Disclaimer: I do not own the Harry Potter characters in any way; this is all just for fun!

Crooks Are Out

Emotions are so tied into people that physical manifestation will eventually materialize one way or another. Fear, loss and shock are all perfect ways to push one's body into overdrive, but eventually the body has to rest. Exhaustion wants no answer; it will take what a body needs, even when a situation is dire.

o0o

A news program was running, and her arms ached. Hermione shifted, trying to pull her arms back down to her sides, only to remember where she was when the clink and clatter of handcuffs against metal railings reached her ears. Pressing her lips tightly together, hoping Scabior hadn't noticed her movement, she peered out of one eye. Between the fan of her lashes, Hermione could see the flickering lights from the television, but Scabior wasn't in the single chair.

Still hesitant, she waited a few moments before she opened both her eyes and lifted her head up enough to see that, except for herself, the room was empty. A chill ran down her spine. He had left her alone? She tilted her head a little farther, trying to see the restroom, but it too, was dark. Trying to blow away stray strands of hair, Hermione turned herself towards the door, as much as she was able. The curtains on the window were closed and the Do Not Disturb sign was missing, which most likely meant that it was hanging on the handle outside.

Hermione felt her cheeks heat up and her throat tighten, but she choked the tears back and took a few calming breaths before she felt, while not good, at least together. She was so stupid! Her mother had told her once, that you couldn't save everyone. Sometimes it was better to let something run it's course, than to try and throw a wrench in the plans. She couldn't have been more right. Hermione had been trying to do the right thing, for the most part, something inside her whispered, vindictive.

It was true. For the most part, Hermione had been trying to do the right thing, at the time she hadn't believed Scabior truly dangerous... But that wasn't true either. Hermione clenched her teeth and let out an angry huff, her fingers curling tight against her palms.

"Think, Hermione," she grumbled to herself, her eyebrows drawing together as she stared at the ceiling.

From the first, she had thought something was off about Scabior. Off, but not quite... Well, she hadn't thought him capable of kidnapping. When she had lost her scarf and she had slapped him was the first time she had been really afraid, more even than when she had pepper sprayed him in the face. Hermione wanted to curse. After having initially hurt Scabior, she had removed the pepper spray from her school bag. That was something that Scabior had seemed right about, it was dangerous to have it on the school grounds, where she could end up hurting a fellow student.

Well, Hermione would put it right back into her school bag once she had the chance. If she hadn't removed it, she could have used it again - but no. Hermione felt guilty. Guilt was the root of the problem, guilt was why she had attempted to save Scabior. She wondered momentarily if Scabior had ever felt any guilt… But then she remembered him emptying the contents of his stomach in the bathroom and decided that he must. For all his shortcomings, Hermione would grudgingly give him that. She had thought – but it didn't matter what she had thought, because he hadn't done it. After he had left the room, Hermione had been so relieved to be spared that particular torment that she allowed herself to relax; and then had promptly passed out from exhaustion. She turned her head, enough to see the glowing red numbers on the nightstand clock. 8:34 PM.

It had been roughly 5 and a half hours then. It felt like days had gone by! Instead, the most horrendous day Hermione had ever had still hadn't ended. Hermione took another calming breath, annoyed with how loud the television was... And then she realized why the volume was turned up so loud. She waited for a moment, trying to gauge the volume on a scale of 1 to 10, wondering whether her voice could beat it out... But waiting and guessing wouldn't help, Hermione let out a sharp, short scream. A minute went by and nothing happened. Scabior didn't rush through the door, she heard no thumps or yelling from near-by rooms. The only noise was the continual droning of the TV.

Her dark eyes wild, Hermione tried to sit up again, hoping to see where the remote had been left, but it was nowhere in sight. She screamed again and called for help, but no one came. The motel was dingy, and most likely didn't have many occupants. It was early September, there were few, to no, tourists in town. Hermione was on her own, handcuffed to the bed of a man she despised. She bit her bottom lip, trying to keep from crying.

