Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters mentioned within (or without! haha, yeah it wasn't that funny) and I'm not making any profit from the posting of this fanfiction. It's all just for fun!
You're a Wolf, Boy
Adrenaline can do some funny things to ones mind. It may make everything speed up. One moment, the person is relaxing, content, and then an adrenaline rush hits them as they see their child fall. Without even thinking, the person is on the other side of the room, with little to no memory of how they got there. Or, it may make everything slow down. There's a feeling of being stuck, turning your head in slow motion as your eyes take everything in, but that's the thing - you're able to see it all. And sometimes, you really wish you hadn't.
o0o
Hermione didn't feel the hand clasping her shoulder, but she forced herself to smile reassuringly at the officers, her hands still held out to either side. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Ron and Harry moving down the stairs, though they may have been snails for all the attention she paid them. The dark toffee eyes were focused completely on the drawn gun in front of her, though she was very aware of the young woman who held it, standing steady and straight-backed. She heard Scabior make a small noise, but she ignored it, opening her mouth, ready to speak with the officers - only to start as several girls screamed and students began to scatter. Thankfully they ran away from what was happening, but Hermione made herself focus again.
"H-hello there, officers. My name is Hermione Granger and there seems to be some misunderstanding," she began, her voice gaining strength as she continued. The young female officer, hair short and messy, gave Hermione a quick, incredulous look, but focused once more on Scabior. The tall black man strode quickly over to his partner, face serious as he leaned over and spoke beneath his breath. Hermione thought that he was chiding her, but she was too far away, and though his voice was deep and echoed, it was indiscernible. After what felt like forever, but was actually less than sixty seconds, the man turned to Hermione and straightened, giving her a strained smile.
"Miss Granger, you can call me Officer Shacklebolt. I'm going to please ask if the gentleman there will release your shoulder and allow you to walk back into the school. Does this sound alright, Mr. Scabior?" Shacklebolt didn't move, and his partners gun was not withdrawn. Hermione let out another shakey breath before speaking again.
"L-like I said, Officer Shacklebolt. There s-seems to be a misunderstanding. I know a fellow student of mine was in an argument with Mr. Scabior a few days past and unfortunately it was over my well-being. Mr. Scabior here only had my best interests in mind, though some people don't think before they speak," Hermione finished, her voice rising into a near squeak as she said the word 'think'. The sense of touch seemed to flood back through her body and Hermione's heart leaped as Scabior's fingers tightened almost painfully against her shoulder. What was he doing? The police were obviously wary about this whole situation and Hermione had absolute no idea what Malfoy had told them about Scabior to make them have such a reaction. From the looks on their faces, Scabior was reacting to it all badly.
Shacklebolt had opened his mouth again, ready to reply, when Hermione saw a quick flash of movement out of the corner of her eye. A mop of ginger hair and a face nearly as red was rushing towards them - and then Harry had tackled Ron to the ground, the boys struggling furiously on the pavement. A strange click sounded right behind Hermione's left ear and she turned toward it, her eyes catching the barest glimmer of silver before Scabior let go of her shoulder and wrapped his arm around her middle, his fingers digging painfully into her ribs.
"You idiot! What are you doing?" Hermione shrieked, her hands raising up to curl around the arm that now held a pocket knife in hand, a few inches away from her cheek. Her stomach dropped into her toes and a cold feeling curled through her, starting with her fingertips and moving onwards. Scabior was shaking and she could hear him whispering "Sorry, sorry, sorry," over and over again, his face nearly buried in her tangled mass of hair. The female officer had sucked in a sharp breath, her lips parting in fearful surprise, but Shacklebolt hadn't moved more than his eyes, flashing quickly to Ron and Harry on the ground and then back to Hermione and Scabior. Hermione could barely hear Ron let out a muffled yell.
"Miss Granger, I don't believe it was a misunderstanding," Shacklebolt finally said, his deep baritone enough to push through the rage that was building in Hermione. She knew her eyes were wide, could feel her breath moving too quickly through her lungs, and though she was scared, what she wanted more than anything was to punch Scabior in the face. The idiot! She was trying to help him, and if she had been given time... Hermione's eyes were drawn back to her best friends. Ron had his face pressed against the asphault with Harry holding him down, but both of them had their eyes focused on her, full of worry and disbelief.
