EDITED: 02/21/2015

Chapter Five

Olive leaned back against the tree, growing anxious. There was no way to tell the time, but she knew it had been at least a half hour since she'd sent Harry into the tent so she could keep watch for Scabior in peace. Maybe an hour had passed since she'd seen the Snatchers pass by, but her heart still stammered while she kept her eyes on the surrounding areas. They hadn't gone far in that hour - somewhere out there she could hear them still. She felt sick. A deep, gut-wrenching scream had pierced the air just moments ago as rich laughter she knew too well echoed from the distance. Weasley had come out once, eyes in the distance toward the screams, but went back inside with a dark look. There wasn't anything they could do without revealing themselves.

'Please hurry,' she thought, trying to block out the screams. She was in a considerable amount of pain, her face and head throbbing, and she wanted nothing more than to remove herself from at least a hundred mile range from both Potter and Scabior.

As if her silent prayer was answered, a small crack was heard and Hermione appeared a few feet from her. They stood still for a few moments, Hermione making sure the boys weren't stirring in the tent to the noise and Olive eying the horizon in fear that the Snatchers had heard. She gave Olive an apologetic look, taking quiet steps toward her and pulling a canvas backpack from her distinctly smaller handbag.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I'd sent them off to Australia before I left them last and it was a pain tracking them down. They're fine, though. Touring Sydney for the day. I managed to get on the same bus as them and get a seat behind them. It was nice to just hear them talk to each other."

Olive nodded, trying to muster a grin, but it was hard to concentrate when she knew the screaming and laughing had come to an abrupt stop. Hermione was so busy gushing about her parents that she hadn't noticed the sounds in the first place.

Scabior had risen a silent hand to his men, signaling to stop. His head cocked to the side and he drew a deep breath, head darting to his right, following his senses. He knew he'd caught her scent earlier, he knew it. The noises were faint and garbled, but they were there. He'd heard someone apparate, then the ghosts of whispers carrying through the air. And one of them was her. Even the hushed words carried a trace of honeysuckle.

"Take 'im to the Ministry," he said, gazing out toward the direction of the muffled sound. "I think we may 'ave more lurking about. Go get your gold an' grab dinner - meet back at camp in the morning."

The men all nodded, some smiling. It wasn't often Scabior gave up his share of the gold and it was even less often he gave them a night off. The captured man let out another groan, but it was only half-heard, the rest of it disappearing in the loud series of cracks that left Scabior standing alone.

Hermione had told Olive she could keep the clothes she'd woken in and she stuffed them in the new bag, glad to have at least one change of clothes, even if they were ill-fitting. Olive let out a long breath, hearing the popping noises nearby. Gone, thank Merlin, they were gone. Hermione spun to look over the snow covered ground around the camp, danger and horror filling her eyes. "They're leaving," Olive said, "Already been through here. It was him."

A rigid expression crossed Hermione's face, but silence passed between them, neither one at fault for not hearing the soundless footsteps approaching. "I have to go, Hermione," she said. "He knew I was here. I can't be here any longer and you lot need to leave, too."

The words felt thick and unpleasant in Olive's mouth. She had half-expected Hermione to insist she stay until she was better healed, but this changed everything. Not that Olive intended to stay, but there was something in Hermione's eyes that told her she'd gone from being a comrade to a danger and that made her stomach squirm. She had to go, though - she had to go before he second-guessed himself and came back for another look.

Olive fumbled with the things in her bag, pretending to rearrange them, though there was only the pajama bottoms and one of Weasley's flannel shirts. She knew she was stalling, but her mind was stumbling on her parting words. What did you say to someone who had the compassion to take you in? Olive wouldn't have done it. She would have put it down to bad luck and kept going. And she'd listened while Olive told her story, given her clothes, a new bag. Given her companionship, if only for an hour or so.

"Thank you. I - I'm not quite sure what to say. Just...thank you. I hope we see each other again someday," Olive said, each word clumsier than the last. It was unlikely they'd ever meet again, unlikely they would both survive the war. But, it seemed like something you would say to someone in this situation, so she did. A small smile played on Hermione's lips as she nodded in reply. Olive couldn't be sure, but she thought she saw the girl's eyes reflecting a bit more of the bright sky than they normally should.

