EDITED: 08/17/2015
Chapter Fifteen
Adrenaline coursed through Olive. There were only three things she could hear - the twigs and branches snapping as they barreled through, Scabior's heavy breathing behind her, and the growing thrum of her heartbeat pounding in her ears.
In and out of trees, they weaved, branches and roots trying to snag them, but neither willing to fall. Around, the Snatchers would call out occasionally, a curse or in pain, but those things went unheard to the two of them. All else disappeared - the world consisted of just Olive and Scabior, the trees, the wind whipping their faces as they ran.
Olive dove right again, weaving past Potter who was headed the opposite way. Chains wrapped around the tree to her right, then her left, a heavy metallic clank that sounded like death. She raced past Weasley, who was struggling to continue, but he pushed himself harder. Scabior was right on Ron's heels, but he only had eyes for Olive.
When she heard Ron grunt, then a shuffle and a thud, she whipped her head around, slowing to try and help him. Scabior managed to trip over him, but was back on his feet in the blink of an eye, sprinting after Olive now that she'd slowed. Another Snatcher - Travers - was running right behind him, also shooting in her direction. The brush under her feet slid when she decided to leave Weasley behind and, for a sick moment, she thought she was going down. Olive pushed the bad thoughts away for leaving Ron, who had grown on her during her time with them. This was war, though. This was every man for himself.
A slick patch of leaves almost took her down again and so she spun, shooting black smoke from Hermione's wand to try and slow them down. Pain was coursing through her chest and neck, the Vow beginning to take hold on her for trying to escape him. Curses were flying everywhere, trees cracking and chains clanking, everything was pure madness and seemed even scarier with the way her heart was pounding through her whole body - so hard she thought it would give out at any moment. Each step that carried her farther away from Scabior drew her closer to death.
Olive wouldn't make it much longer, she was already slowing and clutching her chest when she barreled into a clearing, looking around with a pained look, unsure if she could continue. After she jogged a few more steps, heartbeat pounding through every inch of her, she saw the Snatchers had surrounded the clearing and were closing in through the trees.
'Stupid, stupid bitch,' she thought, a jerk seizing through her body. Olive had been outsmarted by a basic Snatcher formation, one she had practiced over and over again during the last few months. 'You're so fucking dumb.'
Another shudder ran through her at that thought, then a third when Potter burst through the trees. Olive knew Scabior would torture her for even longer next time if he found out she'd been with Potter all this time. With another wary glance around to the enclosing Snatchers, she raised Hermione's wand and hit Potter with a Stinging Jinx, not trusting any darker magic with a wand that wasn't hers.
As soon as Potter hit the ground with an oomph, Olive was next to him, kneeling and pulling the glasses from his face. The dazed look in his eyes cleared and he sucked in a breath through his swollen face. She eyed the Snatchers now, closing in, flooding the clearing. At least they hadn't been close enough to see who he was before his face distorted.
"The Hallows exist," he said, Olive huffing for breath and keeping her eyes on the Snatchers around them. "But, he's only after one of them, the last one - he knows where it is," he paused to take two quick breaths, "He's going to have it by the end of the night. You-Know-Who has the Elder Wand."
Olive never got the chance to reply - she was pulled away from Potter by the back of her jacket. Scabior stumbled onto the scene behind Harry, bracing himself on a tree, eyes still glued on her.
"Don't touch her!" Ron said from behind, right as Greyback punched him in the gut.
"Leave him!" Olive screamed, wishing she'd had the chance to hit him with a Stinking Jinx, too. Scabior and Greyback would remember him without a doubt in her mind. One punch was just the beginning of what was to come for him escaping.
"Your boyfriend will get much worse than that if he doesn't learn to be'ave 'imself," Scabior said, strutting out into the clearing as if he owned the whole forest. In a way, he did. This was his territory.
While Scabior had declared that Ron better behave, Olive screamed out and told Travers to get off her. Scabior had finished his sentence, but she noticed a smirk cross his face.
"What happened to you, ugly?" he said, once Greyback hoisted Harry to his feet. "Not you," he added with a grin to the werewolf, who threw him a look in return. "What's your name?" he continued.
Travers had Olive's arms pinned behind her back and each time she tried to get herself free, he jerked them tighter.
"Dudley," said Potter. "Vernon Dudley."
Olive didn't hear the rest of their conversation as Travers was whispering about the vile things he was going to do to her as she fought his grip. Scabior heard the threats, too, and ended whatever he was saying with an abrupt halt. For once, his heated gaze wasn't aimed on Olive, instead just over her right shoulder. When she felt her arms loosen from his grip a bit and Scabior's eyes move to hers, a jitter ran through her stomach, an unsettling reaction. Two strides was all Scabior needed to be in front of her, giving Olive a different sort of heated look - angry, loathing, longing.
"And what's your name, lovely?" he said, though she heard the cruelty in each syllable, the mocking of her disastrous plan. Scabior picked up the loose ends of her hair and bent to nuzzle his face in it, drawing a deep breath. Another jitter ran through her stomach and she looked to the trees in disgust with herself.
