EDITED: 02/21/2015

Chapter Three

The week before Olive started at Hogwarts, Dumbledore sent for a woman called Tonks to meet with her. He'd informed Olive that this woman was a metamorphmagus as well and that it might be wise to learn how to better control her ability. Even in her young age, Olive was a bitter person - she thought the entire thing was rubbish. How could someone like Olive, who'd spent her entire life controlling her appearance, need the help of a woman like her who had the freedom of growing up in the wizarding world?

The woman's advice - until she walked into that tent, unaware of what was about to unfold - held very little importance in Olive's life. She'd taught her how to keep her hair from becoming red when she was angry and how to keep her skin from turning grey if she were sad. That was about the full-extent of the usefulness from her lessons. Tonks had explained to her that she couldn't teach her how to stop the spell that would ruin a metamorphmagus' disguise because the only way to block it was to block it.

And Olive had never been quick enough to block or disarm an opponent when she was in Dueling Club.

Tonks had urged Olive to remember the spell, that way she would know what to expect. She also told her it would be wise to be prepared to block and to watch for people who began acting suspicious of her disguise. "This spell is not your friend," Tonks had told her. "Depending on your situation, it might as well be an Avada."

Olive figured the woman only stressed this so much because she was a relatively new Auror and her life depended on how well she could hide her own face. Which, it seemed, was about the only thing Tonks had going for her, as she was the clumsiest person Olive had ever met. On her first visit to Olive's house, she'd managed to take out two tables, three lamps, and a portrait off the wall. Olive had no desire to become an Auror, or even work for the Ministry, so she never had any use in these words of caution. If she would ever find herself in a situation where she was hiding for some reason, she would simply watch - as she'd been told - to see if anyone found her out of place. She would have her wand ready to ensure she had time to block. But, Scabior didn't give her the chance.

She'd laid her bag down on the bed, still disguised in Xavier Booke's large body. Olive had started to leave the tent to help Scabior break down camp, but as she pulled back the tent's entrance -

"Expelliarmus!"

- her wand flew from her hand.

"Aperio!"

Before Olive could even register what was happening, she could feel her face distorting as she shrank a good foot beneath Scabior's pointed wand. Heartbeats thrummed in her throat, her eyes wide as she looked up at him, unsettled by the realization that he was much larger than she. Booke's body had given her more even footing, made her forget how he'd towered over her that day he'd come to steal her. Now she felt like a little girl next to a giant and fear held her firmly in place.

A gasp of breath escaped as her changing body stopped, content on Olive's true identity. Her breathing escalated to small huffs as she panicked, realizing what had just happened. Aperio, the spell Tonks had tried to beat into her head, was a counter-transfiguration charm cast to uncover a metamorphmagus' identity and hold them in their true form for an hour.

"There she is," Scabior breathed dangerously, grin creeping over his face as he advanced on the girl, "Miss Olive has come out to play."

Olive stepped back with every stride he took, keeping her eyes focused on the tip of his wand. How? How did he know? This was impossible. Her heart was hammering so loud he could hear it, smell the honeysuckle bouncing off of her as she retreated, hands shaking and eyes wide. Scabior took another step toward her, but her stomach clenched with dread as she felt the table behind nudge her thighs. He took another two steps, closing the gap, and lowered his wand, pressing his body up against hers while she did nothing but look on in horror, still processing what had happened. Scabior pressed harder against her, in hopes that her scent to cling to his clothing, so he might have something as a crude reminder for a few days. He felt her shudder and looked to see her eyes filled with tears of shock.

"Poor baby," he mocked, grinning into her hair. His hand found her cheek, so he might wipe the tears with his thumb, but she jerked her head to the side, her face settling on pride. At least she tried to jerk her head away, but Scabior grabbed her chin between his calloused fingers, nails digging into her cheeks as he forced her to look at him. He pressed her into the table so hard that she lifted onto it as he forced his way between her knees.

Olive set her jaw, determined not to make a noise as he nuzzled his face in her hair, still holding her chin forward.

