Last chapter (epilogue to come). I still don't have the hang of fight scenes. Oh well. Hope it works.
"I wouldn't be laughin', you filthy mongrel."
The werewolf kept a grin plastered on his face, sick and twisted and so far from human. Greyback shook his head, a silent message: Did he really want to do this?
"How's the girl, she alive?"
The glee in those yellow eyes was misplaced. Glee that he had nearly ruined someone so close to his old boss. The sheer thrill of having torn her flesh, tasted her blood, known her in the way only a lover had with no regard for her consent or pleasure. The screams were always the best, of course.
"It's none o' your goddamn business, now is it?" Scabior stepped out of the shadows, twirling Greyback's wand in his hand.
"Oh, but you wouldn't be here if she wasn't. You may be vengeful, but you wouldn't fuck up a chance you have to stay out of Azkaban, now would you?"
Greyback just stood there, picking at his teeth. Relaxed. Far from worried what a single wizard would, or rather could, do to him. As if Scabior had any power behind him. His standing in the Ministry the previous year had everything to do with Greyback's grudging obedience. He had been deemed the leader because he was a wizard, a human and was capable of decent planning and tracking. Voldemort's puppet Ministry had still hidden the creatures it used, just not as much as before the coup.
There was no power behind Scabior. He didn't come with an army. He didn't even have an Auror with him. He was a single man who disarmed him. Greyback was shit with magic, but he compensated for it in physical strength.
Scabior was no threat to the werewolf. They both knew that.
"I'd still be here, even if she hadn't survived."
"You thought you could trade information in order to get back into your little girlfriend's arms. No one simply hands over information on me and gets away scot-free. It never works that way, Scabior."
"You're nothin' but a thug, Greyback. I mean, really. That's all you are. You're tearin' people to shreds, rapin' and killin' and takin' what you want, but why? There's always a purpose."
The men had begun to walk in a circle, Greyback walking like a proud lion, chest out. Scabior squared his shoulders, meeting his gaze the entire time. He knew he was the prey, the rabbit tossed into the den of hungry animals. He didn't like it. Was this how it felt to be running from them? How the runaways and muggle-borns and blood-traitors felt? The rush of adrenaline wasn't from running, from thrill, but from fear.
"Because the people are still recovering. They're weak. Ripe for the picking." The werewolf raised his arms out, fingers arched and claws glistening with crimson in the dim lighting.
"You're disgustin', Greyback."
"So you've said. Back when you had something behind you. You're tossing words at me, human. They're nothing." The werewolf stopped in his pace, face contorted in a mocking pose of thought. "Oh, but, when you think about it…"
"Not that you're capable o' that, now are you?"
"Still with the low-blows, Scabior? You're one to call me disgusting. You killed. You…persuaded…women into your bed. You tortured. You turned people over for money so you could live. How are you any better than me, really?"
Whatever patience Scabior had was gone, and he threw a hex at the werewolf, despite knowing it wouldn't do much good. The purple flash hit the target, but nothing of consequence happened. Greyback chuckled darkly, rushing at the other man with one hand prepared to gut him.
Scabior darted to the side, turning on his heel and kicking Greyback, which did little good. It was like kicking a boulder. A part of him knew what he'd have to do to finish this; two simple words and a flash of green light. But there was something about the fight that would make this worthwhile. Something primal. His survival would be far more gratifying.
Speed was something that was one his side for a time. He'd dodge blows, narrowly escape a swipe of claws or a gnash of teeth. At some point Greyback had caught a hold of him by the shirt and flung him across the room, skidding across the floor. It went downhill from there. He got slower, clumsier. Magic would do nothing, not really. The second wand clattered out of his hold, and was picked up by its original owner.
Scabior scrambled for his wand, sending a stunning spell towards Greyback. In his desperation, his spell was stronger, and managed to send the massive werewolf back a few feet. The ex-Snatcher got to his feet, steadying himself as he flicked his wand, sending a flame that barely even scorched his opponent.
"Oh, you have to do better than that." A giant hand snuffled out a flame on his coat, flicking away ash. "I have other things to do, Scabior."
The word stumbled out of his mouth, "Crucio."
He had used it on the werewolf before, several times. To make a point, to assert his role as leader. Usually because Greyback had decided to disobey him and he wasn't going to let harm come to the source of the money they lived off.
It had worked because Scabior reveled in being able to let out the frustration the living conditions were having on all of them.
It worked now because he took knowledge in knowing that the man who caused Riley's suffering was writhing in agony. He stopped with a flick of his wand, and then cast it again. He had forgotten the utter strength needed to cast it, the anger, the drive. He had to want to cause the pain and enjoy it.
He stopped again, stepping closer to the werewolf, who was breathing hard and sweating but looked relatively unharmed.
"Flagrate."
He slashed the air with his wand in stiff movements, as if he were wielding a knife. Burn marks, deep and red, began to form on Greyback's body, creating themselves from the inside-out. Scorch-marks appeared on his clothing, and the smell of burning flesh became very obvious in a short amount of time.
The pain had become too much for Greyback, but he had become angry with himself for suffering, for feeling the pain. He was being attacked by a mere human, burned and tortured. The anger overrode the pain and the werewolf found the strength to stand, causing Scabior to pause in his actions.
Bad move.
He lunged at the other man, claws cutting deep and in between his ribs. Giant fists knocked the air out of him, broke his nose, and most likely his jaw. He kept his teeth away from Scabior. The man didn't deserve to be bitten, didn't deserve to potentially become one of them.
He planned to end the human's life, his hand flat and fingers together; with his nails the way they were, it would be easy to thrust his hand through a torso like a makeshift blade.
He had been stopped mid-motion, claws already deep in muscle and tissue, by a shout of "Incarerous!" by a female voice.
Scabior flickered on the edge of conscious, remembered seeing Greyback fall to the side. More people. He recognized a few of them. Grey eyes focused on his, lips he wanted to kiss muttering basic healing spells, telling him she couldn't live with herself letting him go and do something stupid. That he better stay awake if he knew what was good for him.
He vaguely recalled giving her a shakey, cocky grin and then waking up to the disgustingly white ceiling of a room at St. Mungo's.