Title: Obsession
Summary: It takes a lot to turn a man into a dark creature. Snatcher Damian Scabior's fall from grace was built upon blood-stain pavement. What happens when one name, two words, on a piece of parchment brings him back to the beginning? Half-Blood Lana Morgan is the caretaker of a safe house christened Camp Phoenix. What happens when a she becomes the obsession of the man from her past?
Rating: T for violence and dark themes. Subject to raised rating later.
Disclaimer: I do not own any characters or descriptions you recognize from JK Rowling's work. All others are from my own head.
!
A dirty man sat, his legs upon a desk, within the new Snatchers office within the Ministry of Magic. His long matted hair was pulled back not unlike a mane of a lions. His differed from the former Minister's in that it was unkempt. He bore a scared and pocket marked face. Some women had claimed it made him distinguished, hard worn. The man was worrying a little tablet with his hands. At a point he angrily stopped at a name. Damian Scabior growled, "Lying bint."
"What was that?" Greyback asked sharpening his knife.
"Nothin'" he replied tracing one finger across the name on his list. Lana Morgan was a young Ravenclaw in his year at school she had always said she was a half-blood like himself, though he would never admit and would kill you if you insinuated it. He had not seen her in years, still there she was, her name in deep black on white parchment. He could remember her, her deep blue eyes and freckles over pale skin. Wit so sharp it would slice you bare to the bones and clever as hell. Lana Morgan had been his first love, his school sweetheart, and the woman who he had every intention of marrying, of course that was until the incident. Even as a Slytherin he had been tolerant of Muggles and their ways, his own Muggle mother was a light in his young life. Of course she ended up dying of breast cancer in the middle of his fourth year. Looking back now he realized it was then when his bitterness started to grow.
Lana was great. It was Lana who convinced him to go to the funeral. It was Lana who held his head in her lap as he lamented his loss. They fell in love when they were seventeen and ended up moving in together not long after graduating. She would spend long hours in the Department of Mysteries and he would train with the Aurors. Some nights they would come home to fall exhausted into bed and other nights they wouldn't even make it to the bed before they were both naked and devouring each other. It wasn't who she was that drew him to her like a moth to flame, though that was a contributing factor he wouldn't deny, but who she made him. Without her he was the worst of the human race, if becoming a snatcher wasn't an obvious indicator. She brought out the best in him, it was she who persuaded him to apply to the Auror Academy. It was she who convinced him to turn his back on Dolohov and his other friends who were bent on joining the Dark Lord.
One late night, their three-year-anniversary and the night of their engagement, the two of them were walking home from her favorite restaurant in Muggle London. Having been after the defeat of the Dark Lord and feeling safe enough surrounded by Muggles they chose to leave their wands at home, for they were only four blocks from their flat. The ring glistened on her finger but it wasn't half as bright as her smile. Then it all went wrong. One moment he was beside her his arm around her waist the next he was on the ground and a man held a knife to Lana's throat. He struggled to get up but received a swift kick to the ribs and fell. Lana pleaded for the man to let her go.
"Let go of her!" he yelled before receiving a kick to the mouth. He lay helpless getting beaten while listening to the sobs and the cries of the love of his life. The boots of the men changed and he knew they were passing her around and it was all he could do to stay conscience. After what seemed like years, they left. With his remaining strength Scabior crawled over to Lana and held her hand until he they were found by his brother five hours later on her way to visit him. After six weeks of healers coming and going, many broken bones being healed. When they came back home nothing was the same they were fighting all the time, she felt dirty and he felt guilty. He couldn't protect her and he became moody and eventually one late night he came home to empty drawers and a note.
Damian,
I love you and I always will but I can't do this any more. I hope you can find it in your heart to love again.
Lana
"Scabior, mate, where did you go?" he heard Greyback say and he was drawn out of his trance.
"Who're we going after?" one of the other men, Rafe asked. Rafe was a bean-pole of a man. He kept his hair short and was pale. An expert at catching people, quick and cunning he could find a fox before a bloodhound.
"Scabior's got the list," Andre grunted nodding his head. Andre was his companions foil character. A dark thug with braided hair and an imposing demeanor, he was only slightly smarter then a box of flint wood. Still Scabior wouldn't lie, he had his uses.
"Any one got a, uh, Lana Morgan's file," Scabior asked not used to the organization of a Ministry commissioned job.
"Mmm sounds sexy," Rafe asked and the men around the room laughed, "Here it is. Oh and there is a picture."
"Lemme' see," Scabior asked and Rafe handed the picture to him. He looked at Lana her eyes were as blue as he remembered them and her face though aged by the years was only made more beautiful. Her auburn hair was pulled back and she seemed to be intent on a piece of parchment. She pushed a lock of hair behind her ear and a ghost of a grin was on her face.
"Blood Status: Half-Blood; Marital Status: Single; Wanted for providing a safe haven to undesirables in the form of an Unplottable, warded campground; Priority: High, given the fact that she might be harboring other undesirables. Reward: 6,000 galleons," Rafe read and Scabior blinked. Half-Blood, well she hadn't lied after all.
!
"Miss Morgan," Lana Morgan heard a small voice say, "I got the firewood."
"Well, Artie take it to the pile. You've done a good job," Lana replied ruffling the eleven-year-old's ginger mop. She was off the radar for a while, funneling in Muggleborns one at a time. That was until September first and she caught wind of a cattle car full of kids being taken to Azkaban. So the few adults living with her at that time intercepted the car and carted the kids to what they now dubbed Camp Phoenix. It made her a marked woman but she had already placed a network of safe houses around the country. It would get Muggleborns to the Camp working from dozen of text on the Underground Railroad in America and WWII mainland Europe. The Ravenclaw worked hard at it with the help of a good deal of friends and trustworthy compatriots.
