EDITED: 02/21/2015
Chapter Thirteen
The first night, Hermione didn't show up. She didn't on the second, either. By the third morning, Olive was beginning to get a bad feeling that this wasn't going to work out. Each time she saw Scabior look at her, it made her skin crawl even worse than normal. Whatever had happened between them in that muggle motel, she wanted to forget. The madness that took her over, the way he looked at her when he shook her, how he'd bothered to clean her face while she was out. Waking up to see he'd dressed her and pulled the covers over her would have been the worst, if it wasn't for what followed. The way he clenched her to his chest, threatened her, kissed her neck. When he said he'd go back to normal when she did. Olive replayed that moment over and over during the next few days while she laid in his tight arms. He admitted it, then. He was different now. Things typically went unsaid between them. It was unsettling to have something so out in the open, Olive wasn't sure how to feel about it. But, every time thoughts of that motel crept into her mind, she would let out a great tremor, begging herself to forget. If she kept pushing it from her thoughts, it would eventually be like it didn't happen. Part of her didn't want to forget, though. It made her hatred for Scabior burn fiercer.
Things in the tent were still tense. Greyback would disappear several times a day and Scabior would scowl each time. "Goin' off to scout for new camp sites," Greyback had told them and Scabior was sick of moving around so much. Olive, of course, knew Greyback was sending her message out over the radio, but she had to scowl along with Scabior so he might not think anything was out of place. If he suffocated her with his arms at night, he suffocated her with his jealousy by day. The glances she and Greyback shared had grown to be only a few. Olive kept her eyes glued to her hands when the werewolf was around in fear that Scabior would lash out.
"What do you want for dinner tonight?" Olive asked Scabior, her back toward him as she supervised the dishes that were washing themselves. Fenrir was out for the third time that day.
"Prob'ly just the pub again," he said, a note of distaste in his tone. They'd had the pub for the past two nights, it being Olive's only excuse to leave. First she would check the spot where she and Hermione had parted, then wait about ten minutes after sundown. When she didn't show up, Olive would apparate to Fleet Forest, tell Greyback that Hermione hadn't met her, and then go to the pub to get dinner for the three of them, like Scabior thought she was doing all along. Each night Scabior bitched about her taking so long, but was sated when she prepared his food, but left Greyback's on the counter. One of her shared glances with the wolf was an apologetic one that he just shrugged at.
Olive didn't mind the pub, though. They had a beef and barley stew she'd begun to crave day and night. It reminded her of her dad, who used to make it on the chilly winter evenings. It made her feel like maybe he was still out there somewhere. If he was still out there somewhere, that meant he wasn't watching her from the afterlife. Olive didn't want her dad to see what she was becoming.
"Pub again?" Scabior asked to Greyback that evening, after he returned from his fourth trip that day. Greyback nodded and the two rattled off what they wanted to eat for Olive to remember. It would have been easier to write it down, but the paper in her bag was still a secret. Instead, she repeated the complicated order over and over in her head, hoping Hermione would show up tonight and she wouldn't need to recall what they wanted to eat. When she stood to leave, she and Fenrir shared a look. Ten minutes. They had the timing down pat now. Olive gave a long look to Scabior, wondering how much longer it would be until he was dead. He must have sensed her dark feelings because his brow tucked, but she turned and apparated before he had the chance to say anything.
When she landed in the stretch of trees, Olive nearly jumped out of her skin. Hermione was standing there with crossed arms, trying to keep from fidgeting. The girl jumped as much as Olive had.
"Where is Ron?" was the first thing from Hermione's mouth, face etched with worry. Olive didn't answer at first, instead pulling her wand out to set up a few wards. Hermione didn't find it out of place, this was common practice now. Witches and wizards on the run from the Ministry set them up to be safe from the Snatchers. Olive only set them up so Potter wouldn't stumble out and find them.
"With Snatchers," Olive lied once she'd lowered her wand, turning to the other girl. Hermione looked ill in an instant, not offering a reply.
