Hey, everyone! Enjoy your new chapter. I have a feeling that Scabior and Hermione will soon meet.
Inspiration music: "Falling" by Julie Cruise
Chap. 4 Feelings
When Harry's Lumos had been extinguished, the feeling of happiness abandoned Hermione. The fact that she was wearing the locket didn't make things better, to say the least. It was impossible to relax, so she turned to lie on her back, staring at the dark ceiling.
The most prominent thought nagging her mind was the memory of her obliviating her parents before she left her home to fully join the Order. Suddenly it hit her that she didn't have a home anymore, no safe place, no Ron and possibly no future. But their cause was good. Destroying pieces of Voldemort's soul was the only thing that mattered at the moment. Hermione set her jaw in defiance. She would not falter or disappoint Harry.
But the sadness in her heart didn't go away and soon she felt like she was suffocating from all the anguish. It was as if a dementor hovered in the tent, taking away all faith. Hermione's lip began to tremble as hot tears began to flow down over her temples. She feared sleep and the nightmares that would surely arrive once her mind was relaxed beyond any control.
A sudden sigh was heard from Harry. Hermione turned her head to glance at his sleeping figure under the blankets. Hermione made a decision that would clash with the Gryffindor inside, but right now she was in desperate need of comfort.
With wandless magic she lit the cute table lamp and it was as if the source of light began to chase away some of her demons. Hermione rose from her bed and walked to Harry's bed. He was sleeping on his side with his face towards her. She bent down and whispered softly to him, "Harry. I can't sleep." He stirred a little before he opened his eyes and blearily saw her standing right beside his bed. This was unusual.
"What is it, Hermione? Do you want me to wear the locket, or something?" he asked with a raspy voice.
Hermione began to blush and Harry sensed that he better be more prepared for whatever she was going to say. He sat up and looked curiously at her.
"Harry, I… I just can't sleep. I keep thinking about darkness and I feel so scared. Would it be terrible if I slept in your bed tonight?" Hermione asked with a trembling voice, like a child expecting a rejection.
"But Ginny…"
"No, no!" Hermione said quickly. "I meant like just sharing your bed, so that I don't feel so alone. Because you're my best friend."
Harry saw the honesty in her eyes, and she looked very terrified, from what he could tell from his blurred eyes. He trusted her words.
"Come here, then." he mumbled and lifted his blankets so she could slip in. Hermione remembered the table lamp and switched it off non-verbally. Her feel of dread changed to awkwardness. She had never been in a bed with a boy.
Harry cleared his throat before he said teasingly, "Am I allowed to sleep now, or do you intend to wake me up again like you use to do?"
Hermione let out a giggle and answered, "Yes, you can go to sleep now. I'm not so afraid anymore."
"Good. But you have to admit, you were lousy at producing a Patronus in third year, remember."
He had pushed her buttons. Hermione went into defence mode.
"I hadn't even heard about the charm before, and the hundreds of dementors nearby didn't exactly cheer me on! But I was not frightened! I'm a Gryffindor, for Merlin's sake!" she exclaimed and when Harry began to snicker she punched his arm.
"Ouch, okay, I yield! At least you learned the spell faster than Ron."
There it was. The Forbidden Subject was breached, which sobered them up. A thundering silence followed after Harry's words. Then Hermione slowly reached for Harry's hand under the blanket and slipped her hand into his.
"You miss him." she whispered sympathetically. Harry stared at the ceiling and sighed, "Yes, but that doesn't bring him back."
"Let's sleep now." Hermione suggested softly, and inched her body towards Harry so she could lean her head against his shoulder. Her hand remained in Harry's.
Scabior was angry. Like furious. Like really fucking, lethal, pissed off. He stomped his way to the camp, almost tempted to let the innocent trees feel his wrath. Once he arrived at the camp, some of the snatchers still awake sensed that the leader was in a foul mood. They looked away quickly out of experience, and one or two men even fled to their tents.
Foolishly the cocky, apparently drunk, Lackie chose this moment to stand in the way of Scabior, and question his actions.
"'ey you! Who watches them kids now?"
Scabior growled back testily, as he was forced to stop in front of the swaying man.
"Mind yer own business, will ya!"
Scabior's accent often became more prominent when he was upset. The oblivious Lackie continued, "So, I take it ya haven't come back to set the plan in motion. Ah, na! Don't tell me they moved! I was startin' to like the bird. Looked like a nice fuck."
Before the blink of an eye, Scabior had pulled out his wand in a fluent movement and cast a Stupefy at Lackie.
Lackie flew through the air and landed in a heap by the fire, unconscious, of course. Scabior turned to the silent onlookers and said in an icy voice, "Snatcher rule No. 2! No-one will ever question me! The punishment would be severe. Them kids are keepin' watch again, castin' Homenum Revelio every ten minutes. It's useless to spy tonight. The hole keeps disappearin'."
