Hello, old friends and new! Thanks once again for the wonderful reviews and the alerts, etc. If you feed my confidence with more, I'll give you the first "special" moment between Scabior and Hermione. Now that's a cruel blackmail, huh? Until next time, enjoy your reading.
Inspirational music: The Swan Song by Within Temptation
Chap. 17 Complications
After Scabior had left the tent, and Hermione had waited a while to see that he really was gone, she tumbled out of the bed wearily. She was not hungry, as a queasy feeling settled in her stomach. What had happened this morning? Instead of figuring it out, Hermione chose to clean herself first, always one to appreciate the rare times of privacy. She headed to the small bathroom located in the corner where the trash had used to be.
Scabior had installed it the day after her assault. Of course by then she merely slept or drank her potion to sleep undisturbed. But during one short period of consciousness she did see him carry a small toilet and a tiny shower cubicle in each hand and heard him mumble the incantation for enlarging charmed objects. Then she fell asleep again and some hours later there had been proper walls to the ceiling secluding the corner and a door with a lock. She remembered how she had asked Scabior about the new room and he had explained to her that this was her own bathroom. He still felt more comfortable with tending to his own hygiene alone outside the camp and promised her the room would be all hers.
Now Hermione opened the door and entered the small but well-equipped bathroom. She locked the door to be safe, even though a simple Alohomora from the outside would open it.
As she removed her clothes she considered washing them in the shower before she washed herself since she felt powerless when she asked Scabior to cast a Scourgify on them. Always keen on being clean Hermione decided to follow her instincts and take care of the only things she owned at the moment apart from her hidden wand.
Scabior had been kind enough to provide the bathroom with apple-scented soap and a small bottle of shampoo for witches. She had not yet dared to ask him how he had been able to lay his hands on the shampoo; it was not like there were beauty shops open anymore in the wizarding community, although she had caught him muttering about the insane price for simple hair-soap.
She put the neat pile of clothes in the shower and turned on the water. As she methodically cleaned her laundry she remembered the last time she did the laundry when everything still was fine. Sure she had been annoyed at Ron and brooded about her parents, but she had been with her friends and thought the three of them could destroy Voldemort. A pang of sadness hit her and she realized she missed Harry and Ron immensely. 'Poor boys suffering before Voldemort and his bloody Death Eaters. And here am I!' Hermione thought with sudden self-contempt.
They may have died for what they believed in while she enjoyed a downright holiday. With guilt flooding her mind she thought about her imprisonment. She had eaten food stolen from families. She had not once begun to plan a way to take back her wand and escape. She had been civilized to her guard because he had treated her the same way. And, oh Merlin, she had put her trust in the same guard and invited him to sleep in her bed. She, Hermione Granger had grinded herself against a Death Eater like a wanton Slytherin slut while the world might be on fire.
She felt sick and launched herself to the toilet as bile came up her throat. She vomited loudly and began to cry, still holding onto the porcelain. When her stomach had emptied itself she flushed and forced herself up despite wobbling knees. She staggered to the shower and washed her mouth.
Still careful of her laundry, Hermione clenched her teeth together and bent down to rinse her soapy clothes before she wringed out the water and hanged them on hooks on the wall so they could dry as much as possible while she showered. She sobbed when she once more stepped under the stream of heated water and let her tears mingle with the drops. Never in her life, not even that time when she only managed an E in DADA on her OWLs, had she been so disappointed at herself.
She was disgusted by her lack of resistance or attempt to free herself. Was it only because Scabior had been nice to her? How could she think he was good after a little healing and an amiable attitude? Surely it was all fake; a devious cover for his true nature as an evil, corrupted follower to Voldemort. Godric knows how many people he had murdered directly or indirectly by snatching and turning them in at the Ministry. He most certainly was not a man to long for, but a brute, a scum not worthy of licking her shoe. A pureblood pig to treat like his kind now openly treated hers.
