the cottage. The blue sky was at times hidden by racing clouds. A salty smell reached her and she began to follow it, thankful that Claire's wards managed to keep a large area around the house safe.

She got to the end of the field where the ground level plummeted several feet until the sea licked the rocks. With enough gut and persistence, it was possible to get down there by climbing down the treacherous cliffs. Hermione swallowed her fear of heights and began her descend, slowly disappearing from view from the cottage.

Aside from the roaring wind and the waves it brought, there was silent and calm here. Exactly what Hermione found herself craving right now. She saw a big rock suitable for sitting on near the water and climbed down to it. After having transfigured the shawl into a soft blanket, she laid it out on the flat surface and seated herself. She faced the sea and breathed in the fresh and salty air, sensing how her anger was dispatched little by little.

It was true that the mother lurking in the surrounding rooms made her hesitant to show any physical affection towards Scabior. But her other reasons to why she stayed away from him were wedged deeper in her sad heart.

The way Scabior acted now reminded her more and more of Ron's behaviour last autumn when he had worn the locket of Voldemort. A notably chilly breeze played with her loose hair and made her shiver slightly.

'Except Ron had the locket to blame for his awful mood,' she thought exasperated and closed her eyes for a moment. Hermione had continued to insist on Scabior staying in bed simply because that was best for him. It was not something she did to spite him on purpose like a Slytherin would do.

A hopeful flare in her chest suggested that maybe it was the typical male behaviour, considering wounds and illness, showing its ugly face. That should explain why he appreciated her pampering, even if he seldom thanked her.

Or perhaps, a logic thought in her mind interjected, Scabior really was being himself. It was likely he would relax in the home of his mother and stop keeping up a charming personality. And Hermione had become something that disturbed him by asking for a tiny bit of politeness. Feeling more alone than ever, Hermione choked back her tears and brought her knees up to rest her arms on them.

She was back where she had started, even in an Irish cottage miles away from England. Was Scabior good or evil, or a complete grey zone? If Hermione doubted he deserved her love now, how much more would she not despise him if she found out he had murdered innocent people, apart from the fact that he indeed had snatched them?

She raked her nails through her wild mane and sobbed loudly, trusting the unyielding wind to drown out the sound. She liked Scabior very much but she was on Harry's side where the light was. Could there be a place there for a notorious snatcher, and a Death Eater at that? And would he want to step over the misty line between light and dark?

But Hermione had to admit to herself, he had behaved like a gentleman around her most of the time in his tent. An odd one perhaps, but a gentleman nonetheless. And he seemed to have abandoned his thoughts about muggleborns, at least as far as Hermione knew. He could have gotten rich if he had turned her over to the Ministry. Sure it could be because Scabior had shown a certain interest in her.

But if all he wanted was to get into her knickers, all he had had to do was forcing himself on her since he had every advantage at hand, including a wand. In stead, he had always let her take the first stumbling steps to something more between them. With all her knowledge and lack of experience, Hermione would say that Scabior probably was in love with her. And Hermione was in love with him, although her heart was close to breaking at this point.

Her wits told her she should get to know the real Scabior better before she revealed her feeling to him. Was he worthy of a young woman's love? Hermione opened her glossy eyes and stared at the rhythmic waves.

And what exactly had Claire insinuated with her not being _one of his usual skirts_?

Hermione hated to acknowledge it, but it did suited Scabior to have ladies of various dignity clinging at his side before he discarded them. He was handsome, fairly young and very vibrant. And as the cherry on the cake, he had a certain talent for wooing in women by his charm. What if he saw her as just another girl to sleep with as soon as possible? And what if she despite her reasonable and cautious self did _spread her legs_ for him?

The though alone made Hermione warm up inside but she shook her head to chase away the distracting images. If Claire had spoken the truth, Scabior would likely leave Hermione and move on to another fetching girl without looking back. That was not something she longed for.

Godric, then she would be better off starting a relationship with dependable Ron who at least would never cheat or leave her like a heap of old clothes!

Hermione began to think about her two friends. Where were they and how were they doing at the moment? It was likely they stayed hidden at one of the Order's safe houses to recover and plan their next move. A dark thought clouded her mind when she remembered the fact that neither of them had the sword of Gryffindor, thus stood without a proper weapon to destroy horcruxes with. That evil Bellatrix Lestrange probably had the sword in an impenetrable place by now.

Hermione wanted to return to Harry and Ron but understood that she ought to lie low for a while since Voldemort seemed interested in catching her and using her as bait to find Harry. Apart from the unpleasant staying in the cottage, she had to please Claire enough to ensure that she could stay there for at least two weeks.

But Hermione would not be a pushover or a servant to Scabior anymore. She had her own wand and was a powerful witch. They were equals now and as such, she could use her returned leverage to get some answers from Scabior. She needed to know him better.

A rumble from her stomach brought her abruptly from her thoughts and she massaged her stomach with one hand. It not time for lunch yet but her body thought differently. She heaved herself up and caught the blanket before the wind abducted it. Maybe she could manage to come over a snack without letting Claire know. She returned to the cottage with heavy steps.

* * *

'Fuck, fuck, fuck!' No matter in what position he laid, his ribs protested in a very bothering way. Scabior groaned with vexation and glared venomously at the window from the bed, silently cursing the weather for tempting him so.

After Hermione so suddenly left, he had called for her to come back. He regretted his bitter words and wanted to apologize. He had after all promised himself to treat her like a lady, even if his own emotions sometimes made that difficult. It was just that his helpless position reminded him of his imprisonment in Azkaban.

He was not sure which was worst; being healthy but caged in a small room with only dementors as visitors, or being bruised in a soft bed in a safe place with alluring nature just outside the window but being denied the nearby thing on the other side of the window his snatcher within craved. Of course Scabior occasionally got annoyed with the woman who prevented him from going outside, even if her intentions were good.

A squeak from the door made Scabior turn his head and watch his mother enter his room.

She wore a long, dark green skirt and a simple black blouse that showed off her still beautiful figure. Unaffected by her unusually nice outfit, Scabior waved his hand tauntingly to his non-visiting mother.

"Well, hello there. I don't think I've met you before. My name is Scabior and..."

"Don't fuckin' start 'til I've come in, boy. An' what's got yer wand in a knot?"

Scabior raised an eyebrow at Claire who chuckled. "Oh, that's right. You don't 'ave yer wand. I can't imagine 'ow ya're feelin' without it."

Scabior sent a silent prayer to Merlin for patience.

"Alright mum, you've had your fun. Please give it back to me," he said acidly but Claire waved a finger at him.

"Not 'til I get what I came fer. Now, let me see. Ah yes, why the fuck did you bring that Penelope girl 'ere? Not that she isn't useless, but a 'ostess wonders."

Scabior threw a hard look at her eyes that were so different from his. "Hasn't she told you yet?" he asked sourly.

Hermione had reported to him the day he woke up what story she had told Claire and Scabior agreed to keep her real identity concealed.

Claire walked to the dirty window and leaned against the window-sill.

"Yeah, she said some shite about 'er bein' an orphan an' you've 'ealed 'er and so on. But from what I've learnt about ya, it's weird that ya haven't shagged 'er yet."

Scabior groaned and pinched his nose. Why did he have the misfortune of having an embarrassing and crude mother?

"Mum, it's my bloody business who I shag and who I don't," he stated, not comfortable with sharing that part of his life with her.

"D'ya love that bird?" Claire asked flippantly, causing Scabior to shift on the bed.

"You're mental. I'm not gonna answer that," he muttered.

"I take that as a yes, boy. And I couldn't 'elp but notice that Penelope likes ya as well," Claire emitted bluntly.

Scabior blinked but picked up his jaw from the bed and asked incrediously, "How would you know?"

The mother held up a fist and began to count her reasons loudly, as she stretched out one finger at a time. "First, she seemed determined to believe that ya were alive even when I doubted. Second, ya should 'ave seen 'er when she 'ealed ya. She just wouldn't take the absence of a bleedin' pulse fer an answer."

Claire's eyes gleamed and she smiled in a way like she was impressed by Hermione.

"Third, she checks on ya several times a day ta see if there's anything she can do ta make ya feel better. 'ell, even I don't 'ave the energy fer that! And four, she hasn't asked ya ta move ta 'er bed so she can enjoy yer softer bed, even if yer state doesn't depend on a fine mattress. She keeps sleepin' in that uncomfortable thing fer ya, Scabior. And fifth," Claire breathed out and pointed her pinkie at Scabior while she locked her blue eyes sternly on him, "Penelope knows I'm not over the moon about feedin' the two o' ya. I've no idea about England, but it's very hard ta find food here. Ever since the Dark Lord came back, Ireland's been flooded with refugees from Britain. And everyone o' them needs food too."

Claire looked personally offended.

"Them food prices 'ave increased ta an obscene level an' it's hard ta keep three people satisfied when only one's workin'. An' I like a variety o' food. I've told that ta Penelope but she began ta jabber about the amount o' food ya need, boy."

With growing suspicion to where Claire's rant would end, Scabior observed her intensely.

"She's really fallen fer ya! What girl would otherwise make 'er own meals smaller and yours bigger so I'm unable ta complain, and ya can eat how much ya want?" Claire snorted and began to brush away dust that had gotten caught on her skirt when she leaned on the window-sill.

Emotions filled Scabior to the point of breaking, as they all travelled through his body, trashed within his veins and burnt the backside of his eyes. But most of these abstract phenomena set course straight to his heart, assaulting him with terrible feelings such as guilt, fury, confusion and something warm.

He clenched his fists and tried to focus his gaze on his tangible mother and not the threatening red curtains in his head.

"Ya're lyin, woman. Ya've made that up ta set me up like a fool," he growled through his teeth, although he somewhere beyond his temporarily crazed mind knew he was grasping at straws.

Claire inspected her nails and said in a sing-song voice, "Come on, Scabior. I'm a drunkard who was dense enough ta fall fer a married man in my youth. D'ya 'onestly think I'm clever enough ta make up somethin' that advanced just ta see ya look stupid? Ya really do flatter me."

"But why would she do somethin' crazy like that?" Scabior muttered, not sure if he was addressing himself or his mother, too busy holding his rage at bay. He had wanted to protect Hermione only to end up hearing she, among other things, deliberately starved herself for him.

"Oh, please Salazar, don't tell me I've got myself a son that matches my stupidity! Scabior, I told ya before; that bird is in love with ya. It doesn't matter then what foolish things ya do as long as it pleases the man ya love. An' trust me, I sure as 'ell know what I'm talkin' about," Claire said calmly as if her son was not shaking with self-hatred on the bed.

"I've been a downright bastard, mum. An' I didn't see what she fuckin' did fer me! I treated her like shit only 'cause I'm goin' through a little 'ealing! What kind o' an arsehole am I?" Scabior screamed, aware of his rising temperature and his own magic tickling beneath his fingertips. Claire had a proper answer.

"A bastard arsehole, my boy. If she's the first bird that managed ta catch yer snatcher 'eart, an' ya've stopped bein' nice ta 'er, then quite frankly, boy; ya're in deep shit."

"Why did ya told me this? What should I do?" Scabior panted in a begging tone, waiting for mercy so he could fix his relationship with Hermione.

The mother sneered at him, "I wanted ta make sure ya didn't continue ta 'urt 'er so she would kill ya in yer sleep. Merlin knows she's earned that right. But I suggest ya put yer big head ta work, Scabior, 'cause it'll soon be too late."

With that, Claire floated too the door with dignity. Desperate for her help, the rage slowly slipped away and Scabior turned to his side, ignoring the sting in his ribcage.

"Wait, mum! Where are you going?" he called and Claire looked back with her hands on her hips.

"I 'appen ta need ta get ta work an' earn some sickles before ya ruin me. I've already lost sixty sickles fer stayin' 'ome last week ta look after yer sorry arse."

Scabior literally shrunk under the intimidating gaze from his angry mother. She added with a testy tone, "I'll see ya in the mornin', if Penelope hasn't already finished ya. There's yer wand so ya can defend yerself from her wrath."

His wand fell from her sleeve and was tossed at him. He caught it to avoid getting the pointy end in his face and watched his mother disappear.

A slam from the front door made it clear that Claire intended to disapparate to her work, a much safer way to travel than using floo powder if you wanted to not expose your home if it was under the Fidelius charm.

'Great! I've got to talk to Hermione. At least we'll be alone,' Scabior thought as he watched a familiar woman tread warily across the grass field and approach the cottage.

He hoped that the house would not be set on fire when he and Hermione had their talk. His mother would kill him if that happened.


	26. Chapter 26 Confrontations

**Hello, friends! Sorry for the wait, but I've been busy with my family. Perhaps I can make it up to you by a particularly long chapter? And thank you for your wonderful reviews. All I do (almost) is to wait for your words. You're the best! Oh, and I've published my first oneshot, a story about Lucius. Check it out on my homepage, if you want.  
**

**Inspirational music: Should I stay by Gabrielle**

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Chap. 26 Confrontations

Scabior heard Hermione perfectly when she came back into the cottage. Her tentative steps through the corridor made him wonder if she had left her bad mood outside.

Apparently she ventured into the kitchen, at least his ears told him that.

After some minutes she entered the bedroom and strode straight to the window, bringing a puff of fresh air into the room. Scabior hungrily savoured the smell of outside but detected with his snatcher gift a touch of salt. He began to talk to her back.

"Why do you smell of salt?"

She spoke slowly but composed, with her eyes fixed on the field, "I went down to the sea. The sea usually is described as salty."

Scabior grimaced, feeling her anger bubble beneath a thin shell he simply had to throw himself at over and over until she vented her emotions and he could apologize.

"You shouldn't go down there by yourself. Those cliffs are dangerous," he berated, her welfare the most important thing to him. Unfortunately, Hermione misunderstood his comment.

She whipped around and said stiffly, "I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself. And lo and behold, here I am without having fallen onto some stones."

Hermione was probably not aware that she had just given him a good verbal weapon to use. Scabior leaned forward and narrowed his eyes.

"Taking care of yourself, eh? As in starving yourself?"

Her eyes widened but she kept silent.

"Oh, yes. My mother told that little detail to me just now. The question is, why the fuck would the notoriously sharp Hermione Granger do that?"

He leaned back contentedly against the pillow and waited for her declaration of, according to Claire, her strong feelings for him.

Hermione frowned and looked him straight in the eyes, as she hissed, "Didn't you tell me in your tent that there wouldn't be a lot of food where I was going? Well, Scabior, you were right. Claire has also explained to me how hard it is to find food in Ireland now. Frankly, I don't think this to be the time to gluttonise."

Scabior showed his teeth and felt frustration invading his mind. She had copped out with some bullshit excuse instead of admitting her feelings. He felt disappointed.

"Don't go down that road with me, love. I'm sure you haven't exactly seen my mother eating like a sparrow. She'll find food and you don't have to make your meals smaller only because she bitch about it," Scabior muttered and watched how Hermione flicked her eyes and wiped her mouth with a pale hand.

"I made myself a sandwich in the kitchen when I came back. I couldn't stop myself from eating it within seconds. But it's hard to be a guest and constantly nag on another one's supply," she explained softly and Scabior became aware of how young and small she seemed, standing alone on the floor. His anger evaporated and he smiled genuinely at her.

"You're more than a guest here, and I'm sure mum agrees with me. You've done enough to deserve proper meals. Don't feel bad about it."

A gleam appeared in Hermione's chocolate brown eyes before it vanished just as quick. She took a deep breath and then asked him with the arms around herself, "Is it alright then if I stay here for maybe two weeks more. I mean, until the hunt for me in England has calmed down?"

Scabior weighed his words carefully before he answered, "Yeah, sure. This is a safe place for both of us. But may I ask what you plan to do after those weeks?" Hermione looked at her feet and tapped her fingers against the red shawl that was tossed over her shoulders.

"I need to find Harry and Ron again and help them defeat the Dark Lord."

'Ouch!'

That snub hurt Scabior since she sounded so much at ease when she told him she intended to leave him. He sat up and supported his arms on the bent knees.

"What made you think you could do that without my permission?," he snarled viciously and she lifted her head defiantly.

"Scabior, I may be in your company, but it's certainly not required of me to ask you for permission."

His mother had been dead wrong, and he had believed her drunken fantasies. Hermione had no warm feelings for him. He wanted to punish her for that.

"An' I may look like a fuckin' vegetable right now, but I'm still yer snatcher who caught ya. Ya're my prisoner an' I'm tellin' ya ta stay 'ere!" he growled and felt his cheeks redden from anger. Hermione tossed the shawl away and began to pace back and forth.

"So we're back to that, huh? I'm your prisoner and you've got all the advantages?" she chuckled humourlessly before she shouted at him, "Well guess what, Scabior. We're in the same boat now! You can't reveal where I am to the Death Eaters, because they probably want you just as much. And I've got my wand now. This situation is nothing like the one in your tent. You can't command me to do anything!"

Hermione drew out her wand but held it peacefully. With an evil grin, Scabior reached under the blanket and took out his wand.

"I'm not as weak as ya think, beautiful. I can make ya stay 'ere if I want fer as long as I want. I'm not goin' ta turn ya over when there's other things one can do with a prisoner."

Hermione stopped in the middle of the room and damped her lips quietly. Scabior watched her intensely with mingled desire and fury.

"I'm not a servant. It's not in my nature to bow my neck to those who declare themselves superior. I will duel you in this room even if you're not fully healed if it comes to that."

She gave him a hard look and continued icily, "But I never thought you would threaten to do the same thing to me as Lackie did."

Scabior tensed his grip on the wand and mentally slapped himself. He behaved like a bastard.

"I didn't say nothin' like that! I'm sorry 'ermione. It's just that..." He gave a frustrated shout and pushed his hair from his warm face.

"Alright, I o'erstepped. An' I'm not demandin' o' ya ta serve me or anythin'. I just don't understand why you would want ta return ta England when we've finally made it out o' that 'ellhole alive. We're safe 'ere an' no-one will know 'bout us."

Hermione looked wryly at him and remarked, "And do what? Hide from the war until the Dark Lord wins and really destroys not only England but the whole of Britain? I'm Hermione Granger and I've vowed to myself that I would do anything to help Harry defeat Him. That task is dangerous, I know that first-hand. But it's necessary if the light will ever succeed."

Scabior snorted, concealing his raising protectiveness with a mask of disapproval.

"I wonder how you'd ever get the chance to take Him down when you lot were so foolish. Not hiding your identities with spells or potions, not moving your tiny tent often enough to avoid discovery and not having food to make you strong and alert."

Hermione tsked in a rather cute way, thought Scabior, had it been another time.

"I've learnt my lesson about those things, thank you very much. And we actually already had managed to undermine the Dark Lord several times when you and your snatcher gang came by," she said matter-of-factly and her answer intrigued Scabior but he ignored it for now. Instead he observed Hermione as she walked to her bed and sat down on it with her small feet on the floor. Her curls were beautifully illuminated by the daylight from the window behind her.

"Where was Claire going, by the way? I met her outside but she only continued to stroll past me," she mentioned with a hint of curiosity in her voice. Scabior welcomed the change of subject for the moment but knew the storm was far from over.

"Ah, yes. She was going to work. Said she need to earn her sickles so we can have food."

"Oh." Hermione blushed and began to twirl her wand nervously. It was probable she felt guilty about the damn food again.

In a soothing tone Scabior mumbled, "Don't worry, love. I bet my boots mum has her connections and can find plenty of edible stuff if she wants. Plus, I have a strong suspicion she spends half of her salary on booze, so she really exaggerates when she claims she need to slave to earn dough for food."

Hermione looked positively aghast and spluttered out, "That's really unhealthy! How long do you think she's overconsumed liquor?"

Scabior snickered a little at her sweet innocence before he announced, "Since I was four. At least that's as far as I can remember. She very well might have been more or less drunk during my entire childhood."

Again he had chocked her but this time she leaned her head sideways and said, not with laced pity but with kind earnest, "How terrible for you, Scabior. I'm sorry for bringing it up."

Taken by her concern, Scabior averted his gaze and shrugged in his enlarged pyjamas.

"S' okay. She never treated me like shit or anything. She just...wasn't like other mothers."

"What does she work as?"

"When she moved to Ireland she found a job in a pub nearby. She's a waitress and occasionally a singer. Mum honestly has a great voice. It's the booze that makes her sound hoarse," Scabior revealed calmly and stole some secret moments to look at Hermione who let her gaze travel over the walls.

Her white cheeks began to turn red, Scabior reckoned it was the sandwich and the temperature inside the cottage that made her warm up. His snatcher could relinquish some of the worry for her health.

* * *

There was no question in which house Scabior had been in when he was at Hogwarts.

Green and silver adorned the battered walls, but even in Hermione's forgiving opinion she thought the silken banners and the fancy quidditch poster misplaced in the bedroom. Maybe the reason was that the room did not belong to a small boy but a full-grown man. Or perhaps it was because Scabior did not entirely seem like a Slytherin man with a trivial interest like quidditch.

But then, what did she know about Scabior? This could be a golden opportunity to ask him about his past. She swallowed down the lump of fear for his answers and asked, "Who is that player?"

Scabior turned his head towards the quidditch player who was busy with mounting his broomstick and zooming out of the picture frame in a matter of seconds.

"You're clearly no fan of quidditch, then. It's the bang on Roderick Plumpton who played for Tutshill Tornados many years ago. He was some sort of idol of mine when I was younger. No-one has beaten his record; catching the snitch within four seconds."

Scabior lost the wrinkles in his face and he had recited the last bit as if he had often told that to people. Unable to prevent her smile, Hermione pointed at the banners covering the rest of the walls.

"And I suppose you were in Slytherin. How was it?"

Scabior suddenly grew serious and asked, almost suspiciously, "What do you mean, how was it? It was my house where my mates were. What else is there to know?"

Trying as she may to not be prejudiced, Hermione still recognized a typical _Slytherin_ behaviour in his manner. He did not appear to be comfortable with opening himself up to her, at least not about that particular subject. She spared him from more questions about Hogwarts.

"Just wondered. I guess it's hard to see you in another house but I think you're not acting like a Slytherin all the time," she explained but caught Scabior glaring incredulously at her.

'Oops.'

"Care to spell that statement out for me, love?"

"I only meant that you've been rather kind to me even if you are a Death Eater working for the Dark Lord." She stretched her back, preparing to launch herself into the inevitable argument.

"If you think I'm a goody-goody, you're wrong. I've made myself a name among His ranks where many of my old mates are too. I'm not less a man than they are," Scabior snapped and frowned grimly at the blanket covering his legs.

'So that's maybe why he chose _that_ side in the war. He feels insecure and compares himself with other evil men,' Hermione pondered.

"Why would you want to be like them?" she wondered quietly, not keen on infuriating him. But she promised herself she would not shy away from the argy-bargy.

"I'm sorry if your privileged self has missed it, but there's money to earn in this war. And I need those galleons to survive," he declared sarcastically as if he was talking to a child. '

"Even if other people suffer by your actions? Is the price really worth it?" she retorted coolly which angered Scabior more. Once again he started to yell.

"What d'ya want me ta say? D'ya want the ugly truth? Well, 'ere it is; I joined the Dark Lord as soon as 'e returned. I didn't moan when they burnt the Dark mark onto my skin. I went ta Azkaban some time later and that place really fucked me up! No freedom and no outdoor activities fer months until that mass breakout when the ugly wench Bellatrix also escaped.

Once outside I began ta catch mudbloods and leave 'em as toys fer the higher ranks. The hunts were fun an' when I realized the Dark Lord was up fer paying fer my services, I obeyed eagerly like a loyal crup puppy and then the business was runnin'. I collected other snatchers who wanted their share o' the gold too an' we became out-fucking-standin' at catching wanted persons. An' it felt so damn wonderful ta run after those mudbloods, feelin' the wind in yer face an' smellin' their fear until ya finally worn them out an' simply left 'em at the Ministry! Piece o' cake!"

Scabior's chest heaved after his long tirade and his eyes darted to the ceiling instead of looking at Hermione. She on the other hand stared solemnly at him as he began to rub his ribs and contorted his flushed face.

He was brave to admit all that to her but Hermione needed answers to the most crucial questions she had gathered in her mind before she could deal with the new information.

"What happened to the people you turned over to the Ministry?" she whispered.

"Went to trial, all of them. Got stripped of their wands and was left to survive the best they could in the gutter. They were easy preys for the sadists wandering around the wizarding communities," Scabior hissed back but still refused to meet her gaze.

"Scabior. Please look at me."

She saw him clench his jaw and continue to avoid her.

"As the manly Death Eater you are, look at me."

Her teasing tone got his attention and he whipped his head around, glaring at her with hateful eyes.

"Have you alone ever killed, raped or harmed any of your victims?"

He appeared to be in fierce distress and opened the mouth to speak but closed it again. She allowed him to take his time, nevertheless growing restless the longer he kept silent. At last he trained his dark, enthralling eyes on her own and sighed in defeat.

"I've never taken a life with my hands or my wand. But I looked the other way when my men sometimes got too excited. I preferred gold over playing with corpses, though. So maybe I'm guilty of that crime indirectly."

Hermione did not interrupt, although she became aware of how she clamped her hands around her wand until sweat formed in her palms.

"As for taking reluctant women, I've never done that either. Not in my trade and not outside it. Mum taught me that a pureblood man should at least possess that trait. Every woman I've been with has been willing and enjoyed it."

Scabior paused and fidgeted on the bed with beetroot cheeks. Hermione licked her dry lips and felt herself become warm in her thick clothes.

But she despised the words about _every woman_. She decided to voice her thoughts once and for all.

"How many woman have you...I mean if it's alright to ask?"

"In my defence, I have a snatcher nature which means I need to chase things. When I was younger I found myself interested in chasing women. But...it's difficult to explain but somehow, it's different with you. I don't know myself anymore. You've made me that way, beautiful. I'm lost because of you."

His voice was laced with confusion but Hermione detected a slight tremble that intrigued her. His eyes hypnotized her with their burning intensity and she fought for control. There was something more she had to ask. Something.

"Harmed,"she exclaimed.

Scabior blinked away the darkening glaze in his eyes and smiled encouragingly. She cleared her throat, hoping that the mists in her mind would dissolve for a while.

"Have you ever harmed anyone? I can take the truth, Scabior, just please tell me."

His smile faltered and he could have mumbled a curse. He worried his bottom lip and looked past Hermione, at the peaceful view the dirty window provided.

"Promise me you'll not leave after my answer, love," he all but begged and she closed her eyes to not be tempted to succumb to his eyes and forget her important question.

With quiver in her small voice, she said, "I'll do my best."

He nodded as if understanding that was all she could give him. His lips moved, otherwise his face was void of emotion.

"Can't say I've been an angel. I've not maimed or left some lasting damage on a person but I've beaten men now and then. Sometimes because they annoyed me or didn't obey my commands. A few of my preys struggled some much that I simply had to use magic to shut them up. And some people..."

Scabior halted his words as if contemplating whether he should continue.

"Some people I had to hurt to survive. It was me or them. But I've never beaten a woman," he added and shot his eyes to Hermione who appreciated the small measure of humanity.

"Say something."

His whisper reached her haunted mind and she fought back tears that threatened to spill over. She looked deep into his dark eyes from across the room, creating an imaginary bridge over a tumbling ocean of trouble. She intended to sound formal an yet her voice came out as a hoarseness.

"Would you still do those things if you had to?" Not only her imminent future but also her frail heart depended on the answer.

"I don't want to be responsible for anyone's death anymore in any way, except if it's about protecting myself or the people close to me from danger."

Scabior chuckled before he gritted his teeth and stared at the ceiling.

"Why is that? Can you tell me why I suddenly resent death and pain? Because I've got no fucking idea what's happened to me since you came along. I don't know myself anymore."

Unexpectedly he waved his wand and the night table was thrown into the wall, sending splinters to the floor. Hermione flinched and lifted her own wand in case she needed it. Scabior began to make the drawers fly out from the chest of drawers like a madman, and had them smashing loudly when they hit the floor.

"I'm a lost man! Why did ya do this ta me? Makin' me pity them Malfoy's at the damn Dark Lord's meeting even if I've almost never met 'em! An' where's my snatcher, huh? Why isn't 'e tellin' me ta screw ya an' move on with my life instead o' riskin' my sorry arse ta protect ya?" Scabior screamed but not directly at her.

He trashed on his bed, making the linens crease, and seemed oblivious to the mess he caused in the room.

"Why in hell am I only carin' 'bout ya all the time an' completely forget everythin' important like gold, birds an' the common thought 'bout mudbloods? Ya've ruined me, 'ermione! 'ow can I work as a bloody snatcher now when I'm a freakin' softy? An' then ya stab me in the back by makin' me feel so bad 'bout myself when ya do things fer me I don't fuckin' deserve!"

He panted unevenly before he tipped his head forward and buried it between his knees. His whole body shook but no sound escaped him, which in a way scared Hermione more than his outburst.

She observed the untidy floor and saw clothes lie scattered between the abandoned drawers, hiding pointed splinters.

So now she knew. Knew how Scabior felt about her and it did not intimidate her. His experience with intense feelings towards another human being was scarce and he could not comprehend or handle the situation that was so foreign to him. Perhaps he was as clueless to emotional love as she was to physical love. He needed her to sort it out for him. And she wanted to stay.

Scabior was changing which terrified him but it was a necessary step towards becoming a good man. So many things he had done for her already, not to mention saving her life repeatedly. He was not as lost as he thought. Carefully walking across the floor, Hermione reached the soft bed she had only enjoyed for a moment days ago and sat down. Scabior did not stir.

She caressed his tangled brown and red hair before bringing her hand to his visible forehead, erasing the troubled lines.

"Hermione," came a muffled voice from his hidden face.

"Yes?"

"You smell nicer than anyone I've ever met."

The pool of warmth settled in her core. "Thank you, Scabior."

He lifted his red head and Hermione felt at home being so close to him again. His eyes had gone from feral to hesitant.

"What d'ya think o' me now?"

His accent was still prominent despite his calm appearance. She sighed as she followed the red tendril with her forefinger. "You might have been a different man before. But I can see that you deep inside want to change. Change for...me. And I respect you for that."

His lips were set in a thin line and he studied her face with that burning gaze.

"Only respect?"

"No. Not only respect."

She withdrew her hand but he caught it swiftly and held it firmly.

"Hermione, I'm sorry for being ungrateful for your care. Let me make it up to you."

There was the soft, rousing tone she had only heard a few times when Scabior had been particular _intimate_ with her. She loved that tone.

"How?" she asked slowly.

"You get to share my bed tonight."

His husky voice sounded so sure and Hermione did not need to look back at her uncomfortable bed. She wanted Scabior very much. The time had arrived when she trusted her heart and the warm feeling in her center. She wanted him near.

Unaware that she had held her breath, she whispered out, "I would like that very much."

He smiled and his eyes twinkled with happiness as he buried his fingers in her hair and pulled her towards him.

Before their lips touched, Hermione breathed out, "Wait, when is Claire coming back?"

A pleasant rumble travelled through Scabior who whispered back mischievously, "She usually works all night. We've got hours."

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**Review, please! I'm a bit insecure about this chapter and need to know what you think. Thanks for reading!**


	27. Chapter 27 Bareness

**Hello, readers! Yeah, I know it's been a long wait, but I'm finding it hard to write when I'm with my family on holiday, etc. I'm sure you understand and forgive me when I bring you this chapter, ha ha. And I really appreciated your reviews to the previous chapter, which were kind and yet agreed with my own feelings about that chapter. On to this one, then. Call me pretentious or ambitious, but I seek to write in my own style to avoid clichés. I hope you approve of me writing an important scene between Scabior and Hermione. In any case, send me a review, please! Oh, and happy Harry Potter premiere y'all!**

**Inspirational music: The mystic's dream by Loreena McKennit**

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Chap. 27 Bareness

Scabior smirked at Hermione's look of incredulity before he leaned in and captured her soft lips in a passionate kiss, a proof of no hard feelings between them.

He grabbed her shoulders and pulled her closer, never breaking contact with her. He slowly licked her bottom lip and could taste salt. She must have been very close to the sea when she was outside.

She sighed and that made his own lips tremble when her sweet breath assaulted him. Scabior literally felt how the trembles turned into ripples that went straight towards his groin. Hermione may now know how he felt about her, but he doubted she would ever guess just how much power she really wielded over him.

As his blood heated up to that pleasant temperature, he let one hand cradle her head and the other slide down to rest on her hip. Due to his moves, Hermione simply had to press her gorgeous body against his torso. Despite trying to ignore the sharp pain that shot through him when some weight was placed on his chest wound, Scabior gasped. And to his utter surprise, Hermione quickly stretched out her tongue and roamed his mouth eagerly.

She almost seemed desperate to be close to him compared with their last snogging session when he had been the dominating force. He was only half-aware of her hands in his hair and how she drew up her legs onto the bed and rubbed them against the outside of his thigh. Her enthusiasm drove Scabior wild with desire and he groaned loudly, "Oh, Merlin, fuck!"

And then he heard it.

A small whimper from Hermione that made his growing member twitch. Scabior backed away from her far too tempting lips and decided to attend to her bare neck. He nibbled on the delicate skin while Hermione leaned her head forward and rested it on his shoulder. Her ragged breathing went through the material of his pyjamas shirt but instead of thinking too much about the warmth beside his head, Scabior focused on devouring her delicious neck.

"So beautiful, love," he mumbled as he licked a certain spot which had Hermione arch into him.

"Scabior! I need...want..." she gasped incoherently to Scabior's delight before she clung to the back of his neck with one hand, and steadied herself by placing the other one directly onto his ribs.

"Oww! Fuck!" Scabior cried when pain flooded his lust clouded mind.

Hermione jerked back and through the pain Scabior still made sure to memorize her dishevelled hair, the flushed cheeks and her misty chocolate eyes. She blinked a few times before she averted her gaze to his chest and seemed to understand.

"Oh, Godric! I'm sorry, Scabior. I forgot about..." she stuttered but Scabior spotted a secret smile playing on her lips.

She giggled and said, "Guess you're not fit yet for any activities. Perhaps we should wait."

Scabior did not like her words one bit and huffed.

"Ya think so, beautiful?"

His husky voice made her close her eyes for a moment and he seized the opportunity by tugging at her arm and bringing her close again. He would stop himself if that was Hermione's wish, but he would be damned if he let his own body prevent him from being with the wonderful woman on his bed.

Hermione's eyes snapped open and he stared deep into them as he spoke thickly.

"I'll do whatever you want, 'ermione, but if ya want me ta continue then bring me that pain relieving potion, please."

She licked her lips and positively enthralled him by that action. She lowered her head but Scabior caught her chin with a warm hand and lifted it.

"I want you but are you sure we should do... when you are still healing, I mean?" she whispered and Scabior could not resist pecking her cute nose.

"It's barely a bruise now. One spoonful of potion will make me as new. Although, it's your decision, love. If you only fancy a sleep, I'll leave you alone," he said seriously. After all, Scabior preferred bedding only willing women.

Hermione worried her lip for a while until she breathed out and slowly reached for his forgotten wand beside his pillow. She took it tentatively and the thought of her slender fingers holding another thing belonging to him made him harden again.

"Okay. _Accio potion bottle_," she spoke clearly and waved the wand. The brown bottle Scabior had come to appreciate but not seen often enough, in his opinion, flew into the bedroom and landed safely in Hermione's open hand. She summoned a spoon and filled it with potion.

When she turned her face to him and brought the spoon to his mouth, he noticed her hand shook a little. Thoughtfully, he reached up and enclosed her hand with his own hands to steady her and preserve the potion. He opened his mouth and tasted the minty flavour for a second before he swallowed.

Still, he kept his hands around hers, beginning to caress the knuckles. Her breathing grew laboured but she did not retract her hand from him. As an ambitious Hogwarts student, Scabior studied each finger meticulously, once again creating images in his mind. The fingertips were clean and soft and perfect, especially for touching and caressing, he thought.

He leaned down and kissed the pads, adding one lingering lick on each finger. She dropped the spoon on the blanket.

Scabior chuckled and reprimanded jokingly, "Will ya stop makin' a mess?"

She stiffened and said indignantly, "You're one to talk, wrecking your room. You can clean it up yourself."

He snickered at her feisty nature and let go of her hand to take up his wand. After a flick, the damaged night table mended itself and the clothes flew into the drawers which returned to the large piece of furniture. At last Scabior put the spoon and his wand on the night table, thinking the wand might come in handy.

"There. Cleaning's over," he announced proudly but grimaced when Hermione pulled the red tendril.

"You cheater. Why must every wizard be so lazy?" she chided with a laugh.

Scabior shrugged innocently and made his face suddenly resemble an angel's.

"Don't know what you're complaining 'bout, beautiful. Magic saves time. I can use that time to pleasure you."

He winked cheekily at her. She shook her head and smiled to herself. It hurt Scabior's heart to see her so happy. Especially after knowing he had been the one to harm her with his behaviour. From now on he would do all in his powers to keep her happy and content.

He observed how she fixed her eyes on his shirt and lightly touched the center of his chest.

"Does it hurt?" she asked.

Scabior shook his head when he actually could not feel any pain. The potion was working. A little more pressure was placed on his ribs.

"Nothing," he mumbled to her and opened his arms wide.

"Come here."

She scooted closer until her front brushed against his. Her arms went around his neck and he wrapped his firmly around her waist. Their shared embrace made the snatcher within relaxed and excited at the same time. But the important thing was that having Hermione in his arms felt right. 'Come to think about it, this is our first real hug,' Scabior thought with a warm feeling inside.

"Scabior?" came a muffled voice behind her silken curls. The scent that was entirely hers reached his nostrils and he breathed in hungrily.

"Hmm?" was the only thing he could emit as he enjoyed feeling her lush breasts crushed against him.

"Can you kiss me some more?"

Ever the gentleman, Scabior complied. He trapped her bottom lip between his, this time desiring to have the upper hand in the kiss. A quick nip with his teeth made her moan and surrender her mouth to him. He claimed her mouth with every skill he possessed, greedily exploring her hot, wet cave. The sensation became too much to handle.

By grabbing her thigh at the same time as he placed his other hand on her back, he lifted her around and followed with his own body so they ended up on the bed with her lying down under him. He smugly kept his lower hand on her leg and revelled in feeling her heated body so intimately near him. Fortunately he had landed with his legs wedged between hers and the position was very comfortable.

"Better access this way, "he muttered and dove in for her lips again. He dug his fingers into the soft flesh of her thigh which made her gasp and rock her hips. A needy growl escaped him when she connected with his crotch. He grinded back almost instinctively and Hermione moaned loudly into his mouth. Scabior closed his eyes, breathed through his nose and lay his damp forehead on hers.

"Ya're goin' ta be the death o' me, love."

She inhaled heavily and said in a subdued tone, "Don't say that, Scabior."

He frowned and wondered if it was the thought of his death that upset her, or maybe the intensity of his words. He put some distance between them by resting on his elbows.

"Just sayin' what I feel. Ya're such a compellin' bird."

His erection grew to one, big, painful throb encaged in a ridiculously small space. Hermione must have felt it too, because her eyes widened and became dark with lust.

"'ermione!" Scabior all but whined as he rubbed himself against her jeans in a slow but steady rhythm. She fixed her eyes on his and clasped his shoulders.

"Ya can always tell me ta stop, an' I'll do it. But if ya wanna sleep all night, then tell me now. Because I'm havin' problem with keeping myself from ravishin' ya."

He gritted his teeth to force himself to stop grinding, thus giving her a fair chance to think clearly. As far as he could remember he had never had so much trouble finding control on top of a woman. Hermione certainly had done something with him.

She blushed sweetly but answered with a steady voice, "Thank you for your concern, Scabior. But I really need you now and I think I'm ready."

At her last words, her hands travelled between them and started to fiddle with the buttons to his shirt. A shudder went through Scabior when he truly understood her. He knew she was a virgin but had little knowledge of how experienced she was otherwise. Nevertheless, he would make sure he returned her gift to him by making her first time unforgettably satisfying.

* * *

To have Scabior cocooning her body once again felt phenomenal. And the best part was, this time he was awake and conscious of his actions and yet he continued to stay with her. He had not reared back from her like that morning in the tent when he had shared her bed. And Hermione enjoyed it immensely.

She had watched movies and imagined how one should kiss another human, but when Scabior moved against her lips she could not help but feel a tad surprised at how much it affected her. She craved the heat that oozed from him despite the possibility that he might burn her up.

She had chosen him and accepted him. Now she wanted him to claim her and possess her like a lover. He did not disappoint her.

While she fumbled with his buttons, he kissed her hard and let one hand skim down her thick sweater until he reached the breach between the sweater and her jeans.

Hermione sobbed from frustration when she had trouble undoing his shirt the whole way. Scabior soothed her with his soft tongue before he brutally ripped the shirt off himself; sending buttons in every direction, but this time Hermione cared very little about the mess since she had his glorious torso displayed inches from her.

Probably to encourage her, Scabior took her hand and placed it flat on his defined pectoral, right over his heart. The act made Hermione's eyes prickle with penned up emotions. He was so attractive, even after lying still in a bed for a week. Her eyes roamed over his chest to take in his muscular shape, the dark chesthair that stood out from the slight paleness of his skin.

A yellow spot the size of her fist in the middle of his ribcage was the only trace left from his injury. Her fingertips touched him urgently, feeling his sinewy body twitch and heave as she moved. He removed himself from her mouth and looked down at her, his brown hair hanging down on either side of them. Hermione could feel herself get wet from the hunger in his dark eyes. And then she experimentally caressed his nipples simultaneously.

Scabior stiffened above her for a fleeting moment. Hermione saw his mouth open but no sound came from him. The flash of a second later, Scabior rocked into her groin with unexpected force at the same time as he pushed the hand on her stomach upwards and wriggled it past her bra cup until he could touch her naked breast.

Hermione threw her head back into the pillow and moaned throatily, completely absorbed by the sensations. She distantly heard Scabior hum something she could not make out in the midst of her pleasure.

"What?" she panted, not sure if she would be able to say anything else if he kept kneading her mound like he did.

"I said, I suspected yer nipples would be as sensitive as mine, love."

He smiled and rolled her nipple between his thumb and forefinger. Hermione gasped and moved her hips automatically.

"Let me see 'em, please," Scabior growled but had already began to bunch up her clothes. Hermione helped him by lifting her arms over her head. It occurred to her that they both were now half-naked and she was not scared. Scabior asked for permission to remove her bra. How could she say no?

Once it too was tossed away, Scabior leaned down and rubbed his unshaved cheek over her breasts. She mewled and buried her empty hands in his wild hair. She dared a glance down and caught him looking up at her admiringly as his mouth closed around one taut nipple and sucked. She actually screamed, unable to contain her sudden pleasure.

Her hands clenched on his head and held him down. He groaned and she too could feel when tremors travelled up his throat and ended against her nipple. Something moist caressed her trapped nipple. It did not take long before she figured out he licked her with his talented tongue.

Hermione could only focus on breathing through her nose when he unexpectedly thrusted one digit deep into her mouth and swirled it around. She did not understand what he intended to do but then Scabior let go of her nipple and snarled out, "Suck it. Damp it. Fuck, make it wetter!"

He sounded desperate and Hermione did not hesitate to obey him, although she still could not predict his aim. So she started to caress his finger, using her moist tongue and gathering spit to apply on it. Scabior said in a ragged voice, "Good girl. I know yer good at suckin' my fingers."

Hermione raised her eyebrows, confused by his words but that did not stop the clenching in her lower abdomen. Scabior retracted his finger and examined the glistening moisture intensely before he spread it onto his thumb until both fingertips were coated thoroughly. The next second, he lowered the fingers to her other, neglected nipple and swept them over it.

Hermione bit her lip to keep from disturbing him with everlasting moans. He pinched the hard point lightly before he began to stroke it in rhythm to his tongue's dance on her other nipple. That sent a violent jolt from her breasts to her burning core where there was a longing. An ancient and yet newborn longing for Scabior. Her hands left his head and slid down his sculpted back until they moved around his hips and found their way to the fine line of hair below his navel.

"Scabior! Want more. Please! Just more," she whispered feverishly and began to untie the knot in his pants. Scabior rumbled deeply and used his strength to lift himself from her bare chest. If Hermione had not been where she was, she would have thought he was ill. Sweat had gathered on his temples, his dark brown eyes shone with an unusual glaze, the cheeks were red and he had squeezed his eyes shut as if experiencing suffocating pain. So this is what a man undone looked like.

Feeling like a daredevil, Hermione raked her nails gently over his lower abdomen, straight towards the loosened waistband of his pyjamas. Instantly Scabior jerked back, bringing one hand down and catching her hand.

"Ya naughty witch. Gettin' greedy are we?" he said and nuzzled her nose affectionally. "Ya're in fer it now, my little bird."

He sat up and Hermione struggled to wait patiently for him. Scabior pushed his hair back, exposing his biceps and his flat stomach, before he reached over her and took up his wand. He pointed it silently at her belly and whispered out an unfamiliar spell. A warm glowing confirmed Hermione's suspicion; she had read about the effects of contraceptive spells.