"Penelope Clearwater," she blurted, having no idea why the name came to her other than Clearwater had been kind to her during Olive's earlier years. That and she was half-blood at least. And Hermione would have been clever enough to use an alias. When he grinned up at her, a shudder ran down her spine. It spread to her stomach when he leaned in close to her ear.
"Are you sure you want to play these games, little kitten?" he asked, quiet enough that not even Travers could hear. Greyback did, though. Olive met the werewolf with wide-eyes, but there wasn't much he could do. The best he could come up with was jerking Harry's head back and pushing the hair from his forehead away.
'No, no, no, what are you doing?!'
"Dreagan, c'mere. I think this is Potter. Looks like 'is scar an' all, just a bit swollen."
A terrible shake took over her whole body when Scabior pulled her hair taut, forcing her face toward his. Olive had only ever seen him look that murderous one other time, the night in the snow when he tortured her. There was hatred in his eyes, disbelief, anger. A trace of betrayal.
It all made sense to Scabior now and he pushed Olive's head away with a grunt, turning his attention on the red-haired boy. If the other was Potter, this one must be the Weasley that was sighted with him. Oh, Olive was in so much trouble. He could smell it now - the woodsy scent that had clung to Olive's skin when he'd Imperio'd her at her house. It was this boy - this Weasley - he'd smelled on her. This Weasley who had mysteriously escaped from his tight bonds. This Weasley who called out not to touch Olive.
Scabior clenched his teeth, jealousy burning right through him. So, that was it, wasn't it? Olive was fucking this scrawny git. She probably loved him. It made him feel sick. Olive was his. His property, his possession. Olive belonged to him.
Without a word, he strode over and socked Weasley so hard that his hand went numb. Blood sprayed onto their clothes in little specks.
"Stop, stop!" screamed Olive, Scabior twisting back toward her with a crazed expression.
"You better keep your fuckin' mouth shut," he said, heat creeping up his neck, "I'll deal with you later."
"You're wrong!"
Scabior watched her for a moment, the pleading in her face making him grow even angrier. She was probably just trying to stall to give her boyfriend a break. At that thought he turned and socked the boy again, hoping she heard the low grunt that escaped the little git.
"You're such an idiot!" she screamed. All the Snatchers, even the two boys they held captive, grew silent and held their breath. Olive felt Travers tighten her arms again and realized his whole body had stiffened. When Scabior turned and met her eyes, the murderous glare had grown even more frightening, but she wouldn't look away.
"Nobody talks to Scabior like that," said a Snatcher she wasn't familiar with.
"I do," Olive said through clenched teeth, giving Scabior a look filled with as much anger as his. For once, she was still, no jerks running through her. The forest had grown quiet around them.
"Give her to me," Scabior demanded, crossing back over with a determined step. Travers shoved her into Scabior's arms, but she kept her eyes trained on his the whole time, not daring look away. "All you lot," he said to his men, "Watch these two gits while I go teach our little friend 'ere a lesson."
Weasley tried to wrestle out of the chains and arms of Snatchers, but Scabior apparated her away before either boy could get in a word of protest. Olive got only a split second to register that they were in his tent before he pushed her onto the wooden table, slamming himself down on top of her. His forearm was crushing her throat and his other hand snaked down between her thighs, clenching the denim in his fist, making her yelp out in pain.
"Who owns it?" he demanded, squeezing tighter with each word.
"Fuck off," she spat as well as she could, trying to pry his arm off her neck and kick him, but her legs were pinned beneath his. Olive thought he was going to explode at her words, his face growing tight. She'd never seen him this angry before.
"If you want to keep all your fuckin' teeth, you'd better answer me," he threatened, putting more weight on her throat. Olive gave a small noise of anguish when he squeezed the space between her legs as tight as he could.
"You're…hurting…me," she barely wheezed, unable to draw a proper breath. Tears were welling in her eyes from lack of air, her face beginning to turn a purple reddish color. The room danced around Olive, the edges of her vision mingling with blackness. Each attempted kick grew weaker and weaker until she stopped all together, her fingers fumbling on his arm, growing sloppy.
"I would'n 'ave to hurt you if you didn't run off and do this stupid shit," he said, pressing down even harder, no air reaching her lungs now. "Answer me, Olive, who owns you?"
Scabior watched her hands slide off his arm, but her drowsy eyes were still locked with his.
"Just say it and I'll stop," he continued, knowing there was no possible way she could speak, but enjoying how red her face was growing from the lack of oxygen.
"You," she mouthed, finally looking away. If Scabior had to assert his dominance over her every day to see the way her bottom lip trembled when she gave in, he would do it. He would keep Olive tied up in the tent if that's what it took to keep her by his side. Dark thoughts of Weasley touching his girl kept his forearm over her throat, but he lifted it enough for her to suck in a few wheezing breaths.
"Are you going to tell me what the fuck you were doin' runnin' off like that?" he demanded, the hand between her legs loosening grip, but remaining in the warmth it found there. "If you fucked that boy," he growled into her hair, "I will kill him slow and make you watch."
Fucking was something he understood. Feelings were not. If she loved that red-haired git, he didn't know what he would do. Just the thought made a black, raw emotion rise in his chest, a rage he had never known.
