EDITED: 02/21/2015
Chapter Eleven
After they got to Fleet Forest and were settled into camp, the three of them sat for hours near a rusted radio that Greyback had brought with him. Olive was careful not to look at Fenrir. Scabior had her in his lap again and she occupied herself with the lighter chunk of his hair. It was the only part of him she could stand to look at.
"What happened?" she muttered, mindful of Greyback who was fretting over the radio, trying to charm it to scan. The metallic taste was flooding her mouth again and was making her feel nauseous. Like the ringing in her ears, it had been a constant companion since he'd tortured her and left her out in the cold that night. To chase the taste away, she grabbed another cigarette from his shirt pocket.
"My brother got cross with me for playin' with his toys. Threw my Mum's ash tray and split my head open. Never grew back the same."
"Your brother sounds mean," she said, dropping the hair from between her fingers to light her cigarette. She wished his brother would have thrown the ash tray a little harder and killed him. Now all the hard work was left to her.
"We all are," he said, giving her a dark look and stealing the cigarette from her fingers to take a pull, then he gave it back.
The ringing took over her ears, pounding into her head while she gazed at the tent wall. But, it wasn't the wall she saw. She saw Walrich's face deforming beneath her, the blood flying, the crack of the woman's teeth. Over and over and over she'd pummeled her fists into the woman's head, Olive's breathing as rhythmic as the hits, never once losing breath. The woman was sobbing, face so beaten and bloodied that it looked as if her skin had been peeled off. There was a sick noise and Olive smirked, watching the way Walrich moaned at her broken nose. Blood was everywhere, coating the woman's face, slicked on Olive's fists, stained into their clothes and the snow. It wasn't hard to pretend the woman was Scabior. It's all your fault, it's all your fault. Olive's hands wrung around the woman's throat, though it was Scabior's to her, and she began beating her head into the ground, feeling herself grow crazed with each thud, smirk widening with every -
"Olive."
She blinked, looking at Scabior, who had grown quite used to her zoning out. He nodded his head toward Greyback, who was giving her a funny look.
"You alright?" the werewolf asked. He didn't know about the hours of Crucios. It was her secret with Scabior. He wanted no one to know he'd fucked up the best chance at finding Potter and she wanted no one to know how weak she'd been. Olive nodded to Greyback, but said nothing. "This one was converted from a muggle radio," he continued, swatting the radio away in annoyance, "Can't get the damn thing to work, will ya look at it?" She looked at Scabior, who nodded.
'It's all pretend,' she thought, fighting the dark look that threatened to assault him. 'You don't own me.' At that, the corners of her mouth twitched upward and she stood from his lap, rounding the table to see what Fenrir's issue was with the radio. It took a lot of strength not to smile when she did, but her mouth twitched again, begging to grow. Olive reached down and flicked on the power switch.
"Muggles have switches to turn things on and off," she explained, still fighting off the urge to grin. If Scabior saw her smile at Greyback, he would make her do Merlin-knows-what and probably would command her to cut ties from the werewolf. And she needed the werewolf. Maybe she couldn't kill Scabior, but Fenrir could. Whatever he wanted, she would give him. Gold, sex, whatever it took. She needed Scabior dead.
It would be tricky. There was no way to get him alone and approach without Scabior lurking. A plan had already been formulating in her head. She just needed parchment and a quill. If she could escape him long enough to fake a shower, she could scribble a quick note to Greyback. Scabior would never hear the quill scratching on the paper over the noise of the shower and no words were needed to hand the note over to Fenrir. But, if Scabior found her out, if he commanded her to not interact with Fenrir, then all hope of that plan was lost. It would kill her if she tried.
When she sat back in Scabior's lap, he shifted to dig in his pocket.
"Almost forgot," he said, pulling out a silver hoop that matched the one in his ear. It wasn't until then that she realized they belonged to her - the hoop earrings her father had gotten her for her 17th birthday. Sickness rolled in her stomach and she drew a long drag off the cigarette, trying and failing to stop the jerk that ran through her body. When he pulled her close to run the hoop through her ear, her eyes glued to his neck. Olive was never good at anatomy, but she knew in there somewhere was an artery and she could see the top of his knife sticking out of his boot.
"There we go," he said, pulling back to look at his handiwork. Olive tore her eyes away with a blink, the corners of her mouth tugging up again. Scabior seemed to like when her lips did that. His hand found her cheek, thumb resting on the corner of her mouth, eyes absorbing the sight of her lips. Olive wondered if he meant it when he said she was beautiful when she smiled. She wondered if he would think it as beautiful when it was one of the last things he ever saw.