Hermione braced herself as she leaned against the damp wall. He might have fooled her before. Now she was aware of it and would only care about getting away as fast as she could. She took a shuddering breath and turned off the water. The soft green towel waited as always, thanks to her tidiness, on its hook. As she dried herself she could not deny the small but ignited feeling of resurrection.
Gone was Hermione, the crying victim of war and in her place stood the returned famous Hermione, the bright witch who fought Voldemort with Harry Potter and Ron Weasley, among others. Suddenly it did not matter if her clothes were still wet and she had to sit in the bathroom and wait for them to dry. She would use the time to design a plan how to trick Scabior right back and flee from the camp of stinking vultures.
The first thing that hit Scabior once he yet again arrived to the wizarding block in Leeds was that it hardly looked more appealing in daylight. The mud, the waste and the beggars were all clearly visible but they did not seem to fit in the sunlit square, as if they were abominations to the first warm spring day. Although, every dirty thing scattered on the ground bore witness of the Dark Lord's final victory over the offending mudbloods.
No-one had bothered cleaning up after the raids in Leeds. Scabior crushed a newspaper under his boot and for a second he wondered why the wizarding world had become uglier when the Dark Lord had promised prosperous villages and gold to the purebloods who rightly deserved it.
Well, never mind that now; Scabior was on a mission.
He marched to a still shadowy corner, deaf to the wailing mudbloods, and whistled. A short man stepped out of the wall but upon closer inspection he had just hidden himself with a powerful concealment charm. He grinned with an almost toothless mouth.
"Mr. Scabior! It's been a while. You're not in trouble with the Dark Lord, I hope."
Scabior returned th greeting with a forced smile. "Morning, Chuck. Got anything new in store?"
"I think the accurate question would be; what don't I have?"
Scabior made a silent prayer for patience.
"Ah, well then, I want food. Nothing posh, just something that's not from before this winter or covered in mold."
"Hmm," Chuck answered and scratched his neck. "You're an alright costumer, Scabior, and I hate to say this but it's going to cost you. I mean, even I have to pay for the things I stock."
Scabior observed the dodgy seller coolly and reached into his pocket to find one of his last sickles.
"Here you go, Chuck. Now go fetch me some food, will you?"
Chuck took the offered coin and winked at Scabior before he disapparated. Scabior was used to this because ever since the Ministry began to host Death Eaters who loved to harass sellers, the clever vendors tended to hide their stash. After some minutes of waiting and a protective shield against the slowly approaching maniacs, Scabior relaxed when Chuck reappeared with his arms full of tasty things.
"I guessed you'd like meat and I got you the finest lamb chops. These babies are hard to come by, so you have to pay more if you want them," Chuck warned him and cursing for the expensive prize, Scabior gave away a small heap of knuts.
The meat switched owner, as did potatoes, onions and a small basket with apples; a small treat for Scabior himself. He altered the size of the edible things to be able to fit them inside his many pockets. C
huck thought the transaction to be over and gave a small bow to his customer before he turned to his wall again to await another one. In these times the customers had to know the sellers to know where to find them. The Ministry had given the street vendors a hard time.
"Hey, Chuck!" Scabior called, not entirely satisfied yet.
The short man narrowed his eyes in suspicion and reached for his wand. "What, Scabior?" he hissed very hostilely.
Scabior held up his palms in a gesture of surrender. "I only wanted to ask you if you've got any information 'bout the Dark Lord and his latest prisoners."
Chuck let go of his wand but shrugged indifferently. "Why would a simple poor salesman know anything about what the Dark Lord is up to?" he said with a bored voice.
Scabior gritted his teeth and fingered his only and very rare galleon. "Here then, you greedy bastard!" he snarled as he thrusted the precious coin into Chuck's conveniently open hand.
Immediately Chuck changed attitude and beckoned Scabior closer.
"You mean Potter and the blood traitor?"
Scabior nodded.
"Last thing I heard from a man in the higher ranks was that they are both held in the Ministry. Apparently the Dark Lord wants payback and is wise enough to keep them in a safe building, surrounded by Death Eaters. Weasley is hidden deep down in a cellar where he's fucking pureblood girls day and night."
