EDITED: 02/21/2015
Chapter Eight
When the two of them landed in yet another bland area of trees, Scabior promptly let go of her arm and took the bags from his back, tossing them to the ground. He was unpacking the tent before she could even blink and, once she realized what he was doing, she bent out of habit to help him.
Not a single word had passed between them since their departure from Malfoy Manor and Olive had to wonder why he wasn't gloating. Not a single triumphant look had been thrown her way or even the slightest smirk. It put her on the edge. It was even worse that he'd actually taken her back home to gather the bag they'd left there earlier. Only after he'd dumped it and gone through everything there three times. Still, it was unnerving how not cruel he was being.
As soon as the tent was up, he was inside without even a glance her way. Olive didn't like it. No, not one bit. In fact, it made the hairs on her arms stand up, wondering what he was up to. Treading carefully, wondering what she would walk in to, she entered and was surprised to see him sitting at the small table, looking over a few maps while their bags sat nearby on the floor. Unsure of what to do with herself, she went to grab the bags, lugging them up and carrying them back to the bedroom. Everything was just as she remembered, not that she had been gone for long, and she heaved Scabior's bag up onto his bed, a whiff of the pale cigarette smoke attacking her senses with the movement. The bag Hermione had charmed for her felt significantly lighter than Scabior's and she wondered if that was part of the charm or if she really just had that few possessions with her.
She would have a few more possessions soon, however. Before they'd stopped to make camp, Scabior dragged her to the Ministry which, despite a feeling that it had all been a trick and they were turning her in, she was amazed at seeing. When she was disguised as Booke, Olive always stayed behind to watch camp when they went to the Ministry. It was her first time in the Ministry and she looked at everything in awe while Scabior dragged her along, first to the Muggleborn Registration Committee that had sprung up since the fall of the Ministry, then to the Snatcher Registration Department. At the first, they'd waited in a long line, Scabior quiet as he'd ever been, and when they made it to the front, the committee found it such an unusual case that Dolores Umbridge had been notified. When they were led to her office, Olive and Scabior shared their first moment of companionship as they gave each other a horrified glance over the meowing kitten saucers the woman apparently collected. Still, Scabior said nothing and Olive was left to explain her circumstances to the horrid woman she'd once called Headmistress. Umbridge held pursed lips through Olive's story - which left out the more violent and violating parts, if only because she couldn't bring herself to admit that it had happened to her in front of him. When the story was done, Umbridge gave Scabior an expectant look and he crossed the room, handing her some piece of parchment. Olive wasn't sure what the parchment said, but Umbridge nodded, giving a disapproving hum here and there, then heaved a sigh when she'd finished.
"Your circumstances are quite a bit different from the others," she admitted, though it seemed it pained her to do so. "But, after the fiasco Potter and his hoodlum friends caused in the Ministry, I have to agree this is the best course of action." Her voice was sickly sweet, just as Olive remembered, and it grated on her nerves. Not too long ago, Potter and his two friends had broken into the Ministry, released the muggleborns who were awaiting trial, and stolen some trinket off of Umbridge. "You'll be allowed this wand," she said, handing it back to her after the committee had taken it earlier, "And I won't ask who you stole it from. But, if you should weasel your way out of this agreement you've made with," she paused, giving a dark look toward him, "Scabior, then you'll be under full investigation of the committee."
Olive knew what she'd meant by that dark look - it may have been Scabior she made the Unbreakable Vow with, but it was more an agreement with the Dark Lord. All she knew was that Umbridge wrote out a quick letter, handed it to Scabior, and gave Olive a stiff smile before they left for the Snatcher Registration Department. There the line was shorter and the atmosphere more rough. Everyone nodded toward Scabior, their curious eyes raking over Olive, and they were led straight into an office. Once Scabior showed them both letters, there were no questions asked. Olive filled out a simple form, they took her picture, and the two were out the door with a promise that someone would deliver the things she needed where Scabior said they were staying for the night.
Which was in the woods where Olive had come across Potter. They'd first found the exact spot where Olive had sought refuge, but the trio had already moved on. Even then Scabior didn't say a word, no curse, no mutter of anger. It was worrying her. Scabior had apparated them to a different part of the forest and that's when the unpacking began.
Now, inside the tent, it was so quiet that you could hear a pin drop. Olive busied herself with riffling through her bag, pulling things out and refolding since he had just shoved everything inside. "Olive, come here," Scabior called from the kitchen, causing her to stiffen, uncomfortable feeling in her gut. When she stepped into the kitchen, he was leaning over the table, back toward her. Scabior could hear her quiet steps, each one seeming unsure, and he fought the urge to smile. That was what he wanted. He wanted her to wonder what he was up to.
"You're sure she didn't say where they were headed next?" he asked, not looking up from the maps in front of him.
