Hello again! Finally a new chapter. Sorry for the delay but I'll try to update a new chapter soon as compensation. But I would appreciate if more of you sent me reviews. Considering how many readers my fic have, I'm not getting that many reviews:( I like knowing your thoughts about this story, so please write one when you have read this chapter.
And I want to ask you all a question. Do you want the fic to end at the Battle of Hogwarts (I'm not saying how it will end) or some time after the battle? I'm having trouble deciding which, so I let you participate in the decision. Now, read and review, my friends.
Inspirational music: Piece by piece by Katie Melua
Chap. 30 Blues
Little by little, hour by hour the days crept by.
Even if Hermione did her best to make the most of the time together with Scabior, she still felt that time was her cruel and unstoppable enemy. She had after all said to herself as well as to Scabior that she intended to leave Ireland after two weeks. Ten days had passed since her decision.
And she did want to find Harry and Ron again and continue fighting against Voldemort and his awful horcruxes. The problem was that she would have to do it with a broken heart. Because Scabior was not supposed to accompany her.
Hermione let out a shaky breath and squeezed her eys shut to prevent the tears from escaping her lids. 'Don't cry. Please don't cry,' she told herself in a mantra as she furiously rubbed a rag against the dusty window-sill. Claire had appointed her and Scabior to clean the house that day since all they did, according to the mother, was arse about all day and rut like centaurs in heat during the nights, whereas Claire worked full nights to provide the household with food.
Hermione had blushed from the elder woman's crude but true words and Scabior had muttered something about his mother and pointy cliffs nearby, but they had begun cleaning the very neglected cottage. Hermione was alone in Claire's bedroom and tidied without magic, hoping in vain to relieve some of the tension in her troubled being.
Unexpectedly, the person that in secret tormented her stepped into the almost finished room and Hermione whipped around, not able to hide her look of distress fast enough. At least she had not cried and surrounded herself with a scent of salt his nose would surely pick up.
"Is something wrong, love?" he asked slowly with his brows furrowed in suspicion. Hermione smiled lightly and brushed her hands against the knee length skirt she wore today.
"No, of course not. Although I can't believe how dust can be so difficult to remove from a surface."
'Go for the bait. Change the subject,' she silently prayed and watched Scabior place a hand on his hip.
"You would've been finished by now if you used a wand like me, silly."
Thankful that he did not dwell on her momentarily sad face, Hermione averted her eyes and stared at her rag as she mumbled, "I like doing things the manually. It's the muggle heritage, I guess."
Scabior sighed loudly and had Hermione look at him again. He had removed his clothes on the upper body and his checkered pants hung low on his hips. In the light from the recently polished window, small pearls of perspiration could be seen clinging to his firm abdomen and the dark hair on his chest as well as the narrow trail below his navel shone when he moved to scratch the back of his neck. Hermione got herself an appeasing display of his muscular arms and the fading Dark Mark before she reined herself in and turned back to her task.
The weakness Scabior had experienced the first days he spent in the cottage had disappeared and he had mentioned a need to get back his former strength. He usually went out to run in the area just after daybreak before he returned happy, invigorated and panting to their bed. Although, if Claire had returned from her work, Hermione would refuse to do anything sexual no matter how hard Scabior tried to persuade her into warming all of him. But the dark nights belonged to her and her lover, who's diligence brought her pleasure every time they became one. The only disadvantage was that Hermione's body had learnt that satisfaction came from the snatcher and so, now on cue she felt herself became aroused and damp.
Hermione breathed so heavily through her nose that a small spot of mist appeared on the glass in front of her. To distract herself, she asked him with a fairly steady voice, "If you used magic, then why are you so sweaty, if I may ask?" A chuckle was heard behind her and she looked over her shoulder to see him rub his stomach in a carefree manner.
"Couldn't resist taking a peek at me, huh? Reminds you of last night when I lit the lamp and..."
"Scabior! Hush! Your mother is in the house!" Hermione interrupted with flushed features, momentarily forgetting the things she worried about. Scabior winked at her and tossed his head so his wild hair flew back.
"And..., as I was saying, by the way, you try pushing furniture around and sweep the floor with one wand. It ain't possible."
"You should have called for my help. Or better up; first removed the furnitures with magic and then started to clean the floor with magic too, Hermione suggested. Scabior snorted indignantly.
"And it would have taken twice the time to get the kitchen and this room finished. I preferred two forces working at the same time: my wand and myself and be done with the wench's latest idea."
"Scabior," Hermione said reproachfully but felt the corners of her lips turn upwards, "it's your own mother you're talking about."