"But it was!" Hermione finally shrieked, struggling faintly to push Scabior's arm from around her stomach, as if it was no big deal. She could barely make him budge, but she kept trying. "It was! I don't know what you were told about him, but even though he can be idiotic-" Hermione pushed forcefully against the arm again, ignoring the blunt knife that was so close to her face. Shacklebolt gave a sharp shake of his head, as if she needed to stop. Her chest heaving, Hermione finally went as limp as Scabior allowed, the scent of leather, tobacco and a hint of whiskey filling her nostrils. Everything was going wrong. Everything was falling to pieces around her, and she could do nothing to stop it. Bottom lip trembling, Hermione glanced back at her two best friends. The fight with Ron seemed so trivial now. Nothing could compare to what was happening now, and it was all her fault, for trying to relieve herself of guilt.
"Mr. Scabior, can I please ask you to remove yourself from Miss Granger? Let her walk back to the school-" Shacklebolt was talking over his partner, who had removed a hand from her gun pointing stance to click a button on the radio attached to her shoulder, trying to distract attention from drawing to her. Scabior shook his head, freeing himself from Hermione's hair, at least to peer up at the officers, and he finally began to speak.
"Now, now officers, I think you might need to listen to me, eh? I think I like you best right where you two are, so try not to move," Scabior's voice was confident, which was a complete contrast to the shudders that were wracking his body. It told Hermione, at least, that he was not happy with the situation in any way. Hermione felt her eyes drawn to Ron and Harry again, but they hadn't moved from their spot on the ground. Ron's lips were quivering, but whether it was from fear or anger, Hermione didn't know. Scabior began to back away, Hermione's tennis shoes catching the pavement beneath her feet, but it didn't deter him. He was already close to the thick chain link fence, lined with advertisement boards for the local businesses that supported the school. If he got behind the advertisement boards, he would be out of sight of the officers and Hermione suddenly realized that she didn't want that to happen. It was almost a premonition of danger and once again Hermione began to wriggle, pushing at Scabior's arms.
"Ah, ah, my lovely. I'm afraid you're goin' to have to come with me," he said loud enough for the officers to hear. Hermione's movements became frantic, her hands so shakey she could barely grasp onto him - and they were out of sight. The knife vanished, the arms adjusted, throwing her over his shoulder and he ran.
And he was fast.
Hermione went from trying to escape, to holding on for dear life as he sprinted down the sidewalk, his shoulder hitting painfully against her hip. A soft whirring noise and then a loud cling shot past them, just barely grazing the edge of the chain link fence. Hermione screamed, for a moment in wordless terror, and then glanced up, spying the female officer sighting down her arm.
"NO! DO. NOT. SHOOT!" Hermione screeched, her words punctuated by the bouncing as Scabior ran farther and farther from the school. The woman holstered her gun and ran out of sight, most likely back to their vehicle. Hermione focused on calming herself down; still angry with Malfoy to an extent, but now it was mostly Scabior. She called him every vile name she could think of and began to pound her fists on his back, but he ignored her. Hermione looked up once more and saw that the school was now barely visible in the distance. They were nearing the park, which meant that they would be close to her home. A flare of hope burned Hermione and she dug her fingers into his shoulders, bracing herself.
Scabior ran into the park, Hermione thrown over his shoulder and shot past the kids playing and the mothers watching open mouthed in shock. They passed the playground equipment, the slides and the swings, before Hermione decided it was now or never. Her feet found purchase against his thigh and Hermione pushed off of his shoulders, using the momentum to spin out of his grip. It wasn't pretty. When Hermione hit the ground she gasped with pain, because she had brought Scabior down with her and the top of his head had hit against her cheekbone, before they both smashed into the dirt. Sucking in air, her eyes watering, Hermione forced herself up, saw that Scabior was still moving and began heading for home.