"They caught me again," Olive continued to fill Hermione's silence, "They made me take an Unbreakable Vow not to hurt any of the Snatchers." The half-lie felt heavy on her tongue. "Or else I would have just blasted them away and helped him escape. That's why you have to do it. You're more help than I could be." Hermione had a far-off look in her eyes, uncertain of the entire situation. Olive wondered if she was even listening to her well-prepared story. "You understand why Potter can't know. We can't lead him into a Snatcher camp, everyone knows who he is. You're smart, though, and they don't know your face. If they find you, I know you can talk yourself out of it. I wouldn't be here if I didn't think they were going to kill him soon."
Olive watched the bushy haired girl swallow, drawing a deep breath after. "What do you want me to do?" Hermione asked, eyes finally moving to meet hers. It took a great amount of self-control to keep the smile from spreading across Olive's face.
"I'm going to impersonate you," Olive started, "And go keep guard over Potter. He's too important to leave alone. If he gets killed, the war is lost."
'If he escapes, my war is lost.'
Hermione cast a glance over her shoulder, probably in the direction Potter was in.
"Show me where Potter's at, I'll take you to where Weasley is after you show me. I'll come right back to Potter. As soon as you get back with Weasley, I'll go and you guys need to move camp. If they find out what I've done and torture me, I don't want to know where you've gone."
Olive's body gave a twitch at the stress of the situation. Hermione was looking at her with distrustful eyes. Olive gave a second twitch.
"Olive," said Hermione, drawing out her name and looking every inch of her beaten face over. "Did they torture you?"
Her body gave yet another jerk. Hermione was clever, Olive knew, but she seemed to tell from her twitching that she'd been tortured.
"Scabior did," she admitted. "I don't think I'll be quite right again."
Hermione just stared at her with wary eyes. "How do I know you're not Imperio'd?" the girl continued.
This wasn't going as planned. Olive was getting a sick feeling in her stomach that Weasley had already returned and they were getting ready to ambush her. She shot a nervous glance over her shoulder, but there was nothing there. Had a twig snapped in the distance or was that her imagination? Had Greyback grown tired of all this and told? Had Scabior found her out? A shudder ran through her body, stealing her breath. He may not have let her kill herself the other night, but Olive knew he would take great joy in killing her over something like this.
"Ask me a question," she blurted, eyes scanning around them. "Hurry, I think they may have found me out." Olive was trying to force Hermione into a faux sense of urgency, though her own chest was tightening, half-believing Scabior was going to jump out and snatch her back. The pain from being under his wand ran through Olive's mind. Two more shudders snaked through her.
"Who was the first person you saw when you woke up in our tent?" she asked. Olive scrunched her eyes, trying to remember if it was Weasley or Potter. One had been sitting there and stood when she woke, knocking the chair over backwards.
"Weasley," she decided, recalling that Harry had burst in after she woke up. Hermione narrowed her eyes, looking Olive over, but finally nodded. Olive's tension eased a little, but there was still a slight shake in her hands.
"What happened to you? What happened to Ron?" Hermione prodded, not hiding her fear or worry. It must have been nice being able to so openly display your emotions. She and Scabior had never known that peace.
Olive drew a breath, jerk running down the arm that clutched her wand in a tight fist. The excitement of Hermione showing up was proving too much.
"I was recaptured by Scabior right after I left you," she started. "He was still lurking about and heard me tell you I was going home." She thought it best to skip the part where she used Potter as a bargaining chip for her own life. "They made me take an Unbreakable Vow," she said, also leaving out the bit about the Dark Lord. "I'm being kept as a plaything right now. Entertainment. I'm sure as soon as he's bored of me, I'll be killed."
Something gnawed inside her, knowing that was the most honest thing she'd said so far. But, if it came down to her dying, she would take Scabior down with her. One way or another, he was going to die. If not by her hand, then by her design.
"He's come close a few times. To killing me, I mean. He tortured me so bad that I've begun losing my grip on reality." Olive paused, giving Hermione a long look. "I even tried to break my Vow in a fit of madness. I guess I just wanted to help you before I become a shell of a person with nobody home."
