Hello! I'm finding it easier to write longer chapters now. Maybe I'm getting better at writing? Anyway, good for you. Thank you so much for the reviews and alerts, etc. Many of you worried about Scabior in the previous chapter. Well, so does Hermione. Enjoy and spoil me with more reviews, please.

Inspirational music: Here with me by Dido

Chap. 23 Confusions

It had been a while since Hermione disapparated so when she was transported by the portkey, she began to feel even more dizzy, disliking the spinning that reminded her of the insecure rides in fairs she had encountered in her childhood. Then the flashes melted together to one image before her eyes. Hermione bent her legs slightly so she would not hurt herself more than necessary once she hit the ground.

She felt the impact through her body and started to roll on the ground until her speed had slowed down.

She kept the dagger in her left hand, as she thought that it could provide further security. She got up but was nearly knocked down by a strong wind that played viciously with her hair. Hermione shuddered in the freezing wind but at the same time, she savoured her time in the open after having been cooped up in a tent for a fairly long time.

She looked at her surroundings. A field of grass and a few windblown, stubborn flowers covered what she believed to be a stony landscape. Stones peeked up everywhere from the short grass as if intentionally wanting to make a walker twist an ankle.

A movement in her peripheral sight made Hermione aim her wand to her left but was relieved to only see some seagulls flying around. They had probably been disturbed by her sudden appearance. And then Hermione saw it.

A small, one-storey house was perched on the mountainous ground a couple of hundred feet away. There was no light in the windows despite the dark clouds that raced across the sky. The house looked abandoned. But it was the only building Hermione could spot and she presumed that this was the safe place Scabior had talked about.

'Scabior.'

Hermione sighed sadly. She had thought that he would bring her to Voldemort and had been devastated by his betrayal. That is, until he explained his plan and managed to send her here in stead. Her heart throbbed when she imagined what would happen once he stood face to face with the Dark Lord. At least he had seemed confident enough and she could only hope that he survived the meeting.

An ominous drop landed on her bare hand, announcing the arrival of rain. If Scabior thought the cottage to be safe, then Hermione would go there rather than staying outside in a freezing rain. She walked cautiously towards the house with her eyes trained on it.

When she could take a good look on the house, she decided on the spot that the Burrow was far more inviting.

This house bore more resemblance to the Shrieking Shack with its darkened walls and dirty windows covered with spider web. How could this house be deemed fit for humans, and to a more important question; why had Scabior sent her here?

Hermione found the frail door and cast Alohomora on it. She could hear the lock open and grabbed the doorknob with two fingers that did not hold the dagger. As she hesitantly entered the strange building she felt a wave of heat reach her frozen skin. Someone had to be living there.

She gazed into a gloomy corridor in front of her when she unexpectedly felt something pointy press into her unprotected neck.

She gasped and looked at her side. A menacingly wand was held by a grimy but smooth hand. Black clothing covered the arm and Hermione had to squint to be able to make out the face in the shadow. It was a woman, approximately fifty years old with a puffy and tired face and a bun of flaming red hair. The hair was nothing like the Weasley's trademark, as it had a clear red colour to it. She was thin but had a strong look to her and her blue eyes narrowed.

"Wha' d'ya think yer doin' in my 'ouse, little bitch?" the woman asked in a very hostile voice.

Hermione fought to not recoil when a puff of sour liquor reached her. She was suddenly aware of that the older woman swayed in her black dress as she still kept the wand against her throat.

"I'm terribly sorry, ma'm. I assumed the cottage was abandoned," she whispered in an apologetic tone but the other woman did not move.

"'ow did ya get through them wards an' all?"

The woman actually growled at her and Hermione began to feel scared for herself. "I…I took a portkey and landed outside the house only minutes ago. Maybe I went through your wards with it," she suggested kindly but stopped smiling when the woman snarled at her.

"D'ya think I'm a fuckin' wanker? I may be tipsy but don't take the Mickey out o' me! I'm gonna ask ya one last time, lass. 'ow did ya get through the Fidelius Charm that protects this place, huh?"