Afterwards, Scabior placed the wand on the nighttable and looked down her body. His lean fingers tickled her slightly when the hand eased its way down to her one button in her jeans. He undid it swiftly and requested she lifted her hips. She spotted his eyes fixed on her crotch when she moved to make it easier for him to take off the jeans. Once he had freed her legs, he turned his attention to her last piece of clothing; the light blue knickers.

"May I…?" he asked and Hermione nodded, trusting him to not hurt her. He removed the dampened knickers and stared at her. No man had ever seen her in a state like this, and Hermione found it hard to let go of control. She frowned, worried by his lack of words and mumbled nervously, "Is something wrong?"

He snapped his head up and said in awe, "Ya're so beautiful, 'ermione. I can't take it. Ya're too perfect fer a son o' a bitch like me. Are ya sure ya want me?"

Hermione did not rush her answer but nevertheless had her answer ready.

"Yes, silly. I want you. Just be…gentle with me."

In a voice laced with arousal, Scabior groaned, "O' coure I will, sweet thing. Ya don't 'ave ta ask me fer that."

He put his fingers on her soft thigh, holding her firmly, and nudged her to open her legs more. She bent them and spread them unashamedly until the whole of her was revealed to his searching eyes. He bent down and kissed her short brown curls before his tongue darted out and he yet kept moving down her body.

When he parted her folds and swept down, she arched her back and cried out from the exquisite pleasure that rippled in her. Scabior threw himself into his task and began to lap at her very core, alternating between long, broad sweeps and probing, soft flicks. Hermione felt how her body tingled with pleasure from his ministrations and she recognized distantly a reaching for something.

Scabior grunted into her, "So wet ya are, my treasure. All damp an' ready. Oh, an' what do we 'ave 'ere?"

Before she knew it, he applied pressure at the top.

"Ohhh! Oh, Godric! Don't stop, please don't stop!"

Hermione gasped for air when he found her small bud and licked it repeatedly. Unknowingly, she clenched her hands, digging her nails into her palms and shuddered. A warm finger ventured some inches into her sacred canal, but stopped almost immediately. Frowning at the denied relief, she thrusted against the intrusion, bringing the finger further inside her. Scabior hissed through clenched teeth, "D'ya feel good love? I don't wanna hurt ya like some bastards."

Hermione looked at him steadily and breathed out, "I promise I'm alright. Just make me come soon, Scabior."

At the end of her sentence, he resumed moving his finger inside, questing deeper and deeper into her narrow core. He wriggled it a little and Hermione thought it was odd but not scary to feel him touch her so deep inside. He withdrew the finger but it soon returned, now accompanied by another finger.

This time he went slower, having to stretch her walls before continuing probing her. It was a tad uncomfortable but she tried to relax, aided by Scabior's thumb stimulating her clit. Meanwhile, he whispered, "Such a treasure fer me. Ya're a treasure fer me, love. An' 'ow I stumbled o'er ya in the forest. Who would know that yer juices taste o' salt an' sweet flowers combined? I love that mix."

She clenched around his digits and had Scabior wheezing out, "Merlin' ya've a tight pussy. An' it wants me ta fill it, doesn't it? Tell me, love. Tell me ta come into ya."

Hermione sobbed and trembled from the tension. "Yes! Yes, do it. Fill me, Scabior. Fill me!" Scabior left her weeping passage and found the waistband of his pants. With composed determination, he removed the concealing material, baring himself to her dizzy mind.

Hermione could not help but stare in awe at his arousal jutting out proudly and intimidating. How would he ever fit? As she looked at him, a tear of his essence trickled languidly from the top and ran along his length. Without a word, Scabior grabbed both her thighs firmly and spread those more, opening her up to him. He inched closer, a raspy groan on his lips.

He caught her staring at him and smiled with a simmering smoulder in his eyes. When he crawled atop of her with the prowess of a predator, she wrapped her arms around his neck and brought him down to her lips. She could taste herself on his burning lips but was not disgusted by it.

"Beautiful thing. My beautiful thing, "Scabior murmured calmly, his thick accent absent and soothed her with a kiss before he said, "You take me in, love. Please guide me into you." Hermione only nodded, too consumed by the heat to utter any words.

She slipped her right hand down, running it along his side before venturing in between their hips. She could feel a gush of wetness and patches of hair in the narrow space between their nearly joined bodies. But he had given her a mission and she would not fail. Summoning her courage, she opened her hand and fondled him. He sighed heavily beside her mouth and she squeezed his hardness curiously. He felt so strange and alluring, being soft and hard, smooth and humid at the same time. But the jolts in her stomach demanded release and she craved his presence at her core.

She guided him slowly to her virgin hole and pressed him against it. The entire male body above her vibrated when he eased into her slowly, stretching her, filling her inch by delicious inch until he stopped and panted into her neck.

Hermione wanted more and moved her hips slightly. Scabior let out a strangled groan and hissed, "Beautiful treasure," before he moved back and thrust forcefully forward, breaching her hymen and filling her completely. Hermione cried out and felt tears of pain and confusion escape her lids when he pierced her. She clung to him and tried to breathe regularly, feeling him pulsing inside her. He waited until the pain had diminished and stroked her thigh and bottom in the meantime.

After minutes of respite to recover from the initial shock, Hermione gulped and nodded at him to continue. He licked away the trace of her tears and began to move, grunting when she anxiously clenched around his girth, making the passage tighter in rhythm to his strokes. Scabior used his lower hand to lift her bum and told her to wrap her legs around him. She obeyed, trusting him to at last bring her that foreign and yet near pleasure.

He angled himself differently and plunged into her all the way, making her scream when waves of pure bliss rolled through her tensed body. She felt him swell even more inside her and heard his rapid breathing. He resumed his moving, looking straight at her face and repeatedly reaching her sweet spot inside with well-aimed strokes. She saw true feelings flooding his eyes and felt herself come closer to the edge.

He retreated, barely penetrating her opening and they both held their breaths.

Scabior whispered, "Come with me, love."

And then he filled her completely, burying himself to the hilt and she dissolved.

With flashes of white and black before her eyes, with blood pulsing in her ears and electricity scolding her sweaty body, she came, clamping down on his buried length, using her legs to mold him into her. Through her agonizing and extraordinary ecstasy she could make out a wild guttural roar mingle with her own unrestrained scream and was able to distinguish a different heat between her legs when he shot his seed deep into her.

After some rapid thrusts, Scabior collapsed on top of her and panted as his body quivered from the release. Hermione saw him catching one nipple with his lips and tenderly sucking it with his eyes closed. She stroked his head gently, feeling very tired but content with still feeling him inside.

"Was I good?" she asked with a subdued voice and looked out the window at the red evening sky that made the nature resemble something from a fairytale. Scabior opened his eyes and heaved himself up on his arm, cupping her chin with a strong hand.

"You, my lovely," he said clearly, for once consumed by seriousness and honesty, "You were sublime, and I'm so grateful for your gift."

He lowered his swollen lips and met her ready ones, pouring all his love for her into one warm, tender, gentle kiss.

* * *

**What do you think? Review, please!**


	28. Chapter 28 Frenzies

**So, so, so sorry for the unusually long delay! I redecorated some rooms in my home and was just too tired to write, even if I desperately wanted to. And tomorrow I'm going for a vacation trip. But I shall do my best and write while away and then post a new chapter once I'm back. And thank you for your reviews. I have not had the energy to respond (bad sycamoretree!), but know that I'm very grateful for your messages. Enjoy this chapter and please review so I can see tons of reviews when I come back in a week!**

**Inspirational music: Lovesong by The Cure (or the cover I prefer by Tori Amos)**

* * *

Chap. 28 Frenzies

It was difficult to tell when exactly sleep had conquered Hermione's sated and exhausted body but when she next opened her eyes, it was pitchdark.

There was literarly no light whatsoever in the bedroom, nor from the crack under the door and the black night ruled outside the window. She might as well keep her eyes closed as she would have to rely on her other senses anyway.

When the mists from the blissful sleep cleared, she detected her lack of clothes. And yet she did not freeze under the thin blanket that covered her nudity. Her body got heat from the large male body spooning her.

Hermione smiled to herself. Once again, Scabior lay flushed against her smaller frame, only this time it was significantly more pleasant. She could feel his naked skin glued to hers, very efficiently sharing its warmth with her.

Suddenly something pressed into her folds. And her hip bone was also exposed to immediate heat. Putting two and two together, Hermione figured that Scabior had thrown an arm over her hip and his hand possessevely cupped her sex, with his long fingers nestled between her folds. That revelation made Hermione feel both protected and flattered, comforted by the thought that Scabior did not regret being with her.

She could hear him breath evenly behind her, apparantly as tired as she had been after their coupling. Remembering the intensity of her first time with a man, Hermione found herself aroused once more and her pulse quickened. A small part of her had worried before about the unevitable pain but Scabior had been gentle with her at the crucial moments and allowed her to take control too.

From what she could tell, lying still in a bed, she was only a bit sore, and that probably had more to do with deep, accurate thrusts than breaking her hymen. To feel Scabior moving, pulsing, swelling within her had been amazing and far exceeded her imagination of sex. She did not regret her decision to give her virginity to him.

At that moment, the sleeping Scabior flexed his fingers again, making her breath hitch when he happened to rub her clit and rimmed the tender opening to her core.

Thinking the warm air in the room would make both of them boil come morning, Hermione carefully stretched out her free arm to the night table where Scabior had placed his wand. Scabior growled a little and gyrated his narrow hips until she lied back with the wand safe in her grip. A small flick and a non-verbal spell later, the dirty window opened so the cold air could lower the current temperature in the bedroom.

When a chilly breeze reached Hermione's face, the only part of her exposed to the air, she drank it down but shivered slightly. Irish nights in April were still quite cold. But the air did make her feel better and she lay down her head on the pillow.

Just as she closed her eyes to seek out sleep, the fingers on her nether parts began to move with impressive purpose, coming from a sleeping man. She jerked when a fingertip found her bud, getting momentarily distracted by it to notice how two other fingers swept around her opening in circles. Not until they dipped into her now damp canal did she let out a hoarse moan, relishing the sensation of being filled again.

"You're awake," came a, by sleep and sex, husky voice behind her.

Scabior said it simply, not posing the words as a question. Hermione swallowed and retorted, not with a steady voice due to his fingers ministration inside her, "And you're not asleep."

She heard Scabior inhale deeply before a shift in the mattress told her he had lifted his head. He buried his nose in her hair and his warm breathing against the nape of her neck made her shiver, and not from the cold air.

"I'm a light sleeper," he mumbled and kissed her dishevelled hair, slowly making his way down to her bare neck. "You're cold, love."

His burning lips ghosted over the frail skin and Hermione pressed herself closer to him, trusting him to quell the craving in her aroused body.

"We need some fresh air," she argued without any trace of animosity. "This is not fresh air. It's bloody colder than the world conference for dementors," he muttered but began all the same to suck on a sensitive spot below her earlobe. Hermione inhaled sharply before she stuttered, "You're doing a great job keeping me warm."

Those skilled fingers of his ran along her silky walls more easily now that wetness had gathered. When he began to hit her nice spot by curving his long digits, she trembled against his strong chest.

"Scabior, don't you want... want to come inside?" she gasped, fast approaching another orgasm. He bit down on the shell of her ear and thrust more feverishly into her.

"Pains me to decline such an offer, literally. I feel tired from my injury. And the potion's wearing off, love. But if you don't mind, I can still make you come."

Scabior turned her around and leand over her, resolutely tugging down the thin blanket that covered both of them. Hermione could barely make out the outlines of him in the dark which annoyed her, but on the other hand, that meant her other senses was profoundly heightened. His thumb drummed against her clit while his other hand found her breast and massaged it.

"I don't mind one bit," she replied and reached out her own hands to find him. She got stuck in his tangled hair that in a way resembled her own mane. In the dark, Scabior dipped his head and kissed her softly all over the face, intentionally or not, until he ended at her plump lips. He kissed her without force, only grazing her longing lips. She could detect a musky, wild scent coming from him that made her want him even more. He lifted his head and tweaked her hard nipple which had her arching into his solid torso.

"Mmm. Your lips still taste like salt and flowers," he hummed and moved his buried fingers so deep she could feel his knuckles brushing against her folds. His nose sniffed its way to her other ear as Hermione fought valiantly to not succumb to the nearby pleasure just yet.

She heard him smell her curls just above the ear before he whispered seducingly, "Hermione, whether it's my fingers or my cock that fuck you good in your clenching, tight, wet pussy; rest assure I'll always make you come so hard you won't be able to walk straight afterwards."

And so he rolled her nipple, stroked her sensitive bud and rammed his fingers forcefully into her depth. Hermione let out a strangled cry from the ecstasy and thrusted without control, trying to milk the digits that stayed inside her until the ripples ceased and she caught her breath. The open window had been in vain, as she anyway was covered in a humid sheen.

When she lay back again onto the mattress, Scabior removed his fingers carefully and she listened to smacking sounds that pierced the returned silence.

"So fuckin' good fer me, beautiful," Scabior grunted and continued to lick his fingers clean from her essence. Desiring intimacy, Hermione groped for his broad shoulders and grabbed hold of them to bring him down to her. Scabior put one bare leg between hers and presumably propped himself up on his elbow beside her. It was no secret he was very aroused as Hermione felt him pressing into her hip.

She turned her head and kissed him lovingly before taking his free hand and placing it on her stomach.

"Thank you," she whispered. He drawled back, "Never thank me. I'm the one who's found salvation in this mad world. I should thank you."

Hermione smiled and decided to caress the soft hair on his arm as he began to draw patterns on her belly.

"What do we do when your mother returns?" Hermione voiced her sudden thought that had popped up in her mind.

"What do you mean? 'Cause if you plan to do her in, I'm right behind you, sweetheart," Scabior joked and she lightly pinched his arm.

"You're awful and you know it," she chastised but heard him rumble merrily. "I mean, what do we do about...us? Should we tell her immediately or pretend as if there's nothing going on between us?"

Scabior answered, and Hermione would bet her Hogwarts: A History copy he accompanied the words with a large grin on his face, "Trust me Hermione, we're not gonna be able to hide it no matter how hard we try. Mum's already seen through us and knows we have the hots for each other. She'll know the second she sets her foot in this house."

Hermione blushed despite the coolness in the bedroom. Not because she was embarrassed by her and Scabior's relationship, but because Claire would see them so soon after her first time. Somehow it seemed improper and Hermione would prefer that anything that only concerned her and her lover stayed between them. She patted Scabior wearily on the arm.

"Then you must remember to call me Penelope whenever your mother is in the house. Can't risk revealing me to her, can we?"

"You're right. Even if I trust mum's loyalty, there's always a chance she'll talk when she's plastered." Scabior sighed. "Though, that means no sex when she's around."

Hermione frowned, not following his train of thoughts. Scabior continued in an exasperated tone, "There's no way in hell I'm calling you Penelope when we're shagging. Just common decency and besides, even if my life depended on it I couldn't swear I won't cry out your real name when I'm coming inside you, Hermione."

His voice had dropped and held a promise that ignited something in Hermione's heart. "That's, eh, good to know, I guess," she replied haltingly and leaned her head sideways into the hollow of his neck. She felt him rest his chin on the crown of her head and together, they listened to each other's breathing in the night.

* * *

Scabior woke up with Hermione in his arms, which brought on a smile on his face. He looked down at her relaxed form and was astonished by the way her silken curls gleamed in the soft light of dawn. To his delight and masculine pride, a red lovebite decorated her lovely neck and made him want her again.

He had in his past deflowered many girls and so, he had been able to use every skill he had learnt to pleasure Hermione. But she had not been like any other woman.

Whereas Scabior usually wanted to silently sneak away after a romp between the sheets, he now desired nothing but to stay with Hermione in bed and satisfy her over and over until his scent covered every inch of her delicious body and he had her scent forever imprinted on his own skin.

It had been more than sex between them last night. Scabior had for the first time shared deep feelings with a woman and was positive that had made the love-making so much better. Scabior had never used that term when describing the primal act. And yet it fitted because there had not been animalistic fucking this time. He had devoured her with a rare gentleness and had come so hard his eyes had rolled back in his head. It annoyed him that his body had ached afterwards from the exertion, otherwise he would have buried himself several times inside Hermione's tempting pussy.

Scabior looked up at the still open window and greedily breathed in the fresh air that swept into the bedroom. To have Hermione tucked safely in his embrace and smell the scents of outside would surely please the snatcher within. But to his surprise, Scabior felt nothing, beside apristine, rising lust for Hermione again. He gathered the snatcher for once was completely content. It sensed the taste of freedom in the air and harboured no urge to run away from this woman. Scabior could for once fully relax.

He bowed his head and kissed Hermione lazily on the forehead. 'My salvation. My treasure.'

But then something disturbed him in his calm moment. The call of nature.

With a growl of resentment, Scabior lifted the sleeping woman away and inched off the bed. He had managed to not wake her up. Holding his breath for the challenge before him, he slowly got up, supporting himself by habit with one hand placed on the wall above the bed. No pain so far. Then he stepped forward and spotted his pyjamas pants on the floor. A wandless non-verbal spell made the clothing fly to his hand and with great patience, Scabior dressed himself.

Once he had walked through the door without limping at all, he closed the door silently behind him. It pleased him that he did not need to brace his bare shoulder against the wall as he made his way to the bathroom. He really hated to be incapable of taking care of himself and being weak.

When he had finished his morning routine, he stepped out into the corridor, and met his mother. Claire came through the entrance carrying two bags in each arm. Her skirt had wrinkles and her flaming red hair was a bit in tangles. She walked with tired steps and Scabior hurried to help her with the burdens. Claire happily let him take the heavy bags and he nodded to her.

"Morning, mum."

Claire wiped off her face with a hand and sighed, "'Hello, son. Ready fer runnin' 'round again, I see"

While she spoke, Scabior studied her exhausted feature worriedly.

"You alright, mum?"

"Yeah, just tough night. Worked like a bleedin' houseelf ta serve every man. Although," she grinned and shook her skirt so Scabior could hear the obvious sound of coins from it, "turned out they all missed me. They tipped me twice as much as they do normal days. So I went shopping food."

Relieved that nothing dreadful had happened her, Scabior glanced down at the bags he had put on the floor. One contained bread, fruits and some meat. The other one had five large bottles of Firewhiskey.

Scabior felt a pain in his chest that had nothing to do with his bruise. His mother surely intended to drink all this and he dared not guess how fast it would take. Beverages could be replenished like any other food, but they lost taste and alcohol each time the spell was cast on them, so one had to keep buying them. Five bottles was easily enough to keep a large man drunk throughout a month.

Scabior took to use a reversed strategy to save his mother from all the bottles.

"I do hope you're going to share those with me. Merlin knows I haven't had a drink in weeks. Penelope refuses to get me some."

He hid a grimace at the false name for Hermione that sounded so wrong on his tongue.

Claire's face grew stern and she snarled out, "An' why should I share them bottles with ya who didn't pay one knut fer 'em?"

Scabior prayed that his mother had not woken up Hermione with her sounds. He said in a low voice, "Because I'm your son."

Claire began to laugh in his face and Scabior felt a building frustration in his nearly recovered body at her noisy and crazy behaviour.

"Scabior, dear, I thought ya would come up with a better reason than yer usual. Ya always say that! I'm yer son, I'm yer son. I hoped ya were more inventive, but I guess I overestimated ya. I'm so sick an' tired o' 'earin' that."

Scabior went at her, pushed her back ruthlessly until her back connected with the door. He loomed over his defiant mother whos head barely reached his bare, heaving chest. She had raised her eyebrows and observed him with cool interest.

"Listen 'ere," he growled darkly but did not touch her, "Ya were pretty delighted I was yer son when I put up all them wards an' the Infidelius ta protect ya! I know I'm better than ya think, an' I'm not gonna let ya drink all ya fuckin' want as long as I'm in the cottage. Consider this a new rule. Will ya please understand that I want ya ta survive in this damn war. An' I'm takin' three bottles now."

He spun around and bent down to fetch the toxic bottles. To his surprise, Claire did not protest and stayed by the door without her wand out. Scabior muttered to her as he began to walk back to his few square meters of paradise, "Don't worry, mum. I'll be gone in two weeks with Penelope."

He heard her clear her throat and turned his head. The shadows under her eyes and the delicate wrinkles on her forehead were visible to his on the surface calm eyes. She slumped her shoulders and admitted quietly, "Ya've changed, boy. Ya're not the selfish, bickering man ya used ta be. It's her, isn't it? She changed ya."

Scabior felt all suspicion for a possible retaliation disappear and mumbled back to his mother, "Just let me keep her and you alive."

Claire nodded in affirmation and stood meekly among her bags. Just as Scabior reached for the doorknob to his bedroom with the hand that did not hold the bottles, Claire called to his back, "Oh, and Scabior! Nice scratches on yer back.

" No matter how hard he fought, he could not prevent one corner of his mouth from raising. There was the mother he was used to and prefered. He shook his head and entered the bedroom for some private talk with Hermione.

Apparently she had awoked because her brilliant chocolate eyes were fixed on his person. Scabior smiled at her and closed the door behind him before he strode towards the bed. He discovered that she had tried to comb her nest of curls and that she clutched the blanket to her front, probably to cover her nudity. But her face showed no trace of fear or regret in the morning light, which reassured Scabior of her feelings for him.

Suddenly craving her sweet and beautiful body, he put down the bottles on the floor, leaned down and crawled on all four to her and placed a feral, desperate kiss on her swollen lips. She closed her eyes and responded to him by opening her mouth, which made Scabior more aroused by her complete trust. He stroked his tongue softly against hers for a moment before he leaned back and watched her simmering eyes finding his own.

"Good morning, Hermione," he whispered and nuzzled her nose, unable to keep himself from touching her. Her hands left the hem of the blanket and landed on his warm cheeks, languidly tracing the skin with her fingers. "Good morning, Scabior," she breathed out and gave him a happy smile that almost made him forget about his mother this morning.

He pressed his forehead to hers and asked gently, "How are you, love? D'you want anything for the pain?"

He wanted something for the pain she, with her innocence and beauty, caused in his heart.

Hermione shook her head and mumbled back, "No, it's not that bad. And I want to feel that you've been inside me."

'Okay, maybe I'm corrupting her innocence', Scabior thought smugly, and felt her nails pricking against the skin of his cheeks.

"I heard Claire come back. I thought we established a deal that you were not to call me by my real name when she's near."

The mention of his mother made Scabior rein himself in and not proceed to work Hermione up for morning sex.

She must have seen his face flinch, because she frowned and asked, "Scabior?"

He calmed himself down by bringing one hand down to her neck and caressing the lovebite that marked her as his.

"Come with me outside, beautiful. I need to get out of the house now, and I'm not in any pain. I need to...get something off my mind."

At that, the look of insecurity returned to Hermione and Scabior cursed himself at his poor choice of words that had alarmed her.

"Believe me, my treasure, it's got nothing to do with you. I need to tell you something about my mother," he added quickly and apologized by pressing his mouth to the red skin where his fingers had played. He could sense she relaxed and felt her pulse beat steadily against his lips.

"Fine. But then you have to let me up, snatcher," she moaned.

Scabior chuckled at her and lifted the head to gaze straight into her eyes, a wolf's grin grazing his lips.

"Only if I can lay you down later, love."

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**Tell me what you think by reviewing, please. :)**


	29. Chapter 29 Conquests

**Hello, y'all! Now I've finally managed to update. I wrote this chapter by hand while in sunny Portugal** **and when I came home I wrote it on my laptop. Thank you for the lovely reviews that met me when I returned. And I see that more people have "alerted" and "favourited" my story. I'm so happy! So here you go; another sweet chapter. I have the plot figured out for the future, and soon there will be more drama, so enjoy this while you can, mu ha ha ha ;)**

**Inspirational music: Perfect Day by Miriam Stockley**

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Chap. 29 Conquests

Hermione sensed Scabior's urge to go outside and she rose, with the blanket wrapped around her.

She swallowed back a moan at the small but nevertheless surprising pain that stabbed her in the center. But the feeling quickly wore off and soon she only experienced a negligible ache between her legs. Otherwise her body felt good, except for some muscles here and there that had worked last night.

She looked at Scabior on the other side of the rumpled bed and gave him a smile to assure him she was alright. He did not return the smile but he did wink at her and ducked to the floor. He reappeared, holding her light blue bra. For a moment Hermione wondered if he was going to let her fight for each garment, until he simply threw it to her.

"Get dressed," he ordered but Hermione hesitated with flushing cheeks. Even if she technically had had sex with Scabior two times she was still unused of displaying her naked body to him in merciless daylight. And she most certainly would not take her clothes and the blanket through the corridor to change in the bathroom and risk meeting Claire on the way.

"Could you please turn around for a moment?" she requested and tried to remember where she had put her wand so she could spell her clothes on herself. Scabior raised his eyebrows and crossed his strong arms in front of his bare chest, not embarrassed the least of his own nakedness.

"Why, love? I've looked closer at you than a seer does at a crystal ball. And you're mouthwatering."

It was impossible to not blush harder at his compliment but Hermione pretended to not have heard him and said more firmly, "Look, if you want me to follow you outside, then you better do this small favour for me."

Scabior sighed theatrically and held up his palms as if capitulating to her.

"Fine, treasure. No need getting so serious, though. I'm gonna dress myself with my back to you, okay?"

Truthful to his words, he turned around and it was only too easy to spot the long, thin and red marks that covered his pale shoulders and went down over his shoulder blades. Hermione stared at the harm she in her passion had caused on Scabior's body until they were covered by the now clean and mended green coloured jacket in a fluent movement.

"I can hear you standing still, beautiful. Is something wrong?" he said in a light manner to the wall in front of his eyes and picked up his wand from the night table before he waved it and made his untainted, checkered pants leave a drawer. Hermione lowered her gaze and began to change into her clothes that lay scattered on the floor near her.

After both of them were properly dressed, and Hermione had found her wand in a crease on the blanket on her own bed, they left the room and headed for the kitchen. Hermione was starved, but this time she did not hesitate to eat as much as she desired in front of Scabior's watchful eyes. They finished breakfast in silence and then Hermione popped into the bathroom for a moment. Once she was ready, Scabior placed one hand on the small of her back and escorted her to the front door and opened it for her with the other.

It was considerably warmer outside now compared to the icy night air. Even so, there was a breeze and the sun hid behind thick, grey clouds. As they walked through the field of grass and stones, Hermione appreciated the warm hand on her back and snuggled against Scabior's side. A frown appeared between his eyebrows and he muttered, "Why in the name of Salazar did you not think of bringing a thicker sweater?"

Hermione glanced at Scabior who had red roses on his cheeks and his open leather coat that probably spared him from the cruel wind which penetrated her own clothes.

"It's not a problem. I'll just cast a heating spell on us," she retorted and held out her wand. But before the incantation had left her lips, the hand on her back tugged at her and she found herself pressed into Scabior's taller side with some of his coat around her shoulders. Scabior did not stop walking and forced her with him but bent down his head to her ear and said reproachfully, "And miss out on being close to your favourite snatcher? I'm terribly insulted."

As a Gryffindor, Hermione tsked at him but all the same she leaned her head on Scabior's chest and they continued their walk as an odd-looking figure. When they got close to the cliffs where one could find a path down to the sea, Scabior stopped and gestured for her to sit down on the grass. She sat cross-legged beside him who had his long legs outstretched. He supported himself with two hands on the ground behind his back and turned his face to the sky.

"Merlin, it's nice to be outside again," he sighed contentedly and breathed in deeply a couple of times.

Ever the observant woman, Hermione studied him curiously and asked, "What's it like to be a true snatcher?"

"Not that I know how it's like to _not_ be one but in my opinion, it's been a burden and a gift," Scabior admitted quietly and looked back at her with glowing eyes.

'Perhaps he's never talked about this with anyone', Hermione thought and continued softly, "Tell me more. I want to know about you."

"Alright, as long as you don't share this info with a soul. Do you promise me that, Hermione?"

She gave him a nod.

"The thing is, my story is in many ways linked to mum's, which I wanted to tell you about today."

Scabior reached for her hand and wove their fingers together before he abruptly said, "I know how old you are, it's on the lists." He waved his free hand as if was not something important and continued, "You're of age, for which I'm very grateful. But you've not yet asked me about my own age."

Hermione opened her mouth to explain, only Scabior beat her to it.

"I suppose it doesn't matter to you and that flatters me, especially since I look older and more haggard than I should due to my lifestyle. The fact is, I should've been younger." His fingers had stilled between Hermione's but she hardly noticed as she listened to his dark, and slightly sad voice.

"Mum is a beautiful 50-year-old witch. It's not so old in the wizarding world, particularly among purebloods. But she's not in her youth. And I'm 32 years old."

Scabior paused and threw a glance at Hermione, worry etched on his face. The announcement was not entirely a surprise to Hermione. She had known that Scabior was an adult and a fair bit older than she. But the age difference was not so striking when most wizards and witches lived to see their 120th birthday. She stroked her thumb over his fingers to encourage him to continue.

"It doesn't matter to me," she whispered and watched him relax at her words. He inhaled and stared out at the restless sea.

"So mum was eighteen when she had me. Barely a graduee from Hogwarts with wealthy pureblood parents and an eagerness to make something of herself. Her father got her a job as a secretary in a department in the Ministry. The kind of job that promises connections and promotions. She said to me, the only time she ever told me this story, how proud she was and that the position made her feel important. But then _he_ came by."

Scabior growled bitterly and gazed with hard eyes at the seagulls that caught fish in the waves.

"The fucking prick who ruined mum's future. A tall, snobbish wizard that worked as a deputy in another department came to mum's office with an errand. But he probably left with his ugly head full of thoughts about the sweet girl with flaming red hair and eyes blue as the sky. And of course he came back, but only to talk with mum. And she was mesmerized by this bigwig who spolied her with small gifts and honeyed words. She fell in love with that bastard and he got her exactly where he wanted. On her back in a rented bed. Mum knew how a pureblood girl should behave and the fucking pig _had_ promised her a marriage and a big, fancy place suited for a lady. The thing was, after the fucker had slept with her, he left without explanation. Mum managed somehow to return to her work that morning and waited for an owl from him. At the end of the day she with her love had still not abandoned hope and sent an owl to his department. It returned soon enough with an angry letter where the man wrote that he couldn't leave his wife and fulfill his promises to mum. Quite a shock for mum that one. Poor thing had not known that the wizard had been married and had four children."

Scabior laughed humorlessly and said in a hollow tone, "Mum was devastated but she soon learnt that the lying man was not the only trouble. She was a pregger at the age of 18 and unmarried and a pureblood. Shillyshally like any girl in her position, she turned to her parents. But their conservative beliefs had them disowning mum and exclude her from the family. They rather drank their cocktails in the pureblood society without a daughter than faced the shame she had brought on them and herself with her _slutty behaviour_. She was on her own in the big world. Without her father's bribes, her boss thought it useless to keep her.

But mum had decided to keep me no matter what the cost. Though it turned out it was difficult to rent an apartment without money. So she swalloed the remnants of her pride and sought out her old lover in the Ministry. He refused to acknowledge that baby in her belly and accused mum of trying to destroy his career with rumours that he was the father to her bastard. After their meeting the man left his job for another in the Ministry and mum vowed she would never try to find him again. I think she cried herself to sleep for a long time. Lucky for her, a kind pubowner didn't mind hiring a pregnant woman as a waitress and he even lended her money for the rent so she could save some of her salary for her baby. And then I came out; in a small room at St. Mungo's with only mum and healers around. But we managed to get by, even if the road got bumpy sometimes."

Scabior's voice faltered and he looked forlorn on the green grass of Ireland. Hermione inched herself closer and rested her head on his shoulder with her free hand clasped around his arm. She was touched by the story and sensed that Scabior needed comfort from her right now.

"I guess I understand now why Claire is like she is. She and you must have had a difficult life even if you had each other."

Scabior drew in a shuddering breath and mumbled in a desolated tone, "Yeah, it's been hard for her. Especially with me and my snatcher nature. I got her into trouble so many times in my childhood with my ideas and the thefts from our neighbours. Everytime she left the house, she had to apologize to people. No wonder she began to drink in her misery."

At that, Hermione raised her head and spoke with a steady voice, "Scabior, don't blame yourself for your mum's drinking problem. You were just a child when it started. The child she loved so much she kept it despite everything and healed when it got injured from playing. She told me that when you had apparated here and she had healed the wounds on your legs. And she still loves you. You never saw her when I first came here and told her that you had gone to meet the Dark Lord. She just...faded."

Scabior turned his head and gazed upon her with amazement.

"Fuckin' 'ell, ya're really tellin' me the truth?"

Hermione clenched her hand on his arm and persisted, "Yes, of course I'm not lying to you! I believe she loves you no matter what she says or does that make you doubt."

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Scabior slowly licked his lips that had gone dry in the constant breeze and regarded Hermione, too perplexed to speak for the moment.

He sure as hell loved his mother despite her drinking habits. And she _had_ been kind and patient with him when he was a toddler. And even between their tempestuous fights when he was a rebelling teenager and she was, in his eyes, a conservative embarassment there were peaceful moments when she taught him some pureblood manners that would not cause him or his acquaintances, male or female, any sorrow.

And then he moved out, intent on following whatever the snatcher within wanted. His sometimes dangerous life had made it difficult to resume contact with Claire when she lived a far bit from England. But when the clouds grew black and the evil spread amongst the wizarding world, he felt a need to visit her and make sure she would be alright. The hardcore man he had been then had convinced himself that it was the blood relation that made him cast an unknown number of protective spells to create a powerful shield around the cottage.

He had found back then that his mother had also changed. Their conversations were often stern, almost bordering on cruel. And they had not exchanged any words of love when he took off. But now he would not be able to lie to his mother if she asked him straight away whether he loved her. To hear Hermione describe his mother in so kind words had him muted. He had never met anyone who was so good at talking about feelings and yet not make him feel like an idiot only because he seldom had been sentimental with his mother. Hermione could perceive things he himself did not see and she could calm him when he got upset.

He raised his free hand and tucked one loose strand behind her ear. Those doe-like mocha eyes had a touch of wisdom as they contemplated him.

"A fine observation, 'ermione," he said, still a little uneasy and continued, "Come ta think 'bout it, ya now know quite a bit 'bout me an' mum. An' I got ta tell ya 'bout mum's problem that worries me. She came 'ome this mornin' with too many fuckin' bottles. So I told 'er my opinion an' took some bottles, just ta keep mum from drinkin' all o' them."

Scabior chuckled, "I honestly think she accepted my interferance, because she hardly protested. I only wanted to get it off my mind."

Hermione bravely held his gaze and then she said, "It's perfectly okay to feel that way, Scabior. And if you ever want to talk with me you can seek me out again. I'll listen to you."

She suddenly moved swiftly as she threw her arms around his neck and hugged him hard, which surprised but did not annoy Scabior. He hugged her back and his relief after the revelations had been said made all stress vanish and only his usual mood remained.

He leaned back so his back rested on the soft grass and brought Hermione with him until she was perched on top of him as a replication of their first snogging session. He allowed her to raise her head and she had an amused look on her face.

"This seems familiar," she sniggered and gently brushed hair from his forehead with cool fingertips.

"Tell me something about you, Hermione." He looked up at her thoughtful face surrounded by grey clouds that swept by in a hurry. She was an angel and she fitted perfectly in his arms. But then she moved those red and slightly swollen lips and Scabior had to concentrate on listening to her.

"Well, I guess it's harmless to reveal that in the future I wish to work at the Ministry, but be a righteous and uncorrupted worker at the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. I personally think it's horrible how some beings in the wizarding world are treated, and I want to change that."

Her eyes were lit fires, her cheeks burnt from excitement and she spoke determinedly with passion in her voice. Scabior was utterly fascinated by her, and even if the thing she had told him seemed radical he was not directly opposed to the thought. Actually, he always felt a twinge of satisfaction when old, conservative pureblood families were hit by new laws.

His hands skimmed down to rest on her jeansclad bum.

"Interesting to hear, beautiful. Seems like you're the witch for the task," he smiled but then lowered his voice to a husky tone and mumbled, "But what I'm more interested of, is knowing who else you've kissed."

Her eyes flickered but otherwise her body did not betray what she thought.

"That's a very personal subject, Scabior."

She dodged his question which made Scabior grimace.

"Aww, come on, love! I wanna know! Besides, I've told you loads of personal information only minutes ago. I want something back."

He pretended to be astounded by her evasive answer but grinned cheekily at her. However, beneath the playful surface, he really needed to know. He knew he was a bit petty but the snatcher and he himself demanded the truth from their pretty treasure. Scabior told himself it had nothing to do with jealousy, it was just the protective and territorial instinct in him that showed itself.

And now he saw how Hermione chewed on her lip before she opened her mouth and told him, "I've been kissed by one other man."

On the inside, Scabior cursed but on the outside he settled for bringing her body down to his and said calmly, "Who?"

She frowned for a moment before she retorted, "Why is this so important to you? Am I not allowed to keep any personal information to myself?"

Wincing at her tone, Scabior understood he moved on very thin ice. After some seconds of contemplation, he opted for a new approach to quell his secret curiosity.

"I only wanted to know what you've done with other men. Has anyone else made you moan from a kiss?"

"Stop it."

Hermione's voice had dropped too but it held no sign of anger. Scabior proceeded as he languidly massaged her behind.

"Did anyone else open your sweet mouth and coaxed your tongue to dance? How many men have played with your breasts and licked your nipples until you got so wet you soaked your knickers?"

She began to wriggle on him but not to get away. On the contrary, she subtly rubbed her mounds back and forth against his jacket. Scabior slid his hand to her hip and followed every move from her with it. His own lust pulsed in his veins and headed towards his groin. But his possessiveness was not easily forgotten and with a tug at her hipbone, he lifted her from him and denied her any contact with his body. She stared bewildered at him and whimpered.

"Tell me the name of those who you've given permission to touch your body. Please, Hermione."

The last part came out more desperate than Scabior had intended and yet he did not regret it. Apparently he had once again been as equally disarmed by her as she had been by him. She met his searching eyes and gave in.

"Only Viktor Krum. At the Triwizard Tournament. He kissed me on my cheek."

Scabior lowered her slightly but stopped when barely two inches separated her frame from his.

"Nothing and no-one else?" he asked with suspicion. Thank Morgana that ugly quidditch player currently was rumoured to hide somewhere in Eastern Europe. Hermione let out a pitiful sob and shook her head vigorously.

"No! Oh, Godric! Please...please!"

Desire had driven her to incoherency and apparent need, which made Scabior's arousal harder.

"Please what, my beautiful girl?"

"Please let me, let me touch you!"

"Thank you for your cooperation," he drawled and allowed her pelvis to finally meet his. A sigh slipped past her lips and she immediately resumed gyrating her hips against him in insistent moves.

"I take it you're not angry with me," Scabior panted and thrusted his hips up to meet her which made both of them let out their first moans. Hermione sought out his mouth and bit down lightly on the bottom lip before she blurted out, "Shut up, you sneaky Slytherin snatcher and kiss me!"

She growled and Scabior did not plan to torture himself any longer. He raised his head and found her mouth ready for him. Distantly he felt her hips buck against his hard on and he groaned into her open mouth. He had to tear himself from her hot cavern and breath in air scented with salt sea and vanilla, before he could compose real sentences.

"One question left, my lovely, but this time I know the answer. Have you ever...mmmnnn! Oh, shit! Stop fuckin' movin' on me! 'ave ya ever made love with a man in the open? No? Well, there's a first time fer everythin'."

He turned them over and settled between her thighs. It did not take long before he had cast the contraceptive spell on her, removed their pants and transfigured his coat into a soft blanket to protect them from the wind. From the moment he sank into her sodden pussy with a forceful thrust, to the moment she screamed out her orgasm and clenched so tightly around him he fell over the edge too, they kissed repeatedly as if they also made love to each other's mouths.


	30. Chapter 30 Blues

**Hello again! Finally a new chapter. Sorry for the delay but I'll try to update a new chapter soon as compensation. But I would appreciate if more of you sent me reviews. Considering how many readers my fic have, I'm not getting that many reviews:( I like knowing your thoughts about this story, so please write one when you have read this chapter. **

**And I want to ask you all a question. Do you want the fic to end at the Battle of Hogwarts (I'm not saying how it will end) or some time after the battle? I'm having trouble deciding which, so I let you participate in the decision. Now, read and review, my friends.  
**

**Inspirational music: Piece by piece by Katie Melua**

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Chap. 30 Blues

Little by little, hour by hour the days crept by.

Even if Hermione did her best to make the most of the time together with Scabior, she still felt that time was her cruel and unstoppable enemy. She had after all said to herself as well as to Scabior that she intended to leave Ireland after two weeks. Ten days had passed since her decision.

And she did want to find Harry and Ron again and continue fighting against Voldemort and his awful horcruxes. The problem was that she would have to do it with a broken heart. Because Scabior was not supposed to accompany her.

Hermione let out a shaky breath and squeezed her eys shut to prevent the tears from escaping her lids. 'Don't cry. Please don't cry,' she told herself in a mantra as she furiously rubbed a rag against the dusty window-sill. Claire had appointed her and Scabior to clean the house that day since all they did, according to the mother, was arse about all day and rut like centaurs in heat during the nights, whereas Claire worked full nights to provide the household with food.

Hermione had blushed from the elder woman's crude but true words and Scabior had muttered something about his mother and pointy cliffs nearby, but they had begun cleaning the very neglected cottage. Hermione was alone in Claire's bedroom and tidied without magic, hoping in vain to relieve some of the tension in her troubled being.

Unexpectedly, the person that in secret tormented her stepped into the almost finished room and Hermione whipped around, not able to hide her look of distress fast enough. At least she had not cried and surrounded herself with a scent of salt his nose would surely pick up.

"Is something wrong, love?" he asked slowly with his brows furrowed in suspicion. Hermione smiled lightly and brushed her hands against the knee length skirt she wore today.

"No, of course not. Although I can't believe how dust can be so difficult to remove from a surface."

'Go for the bait. Change the subject,' she silently prayed and watched Scabior place a hand on his hip.

"You would've been finished by now if you used a wand like me, silly."

Thankful that he did not dwell on her momentarily sad face, Hermione averted her eyes and stared at her rag as she mumbled, "I like doing things the manually. It's the muggle heritage, I guess."

Scabior sighed loudly and had Hermione look at him again. He had removed his clothes on the upper body and his checkered pants hung low on his hips. In the light from the recently polished window, small pearls of perspiration could be seen clinging to his firm abdomen and the dark hair on his chest as well as the narrow trail below his navel shone when he moved to scratch the back of his neck. Hermione got herself an appeasing display of his muscular arms and the fading Dark Mark before she reined herself in and turned back to her task.

The weakness Scabior had experienced the first days he spent in the cottage had disappeared and he had mentioned a need to get back his former strength. He usually went out to run in the area just after daybreak before he returned happy, invigorated and panting to their bed. Although, if Claire had returned from her work, Hermione would refuse to do anything sexual no matter how hard Scabior tried to persuade her into warming _all_ of him. But the dark nights belonged to her and her lover, who's diligence brought her pleasure every time they became one. The only disadvantage was that Hermione's body had learnt that satisfaction came from the snatcher and so, now on cue she felt herself became aroused and damp.

Hermione breathed so heavily through her nose that a small spot of mist appeared on the glass in front of her. To distract herself, she asked him with a fairly steady voice, "If you used magic, then why are you so sweaty, if I may ask?" A chuckle was heard behind her and she looked over her shoulder to see him rub his stomach in a carefree manner.

"Couldn't resist taking a peek at me, huh? Reminds you of last night when I lit the lamp and..."

"Scabior! Hush! Your mother is in the house!" Hermione interrupted with flushed features, momentarily forgetting the things she worried about. Scabior winked at her and tossed his head so his wild hair flew back.

"And..., as I was saying, by the way, you try pushing furniture around _and_ sweep the floor with one wand. It ain't possible."

"You should have called for my help. Or better up; first removed the furnitures with magic and then started to clean the floor with magic too, Hermione suggested. Scabior snorted indignantly.

"And it would have taken twice the time to get the kitchen and this room finished. I preferred two forces working at the same time: my wand and myself and be done with the wench's latest idea."

"Scabior," Hermione said reproachfully but felt the corners of her lips turn upwards, "it's your own mother you're talking about."

"My mother who's doing my head in ever since she cut down on the Firewhiskey. I'm telling you, she's lost it."

Scabior obviously pretended to be sincere but he did not fool Hermione. She laughed genuinely at his whining before she finally returned to her window-sill. On the opposite of what Scabior thought of cleaning, she enjoyed being helpful and she only had this bloody area left.

"Pen...fuck it, I can't say it! Beautiful, are you done soon?" came a soft voice from behind. Hermione loved that soft, seductive tone that was contained inside such an, at times, intimidating man. She nodded and scrubbed even harder at the surface. Without a sound as he moved, Scabior suddenly stood right behind her and placed his hands on either side of her own on the window-sill. Hermione stopped moving and held her breath in expectation.

His body caged her in and he leaned forward slightly, molding his body into hers and letting her feel just how hot his chest was. Very carefully, he blew air on her neck which made her automatically tip her head back and fully show the tender skin that begged to be sucked and licked. As he nuzzled her neck she felt his arousal poke into the small of her back and she could tell she got wetter.

