Hello to you! I was so intent on publishing last chapter that I forgot to add a song and to mention that I have Fantastic Beasts and Quidditch through the Ages by J. K. Rowling. I use the books now and then in this fic, just so you don't think I'm making those things up. Now, this chapter deals with some disagreements and stuff. Turns out there's trouble in paradise too. Tell me what you think by sending me a review, please!

Inspirational music: Johhny I hardly knew ye (preferably by Karan Casey)

Chap. 25 Facades

The following days followed a certain pattern, Hermione discovered after a while.

She would nick food for Scabior and herself when Claire was not looking. The mother often complained about the amount of food her two guests required, even if she only had to cast a simple replenishing charm. On top of that, Claire also seemed to grow more vile and hostile as she shuffled through the house.

Perhaps Claire was one of those people who felt a difficulty to express kindness and love all the time, even towards their own children if they were not threatened by grave danger, Hermione mused.

The tension in the small cottage grew for each day that passed.

Scabior on the other hand was an unpredictable enigma. Sometimes he was thankful for Hermione's efforts to make him fully healed. But once in a while he seamed eager to be close to her; something she was not keen on for various reasons, his mother's presence in the house one of them.

Then Scabior began to sulk and beg she would allow him to leave his bed and walk outside. She denied his request since she saw and heard how his chest still hurt.

And then there was Hermione herself. She felt like she was an outsider in the house, and Claire made it clear she should not feel at home here. It badgered on Hermione's nerves to constantly be watched by a hawk who scolded her for taking too much food.

Flooded with guilt when Scabior demanded more food, she began to make Scabior's meals bigger by taking food from her own plates. He needed to eat a lot because of him being a full-grown man and a convalescing one at that. She ate her meals in the kitchen, away from Scabior's curious eyes.

Hermione felt like she was slowly going insane in the small living space and needed a break. She stood by the door to Scabior's bedroom and settled her mind. A sigh escaped her before she opened the door and entered.

"Look at that! Someone's visiting me at last! Merlin knows I need to show you the surroundings. Care to come with me?"

Hermione dreaded that tone from Scabior, knowing from his both hopeful and sarcastic voice that he wanted to get out of the house. And she hated to disappoint him.

"I heard you growl all through last night. You're still in pain," she mumbled as she avoided his searching gaze and opened one drawer to take out a borrowed red shawl. The wind here really was freezing as if mocking the early summer sun.

Scabior huffed.

"I'm going bloody mad, love. I need to get outside and you don't let me. I say I want my wand back and you don't talk to my dear mother about it. And I'm lying in agony from those fuckin' ribs an' yet ya refuse ta give me any pain relieving potions!"

Hermione cringed by the chest of drawers. She understood his frustration but when he blamed her, he unknowingly fuelled her guilt-ridden mind. With her face turned from him, she answered in a pleading voice, "I've told you already. You'll become addicted if you keep drinking the potions. And I have talked with Claire about your wand but she wouldn't give it to me. I promise I'll take you outside soon when your wounds are completely gone."

A disgruntled snarl reached her ears from across the room. "This is just like being with the Dark Lord all over again."

Hermione's patience ran low and she snapped.

"I take care of you almost around the clock to see if I can speed up the healing. Do not speak to me like that!" she yelled before she wrapped the shawl furiously around her small shoulders and left the room with its miserable occupant. As she stomped through the corridor she heard him call but ignored it, desperate for a moment of privacy and tranquillity outside.

When the frail front door was slammed shut behind her from the fickle wind, Hermione inhaled deeply. 'Boy, is he annoying.'

She began to make her way through the insidious labyrinth of stones in the grass, strolling away from the cottage. The blue sky was at times hidden by racing clouds. A salty smell reached her and she began to follow it, thankful that Claire's wards managed to keep a large area around the house safe.

She got to the end of the field where the ground level plummeted several feet until the sea licked the rocks. With enough gut and persistence, it was possible to get down there by climbing down the treacherous cliffs. Hermione swallowed her fear of heights and began her descend, slowly disappearing from view from the cottage.