"What gave me away?" she said through clenched teeth, knowing conversation would prolong this, giving her more time to figure out an escape. She knew that she was going to have to deal with this for right now until she could get to her wand - that it was what she deserved for letting him trick her. His free hand reached around her head, taking a handful of hair from the nape of her neck and forcing her head back at an odd angle.

"Don't speak n'less spoken to, love," he murmured, releasing her chin and placing his hand on her thigh. "Where's Alexander Booke?" he continued, running his hand higher up her leg as he nuzzled his face in her neck, savoring the scent.

Olive took a shuddering breath. 'Keep calm. Keep calm. Hold still.'

"Dead," she strained to say, attempting to keep her voice even. Olive knew if she would hold still and keep calm, he would lose interest. Or, it would at least buy her more time. She'd seen him interrogate and torture enough muggleborn women to know how he worked. Her mind was going into overload, trying to think of an escape. All she needed was her wand. This was life or death - she could live without the few things she'd brought from her home, although it pained her to think of leaving them. But, if she couldn't apparate, she was as good as dead. She needed her wand - she needed the fuck out of there before he worked himself into a frenzy. And she didn't see herself lasting long in the woods if she had to physically run into unfamiliar land from someone who did it for a living.

He combed his fingers through her hair, releasing his uncomfortable hold on her before taking a tighter fistful, jerking her head down even farther, her neck exposed in a dangerous and vulnerable way.

"And Xavier Booke?"

The hand on her thigh slid up to her waist, his rough palm pressing under Xavier's shirt, which hung off of her.

Olive swallowed, a think knot resting in her throat.

"Dead."

His fingers slid up her back, each dragging a new level of dread into Olive. He was going slower with her than he did the others. He would tear them apart, body and soul, for the entire group of Snatchers to see. She was desensitized after a while - it became easier to fake laughs and jeers while she watched. But she knew, from watching it happen over and over, that the more you cried, or struggled, or fought, the faster he became excited and the quicker you became dead. She had to keep him at bay - she needed time to reach her wand.

"S'no good, Olive," he said in a sing-song tone, becoming frustrated with her lack of reaction. His hand snaked back around to her side, working its way up her chest. He knew she was doing this on purpose. If that's how she wanted to play, he'd go along. But, he would get the reaction he craved one way or another. His fingers lightly ran up and over her nipple, causing it to perk up. Olive flinched and turned her head away with eyes clenched shut.

That flinch brought a flash of screaming and begging to Scabior's eyes, of blood and tears and honeysuckle everywhere. Thoughts were not enough for him, he needed the real thing.

"Did they at least have time to put that filthy muggle you call a father in his rightful place?"

A long huff of breath left her as turned to face him with a look of pure hatred. "Shut. Your. Mouth," she said, mouth clenched so tight her jaw ached.

Weak spot. Now he only had to push her a bit farther. "What would daddy think now, little kitten? Hrm? Methinks he would'n be too proud of his little girl runnin' 'round wiv' my lot. Methinks he would be pretty disappointed in the things you done."

The shove caught him off-guard, but she had barely weaseled out to his left before he caught hold of her again, slamming her back into the oak table, plates from their lunch shattering as they fell. Her wand must be on his left, then. That was the real secret to snatching - it wasn't the enhanced small, excellent hearing, precise vision - it was them. Most of them didn't realize that they gave themselves away.

Olive's mind was reeling. If she could push past Scabior – unlikely - and get to her wand before he got to her - even more unlikely - then she could apparate to safety. It was that or stay here at his mercy, which went one of two ways. One, he would have his way with her and turn her into the Ministry when he was finished, where she would have her wand snapped and end up dead. Or he would just have his way with her and kill her himself. If she gave up, she was dead either way.

Olive shoved him again, harder this time, a grunt of fury leaving her before she dove to his left, seeing an opening. Scabior reacted instantly, grabbing the girl and flinging her back into the table. The quick movement had caused her scent to attack his senses.

"Ah, come on," he said with an excited gleam in his eye, "I think we can try a little better than that."

