EDITED: 08/17/2015
Chapter Twenty-Two
AN: I'm apologizing now for the story timeline. I know it's jacked up if you actually start at the beginning and put it on paper. In the beginning, I wasn't writing with any set time-frame, but I should have realized that was going to be a disaster with both Battle of Hogwarts having a specific date and Olive being pregnant. I was thinking Olive was farther along than what's actually possible and it made a mess of my timeline. I fixed it the best I could. Yay for iffy continuity! This chapter was a massive 40 handwritten pages (the biggest chapter I've ever written for any fan-fic), so I hope you enjoy! - DC
Scabior knew he could break through the door faster than locating a wand in their mess of a room. Something was wrong, every inch of him on high alert. That feeling in his gut drove his shoulder into the door until it spat a nasty cracking noise and gave way.
It took all of two seconds to assess the situation. That little popping noise had been the cap from his sleeping draught, the empty bottle floating in the water. It was a sound now forever cemented in his mind. Olive looked angelic under the surface, her hair floating in a gentle motion.
The rest was a blur. Later, he wouldn't be able to recall more than bits and pieces. Pulling her out onto the floor. The way the water clung to his shirt. Pure panic when she wouldn't take a breath, when he felt no pulse. Fucking hell, why wouldn't she breathe? Scabior tried time and time again to get her to heave, shoving his fingers deep into her throat. When that prompted no reaction, he tried mouth-to-mouth like the muggles did.
"Wake up," he said, resorting to shaking her shoulders. There was no movement, no small twitch under her cooling skin. "Wake up, Olive." Scabior's voice, usually collected, was thick with panic, his heart pounding against his throat. "Just take a fuckin' breath, please!"
Scabior pressed the back of his shaking hand to his mouth, staring down at her in disbelief. An unfamiliar burn pressed against his eyes. There was nothing he could do, Olive was dead.
Scabior sucked in a huge breath, eyes opening to the blackness of night. A headache was beginning at the center of his forehead and his breathing was still ragged. Next to him, a jerking shook the bed and he reached out in instinct, pulling Olive tight against him. It was just another nightmare. She was there with him, wasn't she? Warm and breathing. Another jerk ravaged through her and he shushed into her hair, not sure if she was even awake, but trying to make the jerking stop.
Finding her in that bathroom, thinking she was dead, it was one of the worst moments of his life. It was worse than Azkaban. And if he ever went back to that vile place, he was sure the image of her lifeless body would be his main cause of despair. It was the most helpless he'd ever felt in his life. Finally, he'd managed to gag her and get most of the water and draught out of her stomach, but he always woke during that moment he nearly gave up. Scabior did not like feeling helpless. He did not like that it was her who nearly brought tears to his eyes. It made him feel out of control, like she held the puppet strings instead of the other way around. He wouldn't stand for it. If there was one thing he wouldn't allow, it was a loss in the control he exerted. Control was everything to him.
For the first three days after the tub incident, she'd slept without waking. Scabior feared she would just sleep forever. Day and night he stayed by her side, just to make sure she kept breathing.
On the third day when she woke up, he gave her back her voice. It had been nearly two weeks since then and she still hadn't spoken. Scabior asked her question after question – how was she feeling, was she hungry, why would she do that to him – but she never answered. It was maddening. The day before, he'd lost his reserve and resorted to Crucio. It was only to hear her make noise, at least that's what he told her. She didn't disappoint. The frustration took over and he held it for far longer than he should have, her screams filling every empty space in the tent.
Scabior drew Olive tight to his chest, trying to quell the jerks and jitters than ran through her. He knew he'd overdone it yesterday, but he was just so angry that she wouldn't speak. She was facing him now, their chests together, skin against skin. He had one arm under her neck and the other around her waist, Olive's face near his shoulder where little hot puffs of her breath skimmed along his skin. Another jitter ran through her and Scabior pursed his lips. Even as a child, he'd always been destructive, but this was the first time he feared he'd gone too far. She was his creation. Sure, she was clever before he entered her life, but now she was more. A monster, she would say. Scabior would agree, but with more pride. Olive was a survivalist, strong-willed with a chilling set of manipulation skills and the ability to be downright frightening if she pleased. For once, he felt he had an equal in the world and though he'd never been one for company, the thought of a world without Olive in it seemed so dull and lonely. That was a dangerous thought to be having.
"Doesn't matter," he said to himself, Olive's hair tickling his lips. "You aren't dead."
Olive stilled in his arms, not drawing the slightest breath. It had been impossible to tell in the pitch black that she was awake. Those three words, those three syllables, that followed were packed with so much sorrow and self-loathing that Scabior's chest tightened.
"No, I'm not," Olive said.
She said nothing the next day. Nothing the day after that. And it was on the third day that she planned to take her life again. Scabior ruined it all before she even got the makeshift noose around her neck. Olive had debated on stabbing herself, but the thought of another mark on her once pretty skin soured her stomach. She should have taken the knife over the rope. It would have been done by now.
Scabior had been furious to find her fashioning the noose, but he only struck her once. Now he was even more suffocating than before, keeping her wrapped tight against him every night and never letting her out of his sight during the day.
Silence. More and more silence, day after day. Scabior was drowning in it. And it wasn't just the silence that was gnawing at him. He hadn't properly slept in days. His already uneasy sleep was now disrupted with the fear that she would slip out from under his arms in the night. The silence and the sleep deprivation were wearing him thin and he was beginning to feel on edge.
