Hey, lucky you! Thanks to the wonderful DirtyThings/Not your kochanie I now know how to get around the trouble! A new chapter for you to devour. Please read & review. Next chapter will be both fun and thrilling with a certain werewolf.
Inspirational music: Orchards of Mines by Globus
Chap. 6 Beginnings
When the first barely there light was seen at a cloudy dawn, Scabior returned to his camp with a loud bang. But he felt exhausted, like he hadn't slept for weeks, and the whirling from his Apparation made his already dizzy head spin. He fell to his knees, closing his eyes for a moment in an attempt to keep his Firewhiskey and not have thrown away sickles in vain. The spinning stopped after a moment of deep breathing. Scabior was mighty thankful for his habit to not apparate directly into the camp, if he could help it. The other snatchers would get stupid ideas if they ever saw their leader kneeling on the ground, being drunk. But come to think about it, he had only bought two small glasses of the burning liquor and he had downed them some hours ago, by now. Scabior was a man who by experience knew how much he could drink without passing out. Two tiny Firewhiskeys were not nearly enough to make him sick. So why was he feeling so weak and miserable?
Scabior stifled his fatigue and got up to walk to the camp. The cool air cleared his head more and more as he walked through the frozen forest. At least he felt warm from the drinks that rested in his belly, and from his recent activity that had made his blood race. Before his mind would begin to ponder about that certain episode, he bit down on his tongue and banned all thoughts about it for now. He just wanted to go to sleep. The camp came into sight and Scabior felt the need to swagger, showing his men that he was in good mood again and very vigorous. He even started to whistle when he passed the fire and glanced at the few men sitting around it. Suddenly a voice was heard behind Scabior.
"You don't whistle for me, right? 'Cause I don't like that one bit."
Scabior stopped dead and lifted his eyes to the grey sky, as if praying that it was a joke. He was within ten feet from his precious tent, why was he denied sleep now? He turned around and the awful stench of death hit him before he saw the notorious bearer of the nasty smell.
"Well, well, Greyback. So you returned to us after your latest…seizures," Scabior retorted to the werewolf, aware that the beast would understand the double meaning of his words. Luckily, Greyback seemed at ease and smiled at Scabior, who fought to not recoil from the horrible smell coming from Greyback's mouth.
"Yeah, it was entertaining this time. Got myself some fine specimens. Let's just say, I've opened four boys' eyes to a new world," Greyback said and began to flippantly clean his teeth with a dirty fingernail. The nausea hit Scabior once more. It was usual of Greyback to talk coarsely about his victims, but Scabior didn't want to hear this time what he had done to those boys, whether he had infected, killed or maybe raped them. He began to back away from him, hoping for a successful retreat.
"Look, you can gather food for our supply, if you want. We're watching a couple right now and we're all waiting for the moment to strike, so not much to do really," Scabior informed him and turned to finally meet his bed. Greyback called eagerly after him, "Can we do it soon? I would love to run down some people who actually have wands to defend themselves with. Makes it more challenging than hunting boys from some day-care center." Scabior ignored him and went inside his tent.
'Score!' Scabior was home at last. He took off his heavy coat, the scarf and his jacket and dropped them unceremoniously onto the floor. As much as he longed for his bed right now, he really wanted to wash himself. A true snatcher could easily endure his own grime, but even Scabior had his limits. After days of lying on a dirty ground, and, in addition, some intense sex he wanted to get clean for real, without Scourgify. The bed would simply have to wait for a while.
Scabior poured a small amount of his precious water into a bowl and found his sponge by casting Accio. When he brushed the drenched sponge against his bare breast he revelled in the feeling of cool water washing away his sweat and dirt. Strange it was, how he could be surrounded by so much death and yet immensely enjoy life-giving water. Eyes followed how trickles abandoned the sponge and fell onto his chest where they began to travel downward, slowing down when they ran through his dark chesthair and over his defined pectorals before the flatness of his stomach made them race until they met the fine hairline below his navel. It tickled Scabior a little but now the drops had been warmed up by his body and caused little disturbance as they ended their journey once they reached the edge of his trousers. Scabior lifted his gaze from his torso and began to scrub away the evidents of his trade. His hand worked fast in order to rub himself warm in the chilling tent. He felt contented with being clean on the upper half and found a towel to dry himself with. A simple heating spell took care of the wet spots on his trousers.
Scabior decided to get to know his bed better and almost, almost, jumped into it, noticing how the poor thing squeaked when the surprising weight hit it. Scabior let his hands rest behind his head and crossed his legs and closed his eyes. 'So fucking good to be back,' he thought with a smile.
Just as he was about to drift into sleep a distant voice was heard from outside his tent.
"If I ask for meat, you'll fucking give me some, you moron!"
Scabior got annoyed. Apparently Greyback was making friends again, the charming little bugger. The werewolf always tried to interfere with his snatchers and claim some higher position. A pain in the ass he was, undermining Scabiors' leadership inch by inch the longer he stayed. Scabior would have to do something about it sooner or later. He was a leader or a loner, certainly not a follower and especially not under the command of a psychopathic werewolf that fucked everything that moved. Come to think about it, he wasn't so different from those witch-bitches. They loved to act like an alpha during sex.