"I'm sure," she said in a thick voice, pausing to clear her throat. "I have no clue where they could be headed." The was a slight edge of fear in her voice, though she kept her eyes glued to the back of his head. What would happen if they couldn't find them? She knew he wouldn't put up with her for too long. He merely grunted in reply, still not turning to look at her. This was going to drive her mad.
"What's the game plan?" she asked, unsure of what to say next. Olive had no idea how to approach a Scabior who wasn't trying to beat the teeth out of her.
Finally, he turned around and she was met with the murky darkness of his eyes before he moved his gaze to just beyond her right shoulder.
"I have no clue," he admitted, though he didn't sound angry, which made her relax just the tiniest bit. "We'll start up tomorrow and keep movin', just like always," he added, his eyes flashing back up to her once again. This was easier than she thought - he was talking to her just as he had any of his other Snatchers. Olive wondered if they would be joining later on, though she didn't voice this question. Before another word passed between them, there was a loud crack from outside and Scabior stiffened in an instant, but not before Olive saw his nostrils flare as he took a drag of the air. Within the second, the tent flaps were thrown back and one of the largest men Olive had ever laid eyes on entered. He was frightening to even look at, a wild look to his entire appearance.
"Fenrir," Scabior said quickly, his eyes looking the man over.
"Dreagan," the man replied, his eyes roaming over to Olive. "This the little sweet'art all the excitement is over? Such a tiny thing given' you all that trouble?"
Scabior gave him a dark look. Olive, on the other hand, offered him a small smile to which he replied with a tasteful wink, as if teasing Scabior was like some secret the two of them shared. She knew this was a dangerous man, more so than she was used to, and thought it might be wise to play to his good side. Scabior was already more than she could handle, she didn't need another monster hating her.
And Fenrir was worse than Scabior ever thought of being. He didn't discriminate when it came to rape, Olive had heard. Men, women, young boys and girls, goblins even. And didn't kill them quickly, either. No, he tore them apart with his formidable claws, one cut at a time. He also had a well-known fetish for infecting children with his lycanthropy.
Feeling the heat rising up his neck, Scabior stood.
"We were just headin' out. You brought the stuff?" he said, earning a questioning look from Olive. Hadn't he just said they were leaving in the morning?
The man nodded, extending his arm not to Scabior, but to Olive, a thick roll of parchment in his hand.
"Yeah, showed up wiv' a couple o' mudbloods, they was all talkin' 'bout you havin' her in there and all. Told 'em I'd bring the stuff by, they never said a word. Should'a seen their faces," Greyback said with a throaty laugh.
Taking the parchment into her own hands, she unrolled it with a tucked brow to see an official letter of pardon from the Ministry, signed not only by Dolores Umbridge, but the Minister himself. Two things fell from inside the parchment when she opened it and Greyback bent to pick them up, handing them back to her with a grin. Though she'd seen them a million times, she never expected to have either of these for her own. A Snatcher I.D. card with her real name, real height, real weight, real picture looking at her with a bored expression, and underneath it was the red armband which each Snatcher bore. This one was a vivid red, though, not worn down yet by the elements. It seemed the brightest thing she'd seen in months.
"Welcome to the winnin' team," Greyback said, though Olive couldn't muster a smile this time around.
"If that's all, we'll be going," Scabior said, nudging his head toward the bedroom, signaling Olive off to go put away her things.
"Actually," the man said, looking Olive over once more before turning to Scabior, "I was plannin' on stayin' a few nights. I've been put in charge o' your old unit and it'll take a few days to track 'em down an' let 'em know. You two go do what you were plannin' and I'll get settled."
The air was tense, even Olive could feel it, but after what seemed an eternity, Scabior nodded and she hurried off to put her things in her bag. She could deal with Greyback for a few days, if only because he took a jab at Scabior. Once she walked back to the men, who were both standing cross-armed eying each other, Scabior took her arm and spun, apparating on the spot. Before she could even register where they were, his hands were on her shoulders and his face was level with her own.
"You're not to go off alone with him," he said, eyes boring into her with such an intensity that it took her breath away for a moment. Once she collected herself, she merely raised her eyebrow.
"Why?" she said. The note of amusement in her voice did not sit well with him and his grip on her shoulders tightened.
"You think I'm bad," he said, his eyebrows tucking, "You haven't seen anything."
The words came across as threatening and she flinched away from him.
"I highly doubt anyone could be as vile as you," she spat once she regained her composure, though she knew it was a lie. The whispers of the awful things Fenrir Greyback had done whisked through the back of her mind, but she pushed them aside. There was a deep silence for a moment, then he released her arms as if she disgusted him. There was a strange feeling of possessiveness that stirred in his chest, making him feel crazed at the thought of someone else touching what belonged to him. He didn't like it.
"I don't like him," Scabior said, "And he doesn't like me. If he's hangin' around, he's up to something."
