EDITED: 02/21/2015

Chapter Ten

Two days had passed and still Olive wasn't back to normal. Greyback hadn't returned yet and Scabior hoped it was because his men had been rounded up, so they wouldn't have to deal with him anymore. Which would be fortunate because if Olive was damaged beyond repair, he didn't need anyone finding out about it. If word got back to the Dark Lord that his best chance at finding Potter was rendered incompetent at his hand, well, he'd be on the run like the rest of the mudbloods.

Olive walked into the kitchen where Scabior sat. She'd been doing that now - walking. Still, she hadn't spoken, hadn't eaten. Yesterday, in a fit of desperation, Scabior had gone to some muggle store and bought her a lolly in each flavor they had, hoping to snap her out of it. Nine still laid on the table in front of him, the tenth in his mouth now. Olive wasn't there for a lolly, though. Knowing what she came for, he lit her a smoke and handed it over.

The first time she'd reached out for one of his cigarettes, it nearly threw him into a shock. She offered no words, no explanation at all. Olive had just taken to smoking and nothing else. She took the seat across from him, cigarette curled in her fingers, staring off into the space behind his shoulder.

"There's people outside."

Scabior's eyes nearly popped from his head, doing a double-take at the sound of her voice. Did he imagine it? She looked like she did before, eyes far off in the distance, the corners of her lips giving a small jerk.

"What?" It was all he could muster, eyes raking over her in disbelief.

Olive looked at him - really looked at him - and put a finger to her ear, then laid it across her lips, the cigarette smoke trailing up into her golden hair. Scabior trained his ears, stretching his hearing outside the tent. There, yes, he heard it - the muffled whispers and crunching steps. At least two of them, maybe fifty feet out from camp. They'd found the tent and were debating amongst themselves on whether to approach.

"How did you hear them?" he whispered, not wanting the others to overhear.

Olive only twitched in reply, taking another long drag off her cigarette. The people were close enough for her to hear, he knew, but she would have to of been concentrating. Even Scabior hadn't heard, though he was preoccupied with his thoughts. When Olive stood and stepped back to the bedroom, he noticed she'd put on her boots already. By the time she came back with her wand, she was finishing the last few puffs of her smoke and handed him her red armband. Once he tied it on her, still astonished that Olive was capable of speaking, he closed his eyes and honed his hearing again.

Outside the people grew closer - they were going to approach, hoping to make friends. They'd run into trouble a few days ago, it seemed. Scabior sat still, concentrating on the snow crunching beneath their feet, bringing them closer and closer. When he opened his eyes, Olive was tugging at his upper arm, tying on his armband which was filthy compared to her own. The footsteps were right outside now, right in front of the tent, and he could practically feel them looking at each other, debating on entering. Olive snubbed out her cigarette on the table and held up seven fingers, dirt packed beneath her nails.

Seven? He threw her a confused look, not daring to make a noise with the others so close. Again, she only offered a twitch in reply. Scabior caught a new scent, somehow familiar, and turned to see a woman's hand grasping the tent flap, about to take the plunge and pull it back. He'd never seen Olive move so quickly.

In the blink of an eye, she was outside, the woman screaming as they wrestled on the snow. The other footsteps began running, only one pair of feet, and Scabior snapped from his shock and shot from the tent, hurtling Olive and the woman. The man - he'd seen the man before. His eyes shot back to Olive to see she was struggling with Henrietta Walrich.

Number Seven.

The man was dashing through the trees. Scabior gave another glance back to Olive, seeing she'd disarmed Walrich, who was trying to claw at her face. Scabior kicked the woman's wand a good ten feet away and darted off after the man. It wasn't hard to find him. The man breathed like his lungs were giving out, little huffs and squeaks wheezing from him while he ran. They played cat and mouse among the trees for a few minutes, Scabior grunting in dismay when he realized he'd actually broken a sweat, but he finally bagged him. When the man started pleading for his life, Scabior silenced him with the flick of his wand and began dragging him back to camp.

"- all your fault, it's all your fault," he heard Olive muttering, accompanied by a rhythmic thumping noise. Scabior picked up his step, dread filling him. He shouldn't have let her come out, she was too fragile, this would be too much for her. He was just so caught up in her actually speaking and the people outside that he hadn't thought. The man was kicking his legs again and Scabior jerked him harder, a bad feeling starting to fill his chest. They couldn't afford Olive to be broken any more than she was, they'd already lost Potter and had no new plan, they had little money, little food, and he just couldn't take care of her if she turned off completely. A mercy killing was not how he envisioned murdering her and it soured his stomach to think of it. When he finally stepped from the thick of the trees and entered camp, he wasn't prepared for what he saw.

