Author's Note: This was the hardest chapter to write - like no joke I struggled with this so I hope it's okay. After this there will be one last short chapter and then it's over. Also in regards to the last chapter and the bodice-ripper-novel - it was inspired strongly by Labyrinth fanfiction as well as a little but of Scabior-romance ... just my little poke at fun there .. so points to all you smart kids who worked that one out.
I really hope you enjoy this.
Hasn't been beta'd. Feedback is gold.
Thanks for reading!
Live Fast, Die Young
Breaking Points
I might stick to walking
It isn't that bad
I would liken it to be being flushed down a bloody toilet – not going to do it
Light danced before him, breathing heavy, his eyes just stared into the darkness. Screaming, god he could hear it, hear the rush of air around him as blackness blinked around him. He should fight, should – searing pain consumed him, his hands holding his guts in: red, sticky, warm.
He was going to die. Die like a goddamn animal hunted down, trying to protect her. Fuck. His lip trembled and he hoped it was quick and painless for her: that Greyback wouldn't take her and – a thud hit the ground, weight on his leg.
Hands touched him, hands pushed the weight away. Droplets of water fell on his face as those hands held him.
He was ripped into a tiny squeeze and saw white.
She scares me
The school nurse scares you?
His throat was parched: dry and tight. He needed some water, a cool refreshing glass of cool, clear, pure water. His eyes absorbed the darkness around him: small features around him tell him that he is in a hospital, no doubt St Mungo's. And the smell: sterile, lemon, and slightly stale. It was like being back in the Hospital Wing.
Except the Hospital Wing didn't have private rooms – which led to beg the question how he was in one … he didn't have the gold to afford one to begin with so unless he had – why was he even in here?
He glanced down at his chest, and saw white. Bandages had been wrapped around him, tight. He ran his hands over them, feeling the soft material, drawing in another deep breath – fruit, air. He knew that smell but where from?
It was so familiar, like a childhood memory flickering in and out. He knew it but he couldn't picture how. He breathed in again, his head tilting to the right where a comfy armchair sat, a woollen blanket on it. He reached out, groaning as a ripple of pain coursed through him.
"Feck," he said, rubbing his chest which only made it worse.
He shuddered and threw another glance around the room. There had to be a Healer on duty, there had to be a call button or something – the door creaked open, a slice of light coming into the room and he squinted as he saw a figure slide in.
He sighed in relief, it was like the Healers had read his mind – wait. His nose twitched and he looked at the figure, eyes widening slightly as the fruit and air made sense. It was her scent, her smell.
Her.
"El?" she whispered, "You okay?"
And it all came back to him: her, Greyback, the forest, his blood spilling.
It would hurt
Of course it would.
She was sitting cross-legged in the armchair, the blanket pooled in her lap, face pale, shadows under her eyes, hair in a messy bun. When she had found him awake earlier she had avoided all his questions, asking about his pain, asking how he felt before fetching a Healer who had drugged him up to the point where he no longer made a whole lot of sense.
She had then just sat by him as he rambled and rambled – about what he wasn't sure and he was fairly certain he didn't want to know though he suspected it had something to do with how she smelt because she kept sniffing at her top, which he realised probably hadn't been changed in a while.
It was from this point he had asked what happened even though the images that had played before his mind's eye told him enough: he had been attacked by a werewolf. By Greyback nonetheless. In human form though so it did beg the question – was he man or wolf?
"So am I a werewolf?" he asked.
The sunlight peeked its way through the shutters.
"Well," she said carefully, "We aren't sure – it is very rare for a werewolf to attack while in human form and from digging into the archives we've found when it did happen they just killed them in fear – old Ministry policy and all. But that won't happen to you –"
"Fantastic," he muttered, "Freakin' fantastic,"
"Listen – I don't think you will though. You might experience a few wolfish things like increased senses – smell for instance," his face warmed at that, "But since it wasn't –"
"- full moon the Curse might not take complete 'old," he finished. He blinked. "So when is the next moon? When do we find out?"
"A while … we only did get attacked right after the last one after all – until then we wait,"
"So because of me potentially going animal," he said suddenly, "I get a room to myself? In case I go ballistic on everyone?"
She shook her head. "Actually a 'family friend' of yours paid for it,"
"'Family friend'?"
As the words left his mouth, he groaned. 'Family friend'? Well he supposed him being the last of the Scabior line anyone who was a friend of his counted and considering he didn't know many wealthy wizards that meant only one thing.
Fuck.
"Yeah, Yaxley wasn't excited to see you with a 'mudblood'," she said shortly, watching his expression with a grim expression, "But he'll keep paying anyway,"
"My life can't suck any more than it does,"
That was stupid
You're just saying that because we won!
Dirty trick
You say that every time, Gorgeous, and I keep telling you I'll show a really dirty – ouch!