"Got 'em, got 'em!" Greyback said, clutching the radio to his ear, not realizing there was a volume knob or even what a volume knob did. "That's them," he said with a grin, "Callin' 'emselves the Potter Pirates. These radio stations are startin' to pop up everywhere. Ministry's wantin' us to make an example of 'em."
Scabior finally took his eyes from Olive's lips, only catching the last half of what Greyback had said. "That's great and all," Scabior started, "But how 'er we supposed to find 'em? Anybody can 'ear 'em, doesn't mean they're near."
Greyback grinned the most ferocious grin Olive had ever seen and she fought back the urge to shudder at his wolfish features.
"…live tonight from Fleet Forest, your refugees from among the trees…"
"Idiots," muttered Olive, hiding the cringe when Scabior's hand rested in the small of her back.
"They don't think nobody at the Ministry knows about 'em," Greyback said, teeth gleaming in the low light of the candle. "None of 'em do. There's Potter Pirates, The Mad Mudbloods, Potter Watch, the Order's Others. Prob'ly twenty of 'em and they're bein' stupid about it because they think they's the only ones listenin'."
"Let's go, then," Scabior said, tapping Olive's legs so she would stand. "If we're gonna bag 'em, bag 'em while they're broadcastin'. Then everyone will get the message loud an' clear."
When Olive stood, her knees shook from the soreness of what Scabior had done to her the past two days. Though, it wasn't as bad as the first few times he'd violated her. When she let him do it, he was less violent, didn't bother to beat her around when he could just pin her down. It didn't feel as bad, either, but she either imagined murdering him while he was thrusting into her or she pretended he was someone else - a stranger or once even Draco. Except for earlier that morning, when he'd woken her with his touch and she already had that warm feeling building inside her. There was no pretending that morning. It was Scabior. Scabior who ran his fingers inside her, Scabior who made her say filthy words, Scabior she cried out for. Scabior who owned the cunt between her legs.
If not for killing her father, if not for beating her bloody, if not for torturing her until she wasn't right in the head, she would see him dead for that morning.
But, she already knew he had to die. It was what she'd set out to do and Olive somehow got off the track, distracted, never finished the job. When she'd laid out in the cold in her own vomit, staring up at the full moon overhead, eyes drifting through the stars, she realized this was her fault. She should have taken her father and run at the beginning of summer, but she didn't. She should have taken her father and run when Scabior arrived in the park, but she didn't. She should have taken her father's body and run after she killed the Booke brothers, but she didn't. She ran to Scabior instead. He had to die, it was what she set out to do and all of this suffering wouldn't be for naught if she could accomplish it.
A lot of things died in her that night out in the snow - her will to find happiness, her will to run, her will to fight back. But, other things grew until they consumed her - hatred, bitterness, fear. She had to conceal them. If she wanted to see him dead, she knew what she had to do. Olive had to give him what he wanted. Only after he relaxed would he loosen the leash. He would mistake his control and her loyalty. And that would be the death of him.
When the three were walking out through the cool air, Olive stretched and rolled her neck. It was time to plant a seed in Scabior's mind.
"I miss having a real bed," she muttered, stopping to arch her back and tipping her head backwards, hair trailing down her shoulders. Her spine popped twice, the two loud cracks seeming louder than anything else around them. The comment wouldn't seem out of place. The beds in the tents were more comparable to straw sacks and Snatchers constantly complained of aches and pains. She felt Scabior's hand find her hip, sliding down into the back pocket of her jeans as they walked side by side. Bait taken.
Olive knew Scabior now like the back of her hand. The mention of a bed sent his mind to only one place and her arched back served to aid him with a visual. And she knew he would never touch her with Greyback nearby. No - tonight, tomorrow, the night after that at the latest - he would fold and take her somewhere because Olive was clever enough to know he would never ask Greyback to leave. She'd mentioned a real bed and he would deliver, the idea now in his head, brain clicking, thinking how a real bed would feel nice, how they could have privacy to do the things he wanted. He would think it was all his idea.
It may have seemed a ridiculous plot all for some parchment and a quill, but she was willing to do what it took. There wasn't a quill or ink to be found in their tent and the only parchment available were the maps and the book her father had given her as a child, which Scabior was still holding hostage from her. Both were out of the question.
Before, Olive would have never gone through the trouble - she would have been sloppy and made some stupid mistake that got her a black eye. Now she was willing to go far out of the way to get what she needed. The farther out she went, the less she looked to blame. She needed him dead, but first she needed parchment and a quill, as ridiculous as that sounded.