"My mother who's doing my head in ever since she cut down on the Firewhiskey. I'm telling you, she's lost it."
Scabior obviously pretended to be sincere but he did not fool Hermione. She laughed genuinely at his whining before she finally returned to her window-sill. On the opposite of what Scabior thought of cleaning, she enjoyed being helpful and she only had this bloody area left.
"Pen...fuck it, I can't say it! Beautiful, are you done soon?" came a soft voice from behind. Hermione loved that soft, seductive tone that was contained inside such an, at times, intimidating man. She nodded and scrubbed even harder at the surface. Without a sound as he moved, Scabior suddenly stood right behind her and placed his hands on either side of her own on the window-sill. Hermione stopped moving and held her breath in expectation.
His body caged her in and he leaned forward slightly, molding his body into hers and letting her feel just how hot his chest was. Very carefully, he blew air on her neck which made her automatically tip her head back and fully show the tender skin that begged to be sucked and licked. As he nuzzled her neck she felt his arousal poke into the small of her back and she could tell she got wetter.
"Enough hard labour for today, treasure. Let's head back to our little nest," he whispered and made Hermione tremble. Finally unable to not show him any affection back, she wrapped her fingers around his forearms and became aware of the contrast between the hairy, sinewy upper side and the smooth, damp lower side. Completely forgetting his last words, her left thumb grazed the outlines of his black tattoo and she felt how he flinched.
"Don't touch that, sweet love. It's too dark for you."
"I'm sorry. I just discovered it has faded. Quite interesting, actually."
Scabior leaned further over her shoulder and she guessed he took a look for himself. "Yeah, I've seen that too. Must be because the Dark Lord has cut the links to me and the fact that I'm currently far away from the evil in England," he murmured in a contemplating voice before he removed his hands from the surface and instead put them on Hermione's hips. She bit down on her lip to subdue the moan that was wrenched from her. She knew somewhere in the mists of lust what road Scabior was taking her on but did not mind it at all. Her body was openly crying out for him.
He rocked against her bum and said through gritted teeth, "Ya're so sexy in that nice-lookin' skirt. Yer arse looks fucking edible under the tight material covering it."
He nibbled on her ear and began to bunch up the hem of the skirt, caressing her naked thighs as he revealed them. "Such a naughty witch, eh? Standin' bent down, teasin' me with a good view o' yer asset. Shame on ya."
He touched her burning inner thigh when…
"Oh, fer the fuckin' love o' Merlin! Not in my own bedrrom, ya 'orny bastard!"
Hermione frozed and with dread replacing her desire, she looked around. Behind the foreground with Scabior's flexing bicep, in the doorway, stood a very annoyed Claire.
"Hello to you too, mum," Scabior drawled sarcastically over his shoulder as he took a step away from Hermione and let her skirt fall down.
"Look, I don't butt in on whatcha doin' after dark but I do mind when ya're shaggin' in my bloody room. For fuck's sake, Scabior, at least 'ave the decency ta keep yer funny business private fer 'er sake!" Claire remarked curtly and crossed her arms in front of her chest. Hermione thought she would die from mortification and opened her mouth to apologize when Scabior gave her a quick glance as if advising against speaking.
"Calm down, mum. It was just innocent snogging, that's all," he commented.
"Innocent? When it comes ta ya an' women, nothin's innocent! Can't ya fer once be'ave like a proper pureblood an' think 'bout other's comfort? An' yes I mean myself an' that bird o'erthere." Claire chided while sighing dramatically. Hermione glanced at Scabior who drew himself up with impressive dignity despite the awkwardness of the situation.
"I did think about you lot. That's why I didn't drag Penelope out to the living room where you were napping only minutes ago. And for the record; Snatcher rule No. 20 says that when a snatcher hooks up, you better stay away if you don't fancy having your private parts hexed beyond recognition."
Claire rolled her eyes and said in a bored tone, "An' the rules I've taught ya state that a pureblood always respects 'is parents an' when in a pureblood home, do as the pureblood 'abitants. Yer bloody snatcher rules won't apply 'ere, boy. I suggest ya stop yerself from screwin' that that bird now an' take 'er ta the livin' room. I've made the fer my 'ouse-elves."
Through the embarrassment, Hermione could hardly contain a laugh at Claire's name for her and Scabior and she ventured a look at Scabior as she heard the bossy woman walk away. Scabior ruffled his hair sheepishly before he cleared his throat and a tint of blush appeared on his cheeks.
"I think I now understand what you meant with; doing my head in," Hermione teased and stood on her toes to plant a quick kiss on his lips. At that, Scabior blinked and grinned down at her.
