Chapter Two
Hermione stepped past him and into the room, eyes on the ground, one step, two, three, and then turned back around to face the Azkaban warden.
"Ten minutes," she said softly.
When he reluctantly bobbed his head in agreement she swung the door closed.
A tense silence surrounded them. Almost thick enough for her to scoop into her hand and mould into shape. Hermione had purposely kept her gaze averted when she'd entered the room. It was a test of sorts. One that would solidify in her mind that what she was doing was the right thing.
And then she felt it.
A feather light touch that brushed softly on the edge of her awareness. It was the same feeling that had dogged her during the hunt for the Horcruxes. A feeling of being watched. Tracked. Hunted. As soon as she felt it her eyes closed in relief. He could do it. He could lead them to Bellatrix and Pettigrew. Now all she had to do was convince him.
Slowly Hermione twisted away from the door. She held her breath as her skin continued to prickle. The first thing she saw was the corner of a battered wooden table, and then the dirty white and faded black of an Azkaban inmate uniform. Scabior's uniform. Her gaze trailed up his arm and along his shoulder, past the untidy nest of hair and into a pair of ink blue eyes, framed by long dark lashes.
"Dove." Scabior spoke the word like a caress and Hermione could almost feel it slide against her skin. She ignored the sensation and forced her features into indifference.
"Scabior," she said, taking the seat opposite him and eyeing the way he sprawled in his chair. Almost as if they were meeting in a pub and not in the most depressing prison known to man. Wizard or Muggle. She just knew he was going to be deliberately annoying by the way he was looking at her hair and smirking. As if she didn't know that her hair was a soggy knotted mess. Anyway it wasn't like his was any better.
"I have a proposition for you," she said drawing his eyes away from the top of her head.
His lips tipped up at one corner. "But we 'ardly know each other kitten."
Hermione scowled. "Nor are we going to!" She snapped. So much for indifference. She pressed an icy hand to her forehead in the hopes of cooling down her temper. It didn't help.
"Minister Shacklebolt and I would like you to track down a couple of people for us." She stated as calmly as she could.
Scabior lifted his hands from his lap and placed them on the battered table, "and why would I do that?" he answered, all pretence now stripped from his voice.
Hermione's reply stuck in her throat, her carefully planned speech in tatters. Almost as tattered as the skin of his wrists where the shackles had ripped and torn the surprisingly soft looking skin.
"Somethin' wrong lovely girl?"
"What?" Her eyes snapped up to meet his before drifting down to his damaged wrists again.
"I asked yer if there was somethin' wrong."
She could hear the amusement shading his voice and it was enough to snap her attention back to his face. "No, of course not." She thought back to his original question, "as to why you would track them, how about the chance of freedom?"
He cocked his head to the side. "Oh dove, yer the only one who can make my 'eart skip a beat."
Hermione rolled her eyes at his over the top dramatics. "It's simple really, you find the two were looking for and you earn a pardon."
Scabior shifted forward bringing with him the smell of unwashed body, "a full pardon?"
Hermione shuffled further back in her chair, away from the smell. "Conditional," she answered ignoring the way his eyes kept flicking to her lips.
"What kind of conditions Angel?"
Hermione's temper snapped. "Can't you just pick one?" She absolutely detested pet names.
"Whatever do yer mean Cupcake?" He murmured knowing exactly what she was talking about.
Clenching her hands into fists she glared at him. "Condition one; you will make an unbreakable vow, on your wand, that you will never again use any unforgivable curses. Condition two; you will wear a tracking device for the remainder of your life. Condition three; your magic will be modified so that you can never hurt any one again. Condition four; your pardon will only be granted if and when the two are caught, otherwise you will be immediately returned to Azkaban where you will live out the remainder of your life." She pulled in a sharp breath. "Do you agree?"
Scabior watched her silently. A calculating glint darkening the ink blue eyes even further. His face was curiously still, clearly his was thinking about his options very carefully. "I'll wear the trackin' device only until the two yer want 'unted are caught."
Hermione dithered for a moment before reluctantly nodding her head in agreement. She'd simply have to come up with another way for the ministry to track him.
