Scabior was not in a good mood.
He slammed the warehouse door shut behind him, stalking out before the others had even thought of leaving. They were all busy organizing lists, lists of people and things they would need. He would be in the thick of it, if only he hadn't been put in a team with Fenrir Greyback.
Just being in the same room as that werewolf reminded him of everything he had lost. And now there was absolutely no chance of winning her back.
He wanted to be a snatcher; he wanted to help the cause, even though they were planning months in advance. He just didn't want to be reminded of her every time he was out on a job. He needed to forget her.
Sometimes he wished life were simpler. That there was no war, that there was no division between pure bloods and muggles.
If that was the case, then maybe, just maybe they would have worked out.
He doubted it though.
He was tired and distracted as he got into his car- muggles had some things right, he had to admit. Driving was relaxing, and it helped that he could magically refill his tank. He turned the radio up as loud as he could bear, and pulled out, winding through the busy back streets of London.
He didn't notice there was another person in the car until he hit an unexpected red light and slammed on the brakes, and heard someone swear loudly in the back seat. He looked in his rear view mirror and let out an involuntary, high pitched squeak, before turning so quickly his neck clicked.
She was lying across the back seat, arms folded casually behind her head, legs crossed with her feet resting on the windowsill. She was dressed like he always imagined when he thought of her: tight jeans, big black boots, a ripped weird sisters t-shirt revealing her pierced midriff, her dark make up framing her violet eyes, her short pink hair floating around her heart shaped face like a halo.
Though he spent hours a day thinking of her, he wasn't exactly pleased to find her lying in the back seat. At least, not without his knowledge.
"You slammed the brakes a bit hard there." She said softly, taking hold of the passenger side front seat and pulling herself into a sitting position, resting her elbows on either front seat.
"You're in my back seat."
She raised an eyebrow. "I am."
"Isn't that a bit… risky? Considering you're married and all now." He couldn't keep the loathing out of his voice as her wedding ring flashed in his mirror.
He couldn't look directly at her. He wanted to grab her, to hold her. He couldn't, though. He kept his hands firmly on the steering wheel.
Her expression in his mirror was not amused.
"I'm not here to see you. Im working."
"Working? In the back seat of my car? That sounds even worse."
Frowning, she kicked his seat. "Don't be a twat. I must say though, interesting to see you come out of that warehouse. We've been watching it." He knew that by 'we' she didn't mean the ministry. No, she was here on Order business. "I can't really say I'm surprised though." She sounded disappointed.
He shrugged, edging his car forward, eyes on the light, waiting for it to turn green. "I still don't see how this entails you in my back seat. Shouldn't you just haul me in to Azkaban then?"
"No. That's not how we operate. I thought maybe you could tell me what's going on in there."
"Too bad. I can't."
The light turned green. He tried to focus on driving.
"Can't, or wont?"
"It doesn't matter."
"It makes a great deal of difference, actually." He felt one of her hands on his shoulder, and her other twisting around his hair, roughly pulled back with a dark ribbon.
"I am sorry, you know. But even if we hadn't… if we kept going… it wouldn't have worked. We're too similar, we grate on each other. That's what happened every time we fought."
"I'm not telling you, so quit trying. Please."
He couldn't stand being with her. Not when she was married to that thing. Not when she couldn't be with him.
Her hands left him, but he felt even more weighed down without them.
"Okay. Drop me at the corner then."
"That's it?" he couldn't believe she was giving in so easily.
He saw her shrug in his mirror. "I have other sources. I just thought you'd be most willing to help me. Obviously I was wrong."
He pulled over, waiting for her to get out. She didn't move.
"Nymph-"
He turned, ready to try and tell her that he wanted to help her, that he still loved her. That she could still change her mind. That he would give everything up for her. But his words were drowned out by her soft lips pushing against his own, and her small hand, cold against his rough cheek.
His hand tangled in her hair, and his lips were quick to respond in disbelief.
This could not be happening.
But it was. She was kissing him and he was kissing her back, and it was almost just like he'd always wanted, until she pulled away, looking confused and numb.
She was barely able to choke out "I'm sorry," before she was out of the car and half way down the street. She turned back to look at him, and he could see the pain in her face.
But she kept walking.
She left him, alone, like she always had.
She never had felt the same. She's always used him. He'd hated that.
Now though, now there was nothing he wanted more. And it made him sick to know he would be there for her, long after she had forgotten about him.
It made him feel even worse to know he would never forget her. Never.