EDITED: 02/21/2015

Chapter Six

A satisfied grin tugged his unshaven features up in a rare form.

Keeping his wand pointed at her head, he spoke out to her and broke the seemingly endless silence. "Turn toward me."

Olive floated among her mind, a cage surrounding her. She heard his commands and fought the urge to obey, banging her fists on the walls shrinking around her brain.

Scabior watched as she twitched in a strange manner, mentally fighting his influence in her head. "Turn. Toward. Me," he said again with more authority.

Olive struggled against the restraints that burst around her, squeezing her to the point of breathlessness as the cage grew smaller and smaller. The bars were soon pressing against her body, her face, all in her mind. She tried to scream out, but no noise would leave her. She couldn't breathe - she was being suffocated. The ropes immobilized her, wrapping up around her neck and holding her still as she gasped for air. They began to wind around her face, tightening into her skin.

And then it happened.

"Olive," he spoke firmly, growing annoyed, "I told you to turn around."

The ropes pulled so tight that they went through her, as if she was smoke. A deep fog rolled into her mind, tugging her body around as if she were a hand puppet. Somewhere within herself, she screamed out for help, knowing she couldn't put up a worthy fight, but the sound never passed her lips.

As the girl turned toward him, her emerald eyes wide and vulnerable, he smiled again and set his wand on the sink. He knew once he had full control of the girl, she would obey until he dropped his influence. "There we go," he murmured, running the back of his hand down her cheek, "That wasn't so bad." He admired her for a moment before he continued, brushing the golden hair from her face.

"Olive," he said, tracing her neck with his palm, "You've splinched yourself. You shouldn'a run, sweetling." His thumb brushed over her tender eye. "I wouldn't 'ave to hurt you if you would just learn to be'ave yourself."

Olive wanted to fight, but she couldn't find it within her body to follow through with the actions. All she could do was stare up to his rugged face as he ran his hands over her neck. He leaned close to her, his fingers gentle for once, grabbing her hair as he brought his face into it and taking in the lovely scent.

After a moment, he raised his head up and stepped back, hand outstretched.

"Give me my wand."

Olive reacted in an instant, grasping the wand which she had tucked under the waist of Hermione's jeans.

"Stop. Stop. Stop," Olive willed herself, her brain frantic as her body betrayed her, handing over the wand to the rightful owner. Scabior's eyes lingered on her waist before grabbing the wand. He laid his fingers to rest on her hip, tracing down to the bare spot where his wand had just laid, watching her face closely as he slid his finger under her jeans. Her eyebrows twitched with just the slightest movement.

"What an interesting place for my wand. Miss me, did you?"

Inside, Olive was clawing the man's face off for laying his disgusting hands on her, but he only saw the slight quiver of an eyebrow once again.

His chest filled with sick contentment knowing that he'd made her furious enough to break her exterior form. Even the smallest twitch could only be triggered by a passionate emotion. Scabior basked in knowing it was her hatred for him that caused the tiny movements and that he held someone who so thoroughly loathed him right in the palm of his hand.

He could clench his fist around her throat and finish her now if he wanted. He could do anything.

Scabior eyed the tub behind her, grin widening as he moved his hands up to cup her face, rubbing a thumb over her split lip. "Take off your clothes," he demanded, stepping away from her to watch the scene unfold.

Olive had passed angry and now just grew sad and confused as her hands wrapped around her, pulling the shirt over her head. She couldn't help feeling self-conscious as she exposed herself to him.

Scabior caught a masculine, woodsy scent against her skin, not knowing she had worn Weasley's clothes earlier. It infuriated him, but he managed to keep his face in a mocking glare.

Olive's hands struggled with the button of the jeans, Hermione being a good bit smaller than her. Scabior stepped forward, leaning in close to the girl and unbuttoning them himself. He drew in a long breath, taking in the masculine scent so that he might remember it.

She was going to pay for that.

Olive stood before him, letting him take in her naked body. "Run your bath water," he told her in a distracted tone. He couldn't tear his eyes from the purple blotches that spread over her pale limbs and torso. Satisfaction blossomed in his chest, knowing he'd been the one to put the bruises on her.