Scabior smiled coolly. "Then yer 'ave yourself a tracker, Pretty."
Relief flooded Hermione. They were one step closer to Bella and Wormtail. She only hoped that Scabior would be able to find them quickly. Her eyes flicked back to him, he was watching her, an arrogant smile curling his lips. Merlin, he was annoying. She didn't even want to think about what would happen when Ron and Harry saw him. They would be beyond furious. Still there really was no other way. It had to be Scabior.
She was interrupted from further thought by Simbleton entering the room. "Is everything set?" He asked Hermione, ignoring Scabior all together.
"Yes. I just need to modify one of the conditions before we sign though," she said reaching for the parchment that Simbleton was holding in his thick hand. It took a few seconds to find the paragraph, reach for a quill and change condition two. She muttered a charm to link what she'd amended to the rest of the contract before handing it to Scabior to read.
They waited in silence as he read, Hermione surprised that he was studying it so intently. She had the feeling that he was searching for loopholes. Well good luck to him, because she'd made sure that there weren't any.
Finally he lifted his head, nodded and reached awkwardly for the quill. The chains rattled and tugged at his skin as he stretched his fingers towards her. She quickly passed him the quill, their fingers brushing, rough skin against soft. Her hand moved away from him as if burned. The scratch of the quill against the parchment was very loud in the quiet room. It was a sound that Hermione would usually find comforting. Not today though. There was no comfort to be found today. Once he'd scrawled his signature at the bottom of the contract, he dropped the quill on top and pushed it across the table to Hermione.
"Your turn, Dove."
Hermione quickly signed her name below Scabior's and passed it Simbleton to sign as witness to the whole nightmare. As soon as he'd finished, the contract disappeared with a soft pop, headed for the Ministry records office. Well, it was done. Whatever the Order said and whoever kicked up a fuss at the Ministry, they wouldn't be able to undo the contract. Scabior was free and he would remain so for as long as he hunted Bella and Pettigrew.
"Yer got my clothes Simpleton?" Scabior asked snidely, "and the key to my bracelets would be nice, if it's no trouble."
Simbleton gave the long suffering sigh of someone who'd heard his name mangled a thousand times before and indicated that Scabior should follow him. Hermione watched from beneath her lashes as the Snatcher climbed to his feet and skirted the table. He shuffled past her, closer than needed and followed Simbleton out of the room. As soon as they'd gone Hermione slumped forward in her seat and let her forehead rest against the tabletop. Even the slightly waxy feel of it couldn't make her raise it back up again.
She noted absently that she was shaking and wondered whether it was worth the effort to cast a drying and warming charm but quickly decided that no, it was not. They would need to go back outside and away from Azkaban's wards before they could leave. So she was bound to get wet again and using her magic for something so trivial would be stupid.
Merlin knew how long it would take before she was back to full strength. Kingsley and the Weasley's reckoned weeks but Hermione had an awful feeling it would take much longer than that. But at least she wasn't as bad as Harry. Killing Voldemort had almost drained him dry. And he still hadn't walked more than a few steps more than four weeks later, for him spell casting looked months away.
Hermione was still scrunched over the table when Scabior and Simbleton returned. She sighed, lifted herself up and twisted to face them. She froze when she saw Scabior in his snatcher clothes. Chequered pants, deep green velvet waistcoat, knee length black leather coat. But it was the red armband circling his bicep declaring his profession that made her heart stutter in her chest.
It took her right back to the woods. Hexes flying, running so fast it left her dizzy, panic a solid presence that squeezed her heart and filled her throat. And then him, Scabior, in front of her, pressing close. Touching her hair and nuzzling her neck, caging her in and drinking in her fear. Scenting her.
"Miss Granger?" Simbleton asked, "are you alright?"
Hermione blinked her way free of her memories. "Yes, yes I'm fine." She smiled tightly at him, shifting her gaze away from Scabior and to the doorway. Stepping forward was harder work than it should have been but she just about managed it. When she was next to Simbleton she held out her hand. "It's been a pleasure to meet you. I wish it had been under better circumstances."