"Eat," he demanded, sitting a plate in front of her that carried a few apple slices and a handful of crackers. Their food supply was beginning to run toward the skimpy side, but Scabior couldn't bring himself to leave her.
Olive said nothing. Not that he was surprised. While her eyes were once sharp and challenging, they now seemed hollow and resigned. Even though her stomach growled fiercely, she never acknowledged the food. She never acknowledged him, either. All she ever did was lay curled on her side.
"Olive, eat," he demanded. Still nothing. Exhaustion ached behind his eyes and in that moment he hated her for making him feel like this. If it had been anyone else, he'd just fucking kill them and be done with it. "Eat."
Scabior watched her mouth tighten, a small line appearing on the edge of her lips. She was afraid. This small detail was something that never went unnoticed by him. It was always when she was scared and nervous, though he'd never seen her wear the tiny line on such a vacant face. So she was there with him – she was present – she was just ignoring him.
"Get up," he said, swatting the food and sending the plate crashing to the floor. Scabior dug his hands into her arms and flung her out on top of the discarded apples and crackers. The tiny line near her mouth become more prominent, but at least she was moving, trying to get up from her hands and knees. "Come on," he demanded, picking her up by a handful of hair and shoving her toward the kitchen. Olive shuffled with her head down, the chill of the tent clinging to her bare skin. Scabior hung behind, but followed a few minutes later, tossing a shirt, a pair of trousers, and Olive's boots onto the table. "Get dressed," he said. "We're going to the pub."
"I'm not hungry," she said, refusing to look at him. If she looked at him, he would know she was lying. It didn't matter anyway. Not a second after the words left her mouth, her stomach let out a terrible growl. The air grew tense and still.
"Did you just lie to me?" he asked, voice even, like he was scolding a child. But there was definite anger under those words, frustration laced in each syllable. Scabior took a step toward her and she stiffened, awaiting impact. He didn't disappoint. Olive's cheek was on fire from the sharp crack of his backhand, her eyes watering from the blow. "Did you lie?" he asked again, voice tense.
Olive didn't answer, so he hit her again. And again. There was nothing but silence and the sharp smacks which faded into more monstrous sounding thuds as his fist closed. It seemed to go forever and at some point Olive realized she'd begun sobbing. Everything was fuzzy in her vision and a deep throbbing had grown in the back of her head, where she'd split her scalp in the alley. She didn't remember falling to the floor, but she remembered looking up at him, sobbing, trying to block his hits.
Then he hit her so hard the room spun and she lost control of her body, stomach expanding for the shortest moment before she could right it. Olive could tell the damage was done by the stillness of the room. With one shuddering breath, she looked up at him towering over her.
"What the fuck was that?" he asked, tone so even and conversational that the hairs on her arms stood straight up. Olive was on her butt, framed by the table, facing him. The amazing thing about Scabior was that no matter how angry or worked up he got, his complexion never grew red. But, she knew by the strained muscles in his neck and the tightness of his jaw that he was near the breaking point.
Olive opened her mouth, then closed it, then opened it again, but no words would come out. All she could manage was a small shake to her head. Some days Olive wanted to die. But on those days, she never wanted Scabior to be the one who did it.
"Show me your stomach," he said, so calm it bordered on eerie. Olive swallowed a thick knot in her throat and shook her head again. For the longest moment, they just stared at each other. Olive was the first to move, scooting under the table, propelled backwards by her hands and feet. She watched him disappear as she went under the table, saw the measured step he took before he flipped the table away. Aperio, the spell which returned her to her natural state, hit her right as she flipped toward the floor, staggering to stand and run through the tent flap. Olive felt her stomach blossom and held back a sob.
It made no matter that she was naked – the chilly drizzle outside went unfelt against the hot fear running through her. Everything hurt, her face, her neck, her arms, anywhere he'd managed to hit her. The pain never slowed her, but her swollen stomach did. It was awkward and made it difficult to run. Behind her, she could hear Scabior's steps, measured and unyielding. He wasn't even jogging.
Olive was unfamiliar with the territory, but she heard a splash and ran left toward it. There was no way she could outrun him, not on her best day, and definitely not pregnant. Even if she could, the Vow would kill her. When she died, it would be on her terms. So her best option was to hide until he calmed down. Leaves slid under her feet and she nearly fell, but she righted herself and cut through some thick trees, praying he didn't see. All she heard was silence and she clamped a hand over her mouth, trying to muffle the sound of her heaving breaths. Wasn't he right behind her? Olive's head darted from side to side, looking for any clue he was near. Had she already lost him? Not wanting to lose her lead, she pressed farther into the thick trees toward the sound and smell of water.
Yes! There it was. Olive could see the lake up ahead, the smooth surface interrupted only by small ripples the wind had caused. Cautious eyes skirted the opening, looking for any sign that he was near. Nothing met her eyes and ears except nature. One careful foot left the thick trees, then the next. On the other side of the lake, there was a steep bank which was mostly covered by a large tree whose limbs curled down into the water. If she could make it there, she would be mostly out of sight. And if she saw movement, she could sink under water and mask her scent.
Two steps, no issues. A third. A fourth. When her toes met the cold water, his dark voice rang out from behind her.
"Don't make me follow you into that lake, Olive. I don't like bein' cold."
There wasn't time to think. There was no reasoning. Olive launched herself into the water, half-sobbing, trying to get as far away from him as possible. Not a second later there was the splash of Scabior entering the water. Slow motion didn't do the moment justice. No matter how hard she flailed and kicked, the water was slowing her every movement. Finally she made it far enough out that her feet didn't touch and she did her best to swim away though it was more a pathetic doggie paddle with her stupid pregnant belly.