Hermione swallowed nervously. Clearly the woman had not expected her. And how on earth had she been able to travel through protective wards, not to mention a powerful Fidelius? Unless…

Hermione lifted her hand slowly to look at the black dagger. The other woman lowered her gaze too before she snatched the item from Hermione. Within seconds, Hermione was thrusted against the wall and the woman pressed the wand further into her neck, making Hermione's eyes prickle of pain. The mad woman stared at Hermione and a distant thought about their shared height fluttered through her head.

"This is a family 'eirloom! Where the fuck did ya get it, an' answer quickly if ya wanna keep those cute eyes!" she screamed and waved the dagger in front of the scared woman.

Hermione did not want to expose Scabior to a possible enemy if she could help it, but knew she had to say something to the enraged woman. She opted for innocent hints of truth.

"A tall thug gave it to me and said I could use it to get away from dangers. Please believe me, ma'm."

The woman widened her blue eyes and sucked in her breath. Hermione observed how the dirty hand with the dagger began to tremble a little.

"Describe 'im, bitch"

The voice was commanding, although considerably more calm. Hermione surrendered more vague information.

"I remember he had brown eyes and brown hair. He was tall, as I was saying, but not fat. He was quick, too."

She met the eyes of the woman who frowned at her before she said, "A quick fellow, eh? An' did 'e 'appen ta 'ave a red streak in that brown 'air o' 'is?"

And when Hermione thought about Scabior's red stripe, she discovered that the colour was identical with this woman's. She used the Gryffindor courage to dare reveal Scabior's identity.

"Do you by any chance know who Scabior is?"

The wand left her neck and Hermione watched for any other reaction from the suddenly withdrawing woman. The elder witch stared intensely at a spot on the wall beside Hermione, as if refusing to meet her gaze.

The woman took a shuddering breath before she muttered with a bitter chuckle, "O' course, lass. Aren't one supposed ta know one's only son?"

In a very unladylike manner, Hermione gaped at the other woman who suddenly reminded her more and more of Scabior. The hair colour was striking, her eyes were shaped the same way and Scabior most definitely had inherited her proud nose. The world began to swim before Hermione's eyes and she heard a protesting rumble from her empty stomach. The revelation had chocked her already exhausted body and mind.

"Oi! Ya alright there, lass?" a female voice with his accent called. Hermione sagged against the battered wall, too tired by this day's events to do anything else. "Do you have anything to eat, Mrs…" she said haltingly. Scabior's mother snorted indignantly, making waves of alcohol-smelling air assault Hermione.

"Now, love, I want ya ta call me nothin' but Claire, an' then I'll give ya somethin' ta chew on. No Mrs here, please. Makes me feel like a bleedin' gammer. And I'm no wife either so that title's wasted on me."

"I understand, Claire. And I'm Penelope Clearwater. Nice to meet you," Hermione greeted and praised her instinct to still be careful about her real identity. Claire glanced at her with a bored look and swung her wand. Apparently she had used a non-verbal Summoning Charm because a piece of meat flew out from a door in the corridor, against the women.

But using magic with a drunken mind tended to dull the spells. The meat missed Claire's outstretched hand and would have landed on the floor, had Hermione not caught it, her actions driven by hunger.

"Fuckin' 'ell!" the red-haired lady swore at her quite innocent wand before she turned her attention to the already chewing Hermione.

"Long time, no tea, dear?" she sneered and Hermione felt two red flowers bloom on her cheeks at her imprudence.

"Sorry. I was very hungry," she offered as excuse. The meat was some sort of steak that tasted deliciously on her tongue. Suddenly she realized something when her nose remembered fragments from the taste.

"Is this lamb, Claire?"

"It was 'til ya came by an' ate it with great appetite. Come. I've kept some o' my questions an' I need ya ta answer them now."

The elder woman beckoned Hermione to follow through a dark corridor with two doors at either side until they reached a larger room. Claire lit some lights with her wand and Hermione looked around eagerly.