The memory of how Scabior had disarmed that woman in the pub and fucked her from behind emerged in his mind and he frowned. It had been fun to show her some good sex, but Scabior questioned why he had thought of that other woman during the coupling. Before he knew it a smile settled on his lips and he felt blood course in all his veins, making him hot despite his shirtless torso. A terrible thought hit him. 'What if she means something to me.' It disgusted him and made him feel ridiculous but still he couldn't dismiss the idea. Maybe he had been jealous when she got into the ugly boy's bed and that's why he had thrown up. His fists clenched at the memory. He wanted her for himself to enjoy, like when he watched her from his hill.
He became aware that he had chosen to fuck the witch-bitch to try to forget the brown-haired woman. It didn't work at all. In fact she had made the whole act different for him. He had come so unusually hard and truly felt lost in pleasure, as he had imagined thrusting into that tight young witch. It had felt good until he opened his eyes and saw that red mane. Scabior reminiscented how bereft and tired he had felt just an hour ago. He lacked nothing in the intelligence area, even though school had never been anything for him. He concluded that he wanted the woman, very much. Sex was very nice when thinking about her but not without her. And his whole being shifted quickly in waves, making him feel tired or angry one minute and happy the next.
Scabior, the threatening, frightening, evil, egoistical snatcher was in love. With a victim. 'Salazar's snake!'
"We, eh… we thought we could gather some berries, if that's okay with you."
Hermione frowned at the two boys standing before her with their equally dishevelled hair and humble faces. After some days they still looked rather miserable, as if they were attending the funeral of a dear friend and most strikingly, their eyes bore the resemblance of puppies. Hermione wasn't fooled by the act they had put up with; they wanted to talk on their own. She realized that maybe her want to punish Ron had gone a tad too far and now it was time to cheer up and let him of the hook. She raised her hand and wave dismissively to them in an almost royal way, as her gaze returned to her book. Once they both had exit from the tent, with a new spring in their steps Hermione noticed, she put her book away and took out her wand. She felt safer now that she could have her own wand with her always and not being forced to lend it to Harry.
Her eyes hurt from all the reading; she needed to do something else for a while. Privacy was a rare occasion even when sharing a magic tent. It was understandable to her that Harry and Ron wished to be alone outside for a moment. Of course it was wonderful to live with your two best friends, but they all got testy after spending a longer time inside the tent in the others' company. Apparently the locket wasn't behind all the annoyance in the trio. Anyway, Hermione wasn't going to waste her sudden solitude by sitting with a book. Stiffly she got up from her chair and fetched her purse and opened it. She let her eyes wander over books, food, bottles with various potions and clothes until she found her own belongings. She reached for a bag which contained her dirty laundry. Unlike the boys, she didn't want to mix her clean clothes with the unfresh.
When Hermione had brought out the bag she brought in snow by magic and let it fall into a big bucket. A heating spell made the snow transform into hot water. She tipped the clothes resolutely into the water and added soap. A simple rotating charm made the content swirl vividly. Hermione thought it to be quite fascinating to observe the laundry. She sat down by the bucket and watched, just like when she was small and helped her mother doing the laundry. She remembered how her mother used to leave the room once the washing machine was on, leaving her happy daughter behind. Hermione had watched the spinning differ in course with the washing program. She had touched the glass with her tiny hand and felt vibrations transfer to her arm. When she got taller she began to sit cross-legged on the machine and feel her whole body trembled. Rides on fairs had never been anything for her; she was terrified of heights and speed. So in a way, the washing machine had become her way of having fun and still feel secure.
A splash of water brought Hermione back from Memory Lane and she noticed how her laundry had begun to spin faster than required. A wave of the wand stopped the movement and another twist made the clothes wring out the water from themselves and hang them on a clothes-line in the back of the tent. Hermione remained on the floor and turned her eyes towards the now calm water. Not sure why, she put her hands in the water. It was still a bit warm and a scent of apple spread when her hands stirred the water. Closing her eyes and surrendering to the sensuality of the moment, she moved her hands slowly around, occasionally intertwining them with each other. The water was so perfectly warm and soft, almost like a caress against her fingers. As if a person was touching her with soothing intimacy. In her abandoning of the present, she imagined that this was how it felt when a man kissed her fingers, licked her wrists, and that she in return could feel his warm body shift against her gentle caresses...
"Don't say his name!"
Hermione flinched at the sudden loud voice and opened her eyes while she pulled up her hands from the bucket. She turned her head to the tent opening and saw Ron helping Harry escape some bushes. They had returned and her privacy was gone. She scowled at them and unfortunately Ron caught her look of disapproval and turned away from her. But when he continued to explain about the Taboo on Voldemort's name he talked louder so she could hear too. Hermione walked outside to join them and inform Harry about her discover of the mysterious triangle in Dumbledores' name in Rita Skeeter's book The Life and Lies of Albus Dumbledore. She declared that she wanted to see Xenophilius Lovegood and perhaps get to know more about the symbol. Ron immediately voted for her suggestion, which made her unsure if she thought the action to be endearing or just plain silly.
Suddenly it dawned on Hermione. Who was she kidding? She sure was Ron's friend but she didn't have a crush on him anymore. And she didn't feel too sad about it, to be honest. If she ever survived the war she wanted to find someone who was, well, not like Ron. She desired a man with different qualities. Hopefully she could find one if the light won over the dark powers. Hopefully, perhaps, maybe.