A/N: Written for The Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition, Game Day, Finals Round 2. Word Count: 1830. Team: Wigtown Wanderers. Position: Keeper
"Rather than power, rather than fame, I'll have a bottle of wine." (Omar Khayyam, Rubaiyat) - Carmen
Scabior had always liked them young, but he would settle if they were beautiful. Mercy had been both, and when she came for him, his life had changed forever.
Night stretched its icy fingers out over the forest. The trees were all naked limbs tangled up in shivering masses. Scabior's breath froze the moment it left his slender body. This kind of cold crept through his limbs, straight to his bones. His skin was numb, but his bones all ached from it. He bounced on the balls of his feet and cupped his long fingers around his mouth, breathing into them in an attempt to warm himself.
"How much longer?" Greyback growled impatiently. The winter months always made him cranky.
"As long as it bloody well takes," Scabior answered abruptly. He was impatient with Greyback's impatience.
Greyback snarled in Scabior's direction. The sight would have terrified anyone else, but not Scabior. Scabior knew Greyback wouldn't dare harm him. It would upset the werewolf's lady friend too much. Scabior's charm tended to have that effect on women. He rolled his eyes and Greyback turned around and stomped off back towards their small campfire while Scabior returned his attention to the woods around them.
The rest of his team were impatient to return to the soon as they had a Mudblood to collect on, they could go somewhere warm until the Galleons ran out again, letting some other team of snatchers work out in this horrid weather. Scabior wanted that as well. However, there was something here, in the forest with them, that made him hesitate. He couldn't see it, but he knew it was there. His instincts screamed at him to raise his guard and run, but that only made him more curious. He wasn't in the habit of running from things he couldn't see. Every once in a while his nose would catch a hint of something…exquisite. Something that did not belong in these woods. It was waiting for him, hunting him just like he hunted the Mudbloods. Anticipation filled him at the thought. He was ready for it. He wanted this, too.
Out of the corner of his eye, Scabior caught a glimpse of something white and faintly glowing, slipping through the trees like a ghost. He turned his head to get a better view of it, but the moment he did, it was gone. Scabior sighed and the wind whispered his name like lips against his hair. There was something so very intimate about it. It wouldn't come while his team were watching, and they were ever vigilant, always looking for that one bonus bounty.
"So very immature," the voice whispered to him. It was a woman. He was sure of it. "Not like you, Scabior."
"You're one to talk, love." Scabior whispered back, his eyes searching the woods around him, "Are we playin' hide n' seek like children?"
The feminine voice laughed at him. "I'm waiting for you. Come and find me."
Scabior felt drawn to the shadows of the forest as though he were being led on a string. He stepped out of the light of the fire, but froze as a couple of the men behind him stood up to follow.
"Boss?" Greyback asked curiously.
"Stay, mutt." Scabior smirked.
"What did you call me?" Greyback growled angrily.
Scabior looked back at them, the smug look still firmly on his face. "I said sit. Stay. Those commands are simple enough to understand, aren't they?"
They hesitated only a moment before obeying. Scabior turned away from them again and slipped into the shadows. The moment the light from the fire fell away from his face, the white glow reappeared, this time further off into the woods. His heart raced in his chest as he followed it. Adrenaline pumped through his veins, triggered by that little taste of fear upon his tongue. He loved it.
When they were well enough away from the camp, the white glow paused and began to take the shape of a woman. Hair so fair it was almost white fell down her back to her waist, still faintly glowing, even as the rest of her began to look like an ordinary witch. She wore a strapless, pale lilac dress that was much too thin and much too short for the winter air. Her skin was too pale, but there was a healthy flush to her cheeks as she turned her heart-shaped face towards him. His breath caught in his chest at the sight of her. She was lovely, and the sight of her almost felt like a poison seeping through him, binding him to her.
Her icy blue eyes, lightly glowing like her hair, laughed at him. "I was starting to wonder whether you were brave enough to come."
"An' just where do you think I'm going, love?" Scabior asked, forcing himself to breath again.
"With me," She answered confidently, her voice still floating like a whisper on the wind. "Somewhere safe…where you will live forever."
Scabior smirked at her, "And why would I do that? I've never been one for the safe route. It sounds too boring for my tastes. Nor do I buy into the possibility of eternal life. No one lives forever."
"I have," She answered softly, "I've watched you from the moment you entered my woods, and I like you. I will share mine, if you will be mine."
"What exactly does that entail?" Scabior asked curiously.