And she failed.

o0o

Scabior eyed Bellatrix's back, recalling with ease the moment he had met the vile woman. He had hoped to never deal with her again, or anyone else who ran in her circles. All of them were as insane as they came, and Scabior had been an idiot to ever fall in with this crowd, but... Here he was, back again. The inside of the old lumber mill was about as clean as it could get, floors swept and polished. A myriad of people bustled about, going in and out of rooms and running down corridors. Some of them look like they work in Riddle's offices, and they probably do, others look like they come from the streets and Scabior knows they do. The homeless and run-aways and people looking for help. He wonders how the place looks so decrepit from the outside, and how they keep wandering children from exploring the "abandoned" building. Scabior puts a cork in his thoughts, sealing them tightly and focuses once more on Bellatrix, who has stopped next to a room with the door closed. She knocks gently and waits until a muffled voice says something, before she opens the door and gestures for Scabior to go in before her.

He doesn't trust the heavy-lidded eyes that watch him, but Scabior forces himself to walk past her, pretending that he doesn't know how capable she is with a knife, and worse. The door closes behind Bellatrix, and she waits in front of it, twining a curl around her finger in a parody of a girl flirting. Scabior grimaces, but turns to the desk and lays his eyes on Thomas Riddle.

Thomas Riddle is in his early forties, and he's handsome. He has dark, messy hair that is just beginning to silver at the temples and a smile that can charm men and women alike. It would have charmed Scabior too, he looks like someone you can pal around with, maybe share a bottle of whiskey and do something stupid, no matter that he's wearing a three piece suit... But Scabior has seen the monster that lurks beneath the calm demeanor.

"Ah, Scabior, in a bit of trouble, are you?" Scabior waits a beat, but Riddle doesn't look up from the papers in front of him, so he mumbles an agreement, shifting nervously when he hears Bellatrix move behind him.

"Yes, Bella told me you were calling in that favor. Want this all cleaned up, I'm guessing? You do realize, I can do nothing about the police. We have... A stout-hearted bunch of officers, you see." Riddle signs something with a flourish and then twirls his pen between his fingers, eyes still on the paper. He looks like he should be a CEO, should be a man with a large family, though as far as Scabior knows, the man has never married. He spares a silent prayer for any woman that Riddle decides would add the right touch to his life. Or at least, the appearance he puts up.

"So no, I really can't do much about that." Riddle puts his pen down and then gestures at the chair sitting in front of his desk. Scabior sits down, adjusting his coat and trying not to scratch the back of his neck. He can feel Bellatrix watching him, like sharp fingernails against his neck.

"Well, yea' I, I didn' think ya'd be able to make 'em give up. I just... I need a place to disappear for a short while. Get them off my back," Scabior laughs, but the sound is hollow and he almost immediately stops. Bellatrix sniggers and Riddle looks up at her, clicking his tongue in a fatherly gesture of disapproval.

"Now, Bella, not nice to make fun. A place to hide out, Scabior? Hmm. About how long do you think you'll need it?" Scabior racks his brain. Two weeks? A month? Riddle has enough connections that he can get him out of the county and none would be the wiser. A short stay in a little hide-away and then he can make himself disappear...

"A month? Maybe a lil' less. Just, damn kid drew attention to me and I guess his father is a big-wig in town -Malfoy?" Scabior rubs his palms over the knees of his plaid pants, desperately wanting to get out of this awful place and never have anything to do with Thomas Riddle again.

Bellatrix makes a movement and Scabior turns quickly. She's only straightened, but she's giving him a very serious look. Scabior frowns and then turns back to Riddle, who is also frowning.

"Ah, I see. Well. I'll have a chat with Lucius, and you can rest assured, he won't say another word about you. But a month? That's all? Hmm. That's almost too easily arranged," Riddle chuckles and drums his fingertips against his desk, as if he were truly considering. Scabior can almost feel the weight lifting off of his shoulders. It's a shame that he can't try and make things right with Hermione, but as much as she draws him to her, it's safer this way. He'll leave, get out of her hair and try and make another life for himself somewhere else. No more cities, Scabior suddenly decides. He wants to see trees again and nature makes no judgments on your past.

"Very well then, Scabior, we-" A gunshot goes off and all three of them freeze. Riddle's eyes bore holes into Scabior for all of ten seconds, before Bellatrix is throwing open the door and screeching down the hall. Someone answers her almost immediately and she turns back to them, licking her bottom lip.