"You're not going to outswim me," he said behind her, catching her ankle in his hand. Olive cried out and wrenched her foot free. "This is just pissin' me off more."
She wasn't sure where she was trying to swim to now that hiding in the bank was out of the question, but she kept pressing further into the water. Distance was all she could hope for. But, he was right – he could outswim her. A strong hand caught her elbow and she knew she wouldn't wrench free that time. Though she tried. And tried again when his free hand took her other elbow. Scabior pulled her back against his chest and she realized with dismay that he was tall enough to reach the bottom while she was wildly kicking her legs to stay above the surface.
"Whose is it?" he demanded, pulling her elbows behind her so sharply that she let out a yelp. This was all her fault. She should have done something about the baby earlier instead of putting it off and putting it off. Now look at the mess she'd caused.
Apparently, that was too long of a silence for Scabior, who wanted answers immediately. Before Olive could draw a full breath, he pushed her under the water.
'Hold still, hold still,' she urged herself, trying to quell the panic. If she struggled, he may get worse. But those thoughts only stayed with her for the first thirty or so seconds. Scabior's hands were an iron grip, keeping her elbows pinned behind her with no sign in budging. All reason went out the window when her lungs began to ache. Olive lashed her legs out, trying desperately to rip her arms from his hands. Scabior wasn't moving. A strangled noise escaped her, bubbles of precious air running for the same surface she was trying to reach. Colors were dancing behind her closed eyes and Olive bucked again, squirming wildly, doing anything she could to get free and breathe.
Then she was moving upward and broke the surface. That was the biggest breath she'd ever drawn, hard and gasping. But one was all she got before Scabior pushed her beneath the water once again. One breath wasn't enough. Immediately, her lungs were burning and there was a heavy pressure in her throat. Olive kept kicking, bucking her hips, tugging her arms. Then her body went into survival mode and tried to draw a breath.
The cold water sucked down her throat and she coughed, then gasped another breath full of water. When Scabior allowed her to break the surface a second time, she coughed so hard that her vision went black. The water snaked up her throat and gushed over her chin. By natural reaction she heaved, but there was nothing in her stomach to come up. Another series of coughs produced a few more mouthfuls of water.
"It's yours," she croaked out, trying to get a word in before her dunked her again. Scabior pulled her elbows apart and brought them to either side of his ribs, Olive's back tight against his chest. Scabior was hardly winded while she drew loud, gasping gulps of air. An involuntary shudder ran down her when his hot breath skimmed her neck and she felt him smirk against her ear, drawing a long sniff from her hair.
"If it's mine," he said darkly, his lips skimming her earlobe, "Then why would you hide it from me for so long?"
This was dangerous territory. Olive didn't want to go back under, but if she answered incorrectly, it was inevitable. "I-," she started, but stopped. What could she say? Scabior gave her a shake and she spit out, "I don't know!"
"You know what I think?" he asked, releasing one of her elbows and raising his free hand to brush away the wet hair on her neck. "I think you fucked that Weasley boy. And probably that Malfoy brat, like a slut."
"I didn't!" she screamed, but he wasn't hearing it.
"And I'm sure you fucked that Oliver. Probably Greyback, too," he said, hand sliding to the back of her neck and pressing her down a few inches into the water. Olive let out a panicked whine, kicking her legs harder to stay afloat. "I think one of those twats knocked you up and you hid it from me 'cause you knew I'd kill it before it drew its first breath."
"You will not hurt my child."
Olive had no idea where it came from. All she knew was that if her child was dying, it was with her and on her terms.
"Your child," Scabior said slowly, gripping her neck so hard that his nails dug into her flesh. Olive shuddered, knowing her mistake before he said it. "Not ours."
Then she was under the water again, held by her elbow behind her back and the pressure on her neck. This time she had a hand free and reached around, trying to pry his wrist away. Olive clung at his hand, wriggled against him, kicked her legs, but it was no use. Everything inside her body felt like it was on fire and she began to get disoriented, not sure which way was up and down. The clutching at his wrist was no longer to remove his hand, but to anchor herself. But then her hand lost touch with his, her legs became still, her heart slowed. This was it. Scabior was killing her.
Cold air was the first thing she felt. Olive wasn't aware of when the transition happened, but now her chest was against his and he had one arm wrapped around her shoulders, the other at her throat. The only thing offering her breathing room was the swell of her stomach between them. Scabior's face swam in and out of focus, but it was still as tense and tight as before.
"Don't kill me," she said, voice drowsy and breathless. "It's yours, I promise, it's yours. I can't take anymore." And that was the truth. Olive looked exhausted, her head lobbing to the side.
"Beg me not to kill you."
There wasn't an ounce of fight left in her, but Olive would always have her pride. Fat tears welled under her lashes, but she looked him in the eye. "Please."
"Please what?"
A jerk ran through her body, then a second. "Please don't kill me."
"And?"
"And please don't kill the baby."
Scabior's fingers tightened around her throat. "I don't think you mean it," he said, drawing a long breath of her scent. "I'm not seeing enough tears." The words were barely out of his mouth before he was trying to force her back into the water.
"No, no, no!" she screamed, clutching onto the front of his shirt. "Please Scabior, please!" Now she openly sobbed and swatted his hand away from her throat, burying her face in her chest. Scabior rested his hands on her shaking shoulders. For just a brief moment, she thought he may have realized how cruel he was being. But the moment came and passed.
