Hello, everybody! From now on, big things will happen in the story; dun dun dun! Sadly, I'm going to take a major in History this autumn, which will be fun but I have a hunch I won't be able to update as often as I would like to. But don't despair! I will never leave this story unfinished!

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Inspirational music: This is war by 30 seconds to Mars

Chap. 31 Fears

"I still don't understand why she had to drink that potion," Claire repeated for the probably tenth time as the three of them walked towards the apparition point outside the protecting shields around the cottage.

Scabior growled testily, his patience already wearing thin since he had waited a long time for his mother and Hermione to get ready. Merlin knew women could occupy themselves when it came to clothes and make-up. Therefore, as soon as the females had declared their preparations finished, he had promptly offered his arm to his mother, hoping to speed things up if he dragged her across the field.

But he could not deny his mother looked beautiful, perhaps even more than usual, due to her reduced drinking. Her face was considerably less puffy and gone was the haziness in her blue eyes. Her red hair had been neatly done in an elegant bum and she wore a long, green dress with a generous skirt and long sleeves. Claire looked like some sort of medieval witch from an ancient myth.

Scabior threw a glance behind him to ensure Hermione could keep up. And once more he startled upon taking in her new appearance, seeing as she did not look like herself. She had taken a Polyjuice potion to conceal her real identity and so, she now had straight, blonde hair reaching to her shoulders, freckles on her nose, light-blue eyes and a longer, more voluptuous body clad in a pink summer dress and a white cardigan.

Scabior's mum had handed the dose and a hair to Scabior when he had asked for it. He knew his mother had all kinds of weird but convenient things stored away in the house. But he had easily kept himself from asking more questions when he laid eyes on the various sorts of hair, not particularly keen on knowing why his fiftyyear old mother had polyjuicepotion and hair from, what he suspected to be, young women. He could survive without details of Claire's romantic liaisons.

He still had not completely adjusted to seeing a blonde girl at his side instead of Hermione. He preferred the latter.

Scabior muttered to Claire, "It's just a precaution so she won't get into trouble for being so young. Why can't you leave it at that, already?"

Claire glared at him and said calculatingly, "Not a good enough excuse fer me, boy. I'd say there's somethin' else behind this. I think that fer some reason, ya don't wanna 'ave anyone recognizin' Penelope. Come ta think 'bout it; didn't she told me that the Dark Lord 'ad a certain interest in'er?"

Scabior whipped his head around to face his mother who wore a smug grin on her face. Apparently the lack of inebriation had made her mind sharper. And now she had come too close to the truth for his liking.

"Be quiet, woman! I don't wanna 'ear another sound from ya 'til we're at the pub. And don't share yer thoughts with anyone. Unsterstood?" he snarled in a threatening tone. Merlin help his mother if he found out she was responsible for outing Hermione in any way. Claire's thoughts had spurred on the nervousness inside him and he began to question the whole idea with going to the pub. Claire noticed his slowing, hesitating steps and yielded.

"Okay, okay! I won't say nothin' from 'ereon. Calm down, boy, ya're more uptight than a wizard who's seen the grim. It'll just be a fun evenin' at the pub where ya can enjoy yerself after the meetin' with my vendor."

"Fine, mum." At that, Scabior experienced a shift in the air and a shiver ran down his spine. They had passed through the wards.

Attentive as always towards Hermione, he turned around and called, "Watch out, love! There's wards ahead of you." She looked up and smiled at him. And somehow he recognized the facial expression in the blonde woman. His Hermione was right there. He breathed out his anxiety and reached for her hand when she had crossed the wards.

"Take my hand. We're gonna disapparate from here."

She gave him a quizzical stare and said, "But I'm perfectly capable of disapparating by myself. And Claire showed me a picture of the pub so I know what to focus on. We don't have to disapparate this way."

Scabior frowned. He knew that side-along-apparation was not a pleasureable way of travelling. And he knew Hermione could apparate like any bright witch of her age and his suggestion had nothing to do with him thinking she was too fragile to do it alone. But he did fear she would choose to escape to England if she was on her own. He needed to prevent that.

"But I have to. I have to hold you, beautiful. It's the only action I'll get tonight if I know my mother right."

"'ey! I'm standin' right 'ere!"