Olive turned and stepped through the barrier, thinking that an infant leaving a mother's womb was the only thing comparable to the sensation. She gripped Scabior's wand in her tight fist, concentrating on her destination.

Hermione's words bubbled out from what now appeared to Olive as thin air.

"Where will you go?"

Olive's eyes clenched as she envisioned where she needed to be.

"Home," she said, turning on her heel as the ground left her feet.

Scabior watched as she disappeared, apparating with his wand.

He leaned back against a tree, wondering who lay tucked away under the invisible charms not thirty yards in front of him. His mind moved on to other things - he counted down the time. He was giving her a head start.

Olive landed on the plush cream carpet of her living room, bracing herself against the couch as her knees buckled beneath her. She really needed to find a different wand. Just the feeling that ran through her when she held his wand made her feel uneasy - it was dark, primal, twisted energy that Olive couldn't tame. She wanted it far away from her, but it would have to do until she came across another person on the run. She'd get a different wand one way or another, no matter what she had to do for it.

Once she'd steadied herself, she glanced around with unease and was glad to see the living room in pristine condition, the bodies no longer there. The Ministry had taken care of it, then. There would be nothing here - no couch, no pictures, no winged back chair - had the muggle police made it there first. They probably thought her phone call was a prank or else the Ministry altered their memories. The Ministry had stepped in, cleaned up, and left it empty. Mail piled in front of the mail slot in the door and she noted a few disconnect notices.

Olive's heart ached as she saw the corner of a CD case poking out from the cushion of her father's chair and she stood, charging up the stairs. She knew that case, she knew it was Frank Sinatra. Push it from your mind. Don't remember.

She needed to get her things and leave, she knew she couldn't stay. She walked past the discarded towel in the hallway that had been ripped from her hair all those months ago and realized how very alone she was for the first time. 'Right, that doesn't matter,' she thought. 'Get your stuff ready and be out first thing in the morning.'

Seeing Scabior had confirmed that he was back on the hunt and, though she was certain he'd already checked the house, especially when she stepped into her room and saw it was trashed, she knew he was back out there. If anything, he'd presumed her dead or on the run and left. Seeing him gave her the comfort to stay, for even just one night, in her childhood home. Her own bed would prove quite a comfort and she would have time to say a proper goodbye to the house and everything in it without worrying as much. She eyed the mess in her room, the broken lamp, the pillow feathers scattered beneath her feet. Her dolls, her books, smashed and torn. A sickness tugged in her stomach. Above her bed, burned into the wall, it said, "Run."

Her body froze rigid when the floorboards creaked downstairs. She remained quiet for a moment, not daring to move one muscle.

Nothing. She remembered that her house settled, as her father called it. She felt it was an ominous sign, nonetheless.

Still, the word above her bed sent a chill up her spine and she knew, despite her best wishes, that she needed to grab her things, do a load of wash, grab what food was still good, and get out. A shower had been her downfall last time and she certainly wasn't going to risk it again. No matter where she was in the house, her hearing would be trained on her surroundings and she would be prepared should he happen to check the house again before she left.

She turned toward her bed. A pillow? Yes, she'd need a pillow. Unfortunately, all three of her pillows were slashed, but she found a spare in the hallway closet, stuffing in two towels and a few rags, as well. Her father's door was cracked open and she didn't hesitate to stalk in and grab some of his clothing. Her eyes stayed trained on his closet, not daring to look around at his things and get emotional. There was no time for emotional. A handful of shirts and a pair of trousers were added to the bag. She didn't know if she would have to impersonate another man or not and it was best to be prepared.

She thought the tent and sleeping bags where in his closet, as well, from those camping trips she'd taken with him years ago. She felt around in the dark closet until she felt the thick drawstring bag which held the muggle tent. Olive struggled with fitting the sleeping bag through the backpack's opening at first, but took off toward the bathroom as soon as she was successful. She continued to throw things into the bag, not quite shaking a horrible feeling in the pit of her stomach. Two boxes of unopened soap. Actual shampoo and conditioner. New razors, a toothbrush, toothpaste. It should have seemed like heaven, but she wondered if she was wasting time on cosmetic things.

Olive's hands flew in a wild flurry around her, grabbing this and that, until she'd reached for her hairbrush. Her hand was suspended in the air, fear coursing through her.

There was a wand being pointing into the back of her hair - no time to react before she heard the enchantment.

"Imperio!"