He watched as she bent over to turn the taps and instantly followed after her, pressing himself against her bent form. "Stay," he commanded as she began to rise. Olive could feel him against her, running his hands over her hips.

Scabior rubbed over the purple masses in awe. 'Beautiful,' he thought. An idea came to mind.

"Come 'ave a look at yourself in the mirror, love," he said, stepping away from the girl as she stood and walked toward the mirror. Olive was shocked at her reflection, feeling frightened as Scabior stepped into the image behind her. Her eyes took in his face - the strong jaw line, the straight nose, the black scruff covering his cheeks. She watched his dark eyes as they did the same to her, watching the bow of her lips, the curve of her cheeks, the light freckles on her nose. He looked up and met her eyes, loathing behind her gaze.

"Take a look, Olive," he said, wanting to make sure she knew who was in charge, "Look at your lips." Olive's eyes followed the order that had been given. Her lower lip was still swollen, the small cut peeking out from her mouth.

"Look at your eye." It was deep purple, the outside skirted with a sickly yellow.

She felt him grasp her hand and hold it up, showing the dark bruises on her wrist. He allowed her to look at it for a good, long moment, then dropped her wrist and met her eyes through the mirror again, running his hands over her exposed shoulders.

Olive cringed inside when he lowered his lips to her shoulder and dragged them, light as air, toward her neck, keeping his eyes trained on hers. Goose bumps erupted over the skin as his lips grazed by with his hot breath, all the way to her ear, and her eyebrow gave another twitch. With a dark chuckle, he moved his arms down to wrap around her shoulders.

"If you'd just listen to me, Olive, I wouldn't 'ave to do these things. Don't you understand?"

Olive glared back at him through the mirror, unable to say the numerous curses that were coursing through her brain. "Tell me you understand," he ordered, letting his lips find the crook of her neck, along where she had splinched. The scar was a thick snake, starting at her collar bone and crawling up her neck, jaw, and ending on her cheek, breaking off here and there in jagged edges. It made her feel sick just looking at it - no wonder Hermione had been so reluctant to tell her about her wounds.

"I understand," she said, glaring pure hatred from her eyes. He smiled against her neck, looking up to take in the image of his arms around her. She was a pretty girl, but her battle scars and dark bruises gave her all the more beauty. He closed his eyes and took in her scent, unashamed of his attraction. He hated her - wanted to hurt her. Kill her. But, he still fancied her over the others, even if there was the woodsy scent clinging to her skin. It made him hate her more. And he liked his attraction for her because it made her hate him more. And the more she hated him, the more obsessed he became.

"Go turn off your water and get in the tub," he said against her neck, seeing a slight look of relief in her eyes to be out of his arms. More goose bumps erupted over Olive as she lowered herself into the water, the warmth welcoming her after months of frigid lakes and ponds.

Scabior approached the girl and kneeled next to the tub. He placed his hand on her neck, forcing her to lean back into the water. For a split-second, he felt her pulse under his fingertips - three quick beats until he lost the feeling. She was terrified that he was touching her. It sent him over the edge.

Both his hands were on her neck in the blink of an eye, pushing her face under the water as the bubbles escaped to the surface. He could feel her pulse again - quick and erratic. Scabior quickened his grip after a moment as both the bubbles and the beats began to slow. He could see her face blurred as the water began to settle, only a few lone ripples disturbing the image.

He held her there for a minute longer, the bubbles becoming nonexistent as the surface cleared. Scabior looked down on the girl, growing hard as her pulse slowed a considerable amount. Maybe after she was dead, he would slide in on top of her and fuck her right there in the tub.

But, his stomach clenched when her face became clear.

There she was - no air, barely any pulse - with the fucking angriest look he'd ever seen. And that was saying something, considering she had no control of her body. In disbelief, his hands went under her arms and lifted her back above the surface. He turned to grab the shampoo, not wanting the uncertainty to be seen on his face.