Aside from the roaring wind and the waves it brought, there was silent and calm here. Exactly what Hermione found herself craving right now. She saw a big rock suitable for sitting on near the water and climbed down to it. After having transfigured the shawl into a soft blanket, she laid it out on the flat surface and seated herself. She faced the sea and breathed in the fresh and salty air, sensing how her anger was dispatched little by little.

It was true that the mother lurking in the surrounding rooms made her hesitant to show any physical affection towards Scabior. But her other reasons to why she stayed away from him were wedged deeper in her sad heart.

The way Scabior acted now reminded her more and more of Ron's behaviour last autumn when he had worn the locket of Voldemort. A notably chilly breeze played with her loose hair and made her shiver slightly.

'Except Ron had the locket to blame for his awful mood,' she thought exasperated and closed her eyes for a moment. Hermione had continued to insist on Scabior staying in bed simply because that was best for him. It was not something she did to spite him on purpose like a Slytherin would do.

A hopeful flare in her chest suggested that maybe it was the typical male behaviour, considering wounds and illness, showing its ugly face. That should explain why he appreciated her pampering, even if he seldom thanked her.

Or perhaps, a logic thought in her mind interjected, Scabior really was being himself. It was likely he would relax in the home of his mother and stop keeping up a charming personality. And Hermione had become something that disturbed him by asking for a tiny bit of politeness. Feeling more alone than ever, Hermione choked back her tears and brought her knees up to rest her arms on them.

She was back where she had started, even in an Irish cottage miles away from England. Was Scabior good or evil, or a complete grey zone? If Hermione doubted he deserved her love now, how much more would she not despise him if she found out he had murdered innocent people, apart from the fact that he indeed had snatched them?

She raked her nails through her wild mane and sobbed loudly, trusting the unyielding wind to drown out the sound. She liked Scabior very much but she was on Harry's side where the light was. Could there be a place there for a notorious snatcher, and a Death Eater at that? And would he want to step over the misty line between light and dark?

But Hermione had to admit to herself, he had behaved like a gentleman around her most of the time in his tent. An odd one perhaps, but a gentleman nonetheless. And he seemed to have abandoned his thoughts about muggleborns, at least as far as Hermione knew. He could have gotten rich if he had turned her over to the Ministry. Sure it could be because Scabior had shown a certain interest in her.

But if all he wanted was to get into her knickers, all he had had to do was forcing himself on her since he had every advantage at hand, including a wand. In stead, he had always let her take the first stumbling steps to something more between them. With all her knowledge and lack of experience, Hermione would say that Scabior probably was in love with her. And Hermione was in love with him, although her heart was close to breaking at this point.

Her wits told her she should get to know the real Scabior better before she revealed her feeling to him. Was he worthy of a young woman's love? Hermione opened her glossy eyes and stared at the rhythmic waves.

And what exactly had Claire insinuated with her not being one of his usual skirts?

Hermione hated to acknowledge it, but it did suited Scabior to have ladies of various dignity clinging at his side before he discarded them. He was handsome, fairly young and very vibrant. And as the cherry on the cake, he had a certain talent for wooing in women by his charm. What if he saw her as just another girl to sleep with as soon as possible? And what if she despite her reasonable and cautious self did spread her legs for him?

The though alone made Hermione warm up inside but she shook her head to chase away the distracting images. If Claire had spoken the truth, Scabior would likely leave Hermione and move on to another fetching girl without looking back. That was not something she longed for.

Godric, then she would be better off starting a relationship with dependable Ron who at least would never cheat or leave her like a heap of old clothes!

Hermione began to think about her two friends. Where were they and how were they doing at the moment? It was likely they stayed hidden at one of the Order's safe houses to recover and plan their next move. A dark thought clouded her mind when she remembered the fact that neither of them had the sword of Gryffindor, thus stood without a proper weapon to destroy horcruxes with. That evil Bellatrix Lestrange probably had the sword in an impenetrable place by now.

Hermione wanted to return to Harry and Ron but understood that she ought to lie low for a while since Voldemort seemed interested in catching her and using her as bait to find Harry. Apart from the unpleasant staying in the cottage, she had to please Claire enough to ensure that she could stay there for at least two weeks.