Scabior felt his patience waver and pointed out, "We only got one hour before Penelope changes back. Don't waste time and let's get going already!" And then he felt a soft hand slide into his own and he heard her voice. "You're right, Scabior. We need to go. But you don't have to worry about me. I'll be fine, I promise. And I brought my wand."

Scabior clenched his fingers around her hand and lifted their joined hands to his lips and kissed her knuckle. She drew nearer freely and wrapped her other arm around his waist.

"Right. Mum, you ready? One, two, three!" he blurted out and waved his wand. To him, it was the best disapparation he had ever done; hugging Hermione to his chest.

When they landed safely, the air was filled with joyful noises and a golden light coming from a big house. The atmosphere of The Lucky Leprechaun had not changed since Scabior's last visit a few years ago. Not even the war seemed to have affected the people inside the pub. The only trace of the war seemed to be a sign which read: Rooms for rent; two galleons per night, no rooms available.

Scabior released Hermione from his grasp and watched his mother stroll to the entrance. He gestured to Hermione to follow and all of them ventured inside. A gush of heat licked his face and the smells of many people crammed together, alcohol and tobacco assaulted him at once. As he made his way through the crowd of varios wizards and witches of all age and not all Irish, his gaze travelled around the room.

This pub was far better than the one in Leeds. Drinking booths were placed along three long walls and every one of them was occupied. In front of the fourth wall was the bar and the many bottles on the shelves behind it would surely make a person forget the initially intimidating proximity to others. Beside the bar a stage had been built and Scabior gathered that was where his mother performed when she did not serve drinks. For the moment, a charmed fiddle hovered above the stage and played a happy tune. As a whole, the pub gave the impression of being very cosy and welcoming.

Scabior caught sight of his mother and she began to, not very discreetly, point her finger insistently at one of the booths. He nodded and turned around to address Hermione who moved shakily as if the inevitable pushes bothered her. Scabior helped her by throwing out his arm and hook his fingers on her cardigan. A forceful pull had her pressing between the last obstructing couple and crash against his leather coat. She looked up at him with gratitude and stole his breath away.

"What are you playing at, love?" he asked, confused but intrigued by her endearing shyness.

She swallowed before she answered in a small voice, "Sorry. It was just long ago since I last saw this many people. Why are there so many in a pub do you think?"

"Either they try to forget the war, or they want to know if there's any news from it. A lot of them are likely refugees."

Hermione's face saddened and Scabior experienced an immediate need to comfort her. He put one protecting arm around her shoulders and bent down slightly to her temporarily higher ear.

"Don't. There's nothing you can do for them and besides, to me it looks like most of them are cheerful. Do like them, treasure. Pretend like there's no war tonight. Smile for me."

He dragged his nose over the tender skin on her neck and she trembled. He leaned back and put some distance between them.

"Okay, I'm gonna sort out this thing with mum's vendor. It won't take long. But I don't want you to come with me." 'You are too pure to see what I've learnt to do.' "I'll get distracted by you and your scent."

She absentmindedly touched her neck and breathed out, "Can your really smell me under her?" She meant the woman she currently looked like.

"Why, I am the best snatcher. Of course I'll always find you no matter what you hide under," he said clearly, aware of the double meaning of his comment. But Hermione seemed ignorant of it and smiled with glittering eyes at him.

He retracted his arm and chuckled, "There you go. Now go and get yourself a drink or two. And stay where I can see you. Salazar knows men can get randy when they've had some Firewhiskey and detects a gorgeous girl standing alone."

He winked jokingly at her and thrusted some sickles he had borrowed from his mother into her palm. She closed her hand and swept around to find an empty spot in front of the bar so she could order.

Scabior felt calm enough to change his focus and began to make his way over to his mother who stood at a table and had her hands firmly placed on her hips. She was talking to a man who sat down with a bottle.

Scabior got the feeling this vendor was different from his own provider Chuck. This man was in his forties and had some grey strands in his brown hair. He wore an immaculate costume which did not fit in on Scabior's idea of a dodgy seller in wartime. A thin moustache covered the man's upper lip and gave him an air of dignity, or pretentiousness as far as Scabior was concerned. Costume or not, at the end of the day all vendors were greedy and exploited the poor buyers. Why else was the vendor the only man in the entire pub who looked wealthy?

