EDITED: 08/17/2015

Chapter Twenty-Four

Olive was beginning to stir and knew instinctively that she was alone in the bed. After several minutes waking from sleep, she reached out with closed eyes to find her instinct correct. The bed was empty aside from her and this tugged her fully from slumber, forcing her to peek open her eyes.

Outside it must have been late morning. Sun shone through the canvas, giving the dark tent enough gentle light to see. Scabior was nowhere in the bedroom. Well, Dreagan. That would take some getting used to. Olive stood and picked up her husband's shirt, the one that had been flung from her the evening before, and slid it over her head. For a moment, in a sleepy daze, she stared at the bed and was flooded with memories of the previous night. A great flush crept over her cheeks and she turned from the room, not wanting to remember the embarrassing things she'd said in the heat of the moment.

The kitchen and bathroom were empty, as well. Olive trained her hearing to outside the tent, but only heard small animals scurrying about and moving water at a greater distance. No Dreagan.

Something felt wrong. In instinct, Olive brought her hand to rest of the swell of her stomach. Then something caught her eye, a ripped piece of parchment laying atop the kitchen table. She walked to it, then plucked it up between her thin fingers. Scrawled in his distinctive handwriting read: If the wards fall, run.

Olive's stomach twisted terribly and she had to sit for the roll of nausea to pass. Perhaps it was the worry for him, but she told herself it was the pregnancy making her feel ill.

If the wards fall? Dreagan was a master at setting wards. If they fell, there were only two possible reasons. He either took them down on his own or he was dead.

At the thought, the room seemed to ice over. Olive eyed the tent flap. Barefoot, she stood, and made her way from the tent. It was difficult to tell from a distance, so she walked directly behind the tent, where she knew the ward ended just beyond a rotten tree trunk. Once she approached, she reached out her fingers and thrust them into the seemingly empty air, but saw the ripple it caused on the ward and felt the strange sensation of her fingers being sucked into a vacuum.

Good. Things were still okay. As Olive made her way back into the tent, she wondered what on earth was going on. Why had he left? Hadn't he said just the evening before that they would be moving camp first thing in the morning? She eyed the sky, sun shining brightly from above. An hour or so before noon, if she had to guess. What had happened that their plans changed?

Picking at her nails, Olive sat back at the table and tried to think of any possibilities. Warning her that the wards may fall was subtly warning her that he may die. But, why?

Nearly an hour later, the tremors began and the metallic taste crossed her tongue. Fighting it off was only making things worse and, as if on cue, she heard footsteps in the distance. Olive focused on her breathing, trying to return her shaking eyesight to normal. Footsteps. They could only be good or bad. She clutched her wand in a still-trembling hand and stood, making an exit from the tent. No one in sight. Either way, she needed the distraction – it helped the metallic taste go away.

Multiple voices. A woman. Four children, all girls. They were coming from the west, passing through. The woman kept urging the children to be quiet. Olive waited, tense in anticipation. Perhaps a quarter hour passed before they came into view while she watched, tucked away behind the ward. The oldest of the girls was maybe ten – close to Hogwarts age, but without her own wand. There were twins, around six or seven, and the youngest looked to be about five. They all had the woman's auburn hair.

"Mummy, I'm hungry," said the youngest. They were closer now and Olive could see how ragged and worn they looked. Not out for a stroll – they had been in the wilderness for a long time. Their hair was riddled with split ends and their little faces seemed dirty. Mud under their fingernails. They passed so close that Olive could have reached out and snatched them one by one as they walked by.

"Keep looking," the mother said, trying to cover the defeat and agony in her eyes as she spun to look at her children. "Just like a game, remember? Let's see who can find the most animals for mummy to try and capture."

Olive refused to give in to the tug at her heart. This was her job – this is what she did for a living and there was no use feeling bad about it. When the last little girl passed, Olive stepped quietly from the ward, feeling that odd pressure pass over her body before she was out on the other side. Barefoot, she made only the slightest noise against the brush and knew only her ears were skilled enough to hear. The group all had their backs to Olive, heading east. In the end, it wasn't even a challenge. Olive had disarmed once she got a clear shot of the mother and then, in the blink of an eye, had them all bound together and silenced.

She knew she had to look mad. Since living on the land, Olive's hair had grown long and wild. She couldn't even remember what marks she had on her at current, as they were always evolving, but she knew she had to be marred in bruises and scars. There she stood before the group with no trousers, not even any undergarments, with no shoes and belly swollen in pregnancy.