The woman's face was a mess of blood. Olive had torn clumps of Walrich's hair out with her bare hands and now had her around the neck, beating her head off the ground while she muttered under her breath. Her eyes were alive for the first time in days, the most alive thing about her, glowing in the snow, pure fury and anger, though her mouth was twisted into a smirk. The woman was sobbing, trying to pry Olive's hands from her throat with weakened arms. It reminded him of all the times he'd laid hands on Olive and wondered if he looked this crazy when he did.

"Olive!" he said, dropping the man's legs, "Olive, stop, you're going to kill her!"

Blood splattered the snow for a good five feet around them. It was a wonder the woman wasn't dead yet. But, Olive didn't listen, intent on beating their 20,000 galleons to death with her bare hands.

"Olive!" he screamed, running over and grabbing her around the waist, trying to pull her away. Olive screamed, losing her grip on the woman's neck, and lunged out of his arms to hit the woman with her already bloody fists.

"Olive! Stop, that's an order!' he said, grabbing and pulling her away. She sobered and he felt another twitch run through her, then she grew still. They stood over the woman and looked down at Olive's handiwork. Each breath the woman drew was a deep gurgle and she'd long since stopped moving.

"Merlin's fucking beard," Scabior said, turning Olive around and taking her face in his hands, worried eyes looking her over, inspecting each splotch of blood to make sure it wasn't her own. When he was satisfied, he moved onto her hands. "You've gone fuckin' insane," he added, watching Olive's fingers twitch in his hands. The only visible damage were the split knuckles, which were her doing. It was a good thing, too - had the woman gotten a hit in on Olive, Scabior might have beat that 20,000 galleons to death himself. Olive was staring at him, those green eyes blank of all emotion again.

"It's her fault," she said, no expression whatsoever. Whether she meant it was the woman's fault for getting caught or for Scabior taking out his anger on Olive the other day, he wasn't sure. All he knew was that he hoped his Olive came back to him because this one was starting to really fucking worry him.

"Bag her," Olive said in his silence, as if there was nothing amiss, "and let's go cash in." As worried as he was about getting his Olive back, he couldn't help the grin that crossed his face. He scooped her face into his hands, landing his lips on her forehead. When he pulled away, there was a ghost of a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. In the months they'd spent together, disguised as Booke and not, Scabior had only seen Olive smile once, when Fenrir was poking fun at him. At least now he could claim the slight curve of her lips as his own doing, but it worried him further. His Olive would have never smiled. His Olive was angry, frightened, bitter. This Olive had something wrong with her.

The Ministry proved to be an ordeal. First, the man Scabior caught, who ended up being Walrich's brother, had struggled the entire way, kicking and screaming. Scabior finally had enough and drove his elbow into the man's temple, rendering him unconscious. Then after they got there, the Ministry gave them lip about Walrich's face, saying it could be anyone. Olive had beaten the poor woman unrecognizable. It was lucky she was a half-blood or Olive would have broken her Vow. They had to wait on Healers to arrive, bring down some of the swelling, and confirm Walrich's identity. The whole time, Olive just stared at the woman with no expression, body giving a small jerk here and there.

When everything was said and done, the Ministry contacted Gringotts and had them transfer the money to Scabior's vault, since they didn't give coin in person if the reward was over 3,000 galleons. Olive didn't have her own vault yet and so they'd put it all in Scabior's. Having never seen that much money in real life, let alone in his own vault, he nearly dragged Olive to the bank in his excitement. He looked at her the whole ride down into Gringotts, her far off gaze, and was even looking at her when they opened his vault, so the first glimmer of gold he saw was reflected in her blank eyes. They were there for ages. Scabior was stuffing his pockets full, laughing like a maniac, making coin angels in the large pile of gold. He looked up to see the goblin was displeased, arms crossed, and then looked to Olive leaning against the door frame with that half-smile back on her lips.

"Lovely, come here," he said, loving the clink of gold when he patted the spot next to him. She did as she was told, taking two strides and plopping down where he said, gold coins scattering across the floor. Scabior watched as she took a coin and turned it over in her fingers, the gold reflecting in her eyes.