"I didn't fuck anybody," she said, eyes still searching for anything other than him.
"Did he kiss you?" Scabior asked, his forearm pressing down on her throat just the slightest more - not enough to restrict her breathing, but enough to get his point across. "Did his fingers crawl up your cunt while Potter slept?"
Jealousy was raging through him, thoughts moving to strangling the boy, beating his head off the ground, breaking every tooth in his mouth. Maybe he would have to cut Olive's face up so no one would ever try and steal her again, then he wouldn't have to feel like this anymore.
"Weasley never touched me," she said, keeping her eyes trained on the canvas ceiling above them. When his hand shifted between her thighs, goose bumps erupted down her arms and her stomach seemed to flip over. "He's not half as vile as you," she spat, new tears rising in her eyes, not understanding how her body could betray her for this monster on top of her. That was the vilest thing he ever did to her.
Scabior gave a satisfied smirk at her words. "And you know how vile I'll be if I ever find out you fucked somebody else," he said, his arm pushing farther down on her throat, causing her to take sharp, shallow breaths. Clenching her teeth, she gave a quick nod.
"Did you let that wanker go? When we captured that radio lot?" he said into her hair and Olive shook her head, hands once again finding his arm and trying to push it up for more air.
"No," she breathed, glad he allowed her throat another half inch or so. "I wanted him captured. I was only supposed to be gone for the night, but he showed up and fucked all my plans. I got stuck and couldn't do anything."
Scabior narrowed his eyes at her, searching her face for a long moment, though he wasn't sure what he was looking for. "What plan?" he asked, a slight accusation in each word. Olive took the change in his tone as a good sign and was beyond relieved when she wrapped her fingers around his arm and he let her move it away from her throat. She kept her hands on him, though. If he decided to choke her again, she already had her hands under his arm for leverage and protection. "Change your fuckin' face," he added with a flourish of anger, "I can't stand looking at this girl anymore."
A lightbulb went off in Olive's head.
"I can't," she lied. "I've been stuck like this because changing back wasn't performing magic for my Snatcher duties." Olive refused to look at him - if she did, he would know she was lying in a heartbeat. Changing back to what she really looked like wasn't performing magic, it was undoing it. "I need your permission to change freely or it will kill me." Plans were already cooking in her head - how she would get away from him and somehow disguise herself with a false face and some heavy perfume. "It's not like I could fool you," she added, hoping to stroke his ego. "You knew exactly who I was today."
Scabior said nothing and so she finally had to look up at him. There was still heat behind his eyes, but she was out of the danger zone. Still, her hands stayed on his wrist, knowing Scabior was as unpredictable as a roller coaster in the dark - up and down, angry and laughing, left and right, murderous and content.
"You can change whenever you want," he said, never tearing his eyes from her. "I don't buy into that bullshit about mudbloods stealin' magic anyway."
Olive fought as hard as she ever had to keep a smile from crossing her face. 'You really are a fucking idiot,' she thought, morphing her face back to her own. The rest, she left as Hermione. Scabior was going to get to the root of her original plan, but a new one was cooking in her brain and, if he agreed, she would be Hermione again soon enough.
"Good," he said, eyes drifting down to her lips as they so often did. He used to do that to Lysia and it made her angry. Olive didn't seem to mind - maybe she wouldn't mind if he did make her kiss him. Lysia was never a match for him, though she thought she was. That's why she was buried in a hole somewhere. Olive, though - Olive could hold her own. Olive was far more thought-consuming than Lysia. He'd never lost sleep over Lysia like he had Olive. He'd never gotten so angry at Lysia's absence that he broke things and tortured people. But, Olive did that to him. Olive did a lot of things to him that he didn't understand.
"Now, tell me about this plan," he said, eyes breaking from her lips back to her face. When he saw she still wasn't looking at him, the hand from between her legs snaked up to her jaw, forcing her head in his direction.
"I thought maybe if I brought you Potter, you wouldn't be so terrible to me," she lied, eyes straining to look elsewhere. Anywhere but at him.
"Look at me so I can tell if you're lying," he said, though the anger was draining from his voice. His thumb slipped up and ran over her bottom lip, thoughts preoccupied once again with her mouth. When she looked over at him, he tore his eyes away and met her own.
"When we captured Weasley, I wondered why he was alone," she explained, heat rising to her cheeks after how she saw the way he looked at her lips. This didn't go unnoticed to Scabior, who let his free hand brush over her cheek as he pushed Hermione's bushy hair away from her face. He said nothing, though, and for that Olive was thankful. "I snuck out after you and Greyback fell asleep."
Scabior, to her amazement, listened to her tell him about the conversation she had in secret with Weasley without a single threat interrupting. He watched her close, trying to detect the smallest lie, but a few times his eyes darted down to her lips while she talked.
"I impersonated their friend and went to find Potter," she said, skimping over the details of her alliance with Greyback. "When I got to him, I waited for the chance to bag him, but Weasley showed up and I was stuck. He's pureblooded, I couldn't hurt him."