"Enough hard labour for today, treasure. Let's head back to our little nest," he whispered and made Hermione tremble. Finally unable to not show him any affection back, she wrapped her fingers around his forearms and became aware of the contrast between the hairy, sinewy upper side and the smooth, damp lower side. Completely forgetting his last words, her left thumb grazed the outlines of his black tattoo and she felt how he flinched.

"Don't touch that, sweet love. It's too dark for you."

"I'm sorry. I just discovered it has faded. Quite interesting, actually."

Scabior leaned further over her shoulder and she guessed he took a look for himself. "Yeah, I've seen that too. Must be because the Dark Lord has cut the links to me and the fact that I'm currently far away from the evil in England," he murmured in a contemplating voice before he removed his hands from the surface and instead put them on Hermione's hips. She bit down on her lip to subdue the moan that was wrenched from her. She knew somewhere in the mists of lust what road Scabior was taking her on but did not mind it at all. Her body was openly crying out for him.

He rocked against her bum and said through gritted teeth, "Ya're so sexy in that nice-lookin' skirt. Yer arse looks fucking edible under the tight material covering it."

He nibbled on her ear and began to bunch up the hem of the skirt, caressing her naked thighs as he revealed them. "Such a naughty witch, eh? Standin' bent down, teasin' me with a good view o' yer asset. Shame on ya."

He touched her burning inner thigh when…

"Oh, fer the fuckin' love o' Merlin! Not in my own bedrrom, ya 'orny bastard!"

Hermione frozed and with dread replacing her desire, she looked around. Behind the foreground with Scabior's flexing bicep, in the doorway, stood a very annoyed Claire.

"Hello to you too, mum," Scabior drawled sarcastically over his shoulder as he took a step away from Hermione and let her skirt fall down.

"Look, I don't butt in on whatcha doin' after dark but I do mind when ya're shaggin' in my bloody room. For fuck's sake, Scabior, at least 'ave the decency ta keep yer funny business private fer 'er sake!" Claire remarked curtly and crossed her arms in front of her chest. Hermione thought she would die from mortification and opened her mouth to apologize when Scabior gave her a quick glance as if advising against speaking.

"Calm down, mum. It was just innocent snogging, that's all," he commented.

"Innocent? When it comes ta ya an' women, nothin's innocent! Can't ya fer once be'ave like a proper pureblood an' think 'bout other's comfort? An' yes I mean myself an' that bird o'erthere." Claire chided while sighing dramatically. Hermione glanced at Scabior who drew himself up with impressive dignity despite the awkwardness of the situation.

"I did think about you lot. That's why I didn't drag Penelope out to the living room where you were napping only minutes ago. And for the record; Snatcher rule No. 20 says that when a snatcher hooks up, you better stay away if you don't fancy having your private parts hexed beyond recognition."

Claire rolled her eyes and said in a bored tone, "An' the rules I've taught ya state that a pureblood always respects 'is parents an' when in a pureblood home, do as the pureblood 'abitants. Yer bloody snatcher rules won't apply 'ere, boy. I suggest ya stop yerself from screwin' that that bird now an' take 'er ta the livin' room. I've made the fer my 'ouse-elves."

Through the embarrassment, Hermione could hardly contain a laugh at Claire's name for her and Scabior and she ventured a look at Scabior as she heard the bossy woman walk away. Scabior ruffled his hair sheepishly before he cleared his throat and a tint of blush appeared on his cheeks.

"I think I now understand what you meant with; doing my head in," Hermione teased and stood on her toes to plant a quick kiss on his lips. At that, Scabior blinked and grinned down at her.

"Sorry you had to hear that. Perhaps it's better to either stay in our room or be outside when we get randy. I sure as hell won't stand another lecture like that."

"I agree," Hermione said, quite surprised at how fast she had recovered from the incident. The girl she had been before would have been mute with humiliation for days and probably avoided the man's touch so to not risk getting caught again. Apparently she had adopted some of Scabior's lighthearted manner. She patted his warm chest comfortingly and inched herself out from the space between him and the window-sill.

"Come along, fellow house-elf! We don't want to miss the tea," she let out in a sing-song voice but stopped short at the doorway when she did not detect the sound of Scabior's following steps.

"Are you really mocking Britain's finest snatcher? 'Cause if that's the case, I think you need to be punished."

He turned to face her in all his glory with a hungry and amused expression on his face. Hermione's eyes darted to the prominent bulge which crowded the crotch of his pants. Scabior winked at her and gestured at his arousal. "Why don't you run ahead. I can't calm myself down if you're here looking gorgeous. And I don't think mum would appreciate it if I showed up like this to her dandy teatime."

Hermione smiled and blew him a kiss before she trotted to the living room. She only hoped that her intimate moments with Scabior would make her departure easier, not harder.

* * *

As soon as Hermione had left, Scabior turned to face the clean window and leaned heavily with his hands on the now white window-sill. He bowed his head and frowned at his swollen member. "Relax, mate. She's gonna be back tonight," he silently addressed the cock that pulsed with sexual frustration.

He rolled his shoulders and looked up to distract himself from the temptation of easing the ache by fondling himself. Hermione did wielded power over him and he could easily drown out everything else when he touched her. But also her voice, the way she talked, her personality; it all entranced him and made him want to make her happy in every way possible.

When the throbbing cock became too much to bear, he groaned quietly and thrusted slowly into thin air, just not capable of taming the screaming instincts inside his male body. He stared testily at the abandoned rag on the surface, envying its complete softness.

It was one big mystery to him how Hermione almost had not done anything with other boys. What was wrong with the boys of the younger generation that made them ignore such a graceful creature. But then again, boys were not men and probably only chased girls with huge tits because they thought with their pricks, not their heads. But Scabior was utterly grateful that he had stumbled over this treasure who had given so much to him.

And yet, in spite of this bliss, he had recently detected a shadow flashing across Hermione's face when she did not know he was looking. He had not summoned the determination to ask her about it, assuming it had something to do with her friends and all the other things that weighted her small shoulders. Because whenever she saw him, she absolutely beamed with joy so he guessed it had nothing to do with him.

But then there was that other thing which gnawed him and had him running longer distances for each day to rid himself of unease. Upon feeling the horrible worry seep into his veins, Scabior raised himself and staggered to his mum's bed before sitting down at it. He recalled perfectly Hermione's clear announcement that she would leave after two weeks. And even if he had relaxed in Ireland for many days, he had as the snatcher he was counted the days as they passed.

Allowing Hermione control over the plan, he had not pressed her for details until she had it all figured out and felt confident enough to tell him what they would do once they returned to England. To his confusion, she had, even if time was running out, kept silent and not shared anything whatsoever with him. As Scabior had tried to convince himself that nothing was wrong, the snatcher within roared constantly that something indeed was off, fishy, _wrong_.

While hunching his back with misery and cradling his head in his hands, he came to a conclusion.

Either he had nothing to worry about because Hermione would surely inform him when the time was right. He remembered that when she had been in his tent there had been something she did not let on about her and her friends' fight against the Dark Lord. She also seemed to have hope as if there was a way to defeat Him. And maybe that weapon was so secret and important that she simply hesitated on telling him. If that was the case, he would have to trust her and be prepared to leave with her soon.

_Or_ there was the other scenario which made Scabior cold from actual fear. Perhaps Hermione thought of leaving by herself and not bringing him with her. The very thought of it caused an eruption of feelings inside Scabior's warm chest. He dug his nails into the scalp. With his entire being he hoped that she did not plan to do that. Nevertheless, he could not afford to deny it and risk losing Hermione. That was why he frequently saw to be with her or find her if she was out of sight, like today when she was in one room and he in another. Because he did not know what he would do to himself if he found out he had accidentally allowed her to escape without him.

The dilemma made him tired but he promised himself he would always be there to protect his treasure, and certainly not let her sneak away to fight the Dark Lord all alone. She was too valuable for that. The nightmares he suffered from every night was always about Hermione getting caught and being held as a hostage to the gruesome and not merciful Dark Lord. Scabior had no intention of once again seeing Hermione's blood staining a floor.

Suddenly he felt the tug from his mind to find Hermione again. He rose and strode to the living room. And there she was, perched on the burgundy velvet sofa with a cup of tea and a plate with some sort of cookies. Upon hearing him, she turned from her conversation with Claire who sat on the other end of the sofa.

"Scabior! Claire just told me about your time at Hogwarts, but there is something I would like to ask you."

Her soft voice chased away the sorrow and he lightened up.

"Well, love; ask away. But I'm not gonna bring up anything about my first rendezvous with the Giant Squid. That's a story I'll keep to myself until my death." He even seemed to have gained Claire's attention and she pouted.

"What? There's somethin' secret ya're embarrassed o', boy? Well, expect some Veritaserum in yer next drink."

Hermione's eyes widened before she understood his mum's irony and laughed. "No, that was not it. I wondered what your full name is. Either of you have not told me how people address you formally with Mr and Mrs. I'm intrigued."

Scabior shot a quick eye at his mother's blue ones before she nodded her consent. He walked forward and sat down between the two women he cared for the most in the world and looked at Hermione.

"The truth is, Scabior is my first name but I prefer to only be called that. When it comes to my surname, I hate it. Mum had two choices when I was born. To name me after the shit-eating fucker or after the sniffy trolls in mum's family. Dragon pox or spattergroit, eh? But I'm glad that she chose the latter. I might have liked you less if you named me after _him_, mum."

Claire replied dryly, hiding a smirk, "Likewise."

Hermione cocked her heads and asked, "So, what were you called at Hogwarts?" Scabior licked his lips before he confessed.

"Mr Blishwick. And curse you if you laugh. I've been ridiculed enough for it."

But Hermione did not even snicker. Instead, her eyes travelled searchingly over the two paintings that covered a wall. "I remember in History of Magic we once covered the pureblood families in England. The Blishwicks. Aren't you related to the Blacks, then?"

Claire sneered. "Yeah, our distant cousins. Too bad that lot got all the dough an' we were left with close ta nothin'."

Hermione shrunk back and Scabior decided to lessen the bitterness from his mother.

"But mum, at least we two haven't been afraid of working hard to get what we want. I reckon we're richer now than the rest of that pompous clan. You see Penelope," he explained leaned forward, with hands waving in the air and little fingers outstretched as if he was one of them, "they are too pure to descend to take a job. All they want is to sit and drink away their money while gossiping. So the only way they can get some money is to marry purebloods from richer families and get allowance to spend as they wish. Sodding parasites."

Scabior shook his head and suddenly felt a hand on his back but grew surprised when it turned out it belonged to his mother. She was not known for showing physical affection towards him, especially among other people. He stared at her and she had an odd, sentimental glossiness in her eyes.

"My dear son. Ya've inherited that pride from me."

She said no more but did not need to because Scabior understood what she meant. Hidden from Hermione, he mouthed his love to his mother who rubbed his back soothingly.

Then, Claire retracted her hand and cleared her throat while Scabior leaned back to rest against the soft velvet.

"I almost forgot; Scabior I need yer 'elp tonight at the pub," his mother uttered and he lifted an eyebrow, waiting for explanation.

"It's there I meet my personal vendor and buy food. But the wanker 'as started ta jabber 'bout 'ow 'e must raise the prices. Blames them swarmin' refugees, 'e does. But I doubt 'e ever sells somethin' to them; since they're all broke when they arrive 'ere. I think 'e just wants ta fool me an' take all sickles I've got. I'm sure 'e'll come around if ya could just show up an' calmly _advise_ 'im ta keep the ordinary prices. Oh, an' bring Penelope too, if ya want."

Scabior pondered the request. Since it was Ireland, he probably would not be recognized as the Death Eater who was persona non grata. And he would bring his wand to defend himself if it came to that. Besides, this could be the perfect opportunity to get some news from the war in England. Also, he could keep an eye on Hermione if she accompanied him. He sighed and rolled his head on the cushion so he could look at Hermione.

"What d'you say, beautiful? Wanna see mum perform an' men getting drunk?"

"Why not? Besides, it's getting boring here with you in my tail all the time," she joked and screamed when Scabior swiftly reached out and tickled her stomach.

Claire chuckled, "I knew she could 'andle ya, Scabior. I'm thankful fer your 'elp, but I'm sorry ta be a cockblocker tonight."

Scabior swirled around and attacked his mum's belly with his hands.

After the rapture of laughter had died in the suddenly very cosy living room, the two women leaned tiredly against Scabior who breathed heavily. Honestly, he would be content staying like this forever. But then, the war always seemed to interfere his idyll with problems he did not ask for.

* * *

**Review, please! I want and need your opinion! Kiss, kiss.**


	31. Chapter 31 Fears

**Hello, everybody! From now on, big things will happen in the story; dun dun dun! Sadly, I'm going to take a major in History this autumn, which will be fun but I have a hunch I won't be able to update as often as I would like to. But don't despair! I will never leave this story unfinished!**

**Thanks for all reviews, alerts and favorites; each one of them make my day brighter, honestly. Give me more!**

**And this chapter is dedicated to the beautiful theundyinglands for making a wonderful banner to me! Check it out on my homepage; it's really gorgeous! So long!**

**Inspirational music: This is war by 30 seconds to Mars**

* * *

Chap. 31 Fears

"I still don't understand why she had to drink that potion," Claire repeated for the probably tenth time as the three of them walked towards the apparition point outside the protecting shields around the cottage.

Scabior growled testily, his patience already wearing thin since he had waited a long time for his mother and Hermione to get ready. Merlin knew women could occupy themselves when it came to clothes and make-up. Therefore, as soon as the females had declared their preparations finished, he had promptly offered his arm to his mother, hoping to speed things up if he dragged her across the field.

But he could not deny his mother looked beautiful, perhaps even more than usual, due to her reduced drinking. Her face was considerably less puffy and gone was the haziness in her blue eyes. Her red hair had been neatly done in an elegant bum and she wore a long, green dress with a generous skirt and long sleeves. Claire looked like some sort of medieval witch from an ancient myth.

Scabior threw a glance behind him to ensure Hermione could keep up. And once more he startled upon taking in her new appearance, seeing as she did not look like herself. She had taken a Polyjuice potion to conceal her real identity and so, she now had straight, blonde hair reaching to her shoulders, freckles on her nose, light-blue eyes and a longer, more voluptuous body clad in a pink summer dress and a white cardigan.

Scabior's mum had handed the dose and a hair to Scabior when he had asked for it. He knew his mother had all kinds of weird but convenient things stored away in the house. But he had easily kept himself from asking more questions when he laid eyes on the various sorts of hair, not particularly keen on knowing why his fiftyyear old mother had polyjuicepotion and hair from, what he suspected to be, young women. He could survive without details of Claire's romantic liaisons.

He still had not completely adjusted to seeing a blonde girl at his side instead of Hermione. He preferred the latter.

Scabior muttered to Claire, "It's just a precaution so she won't get into trouble for being so young. Why can't you leave it at that, already?"

Claire glared at him and said calculatingly, "Not a good enough excuse fer me, boy. I'd say there's somethin' else behind this. I think that fer some reason, ya don't wanna 'ave anyone recognizin' Penelope. Come ta think 'bout it; didn't she told me that the Dark Lord 'ad a certain interest in'er?"

Scabior whipped his head around to face his mother who wore a smug grin on her face. Apparently the lack of inebriation had made her mind sharper. And now she had come too close to the truth for his liking.

"Be quiet, woman! I don't wanna 'ear another sound from ya 'til we're at the pub. And don't share yer thoughts with anyone. Unsterstood?" he snarled in a threatening tone. Merlin help his mother if he found out she was responsible for outing Hermione in any way. Claire's thoughts had spurred on the nervousness inside him and he began to question the whole idea with going to the pub. Claire noticed his slowing, hesitating steps and yielded.

"Okay, okay! I won't say nothin' from 'ereon. Calm down, boy, ya're more uptight than a wizard who's seen the grim. It'll just be a fun evenin' at the pub where ya can enjoy yerself after the meetin' with my vendor."

"Fine, mum." At that, Scabior experienced a shift in the air and a shiver ran down his spine. They had passed through the wards.

Attentive as always towards Hermione, he turned around and called, "Watch out, love! There's wards ahead of you." She looked up and smiled at him. And somehow he recognized the facial expression in the blonde woman. His Hermione was right there. He breathed out his anxiety and reached for her hand when she had crossed the wards.

"Take my hand. We're gonna disapparate from here."

She gave him a quizzical stare and said, "But I'm perfectly capable of disapparating by myself. And Claire showed me a picture of the pub so I know what to focus on. We don't have to disapparate this way."

Scabior frowned. He knew that side-along-apparation was not a pleasureable way of travelling. And he knew Hermione could apparate like any bright witch of her age and his suggestion had nothing to do with him thinking she was too fragile to do it alone. But he did fear she would choose to escape to England if she was on her own. He needed to prevent that.

"But I have to. I have to hold you, beautiful. It's the only action I'll get tonight if I know my mother right."

"'ey! I'm standin' right 'ere!"

Scabior felt his patience waver and pointed out, "We only got one hour before Penelope changes back. Don't waste time and let's get going already!" And then he felt a soft hand slide into his own and he heard _her_ voice. "You're right, Scabior. We need to go. But you don't have to worry about me. I'll be fine, I promise. And I brought my wand."

Scabior clenched his fingers around her hand and lifted their joined hands to his lips and kissed her knuckle. She drew nearer freely and wrapped her other arm around his waist.

"Right. Mum, you ready? One, two, three!" he blurted out and waved his wand. To him, it was the best disapparation he had ever done; hugging Hermione to his chest.

* * *

When they landed safely, the air was filled with joyful noises and a golden light coming from a big house. The atmosphere of The Lucky Leprechaun had not changed since Scabior's last visit a few years ago. Not even the war seemed to have affected the people inside the pub. The only trace of the war seemed to be a sign which read: Rooms for rent; two galleons per night, no rooms available.

Scabior released Hermione from his grasp and watched his mother stroll to the entrance. He gestured to Hermione to follow and all of them ventured inside. A gush of heat licked his face and the smells of many people crammed together, alcohol and tobacco assaulted him at once. As he made his way through the crowd of varios wizards and witches of all age and not all Irish, his gaze travelled around the room.

This pub was far better than the one in Leeds. Drinking booths were placed along three long walls and every one of them was occupied. In front of the fourth wall was the bar and the many bottles on the shelves behind it would surely make a person forget the initially intimidating proximity to others. Beside the bar a stage had been built and Scabior gathered that was where his mother performed when she did not serve drinks. For the moment, a charmed fiddle hovered above the stage and played a happy tune. As a whole, the pub gave the impression of being very cosy and welcoming.

Scabior caught sight of his mother and she began to, not very discreetly, point her finger insistently at one of the booths. He nodded and turned around to address Hermione who moved shakily as if the inevitable pushes bothered her. Scabior helped her by throwing out his arm and hook his fingers on her cardigan. A forceful pull had her pressing between the last obstructing couple and crash against his leather coat. She looked up at him with gratitude and stole his breath away.

"What are you playing at, love?" he asked, confused but intrigued by her endearing shyness.

She swallowed before she answered in a small voice, "Sorry. It was just long ago since I last saw this many people. Why are there so many in a pub do you think?"

"Either they try to forget the war, or they want to know if there's any news from it. A lot of them are likely refugees."

Hermione's face saddened and Scabior experienced an immediate need to comfort her. He put one protecting arm around her shoulders and bent down slightly to her temporarily higher ear.

"Don't. There's nothing you can do for them and besides, to me it looks like most of them are cheerful. Do like them, treasure. Pretend like there's no war tonight. Smile for me."

He dragged his nose over the tender skin on her neck and she trembled. He leaned back and put some distance between them.

"Okay, I'm gonna sort out this thing with mum's vendor. It won't take long. But I don't want you to come with me." 'You are too pure to see what I've learnt to do.' "I'll get distracted by you and your scent."

She absentmindedly touched her neck and breathed out, "Can your really smell me under her?" She meant the woman she currently looked like.

"Why, I am the best snatcher. Of course I'll always find _you_ no matter what you hide under," he said clearly, aware of the double meaning of his comment. But Hermione seemed ignorant of it and smiled with glittering eyes at him.

He retracted his arm and chuckled, "There you go. Now go and get yourself a drink or two. And stay where I can see you. Salazar knows men can get randy when they've had some Firewhiskey and detects a gorgeous girl standing alone."

He winked jokingly at her and thrusted some sickles he had borrowed from his mother into her palm. She closed her hand and swept around to find an empty spot in front of the bar so she could order.

Scabior felt calm enough to change his focus and began to make his way over to his mother who stood at a table and had her hands firmly placed on her hips. She was talking to a man who sat down with a bottle.

Scabior got the feeling this vendor was different from his own provider Chuck. This man was in his forties and had some grey strands in his brown hair. He wore an immaculate costume which did not fit in on Scabior's idea of a dodgy seller in wartime. A thin moustache covered the man's upper lip and gave him an air of dignity, or pretentiousness as far as Scabior was concerned. Costume or not, at the end of the day all vendors were greedy and exploited the poor buyers. Why else was the vendor the only man in the entire pub who looked wealthy?

"Mrs Blishwick, I am terribly sorry if I in any way have caused you any inconvenience but the fact remains; in order to deliver provision to so many customers, I have to look far and wide to find enough to satisfy all of them. Ergo, I am tragically compelled to raise the prices."

The man even sounded snotty and Scabior disliked him even more because of his bullshit reasoning. Any kind, _human_ human would not fool people in need and build a fortune of their life savings in hard times. Claire tsked.

"Quit the act, Charlie O'Boyce! Ya're startin' ta sound like on o' them gaffers in the old Ministry. Think ya can win by talkin' down ta people an' frighten 'em ta obedience, huh? Well, it doesn't work on me!"

Charlie huffed and licked his thin lips as his observant eyes darted to Claire.

"Mrs Blishwick, first of all; please refrain from calling me Charlie, and secondly; I have never had the audacity to treat my customers like my, shall we say, _less_ proper colleagues."

Claire smiled cordially but Scabior sensed the ice decorating her lips. "Well then, Charles." The vendor bowed his head at Claire's courtesy and yet, everyone could see the malice when he thought he had won the argument.

She continued with a collective voice, "Please call me Claire. It's my name and it would be a 'ell o' a shame if it wasn't used. All this fuckin' talk 'bout audacities, ergos an' shit made my stupid 'ead tired. I think it's better if _my son_ continues with my errand."

Charlie gaped like a fish above water and suddenly lost his self-proclaimed composure. His small eyes blinked in utter bewilderment before he saw Scabior right beside Claire, staring with disgust at the man. Charlie sputtered, "Your… your son? Figure that. You never told me you had a son."

Claire inspected her nails intensely and aretorted with a bored tone, "Oh, 'aven't I? Silly me fer not rememberin' that. Then introductions are needed. Scabior, this is Charlie; the _only_ food vendor in the area." Scabior nodded while still supervising the squirming figure. Charlie had probably not expected a grim-looking man to join the dealing. 'Fucking pig! He knows all this people have to buy from him and he can set the prices as high as he wants,' he thought with raising irritation.

"And Chalie, meet Scabior who's back from England. I guess all that busy snatchin' made ya wanna come ta Ireland an' relax fer a while, right boy?"

The colour drained from Charlie's face and he stuttered, "A… a snatcher?"

"Yep, an' a pretty good one too. Well, there's drinks ta serve an' ya've got ta solve the misunderstandin' o' my deal with ya, Charlie. Ta ta!"

Inside, Scabior laughed loudly at his mother's fierceness but on the outside, he had to keep frowning as he seated himself on the other side of the table. Apparently even Charlie had heard something about the snatcher gangs in England, and their ruthless ways. He lifted his hand and held out his shirt collar with one finger before he cleared his throat.

"So, Scabior is it? Lovely mother you have." His attempt of small talking failed completely when he noticed the serious look on Scabior's face.

"Mum had to interrupt me on my holiday and bother me with this. I'm not in a good mood, Charlie," Scabior muttered.

"Yes! Mothers! A punishment everyone has to endure," Charlie exclaimed excitedly, obviously thinking he had found a way to agree with Scabior.

"Are ya insultin' my mother, ya prick?" Scabior growled and leaned forward.

"No! No! It was not my intent to… Merlin, tell me what to do!"

And for the first time during the conversation, Scabior smiled, though it rather unnerved Charlie than calmed him.

"I _suggest_ you don't raise your prices for anyone. People will still have to turn to you if they want food, so you won't end up poor, trust me. Because if you _do_ change the prices, I think people will know of it pretty fast and get angry at you. Who knows what a furious mob might do. You could be in danger, Charlie."

At the last words, Scabior had stopped smiling and tapped his silver ring hard against the table. Charlie jumped on his seat and wiped gathering sweat off his forehead. And yet, Scabior could not muster even a tiny bit of pity for the man.

"I, eh, I believe I now see the logic behind Claire's reasoning. The food prices are at an acc… acceptable level as it it for both me and my customers. No need to change that, right?" Charlie said haltingly, unsure of the snatcher's reaction. But Scabior grinned and scooted out of the couch.

As he straightened his coat, he stated formally, "I'm glad my advice came to use. Now, I'm off to get myself a drink. Good evening, Mr O'Boyce."

Just as Scabior left the vendor, the lonely fiddle was accompanied by a tin whistle and a drum, equally as charmed as the first instrument and together they began an up-tempo melody that made the whole pub cheer and some even started to dance despite the limited space. Scabior scanned the room for Hermione's taller, blonde figure and found her sitting at a couch far away. Only the back of her head was visible but the snatcher within knew right away its lover was present.

Scabior relaxed and headed towards the bar where his mother stood behind the counter and poured drinks as if her life depended on it.

"Scabior! Did the little chat solve our minor disagreement?" she said subtly as she paused her movements.

"It went well. And I think I made a deal every buyer will benefit from. How about that?"

He grinned contently and in his peripheral vision he saw Charlie storm out of the pub.

"My dear boy. Ya're a downright chaser in shinin' quidditch robes! Thanks fer yer help."

Scabior felt his cheeks heat at the epithet his mother bestowed on him and decided to get his drink. "You've got something for my thirst, mum?"

"Yeah, there's a very old Firewhiskey in the cellar. An' don't worry; it's on the 'ouse fer ya." The man beside Claire coughed but she turned to him and patted his arm.

"Oh, come on Desmond. I know ya like ta act like a grumpy pub owner but after some beggin' ya're as generous as the owner of the Honeydukes. Please see this as me properly welcomin' my son."

Desmond rolled his eyes and said in a capitulating and Irish voice, "A'right lass. Do as ye want. Ye ain't gonna listen ta me opinion anyway."

Claire practically sprinted through a door and disappeared, which left Scabior in an awkward position.

"Thanks, Desmond. And I suppose the business is going splendid with all these people every day."

Desmond threw a towel over his shoulder and leaned heavily against the counter. It appeared most of the crowd had been served and no-one was currently ordering at the bar.

"Yeah, but most o' the lot are from England. Nasty war that one. Many didn't even have the chance ta pack their belongings. I wouldn't be able ta stand meself if I charged everyone o' 'em fer each drink an' meal they 'ave 'ere. But at least it's fun ta watch 'em enjoy 'emselves."

He nodded at the dancing couples and the circle of onlookers who clapped their hands to the rhythm of the drum.

"Though, soon I'll 'ave ta tell 'em ta quiet down. Must let the wee ones in the rooms upstairs sleep."

Scabior raised his eyebrows. "Kids? So whole families have left England, then? The fucking Dark Lord. I bet he likes messing with everybody."

Desmond agreed solemnly. "Our latest newcomers told us yesterday that it's worse than last time 'e tried ta take o'er. Neighbours an' mates report each other out o' fear when His supporters come an' want ta know where muggleborns an' halfbloods are hidin'.

Desmond quietened down and Scabior sought out Hermione's blonde hair, the gnawing worry suddenly returning.

"She's yer girl?"

He nodded.

"Ye're a lucky lad then, Scabior. Keep 'er safe."

'Oh, I intend to.'

"Desmond, you wouldn't know of any good jokes, would you? She's fond of them, you see."

Desmond brightened and scratched his beard.

"I've got one, but it's a tad raunchy. 'ere it goes; what would a horny fish do in front o' a door in the sea?"

"I know!" Claire screamed triumphantly as she came back with a dusty bottle in her hand. "See peep'ole!"

Scabior laughed out loud and grimaced. "Eww, that made a nasty image appear in my head. Thanks a lot!"

Desmond shook with glee and held up his hands.

"'ey, I warned ye! Now take yer whiskey an' run along, lad." Scabior grabbed the glass from his mother and swallowed the content in one gulp. This whiskey did taste better and stronger than the common ones did and its flavour lingered on his tongue. He raised the empty glass to his mother and to Desmond before he placed it on the counter and went to entertain Hermione.

* * *

As soon as Hermione had acquired her butterbeer from the friendly Desmond, she looked around after an unoccupied table. Right then, as more people began to wander over to the stage as if enticed by the jaunty fiddle, some of the suffocating throng vanished.

She walked to the wall opposite of the one where Scabior talked some sense into a vendor. Disappointed to find the first booth filled, she continued her search until she spotted the last one which was partly hidden from view due to the broad bar area. She could see the back of somebody's head but otherwise, the booth was empty.

"Excuse me, would it be alright if I…"

Her voice died when she walked forward and saw the man's face. She had not expected this!

"Seamus?"

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**What do you think? Send a review, please.**


	32. Chapter 32 Conflicts

**Hello y'all! So, for my own convenience I'll combine the books with the movies when it comes to Seamus. It's nothing serious, but HP-experts beware. Thank you for all positive responses I got after the last chapter. I treasure each review, smile every time I see someone has put me on her/his Favorites lists, and give a dignified nod at every Alert. And I'm not ashamed to admit it! Anyway, this is sycamoretree to the tower; drama is ready for takeoff. Enjoy your flight!**

**Inspirational music: The beauty and the tragedy by Trading Yesterday  
**

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Chap. 32 Conflicts

Seamus Finnigan turned his head and observed her with suspicion mixed with a bit of boyish interest.

"I'm sorry, do I know ye?"

Hermione was reminded of her different body, the importance of keeping her identity concealed and the fact that Seamus was a half-blood. She had to handle this with the greatest care to not endanger any of them.

"Yes, I'm a friend from your year in Gryffindor."

As expected, Seamus straightened himself from his half-lying position on the couch and lifted one side of his jacket. He took out his wand from an inside pocket and aimed it straight but subtly at Hermione.

"Gryffindor ye say? Then tell me something about me only a Gryffindor would know." His eyes were half lidded to a vigilant stare and Hermione rummaged in panic through her memories.

"When we were in Third year and studied the boggart in DADA, it turned into a banshee when you met it."

Seamus frowned before he raised the wand slightly and hissed out, "I need something better." At that, Hermione realized that their lesson with Lupin had been shared with the Slytherins too. She should have thought of that.

"Okay, but what about that time in Fifth year when you were in your dormitory and almost got into a fight with Harry because you didn't believe the Dark Lord was back?"

This time Seamus looked amazed and whispered hoarsely, despite the protecting noise from the instruments, "Only my mates from the dormitory were there that time. Who are ye? Scarhead? King?"

Relieved that he actually believed her, as he lowered his wand, Hermione understood his none too obvious names for Harry and Ron. She shook her head and let out, "S.P.E.W."

For a moment Seamus was stunned as if processing her answer before his eyes widened and he launched himself at her arm and brutally pulled her down onto the couch before he looked round as if expecting a danger luring nearby.

"Hermione? What the bleeding hell are ye doing here?" he whispered urgently and his anxiety fuelled Hermione's own.

She leaned closer to his ear and said barely audibly, "I don't have much time, Seamus. I've taken a Polyjuice Potion. Tell me the biggest news, please."

Seamus swallowed before he grunted.

"Alright. I'm not at Hogwarts anymore because ma wanted me to come home. Things are horrible at school now. The Carrow siblings are _teaching_ and punish the students when we're objecting to their pureblood propaganda. But there's not safe just 'cause ye're out of school. I've been hiding here ever since I left Hogwarts and I think I'm better off than the ones who are on the run in England. I listen to Potterwatch whenever I can and the new trend for the Dark Lord is to capture people who in some way know Scarhead. Every time I listen, there's reports of new abductions. Our side didn't know about your fate until the Order freed Scarhead and King and they told them. We haven't heard a thing from ye for months! Some of us were beginning to think ye were dead, S.P.E.W."

Seamus hunched his shoulders as if the tragedy of his news even affected him physically. Hermione wanted to comfort him but knew she did not have the time. She looked around to see if Scabior was done with his conversation but could not see him in anywhere.

"Don't worry, Sea. I'm in safety at the moment. But I'm going to return to England soon and I wonder if you have any contact with anyone in the Order."

She spoke quickly and Seamus looked up at her with sincere eyes before he beckoned her closer. Acting like a young woman together with a young man, she leaned on his shoulders and brushed her blonde hair away from her ear which rested right beside his mouth.

"I can get into touch with Ginny. I think she'll be able to send a Patronus to people in the Order and ask for passwords or locations to their safe houses. Maybe they'll even send someone over to get ye here."

Now, Seamus began to regain hope and for some reason, Hermione got the feeling this was not the first time he came up with a dangerous but ingenious plan.

"Really good thinking there, Sea. I think I'll be able to get away later tonight. Tell Ginny to pass along the message to the Order that I'll be waiting by this pub until dawn. Just don't, you know, reveal too much in case the message gets intercepted."

Seamus snorted and threw an arm around her sholders as any normal boyfriend would do with a normal girlfriend.

"S.P.E.W, I'm in the reestablished DA, or was when I was at Hogwarts not long ago. We've learnt how to play the game and fool these disgusting Death Eaters."

Hermione turned her head again and discovered that Scabior stood by the bar and talked with his mother. Again she felt a torturing pain stab her when she understood her departure was imminent and she would have to lie to him despite her breaking heart so he would not suspect anything. She heard Seamus turn his head too before he ducked down and dragged Hermione sideways so they could not be seen by anyone behind the couch.

"What's wrong? Is it him?" Seamus mumbled hurriedly as he tensed the hand holding his wand.

Hermione laid her hand over his and whispered in a calming tone, "No, I'm not in danger and neither are you. That's just the man I've been living with since my capture."

"Ye're a prisoner? He looks like he's on the Dark side. Don't worry, I'll get ye out of the pub now and bring ye to my home. My family will protect ye until you can travel back to England."

Hermione drew back from him with averted eyes. So much to tell and so little time. But she could not bear leaving Scabior just yet. There were still hours she needed so she in secret could say goodbye. Some hours. Many minutes. And yet too few seconds.

"Thank you for your brave offer, but I'm really fine with him. Trust me, Seamus, and send that message to Ginny. And don't meet me here tonight; it's too much of a risk for you with your blood status. And I would hate it if the plan fails and they take you as well."

Seamus grinded his teeth and regarded her grimly.

"You don't have to act valiant in front of me. I know the risks and I'll do what I think is right. I don't like the look of that man. Come with me now." His voice had turned insistent and Hermione had to fight the urge to defend Scabior.

"I'm perfectly serious and I said no," she responded curtly when a shadow fell over the table.

"Something wrong, love?" Scabior said in an ice cold voice that made Hermione's stomach lurch. She almost did not dare to look at him standing by their table.

Suddenly he grabbed her white cardigan and roughly hauled her up from the couch and away from Seamus. Scabior placed her behind him but kept the firm grip on the fabric and muttered so only she and Seamus could hear, "Love, tell me right now what that fucking wanker did to you."

Despite the turmoil of emotions already clouding her mind and the confusion of having to explain things so both of the men could understand, Hermione grasped Scabior's hand desperately and tried to avoid disaster.

"Scabior, it's not what it looks like! He was my friend at Hogwarts." She saw Scabior move his head slowly up and down as if sizing up Seamus who did not lean back any longer but frowned with sharp eyes at Scabior.

"_Was_? So he's not a friend anymore? Why then did he have his paws all over you?"

Hermione knew by the way he talked and the way his body began to tremble that Scabior was beginning to get furious and undoubtedly prepared to either pounce on Seamus or hex him. Seamus abandoned the apparent stare-duel with Scabior and eyed Hermione with concern. "Remember my offer."

Hermione held her breath and everything in the pub, even the sounds were drowned out as she awaited the next, expected move. Scabior whipped her around so she stood beside him, her pink dress twirling like the women's who were dancing at this very moment, but Hermione's dance was one she would rather flee from. Scabior growled at her and she lifted her eyes to meet his nearly black pools of fire ready to be unleashed. And she had to forbid her own eyes from conjuring water to extinguish his murderous, mad look that also held some hurt.

"What the fuck is 'e on about?" What offer? Answer me!"

At the last words, Scabior screamed and had it not been for his hand holding her cardigan, Hermione would have sunk to the floor, too tired and frightened to stand anymore. She had to protect Scabior and Seamus at the same time, calm Scabior down so he would not have all his attention fixed on her the entire night and find the strength to say goodbye, perhaps for all time to him. Scabior had been wrong. The war was always present and destroyed people and their lives.

She glanced at Seamus who, unnoticed by Scabior, pointed his finger at the wand in his other hand which was partly hidden under the table. She shook her head before she gazed with pleading eyes upon her lover.

Lying in front of enemies is easy; it's survival. But to lie in front of lovers and friends is harder because they minutely know the person before them and might see through lies. Then again, when it comes to lie for the sake of lover's and friends' survival; that is when lies become easy to tell and make believable. Because one does what one must to protect and spare the people one loves.

"Scabior, calm down. He just offered buying me a drink but I declined. No harm done."

And once more, whether it was luck or an answer from some deity, he fell for her bait. Though his jaw remained set, the black fires vanished from his usually warm eyes. He breathed out heavily and Hermione detected a scent she had smelt before on him, in his tent when she was cooking him a stew. His face was flushed but suddenly he blinked and shook his head like a dizzy dog. He let go of the white fabric and instead cupped her chin to search her face.

"Truth, love?"

Hermione ignored Seamus' confused expression and focused solely on Scabior. She gently slid her hand around the arm beneath her head and said with a steady voice, "Yes. But the time, Scabior."

Her subdued reminder made him tense and lower his arm. He allowed her to keep her hand on him and she would certainly not waste another chance to touch him before her departure. As in a haze, she felt Scabior's arm wound around her waist and escort her away from Seamus. Nothing needed to be said between Seamus and Hermione; both knew that the plan was in his hands now.

Some people peered out from their booths or turned their heads too look at her and Scabior but they soon returned to their drinking and dancing. Scabior brought her through the entrance and took to the left immediately, walking briskly along the house wall. The onslaught of darkness outside made it difficult for Hermione to see where she stepped and occasionally she tripped on the uneven ground which forced Scabior to steady her before he continued in his own pace. They went around the corner and the windows provided them with some light which helped Hermione.

The pub was a very large house and had some rooms behind the bar room, because she could spot a kitchen and a bedroom through two windows. She assumed it was Toby's quarters. She turned her eyes to the broad back displayed at her side and she started to chew on her lip. If Scabior was alright he would not drag her like this in the darkness. He turned another corner and she had to follow.

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Scabior had been able to keep his anger at bay so far but now his control slipped and he began to feel waves of heat roll off him in spite of the cooling air surrounding him. He looked at the wall beside him and was pleased with what he saw; no windows. Not even the upper floors had windows facing the backside of the house. Thus, it was darker here with the absence of golden light and only a grass field stretched out as far as he could see. He did not have the patience to disapparate home with Hermione. This privacy would have to do.

By tugging at her, he sent her into the wall, not violently but firmly before he placed his palms against the wall on either side of her head. He did not like her taller form but she looked scared enough anyway. He closed his eyes and pictured the girl he was so used to huddling before him as he inhaled and said silkily, "Do you think I'm an idiot?"

Through his sealed lids he imagined how she flicked her eyes unsurely before he heard her quiet voice. "What's the matter, Scabior?"

He laughed humorlessly and opened his eyes so they were only slits as he leaned closer into her.

"What's the matter? I'll tell you what's the matter. You must've believed I was a complete brainless fucker if you thought I was gonna buy that shitload of bullshit from you in there." He surveyed her expression like a hawk but her different face seemed void of emotion.

"I don't understand what you mean."

Her indifference infuriated him and with a snarl he punched the wall which proved to be a painful but adequate outlet for his rage.

"Do you need explanations? Fine, and listen well to me now. How could that fucking brat recognize you when you've taken a Polyjuice potion with a hair from probably _not_ a Hogwarts student?"

She wetted her lips with her tongue but Scabior was beyond getting distracted by such actions.

"I saw him sitting there and thought we could talk for a while. After some safety questions we knew it really was safe."

The snatcher within havocked and Scabior shook from the exertion of not surrendering his sanity.

"So you're saying that you revealed your identity just like that, in a pub full of people, not even bothering to use a silencing charm. That's fucking brilliant, Hermione Granger."

The last, sarcastic sentence had her eyes flash and suddenly she muttered in a sardonic tone, "Actually, I thought casting a spell would be far more suspicious than two people talking confidentially. People would have sensed the magic in the air."

Scabior did not acknowledge her argument and went on. "Talking? It looked more like he had his filthy tongue in your ear. What else did he do? What was his _offer_?"

She frowned and crossed her arms before her. He did not like that either.

"He and I are _friends_, nothing more and nothing less! We only talked silently so no-one would overhear and know he is a half-blood, okay?"

Her voice was stern but Scabior would not shy away.

"And his offer?"

She remained silent. And he was so afrid it concerned her plan to leave.

"Answer me!" he yelled and caught both her wrists and lifted them to press them into the wall behind her, securing them there with his strong muscles. She fought against her human bonds and whimpered but Scabior would not budge until he got his answers.

With a broken sob she replied, "I can't tell you! It's about the secret I share with Harry and Ron. I promised I wouldn't tell anyone else. Seamus only had some relevant information."

"Liar! Ya're lyin' ta my face! Ta me!"

He could not hide the hurt and the feeling of betrayal from his bellow.

She stopped moving and whispered, "Perhaps I am not lying. Perhaps you are simply not trusting me."

Scabior's face became grey and he released her arms which fell down listlessly at her sides. Suddenly he was incapable of breathing in her presence and strode away in a small circle, letting the gentle breeze cool his body, though to be honest he would prefer to have it numbed but the time available was not enough. It never was.

He turned back to her but now kept a distance between them. He could not stand touching her at the moment. However, his small peace of mind was disturbed when she touched another sense in him; with her scent. He groaned and rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. The fine whiskey had begun to kick in for real even though he wished to remain sober during this moment.

He let out with a wounded tone he had never used before, "Don't accuse me of not trusting you. 'cause I trusted you would tell me about your trip to England. I've waited almost two weeks for you to share it with me, to fucking enlighten me about what we'll do. But I was a stupid fool, wasn't I, Hermione. You're not gonna take me with you. You want to leave without me."

She raised her hands and covered her face as her body started to convulse. She was changing back but that was not why she shivered like a leaf in the now baggy dress and the cardigan with too long sleeves. Her knees buckled and Scabior watched her slide down the wall until she sat on her haunches and hid her face from view. His heart ached when seeing her in such distress and all energy had left him and he was afraid that if he moved one step towards her, he would crumble too.

"I don't want to leave you. Oh, Godric, I can't bear the thought! But I have to. I have to."

It was as if she talked more to herself than to him and somehow, that troubled Scabior far more than her tears.

"Hey, hey, love. I admit I'm a bit pissed off but it won't matter now. I'll join you."

She gulped and looked up at him, which made new tears stream down her face. "No. No, you can't."

He grew tired of her unreasonable protests and marched forward to help her up. Immediately she threw her arms around his neck and buried her wet face in his coat and cried silently. Scabior would have preferred exploring her face as they talked but he guessed Hermione was too upset. Instead, he held her shoulders and her head against him and sometimes caught her muffled voice, each time confronting it with logical objections.

"It's too dangerous. You could die."

"When they gave me the tattoo I knew what I was signing up for. Half my life has been dangerous. And about the dying part, you could die too and that would kill me. Let me come with you and protect you with everything I have."

"Harry and Ron would mistrust you and not allow you to accompany us. They wouldn't understand…us."

"Tell them it's either me and you or no Hermione at all. And if you cared about what others think concerning your private businesses, I doubt you would have started this relationship with _me_. The boys will have to learn to accept us."

"There are some things about the Dark Lord we can't tell you and eventually you'll get frustrated when you think you can't help us."

"All I care about is your welfare, treasure. And people have kept secrets from me before. It'll be fine."

"You can't follow."

"Yes, I can."

"No!" Hermione wrenched herself from his grasp and shoved him in the chest so he almost lost his balance. She paced back and forth between him and the wall while she waved her hands.

"It's all different now. We will act recklessly because of each other. And what happens if we get caught again? Do you remember, Scabior? When Bellatrix beat me, tortured me, until my blood ran along the marble in the Malfoy Manor. Imagine if the same thing happened again only it would go on for hours or maybe even days like it did for Harry and Ron. You would be forced to stand and watch, unable to help me as I scream and bleed and…"

"Shut up! I fuckin' remember, dammit! Don't ya think it's 'auntnin' me, too? Whenever ya're not around I'm fuckin' scared shitless something will 'appen ta ya. My snatcher, it…fuck! My whole being is terrified for you! That's how weak and how strong I am, Hermione. I depend on you being safe. Don't ask of me to stay here and look the other way as you run off."