Simbleton took her hand and shook it rather limply. "And you Miss Granger. Please take care."
She nodded her head and walked out of the door towards the sour faced guard of earlier. Dimly she was aware of Scabior behind her, too close, but not enough so that she could object without looking like a paranoid weak minded fool. She knew he was doing it on purpose. Deliberately trying to intimidate her. Well it wasn't going to work.
She ignored him as the guard led them out, even though she could practically feel his eyes boring into the back of her head. Once again they were serenaded by the screams. Hermione took no notice, instead keeping her gaze fixed determinedly on the back of the guards head. Every now and then he would glance over his shoulder and give Scabior a murderous look. She didn't know what look Scabior returned, but whatever it was seemed to make the guard more furious with every step he took.
When they reached the entrance, the guard halted, sneering at them as he activated the charm that would allow the door to swing open. As soon as it did, Hermione gestured for Scabior to step out ahead of her. The last thing she needed was for a fight to break out between him and the guard.
She followed the Snatcher out and into a wind that pressed against her, once again soaking her with ice cold water. She sighed, bent forward and made her way wearily over to the apparation point. They wouldn't actually be apparating. In her weakened state she would likely splinch every limb from their bodies, so they'd be using a Portkey instead. When she spun around she almost collided with Scabior. That's how close he was standing. She immediately stepped back and glared. He merely raised his eyebrows and grinned.
"You'll be doing the 'oners then will yer, Pet?" He said offering her his leather clad arm.
Her eyes darted nervously to the left at his question. She didn't want him to know how weak they were magically. And Scabior wasn't the best snatcher for nothing, he noticed things, Hermione had seen that skill first hand. And if he knew she was magically low he'd find a way to use it against her.
"Actually we'll be using a Portkey," she said.
Scabior's arm dropped down to his side. "An why would that be, Love?" He said eyeing her with intense scrutiny.
Hermione grit her teeth, "because I said so," she answered reaching into her soaking robes to retrieve the Portkey that Kingsley had given her.
Scabior chuckled and stepped into her again. She scowled, about to tell him to back off when she realized that he was blocking the worst of the wind and sea spray from hitting her. Folding her lips she continued to search for the Portkey. Finally, her numb fingers closed around the small silver thimble that would transport them. She pulled it free, placed it on the tip of her index finger and held it towards Scabior. His eyes locked onto hers as he reached forward and touched his own slightly grimy finger to the thimble. Her gut twisted but she refused to let him see how uncomfortable he was making her. He was cocky enough as it was. Who knew what he'd do if he thought he had the upper hand.
"Portus!" She snapped out, then held her breath when she felt the internal tug of the Portkey activating.
The world spun dizzyingly fast and they were sucked away from Azkaban, only to be spat out onto a field behind the Burrow. Hermione stumbled but managed to keep her feet. Of course Scabior kept his balance effortlessly.
Kingsley was already waiting for them when they arrived. Hermione smiled and walked quickly towards him, taking in his warm smile and comforting presence.
"Miss Granger," he pulled her forward and into a friendly hug. "It went as planned?"
"It did," she said, smiling gratefully when he pulled out his wand and set a drying charm over her. She twisted around to face Scabior and beckoned him over. He had a slight sneer on his face but looked unconcerned as he strolled towards them with and easy confidence that Hermione envied. Once he reached them he halted, again too close to her, and stared at Kingsley.
"I don't need to tell you that if you break any of the restrictions placed on you the consequences will be extremely severe." Kingsley's voice was devoid of emotion as he spoke.
"Wouldn't dream of it." Scabior rolled his eyes insolently as he spoke.
Kingsley gave him a disgusted look. "See that you don't." He switched his attention back to Hermione, "Miss Granger?"
She nodded and made her slow way towards the Burrow. Nobody had lived there since the Death Eaters had attacked Bill and Fleur's wedding. The remaining Weasley's had now taken up residence at Grimmauld Place. And so far they hadn't made any plans to return. The house held too many memories. The grief of losing Fred had almost destroyed the family and right now they couldn't seem to see beyond it. Hermione ached for them but didn't know what to say or do that would help.