"Please what, Olive? Say it again like you mean it. You'd better sob when you beg me."
"Please!" she cried, heavy sobs racking her entire body. "Please don't kill me or the baby!"
Scabior's hands snuck back to her elbows, then he began dragging her out of the water. "We'll see," he said, the darkness in his tone making her shudder. The air outside the water made goose bumps erupt all over Olive's body. She was stumbling in the brush, trying to keep up with Scabior's quick pace. When she lost her footing, he just kept dragging her by the wrist through the briars. Twigs and jagged rocks cut into her legs, but she didn't dare protest. All she could do was keep sobbing, but at least that's what he wanted.
Scabior dragged her clear into the tent and pushed her toward the toppled table.
"Don't you fuckin' move."
Olive did as she was told, keeping her face down toward the floor. Through the pool of tears in her eyes, she could see her legs were covered in mud and small cuts. Scabior's heavy footsteps, squishing with water-filled boots, crossed back to Olive and he knelt in front of her, jerking her head back by her hair. When she yelped in pain, he forced a vial to her mouth and emptied the contents. He threw the bottle aside and stood, looking down on her with crossed arms.
"Was that poison?" she asked, surprisingly calm.
"Veritaserum."
Olive nodded, looking back down at the floor. Maybe poison was better.
"Did you fuck that Weasley boy?" he asked, watching her with sharp eyes.
"No," she blurted out, unable to control the way it bubbled up her throat. The only sensation comparable was just earlier when she coughed up the water. It was uncomfortable and invasive. Olive was still crying, but it had slowed. Right now she was safe, as long as his questions didn't wander too far.
"Good girl," he cooed. "And did you fuck that Malfoy git?"
"No."
Olive was afraid to look up at him. It was disgusting, but some small part of her was glad he was happy with her behavior. She didn't want him to see that in her eyes. Calling her a good girl made a strange shiver run through her and she was ashamed.
"What about Oliver?" he asked. This was the one that bothered him most. They both knew it.
"No."
"But you wanted to?"
"Yes."
Scabior's backhand flew out so fast that she didn't gasp until after it was over. He continued as if it had never happened.
"Did you let Greyback fuck you?"
"He raped me," she said, crossing protective arms over her swollen belly. It seemed large to her because she wasn't used to it, but now that she got a good look, she knew she still had a few months to go.
"Did you ever want him to fuck you?"
"No."
"Good. Do you wish you'd of listened to me now about not trusting him?"
Olive's eyes darkened when they darted up to meet his, but she tore them away. "Yes," she said, barely above a whisper.
"How many twats have you let fuck you, Olive?"
Now she turned her dark eyes back to him, a snarl curling her lips. "You're the only twat I've let fuck me."
Another sharp crack cut through the room. Her face already ached from earlier and now both cheeks were stinging again. Like before, Scabior continued as if he hadn't hit her.
"What about the wolf?"
"I didn't let him fuck me."
"But you let me?"
Scabior smirked, eyes ablaze in wickedness. He already knew the answer, he just wanted to hear her say it.
"Yes," she said, loathing in her voice, "I let you fuck me."
"And sometimes you liked it?"
"Yes."
"Say the whole thing, Olive."
The Veritaserum wouldn't force her to, but she knew better than to disobey. What little of her skin that wasn't covered in bruises was flaming red. "Sometimes I liked it when you fucked me."
"Just like you like it when I tell you what a good girl you are?"
A more violent shudder ran up her spine. He fucking knew. He knew the disgusting reaction her body had to his words. Olive clamped her teeth, trying to keep the word down, fighting the influence of the Veritaserum. "Yes," she choked out, clenching her fists in anger and embarrassment.
Scabior grabbed her under the arm and jerked her to her feet, pressing her into the counter, his chest to her back. He nuzzled into her damp hair, his breath warm against her ear. "Good girl," he said, mocking her and she wasn't sure there was ever a moment she hated him more. Especially after his words sent goose bumps down her arms. Scabior wouldn't let that go unnoticed and he ran his hands down the prickled skin.
"Now, you'd better answer my next question how I want or you're going to be in a lot of trouble. Do you understand?"
Olive swallowed before choking out a yes. One of his hands snaked down to rest on her swollen stomach. "Did I do this to you?" he asked.
She could feel how tense he was and wondered what exactly the answer was that he wanted. Not that it mattered.
"Yes," she said, hunching her shoulders away from him in case he lashed out.
But again to make sure he asked, "This is my baby?"
"Yes."
Neither of them moved nor spoke for what seemed like forever.
"Why did you hide it from me?"
Olive shuddered, fearing the answer. "Because I was afraid," she said, looking down at his hand on her stomach. It was both warm and threatening.
"What were you afraid of?"
A beat of silence passed.
"You."
Scabior's warm breath skimmed her shoulder and she could feel him smiling against her skin. Was it possible for two humans to exist that were sicker than them?
"You're filthy," he finally said. "Go draw a bath." And that was it. Scabior went into the bedroom before her brow could even tuck. What the fuck? No screaming? No more backhands or punches? Just…nothing. Surely he wasn't going to act like it hadn't happened.
Olive stood there for a moment, stunned and confused. Maybe he was up to something. That had to be it. She debated on confronting him, but wasn't feeling so brave after being beaten twice and nearly drowned. So she did as she was told and went to the bathroom, drawing a hot bath.
While the tub was filling, Olive took the chance to try and wash her face. The swelling was minimal. Just her lip and left eye this time. But an array of colorful bruises were splattered across her face. With shaking hands, she lifted water from the tap and pressed her fingers to the tender skin. Everything hurt and she tried to be gentle, but a strangled noise escaped her.