Scabior gave an absentminded hum, fingers still stroking her hair. "You're not tellin' me something," he said, a disappointed scowl pulling at his lips. "I can see it in your eyes. How does this girl you impersonated fit into all this?"
Olive looked away again, but he jerked her by the hair, making her look at him. "Olive," he said, danger in each word, "You'd best tell me the whole thing or I might get cross with you again."
She wasn't sure if it was worth lying to him. If Greyback had thought her dead and told him their plan, Scabior already knew. This could be a trap she was waltzing right into.
"Their friend I was impersonating was the mudblood that had been seen with them," she said, caution in every word.
"And where is she really?" he asked, pulling her hair more taut.
"I had Greyback hide her for me," she admitted, the words barely crossing her lips. Scabior shoved her head away with a noise of disgust and Olive looked back to the canvas ceiling. Though she refused to even so much as glance at him, she could feel his eyes burning into her as he stood and backed away from the table.
"That fuckin' wolf was in on this the whole time? Just lettin' me search place after place for you, actin' like he didn't know a damn thing?"
Fuck, she should have lied. Greyback was a better friend than she expected. When Scabior swiped at the plates next to her head, she flinched, thinking he was aiming for her. Olive's eyes darted to the side, seeing there was much more broken glass on the ground besides those few plates. She could see Firewhisky labels stuck to some of the jagged pieces.
"63 days," he continued, anger rising in his voice, "63 days you've been gone. Do you see this?" he said, pushing her cheek down toward the table and jabbing a finger to marks carved onto the surface. They looked like tick marks. "One for each day you've been gone!" he screamed, "And he's known all along!"
63 days? That was impossible. If she were gone 63 days, that would mean it hadn't been a week or two since she'd lost count…it had been 40 days.
"You're telling' me," he went on, voice shaking in rage, "That you went behind my back and plotted with that bastard you know I hate?"
When she said nothing, he screamed at her so loud that she jumped, a tremor running down her arms.
"If you plotted behind my back, you'd better admit it or I'll make you wish you had, Olive!"
"I did," she squeaked, the fear evident in her voice. In one quick motion, he snatched her up from the table and began shaking her with such violence that the room was starting to spin.
"What - the - fuck - is - wrong - with - you?" he demanded, a sharp shake to each word before he growled and threw her to the ground. Pain stung through the palm of her hand, a sharp stab that made her cry out. When she lifted her injured hand, her other shot to her mouth to keep in a scream, which never passed her pursed lips. Scabior heard it though. He heard the panicked breathing, but he couldn't see her hand.
"Quit bein' a baby, get the fuck up," he said, crossing his arms and fighting the urge to kick her.
"Get it out," she said into her palm, clenching her eyes tight. "Scabior get it, please, I'm going to be sick, get it out!"
Scabior shifted on his feet, unsure what was happening. It was the first time Olive had ever asked him for help and the despair in her voice made his blood run cold. "What? What is it?" he asked, taking a step closer and seeing blood, but still not her hand. When she held up her arm, he saw the red running down her pale skin and clenched his teeth. A large piece of glass from one of his Firewhisky bottles had gone clear through her palm, the jagged point sticking out the back of her hand a good two inches.
"Get it out, get it out, get it out!" she was screaming, bouncing her legs, beginning to lose herself to panic.
"Calm down," he said, all traces of rage gone as he knelt beside her, "Don't look at it, I'll get it out. Find something and don't look away from it."
Olive's breaths were short, jagged. "Stop," he ordered, reaching for her hand, his palm getting sticky with her blood. "You're gonna pass out, stop breathin' like that."
"Get it the fuck out of my hand," she said, near hysterics, finding the patch of his reddish hair and keeping her eyes there like he said. When his free hand grazed the piece of glass, it wiggled in her hand and she let out a muffled scream. "Fucking hit me," she said, "Knock me the fuck out, I can't do this. Just hit me once really hard."
This was a part of Olive he'd never seen. Some part of him stirred, memories of her in the bath at her house, the way she was dependent on him to wash her. Others parts of him stirred, too, parts that he didn't know existed. Shame. Guilt. Scabior had pulled his hand away, the other gripping her injured hand at the wrist to hold it still. It was all her fault, though. If she'd never of run off, there wouldn't be broken glass all over the place.
"I'm not going to knock you out," he said through grit teeth. "Now, you've been through worse than this." It didn't make him feel any better knowing he was the one who had put her through worse.
"My hand is impaled on a giant fucking piece of glass," she spat, trying to concentrate on the patch of his red hair, but her vision was getting jumpy. "Scabior, I'm going to pass out," she declared, the room swimming.
"No-no-no-no-no," he said, catching her as she swayed forward, glad they were on the ground.
"I am," she said, face growing quite pale. Scabior grunted and scooped her up, not liking how light she felt compared to the last time he'd lifted her up when he found her out in the snow.
"Just stay right here with me," he said in a low voice, carrying her back to the bed. "Just keep breathin', I'll get it out."
"Do you see why I don't tell you anything?" she said, blame laced in each word. "You do this shit." Scabior gave no reply, instead laying her down on their bed as easy as he could, minding her hand.