But Hermione would not be a pushover or a servant to Scabior anymore. She had her own wand and was a powerful witch. They were equals now and as such, she could use her returned leverage to get some answers from Scabior. She needed to know him better.

A rumble from her stomach brought her abruptly from her thoughts and she massaged her stomach with one hand. It not time for lunch yet but her body thought differently. She heaved herself up and caught the blanket before the wind abducted it. Maybe she could manage to come over a snack without letting Claire know. She returned to the cottage with heavy steps.

'Fuck, fuck, fuck!' No matter in what position he laid, his ribs protested in a very bothering way. Scabior groaned with vexation and glared venomously at the window from the bed, silently cursing the weather for tempting him so.

After Hermione so suddenly left, he had called for her to come back. He regretted his bitter words and wanted to apologize. He had after all promised himself to treat her like a lady, even if his own emotions sometimes made that difficult. It was just that his helpless position reminded him of his imprisonment in Azkaban.

He was not sure which was worst; being healthy but caged in a small room with only dementors as visitors, or being bruised in a soft bed in a safe place with alluring nature just outside the window but being denied the nearby thing on the other side of the window his snatcher within craved. Of course Scabior occasionally got annoyed with the woman who prevented him from going outside, even if her intentions were good.

A squeak from the door made Scabior turn his head and watch his mother enter his room.

She wore a long, dark green skirt and a simple black blouse that showed off her still beautiful figure. Unaffected by her unusually nice outfit, Scabior waved his hand tauntingly to his non-visiting mother.

"Well, hello there. I don't think I've met you before. My name is Scabior and..."

"Don't fuckin' start 'til I've come in, boy. An' what's got yer wand in a knot?"

Scabior raised an eyebrow at Claire who chuckled. "Oh, that's right. You don't 'ave yer wand. I can't imagine 'ow ya're feelin' without it."

Scabior sent a silent prayer to Merlin for patience.

"Alright mum, you've had your fun. Please give it back to me," he said acidly but Claire waved a finger at him.

"Not 'til I get what I came fer. Now, let me see. Ah yes, why the fuck did you bring that Penelope girl 'ere? Not that she isn't useless, but a 'ostess wonders."

Scabior threw a hard look at her eyes that were so different from his. "Hasn't she told you yet?" he asked sourly.

Hermione had reported to him the day he woke up what story she had told Claire and Scabior agreed to keep her real identity concealed.

Claire walked to the dirty window and leaned against the window-sill.

"Yeah, she said some shite about 'er bein' an orphan an' you've 'ealed 'er and so on. But from what I've learnt about ya, it's weird that ya haven't shagged 'er yet."

Scabior groaned and pinched his nose. Why did he have the misfortune of having an embarrassing and crude mother?

"Mum, it's my bloody business who I shag and who I don't," he stated, not comfortable with sharing that part of his life with her.

"D'ya love that bird?" Claire asked flippantly, causing Scabior to shift on the bed.

"You're mental. I'm not gonna answer that," he muttered.

"I take that as a yes, boy. And I couldn't 'elp but notice that Penelope likes ya as well," Claire emitted bluntly.

Scabior blinked but picked up his jaw from the bed and asked incrediously, "How would you know?"

The mother held up a fist and began to count her reasons loudly, as she stretched out one finger at a time. "First, she seemed determined to believe that ya were alive even when I doubted. Second, ya should 'ave seen 'er when she 'ealed ya. She just wouldn't take the absence of a bleedin' pulse fer an answer."

Claire's eyes gleamed and she smiled in a way like she was impressed by Hermione.

"Third, she checks on ya several times a day ta see if there's anything she can do ta make ya feel better. 'ell, even I don't 'ave the energy fer that! And four, she hasn't asked ya ta move ta 'er bed so she can enjoy yer softer bed, even if yer state doesn't depend on a fine mattress. She keeps sleepin' in that uncomfortable thing fer ya, Scabior. And fifth," Claire breathed out and pointed her pinkie at Scabior while she locked her blue eyes sternly on him, "Penelope knows I'm not over the moon about feedin' the two o' ya. I've no idea about England, but it's very hard ta find food here. Ever since the Dark Lord came back, Ireland's been flooded with refugees from Britain. And everyone o' them needs food too."