"Sorry you had to hear that. Perhaps it's better to either stay in our room or be outside when we get randy. I sure as hell won't stand another lecture like that."
"I agree," Hermione said, quite surprised at how fast she had recovered from the incident. The girl she had been before would have been mute with humiliation for days and probably avoided the man's touch so to not risk getting caught again. Apparently she had adopted some of Scabior's lighthearted manner. She patted his warm chest comfortingly and inched herself out from the space between him and the window-sill.
"Come along, fellow house-elf! We don't want to miss the tea," she let out in a sing-song voice but stopped short at the doorway when she did not detect the sound of Scabior's following steps.
"Are you really mocking Britain's finest snatcher? 'Cause if that's the case, I think you need to be punished."
He turned to face her in all his glory with a hungry and amused expression on his face. Hermione's eyes darted to the prominent bulge which crowded the crotch of his pants. Scabior winked at her and gestured at his arousal. "Why don't you run ahead. I can't calm myself down if you're here looking gorgeous. And I don't think mum would appreciate it if I showed up like this to her dandy teatime."
Hermione smiled and blew him a kiss before she trotted to the living room. She only hoped that her intimate moments with Scabior would make her departure easier, not harder.
As soon as Hermione had left, Scabior turned to face the clean window and leaned heavily with his hands on the now white window-sill. He bowed his head and frowned at his swollen member. "Relax, mate. She's gonna be back tonight," he silently addressed the cock that pulsed with sexual frustration.
He rolled his shoulders and looked up to distract himself from the temptation of easing the ache by fondling himself. Hermione did wielded power over him and he could easily drown out everything else when he touched her. But also her voice, the way she talked, her personality; it all entranced him and made him want to make her happy in every way possible.
When the throbbing cock became too much to bear, he groaned quietly and thrusted slowly into thin air, just not capable of taming the screaming instincts inside his male body. He stared testily at the abandoned rag on the surface, envying its complete softness.
It was one big mystery to him how Hermione almost had not done anything with other boys. What was wrong with the boys of the younger generation that made them ignore such a graceful creature. But then again, boys were not men and probably only chased girls with huge tits because they thought with their pricks, not their heads. But Scabior was utterly grateful that he had stumbled over this treasure who had given so much to him.
And yet, in spite of this bliss, he had recently detected a shadow flashing across Hermione's face when she did not know he was looking. He had not summoned the determination to ask her about it, assuming it had something to do with her friends and all the other things that weighted her small shoulders. Because whenever she saw him, she absolutely beamed with joy so he guessed it had nothing to do with him.
But then there was that other thing which gnawed him and had him running longer distances for each day to rid himself of unease. Upon feeling the horrible worry seep into his veins, Scabior raised himself and staggered to his mum's bed before sitting down at it. He recalled perfectly Hermione's clear announcement that she would leave after two weeks. And even if he had relaxed in Ireland for many days, he had as the snatcher he was counted the days as they passed.
Allowing Hermione control over the plan, he had not pressed her for details until she had it all figured out and felt confident enough to tell him what they would do once they returned to England. To his confusion, she had, even if time was running out, kept silent and not shared anything whatsoever with him. As Scabior had tried to convince himself that nothing was wrong, the snatcher within roared constantly that something indeed was off, fishy, wrong.
While hunching his back with misery and cradling his head in his hands, he came to a conclusion.
Either he had nothing to worry about because Hermione would surely inform him when the time was right. He remembered that when she had been in his tent there had been something she did not let on about her and her friends' fight against the Dark Lord. She also seemed to have hope as if there was a way to defeat Him. And maybe that weapon was so secret and important that she simply hesitated on telling him. If that was the case, he would have to trust her and be prepared to leave with her soon.
Or there was the other scenario which made Scabior cold from actual fear. Perhaps Hermione thought of leaving by herself and not bringing him with her. The very thought of it caused an eruption of feelings inside Scabior's warm chest. He dug his nails into the scalp. With his entire being he hoped that she did not plan to do that. Nevertheless, he could not afford to deny it and risk losing Hermione. That was why he frequently saw to be with her or find her if she was out of sight, like today when she was in one room and he in another. Because he did not know what he would do to himself if he found out he had accidentally allowed her to escape without him.
The dilemma made him tired but he promised himself he would always be there to protect his treasure, and certainly not let her sneak away to fight the Dark Lord all alone. She was too valuable for that. The nightmares he suffered from every night was always about Hermione getting caught and being held as a hostage to the gruesome and not merciful Dark Lord. Scabior had no intention of once again seeing Hermione's blood staining a floor.