"At least now if you pass out, you won't fall and hit your head," he muttered, taking another look at the glass.
"As if you'd even care," she said, glaring up at the ceiling. Scabior's eyes shot down on her and she could feel it, but she didn't dare look at him. Sickness was rolling in her stomach at the thought of the glass through her hand and her palm was burning like nothing she'd ever felt before, a different pain than the Crucios he'd hit her with over and over. Scabior was silent for a long moment.
"Do you know why I looked and looked for you?" he said, voice even. "For two months and I looked every day." His hand and the glass were forgotten for a moment, though he still gripped her wrist in his hand of steel. A different anger was rising in him, an anger to justify himself.
"Probably so you could beat me around and get off on it," she spat, the pain in her palm making her teeth clench.
"I thought somebody took you," he said, voice ringing through the silence of the tent. "I was sure somebody stole you from me. I didn't think you were stupid enough to go runnin' off with the Vow on you, but, as always, you had to be a snarky little shit and prove me wrong. No, I thought you were hurt or dead. I thought somebody I'd wronged might be holdin' you hostage to get back at me. That shit happens to Snatchers all the time. Mudbloods escape and go after someone close to get back at 'em for killin' their friend or their wife or whoever. So, yeah, I get cross with you and fly off the handle, but don't you ever think I'd let someone else lay a fuckin' hand on you. And if they did, I would torture'em until they didn't know their own fuckin' names. I was on a war path and you were off havin' adventures with Harry fuckin' Potter. What the fuck is wrong with you, Olive? Don't you have any idea how dangerous that was? You're lucky it was my unit that stumbled on you first."
There was no ringing in her ears and it made the silence deafening. The quiet stretched and stretched, filling the entire room, suffocating her. He thought she was hurt, he thought she was dead. He hadn't been chasing her down to capture her, he'd been chasing her down to rescue her. Just the thought made Olive feel more suffocated.
"Yes," she said, voice dry. Olive let her eyes fall from the ceiling to him. "How very lucky. Now if you'll kindly remove this giant fucking glass sword from my hand, we can go back to you beating me silly, back to fucking normal because I can't handle you saying shit like that."
"Do you hate yourself so fuckin' much that you can't handle the thought of someone being worried about you?" he spat, voice rising in the slightest.
"I don't hate myself," she said, voice raising to match his. The pain in her hand was growing and she avoided looking at it the best she could. "I hate you. And you hate me."
Olive did hate herself, though. She hated what she had become. She hated that she beat Walrich to near death, that she'd tortured Hermione. She hated how his worry for her made her stomach jump, how aware she was of his hand on her wrist, of how close they were now. She hated how this man was responsible for her father's death and she'd actually missed him while she was gone. The fights, the food, the warmth at night - she missed it all and didn't even realize it until now.
"I'm not going to apologize," he said in a stubborn voice.
"Good," she said, "Because we're a no-apologies pair, remember? You got cross with me the last time I apologized."
A pair. It sounded nice to both of them, though neither would ever admit it to the other. Scabior thought of that night in the muggle motel room when he thought he'd have to kill her, how he'd muttered apologies in her hair after she was unconscious.
"No apologies," he agreed with a tense nod, turning his attention back to her hand before the conversation got out of hand. Feelings were not something to be discussed with either of them. Both were in uncharted waters there.
Olive returned her gaze to the ceiling, biting back the bile in her throat each time the glass wriggled and pain shot through her hand.
"Just hurry up and do it," she said through clenched teeth, eyes scrunched shut.
"I can't," he said in a concentrated voice. "It's all the way through your hand, I don't know if you've ripped any tendons and I don't want to do more damage."
"Shut the fuck up," she said in a sickly tone. "Don't talk about tendons when I've got a giant piece of glass through my hand."
"No apologies," he said in a smart tone. Olive could hear the smile in his voice and, despite the pain and near hysteria, couldn't help it when the corners of her own mouth perked up.
"Fuck off," she breathed, though the grin was evident in her tone, too. Olive thought maybe she was also like a roller coaster - up and down, angry and smiling. Or maybe she was just along for Scabior's ride, giving him back whatever he doled out. Either way, they were a pair. The thought made heat rise to her face. It was a few minutes more before he spoke again.
"Do you want me to tell you what I'm going to 'ave to do or do you just want me to do it?" he asked. Out of the bottom of her eyesight, she saw him reach into his boot and she nearly shot off the bed, but he held her tight.
"That depends, what are you going to have to do?" she blurted, eyes wide at the dagger in his hand. "Cut my fucking hand off and call it a day?"
"A piece broke off," he said, "I'm gonna have to get it out with this."
Olive's eyes shot down to her hand, which was bleeding from an open wound. The long piece of glass was laying on the bed.
"You've already gotten it out?" she asked, shocked. Still, she looked away from the gaping gash in her palm, stomach rolling.
"Yeah," he said, pulling her hand toward him again. Olive was dumbfounded. Other than a few pinches and stings here and there, she'd felt nothing. Had she been alone, she would have gone full panic mode and just ripped it out.
"I just…I didn't feel much. I thought it would hurt more."
