Author's Note: This has slowly gotten longer and longer. I only meant this to be a two-shot ... but anyway I hope you enjoy this and have a Merry Christmas & Happy New Year as I won't update until after then.

Hasn't been beta'd. Feedback is gold.

Thanks for reading!

Live Fast, Die Young


Bittersweet


Friends do things together, hang out, don't ditch each other

She sat away from you for one lunch …

No, it was two


She strolled into his office like she owned the place. To anyone who didn't know her, she looked like just any regular witch. Her dark brown hair, streaked with her classic unnatural red was tied back, her dark almost black robes were clean and neat, a small logo on her right breast showing that she was a Brewer for St Mungo's made her look respectable, and the way she just glided in with such grace added to the effect.

She didn't look awkward even though she wasn't exactly sure where she was meant to be going. He figured that was one of the reasons he liked her so much.

As she walked in he glanced up. Scabior had been looking at Breaches Reports, a boring and repetitive task despite their nature. He wasn't sure how they made the incidents his Department boring but somehow the reports did that – magic, he thought to himself dryly.

He placed down his quill and frowned, glancing around his cubicle as if he expected someone to be listening in.

"Wot are you doin' 'ere?"

"I don't get a hello?" she said with a smile, leaving the doorway and sitting on his desk.

"'ello, Gorgeous," he said with a smirk.

She rolled her eyes. "Hey, Handsome,"

He rose, standing to his full height and looked at her carefully, taking her in: her face was clear but her eyes were slightly red. As he continued to scan her face he noticed a slight lack of colour: she was paler. His eyes slipped down to her hands: clasped together, tightly.

Like before her NEWT exams, like when she failed her Apparation test the time – a stream of moments in time flirted with his conscious, eyes narrowing as he took in her hands, clasped tightly, and the fingernails … bitten and torn.

"Wot 'appened?"

He looked back up at her eyes, saw the flicker of emotion.

"I saw Death,"

He frowned.

"My Dad," she said with a shrug. Her eyes wouldn't leave his: he saw her break. Like he had, all those years ago.

"Tell me,"

It wasn't a question, it was an order.

"Cancer,"

She spoke slowly, carefully so that her feelings: the mad rush of sadness and anger didn't spiral out. "Fucking cancer – I looked and looked – but you know what … even magic can't cure that! We can make teacups tap dance but can't fucking save lives –"

"It isn't your fault,"

"I know –"

"Yet you blame yourself," he pointed out in a cool voice.

She glared. "You're a bastard,"

"For speaking 'onestly?"

Her eyes left his, her body shuddering. She took a few deep breathes, trying to regain composure. He glanced at the clock and wondered how quickly he could get her back home so she could just let go. Being here was taxing her mentally, she couldn't keep it up. He knew it, he knew her.

He walked around his desk to her, placing a hand on hers. "C'mon, let's get ya home –"

She shook her head. "Let's go away – for a few days," she drew another breath, looking at him in the eyes again, "Get away from this – we'll go camping. We've never been camping. All friends go camping, it's just the normal thing to do –"

This time he didn't kiss her to silence her, as her eyes began to water, as her words were muffled with her shaky breathes. This time he just wrapped his hands around hers, stood close and let her lean on him. He let her words, pointless words just flow.

Like she had done one afternoon with him, in the library, a week after his mother passed in Azkaban, and he finally couldn't take it anymore.


Who even does Astronomy anymore?

Sykes does

Yeah but he's an insomniac so it doesn't count.


He had taken a fortnight off work.

And now instead of being home after a long day at work, he was in a forest, sitting by a tent, wrapped in many layers as the cold froze him, watching her as she tended to a fire. She insisted on a fire, said it was the normal thing, refused to use the mini kitchen that they had in their tent. She hadn't used magic since they got here.

He hadn't either.

The trees around them were tall, looming over them. And yet through the tall branches he could see the stars, twinkling away. Far away and out of reach, the heavens were above them, just out of reach.


Just cook!

And that will help?

Well, yeah. You'll get better at cutting your ingredients. It's an alternative form of studying

Cooking … feck


"This is amazing,"

They were sitting on a grassy knoll, eating wraps full of salami, salsa, cheese, and various vegetables. The sun was above them, providing a small amount of warmth as she taught him how to make the tortilla wrap hold everything together, laughing as small bits dropped on the ground.

"It isn't that amazing," she dismissed, "It's basic camp food – wait until we have a bucket lunch … now that is amazing,"

"I'll talk your word for it," he said, mid chew.

"I actually have this theory that no matter what you cook, as long as you are camping it'll taste awesome," she said, "Not that we cooked this meal per say but still,"

"I dunno," said Scabior, "That cous cous yesterday was –"

"But you cooked that," she pointed out, a superior I'm-so-much-better-than-you smirk appearing.