He panted and frantically took in her appearance, needing the reassurance of seeing every detail he adored. Her red, puffy cheeks, the trembling lips, the loose and wild hair and her familiar and yet always alluring body. He was positive he knew her better than anyone else did and that included her sould and her personality.

She lifted her chin in defiance and uttered, "That's how I feel for you too. I don't want to lose you, Scabior. I love you."

He stood like a solid statue, finally numbed to his bones. Her pools of chocolate mocha were locked on his. He saw warmth. He saw beauty. He saw light. He saw her. And he saw love.

As a ghost, he floated through the night and reached her; his life, his treasure and backed her up against the wall to steady both of them.

"What did ya say, woman?" he croaked and felt a lump in his throat he had hardly ever experienced. She lifted those graceful fingers and laid them flat on his chest.

Not enough.

He took her hand carefully and roughly undid the top buttons on his green jacket. Her fingers were cool and soft and he guided them inside, shuddering when they swept over his chest hair before he pulled at the wrist and placed her hand directly over his heart. He leaned forward and pressed his forehead to hers as he breathed in her scent of vanilla and summer flowers.

"Say it again, beautiful."

She sniffed before she repeated in an emotional whisper, "I love you, Scabior, my love. I…care _so_ much about you. I can't help it."

"Shhh. Don't apologize for that, love. But I'm sorry for the way I behaved and screamed at you. But you know why, with your perceptive mind, don't you? You hold my heart. My heart is carried by your cool, gentle, and careful hand. You've carried it for a long time already. You've done what as far as I know has never happened before. You captured the heart of a snatcher, love."

He moved further into her, forcing her hand to press harder into him so she would feel his heartbeats.

"And as the non-masochistic and egoistical bastard I am, I'll die without it and without you. Hermione, I love you. I can't let you walk away alone. Because your holding my heart."

He suddenly felt very fragile and utterly exposed and he blinked away threatening tears, blaming the alcohol in his system for making his eyes water. But his words were true and honest and now he waited, for what? Mercy? Forgiveness? Verdict?

And then, Hermione conveyed with a gesture what she evidently could not with words.

She removed her hand, bowed her head and graced his heart with a kiss.

She lingered at his chest, crushing her full lips to him, moving them softly sideways, not seeking to arouse him but to _touch_ him. He cupped her face and tipped it back as he brushed away the evidence of her tears.

"Don't go without me." It was a pitiful plea from his poor but tangible soul.

"Okay."

Every ounce of fight left him and he dove in for a kiss. He needed to feel she forgave him for the argument. His worry was in vain, for she met him boldly with open mouth and quickly sought out his tongue. He inhaled sharply and felt his heart speed up, pumping love and desire for her into his hot blood.

After mingling their tongues until he was more aroused than ever, he broke off the kiss and rested his head in the crook of her neck. Right there he detected a foreign scent and began to lick and kiss away the foul smell from the obnoxious boy. It was an instinct he could not ignore. Hermione should only smell like herself or like him.

"Let's go home, sweetheart. We need to be alone with each other."

She moaned from his delicious assault on her neck and nodded. Not bothering walking anywhere else, Scabior held her close to his chest and disapparated from the pub.

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**Okay, I really loved some of the lines I wrote for this chapter. I love myself. Review if you want a happy author (pouting). Love you!**


	33. Chapter 33 Bondings

**Hello, readers! Thank you for the last interesting and many reviews you sent me! They are my treaures and motivation. Great things will happen next in this fic. And what about Scabior and Hermione? Well, you just have to read because I'm not giving you any spoilers, lol! Give me reviews and I'll give you chapters (I love a good bargain). See you at the bottom!**

**Inspirational music: Angel by Broken Door**

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Chap. 33 Bondings

As soon as they returned to the wards around the cottage Hermione grabbed Scabior by the collar and pulled him down for another eager kiss. Surprised but pleased with her enthusiasm, Scabior nibbled at her lips and breathed out, "Why do I get the feeling you're up for some make-up sex?"

Hermione answered by clutching the sides of his leather coat and dragging him through the protecting shields. Scabior admitted he was pretty randy at the moment but the fusion of lust and Firewhiskey in his blood, combined with the odd shiver in the air as he stumbled through the wards made him hard as steel. Her hands were currently unbuttoning his green jacket all the way and revealed more heated skin to the nippy night.

When the couple reached the frontdoor, Scabior stretched out his arm above Hermione's shoulder to open it for her but she nudged her head against the arm and sent it to the side. Scabior stopped and glared down at her. He caught look of a gleam in her eye, though before he could determine if it was remnants of a tear or a desirous glaze, she used what strength she had and switched their position so his back was pressed against the old wooden door.

Her hands greedily roamed his naked chest and hips and Scabior had a hard time understanding what had happened seconds ago, never mind pushing her away so he could think. When her mouth encountered his cold nipple and engulfed it with wet warmth, he jerked his head back and emitted a raspy groan.

He gently pushed her away from him and held her by the shoulders. She had never taken charge like this or dominated him and the fact that he enjoyed it was beside the point. He wanted to know why she acted this way and whether she was still angry with him.

"Shit, beautiful, easy there. We can slow this down. Keep your mouth and hands in check and give me a chance to open the door."

"Why?"

Her face looked innocent but a tug at the corner of her mouth revealed her amusement.

"So I can lay you down on our bed and love you for the rest of the night, of course," he sighed almost deliriously and smelt her on himself. Distantly he heard her mumbling something and he cocked his head to the side as he asked, "Sorry, what was that, love?"

"I said I want you to fuck me here."

His mouth went dry, his eyes dilated and all blood left his brain and surged to his crotch. She had never before used such words when they slept together but her fearless expression made him seriously question his own memory.

"What...what d'ya mean?"

He needed affirmation to make sure it was not an imagination from his slightly intoxicated mind.

"Fuck me. Here. Now," she repeated slowly and started to follow the visible veins on the back of his hands which still held her shoulders.

"Is this some sort of late reaction from our fight? I'm not complaining but are you sure what you're asking for, Hermione?"

Her answer was unbuttoning her cardigan and dropping it to the ground.

"I want to breathe in the open-air and be warmed by your cock. We've done it outside before, my love. I want you to fuck me hard so I will be able to feel you've been inside me when tomorrow comes. Please do it, Scabior."

Her fingers returned to the pink, large dress and fiddled with the fabric on her hip. Scabior's gaze was glued on the vision in front of him but he had to close his eyes from the beauty when he saw the knickers fall down her legs and she stepped out of them. She would be the death of him, again.

"Fine! Ya've won, woman! I'll fuck ya...with love, okay?" He opened his eyes but she was gone.

Before he had time to react, he heard her snicker to the right. Relief washed away the fear and he stepped closer to her as she stood leaning against the wall of the house. He grabbed her hip and squeezed it reproachfully.

"Aren't you a funny bird? he cooed but his eyes conveyed only burning intensity and promises. Hermione sobered up and reached up to help him take off the now much too warm coat from his broad shoulders. Scabior bowed down and with his teeth he made each strap fall down to her elbows which left her half-naked to him. A spring night's faint light illuminated her smooth skin and his interest peaked when she reached behind to remove her bra.

The nipples hardened quickly upon the exposure to the chilly night.

"So beautiful," Scabior mumbled and placed his thumb over one red nipple and began to massage it in slow circles. Hermione moaned weakly and arched her back. He was compelled to tend to the other neglected breast when Hermione writhed and shook her head.

"I can't wait. I need it, Scabior. I want you."

Her hips bucked into his groin and Scabior felt himself grow hotter by the second. Almost automatically his hands dropped to his belt and unbuckled it swiftly. He was close to unable to form a coherent thought because his cock pulsed with desire and readiness to thrust into the woman before him. After unbuttoning his pants he simply yanked them down to his knees, knowing that the tightness of the fabric would keep them there and that it would be a turn-off for both of them to have him struggle to take the pants off.

Hermione looked down at him and tenderly stroked his length with cool hands, nearly bringing him to the edge immediately. "Ughh, Hermione, love," he groaned and bunched up her dress to reveal her as well.

"Such a bloody wet and sweet pussy waiting for me." Beyond being able to resist the temptation, he swept on hand over her curls and dipped a finger deftly between the folds. Hermione closed her eyes, rolled her hips and clenched the hand holding him.

Scabior tensed his jaw and growled, "Careful, woman! Wouldn't want me to come until I'm deep inside you, now would we?"

He lifted his coated hand to the mouth and devoured her essence of salt and sweet while Hermione now excruciatingly tediously caressed his damp head with her thumb.

"Scabior, please. Fuck me now," she said with a purely serious expression on her face and Scabior's every fibre longed to obey her. Quite purposefully, he secured the skirt of the dress on her hip with one fist and splayed the other on her bare bottom.

"Contraception spell?" he asked warily but she smirked.

"I cast it on me before we left for the pub."

Pleased with her, he closed the small distance between their bodies and whispered to her ear like he knew she loved, "Lift your legs. I've got you."

Trusting arms wrapped around his neck and taut nipples pressed into his chest. The next moment he carried her weight and saw to catch a thigh and help it rest on his hip. The intimate embrace was new for Hermione but she seemed to adjust quickly and breathed evenly into his mouth.

"Good girl."

Scabior's hand had made its way down between their bellies until he finally found his proud cock. By leaning Hermione against the wall, he was able to relieve himself of some weight in order to bend his knees and position himself at her opening. He looked up into her misty eyes, her forehead frowning in lustful anticipation and her blood-filled lips, before he moved into her inch by inch until he stood upright, impaling her with his whole length.

Her breath hitched and she bit down on his neck as she tightened her thighs. Scabior felt himself being buried deeper than ever in her velvet tightness; simple gravity making it possible for her pelvis to easily touch his. But he felt another thing too.

Morgana knew he was ready to thrust away and all sensations were concentrated on his hidden part, and yet he sensed he would not fuck Hermione. Sure, he would give her what she asked for; mad, wild sex up against the wall of his mother's cottage.

But some native instinct told him that he was professing his love for her at this very moment.

Each thrust would be a seal on his honest declaration and hers, a promise that he would never leave her, would never stop loving or treasuring her. This was not the snatcher speaking, only the man inside.

When he began to move he truly gave her his entire heart. His act was not judicial as a wedding, nor was it binding like an Unbreakable Vow or life-changing like a Hogwarts letter. But it was irrevocably a frail bridge between good and evil; hanging above the chasm of consuming nothingness. Scabior built it, connected it to Hermione, stepped onto it, marched forward determinedly and did not look back. He even let go of the railing.

A particular deep thrust accurately angled brought his whole focus back to the present and he heard her cry out ecstatically and she hugged him with every muscle available.

"Scabior! Oh, so good! Don't stop! Merlin, don't stop."

"Look down at us," he gasped. She tipped her head forward and Scabior steadied himself as he separated their humid abdomens from each other and allowed her to see his glistening arousal slid in and out in an everlasting rhythm. She moaned and he dug his fingers into her hip and let out a ragged hiss,

"Do you feel it? How hard I am for you? How deep you permit me to ram in your sodden pussy? Feel the coldness on your shoulders."

He pushed upwards and met her gyrating her hips, eager to take all the pleasure she could get from him.

"But that's it, right? 'cause together we've chased away the cold. We're warming each other and creating our own burning warmth."

She locked her ankles against his cheeks and forced him to move faster inside her.

"Look at me, love."

She lifted her head and opened her eyes to him and he caught sight of gleaming tears. "I love you, Hermione. We're together and we love each other. I'm very okay with that."

She was close but then, so was he. Although, trembling lips and tears streaming down her face were not usual.

"Why are you...mnnn...saying these things? Why are you looking at me like that?" she blurted out in a half-sob and Scabior gave her a heated kiss before he liked away her tears. He understood if she felt confused or even scared by the intensity, for he had once experienced that too.

"I'm doin' this because I love ya, because ya're carryin' my 'eart an' because ya're now the most important person in my life. That's all, beautiful. Nothin' ta be frightened of. Now come fer me, sweet love. Let me fell ya tight around me."

On strained legs with his body poised and a tickling burn in his balls; he tilted her hips to the proper position and drove himself all the way into her and knew with triumph he had hit her spot. Her face became contorted as her back bumped against the wall, her mouth slack in pure rapture, round breasts moulded into his torso when she arched her back and her hair spilled over her drenched collarbones and got soaked at the ends. Her legs held him in a vicelike grip and her sex jolted, cramped and clenched around him until he no longer could keep his control intact. Salazar, the power she wielded over him!

With a roar to the black sky he burst to the last quakes of her climax and she whispered in complete surrender to him, "I love you. I love you so much. I'm sorry. So very sorry."

After some more erratic thrusts he stilled and panted in the crook of her neck and could only detect her scent. Order was restored in the universe.

"No, beautiful. You never apologize, remember. And let's forget the silly fight and everything else but us. I won't be parted from you for the rest of the night."

She did not persist. Instead she carefully untangled her legs and he lowered her gently to the ground, feeling how his softening and spent member slid out from her only to meet a brutal onslaught of freezing air. Instinctively thinking about Hermione's almost naked body, he pulled her close to keep it warm as he pulled up his pants and tucked himself in.

"Come on, let's get inside. Don't you know a piece of fabric around your waist is far from enough clothing when you're outside at night?" he murmured with a grin and he heard her snicker a little before he picked up her cardigan from the ground and promptly walked with her to the door and nudged her inside.

* * *

Hermione had feigned sleep for the last few hours, never falling for the temptation of closing her eyes and keep them closed for longer than a blink. She had stayed in the same position on Scabior's bed since he fell asleep, rightly exhausted by the long day of cleaning, arguing and at last satisfying sex. She too felt tired but she relished the delicious soreness in her neither region.

She glanced to the side without moving her head to not rouse Scabior. The dawn was approaching and the seagulls were already crowding the blue sky which could be seen from the clean window. It would be a beautiful day. But all she had had was the night.

She felt disgusted with herself.

Despite her love for Scabior she had taken and taken selfishly from him. She took his trust, his love, his faith, his deep thrusts; all for her own sake. She had used his lust to ensure he would pound into her so she could remember the feeling of him inside her all this day and perhaps the next. She had lied to him and tricked him into believing he would follow her on her journey.

When he had admitted his love for her she had been astonished but truly happy for a blessed moment. Then reality crushed her dream. How would he be able to love her when he found out what she had done?

Nevertheless, she would carry his heart as he had said; hide it well inside her soul and feed it with her own love if only to comfort herself. She had waited too long. It was time.

As carefully as she could manage, she lifted away Scabior's arm which had been draped across her stomach and inched away from the sleeping man until she no longer touched him. It felt awful.

She knew she had to proceed with caution so to not wake him up. The bitter whiskey she had smelt and tasted on his tongue last night should keep him asleep for longer than usual. But who dared to hazard her important task?

She looked around in the dim room that was so familiar now and spotted her wand on top of the pink dress she had worn yesterday for him. She picked it up and with a convenient spell all her old clothes and shoes were suddenly soaring through the air and covered her naked body in mere seconds. It would have been a minor challenge to get dressed the muggle way when every garment rustled.

Feeling less vulnerable, Hermione squared her shoulders and reached into one pocket in her jeans. She found what she searched for; a pre-written note to Scabior. He would never have looked there as she always wore something else. With quivering lips she recalled her words perfectly: _Scabior, I know you'll be angry when you read this. But I wrote this note so you wouldn't think I've been kidnapped by Death Eaters. I can't tell you where I'm going or what I plan to do. But I just wanted to let you know that I'll be alright, after all I have been so far. I'm sorry for betraying your trust but I had to make sure you wouldn't keep me from going yesterday. Apart from that, my love for you is still true. Don't go looking for me; you are threatened by both sides in this war. Stay in Ireland and keep your mother and yourself safe for the rest of the war, whatever the outcome might be. That's the best way you can help me in. Love, Hermione_.

She looked at the peaceful figure on the bed. It itched in her fingers to touch him one last time and savour yet another memory of him. But it was too dangerous now when dawn was so near. She put the note on the small night table and removed Scabior's wand from the surface, as she needed to render him helpless for some time. She placed it between the narrow space of a Slytherin banner and the wall, making sure the wand was visible so Scabior could find it later.

One last glance at his intriguing face and the wild hair with the red streak was all she could allow herself before she raised her wand at him and cast a non-verbal and simpler _Incarcerous_ and watched how ropes sprang from the tip and attached themselves to the four legs of the bed. Then they winded like snakes around Scabior's ankles and wrists but not tight and not stretching his limbs.

The ropes would keep him from escaping immediately and they would not harm him in the meantime. Still, Hermione could not phantom what his reaction would be when he woke up. Perhaps those bad memories from Azkaban would return and he probably would hate her for doing this to him. She hated herself for doing it. That was why she had apologized to him last night, only he did not understand what she truly meant by it.

Not able to stand seeing him oblivious of his captivity, she turned around and opened the door as stealthily as possible. Once outside she closed the door and breathed out. A few drops left her eyes and fell down onto the floor. She could no longer smell his scent of apples and widerness except for some faint traces on her own body.

Up until now she had managed to control her emotions but now she was hit by the memory of when she obliviated her parents. The dreadful feeling was the same. She would walk out of the house determinedly and once again give the impression that nothing was wrong. Only on the caring inside, she bled of sorrow and was tortured by every step she took which led her farther away from the ones she loved.

She missed Scabior already, like a swan missed a deceased partner.

She took an aching breath, hugged herself to get rid of that terrible cold which once again assaulted her, and walked away. The blue sky was irrelevant, as were the screaming seagulls. She did not trip as she moved across the field; she had just become used to the labyrinth of treacherous stones on the ground.

She marched briskly and stepped through the protecting wards. That was when she pulled out her wand and held it ready. Nothing but herself protected her now.

* * *

**Whaaat? What happened here? Did you expect Scabior would not follow Hermione or did I tricked you just like I did in chap. 21? Tell me your thoughts with a long or a short review, please. So long!**


	34. Chapter 34 Flights

**Hello again! Puh, this was a heavy chapter to write in many ways. But I'm quite glad how it came out. Now, my big school project is demanding a lot of time so don't be mad if it takes longer for me to update. I promise I write on the bus to and from the university! The best thing you can do is review, so do your part and I'll do mine, ha ha! Have a nice read, and so long!**

**Inspirational music: In the shadow by Broken Door (really fits the Scabior part)**

* * *

Chap. 34 Flights

As she walked, Hermione tapped the wand against her head and it felt like an egg had been cracked on her skull and its cold content slid down her body. The handy spell Harry had been subjected to when the Order took him to Grimmauld Place for the first time would now ensure she stayed camouflaged and was not easily recognized.

She stopped and relief flooded her when she did not see Claire in the area. The proud but forward woman had grown on Hermione and had made her laugh when she needed it the most. However she did not fancy encountering Claire here when the elder woman returned from work. She quickly focused her sad mind on the pub she had visited last night. Not once did she look back over her shoulder; her pain was too raw. The unpleasant but endurable spinning commenced and Hermione closed her eyes to prevent getting sick from the motion and the knowledge that she was distancing herself more from Scabior.

She landed by the backside of the big house. A figure had been crouched by the wall but the second the sound of her arrival stirred the dawn, it rose and looked to the sides frantically. "S.P.E.W?" Seamus hissed out and despite what she had said to him, Hermione found herself relaxing slightly in his company. She did not want to be alone with her thoughts and feelings at the moment.

"I'm here, Seamus." she whispered back and approached him slowly to not scare him with her concealment. His eyes darted to her shape and he gingerly reached out and grasped her shoulder.

"Blimey, ye took your time! I was beginning to think something went wrong this night. He didn't hurt ye, did he?"

Hermione fought the urge to shrug off the unfamiliar hand touching her but Seamus kind concern made her want to quell his worry.

"No, try the other way around," she muttered darkly to herself before she added, "What are you doing here? I told you to not see me off."

Seamus retracted his hand and shrugged sheepishly. "A Gryffindor never says no to an adventure. No, but seriously I wanted to help ye if something went wrong. Ye're our hope, Hermione."

Hermione looked down in small guilt and with a pang in the chest she saw the flattened, dewy grass near the wall. She had been here only hours ago and fought and loved Scabior until she tricked him into thinking she had reconciliated and would bring him with her. A lie for his survival.

Another, much more impressive pang tore the silence and both Seamus and Hermione raised their wands, ready to defend themselves. A cloaked, slender woman more or less floated towards them with her own rosewood wand pointed at the nearly invisible Hermione.

"Zet thing 'ermione Granger said to me on my wedding?"

Hermione recognized the soft but currently suspicious voice, and combined with the suddenly dazed Seamus, she figured out who the Order had sent.

"Congratulation, Fleur, and what a splendid idea you invited Viktor, too."

Fleur Weasley, née Delacour, pushed down the hood that hid her shining, blonde mane and lowered her wand.

"So good to see you, 'ermione. We can talk later but now eet's très important we leave at once."

Hermione studied her face and discovered grey shadows under the brilliant eyes and small lines around her mouth. Fleur gave no further information and instead she took Hermione's hand in her smooth, pale one and addressed Seamus in passing, "Oh, and thank you Mr Finnigan for assisting in this matter. Ginny says hi."

Fleur's radiance had changed Seamus who with no hint of anxiety anymore said dreamily, "Anytime, Delacour. And ye can call me Seamus if ye'd like."

Fleur snorted and replied coldly, "Eet's Mrs Bill Weasley nowadays. Goodbye, _Mr Finnigan_."

She waved her wand and Hermione bit down on her tongue to not scream at her to keep from disapparating just yet and consequently take her away from Scabior completely. The spinning began and Hermione shut her eyes when the Irish grass disappeared from her sight.

After a tiresome travel the spinning ended as Hermione's feet connected with a wooden floor with a creak. She opened her eyes and inspected the surroundings. White stone walls created an excellent protection against a raging wind which harried the reed outside an immaculate window. Shells and round stones in various colours and shapes decorated the window-sill. Hermione let go of Fleur's hand and turned around slowly to take in the interior of the room

A solid, white table with approximately a dozen chairs crowded most of the area and a fireplace with neither firewood nor ashes dominated one wall. A staircase proved that the building had at least one upper floor. Behind the staircase was a passage to another room that to Hermione seemed to be a kitchen decorated in a similar fashion as the one she currently stood in. But a telling perfume of tea came from the kitchen and Hermione was suddenly eager to have a big, steaming cup, though she remained unsure if she intended to calm her nerves or scald her insides so she had a reason to not think about Scabior for a while.

Fleur cleared her throat and caught Hermione's attention.

"This ees Shell Cottage. Eet's my and Bill's 'ome but eet also serves as a safehouse for ze Order. As a matter of fact, most of ze members were 'ere not long ago."

She gestured at the many chairs and once again her beautiful face became marred by a tense grimace. Hermione clutched the woman's delicate arm and asked worriedly, "Fleur, where are they now? What's happening?"

Fleur stared defiantly at the empty table and refused to meet Hermione's searching eyes as she in a weak tone elaborated.

"Every member zat was 'ere 'as gone to the Malfoy Manor. Eet's a big mission which we've planned for a long time now. Rumors said zat many hostages to ze Dark Lord are 'idden there. And we suspected the 'orrible Mrs Lestrange, curse 'er, 'ad something 'arry and Ron needed."

Hermione's involuntary gasp caused the part-veela to quiet before she tossed her cascade of hair over her shoulder and looked straight at Hermione. "Pardon, I suppose you 'aven't heard anything about ze boys since you were separated from zem. Zey are alright now, but eet's taken a long while for zem to return to normal."

"No, I heard fleetingly the Dark Lord tortured them but that the Order managed to set them free. Fleur, are Harry and Ron here? Can I see them?"

Hermione's voice cracked when all her pent up fear for her two best friends began to seep into her mind. Fleur hunched her shoulders.

"Zey would 'ave been 'ere if eet wasn't for their stubbornness. Zey insisted on joining the rest of the Order and 'elp us retrieve ze prisoners. Zat's l'esprit de Gryffindor, non? So we took to use Polyjuice potion again and made everybody look like my Bill. 'e 'as ze most strength, you see."

A spark flared in Fleur's eye for an instant before it went out and she continued glumly, "Once we got ze message from Ginny about you, eet' was too late to call off our big operation. We decided quickly to send me for you. Bill said 'e would be calmer if I didn't go to ze Manor."

Hermione lowered her head and studied the floor intensely. She had left Scabior behind too for the sake of love. Fleur wrapped her arms around herself and tripped to the kitchen where the smell of tea appeased troubled minds. Hermione followed and was bid to sit down at a smaller table and have a cup. Silence often reigned in the room but occasionally had to give way to questions between the two waiting women.

"We don't know what you've been through, 'ermione. Did you get hurt in any way, and you know zat I can listen to anything you want to share?" Hermione shook her head dismissively. "

No, I'm fine. Some minor injuries along the road but nothing that will last. I was lucky compared to others." She hoped Fleur would notice her reluctance to spill more details. She was not keen on telling everybody about Scabior just yet. Maybe she would consider telling Harry and Ron if there was time after their raid. It was complicated to verbalize a relationship.

"How did you manage to rescue Harry and Ron from the Dark Lord's clutches? How were they?"

Fleur closed her eyes for a moment and sniffed as if fighting off nausea. "Kingsley came up with ze eenventive idea we would arm ourselves with muggle weapons too. Guns, yes? The dark powers never expected zat. We stormed ze Ministry entrance and attacked ze few guards who were present. One troop ran off to find Ron while ze rest of us tended to 'arry and would ensure zat no Death Eater reinforcements arrived and trapped us."

Fleur's voice trembled and Hermione clasped her hands to chase away the fear the other woman clearly relived.

"There was no casualties on our side, thank Merlin. But when we apparated back here with ze boys we understood ze extent of their torture. 'arry's eyes, those green eyes, were completely empty and he was listless. Whereas Ron, the poor boy, screamed he wanted a wash and fought with his fists every time we tried to get close enough for 'ealing. Eet was 'orrifying. At last, Remus crouched in front of 'arry and spoke to 'im so quietly we others could not 'ear. 'arry came back to us, upset but sane. Ron never tired of fighting, so when Bill couldn't stand it anymore, 'e wrapped 'is arms around the flailing boy and kept 'im from moving until 'e calmed down. Ron remembered who 'is brother was and cried against 'is shoulder. Since zat day we've 'ealed zem and taken good care of zem until zey recovered. Though, I must warn you, 'ermione, zey are a bit different than zey used to be. But then again, I think none of us are unaffected by this awful war."

Fleur's voice trailed off, only to leave a very eerie silence in the cosy kitchen. Hermione stared mutely into her cup and tried in vain to fend off the feeling of guilt. Here she had lived in a shelter and been safe most of the time she had spent as Scabior's prisoner and later as his lover. It was too small a comfort knowing that she often had thought about Harry and Ron and the important struggle to destroy Voldemort.

But she never could have fathomed her friends had been so cruelly treated by the Dark Lord. She truly was surprised He would lower himself to such a disgustingly barbaric level. In the midst of her tumbling emotions, she wondered if Scabior had known these gruesome details and kept them from her. No! She resolutely bit the inside of her cheek to get rid of her cowardly mind's sneaky attempt to blame Scabior for something she was not sure he had done in the first place.

Unexpectedly, the air shifted around her, a twinge of magic reached her and she flew from the chair before she knew it. And just within a heartbeat, the cottage was filled with people, shouts and frantic activity. She and Fleur exchanged one look before both of them dashed into the living room and became aware of the scene.

At least ten Bill Weasley crowded the space and either stood panting, apparently very much out of breath, or supported what resembled humans but it was hard to tell due to the ashen skin, unkempt hair and gaunt features every being sported. Many of the hostages looked like they had been through hell. Hermione's eyes registered old and new bruises, arms angled the wrong way and she was then hit by the pungent smell of blood.

"Bill! Bill, where are you?" Fleur called over the crowd and one of the Bill's gave her an intense glance before he gently laid down the person in his arms onto the large table.

"Go and fetch the brown bottle! I need it now!"

"Miss? Miss, can you hear me?"

"Take care of those with the worst injuries first! The others can wait."

"My parents. My parents are dead. Did you know my parents are dead?"

"Kingsley, I lost his pulse! Come and help me!"

"Quickly, we must stop this wound from bleeding."

"No, Dobby..."

Hermione flinched and drowned out the chaotic noises upon hearing Harry's pitiful keen. She threw herself forward and scanned each of the ten red-haired men as they began to change back to their usual appearances. And then, sitting on the floor with his back leaning against one leg of the solid table, the boy who lived gave a heartbreaking sob as the eyes of the house-elf in his lap glazed over.

* * *

Scabior's lashes fluttered open and he found himself staring at the ceiling where a tiny and forgotten spider web was hanging. The walls in the bedroom bathed in sunlight and he stretched his limbs contently. But something restricted his movements.

Frowning and a little more awake he threw an inspecting eye on his right arm. A thin rope was wounded several times around his wrist and an intricate knot adorned the handiwork. The tightness of the rope could be felt, but was not constricting. That at least calmed Scabior down but he would find an answer to this mystery.

He lifted his head and traced the rope with his sharp eyes as it ran to the corner of the bed and dipped down. He inched his body to get a closer look where exactly the hidden end of the rope was, when something tugged at his left wrist. Unwillingly, he recoiled back onto his back and turned his head. Another rope and another knot.

His snatcher inside started to fret but it had been so long since it last bothered Scabior that he did not wait to define the fluttering feeling in his core. His tactical self told him to look down and he found he could only barely raise his torso and lean on his elbows against the soft surface. Past his flat stomach and the wrinkled blanket which covered his nudity, his two feet could be seen with similar ropes attached to his ankles.

He swallowed down the sudden nervousness at being tied up in a vulnerable state. There must be a logical explanation to this. Hermione's absence had been noted minutes ago but Scabior smirked and forced himself to lie back comfortably. If Hermione had discovered a new, outrageous, daring and playful sexual side in herself, he would not complain being on the receiving end. Last night had indeed been a delicious surprise. Plus, he loved her and she loved him and everything was so fucking great. Morgana knew Hermione could give liquid luck a run for its money, according to him.

He could feel his member twitch in response to his vivid memories and raising expectations. At last, he could not help himself and called with a husky laugh, "Beautiful! I know you're out there! There's a trapped snatcher here who's gonna do _anything_ to be freed!"

The echo of his voice carried through the closed door and morphed into a loud sound in the house. To his joy, no hangover headache split his head and he sniggered. When that firewhiskey had yet another trait beside its good taste, maybe he would consider buying a bottle from Desmond. Though, the drink apparently had caused Scabior to sleep through dawn and miss his ordinary run in the morning. Well, fuck it; he had deserved a lie-in after the eventful yesterday.

"Love? I'm getting desperate here! Soon I'm gonna _beg_ you to bring your hands around something circular, long and smooth and fiddle with it until it releases something. And yes, I'm talking about the damn rope!"

Silence, which began to unnerve him to be frank, met his happy cry. If Hermione was planning on doing something spectacular for him, at least she could make a sound so he would know that everything was fine. He raised himself again and a thought flashed across his mind. 'Bugger! Perhaps mum's at home.' Well, she would have to blame herself for returning home so early in the morning if that was the case. Though, Scabior pondered, what if Hermione for some reason was stuck with Claire between her and the bedroom.

"Mum! If you're out there, take a sleeping draught and go to bed! You don't wanna hear the next things Penelope and I emit," he shouted to save Hermione from an obstructing woman.

No response. And now, Scabior grew a bit worried. It was so unlike Hermione to not answer when he called. He began to doubt if Hermione really had let go of the fight yesterday. But the two of them had made up, had they not? With a nagging unease, Scabior began to look around in the room to find possible traces of female wrath. But everything was in order, until he saw a folded piece of paper on the night table where he was fairly certain his wand had been.

Immediately he became scared for real. What had happened and where was Hermione? The snatcher instincts chased away the lustful feelings and his eyes narrowed. He reached for the paper, hoping it would explain the situation but the rope efficiently prevented him from getting it. With a swift swing with his hand, he only grasped the corner of the night table. Disgruntled, he growled and tried to angle his body so his head would reach the damn note. This time, the ropes at his legs and other hand kept him from biting the paper and with his mouth bring it to his lap. He began to grow warm despite his naked body.

Angry at his failures, he left the paper as it was; immobile and taunting him, to more thoroughly search the room. And there, just visible as it protruded from behind one of his old banners on the wall sat his wand.

If an enemy had been here, he would not have left Scabior's wand, unless it was a very soppy and shitty one. Scabior tried hard to bend his knees and used every newly acquired muscle to stretch or break the rope but it did not budge. He took to using raging fury and trashed on the bed, not caring that the rope burnt his skin. He fisted his hands and felt the ropes tighten further around his wrists when more blood pulsed into his fists. He jerked and attempted to cross his arms in front of his chest and could see the veins in his swollen biceps.

"Fuckin' arse an' cock in 'ell! Ya'll regret this!" he bellowed to the closed door and it did not matter he had no idea who he addressed.

When he had stayed tense for too long, red sparks appeared in his sight and he reluctantly relaxed his limbs and let the ropes slacken as he panted like an animal and soaked the bed with sweat. He sagged tiredly against the pillow and fought to slow down his pulse to a controlled level. If pure strength could not get him out of this, then probably his head would.

He took a deep breath through his nose, and the snatcher jumped.

He raised himself to his half-lying position one more time and began to greedily inhale air and examine the scents in it. There were he and Hermione, of course, as their natural scents had been imprinted on the sheet a long time ago. Along with that, the smell of sex hung heavy in the room, as did the general perfumes from a decent pub. But there was something more. Something Scabior had not perceived since the day he was still the leader of a snatcher group. Forest.

Yes, the familiar fragments of wet leaves, soft moss, fresh winds without salt or sand in them, humid ground and pines. Scabior grew cold inside and shivered despite the sunrays shone through the window. Death Eaters rarely travelled through the woods as they often were ordered to disapparate to the places where the Dark Lord wanted them to be. They had no reason as far as he knew to smell that way. However, snatchers did.

Before Scabior had time to process this new aspect, he heard the front door open and close and someone giving clothes a brush. He froze and strained his ears to hear more. A naïve voice in his mind begged it would be Hermione and that he had drawn a conclusion too soon. At least it did not sound like someone from the Dark; they had a tendency to not waste time on dusting off their clothes. A female humming made Scabior turn his attention to the door and cry in what would have been an embarrassing, needy voice had the circumstances been entirely different.

"Mum! Mum, help me!"

His ears perceived how Claire strolled down the corridor with short steps until she stood right outside the bedroom.

"No, I'm not that much o' a pervert, boy. Whatever ya're doin' with yer bird, ya're on yer own," came a miffed retort from the other side of the door.

Scabior grunted in frustration and yelled back, "Something's wrong, mum! She ain't 'ere an' there's some shit goin' on. Come in an' 'elp me!"

The door was burst open and Claire peeked inside curiously and discovered her son on the bed.

"Whatcha doin' there? An' where's the girl?" she uttered before she waved her wand and made all the ropes dissolve at once.

Not caring about the brightly red marks on his pale skin, Scabior held the blanket to hide himself as he dove for his wand and snatched it from its place. If Dark powers had entered his current home, he preferred to face the danger armed and dressed. He twirled around and hissed out the incantation to make his ordinary attire cover him within seconds.

Next priority was a Homenum Revelio which said no-one else was in the house, not even Hermione. Scabior grit his teeth and there was a small tremble to his fingers as they finally gripped the paper and unfolded it. The writing was neat but the ink did not emit any fumes. Whoever wrote it had done so some time ago.

His eyes followed the lines of words and unfortunately, his brain registered what the note read. Once he had finished, the dumfounded man stared at the paper. He did not acknowledge the icecold claws seizing his sanity, nor the spear of molten iron piercing his chest. Instead he had to reread the note.

Slowly the message sank in and yet he stood rooted to the spot, his whole body shuddering, preparing for a reaction.

_No_.

A hand on his shoulder, another pair of eyes reading.

"Scabior. Calm down."

It did not make any sense, any of it. Hermione was going with him, not without him. They had decided that. She loved him and one does not leave the ones you love alone. Who had been in the cottage and taken her? Not Death Eaters he had established already. What about snatchers? The light? The Order of the Phoenix?

He staggered away from the hand and placed his palms against the wall. He choked on bile and wheezed out air through a constricted throat. Another rope was there, he had just missed it. It kept him from breathing and it was coiled tighter until he could not take a real breath. The paper in his hand was being crushed into a tiny ball of lies. Hermione had been forced to write it before they took her from him. Yes, that was it.

The rope released him and it fell from his neck and landed in a heap around his leather boots. He drew a ragged breath to compensate for the momentarily lack of oxygen before he looked down. There was no rope.

He shook his head like a dog and tried to focus his confused mind.

A Fidelius! Only three people could enter the area around the house. So how could anybody barge in and take Hermione? Unless...

If Scabior had been able to see his own reflection right now, he would have been astounded. Bloodshot eyes from the sudden pressure accompanied with clothes drenched in sweat and a body which rocked restlessly back and forth in front of the wall. And that was when the wounded snatcher, hurt beyond pain, took over.

He swept around calculatingly and fixed his murderous and red eyes on the drunken bitch and whore who claimed to be his mother. He had no mother anymore. Forgetting the wand in his hand, he charged and pushed her into the chest of drawers to question her.

"Ya betrayed us! Ya fuckin' whench, my own mother! 'ow could ya do it?"

The woman held up her hands in defense and croaked out, "I 'ave no bleedin' idea what ya're on about! Scabior, ya must calm down. Rein in the snatcher fer Merlin's sake!"

Screeching pain spread through his hand when he punched a drawer beside her head and broke some knuckles.

"The Fidelius! We were protected against everybody on the other side o' it! But ya 'ad ta tell someone in the pub, right? Tell 'em where exactly ya lived so they could come by an' shag ya. Well, ya exposed us, bitch! Ya exposed the love o' my life! I fuckin' 'ate ya!"

The windowpanes rattled, whether from the volume of his crazed voice or the magic slipping out from his anguished soul.

"Fer fuck sake, I didn't do anything like that. Check me with my own Veritaserum, bastard! I never told anyone 'bout our location or 'ermione."

The snatcher snarled upon hearing _her_ name from the woman with the unflinching features and blue, ablaze eyes but some side of Scabior regained control over his broken sanity.

"Oh, hush with yer insolent manners! Yes, I've known fer quite some time who my guest is. Refugees bring newspapers ta Ireland, ya know. But I didn't turn 'er in. Not even when they raised the bounty to fifteen thousand galleons! Why would I take away the only thing that makes my son 'appy besides runnin'? That's what yer _fuckin' whench_ o' a mother did fer ya!"

She poked him repeatedly in the empty chest. Angry tears streamed down her face and Scabior backed away from the strong scent of salt. No, not scent.

A salt stench so sickening he reeled back and pressed his bleeding hand over his nose but then his eyes prickled from a reek of iron.

"Mum. The smells," he mumbled weakly as his knees buckled and he landed with a thud on the floor.

His sight blurred and he whined when every odour in the room mingled and assaulted him until a terrible headache hit him. A fuzzy green skirt flowed forward and urgent fingers yanked up his dizzy head.

"Scabior! Is yer sense o' smell getting' too sensitive? Ya mustn't let the snatcher win! Fight it, ya 'ave it in yer heart! Do it fer 'er!"

He swallowed a sob and whispered ancient snatcher words before he closed his eyes and passed out.

"I gave her my heart. I must find her. Find her."

* * *

**A little help with the French, perhaps? I wrote some words like J.K. Rowling did in her English books, so you know. Hope it wasn't too hard to understand Fleur.  
**

**i= ee (it= eet)**

**th= z (the= ze, them= zem)**

**no h in the beginning of words (Harry= 'arry, here= 'ere)**

**très= very**

**l'esprit de Gryffindor, non= the spirit of Gryffindor, right**

**I would be a happy author if you wrote what you think about the chapter in a review and sent it to me. Thanks!**


	35. Chapter 35 Friends

**Hi y'all! Yeah, this is what it's gonna be like. No updates before at least a week has passed. I don't like it, you don't like it, but hey, what an we do about it? But I did what I promised: wrote in every spare time. So I demand reviews now! ;) And I did a oneshot for the brilliant laurielove's challenge ******** .com/**. My fic about Hermione and Bill got far more hits than I ever expected, so check it out on my homepage. Now, many of you wondered whta happened to Scabior in the last chapter. Don't worry, just read this chapter and all shall be explained (at least I hope so). **Enjoy your reading!**

**Inspirational music: Zombie by The Cranberries (or try the cover by Jay Brannan)**

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Chap. 35 Friends

As the evening arrived, a calm of some sort settled in Shell Cottage.

Every former hostage, including Luna Lovegood, Mr Ollivander and Dean Thomas, who needed healing had been taken care of and put to bed soon after they had eaten a bowl of soup. Those who had been able accompanied Harry, Ron and Hermione when they buried the brave elf Dobby outside the house.

The small creature had helped the Order escape with the prisoners but had in the ensuing chaos in the Manor been subjected to a dagger from the vicious Bellatrix. Hermione sobbed for the great sacrifice Dobby had done for the world. Ron stood close beside her and tentatively threw and arm over her shoulders. Hermione welcomed the comfort he provided, so she leaned her head on his shoulder and cried as Harry held a honest and tearful speech for the elf.

After the funeral they all trotted towards the cottage except for Remus and Tonks who wanted to disapparate to their own safehouse and take care of the newborn Teddy Lupin. To some people there were still some things to hold onto and invest hope in.

The elder Order members went upstairs to their temporary bedrooms, apparently utterly exhausted by the long but somehow successful day. The boys did not say a thing but ventured up the stairs too and Hermione followed with a hint of inquiry in her otherwise battered mind. Several closed doors along the walls and another staircase greeted her on the first floor but Harry pressed on with heavy steps on the second stair and Ron motioned at her to follow.

When she reached the second floor she looked around and saw fewer doors leading to rooms here. Attentive as ever, even in the midst of his grief, Harry opened a door for her and allowed her to enter what obviously was his and Ron's bedroom.

Two beds, an armchair, a bid wardrobe and a photograph met her eyes as she took in the room. She walked closer to the moving picture on the wall beside on of the beds and swallowed drily when she could make out a younger version of herself standing in Hogsmeade with the boys on either side of her. They were all so happy and carefree back then compared to now.

She turned around and surveyed the boys who had been robbed of their innocence.

A stern defiance was constantly displayed on Harry's face and although he had been given a lot of food in Shell Cottage, he was rather thin and had dark shadows under his eyes. And as he had dug the grave for Dobby with his sleeves rolled up, she had spotted nasty looking scars here and there on his arms. She recognized some from dark spells and others from dangerous magical plants and beasts. She could only wish that the Harry inside was not lost.

Ron shifted and she silently gazed upon him. His shoulders were hunched, either as a sign of fatigue or by a will to protect himself. His eyes flickered restlessly and Hermione choked on her pity as she tried to extinguish it. She knew Ron did not want her pity. It would be another torture to him. She raised her eyes and saw the red and uneven patterns of spattergroit blemishing his cheeks and covering his cute freckles. But to her, the marks were not disfiguring. Noticeable, yes. But not disgusting.

Then with a rapid movement, Harry stretched out his arm, pulled her towards him. The boys embraced her like never before. She felt Ron's arm slide around her back and she raised her arms and wrapped them around both of their necks. The hug was necessary as it for a blessed moment chased away every ugly, chilling thought of loss, guilt and anxiety they had experienced since they were separated. Uncontrolled tears streamed over Hermione's cheeks and dampened the boys as they exchanged impulsive mumbles.

"I'm so happy you're both alive."

"Do you know how much it hurt not knowing what happened to you, Hermione? Eventually rumours spread about every kidnap but they never mentioned you. We just didn't know!" Harry exclaimed with a broken voice and his arms tensed around her.

Ron stroked her back soothingly and whispered, "Every bloody minute I was awake I thought about you. My nightmares aren't about the Ministry but about you being... Oh Hermione!"

Hermione gently patted Harry and Ron on the heads and they reluctantly let go of her. Gleams of happiness shone in their eyes and she doubted they had been this relieved since those easy days at Hogwarts during their sixth year.

She wiped her face on the sleeve of her white sweater and detected a faint smell of Scabior in the fabric. This caused her to sober up and she sat down on one bed as she began to twirl her wand nervously. It was time to answer the inevitable questions about her whereabouts.

She noticed that Ron decided to sit close at her side whereas Harry plopped down in the armchair nearby. He cleared his throat and righted his glasses before he asked, "What happened to you, Hermione? We need to know."

Hermione tried to quell the butterflies in her stomach and said quietly, "Do you remember that time at the Manor? The Dark Lord couldn't care less about my fate and told a snatcher he could have me."

She closed her eyes as the memories of that day returned. At that time Scabior had been a threatening man supporting the dark powers. But he did protect and heal her even though he should have hated her. The pain in her hear grew so fast she forced herself to open her eyes and hide the memories of Scabior for now.

"Thankfully he took care of me and saved my life. Without him, the injuries inflicted on me by Bellatrix would have killed me."