Scabior didn't answer and when she felt another sting in her palm, she knew he was concentrating. The knot in her throat grew, feeling his rough fingers around her wrist. Olive tried to swallow it and the thought, a new wave of self-loathing washing over her.
"Got it," he said, releasing her wrist and leaning back with a long breath. "No major damage," he said, "Let me grab the Dittany."
Olive laid in amazement at how simple it had been for him to get the glass out. When he returned, he used the little dropper to close the wound. It wouldn't completely heal, of course, but the new skin that grew would keep it closed for now.
"You did better than I would have," she admitted, making a fist and grimacing at the dull pain that shot through her hand.
"My Aunt Lottie was a Healer," he said with a shrug. "She raised me, was always patchin' me up from fights an' the like. She was really good, could even make things appear out of nowhere, symptoms and stuff. Got me out of a lot of trouble. One time she even gave me this potion that made me bruise real easy an' made it look like the other kid beat me up real bad so I would look better in court. Even tried to get me out of my Azkaban sentence, but…" his voice trailed off. "Didn't work out."
Olive wasn't sure what to say. This was the first time he'd ever talked to her about his family, other than his brother hitting him on the head and causing the discolored streak of hair. The idea seemed ridiculous - Scabior couldn't have ever been a child. He simply existed, no parents, no family, just him.
"She sounds like a handful," Olive said, watching him, the way his eyes had gone far away, like he was looking at something in the distance.
"She was," he said, finally coming back to the present and looking at her. "Died a few months into my prison sentence."
A beat of silence passed between them.
"No apologies," said Olive, looking away and toward the kitchen. "So, here's my plan," she continued, wanting to steer the conversation away from the odd truth that Scabior had a family and wasn't simply some being that just existed. "Greyback's going to be pissed, I promised him my share of the gold. It's not going to be near as much with all these extra men wanting their cut."
Only a slight lie. Olive had promised Greyback all of the gold, but he was going to have to get over it. There was nothing to be done, their plan fell to shit.
"You're not allowed to be friends with him anymore," Scabior said, voice stern.
"I didn't figure," she said in a dry tone, eyes still trained on all the broken glass and blood in the kitchen floor. "I was no more a friend to him than I am to you. I just used him."
It was true. Now that their plan had gone to hell, Olive was scrambling for her own good, not thinking about him. If Scabior got to bag Potter, what did she care if it meant she got to live another day. In the end, she wasn't playing for either of their teams, she was playing for her own.
"I have no need for friends, anyway," she continued. "I don't care who I have to hurt. This has been between us since the very beginning." Now she looked at him, face set in a determined expression, though it lacked the usual hatred. "And it will end that way."
Scabior crossed the distance between them, scooping her chin up in one hand, the other brushing the frizzy hair back out of her face for the umpteenth time. There was no violence in his grip. The closeness of him, the patch of reddish hair she could see just from the corner of her sight, the smell of stale cherry cigarettes, they all made her heart beat in a funny way.
"And until then," he said, watching how the pink coloring flooded her cheeks and the way her pupils dilated when he look down at her, "It's you and me against everyone else."
"Deal," she said and he saw the edges of her lips curl up. It made him want to kiss her, but he didn't dare. "Now give me a cigarette and let's talk about bagging Potter."
A half hour later, they apparated back to the others. Olive had redone her guise as Hermione and Scabior thought it best to leave the dried blood down her arm, just for added effect. Olive was bound and looked to be beaten, though the busted lip and bruising eyes were of her own design. Scabior was carrying her and dumped her on the ground near Potter and Weasley, just like they'd decided, Olive thinking it would be best to remain as Hermione until they delivered the boys. If they found out they'd been deceived, it would be a fight the whole way there. The way Scabior dropped her wasn't as rough as he'd made it look. His hand had cushioned the fall on her hip and they shared a glance before he pulled away.
"Took ya long enough, did'n it?" Greyback asked in a grumpy demeanor. There was something of distrust in his eyes as they'd lingered too long on the two, catching that Scabior had cushioned the fall.
"You know I get greedy from time ta' time," Scabior said, throwing a triumphant look at Weasley. "One time is hardly enough."
The men all laughed and jeered while Potter and Weasley shot looks to Olive, the latter's ears growing red at an alarming rate.
"Don't worry about it now," she whispered to them. "I'm okay, let's just get out of this." Olive didn't like the way Greyback was staring at her through narrow eyes. When Scabior turned his back to bark orders, Olive mouthed to the wolf, "I'll give you my gold," with an apologetic look.
There was nothing else to be done. Their plan had fallen apart and there was no way Greyback would have all the gold now, unless he took Potter and Weasley while the others were unaware and betrayed them all. Knowing this was a real possibility, a shudder snaked up her spine. That would look really bad to Scabior after how angry he'd been earlier over Greyback.
The werewolf made no move to grab the boys, though. He only stared at her through those narrowed eyes and turned away with an annoyed grunt.
'He knows.'
Olive's stomach twisted. Greyback knew something had happened with Scabior while they were gone. He knew the dynamic had changed. But she didn't know that Greyback was about to change it again, later when they were at Malfoy Manor.