When the three of them went to separate, as they had before when they first came across Walrich, Scabior nuzzled his face in her hair and nipped her neck before leaving. Olive knew what he was doing. Greyback was watching and Scabior had gotten it into his head that the werewolf wanted her for himself.
The woods were all dark, all trees, all the same. It was even more dreadful in the darkness by herself, but she supposed her own company was better than Scabior's. And Greyback's company was out of the question.
How long she walked, she couldn't be sure. The cold was beginning to make her nose numb and her ears were ringing so loudly that she couldn't even hear her own footsteps. If she was on track for their target, she would walk right into their camp without hearing them first. Everything in her vision spun and she drew a breath, trying to steady herself.
Things got worse.
The ringing took over her head, vibrations pounding the sides of her skull, pushing the backs of her eyelids. The world tilted before her eyes, ground rushing up to meet her face. Too much, she'd done too much in the past few days. The metallic taste flooded her mouth and she tried to bite it back, wishing she'd thought to grab a cigarette. Everything convulsed once and then a second time, each reminding her of the agony of being beneath Scabior's wand that night in the snow. Olive tried to get up, but she was shaking too much and so she crawled on hands and knees, feeling out for something to grab on to and pull herself up.
The taste in her mouth gave her a rush of nausea and there was no holding it back this time. She heaved, spilling the contents of her stomach onto the dirt before her. Olive didn't hear them apparate, only the ringing in her skull, but she felt hands pull her up from the ground into a sitting position, someone pressed against her back, arms wound around her to keep her steady. After she blinked a few times, she could sort of make out Greyback's legs standing across from her, but her vision was dancing and she closed her eyes.
"I'll take her back," she heard Greyback say, his voice sounding warped, bursting through the ringing noise. Olive shook her head wide from side to side, feeling drunk again. In her disorientation, she still knew Scabior would think something was going on if Greyback took her to the tent. He was probably thinking something was up already, just because the werewolf offered.
"I want Dreagan," she managed, her words sounding distorted and his first name foreign to her tongue. A voice was shushing in her ear, then the other two exchanged words, though Olive couldn't make them out. The world began to dance before her eyes and it wasn't until the arms tightened around her that she realized she was convulsing again.
When she next became aware of her surroundings, she was being carried. A wave of nausea rolled over her and she bit her tongue to keep the bile down. "Cigarette," she muttered, head pounding.
The next thing she was aware of, she was in the tent, bent over the toilet puking again. Someone was holding her hair back and when she laid her cheek on the cool seat, she saw Scabior's dagger poking out the top of his boot next to her.
Each time her body jerked, it shook her to her core, even her bones aching in protest. The knife danced in and out of her vision and she imagined grabbing it and sinking it into his throat for doing this to her.
"It's alright, lovely," he said, so gentle and out of character that another shudder ran through her body. It took a few minutes, but he managed to get her standing on shaking legs and walk her over to the sink. Olive saw herself in the mirror, the sheen of sweat on her forehead, the greenish hue her skin had taken, the way her shoulders jerked despite trying to hold them still. In the reflection, she watched Scabior run the taps. The mirror was the last thing on his mind and so she just looked at him while he was unaware.
"Here," he said, raising wet hands to her brow and slicking back the loose strands of hair from her face. Olive didn't like the way his mouth tugged down and she'd never seen a look like that behind his eyes. Scabior was supposed to be a hard, cruel man. His look was laced with worry and it made her uncomfortable.
"Don't worry," she croaked, cupping her hands under the water and bringing them to her mouth before she continued, "I won't die yet. You'll still get to do that."
It was even worse when his frown deepened. He'd led her to the bedroom without another word and helped her into their bed, not bothering to change her from the dirt-ridden clothes she wore. Olive looked over at him when he sat on the edge of the bed, but he was facing away. She could tell his shoulders were tense, even hidden behind his dark hair.
"What happened?" he asked, not turning around to look at her. Olive didn't like that he was acting so strange.
"You tortured me too long," she said, blunt as always, and she tried to turn onto her side. The silence fell between them for a few moments too long.
"I know."
He never looked at her, never shifted in the slightest. Olive wondered if he'd even said it or if her brain was going wonky again.
"It was too much after yesterday and this morning," she continued, staring daggers into the back of his head. The seeds she planted earlier about comfy beds were probably scattered away when she had her fit in the woods. Best salvage what she could. Make him think of sex. She would do anything he wanted as long as she got to sneak a quill and parchment out of it. At least then there was a reason other than pure terror and violence.
Scabior never answered.
