Hello, everybody! Guess who managed to write an essay in only three days and still get praise from her teacher? Me, silly! It wasn't an experience I recommend, but it was thrilling at least. Only one test and another essay to go and then I'm finished with uni! And thank you so much for every review. I admit I got tears in my eyes this time because you are all so kind to me and my story. Anyway, here's the chapter. I'll try to update next week, so hang in there. Please review.

Inspirational music: The virgin queen/ track 1 from the movie The virgin queen

Chap. 18 Blazes

There always comes a time when, whether one like it or not, someone else is in charge. The first memory Hermione had of such an occasion was in primary school when a very obnoxious girl had decided she owned the right to boss the other children around. Hermione had been one of many on the receiving end, having to suffer through months of bullying and teasing.

Now she sat hungry in an empty tent waiting for her capturer to come back and give her food. Even if she had seen Scabior put a lot of edible things in his green chest, she was unable to open the mechanically locked chest and take food for herself. So despite her determination to change her attitude towards Scabior, she was still dependent on his return. Approximately three hours had passed since he walked out of the tent and her stomach had begun to rumble.

She sat on the solid table in her almost dry clothes and inhaled the both soothing and tempting scent of apples from her white t-shirt. The temperature inside was still high but not unbearable. She had her plan all figured out. She would not be obvious but slowly disarm possible suspicions by making lunch for the two of them. Then she would ask him to give her some of his cheap booze to spice up her stew. After that Hermione would of course suggest he took a drink to celebrate the spring. And another one for snatching a woman who could cook. And he simply had to toast to the victorious purebloods.

Once Scabior had downed his third glass she could make her move. She believed his liquor was very strong and hopefully he would become sleepy. Perhaps a nap was in order for the drunk snatcher. She would insist he took her soft bed to sleep in before lunch time. If she was really lucky Scabior would shed his coat before lying down. If not, then Hermione had to sneak up beside him when he slept deeply and nick the key to the chest from his pocket. When she had accomplished that, she was almost safe and could open his secret chest and get her wand back. And then she could easily disapparate, thus escaping the snatcher camp.

Hermione chewed on her bottom lip. She did not exactly know what to do once she had regained her freedom, but she hoped there was still a way to contact whatever was left of the Order and ask for help to destroy horcruxes. It would work out. It had to.

She inhaled deeply and lifted her chin in a private act of defiance. There was still one living part of the famous trio that could bring Voldemort down. Hermione felt a small smile to settle on her face.

A sudden bang followed by a cheerful choir of male voices ended her daydreaming and she turned her head to the tent opening. Perhaps Scabior had returned from the city. She hopped down the table and decided to stand beside it, waiting for his entrance with dignity.

The tent door moved and for an instance the sunlight shone through it and blinded her sight before a large figure covered the rays and allowed her to see a dark man embedded by light. But then the textile fell into place and shut out the sun and the odd moment was gone.

Scabior lifted his eyebrows at her before he strolled to the table and began to pick up food from his pockets. Hermione felt a tad ridiculous for just standing in front of him, as if she had done nothing else since his departure. And she supposed that was what Scabior thought too. She crossed her arms and glanced at the food he had brought back and enlarged. She felt her mouth water when she looked at the potatoes but then a big piece of meat caught her eye.

"Oh, my! Did you found ribs?" she exclaimed, unable to hide her surprise.

Scabior grinned and patted the meat fondly. "Actually it's lamb chops, love. But I've promised to give some to my boys, so no gluttony here."

Hermione reined herself in and thought of something.

"Are you sure it's not poisoned?"

Scabior placed a hand on his hip and said cockily, "Always the pessimist, Hermione? If you want, I can examine the food with my wand."

She huffed in annoyance. "I only wanted to be sure we're not ending up cursed by a sneaky vendor. How much did this cost you, anyway?"

Scabior's demeanour changed drastically and he muttered under his breath, "Too bloody much."

Suddenly he took a step closer to Hermione while he frowned. She nervously observed him and silently wished she had her white thick sweater back on. He leaned over her petite form and sniffed.