Things had gone awry. Olive noticed the way Greyback and Lestrange had shared a look, the same sort she had shared with Scabior when he'd cushioned her fall. It was her turn to narrow her eyes. Then things went really bad. Lestrange flipped on the Snatchers over the sword Weasley had and they all ended up knocked out, being levitated out of the parlor to the outside courtyard. Even Scabior. Potter and Weasley were dragged out to some unknown place, as well, but when Lestrange said to leave her, Olive knew something was up. This was fucking planned.
Olive's eyes shot back to Greyback, his own expression having grown quite greedy. She was too afraid to look away from him, not even for a split-second to glance at Draco who stood in the corner silent.
"Is this the one?" Lestrange asked, her clunky heels clacking on the marble floor as she crossed to stand in front of Olive.
"Yeah, that's her," Greyback answered in his gruff voice. Olive's nerves were on end and her eyes flitted to the door they'd just taken Scabior out through. Only for a second, then her eyes went back to bouncing between Greyback and Lestrange.
"Let me see your face," the woman demanded with an almost-crazed look in her eye. Olive did as she was told and revealed her face, heart hammering while the ringing grew in her ears. Internal alarms were going off, alerting her to the danger she was in.
'Scabior, wake up,' she pleaded mentally. 'There's something wrong here, wake up.'
The woman's teeth glistened almost as bright as Greyback's when the wide smile broke her face. "You're a pretty little thing," she said, finger tracing Olive's splinch wound. "I like a girl with some battle scars. You've been very naughty, though, running off like that. The Dark Lord doesn't tolerate traitors."
"I didn't run off," Olive said, trying to quell the panic from seeping into her voice. Her sight switched to Greyback. "Weasley showed up, I was outnumbered. I was waiting, but never got the chance!"
She was glad the two boys were already locked away somewhere and didn't watch the reveal of her betrayal. They would find out sooner or later, but they'd grown on her and she wouldn't have been able to stomach the looks of disgust they'd have given her.
"Liar!" Lestrange screamed, taking a fist full of Olive's hair and drawing their faces close together.
"I swear! I took an Unbreakable Vow! I can't run from Scabior or it would kill me - I swore to be in the Dark Lord's service!"
Bellatrix studied the girl with a careful glance, dissecting every inch of her face for a lie. When she found none, she shoved her head away with a huff.
"It's no matter, you won't be alive very long after the wolfie has his fun," she mocked, the gleaming grin back on her face. "Greyback, the gold will be in your vault tomorrow. Bring me the other mudblood, I've got some words with the little cunt about my Gringotts vault. After that, you're free to go," Lestrange swatted a hand toward Olive, "Take your riffraff with you. If you don't kill her, bring her back. She might still be some use, spending all that time with Potter."
The ringing in Olive's ears blocked out most of what was said between Lestrange and Greyback after that. Her heart was hammering in her throat, making it difficult to breathe. Olive's eyes were in constant motion - the door, Greyback, Lestrange, Draco, his parents, back to the door, over and over.
'Scabior, you said you wouldn't let them hurt me,' she thought, eyes on the door. Then back to Lestrange, then Greyback, then Draco, who wouldn't look at her. Neither would Mr. Malfoy, but his wife was staring right at her, a vacant expression on her face. No time to dissect, her eyes went back to the door, then Greyback who was staring at her with that greedy expression again. It made the chains seem like they were digging even tighter into her skin.
When he picked her up and threw her over his shoulder, the room spun before her eyes. The way he laid her hurt her stomach and she tried to shift, but his sharp claws dug into her leg and she was rooted in fear of being infected.
"How long have you been planning on betraying me?" she spat once they were into a long corridor away from the others.
"Since before you even came up with your plan," he said with that throaty laugh of his. The only made Olive's stomach twist further, her mind going to Christmas Eve in Diagon Alley - how close Scabior's face was, how serious, when he told her not to trust the werewolf.
"I thought we were friends," she managed, risking his claws to readjust herself. It was a hollow statement, she knew. He'd used her just as she'd used him. But, there was always a chance of playing with his guilt long enough to break free. The werewolf only laughed again, though, dumping her next to a door, not near as gentle as Scabior had been with her earlier. With a quick flick of his wand, the door clicked, revealing a steep staircase. Greyback left her on the floor and descended.
Perhaps a minute later, she heard feet shuffling down the corridor and whipped her head in the direction they'd just come. Draco was standing there, having just seen her, and now turned the other direction.
"They're going to kill me," she whispered, glad to see his foot pause in midair.
"I'm not supposed to talk to you," he whispered back, keeping himself turned away from her.
"I'll do anything, please, just loosen the chains and I'll do the rest."
Draco began to turn, but decided against it and went back to looking the other direction. His brow had been tucked for the second she saw his face, his mouth drawn down in a grimace.
"There's nothing I can do against a werewolf. I'm not insane," he said in a strained voice, then walked away from her, leaving Olive there in her chains. She watched her last hope walk away and, though the knot in her throat grew, she understood. She would have walked away, too.