That last bit was genuine, at least. She did want to help Hermione.
"The Ministry has the Snatchers cracking down on these radio stations. That's how we came across Weasley. He was captured by our unit and we instantly recognized one another. They almost killed him when he used a fake name, but I jumped in and pretended to know whoever he said he was. They found us out and that's why I'm here. He told me you all had a falling out and that's why he ended up with the Potter Pirates. I had a trusted friend return to their tent and send out the broadcast to grab your attention. They mean to take Weasley to the Dark Lord, torture information out of him, then torture him for sport until he's not right in the head, worse off than me. I've seen sick things, Hermione, I don't want him to go through that. I know how much he means to you and Potter."
It was a lot to digest, Olive knew. Lines were deepened in Hermione's face from thought. Each snippet of information was processing, the wheels turning in her brain.
"I have to tell Harry."
Olive's breath hitched in her throat, eyes widening as another twitch ran through her body.
"Hermione, you can't," she said, traces of panic in her voice.
"I can't just leave!' she said, eyes turning back over her shoulder again. Potter had to be in that direction. If there was one thing she'd learned from Scabior, it was that the targets always gave themselves away. "He's Ron's friend, he deserves to know this, too!'
If it came down to it, Olive would Crucio her, wait until she was weak enough, and take her to Greyback herself. She didn't want things to go like that, though. It could draw attention. And attention would blow the whole plan to pieces. Everything must stay discreet.
"I'll just do what I did last time," Olive said in a hurry, morphing her bruised face into Hermione's, then following with the rest of her body. The girl just watched her, unsure of what to do. "We can't tell Potter," Olive continued with Hermione's face, "He won't let you go alone. It'll get all of us killed."
Silence rung between the real and the impostor Hermiones.
"Okay," said the real one.
"Take me to Potter," said the fake.
Olive released the wards that surrounded them and took off after Hermione, who was walking in the direction she'd looked at earlier. Olive hid the smirk that threatened to grow on her face - she was right about Hermione giving Potter's location away with her over-the-shoulder glances. At least something useful came from Scabior. They stepped as quiet as they could through the brush, not wanting Potter to hear and poke around until he found them. Or anyone else, for that matter. Olive cast another look around, fearing Scabior would step from the trees with that snarl of his.
"When I heard the radio this morning, I brought us back here so I could be near," Hermione muttered after they'd walked about ten minutes. She raised a finger and pointed to two large trees that dominated a clearing. "Camp is right there, between those two trees."
Olive was so eager to bag Potter that she twitched the whole way back from where they came. They knew they couldn't apparate so close to camp or he'd hear.
"Is there anything I should know before you leave?" Olive asked, "Where did you tell him you were going when you came to meet me? In case he comes out to talk."
"Hunting mushrooms," Hermione said, stopping and turning to look at her twin. "He may talk about…things you don't understand. If he does, just try and look deep in thought. Or say you don't know."
Olive nodded, then looked around. "I think we're far enough out," she said.
Hermione was fidgeting with her clothes. "Merlin's pants!" she said, "Our clothes! How could we be so stupid?"
Potter probably wouldn't have noticed anyway, but Olive played along and the two of them swapped outfits among the trees. Olive noticed Hermione had lost weight since the last time she'd worn her clothes. She had to morph herself a bit smaller to fit the jeans, an uncomfortable pressure at morphing so small. A metamorphmagus could only morph as small as their frame allowed. It was apparent that Hermione had a much slighter build, as Olive struggled to hold the guise long enough to button the trousers. When she finally got them fastened, she exhaled, the denim digging into her expanding skin. It made Olive wonder how often Hermione got to eat. Maybe she took for granted getting to eat the pub every night. Not a single pound had been lost on her, only muscle built. For once, she saw that maybe being stuck with Scabior could be worse than it was.
"Ready?" asked Olive, linking her arm with Hermione's, who only nodded. Then they were spinning, bodies pressed together, and landing on the ground with a distinct popping noise. While their surroundings were still spinning around them, Olive's wand flew from her hand and then Hermione was disarmed. They were both bound in ropes at the blink of an eye.