Hermione was not an athlete. She had participated in gym class because it was mandatory. She did not relish the feeling of cold air burning her throat and searing the inside of her lungs, nor the ache of muscles being pushed as far as they could go. But she felt like the devil was on her heels, and she could run. That was what was important. Hermione shot off of the path and into the trees, her feet crunching dead leaves as she ran. She knew this forested area like the back of her hand. She had spent ages playing make-believe with Harry and Ron, climbing trees and exploring. Through the aching limbs and tight chest, Hermione tried to focus on those memories. She was the heroine, fallen on bad times, but the two heroes, her best friends, would save her. They always had. Hermione pretended she could see them running with her, away from the dragon and the army that followed, back to the castle.
The sound of booted feet finally caught up with her ears and Hermione felt a knot of tension settle in her stomach. She didn't dare risk looking over her shoulder to judge his distance. If she did, that would be it. Hermione pushed on, ducking low branches and pushing other, more flexible ones, away from her. Hopefully they would snap back and catch him in the face. But there were no sounds of anger. There was no cursing and the chase was still on.
Hermione threw herself over a thick branch that was too low to slip beneath and let out a small scream as she tumbled down the hill it had been hiding. The dry leaves were like slick ice and Hermione slid down them on her stomach, her hands scrabbling for a hold, something, anything to help her stop. She glanced up and could see Scabior at the top of the hill, stopped. For the moment. The hill began to even out, and though her legs felt like jelly, Hermione pushed herself up again, recognizing a near-by oak that she had once gotten stuck in as a child. Hope poured over her like a wave and tears stung her eyes, but Hermione wasn't home yet. She whirled and started to push her way through dense underbrush, not caring that there might be poison oak, or creatures hibernating. A bite or the contraction of a horrible rash was nothing to her, not when a mad man had just tried to kidnap her in the presence of two police officers.
Her chest hurt and though her skin was clammy and cold, she felt like she was burning from the inside out. Hermione was panting, a burst of adrenaline making her push herself a bit faster and from out of nowhere she had the inane thought that she was going to be in extreme pain tomorrow from the build-up of lactic acid. A hysteric laugh tried to force itself through her lips, but Hermione swallowed it, her eyes focusing on the path about twenty feet in front of her. She was so close; she just knew she could make it. Chest heaving, Hermione sped up once more, forcing herself through a bush filled with needle-like branches, not caring that her hands stung from dozens of tiny scratches.
Her feet slipped on the loose gravel of the path, but it didn't matter. She was near the edge of the forest, and just within view was a short row of quaint little houses. Right in the middle of them was home. Like Little Red Riding Hood coming to grandmother's house, the view was so picturesque it made her eyes sting and she rushed towards it, slipping her bag off her shoulders, not caring that she would have to retrieve it later because of homework, or anything else. At that moment, Hermione would gladly have forgotten all about her studies, because the nightmare chase was over.
The wind was knocked out of her chest as she fell face down on the ground, a heavy body pinning her down. Like a bolt of lightning, hysteria traveled through her system in a matter of milliseconds. This wasn't really happening. She could see her home. The heroine was not supposed to have home within reach, only to be... Scabior slipped his arms around her, yanking her back to her feet. Debris fell from her shirt and the ache of a bruise forming pulsed on her cheekbone where she had been hit not only by Scabior's head, but the gravel and dirt of the path before her. The panic and adrenaline of the chase was nothing. Shock rose like a tidal wave and crashed over her head, taking all feeling and hope with it.
o0o
Scabior felt like the lowest scum of the earth. He should never have come to this town, thinking it was safe, just because of... He grit his teeth and pressed a hand against his mouth, horribly angry with himself. He hadn't taken Hermione seriously about the Malfoy boy, and then, with the cops... Scabior had been scared. There was no doubt about it. He knew what would happen if someone even recognized him, knew that he would be sent back to jail and the hell that it was. But for a moment, seeing the officers, he had believed that Hermione could talk her way out of anything. She was going to help him, didn't think that he was a criminal, and even told them that they were mistaken! Scabior was going to let her talk him out of this. He could pretend that he was someone else - but then there were those boys.