Olive was just picking up the woman's wand when she heard the sharp crack behind her. She spun, but saw nothing and knew he'd returned inside the wards. With ears as skilled as hers, he turned to the scene and stepped out from hiding. When the bound mother saw the red band around his arm, her struggling grew frantic in attempt to release herself and her daughters.

"Good," he said. "You've got a head start. Go put your trousers and boots on, we're gonna 'ave a long day." There were dark rings under his eyes. Where he normally carried a hard expression, even when not being cruel, he now looked agitated and worried. "Now, Olive," he demanded and she nodded, then quickly slipped inside the wards and into the tent.

What was that all about? Olive figured she would find out in due time. Scrambling in the dim light of the bedroom, she found appropriate clothing and changed, then felt under the bed for her boots. Once she was laced up, she went back outside to find that Dreagan had secured the group of ladies and left them outside the wards, busying himself with collecting the cauldron which hung over the fire pit.

"Break down the tent," he told her and she did, curious as to why he seemed so on edge, but not daring voice her concern. Once they were done and had everything packed neatly, Dreagan released the wards and they went to their captives.

The woman was mouthing something, but neither of the Snatchers paid her any attention. "Hold on," he told Olive and she took his arm, watching as he reached to grab ahold of the woman. Then they were spinning, being sucked away to their new location. When they landed, he collapsed on the ground, dazed look in his eyes.

"You alright?" she asked, trying to stand, but her swollen stomach was offering her difficulty. Dreagan nodded and shook the dazed expression from his face. There was no need to ask what happened – apparating that many people at once was sure to put a drain on your magical energy. But, he'd done it without managing to Splinch a single one, which was rather impressive.

"Set up camp," he said in a gruff voice, not looking at her. "I'll take 'em in and tag 'em. Stay here and I'll be back, but be quick about gettin' the tent up."

Then he was gone without any explanation. Confused and curious, Olive set up the tent as quickly as possible and had a new fire pit started, the first crackle of limbs sounding just as he got back.

"Where are we?" she said, turning to look at him. Again, he was avoiding looking her direction.

"Norway," he said, looking anywhere but her, instead surveying the surrounding land. "Their magical government fell to the Dark Lord last night and now we can hunt here. Tons of mudbloods an' halfies took off for here since Norway refused to expedite refuges. It's a hotbed of runaways."

Olive turned and looked over the same land he was surveying, but saw no people. "Seems like there are a lot of refuges," she said, dry note in her tone. All that met her eyes were trees upon trees.

"Listen," he said, irritation clear in his voice. Olive trained her hearing, growing still in concentration. Directly ahead of them, not too far, there were two travelers. To their left, at a great distance, Olive could her a group of people laughing. And behind them, even farther, she heard the faint footsteps of three or four people. "See?" he said. "We've got to tag thirty today."

"Thirty?" she said, turning to him with wide eyes. "Have you gone mad? We only did thirty once and that was the inn!"

Olive regretted bringing up the inn. For the first time that morning, he looked at her, but there was great darkness behind his eyes. "Thirty," he said. For a fleeting moment, she saw a look of desperation hidden in his look. "We're going to find thirty and then we're taking a damn holiday."

The way he spoke gave her the impression that someone else had ordered them to capture thirty people and that he was not too happy about it. Perhaps the Ministry had better organized the Snatchers now, so they weren't just running about at their fancy.

"Alright," she said, not even attempting to disguise the sound of dismay in her voice. Thirty. Olive looked at the sun and guessed it around one or two in the afternoon. Ministry closed at eight. "Should we split up, then?"

Dreagan was quiet for a long moment in thought, then nodded. "It's the only way we're going to be able to do it," he said, not happy at all that Olive would be working alone. "No harm to any of them, you hear me? For all we know, they could have purebloods with them. Might be married an' running together or something. Just tie 'em up, disarm 'em, and bring 'em back here, got it?"

Olive nodded and the two split up, him headed for the group of three or four behind them and her heading straight ahead for the two travelers. The job hardly presented difficulty to either one anymore. Not even a half hour had passed before they met back at camp with their six new captives.

"That'll be eleven," he said. The trip to the Ministry was quick and, as they often did, people turned to look at the two of them levitating their captives in tow. Olive and Dreagan were well-known in the Snatching community and that notoriety had begun to leak into the knowledge of everyday people.

They earned their fees, Dreagan tucking them away in a coin pouch he'd pulled from his deep pockets. After that, they returned to camp and listened, then went on their own way again.