"Let me do it."
Olive jumped, not realizing he was back. Again, she did as she was told and turned toward him, standing still while he dug through the cabinet and pulled out a salve. This was the side of him that got her in trouble. It was astounding how gentle his fingers could be when it was those same hands that had caused the damage in the first place. When he was done, he cocked his head just slightly to the side and stared at her. It was so unnerving that she looked down at her feet.
"You look so pretty like that," he finally said.
"Covered in bruises?" she asked miserably.
"Only when they're mine."
A jerk ran down her. Olive wondered how he could say such disgusting things and make it seem romantic. She didn't say anything. Instead they just stared at each other, the silence stretching into uncomfortable territory when Scabior broke into a smirk and told her to get into the tub.
The water was hot, stinging at the cuts on her legs, but it stole away the chill that was gnawing at her. A small gasp slipped through her lips when she leaned back and dipped her head in. How could something feel so nice and be painful at the same time? It reminded her of Scabior.
Then she felt his hands on her throat and she bolted up, spitting water away from her mouth. Panic thrummed in her chest and she waited for a backhand.
"Let me wash your hair," he said, voice even and low.
"I can wash it myself," she said, pride getting the best of her. She refused to look at him or else he might see the uncertainty of her words.
"I want to do it."
Olive swallowed, chewing the inside of her lip. What if he tried to drown her? Surely if he'd wanted her dead, he'd of done it without the theatrics of putting her in the bath. Afraid to push her luck, she gave a curt nod. Scabior fiddled around for a moment and then his hands were lathering her hair. At first it put her on edge, but the longer his hands were there, the less scary it became. When his fingers began to massage her scalp, she allowed herself to relax. It made her feel drowsy and she closed her eyes, tipping her head farther into his hands.
"Does it feel nice?" he asked, voice still as low as before. There was something else there, a darkness, and Olive thought maybe he enjoyed the control it gave him.
"Yes," she said, the word bubbling up her throat as before. She wondered how long the Veritaserum would last.
"What are you thinking?" he asked, fingers digging into the nape of her neck, lost in her hair.
"That you're a control freak."
Scabior's fingers stopped and she froze. But he laughed, that warm laugh that made her stomach flop. Then he tipped her back, washing away the suds. Olive was still afraid he would hold her under, but she was brought right back up. Scabior stood and began unbuttoning his shirt.
"You're just now figuring that out?" he asked, boyish grin on his face. Olive wondered how he could take his own monstrosity so lightly.
"No," she said, watching him toss his wet shirt to the ground, then unbuckle his belt. Silence fell between them while he finished undressing and then he made Olive scoot forward, entering the tub behind her. Scabior's skin was cold and clammy. When he pulled her back against his chest, legs on either side of hers, she shied away from the chill, but he pulled her back and held tight.
"It's your fault," he said, burying his nose in her hair. "And I'm not done with the questions."
Olive stiffened, but realized it would do no good to fight. With a resigned face, she tipped her head back into his chest and looked up at him. He noticed the little line was back near her mouth. "Ask and you shall receive," she said darkly, both knowing she had no choice in the matter.
"Why were you so upset about Oliver?"
All the air went out of Olive and she pulled her head away, staring down at her lap.
"Because with Oliver, the roles were reversed. I felt like I was you and he was me. I didn't want to kill him because that would be like you killing me."
Scabior was quiet, soaking it all in. Then, again, he drew her back to his chest, wrapping his arms around her and letting his lips find the curve of her neck.
"Did you love him?" he asked.
Olive couldn't help the laugh that snaked up her throat. "No, I barely knew him. You are the most jealous person I have ever met in my entire life."
She could feel it again, his smile against her skin. And so she smiled, too, because she felt safe for that moment. But his next question wiped her face clean.
"Do you love me?"
That was unchartered waters for the both of them. Olive bit her lip, trying to force the unknown answer down, her heart pounding.
"I don't know," she finally blurted, the Veritaserum winning in the end. At least it wasn't a yes, but it was more than she ever wanted to give him.
"You're angry that I asked that," he said, brushing the wet hair off her neck so he could run his lips along the soft skin there.
"Yes," she said.
"And humiliated."
"Yes."
"I think you deserve that much for keepin' secrets from me."
They both grew quiet, though Scabior seemed to be in a much better mood than earlier. But that was life with Scabior. He'd probably be hitting her again within the hour.
"How far along are you?" he finally asked.
"I don't know," she said with a shrug. Scabior hummed in reply, but he was distracted, dragging the tip of his nose along the hair behind her ear.
"How long have you known?"
Olive bit her lip, resting a hand on the swell of her stomach.
"Since Greyback raped me. I was in disguise before that, I had no idea."
Scabior's teeth grazed her ear and warmth shot down between her thighs. "Do the math on it," he said, voice distracted as he drew another deep breath.
Olive thought for a moment, trying to place a likely month as the first time they'd had sex. She knew it was August when she stole Xavier's identity, but there was snow the first time he raped her.
"December, I think, is the earliest," she said, her own voice distracted now that his hand snuck around and was resting next to hers over the baby. "It was Christmas Eve when you made me take the Vow."
Scabior tsked. "That was the day the little Malfoy twat kissed you, wasn't it?"
Olive shuddered. "Yes. I should have known he was a coward," she said, surprised by the heat in her voice. Still, he'd left her to die and she was jaded.