"Still disapproves your theory, 'nuff said,"

"You're the exception to the rule,"

"Sure, Gorgeous," he said with a wink, "Sure, sure,"

She stuck her tongue out.


How long d'ya reckon it'll last?

Three weeks

I reckon a month

Five Galleons then?


"What are you reading?"

"Trashy romance novel," she said, calmly as she leant against the tree. She flicked another page, her eyes never leaving it as she devoured word after word. He was sitting at the tent opening, watching her patiently, wondering what was making her blush.

"Trashy romance novel?"

She looked up, rolling her eyes. "Bodice ripper – the whole dark, mysterious, bad boy who secrectly has a heart of gold trying to seduce the sweet, innocent, naïve, but tough-as-nails heroine who is the only one who can tame his wild heart,"

"Seriously?"

"This one involves a Goblin King,"

"Who would wanna date a goblin? And since when do they have a 'King'?"

She sighed. "He's their king – not one himself – and besides these goblins are completely different – its fiction,"

A lumos spell went off in his head. "Muggle book?"

"Yes,"

"And you say they aren't…"

"Oh shut up,"

He grinned. "So if I pushed you against that tree –"

She put down her book and looked him straight in the eye. "Scabior, the fact your name is Elmo and you have a stuffed toy at home that you kept immediately eliminates you from the role of the whole dark, mysterious, bad boy,"

"I don't believe it," he said confidently.

She smirked. "The fact you also talk about your feelings also discounts you,"

"Maybe that's just because you've tamed me?" he said, getting up, sauntering over to her. He cocked his eyebrow, smiled like a saint, the devil in his soul and once he reached her, they started to kiss: hard and in a feverish rush.

"Okay, I lied," she whispered against his neck. "The bad boy thing is you,"

"Thought so, Love"


You feel oddly satisfied after it – your heart is thumping, you're dripping sweet

You can barely walk – don't cha forget that

That and you wanna puke but it's the still the greatest feeling ever


They had hiked through the lonely woods that day, the river running beside them as their steps crunched on near frozen ground and broken twigs. They had walked without purpose, not caring where they went, just talking about the shapes the clouds formed, about the birds that flew above, about the chill that consumed their bones.

They talked about old Quidditch matches, above old pranks in an age old castle, about being dared to enter the Forbidden Forest but never actually going that far in, and about the biasness of their teachers.

Their conversation was nonstop, a seemingly never-ending collection of half-remembered moments and fabrications. They glorified their days back at Hogwarts, they wondered why they couldn't back as life had been so much simpler back then even though it really hadn't.

They talked breathless as they took a dip in an icy stream, goosebumps covering her naked body as she pulled him under, his voice leaving him for but a second before he yelled into the forest air. She laughed, he dove after her, pulling her against him.

They got up quickly, pulling on clothes, setting up their tent and heading inside. They ate stale biscuits for dinner and their voices kept rambling until she fell asleep against him.

She awoke the next morning, against him, in his bed, a smile on her face.


They say that there are –

You do know werewolves are just like us? Besides the whole turn into a bloodthirsty wolf thing – so as it isn't full moon, the Forest should be fine. Trust me.


"Where are you going?"

He asked this in a half slumber. They were lying against each other on his bed, wrapped in several blankets as white snow fell outside. She was sitting up, eyes wide, a rainbow coloured knitted beanie with ear flaps on her head. She glanced around the tent, and stared at the opening.

"I heard –"

There was a crunch of snow outside, the wind whistled in the trees, creaking all around them and Scabior sat up instantly. He reached for his wand, and got up. His ears strained to catch a whisper of whatever was coming towards him. He walked to the flap of the opening, looked back at her: still sitting in their mess of blankets, eyes wide.

"Stay there," he mouthed, before venturing out.

The air cut into him instantly and he regretted not putting on a cloak instantly. He glanced around, not daring to utter 'Lumos' as that would give him away – though he was sure their presence was already given away no doubt. He could feel eyes on him: he knew he was being watched. They were being watched.

But where from? He couldn't tell.

His gut twisted, dread filling him. Every sense, every instinct told him to run. They needed to get out. Pack up and Apparate away somewhere – they were near-ish to Hogsmeade … not too far. They could get there and wait out the rest of the night in the safety of the magical town.

He turned and poked his head back in to tell her.

The ground crunched, as a rush of fluid movement grabbed him, pulling him backwards, his wand dropping. He hit the forest floor, gripping on the ground, yelling as he was pulled by his left foot. He twisted around, tried to aim his right foot at the figure but was kicked by another. Hard. In the side.