She stared right at Harry who wrinkled his forehead and impatiently tapped his fingers against the armrest as he hissed out, "There are no good people on His side. No merciful Death Eaters and no kind snatchers. I saw it for myself during those weeks I spent in captivity. There are two kinds of people in His ranks; those who love to obey His commands and cause pain, and those who stand by out of pure cowardice and watch as He destroys everything good in the world. In which group did that snatcher belong, Hermione?"

She flinched upon hearing such venom from Harry's mouth. She no longer was so sure she could tell them more about Scabior.

"But Harry! Surely you remember how Malfoy was after Snape killed Dumbledore. You said it yourself you thought he looked scared, sacred for his life. I think most of the Dark Lord's followers are afraid of him and fear what he'll do to their families if they refuse to do as he says. You shouldn't judge them so quickly."

Harry gaped sheepishly at her while Ron moved on the bed and carefully caressed her hand. "Well, Hermione, to be honest I'm glad you're for once not understanding what you're saying. That means you never were treated as badly as I and harry, right? But Harry has a point, you see. The Dark Lord's ranks only bring violence and pain. That's why everybody who has some decency should join our side and take Him and His followers down," he reasoned.

Appalled by the coarseness let out from her best friends, Hermione pulled her hand from Ron's and said coolly, "Do you think I got off easy just because there are no scars on the outside? Bellatrix tortured me so bad my ribs broke, a kidney was damaged and there was an internal bleeding! And that was just the first day as a prisoner."

She drew a deep breath and decided to tell them about the other horrible episode. This was certainly not a childish competition about who had suffered the most but all the same she had to make sure Harry and Ron fully understood her own terror. That they were all hurt by the war.

"Another snatcher assaulted me while I was alone and still injured. He all but raped me. So don't assume I'm less experienced in evil than you are!"

An awkward silence settled in the room and Hermione found her hands trembled. Harry ran his hand through his black hair and sighed.

"It wasn't... Ron, you didn't mean for it to sound that way, huh?"

Ron shook his head and looked down at the floor as he admitted, "Hermione, I'm sorry for your sake. I always hoped you would be alright and unharmed."

Her small anger melted away and she gave him a soft smile that reached her eyes. "I know, Ron. And I understand if you are still haunted by what He put you through. The both of you," she added and glanced at Harry.

"But then you too know how the Dark powers function. They don't deserve someone like you defending them," Harry insisted and this time Hermione let it slide. He was not ready to take another opinion in the matter into consideration. And she had changed her mind regarding Scabior. He would remain as her secret until Harry and Ron could afford to show some forgiveness.

"But what happened after that...attempt?" Ron stuttered with badly concealed fury.

"Oh, nothing bad to be honest. The snatcher who held me prisoner gave me my wand back and prompted I should take a portkey to a safe place in Ireland. I stayed there with a woman until last night when we visited a pub and I ran into Seamus."

Her compendious and half-true story seemed to work as Harry leaned back and Ron managed to produce a smile.

"Well, we on the other hand have been up to many things since we regained our freedom. But I'm knackered after this day so is it okay if we discuss our mission tomorrow?"

Hermione nodded and tried to not feel disappointed by the fact that she had told them about her fate but had not been given a chance to ask questions about their experiences.

As she raised herself, Ron caught her by the wrist and wondered, "Where are you going?"

"To my bedroom, if there's anyone available that is."

"Didn't Fleur tell you? You can sleep in our room. That way we'll be together if something happens and we'll have an opportunity to talk privately about our future," Harry explained as he stood up and Ron eagerly added, "You take my bed, Hermione. I can sleep on the floor."

Hermione would have preferred some privacy in another room and the prospect of lying in another man's bed, even if he would not occupy it also, made her nauseous. In the end she realized that Harry's thinking _was_ strategic and aimed her wand towards the abandoned armchair.

"No, I think you've become used to that bed. And have you forgotten you're a wizard?" she retorted as she transfigured the piece of furniture into a simple but agreeable bed.

The two boys sniggered at her logical solution and Hermione rolled her eyes subtly. Harry and Ron needed her for many reasons. She needed Scabior. But in dire times one cannot always get what one wants. She would have to focus on destroying Voldemort from now on.

* * *

With adrenalin running in his blood and a fear for the woman who carried his heart, Scabior snapped his eyes open and bolted up to a seated position on the bed.

His mother sat by his side and gently put her hand on his chest before she guided him down again.

"Ah, ah, ah. Ya better stay down fer now. Ya're all worn out," she informed him and Scabior moaned upon feeling the remnants of the headache throb in his head. He was sure there were some bruises inside his skull. It felt like that.

Although relieved that the uncommonly strong scents had subsided to the usual states, he uttered in a feeble croak, "What's happening to me, mum? What was it with that... rage and strong smells?"

If Claire had picked up the terrified tremble in his voice she did not ridicule him for it.

"Ya let yer guard down, boy. I reckon the snatcher side o' ya became crazy when ya found out 'ermione was gone. Ya were ready ta do anythin' ta find 'er, so ya provoked them snatcher powers which made ya get a seizure. Ya couldn't handle 'em."

His eyes darted to the window in the bedroom and took in the sunny scenery outside.

_Hermione_.

Once again he tried to get up but before Claire had time to stop him, flashes of white pain exploded before his eyes and he felt dizzy. He closed his eyes as he heard a an insistent exhortation.

"No, don't go faintin' on me again. It took ya a long time ta come to last time."

Reluctantly, Scabior laid back on his bed and squirmed in his sweaty clothes. He hated to be helpless and weak. Slowly the memories from the morning caught up with him and he flexed his hand experimentally. His mother must have healed his knuckles after he had passed out.

His ashamed eyes met the blue irises and he stated, "I'm sorry fer scarin' an' 'urtin ya. I couldn't 'elp it."

Claire waved his apology aside with a hand and replied, "Nah, I was just surprised, that's all. I would 'ave used my wand if things really went out o' control. Besides, it's not as if it's the first time yer snatcher took over."

When Scabior raised an eyebrow she elaborated, "'ave ya forgotten yer first night at 'ogwarts? Ya threw a tantrum like a spoiled pureblood brat an' the teachers couldn't calm ya down until some fuckin' genius came up with the idea o' pourin' a Dreamless Sleep Potion down yer throat when ya opened yer mouth ta breathe."

Scabior frowned as he faintly remembered the event. He had always assumed he had been homesick that evening, not that he somehow had triggered a snatcher seizure.

Claire continued, "As soon as I an owl from 'ogwarts the next mornin', I understood why ya 'ad been upset. Ya were away from the person ya loved an' couldn't find, nor protect me with whatever magic ya possessed back then."

A warm smile graced her lips as she without fear of being rejected stroked Scabior over the forehead as if he was a small boy. The strong feeling between him and his mother became too much and Scabior looked down while fiddling with his fingers.

"I must find 'er. I feel it in every bone and drop of blood in me," he mumbled. And then he raised his wounded eyes to hers and forced out, "Why did she leave me, mum? I gave her my heart and she said she loved me. She promised we would go to England together."

Claire sighed glumly.

"I guess she 'ad ta do somethin' important in this bloody war. And she obviously didn't want ta put ya through any dangers because she loves ya. But ya won't care 'bout that, right? Ya never were good at sittin' still an' do nothin'. As sure as doxies are pesterin' the cellar in the pub, ya won't rest until ya find the bird."

She flickered her eyes and chewed on her lip in a highly uncharacteristic way. When tears fell to her cheeks, Scabior scrambled up and leaned his head sideways as he held his rough hands against her cheeks.

"Mum," he whispered in a compassionate as well as appalled tone.

She sniffed and brutally dried her tear, stubbornly avoiding his searching gaze.

"Oh, don't ya worry 'bout this old madwoman. Ya're a man who needs ta find 'is love. I know there's no way I can stop ya from it but that doesn't mean I'm not afraid fer ya. I'm only a mother, Scabior."

And then she took his hands and pulled them from her face but not before she had kissed the palms quickly.

Touched by her action, Scabior swallowed a lump and emitted gruffly, "Ya'll 'ave ta stay 'ere in safety while I'm gone. No matter what rumours ya 'ear, don't travel across the Irish Sea. I can't stand the thought o' ya bein' in England. I'd be worried sick. Swear to me you'll fucking stay."

A playful gleam in Claire's eyes twinkled as she exclaimed, "An' 'ere I thought all along ya couldn't wait fer a chance ta knock me off the broom, so ta speak."

He let out a small chuckle, determined to not break down in front of her. He had no more time to spare if he was going to prepare himself to find Hermione. Claire seemed to observe his changing features as she stood up and retreated from the bed.

"Just... just promise me back ya'll let me see ya off, boy. It's what a decent pureblood would do."

With that she turned around and walked out the door with slightly ruffled strands of red hair whisking in the air. Scabior drew a shuddering breath and dismissed the concern for his mother for now. He had calmed down after his awful seizure but the snatcher within stirred every once in a while, urging him on to find his love and be with her again. No room for distracting sentiments anymore; just calculated tactics as the hunter he was.

He gingerly got up from the mattress and spotted his wand on the night table. And the drawer he had punched had been fixed. His mother had restored everything that had been out of order in the room, including him.

The wrinkled note was placed beside his wand and Scabior glared at it. He would take it with him; not to read, Salazar knew his mind never wished to relive the pain, but to use when he met Hermione again. There were questions she needed to answer. He picked up the paper and stuffed it in a pocket on his leather coat before he gripped his wand and felt the magic ease the pressure.

A quiet _Scorgify_ made him feel a bit cleaner as there was no use to get fully refreshed anyway. Soon he would probably lack every form of comforts. The whole of England was a giant battlefield where each day one survived counted as a victory.

He tied his hair loosely and began to search the room for convenient items to bring with him. He had lost every single thing he had acquired as a professional snatcher and was forced to start over.

As he rummaged through the chest of drawers, he laid eyes on an old fashioned purse. He exhaled contentedly as it would be easy to transfigure the purse into a brown satchel. That done, he opened another drawer and discovered ribbons which would serve a better purpose as bandages. They went down into the satchel, as did a warm blanket now big as a handkerchief, an empty drawer to use as fire wood for emergencies, a pair of gloves for cold nights and bottles to store water in.

Scabior began to feel he was ready to move on to the kitchen for provisions when he pulled out the last drawer at the bottom of the piece of furniture and nearly fell on his bottom when a wave of the forest scent crashed into him and encircled his crouched body. So his sense of smell had not failed him entirely before he went crazy of despair. But the idea of some snatchers invading the house and abducting Hermione was out of the game.

He bent down and sniffed to investigate the smell. He closed his eyes to let his other sense grow stronger and inhaled.

Typical English forest, with a hint of flowers. He frowned as it occurred to him that hardly any flowers bloomed yet. Bending further down until he could detect the faint scent of oak from the old drawer itself, he found the complete scent.

Forest, flowers and vanilla.

_She_.

And then he figured it out. Hermione's own clothes would most likely smell of her and forest but now they were gone. A drawer with scents was all that was left. Wherever she had gone to, she at least wore her warm white sweater. Pleased with his functioning sense, Scabior began to hope. If he could find her scent here, it was highly likely he would be able to track her down in no time.

He raised himself and marched to the kitchen while he thought about the next destination. He had a hunch the ugly boy in the pub had something to do with Hermione's departure. But since he was not at Hogwarts it probably meant he was not a pureblood or disapproved of the new education program. Either way, the boy was on the run and Scabior suspected he had gone into hiding after last night. Any relatively bright human would do so after having encountered a hostile man _and_ having helped said man's woman escape.

As he threw down some apples into the bag and reached for a loaf of bread, he decided he should start with the forest where his snatcher camp and the trio's tent had been some months ago. When he at last considered himself done as two bottles of Firewhiskey resided on top of everything else in the satchel, he stepped into the corridor and listened for Claire.

Sounds guided him to the living room where his mother was busy dusting off labels on various bottles and cans.

"Come on an' dig in. My storage needed a clean-out anyway," she announced cheerily, even though the smell of salt lay heavy in the room from Scabior's point of view. He did not comment on it but stepped forward and began to check through the heap of potions.

He took many for medical purpose which promised to take care of both superficial wounds and severe consequences of curses. Some bottles went into the bag because they would ensure a high energy level in case he ran low on food.

He proceeded to pick up some small flasks made of black glass and read the labels. Illegal poisons to use as an unexpected weapon.

Deftly he hid them at the bottom of the satchel and avoided demanding to know how his mother had gotten those, as they could not be brewed in everyman's home, nor be bought in monitored shops.

Finally he straightened his back and carried the satchel on his shoulder.

"There we are. All set for a nice trip to Death Eater-land," he tried to joke but neither of them smirked.

Claire absentmindedly scratched her arm and shrugged.

"Ya can be a dickhead all ya want in my 'ome but please don't be one in England. Ya need ta survive, Scabior. The bird was right: ya're threatened from two sides in this war. Don't expose yerself."

Scabior gritted his teeth and let his eyes wander over the two paintings of two forgotten ancestors in the Blishwick family. He was better man than they but he still considered himself lousy at dealing with these kinds of feelings.

Claire took a step closer to him and had to tilt her head to see his face as she only reached him to the chest.

"My son."

He scowled and looked down at the brimming blue eyes he had not inherited and the not yet aged face.

"It was nice ta 'ave ya 'ere with me. And ya know we always make it through our rows. We still care 'bout each other."

"Mum, stop."

"D'ya know I'm a 'ell o' a sober lady now, thanks ta ya. I only take a drink once in a while now, like ya're doin'. So ya just listen ta yer mother now. I'm proud o' what kind o' man ya've become since she came into yer life. I think ya like that man too, love."

Scabior flinched upon hearing the rare nickname his mother had used on him only when he was a little toddler. This one-sided conversation began to sound more like a goodbye forever.

He cleared his throat and hissed, "Yeah, alright, I've found myself an' all that sentimental shit, I'll return in one piece with 'ermione as soon as it's possible and I love ya too. Can I go now?"

Claire snickered like a girl and told him through her tears, "So keen on runnin'. Ya're impossible but ya're always my sweet bastard. Be careful with yer stronger snatcher powers; they'll leave ya weakened if ya can't control 'em properly like this mornin'. The only thing that can tame it is ya, Scabior."

She patted him on the chest, right above the beating heart. "Ya 'ave it in ya. Just believe in yerself. An' no stupid experimentin' with the snatcher inside, alright! Ya can find 'ermione with yer usual gifts."

She stood on her toes and Scabior immediately bent down to help her reach his cheek with her lips. And then she gave a heartwrenching sob and threw her arms around his middle.

"Thanks fer ev'rythin', mum," he spoke thickly and hugged her small frame to his. He was very affected by her, judging by his prominent accent and the way his shoulders shook.

"I'll never speak ta ya again if ya end up on the frontpage o' a newspaper. I saw the pictures o' the Potter boy in the Ministry. I didn't give birth ta ya just ta see ya become a prisoner. Ya were never meant to be one, Scabior."

He mutely nodded his understanding and was on the verge of saying something more when his mum fled from his grip and gave him a violent shove.

"Go, ya fuckin' bastard! Go, now!"

She whipped around and only showed him her back but he could see she wrapped her arms around her stomach and pressed hard. He blinked and the snatcher inside was unsure.

A tentative step towards her ended in her screaming into the wall with all her might, "Go, or I won't let ya go! I can manage without my son. I can manage without my son. I can manage..."

Scabior stopped and in that moment he regretted the lost years when he had not seen his mother out of childish stubbornness over a stupid fight. In the end, love proved to be the most important thing in his life.

With a rapid pace, he turned and made it out of the living room. He all but ran to the front door. It had been necessary for Claire to push him away and insult him, or else she would not have given him up to the war once more.

He yanked the door open and before he left, he barked into the silent house, "I love ya too, mum! An' I took the last bottles o' Firewhiskey from ya!"

Perhaps it was the screeching seagulls that flew above him, but he could almost swear he heard laughter from the cottage as he ran as fast as possible to the protecting shield and passed it successfully. With a wave of his wand he began to spin and hoped that the disapparation would make the sorrow in his chest and the few drops on his cheeks disappear.

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**Ugh, I'm nearly crying from my own writing. How pathetic does that make me? Anyway, please review.**


	36. Chapter 36 Backlashes

**Hello strangers! No, it really is me, can you believe it? I want Hermione's time-turner now. I know what I'll write, I just lack the time to actually write it down and to fix previous misspellings like the last freaking chapter's title! :( But here's a long, eventful chapter for you who valiantly have waited for my return.** **There's plenty of drama ahead. Enjoy until we meet again!**

**Inspirational music: Counting bodies like sheep to the rhythm of the war drums by A Perfect Circle**

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Chap. 36 Backlashes

With the setting sun warming his back, Scabior leant down in the familiar forest and examined the ground rigorously.

The snatcher camp was long gone and no-one had lingered, judging by the hidden evidence only he could find in the dirt. He had not expected anything different; if _his_ leader had been punished and demoted by the Dark Lord, he would have gotten the hell out of the place as fast as he could. Without a boss, the snatcher's loyalties to each other usually vaporized which left each man on his own.

His fingertips caressed a barely concealed hole from a tent peg as he wondered where his men had gone to. Perhaps some had found other snatcher gangs and been allowed to join them in the hunt for muggleborns and blood traitors. Others, especially those who did not bear the Dark Mark, could have looked for shelter alone, hoping to survive the war if they stayed as far away from it as possible.

That was what he had planned to do before Hermione decided to play the part of the noble heroine.

He did understand her reasons but it hurt that she had not brought him with her. He should have told her more specifically that whatever she chose to do, he would support and protect her as she carried out her plan.

The snatcher within brutally reminded him of the loss as it thumped in his core and Scabior fisted the area where the beating organ but not his heart resided, trying to get the anguished creature to shut up.

He raised himself and began to make his way over to the place where the trio's tent had been. The protecting shield was gone and he could easily approach the hill where he used to spy on Hermione. No tent. Still, he could not stop himself from jogging down the hill and for the first time walk where she had walked under his watchful eyes months ago.

Not a single thing lay scattered around his feet. Whoever had been here had done a remarkable job of collecting everything, down to the last piece of garbage. Scabior carefully sniffed the air while he slowly rounded the small clearing with some blooming bushes. Every smell of humans was replaced by the soothing scents of summer closing in.

Disappointed, he knelt down and searched the ground. Someone had wanted to cover up the traces of the tent. He smirked as he brushed away a thin layer of soft dirt only to see a distinct square mark from a chair leg. He had taught his snatchers how to make traces disappear without leaving behind a feeling of magic in the air. So, Rusty and the others must have plundered the trio's camp before they had gone. He wondered for how long they had waited for his return even after the Dark Lord had told them the news about their disgraced leader.

Suddenly he discovered he had let his eyes rest on what had been the other side of the tent, exactly where Hermione's bed had been. He sighed and got up. He had much to do before he could afford some sleep. Finding a good place for sleeping, setting up a proper shield around him and deciding where he would go next.

As he began to create a small but safe shield around a pretty big elm, he contemplated visiting the nearby Leeds. Despite the risk of exposure, he needed fresh information about the war. Rumours would surely travel faster and be more reliable than the Daily Prophet which was in the hands of the dark powers. Maybe Chuck the vendor lurked around the small wizarding block of Leeds. At that moment, Scabior swore loudly and scared a thrush who sat on a branch above him.

He had completely forgotten to ask for money from Claire before he left. Genuinely annoyed as himself, he dug his hands into the pockets and fortunately found some coins he had not spent when he visited the Irish pub.

'Five sickles and twenty-seven knuts. Shit!'

He for one knew how expensive information could be, and he had little else to bargain with. If he had been his old self it would have been no match to simply snatch a wanted person and earn a heap of galleons without further ado . But he had changed now and furthermore had decided on which side he stood. The muggleborns were people too, and sometimes better than he. At least Hermione was.

So Scabior gathered his few coins in one pocket and picked up the satchel from the ground by the elm. He dared not leave all his belongings in the wood, may it be inside a protecting shield which also made them invisible. He held out his wand with no intention of lowering it until he returned from Leeds. He was prepared for dangers. He focused his thoughts and apparated right in a corner of the empty market place.

Perhaps he had been spoiled with peaceful sceneries on Ireland, but he became aghast at how dark and dirty the block had become, and that was saying something as its previous state had not exactly been inviting. The insane beggars had disappeared but in the obscure light, Scabior spotted a body on the other side of the market place, covered in bloodied rags. Crows swarmed the area and rummaged through mountains of rubbish when they did not add to the eerie atmosphere with their sharp caws.

Scabior headed towards the pub which was hidden in shadows from the surrounding buildings, but kept his eyes vigilant in case someone indeed was in the seemingly abandoned area. But as he approached the pub he slowed his steps until he finally stopped altogether in front of the burned house. The wall beside the door had collapsed, whether by an explosion or a fire. He could make out something that looked like a counter but otherwise the entire room was destroyed and covered in ashes.

"What the..." he let out before an instinct advised him to turn around.

He peered at the pavement on the other shaded side of the market place and cautiously raised his wand. He could not register anything but continued to stand absolutely still and quiet before the pub and knew the shadow would keep him almost invisible, should someone try to spot him. And so he waited and only drew small breaths in order to keep being silent and always be ready to utter a spell. His feet grew cold from the lack of movement and a breeze brought a loose strand to his stubble where the hair got stuck and yet he stood frozen. And then something black amongst the black moved.

A spell shot out from Scabior's wand almost at the same time and hit the undefined target with great success. He had always had a knack for the Incarcerous spell.

Scabior quickly followed the housewalls to not reveal himself completely if there were others there. At last he reached the fallen figure and thought he experienced another seizure when a stench of filth assaulted him. Upon closer look, the tied up bundle was wrapped in dirty blankets with holes big enough to swallow quaffles. A muffled grunt was heard from the human and Scabior hissed, "_Expelliarmus_," to render the other one defenceless. However, no wand wriggled out between the ropes, although an intimidating knife did. Scabior grabbed the weapon in the air and took an insolent leap over the moaning bundle to take a closer look at its front.

Despite the haggard appearance and the blue bruises on the forehead; it was a woman.

She tried to bite through the rope across her mouth but her eyes did not seem to register Scabior. Warily, he crouched down and extended one hand to hold her down. As he reluctantly touched the beyond filthy rag covering her shoulder, the woman went limp as if resigning every will to fight.

"Okay, here's what we're gonna do. You're gonna keep that voice down and in return I will not harm you. Deal?"

Scabior raised an eyebrow and after a while the woman's grey eyes focused on him and she nodded the best she could on the pavement. Still, Scabior would not be fooled by female tricks so he decided to keep the ropes around her apart from the one hiding her mouth. The woman released a heavy breath but stared with terrified eyes at him.

"You alone here?" Scabior asked and guessed the witch was around twenty-five years old.

"Yes, sir," she whispered before she smiled goofily at him and added, "Do you have my wand? It seems I lost it."

Scabior sighed. So she was one of the wandless beggars crowding the gutters. He hoped he could get something beside nonsense from her.

"Do you know what happened to the pub?"

Her eyes began to gleam of juvenile mischief as she replied, "The fire! It was so bright and warm here for a while. I warmed my hands. Though I didn't like the screams."

"What screams?"

She closed her eyes and yawned sleepily. If the world had been normal, Scabior would have taken her to St. Mungo's.

"The screams below the burning floor, of course. But they are still screaming. I can hear them."

Quite concerned about her condition, Scabior tentatively felt the woman's forehead and pale cheeks. The grimy skin was ice cold.

"Why was the pub burned down?" he wondered as he carefully lifted the beanie from the woman's head and revealed an old and scabbed wound under the unkempt blonde hair.

"They said he hid mudbloods from the Dark Lord. They left him inside. He gave me food sometimes, you know."

The woman had begun to wriggle restlessly which prevented Scabior from healing her wound. He silently cursed as he estimated the situation. The pub owner had died from protecting muggleborns who also had been taken care of. Afterwards every man and woman who still lingered in the wizarding Leeds must have left which was why the area was nearly deserted. He would not gain any information here.

He glanced down at the woman. He guessed she had not been able to leave, or even realized she _should_ leave.

"Where are your family, love?" he sighed, not really expecting her to answer.

"They went down, down, down in the inferi pit. Don't worry, I've got a throat to slit. Never mind my family who's dead. I'm gonna bring you the Dark lord's head!" she lilted happily but Scabior clamped a hand over her mouth and hushed.

"Quiet down! Don't you _ever_ sing that song again, you understand?"

He had for the first time seen a new dimension in the war; the suppressed people's defiance. But if this poor girl sang that song among Death Eaters, she would be severely punished.

The crows had gone silent and the sky was darkening. Scabior made to stand up but frail fingers clutched him by the wrist and held him down. He contemplated leaving her but than he found he could not. Not only because the young woman reminded him of Hermione, but because she was a human. Probably a muggleborn who had suffered through many horrors before he came by. He could tell by her traumatized brain, the starving, cold body and her exhausted eyes that she would not make it through another week on her own.

And yet the dying girl reached for him, in one last attempt to save herself, to cling to an anchor of life. He could not leave her here. But he could not take her with him either as he only wished to be responsible for himself in the invisible trenches he had to travel through to get to Hermione. And then it hit him.

The magical hospital might be in shambles but he had not taken the muggle hospitals into consideration out of pure habit. He was used to ignore what went on in the muggle world and now, whether as an act of irony or three of Hogwarts' founders joking with a pureblood, it occurred to him he could take the hurt woman to an 'emer-agency' entrance and let muggle healers take care of her. At least she would be safe from the dark powers there and with their odd methods, maybe the muggles could restore her mind. That was all he could do for her at the moment.

He used the knife to cut off the ropes around her small frame and cupped her chin to make her face him. "I'm going to take you out of here. You're going to a nicer place with warmth, food and kind people. Sounds good, huh?" he said gently and when she opened her mouth, he hoped she had understood him.

"Do I have to let you rape me before you take me there?"

He flinched as he recognized the wounded, empty gaze from another time, involving another girl. This woman seemed completely indifferent to the prospect of getting violated. Scabior's hand trembled from internal fury as he stroked her hair.

"No, but you have to promise to not say anything about magic or the wizarding world to the people you're seeing. They're muggles, you see."

"Like my dad?" she asked and Scabior nodded for her sake.

"Yeah, so don't mention wizard stuff, okay. Now, throw your arm around my neck."

She tried but could not lift her hand high enough, so Scabior quickly caught it in the air and helped her.

"There. Up we go," he uttered optimistically as he gathered her in his arms and raised himself. Goosebumps spread across his skin when her cold side greedily pressed itself against his warm chest.

"Thank you," she whispered drowsily before she leaned her head against his shoulder and dozed off. Scabior grimaced, not because of the sour smell around him, but because she weighted much less than Hermione had done when he carried her from Malfoy Manor. He purposely took longer strides to reach the Leeds General Infirmary faster and glared at the black shapes of rats scurrying between the rubbish.

The last living human had now surrendered the wizard block in the town to animals.

* * *

Hermione woke up freezing the next day. No sunlight could shine into the room and no Scabior lay beside her.

Instead of feeling sorry for something she was unable to change anyway, she lifted her head from the pillow and studied the other occupants in the room. Harry's hair was rather ruffled after a night's turning and his glasses were placed on the floor beside his bed. By the opposite wall, Ron snored slightly and had a healthy red colour on his cheeks. Apparently he was not bothered by any coldness.

Hermione sensed she would not be able to go back to sleep so she rose and picked up her clothes to change in the bathroom nearby. Once her hair was brushed, her stomach gave a growl and Hermione knew Scabior would have urged her to eat if she had been with him. She needed to take care of herself if she wanted to take on Voldemort.

So she tiptoed downstairs and shared breakfast with a very alert Fleur, a hunched, yawning Bill and a couple of ex-hostages. She tried politely to add to the conversation led by Fleur but soon decided to return to the second floor. Luckily, the boys were up by now.

"Morning, Hermione! I need to eat. Wait for me here, will you?" Ron greeted her with, before he rushed past her and all but dashed down the stairs. She shot an bewildered look at Harry who shrugged apologetically and commented, "At least he's back to normal when it comes to food."

She understood but she had forgotten how Ron's obsession with food could make him discard the people closest to him. She watched Harry tying his shoes and asked quietly, "Do you think you could tell me more details about yesterday now?"

Harry reached for a wand under his pillow and held it out to her.

"Ron and I got ourselves new wands. I got mine from Malfoy with an Expelliarmus. And Kingsley won Bellatrix' wand which he gave to Ron. The wands don't really _fit_ us but they work."

"But if your own wands were destroyed or something similar when the Dark Lord caught us, who owns the wands you two used yesterday?"

Harry smiled warmly and looked very grateful.

"We borrowed Mr and Mrs Weasley's. They were not supposed to join us in the attack so they had two wands to spare. Pretty convenient, right? They're coming over soon to pick up the wands."

Hermione felt her heart swell for the generous act of Ron's parents. To be without a wand at this time was surely a downright nightmare.

"What happened next in the Manor? With the prisoners and...Dobby?"

Harry's features turned sad.

"While one group kept the Death Eaters busy, the rest of us found the dungeon in the Manor. But then...everything went wrong."

Harry swallowed and struggled to get the words out.

"Wormtail discovered us. I guess he tried to flee from the fight upstairs. He threatened to call the Dark Lord but then I reminded him of his life debt to me. So instead of touching his Dark Mark, his ghost hand began to choke him. We couldn't save him." Hermione clasped a hand over her mouth in horror. Harry acknowledged her by reaching out and placing his hand on her shoulder.

"Right after the body had stopped twisting we got a Patronus from George. The fight had turned uneven and the other group had to retreat to the dungeon. We helped them the best we could and fought to get a few seconds of respite so we could disapparate with the prisoners. I got Draco's wand when he shifted his attention to his mother for a split second. That was when one of the Bill's, I think it was Lupin, conjured a strong shield between us and the Death Eaters. We grabbed the hostages but when I was going to disapparate, I saw a hole in the breaking shield. Bellatrix threw a dagger straight at my chest. D...Dobby appeared before me and..."

Harry coughed before he finished the sentence, "...and he saved my life with his. He collapsed into my arms as I disapparated."

Harry swallowed with difficulty before he knelt down to fix the tie on his shoe and Hermione granted him a moment to collect himself.

"So... do you have any plans for our mission?" she said tryingly as Ron strode through he doorway, still chewing on a piece of bread.

"Oh, Hermione, you wouldn't believe what kind of advantages we have now," he announced as Harry carefully stuck a hand in the pocket of his jeans.

"This was stuck to the hilt of the dagger, though by accident I bet," Harry mumbled as his hand emerged, holding a long, black, curly hair. Hermione recognized too well whom the hair belonged to and Harry lowered his voice to a whisper so a feeling of secrecy settled in the bedroom.

"One of our sources reported that Bellatrix at the present has the sword of Gryffindor inside her vault in Gringotts. We need it to destroy the rest of the horcruxes. And when I was tortured by the Dark Lord," Harry rushed his words, "I saw some things in his mind. He keeps thinking about that vault. I think we might find something more than the sword in there."

Hermione closed her eyes to go through what Harry had told her before she opened them again and with shivers prickling the back of her neck, she slowly asked, "Harry, what are you saying? 'We might find...' You're not actually suggesting we..."

"Yes, I do," he interrupted and held up the black hair and stared it down with unrelenting determination. "We're going to break into Gringotts."

She stood numbed and mute during some slow seconds before she remembered how to talk.

"It can't be done. I've read about Gringotts' history. Every security system the goblins have used through times has been efficient, complicated and impossible to breach. Even during a peaceful moment it's impossible, so imagine how harder and more dangerous it would be to break in now when the dark powers control the establishment."

One corner of Harry's mouth twitched upwards.

"It's good to know that you've got the facts covered. We could use that information of yours. But I am serious, Hermione, and we've had time to think this through. Besides, there was one successful break-in before my first year at Hogwarts." He glanced at Ron who nodded and took over.

"Fine, I admit it was more an idea than a plan before but now we've got ourselves valuable advantages. We will get Griphook, the wounded goblin, to help us and then there's you with your brilliant mind. we really need you, Hermione. We will be able to make preparations and we already know how to enter Gringotts." Suddenly Ron's eyes flickered away and he looked a little uncertain.

"Oh, come on mate, I think she can't get more shocked than she already is," Harry said encouragingly and peaked Hermione's curiosity.

"Alright then. Hermione, you will impersonate Bellatrix with Polyjuice potion."

Hermione could not hide her look of disgust at the very thought of drinking a Bellatrix-flavoured drink. But she contemplated the idea. It was clever.

"You have her wand," she mumbled to Ron who looked relieved she had not become upset and Harry breathed out loudly.

"Yes, and you must borrow it while you're her. I will have your wand, if that's alright," Ron stated.

Hermione ignored the urge to touch her wand in her jeans. She knew Ron needed it and that he would be careful with it. Still, it was hard to not be reluctant. The wand was her most priced possession and she had already experienced how it felt to be without it for a long time. But she saw no other solution and she knew she should not complain when Harry and Ron's own wands were lost and they were stuck with alien wands.

"Yes, of course," she gave in and wrapped one hand around her upper arm to make the discomfort go away.

"Good. Now that we've filled you in on what we're up to, I propose we visit Griphook and then Mr Ollivander. It can't hurt to ask him about the Elder Wand, right?" Harry declared briskly and gestured to the others to follow him out the door. Hermione made to walk after him when Ron grabbed her hand and hauled her back.

Astonished, she turned her face to him and he looked potentially nauseous as if he fought an internal battle.

"Hermione, I...," he started and began to tread his fingers through hers in a very intimate way. "I'm so sorry about yesterday. I never meant to imply you haven't suffered. You're not angry with me, are you?"

Hermione had to handle this with delicacy. But at the same time she could not pretend something untrue in fear of hurting Ron.

"No, I'm not angry with you. And I guess we all were tired and easily peeved last night. I know you're my friend," Hermione smiled lightly at him, hoping she had made him understand the friend part, and added, "Ron, I would like to have my hand back."

He, however, did not join her easygoing manner and muttered, "How much do you know about my and Harry's time as prisoners?"

"Is that what's troubling you?"

"Please just answer the question," he snapped and bent his fingers so she could not make hers slip from his grip. Hermione paled when she did not recognize Ron, before she convinced herself it all came down to his trauma.

"I...I know you were both tortured. But you were strong enough to come back. Thank Merlin for the Order." "So you haven't heard, seen or read any details?" Ron persisted and stared at her face.

Hermione shook her head and made the brown curls swing back and forth. She told him the truth. Although, she had her suspicions after her private conversation with Fleur. Immediately, Ron relaxed his hand and allowed her to withdraw her fingers.

"Good. Good," he said to himself and closely examined the clammy inside of the hand which had held hers.

"Ron, what's the meaning of this?" Hermione exclaimed and tried in vain to rid herself of the feeling of unease at her long-time friend's unexpected behaviour.

"I'm glad you don't know more. I would _hate_ it if you were disgusted by me," he admitted in a small, trembling voice that differed from his previously sharp one. Hermione drew a deep breath as her heart wept for Ron's sake. Whatever he had been through, he still needed to process it and apparently feared she would reject him.

"Ron, I would _never_ be disgusted by you. You're my friend even though I sometimes get mad at you, like when you run away from our tent when we're looking for horcruxes," she reminded him gently and Ron smirked at her joke.

"But I came back and you forgave me. Eventually."

"Eventually," Hermione repeated and laughed at his familiar silliness.

"I want you to know I thought about you all the time while I was in the Ministry," Ron said soberly and once again his eyes were fixed on hers. "You were like a Patronus for me. I thought about you and felt better despite...everything that went on around me. You are very important to me, Hermione."

"You too, Ron. And I'm happy that I could help you somehow, even when I was somewhere else."

She _was_ happy for his gracious compliments. But she suspected she to Ron meant something more than a friend.

"But that's who you are. You're smart and brilliant and on top of that; you're so kind to everybody who deserves it. Bloody hell, I remember how determinedly you led the S.P.E.W campaign. Dobby and Winky warmed up to you. I bet the other would have too if they had had more time. You see the good in others."

Ron's features had softened at the end of his speech and his eyes twinkled from under his red fringe. Hermione stood flabbergasted. This was one of the most beautiful things Ron had ever said and if he had spoken like this last autumn, before the big fight between him and Harry, she would have fallen faster than a wingless hippogriff. In more than one way, Ronald Weasley had matured since she last saw him.

But then she thought about his last sentence. She was proud of her ability to see past the exterior of a person. She trusted her judgement and was rarely mistaken, well, except for that time when she first met the presumed mass-murderer Sirius Black in the Shrieking Shack. But in her defence, she had not met him in person before that night and had quickly changed her opinion of him as the truth unravelled itself.

She had seen the good in Scabior too, long before he saw it himself.

She winced quietly and berated herself. She was supposed to not think about him! But how could she not think about the man she loved who, as certain as she was in Shell Cottage, thought about her? She really hoped Scabior would not succumb to the darkness and hatred again now when she was gone.

"Herimone?" Ron brought her from her reverie.

"Yes, eh. Thank you for that compliment. But I think we should join Harry now before he begins to design a plan without us," she clumsily declared and walked through the doorway.

But her worry about her conversation with Ron rapidly disappeared upon spotting Harry slumped against the wall a couple of doors away. His back shook now and then and when she called his name, he turned his head towards her. His face was white and tiny beads of sweat covered his forehead.

"He has it," he emitted with a hoarse hiss. "I saw it in my mind. _He_ has the Elder Wand."

* * *

**Dun, dun, dun! As you see, we're approaching the ominous battle of Hogwarts. I promise plenty of drama, but I fear I won't have time to update for a while, as usual :P Perhaps you could cheer me up with those beautiful reviews? (*wink, wink)**


	37. Chapter 37 Frauds

**Hello, readers! Thanks for the reviews and alerts and favorites. I know especially Hermione's POV will get a bit repetitive, as I choose to follow the book/movie but I'll include my own stuff, so hang in there. And a little reminder for you about the boys' torture; Ron was used as a pureblood breeding machine while Harry was being attacked by animals, plants and spells, so yeah, they are pretty damaged. What this means for the trio you'll have to wait and see. Have fun!**

**Inspirational music: Mad World by Gary Jules**

* * *

Chap. 37 Frauds

"Mr Ollivander, you talk about wands as if they have feelings…and can think."

"The wand chooses the wizard, Mr Potter. That much has always been clear to those of us who have studied wandlore," Mr Ollivander revealed with a hint of a smug expression on his battered face.

Hermione listened intensively to what the old wandmaker said to Harry who sat on the man's bed, while she and Ron stood by the door. Neither of them had mentioned Harry's recent insight into Voldemort's mind but the fact that Harry sat hunched and had a weary tone in his voice made it clear he indeed had been affected by the news that the Dark Lord now wielded the Elder Wand.

Hermione too was worried and above all so very tired of the fight against the dark powers when every time it seemed they had even the slightest advantage, there would be an immediate and responding setback. But as she swept her eyes over poor Mr Ollivander, she realized hope was fading among those who did not follow Voldemort and that she, Harry and Ron needed to continue the battle no matter what challenges lay ahead.

Even though others like the wandmaker might have given up, she would never surrender. The wizarding world was all she had now when her parents had forgotten about her and left the country, and Hermione would not stand aside and allow the Dark Arts to destroy what she still considered worth fighting for.

"There's no telling whether He will find it," Mr Ollivander let out and brought Hermione back to reality. Harry straightened his back and gravely folded the hands in his lap.

"He has found it, sir," he said without embellishing the truth and Mr Ollivander stared at him, as did Hermione who had not expected Harry to talk about that hallow just yet.

Harry got up and Ron subtly nudged her to the side as he began to open the door. With observant eyes she saw that glimpse of strong, unyielding determination again in Harry's features and she automatically stood back from him as he marched past her when Mr Ollivander's fragile voice halted them all.

"He is after yu, Mr Potter. If what you said is true, and He has the Elder Wand, I'm afraid you really don't stand a chance."

Harry met the despair and doubt by suggesting dryly, "Well, I suppose I'll have to kill Him before He finds me, then," before he exited the room. Hermione followed suit, as did Ron, and together they walked back to their own bedroom. Finally in privacy, she got her chance to question Harry's agreement with Griphook whom they had visited before Mr Ollivander.

"Harry, how could you promise Griphook the sword of Gryffindor? Now we won't have anything to defeat the remaining horcruxes with," she exclaimed as Harry began to pace back and forth with a troubled expression.

"You heard him. He wouldn't accept anything else as payment for his help," Harry pointed out before he stopped walking and continued with triumph, "But I never told him _when_ exactly he could have it."

Hermione caught on and though she might disapprove of his devious deception, she still could not help but admire Harry for his thinking.

"Oh. Great. But you are aware of how serious it is to close a deal with a goblin," she reminded him and that was when Harry resumed his restless pacing.

"And what happens when we find the horcrux in the vault? We've already seen how hard it is to destroy them even with a good weapon," Ron interjected and Harry shrugged sheepishly. "I'm still working on that part."

Hermione sensed this was the moment when the boys needed her to calm things down and analyze the situation with logic.

"How about we just concentrate on getting inside Gringotts for now and then worry about the items in Bellatrix's vault? I'd say we've always been good at improvising and I think we'll find a solution once we're in the vault."

Several pounds of weight seemed to leave Harry's shoulders and Ron grinned from ear to ear as he pointed at Hermione with his thumb and announced, "See, Harry? That is why we will pull off Gringotts. Hermione always knows what to do."

Hermione was unsure if Ron's insistent flattery was honest or just his way of making up for the nearly hostile dialogue with her before Harry had discovered Voldemort's new wand. She settled for modestly shaking her head and replied," I'm hardly certain of anything. Our task will be dangerous all the same, with or without my opinions."

"Well, I still vote for keeping you in our group. Don't you too, Harry?" Ron said and shared a glance with the raven-haired boy as Hermione threw up her hands in the air in resign at their antics. Then, there was a subtle knock on the door behind her.

When she turned around the door swung open and revealed a very familiar red-haired couple. The scream of joy that followed however, was not subtle at all.

"Ohhh! Ron, my boy! And Hermione and Harry! I can't believe you are all here and in safety! Let me hug you this instance!" Mrs Weasley squealed as she briskly launched herself towards them and managed to quite impressively trap all three of them within the range of her arms.

"Molly, let them breathe now," Mr Weasley cheerfully chuckled and his wife did as he said but not before she had adorned every one of them with a kiss on their cheeks. Looking like she had survived a tempest, Hermione flushed and brought up a hand to smooth down her curls. Beside her, Ron had blooming cheeks and Harry's glasses were askew.

"So nice to see you, Mrs Weasley," Harry stated and nodded to Mr Weasley who just now dared to enter behind his wife.

"Nice? By Merlin, it is far from nice! I haven't heard a thing from you in nearly a year and I've been worried sick! I will personally send one of our gnomes at Bill for not letting us visit as soon as you two were freed," Mrs Weasley said bitterly and looked pretty terrifying before she brightened again and in a motherly gesture patted her chest.

"But Molly dear, Bill already explained to us why they didn't fill us in right away. There were precautions to take care of as Shell Cottage would suddenly keep Ron and Harry safe," Mr Weasley tried but the headstrong woman would not have any of it.

"Arthur! Your son and his friend were reported freed from the Dark Lord and we have yet to hear about what happened to them in the Ministry. Don't pretend you didn't worry like I did when Bill sent us that Patronus. And then there was that demand yesterday when Remus came over to ask for our wands for Harry and Ron's sake. You two are lucky I don't live here, or else I would never have allowed you to go on a mission to the Malfoy Manor!" she let out in an ice-cold voice and all the men in the room shrunk away for the matriarch's wrath.

"Ehem," Hermione coughed to distract Molly from flooding them all in months of concern and continued, "Are the rest of the family alright?" Mrs Weasley gave a sob and her husband intervened.

"Yes, Hermione, everyone is perfectly well. We're staying at Aunt Muriel at the moment. I'm the secret keeper. Even Percy has joined us again. So has Ginny. It was far too dangerous for her to stay at Hogwarts when the dark powers search for victims close to Harry."

"And you!" Mrs Weasley said with a trembling voice and pointed dramatically at Hermione. "Where in the world have you been? We heard about how the Order only found Harry and Ron in the Ministry. Tell me you were unharmed, dear!" The distressed woman gave a whimper at the end and pulled Hermione into another crushing embrace.

"Mum, it's all fine. According to Hermione, she was in the hands of a merciful man. He sent her to Ireland. You do know it's very calm over there," Ron said and gently freed Hermione and guided her to the side. Hermione gave him a grateful look for the fact that he did not mention the rape attempt or how the man who saved her was a snatcher. She doubted Mrs Weasley would understand her explanation of said snatcher, nor let her continue the search for horcruxes with the boys if she found out exactly how Hermione had fared.

"That's right. I actually worried more about the rest of you," she commented and watched how Mr Weasley approached Harry.

"Did it go well yesterday? Were our wands useful?" he asked and Harry hurried to pick up the two wands from under his pillow. "Yes, yes, they worked for us. Thank you so much for the favor," Harry uttered as he handed the man his and his wife's wands.