"Mrs Blishwick, I am terribly sorry if I in any way have caused you any inconvenience but the fact remains; in order to deliver provision to so many customers, I have to look far and wide to find enough to satisfy all of them. Ergo, I am tragically compelled to raise the prices."

The man even sounded snotty and Scabior disliked him even more because of his bullshit reasoning. Any kind, human human would not fool people in need and build a fortune of their life savings in hard times. Claire tsked.

"Quit the act, Charlie O'Boyce! Ya're startin' ta sound like on o' them gaffers in the old Ministry. Think ya can win by talkin' down ta people an' frighten 'em ta obedience, huh? Well, it doesn't work on me!"

Charlie huffed and licked his thin lips as his observant eyes darted to Claire.

"Mrs Blishwick, first of all; please refrain from calling me Charlie, and secondly; I have never had the audacity to treat my customers like my, shall we say, less proper colleagues."

Claire smiled cordially but Scabior sensed the ice decorating her lips. "Well then, Charles." The vendor bowed his head at Claire's courtesy and yet, everyone could see the malice when he thought he had won the argument.

She continued with a collective voice, "Please call me Claire. It's my name and it would be a 'ell o' a shame if it wasn't used. All this fuckin' talk 'bout audacities, ergos an' shit made my stupid 'ead tired. I think it's better if my son continues with my errand."

Charlie gaped like a fish above water and suddenly lost his self-proclaimed composure. His small eyes blinked in utter bewilderment before he saw Scabior right beside Claire, staring with disgust at the man. Charlie sputtered, "Your… your son? Figure that. You never told me you had a son."

Claire inspected her nails intensely and aretorted with a bored tone, "Oh, 'aven't I? Silly me fer not rememberin' that. Then introductions are needed. Scabior, this is Charlie; the only food vendor in the area." Scabior nodded while still supervising the squirming figure. Charlie had probably not expected a grim-looking man to join the dealing. 'Fucking pig! He knows all this people have to buy from him and he can set the prices as high as he wants,' he thought with raising irritation.

"And Chalie, meet Scabior who's back from England. I guess all that busy snatchin' made ya wanna come ta Ireland an' relax fer a while, right boy?"

The colour drained from Charlie's face and he stuttered, "A… a snatcher?"

"Yep, an' a pretty good one too. Well, there's drinks ta serve an' ya've got ta solve the misunderstandin' o' my deal with ya, Charlie. Ta ta!"

Inside, Scabior laughed loudly at his mother's fierceness but on the outside, he had to keep frowning as he seated himself on the other side of the table. Apparently even Charlie had heard something about the snatcher gangs in England, and their ruthless ways. He lifted his hand and held out his shirt collar with one finger before he cleared his throat.

"So, Scabior is it? Lovely mother you have." His attempt of small talking failed completely when he noticed the serious look on Scabior's face.

"Mum had to interrupt me on my holiday and bother me with this. I'm not in a good mood, Charlie," Scabior muttered.

"Yes! Mothers! A punishment everyone has to endure," Charlie exclaimed excitedly, obviously thinking he had found a way to agree with Scabior.

"Are ya insultin' my mother, ya prick?" Scabior growled and leaned forward.

"No! No! It was not my intent to… Merlin, tell me what to do!"

And for the first time during the conversation, Scabior smiled, though it rather unnerved Charlie than calmed him.

"I suggest you don't raise your prices for anyone. People will still have to turn to you if they want food, so you won't end up poor, trust me. Because if you do change the prices, I think people will know of it pretty fast and get angry at you. Who knows what a furious mob might do. You could be in danger, Charlie."

At the last words, Scabior had stopped smiling and tapped his silver ring hard against the table. Charlie jumped on his seat and wiped gathering sweat off his forehead. And yet, Scabior could not muster even a tiny bit of pity for the man.

"I, eh, I believe I now see the logic behind Claire's reasoning. The food prices are at an acc… acceptable level as it it for both me and my customers. No need to change that, right?" Charlie said haltingly, unsure of the snatcher's reaction. But Scabior grinned and scooted out of the couch.

As he straightened his coat, he stated formally, "I'm glad my advice came to use. Now, I'm off to get myself a drink. Good evening, Mr O'Boyce."

