Chapter Four:
Stately Living
Try as she might, Celestia could not dissuade the Snatcher from an expedition to her home. She went over and over her arguments from before, but it was no use; the Wizard had his mind set upon dragging her back to her family home and causing an upset. As things became more heated, Celestia had little choice but to do as she was told, putting her shoes on and waiting in the hallway as the Snatcher pottered around upstairs, the bloodhound limping after him. He returned with a coat similar to the black one he was now wearing, but in a pale tan leather. The left sleeve bore the red sash of the Snatcher's guild.
"What you doing standing out there?"
Celestia looked to the door. "We're going out, aren't we?"
Scabior shook his wand in her direction. "Magic, remember? Or have you forgotten already, being without your wand?"
He helped a reluctant Celestia into his coat. She frowned at the red fabric knotted around the sleeve, feeling uneasy at boasting such a symbol of hate. When the Snatcher offered his hand she was reluctant to take it.
"Let's not have a war over this," he said softly, with just an ounce of threat. After the heat of their argument just passed, it was enough to make her relent. Jinx whimpered, sensing he was about to be left alone. Celestia took the Snatcher's hand, and in a moment the two were gone.
The familiar pull of apparition tugged as Celestia's insides, and in less that a moment their surroundings had changed. The pair stood in a hazy alleyway, at the end of which a homeless man out of his mind on some substance was sat. He stared at the pair who had appeared out of thin air, but seemed not to think much of it. Scabior was relieved at his passiveness and flipped him a galleon for his disinterest as he passed by, dragging along the girl with him.
"Don't inject it all at once, mate," he said, pulling Celestia out into the open. At the mouth of the alley way she saw that they were in the middle of a town centre, the bustle of which was simmering as the working day drew to a close. Scabior's hand was still in hers; he felt her trying to pull away as he surveyed the area, and pulled her back into the cover of the alley when she refused to stop struggling. He pinned her against the cold brick wall with one hand and pointed a finger in her face.
"Alright, Veela, drop it. You are not causing a scene out there in front of all those bloody Muggles."
"I wouldn't have to cause a scene if you'd just let me go-"
He withdrew the wand holstered at his side and muttered an incantation; Celestia felt the increasingly familiar sensation of the silencing jinx being placed upon her.
"I told you, you get what you ask for. Don't try anything out there or it'll be Imperio. Now come on, get moving. Right foot, left foot, your body will follow. They call it walking."
The Witch mouthed an insult at the Snatcher, which was the most she could manage. He grinned and kissed her cheek before grabbing her hand again, leading her out of the alley way and down the street. Celestia stumbled along beside him, picking up the pace as they passed by shops pulling down their shutters and shoppers saddled with bags of goods.
"There we go, isn't this better? Now we're just a lovely young girl and her very 'andsome sugar daddy, enjoying a bit of early Christmas shopping. Behave yourself and I'll buy you something nice."
He kissed her cheek again, but immediately regretted it when she squirmed away and he almost lost his grip on her. The altercation drew disapproving stares from passers by, all aimed in his direction. He stopped teasing her after that.
After a short while they came to a taxi bay, and Scabior summoned a cab. He manoeuvred Celestia into the back seat and climbed in after her, handing the driver a crumpled piece of paper with an address written on it. He secured Celestia's seat belt for her, ensuring that she sat in the centre seat close beside him, holding a firm arm around her shoulders should she show any sign of struggle.
Not by choice, Celestia kept quiet as they began their journey, looking anywhere but at the Snatcher. As they drove along side roads Scabior nattered along with the driver, quickly building up a friendly rapport; he was as charming to the taxi driver as he had been to the old lady who was his neighbour. His fingers traced up into Celestia's hair as he chatted, playing with her locks absent-mindedly as they rumbled across the country side. Though Celestia would never have admitted it, it was not an unpleasant sensation.
Eventually they came to the end of a long drive, and it was time to get out of the car. Scabior chose to obliviate rather than pay the driver, and waved him off with a smile. Once he was gone Scabior removed the silencing charm, and an irate Celestia breathed much easier.