Scabior chuckled against her hair. "You don't fancy him anymore?"
"No, he's just a scared little boy."
Scabior's free hand went to rest on her neck, index finger tracing the hollow of her throat. "Yes, he is," he agreed. "So, December would put us at?"
Olive thought for a moment, doing the math in her head. "August or September, I think."
It was hard to concentrate with the way his fingers were tracing over her throat. "You're pretty big to have that much longer to go."
Well, she wouldn't know. If he'd of asked her the current date, she would have laughed. "Dad said my Mum got really big, really fast. He showed me a picture once when she was only five months pregnant and she looked ready to go into labor. How much longer is it, anyway? I don't even know what month it is."
"April 1st," he said, going back to nibbling her ear. "You've got to keep track of the full moons or they'll sneak up on you."
April 1st? And she was already this big? It had to have been one of the first times he raped her. Even still, that put her just barely into her second trimester. It seemed impossible that she showed so much, so quickly. Of course, the war had also thinned her out to skin and bones. That, with her genetics, had her looking closer to six months.
"When's the next one?" she asked, using her free hand to feel the marred skin Greyback had left behind. Now the scar was stretched tight across her skin.
"April 12th," he said, then darkly adding, "My birthday."
The idea of Scabior having a birthday was just as absurd as him once having been a child or having family.
"I missed mine," she said. "It was back before you know I was Booke."
Scabior nipped the soft skin beneath her ear and the warmth between her legs grew. "When was it?" he said, fingers around her throat tightening ever slightly.
"September 29th," she said, voice hoarse.
"We won't miss it next year," he promised, tightening his fist around her throat. "As long as you're good."
Olive let out a quick whine, heart thrumming in her ears, and felt him begin to grow and push into the small of her back. But as quickly as it began, it was over, and he dropped his hand from her neck.
"I hated you that night you were with Oliver," he admitted, wrapping his arms around her and drawing her to him so tight that it was difficult to breathe. "I thought I'd go mad when I heard you giggle in the alley."
Olive struggled to draw a breath, but managed to scoff before a smile took her face.
"It sounded so stupid," she said. "I just channeled the girls at Hogwarts who walked around with love bites and too much perfume."
Scabior wrestled his mouth to the curve of her neck, still holding her tight against him. "You weren't one of those girls?" he asked, laughing at the ridiculous thought. It started as a nibble against her neck, but then he bit her and sucked hard.
Olive squirmed, real laughter bubbling up her throat. "No, I wasn't," she said, trying to get away, but failing.
"I bet I give better love bites than they had," he said, smile evident in his voice. Merlin, her stomach flopped again.
"Now I look like a slut," she said dryly, though there was no real anger in her tone.
"My slut," he said, picking a new spot and making another mark. The heat of his mouth was spreading through her and she forced her thighs together when he cupped her breasts.
"They're bigger," he said, peeking over her shoulder as if to make sure.
"Of course they are, I'm pregnant," she said with a snicker.
Scabior found a third spot on her neck and nipped it with his teeth before sucking it so hard that she yelped. "Then as soon as you have that one, we'll have another," he said once he tore his mouth from her skin. Olive squeezed her thighs together more tightly.
"You could always just ask me to make them bigger," she said with a laugh.
"I'd rather build a Scabior army," he said, nuzzling his face into her hair again.
Olive's heart hammered and she knew he heard it because he chuckled against her ear. As if to make up for it, she jutted her chin out and declared, "Girls get my last name."
"No, they don't."
"Yes, they do."
"No. End of discussion."
Scabior held still for a moment, waiting to see if she argued further. When she looked down at her lap, he smirked. "You're learnin'. I didn't even 'ave to hit you that time."
Gone was their playful banter. "Why do you take everything from me?" she asked. He hummed into her hair, lost for a moment in her scent.
"Why do you think I take everything from you?"
The words began snaking up her throat, Veritaserum still active. "Because you're selfish and you're jealous. You know if I'm alienated, I won't have anything except you."
"You're sharp, love."
That was it. That was all the answer she got from him. Then he was getting out of the bath, stepping away from her, but she needed more answers.
"I have more questions," she demanded, clenching her teeth. Scabior had begun to dry himself and now looked at her with a lazy smirk.
"I didn't have the Veritaserum. How do you know I won't lie?"
"Because you always tell the truth," she said, standing, stepping out after him.
"And what if I don't want to answer?" he said, smirk growing across his face. He would amuse her for a while.
"Then you won't answer," she said, taking a seat on the edge of the tub and crossing her arms over her chest. Scabior studied her for a moment, then closed the distance between them and tugged her arms away, exposing her chest. Olive put her hands on the tub to either side of her thighs and Scabior stood back to admire.
"Three questions, just to humor you," he said. That was better than nothing and she would take what she could get. "But we're playin' my way," he added, kneeling down in front of her, resting his elbows on her knees and staring at her with those wicked eyes.
Olive shifted. "What do you mean?"
"If you're going to ask me, I want you to ask what you most want to know. So what do you want to know most of all?"
Though she knew Scabior didn't fight fair, she was shocked at his power play. The things she would have asked him were not necessarily the things she most wanted to know. She wasn't expecting the first question that flew out of her mouth.
"Do you love me?"
Scabior smiled, triumphant. "I thought as much. Are you embarrassed that you wanted to know that most of all?"
"Yes," she said, clenching her teeth so hard it was a wonder they didn't crack. "I don't want you to answer."
"But you've already asked," he said, thoroughly enjoying her humiliation. "Why don't you want me to answer?"