Scabior didn't feel even the slightest hesitance when he lied to his fellows. He didn't want any of them to see the thing he had seen, or more. He had his suspicions that the couple would not leave this night. And if they did, well then he would do anything in his powers to find and snatch them.
A snatcher dared approach Scabior.
"Boss, do ya think they'll move tonight?" he asked subserviently.
Scabior met his eyes and said calmly, "No, I know they're just being more cautious now. We shall snatch them soon." And with that he began to walk away from the camp.
"Where are ya goin', boss?" the courtly snatcher called after him.
"To town. I'll return tomorrow." Scabior called back, and as he held up his wand he added with the familiar smirk, "Don't wait up." At that he Apparated.
In the middle of the buzzing town of Leeds, not far from the Leeds General Infirmary, there was a hidden wizard block, concealed from the inattentive muggles strolling before it. It wasn't as big as Diagon Alley, but had sufficed for the magic people living there. Now the whole block had been darkened, literally and figuratively speaking, as most of the surrounding flats no longer cast any light upon the square in the middle of the block, and furthermore most of the families had left, leaving the place available for all kinds of dark creatures. Some insane beggars crawled in the dirt beside the former market place, wailing about their wands or families. They made no impression on the cloaked wizards and witches standing in the shadows, selling objects of dark magic to equally veiled buyers.
The wizarding Leeds was not what it had been anymore, and it was to this disturbing place that Scabior arrived with a pop. He began to walk immediately, not wanting to raise unwanted attention from the people around him. He wasn't afraid; he was after all an experienced snatcher skilled with his wand. His red ribbon around his arm made it clear to anyone that he was appointed by the new regime in the Ministry. Few dared to harass the untouchable snatchers, knowing about their ways of dealing with people. Still, Scabior thought it to be an unnecessary risk to stroll languidly along the street when alone in the night.
He hurried to one of the corners of the block and stopped outside a house with floating candles to be seen through the dirty windows. Scabior brushed away the mud and leaves on his coat and took off the gloves, before he deemed himself prepared enough and opened the heavy door to the house. The smell of liquor hit him but Scabior didn't flinch as he went inside. The few candles hovering above each table aside, the pub was rather gloomy. Even though there were many people inside, an eerie silence was settled in the room. Two tall wizards leaning against the counter talked with low voices and an old, hideous witch sat and giggled in a corner, behind a table with several bottles of brandy occupying it. Those people were the loudest in the pub. With his hand already fingering some sickles in the coat pocket, Scabior swaggered to the bar.
"Two Firewhiskey's, right now." he ordered the fat, baldy barkeeper, who with fear in his eyes hurried to comply. Scabior put the sickles on the counter and got his glasses. He emptied the first in one gulp and reached for the second, planning on forgetting the night's events fast, when a hand was placed upon his arm. Years of practice had refined Scabior's reflexes; within a second he twirled towards the person holding his arm, already clasping his wand, ready to strike. He was met by a pair of breasts and an exaggerated gasp.
"Ohhh! You gave me a fright! I didn't take you for a jumpy fellow." the woman beside him laughed before she began to get close to Scabior once more.
Scabior scrutinized her. She wore a lot of make-up to appear younger, but she was probably around thirty years old. Her red straight hair flowed down her bare shoulders. She wore a different kind of dress which left her breasts completely free, in a very big cleavage. Scabior looked lower and saw that the black and red dress also lacked material in the front that would cover her legs elsewise. On her feet sat a pair of red, worn pumps. He raised his eyebrow. She was basically just wearing a piece of cloth across her stomach, if one would look at her front. From behind it would appear she was clad in a chaste Victorian dress.
"Enjoying the show, big boy?" she asked and let her tongue slowly lick her red lips. "Why don't we take this to a room, huh?"
Scabior turned back to his lonely Firewhiskey and swallowed it down, thinking about the woman beside him. She was not a prostitute. They would rarely be allowed inside pubs and inns, as they tended to bother the customers too much with their endless chatting and proposals. No, this woman was just a witch-bitch. They had existed before, but only a handful in Knockturn Alley. When the Dark Lord had returned the witch-bitches had increased in numbers and spread all over Britain, living in every wizard district. They were women who chose to have sex with stranger wizards, refusing money for their hobby. They were proud of themselves and rarely let any wizard control them in any way, thus earning their name. But they often just wanted to fool around with a dangerous wizard, feeling powerful when they reduced a dark art's wizard to a begging creature.
Suddenly Scabior felt a warm breath tickle his ear as the woman leaned against him and whispered, "I might even let you lick me." before her tongue darted out and licked his earlobe. Feeling a bit hot under the collar, Scabior raised his head to the barkeeper.
"A room. Now." he said demandingly and threw down a galleon on the counter. This night might not have been so fun earlier, but that would certainly change now. He even took the key from the hand of the nervous barkeeper, grabbed the now smiling woman by the arm and all but dragged her into the corridor behind the bar.