Claire looked personally offended.

"Them food prices 'ave increased ta an obscene level an' it's hard ta keep three people satisfied when only one's workin'. An' I like a variety o' food. I've told that ta Penelope but she began ta jabber about the amount o' food ya need, boy."

With growing suspicion to where Claire's rant would end, Scabior observed her intensely.

"She's really fallen fer ya! What girl would otherwise make 'er own meals smaller and yours bigger so I'm unable ta complain, and ya can eat how much ya want?" Claire snorted and began to brush away dust that had gotten caught on her skirt when she leaned on the window-sill.

Emotions filled Scabior to the point of breaking, as they all travelled through his body, trashed within his veins and burnt the backside of his eyes. But most of these abstract phenomena set course straight to his heart, assaulting him with terrible feelings such as guilt, fury, confusion and something warm.

He clenched his fists and tried to focus his gaze on his tangible mother and not the threatening red curtains in his head.

"Ya're lyin, woman. Ya've made that up ta set me up like a fool," he growled through his teeth, although he somewhere beyond his temporarily crazed mind knew he was grasping at straws.

Claire inspected her nails and said in a sing-song voice, "Come on, Scabior. I'm a drunkard who was dense enough ta fall fer a married man in my youth. D'ya 'onestly think I'm clever enough ta make up somethin' that advanced just ta see ya look stupid? Ya really do flatter me."

"But why would she do somethin' crazy like that?" Scabior muttered, not sure if he was addressing himself or his mother, too busy holding his rage at bay. He had wanted to protect Hermione only to end up hearing she, among other things, deliberately starved herself for him.

"Oh, please Salazar, don't tell me I've got myself a son that matches my stupidity! Scabior, I told ya before; that bird is in love with ya. It doesn't matter then what foolish things ya do as long as it pleases the man ya love. An' trust me, I sure as 'ell know what I'm talkin' about," Claire said calmly as if her son was not shaking with self-hatred on the bed.

"I've been a downright bastard, mum. An' I didn't see what she fuckin' did fer me! I treated her like shit only 'cause I'm goin' through a little 'ealing! What kind o' an arsehole am I?" Scabior screamed, aware of his rising temperature and his own magic tickling beneath his fingertips. Claire had a proper answer.

"A bastard arsehole, my boy. If she's the first bird that managed ta catch yer snatcher 'eart, an' ya've stopped bein' nice ta 'er, then quite frankly, boy; ya're in deep shit."

"Why did ya told me this? What should I do?" Scabior panted in a begging tone, waiting for mercy so he could fix his relationship with Hermione.

The mother sneered at him, "I wanted ta make sure ya didn't continue ta 'urt 'er so she would kill ya in yer sleep. Merlin knows she's earned that right. But I suggest ya put yer big head ta work, Scabior, 'cause it'll soon be too late."

With that, Claire floated too the door with dignity. Desperate for her help, the rage slowly slipped away and Scabior turned to his side, ignoring the sting in his ribcage.

"Wait, mum! Where are you going?" he called and Claire looked back with her hands on her hips.

"I 'appen ta need ta get ta work an' earn some sickles before ya ruin me. I've already lost sixty sickles fer stayin' 'ome last week ta look after yer sorry arse."

Scabior literally shrunk under the intimidating gaze from his angry mother. She added with a testy tone, "I'll see ya in the mornin', if Penelope hasn't already finished ya. There's yer wand so ya can defend yerself from her wrath."

His wand fell from her sleeve and was tossed at him. He caught it to avoid getting the pointy end in his face and watched his mother disappear.

A slam from the front door made it clear that Claire intended to disapparate to her work, a much safer way to travel than using floo powder if you wanted to not expose your home if it was under the Fidelius charm.

'Great! I've got to talk to Hermione. At least we'll be alone,' Scabior thought as he watched a familiar woman tread warily across the grass field and approach the cottage.

He hoped that the house would not be set on fire when he and Hermione had their talk. His mother would kill him if that happened.