The redhead had scared him. Scabior was panicking because of the cops, and then that horrible teenager had run at him, and out of the corner of his eye, the boy may as well have been another officer, for all that Scabior knew. What was something that would get him out of the situation? What was something that would keep that woman from shooting him? A hostage. The pocket knife, dull and ill-used, just barely its original color, may as well have appeared within his hand. Like magic, he flicked it out and found his arms clutching Hermione to him like he had wanted to do since he had caught her mouth-watering scent in that god-forsaken store. But he hadn't wanted to do it while holding a knife to her face. He hadn't wanted to hold her and use her as a hostage. That would be the only way he could hold her now.
She had surprised him in the park, toppling the both of them to the ground and his ears rang once he had sat up. Hermione had already ran by then. Panicking, the cops were on the way and he didn't have his hostage, Scabior had run after her. The chase had been... glorious. For him. Somewhere inside, he was ashamed of the joy he had taken in hunting her down and tackling her to ground. But it had been the greatest rush he had ever had. The sounds of crushed leaves and the heavy breathing had been the only way to track her and it hadn't taken him long. Her dive over the branch had scared him for a moment, seeing the panic on her face as her hands dug into leaves and earth, trying to stop her descent. But he couldn't stop now, not when he had her cornered.
Scabior had been surprised again when he saw her, stopped on the edge of the path, staring at the little houses. He had momentarily wondered if one was her home, but the thought hadn't stopped his leap. It was after that, that things had turned ugly. Until they were about half way back to his motel room, Hermione let him drag her along like a rag-doll. But when she heard the sound of a car driving by, she began to fight again and Scabior had received a nasty claw mark down his left cheek. He'd also received a punch to the face, but her hits had been weak and were more like half-hearted flails than anything. She'd gone limp about ten minutes away from the motel.
The moment he closed the motel door, Hermione had come back to life. She flew at him like a bird-of-prey, trying to smash her hands into his face, but mostly they just bounced off his shoulders and chest. Scabior had tried to calm her down, but she wouldn't listen, wouldn't open her mouth or even attempt to speak of make any noise, except for the furious swings. The wrestle that followed had scared them both.
Scabior had fended her off with one hand, the other digging in the small nightstand beside the bed, searching for the hand-cuffs that a... A date had brought over about a month ago, and left behind. He'd pulled them out and managed to hook one around her wrist before she knew what was happening. The fear that had flashed over her face made Scabior sick. They had each fought in earnest then, but Scabior was stronger and it wasn't difficult to push her onto the bed, pin her down and then wind the handcuffs through the cheap metal railings of the headboard. Once she was caught, Scabior threw himself off of her and shut himself in the bathroom, letting his body force up all the food he'd eaten that day.
And here he was. Staring into the bathroom mirror and trying to tell himself that he wasn't a monster. For reasons unknown, Hermione wasn't screaming, though it wouldn't have helped much in the first place. The motel was a dump, and being owned and operated by people as oily and snake-like as it was... Screams of any kind usually meant one thing. After splashing his face with water, Scabior finally left the restroom and glanced towards the bed. Hermione wasn't moving. A bubble of panic rose in his chest and Scabior shot across the room, fingers searching for a pulse. It was there. He frowned and stepped away, eyebrows drawn together as he stared down at her. Maybe she had passed out from the exertion?
Scabior threw himself in the small chair and covered his face with both hands, mind racing. This wasn't nearly as bad as the job he had had taken to get out of jail, but he couldn't get himself out of this trouble. But the job... Maybe that was the ticket! His blue eyes focused on a spot on the wall, not really seeing it. He'd finished it, though it had been hell and in the long run had turned out to be the worst decision he could have ever made. He'd finished it. Surely...
Surely Riddle owed him for that one.
o0o
Seeing someone being kidnapped is not an everyday occurrence. Seeing one of your best friends being kidnapped? Harry didn't have the words. Ron had cried. Cried. He had cried and cursed Harry and no doubt would have been laying in the school parking lot, pounding his fists into the pavement, if Harry had not yanked him up and told him that they needed to move quickly. Shacklebolt, and his partner, her tag had read N. Tonks, had immediately rushed off to their car, Tonks shouting into her radio. Harry had watched them dispassionately, Ron muttering questions, before he jerked his friend's shirt and motioned towards the sidewalk.
