Chapter 52 - Tears
When Scabior awoke early the next morning, the darkness of the previous night had not faded from the sky, and the first subtle hints of pre-dawn twilight were beginning to light the horizon. Violet was asleep in bed beside him. It would be a while before the others began to wake up.
He estimated that it was about an hour before dawn. Scabior pushed the covers back on his bed, slid his legs over the edge of the mattress, and placed his feet on the floor. His injured leg was still bandaged beneath his purple plaid pajama bottoms, and it hurt as he carefully attempted to stand.
He winced, drawing in a sharp breath between his teeth as he eased himself into a sitting position. Scabior shifted his weight onto his left leg, then reached for his jacket which was hanging on the bedpost beside his pillow. He decided not to bother getting dressed because he knew that he wouldn't be outside for long. The cold winter weather didn't bother him that much anyway. So he slipped his arms into his jacket, pulled the garment closed over his bare chest, and limped outside into the frosty February air.
Being a Snatcher for so many years had made Scabior immune to all forms of heat and cold. And while he disliked the hot summer months, he could tolerate them without complaint, and he could withstand the cold better than even the most well seasoned men in his group. He thought nothing of walking out barefoot into the snow, though he shivered slightly when a cold wind drifted past him, tugging lightly at the strands of his wild and unruly hair.
The clouds above were torn and drifting lazily past the bare branches of the trees. Between their thin, tattered forms a few stars shone within the fading halo of the night sky. A silver crescent moon winked at him from between the confines of the clouds and the silhouette of the branches surrounding it in the night.
Scabior inhaled deeply, breathing in the fresh scent of the cold night air. It felt good to breathe in the crisp, clean forest air, and it felt even better to be able to breathe without coughing or feeling like his lungs were on fire with pain.
He watched the horizon slowly brighten as the clouds continued to drift past the waning moon. He let go of all his thoughts, taking in the quiet, undisturbed serenity of the early morning twilight. This was why he loved being a Snatcher, because it allowed him to get outside in nature and be at peace within the woods.
Out here he could free himself from all his troubles and worries. He could relax and let go of the past that weighed heavily on his mind and conscience. And yes, Scabior did have a conscience. Despite what others thought, he wasn't the heartless bastard they thought he was. He'd never meant for his life to become what it was, but he was in too deep to escape.
The world he lived in was wrought with misery and death, corruption and war. And when the final battle began, Scabior knew that he would inevitably be called to battle with his fellow Snatchers. It was inescapable. And every day the end was getting closer.
Would he be forgiven in the end if he were to die in battle? Would his crimes go unpunished if Voldemort perished and the ministry sought to capture and imprison all that had served him? How could he convince the world that this wasn't what he wanted? That he'd never meant to hurt so many people and destroy so many lives and families?
Sure, he was a bad boy at heart. He was stubborn, he had an attitude from hell and told it like it was without caring what others thought of him. He liked to steal and make his own path in life, taking what he wanted and doing what he pleased. But he was not a killer. He didn't take pleasure in torturing his victims, or hearing the anguished cries of those he snatched and brought into the ministry. Somewhere along the line he'd gone too far, and there was no turning back now. Not after everything he'd done.
Scabior heard the sound of softly crunching snow behind him, bringing him out of his meditations and drawing his attention. He turned around and saw Violet standing behind him.
Unlike Scabior, Violet had chosen to slip on a pair of shoes before walking outside. She was now standing in the snow behind him, wearing a long sleeved white shirt, a pair of blue plaid pajama bottoms, and had a blanket wrapped around her shoulders for warmth.
"Scabior," she said softly. "What're you doing out here?"
"I 'ad to get out of there, pet. I've spent far too much time in bed."
"Do you mind if I stay out here with you for a while?"
"No. But only if you don't try 'auling me back to bed."
Violet walked towards him and gently whispered, "What if I wanted to take you to bed for more pleasurable reasons?"
Scabior couldn't help the grin that spread across his face. "I don't know, pet. I might not be able to refuse an offer like tha."
They stood together in the snow, watching the darkness fade as the day began. After several minutes passed, Violet broke the silence by finally asking Scabior the question that had been on her mind the last couple of days.