"10,000 are for you," he said, cupping a handful of gold and sliding them into the breast pocket of her coat. The corner of her mouth tugged up just the tiniest bit and it made Scabior grin even wider. She could be fixed. His Olive would come back, he knew it. By the time they left, they were so weighed down with gold that it was a wonder they could apparate.

Back in the tent, it was cause for celebration. Well, in Scabior's mind at least. Olive had stood outside, looking down on the blood-stained snow until he had come out to retrieve her, two Firewhiskys in hand.

"I can drink and smoke 'til the day I die," Scabior said with pride once they were back in at the kitchen table. "And when we catch Potter, we'll have houses all over the world."

Olive had begun pulling the gold from her pockets, making little stacks ten coins high across the table. Two drinks later, she was still going, the supply in her pockets seeming endless. He noticed she didn't twitch so badly with liquor in her and was glad for it.

Without warning, she stood and rounded the table, reaching into his breast pocket for a cigarette. When she turned away to grab the candle and light it, his arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her onto his knee with her legs between his. He took the cigarette from her, putting it between his lips and placing the fire of his own lit smoke to the tip of hers. After a few short puffs, the fire had spread to light her cigarette and he handed it back with a grin.

"I thought you said these things were disgusting," he teased, heat creeping up his neck from the liquor.

"They make the metallic taste in my mouth go away."

Scabior didn't know what she meant and hardly cared. The scent of honeysuckle was attacking him and the arm around her waist tightened, drawing her nearer so he could smell it on her hair.

"We could have anything," he said into her neck, drunk off the money and drink, "What do you want more than anything in the world?" Scabior snubbed his cigarette out on the table, his now free hand snaking up to rest on her throat. When she spoke, the vibrations ran down his fingers.

"I want to murder you."

Scabior let out a huff of breath, closing his eyes and grinning into her hair. "I knew my Olive was in there somewhere," he said, not hiding his relief. He felt her turn her head and he looked up, meeting her eyes. Only for a moment, though, before his eyes slid to the curve of her lips, the corners tugged as high as they'd been all day. "You're fuckin' beautiful when you smile, you know that?" he added, fingers moving from her throat to the corner of her mouth, tracing along her lower lip. Olive said nothing. She said nothing when he ran his hand down to the top buttons of her shirt, or when he laid her on the table, or when he took her nipple between his lips. She only stared at him.

Olive even seemed amused a few times, that half-smile returning - when he had trouble unbuttoning her tight jeans, when she held his discolored stripe of hair in her fingers, when he started fucking her so hard that the damn plates fell and shattered again.

When they were done, they laid naked, side by side on the top of the table. They each had a lolly in their mouth and Scabior's arm was draped over his face, smelling the traces of her on his skin.

"You broke me," she said out of nowhere, pausing to suck on the lolly before pulling it from her mouth. "And I'll break you, too."

Scabior rolled onto his side, leaning over to kiss the smile on the corner of her mouth. He never kissed on the lips, but he had to fight the urge this time. Instead, he let their noses slide along each other, so when he spoke his lips danced across her mouth. "I'm not done breaking you yet," he said, smelling the grape on her breath each time the hot air crossed his lips.

He fucked her four more times. When Greyback arrived outside with a sharp crack, they had already made their way into the bath, Olive's legs draped over the side between the cigarettes and their second bottle of Firewhisky. Greyback asked to use the loo and Scabior rolled his eyes, pulling Olive's legs into the tub to cover himself and snapping at her to cover her tits, which she did with her free arm. The other arm was perched on the side of the tub, fingers curled around a cigarette.

"Couldn't you piss outside?" Scabior asked, annoyed that the man had not only returned, but interrupted his fuck fest. He shot a look at Olive when the werewolf pulled his cock from his pants, making sure she wasn't looking. She wasn't. Her attention was on the smoke rolling from her cigarette, watching it curl up into the air. Her eyes had gone far off again.

"What, like a bloody animal?" Fenrir joked, laugh deep and throaty. If he was surprised to see the two of them in the tub, it didn't show, though Scabior felt fury pool in his chest when Greyback's eyes lingered too long on Olive. "Still waitin' on one more of the men to show up," he continued, shaking himself off and zipping his trousers. Scabior only grunted in annoyance, refusing to indulge in small talk when he had Olive naked in front of him. The werewolf got the message, it seemed, and disappeared elsewhere in the tent. He could hear Greyback mutter a few choice words when he noticed the gold coins scattered across the kitchen floor.