"Hermione was taken on foot, we can follow on foot. Come on, Ron - hurry!" It had taken a moment for the redhead to realize what was going on, but he had loped after Harry without argument. They ran in the direction that Hermione had been taken, and would have had no idea on where to find her, but they saw the group of mothers, leaving the park in a rush with kids in hand. One of them was yelling into her cellphone about a crazy-looking man carrying a girl over his shoulder. Harry and Ron exchanged a short glance before they darted into the park and down the gravel path to Hermione's home, Ron muttering beneath his breath.
"You would think that someone would attempt to stop him! Hey you, yeah, the one obviously carrying a girl away against her will - what's going on?" Ron threw his hands up in the air, but finally stopped talking, saving his breath for continuing their endeavor. Harry shot his friend a sympathetic glance but didn't say anything. There was no good answer and it was slightly startling to realize that more often than not, people would look the other way when something bad was going on. Well, look the other way, or run the other way. A flare of anger traveled up Harry's spine as he thought this - Malfoy was one of the people who would run away from a bad situation. Hermione sharing her worry over what Malfoy had said came to mind as well. Harry wished he had urged her to forget about it all, that he could have given her some kind of helpful advice.
The only advice Harry could think of, however, involved ignoring Scabior completely. While Hermione was brilliant, studious and always one to follow the rules... She often wanted to think the best of people, when they obviously didn't deserve it. Ron had once accused Hermione of having a crush on Draco Malfoy - and while the idea had seemed absolutely preposterous to Harry and offensive to Hermione, Ron had made a good point. Every single time that Harry or Ron had though Malfoy was getting up to something, worse than his usual taunts, Hermione had scoffed. She had usually thrown in an insult for good measure, but to a small extent, she had defended Malfoy. He shook his head and pushed his glasses back up his nose.
Harry was sure they had been making good time; they would be able to catch up - when he heard a yell in the distance, the sound echoing only once. He clenched his hands and urged Ron to go faster. Hermione and Scabior were farther along than he had thought and there were no more screams or any shouts for help. By the time they had reached the small cul de sac, Hermione was gone again. Ron had rushed forward, snatching her bag from the ground and moaning piteously. He knelt down on the ground, clutching the strap of the bag and staring at the dirt and debris in front of him.
"Hermione wouldn't have willingly left it behind. But at least we know they came this way," Harry panted, leaning his hands on his knees as he tried to get his breath back. As they were standing there, sirens began screaming in the distance, getting steadily closer. Harry clenched his hands tightly on his knees, knowing that they needed to keep moving and soon. They didn't need to be stopped and questioned by the cops and the more time they spent here, the farther away Hermione became. He opened his mouth and straightened, ready to speak, but Ron beat him to it.
"What if she's dead? What if he's killed her?" The redhead turned to Harry, his eyes wide and his face ashen. Harry took a step back, as if Ron had said something unforgivable and then rushed forward, yanking on Ron's arm.
"Thinking like that isn't going to help! You need to get up! Leave the bag Ron, it'll only slow us down and we need to get moving." Harry whirled away and started searching the ground, trying to discern footprints. His godfather had taught him how to track animals, but that had been years ago and Harry had not paid half the attention he wished he would have. He stopped next to Ron again, seeing two long lines dragged through the dirt - and he crowed with triumph. "This way Ron! He took her this way, look, he must have dragged her away," but Harry didn't stop to see if Ron would follow, he shot off into the forest, feet crunching noisily through the leaves.