"That was for stealin' my wand and runnin' off. Don't make me do that to you again."

The piercing look she'd given him caused his blood to rush, filling him with excitement.

He set to cleaning her filthy hair, a surge of panic passing through Olive when he dunked her under to rinse it out. He completely washed her - enjoying that she was dependent on him for such a small task. Scabior liked the fact that he had complete control of her, that he wouldn't even let her wash herself. After he was done, he let her soak for a while, glancing back up to her when he finally opened the drain.

Olive still had the livid expression on her face, causing Scabior's breath to catch in his throat as he thought of the girl under him, writhing against his skin. She was afraid of him, yes, but she was madder than hell. And that made him want to humiliate her more than ever.

"Show me your father's bedroom," he demanded, their eyes never breaking. Olive stood from the bath, droplets of water rolling down her skin, and stepped onto the cool tile. The air caused goose bumps to rise all over her, but despite telling her body to run, she stepped out of the bedroom and led him down the hall. Her feet left wet imprints on the plush carpet, clear down to her father's bedroom door, which was standing half open.

Scabior was going to make her hate him even more. He jumped into her father's bed, bouncing a few times with a wicked grin. "Springy," he said, a dark glint in his eye.

Olive felt she was going to be sick, but she forced herself from looking around the room. 'Not here,' she thought, 'Please not here,' but her pleas never formed in her mouth.

"Come here, Olive," he said, looking as though he would devour her whole. The carpet crept between her wet toes with every step, but stopped when her knees nudged the soft mattress. "Now crawl over here to me."

The things Scabior made her do after made Olive feel worthless - disgusting. As best as she could, she concentrated on the lighter streak through his hair, if only to escape the things he was doing to her. In the light of her father's room, it seemed more vivid and Olive found a small comfort in watching it dance when he made her straddle him. Time seemed to stretch on forever, her knees on either side of him, his hands on her hips while the daylight stretched into dusk.

A light sheen of sweat was now covering her brow while a knot rested in her throat. Olive had been trying not to be sick as his hands continually roamed her. If she got sick, he would kill her in an instant. Instead she swallowed the thickness in the back of her mouth, helpless to the influence he exerted over her. Olive's eyes found the piece of reddish hair again and made it her main focus, until she began feeling something building within her own body. Scabior could feel it, too, the small quivers around him, and he let out a huff of breath, grin breaking his otherwise concentrated expression.

"There we go," he breathed, picking up the pace until Olive nearly thought she would explode, looking at the strands of his hair now through tears, a few slipping down her cheeks. Everything was building up inside her and she was so angry with herself that she broke through his curse for the smallest moment, a fleeting sob heaving from her chest before she was locked back under his control.

Soon after, the wave inside grew and she knew her body would betray her any moment, but right as things were about to crash within her, right at the peak, Scabior released his influence on her. She was Olive, she had control, and in that second of release she let out a small cry, the wave surging through her body, causing her knees to quiver against his thighs.

It seemed like forever, Olive sitting there on top of him, holding her face to hide her tears, though her sobs shook both of them and gave her away. She wouldn't look at him, she knew he was looking up at her with a satisfied smirk and she couldn't handle it. When he reached up to brush the hair away from her face, she swatted his hand in a fury, swinging her other fist and socking him in the jaw.

In an instant, she was off the bed, darting toward the bedroom door, aiming to reach his wand in the bathroom. Having expected her attempted escape when he released her, he was ready for the chase. Though the punch had set him back, he caught her around the waist before she got out the door, pulling her back with such force that her legs lifted in front of her and she thought he might rip her in two.

They tangled for a few moments, Olive butting the back of her skull against his forehead, but it ended with her slammed against the wall, his forearm crushing into her neck. Her fingers slid against his arm, trying to pry it away, but they were growing clumsier by the second as white spots began to dance in her eyes. This was the dessert for Scabior.

Olive managed to squeeze her fingers between his arm and her neck, wheezing out ragged breaths, tasting the tears on her tongue. "Stop," she wheezed, giving him a pleading look, "I'll take you to Harry Potter."