It seemed the room was like a living room because a quite grandiose fireplace was placed on the further wall and a long enough sofa covered in rich burgundy velvet. A ridiculously small fire for such a large fireplace spread warmth in the house and Hermione felt how the coldness was chased away from her. She saw a couple of paintings hanging on the wall but found it hard to see the portraits in the scarcely light.

Claire suggested she sat down on the sofa while she herself remained standing.

"I think you've already figured out that ya was able ta travel through the Fidelius because o' the portkey that 'e 'ad. Only Scabior an' I know where ta find this place," Claire said matter-of-factly and Hermione followed her thinking.

"Excuse me, Claire. Can you please tell me where exactly I am?" she asked politely and Claire clenched her jaw.

"First I need ta know yer relation with my Scabior, since 'e gave you 'is emergency portkey. Are ya 'is bird or somethin'?" Claire asked in a hard voice.

Hermione gulped and literally shrunk on the soft sofa. Scabior's mother was forward like her son, and as frightening at times.

And how should one describe this relation to Scabior? Hermione decided that revealing the fact that she had been his prisoner would not favour her, as Claire might guess she was a wanted witch who was worth galleons.

"I visited him in his tent a couple of times. He seemed to like me," Hermione tackled the question with and blushed at her last words. She firsthand had felt just how much Scabior liked her when they snogged on the floor. Claire persisted.

"What d'ya mean liked ya, Penelope? Liked ya fer spreadin' yer legs?" she asked coarsely for Hermione's ears. She tensed on the sofa and straightened her back defiantly.

"No, it was nothing like that! He just did nice things for me," she exclaimed as she began to twirl her wand in her hand to rid herself of the frustration. Claire's blue eyes gleamed and she looked amused.

"Good girl. I needed ta check if ya were only one o' 'is usual skirts, an' it seems like you're not. Now tell me why Scabior chose ta send ya 'ere without 'im."

'One of his usual skirts?' Hermione distinguished a flare of anger at this new piece of information but had not time to ponder about it, as she sensed the importance of telling Claire about the fate of her son. As the fire made Hermione less tense, she told a story of mixed truths and lies.

Penelope Clearwater had searched for food in the woods but an animal attacked her. Scabior had found her wounded and healed her in his snatcher camp. As the orphan she was, she had chosen to stay with him. That is, until the Dark Lord wanted her for entertainment and Scabior provided her with a way out.

Once Hermione had finished her story, Claire began to pace between the sofa and the flickering fire.

"Sounds like my lad's a fancy gentleman nowadays. Pray tell, where's Mr Perfect now?" Claire inquired and glared at Hermione who felt her throat dry when she understood she had to tell the awful truth to the mother. Merlin, she already felt fear infect her at the thought of poor Scabior. She lowered her head.

"He had to go to the Dark Lord and explain my absence. I don't know what's happen to him," she whispered in a defeated voice. She knew Claire had the eyes fixed on her but did not dare meet them. A hoarse whisper sounded through the large and yet empty room.

"Scabior's with the Dark Lord." It was a statement, not a question. And then, "'e'll never make it out alive."

Strange it was how two strangers could share thoughts and emotions with close to no knowledge about each other. Hermione heard footsteps come closer and bounced a little when Claire sat down heavily beside her. Silence reigned the room as both women stared into the dancing flames before them.

After some torturous minutes, Claire muttered without looking away from the fire, "You're in Ireland. I left England when Scabior moved out. Found this 'ouse an' bought it. Once the dark powers took over again, he came by fer a day. We decided ta put a Fidelius on this place."

Claire chuckled humourlessly. "Funny really. We had our rows when 'e was a teenager but when 'e visited me, 'e made me swear ta keep them protecting shields up all the time."

Hermione shifted awkwardly on the soft material, feeling like an outsider who was not supposed to hear this private information. The worst part was that she recognized the Scabior Claire talked about as she had fought with him too, and knew how protective he could be in times of immediate danger.

He had truly saved her when he sent her to Ireland; the least pureblood-obsessed part of Britain, according to her books. Voldemort had almost let the island alone from his raids after muggleborns, probably more focused on defeating Harry Potter than challenging the reluctant but calm wizards and witches on Ireland. The Irish wizarding world was, in the latest editions of history books, neutral to the Dark Lord but was expected to fight against him if he sent his Death Eaters across the sea to enslave the population.