There was noise almost in tandem with his footsteps though, and Harry peered over his shoulder to see Ron gaining on him, his face serious and more focused. The two boys ran as fast as they could, but the longer they continued, the more their hopes and adrenaline waned. Harry stopped when he saw no more disturbed leaves and found himself very close to the highway. Cars flew past, blurred with speed and Harry wondered where Scabior could have taken her. Ron caught up with him and stared morosely at the street before slumping against a tree and fisting his hands in his hair. Harry didn't move from where he was, until he heard the echoes of shouts ringing through the trees. The police had caught up and would probably be much quicker on the up-take than Harry. It would surely be a short time before they found the two boys and then sent them home.
"Wait - there's the bloody devil! Harry look!" Ron shot to his feet and tore off through the trees, barely leaving Harry enough time to see what he had meant. Far in the distance, where the highway ran into one of the city streets, was a man who could be Scabior, though they wouldn't be able to truly tell without binoculars. Harry pushed himself to catch up with Ron, but by the time they were back in town, neither of them knew which direction the man had gone. Ron was rigid with fury and could probably only see a few feet in front of him, with such a haze clouding his mind. Harry turned to the left, eyes straining and thought he saw him again, heading towards the more questionable part of town.
"Come on, Ron, let's go this way," Harry told him quietly, walking at a quick, but normal pace. Ron followed on his heels, shoving his hands angrily into his jean pockets. The boys were about as inconspicuous as Christmas decorations in May, but no one bothered them. Teenagers were always getting into trouble and there were usually a few who wandered away from the typical hangouts, hoping to score drugs or find someone willing to buy alcohol for minors. The farther they got from their homes and school, however, was making the both of them nervous. Harry was about ready to call it quits - they were now on the very outskirts of town and the houses were now few and far between; and it was getting dark. Harry stopped and the cold seemed to seep into his bones. He hadn't let himself consider Ron's words - but what if something horrible had happened? Hermione wouldn't just lie down without a fight and if the man was really a criminal, who knew what could have happened.
"What was that?" Ron whispered, his face turned towards a worn-looking dirt path that led towards more trees. Harry hadn't seen anything, and he shook his head, but Ron began walking in that direction, slow at first, but then he suddenly put on a burst of speed. Harry cursed beneath his breath and began running again.
"Ron, there's nothing here - we need to head home," Harry murmured furiously, even as his feet carried him after the red head. Ron ignored him and the boys continued on for another ten minutes before Harry grabbed Ron's sleeve and made him stop. Up ahead, lights like a beacon in the darkness, was what looked like the dilapidated ruins of an old lumber mill. Harry felt his lips part in surprise - what on earth was this doing out in the middle of nowhere? The boys moved closer, and narrowing his eyes, Harry let out a soft gasp. There was Scabior, walking up to the door, nervously looking all around him. Hermione was no-where in sight. The boys crept even closer, as quietly as possible, but it wasn't necessary, Scabior knocked and once a small slat opened in the door, his voice carried in the night.
"Here ta see Mr. Riddle. Would like to call in a favor, I think." Scabior's voice was more confident than he looked and feminine tones hissed something at him before slamming the small slat shut. He waited though, and so did Harry and Ron. It was a few minutes before the woman returned, throwing the door open and gesturing wildly inside. The door shut with a bang behind him. Ron glanced at Harry, confusion evident in his eyes. Harry shook his head; he was just as confused...
"Wait," Harry whispered, turning to look Ron full on. "He said Mr. Riddle?" Harry asked. Ron nodded his head in confirmation, though he looked about to protest whatever Harry was getting at.
"Mr. Riddle - Thomas Riddle? The politician?"
Neither boy said anything, but the question had sent a shiver down both of their spines. Not far off, the sound of a twig snapped and both boys whipped their heads about.
"Oh no," Ron whispered, panic filling his eyes.
"Who's there?" A deep, growling voice asked, the beam of a flashlight bouncing off of the trees.
A/N: Alrighty! I know - about half this chapter deals with Ron and Harry and it's serious and kinda crazy and hopefully won't make everyone irritated with me. D= The more outlines I make for this fic though, the more it's becoming a story instead of just funny fluff (though very amusing and greatly appreciated fluff, from your reviews and favs and alerts!) Which, I will thank you for your love of it constantly. Anyway. For those of you whom are new, keep in mind - rape will not happen in my fic. (or future fics) Ever.