"That was a dick move. He drove us for nearly an hour."
"Yeah, well I haven't got any Muggle money on me. Believe me, he won't hold a grudge."
The driveway was walled either side with thick green hedges which were taller than the Snatcher was, and towered over Celestia. It was early evening now, and the sky had taken on a hazy violet hue. At the end of the path was a beautiful manor house, all dark grey brick and gargoyles. Celestia stared at it, dumbfounded.
"Where the hell are we?"
"Don't play stupid, though it does suit you."
"Couldn't we have just apparated here?"
"Well I've never been here before, have I? And I was hardly going to hand over my wand and let you do the magic."
"I've never been here before either."
"Let's not play silly beggars, love. Sooner we get this done, sooner I can get my money and you can go back to playing happy families, safe and sound. Everyone's a winner."
"This isn't my house."
"Whatever you say." He began dragging her up the path. Celestia pulled back. There was a sickly feeling in her stomach, more than just the ghost of apparation.
"I told you, this isn't my house," she said, resisting the firm grip on her upper arm. The grip only became more tenacious.
"Don't be ridiculous," Scabior snapped, though there was a trickle of self-doubt in his voice. She was a good liar; she looked to be telling the truth. "I looked through all the books on the old Wizarding families, they all say this is the Monanchor estate."
"Then they must be other Monanchor's."
"There ain't no other Monanchors," Scabior barked impatiently. "Now come on, move it."
Celestia could do nothing but allow herself to be pulled along, limping pathetically. It frightened her to see him angry. What might be behind that black timber door frightened her more.
They stopped at the door, hovering on the slate steps. Scabior could feel the girl shaking in his grip. Dismissing her panic, he held her firmly so that she couldn't take off on him and rasped his gloved hand thrice against the door. When nothing happened, he reached for the door-knocker, but it refused to move.
"Bloody thing's stuck," the Snatcher muttered, pulling firmly at it. He banged harder on the door, but still nothing happened.
"Maybe they're not in," Celestia piped up.
"That would be just my luck," Scabior seethed, wrenching again at the door knocker, cursing it beneath his breath; it was an intricate, twisted length of iron, moulded with a scaly pattern that glinted as it caught the light. As the Snatcher went to the nearest window to look inside the property, Celestia felt the detailed metal, allowing her fingers to curl around it; after a moment the knocker made a muffled sound as though it were being gagged. Celestia pulled his hand quickly away and grimaced at the thing; the metal began to curl and took on the shape of a snake. Seeing what was happening, the Snatcher returned quickly to the door.
"What businessssss do you have here?" the metalwork asked, winding about in place.
"Uh... returning something that was lost?" Scabior answered after a moment, unsure, a little off-put by the sentient knocker. "A... long-lost relative."
The serpent coiled for a second, seemingly in contemplation.
"...Procccccceed."
The door opened of its own accord. The Snatcher looked somewhat unnerved, his movements very pointed. Celestia followed the tug at her wrist, feeling uneasy.
On the other side of the door stood a tiny House-Elf. She could be no more than two feet tall, and wore a grey tabard in dire need of washing. Her eyes, like two pale lunaries, stared up in wonder at the guests. She gave a slight curtsy as Scabior and Celestia crossed the threshold.
"Welcome to the Monanchor Mansion, Mister and Miss."
Scabior seemed uncomfortable. "Umm... yeah. Thanks. Where's your Master?"
"In the study, sir. Sanchie shall take you to him."
The little Elf began to shuffle her way along the corridor and up the stairs. Scabior followed, but was clearly keeping his distance.
"You're scared of her," Celestia whispered accusingly over his shoulder. His hand was still firmly around her arm.
"Don't be bloody ridiculous," he scalded her; still, he kept well back.
When they reached the top of the stairs, Sanchie knocked on the nearest door with her tiny fist. A man's voice gave them permission to enter.
"Visitors, Master," the little Elf said, the first to enter the room.
"Who is it?" a man's voice barked sternly.
"Sanchie has forgotten to inquire, Sir. Apologies, apologies."