"Scabior, I hate to ask you this, but is it true that your parents died because Bellatrix killed them?"
Scabior's mouth dropped open as he looked at her with an expression of absolute shock on his face. "Who told you tha Bella killed my parents?" he demanded angrily.
"You did."
Scabior's mouth snapped shut, his pale, grey-blue eyes wide as he stared at her in disbelief. In the early morning twilight he looked like a wide-eyed owl peering out through the darkness.
"You were delirious because your temperature had risen so high," Violet explained. "Lucius said the fever had clouded your thoughts, and that you didn't know what you were saying. But you sounded so sad. There was real pain and grief in what you said. And I couldn't help but wonder if what you were talking about really happened."
For a long while Scabior didn't speak. He couldn't believe that he had accidentally let slip one of his most private secrets. He wondered what else he might have told her while he was ill and suffering from the effects of Bellatrix's poison.
"I...well..." He paused, hesitating as he fiddled nervously with the cuff of his jacket. Scabior didn't know if he could tell her what had happened. But he didn't want to lie to her. He finally decided that he would tell her the truth, but that he wouldn't tell her anymore than what she already knew. There was no need to tell her everything that Bellatrix had done, most of which she would probably figure out on her own the longer she stayed with him.
"Yes, pet," Scabior said, finally looking up at her. "Bellatrix murdered my family, including a younger brother I 'ad named Malchior. It 'appened back when the Dark Lord was trying to recruit me an 'ave me join 'is Death Eaters. You may remember me telling you 'ow the Dark Lord threatened to kill my family if I didn't join 'im. I became a Snatcher instead of a Death Eater. I did everything 'e asked me to, but 'e 'ad my family killed anyway. An the person 'e sent to murder them was Bellatrix.
"I tried to save them, pet. 'Onestly, I did. When I 'eard about wha was going to 'appen, I rushed 'ome as fast as I could. But I was too late. When I arrived, my parents were lying there on the floor, their blood soaking into the carpet an dripping from the walls. The only one left was Malchior. 'E was still alive, but Bellatrix was 'olding 'im captive. I tried persuading 'er to let 'im go...she 'ad 'er arm around 'im an was 'olding 'er wand against 'is throat...said she'd kill 'im if I took a step towards 'er. But Bellatrix is completely mad. There was no reasoning with 'er. She killed my little brother right in front of me...slit 'is throat with a cutting 'ex an watched 'im bleed."
It was here that Scabior paused, his voice too choked with emotion to speak. "She laughed while she did it," he said at length, when he finally regained the use of his voice. "She laughed like it was some kind of joke! I attacked 'er, but I was too pissed to see straight. She..." He stopped, pausing even longer this time as it became increasingly difficult for him to speak.
A well of anger, guilt and grief was forming a tight knot in his throat as he remembered everything he'd gone through the night his family had been murdered. It pained him to speak of it, but what hurt even worse was the fact that he'd been unable to save his family.
"She did terrible things to me," Scabior continued. He swallowed hard, trying to push the uncomfortable knot down his throat so he could continue speaking. "I won't go into the details. You probably don't want to 'ear them anyway. But she refused to kill me, saying tha death would be too merciful. She wanted me to live with the memories of wha she 'ad done so tha she could watch me suffer, always there, always laughing in my face."
Violet put her arm around him, holding him close in the dim light of the cold morning. She could see in the growing light that his eyes were glistening with unshed tears.
"I'm so sorry, Scabior," she said softly.
"Don't be." He brushed her arm away. "I don't want your sympathy."
Violet didn't know what to say to him. The cold winter winds blew, the first light of the morning sun crept above the distant hilltops, painting the sky with pale shades of creamy yellow, faded blue and dusky pink hues. And as Scabior gazed silently at her in twilight of dawn, a single tear spilled from the corner of his eye and slowly trickled down his cheek.
"Come on, Scabior." Violet took him by the hand. "You wanted to go for a walk outside, right? Well, come on then. Let's go for a walk together."
Scabior said nothing, but decided to walk with her anyway, thinking it might help clear his mind. And together they walked off into the forest, side by side and hand in hand.