"Go get the radio," she finally said, unable to handle the tense silence. "And let's listen for Greyback to bust them." Olive watched him nod and stalk into the next room without even a glance her way. A bad feeling was flooding her stomach. She needed to gain his trust and she couldn't even get him to look at her. If he lost it on her and got violent, her body wouldn't be able to handle it.
When he came back in, he stood at the edge of the bed, arm extended toward her with the radio in hand. His eyes were on the tent wall behind her and so she just stared at him, not reaching out to take it.
"Here," he said, giving the radio a little shake. Still, she just looked at him. Finally his eyes darted to her, an annoyed look crossing his face. "Take it!"
"What did I do wrong?" she asked, eyes boring into him. "Let me fix it before you lash out." And let him think she's groveling, let him think she fears him.
Scabior's expression never moved. He just stared at her, some foreign emotion behind his eyes, and then slid onto the bed next to her. He laid on his back, staring at the canvas ceiling.
"You didn't do anything wrong."
Olive looked at him for a while, then propped herself up and grabbed the radio from his hands. Scabior's fingers opened to let her take it, but he otherwise made no movements. After a few moments of tinkering with the knobs, sound drifted between them. The radio men were still speaking, announcing the latest fatalities in the war. Greyback hadn't reached them yet, then.
"What happened?" Olive said, asking the question this time. She wasn't sure he was going to answer, several seconds dragging before he opened his mouth.
"I just heard you puking," he said, eyes never moving from the tent above, "Greyback did, too. We got there at the same time."
Olive played with the volume of the radio, turning it down a little. With the Potter Pirates broadcasting, Scabior talking, and her ears ringing, it was too much for her head to handle.
"And then what?" she prompted, realizing he wasn't going to continue.
Scabior drew a breath. "That filthy wolf said he'd bring you back. I wasn't about to let that happen." Olive noticed he said nothing about her asking for him over Greyback. "I carried you back. You 'bout smoked all my cigarettes on the way."
Olive only remembered the one cigarette, but she didn't doubt it. The nausea was overwhelming and the cherry smoke was the only thing that got the taste out of her mouth.
"Sorry," she said. The words hung between them, forgiveness some foreign concept that neither understood. Olive wasn't really sorry, but could think of nothing else to say.
"Don't say you're sorry," he spat, voice disgusted.
Olive looked at him long and hard, but he was far too stubborn to look away from the ceiling. His lips twisted down like he had a bitter taste in his mouth.
"What else do you want me to say?" she said, beginning to lose her cool. Heat ran into her cheeks while her brow tucked. "I smoked all your cigarettes, Merlin's fucking beard, I'll buy you another pack if that's what you want, what else could you want me to do?"
"I want you to go back to fucking normal," he said, teeth clenched and face contorting in rage. He had nearly looked at her, but he managed not to.
"Why?" she demanded, word ringing through the silence that followed. Fuck her plan, fuck her reserve, her anger was growing and gnawing the inside of her wanting out. "It's not fun anymore when I let you win, is it?"
If looks could kill, Olive would have been dead that second. Scabior's face seemed to take an eternity to turn, livid hatred burning behind every cell of his being.
"You killed that part of me," she said, body jerking as if on cue, "It's gone, it's dead and you aren't getting it back."
Scabior moved, fast as lightening, and snatched up her chin so tight she thought he was breaking her jaw. His face was twisted in a snarl, Olive's mirroring his own, their eyes on fire in a locked showdown.
"Aren't I?" he said, then shoved her head away and left the bed, stalking outside into the cool air.
It frightened her, the way he looked at her. Which only proved him right. There was still a part of her that feared him, still a part of her that was stupid and lashed out in fury. It made her even angrier with herself than she was with him.
It wasn't until several minutes later that she realized the radio station had gone dead. There was only a ringing noise pouring from the speakers that Olive had mistaken for the ringing in her ears.
"Kill them all, Greyback," she muttered, wincing as she moved to stand from the bed, radio in hand. She didn't feel like dealing with the outlaws.
When Olive left the tent, she thought Scabior was going to blow a gasket. She could tell he was exerting an amazing amount of self-control not to hit her.
"The bloody fuck do you think you're doin'?" he demanded, grabbing her arm and dragging her back toward the tent. "Get the fuck back in bed."
Olive tugged her arm from his grasp, thrusting the radio at him. It was still on and tuned, the high-pitched ringing noise screeching from the speakers.
"He got them."
Scabior muttered a few choice words, but never went to grab her arm again.
"If he asks, you've come down with some flu."
Olive shot him a nasty look in reply before retreating back into the tent.