Realising she hadn't learned who she was letting into her Master's house, the Elf looked up at Scabior expectantly. Celestia still hovered behind the door. Scabior tugged at his collar, which seemed suddenly too tight.
"I'm a... a free-lance law enforcer for the Ministry."
"Oh," Sanchie said in understanding, content with his answer. She turned back to her Master, quite satisfied. "A filthy Snatcher it is, sir."
"Oi, watch it, midget-!"
"-And a girl."
Scabior pulled Celestia into the room, where she stood quite uncomfortably in the large study with its velvet wallpaper and high ceilings. The Master of the House, who was sitting in a chair behind a large oak desk, looked at her over his round spectacles.
It was not the reunion Scabior had expected. The old man looked too advanced in years to be her father, but that was not what surprised him most; there was no rush of emotion, no relief at seeing the girl returned home safe after what might have been months on the run with her Mudblood-supporting friends. In fact, there was nothing to suggest he even knew her.
The old man cleared his throat.
"And what business do the two of you have here?"
There was a long pause as all parties concerned stared at each other. The girl looked visibly terrified. The Snatcher looked confused. The old man looked annoyed. The Elf looked between all of them, slightly amused.
"I expect you have a good reason for barging into my home at the days end. You say you've something that belongs to me?"
Scabior couldn't seem to find the words. Instead he reached back to Celestia and grabbed her by her bitten wrist, yanking her forwards into the light. Perhaps the old man was just a little blind, even with his glasses.
As Scabior brought the girl closer for inspection, the gentleman stood. He was very tall, almost as high as the bookcases around him. His expression turned from one of annoyance to surprise, as he pushed his spectacles high up onto his nose.
"Where did you find it?"
"She was running about in the woods like a Dryad gone demented when I nabbed her. Dangerous place for a young woman to be, especially in times like these. Thought you'd be grateful if I brought her back to her rightful owner-"
The old man was hardly listening. He stopped short before Celestia, grabbed her bruised hand from the Snatcher and held it up to his spectacles.
"Where did you get it?"
Scabior's face fell. He understood now what he had misinterpreted before. The silver ring glittered on his captive's hand.
"My mother gave it to me," Celestia said quietly.
"Don't speak such nonsense. Give it to me."
"No," Celestia said, wrenching her hand away and holding it close to her chest. The serpent ring winked in the light. The old man's face turned to thunder.
"Payment. Of course."
He returned to the oak desk, almost running, and took out a sack full of Galleons. Scabior's eyes lit up like fireworks.
"Here. For it's safe return. 500 Galleons."
He held out his hand for the ring expectantly. Scabior seemed to have no idea what was going on, but could hardly believe his luck. He took the bag of Galleons from the old man with a beaming grin.
"Pleasure doing business with you, boss. And how much for the girl-?"
"That ring was stolen years ago," the man said to Scabior, interrupting the odd question. "How did you come by it?"
"I told you," Celestia said, a little of her bravery returning, "my mother gave it to me. It was my Grandmother's-"
"It most certainly was not-!"
"-I'm Cressida's daughter."
The old man was suddenly perfectly still. His mouth hung open, forgetting whatever he had been about to say. Those blue eyes looked into hers, really looked, for the first time.
"You can't be."
"I'm Celestia Monanchor. The ring was my Grandmother's, Celeste's."
At the sound of the name, the old man seemed to coil inwards.
"You're Mordecai, aren't you? You're my Grandfather."
Celestia looked up into the eyes of the man, frozen. Her own eyes, the eyes of her mother, too, stared back at her. Scabior looked between the pair of them, trying to make sense of it all. For once in his life, he stayed quiet.
The man, Mordecai, was quiet for a long time too. He looked at the girl, really studied her face for a long time. No one said a word, frozen.
"You almost look like her," the old man said wistfully. "My Celeste."
There was another very long pause. The old man cleared his throat before turning to the Snatcher and saying,
"I'll give you 1,000 Galleons for the ring. Sanchie will call the bank and have them draw out the other 500 from the family vault. It will be ready for you to collect tomorrow morning. Take it or go."
Scabior looked at him, confused.