He had been let out of St Mungo's yesterday after spending the full moon. It was like life was back to normal, like time had rewinded and they, he and her, were back to where they had been before her father died, before they went camping, before they ran into Greyback.
He had been let out of St Mungo's yesterday after spending the full moon in a padded cell. The cell was set up for the mentally unstable which he supposed he was. Nothing had happened besides the darkness that sat by him through the night. He wasn't a werewolf and yet – it would get out he had been attacked by one and wizards were notorious for jumping to conclusions.
Werewolves were hated by his kind. If you became a werewolf you would hide it because the moment you let someone know you were better off to go live in the Packs on the fringe of society. The fact they had aided the Dark Lord didn't help their status and the laws were becoming tougher and tougher against them. Scabior knew he would get stares, get comments.
He didn't like that.
But at least he had been allowed to go home finally.
They were now at his place, side by side. Not together. They never were together when they slept – a cool barrier between them.
"Why did you say that stuff?" he asked.
She was half-asleep, her eyes flickering open as his voice cut through the air.
"Say what?"
"The back talking to Greyback?"
This made her sit up, eyes alight. Eyes sad as she stared at him: apologising almost but not really; she looked away. "I thought we were going to die. I figured that maybe if I distracted him you could –"
Something tightened inside of him: waves rippled through his body. She had tried to save him? Like that? And where had her recklessness landed them? She was fine, albeit sleep deprived though that was her own doing from watching over him, and with a few bruises. But he? He was gone, potentially animal and even not – the smells, the sights, the desire for – he was fairly sure he had been shredded down to a baser state of mind.
"That was fucking stupid," he snapped.
"You didn't seem to have a better plan," she returned, glaring.
"Well at least I wouldn't be dead instead of a fuckin' leper," he said, "You didn't think, did ya? I mean we were fucked yes, but what you said – I'm surprised the bastard hasn't already fucking –"
"Sorry for caring," she spat, getting up, "Sorry for wanting you to get away,"
"Don't get up," he said, hand reaching forward clutching her hand, grip tighting, "Get back into bed – now,"
She tugged but couldn't break free. She threw a glance around the room. He followed her gaze and grinned as he saw her eyes lingering on her wand, just out of reach. She flicked her eyes back to him and said firmly. "Let me go,"
"No," he growled.
"You –" she froze and took a deep breath in, trying to relax (trying to convince him to loosen his grip), "Fuck, Scabior, I'm sorry I got you hurt but I wasn't thinking exactly clearly –"
"You think it's about that?"
She nodded and a part of him did agree – a part that wanted to lash out and scream at her.
"It isn't," he said, "Your fucking," his grip tightened and she winced, "stupidity was going to make that bastard all the more interested in you – you! Do you even know what that sick fuck has done to children let alone –"
He couldn't finish it but she knew. Like she always did.
"You were afraid," she said.
He nodded.
"Of losing me that way,"
He looked at her carefully. He had been afraid: afraid of Greyback touching her, ripping into her as he pushed again and again. Her eyes dead as body was bloody and blue, as that bastard touched her, claimed her and took her from him, her smiling – he froze. No, he wasn't thinking like that – like some jealous – fuck. He was afraid of her dying like that – not of Greyback taking her from him – right?
He didn't know.
His grip loosened. "Get out,"
"El –"
She wasn't his. She was her.
The beast disagreed.
Exam study techniques – number one: try and –
Load of rubbish
Sometimes when the moon got full he became a little too tense, a little too rash.
They had tried running it out, exhausting him but as he ran, always just behind her because she was faster, he felt his heart jolt, felt the wind tease, smelt her – running from him. Like prey. And that would just pull him in deeper, make him run faster.
She had then suggested tea and meditation. But as he had sat there with his eyes closed he couldn't concentrate. She was all around him; every deep breath, every moment of reflection. She was there and he wanted her.
And he did have her.
The next morning though he regretted it as he saw her black and blue marks.
She decided that maybe when the full moon came again she'd take the late work shift. They always did need extra brewers on hand. This helped because he couldn't get to her, but it drove him mad as he waited for her to come home so that he could inhale her all over again.
He ended up going to Yaxley's.
The older wizard stayed up with him throughout the night and they talked, like old times, honey dripping from the Death Eater's lips as Scabior felt his mood brighten under the blue moon. With Yaxley he could say what he wanted. He could be whatever he wanted.
It felt good.
Love Potions aren't love though – they are obsession, lust, passion, jealousy, fear –
Submission and dominance rolled into one, yeah?
They fell into silence.
Not that their silences weren't a natural cycle of who they were – it was just he felt they lived and breathed them now and that the silence was now awkward. They joked less about stupid things, pointed out random facts of life less – they were drifting apart. They had never spelt out their secrets, confessed their hearts in long rambles instead letting pieces of information flow but now every scrap of information between them was measured and guarded.