Suddenly he felt the tug from his mind to find Hermione again. He rose and strode to the living room. And there she was, perched on the burgundy velvet sofa with a cup of tea and a plate with some sort of cookies. Upon hearing him, she turned from her conversation with Claire who sat on the other end of the sofa.
"Scabior! Claire just told me about your time at Hogwarts, but there is something I would like to ask you."
Her soft voice chased away the sorrow and he lightened up.
"Well, love; ask away. But I'm not gonna bring up anything about my first rendezvous with the Giant Squid. That's a story I'll keep to myself until my death." He even seemed to have gained Claire's attention and she pouted.
"What? There's somethin' secret ya're embarrassed o', boy? Well, expect some Veritaserum in yer next drink."
Hermione's eyes widened before she understood his mum's irony and laughed. "No, that was not it. I wondered what your full name is. Either of you have not told me how people address you formally with Mr and Mrs. I'm intrigued."
Scabior shot a quick eye at his mother's blue ones before she nodded her consent. He walked forward and sat down between the two women he cared for the most in the world and looked at Hermione.
"The truth is, Scabior is my first name but I prefer to only be called that. When it comes to my surname, I hate it. Mum had two choices when I was born. To name me after the shit-eating fucker or after the sniffy trolls in mum's family. Dragon pox or spattergroit, eh? But I'm glad that she chose the latter. I might have liked you less if you named me after him, mum."
Claire replied dryly, hiding a smirk, "Likewise."
Hermione cocked her heads and asked, "So, what were you called at Hogwarts?" Scabior licked his lips before he confessed.
"Mr Blishwick. And curse you if you laugh. I've been ridiculed enough for it."
But Hermione did not even snicker. Instead, her eyes travelled searchingly over the two paintings that covered a wall. "I remember in History of Magic we once covered the pureblood families in England. The Blishwicks. Aren't you related to the Blacks, then?"
Claire sneered. "Yeah, our distant cousins. Too bad that lot got all the dough an' we were left with close ta nothin'."
Hermione shrunk back and Scabior decided to lessen the bitterness from his mother.
"But mum, at least we two haven't been afraid of working hard to get what we want. I reckon we're richer now than the rest of that pompous clan. You see Penelope," he explained leaned forward, with hands waving in the air and little fingers outstretched as if he was one of them, "they are too pure to descend to take a job. All they want is to sit and drink away their money while gossiping. So the only way they can get some money is to marry purebloods from richer families and get allowance to spend as they wish. Sodding parasites."
Scabior shook his head and suddenly felt a hand on his back but grew surprised when it turned out it belonged to his mother. She was not known for showing physical affection towards him, especially among other people. He stared at her and she had an odd, sentimental glossiness in her eyes.
"My dear son. Ya've inherited that pride from me."
She said no more but did not need to because Scabior understood what she meant. Hidden from Hermione, he mouthed his love to his mother who rubbed his back soothingly.
Then, Claire retracted her hand and cleared her throat while Scabior leaned back to rest against the soft velvet.
"I almost forgot; Scabior I need yer 'elp tonight at the pub," his mother uttered and he lifted an eyebrow, waiting for explanation.
"It's there I meet my personal vendor and buy food. But the wanker 'as started ta jabber 'bout 'ow 'e must raise the prices. Blames them swarmin' refugees, 'e does. But I doubt 'e ever sells somethin' to them; since they're all broke when they arrive 'ere. I think 'e just wants ta fool me an' take all sickles I've got. I'm sure 'e'll come around if ya could just show up an' calmly advise 'im ta keep the ordinary prices. Oh, an' bring Penelope too, if ya want."
Scabior pondered the request. Since it was Ireland, he probably would not be recognized as the Death Eater who was persona non grata. And he would bring his wand to defend himself if it came to that. Besides, this could be the perfect opportunity to get some news from the war in England. Also, he could keep an eye on Hermione if she accompanied him. He sighed and rolled his head on the cushion so he could look at Hermione.
"What d'you say, beautiful? Wanna see mum perform an' men getting drunk?"
"Why not? Besides, it's getting boring here with you in my tail all the time," she joked and screamed when Scabior swiftly reached out and tickled her stomach.
Claire chuckled, "I knew she could 'andle ya, Scabior. I'm thankful fer your 'elp, but I'm sorry ta be a cockblocker tonight."
Scabior swirled around and attacked his mum's belly with his hands.
After the rapture of laughter had died in the suddenly very cosy living room, the two women leaned tiredly against Scabior who breathed heavily. Honestly, he would be content staying like this forever. But then, the war always seemed to interfere his idyll with problems he did not ask for.
Review, please! I want and need your opinion! Kiss, kiss.