"...For the ring? You ain't bothered about your- she's your what- your Granddaughter?"
Celestia's breathing was audible. The old man would not even look at her.
"Do we have a deal?"
The Snatcher chewed it over for a moment, looking stunned. Celestia was staring blankly into the fireplace, her eyes brimming with tears which she would not allow to fall. She was shaking all over.
Scabior shook his head at the old man.
"I'll tell you what, old timer, how's about this for a deal; you can shove your Galleons up your wrinkly old arse, one by one. We're off."
"What?"
"What?"
"Come on, kid," the Snatcher said, grabbing the girl with one hand, the bag of Galleons securely in his other. "Let's get out of here."
"That ring belonged to my wife, it belongs here-!"
The Snatcher took a step back, out of the old man's reach.
"You ain't long left for this world, Grandpa. And being as old as you are, you should have learned by now to know a good thing when you see it. Ta-ta."
There was a cry of "wait-!", a squeak from the House-Elf, and in a flash the two intruders had vanished.
There was a sound like a car backfiring as Scabior and Celestia apparated at the end of the long drive, both a little breathless from the launch. Scabior turned quickly from the house and began marching them away as fast as he could get her moving on her injured foot.
"Bloody Nora. You gonna explain what the hell all that was about?"
Celestia began to jog to keep up, wincing in pain, trying to ignore the nausea she felt from more than just the apparition. She hardly knew herself. The tears had spilled, but were drying quickly on her cheeks.
"Can we talk about it once we get back?"
'Get back', Scabior thought. Now I'm stuck with her and she knows it. Bloody hell.
"Some family reunion," the Snatcher said, when he felt far away from the house that there was no longer a need to keep pace encase of any dogs, Matagots or other creatures the old coot might set on them. "Miserable old bastard. Still-" he jingled the hefty bag of Galleons in his hand- "we managed to silch 'im out of 500 smackers."
"We?"
"Of course! That was a team effort, that. I turned on the charm, you turned on the tears."
"So I assume we'll be splitting the profits."
"Ooh, I wouldn't go that far, cheeky... still, I might be persuaded to buy you an ice-cream out of my new-found fortune. Whad'you say?"
It was hardly what Celestia had been expecting; then again, she thought, the whole experience had thus far been something of a roller-coaster. Normality seemed to have gone out of the window; for now, at least, it would be a relief to be able to forget.
"Ice cream sounds good," Celestia said, and she couldn't hold back a laugh. It was a sad, sagging thing, more sorrow than joy, but she laughed all the same.
The ice-cream parlour that Scabior apparated them to was, according to him, the best spot for gelato in all of London. It was, however, closed at such a time of night, so he ended up taking her to a pub on the corner of a nearby street. He pulled a wallet from the depths of his pockets and began counting how much money he had on him; they were notes rather than coins.
"I thought you said you didn't have any Muggle money on you?"
Scabior licked his finger, flicking through the notes. "That was just to shut you up, the nagging angel on my shoulder. Fifty smackers for a taxi?! You'd have to be crackers to pay those prices. After you."
As they stepped into the bustling pub, Celestia got a feel for the place right away. It was dour, run-down, and decidedly British; it was not the sort of place she would usually want to visit. The air was thick with smoke and laughter, yellow wallpaper stains stood monument to the saturation of tobacco. There was loud seventies music playing, and a noisy television in the corner played the local news; it was a story about a particularly nasty robbery at a local off-license. It seemed odd that the Muggle world should have time to care about such trivial things when there was a war on, that they could be so oblivious to the war being waged for their liberty, all of it happening right under their noses.
As Celestia tried to track down a table near the door a couple of the pub's patrons tried to speak to her, were the same pseudo-friendly sentiments she'd heard in passing in similar places a hundred times before, and they no longer had an effect on her. She ignored the men and found them a small table where the beer mats were stuck to by a spilled lager. Still, it was better than nothing, so Celestia took a seat.
"Bit rough in here, isn't it?"
"Rough as a dog's arse, but it's not so bad in here, not really. Besides, you don't have to worry about that. If it all kicks off, I'm here. After all that nonsense we could both do with a drink."