"Anytime, Harry. Well, Molly, I think it's time we head back before Aunt Muriel starts to investigate those boxes in the twin's room."

Mrs Weasley had found a big handkerchief in her purse and dabbed her eyes.

"I hate this war. Look at them, Arthur! They look so tired and exhausted. Isn't there anything else the Order can do to relieve you of some of the burden?" she desperately inquired and the three teenagers looked at each other with sad eyes.

"Dumbledore gave this mission to us only, mum. But if we ever need the Order, I swear we'll contact you immediately. But it seems this is our adventure," Ron replied with a steady voice and again, Hermione was surprised by the maturity that her friend possessed.

"Alright, my boy. If you say so," Mrs Weasley delivered with a sniffle and urged all three of them again to gather within her arms. Ron's elbow accidently bumped into Hermione's ribs but she ignored it and succumbed to the feeling of a mother's warm embrace.

"Do keep each other safe. I will not accept any more separations," she lectured softly, clearly referring to the time the trio had first been inside Malfoy Manor. At last she released them and stepped back.

"We are all so proud of you," Mr Weasley beamed and threw a comforting arm around the woman's shoulders. The parting suddenly became stifling and unbearable so the man quickly hugged them in turns with his free arm and escorted his crying wife out the door. Harry carefully closed the door behind them and as it turned out, every one of them had something in their eyes.

Ron ran a hand through his hair and sighed heavily as he seated himself on his bed. Hermione looked outside the small window and after a while she broke the silence.

"So, they don't know the details of your torture, either?"

No sound was heard but as she turned around, the boys affirmed her conclusion by nodding their heads.

"I guess if we told them about it, they would react the same way as mum did when she saw you," Ron mumbled.

"We have no time for being pitied. We have a Dark Lord to defeat and a bank to rob," Harry added and his brutal cynicism was maintained for a few seconds before they all burst into laughter. Hermione knew they took advantage of the small moment of glee before they would have to take on the big task stowed upon them. And as she snickered along, she felt that if she ever was to do a successful break-in, she was glad she had her friends with her.

They could at last begin to design their plan.

* * *

The gloves he had brought with him did little to preserve the warmth in his fingers. This trouble was made worse by the fact that Scabior felt it necessary to hold his wand in a firm grip throughout the night, as usual, which left him with ice cold fingers come morning.

He grunted in the misty morning light and removed the gloves so his skin could benefit from the body heat when he promptly thrusted each hand into the opposite armpit. He despised having to wake up freezing in the woods but there were not any alternatives to it.

To make a fire inside his small protecting shield would result in him choking to death from the lack of oxygen, if not the toxic fumes got to him first. And if he on the other hand dissolved the shield and lit a fire, the light and sounds from it could alert a human passing by and Scabior would profoundly prefer if he was not discovered by anyone, muggle or not. So he was left with only his own body as a source of warmth, as he did not want to exhaust his powers on a permanent heating spell.

He glanced up at the sky from his poorly excuse of a bed with the satchel as pillow and moss as mattress and studied the cloudy weather. I f he was lucky, there would be a glimpse of sunshine later but he would not count on it. It seemed something was determinedly keeping the sun from warming the British people and their troubled minds. As if something succeeded in delaying summer itself when the seasons were supposed to change.

The few flowers which had managed to produce buds froze when the cold nights arrived. Even the animals were affected by, what Scabior would bet his silver ring on, the dark powers' attempt to disturb the climate with thick, grey clouds. Last evening he had spotted a starved fawn snuggling close to its mother who apparently had no milk to offer her offspring. Scabior too had noticed the absence of fresh grass in the forests. Whether intentionally or not, the ecosystem would collapse if the Dark Lord continued to mess with it.

Scabior stretched his shivering limbs and tried to work the blood into them. Afterwards, he rolled onto his stomach and reached for the clasp on the satchel. He would have to rely on food to get warm today. He sneered at an apple and turned his eyes longingly towards his dear loaf of bread. He wanted the bread because it filled his stomach better and chased away his hunger. Unfortunately, he had become used of eating until he was full on Ireland which had been great for his recovery, but now made it hard for his body to accept limited rations.

One third of the bread was already gone and Scabior knew he needed to restrain himself. With a grimace and a rumbling center, he broke off a small piece of the valuable food and performed the replenishing charm on it. Now he had two pieces in his palm and even though one of them was drier, tasteless, nutrient-poor and simply inadequate; it would fill his stomach nonetheless.

His brain said it was a sham; a way of tricking himself into believing he could literally have the cake and eat it too. But his eyes registered two equal, identical pieces and his body said yes to them. He washed them down with a shot of Firewhiskey. In less than fifteen minutes, he would feel warm. Content at having his basic needs seen to, Scabior got up from the ground and picked up the statchel.

"Where to, today?" he mumbled to himself and crossed his shield.

Three nights had passed since he had been in Leeds and run into the wandless girl. He had found his way to the hospital but he had turned uncertain right outside the 'emer-agency'.

He really did not want to set the woman down on the cold concrete and leave her in the dark night. But he had no clue what was expected of a muggle who needed a hospital. Was it a custom to simply place the wounded on the ground by the entrance? Was he allowed to carry her inside? Did the muggle healers have an information counter like St. Mungos, or were they standing at attention on the other side of the doors with their needles and frightening devices, ready to pounce on anyone who entered?

But Scabior had not needed to make a decision when a man in a white robe marched out through the door and asked him what was wrong with the sleeping woman he carried. Scabior had told him what he knew and soon a bed on wheels was being rolled out through the broad entrance by a bunch of people, also dressed in white robes. Scabior was bid to carefully place the woman on the bed and then everybody began to speak some gibberish, or muggle healing language, as they quickly rolled her inside.

One healer had stayed behind and fixed Scabior with a stern expression as his eyes wandered over his form. Scabior recognized an appraisal when he saw one and did not answer when the man drawled something about punk. But then the healer had brought out a notepad and begun to ask him questions about how he had found the wounded girl. To Scabior, it sounded more and more like accusations and he wanted to get away from the annoying muggle.

Fortunately, an 'ambush-lance' had turned around a corner and as the man had turned his head at the blinking vehicle, Scabior got his chance to disapparate.

He hoped the woman would be treated better by the other muggles and recover from her injuries, physical as well as mental. He turned his thoughts to Hermione and scratched his unshaved chin.

The last two days he had visited the wizarding communities in the area and travelled to desolated forests nearby. He had wasted many valuable hours of daylight on sniffing in the woods, trying to pick up Hermione's scent. Truth to be told, he doubted she would venture into towns when there was a dangerously high price on her head. Scabior remembered how Hermione had mentioned that the trio often had set up camp away from towns and villages.

For his own sanity, he comforted himself with that Hermione would acknowledge the importance of concealing herself _if_ she after all went into wizarding communities. So he too had gone to different towns, searching even for the faintest of smells but had found nothing, concerning scents at least. But he had come across some information.

Everywhere he went, Hermione's face met him on the countless black and white posters announcing her as an Undesirable beside posters of Potter and Weasley. The images always startled him but then calmed him, as it meant no-one had caught the famous trio. No shops of any kind were open and the streets were abandoned in every wizarding block he had visited so far, so he had been unable to get an oral update on the situation in Britain.

But yesterday, in the wizard streets of Birmingham, a dirty copy of the Daily Prophet had danced in the wind outside a plundered clothing store. Scabior had skimmed through it the best he could, what with the brown smudges and tattered pages, and had seen nothing new about the Boy Who Lived or his companions.

It was obvious the Daily Prophet was being run by Death Eaters now. The vocabulary had changed and in every article about new arrests the words mudblood or blood traitors were written at least three times. And in one article it was clear that apparently Hogwarts had lost a great number of pupils when worried parents had taken them home. According to the new teacher in Muggle Studies, Alecto Carrow, it was essential for every proper young wizard and witch to finish her compulsory subject or they would fail their year.

Scabior had crumbled the newspaper and thrown it back to the gutter where the other rubbish resided. Now he considered travelling to London to investigate Diagon Alley and Knockturn Alley. Although, he did not really believe there would be people with information on those places either, he could not afford to ignore London and possibly miss a trace of Hermione.

As he decided on where exactly he would land in Diagon Alley, he noticed his hands trembled slightly. He closed them and dug the nails into the palms while taking a deep, calming breath to silent the snatcher within who advised against his plan. Scabior was not scared of entering the wizarding London. However, he felt unbalanced, incapable and even jinxed. Because Scabior was not used of lacking information. Before Hermione, information had kept him alive and successful. Now, he knew nothing about the two famous and _large_ areas he was about to visit.

It could be dangerous and reckless to apparate at a certain place, but he would have no idea about it. He did not like that.

Furthermore, the quiet and seemingly deserted towns he had passed through had left him unsettled. Where were the wizards and witches of England? Was everyone who did not support the Dark Lord dead or in hiding?

Scabior rubbed his forehead and frowned. He was losing time on _almost_ acting like a coward when he knew he did not have a choice. No matter how unlikely, Hermione could have been to London and if so, he would of course search the alleys for her scent.

Scabior looked around himself in the lonely forest and closed his eyes. 'By the love of Hogwarts founders; don't let her be alone. Please make her be with friends and allies,' he thought intensely, not quite sure who he addressed with his plea.

If only he somehow could get an assurance that she was safe and had company. After all, his sweet bird liked to talk. He smiled fondly at the thought of her and decided to land on a spot by the brick wall behind the Leaky Cauldron. Scabior held up his wand to disapparate; and fell helplessly to the ground with an anguished sound wrenched from his throat.

His left arm burned. In his, by sudden excruciating pain, delirious state, he actually thought his arm was on fire and angled his head to look at it. No flames licked the black leather and he pressed the hurting, as if scorched, limb to his chest protectively and groaned.

"Please, Merlin, not this! Not this!"

He did not want this! He had hoped he would never have to go through this again. He had been severely wrong. He refused to roll up his sleeve to relieve the burning flesh of the suddenly abrasive fabric of his green jacket, because he did not want to see what he knew was there. His fucking ugly Dark Mark would be black again, and distinct in the outlines and bleeding; just like the last time Voldemort had called for all his followers.

A splitting headache almost split Scabior's skull in two, or so it felt, and despite the effort the movement required of him, he reached up with his right arm and grasped his tortured head with a wince. He saw only white, seething smoke barriers of pain and was swiftly approaching the border to unconsciousness when a raspy, terrifying, and yet in a way gleeful voice disturbed his aching mind.

"I summon you. I summon all of my loyal servants and order you to gather in the Forbidden Forest. I shall bring out Harry Potter tonight with a little help from the Gryffindors at Hogwarts. Let us see if Potter deem himself more valuable than the lives of his classmates. Together, my servants, we shall at last cleanse our world from the last, foolish mudbloods and blood traitors. Under my strong leadership and powerful wand, you will see our victory by joining me in this honoring quest. Go now; your Lord commands it."

* * *

**Just to make the timeline clear, as it can be confusing, Scabior is currently one day ahead of Hermione but that will be adjusted in the next chapter. As you can see, there are several cauldrons brimming with trouble, what with Voldemort summoning Scabior, Ron and Hermione's _relationship_ and the fact that she hasn't mentioned a certain dashing snatcher. Oh, dear! But have faith in me; every tiny detail will be taken care of in this fic.**

**Please review!  
**


	38. Chapter 38 Comradesinarms

**Hi y'all! I know it's a pretty late update and I know how frustrating it can be to watch an author update another story, while the one you like doesn't get new chapters. The truth is, my promise still stands; I'll never abandon an unfinished fic. But I fear there won't be another update for Just a gesture for a month. I've got this major, superbig essay to deliver and I must stay away from if I don't want to fail it :P But it's for your sake too, because I would rather have a lot of time to figure out a good chapter, than rush it and post a 2000 word, tacky chapter. I hope you understand me and won't abandon me in return. I WILL BE BACK! Enjoy this chapter (with no cliffhangers as a small favour for my loyal readers).**

**Inspirational music: Broken wings by Mr. Mister (It actually suits many characters in this chapter)**

* * *

Chap. 38 Comrades-in-arms

"Oww! It burned me! Oh, no."

And before Hermione's eyes a golden goblet multiplied into three more after she accidentally had touched it. She flinched as a red mark appeared on her wrist, just below the sleeve of a black dress which could have belonged to Bellatrix.

Everything had gone fairly well up until now but she sensed advanced magic in the air inside the Lestrange's vault.

"Hermione, are you alright?" Ron called over his shoulder when… "What the…Oops." He had stumbled over a small heap of galleons which turned into a larger one within a second.

"Don't touch anything! There is a Gemino curse in work here," Griphook informed them and Hermione felt a flicker of nervousness as she remembered how fatal that curse could be.

"Harry, can you locate the horcrux and the sword?" she asked urgently and gathered the long skirt in her left hand to avoid further mistakes. They needed to be quick if they wanted to escape from here, what with an activated alarm making noise enough to wake up a sleeping giant. Harry scanned the area and pointed at the top of a downright mountain of valuables.

"There, just to the left of that shield. There's the sword and a bit higher is the cup of Helga Hufflepuff."

'Right,' Hermione thought briskly and aimed her wand at the objects. "_Accio_ sword and horcrux." The items did not as much as stirred.

Griphook huffed in annoyance and told her, "No spell will work here girl. Did you really think Gringotts would have all these complicated obstacles outside the vaults but none inside?"

"Hey, watch your mouth!" Ron growled at the goblin who rolled his eyes in response. "

Forget it Ron. We need to find a way to get the objects," Hermione said calmly despite the fear that settled in her chest.

"I guess the only solution would be to climb up there and get it by hand," Harry pondered aloud and clenched his teeth. Hermione wanted to tell him no, but he was right. And so, she steeled herself to remain silent as Harry began to make his painful way up the mountain. But no matter how hard he tried to be quick, she saw him wince as he came into contact with coins and the more step he took, the more objects duplicated. As he came near the peak, the sword slid down and landed on the expanding pile on the floor. A deafening clattering echoed through the enormous vault as the content kept growing in numbers.

"Take it! I'll concentrate on the horcrux," Harry bellowed down to his friends and Hermione shared one look with Ron before they dashed towards the sword. But it was as if it rode on an ever-changing wave and Hermione found herself sinking through the space between objects the more she moved. She began to struggle for her life instead of the sword, while objects seared her skin even through the clothes.

"Hermio…" Ron shouted before his voice drowned in the cacophony and Hermione saw a tower of jewels come tumbling over his head. Absentmindedly, she realized they were steadily moving towards the entrance as the vault soon would be filled to the brim.

Harry's black hair floated pasther in the golden sea and he let out through gritted teeth, "I've got it! Try to get out of here." As if she was busy admiring the Lestrange family's heirlooms! But Hermione swallowed her sarcastic retort and began to struggle for freedom. She spotted Ron who had a flushed face, whether from exertion or the warm air, and he seemed to have invented an efficient swimming style with firm strokes. It was futile to try to avoid touching anything now.

At last she reached the front of the wave and rolled down it. The door was there, only a few feet away from the threatening gold. Harry stood before it but Griphook was there too and seemed to argue with him. Then Hermione felt a shiver run down her spine despite the heat as she saw the item in Griphook's hands. "Give it here, Griphook! I need it to defeat the Dark Lord!" Harry screamed but the goblin sneered and suddenly did not look human at all.

"No, Mr Potter. You promised me the sword if I helped you get inside Gringotts. But I never promised I would get you out of here. I will not betray this bank anymore." With that, the goblin ran outside the vault and grabbed the bell which would make the dragon cower instead of sending fire.

"That traitorous little bug!" Ron exclaimed as he reached the other two.

"We need to get out of here," Hermione reminded as she felt coins press into the back of her boots. They leapt through the door and closed it together. As the lock clicked, the dragon raised its ears and stretched the long but chained neck.

"Hide!" Harry yelled when the dragon opened the gape and snarled. Hermione jumped behind a pillar and the boys shared the space behind another.

"They are here! The thieves and intruders are here!" a stranger cried out and at once, not only fire but spells were being shot at them. Hermione cast some spells haphazardly over her shoulder without risking a look at what she should aim at.

Things had gone from bad to worse. Griphook was not going to help them anymore and he had their weapon against the horcruxes. Hermione pressed her back into the cool, slightly damp pillar and panted. She had no desire to go like this; on the verge of destroying Voldemort's few remaining horcruxes, nearly eighteen years old, in battle and deep down below the surface of the earth. Gringotts now seemed more like an intimidatingly big tomb to her and she took a shaky breath. She wanted to go up, up from these pits and reach the daylight. Up…

Suddenly she knew. It was crazy, beyond stupidity. But as the idea formed in her head, she noticed the geniality with it. It was like that time when Fred and George had argued for their plan to get their names into the Goblet of Fire; it was so brilliant because it was so stupid.

By the other pillar, Harry crouched down and threw some spells at the wizards. "What do we do?" he yelled with frantic desperation and Hermione actually graced him with a smile in the midst of chaos.

"Just follow me!" she answered and inched towards the other corner of the pillar. Fewer curses were being cast in this direction and she had perfect view of the raging dragon. Apparently the pale creature had moved so much that the old wounds had reopened and gleaming blood trickled over its scales.

Hermione pitied it for she saw something in its eyes. It was a trapped beast who was supposed to live in the wild. Perhaps it had, before getting captured and transported to England to guard a vault deep down in darkness. How cruel, to not raise a dragon down here from the beginning, and at least spare it from experiencing the sweet taste of freedom and then deny it to ever return to the nature.

The goblins and the dragon tamers had done their best to cripple the magnificent beast, to make it expect pain and torture if it did not behave as they requested. But the most basic instincts and memories were probably still wedged inside the trapped beast and that was why it still fought its bonds, still raged with scaring persistence whenever it got a chance.

The dragon needed freedom as much as Hermione and her friends. To her, the dragon seemed to have many similarities with Scabior. And she was not going to use the dragon selfishly for her purposes like the others had. She would make the dragon and herself benefit mutually from the approaching moment. They would help each other.

Her knees trembled as she prepared to act, although she did trust her gut instinct and her books; dragons were intelligent animals and had strong hearts in more than one way. Maybe that was why Mr Ollivander was so keen of using dragon heartstrings in his wands?

"_Relashio_!"

When the collar of iron split in two, the dragon stopped trashing and ceased spurting fire, almost as if it was surprised by the odd sound close to its ear. Hermione knew her chance had come and sprinted to a cliff and did not hesitate in front of the ledge before she jumped. She landed perfectly and gripped one of the unnaturally soft horns on the momentarily calm creature.

Something purple soared past her ear and she quickly made herself as flat as possible on the dragon's back. The wall of stone behind her crumbled when innumerous curses hit it and she could not hear Harry and Ron but saw them following in her trail and jump onto the dragon as well. 'Thank Merlin we all have Gryffindor courage,' she thought and then Ron cried out, "Make it go!"

Hermione reluctantly let go with one hand and rolled onto her back. Her body moved in rhythm to the dragon's rapid breaths.

"I'm sorry," she whispered and cast an Incendio at the tail. The response was immediate; Hermione barely had time to secure herself again before the dragon jerked and opened its mouth and roared in pain. But then it seemed to realize nothing was there to restrain it and it unfolded the impressive but tattered wings.

The very small wizards and goblins down below screamed in terror and backed away. Hermione could almost swear she heard a flabbergasted "Merlin's beard!" from the group when the dragon shook its head, turned it up and sniffed the air. Hermione smiled fondly at the creature who now behaved even more like Scabior. But she urged it on in her mind, aware that the shock amongst the enemies would soon wear off.

'Come on. You can do it. You are almost free. Find the freedom.'

A snarl erupted from the animal and it crawled to the vast shaft where the carts travelled on their windling railways. The dragon cautiously stretched out the nose from the small platform that was the entrance to the Lestrange's vault before it bravely lurched to the stone wall and began to climb it with suited claws. Hermione had to use all her strength to not fall off the living vehicle and glanced at Ron and Harry on the other side of the dragon's spine.

"Another story to tell the grandchildren!" Ron smirked and Harry had left the worriedlook behind too, since he beamed and seemed to enjoy every bit of the journey. His black hair waved in the wind created by the dargon's speed and he, as opposite to Hermione, had the ability to easy follow the erratic movements. Hermione knew Harry loved to fly on a broomstick. Maybe that was why he liked this experience so much, too. Tiredness and years disappeared from his face and he actually laughed when the dragon tried the wings and succeeded in keeping itself in the air. The dragon healed Harry from the torture that up until now had haunted him.

But then Hermione glanced up at the ceiling and held her breath. How bad was the dragon yearning for freedom? Quite a lot apparently, because it did not shy away but pushed the hard head into the ceiling and managed to break through. The trio pressed their bodies into the scales when splints rained down on them and soon the dragon was content with the size of the hole.

It crept through it and Hermione gasped when she found herself in Gringotts hall with a large number of gobsmacked goblins. The dragon pressed on however, and flew towards the dome of glass. Hermione feared the dragon, for so long subjected to darkness, would not be able to register the transparent but sharp-edged material. She cast a convenient spell which shattered the dome before the dragon could hurt itself and the fresh air surrounded her.

Diagon Alley rested beneath her in its obsure and depressing state and grey clouds added to the dimness. But Hermione and her companions were safe and had a horcrux.

"What do we do now?" Ron asked the others as the dragon flew over London and oddly enough, the height did not scare Hermione as much as she had expected.

"We'll have to wait and see. We can't steer it, but I think it's going to the north," Harry answered and Hermione clung to the body to keep warm as the wind swirled around her.

"Well, done," she whispered softly into the scales and even patted the horn. Ron was right. This certainly would be something to tell to her grandchildren.

* * *

Scabior pressed his aching wrist against his chest and took a ragged breath. A dull thumping in his head remained after the terrible headache and he shivered despite the Firewhiskey flowing in his veins. He felt his face go pale and cold as anguish filled his being.

This was very bad. But he had no choice.

If he did not turn up like Voldemort had requested; he would most likely be hunted until the other followers found him. Voldemort was not one for either forgiveness or generosity. Scabior suspected He would most likely track down every coward who did not show up and make an example of them. Scabior had already pressed his luck one time and had had the fortune of making it out of the Ministry alive. This time however, he did not see himself succeed with that stunt.

He reached for his gloves and began to pull them on. The right one required his teeth, as he feared the left one was still weak after the summoning. Then he slowly stretched his limbs and tried to lose the tension. Since he had no idea what went on in the Dark Lord's ranks at the moment, he wanted to be prepared for everything. If he had to send spells and dodge an assault, he would do so for his own survival.

But in spite of his mind's determination, he experienced a sinking in his stomach. This moment reminded him of the time when he was brought to Azkaban many years ago. Dementors sucked the happiness from him and dark walls enclosed his wild snatcher nature. It was a horrible sensation.

Scabior blinked and began to scan the empty forest surrounding him, eager to find something, anything, that could give him some hope and prove the world was not doomed before the hands of a dark wizard. He had nothing from Hermione in his satchel and her scent on him had faded to the thinnest of veils. But then, he heard a scratching sound above.

He raised his head and aimed his wand immediately at the threat. On a branch up in a tree sat a fluffy robin and moved its tiny claws on the bark. The beak tilted here and there as the restless bird looked everywhere. Scabior saw the beauty of the scene and smirked. 'To hell with it all.'

If he had gone sentimental it did not matter now. All that was important was to survive to the_ right_ price and remember the beauty in his life. Especially one beautiful girl. He waved his wand to make the bird go away, because he did not want to scare it later with the bang of his disapparation. The robin chirped and soared away between the trees.

Feeling more at ease with the impending future, Scabior disapparated and landed on a big root in the Forbidden Forest.

The darkness blinded him for a second but then he quickly moved away to the shadow of the nearest tree, keeping his stance low and ready. A throng of people stood in the clearing. Many of them were dressed like him; practical jackets and coats, earth colours, furs and leather. Scabior had seldom seen so many snatchers together and he wondered what was expected of them. Something big was probably going to happen if the Dark Lord had seen fit to gather even the most insignificant followers who did not even carry the Dark Mark.

He began to search for familiar faces in the crowd but it was a difficult task when people kept apparating. A few high Death Eaters strutted around with their masks and combat robes on and growled at the muttering groups.

Very unexpectedly, someone pushed Scabior in his back and sent him tumbling to the ground. Astonished that someone had managed to sneak up behind him, he jumped onto his haunches and pointed his wand at the shadow.

"Look what we've got here. Back from cowering in your hole, rabbit?"

Scabior widened his eyes and stumbled to his feet as swift as he could. Fenrir Greyback grinned at him with blood staining his chin and his arms outstretched in pretend awe. Several werewolves, both women and men, stood behind the alpha and snarled and spitted at Scabior.

'Shit! The whole fucking pack?' Scabior thought with dismay but neither lowered his wand, nor shrunk away. He regretted his decision to pull on the gloves, because now his silver ring was useless.

"Answer me, you piece of shit! Or are you not so tough now when you're alone like an abandoned pup?" Fenrir growled and took a brave step forward.

The reek from the half-human made Scabior nauseous but he forced a heartedly smile and answered with a steady voice, "Why, Greyback. Funny you should call me a piece of shit when you're the one who smell and look like shit."

Contrary to what he had thought would be Greyback's reaction, the man chuckled darkly and showed his yellow and sharp teeth. "Sounds like you're referring to my exit from your pathetic snatcher gang. But do you know, rabbit, that I've been thinking about that for a long time. We've got something to settle and I suggest we do it sooner than later."

Scabior's inner snatcher fidgeted and urged him to get away from the vengeful werewolf. Greyback was known for being able to hold a grudge for long. And as it was not enough with facing the famous werewolf, there was a pack of dogs with him.

Still, Scabior stood his ground. He counted on Voldemort's more important supporters to not allow the werewolves to cause havoc and demolish the moral within the crowd. He heard how the snatchers behind him had gone quiet and imagined they all surveyed the scene with calculating eyes.

Greyback sneered and started to slowly circle Scabior in a very intimidating way but he did not turn his head.

"Admiring my handsome look, are you? I bet you wish you could look like me so some werebitch in your pack would accept to fuck you. Ain't it sad to be so fucking ugly, Greyback?" Scabior taunted but knew he treaded over the line. Greyback would be forced to defend his position in the pack and not let Scabior's insult go. But Merlin strike him down, he would not let a stinking werewolf play with him like an appetizer. Then he would be dead.

Greyback came into focus again and he rolled his massive shoulders and spread his legs to appear bigger and more terrifying.

"What a cocky thing to say, coming from a rabbit who's been gone from the battlefield for months." And then Greyback lost his grin and his bloodshot eyes ran over Scabior until a new gleam appeared in them.

"Do you smell that?" he said loudly to his pack and they began to sniff the air and snigger. Greyback suddenly resembled a kid who had gotten his Christmas present early, or a dog who had found an especially juicy bone, which Scabior found deeply disconcerting.

"There's more than your disgusting scent on you, rabbit. Something that smells sweet and delicious." Scabior could not hide the fear in his features in time and Greyback registered it.

"I would've assumed it was the scent of a bloke if only there was something male in the scent. I've always deemed you a prissy fucker who dreams of getting buggered good, rabbit. But this smell on you is from a woman."

An image of Hermione was conjured in Scabior's mind which distracted him from the present. His lovely treasure lying on her back in Irish grass and bringing his head down to her before she placed soft kisses on his lips.

"What's it to you?" he asked with furrowed brows. Greyback licked his teeth with a partly green tongue and drew nearer.

"You seem tensed, old friend. What's wrong? Don't like to talk 'bout this secret woman? What distinguishes her from your other whores?"

"Greyback, lay off! The Dark Lord will be here any minute," someone from the side shouted with annoyance.

"Can't one 'ave a favorite whore all o' a sudden?" Scabior muttered in an attempt to make Greyback stop seeking the truth.

"You know what, Scabior? This bird seems to have bewitched you completely. And hypnotizing witches intrigue me. I think I'm gonna track her down as soon as I'm finished beating you to a pulp and serving the Dark Lord tonight. The question is," Greyback began and leaned his head towards Scabior's ear, "…should I bite her first and then fuck her, or do it in reverse order? Either way, she's gonna scream and there'll be blood."

Scabior exhaled and could not stop the anger that suddenly exploded inside him and the snatcher nature became responsible for his actions. He even forgot about his wand.

He had the advantage of speed and surprise. Instead of going for Greyback's muscled upper body and the dangerous teeth, he dropped to the ground and kicked him hard on the shins.

The man yelped and lost his balance. His heavy body fell over Scabior and he got an elbow in his temple. But he pulled away from the werewolf and swept his wild eyes quickly over the rest of the werewolves to get a clue what they planned to do. None of them moved forward however, but they followed the scene with great interest and glared at Scabior.

Unfortunately he had misjudged the alpha's ability to recover faster than humans and suddenly he felt large hands encircle his neck from behind and squeeze the air from his airway. Claws dug into his skin and when Scabior frantically raised his hands to free himself, a hard knee hit his spine and made him arch his back in pain and gasp when the hands threw him down into the dirt. Now Greyback had shown his advantages; strength and control.

"Stupid rabbit! You're gonna pay for what you did to me!" Greyback hissed and aimed a kick at Scabior's gut. He choked on a scream but knew he could not afford to curl up like most beaten victims usually did, for that would mean a clearance to Greyback to hit him as much as it pleased him. He needed to get up.

He refrained from whimpering as his neck hurt but then a heavy weight settled on his ribcage and immobilized him on the ground.

"Fuck you!" he grunted to Greyback who had placed his knee on his chest and loomed over his face. 'A little bit closer.'

"This is for the way you treated me." At that, Greyback lifted his enormous and dirty fist and slammed it into Scabior's cheekbone.

Scabior felt half his face go numb but tingle at the same time, although he still considered himself lucky; Greyback had not hit his jaw or nose with this first blow. And he would never get the chance to rearrange Scabior's face. Greyback looked delighted at his work and leant even closer.

"I'm gonna break your bones, rabbit. And when I'm finished with you, I'll run after your pretty cunt. What d'you think about tha…"

Making an impressive effort, coming from a beaten man, Scabior lifted his head and head-butted Greyback in the right place.

The werewolf gasped and fell off him. Scabior got on his knees with the agility of a kneazle and dove for the dazed man with his wand at the ready. Before he reached him however, a non-verbal shield charm appeared between the wrestling men and separated them from each other.

"Enough with this uncivilized behavior! Salazar, you're acting like filthy mudbloods," a tall, masked, obviously hardcore, Death Eater said coolly and stepped out from the crowd with his black robes swirling around his legs.

Scabior panted and grimaced when he swallowed with difficulty. Even so, he considered himself to have done pretty well in a fight against a full-grown werewolf. He was determined to get up faster than Greyback, purely out of principle and touched his tender cheek. Only a thin streak of blood tainted the palm but he could literally feel the bruise swelling.

The significant Death Eater removed his mask and stared him down with ice blue eyes and a pulsating vein in his temple under blond hair. Scabior nodded courteously at Yaxley and saw Greyback do the same in his peripheral vision. Greyback had a red, going on blue, bruising on his forehead and the top of his short nose. He was bleeding as well.

"Now is not the time to settle childish feuds. The Dark Lord has no use of wounded and incapable men!"

Yaxley walked forward and only stopped when he was a few feet away from Scabior. He pursed his mouth in disapproval and hissed so no-one else beside the three of them could hear, "Especially you two are going to have better things to do in a minute. You have been appointed to lead our squads when the Dark Lord commands it. We will enter Hogwarts and take all the traitors and mudblood brats who swarm the Gryffindor House. Are you with us, or are you going to make me randomly pick one of the three Curses to punish you?"

Scabior raised his eyebrows at the revealed plan. Was he back in the game in spite of his rather disgraceful exile which Voldemort himself had announced?

He did not embrace the idea at all. To be a commander would mean he had to be in the front line and was unable to hide among the others. He was expected to use whatever spell required to fulfill the Dark Lord's wish and Scabior had turned reluctant at the thought of hurting and killing helpless children who moreover could be Hermione's friends.

The sad truth was that he could not see a possible way of escaping his bonds. He would have to come up with an idea quickly how he with credibility could spare kids from getting harmed when the wizard army of Voldemort attacked Hogwarts.

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**Reviews are always welcome! Kiss, kiss.**


	39. Chapter 39 Battles

**Hello, my lovelies! After a maddening time with a postponed essay (I had writer's block and ran out of time) and a ride in an ambulance and a day in a hospital after a minor fainting experience due to stress, low blood sugar and overheating, I'm now more okay. I've been waiting so long for this moment to come! Ever since I mapped out this fic, I've been longing to write especially this part and some others in the next chapters. And for this chapter you will find I've excluded some things about Hermione since you already know what happens, but prepare for surprises from now on. I hope that's alright with you. And after my question some time ago, I can now announce that the fic will continue after the battle of Hogwarts****. Enjoy and please send me your thoughts. Love/ Sycamoretree**

**Inspirational music: Lost by Within Temptation  
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Chap. 39 Battles

"I'd say we jump. Now!" Harry screamed and Ron and Hermione let go of the dragon.

Hermione closed her eyes as she plummeted towards the water and prepared for the cold impact. Not surprising at all, the Scottish lake was freezingly cold and Hermione nearly gasped as she kicked frantically to reach the surface. She found Ron and Harry there and they began to swim for the shore. The boys were becoming blue and Hermione saw them shiver as they all stumbled up from the water.

"Oh, use your magic, sillies," she sighed and waved her wand to warm them. Then she took to fumbling with her new transfigured purse and retrieved dry clothes. But when she at last had gotten rid of the heavy skirt and buttoned her jeans, Harry cried out and flung himself to the ground.

"Harry! What's wrong?" Ron said with fear in his voice. Harry only shook his head and moaned miserably. Hermione knelt by his side and watched him close his eyes but there was a frantic moving beneath his lids. She held her breath until Harry's limbs relaxed and only pants were heard from his tired body.

"Mate?" Ron tried and Harry replied through gritted teeth, "He knows about Gringotts and what we stole. He isn't happy anymore, but furious. He's going to Hogwarts." At that, Harry's green eyes were revealed to Hermione.

"There's something He wants inside the castle; something He's hidden. I think…"

"Another horcrux," Hermione breathed out and Harry nodded. Ron ruffled his hair to reduce the dripping from his wet tendrils and said, "So, I guess we're heading there then. I mean, there's no other way to get these blasted things besides actually taking them by hand. And come to think about it, we're already near Hogwarts thanks to the dragon. We could appar…"

"You can't apparate inside the castle! It's written in Hogwarts: A History," Hermione reminded him and added as she helped Harry to get up on his feet, "Another troubling matter is Snape and the Death Eaters who run Hogwarts. I don't expect we would be welcomed at Hogwarts with open arms."

"So what do you propose we do, Hermione?" Harry asked and luckily, Hermione had already come up with a solution.

"Why don't we try Hogsmeade first? It would be easier to escape from there, should we be ambushed but if everything goes well, we could sneak up to the castle without anyone knowing. We'll use your invisibility cloak, Harry." They agreed on the plan, gathered under the almost too small cloak and held onto each other's hands.

The very moment Hermione felt snow being crushed by her shoes, a loud noise startled her and she was about to turn around to locate the sound out of pure instinct when Harry insistently tugged at her hand and sent her to the side of a house.

"It's some sort of alarm. We need to hide," he hissed and all three of them huddled together under the scarce space under the cloak while the alarm cried out, "Apparation alert! Apparation alert!"

"It's Potter! Now we've got him!" someone declared cockily from a distance and Hermione heard how Harry exhaled shallowly. Her hair stood on end when she experienced an all too familiar cold seeping into her very soul. The Death Eaters here were bringing dementors.

"Hey, Potter! If you're there; come in here quickly," a bearded man called in a subdued tone from the open door to the Hog's Head. Hermione shared one look with the boys before they began to carefully move across the street and even though the old man was lit from behind, she could barely see his features but her gut told her he reminded her of someone.

* * *

Scabior glared grimly at Greyback who had retreated to the far end of the dark clearing with the rest of his pack. And just like the werewolf, Scabior was busy with covering up his bruises with all too simple spells. Since he wanted to be alert and not waste his magical powers before the impending attack, he could only afford to cast healing spells that would reduce the swelling on his face and the throbbing ache in his spine. He would have to endure the tingles in his cheek and temple as well as the colorful bruises he knew he was sporting beneath his clothes.

He sat down on a grey root and supervised the growing agitation amongst the Dark Lord's followers. No-one was able to stand still and people brandished their wands when they started to bark at each other for no reason. They were all nervous and scared by the Voldemort's prolonged and unexplained absence.

Suddenly Scabior listened to a hasted voice saying, "_Diffendo_" and felt the strap on his satchel give.

He turned his head in time to see the gaunt and panicked face of a young snatcher, probably not even twenty years old, who grabbed Scabior's bag from behind without a word and began to run straight towards the darker trees that surrounded them all.

Scabior had only raised himself out of astonishment when an eerily green light lit the area and hit the boy between his shoulder blades. He fell dead to the ground and the bickering Death Eaters stopped their fighting and looked at the victim. An especially vicious-looking hardcore follower in shiny leather strutted past Scabior and did not stop until he reached what had recently been a living human, and disgraced the body by placing one foot on the back.

"The Dark Lord has no use of cowards. Everyone attempting to desert _will_ be killed. I hope my message is clear."

Silence met the man who only grinned before he added, "Thefts from snatchers entitles anyone to kill the criminal. Or isn't that one of your famous rules? I felt compelled to honour the customs," he taunted the snatchers who all knew that the rules only applied to snatchers, not outsiders, but no-one dared to speak up to him.

The man returned to his fellows. The tension had expanded and Scabior could not hear anyone talk anymore. Not as much as a whisper was heard from the serious crowd. He glanced back at the fallen boy who had been so keen on surviving and getting out of here. Perhaps he would have made it if he in his frightened state had not been ruled by his snatcher instincts and taken Scabior's satchel, thus exposed himself to that man who belonged to the higher ones in command.

'Silly boy,' Scabior thought darkly but all the same, he could not find it in his heart to blame the boy for his mistake. Every desperate soul here had an unyielding wish to live. But none amongst the common people besides the boy had the courage to be honest about it.

One man dressed in a tattered brown cloak with a hood drew nearer the body and gently removed the fingers that clutched the strap. Then he lifted the satchel and began to walk with soft steps towards Scabior.

"'Ere ya go, boss. I guess 'e ain't gonna need it anymore, the poor kid." Scabior flinched and crouched down to be able to look into the hood and determine the man's identity.

"'Ello," the man with blue lips, black circles around the eyes and a rough beard said quietly and for a moment his eyes gleamed with glee and playfulness.

"Rusty? Fuck me to Avalon and back, what has happened to you?" Scabior croaked and grasped the upper arm of his loyal snatcher and, now that it seemed he was on the verge of the apocalypse it suddenly stood clear, his best friend. Rusty smiled back but Scabior could tell the red-haired man had suffered through a lot since they parted.

"Not been up ta much, really. I've been busy savin' my sorry skin just like the rest o' the lot." Rusty tiled his head to the side and indicated a group of weather-beaten snatchers who stood nearby. Scabior did not recognize any of them.

"We all saw ya take on the vomitin' werewolf by yerself. Either ya're brave as few or fucked up in the 'ead, no offence. I just wanted ta say I'm sorry fer not intervenin' but I swear I was gonna when Greyback had ya on the ground. Only Yaxley got there first," Rusty uttered with mixed admiration and regret. Scabior relieved him of the weight of his satchel and shook his head.

"No need for apologies. I know where I've got you, Rusty." Scabior calmed him and after a moment he contemplated the state of Rusty's clothes and the harried face where starvation had left its marks.

"Do me a favour, will ya? Keep this safe for me until after the operation. And feel free to take whatever you need from it; it's the only payment I can give you in return."

Scabior promptly thrust the satchel with his healing potions, bandages and food into Rusty's chest and kept it there until the man lifted his hands to hold the valuable burden himself.

"Wow. Thanks, boss." Scabior smirked back and affectingly threw an arm over the other man's shoulders as he began to guide him back to the throng of snatchers.

Without warning a violent thunder tore the momentary peace apart and Scabior whipped around and saw that Voldemort had arrived with his closest followers, such as the Malfoy boy's ashen parents, Minister Pius Thicknesse, an oddly deflated Bellatrix and the monstrous snake. An unpleasant tremble went through Scabior upon seeing the man and the beast who had almost killed him last time they met and he staggered backwards to join the others, aware of the safeness a crowd could offer.

Voldemort's sickly white and hairless head was repulsing enough, but with the wrinkled black robes and the restless red eyes, Scabior had to confess the Dark Lord looked even more hideous. The most powerful wizard in the world seemed unhinged and beyond conscious fury which was very disrupting.

"I have changed my mind. It seems Harry Potter and his friends have chosen to infiltrate Hogwarts tonight. Therefore, I no longer have the wish to take control over traitorous Gryffindor vermin. But do not let this information sadden you, my true servants. I would never deny you an opportunity to punish those who over and over pollute our world. So we will not only enter Hogwarts this night, but destroy it and everyone inside it unless they hand Harry Potter over to me. Now, it is time for preparations."

* * *

Professor McGonagall recovered pretty fast after the initial shock of seeing Harry in the Great Hall, dueling Snape and hearing Voldemort declare his ultimatum.

"Mr Potter, what do you need us to do?" she said as the Slytherins shuffled out of the Hall. Hermione did what her long-time mentor did; turned to Harry with an inquisitive expression.

"I have to find something inside the castle. Dumbledore's orders. But I need time."

"We can give you that," McGonagall retorted without hesitation and it was obvious the competent witch trusted Harry with her life. Still, Hermione could not help the flare of fear inside as the people around her hurried to get out of the Great Hall and begin the fight for the school. Suddenly it stood clear to her that there would be a battle of Hogwarts soon and the Dark Lord's army was right outside the wards of the castle.

A single hint of a thought swept over her mind but she dared not think about it. It was idiotic to wonder if _he_ was out there. She had to be strong for Harry and help him complete his mission. Because she was Hermione Granger and there was nothing else she could do for the ones she loved. She thought briefly of her mum and dad, so far away in Australia where the only dangers to muggles were the nature and the many poisonous animals.

'Snakes.'

She considered the word for a moment before she grabbed Ron's sleeve and gasped of excitement. "Ron! I know where we can find another weapon against the horcruxes! Why didn't I think about it earlier?"

"Hermione, you're rambling. Just tell me what you're referring to," Ron laughed in the midst of the crowd but Hermione was already trying to notify Harry. "Ron and I will go and find basilisk venom for the cup, Harry. Try to find the lost diadem in the meantime," she told him and dragged Ron with her as she exited the large room.

Through the windows in the crammed corridor she saw a sapphire line move across the sky high above the castle and some of her fright vanished. Blue was the colour of very advanced and sustainable protecting shields. This would buy them time.

As she ran in front of Ron she lit a torch on the wall on a whim to further banish the darkness that for so many months had resided in Hogwarts. She reached the stairs and was beyond happy to see that they moved quicker than usual. It seemed the castle in this hour knew the importance of speed. She stepped onto one and waited for it to connect with another floor.

"Don't you see? We're heading to Moaning Myrtle's bathroom on the second floor. That's where the entrance to the…"

"…the Chamber of Secrets is," Ron finished for her and continued with awe, "That's bloody brilliant. We can get a fang and defeat the horcrux immediately."

And before Hermione had time to worry about the required password in Parseltongue Ron hissed it out and they watched as the round door granted them access to Salazar Slytherin's secret room and the remains of the basilisk. Despite her feeble protests, Ron insisted on it being her turn to destroy a horcrux.

So she clenched her jaw and ignored the whistles and screeches from the cup and raised her hand that held a fang. "You can do it, Hermione! Do it now!" Ron shouted and she stabbed the cup with all her might. A roar and smoke blacker than Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder surrounded her until something made the water in the chamber rise and wash over her and Ron.

Hermione exhaled as if she woke up with a start and dropped the fang to the stone floor where the silent cup lay still. The silence somehow took over and she lifted her gaze. There was Ron, in drenched clothes as well but with a proud beaming on his face. "You did it, Hermione! Hermione… My Hermione."

He was too close now. And in his eyes burned a fire she recognized from another man in her life. Ron's hands encircled her waist and pulled her closer. He leaned down slightly. Hermione almost succumbed to the temptation of getting a small measure of comfort before the battle. Just to celebrate life. But then she reined herself in and realized what was about to happen. And Godric forgive her, she could not. Not when she carried Scabior's beautiful heart in her hands.

"Oh, Ron," she sighed to distract him and angled her head to the side as she wrapped her arms around his neck and hugged him hard. Perhaps in another time she would have revaluated her decision. But right now she found she could not cruelly send Ron to duel in the large battle of the Second Wizarding War with a broken heart. She cared too much about him for that. Nevertheless, she was unable to kiss him and thus deceive herself, Scabior and Ron by doing something she knew was wrong.

She would have to play the part of a girl who had misread her friend's signals until the time came when she could tell Ron the truth. Because he deserved to hear it. Only not right now. She felt Ron's hands slowly caress her back and tilted her head when Ron buried his head in the crook of her neck, bared as it was since she had made a sloppy braid once she understood there would be lethal duels this night.