It was close to an hour before she heard Greyback struggling through the woods. Even though her hearing wasn't as good as the two men she worked with, she could tell there were at least a few witches or wizards he was trying to drag.
"Should have killed them," she said darkly under her breath. Olive didn't join Scabior when he went to help, instead standing near the tent flap with crossed arms, watching the two drag four people into the light of the campfire.
A breath caught in her throat and she stepped in for a closer look.
No, it couldn't be.
Her eyes drifted across the other three bodies, holding in the sigh of relief. No bushy haired girl. On a second scan of the captured wizards, she noted no Potter either. Olive's eyes shot back to the red-haired boy. Ron Weasley alone. But why?
He was squinting through the darkness at her, then his eyes widened in shock. Just as his mouth opened, she shot her finger up to rest on her lips, giving him a wide-eyed look. When Scabior and Greyback turned back around, her hand was down at her side as if nothing had passed between the two. She was glad to see he'd shut his mouth.
Scabior crouched down in front of each person, one at a time, demanding names and checking the Ministry list he'd pulled from his pocket. Weasley was last and gave him some fake name that sounded ridiculous, Scabior tutting when he couldn't find it listed.
"That's him," Olive blurted, hoping she wouldn't need to remember the false name because it was already lost to her. "I went to school with him."
The men gave Weasley another long look, but seemed satisfied with Olive's testimony and left the lot tied up so tightly that they couldn't so much as wiggle. When the three Snatchers fled the cold for the tent, Olive gave Weasley a long glance before entering.
It seemed forever until the two men were asleep. It seemed even longer for Olive to snake out of Scabior's arms. Despite their exchanged words earlier, his arms had coiled around her like the ropes that bound those outside. It was suffocating.
From months of sleeping under the same tent with him, Olive knew Scabior woke often through the night and so she tried to hurry once her feet hit the floor, but each step sounded like a giant stomping through a city to her ears. Outside, the cold dug into her skin, but there had been no time to grab her coat. The four wizards were trembling, the chill of the air biting into them. All four were still awake and watched her with frightened eyes. It would be a lie if she said she hated it. It felt nice to be feared for once.
The other three seemed relieved when she knelt down next to Weasley. She had to bite back the grunt of pain at the movement, her body aching from her earlier fit.
Weasley was looking at her with untrusting eyes, but stayed silent. Olive bent down, her lips grazing his ear, and in the slightest whisper possible asked, "Why are you alone?"
She pulled back, making sure he'd understood what she had said before lowering her ear to his mouth.
"Argument," he whispered back, picking up on the need to be as silent as the breeze blowing through. When she pulled away to look at him, there was regret in his eyes.
"Others safe?" she breathed, once again at his ear. He nodded and so she continued, "How did you end up here?"
Olive cast a quick glance over her shoulder toward the tent. She'd heard a noise, but when she heard it again, she realized it was Greyback snoring. When she looked back, Weasley's face was strained in thought, but he gave a quick nod when he decided on his words.
"No place to go. Listened to their show, knew they were here."
Wheels were spinning in Olive's mind and she was so excited that she rammed her nose into his cheek when she bent to whisper, "Where are the others?" If she could impersonate Weasley, they could have Potter captured by morning and she could be free of Scabior and in the service of the Dark Lord. She wasn't sure which the better of two evils was, but she was willing to do anything to escape Scabior. She would need to get Hermione out somehow before the capture, but she hadn't gotten that far in her plan yet. But, Weasley threw a wrench in her plan when he shook his head. Either he didn't know where they were or he didn't trust Olive enough to tell her. If he was keeping secrets, she didn't have the means to draw them from him. Her magic was limited and time short. Instead, she sat back on her heels with a soft sigh, looking over to the other three. The radio wizards. A lightbulb went off in her head.
"Did you three listen a lot?" she asked in his ear, pulling back to nod toward the other wizards. Weasley gave her a strange look, but nodded. "Why?" she mouthed, managing to keep her face serious and hide her excitement.
"News," he whispered back. "Deaths."
Weasley's brow tucked and she could tell he was trying to figure out what she was getting at.
"Did the others listen?"
His eyes narrowed, looking at her face for a long moment. Apparently he found no reason there not to answer.
"Just Hermione. Got on Harry's nerves," he whispered.
That was all she needed.
Olive stood, giving him a quick nod before returning to the tent. Scabior barely stirred when she slid back under the covers, but muttered and had her back in his death grip within ten minutes.
Olive didn't care. She had a plan.
Her only problem arose the next morning when she awoke to Greyback's yelling and the dishes breaking again. All four of the wizards had somehow managed to escape in the night.
And now she was in a race.