Olive narrowed her eyes. "You're afraid of him," she said, amusement filling the corners of her mouth.
"And you should be, too," he snapped, turning away from her and walking down Diagon Alley. Most of the storefronts were dark, only a few lit, and Olive figured it was probably because it was a holiday. Obviously there was no true reason for them to be there outside of escaping Greyback and so she took off in the opposite direction from him. It wasn't like Scabior had anything to worry about - it would kill her if she tried to run off - but, still, when he heard her go in the opposite direction, he spun with a scowl and followed behind. He left a good distance between them and, though there was the spare person here and there bustling about, his eyes never left her. Eventually she made her way into a shop, the bells clinging above her, and he leaned against the lamp post outside to wait for her. Olive gave a small smile to the shopkeeper, who gave her a wary look in return, and then she turned to the shelves. It wasn't as if she could actually get anything - she didn't have any money. She wondered if the shopkeeper could tell that she wasn't going to buy anything or if there was some other reason he was less than welcoming. There was a tree set up in the corner and a small sigh left her throat as she made her way over to it, tracing her fingers over the different ornaments there as she had on Draco's tree.
Olive continued around the store for a while, just biding her time, and closed her eyes with a grimace when the bells clanged again, knowing it was time to go. At that point, she had made her way around the store a full time and had once again found herself in front of the Christmas tree, admiring the ornaments. A heaviness settled on her back and she could tell he was standing behind her, though she didn't turn around. Instead, she kept her fingers on the ornaments, eyes tracing the ornate paintings on their surfaces.
"Do you want one?" he asked, the closeness of her voice surprising her.
"I don't want anything bought with your money," she spat, though in a quiet tone as to be mindful of the shopkeeper. There was a pause where she heard coins clanging together from within his pockets.
"You've got your own salary now," he said. She couldn't help it - she turned around, her face meeting his throat, and looked up at him with a questioning look. Surely he wasn't serious. "You're a Ministry employee - you make just as much as anyone else bringin' mudbloods in."
From across the room, she heard the shopkeeper give a loud grunt of disapproval, but her eyes stayed on Scabior, who was simply looking at her with no expression. Back to the unnerving Scabior from earlier. The coins clanged together again and he brought up a handful, placing them in one of her hands without taking his eyes from her.
"Consider it an advance for good behavior," he said with a dark tone, turning and exiting the shop with a smirk toward the owner. Stunned, Olive stood there for a moment, then shook her head and turned toward the tree, knowing exactly what she was going to do. There were two ornaments that had caught her eye and she quickly plucked them from the tree. One was a beautiful gold color with deep purple swirls and the other was much more ornate - a thick silver triangle decorated with green gems. With a quick step, she plopped them on the counter and gave the man an exasperated look.
"Listen," she began in a hurried tone, casting a look back out the window, "I'm in a really bad situation right now. One of these is a gift. I'll pay you to owl it off for me - he'll never allow it to get where it's going."
Looking her over with a disgusted glare, he said nothing.
"I am one, you know," she whispered, giving him a deep look, "A muggleborn, I mean. I don't like that word he used any more than you do." She'd only said it to try and win him over - hell, she used the word herself. It really didn't seem that bad to her, though it was probably because she grew up in the muggle world.
In an instant, a confused look crossed his face, full of questions, but he decided it was probably best not to ask. During times like these, it was only dangerous to get involved with the problems of others. Instead, he nodded, adding up the total of the two ornaments. Olive wasn't surprised to see that Draco's green and silver ornament had cost quite a bit more than her own, but it was worth it. The moment they shared crossed her mind and a blush crept over her cheeks. Yes, she owed him this much - his tree deserved a real ornament. Once she paid the man and pointed out which one was the gift, he began to package it, but she stopped him.
"Hold on, let me write a message," she said, not even asking when she ripped a blank receipt from the man's pad and grabbed a quill, scribbling two quick words before folding it and handing it to the man.
'I'm okay,' it said.
After he wrapped it, he asked where it was going and Olive looked outside once again, noticing that Scabior was standing there with crossed arms, giving her a bored look. "Draco Malfoy, Malfoy Manor," she muttered, her eyes never leaving Scabior's as she slid the man three extra galleons and took her own package, not seeing the grimace on the shop keep's face at the name of the recipient.
"Happy Christmas," she said as she made her way out the door to an irritated looking Scabior.
"Took you long enough," he said, looking down at the tiny package. "I thought I saw two on the counter," he added, giving her a look.
"I decided on just the one," she lied. Scabior merely shrugged it off and that uncomfortable feeling crept back into her stomach as she wondered why he was acting so…different.
"I don't feel like making dinner tonight with the wolf hangin' about," he said, looking toward the pub, "Let's just eat here."
Honestly, Olive had no desire to eat within twenty feet of him for fear of being poisoned, but she nodded. If he was going to start treating her halfway decent, she wasn't going to give him a reason not to.