"No, thanks. I'll just have a lemonade."
"Prissy," he remarked, taking a tenner out of his wallet before putting it down on the only corner of the table which wasn't sticky. "Suit yourself."
Scabior drifted to the bar and waited to be served. Celestia surveyed the room again; the longer she looked, the more fond of the place she became. The air was unbreathable, and the patrons were unwashed, but at least there were people, at least there was some semblance of normality. These were the sort of men her dad would drink with in his own local on a Saturday night, the type of men who might remark how much she'd grown from the last time she'd seen them and hug her for a second too long, all be it with different accents to the men she knew. It was nice, homely in a way.
The only other woman she could spot through the fog in the bar was working behind it. Celestia could see Scabior trying to work his charm on her, though like most bar workers, the woman seemed to be immune, and poured him his beer with a neutral expression verging on disdain. He seemed to be lecturing her on the specifics of her drink-pouring, and for a moment, he was distracted.
Celestia looked at the wallet on the bar. It was smoky enough in here, bustling enough that she might just make it out of the door without him catching her. There was upwards of a hundred quid still left in that wallet. She could grab herself a taxi, or a train, and there was a chance she could get away. It was an opportunity she could not afford to let pass by.
Calmly, as though nothing was out of the ordinary, Celestia stood up from the table, the wallet in her hand, her eyes settled firmly on the Snatcher. He hadn't turned around yet; it looked as though the barmaid was softening to his charms, a quirk of a smile on her face as she poured Celestia's lemonade. Silently Celestia moved towards the door, through the crowd, and she was just about to step out into the foyer when-
"Leaving so soon, Blondie? Don't you fancy a dance?"
There was a drunken man old enough to be her father smiling in front of her, blocking her path. Celestia smiled, the fake grimace she'd perfected for times such as these.
"Not tonight, family emergency-"
"It takes at least a couple of drinks to get this one dancing," said a familiar voice, and any fleeting hope Celestia had felt flew away. She turned to find Scabior stood to her side, a drink in either hand.
"I'll see to that," Scabior said, smiling, and motioned her back to the table without a word. As they walked away from the drunk, he growled into her ear.
"Where did you think you were goin', love? Got lost on your way to the ladies, did ya?"
Celestia's heart forgot how to beat. "I was just-"
"Don't bother. Just sit down," he hissed, his tone vaguely threatening. Once he'd thumped the drinks down onto their coasters he snatched the wallet off her.
"I didn't have you pinned down as a thief. I was wandering if you'd try it."
Celestia took her seat against the wall. "I'm not a thief, I'm just desperate."
"Well, I've never been known to say no to a desperate woman, but even I have my limits. Where were you gonna go? There's nothing open this time of night round here, I'd have tracked you down in five minutes. Finding people who don't want to be found is my job, remember."
"You can hardly blame me for trying. Wouldn't you try, if you were in my situation?"
"Oh here we go again, 'woe is me.' But yeah, 'course I would. Drink your lemonade."
Celestia took a sip, glad that things hadn't escalated. A few more sips in, she detected notes of something suspicious.
"Is there vodka in this?"
"No, it's rum. Only a single."
Celestia frowned. "I told you I didn't want any alcohol."
"You strike me as the kind of woman who doesn't have a clue what she really wants. Neck it back and I'll buy you another."
"You seem to have made a habit of sneaking substances down my neck."
"Well, everyone's got to have a hobby. Let's have it, then- what deep dark family drama did I just accidentally unearth in my quest to make a quick buck? Felt like I was in an episode of bloody Eastenders."
"You watch Eastenders?"
"'Course not. Me Mum loved it, though."
Celestia hid a smirk. "Mine does, too."
"Cracking TV. I'm telling you, these hoity-toity types who won't touch anything Muggle-made are missing out. Come on then, let's hear it."
Celestia took another sip of the hard lemonade, worrying over it in her mouth. Perhaps it would be better to play her cards closer to her chest, but she wouldn't get away without telling him at least the basics. Besides, the revelations of the evening had made her emotional, and she felt a burning needed to talk about it, even if it was to this man.