"I'm afraid of what you'll say," she blurted.
"Are you afraid I'll say no?"
"No," she said, "I'm afraid you'll say yes."
"I wouldn't know if I did," he said with a shrug. "I s'pose you're the closest I've ever come to loving someone. I love makin' you cry. I love hurting you and embarrassing you. I love controlling you, and your pride, and makin' you give in."
Olive chewed her lip while the silence rested. "What terrible things to love," she finally said, line appearing again near her mouth.
"Well, I love when you laugh, too, but you hardly ever do."
Two hard heartbeats thrummed in her throat and Olive shifted under his weight, feeling suffocated by both his presence and his words. "I don't want to ask you any more questions," she said.
"We've already started, we're going to finish," he said. "This is what you get for demanding things from me. What's the next question you most want to know?"
Olive clenched her fists and eyes, but it was no use. The words spilled out. "Why aren't you angry that I'm pregnant?"
This was exhausting her and she hated every minute of it. The Veritaserum made her feel exposed. Scabior seemed to be in a theatrical mood, bending his face down to nuzzle her stomach. There was a little flitting feeling inside and she wasn't sure if it was the baby or her nerves. Then he looked up at her, triumph in his eyes, and pressed his lips against her belly.
"Because this gives me control over you," he said, the darkness of his words spreading chill bumps down her arms. "If you act up, I'll have to order you to hurt the baby."
Olive snarled, eyes blazing. "Then I'll refuse."
"And you'll break your Vow."
"So?"
Scabior smiled, planting a gentle kiss near her belly button. It might of seemed sweet to an outside viewer, but the power play soured the moment.
"You won't. You'll never give me the satisfaction of dying by the Vow I made you take."
"Then I'll kill myself."
Hot breath erupted over her stomach when he had the nerve to laugh. "Because that worked so well the first two times you tried. And once you've had the baby, you won't dare leave it alone with me to raise."
The thought was unsettling.
Scabior looked up at her, head cocked to the side. He was always cruel, but this was a sick, manipulative side she never knew could exist in a human being.
"You've already shown me that baby is your weakness," he said, words measured, watching her and nothing else. "And I will hold it over your head for the rest of your life." Scabior paused, allowing that to sink in before continuing. "If you want to keep fightin' me, that's your call. But I will make your life very hard and very miserable, do you understand me?"
Olive stared at him in disbelief, then looked over his shoulder at the wall. "Yes," she said, chewing the inside of her lip.
"Good. What's the next question you want to know most?"
Olive knew he was enjoying her pain and understanding of the situation. There was nothing she could do. And so now a new question popped up, one of necessity for her survival and the baby's.
"What do you want from me?" she asked, voice resigned. She refused to look at him.
"I want to control your life," he said simply.
"Oh, well, if that's all," she snapped, sarcasm dripping from each word.
"It's not," he said, the simplicity of the statement making her blood run cold. "I want to take everything from you. I want you to trust and depend on only me."
"You're disgusting," she said, lip curled in a snarl.
"I want to strip you of everything you were before me. And I want you to let me do it."
"I would never let you do it," she spat.
"You already have."
Something tightened in her chest as her mind replayed the last few months. Olive's face crumpled and she hid behind her hands. Her mind went to their hands together on the match, lighting her father's house on fire.
"Let me see you cry," he said.
"No."
"If you don't move your hands, I'll order you to hit yourself in the stomach."
Olive's hands clenched into fists, but she moved them away from her face, exposing the fat tears covering her cheeks. "What is wrong with you?" she asked.
Scabior reached up and wiped her tears. "You already asked your three questions," he said, then bent to kiss her stomach one more time before standing. "That baby is for life, Olive. You're going to have to make up your mind about me. Either give me what I want or I will give you a very difficult life. You think things are bad now, you have no idea."
And then he left her. The moment he was out of sight, she burst into tears, even though she knew he could easily hear her.
So that was it, then. That was her choice. She could either give herself over to him or deal with his wrath every day for the rest of her life. And every time she disobeyed, he would hold the child above her head as he already displayed. Scabior was right, she wouldn't kill herself now and give him the satisfaction of knowing he'd driven her to do it.
Heavy sobs racked her shoulders and she tried to calm herself, grabbing a towel. After wiping the fog away from the mirror, she stared at her bruised and swollen face. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad. That month after they murdered Oliver's family, before the inn, that wasn't so bad. In fact, she couldn't even remember him hitting her once. Maybe she wouldn't be so bruised and swollen if she could just swallow her pride and give him what he wanted.
It had to be close to an hour that she sat in the bathroom floor, wrapped in a towel. Her hair had mostly dried, now in wild curls from not being brushed while it was wet. It was out of control, like her life.
Scabior had gone to the kitchen a while ago and she heard him right the table, then a rustling of paper. Must have been looking over maps. She wondered how he could be so unaffected by what had just happened between them. He seemed content to let her stay locked away forever if she wanted.
Olive stood, legs aching, and went to the mirror once more. It made her sick to admit, but he would probably like the way her eyes were red and swollen after an hour of tears.
Best to get it over with. She didn't have a choice. Olive stepped out into the bedroom, clutching the towel around her. One foot after another carried her to the kitchen, where Scabior sat, pouring over maps.
"If you're done wallowin' in self-pity," he said without even looking up at her, "Get dressed. I still want to go to the pub and I know you're starvin' by now."
That was true. Hunger scraped at her sides, begging for anything to fill her stomach. But, she never moved. She just stood there until he noticed she hadn't budged and looked up at her.