The heavy footsteps ascending the stairs brought a new level of dread into Olive. This was it, then - she was going to die. It seemed almost anticlimactic that it wasn't at Scabior's hand. Death wasn't even what bothered her, it was more that Scabior had been right about Greyback all along. Such a silly thing to be fretting about when she was about to die, but the thought of Scabior proving himself right made her teeth clench more than the thought of dying. She wasn't sure what the two of them were - not friends, not enemies, one second screaming at each other, the next sharing cigarettes. A pair. But, despite last seeing him on good terms, it made her sick to think he would get the last laugh.
The thudding footsteps grew closer to the door, but she saw the feet of someone being carried first. Another two heavy footsteps revealed it was Hermione, slung over Greyback's shoulder just as Olive had been minutes before.
"You promised to keep her safe," Olive protested, seeing how swollen and purple Granger's face was now.
"I lied," Greyback said in a gruff tone, smirking down on her and turning to deliver Hermione to Lestrange, as requested. Olive hated that Hermione refused to look at her.
With Greyback out of sight and Draco proving useless, she wriggled at her restraints, wincing at the pain in her palm. How had that only been an hour or so ago? It seemed years had passed.
'Fuck you, Scabior,' she thought with bitterness, seeing now that his words were wind, that no rescue was coming for her. Still, something ached in her chest for his assistance.
That assistance didn't come. Greyback did, though.
And when he saw that she'd gotten a hand free and was working on the other, he hit her harder with the back of his hand than Scabior could ever imagine doing with a closed fist. The ringing took over her ears and he hoisted her over his shoulder again. Just one hit and already she'd grown drowsy, the corridor distorting, one blur of motion as he spun her around to leave.
It wasn't until she was outside that she realized how pathetic she was being, all slumped over his shoulder like cargo on some pack mule. Damn it, if she was going out, she was going out with some dignity. The effect of the hit had begun to fade and she straightened herself up the best she could.
"What did I ever do to you?" she demanded. Greyback's shoulder dug into her stomach when he laughed, a grimace of pain crossing her face.
"You did'n do nuf'in, sweet'art," he said, passing through the gate of Malfoy Manor.
They both heard it at the same time, the huffed breaths, the boots crashing through the grass. Olive only saw Scabior darting toward them for the briefest second before Greyback turned her away so he could have a look. She didn't miss the look on Scabior's face, though, the hybrid of fear and anger. Something inside her chest leapt with hope. Greyback took a sudden step to the side, causing Olive to shut her eyes at the sudden motion, wincing when she clenched her fists and pain shot through her palm. Chains clanked and rolled in the grass, Scabior having missed his target.
"Put her dow-" was all she heard before the two were spinning, leaving Scabior behind for some unknown place. So close, so fucking close. When they landed with a thud, Greyback tossed her to the ground, a new jolt of pain attacking Olive's wrist, the same that was injured earlier, the same Scabior had held to pull out the glass.
"As I was sayin'," he continued, as if Scabior had never interrupted, "It ain't personal."
Olive was afraid to look up at him, but forced herself to anyway.
"What's not personal?" she snarled, not daring look away from the menacing man who towered over her. Greyback only grinned at her, those awful teeth gleaming in the fading sun.
"This goes one a' two ways. You already know if you try an' run, I'm faster. So you can either run an' I'll kill ya or you stay still and I'll leave ya for dead."
The silence of the unfamiliar forest surrounded her, not a single sound outside the two of them for as far as her ears could hear. Either way was death, then. But, she wasn't stupid.
"I'll stay still," she said through clenched teeth. When he unbound her and bent to run his sharp claws through the front of her shirt, Olive knew what he wanted. That, she could deal with. It was easier to separate herself from sex and go somewhere else after all the times Scabior had raped her. It actually released a knot of tension from her chest - now that fucking was all he wanted, her worries went to making it out of the forest afterwards having no wand.
Everything was clear now - the men had hated each other, though she wasn't sure what had passed between them. This wasn't personal, Greyback had said as much. This was a message. Olive's mind went to Scabior telling her earlier that sometimes mudbloods got back at the Snatchers for hurting someone they loved by taking someone from them in return. She wasn't sure what Scabior had done to the werewolf, but this was his retaliation.
In under a minute, Greyback had her shirt torn to pieces and her jeans down around her knees.
"Let me see all a' ya," he said, eyes roaming her with that same greedy look. "If I wanted to fuck that mudblood, I'd a' done it already."
Olive did as she was told, feeling her body morph and expand. Greyback watched, confusion and then excitement crossing his face.
"This'll be a first," he said with his throaty laugh. Olive tucked her brow, afraid to ask what he meant. The question was readable on her face and the amusement grew on his. "How long you been in that girl's body?" he asked, eyes gleaming as bright as his teeth. "You ain't even been out once, 'ave you?" Confused as ever, Olive shook her head.
"You really are a dumb cunt, aren't ya?" he said with another laugh, watching a jerk seize Olive at the harsh words. "Well, sweet'art, you're in for a bit of a nasty surprise," he said, tracing his claws along her stomach. It didn't feel right.
Olive nearly threw up when she looked down to see her pregnant belly beginning to balloon out between them.