She didn't look at the Burrow as they approached. It hurt too much seeing how the once warm and vibrant home had become a hollow broken shell. Yet this was the only place that she could think of to finish the deal without the others interfering. They needed Scabior. She would just have to convince Harry and the others of that fact.
Hermione stuffed all of her doubts into a do not open box and pushed it firmly to the back of her brain. She couldn't back out now. She wouldn't. The Burrow's door was broken and opened easily when she gave it a nudge. The living room was a mess, shattered furniture, broken glass, cushions and rugs wearing charred marks where the Death Eaters had tried to set the place on fire. Not one of them had been able to make the flames take hold. Molly's protection charms were just too strong. It made her smile, but it felt stiff and wrong on her face so she let it fade away.
Hermione turned back to Kingsley and Scabior. They were both watching her, each with a different expression on their face. Kingsley wore a sad, concerned look, letting her know that he knew exactly what she was feeling and that he was feeling it as well. Scabior had calculation written all over his sharp features, probably trying to work out how he could use this against her in the future. She would have to watch him, she had the awful feeling that he would turn on her the first chance he got.
"Can we just do this?" she asked tiredly.
Kingsley nodded his agreement and then reached into his robe to retrieve Scabior's wand. The snatcher eyed it greedily having to fist his hands to stop himself from reaching out and tearing it from Kingsley's grip.
Kingsley seemed to know this because he held the wand tauntingly close but kept it just out of Scabior's reach.
"Ah ah, first the spell to modify your magic." Kingsley handed the wand to Hermione to hold and indicated that she should back away. When she had, Kingsley pulled out his own wand before dipping again into his robes to pull out a small black dagger. It glinted dully. Seeming to suck up all the light.
When he saw it, Scabior glanced at Hermione who was very carefully avoiding his gaze.
"Spell you say?" Scabior asked Kingsley. "Stinks of a curse to me," he spat out.
"As you say," Kingsley evenly replied.
Hermione refused to look at either of them. Scabior was right. It was a curse. Quite a dark one at that. And she would know, because she was the one who'd found it. Originally she had planned on casting it herself but Kingsley had refused, telling her that either he did it or the deal was off. With little choice she'd agreed.
"Shall we continue? Or would you prefer to return to Azkaban?" Kingsley said making Hermione wince. This was moving from a simple deal to blackmail very rapidly.
Scabior tilted his head mockingly, "by all means, cast your curse."
The ministers lips tightened in annoyance but he remained silent. Instead he stepped forward until he stood facing Scabior, a couple of feet separating them. He muttered an incantation under his breath and lifted the black dagger until it lay against the palm of his hand. Inhaling he glanced at Hermione before pressing the blade into his skin and pulling sharply down. Blood welled instantly and he had to quickly turn his palm skywards to stop any of it from dripping onto the ground. Almost in the same instant he reached towards Scabior. "You're palm," Kingsley snapped.
Hermione watched beneath her lashes as the snatcher nonchalantly offered his palm to Kingsley. He didn't even flinch as Kingsley slashed the soft flesh of his hand with the cursed blade, but his lips did thin slightly when Kingsley pressed their bleeding palms together and placed the tip of his wand over their clasped hands.
He began to chant in Latin, slowly binding Scabior's magic to his own. His wand spat out a rope of red light, which twisted and circled their hands. Once the binding was complete, Kingsley lowered his head, concentrating on putting restrictions on the kind of magic Scabior would be able to use.
Hermione watched, the hair rising on the back of her neck as the red rope formed several knots that sank into the skin on the back of Scabior's hand. She couldn't tear her eyes away from the sight, or the slick blood that seeped from between their sandwiched flesh.
It was horrifying for her to see dark magic cast with so little fuss. So little effort. It shouldn't have been that easy. She shook her head and tore her gaze away from the two men, instead focusing on a broken teacup. She wanted to reach down, take out her wand and repair it, place it on the shelf in the kitchen where Molly had kept them but managed to resist.