"He doesn't seem so bad," she said, again the rumors of what he had done passing through her mind. Scabior turned and gave her a dark look as if held the door open for her. Once they stepped inside, he ushered them to a booth near the corner.
"Yeah, well, he's usually a bear to deal with," he replied, opening his mouth to say something else, then snapping it shut when the bartender drew close. The toothless man asked them what they would like and Scabior, to Olive's annoyance, ordered for the both of them. Huffing, she threw him a look. Olive drew out the coins she had left and Scabior scoffed, telling her to put them away. She snapped her mouth shut, jaw jutting. Like he said earlier, she made her own money now. There was no reason she wouldn't pay for her own. It rubbed her the wrong way to have him paying, making it feel like she would owe him later on.
"You're the first girl I've ever had out to dinner that was angry about me paying," he said with an amused note, though there was a resigned look behind his eyes.
"Wow, you've taken a girl out to dinner before?"
Now it was his turn to give her a look. Honestly, Scabior enjoyed how she refused to let him have the last word. He adored the fight.
"I have," he said simply, small grin on his face. This was foreign territory for Olive - she was used to being beaten or yelled at, but not treated like a normal human being having a normal human conversation. It frightened her.
"Did they actually agree to it or did you Imperio them first?"
Scabior didn't answer, instead letting his lips curl up into a wider grin that made her actually wonder if he had.
The silence stretched out between them as she watched the last patches of daylight scatter off through the thin window. The bartender finally arrived, placing a plate in front of each of them and an amber liquid that Olive didn't like the look of. She hadn't heard him when he ordered and now wondered how much gold it would take to convince a bartender to poison someone.
"It's only Firewhisky," he said with a chuckle, watching her as she sniffed the liquid.
"I'm not thirsty," she said with a determined look, waiting for an excuse not to drink it. With an expression of disgust, she pushed the glass away, but Scabior pushed it right back toward her.
"You've never had it, 'ave you?"
With a scowl, she snatched up the glass and took a tiny sip, making a face as the liquid burned her throat. Scabior chuckled again and started in on his plate, so she began as well. They fell into silence again, only giving each other the occasional look. Once everything was squared away with the check and the two glasses were drained - it had grown on her - the two exited, though he still didn't seem like he wanted to go back to the tent yet.
Olive was feeling tired and the sleepy looking street didn't help matters any, nor did the cold. He, however, seemed content in pulling out a muggle cigarette and lighting it up, taking a deep drag off of it and blowing it in the other direction before giving her look. He didn't say anything, though - he just merely looked at her, which made her skin crawl.
"If you hate muggles so much, then why do you smoke those things?" she blurted, just trying to kill the silence. There was a long moment where he took another drag, thinking it over before speaking.
"I don't hate muggles," he said with a shrug, "Or mudbloods or half-bloods. I was in Azkaban and offered the job in exchange for my freedom - who wouldn't jump at the chance? And muggles don't make these kind, anyway."
Olive shifted on her feet, once again hating the silence that had settled, especially since he had been the last to speak. Everything was a power play between them and it bothered her to let him think he was winning, even with something as simple as having the last word.
"How are they any different from muggle cigarettes?" she said with a note of disgust, "They're still bad for you. Not that I care. You could drop dead on the spot and I wouldn't miss any sleep."
That earned her a loud, deep chuckle that echoed off the storefronts and into the falling snow.
"No, I s'pose you wouldn't," he said with a grin. "They're nice, though. Charmed to have different flavors."
Olive wrinkled her nose. "They're disgusting," she argued, waving the smoke from her face as a point. This smoke, however, smelled of cherries and was actually quite pleasant, though she would never admit it.
Scabior looked away from her, though there was a grin that was evident on his face, even from her side view.
"You're just afraid you'll die if you smoke one," he said, taunting her. It felt good to tease her back since he'd been restraining his anger. A scoff from her direction was the only response and he chuckled again.
"I am not," she argued, her arms crossing as her cheeks flared. "They're just disgusting, is all."
He turned, facing her once again with a small look of triumph on his face - one she most certainly did not like.
"Ever had one?" he asked carefully, watched as she shook her head with a disgusted look. "No? Then, how'd you know they're disgusting? Smart girl like you should try something before judgin' it," he said, quirking a brow at her as he extended his own cigarette her way.
"How could they not be disgusting?" she said, turning her nose to the cigarette that was held out for her. "What is this, Hogwarts? You're like a child, trying to pressure me into it."
"Just as I thought," he said, his grin growing, "Afraid you'll drop dead on the spot."
Once again her cheeks flared and she snatched the cigarette from his grip, sticking it up to her mouth and sucking in the sweet smoke. Never having smoked before in her life, she blew the smoke back out and held her hand out to him. There was a great look of amusement on his face and he finally let out a loud laugh.