"Someone is outside, and it looks like Greyback is on their tail. Should I go and-" Before Bellatrix can finish, Riddle is up and striding across the room and out the door. Scabior blinks in surprise, but apparently this is something rather new to all of them, because Bellatrix runs after her boss and Scabior is left alone. Not wanting to be tempted into investigating Riddles things, Scabior gets up and follows after them, wondering who would be stupid enough to try and spy on Thomas Riddle.

o0o

Harry clapped his hand onto Ron's face, before Ron could squeak in fear. A very large man, over 6 feet tall, with beefy arms and dirty clothing and - Harry just barely kept himself from gasping. The man looked like a monster, and if he had been a few years younger, Harry would have sworn up and down that the man was a werewolf. Harry and Ron were as still as possible, watching the monstrous man slowly make his way through the trees in their direction. The flash light beam was getting ever closer and Harry could feel Ron tensing under his hands. If they didn't bolt, then the man would have no trouble catching them. Whatever these people, and Scabior included, were doing here, obviously wasn't meant for their eyes. Harry didn't think they'd want to have a chat about the weather.

"On the count of three, Ron, we're going to run. We'll go to the police station, alright? Hopefully what we've seen will help them get Hermione back. Now, one, two, three," Harry whispered it all quickly and on 'three', pushed Ron in the direction they had come from. Ron immediately stepped on a branch, the crack echoing in the darkness and they had run about a foot, when the gun fired. Both boys jumped and stumbled, but Harry had sensed, more than seen, the shot hit somewhere in front of them. He grabbed Ron's arm and yanked him back towards the building.

"Stop where you are!" A gruff voice shouted, and Harry didn't have to bet to know that it was the monstrous looking man. Harry ran parallel to the building, careful to keep to the trees and could just barely see Ron, running a few feet ahead and to the left of him. Shouts seemed to be rising like birds startled into flight. Different voices, some young, some old, male and female alike, echoed, all asking what was going on, was it the cops, who had found them? The monstrous man didn't answer, but Harry heard a young man shouting.

"Greyback saw 'em! Greyback is after 'em!" Harry stumbled, and almost went down.

Everyone in the area had heard of Fenrir Greyback. He had been sent to prison for the rape and murders of several women, two of which had been locals, as well as assault. Remus Lupin, a friend of Harry's father, had nearly been beaten to death by Greyback. A surge of anger welled within Harry and he broke from the trees, heading towards the very end of the old lumber mill, ignoring Ron's indignant shouts. There was sudden silence, as if everyone had realized that commotion would actually work against them, and Harry glanced over his shoulder to make sure they hadn't captured Ron. He thought he caught a glimpse of him, still darting around trees, but before Harry could make sure, he ran head first into something solid, but warm. Harry had always been thin and football had never been his first choice of sports. An average linebacker would most likely break him in two. He bounced off of the person and turned, trying to catch himself, just a bit too late. His head bounced off of something hard and a cracking noise echoed in his ears.

There was a searing, sharp pain in his forehead and when Harry quickly pushed himself up, he noted that his glasses were broken, before the blood started to get into his eyes. Strong, thin hands pulled Harry to his feet and turned him around – and Harry was face to face with Thomas Riddle. Movement behind him made Harry squint, and he could see Scabior standing not too far off, his eyes wide and lips parted in surprise.

"Oi, I know you!" Scabior says, and Riddle turns away from Harry for a split second. On instinct, Harry pushes Riddle as far away from his body as he can, and Harry bolts. He hears a curse and arguing behind him, and then, a hoarse female voice shouts into the night.

"You say a word and it's on your little girlfriends head!" Harry feels his heart sink like a stone.

o0o

There are several things that Scabior feels guilty over, a few, silly things, done in his teenage years that no one but he remembers. There was a parcel he nicked that held gifts for an elderly woman and then the unfortunate circumstances that led to his first arrest. When he used Hermione as a hostage; and now, opening his mouth in the presence of Thomas Riddle.
He had thought that things were bad, with the cops on his trail and hate radiating off of the girl he'd taken a liking to. That was nothing compared to the regret he knew was working its way through his veins. It was all nothing, compared to what lay in store for the both of them now.

Riddle didn't even have to voice his question, because Scabior knew that if he denied him the answer they would only force it out of him.

"The kid is a friend of the girls," Scabior murmured, blue eyes focusing on a distant point in the night sky.

"Retrieve the girl," Riddle says.

A/N: I know it's been a long while, truly sorry! Lots of life going on, dealing with the economy has taken a toll on my family - but anyway! Hope you enjoy the chapter and I'm already working on the next!