Now that they were alone again, Scabior snatched up the bottle and gave her a dark look as he took a swig. "Now, Olive, that won't do," he said, reaching over and jerking her arm away from her chest so he could look at her lovely tits. "Come here and let me have a better look."

Olive did as she was told and Scabior wondered if he liked this version of her better. No, definitely not. Old Olive fought with him, gave him nasty looks, said terrible things he could beat her for. Though, new Olive was on top of him, knees on either side of his legs with her tits bare in front of him and he decided this Olive had her perks, too. Her nipples were beginning to bruise from his biting earlier and he resisted the urge to do it again. Instead, he twisted one between his fingers, pulling and forcing her down closer to him. The appearance of the werewolf had soured his mood and he wanted to make one thing clear to her. He didn't care if Greyback overheard him, though he doubted he would as he could hear the wolf muttering to himself about the gold, pocketing what he thought they wouldn't notice.

"Look at me, Olive," he said in a quiet tone, but there was danger laced in each word. She must have noticed the change in his voice because when she looked up, the half-smile was gone. "Tell me, lovely," he said, free hand pushing her hair back from her face and playing with the wet ends, which had grown several inches since the first day he saw her, "Whose command did the Dark Lord leave you under?" He watched her brow tuck in the slightest way. It reminded him of when he had her under the Imperio.

"You," she said, voice sounding weak. Somewhere in there, she knew he was angry.

"That's right, sweetling. And I could command you to do anything I wanted, couldn't I?" He tugged her nipple tight and something flashed behind her eyes. Scabior hoped it was fear. He wanted his Olive back, no matter how compliant this one was.

"Yes," she said, gaze shifting to over his shoulder.

"Ah, ah," he chided, "I told you to look at me." When she did, he continued. "Now, out of all the things I could command you to do, I've not been unfair." Olive's body gave a small jerk in protest, the first twitch she'd had in hours. "I didn't order you to fuck me, did I?" he asked, free hand grasping her chin while his other pulled her nipple taut. A whimper danced out with her breath, some undefinable half-noise that Scabior loved. Those were the sounds of his Olive. "But, you did because you're a good girl."

Olive nodded, but he could tell she was fighting the urge to look away again.

"And when you're bad, I can make you do whatever I want anyway. But, you're smart, aren't you, Olive?" He could smell the liquor on her breath and knew she had to smell it on his, too. He was drunker than he'd been in a long while. Olive finally nodded, eyes boring into him. His hand snaked around the back of her neck, pulling her in close so he could smell the honeysuckle in her hair. "So, who really owns you, Olive?" he threatened in her ear, "Who owns that cunt between your legs?" Her body gave another jerk and he grinned into her hair.

"You do," she said, the words quiet, mixed with a huff of breath.

"Good girl." He released her neck, hand drifting back down to her chin. "I don't like him," he said, knowing she would understand he meant Greyback. "And I don't like that you two are pals. I don't like people lookin' at my toys. And I know you don't want me to make you to show him who you belong to, do you? 'Cause that would be very embarrassing for you, Olive. Understand?"

She nodded, but he gripped her chin tighter.

"Tell me you understand."

"I understand," she said, looking away again. He let it slide this time.

"Good. Now go an' get in bed, little kitten. We've got a wolf tryin' to run off with our gold that I've got to deal with."

The next morning, Scabior woke with numb fingers. Olive's back was pressed to his chest, one of his arms under her neck and wrapped around her chest, the other draped over her waist. Keeping Greyback's paws off of her was worth the numbness.

The werewolf had already stirred from Olive's bed and was lacing his boots. He glanced up, looking Olive up and down before even noticing Scabior was awake.

"The fuck are you doin'?" Scabior said, voice full of sleep. He regretted his decision to pull off Olive's pajama bottoms in the middle of the night when he realized most of the blankets were off her now, exposing her cotton underwear.

"We're movin' camp today," Greyback said, "I'm goin' to scout for sites. They think there's a pirate radio operatin' out in Fleet Forest. We was meant to leave last night, but you two was busy."

Scabior grinned, nuzzling his face in Olive's neck. When he looked up, Greyback's mouth was clamped shut. "We'll be here when you get back," Scabior added with a smirk, stretching out and enjoying the feel of Olive pressed against him. Greyback stood and grunted in reply, at least having the decency to walk outside and apparate to keep from waking Olive. Scabior knew the werewolf was fuming over them finding Walrich first and he didn't like the way he'd been looking at Olive lately.