"The Monanchor's used to be your classic old Wizarding family. Very elitist, proud of their pure blood, like so many of them are. No tolerance for Muggle-borns, or even half-bloods. My Grandfather was an only child and the last to carry on the Monanchor name. He and my Grandmother had the perfect little family until my two uncles started to grow up and it became clear that neither of them had any magic."
Scabior cocked an eyebrow. "They were Squibs? Both of 'em?"
Celestia nodded. "My Mum was their last hope, really. Grandma Celeste was getting too old to have children, so it was a miracle when she came. But a Hogwarts letter never came for her, either. My Grandfather tried to cover it up. Tried to buy her way into Ilvermony, convinced that she was just a late bloomer and that if they'd only give her a chance to learn she'd blossom into a true Witch. But it never happened. All the private tutoring in the world couldn't make their three Squib children turn into Witches and Wizards over night. It broke both of them.
"They wouldn't send their children to Muggle schools, of course, so they were home taught. Mum said it was a living nightmare, being in that house. Celeste loved her children despite what she saw as their faults but my Grandfather could never get over it. He pretended to the outside world as though they didn't exist, buried himself in paperwork at his Ministry job. As soon as they were old enough, all three of them left the Manor. By the time my Mum was old enough to leave her brothers had already set themselves up decently enough in a Muggle town. Her father told her that if she went to them that she'd never be welcomed back. I think maybe he was frightened to see her go, too, and was trying to scare her off the idea of leaving, but it was the final push. My Grandmother gave her the ring as a goodbye, knowing her husband would cut all contact."
"He's a charmer, that Granddaddy of yours. It was worth losing out on that other 500 just to spite the old git. Must have taken him down a peg or two, having three Squib kids. I'd hate to see what he was like before. I take it that's the first time you've seen hide nor hair of 'im."
Celestia nodded in affirmation. "As soon as we apparated at the house I knew you'd got it wrong. When you said estate, I'd thought... well, my real house, where I live with my parents, it's not exactly the best neighbourhood. Like I said, we have nothing. I recognised the Manor from the few pictures Mum has of her growing up. My uncles look just like my... like him. I feel like maybe I should have given him the ring."
Scabior sucked air through his teeth dismissively. "No. He's a cold old bastard. Bugger that, and bugger 'im."
"It clearly meant a lot to him."
"Your Gran gave it to your Ma, and your Ma gave it to you. It's yours by right."
Celestia rubbed her temples. She wished her mother were here.
"Maybe you're right. I expected... oh, I don't know what, really. Maybe some sort of a welcome."
"Certainly not for your own Grandpa to throw you out on your arse with a questionable fellow like me."
"Well, you said it, not me," Celestia shrugged. "Do you think he'll send the authorities after you because of the money?"
Scabior felt the weight of the bag of galleons in his pocket. "Bugger 'em. I'm their best Snatcher, and the only one who can keep Greyback in check. They can't afford to piss me off. I could walk in the Ministry bold as brass and take a piss in Pious Thicknesse's mouth and they'd all be falling over themselves to shake my... well, you get the picture. Besides which, anyone with 500 Galleons just floating about in their desk drawer can afford to spare 'em."
"I suppose so. I feel sorry for Sanchie, stuck in that place."
"Who?"
"The Elf."
"Oh, yeah."
Celestia smirked. "You were scared of her."
Scabior gritted his teeth, rolling back his eyes. "What can I say? I've always had a thing about 'em. Freaky little things. It's those eyes, glaring up at you like big glass balls. And their wrinkly little 'ands, they just give me the shivers."
Celestia laughed, really laughed at that, clear as a bell. It was a lovely sound. It made Scabior smile to see her fleetingly happy, when he had only known her frightened and miserable. He was glad to be the one who had made her laugh. When the smile dampened, her eyes grew sad.
"I wish my Grandma was still alive. I'd have liked to meet her. Maybe she would have understood."
Scabior smiled at her. "I think she would have."
"I think my Mum leaving is what killed her in the end. Mum was out of the door at nineteen, went to live with her brothers. She got a job, met my Dad, and the rest is history."