Olive tried to dart around him, but he caught her again. Once more, she tried, while the chances of her escape became bleak. He was just too quick. He threw her back into the table, harder this time, the rest of the plates tumbling. Her adrenaline was pumping so hard that she barely felt it.

"That's it? That's all you've got?" Scabior further taunted. Olive's pride finally faded. Her face scrunched up as she began to cry, knowing this was it, she had failed, she was going to die. Scabior clenched his fists as his arousal grew with her tears. He had her where he wanted her, but he wanted more. He wanted screaming.

"Your father deserves to rot."

One last burst of energy seemed to have found her, fueled by fury, and she ran toward her wand once more. Scabior let her pass, wanting to see the glimmer of hope in her eyes, but his arms wrapped around her waist as she closed in on the wand. He brought her close to him, back to his chest, and lifted her up from the ground with a tight grip, her legs thrashing violent kicks in resistance. He stumbled over to her bed and dumped her there, pinning her neck down with his forearm.

"You're the one who deserves to rot," she wheezed, trying to pry his arm away from her throat. "You're the monster."

Olive didn't have time to register what was happening. Scabior drew back his arm, fist colliding like a block of cement with her mouth. Her vision jumped and blurred as her head turned with the sheer force of the punch and she could see little bits of blood swimming past her face and staining the sheets. She saw his other fist closing in, but felt too drowsy to react as her head was forced the other way, nose exploding with blood.

Olive thought nothing after this. Her body was limp, rock bottom in unconsciousness. A chill ran down Scabior's spine as he realized he'd never had his way with an unconscious woman before. It made him even more excited that he'd been the one to knock her out.

The scent of blood and honeysuckle together was too much for him and he wasn't going to restrain himself anymore. He took the dagger from his boot and, in one quick motion, sliced the oversized shirt she wore. Her breathing had become as slow and steady as the blood running down her face. He knew when she came back to him, she'd not have it in her to fight. He ran his hands over her breasts, cupping them as she laid motionless.

He slid her trousers down, an easy task as they were several sizes too large. Once he had her naked, he sat back, trying to memorize every detail. He would keep her for a few days, but he wanted this moment etched into his brain. After a few minutes, he found himself unable to handle the blood and honeysuckle much longer. He spread her legs graphically, fingers sliding inside. Blood was on everything. It painted her face, stained the sheets, and even coated his fingers when he pulled them out of her. A dark smile crossed his face. What an honor to be her first and only.

Olive's breathing had become erratic again and he knew she was trying to come out of it. Taking the opportunity while he had it, he unbuttoned his trousers, his fingers once again sliding inside of her as she began to shake her head, brow furrowed. He knew she was almost conscious again when he heard the whimper in the back of her throat and his fingers began to move in and out with a more violent pace.

She tried to open her eyes, but she found only heaviness. Her right eye was throbbing, each heartbeat sending a stab to the swollen mess. When she realized what Scabior was doing, she began to sob, begging.

"Just kill me," she said, in a pitiful tone, unable to even clearly see him with her skewed vision. Olive felt his wand press against her throat, the tip digging into her windpipe. She clenched her eyes shut, no fight left in her tired body, and let him do what he was going to do. Then he was on top on her, their chests pressed together, and he was inside.

It seemed like it lasted days. After a while, she'd stopped crying and just laid there, head turned away, watching the tent flap sway with the outside breeze. Everything hurt. A few times she shuddered when he thrust into her, throwing his whole body down into it, and he would laugh. When her body betrayed her, the spasms tightening around Scabior made him lose himself, and his hand went for her throat in excitement. She could fill the heat of him spill into her, the stickiness between her thighs. Fresh tears had already filled her eyes, knowing this was it, this was the end.

Then she felt it. His wand had rolled across the sheets, wedged now between her arm and the bed.

After he slid in and out a few more times, he stood to button his trousers. He didn't even have a chance for some dark remark before she'd grabbed his wand, rolled off the bed, and disappeared with a thunderous crack.