"What's the matter?" Hermione whispered, afraid of his behaviour and of his breath of alcohol.

"You smell different. It's all apples," he told her and his confused look made her take pity on him and admit her shower.

"Yes, I washed my clothes today. I used the soap you gave me."

"Why?" His abrupt question almost made her forget everything about her escape plan. She even stuttered when she answered, "I...I had nothing else to do while you were away. And quite frankly, my clothes needed a p...proper wash-up."

"I see."

Hermione was unnerved by his response and dared a look at the face that loomed over her. It was as if he was an enigma, with neither discontent nor delight. He looked as if he himself was not sure what he felt. She bravely met his dark but warm eyes and tucked a strand behind her ear.

"I didn't mean to upset you with my Mark," Scabior sighed with defeat in his voice. Hermione pulled herself together and shook her head. "Forget it. I just wasn't expecting it, but I guess I should have."

And as she turned away and broke the connection between them she missed the dejected look that appeared for only an instant on Scabior's face.

Another protest from her stomach made her remember her hunger and her plan. She stared at the food and forced herself to begin her quest.

"Scabior, would you mind if I made some lunch for us? I'm very hungry."

Scabior had buried his hands deep into his pockets and withdrew himself from her. "Sure. Do what you want."

A nervous shiver ran down Hermione's spine. Why was he acting so weird and short-spoken all of the sudden? Did he suspect her? But she summoned her inner Gryffindor and dismissed her doubt. She opted for a lamb stew with onions and potatoes. Scabior brought her the required utensils before he sat down on her bed and simply eyed her performance.

When she asked for liquor he did not say a word but made a key fly from his coat and unlock the chest. Once the chest opened, a small brown bottle was levitated to Hermione's hand at the same time as the chest closed and the key returned to Scabior. She offered him a drink after she had poured a spoonful into her boiling stew and he accepted with a shrug.

'If he had a drink before he came back, maybe I won't have to trick him into having two more to make him sleep,' she thought cunningly. Scabior himself asked for another glass and she complied quickly. Right accordingly to her plan, Scabior's cheeks reddened and he started to remove the coat. Hermione watched him through her eyelashes and registered how he dropped the coat to the floor beside the bed. She prepared to propose a toast to the spring when Scabior spoke.

"Hermione, I've got something to tell you."

She raised her eyes as she held the pot and stirred the hot stew. Scabior looked very pained and ran a hand through his hair. Whatever he was going to tell her, it made Hermione jumpy.

With lowered eyes he said, "I found out something about Weasley and Potter today." Hermione gasped and for a moment she abandoned her whole plan as she hang on to every word that left Scabior's lips. Her torment did not last long before Scabior continued.

"They're alive but only barely. The Dark Lord are keeping them locked up and it's only a matter of time before they die."

How easily a person's determination can crumble. Hermione felt absent-mindedly how tears gathered in the place where she had only hours ago forbidden their appearance. Her gaze clouded and oblivious to her surroundings her inner magic broke the pot. Steaming stew drenched her hands and when the pain from her scalded hands reached through the mist she cried out. Her knees gave way but someone caught her before she crashed onto the floor.

She was lowered slowly and felt a strong arm wrap itself around her waist, holding her in a seated position. Unable to stop the tears now, Hermione continued to scream for both the excruciating pain and her despair for Harry and Ron. A body pressed into her back and kept her from moving and she momentarily saw a rough hand waving a wand before she closed her eyes and surrendered to the privacy of empty darkness under her lids.

Scabior swiftly cast a healing charm on Hermione's hands where raw flesh gleamed between blistered skin. If treated immediately, the burn marks would not scar the skin.

He secured the woman in his arms through the healing and heard her tortured screams, though he was not certain she only cried because of the physical wounds. After a while the burns had disappeared and he knew she should not feel anymore hurt. Yet she cried her heart out just like the banshee he had once encountered on the coast of Ireland.

Scabior began to rock her and whispered comforting words into her non-listening ear.