"And then you came along."
"...Yeah. My childhood was completely normal. Mum never said a word about Witches and Wizards, but she always had plenty of stories tell about fantastical creatures and magical heroes. I thought she just had a vivid imagination. I never felt different to any of the other kids in the neighbourhood. It was a shock to all of us when that letter arrived when I was eleven; my Dad, most of all."
"You hadn't shown any signs of magic before?"
Celestia shook her head. "None, but apparently an enchanted pen had written my name down in an enchanted book or some nonsense, so off I went on the train. I had a rough couple of years at Hogwarts; I was good in Care of Magical Creatures and Herbology, but in everything else I was failing miserably; I could barely conjure up a sneeze. It wasn't until third year when I was face-to-face with a Boggart that I managed to cast a spell effectively. Must have scared me out of that slump, because I did alright after that."
"Couldn't have been easy, being in Slytherin and from your background."
"No one knew about my family, apart from a few of the teachers. I never talked about it and no one ever really asked; being in Slytherin, people just assume you're pure or half, no questions asked. Besides, Mum made sure I started using her maiden name so people wouldn't guess we had any connections to the Muggle world. There were a few rumours about what had happened with my grandparents, but nothing ever came of them."
Scabior chewed over his thoughts. "Squib mother, Muggle father. That makes you a... Mudblood?"
Celestia shrugged. "I've got magical blood, it's just skipped a generation. So I wouldn't say so."
"I reckon the Ministry would. Questionable, that's what they think of you. That's why you've been on the run."
Celestia frowned. "So what now? Do I become Werewolf food? Are you gonna take me down to the Ministry, get that 20 Galleons?"
"I'm undecided."
"Why do you do it? 20 galleons between a whole group of you is nothing- works out as what, twenty quid each per person you catch? It hardly seems worth it."
Scabior studied her. "Half the time it isn't. But you know what? I 'old my hands up to it; I enjoy it. I'm good at it. Keeps me fit, and yeah, it's a power trip. I like the chase. Besides, you try finding employment after a stint in Azkaban."
Celestia was not surprised to hear it. Most people left Azkaban a little mad, if they ever left at all; she could certainly see its influence in Scabior. The way he talked, the way he moved, as though he were constantly acting for an audience, doing his best for the patrons in the upper circle, every gesture a little hypnotic. It made him both fascinating and unnerving to watch. For the next few minutes, Celestia couldn't get the idea of Azkaban out of her head.
"That's where they'll send me, isn't it?"
Now it was Scabior's turn to look away. He didn't like to think of it. Little thing like her wouldn't last a week in that hell hole. Things that place would do to her... still, she wasn't the first fledgling he'd sent into that prison, and the way this war was turning out, she'd hardly be the last.
"You've made a pretty decent profit off this little venture. With 500 galleons you could give up the Snatching game for a while, take a real holiday."
"There's no rest for the wicked." He saw what she was doing. He watched the wheels ticking in her head as she tried her hand at manipulating him.
"500 Galleons, Scabior," she emphasised. It was the first time she had used his name. He wasn't entirely sure that she'd picked up on it. "And me to thank for it. What's another 20 Galleons on top of that?"
Scabior watched the anxious way her mind was working behind her eyes. She was a Slytherin all right, through and through.
"So what your saying is, I should let you go. Everyone gets a happy ending."
Celestia folded her arms. "For 500 Galleons? I think I've earned my freedom."
Scabior smirked at her. He was growing quite fond of the girl, in a way. Still, he hadn't got where he was by being soft, and he had his reputation to think about, however besmirched. He'd be damned if he was about to let this little nymph play him like a fiddle.
"As much as I'd love to sit here all night and get sloshed, we should get back to the cottage; Jinx'll be missing us."
He stood from the table. Celestia remained seated, looking up at him defiantly. She hated that he hadn't been swayed by her, that much he could see. Too impatient to try bringing her around, the Snatcher encouraged her firmly out of her seat and lead her back out to the dark street. When he was certain there was no one else around he took hold of her good shoulder, and in a moment they were gone.