"This one is me," Olive said to Greyback, calm as ever as she made her face flash back to how she normally looked long enough for him to see. When he nodded, she morphed back into Hermione.
"Olive?" asked Hermione, hurt and betrayal etched in each line of her face.
"I'm just keeping you safe," she said, unable to look at the girl and glancing up to Greyback instead. Olive remembered the first time she saw the werewolf, how large and frightening he seemed. "This is a friend," she continued to Hermione, not wanting her to be afraid. She was relieved when Greyback finally released her from the bonds that held her tight and she grabbed her wand.
"Where did her wand get to? I'll need it," she said. The two of them looked for it while Hermione sat in silence, face in shock, still processing what had happened.
"It's a good thing I lied to you about where Harry is," she finally said. A twitch ran down Olive.
"What did you just say?"
Hermione shuddered when she saw the darkness that crept over Olive's features, a storm raging in her eyes, the way her nostrils flared in the slightest, her mouth curving down into a snarl. Olive found Hermione's wand and tucked it into the back pocket of her jeans before kneeling down in front of her. She snatched the girl's chin up between tight fingers and forced Hermione to look at her. All semblance of friendship was gone between them.
"If you lied to me," Olive started, darkness flooding each word, "You've got about three seconds to fix it before I torture it out of you."
Behind her, Greyback shifted on his feet, crossing his arms. It was unsettling to see how much like Scabior she had become. Then Olive actually started counting to three and the werewolf thought maybe she'd grown even darker than Scabior.
"Three."
The word wrung out through the trees, Greyback growing anxious at the suspense, wondering if Olive would hold true on her threat. He hoped she did. The Granger girl was just looking at Olive with hatred in her eyes, mouth clenched shut. Those were always the most fun to make scream.
The werewolf grinned, watching the scene unfold. Olive stood with one of her jerks and raised her wand. Fenrir didn't buy into that flu shit. No, he'd seen enough people tortured into madness to know what happened to her. Scabior thought he was trying to cover the mess he made. He didn't realize yet that it wasn't a mess he'd made, it was a monster.
Screams pierced through the bitter air, the girl writhing under Olive's wand.
Yes. A monster.
Though the look on Olive's face was not a happy one, there had to be some part of her that wanted to torture the girl or the curse wouldn't have worked. The screaming went on for ages, Greyback having missed the sound while they were forced to look for those stupid radio stations, but when Granger gave a violent shudder, Olive abruptly stopped. Fenrir just stood back and watched. She'd hit her own nerve, watching the girl give small convulsions.
"I'm a Snatcher," Olive sneered, kicking the girl in the ribs, who let out a pitiful squeak and tried to protect herself from Olive's fury. "I'll find him either way, it's what I do." That earned a throaty laugh from the werewolf. "Keep her safe," she muttered to him, words sounding hollow after the display she'd just put on. "Don't kill Scabior until I get back. Sunrise tomorrow at the latest."
Olive couldn't look at him, disgusted with herself for what she'd done. When it made him laugh again, she apparated without another word.
Back where she'd met Hermione, Olive crumbled against a tree, hugging her knees to her chest. It felt like she should be trying to catch her breath, but her breathing was perfectly normal and that scared her even more. Why couldn't Scabior just have killed her or even let her kill herself in her fit of madness? Why did he keep her around when she was like this? It was far crueler than death. Becoming your worst enemy, at the hand of that same enemy, is the cruelest thing of all.
"I hate you, I hate you," she muttered into her knees, trying to cry. The tears wouldn't come. Because as much as she loathed Scabior and herself for what she'd just done, her adrenaline was still pumping, wanting more. She wanted to be powerful, to be cruel, to be feared. She wanted to be in control.