It did not matter anymore that her words about how she should have expected he was a Death Eater had wounded him. For a reason unbeknownst to him he could not stand her harsh words concerning him, especially since she had only a day ago declared her faith in him being good and even caressed his cheek.

Scabior cursed himself for revealing the news to Hermione as he carefully nuzzled the shell of her ear and inhaled her scent. 'Apple's fine but vanilla's better,' he decided and concentrated on finding her original smell among the waves of apple perfume that surrounded her.

After a while he discovered she had ceased screaming and only whimpered from time to time. He spent a minute on watching her chest sink and rise at a slower rate until he realized she had begun to follow his own calm breathing pattern.

He released his firm grip but on the contrary to what he thought she would do, Hermione slid around and faced him while her arms went around his neck and she pressed her wet face to his vest-clad chest. Scabior recognized a flaming heat within that had nothing to do with his recent shots of Firewhiskey.

"Talk to me, beautiful," he begged her with a muted voice and began to twirl one of her shining curls around his finger. She hiccupped and her words were muffled against his chest.

"I...I thought they were dead." She had to pause and started to tremble so Scabior hurried to sooth her with resumed unimportant words until she calmed down.

"It would be better if they were gone, bec... because then they would not be alone with him."

"I should have kept my mouth shut," Scabior muttered but then Hermione raised her head and swallowed hard.

"No, it's always better to know than wonder. You couldn't know that I was going to be so shocked by the news," Hermione objected with a small but steady voice.

Scabior saw she had some snot under her nose and cast Accio on the bathroom. A green towel floated through the air like a deformed owl until it settled in Scabior's hand. He let one hand lift Hermone's face and wiped her face with care he had never used on another human being.

"Thank you," the woman whispered before she seemed to remember something. "And thank you for healing my hands." She laughed a little and to Scabior's ears it was like the song of a bird in stead of the previous wailing of a dying creature.

"You know, I better be more careful with my hands. I burnt them this time and one night a month ago when I was keeping watch, I fell asleep and nearly got frostbites."

"I know," Scabior smiled and glanced sideways at her soft wrists that showed no sign of scars.

She frowned in his grasp and asked, "What do you mean by that, Scabior?"

His brain caught up with his quick mouth and he silently berated himself for repeatedly loosening his tongue in front of Hermione. He contemplated ignoring her question but then, the truth was so simple.

"I know because I woke you up that night."

She sat up and he let her as he steeled himself for her anger. "No, you couldn't have done that, and there are several reasons why," she said sceptically as if she was in school and disagreed with a teacher.

"First of all, me and Harry cast protecting charms frequently, so I would have felt if someone breached the shield. Secondly, I woke up by myself so you couldn't have woken me up, because an Enervate awakens a person very brutally. And thirdly, I'm positive I saw no signs of life around me, not even footprints in the snow. Scabior, how can you know about my frostbites if you weren't anywhere near me that night?" Hermione seemed to be out of breath after her long tirade and Scabior seized the moment of silence.

"The thing is, love, I've learnt how to get through protective shields unseen. So, I could easily observe you lot by the tent from a distance so no footprints needed to expose me. And for your information, there's a much more merciful Enervate charm called Enervate tranquillus and that's the one I used."

Her mocha eyes widened and it looked like she weighted her words carefully before she spoke softly, "Why did you wake me up?"

Amazed by her lingering presence in his arms, Scabior chose to not lie to her.

"Because I cared about you, sweetheart."

She stared into the very depths of his eyes and only two roses blooming out on either side of her face showed her somehow rushing blood. She truly was beautiful.

Scabior found his gaze once more captured by those luscious pink lips. He was aware she could see where his eyes had travelled but was unable to resist the temptation that lay too few inches away from him. Hermione studied him for seconds and eons before she tilted her head upwards, both baring her neck in a submissive act and offering him her own lips. He lowered his head but stopped for a moment to allow her one chance to back out. In stead, he felt her hands tug hard at his neck and bring him down to her awaiting face.