Obsession 2

Damian Scabior leaned silently against the wall within the Department of Mysteries. He awaited the ruling on his most recent catch. Twirling the man's wand within his fingers intent on not thinking about where he was. How many times did he get finished early and rush down here to escort Lana home? How many times did he lean against this wall? Damn you he thought I haven't thought about you in years and now you occupy almost every single thought. Pinching his nose, head bent, he saw a stiff firewhiskey in his future. So enraptured in his thoughts he didn't hear the click of heels on the stone floor.

"'Ello beautiful why so thoughtful?" a silky female voice whispered.

"Allison," he said shortly. Allison Balrigaurd was all of five four in four-inch stilettos. Silky blonde hair and heavy lidded dark eyes hid a maddening woman. Throughout history, whenever there was a war, armies were followed by caravans of women earning money and favors from the men. Allison Balrigaurd was one of those women. She did some none descript desk job within the Ministry during the day and during the night she spent her time in the more shady pubs and bars on Knockturn Alley.

"Aw why so short with me Scabior?" she asked in a small baby voice hanging off his shoulder.

"Not in the mood Balrigaurd," he growled trying to shake her off.

"You were in the mood a few nights ago," she whispered huskily in his ear. That was before I found out Lana was still in the country.

"Please get off of me Allison," He said tugging away more violently.

"What the hell Damian?" she asked angry.

"Not in the mood means not in the mood Allison," he growled and she flinched back.

"Scabior!" another voice said from behind Allison. Loud slightly screeching and maniacal, Bellatrix Lestrange rounded the corner. Her wild hair was piled upon her head. If she wasn't so terrible he would have to prevent himself from laughing, "Are you frightening one of my pretties?"

"Your 'pretties?'" he asked quirking an eyebrow, "Pardon?"

"Aw, these little girls needed organization," Bellatrix replied, "That I readily offered. Balrigaurd leave us."

"Yes mistress," Allison replied before scurrying off.

"Mistress… seems you've tamed the beast," he replied refocusing his stare back at the wall.

"Far from it, Scabior," she replied taking Allison's place clinging to his arm, "Now what is wrong with you?"

"I know what you're doing Lestrange you aren't the only one with the ability to use Occlumency," Scabior said not moving, "All Aurors who chose to could train in it."

"Not many did I bet," she said standing back from him he smirked. She then violently pulled his ear to her mouth and whispered harshly, "Never scare one of them again."

He stood there stunned as she stormed off, "Crazy bint…"

"Nice day's work young man," a toad like woman said from behind him and Scabior turned with a smile on his face.

"Why thank you Miss Umbridge," he said in a mock gentlemanly fashion, "May I say your necklace suits you quite well."

"Well it's a family heirloom," she replied blushing. Scabior traced his finger down her face and rested it under her chin. Playing old women was a past time of his that usually ended with his having a small sack of gold or some gifts.

"It brings out your eyes," the man said and an annoying giggle escaped Umbridge's lips. At that he kissed her hand.

"Well Mr. Scabior, here have a little extra reward money on me," Umbridge replied and Scabior smirked, "Just between the two of us my boy."

"Thank you Dolores," He replied before kissing her hand again before he left heel clapping against the stone.

!

"Rhys is here," Sarah-Jean said and Lana smiled.

"Did he bring the eggs?" Lana asked.

"There's a whole wagon full of food," the freckle faced Artie replied running past with a lollipop.

"Don't run with that," Lana called out ruffling his head as was her custom, "We'll need to have haircut day soon."

"May I please go I haven't had chocolate in ages," Sarah-Jean said wistfully. Lana nodded and Sarah-Jean rushed out. Lana finished cleaning drying the cooking pot and headed out. Rochester stood there awkwardly talking to Sarah-Jean.

"I-I- picked, uh, the caramel chocolates up for you," he was saying, "and- and- I conjured this quilt up for you."

Lana looked at the quilt it was a pale green and crude but it looked warm. She felt as though she understood the boy a bit more. She was constantly reminding herself that he was only eighteen. The young man did come from a posh family of Muggle politicians and probably wasn't used to roughing it. Not to mention Biggs was known for leaving his stuff lying about. Something in her gut told her that this boy would make good on his second chance.

"Everything important is being taken in the back," Rhys said just before a four foot tall wrecking ball shot into Lana's chest.

"Ralphie!" she said pulling the four year old close to her.

"Miss Lana! Miss Lana! How come you never babysit anymore?" the young child said.

