Hello, lovely readers! Let's see what's happening with Scabior, shall we? And thank you from the bottom of my heart for your kind and interesting reveiws. They really boost my confidence. Enjoy this chapter.

Inspirational music: Unforgivable sinner by Lene Marlin

Chap. 22 Fatalities

Scabior rubbed his throbbing jaw and chuckled at the woman's strength. He longed already to be by her side but knew he would be one lucky bastard if he ever got to see her after meeting the Dark Lord.

It was tempting to search his chest for different pain relieving potions, but that could appear in his memory if Voldemort decided to use Legimency on him. Scabior suspected the wizard would be very angered if he discovered that his servant had ingested potions in advance to avoid pain from punishments.

Scabior looked around the tent. It seemed empty now that Hermione had gone. Only signs of her staying lay scattered in the tent, each an inevitable reminder of her departure. His gaze travelled over the wrinkles on his simple bed, to the utensils on the far end of the table which she had used to make him a lamb stew that got ruined, to the walls of the bathroom he had built single-handed for her.

A grey textile garment under the bed caught his attention and he cast Accio on it after having fetched his wand from the floor. The item fleeted to his hand and he felt the warming wool against the callous skin of his palm. He sniffed the air and was assaulted by perfumes of vanilla and summer flowers. He felt an ache in his core and yet he persisted torturing himself by bringing Hermione's forgotten coat to his nose and breathe in her original scent. He scolded himself for letting her leave without it. The summer may be approaching but it could be windy and clammy where she was going.

A sting on his left arm brought him unceremoniously from his somber thoughts. It was a warning from the Dark Lord. He was expecting Scabior to disapparate to the Ministry. Scabior closed his eyes for a short moment. Why did it feel like he was saying goodbye to his tent and to Hermione in her absence?

Scabior held out his wand and dropped Hermione's coat on the floor. He regretted that he had not cast a drying charm on himself before Hermione's escape; it would have been hard to explain to Voldemort that he had lost his prisoner but had had time for making himself comfortable before announcing the news.

Scabior disapparated from his camp once more without bothering telling his snatchers about it. The less they knew, the better.

He landed smoothly in the Ministry and alerted the guards who all at once aimed their wands at him. Scabior caught look of the Dark Lord for barely a second before he was hit by a Flipendo and landed on his back. His arms had flown up to protect his head on instinct, but that also meant his wand was clearly visible. A non-verbal Expelliarmus made his wand disappear from his loose grasp and Scabior followed its flight to the Dark Lord's free hand.

"Where is the mudblood?" an ice cold voice asked.

Voldemort walked slowly to Scabior. The snatcher thought it best to remain on the floor.

"My Lord! It…it escaped me. Just now in my own bleedin' tent!" Scabior croaked out and thought he sounded innocent enough.

Voldemort frowned until his face was a terrifying mask of rage incarnated and hissed something under his breath. Ropes emerged from thin air and began to wound themselves around Scabior. It was pointless to fight them even if Scabior had the ability to perform a counterspell without his wand. If the Dark Lord preferred him to be tied up, he would certainly not challenge the stronger wizard. Scabior watched him come nearer until the pitch black robe brushed against the tight ropes. The Dark Lord really was intimidating up-close.

"How could a defenceless, weak, mudblood slut flee from an experienced snatcher?"

Apparently the Dark Lord did not have the courtesy to wait for an answer before he plunged into Scabior's mind and began to rake around. Scabior had seen it coming and had quickly put up walls between the sweet memories of Hermione and the prying man. He focused on the memory of her violent fight, and thus made sure it was viewed by Voldemort.

The red eyes looked away and the connection broke, leaving Scabior in cold sweat and with a splitting headache on the floor. Legimency was not a particularly comfortable thing to be subjected to. Voldemort flashed his yellow teeth in a disturbing smile.

"I personally praise your work and ask you for one single thing. And you even has it trapped against a table and only has to get your wand and dissapparate with it to me. Think very carefully before answering my questions, snatcher. Why was your chest open and why did the mudblood's wand lie on the floor beside you?"

Scabior thought on, well, his back. "My Lord, I thought you'd approve if I took her wand with me so you could torture her with it! Far more degrading, and exactly the thing she deserved for her filthiness. I had put the wand in my chest but opened it just now for that purpose only."

Scabior spoke frantically, aware of his dangerous dance on thin ice.

"While I cornered the bitch, I dropped the wand. Please believe me, my Lord!"

"You may speak the truth but you will nevertheless pay for your stupidity, Scabior," Voldemort sneered before he levitated Scabior.

Scabior knew he would not be released without pain but hoped it would be over in a short while. After all, he had never been a fan of masochism.

His face was thrown ruthlessly against the cool white stone that was the statue, the pain tingling through the back of his neck. The ropes disappeared from him but he remained levitated, pressed into the stone. He was brutally turned over and watched Voldemort before him.

"How does it feel, pureblood? To be stained by disgusting traces of a half-blood?"

Nailed by invisible powers to the stone, Scabior found he could still move his head and looked on either side of him, and saw the blood from Potter around him. He said nothing but felt a twinge of fear surge through him when the two thick shackles rattled like the chains of the Bloody Baron.