* * *

Scabior stood, like a commander of old times, before his men. He looked sideways to the cliff which was illuminated by the blue shield and the spells everybody carrying a wand sent at the unwavering sphere. There stood Voldemort, far away from the action and conversed with Severus Snape, as if nothing extraordinary was happening.

Scabior and his snatcher inside hated to wait like this but at the same time he welcomed every minute the shield managed to stand. He tossed his hair back and rolled his shoulders before he shifted on the spot for the thirty-fourth time.

He was ordered to lead the snatchers into Hogwarts as soon as the shield went down. And in spite of his loneliness in front of the army, he had sent Rusty to the rear of the crowd to ensure he would not enter the battlefield until everyone in front of him had done so. But what occupied his anguished mind as he waited was Voldemort's news. He had mentioned Potter and his _friends_. Did that mean…?

Scabior groaned and began to pace along the front row. No matter how hard he tried to make up possible scenarios he knew deep down that Hermione, his treasure, was inside the castle. Neither she nor her companions would want to leave her alone somewhere safe. They were all ready to participate in the fight for freedom and Harry Potter's life. The most maddening fact was that so was Scabior. It was just the small detail he was trapped on the wrong side.

Suddenly the shield cracked and began to glow in a rhythmic manner. One golden split appeared on eye-level with him and he looked at the castle through it. He saw short people, presumably students, scrambling across the courtyard and then he squinted and demanded his snatcher sight to register those small dots of humans, who were visible far away, through the ornamental openings. And then, for a second, his heart stopped beating.

A girl with golden brown hair and not dressed like the others rushed past a glassless window. Scabior reeled back as if he had seen the grim and he felt a jolt in his stomach. Surely that had not been her. But then again, his eyes had positively detected a loose, wavy curl by the girl's temple.

And even though he could not perceive a scent from that distance, Scabior understood; he had just seen a glimpse of Hermione and that was enough to send him spiraling down into a sea of emotions. He would get over the wooden bridge and reach Hermione. He had not got a clue what he would do once he met her. Should he carry her from the battle and hide her somewhere safe while enduring her rage at his trick? Could he stay by her side and openly show where his allegiances lay, and in the end kill his old friends if they approached him and Hermione?

But battlefields were no places for slow and thorough considerations. Scabior was only capable of thinking about the present and his main goal, which was the same ever since he had found out Hermione had left him; to find her, his treasure, his love and holder of his heart.

Small fragments of the damaged shield rained down over the snatchers. Scabior knew what his duty was.

With tentative steps forward he approached the deadly ward and held his breath. No-one behind him said anything but he could feel their eyes piercing the back of his head as he lifted his foot and stretched it out. No pain.

He dared to place the foot on the ground and put some weight on it and it turned out his legs was alright. He smiled victoriously as he thought how little separated him from Hermione now. He focused his gaze on a young wizard who stood right inside the covered bridge with a stunned expression.

"My love," Scabior mumbled to himself and gave the signal to the men and women behind him before he ran down the slope towards the bridge. The boy turned around and sprinted as fast as he could while occasionally shooting spells over his shoulder. As one of the most accomplished snatchers, Scabior kept his position in the front and only heard the song of his boots drumming against the wooden floor.

He was halfway across when the structure around him shifted. He frowned and glanced behind him. The sight paralyzed his mind but his feet kept moving. Explosions and fire swallowed snatchers in the back. And then Scabior figured it out. The damn kid had placed booby-traps on the bridge that was collapsing. The back was already gone but Scabior did not hear the screams of the doomed ones, only the blood rushing in his ears.

His will to survive kicked in and was so strong it startled him. This was not his fate. He could not die while running. By Salazar, he was a snatcher! But he had not expected this.

Flames licked the pillars on either side of him, but he pressed on. He could see the boy reach the solid land on the other side. He would be there soon.

Soon.

Soon was not enough.

A board under his foot bent upwards and suddenly he fell to his knees. He scratched the wood with his hands to get up. But then the stable base beneath him had disappeared. Scabior inhaled a shallow breath of surprise and fear before he could only see darkness around him as he fell helplessly through the air.

Somewhere inside his head he recalled a memory from his time at Hogwarts. Below the famous bridge was a rocky terrain with sharp cliffs.

Scabior screamed and heard others above him scream as they all plunged towards their death.

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**Aww, I know cliffhangers are awful but I felt it was the perfect thing to end the chapter with. So, what do you think? Reviews, please.**


	40. Chapter 40 Frontiers

**Hello! Tension, tension, tension. And instead of answering your kind reviews, I wrote as fast as I could to relieve you of the cliffhanger. That deserves a private hooray for me. So: HOORAY! Lol, I'm done now. Enjoy the chapter which is divided into several paragraphs this time.  
**

**Inspirational music: Send me an angel by Scorpions**

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Chap. 40 Frontiers

It was dark. All was dark.

He hurt.

Wet grass chilled his hand. He slowly came to.

He breathed but only barely. It was agony to inhale and exhale. He moaned but even the pitiful sound split his head in two.

A memory flashed before his blinded eyes. A fall. Falling to his death but managing to think the incantation; Aresto Momentum, and swinging his wand. The spell hadn't worked, not completely. Which must be why Scabior now found himself dying on his back. He should not have tried the spell since he preferred a quick, clean death before this drawn-out torture.

He was scared. Scared of the surrounding darkness. Then he understood his eyes were closed. They fluttered open but everything was a blur. Darkness above him, darkness around him. Night. And then he blinked and focused on something in his peripheral vision.

A cascade of orange, grey and yellow, tinged with all kinds of colours. His brain was so slow but finally he understood and let his eyes linger on the light, a refuge from the threatening darkness. The castle was on fire. Hogwarts, his school, was burning and he saw the bright evidence of spells reflected on the ancient walls.

Suddenly he swallowed but nearly choked on the mix of his own saliva and blood. He let his head roll to the side until he felt cold grass against his cheek. He opened his mouth, wanted to spit but his tongue did not seem to co-operate with him. He settled for letting the phlegm dribble out from him until he could breathe again.

Stars twinkled before his eyes. No, that was wrong. He should not be able to see stars from this position. He frowned and closed his eyes when waves of nausea hit him over and over. It was so cold. Did he shiver? Scabior could not tell. But something inside him clung to the small thread of life force. He knew he teetered on the edge.

He wanted to know more. If only his senses could collaborate with him. He allowed himself to pick up sounds in the darkness caused by his closed lids. A faint scream and bangs echoed from a distance. From the castle? But he perceived something else that was closer. A moan. Yes, several moans close to him. Gasps and wheezing breaths.

A gentle but freezing wind blew over him and he felt cold spots on his face. Apparently he was or had been crying. He thought of his mother. He was so sorry for this. Scabior relinquished his grip on consciousness.

* * *

Harry had left them with clear instructions; to kill the snake and make sure there only was one horcrux left: Harry. Hermione was beyond exhausted. Her clammy hand tightly held her wand and the other held onto Ron as they dashed down a damaged stair.

She had survived crossing the courtyard, crouching against the wall to the boathouse with Voldemort on the other side, escaping a sinister Fiendfyre. She had seen people die. Young children buried in heaps of rubble. People she knew being cursed to death.

A short respite of ceasefire before the break of dawn had been given to them by Voldemort. She had walked the worst path in her life from the still standing doors of the Great Hall to the end of the large room. Professors silently placing sheets over small, unmoving bodies. Wizards and witches alike crying over lost ones or apathetically staring at their vicious wounds. And then the trio had reached the stretchers. Lupin and Tonks resting side by side even in death. Lavender who would never again catch a boy's attention. And Fred. Her never-ending tears had made smudges across her grimy cheeks as she had mourned the twin and supported Ron with all what was left of her broken heart.

The cruelty of war had not spared anyone in the castle from experiencing the cold claws of death. This was not war, nor was it a battle. It was a massacre. And then Harry had decided to end it all by meeting the Dark Lord's demand: to go out to him and give himself over. Hermione had wanted to stop him, then when she had understood he would not cave, she had asked, begged him, to let her join him. But he had said no, though she had heard him choking on a sob. Brave Harry.

He was out there now, had been alone for hours. And the morning was ruthlessly arriving, as if ignoring the gravity of the nightmarish battle against the dark arts. But Hermione had not lost hope yet. Not when there still was something worth fighting for. And she believed in Scabior.

"Ron! In here!" she yelled to the boy behind her and turned left into an empty corridor. A particular tail slithered around a corner and disappeared. A ragged breath belonging to Ron came from behind.

"Hermione, stop! What if it turns…" Ron trailed off when a gigantic head of scales with thin yellow slits showed itself and hissed to them. Nagini knew they were after her. Hermione saw Ron lift the basilisk fang and tug her back until she crashed into his shoulder.

"You distract it and I'll strike," he muttered while the snaked coiled itself and managed to lift the heavy upper body. Hermione lifted her wand and cast a nonverbal charm at the roof to make stones rain down over the creature. Ron leapt forward and aimed the fang at the snake's temple when the reptile simply shook off the stones as if they were light pebbles and lunged the entire head sideways with frightening force so Ron was pushed into the wall and dropped the fang.

Hermione gasped when she saw him sag down and jumped in front of his momentarily knocked out form to protect him against another attack. The snake's black tongue showed itself before the gape opened wide and a whole set of sharp teeth dripping with venom met her eyes. Hermione could not think of a single spell in that moment.

Then the snake hissed and retreated with flashing speed. It practically raced away and left Hermione with a stunned expression. But then she hurried to see to Ron and knelt by his side. "Ron? Ron, are you alright?"

A strangled groan from him and his eyes flying open calmed her down. "Merlin, that was unpleasant. Where did it go?" he muttered and massaged his shoulder before he got up.

"I…I don't know. I thought it was going to kill us when it just turned the other way."

They found the fang and then stumbled over the heap of crumbled rocks to pursue Nagini. They went into the next corridor but it was empty. Suddenly Hermione realized the entire castle was silent as if it held its breath. A strange premonition made her look out the window and observe the ruined courtyard. The people of Hogwarts were gathering in it. And then she leant forward and pressed her head against the cool windowpane to be able to see what everyone down there was looking at. A procession was coming over the stone bridge.

"Ron, I think we should go down to the others," she whispered and reached for his hand. It was only when his grasped hers that she became aware of the fact that her fingers trembled violently. Once they stepped out into the fresh air which made the smoke slowly vanish and joined the Weasley family Hermione finally saw who was approaching.

Voldemort, Tom Riddle, walking purposely towards them all with a victorious sneer and Nagini by his side. They were followed by a column of Death Eaters dressed in black robes and without their masks. Were they so sure of the outcome? Suddenly Hermione squinted her eyes and could make out a tall figure amongst the dark wizards.

"Hagrid."

"That's Hagrid."

"What's he carrying?"

Subdued voices rolled over them until Voldemort entered the courtyard. "Harry Potter…is dead!" he shouted with excitement and Hermione faltered. It was a trick, a…

"Harry! 'es dead!" Hagrid cried out in an utterly broken wail and that was when Hermione saw the burden in his arms. A raven-haired and lanky boy with glasses that were askew.

"Harry… nooo!" Ginny screamed and made to run forward when Mr. Weasley caught her sleeve and hauled her back. Distantly, Hermione heard gasps around her, saw people bow their head, how Professor McGonagall went rigid whereas Ron let her hand slide from shocked, Hermione lifted it to her mouth and felt something inside her die. Then Voldemort impatiently waved his hand and everyone went silent when he cast a spell on them.

"Yes, it is true. But this is not the end, valiant wizards and witches. This is the beginning of a new era. _My_ era."

"You maybe think so, but we will never surrender to you!" Neville unexpectedly said and both broke the spell and stepped out from the throng of the students. Voldemort grinned and showed his yellow teeth. "And who might you be? A Gryffindor, I suspect?"

"Neville Longbottom"

A roar of laughter came from the Death Eaters and Hermione willed Neville to back down. Sometimes it was better to establish a secret resistance than openly defy the enemy. But Neville's voice seemed deeper, and carried a rare tone of sureness.

"Ah, the offspring of the Longbottom's. Then you are most fortunate, boy. I will need purebloods like you with your courage to build up my new order."

"I'll join you when hell freezes over!" Neville spat which enraged Voldemort. He snarled and waved his wand. A brown bird swooned over them until they discovered it was the Sorting Hat.

"Here, you foolish boy!" the Dark Lord smiled and made the hat cover Neville's head and then burst into flames. It was more horrible than Hermione could ever have imagined. But then the temporary calm ended.

Neville suddenly broke free from the spell and pushed off the hat. Everyone from Hogwarts screamed in frustration and managed to He reached into it and pulled out the shining sword of Gryffindor. Hagrid screamed something inaudible over the sudden noise and Ron wrapped an arm around Hermione's waist and inhaled sharply before he raised his wand. Hermione watched as if enthralled, how Neville jumped forward, swung the blade, and chopped the head off Nagini. Voldemort halted and stared with mad red eyes as his snake became black ashes.

"Long live Dumbledore's army!" Neville shouted before curses and spells once more began to fly over the area and the young defenders began to run for the castle.

"Harry's alive!" someone called in the throngs and a stab of shock surged through Hermione. Was it true? She turned her head and saw Hagrid standing alone.

"He's here, Ron! Harry is alive!" she let out and vigorously shook his arm to make him and herself fathom the incredible news.

Another flame that further lit her hope was the fact that she had not seen any snatchers in Voldemort's ranks or in the castle during the previous battle. Perhaps that meant they had abandoned the fight, refused to continue fighting for the Dark Lord. Maybe Scabior was behind it. She could almost feel it in her heart he was still alive and out there in safety. So she would continue to fight for all of them. Harry could still defeat Voldemort who now was merely a mortal.

* * *

The morning light met Scabior's eyes when he opened them again. A bleak, vaporous morning in shadow. His head lolled up and he took a heaving breath but winced when thorns and needles prickled his skin everywhere. And his back burned from searing flames abusing his body. He took a more shallow breath and wondered if it was possible to bust a rib in the back.

He listened to the sounds around him, having to do something to stay awake, and be alive. He was not sure how much time he had left before he died. As the minutes passed by, the quiet moans and labored pants in the terrain around him grew fainter until they stopped completely.

Scabior was afraid of the silence. He strained his ears to pick up another sound, any sound. Above him; spells crashing into the walls of Hogwarts. Were they still fighting? How could they be so strong, the good side? It was a mystery to Scabior but nevertheless he thanked Merlin the Dark Lord had not won yet.

Was Hermione up there, shooting spells at everyone who attempted to harm her or her friends? If only he could know for sure. With that knowledge it would have been easier for him to either slip away peacefully, or stay in this world. Scabior began to caress the grass. Something to occupy his mind with. The feeling of thin grass blades slipping between his cool fingers. The dewy air filling his lungs. He lay on the reliable, solid ground which was good. He felt connected with the dirt, on which he had run many miles in his snatcher life.

Suddenly Scabior remembered his snatcher inside. The both trusted and blasted nature that had made him who he was. He closed his eyes, blocked out the grey clouds to instead focus on his inner companion. He clenched his fists and they shook as he searched. There, deep down in his heart cowered the snatcher. It was wounded and weak. Scabior considered trying to coax his nature into helping him out by evoking a snatcher seizure. Perhaps he would get his powers back and heal himself. But Scabior had to give up and bitterly chewed on his lip.

He knew his state this time was worse than the one after his private meeting with Voldemort in the ministry of Magic. His body was impaired. And sometimes not even magic could remedy such serious injuries.

As the temperature increased in the valley he understood when his lower body stayed ice cold. His back was broken. His dear legs were paralysed. And his chances to survive steadily grew smaller.

An overwhelming grief struck his core. It was not fair. Just when he had found love, a family, hope, redemption, and faith in the future, it was all taken from him. Did he deserve this? Yes, probably. But that did not mean he wanted it, so call him a greedy bastard.

A vehement exhaustion filled him and presented an alluring sleep. It was so tempting to give in, to rest and feel his body being sheltered by soothing sleep.

'Just gonna close my eyes. Just for a bit.'

Scabior succumbed to the tiredness and stopped moving his hands over the grass. 'Hermione, my beautiful thing.'

* * *

Surprise was not an expression Hermione had thought she would ever see on Bellatrix Lestrange's face. But as the witch was hit by a stunning jinx from a vengeful Mrs Weasley, she lost her grin and when Mrs Weasley once again flicked her wand, Bellatrix form exploded into thousands of crystals. An enraged cry sounded through the Great Hall and Hermione turned to see that Voldemort had observed what had happened.

He turned into elusive black smoke and flew closer to Harry. They began to duel and everyone ceased their activity to watch the Dark Lord and The Boy Who Lived fight against for their lives against each other. Harry called Voldemort Tom and said he had never fully understood the love Snape had felt for Lily Potter and that eventually, Harry had won the allegiance of the Elder Wand. Hermione only heard the two antagonists talking and her own heartbeats. The whole Hall seemed to hold its breath.

And then Voldemort cast the killing curse at the same time as Harry cast a disarming charm. The Dark Lord's curse rebounded upon meeting the invincible wand and hit Voldemort square on the chest. Voldemort's eyes flashed with fear and realization before he fell to his knees and opened his mouth in a silent scream. And then he fell dead to the floor, seemingly small and wasted in the black robes and he moved no more.

At first it was hard to grasp what had happened, but then Hermione's eyes flooded tears of with relief, happiness and gratitude for Harry's survival. As the Hall erupted into a roar of blissful laughter and outcries, she rushed towards Harry and embraced him with the force of a sister showing her love for her brother.

"Hermione, we did it! We did it," Harry said with wonder and hugged her back. Then Ron put his arms around both of them and then everyone followed his lead and gathered in one big joyous crowd.

"Hermione, mind my glasses," Harry chuckled when Hermione had placed a hard kiss on his temple and for the first time this morning she studied him up-close. His eyes shone with glee, his shoulders were relaxed and despite the dirt on his cheek and the sweat on his forehead, Harry seemed so relieved that his quest was over, that the darkness was defeated once and for all. There was hope.

The only thing she was missing now was a certain snatcher but he must have been somewhere away from the battlefield with his kin. She would celebrate here first, and then go and find him.

* * *

"Check them with spells. We don't want one of them to feign death and then escape."

"Merlin's beard, I think this fellow was alive until the dawn. Imagine that, Williamson, being alive while being impaled on a rock."

"Served him right. He's finally paid for all the lives he's had on his conscience."

Slurred words entered Scabior's mind, disturbed him in his lulled state. He wanted them gone. His head ached and when the sounds approached him, it grew worse.

"Should we take their wands? Just in case, I mean?"

"I suppose so. They sure won't need them anymore."

Boots shuffled through the grass and someone yanked something from a piece of clothing, or so he guessed.

"Look at this one! He's tried to crawl up the bloody hill? I always said these snatchers had stamina beyond even our comprehension, and we're Aurors. But…Williamson, come here! The maggot is alive!"

Heavy but rapid steps ran past Scabior.

"Well done, mate! Now, let's finish what the fall started."

"No! Are you out of your mind! We are to make sure the survivors stay alive! We've got to have someone to prosecute for the crimes they committed."

"But Tibertius, they've snatched innocent children and families for dirty galleons! They sold their own kind to the Dark Lord because they enjoyed it! How can you defend their right to live?"

"I'm just saying we have to take them to court. It's the proper and just way of a civilized society and what the leaders in a free world would do. If we kill this man now, we're as good as any Death Eater."

A man snorted in the distance. "Fine, if only to keep my own conscience clear. _Episkey_." A loud snap echoed through the valley and a tortured scream followed.

"Listen, you scum, we might levitate you up the hill because we would never want to dirty our hands by carrying you, but you'll not see a glimpse of a Skele-Gro once you're under arrest."

Scabior shivered but not from the cold. Instead he felt heat capture him and bothering the parts of him he still felt with no respite. Did he have a fever on top of everything else? He did not want to lie as a vegetable with temperature problems and wait for the men to discover him. He would rather to die alone.

He opened his eyes and saw blue colour. He blinked and looked again. The sky was visble and every cloud that for so long had covered the light was gone. The sun glimmered in the horizon. How odd. But then Scabior's brain caught on. The men, no, the _Aurors _were down here, clearing the area with no rush. And now that he come to think about it, he neither heard nor saw spells coming from the castle. But the people up there still shouted…

'It's the voices of children,' he suddenly thought and found himself smiling a little. They had won. The Dark Lord was defeated and gone.

Two times in his life, Scabior had lived with the constant threat of Voldemort taking over the world. And now they were free. His snatcher drank in the sunrays and jerked with merriness of having no bonds of allegiances controlling his movements. His left wrist hurt but it was a good feeling.

"Looks like we've got another, Williamson! He's breathing and seeing!" a triumphant exclamation reached Scabior and his face stiffened. His own body had betrayed him. A shadow fell over him when someone as if on purpose placed himself in the way of the sunlight. Scabior took in the tall man who bore a swanky grin on his round face and pointed a wand at his chest.

"What a pleasant surprise. Don't worry, we'll take care of you, you poor thing."

Somehow Scabior understood the man spoke with no compassion and his teeth began to clatter, whether from the fever raiding his body or the terrifying helplessness he thought so foreign.

"What's wrong with this bloke?" Glitter in different colours seeped into Scabior's wrecked limbs and he inhaled sharply but could only lie there with his gaze fixed on the clear sky as the Auror examined himwith spells.

"His spine has taken some serious damage. And six ribs on his back are broken, one so much it's got a loose piece dangling against his lung. It's your lucky day, sod, that your paralyzed legs kept you immobile. That probably saved your sorry life," the man in front of him taunted and kicked Scabior's heels. It was a harder blow to him that he despite the humiliation was unable to feel anything.

"Leave me alone." His voice lacked authority, was more like a husky whine.

But by speaking, Scabior aggravated the itch in his throat and he closed his watering eyes, fighting the urge to cough since he did not want to replace the itch with pain. Instead he swallowed and tried to breathe calmly if nothing else.

"You've got that wrong. We're not thick as thieves like the rest of your lot. I'll have you know that you can kiss your freedom goodbye, snatcher!" the Auror replied in a mocking tone. Then he waved his wand and ropes as well as a stretcher appeared and landed on the ground.

"Get him ready, Tibertius," the man who apparently was Williamson demanded and left from Scabior's sight. But he said nothing more, and only gritted his teeth when the ropes were wrapped tightly around his frame. As if he could summon any strength to curse his way out of here!

"Is this your wand?" the second Auror asked with a formal frown and then abruptly rammed the wand into his exposed neck. Scabior tried to angle away from the abusive wood but could not avoid it. The pressure left his neck and he took a shuddering breath before he emitted a small moan. His wand had acknowledged him.

"Alright, Besides these two rats, the others are dead. Let's levitate this man to the stretcher," Williamson commanded and then Scabior's hands lost contact with the grass.

He was about to think of something when a sharp stab hit him in the middle. The agony became too much for his body and his brain decided to shut down. His eyes rolled back into his head and he passed out.

* * *

**Scabior's situation is one I've been picturing for a loooong time, so I hope you liked it, too. ;)**


	41. Chapter 41 Cruelties

**Hello, everyone! I know it's been a while but the uni demanded a lot of me. But now I'm free for three weeks, and have managed to produce the longest chapter yet which I offer to you all as a Christmas present! ;) I'm aware many of you worry about the future for Hermione and Scabior but now some parts of their lives will turn brighter. The second wizard war is after all over. I planned to make a shorter chapter but there were things I simply had to include and the rest was too good to remove. So I hope you'll be happy. Merry Christmas!**

**Inspirational music: Please don't go by Barcelona**

* * *

The next time Scabior woke up he was overwhelmed by the agony trashing within his body. With a muffled moan, he opened his eyes and stared up at a dark and damp arch.

Slightly disoriented, he slowly turned his head in every direction and saw moss growing between the by age darkened stones in the ceiling.

He lowered his gaze and bit down on his tongue when his neck and the back of his busted ribs began to ache upon the shifting of weight. The room was filled with buzzing sounds of wounded as well as running people. He saw how hurt men lay on stretchers that had been placed upon tables where they were being taken care of by women and occasionally some men who bore ordinary robes but had smudges of dirt and blood painted on their exhausted, concentrating faces.

Scabior also recognized the stern men dressed in the famous robes of the Aurors who strolled between the tables with their wands at the ready, and a few number of them guarded a closed door. Scabior gulped and took a shuddering breath, remembering how unforgiving the men who had found him had been.

On the far wall he spotted shelves with potion bottles and preserved unmentionable things. Torches on the walls cast a dim but golden light on them all but neither provided warmth, nor chased away the black shadows in the corners. Scabior frowned. He knew this place. He felt the wood beneath his fingertips and begun to make small circles and found dimples within the square inch he traced.

It was a dungeon without windows. A dungeon with tables in proper rows, and potion bottles. Someone had, probably by accident, damaged the surface of the table under him. Suddenly he exhaled as he at last solved the mystery despite his dazed brain. It was a Potions classroom. Those rooms could only be at Hogwarts.

Pleased with his small feat, Scabior wanted to place his hand on his stomach in order to keep it warm and protected from the clammy air no-one of the standing humans seemed to be bothered with, as none of them had cast a heating spell. But immediately his wrist caught in a band of cold metal that made goose-bumps spread on his skin. Scabior swallowed back the urge to panic and tried to move the other arm. Solid iron attached to the table kept him in this position.

A wave of despair rose inside him. This was too much. He could not feel his legs, his body was broken; nearly dying and someone had fastened bonds on his snatcher limbs. He closed his eyes to mentally, if nothing else, escape the nightmare of prolonged suffering he was going through.

"Don't do anything else beyond making sure they'll live. They don't deserve your pity," an authoritarian booming voice echoed through the classroom and Scabior tried in vain to keep the words out, not wanting to hear the reality of impending cruelty that was about to be bestowed upon him. Somehow he now understood why it had been so hard for Voldemort to fully take over Britain. The people on the good side could also be ruthless, persistent, and determined.

A gargle reached his ears as if to mock him for the poor attempt to keep the sounds of misery and pain away.

"Madam, come quickly! He's drowning in his blood!" a female cried out and hurried feet drummed against the hard floor.

"No need to panic, dear. All we have to do is…"

A sudden clattering made everything silent besides a woman's surprised yelp. Scabior held his breath but kept his eyes closed.

"Fuck you all," a rasy voice gasped before it spat.

"Easy now, fellow. Why don't we all calm down?" It was another, younger male talking.

"Rogerson, don't," a sharp warning came from the other side of the room.

"Let go of the wand, mate. It's not yours."

"I'm not your mate, bastard! Now stand back or I'll kill either you or one of the pretty ladies here!" the weaker voice snarled and Scabior heard a wand whip back and forth through the air. Rogerson answered in a collected tone, "That would be foolish of you, since more murders not exactly would work in your favour at the trial. Be a sensible man and hand over the wand to me."

Frantic breaths and a voice laced with panic and tension caused strange echoes across the classroom. "If this is as free as my poor snatcher soul can be from now on, with three limbs in shackles, I'd rather die here than spend an eternity in Azkaban. Goodbye, lads."

A loud bang startled Scabior and he coughed feebly when dust rained down on him. His eyes flew open and he leaned his head sideways. Two women hugged each other on the floor, several male Aurors stepped closer to a table where a snatcher lay flat on his back, immobile. A young snatcher harshly took the wand from the snatcher.

"For Merlin's sake, Darnton, I almost had him! Why did you cast _Stupefy_ on him from behind?" the young man growled at his approaching elder colleague.

"This is not the place to practice how to deal with hostage-taker, Rogerson! Consider this as the real field, for bloody sake! Who knows how many lives the vermin would take with him had he managed to finish himself off? Now, get back to your post!" the senior barked before he helped the women get up again.

"That's it, we're done being kind. I want every Auror available to aim their wands at one snatcher or Death Eater from now on. And the prisoners will not need any more potions or spells for the pain," a tall Auror covered in scars commanded. One woman in ordinary robes sputtered, "It's not your decision to take. I'm the mediwitch and I can tell the wounded ones need…"

"And I'm an accomplished Auror who's responsible for the security. We're doing this my way," the wizard interrupted without a hint of uncertainty. Boots shuffled around in the classroom as the guards walked to their individual positions and pointed their wands at the men on the stretchers.

"And strip them of their magical powers. I don't want to see as much as a wandless _Wingardium Leviosa_ from them," the leader added which brought on a storm of protests from the wounded. Scabior could make out from the mingled enraged complaints that they thought it was unfair to punish them all due to one mad snatcher's mistake.

"Quiet, or I'll silence you myself!" the scarred man uttered with discontent. "Carry on."

Scabior immediately turned his head the other way and fixed his gaze on the man who was supervising him. The man did not meet his deserate eyes. Instead he held his wand pointed at Scabior's chest. A blue bulb of light appeared on the end of the magical wood and suddenly Scabior felt how his magic slipped away from him. He began to cramp and rock from side to side as much as the bonds permitted while he felt the deepest despair replace the magic that before had always resided in his core.

"No. No. Don't," he pleaded as he felt himself become weaker by the second. But the man was relentless and his wand kept pulling the invisible strings of pure magic from his defenseless body. This was worse than being chained to a wall in Azkaban with dementors sucking the happy feelings from him.

After seconds or minutes, Scabior could ot tell, the wand's light went out and he sagged against the table, not caring that the fabric on the back of his jacket was drenched in sweat. Every sound was muffled but he did not know whether he was in shock or if it was a natural reaction after being robbed of magic.

Absently he discovered his lips were moving but no words fluttered from them. He was so cold. Death would be preferable over this torture. He felt like an empty and weak shell of yellow paper; ready to crumble at the next blow. Something warmed his temples. He blinked and stared apathetically at the dark ceiling. Tears again. Who cared?

In his numb state, he did not detect the woman coming to stand by his side until she tentatively dabbed his forehead with a lukewarm cloth. He flinched and inhaled sharply. The middleaged witch gave him a small smile as apology but kept cleaning his face with soft strokes.

"Help me," he emitted in a hollow voice and finally her eyes settled on his.

"What's wrong?" she asked and her faint voice was barely more than a whisper. Scabior tilted his head back when the material in her hand ran over an open cut on his cheek.

"My ribs. And my legs. I've broken my back." It felt even more horrible when his own mouth had to deliver the truth.

"Then you're better off than some of the others. You're spared from pain," she answered but Scabior was desperate. "Please, ma'am. Save my legs. I'm a snatcher. I ain't nothin' without 'em," he whimpered with a foreign tone. The woman moved the cloth to the back of his neck. It warmed his skin. She bent down to his ear.

"I'm sorry, but it's better this way. If I try to heal you, you'll go through so much pain you'll hardly handle it, while I can't give you any pain-relieving potions. There's a Death Eater two rows from you who's got a dislocated shoulder. Someone's going to fix it but he'll howl until he passes out afterwards."

Scabior shook his head and mumbled back, "I'll take the pain o'er bein' crippled forever. I'm a snatcher, love, and I ain't nothin' without my legs." He saw her previous determination waver and so, without regard of his pride, he jumped for the hope, sang for mercy.

"I've…I've fuckin' saved an orphan an' raped muggleborn girl only days ago. Carried her to a muggle hospital myself. Pease believe me! An' before that I 'elped another girl from the clutches o' You-Know-Who. I've never killed anyone, honestly! I'm changed, not evil. I didn't even manage ta get to the castle an' harm anyone before I fell off the bridge."

"Shh. Talk quietly. Your guard is watching us," the woman informed him and removed the cloth from his neck. Scabior stared up at her lined face with big eyes, for she had not acknowledged his begging.

"For the love o' the four founders; save me, please. I don't 'ave any powers left so I can't get out o' these fuckin' shackles. I'll stay 'ere, just please fix me," he pleaded, aware that the time was running out for his lower body to be saved. The woman sighed, her shoulders literally dropped and she said in an oddly thick voice, "I'm sorry, I can't. The Aurors will know and then deny you anything for the agony. Trust me, it's better this way. You're not feeling any pain."

And then she avoided his gaze and turned her back on him. Scabior raised his head and bit down the instant ache in his chest, every instinct in him telling him to urge her to come back, to turn around. "But I can't feel anythin' at all!" he bellowed at her retreating form but then something pointy pressed into his neck for the second time that day.

"Shut up, crazy worm! Be polite to the ladies or you'll pay." Scabior's eyes turned upwards. His guard was broad and had a grey beard that made him look menacing. His black hair had spots of grey in it but he gave no impression of being old and incapable. Scabior licked his dry lips with a dry tongue and reluctantly laid back on the stretcher. The wand was removed, although the Auror stayed within eyesight.

Scabior's heart beat rapidly after his fruitless exchange with the witch. He wondered if the others would be easier to coax into helping him. But right now the quest seemed rather hopeless, pointless, and downright failed. He was utterly defeated. Defeated and tired.

He closed his eyes, praying to Salazar sleep would take him away from the horror. A thought flashed through his mind just as he was on the verge of losing consciousness; that Hermione would not have hesitated to help the enemy if only for a bit; a small, seemingly meaningless act of mercy.

* * *

After having trotted outside with Ron and Harry and disposed of the Elder Wand, Hermione experienced an inner glow that warmed and comforted her heart. She walked in the middle with her arms holding onto the boys' waists. There had been terrible losses and not even Ron's family had managed through the war without being robbed of a life. The trio carefully stepped past into Hogwarts and in the corner of her eye, Hermione saw gems lying scattered on the floor near the four broken hourglasses that counted the House points.

She lifted her gaze upon noticing that Ron had begun to walk stiffly and she followed the direction of his eyes. The Weasley family, whole with everyone gathered, even the reformed Percy, and Charlie, and yet in pieces. They reached the red-haired clan and at once there were tears, cries of anguish, embraces, soothing whispers, and small laughs filling the Hall.

Suddenly Hermione got to wrap her arms around Mrs Weasley and did so with unashamed vigour; it turned out she needed comfort from a mother as much as the sobbing mother needed to have another child in her arms. "I'm so sorry," Hermione breathed but Molly started to slowly rock her and ran a hand over her curls.

"It's a victory, but the cost…" the elder woman let out before she added a little more soberly, "This day is for grieving. Tomorrow is for the new world." Hermione nodded against her shoulder before she disentangled herself. Then she heard steady boots that sounded too disturbing, too resolute for a morning like this.

She turned her head and saw two Aurors levitating a stretcher with a very bloodied woman on the top. With amazed eyes she followed their route and got confused when they headed for the stairway to the dungeons. She knew all the wounded currently were inside the Great Hall or had been taken to St. Mungo's which was free now and, according to rumors, fully functional as the healers had returned once Voldemort was defeated.

However, there was no reason to bring a wounded person to the draughty dungeons as there was plenty of room in the Great Hall. Then it hit Hermione the woman who had lain on the stretcher had worn unusually dirty clothes. She had looked like a…

A snatcher.

Hermione's heart sped up and blood pounded in her ears upon the revelation. Immediately she turned to Ron who was red around the eyes. "Do you want to disapparate with me?" he asked silently and Hermione lifted an eyebrow. Ron smiled faintly and made an awkward gesture with his hand.

"We're heading back to the Burrow. To be together today. Dad's bringing Fred." A tear rolled down his cheek and Hermione had to bite her tongue to not crumble. She could not hurt Ron this day. Nevertheless she needed to know what her inside wondered. She stepped up to him and grasped his hand, warmed it between her own.

"You go ahead. I need some time to myself, I'm afraid," she whispered and Ron frowned at her, his face etched with worry.

"Why would you…? Are you alright, Hermione? Do you want me to stay?" he asked with a tone that bordered on panic. Hermione caressed his palm with calm movements of her fingers. "No, Ron. Your family needs you. I just need to take in everything that has happened these past months. And I'm missing my parents. Let me collect my thoughts for an hour and then I'll come to the Burrow, too," she told him but dismissed the tremble that threatened to show in her voice.

"Promise you're fine and that you'll return to me." Ron fixed his glittering eyes on her and Hermione nodded. Then she let go of his hand and he took a step back with a sigh.

"Hermione, do you have your wand ready?" Harry asked as he hugged Ginny to him and held up his own, or rather Draco's. "I'm going to stay here for a while. But I will apparate within an hour," she told him and prayed that they would leave it at that. Ron said something to his mother who nodded and cocked her head.

"We'll see you later, dear," she said and then disapparated while clutching George's arm with a firm and yet tender grip. When the last member of the family was gone, Hermione swirled around and stalked to the entrance to the dungeons. The habit to take out her wand was still there and she shivered when the daylight slowly vanished the longer she walked from the stairway.

She went around a corner and saw two large men in the outfit of the Aurors standing on either side of a closed door. They whipped their head to her when they heard her shoes. "

You can't be here! Go up to the others, young lady," one of them spoke with a serious voice and pointed a finger to make her go in the opposite direction. Hermione did not turn but she did take smaller steps, carefully holding her wand by her side to not alarm the cautious men.

"Why are you guarding this room?" she asked politely but before either of them had time to answer, a piercing scream came from behind the door and when it did not stop immediately, the hair on the back of Hermione's neck stood up.

"Be a good girl and go back to the others before they start looking for you," the man on the left said but the other gave him an incredulous look.

"Really, Williamson? She's not a child," he started when Hermione impatiently cut in. "I want you to let me in and then you can resume your duty."

Williamson crossed his arms in front of him. "We cannot. The prisoners are inside. They've already proven to be dangerous even in defeat. And I doubt you'll handle their state, miss. It's worse than your worst nightmare."

The colour drained from Hermione's face and her eyes widened. The wretched screaming ceased.

"What are you doing with them?"

"We? They brought this on themselves entirely, I assure you. We dealt with a hostage situation only minutes ago despite bonds securing the worm's limbs and now we can't risk them trying anything else, so we're compelled to refuse them pain-relieving potions. Poor bastards," the unnamed man uttered before he received a elbow to his side by his colleague. Hermione straightened her back defiantly.

"Apparently you don't know who I am. My name is Hermione Granger, yes, the muggleborn witch who was worth thousands of galleons upon Voldemort's order." Their grins dropped when she spoke the name of the defeated enemy.

"I've spent the last months in constant danger while supporting my best friend Harry Potter on his quest to defeat the most evil wizard in the world. I certainly know how to protect myself from all kinds of dark creatures and followers. I'm fully capable of dealing with, as I understand, shackled prisoners. Especially since the qualified teachers at Hogwarts call me the brightest witch of my age and with the fact that I was permitted a Time-Turner by the age of thirteen to be able to study more. I'm very good with my wand."

She drew a deep breath and continued, "As for the horrendous scene behind that door, I'm sure I'll be able to stomach it, since I've seen a man transform into a werewolf, stared into the eyes of a basilisk, watched friends get hurt and die before me tonight as well as years ago. Now, for the love of Merlin, let me in!"

And to her great surprise, the suddenly mute Aurors stepped aside and knocked five times on the door. It swung open and a whiff of the repulsing smell of blood, potions, and pure terror reached her before she stepped inside. One Auror stood beside her in the entrance to a Potions classroom but Hermione only had eyes for the innumerous captured men and woman who lay on stretchers that had been placed on the tables while mostly women trotted through narrow aisles with cloths and bandages in their hands.

None of them had a wand in their hand, not even the one who prodded the shoulder of an unconscious man, and that made Hermione feel uneasy. Clearly no-one of the hurt people received magical care because the air was full of moans, hoarse sobs, and some of them moved restlessly on the stretchers without getting anywhere, since broad iron shackles that covered the entire lengths of their wrists and ankles. Some were half-naked and although no blood covered their faces, nothing was done for the gaping wounds and large bruises on the exposed torsos.

Hermione closed her eyes for a second at the misery, the cruelty of the victor, and the human suffering. If the blasted Aurors had wanted to make a point, she was sure all the prisoners now got it. The healing was a sham, as the only thing the standing witches and wizards did, was wiping away dirt from the faces instead of tending to the wounds that soon would fester and cause further pain.

She saw black robes on a few captives but between the ripped leather, she also saw human skin. This was not the right way to treat those who probably later would be prosecuted and brought to prison. Their destinies were already doomed without additional torture. This was insane and she now understood that it would indeed take a lot of time and work to make the recently freed world a just one. Her side should not succumb to vengeance, thus behave like their old enemies.

She quietly passed the table with the female snatcher she had seen before and studied for a brief moment the vicious-looking gash on her thigh where blood still trickled out in a steady stream. A woman with a rag nudged Hermione to the side and mumbled a spell and then the cut closed but the woman on the stretcher was eerily pale and shuddered with closed eyes.

Hermione said nothing although she grew truly scared when she tucked away a tendril of hair that prevented her from looking to her left and afterwards discovered how an Auror unlocked shackles with his wand and more or less shoved a man down from the table and onto the floor near the wall. More bodies lay there in a heap and despite Hermione's desperate wish, the man who had been pushed did not stir.

Shocked by the ruthless treatment even of the dead ones, her hands shaking, she turned away from the bodies, too scared that if she looked at them for too long, she would find clothes she remembered. She avoided the curious looks from the Aurors who stood by every table with their wands pointed either at the victim's chests or heads. The brave Gryffindor forced herself to move on and observe the faces of every snatcher. She reached the far wall and gently stepped up to another table and as the cautious guard there moved his back, she saw her lover.

* * *

How she managed to take the required steps to reach his stretcher without her knees buckling, was beyond her, but as soon as she arrived, one hand shot down to support her weight as she heavily leant against the hard wood. He was asleep, because his mouth was always relaxed then.

She scanned his body in a sweeping glare to see if he was badly hurt. But apart from smudges on his checkered pants, a tear on his precious leather coat, and cuts along with bruises on his face, he looked okay. But before she allowed herself to take a relieved breath, she noticed the green tone on his skin and knew she was not fooled by the dim light. Ignorant of everything else, she begun to tug his coat to the sides and pull up the green jacket that covered his abdomen and chest.

"No touching the filth, girl. I can't allow that," the man beside her hissed and swatted her hands away. Hermione swallowed the outcry of helpless fury and tried to convince him she had every right to touch this man, to heal him from whatever he suffered from.

"Professor Minerva McGonagall, now the current headmistress at Hogwarts sent me here to see that the prisoners were getting the care they need. Obviously that isn't the case, so I'll start with this one now."

The bearded man grabbed her by the shoulder and spun her around. "Save your powers, girl. They deserve this, believe me."

"Have you even considered the impending prosecutions, sir? These men and women know they can expect long punishments for whatever crimes they've committed so they won't feel better just because I heal the injuries. And aren't you familiar with the ways of purebloods and Death Eaters? Even though they may be arrogant, they still pay back debts to keep their pride. It would be bad if none of them said anything at all in the courtroom since they know what lies in their future. But if we do a favour for them, like tending to their wounds, they might be more compliant and forthcoming when it's time for interrogations. Maybe they'll even tell the truth! So please stand aside and let me begin my work."

Hermione tucked her wand in her belt and valiantly turned her back to him but exhaled when no hand or spell touched her. She heard his boots back away a bit and then she looked down at Scabior who was looking back at her.

On their own accord, her hands placed themselves on his cold cheeks and she crouched her back to bring her face close to his. "Hello," she whispered with the softest of tones and he drew a deep breath but started to wince and cough until she had enough. She sent a charm at his body that would make whatever troubled him hurt less; it would do until she had time to more thoroughly examine him. Scabior settled down and his bleary eyes found hers again.

"Who's…" he croaked and Hemrione had to bring her face even closer to make out his words.

"Who's the best teacher at Hogwarts?" Tears gathered in her eyes and spilled over, as emotions took her on a ride where she recalled every moment she had spent with Scabior, and the lonely days after her secret departure from Ireland.

"I…I don't know," she sobbed and her fingertips refused to stop moving all over his face, trace the line of his nose, feel the delicate skin of his eyelids, smooth out the lines on his forehead but avoid the bleeding cut on the cheek, cup his unshaved chin, and caress his by pain and suffering thin and dry lips.

"Dementor, my love," he mumbled back and turned his head into her palm and sniffed it with shallow breaths.

"It's best if you leave. This is hell and darkness and I won't have you tainted by it," Scabior muttered and Hermione gasped.

"Why on earth would I leave? You're here, Scabior."

He frowned and took a labored breath while Hermione patiently waited for him.

"That didn't stop you before. When you left me."

Her heart ached for her and this man's sake who's life had been such a struggle. She placed her wrist against his nose so he without effort could smell her scent and she lifted her other hand to her lips, kissed the fingertips, and brought it down to his. It was all she dared do under the eyes of wary Aurors behind her back. But he accepted her gesture and opened his lips a little.

"Silly, silly snatcher. Didn't you feel it? I never really left," she breathed and her hand skimmed from his lips, down his damp neck to rest without pressure on the place above his heart. Scabior grimaced and shut his coffee black eyes while groaning pitifully. "Are _you_ okay?" he asked.

"Never mind me Scabior; I'm not the one who's lying in what's resembling a tomb. Do you know what's the matter?" Hermione asked with a rushed tone and gripped her wand at the same time as his body gave a shiver and and his face became contorted once more.

"It might be too late, but I believe my back is broken. I have no feeling in my legs," Scabior whimpered before his head rolled to the side and Hermione did not ask if it was because he felt defeated or embarrassed. But she was deeply frightened by his lack of fight within.