She smiled at him, "You're asking the wrong questions."
"Really? What would you like for me to ask?"
"What is the alternative to becoming mine." She answered, as though it were obvious. "I've seen your future. Would you like to see it?"
Scabior hesitated. This woman was far more than a simple fortune teller. Secrets and mystery practically oozed from her. He couldn't tell what she was or what she wanted from him, but he was dying from the curiosity to know. "Show me."
She approached him slowly, holding his gaze. Only when she was directly in front of him did she lift her hand to his face, pushing aside a lock of his hair. She pulled his lips to hers, and as they met, Scabior closed his eyes. This time, though, it wasn't darkness that he saw, but a series of shapes, slowly coming into focus. First, a castle and a bridge. He and his men were at Hogwarts, standing behind some sort of protection charm over the castle. As it faded, he saw himself smile and felt that short burst of victory and adrenaline as he commanded his men to chase one of the students over the bridge. They were so very close. Their target was almost within their grasp when, suddenly, the bridge collapsed beneath their feet.
Scabior jerked away from her at the sight of he and his men falling to their deaths. "You're lying," he accused instantly, "We're not going to die. We're not stupid enough to fall into a trap like that." Scabior hesitated, thinking of Greyback, "Well…I'm not."
"I see what will be, based on the path you partake in. So long as you serve the Dark Lord, that is where you will be in only two days time," She answered, stepping back from him.
"Why should I believe you?" Scabior asked, studying her. "The bridge may not be a trap. We would be immortalized for being the first to storm the castle. We may even catch Potter again. We would be greatly rewarded for it."
She turned her back on him, casually, as though his decisions didn't matter to her. "Rewarded like you were the first time, with a whip around your throat? If you do nothing, nothing will change. You will go about your business, and you will die."
"I could refuse to cross the bridge." Scabior pointed out.
She turned back to him with a small smile on her face. "I've thought of that. Tom Riddle does not take kindly to deserters, does he?"
Scabior sighed, pushing his fingers back through his hair. "No, 'e doesn't."
"You could risk it, I suppose," she said, studying him, "for the fame. For the power, if you consider it worth the risk of death."
"You could change my future? You can make me live?" he asked. He wasn't ready to die. He was still too young and attractive to die. The women of the wizarding world would be devastated by the loss of him.
"Forever," She answered, "If you submit to me."
"What are you?" Scabior frowned. What sort of creature could live forever?
"An alternative future. One without power or fame. A future where you serve in my bed and drink my wine." She began to circle him, like a wild animal would circle its prey. Her fingers lightly touched the red streak in his hair as she passed. "I feed from your kind, from many different men, but now I've grown lonely and bored with the hunt. I want one to keep as my own. I am a succubus, and I can make you my mate. We could live forever."
Succubus. Scabior's instincts reared up again, telling him to fight or to run for his life. There were legends about the succubus that could make anyone's hair curl. They were creatures who were supposed to be extinct. She must be one of the last of her kind. "How do I know you won't kill me?"
"You don't," she smiled in amusement at the thought, "but even if I did, you were going to die anyways. I suspect your chance for survival is higher with me. However, I will allow you to choose. Choose your own path, Scabior. You know where each may lead."
Scabior studied her in silence for a long moment. Finally, his lips tugged up in a smirk. "Alrigh', love. You win. I'd rather be murdered by a beautiful woman than a bridge any day."
She smiled victoriously, stepping close to him. "I promise to make it pleasurable for you."
"What should I call you?" he asked, letting her take his hand and lead him deeper into the woods.
"Mercy," She answered, "You may call me Mercy."
Epilog: One month later
Scabior leaned back in the plush armchair as Mercy settled into his lap, handing him a bottle of rich, red wine. He took it from her, and she wrapped her arms around his neck. "Do you ever regret it? Giving up the possibility of fame and power for this life?"
Only a week after he'd disappeared with her, Scabior had overheard a witch and wizard discussing a group of snatchers who'd been killed by a bridge collapse while trying to get into Hogwarts. Some of them had been so disfigured by the rubble and fire that no one could identify them. He'd only been with her a month now, but his body already felt different. Mercy was keeping her promise. He was never tired, had began to heal at a miraculous rate, and not to mention the other various benefits triggered by the decision he'd made. He liked being the mate of a succubus. It suited him.
"I haven't regretted it for a single moment," Scabior answered, smiling at her and pulling her close. "So long as I have you, I will take a bottle of wine over fame or power any day."