Sudden guilt filled her. They shouldn't have preformed the curse here. The Weasley's would be furious if they knew dark magic was being cast in their home by people they considered friends. She flicked her attention back to Kingsley and Scabior just in time to see Kingsley finish the curse. The red rope faded into nothing as Kingsley pulled his wand away and dropped Scabior's hand.
The minister turned to Hermione. "It's done."
She nodded at him sadly and stepped towards him, pressing a hand to his shoulder. "I'm sorry you had to do that."
The corner of his mouth kicked up in an almost smile. "It was necessary," was all he said as he past her to look out of the window. Guessing he needed a moment to himself Hermione turned away and stepped reluctantly towards Scabior.
"Are you okay?" She asked gesturing to his palm.
"'ad no idea yer cared Angel," he said tilting his palm.
She snorted, "I don't."
He smirked but didn't reply. Not that Hermione wanted him to, the sound of his voice was rapidly beginning to irritate her. As was the blood that still pooled in his palm. He was holding it in a way that made sure she could see it clearly, like he wanted to remind her that dark magic had been used on him. As if she could ever forget.
Unable to stop herself she flicked her wand and cast a scourgify on him, then she reached for his hand intending to heal the cut. Only there wasn't a cut to heal. But there was a scar. A deep pink slash that travelled diagonally from the base of his index finger to the outside of his wrist.
Stupid Hermione. It was a cursed blade. Of course it would scar. Thanks to Bellatrix she knew all about the god awful scars cursed blades left behind. They burned as they cut, almost seeming to sink below the skin, through muscle and into bone. She remembered it distinctly, coupled with the mad cackle that had spewed from Bella's mouth.
"Sickle for yer thoughts Dove?" A finger brushed along her jaw, bringing her back from her memories.
Hermione jumped, flicking him a panicked look and then back away from his knowing stare. It infuriated her. He infuriated her. How dare he stand there looking so smug. So unaffected by what had happened. By what he'd done. Not just to her, but to countless others as well. All on the say so of an insane wizard. For that was definitely what Voldemort was. Insane.
She allowed a sneer to curl her lips. "Shall we preform the wand oath now?" She asked coldly, feeling a slither of satisfaction when his eyes darkened with anger. When she looked at Kingsley he was eyeing them curiously.
"You're ready Miss Granger?" he asked inclining his head.
Hermione tossed Scabior his wand, "more than."
The snatcher narrowed his eyes but said nothing. But he did track her movements as she stepped closer to him. Once there she held out her wand towards him, parallel to the ground. When he didn't immediately follow suite she raised her eyebrow mockingly.
"Is there a problem?" She asked him with false sweetness.
"Never, Kitten," he returned with the same saccharine edge before mirroring her own wand position. With her free hand she grasped his wand and waited for him to do the same with hers. She tried not to notice his new scar or the chaffing on his wrist.
"Okay, make the oath." She ordered fixing her gaze on the base of Scabior's neck. She could just about make out the rhythmic beat of his pulse.
Scabior cleared his throat, "I, Scabior 'earby promise on my wand and on my life that I will never again use one of the three unforgivable curses..." he fixed Hermione with a challenging gaze, "...unless 'ermione Granger gives me permission to do so."
Hermione's eyes fluttered up to his. "That will never happen." Wondering how anyone could be so cocky.
He merely shrugged. She looked at Kingsley but he simply inclined his head, leaving the decision as to whether to accept or not up to her. Hermione frowned. There was no way that she'd ever give him permission to use them, so agreeing to that part of the vow shouldn't be an issue, now or in the future. She glanced at Scabior, gauging if she could get him to re-word the vow, but his stony features said clearly that, no, he would not.
Reluctantly she accepted the oath, forcing herself still when the vow wrapped around her arm and sank beneath her skin, leaving behind the sensation of pins and needles.
"Well that's it then. It's done," she muttered tiredly.
"Not quite love," Scabior said drawing her attention back to him, "Yer still haven't told me who yer want me to snatch."
Hermione grimaced, unsure of what his reaction was going to be, but at least he couldn't throw any dangerous hexes at her any more. She stepped away from him. Just in case.
"Peter Pettigrew and Bellatrix Lestrange."