A Spirit, A Snatcher and a Witch: The Day He Ended
A/N: Another Scabior drabble…I'm bored, so I start writing…and here is the result of that. (:
Do not own Scabior. Said it before, but I'll say it again…if I did, I wouldn't be here writing this, I'd be playing with him. And, I'm quite sure I wouldn't be bored. He belongs to J.K. Rowling, and Nick Moran who brought him to life. Anything else belongs to me and my creepy imagination.
Oh, and excuse the boldness of the text…it seems the bold button thingie is locked and doesn't want to be unlocked just yet.
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The day had been uneventful. The evening equally so. His job, as it were, had gone surprisingly well. No complaints from his gang of snatchers, no mishaps. Nothing.
It had been a good day all around.
That is, until he reached the confines of his tent. He knew something was out of the ordinary the moment he set foot inside. He just knew.
Scabior stared directly ahead of him, the presence in the tent hovered silently…waiting, watching.
He stared at it for a moment. This wasn't happening. It was unreal, or at least, he tried making himself believe that it wasn't.
But, it was happening. The misty shape loomed within the tent, pulsating steadily as it took shape. Scabior knew he hadn't had any firewhiskey, nor had he smoked anything (damn those nasty Muggles and their drugs) beyond a cigarette. He knew he was wide awake…he was far from being tired.
Again, he watched the misty shape. It had taken on a form almost human, yet it still remained a hazy, smoke like form. No distinct features…it had arms, it had hands, and a head. But its face remained featureless.
Finally, after what seemed like hours of watching and waiting, the presence spoke its first words to him.
"I've been waiting a long time, Scabior." It said slowly.
He stared at it in disbelief.
"Wot are you?" He asked.
The presence, the spirit, whatever it was, laughed softly. It was a cold, inhuman kind of laughter. The kind that creeps up your spine, and entangles itself into every fiber of your being. The kind of laughter you never forget, no matter how hard you try. It simply won't allow it.
"I am," It laughed again, "What was, what is and what shall be."
Scabior watched it quietly. He couldn't seem to take his eyes off of it. Everytime he tried, it pulled him right back, almost as if he was being hypnotized by it.
"You are afraid?" It asked.
'Let silence be thy answer…'
Scabior said nothing.
The spirit hovered in front of him, it watched with a deliberate amusement, fascinated by his fear.
The laughter came again.
"Fear, Scabior, is an interesting concept, don't you think?"
"Wat do you want?" He hissed.
The spirit glowed radiantly, shimmering like a thousand stars. It was an awesome, yet frightening presence.
"Nothing." It finally replied.
Scabior found himself now more annoyed, than afraid.
"If you don't want anything, then why are you here?"
The spirit pulsated with cold laughter. It still hadn't taken on a completely human shape. That was not its intention to do so.
Not yet.
As Scabior watched, the spirit began to fade. The shimmering glow dimmed to a faintness.
"I will return, Scabior, and when that time comes, you will understand." It said and faded away completely.
Scabior stood there for a long time, pondering what had just happened. He could find no rational explanation for any of it. It still seemed so unreal.
For now, anyway.
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Many years later…
He lay there motionless. Even the slightest movement caused unbearable agony. He was now a shadow of himself, yet still…
Still he was Scabior, just a much older one now and all he had left to do, was die.
He lay motionless.
The spirit hovered at the foot of his bed silently. It was a room he knew well, one he had spent much time in during his years as a Snatcher. He had paid dearly for it, too.
At first, Scabior hadn't noticed it, but as it materialized slowly, his pain filled eyes finally noticed.
"I have returned, Scabior, just as I promised." It said carefully.
"For wot?" He asked.
The same unforgettable laughter echoed around the tiny, dirty room.
"To help you understand."
Scabior muttered softly to himself.
"Understand?"
The spirit swelled with light, which flowed out in every direction. The laughter somehow made it glow even more.
"Wot do you want?" Scabior mumbled.
"I am, what was, what is and what shall be. Do you not understand that?"
"Should I?"
Laughter.
"But of course! Need I explain it to you, Scabior?"
He lay there quietly for a moment, and then nodded.
"Yes, please do."
He watched as the spirit moved from the foot of the bed, than up to where he lay. It now hung over him.
"I am what was, what is and what shall be. I am birth, I am life and I am death."
"Huh?" Was all he could utter.
"Still no understanding? How unfortunate."
Scabior forced a grin. It hurt too much.
"Then explain it to me, damn it! Wot the hell do you mean by all of this?"
The spirit laughed abruptly.
"I was with you when you were born. I came to you while you lived, and I have returned to be with you, at the hour of your death. I am, what was, what is and what shall be…"
Silence.
"I am birth, I am life and I am death…"
Scabior glared coldly at it.
"I know I'm dying! You don't need to tell me that!" He snarled. "I've been dying for years now, just never knew it…"
The spirit was not deterred by this.
"I am everyone…" It stated coolly.
Scabior continued to glare at it. This had become a bothersome, irritating game, and he was tired of playing it. He wanted to be left alone to die in peace.
"If you are everyone, as you claim, who are you now?"
The spirit began to form once again. Where there had been no distinct features, there were now eyes, a mouth, a nose and hair…
Hair with a very distinct red streak.
It had formed itself into a complete human shape.
Scabior recoiled in horror, for the shape the spirit had formed, was one he knew well. One he had known for many years.
"Who are you?" He whispered.
The spirit shook with laughter. It glowed more brightly, as he felt his life ebbing away from him.
"I am, what was, what is, and what shall be." It glowed above him. "I am…"
The laughter ceased with the final beat of his heart.
"You."
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Years later…
He glanced at the young witch as she wandered along the path leading into the woods. He knew what he should be doing, but for some reason he could not bring himself to do it.
Scabior watched her stop and study the flowers that grew along the path. He had waited a long time for her…much too long.
He followed her closely, yet she did not know he was there.
Such was the life of a Snatcher. Of a man now far removed from it.
She continued to walk along the path, stopping once more to study some more flowers.
She smiled.
Scabior took this opportunity to come closer…as close as he dared…took this moment, to whisper in her ear, his voice sounding only only like that of a warm, soft breeze.
"I am what was, what is, and what shall be…" He whispered.
The young witch turned her head slightly, brushed her hair back from her eyes, and shivered. For a moment, she looked about her, as if she had actually heard him. But soon, she returned to gazing at the flowers. She did not know he was there.
Scabior sighed softly. Perhaps more was needed…perhaps, he need say only two words, and his witch would understand.
He drew closer to her…he could smell the scent he knew so well…remembered always…
Sighing again, Scabior leaned into her, his breath a warm breeze upon her skin…he inhaled once, twice and then whispered softly…
"Hello beautiful."
Laughter.
The kind she would never forget.