"6,000 galleons," one of her friend Rhys said holding out a poster. Rhys Antolini was an older man and a kind soul. His mother had been a muggleborn and was killed in the first wizarding war fighting alongside the Order of the Phoenix. He was silver haired and pot-bellied. He raised his young-grandchildren on a farm not far from the camp and brought all manner of food to the group at Camp Phoenix.
"Really? That's all?" she muttered looking at the poster the picture was from months before. It was quick snapshot taken in Diagon Alley by a photojournalist working on a piece about still living despite the war, "Any news on the name I gave you?"
"Damian Scabior? Nothing yet Paulette is keeping an eye out in the papers though."
"Have I thanked you recently Rhys?" Lana asked pulling back her hair before diving a hand into the wash bucket.
"Eh, once or twice, love," he said chuckling. The older men looked around, "Ted Tonks might be heading this way soon and possibly Reg Cattermole's wife and children."
"Good, any news of Cresswell?" Lana asked scrubbing the shirt vigorously.
"Captured and on his way to the Registration Committee, and I worked hard on that tree," Rhys said, "I thought for sure it would…"
"Not your fault, Rhys, I hear Runcorn has had it out for him Amelia and the boys?"
"Safe and angry, Adrian, swears vengeance on Runcorn," Rhys replied.
"That's his oldest right," Lana mused.
"You're good at keeping track of people," Rhys said with a small grin.
"s'My job," she replied.
"Well, I gotta get back to Paulette she'll be wondering about me."
"Give her love from me," Lana replied with a sud-soaked wave. She bent back over her washing. Damian, she thought, Where are you?
Lana had hope the Camp would be more then what it was, a place with cabins and cottages, a resort for richer wizards and witches. Of course that was back before the war. When Dumbledore himself came to her a month before beginning of term last year with the idea of a safe haven Lana jumped on the idea. Not two weeks later a file cabinet appeared in her house with folders on every family with muggleborns inside. Lana set herself to memorizing it and compiled a list of her own. The land she'd inherited was just outside of Ottery St. Catchpole close to other wizarding homes. Still it was a tolerant neighborhood complied of neighbors like the Lovegood's and the Weasley's. She would go out and meet her neighbors weekly figuring out who she could trust and making connections with people farther out. Soon the network was created ready to begin the moment the news of the Muggle-Born Registration Committee arrived. Four or five dozen lean-tos and tents were scattered about along with a mess hall like structure and two barrack buildings crafted by the adults for the children. With winter approaching Lana hoped to add on to them to get the group out of the elements. Lana would be forever grateful to Rhys, Arthur, and Xenophilius. The three men happened to be the best protection around.
"Lana," Sarah-Jean, a tall sixteen year old muggleborn girl said, "They sent me to take over the laundry. We've got a theft dispute in the mess hall."
"Merlin, honestly," Lana said wiping her hands on her jeans, "Who is it?"
"Rochester and Biggs again," she replied. Lana groaned as she stormed to the mess hall.
"Ya lily livered ol' coot ya know das my blanket," Biggs a dirty older man missing half his teeth yelled holding tight to then end of a yellow quilt, "Me wife made it 'fore she died."
"You lying fool!" Rochester said posh as ever yelled, "I bought this on a trip in the Appalachian Mountains in North America."
"All right you two stop arguing!" Lana hollered Biggs dropped the quilt whilst Rochester glared at her.
"Sorry ma'am," Biggs said nodding, "We're yer guest we souldn' be arguin' where the younguns can hear."
"It's quite alright Biggs disagreements sprout up all the time and this is your home while you're here, you know that," she replied buying time while she figured out a solution. There was a tale of biblical proportions that could aid in her quest to get the blanket to it's proper owner, "Why don't we just cut the blanket in half? It's plenty big enough."
"Fine by me," Rochester said dropping it to the ground Biggs snatched it up.
"No! You can let 'im have it. I'd rather see it given to him then torn to shreds," the man said cradling the blanket to himself.
"As I expected, Mr. Biggs please take the quilt to your tent. Mr. Rochester if you try to steal again you will be dismissed from this Camp. I won't have you teaching the children bad morals. If you are cold I sure you can conjure up your own blanket."
"How did you know whose it was?" Sarah-Jean asked after the fight.
"Well my mom used to tell me bible stories when I was a child. There was a wise king who had to solve a dispute between two women over a child. Each woman claimed it was hers. The king had absolutely no clue who the mothers child was. So he said he would cut the child in half thus solving the dispute. One woman nodded her assertion the other in horror claimed that the other woman could have the child. So the king gave the child to the second woman, who was in fact the child's mother. He knew that the woman who would rather see the child live raised by another then killed was the rightful mother," Lana told as she washed. Sarah-Jean looked upon Lana with admiration.
!
"Rhys, darling, what was the name of that man Miss Morgan is asking about?" Paulette Antolini asked her husband after dinner.
"A Damian Scabior I think it was," he said whittling a little toy train for his youngest grandson.
"Oh dear I hoped I had it wrong," Paulette whispered placing the paper on the coffee table between them. Upon it was a picture of Dirk Cresswell and a scruffy young man. The caption read: Snatcher Scabior brings delinquent Cresswell to trial before the Muggle-Born Registration Committee.