Hermione had no idea about the current opinion but hoped that the people were still friendly towards half-bloods like herself.

"And you and Scabior are purebloods?" Hermione asked, although she had her suspicions when she recalled her first day in Scabior's tent and his harsh words.

"Yeah, poor ones, but purebloods nonetheless. Or more accurately, I am. He was." Claire hissed and rubbed her face angrily. Hermione could almost see new wrinkles settle on the still beautiful face. The face of a mother mourning her only child was haunting and tragic. Hermione's own heart shed tears of sorrow but she still carried the hope of youth.

"Don't talk about Scabior in the past tense. He assured me he was a survivor."

Hermione tried to comfort Claire as she heard raindrops drum on the windows, cleaning them on the outside at least. The night had arrived earlier with the dark clouds covering the daylight. In a different world she would have been very scared in a creepy cottage in the middle of nowhere during a rainy night, but now it did not matter. She could breath, talk and live thanks to Scabior's sacrifice. But what had he paid for her safety?

Hermione sniffed and tried faintly to hide her teary eyes.

"Don't ya dare tell me 'ow ta talk about my late son, pretty!" Claire said icily when Hermione heard a clap of thunder echoing over the hill outside. Claire continued, more upset for every second that passed, "Scabior was good at savin' 'is arse but d'ya know anyone who got away from the fury o' the Dark Lord? Well, that Potter boy might 'ave seventeen years ago, but for some reason, I don't see my son defeating the Dark…"

Hermione interrupted the woman by hushing her. The woman took it as an intended insult and held up her wand, aiming at Hermione.

"Now that was very stupid."

"Didn't you hear that?" Hermione asked brusquely and got up from the sofa. Claire shrugged, however following the younger witch with her puffy eyes.

Hermione moved purposely to a window and peeked out, getting hotter when the adrenalin made her blood course at a quicker pace. Only the darkened night met her gaze with gleaming rocks and grass flattened to the ground. Still she felt the presence of something out there.

She mumbled to Claire, "Did you hear that one clap of thunder just now?" Claire sighed.

"Blimey! I've lost my son and got a loony. Yes, yes, I 'eard the thunder, alright."

"But there was no lightening," Hermione hissed and clasped her wand firmer.

"Maybe someone apparated here." Hermione knew what her heart was hoping for, but it could be a danger. Something dark waiting to harm her and the other woman. She waved at Claire.

"Come! We must see what it is."

With a reluctant groan, Claire got up and followed Hermione through the corridor.

Nothing had happened when Hermione's face peeped out from the door and she hurried outside. The merciless rain soaked her warm clothes and made her hair cling to her back but she did not care right now. Claire joined her with her wand pulled out and whispered in her ear, "The wards're broken. I can feel it."

It would be foolish to use a Lumos and expose them to whatever hid in the dark. Instead, Hermione remembered the spell she had often used these last months.

"Homenum Revelio"

A human shape along the ground lay motionless on the other side of the cottage.

Hermione began to walk towards the person she could not yet see, her wand at the ready and with an Unforgivable on her tongue. As she drew nearer, she heard Claire stumble a little and breathe out a curse. There were many stones here and they had to tread carefully.

And then she saw him. A wet leather coat and tangled hair covering the form of Scabior.

His back was displayed at her and that troubled Hermione.

She hurried to kneel beside his silent and unmoving body as Claire cast Lumos.

"My boy!"

"Scabior, do you hear me!"

Two voices challenged the relentless wind but no response was given. Hermione took a look at his face. His eyes were closed but his mouth was open in an unnatural way. And his face was so white. Almost as if he was dead.

What do you say? And I'm thinking that Scabior's mum was like Mama Fratelli from The Goonies and Ma in Boondock Saints, but in a more beautiful version. Scabior must have gotten his good looks from someone, eh? Did you like Claire, or is it boring/hard to read her accent all the time? Let me know and send a review!