"Let me see," she said so even the Aurors could hear that she did try to heal the snatcher, and unbuttoned the green jacket but nearly reeled back when it fell apart and revealed a large, brown bruising in the area where his ribcage was. The last time she had saved Scabior, he had been drenched in blood. This time all the damage seemed to be contained under his skin but that did not make the injuries less critical.

And she did not have much time left until Ron or someone other came back to find her. Plus, she was aware that damaged spines were hard to fix even with magic. But she would at least try and if it did not work, then she would love Scabior anyway.

"Try to keep still and hold your breath," she instructed him and Scabior with his enormous trust for her did what she asked and let her lift his bare side without complaining even if the position must have been maddening for his ribs. She could stare into the small of his back and swiftly put her wand there, making sure it pressed into his spine before she began a chant of very advanced magic she had only read about but thought suited for this purpose.

The word _Episkey_ was heard here and there and her wand coloured the space between his back and the stretcher red. A buzzing reached both of them and a jolt went through Scabior. He gasped and Hermione quickly removed her wand and lowered Scabior's side. He opened his eyes and they darted in every direction for a moment before he focused on her.

"And now?" Hermione wondered and nervously twirled her wand between her hands.

"I can't move or feel the legs," Scabior told her and Hermione felt the failure wash over her. She had been too late. "But my back is warm, warm and… ehm, tingling, or rather itching," he added with a dizzy voice and Hermione had to sit down on the table by his side when the tension left her. She felt drained but so happy.

"The body is shocked, sweetheart. Give it time to heal on its own now," she comforted him and brushed away a brown strand from his face.

"You always mend me, Hermione. You're so good. I love you." A smile bloomed out on her lover's face and reached his eyes before it died away and he said, "You're exhausted. Lie down beside me."

Hermione looked around and translated the expression on the grim Aurors who altered between watching their prisoners and peeking at her. She had raised their suspicion.

"I can't. They'll throw me out and I need to be permitted to see you again. I'm so sorry, Scabior, but I must leave now."

A thump was heard when his wrist collided with the unyielding iron. "Don't go, beautiful. I need to see you, to hear you, and taste, smell, touch you. Please don't leave me alone here. I can't take it anymore." His voice broke and suddenly Hermione realized there was something Scabior did not tell her. Why was he so defeated, even in spirit?

She anxiously hurried to fix his ribs and with more rush than care, she jammed her wand behind his other side and uttered the incantation that made the ribs heal. Scabior clenched his teeth and his face turned greener.

"What did they do to you?" she inquired sharply, silently warning him to not play the role of the hero and don't tell her what was wrong.

"Such a fierce treasure," Scabior mumbled as beads of sweat appeared on his forehead. "They took our magic from us. We're weaker than muggles because they can at least survive in their world. I'm… I'm fucking terrified, Hermione. And so cold."

Hermione jumped off the table reluctantly and sent a glance of compassion to her snatcher. It hurt in her that she wouldn't be able to kiss him and give more comfort before she had to go. But then in a flash of genius she came up with something. After having discreetly cast a spell that would prevent Scabior from feeling more pain than necessary, she turned her back to everyone who was looking, brought a finger to her mouth and licked it with a quick swipe of her pink tongue. Naturally, Scabior's eyes followed her every movement.

"You basically said you wanted to feel me with all your five senses. I've already given you four of them. Taste is the last," she hissed before she gazed fondly at him one fleeting moment and turned around.

"You will all hear from the headmistress. These conditions are simply despicable and no human, no matter blood status or allegiances, will be mistreated like this inside the walls of Hogwarts," she declared with anger and while everyone stared at her during the rant, she hid one arm behind her back and brought her wet finger to Scabior's mouth and thankfully he saw her intention.

Those dry but warm lips opened for the protruding digit and it slipped inside where a soft and eager tongue was ready to suck and lick whatever taste that had stuck on the few inches of her skin. Hermione grew warmer in more than one way, mostly because her Scabior was not lost. Apparently she was the only thing that kept him going right now. She played a little by swirling around her finger but then his teeth gently bit down so his tongue could continue its feast. Her constant tension from the war gave way for joy.

"Next time I visit, which will be tomorrow," she made sure Scabior would know, too, "I'll bring the staff so we can agree on how to best deal with these Death Eaters and snatchers." At the last word she pulled her finger a little and her man actually released it. She could not do anything more.

One more look over her shoulder would alert the guards and she would not be able to leave Scabior if she saw his sad eyes she felt on her back. Her arm slid off his face and return to her side. And then she took a step away from him. They were both in a difficult situation as the morning of the first day after Voldemort's fall came and left.

* * *

**For those of you who are skeptical to the possibility that Scabior will walk again, I have five words: my story, magic, Downton Abbey. Now that wasn't a horrible cliffhanger now, was it? Or maybe I've done it again... Lol! Anyway, kindly review because I love your thoughts.**


	42. Chapter 42 Boldness

**Hello, everyone! Yeah, I know, can you believe I'm back? I'm terribly sorry for the delay but the start of school was maddening and real life had to come first for a while. Thank you for your patience and I forced myself to deliver Hermione's part of the chapter so it's a bit shorter than normally but at least you've got something to read :P I promise I will work on the next chapter with Scabior's POV next week but I dare not establish a date for when I publish it. Somehow I don't want to rush things and make you disappointed and myself tire of the story. We're getting close to the end, my dear friends (about 10 chapters)! ;)**

**Inspirational music: Believe in me by Keri Noble**

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Chap. 42 Boldness

With miserable, hesitant steps Hermione left Scabior in the dungeons where death and pain seemed to thrive.

Finally the shock of everything stabbed her mind and heart that it was a smaller miracle she managed to not crumble in the Great Hall where several bodies covered in sheets still lay on the floor. She found Professor McGonagall who talked rapidly with a hushed voice to adults who wore an uncanny resemblance to young Gryffindors Hermione had seen in corridors and in the common room. Far away Professor Flitwick, Professor Slughorn, and Professor Sprout also spoke to utterly broken parents with ashen faces.

Hermione respectfully waited for McGonagall to end the conversation before she approached the new headmistress.

"Miss Granger? I assumed you had left with the Weasley family," the elder witch said inquisitively and Hermione braced herself for the presumptuous request she would ask for of her busy mentor.

"No, I stayed to clear my thoughts a little. But as I wandered down to the dungeons I came across Aurors guarding a classroom."

She paused to see how McGonagall would react but the woman did nothing else than frown, so Hermione went on. "They are keeping severely wounded people there, in shackles and without healing. The room was…" her voice died as a shiver ran down her spine upon recalling the growing heap of bodies, humans desperately screaming for their lives, and Scabior's sad eyes.

Hermione lifted her chin and rushed out, "The conditions are horrible and the Aurors seems to be reckless. Even if the injured are Death Eaters and snatchers I'm finding it hard to watch them suffer at the hands of those who are supposed to fight for a better world, not create another ruthless one."

"I see," McGonagall retorted and dusted off her green hat. "I will look into it. Thank you for informing me of this, Miss Granger. I'm sure the walls of Hogwarts will not disagree if we first turn our attention to humans, no matter which side they were on during the war. I myself have learnt that sometimes nothing is what it seems and that there is a grey area between black and white. Especially Severus…" The professor trailed off and sniffed as if collecting herself.

"I will gather the staff and decide what we shall do. I imagine the Auror Office is still in shambles and it is quite possible no-one knows who governs the forces. And I will have to send a Patronus to Shacklebolt when he is done visiting the muggle minister and taking care of the most acute issues."

"Please, professor! Do what needs to be done as fast as possible. The Aurors are so cruel down there and both men and women endure humiliation and torture!" Hermione very audaciously exclaimed and the other woman's sharp eyes locked on hers.

"It will do no good to heedlessly rush into a confrontation with Aurors. We need to design a plan. Go to the Burrow. I think you need comfort, Hermione."

Tears of confusion gathered in Hermione's eyes because she did not know whether the headmistress had understood and would help, or if other duties would demand her time and leave none for Scabior and the other mistreated ones. "I…I'm a witness. I saw what the Aurors did and had done. I want to join you," she all but begged which apparently did the trick.

McGonagall's features shifted and she stared at her for a while before she emitted, "Your effort in the war has been remarkable, Miss Granger. Rest one night with the Weasley's. I will send an owl tomorrow morning with the time for our _thorough_ inspection of this school. Don't be late."

Hermione exhaled heavily but understood this was all she would be given at the moment. She was grateful, but worried about Scabior in particular. The prisoners would freeze over the night in the draughty room and their wounds would be infected. Not to mention what could happen during the night if the Aurors were insulted or decided to play games.

All the same she did not want to raise suspicion about having liaisons with a man considered to be an enemy to the wizarding world. If she was exposed she might not be permitted to see Scabior again. Plus, the atrocity of reality established that several priorities were more important than the fate of injured followers of the Dark Lord.

"Thank you," Hermione whispered at McGonagall, who inclined her head, and then walked out of the Great Hall. Her gaze strayed to the entrance to the dungeons and with a faint whimper she whipped out her wand, uttered her destination and disapparated.

She spent the evening comforting and receiving comfort, eating a little of the warming soup; knowing that Scabior most likely would get nothing to eat, but nevertheless realizing that he would not want her to starve out of sympathy.

The Weasley's were shattered and for once the Burrow was eerily silent. But Hermione felt somewhat included, as did Harry who rubbed Ron's back and repeatedly moved his glasses to wipe his eyes. Fred had been carried manually to his and George's room.

They all went to bed early, rightly exhausted from mourning, worrying, and fighting. Molly and Arthur went upstairs to their bedroom after they had commanded all the young ones to sleep in the living room and the adjoining kitchen. They needed to be close to each other this night, like cubs and so they conjured sleeping bags and arranged them as they liked. Harry slept beside Ginny and they faced each other. Bill, Fleur, and Charlie stayed in the kitchen and talked with subdued voices. Percy lay flat on his back but had a firm grip on his brother George's hand. Hermione was unsure whether they would fall asleep first of everyone, or last.

As for her, she was safely placed between Harry and Ron which hardly left any possibility for her to cry undetected for Scabior's and her own uncertain future that seemed so gloomy in a dark living room at night.

Suddenly she felt so small and alone when all she really wanted was to make the world a little bit more beautiful and fight for justice and love the man who's heart she carried. Was it too much to ask for? She did not even dare think of her parents in Australia. She had reached her limit today. The seams were stretched.

* * *

The next morning sunshine shone into the house as if there never had been a Dark Lord. Hermione was roused by a soft snore and sat up. Ron had sometime in the last few hours managed to drowse off but on either side of his open mouth tracks of tears remained on the from spattergroit scarred face. She summoned the courage and gently tapped his shoulder.

"Ron?"

"Hermione, what is it?" Ron asked as he opened his eyes and rolled onto his side towards her.

"I need to talk to you. In the garden," she whispered but Ron was either to tired or clueless to anticipate her intentions. "Okay," he replied quietly and so they got up from the floor and went into the bathroom in turns to change to clean clothes. When they were finished Ron took her hand and they snuck out without waking up anyone.

The morning was warm and fresh and Hermione greedily breathed in the scents of summer. Here however Ron hesitated which led to her starting to guide them towards a bench near the shed. She sat down with some distance to Ron and let go of his hand.

"Lovely morning," Ron said and made a sweeping gesture to which Hermione could only nod.

The traces of Voldemort are already fading." And then she looked him in the eye and emitted, "Ron, I need to go to Hogwarts today."

"Oh, okay," he began slowly before he sighed and placed his hands over hers. "I'll come with you."

"No," Hermione cut him off, though using a soft voice. "I have to go alone. Professor McGonagall will be waiting for me there."

"I… I don't understand? What are you going to do there? I mean, you lingered in the castle yesterday to sort out your thought. Can't you stay here and do it with me?"

Ron was bewildered, but it would not be fair to keep him in the dark anymore. "Ron, I want you to listen very carefully to me now. The thing I am to tell you is sort of confidential but I'll tell because I trust you with my life."

"Hermione, you're scaring me now," Ron muttered and held her hand firmer as he ran a hand through his hair. Hermione cocked her head and even though she knew her path she could not summon the Gryffindor within to share the biggest secret just yet.

"I saw Aurors torturing and neglecting wounded people in Hogwarts yesterday. I must go back and help McGonagall deal with the officials before they move the Death Eaters and snatchers to Azkaban where there will be no witnesses," she said and immediately Ron scrunched his face in disapproval.

"Honestly? You're…you're going to leave because of some enemies are getting what they deserve? I don't believe it!"

"Ron, please! They weren't exactly cocky being at the mercy of Aurors. They are people, too. They don't need humiliation! And either way; I don't support that the main defenders of our world against the dark commit crimes themselves," Hermione rationally argued but then Ron wrenched his hand from hers and snarled, "What's the matter with you? The Death Eaters have killed and tortured decent wizards and witches! _I_ was tortured by them, as was Harry! The fewer of them in the world the better."

"Ron!" Hermione gasped, aghast at his opinion even though she understood why he felt like that. "They need trials and proper laws. _We_ need that also! They will never harm anyone again because they are beaten! Some of them already hated Voldemort and the others will serve years in prison. But I will not accept our new Ministry to get blood on its hands the first day after the war."

Ron's face grew white of fury and he flew up from the bench and whirled around, facing her with bared teeth.

"Fred is dead! Everyone is dead because of them! You will stay here with me and the family today and grieve!" As if catching himself and how intimidating he sounded, Ron added with a frighteningly collected tone, "Let's go back to the house and get some breakfast. We can talk later if you want."

But Hermione shook her head and the curls swung beside her face. "No. I have to go. And I trust you won't tell the others of the reason for my departure."

Ron kicked a rock and sent it into a large bush where gnomes began to mutter gruffly. "Well, they won't bloody believe me if I said the truth now, will they? Because this idea is downright insane," he growled but then Hermione had had enough.

"Ronald Weasley! Calm down and hear me out! This is hard for me," she yelled and made Ron's anger flutter away and be replaced by surprise. "There's something else I must tell you, but it have to wait until tonight."

Ron pursed his lips. "What is it? Why can't you tell me now? Really, Hermione, I don't recognize you today."

Filled with guilt but still amazed at his persisting distrust, she glanced up at him with big eyes.

"I promise I'll share it with you later, because I still count on you. Will you trust me for this trip?"

Ron exhaled and his shoulders dropped. "I understand I can't persuade you to not go. Just…be careful, yeah? You clearly want to help them but that doesn't mean they'll be grateful."

She nodded to quell his concern and stood up as a pair of wings zoomed into the garden. An owl dropped a letter and then instantly returned from where it had come. Without hesitation Hermione broke the seal and read the elegant writing of McGonagall: _We are ready for you now. Professor Minerva McGonagall, Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_.

"I need to go now," Hermione emitted and took out her wand. One half of her expected Ron to take the wand from her hand but evidently he no longer wanted to fight with her.

"Go then." His voice was cool.

"You will understand later. I promise I'll come back," Hermione tried but stared at the red-haired wizard when he actually shrugged.

"You can count on me to _lie_ for you, Hermione," he hissed and at that moment she thought it was best to disapparate.

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**Reviews would be most welcome and make the author very happy.**


	43. Chapter 43 Frazzles

**Hello, my loyal fans! University and real life are keeping me from updating as often as I have before, but my devotion to this fic remains. I want to thank you all for the reviews (especially since some of you are as disapproving of Ron as I am), the alerts and favorites, as they all make me happy. This chapter is entirely from Scabior's POV and believe me when I say I wrote it as quickly as possible between lectures. I hope you like it.**

**Inspirational music: Against the odds by Phil Collins**

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Chap. 43 Frazzles

Scabior shivered and tried to not touch the iron that trapped his wrists. He was so cold and felt somewhat numbed in his mind. Delirious even.

The hours after Hermione had left him had come and gone with an increasing worry. Even though he occasionally was able to feel tingles along his spine, he still could not feel or move his legs. His body was slowly going into shock after his ribs had been fixed so swiftly by Hermione and Scabior hated not having control over himself. And then there was the trouble with the Aurors.

As the night passed, more and more prisoners were muted, some only because they had nightmares. Scabior preferred to stay awake to know what was happening but the cost was high. His vision was clouding and he trembled violently on the hard stretcher when another wave of coldness hit him. So empty without his magic.

"…how many rats do you reckon will wake up today?" an Auror muttered to another by the potion shelves and Scabior saw the blurred head turn towards the pale, unmoving bodies in the heap by the wall.

He refrained from moaning miserably to not alert them and instead fled inside to his heart that confirmed he was alive and caring.

'Mum, I'm alright. I'll be fine as soon as I get a shot of heated Firewhiskey,' he thought and searched in his memory for a refuge. Green hills and a cottage on cliffs above the roaring sea. A red-haired witch mocking him with a smirk and burgundy velvet on sofas. Scabior's lips tugged upwards and he closed his eyes just to rest them for a moment and revel in the comforting thoughts.

A woman by his side, her hair as wild as his, though with silken curls. He having to bend his frame in order to receive a kiss from her lush lips. A moan escaping her and his tongue invading her glorious, wet mouth, mating with hers until both of them were breathless. Hands beginning to gently fondle sensitive parts on their bodies. Yes. Warmth.

Scabior suck in a deep breath and opened his eyes. He had chased away some of the chill and traced the faint taste of her finger within the cavern of his mouth. Good.

"Hey, Rogerson! What's going on out there?" a brutally loud voice sounded through the classroom and Scabior let his head fall to the side. A man in battle robes stood by the door and spoke to someone on the other side.

"I told them to leave but they won't. What do I do?" the slightly panicked voice of a younger man answered before a female exclaimed with an icy tone that left no room for objection; "Mr Charles Rogerson I presume. I remember you from your years at Hogwarts: potential in Defence Against the Dark Arts but no talent whatsoever in Herbology, am I not right, Pomora?"

Scabior recognized the stern witch who said that. But he was too dizzy to figure it out.

"Yes, I can spot the bites on his chin from the Fanged Geranium," another woman chirped and then there were rustles from moving robes coming from outside the room.

"See, boss! They won't go. They are demanding us to let them in," Rogerson shouted, clearly scared of the witches. Scabior frowned and saw other prisoners start to wake up from the voices and raise their heads to better see some of the guards who had gathered around the closed door.

"You are on our territory now and since I am the Headmistress of Hogwarts I am commanding you to open the door to this Potions classroom immediately. My staff of professors and I are inspecting the damage done to the castle and we do not have time for unaccommodating Aurors. For the last time; let us in!"

Whispers were shared between two Death Eaters and a look of revelation appeared on their ashen faces until an Auror discovered them and punched them in the temples before silencing them with his wand so no-one could hear them when they writhed from the pain.

"Williamson. Perhaps…we should…" one of the few female Aurors tried and gestured at the door. Another man, Scabior could only see his back, gave a short nod and turned before giving the room a scanning glance. "Okay. It's not as if there's anything worth seeing here, but if they insist... Unlock the door."

The thick door groaned as it swung open and a group of adults entered, dressed in dusty robes but carrying a fierce expression nonetheless.

Ah. Now Scabior could put a name on the voices.

Professor McGonagall, Professor Sprout, Professor Flitwick, and a pudgy man in a tweed suit, who he assumed was another teacher, an ordinary-looking man, Madam Pomfrey, and Mr Filch who wobbled behind the others, probably from standing on his toes to see the room. They entered and formed a line just within the room, and then Scabior's eyes caught sight of her at the far left. Hermione.

He exhaled heavily and felt both energy and worry leave his body. She had returned, and brought help. And she granted him her presence.

Discreetly, he sniffed the air and waited for her scent to reach him across the classroom. He was not aware of the other visitors until McGonagall's shrill voice cut through the silence.

"What in the name of Godric Gryffindor have you done?"

Several Aurors shifted their weight from one foot to the other upon hearing the barely concealed fury in the witch's voice.

"Now, look here, Professor…" Williamson begun when McGonagall cut him off by swinging her arm abruptly.

"It's Headmistress! I believe I am the one who has the right to receive answers, not you lot. Now tell me, what exactly have you done to these prisoners in the very heart of my school?"

No-one could miss the accusation in her hiss. Hermione sought out his eyes. His heart began to beat faster but he didn't have the strength to smile at her. To stay awake was the only thing he was capable of at the present. Hermione raised an eyebrow in query. He heard the man clear his throat and use a stern tone.

"_Headmistress_, I apologize for not informing you of this, but we figured you have plenty on your plate as it is. However, if you and the teachers,"

"_Professors_."

"…if you are worried about the state of the tables, you have my word as a wizard that we will clean them properly from the dirt of filthy Death Eaters and snatchers before we leave."

Scabior flinched and his hands bumped into the shackles. Leave? But Hermione was here… She had shadows under her eyes but the red spots on her cheeks implied she was warm, maybe even had eaten something. Good.

The sound of a drawn wand travelled across the room. Many of the prisoners had turned their heads towards the terrifyingly calm headmistress but to Scabior's surprise they all lay still and were silent, as if calculating the situation. Although, the unconscious ones did not stir. The Aurors tensed and hunched together while some of them frowned at the new group.

"Shacklebolt would be ashamed of you if he knew what vile crimes you, the pillars of the Ministry, have committed after Voldemort was defeated! This is where our children are being taught magic, and you have sullied it with death and torture!" the woman screamed and aimed her wand directly at Williamson who had gone red from resentment. As the other Aurors reached for their wands, McGonagall gestured at Flitwick who muttered something inaudibly and waved his hand. The wands slipped from the Auror's grip and flew towards him and landed neatly by his feet.

"You foolish…!" another Auror shouted when he suddenly stiffened and grimaced. From his pocket a wand was elevated until it brutally prodded into his stomach before it was free and also fluttered to Flitwick. Several other guards received the same treatment and Scabior guessed that there were approximately thirty wands taken from pockets and robes.

His snatcher within jumped. He wanted to come closer to the wands that lay abandoned on the floor. It was as if something was calling for him. Why, and how…?

He could not help but tip back his head and close his eyes when nausea hit him. His brain was not functioning as he wanted it to. And his back tingled and the legs were numb. Somehow he knew he alarmed Hermione and he regretted it.

'Sorry, love,' he thought and only caught parts of sentences as he slipped in and out of sleep, or perhaps unconsciousness.

"Are you mad? You've made us defenseless in the presence of…"

"The prisoner's wands have been tampered with! They are not responding as they should… Oh, Merlin! The Auror's wands are filled with the essence of magic! Look here, Horace; they have actually _stolen_ the magic from…"

"Poppy, please make sure everyone in that heap is dead. If they are, throw a blanket over them and then examine the prisoners so…"

"This is outrageous! You're interrupting us when we are trying to interrogate all the sneaky…"

"…years, I have never had so little respect for the Auror office! I will personally write Shacklebolt a letter and demand repercussions!"

"…nothing bad has happened to them. Look, they're not even complaining."

"Because they are muted, you imbecile! And can't you see they are all dying!"

"Scabior."

The snatcher sighed contently at his beautiful dream before a burning hand ran over his palm.

He jerked and gasped in shock and his eyes snapped open. A mane of brown curls and luminous eyes above him. Retreating hands.

"No," he managed and stretched his fingers as much as possible to reach for her. Her hands returned and scorched his skin. Then he realized. She had a normal temperature. It was he who was colder than the cloak of a Dementor.

A whisper fluttered to him and he fought to get a clear image of her as her fingers stroked his to work some blood into them. "How are you, darling?"

He felt bliss ease the pain that had held his body captured for the last hours. She was with him and she was alright.

"Better now. You came."

She softly caressed his calloused palm and her face came closer. "You and your flattery," she smiled before intensely studying his features. "You are in pain."

"I can take it."

"You don't need to be brave. You are a Slytherin, not a Gryffindor. You're supposed to focus on surviving now," she quietly lectured and brought out her wand.

"Hermione," Scabior said and she stopped moving. She was so breathtakingly beautiful his heart ached.

"Yes?"

"I love you."

Her fingers laced into his and he could feel his hair stand on its end.

"What do you need? I must be quick so no-one detects our secret," she emitted and turned away her gaze, investigated his torso instead.

Scabior's fragile smile fell. There was the catch. He should have known the unknown deities would not let him be completely happy. Now that he had her, he did not have time.

"Some Firewhiskey would chase away the chill," he muttered and fastened his gaze on the ceiling, determined to not let tears gather again in his eyes.

"That's…not advisable. It will shock your body and on an empty stomach the alcohol will make your head swim. I suggest tea," Hermione said and Scabior gave a small nod.

"As you wish."

"Scabior."

He heard the serious tone and lifted his head despite the effort, in order to see her and come some inches closer.

"I would rather have you telling me what you feel than examine you with magic. I want to hear it from your own mouth."

Scabior sagged against the stretcher and his attitude was drained from him. "I'm sorry. It was a long night."

Her hand stopped moving in his. "What did they do?"

Scabior blinked and looked into her worried eyes. Was he really that easy to read now? "I don't know if I have the right to talk, but beating people in shackles who has no magic is like kicking a dying unicorn. It ain't necessary," Scabior confessed and watched Hermione's face harden. It was quite terrifying, actually.

"Details, now," she all but commanded and a thrill went through him. His woman was fierce and dangerous when the situation called for it, and he was impressed.

"Knuckle sandwiches to those who had nightmares, painful spells on the ones who complained over the injuries. Then they were silenced. No heating spell, so now you know why the man three rows away isn't moving anymore. Two more bodies were dumped on the heap some hours after you had gone."

He whispered quickly, afraid to expose either of them to the disgruntled guards who quarreled with Flitwick over their wands.

"You saw all this?"

He nodded and felt the corner of his mouth twitch in dismay. Even snatchers and Purebloods had some measure of decency but these Aurors could easily compare with Death Eaters. Hermione waved her wand over him, detecting what needed to be done before she muttered back, "It was bad for your health to not sleep but nevertheless this means you are a witness. That could work in you favour later."

A buzzing warmth spread inside him and he glanced along his body to see the tip of her wand glow red. Heat.

Heat helped him feel alive again, but also made it clear that he was sleepy.

"Later? What are you on about, sweetheart? And are you going to rescue me now?"

A piece of home baked, delicious bread was pushed into his mouth and he slowly chewed it, savouring the nourishment even if there was little of it.

"You show awareness of what is right and what is wrong and can tell the truth about Aurors without lies and exaggerations like some would expect of a man with the Dark Mark. I'm very proud of you," Hermione said and risked a kiss from her lips to her fingers to his lips. He couldn't control his tongue. The sudden onslaught of soothing vanilla scent and the promise of her taste made him part his lips and lick the delicate skin that was offered to him.

Her breath hitched and he felt the small tremble in her digits. They both needed this intimacy after being separated for so long, and especially during hazardous days. More heat surged through Scabior, perhaps even some sparse storage of adrenalin. Then he remembered his unanswered question. Hermione wore a dreamy expression, completely mesmerized in their own momentary world that constituted of wet fingers being sucked on lazily.

"Beautiful," he slurred before she retracted her fingers and came back to reality, "What will happen now, with us?"

"Us being?" she asked asked and looked around to see her companions finish the acute healing and fasten the dressings on the wounds. Time was running out. Scabior did not like dealing with stress when he was this wounded.

"The prisoners? When are you releasing me from these medieval irons?" he hissed and blew away an uncombed tendril that fell over his forehead. Once more, Hermione grasped his hand.

"Our mission was to enlighten the staff of what the Aurors are doing within the castle walls and establish that you are tended to in a humanly way. We don't have the authority to free you."

Scabior gaped at her and his tired mind helplessly spun to understand. That had been his hope; that Hermione would come back for him and unchain him. Had he been wrong to think that? Had he turned stupid after the fall from the bridge, or was it his snatcher who desired freedom so much the very thought of it began to haunt him? One thing was sure: Scabior was disappointed, and scared.

"What? I thought… My head is… Hermione, I can't stand these shackles. I need my magic and freedom. Please talk to the guards. Please, just…please," he whimpered and weakly tried to angle his body so his front was turned towards her but her free hand stopped him, and he was thankful for it as a pain suddenly jabbed him in his back.

"Scabior, please lie down. You're traumatized. Breathe deeply for me. Don't get upset."

Her voice sounded frazzled and apologetic. Scabior did not feel well but he breathed like she asked of him, and closed his eyes.

"I swear on my powers as a witch, I will do what I can to help you, my love. But it was all I could do to get another chance to see you today. I don't know what will happen now, but when the trials begin, I am your ally on the other side. I will make sure you are being taken care of."

"Miss Granger."

"I'm sorry, Scabior."

A small, too rushed kiss on his temple made Scabior sigh and he felt himself slip away, with her scent near. His mind felt light as a feather. Something slipped through his hand. He felt as if he should have held it tighter but he was utterly relaxed. Shoes walked away from him. He was almost asleep and he felt warm. Good.

* * *

**I apologize for the misery in this chapter. I feel really sorry for Scabior but the question is, what will happen now... He he! I will love you with my whole heart if you send me some reviews. So long!**


	44. Author's note

**Author's note**

Hello! First of all; calm down, I'm not announcing I'm abandoning the story and I never will leave the story unfinished. I will update in the summer.

Now, for those of you who are interested in the rest of what I have to say, a big, huge APOLOGY for not informing you about my whereabouts since February. I'm deeply sorry for this, because you brilliant guys deserve an explanation at least. I just couldn't bring myself to write it earlier.

First of all, there's been a lot to do in my uni and I've had "99 problems" one right after the other. Nothing major, just real life tasks that drained me for a while. Then I felt the pressure of producing 4000 words chapters and it all became daunting, as I didn't feel like climbing over that first ledge and start a new chapter because I knew I still had at least ten more chapters to write. Lost my mojo, folks.

The next excuse is a bit sad but true nevertheless; I lost interest in The Harry Potter universe and thought it was funnier to write BBCSherlock stories. I'm sure this happens to every author with many fandoms, sometimes you are drawn to another one. And yet I felt guilty whenever I updated those stories because I was aware that you never got your chapter updates.

* * *

However, a long, warm hug to everyone who still supports me and "Just a gesture", who have sent me sweet reviews, and put me under Alerts and Favorites.

Another "excuse" is that I've seen other authors completely leave stories for more than three months, which I am guilty of. I hope my (albeit late) courtesy towards you readers by at least informing you doesn't make you hate me.

As for the story itself, I have good news. I've started watching DH1 and 2 again to make Scabior inspire me once more. Furthermore, I'm rereading Just a gesture because I've found that if you think you've lost the air of the story, it helps to look over it again and let it get inside your head. After all, new chapters must match the previous ones, IMO.

Sadly, I'm very busy this month too but sometime (I don't dare say when exactly) during this summer, I will update. I have the framework for the rest of the story already worked out. I'm starting to feel it will be fun to write the final chapters.

So, an enormous THANK YOU to those who are sticking with this story and support me yet. I understand if some of you feel frustrated or maybe even angry at my absence but I hope you'll linger to see the story completed. I actually made a vow to myself when I became a member of FF . net that I would never abandon an unfinished story if I could help it. This hiatus of mine is officially over and I'm eager to work on "Just a gesture" again! Thank you for your patience. /Sycamoretree


	45. Chapter 45 Consequences

**Hello y'all! I'm freaking back and have brought a fresh chapter. Hallelujah ;) I apologize for the long wait but you are a brave lot who inspire and encourage me. I honestly got a mean cold some time ago so sadly the chapter was delayed by one week, but I couldn't help it; only nurse my cold. Now, this chapter only includes Scabior's POV but I figured you are all excited to see what's happening to him. Hermione will feature in the next chapter. It's a start, so I sincerely hope you'll enjoy this. /sycamoretree  
**

**Inspirational music: A prayer for England by Massive Attack**

* * *

Chap. 44 Consequences

Scabior was confused and he didn't like it one bit. After the party of Hogwarts impressive teachers left the dungeon, everything changed.

The Aurors had been given back their wands, though with an unreadable expression, by Professor Flitwick.

Scabior woke up as the uniformed wizards and witches marched up and down the rows of stretchers and cast basic healing spells on the prisoners. Someone, he didn't know who, made him warmer and reduced the bruises on his body but that was all, so Scabior was grateful for Hermione's earlier attention.

Then the offended leaders amongst the Aurors explained to everyone. They were to be taken to the Ministry of Magic until other orders were declared. As expected, the snatchers and Death Eaters were all muted by silencing spells, but at least they were released from the cold and degrading shackles.

Aurors roughly pushed them to their feet and gathered them in one corner of the stinking classroom. Scabior sent a silent thank you to Hermione and Merlin for good measure, because despite the prickling pain in his legs and back, and the way his legs weren't fully co-operating, he could walk. And it seemed he would not be executed by sheer neglect and sadism. That had to count for something.

"Listen, you rats! We will start disapparating in a minute and you better stay calm and not try anything while we do it. Remember who's got your wands and magic," the one they called Darnton had told them with malice.

Those words made even the few defiant Death Eaters freeze and everyone's gaze landed on each of the Aurors who had confiscated their magic powers. Scabior doubted anyone had ever heard of such a cruel act done to a wizard or witch in all the known history. And who knew what would happen if the one who carried their magic was killed. No-one fancied the prospect of becoming a muggle, forever excluded from the magical world.

Another thing that probably ensured the prisoners would behave during the transfer was the fact that they could risk getting splinched on top of everything else and everyone was seriously injured already.

One by one, the silenced, damaged, shocked prisoners disappeared with one Auror's hand clutched around their arm and then the uniformed men and women returned alone to repeat the procedure. Scabior breathed shallowly to spare his aching ribs from pressure and flinched at every loud bang as the disapparation was executed with haste.

He vaguely acknowledged that this must be one of the few times ever it was actually possible to disapparate inside the school, as he leant his head against the cold wall and had a short, pale snatcher woman holding onto his shoulder for support. Her thigh was clumsy wrapped with a dressing and couldn't quite carry her entire weight. Scabior tolerated it because they were in this together, and it felt pleasantly comforting to have a female presence nearby. If he closed his eyes, he could pretend it was Hermione.

Suddenly brutal hands briskly wrenched the woman from his side, which really was unnecessary since she went willingly. She vanished too, and Scabior grimaced at yet another loud pang that made his ears hurt. Suddenly it was his turn to get transported like a helpless child, and he promptly shut his lids to not get sick when the spinning begun. Just to be safe and not get splinched, he pictured the Ministry in his head and let the Auror clench his upper arm.

* * *

They landed safely in the large but now partly destroyed hall of the Ministry. What before had been an impressive, grandiose official building now resembled Hogwarts in its current state. Debris and dust lay everywhere and made the black stones dimmed and sullied.

Scabior was absently aware that he was passed from the Auror to another, larger and grim colleague who looked like he had never had a fun day in his life.

"Get a move-on," the new Auror muttered and pressed his wand into Scabior's back to indicate he should move. The snatcher began limping through the silent hall which was nearly void of humans, save for another pair of one prisoner and one guard entering one of the apparently still functioning lifts and disappearing from view. Scabior's soft leather boots made no sound but the heels of the Auror echoed.

He shuffled over the copious amount of shards covering the floor and instinctively tipped his head back to study the many windows of the offices above the place where previously a fountain and, after Voldemort's reign, a monument over the purebloods superiority, had been. Every single window was shattered. The battle of wizarding Britain had even reached inside the Ministry of Magic.

Scabior was reminded of the last time he had been in the building, at first huddling with the other "followers" who didn't really support the Dark Lord but didn't dare go against him. Voldemort had seemed so strong and invincible back then. It wasn't that long ago, he realized with astonishment, merely months, and yet it seemed like a different life-time.

A shadow flashed across Scabior's weary features upon recalling the next time he had had to come here. To be tortured and utterly at the mercy of the mad Dark Lord. To be chained to the monument and sliced open as the viscous wizard ordered his snake to eat his legs. Scabior shuddered and looked the other way when he and the Auror rounded the grey area in the middle of the hall.

But he, the insignificant snatcher, had survived not only that but also tumbling from a burning bridge and hurting his back. Of course by the vital help from Hermione, but still. That gave him hope. He was a survivor. He wasn't meant to cower and die now. Not when the new world had been born during a promising dawn yesterday. For he had things to live for.

Finally the grumpy Auror steered him in the direction of the lifts and the gate rattled when it moved to the side. Scabior stepped inside and felt the other man follow close.

Instead of staring at the destruction in the hall through the intricate pattern of gold, Scabior turned his gaze to evaluate his companion when the lift started to move. If his magic couldn't stop a prisoner from being resistant, his frame itself would surely succeed, with a broad chest, bulging shoulders under the stretched uniform, and enormous arms. His black stubble was tinted with dust but even after participating in what must have been the most straining fight in his career, the Auror looked dangerously alert and composed.

The lift made a jerk to the side and continued down diagonally, always down. Scabior sighed.

"Got any hints about my future, mate?" he delivered tentatively and the bear-man turned his head around and stared him down.

"The prisoners are supposed to stay quiet."

Scabior bit his tongue and refrained from rolling his eyes. So this Auror was one of the somber ones. Tricky. And yet Scabior considered trying another approach to get information.

What he didn't like at all was the possibility of Hermione not knowing where he had gone. Then he figured that she would find him, with her special conviction, persistence and courage, she would find him wherever he went.

"Please, sir. I'm only asking to see if my rights as a citizen of the British Ministry of Magic and a member of the wizarding community are respected. How long will I be kept here?"

Once more, he received a stern frown.

"As long as we see fit. Now shut that mouth and behave," the man said with a deep voice and Scabior thought he could hear a menacing rumble from the man's chest over the screeching sounds of the lift. He fell silent.

Once the lift came to a stop, minutes had passed since the ride begun so Scabior assumed they were very, very deep down in the infamous but mythical cellars below the public floors of the institution. The large man indicated to him to take the lead and they began walking.

* * *

The corridors were considerably darker than the ones above, with only a few faint lamps lightening their way and a shiver ran down Scabior's spine as the temperature dropped. He supposed the Ministry, no matter what ruling government, never had been particularly keen on making the accommodations for prisoners more than tolerable.

They passed door after door made of metal and Scabior thought dimly that if Hermione's friend, that Weasley boy, had been kept here by the Dark Lord, it wouldn't surprise him if the bloke lost his sanity.

Glumly, the snatcher stumbled on until he failed to orientate himself after all the turns they had made in this maze of similar corridors. Eventually the guard grunted eloquently behind him and they came to a halt outside an anonymous door. With a fair amount of spells, the Auror made the door swing open and then came the awkward moment when the prisoner didn't want to enter his cell whereas the guard wanted to finish the task he had been given.

"Get in," the man growled roughly with his wand visible and Scabior took a deep breath that failed to give him courage but did give him fresh oxygen, before taking the step over the threshold. He almost expected a shove in his back from the Auror, like a last, petty display of superiority, but the man did nothing of the sort.

The memories of Azkaban fluttered to his mind and he chose not to study his surroundings because he would most likely have more than enough time to do that later. Instead, he turned around and his inner snatcher was anxious, aware that the only way out, to the freedom he depended on, was about to become sealed from him.

Scabior took in the doorway and the man standing in it. Surely the air shouldn't logically feel constricting already?

"Food tonight. Different guards each day so don't try to trick or manipulate any of us. News will come only when we are ordered to carry them out. Prepare yourself for the trial."

The Auror spoke with a bored, monotone voice. As if he had no compassion for the human before him.

"Thanks for the tour 'round the Ministry. Though, I would suggest making the last stop somewhere prettier. Bit of a downer to end the fun down here," Scabior drawled in return and flippantly dragged a hand through his dirty hair. Not that he expected to coax a laugh from the guard, but it was some kind of desperate interaction before he would be left in complete solitude.

The Auror only lifted an eyebrow and stepped back. He moved his arms and the door slammed shut, leaving Scabior in darkness that wasn't chased away, only more prominent by the bleak light that came from a ball hovering in the ceiling. Still, it provided enough light for Scabior to make out the interior of the cell.

The metal door was rusty here and there, but the sheer weight of it would make sure no-one could escape, never mind the magic keeping it locked. A narrow shutter on the bottom of it resembled too much an opening for food deliveries. Not that Scabior pretended to plan a break-out, but he preferred looking at a person through an open door now and then over having an impersonal hand push in meals to him like feeding an animal.

On either side of the door were the walls of stone that gleamed from water which trickled over the uneven surface. By the wall opposite the door stood an uncomfortable-looking bed with a dirty blanket and no pillow. Scabior wasn't sure if that was intentional courtesy of the Ministry towards arrested wizards and witches or a clear sign of the bad budget, especially after the war. He looked past the bed and detected a hole in the floor that could pass for ground. Well, he was used of the simple accommodations of nature so he wasn't particularly affronted by the Spartan toilet. And that was the whole room.

Scabior sagged so his shoulders moved forward and gave him some sense of comfort. He peered up at the ball of light. If he stood on his toes he would be able to reach it. He didn't do it, partly because he was still injured and wasn't tempted to get a jolt or anything from the lamp, and partly because he should save that experiment for another day if he wanted to stay sane. No need to explore the whole cell now if he was going to stay here for weeks or even months.

Mentally, Scabior immediately began creating plans for the future. 'One task each day. And wander the expanse of the cell back and forth, and around at least two hundred times each day.'

He snorted at himself when he acknowledged he wouldn't know if it was day or night soon, save for the meals if they arrived regularly. His ribs ached after the ruthless treatment and the brisk walk so shortly after his healing. Precautious, he wrapped an arm around his chest to support it and keep it warm before padding closer to the wall, needing to keep his mind busy with something other than the pain and threatening dread.

He leaned in and sniffed the stone. It didn't even smell of earth. He couldn't find anything that indicated he was in front of something from nature. Nothing that reminded him of outside. Displeased, the snatcher held out his free hand and dragged it over the stone. He began circling the cell and felt the wall from floor to the ceiling. As his fingers fluttered over every inch of damp walls, he felt the magic emanating from them. A great jealousy grew in him at the realization that the walls had magic when he didn't. It wasn't a rational feeling, but being robbed of one's magic could affect a wizard most strangely.

"Damn you to the inferi pit!" he growled and thought without doubt that the wall was immediately responsible for keeping him trapped.

He had found no pause in the familiar buzzing under his searching fingertips which meant there was an unbroken band of magic surrounding the cell making it impenetrable except for those with a wand and magic.

He limped away from the charmed wall and lowered himself onto the bed. It was unyielding and hard. He cursed silently and envisioned himself trying to get some sleep on the thing that was barely better than the tables in the potions classroom. At least he wasn't chained. Scabior had to grasp at every optimistic fact here.

Suddenly something came through the shield of magic. He lifted his head and strained his ears. Incomprehensible sounds, maybe from the other prisoners, maybe from the warders. But there were mumbles and faint echoes of steps. Occasionally some louder noises he assumed were screams but equally as contorted. Well, it was definitely better than actually enduring the loud shouts like he had in Azkaban where Dementors kept their imprisoned victims company all the time with their coldness.

He wondered how the other snatchers were holding up. The arrested Death Eaters might be depressed now that they had been defeated, or furious and thus keeping their inner glow alive by feeding it hate during these circumstances, but snatchers didn't do well behind locked doors.

With a small groan, Scabior lay down on the bed on his side with his knees drawn up as far as he could stand with recently healed back and all. The blanket would have to work as a, theoretically, cushioning sheet this night, perhaps as a thin duvet tomorrow. He propped his face on his arm and glared at the silent door. The lamp kept shining but the light wasn't brutally bright so it wouldn't disturb his sleep.

Scabior was convinced the Ministry decades ago had made sure no prisoner could commit suicide in the cellar. Nothing would help a man or woman to carry through such an act and the walls would prevent any attempt. Not that Scabior considered doing something like that, but he feared other snatchers might not handle the isolation that well and get more and more desperate when they failed to end their misery.

No-one in the cells would be able to seriously hurt themselves physically, but nothing protected their minds from harm. Azkaban was infamous for driving its prisoners crazy but the Ministry seemed equally as potent. Snatchers were easy preys to madness within these walls.

Scabior closed his eyes and nuzzled his own wrist to keep warm and smell something. The long waiting had begun. He missed the freedom and Hermione.

* * *

**What did you think? Send me a review and tell! And I confess that I have another delightful character who reminds me of Scabior and brings me inspiration, joy, and sassiness now that there won't be more footage of our favorite snatcher. The assassin Jaqen H'ghar from Game of Thrones season 2, played by the handsome Tom Wlaschia who absolutely nailed his minor part. Check him out, and admire his coloured white strands (just like Scabior's red one!).  
Cheerio for now, my friends!  
**


	46. Author's note II

Hello, everybody!

First of all, I am astonished by the continued interest, support, and reviews on Just a Gesture. Thank you so much for still waiting for me even after it's been ages since I updated.

Now, I want to give you all an update about my writing situation. I'm almost completely done with university, I've got a job that I love, and I long to work on this story again and enter the Harry Potter universe.

In my absence, I have improved my English, so I expect that the following chapters will be better phrased and contain correct grammar. I plan to publish 5-10 chapters before the story is completed, but lots of things will happen to Scabior and Hermione.

So I'll definitely have more time for writing when school is over, and I will give you chapters during 2014, hopefully the first will pop up in the spring.

Thank you for bearing with my long hiatus, and it will be good to be back here.

Love/ Sycamoretree


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Harry Potter, Romance