When her twitching died down, she stood and hid her wand in the waist of Hermione's jeans, which proved difficult with the tight fit, and pulled out the other from her back pocket. The growth underneath seemed even more treacherous in the darkness that had fallen. Olive half-suspected that Hermione had been lying about lying, just trying to undo her mistake. When she found the two large trees in the clearing and stumbled through, she found her hunch was right. There was a tent nestled there, the flickering light of a lantern leaking through the flap. No fire, she noted. Freedom was right on the other side of the canvas and she could practically see the angry look on Scabior's face when he found out she would be free of him.
When she poked her head into the tent, Potter was sitting at the wooden table, head in his hands. Their tent was even more pitiful than Scabior's, which was saying something. The room was cramped, the furniture pushed close together, and she wondered how they could stand living like that and not feel claustrophobic all the time.
"Harry?" she said, nearly calling him by his last name. She would have to remember she was Hermione now and Hermione spoke a tad more posh than came naturally to Olive.
The boy looked up, his hair falling down over his ears, framing his face with a shaggy mop. Yes, that was him. He only grunted in return. Olive noticed there was a thick chain around his neck, the top of some pendant poking through the buttons on his shirt. She thought it odd, as it looked feminine, but said nothing. It was best to keep her words limited while she waited to bag him.
"I couldn't find any mushrooms," she said, feeling as apologetic as she sounded. With the capture of Walrich, she and Scabior had grown used to eating well. It had been several hours since she'd last eaten, but judging by his thin hands, she wondered if it hadn't been several days since Potter had. The tightness of her jeans made her shift in discomfort, hoping Greyback had the decency to get Hermione a warm meal. Especially after what Olive had just done to her.
"You look tired," he said, giving her a softer look. "I'll take first watch, you get some sleep."
"No, no, Harry, that's alright," she blurted, tremor running down her arm, "You sleep first, I'm okay, really."
The boy just shook his head, standing from the table with a set face.
"No, Hermione. You've been up all day and were gone for ages looking for food while I just sat around useless. Sleep. I'll wake you up when I'm tired. I'll need the wand, though."
Need the wand? Not wanting to seem out of place and have questions arise, she held Hermione's wand out to him. The moment it was in his hand, she could have cursed herself. Why the bloody fuck didn't she just bag him then, when he didn't have a wand?
Stupid cunt.
A violent shudder took her over, but Potter had already left the tent, not allowing her another word. Olive jerked so bad that she watched the tips of her hair grow and turn to a lighter blonde. She shook her head and renewed the guise.
'Get it together,' she thought, 'Just a few hours more.'
Sleep was out of the question. When she went back to the bedroom, she looked at the three cots, brow tucked. Which one did Hermione sleep on? Something as small as that detail could blow her cover. In turn, she inspected each of the pillows. On the one in the middle, she plucked up a long, curly hair between her fingers. It was the best guess she had, so she slid onto the cot with a grimace. Hours passed, but Potter never returned. Her nervous fingers kept feeling over the spot in her jeans, making sure her wand was still there. Not that it could get up and walk away, but her head played so many tricks on her since that night in the snow that she kept checking, thinking maybe she only thought she'd checked the last time.
Though her eyes ached to close, she kept rubbing her face to stay awake, little jitters racing down her fingers. Olive didn't dare sleep for fear of being found out and killed. Another hour or so passed.
Greyback would be getting impatient. As the night wore on and Olive battled sleep, she cursed herself for being over-confident. They hadn't discussed what to do if she wasn't back before sunrise the next day. Had Greyback made arrangements to keep Hermione hidden for more than a day? If not, what would he do with her? Would he think Olive dead if she didn't return? Would he think she broke her Vow and ran? Question after question rang through her head and she thought of every possible answer. If anything, it was to help keep her awake.
Potter still hadn't returned by the time the sun peeked over the hills that surrounded them. Anxiety was rolling through her stomach while she sat outside the tent, having moved there two hours ago so that the cold would keep her from nodding off. Olive decided when he returned, she would just have to disarm and catch him unaware. If she had to drag him kicking to Greyback, she would.
Olive would do anything to escape Scabior.
But, then she heard it. Voices - more than one. And the dread clenched through her stomach when they stepped back into the clearing. Things just got trickier than she anticipated.
Weasley had returned.
And now she was outnumbered.