"You didn't even inhale," he said, eyes lighting up. He took the cigarette back from her and held it so she could see. "Like this," he said, taking a step closer to her so she could more easily see - and so he had an excuse to catch her scent for a moment. He raised the cigarette to his mouth and took a deep drag, then lowered the cigarette so she could watch and inhaled deeply through his nose, finally blowing the smoke out of his mouth and straight into Olive's face. The sweet smoke attacked her for a moment, though she found it pleasant, even if it took her breath away for a moment. With raised eyebrows, he raised the cigarette to her again and she took it, not one to turn down a challenge from him of all people.
Raising the cigarette to her mouth, she mimicked him, though the gracefulness he had pulled off was not quite the affect she had when she started hacking her lungs out after inhaling properly. Scabior took the cigarette back and patted her back while she coughed, a smug expression on his face.
"Terrible," she managed to get out before hacking again. Finally getting herself to stop, she glared up at him with watery eyes. This side of Scabior was different. He was boyish and…confusing.
"Well, we could always try the easy way," he said, earning a questioning look from her before he took a long, hard drag and suddenly grabbed her chin. Before she even knew what was going on, his lips were against her mouth and he exhaled, blowing the smoke into her throat. With wide eyes, she gasped, unknowingly inhaling the smoke much easier than last time. Once the smoke had left his lungs, he lingered for a moment, lightly nipping her bottom lip and finally pulled away as she exhaled, watching as the smoke blew out to drift along the deserted street. Her teeth clamped and her eyes flared, shooting him a nasty look which he took with pleasure.
"Let's just go," she spat, crossing her arms and turning away from him. Not that he cared. Scabior only chuckled again and took her upper arm, spinning on his heel and landing them back in the tent for their first evening with the werewolf.
The night, well…it was tense. Greyback, seeing Olive's ornament, went out and cut down a baby pine to put in the tent, so she could hang her one ornament. It was way more pitiful looking than Draco's tree, but Scabior sat in the corner with a moody glare, eyes never leaving the werewolf, and that was all the Christmas present Olive needed this year. Olive wouldn't have so much as acknowledged Scabior for the rest of the evening if Fenrir hadn't suggested a game of cards. Scabior grudgingly agreed, Olive nodded only to stay on Greyback's good side, and ten minutes later they were situated around the dining room table. Scabior drew in the sweet smoke of his newest lit cigarette. Each time he exhaled, he blew it so it assaulted Olive, who merely grit her teeth and shuffled the cards.
After a few rounds, it became blatantly obvious that Fenrir had only suggested it as a manner of annoying Scabior further. It was a difficult game to get the hang of - Olive had never even heard of it before - and it involved playing certain cards which let you skip another player's turn. After only three rounds, it was an unspoken rule that Olive and Fenrir always ganged up on Scabior, who was both highly competitive and a sore loser. He must have been on his fifth cigarette in that small amount of time they'd played and his jaw was set while he gave them both a menacing glare.
"Oh, lighten up," said Fenrir with a cheeky grin, "It's Christmas, you prat, and it's only a game."
This only served to make Scabior's face darker as he looked down to his cards, Olive and Fenrir sharing a quick glance toward each other before breaking out into laughter. Of course, Olive knew better - she knew much better than to laugh at Scabior openly, but it was too hard to resist when she had such a fantastic opportunity and knew he wouldn't touch her so long as Fenrir was in sight.
Another bit of cherry smoke hit her and she suppressed the shudder that ran down her back, looking up to glare at Scabior who gave her a wicked smirk before laying a card down for his turn.
"Scabior, go get us some'fing to drink. A Firewhisky sounds nice," Fenrir said in a lazy voice, reaching over for Scabior's package of cigarettes and stealing two without asking. He lit them both up simultaneously and handed one to Olive, who took it with a grimace, certainly not going to turn it down after the earlier incident. A moment hung between everyone - Scabior shifted uncomfortably, his eyes darting to Olive, then he nodded and stood. Olive could tell he didn't want to leave her alone with him and she shot him a rather nasty look. She could take care of herself just fine.
"What d'you want, Olive?" Scabior asked, an undertone of menace lacing through each word which Fenrir either didn't notice or pretended not to as he shuffled the cards.
"A Butterbeer would be nice, butler," she said, tongue in cheek, and Greyback roared with laughter. Oh, she would pay for that, she knew she would, but she couldn't resist. Something about Fenrir's teasing made her want to do it while she could. Those small jabs made her feel loads better about her current predicament. Narrowing his eyes toward her, he spun on his heel and was gone from the room.
"Stick in the mud he is, i'dn he?" Fenrir asked, causing Olive to force her head down to stifle her giggle. There, Fenrir wasn't so bad, was he? Scabior had expected her to be prejudiced against him for merely being a werewolf, but she'd gotten along well enough with Professor Lupin. And surely those rumors couldn't be all true. Yes, he had an intimidating appearance, but he didn't seem that bad after spending some time with him. In fact, this was the most fun Olive had since the last time she was in Hogwarts.