But, with the werewolf gone, Scabior pulled the covers all the way back, fingers tracing the curve of Olive's hips. She shuddered and stirred, rolling toward him with a funny look on her face and muttering about Christmas ornaments before laying her head down on his arm and falling back into sleep. It had to be early, still dark out, because Scabior was used to little sleep from the nightmares and even he was still exhausted.

The nightmares.

He hadn't had one last night - the dream he'd had was quite pleasant actually. There had been thousands of puppet strings falling from his fingers to control Olive, who knelt beneath him with his cock in her eager mouth. He thought Greyback watched from the corner with a slit throat, but that may have been an afterthought.

Usually, he woke with a start when the Dementors started sucking out his soul or when Lysia stabbed him in the chest.

Lysia.

He thought of Lysia's lips, but his free fingers snuck up to trace Olive's. At least Olive told him she would try and kill him. Hatred burned inside him for a moment, just the thought of Lysia enough to make him grit his teeth. Dead, dead, she's dead, focus on Olive instead. He bet Olive's tongue tasted better. Her words were already delicious enough, the way she admitted he owned her with no fight. He needed to hear it again. Thinking about it made him grow hard, his dick pressing through his bottoms into Olive's belly.

He shifted her onto her back and his free hand abandoned her lips, finding the space between her thighs instead. The cotton of her panties was warm and he decided then he would wait for her to wake before diving beneath. Instead, he traced patterns into the fabric, light at first and then harder when she made a humming noise. By the time her eyes fluttered open, the cotton had grown moist under his fingers.

"Mornin', love," he said with a grin, pressing his lips against her earlobe. His fingers pressed deeper into her panties and she gasped, bottom lip giving a quick quiver. "Do you remember what we talked about last night?"

Olive didn't answer, trying to blink the sleep from her eyes and comprehend what was going on.

"Olive, do you remember?" he repeated, digging his fingers roughly into the cotton.

"Yes," she squeaked, clenching her thighs shut in response. Scabior gave her a dark look and sat up, prying her legs apart by taking the knee closest to him and drawing it to his chest.

"Say it again," he said, pulling her panties to the side and exposing her to the cool air. He ran a finger along her. "Tell me who this belongs to."

She twitched, looking at him with fear behind her eyes. "You," she said, voice weak from sleep. He traced her crease, cocking his head to the side as he looked down on her.

"Say the whole thing, Olive."

"It belongs to you. You own it," she said, legs twitching. He could tell she was fighting the urge to try and snap them shut again, so he barely dipped his fingers inside her. Olive lost her reserve and tried to break her legs free, closing them the best she could. He ripped them apart without a word, shifting to pin her free knee down with his leg.

"But what is this?" he said, wriggling his fingers at her opening, a smirk dominating his face as he was dominating her. "Say it. Say it like we said it last night."

Olive swallowed, knee beginning to tremble in his arms. Her shoulders gave another twitch.

"You own the cunt between my legs," she said in a resigned voice, looking away in embarrassment. The half-smile never made an appearance, but the expression she gave when he shoved three fingers inside of her more than made up for it. She gasped, her lips parted and eyes glossy. It was only a few minutes before he pulled his slick fingers from her and started fucking her. She never fought or struggled, but he pinned down her wrists anyway, reveling in the control he held over her. Each thrust was an act of violence, her cries a mixture of pleasure and pain. When she came, she gave such a violent shudder that Scabior thought she'd started sobbing.

Later, when they were getting dressed, Scabior told her Greyback would return soon and they were moving camp, watching her like a hawk the entire time for any hint that she may be betraying him. He did not like her around Greyback and was beginning to think the werewolf was conspiring against him, if not both of them. She'd said nothing, though, keeping her back to him while she buttoned her shirt. He crossed the room and laid his hands on her shoulders, running his nose along the hair behind her ear.

"Remember what we talked about last night," he warned.

"I belong to you," she said for the umpteenth time, Scabior having made her say it over and over while he fucked her. "And I will until you kill me."

Scabior bent, running his lips along her jaw. "You're turnin' out to be the perfect girl," he said, turning her to kiss the hollow of her throat before heading toward the kitchen.

He didn't see her fists clench.