"Fuck!"

Rough hands pulled him into a kneeling position, grasping his long hair and pulling it back, forcing his face upwards, a knee in his back, applying pressure by the second. He glanced at the tent, his body freezing solid as her voice ripped through the night and was pulled out.

"Get the FUCK OFF –" he roared.

He grunted, the knee ramming into him.

"Now, now – what do we have here?"

That voice.

A figure stepped into the clearing, moonlight showing a face with matted hair covering, and a feral grin as its eyes gleamed. He knew that face, had seen it all over Diagon Alley back in the War, could still see it on the Most Wanted posters: dog, werewolf, monster – hardly human anymore.

They had been captured by werewolves – he knew they shouldn't have just wandered without a plan.

"Aren't you pretty," said Fenrir Greyback as he walked towards her, smile on his face.

Not her.

"Fuck off, Greyback," he snarled. "She's mine,"

The knee in his back left for a second but Greyback raised his hand and the knee was placed back gently. He glared, wishing he knew non-verbal, wandless magic well enough to Avada the bastard, as the werewolf stalked towards him.

"Yours, Wizard?" he asked, "Yours?"

"Mine," said Scabior, trying to inject a degree of menace into his voice, "If you lay a single fucking finger on her I will curse you,"

"Without your wand, Wizard?"

Fuck. Still bluffing sometimes work – show no fear.

Scabior smirked. "You think I need a wand?"

"I think you're full of shit,"

Fuck. Well, he's got me.

The werewolf smiled. "You should watch where you camp next time." He turned back to her and threw a glance back at him. "Think she likes it rough?"

Blood pounded in his ears.

"I doubt you could even get it up,"

The air around them stilled instantly as she called that over to Greyback. Scabior's stomach dropped, his eyes widening. What the fuck had she said? Why was she – his heart skipped a beat as he stared at her. What had possessed her to say that? Sure him playing the dominance card was a risk but outright …

"Says a lot about a man if he has to resort to rape to get some,"

His heart jolted. Why had she just said that? Why? Her eyes were fierce, determined, unafraid. She was fearless. And fucking stupid, so stupid. She was a freaking Eagle though he supposed the famous Ravenclaw intelligence didn't extend to street smarts – like not directly antagonising your potential rapist.

What was she playing at?

"How about I show you?" said Greyback, walking towards her. His grin was feral – wide. Her defiance no doubt turning the werewolf on. "Maybe I'll even keep you, pet. Like that?"

"Sorry, I don't fuck bitches – is it true you were You Know Who's lap dog?" he cringed inside as she said that and went on to say, "That you'd roll over and jump when he asked? Didn't realise that you were such a pus –"

Greyback backhanded her, a large smack filling the air. She was down on the ground, a cry escaping from her lips. Crumpled in a heap. She looked tiny there, in the night, surrounded by werewolves. If only he had his wand, he could curse them, get her – save her.

He felt sick, so sick as Greyback bent over her, running his hand along her body, slowly, it lingering in her hair, on her hips. Scabior's eyes scanned the area around them: there were five werewolves – the guy holding him, the guy holding her – or had been, Greyback, and two others. How could they get out of this? There had to be something … a small hope. But his wand lay in the tent opening, and she lay on the ground and he wasn't that strong.

Greyback stood up and turned to him, eyes alight. "She'll be fun,"

"You'll be dead," he snarled.

"I'll even let you watch," said the werewolf, as if he hadn't heard Scabior. "Think a collar will look pretty on –"

"STUPEFY!"

Red light erupted into the air, and the werewolf holding Scabior, let go as he ducked down. Scabior scrambled forward, racing towards her. She was on the ground, firing off spell after spell, in a series of fluid movement, barely hitting her targets but causing enough confusion they couldn't stop her.

He kept low, angling around Greyback to get to her. She had her wand, she could Apparate – he needed her or at least to get his own wand. Then it was all over, would be all –

"FECK!"

Greyback grabbed him, ripping into him. The air left him, body convulsing as the werewolf tore his clothes, his flesh, its face red from him. His blood. He pushed against the werewolf, tears rushing as Greyback bit him. The werewolf was too strong. Every kick, every push was useless. He didn't stop, kept trying. If he could just catch the bastard off guard – he screamed as his rib cracked.

The edge of his vision started to darken, jolts of light filling his vision as he bled into the forest floor and passed into the dark, bleeding on the forest floor.


To be continued.


Thoughts are very much appreciated :) Thanks for reading regardless though.

Points to the people who can name the movie I referenced but as a book even though its only actually a movie and not a book (yeah, I know it isn't a book but sue me)