Trip after trip was made to the Ministry as the day wore on. Each time, they looked a little more worn. Olive was sporting a split lip from some old man head-butting her in the face and Dreagan had dried blood on the sleeve of his shirt. No one, not even Olive, was sure if it was his blood or not.

It was exhausting. "Isn't twenty enough?" she complained at one point, but he threw her a dark look and left her to go track some sounds nearby.

Their last trip was near closing time. Inside, witches and wizards were flitting this way and that, trying to get the last of their paperwork in before heading home. Most of them stopped and gawked at the two dragging in yet another batch of refuges. "They're back again," one woman whispered, looking at Dreagan with ill-disguised lust. "Another batch?" a man asked the witch next to him, looking impressed.

"Scabior and Scabior!" rang a sickly sweet voice and the two turned, exhausted looks on their faces, to find Dolores Umbridge clacking after them. A blonde woman with horn-rimmed glasses was right on her heels, a piece of parchment and quill in hand. Once Umbridge caught up, she gave them a practiced smile. "I was hoping you'd be back in," she said to the two of them, then turned to the blonde woman. "These are two of the Ministry's top Snatchers, Dreagan and Olive Scabior. Recently wed," she said with distaste, giving Olive a pointed look and letting her eyes fall with disapproval to the swell of her stomach before returning to the woman. A photographer huffed up behind the two women, out of breath.

Olive looked to Dreagan, eyebrow arched in confusion. He merely shrugged, but she noted the look of relief he seemed to have. Though their latest captives were still floating in the background, they would close out the day with thirty exactly.

"Our Snatchers work around the clock," Umbridge told the woman. "They ensure the capture of fugitives and return them to justice. The public doesn't realize how many fugitives have fled or how dangerous they are. The Snatchers are the unsung heroes, keeping us protected from these dangerous individuals."

Oh, brother. The blonde woman was scribbling like mad on the parchment and it became obvious this was some sort of interview, probably for the Prophet. The Ministry could be pushing the Snatchers into the spotlight, instilling fear in the mudbloods and halfies.

"Todd, get a picture of them. Get the fugitives in the background," the blonde woman said, pointing toward Olive with her quill. Umbridge moved closer to Olive and Dreagan, who both crossed arms over their chests and stood with bored looks, wishing they would just hurry the hell up. The light flashed and Umbridge was back near the woman, trying to disguise the fact that she was peeking at the parchment to make sure everything was written how she liked.

"How many fugitives have you brought in overall?" the blonde woman asked Dreagan. He shrugged, heaving a heavy sigh.

"I've no idea," he said. "Don't keep track of 'em like that."

The woman's mouth pursed, then she asked, "Well, what about today?"

She picked a hell of a day to ask that question. "Thirty," he answered, arms still crossed.

Umbridge turned and looked at them, eyes wide. "Thirty?" she asked, abandoning her normally poised tone. "You two brought in thirty just today?"

Olive nodded in reply, then looked at the large clock hanging in the atrium. They had less than ten minutes. Dreagan followed her eyes and then looked back to the group. "We've got to tag these…fugitives," he said, using their term.

Umbridge waved them off and then they were gone, back to people staring and gawking. The captives were processed and then the two of them were back at their tent with rather heavy pockets filled with new money.

Not a moment after they landed in the dark forest, Dreagan had her backed into a tree. His fingers held her chin and he kissed her fiercely, not allowing her time to ask questions or even breathe. The confusion evident in her tucked brow slowly faded, gone completely by the time she reached up and grasped the front of his shirt in her fists. One thing led to another and any questions Olive had were soon forgotten, chased away by the heat of his hands and mouth.

That night, among their scattered bedsheets, he told her quietly they were going to relax and sleep the next day, then go somewhere nice for a few days. It was a welcome thought after the trying day they'd had. It was after she heard his soft breathing that she remembered her questions. Where had he gone that morning? Why thirty people? What was going on that had him so on edge? Then new questions flitted across her mind – had he only begun snogging her to keep her from asking the first few questions? Was he distracting her? Why?

Their hopes for a holiday did not exactly pan out as they wished. The next evening, while eating at the pub before taking off, Olive spied a man looking at her from the bar. Dreagan's back was to him, but her eyes darted back and forth between the two, time and time again. She wasn't sure until the man at the bar smirked at her and she saw the familiar cruelty in his eyes. The resemblance between the man and Dreagan was too much to ignore.

In the end, it was Dreagan's brother that messed up their holiday plans, starting from the moment he stood from the bar and made his way over to them.