"Well? Go on," he said.
Olive moved toward him, watching his eyes darken when he saw her own – red-rimmed and shiny. Scabior twisted in his chair to face her. His eyes held mild curiosity, but he said nothing. She kept going until her knees brushed his. For once, she was the one looking down on him.
"Why do you want to control me?"
Scabior studied her for a long moment. "I already answered your three questions," he said.
"Why?"
Again, Scabior studied her – the redness of her face, the seriousness of her eyes. "Because you're dangerous," he finally answered. "You're a danger to yourself and me."
"You're too selfish for that answer," she said sourly.
"No," he said, "It's a selfish answer. I've watched you beat a woman half to death, Olive. Smash a man's head in with a rock. Murder entire families. I want you by my side."
"You wanted to control me before that," she said, jerk running through her.
"Yeah," he said. "You've always been a challenge. But tryin' to explain that part of me is like tryin' to explain why the grass is green."
"You fetishize me," she said, brow tucking. There was a time when speaking so frankly about sex would have mortified her, but that was a time before Scabior.
"Yeah," he admitted. "You're stubborn and proud and infuriating."
"And if you can control me, you can control anything."
Scabior nodded, still watching her with careful eyes. "I'll control you one way or another, love. It's not just for me. You're going to end up hurting yourself."
"That's not a selling point for me," she said, adjusting the towel. The kitchen was chillier than the bathroom and it clung to her shoulders. "I'd almost be relieved to mess up and hurt a pureblood. Then I wouldn't constantly be wondering about whether you're going to kill me or if I am."
Scabior reached up and fingered the edge of her towel, not moving his eyes away from the snags in the fabric. "I don't care what you want," he said, blunt as always. "You're not allowed to hurt yourself. Only I am."
He dropped the edge of the towel and looked up at her. This wasn't homicidal Scabior. This wasn't boyish charm Scabior. Olive couldn't put her finger on it, but he just seemed so genuine in that moment. Genuinely fucked-up, but genuine nonetheless. And she wasn't tough Olive or damaged Olive or scared Olive. Just Olive. The two of them together made that moment seem so real.
"Why do you want to know all this?' he asked, voice even and guarded. Olive realized for the first time that Scabior was, indeed, a human with a weakness. And his weakness was her. The proof was that he was revealing it to her when she knew he'd die before he let anyone else see. Some strange feeling throbbed in her chest, like the night he'd made her kill Oliver, but stronger. Olive clutched her towel as she knelt in front of him, sitting back on her feet.
"If I'm going to keep you happy, I have to understand what you need," she said.
Olive watched his brown eyes disappear into black, felt his hand snake around her throat.
"You shouldn't 'ave said that," he warned. "You don't know what you've just done."
"Yes, I do," she said, staring right back at him, eyes unafraid. "I can see what I've done pressing into the front of your trousers."
This was her game, too. And though he'd put her in a shitty position, she wasn't entirely helpless. If she was a fetish to him, so be it. That was the one small piece of control he'd left her. The best defense was between her legs and if it took a lifetime of that to keep him from killing her or her baby, that's what she would do.
"I'm not going to let you change your mind down the road, Olive."
"You can have your control," she said, "But you will not harm a hair on this baby's head."
Scabior watched her for a moment, then unbuckled his belt and unzipped his trousers. Olive watched his cock spring free. With a dark look, she bent and took him in her mouth. It was only a few moments before his hands were twisted in her hair. His cock grew solid in her mouth, her head propelled by Scabior's guidance.
"I'm going to take everything from you," he said, quickening the pace. "You exist to make me happy."
Something deep inside Olive was beginning to ache at his words – a coiled longing.
"Look at me," he ordered and she did, straining her eyes to meet his while continuing her assault on his cock. "Good girl," he cooed and heat exploded between her thighs. This was sick, this whole thing was sick, but she didn't want to stop. Life could be simple this way – just keep him happy. Right then she felt like she'd do anything to hear him tell her what a good girl she was again. But instead, he pulled the two fistfuls of hair taut and stood, slamming himself into her mouth over and over. Olive began to gag and drool at the intrusion, but she never took her eyes away from his.
"Fuck this," he said, pulling himself out of her mouth and dragging her to her feet. Olive's eyes were just as dark as his, her lips swollen. Scabior pushed her into the bedroom and forward onto the bed, ripping the towel away from her. She'd barely gotten up on her knees when he slammed into her from behind. Olive gave a single sharp cry, feeling stretched and whole.
Scabior grabbed her elbows and, like earlier in the lake, drew them behind her back while he pounded into her from behind.
"Why do you exist?" he demanded, breathless. Each time he slammed into her, Olive gave a new cry.
"To-make-you-happy," she said through grit teeth.
Scabior pushed her face down in the mattress, her arms pinned behind her back. He started fucking her so fast that colors were dancing in front of her eyes and before she knew it, she was screaming, spiraling, riding on the wave he'd caused in her. Scabior finished soon after and she let out a whine when she felt him fill her with his warmth. He released her elbows and let his hands fall to her hips, sliding in and out of her a few more times to enjoy the way she contracted around him. Finally he pulled out of her and she winced at the slight pain.
"Now you're goin' to get dressed," he said, flipping her over to look at him. "And we're goin' to the pub to eat. Then we're goin' to come back here and I'm goin' to watch you undress. You kept me up the past few weeks. Now I'm gonna do the same to you."
Anticipation thrummed in Olive's heart. "Whatever makes you happy," she said.