Olive lit the cigarette, trying to cover the look of distaste she felt present on her face, and took a small drag. She inhaled softly, exhaling and managing not to cough.
"You excited for tomorrow?" he asked, giving her a careful look, "First day on the job, 'n all. Well, wiv' pay."
Olive's brow furrowed when she realized what a horrible person she was. Yes, she was excited for tomorrow. Not to be condemning others like herself, no, but to be making her own money at it. It was the one thing she could control that Scabior couldn't and she would cling to that until she got out of this mess, then beg forgiveness for her sins after. Olive gave a curt nod and Fenrir leaned across the table, lowering his voice to the slightest whisper. It was strange to see such a soft sound come from such a large man. "Don't trust 'im," he said, giving her a sharp look, "He can be very charming when he wants."
Before she could form an answer Fenrir sat back and Scabior returned with a bottle, two shot glasses, and a smaller bottle for Olive. She took another drag of her cigarette, only letting a small cough this time.
"There," he said in an annoyed tone, "I'm finishing this game and that's it. We've got a big day tomorrow and I'm not stayin' up all night with this nonsense."
Another small smile was passed between Fenrir and Olive, the latter bowing her head to hide it while the former nodded. The teasing made her able to push her bad thoughts aside, which she was thankful for. Charming. Yes, she could see that. If you'd of asked her a month ago, she would have laughed at the thought. But he'd somehow dampened her fear of him while they were on Diagon Alley and she knew it was that boyish mask he'd put on. Was she that easy to manipulate? Or was he that good at manipulating?
"Alright, then," Fenrir said, "I believe we were just about to kick your sorry arse again." Fenrir dealt out the cards and the playing continued, stretching on another hour or so until the bottles were drained, Olive had won, and all three were feeling rather sleepy from the alcohol.
After a lengthy argument about who slept where between the two men, Olive, much to her displeasure, ended up in the double bed with Scabior while Fenrir took her single bed. This was, of course, Scabior's way. Fenrir had argued that Olive should take her own bed while the two men shared the double bed, which only made Olive like him that much more. Oh, the look of horror on Scabior's face. Fenrir had been joking the entire time, but never let it on to the other, only giving Olive a passive wink before the argument had even begun.
Olive was happy to see that Scabior didn't try anything funny, though she knew this was more than likely because Fenrir was there and definitely not because he was having a change of heart. Keeping her body stiff as a board, so as not to accidentally touch him in any manner, she eventually drifted off to sleep, where things got really bizarre.
At some point in her dream - whether it was more towards the beginning or end, she didn't know - Scabior had made an entrance. But, it was different. Although she couldn't recall exactly how he was dressed, she knew there were no menacing boots or plaid trousers. Not even his coat, which she'd hardly seen him without. That, though, was only the tiniest change compared to the rest. He was smiling, really smiling, and the feeling Olive got was what terrified her the most. It wasn't fear or loathing or hatred. It wasn't love, no, certainly not, but it was adoration. Pure adoration for him, her heart picking up as he neared with that smile on his face. He even laughed, brushing the hair from her face with both hands and bending to place his lips on her forehead.
Olive's eyes shot open, then over in Scabior's direction in an accusing manner, thinking he'd messed with her mind while asleep, but he was facing the other direction with a steady stream of breath going in and out.
Her hands began shaking as she tried to swallow the knot in her throat.
What was that?
What the fuck was that?
The rest of the night she couldn't sleep and eventually slid out from the covers, feeling the need to put as much distance between herself and him as possible. As quiet as she could, she rustled through the things in her bag, pulling out a warm enough outfit for the day and practically running to the bathroom where she locked the door in a heartbeat. The clothes were thrown to the floor and the taps turned on cold while she wildly splashed her face a few times, looking up to the mirror, even her knees trembling.
What the fuck was that?
With no idea of the time, she changed in haste and went out into the bitter cold were she sat near fallen tree, feeling suffocated in the small tent. She brought her knees to her chest, wrapped her arms around her legs, and rested her face between them, rocking herself to and fro to keep warm.
"What the fuck?" she whispered to herself, voice frantic.
It was just a dream. It couldn't have lasted thirty seconds. The dream was probably alcohol induced, was all. It had to be. She'd never, ever, ever in a million years dream of something so - she shuddered at the thought. Looking up at the pale blue sky, she ran a hand over her face, brushing the hair behind her ear just has he had, her bottom lip quivering at the thought.