Just as Scabior left the vendor, the lonely fiddle was accompanied by a tin whistle and a drum, equally as charmed as the first instrument and together they began an up-tempo melody that made the whole pub cheer and some even started to dance despite the limited space. Scabior scanned the room for Hermione's taller, blonde figure and found her sitting at a couch far away. Only the back of her head was visible but the snatcher within knew right away its lover was present.

Scabior relaxed and headed towards the bar where his mother stood behind the counter and poured drinks as if her life depended on it.

"Scabior! Did the little chat solve our minor disagreement?" she said subtly as she paused her movements.

"It went well. And I think I made a deal every buyer will benefit from. How about that?"

He grinned contently and in his peripheral vision he saw Charlie storm out of the pub.

"My dear boy. Ya're a downright chaser in shinin' quidditch robes! Thanks fer yer help."

Scabior felt his cheeks heat at the epithet his mother bestowed on him and decided to get his drink. "You've got something for my thirst, mum?"

"Yeah, there's a very old Firewhiskey in the cellar. An' don't worry; it's on the 'ouse fer ya." The man beside Claire coughed but she turned to him and patted his arm.

"Oh, come on Desmond. I know ya like ta act like a grumpy pub owner but after some beggin' ya're as generous as the owner of the Honeydukes. Please see this as me properly welcomin' my son."

Desmond rolled his eyes and said in a capitulating and Irish voice, "A'right lass. Do as ye want. Ye ain't gonna listen ta me opinion anyway."

Claire practically sprinted through a door and disappeared, which left Scabior in an awkward position.

"Thanks, Desmond. And I suppose the business is going splendid with all these people every day."

Desmond threw a towel over his shoulder and leaned heavily against the counter. It appeared most of the crowd had been served and no-one was currently ordering at the bar.

"Yeah, but most o' the lot are from England. Nasty war that one. Many didn't even have the chance ta pack their belongings. I wouldn't be able ta stand meself if I charged everyone o' 'em fer each drink an' meal they 'ave 'ere. But at least it's fun ta watch 'em enjoy 'emselves."

He nodded at the dancing couples and the circle of onlookers who clapped their hands to the rhythm of the drum.

"Though, soon I'll 'ave ta tell 'em ta quiet down. Must let the wee ones in the rooms upstairs sleep."

Scabior raised his eyebrows. "Kids? So whole families have left England, then? The fucking Dark Lord. I bet he likes messing with everybody."

Desmond agreed solemnly. "Our latest newcomers told us yesterday that it's worse than last time 'e tried ta take o'er. Neighbours an' mates report each other out o' fear when His supporters come an' want ta know where muggleborns an' halfbloods are hidin'.

Desmond quietened down and Scabior sought out Hermione's blonde hair, the gnawing worry suddenly returning.

"She's yer girl?"

He nodded.

"Ye're a lucky lad then, Scabior. Keep 'er safe."

'Oh, I intend to.'

"Desmond, you wouldn't know of any good jokes, would you? She's fond of them, you see."

Desmond brightened and scratched his beard.

"I've got one, but it's a tad raunchy. 'ere it goes; what would a horny fish do in front o' a door in the sea?"

"I know!" Claire screamed triumphantly as she came back with a dusty bottle in her hand. "See peep'ole!"

Scabior laughed out loud and grimaced. "Eww, that made a nasty image appear in my head. Thanks a lot!"

Desmond shook with glee and held up his hands.

"'ey, I warned ye! Now take yer whiskey an' run along, lad." Scabior grabbed the glass from his mother and swallowed the content in one gulp. This whiskey did taste better and stronger than the common ones did and its flavour lingered on his tongue. He raised the empty glass to his mother and to Desmond before he placed it on the counter and went to entertain Hermione.

As soon as Hermione had acquired her butterbeer from the friendly Desmond, she looked around after an unoccupied table. Right then, as more people began to wander over to the stage as if enticed by the jaunty fiddle, some of the suffocating throng vanished.

She walked to the wall opposite of the one where Scabior talked some sense into a vendor. Disappointed to find the first booth filled, she continued her search until she spotted the last one which was partly hidden from view due to the broad bar area. She could see the back of somebody's head but otherwise, the booth was empty.

"Excuse me, would it be alright if I…"

Her voice died when she walked forward and saw the man's face. She had not expected this!

"Seamus?"

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