Chuck shook his head in bewilderment. "I understand His motive but this is just crazy. They keep pouring love potions from Weasley's own twin brothers down his throat and cast stamina spells every other hour to keep him going. I wouldn't want a fate like that even if I get virgins delivered right into my bed."
Scabior raised his eyebrows. "So it's true? The Dark Lord tries to breed purebloods?"
Chuck nodded solemnly. "Yeah, and it's not beautiful one bit. Weasley got contaminated with spattergroit by a bird a few days ago. But that won't excuse. He's forced with blisters and all to fuck girls that in return get infected by him. Still, he got more lucky than Potter."
"What happened to Potter?" Scabior asked, not sure if he truly wanted to hear. Chuck cleared his throat and held out his hand.
Scabior with his black coat and wild hair stepped into his space and loomed over the podgy man.
"I gave you a fucking galleon. I think it'll give me more information so spill it, you cunt!" he muttered darkly and Chuck yielded.
"Alright, take it easy, snatcher boy. I'll only eat bread the whole week, then."
Scabior backed down and Chuck took a deep breath. "The Dark Lord wants to show the torture of Potter in public. He wants to break the boy slowly and painfully. Potter is tied to the new statue in the Ministry and stripped of all clothes. Every day they bring beasts and plants to harm him, never enough to kill him but enough to keep him screaming in agony. We're talking about doxies, inferi, fire crabs and boggarts here. And that's just the animals!"
Chuck seemed a little distressed, whether it was because of the amount of information he gave away or the horrible torture of Potter. But Scabior sensed there was something Chuck was not telling him.
"And during the nights?" he whispered and watched how Chuck squirmed before he spoke hoarsely, "Then the most accomplished Death Eaters get the honour to have their way with him until he begs the Dark Lord for a mercy that never comes. They make him do degrading things with the Imperius Curse and cast the Cruciatus Curse when they get bored of seeing the Chosen One crawl in his own shit."
Chuck licked his trembling lips. "And sometimes the Dark Lord joins in. He touches Potter's scar which results in screams that echoes in every corridor of the Ministry. And He licks Potter's face!"
Scabior rubbed his chin, quite unsettled by the story. The scared Chuck shifted nervously on the spot. "That's all I know. Can I go now?" he all but begged Scabior who dismissed him with a wave of his hand. The salesman was really afraid now and chose to disapparate, probably to hide among his expensive articles, waiting for new courage to venture outside and sell more goods.
Scabior discovered his own fingers trembled at the thought of being the Dark Lord's prisoner. It was not a matter of fear or valour and he was not a coward. It was only common sense to fear the Dark Lord and his ways. But there was another reason to Scabior's sudden dread.
He was not a saint; he had been imprisoned in Azkaban a few years ago. And the snatcher nature inside him had clawed at his sanity every second of his staying; begging, praying, pleading for freedom. And none had been granted to him. The snatcher nature did not make allowances for the circumstances and kept craving fresh air, runs in the forests and satisfying captures of fleeing creatures, but in vain. In stead it was given small cells, life-sucking dementors and constant surveillance.
The staying had damaged Scabior's soul and he knew he no longer would be the man he used to be. Gone was the careless womanizer, the cheeky monkey, whereas a man only submitted to his snatcher urges arose.
Once outside Azkaban Scabior had anew become a prisoner but to his own being; demanding hunts no matter how trivial they were. The slave sought constant freedom even when he had it in his firm grasp. It did not satisfy him anymore. And just the thought of once more being a prisoner made him shudder in the bright light. 'Must have a Firewhiskey now,' he thought and went to the close by pub.
He could only afford one shot this time as he did not want to be completely stone-broke. At the moment he would not even be able to pay a prostitute. But he was not in the mood for that anyway. Not even if a witchbitch walked through the door would he get himself laid. Scabior had woken up pressed against a creature of light. Even if they had had an awkward conversation when he had destroyed the moment with his Dark Mark, nothing could compete with that.