"Cause I'm to busy babysitting a who campful of people," she replied. The young child had mop like raven hair and brown eyes like cinnamon. Rhys in miniature Ralphie Vance was the most adorable young child in the world. Youngest son of Emmeline Vance an orphan after his father died in a spell creating accident and his mother Emmeline, Rhys's daughter, killed by Death Eaters last year. Five children left parent-less. Still they were used to spending all their time with their grandparents. For safety reasons Emmeline owned a flat in London where she would go and then Apparate to the farm.

"Look Pops has got a special bag for you!" Ralphie said running to get it from his grandfather.

"Fresh tomatoes, garlic, basil… everything I need for a huge batch of spaghetti! Rhys, how did you know?" Lana asked hugging the older man who just jumped off of the wagon.

"Guessed. Can we have a chat alone?" he muttered into her ear before hollering at one of the men unloading, "Oi! Be careful with those, Molly Weasley'd be upset if you messed up her pies!"

"Is this about Damian?" she asked face ashen and sweat beginning to coat her palms.

"Yeah, and you aren't gonna like it," he replied and Lana grabbed onto his sleeve and pulled him into a small room she claimed as her office. After offering him a seat on her cot she sat against the desk. Solemnly Rhys pulled out the paper indicating the front page picture.

"That's Dirk… and… oh my…" Lana she whispered horrified at the sight. Damian who took such pride in himself looked wrong, "Damian what happened to you?"

"I had Arthur do some digging," Rhys said, "Smart man, Auror Academy, had a girlfriend there for awhile, it all went wrong after an attack by Muggles, apparently the girl'd been raped," a sharp intake of breath came from Lana as the tears started falling, "'bout six months later things went down hill, drunk and disorderly, theft, evading capture, twelve months in Azkaban. Now he's a Snatcher, working against everything we've been working for."

"Damian," she replied tracing her finger along his face. Rhys awkwardly gave her a pat on the shoulder before leaving her. Once alone Lana threw the paper across the room quickly followed by anything in her reach, a quill, some parchment, a plotted plant. Soon her office was in shreds and she was crumpled up on the floor, knees pulled up to her chest, wracked with unending sobs.

!

It was stuffy in the potions classroom fumes hung over the students. Damian looked over at the girl working next to him. She was fussing with a piece of hair hanging in her face while making notes and pouring ingredients in her copper cauldron. Before he could notice his staring he looked back at his own pewter one. Why did she use copper? Was it because they were better for brewing? Or did she just like the color? Before he realized it there was a hand on his. He looked up. There she stood stopping him from dropping in a rat tail. He looked at her eyes, bluer then even the color of her tie. Heat radiated from her touch and Damian could feel sweat start to plaster his hair to his face. She was touching him this beautiful stranger.

"That wrong you know," she said in a soft tone, "I, uh, noticed you were about to put it in. Your potion isn't a 'thick, blue, sparkling substance yet.' You need to add the Tentacula leaves first."

"Oh, uh, thanks," Damian said putting down the tail and adding the correct ingredient.

"I doze away sometimes too," she replied with a shrug. Damian nodded before a thought hit him.

"Hey, how'd you know I was about to mess up," he asked looking at her oddly.

"You aren't the only one staring at other people from across the room, Damian," she whispered harshly.

"How'd you know my name?" he asked rudely. The girl looked up at him almost angry. Woah, what did he say wrong? Damian was always messing up around women.

"You honestly just asked me that," she huffed turning back to her cauldron stirring clockwise, "Lana, Lana Morgan, the girl who convinced you to go to your mother's funeral a year and a half ago."

"No?" he said surprised. She nodded sharply and added the rat tail to her potion. What he remembered of Lana had been freckles, acne, a to-big-for-her sweater, glasses, and those foul Muggle teeth contraptions, bridges or something. This wasn't her. Lana Morgan had barely been five foot. This girl was at least five seven. Thinking back he did remember the hair color. You couldn't fake that deep of a red. Merlin had she grown up, "You threw a teacup at me."

"You walked in on me while I was upset," she replied glaring.

"About what?" he asked admittedly too late.

"Crouch was making fun of my teeth," she replied. Damian looked back at his friend who was struggling over his own potion.

"Well, I apologize for him," Damian replied as the bell rang… though it sounded conspicuously like a loud snore.

Scabior could have killed Greyback, the overbearing oaf. He was enjoying being back in that classroom. Damn it Damian, he scolded himself, she is the enemy! Wait you're a hired hand… you have no enemy. Well except for empty pockets. Still it was a nice break from the Azkaban nightmares. Reliving that horrid night sixteen years ago over and over again in his cell. Twelve months of complete hell that was. Unable to fall back into a comfortable position he stretched and stood. It was time to get back to work.