What the fuck was wrong with her? This man - this fucking monster - had beaten her, murdered her father, raped her, belittled her, manipulated her. She shook her head, placing it back between her knees. It was nothing. It was her subconscious reaching out to tell her that was how she wished things to be rather than how they were. Yes, that made perfect sense. If he weren't such an absolute monster - had he never done any of those things to her - if he was normal, respectable, then, yes. She could understand that. She accepted that. She clung to that theory. Like Fenrir said, he was charming. It had to of been the way he chuckled at her in Diagon Alley, warmth in his eyes. It was a façade. This is what he wanted, he wanted her confused. Scabior was sick, this was just part of the game.
Inside the tent, the men dressed. Fenrir was in a grog, noticing nothing out of place, while Scabior was sharp, knowing Olive couldn't have gone too far or with the intention of escaping. It was an ease on his mind, this Vow they'd taken.
A twig snapped and Olive's head jolted up, looking up to the man who was on her thoughts, then right back down to her knees.
"You forgot your armband," Scabior told her, voice rough from sleep. He watched her fidget at his voice and was happy to see maybe she knew the trouble she would be in over how she acted last night. After Greyback left, of course. "Come here, let me tie it on you."
Olive's cheeks grew a vivid pink, a mixture of both the dream lingering and the embarrassment of the dream itself. When she stood, she kept her eyes glued to the ground, almost as if it would pain her to look away. Unknowing to her, Scabior arched an eyebrow.
"Something wrong?" he asked
Olive gave a stiff shake of her head, taking a steadied breath as he wrapped the red band around her arm, and darting away from him as soon as it was done.
Fenrir exited the tent and stretched, yawning loudly. Scabior narrowed his eyes toward the werewolf, wondering if it was something he had done or said to Olive while he was asleep, but he laid out no accusations.
"Got the enchantments up?" Greyback asked, looking over toward the two of them, to which Scabior shrugged and waved his wand.
"Now they are," Scabior said, eyes still boring into Greyback, wondering what he had done.
"Well, then," he said, face menacing, "let's do some Snatchin'."
The next few days for Olive included Snatching and staying as far away from Scabior as humanly possible. That was about it. On their first day, they'd managed to find a group of three wizards and two goblins. One of the wizards, a boy Olive recognized from her year in Gryffindor house, and one of the goblins managed to escape. The other three were captured, interrogated, and then killed in one of Scabior's furies. "Weren't worth much anyway," Greyback told her with a shrug. "Ten for the goblin, maybe 50 for each of the mudbloods." Olive didn't remember the names of two, but the older wizard's last name was Tonks and she wondered if he had been related to the lady who helped her with her Metamorphmagus lessons.
The second day went better. They caught an entire camp of mudbloods. Thirty all together, traveling in one big camp. They waited all day, well into the night for them to sleep. Idiots only left one guard awake, who was easy enough to bind and silence. Then Scabior and Olive took to the tents one at a time, first silencing them while they slept, then binding them and carrying them out to the growing pile where Greyback kept watch for runners. They'd set up camp there when they were finished, rummaged through their things for valuables, and in the morning cashed in at the Ministry. That trip alone earned them each 300 galleons. Olive didn't even feel bad about it. If they were stupid enough to travel in a huge pack, not put up enchantments, and only keep one guard, they deserved to be caught.
The next few days were alright. Greyback would disappear every now and then to try and see if any of the Snatchers he was now over had stopped in at the Ministry. A few had straggled in and had been told to go home until they heard word from Greyback. There were still two more that had yet to show up and Fenrir wanted to wait until he had his whole crew before taking off. Scabior was beginning to suspect he was prolonging his time with them in case they ran into Harry Potter, so he could take a chunk of the reward. The thought angered Scabior - Olive was his and she was going to find Potter, therefore the money should belong to them.
After about a week, the fiasco happened.
It was early morning and the sun was peeking over the trees as the birds were beginning the chirp. It was also so cold that it hurt to breathe and Olive's feet were already hurting from her old hiking boots. They were walking the woods one careful step at a time and the ground was rough there, causing pains to shoot through her heel with every other step. Should any one of them see anything, they were to give a two-note whistle. Olive couldn't whistle, so to make things easier they put her in the middle where their hearing reached. If the runners made any noise in Olive's path, the men would hear and apparate to her. After that was decided, they had spread out and combed through the forest, having heard shouting voices not five minutes after apparating there.
There it was again - a voice talking from not too far away. To Olive's annoyance, she realized it was somewhere in front of her. The others would have heard that, surely, since they weren't even a mile from each other. Might as well check out what she could before the men got there. Swallowing to prepare herself, she slowed and eased her steps, peering from side to side. Up ahead there was a drop-off and she was almost certain the noise had come from there. Getting on her stomach, she crawled across, peering over the other side. There it was, a small tent nestled in the valley. Fucking idiots, why didn't they use an enchantment?