He didn't want to talk about the camping trip even though she asked constantly; he didn't want to tell her about what Yaxley said because he knew what his old friend said was wrong – wrong towards her and her parentage. He didn't want to let her know that he was slipping: getting angrier, falling deep into an animalistic mindset every full moon and drunk to push it away. He couldn't explain it even to himself why he was letting this happen but the darkness, the looks from his co-workers, the hesitation, the hunger to just have her – and the smells.
Oh, the scents – the air that she started carrying home from work especially after the full moon. That mint never escaped his notice as he kissed her, fucked her all over his bed and then her apartment to reaffirm that she was his – because she was his. His. He'd defended her. She wouldn't leave him.
And yet he could see she wasn't always there as he drove into her.
Hey!
That's right – run from my snowballs of DOOM!
"Sweden?" he repeated.
"Yeah," she nodded, twirling pasta in her fork, not looking up at him. She took a bite and he watched a long strand being sucked up into her mouth, her jaw chewing slowly and in a constant: chew, chew, chew.
"How come again?"
"Work," she looked up now, "Conference about Potions. A bunch of us are being sent,"
"And you said yes?"
"Of course," she said, "I'd be stupid not to,"
"But Sweden?"
"Why shouldn't of I said yes?" she challenged, pointing her fork at him. "C'mon, say it,"
He wanted to say because he needed her. That it was selfish for her to leave – which it was. She was practically a drug and sometimes he had to wonder if she had slipped him a Love Potion even though he knew she hadn't, knew she'd never force anyone into something like that. He needed her by his side because she was – he sighed and pushed the thoughts away.
She was her's.
He repeated that over in his head before shrugging.
"I was just thinking that ya gonna miss Easter," he said with a weak grin.
She rolled her eyes but not in amusement.
Summer is too long
Perfect length actually
She got back from Sweden and he found himself not missing her.
Oh he missed her sweet honey back talk and trailing fingers, light kisses and easy laugh. He missed her sarcastic comments, on the ball remarks and fierce conviction. He missed her drive as he continued to go on runs and he found himself questioning why he stilled ran because it didn't give him freedom … like it gave her.
He missed that but not herself. The space was good – he got used to her lack of presence, used to not having to worry about someone else, used to stretching out fully when he fell asleep each night. He got used to all that. The distance was comfortable. It allowed him to regain control – he had become dependent … he needed to change that.
And yet when she came back he felt a small twist in his gut.
But he ignored that and just like the first time they seemed to drift again – still seeing each other constantly but not living out of each other's pockets. He went to work, saw her at lunch, had more work and then would head home.
Alone.
The distance was nice because he felt younger again. The distance was bad because he couldn't hold her every night.
And because every time he saw her he smelt that mint.
Could this face ever lie?
Yes, yes it could
"How about we catch up for dinner tomorrow?"
"I can't,"
"How come?"
She looked at him, straight in the eye. "I have a work thing,"
"You always have work things,"
"Well that is what happens when you get Chief Brewer," she said with a shrug. She pulled out two different robes – one in a soft blue, the other a vibrant green. "Which one?"
"Isn't that a little …" he started to say and she nodded.
"Yeah, the green isn't right … the blue though I can get away with,"
As he watched her walk off he wondered if he should voice the fact he felt those robes were a little too fancy for a 'work thing'.
Then again he hadn't been to a 'work thing' in a long time so who was he to judge?
Turkey ... I can smell it, god I want it so much
I just want some chips – salty chips
Mint, he smelt it fiercely as she sat on his couch with a big cup of tea, reading through notes. It was on her everywhere: mint. He sat on his bed, and watched her. Her hair was tied back, the bloody red streak lose in a sea of dark brown and her hands were plain and had a bandage on the left from a potion gone wrong.
Mint … the bandage also smelt of it.
You cackle
I do not
Do too
He came to her work one day and saw her laughing. He hadn't heard her laugh like this in so long: light, airy. In fact it wasn't the same as her laugh for him. This one seemed all the more lighter – not a trace of darkness. This was just joy with no thought.
She was laughing with one of the Healers.
The mint was thick in the air.
Everything will change once we leave here – job, money, rent … I don't think I can handle it
You'll handle it … otherwise you can probably crash at my place.
Thanks
They finally had dinner and made it halfway back to his apartment when the mint became too much. She must have soaked herself in it, or rather let the source trial all over her. He needed to change this, needed to bring back her. She used to be air and flowers – he needed that back.
He wanted it back and he would have it. She was his for god sake's. They had been through so much since sixth year, they both saw the world for what it was. He wouldn't let it change, he couldn't let it change.
She couldn't do anything to stop him.
They just fought … I wasn't meant to happen, see … and that was why they came together
Well mine were forced together out of old practice
Why can't people ever just marry for ...
Love?
Yeah
Dunno, darl'
To be continued.
Thoughts are very much appreciated :) Thanks for reading regardless though.