'Okay, the tosser's always been keen on big displays. I'll be alright,' Scabior calmed himself with, as the metal enclosed his wrists. It brought on the memories of his stay at Azkaban. To be trapped and incapable of resistance was a nightmare. The snatcher within havocked in his head, tugging at his sanity slowly while craving freedom now.

The chains were being shortened until Scabior's arms were outstretched at his sides and he feet dangled helplessly above the floor. The Dark Lord hummed appreciatively.

"Let me see just how much you are willing to suffer until your mind or body give in," he mumbled and lifted his wand. Scabior stared defiantly into the red eyes as the Cruciatus Curse hit him.

He could not help the cry of torture that slipped out once seething pain spread inside him. He trashed against the rock when his limbs began to boil and his head seemed to be eaten from the inside. The eyes were closed and yet he could see white light under his lids, the evident sign of terrible pain.

After what could have been minutes or hours, the curse was lifted from him and he concentrated on breathing, only half aware of his trembling body. He squinted his eyes and saw Voldemort leaning his head to the side.

"Not used to the Cruciatus, snatcher?" he asked with a sympathetic tone and stepped nearer.

For a fleeting moment, Scabior was warmed by the thought of having saved Hermione from this, even if he himself had to suffer the consequences.

"Consider your position as snatcher leader gone. I will let your men know after I am finished with you. I will be merciful and let you live, Scabior. But I do not want to see you in my presence for a long time. However," Voldemort grinned and stroked the fabric of the checkered pants languidly, while Scabior fought to remain conscious, "I need to make sure you do not make another mistake on my behalf. Oh, Nagini!"

The dreadful snake slid around the corner of the statue and moved to its master upon his call.

"Surely you will not mind if I give your legs to Nagini as desert, snatcher," Voldemort stated and began to whisper in Parseltongue.

Scabior tried to gather some strength to fight his fate but his body was too weak after having endured the Unforgivable Curse. Although, his mind protested. He did not want this. He was a snatcher at core who was fiercely dependent on his ability to run. In his sorry life, that was one of the few things he treasured the most. Even if he survived the snake's attack, he was not sure if he could cope with a life without legs. Then, he would truly be robbed of his precious freedom, trapped with a useless body as a simple but effective prison. And what would Hermione think of him if he, pray Merlin, ever got to see her again?

Scabior had certainly not been prepared for this when he entered the Ministry. The snake hissed and opened its gape. Scabior frowned to chase away the confusing mist before his eyes and watched the Dark Lord stand back with an amused smile. Why did the Dark Lord not chop off his legs?

'Wait, is the animal gonna eat of me bit by bit?' The revelation almost made Scabior throw up in fear as he hung defenceless on the white and red statue. Just as the snake coiled itself to prepare its launch forward, a loud pang stirred the scene in the Ministry. Scabior saw Voldemort turn around quickly and aim a wand at the apparating person. It was a blonde young man in black Death Eater robes. The impaired snatcher recognized the man somehow but could not remember the name.

Nagini began to lower herself to the floor and hurried away from the grandiose hall, to Scabior's relief.

Suddenly his throat was filled up with something and he coughed hard to get the stuff away so he could breath. A glob of blood landed on the floor under his feet. Somewhere in the back of his dazed head, he figured that this was not a good thing. A shrill voice pierced his skull and made him moan from the aggravated headache.

"My Lord! We've got him! We caught Hagrid! But we need Your help to bring him here. Our powers combined doesn't affect him much."

"Well done, Draco. A creature like that is not easy to take on. I will see my first hostage now."

Through his semi-closed lids, Scabior could see Voldemort turn around and toss his own wand at him. It hit the floor beneath him.

"I have more important business to attend to, snatcher. Go and be grateful for your extraordinary luck."

The chains opened unexpectedly and Scabior fell to the floor. It felt like he had severe wounds all over his body and that they all reopened when he met the hard surface. Instinct alone made him curl up, almost like a baby, and stretch out a throbbing arm towards his wand. Once his fingers felt the magical wood, he breathed out and clenched his teeth to keep the darkness that threatened to overtake his eyes at bay.

He had to disapparate all alone. No-one would help him and only he knew where to go. If he failed and splinched himself, he would die in his weakened state.

Then, he thought his pants were wet and warm but he could swear his legs had dropped in temperature. He glanced down along his body and saw his pants changing colour. In stead of the playful checkered pattern, a scarlet red wetness began to cover his cold legs.

'Oh, fuck.'

Scabior felt his whole body work against him but he knew he had to hurry before it would be too late. He thought about that place where Hermione hopefully would be waiting for him. Scabior smelt more than felt a lonely tear of pain leave his eye and trickle over his temple. What he would give to smell her scent right now.

He drew a rasping breath and managed to wave his wounded wand hand a bit. The world around him dissolved but he had to resist the temptation of surrendering to the darkness.

Suddenly he was thrown down onto a hard ground, smashing his chest against a grass covered sharp stone. He had to close his eyes, groaning loudly when his ribs broke. And yet, despite his serious wounds, he was convinced he could smell her perfume in the air. But maybe it was only his imagination; his own mind finding comfort in his dying hour.

The darkness came and drowned out everything. Scabior could not sense anything anymore.