"It's not my fault they're stupid," she muttered to herself, getting into a crouched position and stepping sideways down the slope, so as not to bring attention to herself. Her wand was out, just in case, but she wanted a closer look to see if she recognized either of the two. Nearing the bottom of the hill, she noticed the voices were coming from inside the tent and she crept forward, careful not to cast a shadow on the side of the fabric as she rounded the tent. The flap opened and she froze, though the woman passed without seeing her. Olive was half-hidden by the corner of the tent, not sure whether to duck behind or stand still as stone. Either way would risk detection.
"I'm not fucking leaving yet!" called a man's voice from inside the tent. Olive's blood ran cold when she realized that she knew the woman. It was Undesirable No. 7 - Henrietta Walrich. She had been the head of the Muggle Liaison in the Ministry and had to go on the run after refusing to implant memories of knowledge and fear of the wizarding world into the minds of captured muggles. The last poster Olive had seen had boasted a 20,000 galleon reward for her capture.
Without warning, the woman turned and froze, seeing Olive. It was now or never. Olive started toward her, raising her wand, but the woman was quicker and disarmed her. Not dissuaded, Olive lunged, grabbing onto Walrich and effectively tackling her to the ground while the man fell from the tent and took off, leaving the woman behind. Two pops were heard while Olive struggled with the woman, who was trying to turn her over so she was on top and could escape. Footsteps hurtled from behind and suddenly Olive felt herself trapped, wrapped in thick binding and unable to move save for squirming.
"Wrong fucking one, you idiots!" she screamed, thrashing while the other woman got untangled from Olive and shot away, darting into the woods like the man before her had. Olive laid in disbelief as both Scabior and Fenrir zoomed past. "Run faster!" Olive screamed, "She's number seven!"
She must have laid there for nearly a half hour after she'd lost hearing of their footsteps. Surely to Merlin they hadn't captured them and taken them straight to the Ministry without coming back to release her first. Though, the more she thought about it, the more it became a possibility. They were both the sort to leave her laying there so she wouldn't get a cut of the gold.
Another half hour passed before she heard angry muttering and footsteps crashing through the dead leaves. It was bitter cold, but at least there wasn't snow on the ground here. When Scabior finally entered her vision, her stomach dropped. The two had gotten away, she could tell from his expression. Scabior's track record was beginning to slip and people would begin to talk.
"Fat load of help you were," Scabior accused, whipping his wand through the air to release Olive from the bindings. "If you could have just managed something as simple as disarming, we wouldn't have lost them."
Olive stood and shook the ropes from around her, anger bubbling in her stomach. "I might have been more help if one of you two idiots hadn't fucking bagged me instead of the hag!"
The backhand came so quick that it took Olive's breath away, knocking her back into a tree.
"I've never missed," he spat, anger evident in his eyes. "Blame Greyback."
'Blame Greyback,' he thought. Scabior had never seen the werewolf miss on his aim, either. He suspected Greyback had intended for Scabior to go back to Olive sooner, so he could cash out on Walrich all for himself. Unfounded, though, Scabior could say nothing. Especially since the witch had gotten away. He gave Olive a final chilling look and apparated back to camp.
Olive felt warmth on her face and raised a hand to her lip, realizing he'd split it again. Camp seemed like the last place she wanted to be, but she couldn't handle the cold anymore and violent shivers had already begun while she was tied up on the ground. She straightened herself and began the search for her wand, finding it finally behind the tent. Knowing Scabior had left in a fury and Greyback didn't seem to be returning, she took it upon herself to sack the tent the witch had left behind. Scabior was clearly at a breaking point between Greyback and Olive, so maybe if she found something valuable and handed it over to him, she could buy herself a few loyalty points. It felt good to give him a hard time with Greyback, but that backhand reminded her exactly who she made that Unbreakable Vow with. Scabior was her partner in this and her life laid with his whims - she was going to have to start being more smart about how she treated him.
After everything had been tipped over and broken in the tent, Olive found it. Hidden in a pillowcase was a long, slender box. Inside was payment enough to keep Scabior sated for the moment. It was a thick gold chain, the pendant at least three inches across, a deep emerald stone. It was no 20,000 galleons, but she bet they could get at least 5,000 out of it to the right seller. Olive grinned, stuffing it into her bra. It was important that Greyback not know, he might see it a slight to their friendship. With a crack, she apparated back to camp, passing an irritated looking Greyback who was sulking outside by the fire. Good, they were apart. When she entered the tent, Scabior shot her a nasty look but she held a finger over her mouth, eyes telling him to follow her. Back in the bedroom, she turned and found him on her heels, confused expression. With a triumphant smile, she pulled the necklace from under her shirt and presented it to him.
Scabior's eyes lit up in an instant. He looked it over with care, inspecting every inch, holding it up to the light, biting on the metal. The look on his face told her this was the real deal. Silent, so as not to alert Greyback, he brushed the hair back on both sides of her face, grasping the sides of her head as he planted a kiss on her forehead, grinning against her skin. Olive's stomach clenched, though she couldn't help but keep smiling.