Hello again! Puh, this was a heavy chapter to write in many ways. But I'm quite glad how it came out. Now, my big school project is demanding a lot of time so don't be mad if it takes longer for me to update. I promise I write on the bus to and from the university! The best thing you can do is review, so do your part and I'll do mine, ha ha! Have a nice read, and so long!
Inspirational music: In the shadow by Broken Door (really fits the Scabior part)
Chap. 34 Flights
As she walked, Hermione tapped the wand against her head and it felt like an egg had been cracked on her skull and its cold content slid down her body. The handy spell Harry had been subjected to when the Order took him to Grimmauld Place for the first time would now ensure she stayed camouflaged and was not easily recognized.
She stopped and relief flooded her when she did not see Claire in the area. The proud but forward woman had grown on Hermione and had made her laugh when she needed it the most. However she did not fancy encountering Claire here when the elder woman returned from work. She quickly focused her sad mind on the pub she had visited last night. Not once did she look back over her shoulder; her pain was too raw. The unpleasant but endurable spinning commenced and Hermione closed her eyes to prevent getting sick from the motion and the knowledge that she was distancing herself more from Scabior.
She landed by the backside of the big house. A figure had been crouched by the wall but the second the sound of her arrival stirred the dawn, it rose and looked to the sides frantically. "S.P.E.W?" Seamus hissed out and despite what she had said to him, Hermione found herself relaxing slightly in his company. She did not want to be alone with her thoughts and feelings at the moment.
"I'm here, Seamus." she whispered back and approached him slowly to not scare him with her concealment. His eyes darted to her shape and he gingerly reached out and grasped her shoulder.
"Blimey, ye took your time! I was beginning to think something went wrong this night. He didn't hurt ye, did he?"
Hermione fought the urge to shrug off the unfamiliar hand touching her but Seamus kind concern made her want to quell his worry.
"No, try the other way around," she muttered darkly to herself before she added, "What are you doing here? I told you to not see me off."
Seamus retracted his hand and shrugged sheepishly. "A Gryffindor never says no to an adventure. No, but seriously I wanted to help ye if something went wrong. Ye're our hope, Hermione."
Hermione looked down in small guilt and with a pang in the chest she saw the flattened, dewy grass near the wall. She had been here only hours ago and fought and loved Scabior until she tricked him into thinking she had reconciliated and would bring him with her. A lie for his survival.
Another, much more impressive pang tore the silence and both Seamus and Hermione raised their wands, ready to defend themselves. A cloaked, slender woman more or less floated towards them with her own rosewood wand pointed at the nearly invisible Hermione.
"Zet thing 'ermione Granger said to me on my wedding?"
Hermione recognized the soft but currently suspicious voice, and combined with the suddenly dazed Seamus, she figured out who the Order had sent.
"Congratulation, Fleur, and what a splendid idea you invited Viktor, too."
Fleur Weasley, née Delacour, pushed down the hood that hid her shining, blonde mane and lowered her wand.
"So good to see you, 'ermione. We can talk later but now eet's très important we leave at once."
Hermione studied her face and discovered grey shadows under the brilliant eyes and small lines around her mouth. Fleur gave no further information and instead she took Hermione's hand in her smooth, pale one and addressed Seamus in passing, "Oh, and thank you Mr Finnigan for assisting in this matter. Ginny says hi."
Fleur's radiance had changed Seamus who with no hint of anxiety anymore said dreamily, "Anytime, Delacour. And ye can call me Seamus if ye'd like."
Fleur snorted and replied coldly, "Eet's Mrs Bill Weasley nowadays. Goodbye, Mr Finnigan."
She waved her wand and Hermione bit down on her tongue to not scream at her to keep from disapparating just yet and consequently take her away from Scabior completely. The spinning began and Hermione shut her eyes when the Irish grass disappeared from her sight.
After a tiresome travel the spinning ended as Hermione's feet connected with a wooden floor with a creak. She opened her eyes and inspected the surroundings. White stone walls created an excellent protection against a raging wind which harried the reed outside an immaculate window. Shells and round stones in various colours and shapes decorated the window-sill. Hermione let go of Fleur's hand and turned around slowly to take in the interior of the room
A solid, white table with approximately a dozen chairs crowded most of the area and a fireplace with neither firewood nor ashes dominated one wall. A staircase proved that the building had at least one upper floor. Behind the staircase was a passage to another room that to Hermione seemed to be a kitchen decorated in a similar fashion as the one she currently stood in. But a telling perfume of tea came from the kitchen and Hermione was suddenly eager to have a big, steaming cup, though she remained unsure if she intended to calm her nerves or scald her insides so she had a reason to not think about Scabior for a while.
Fleur cleared her throat and caught Hermione's attention.
"This ees Shell Cottage. Eet's my and Bill's 'ome but eet also serves as a safehouse for ze Order. As a matter of fact, most of ze members were 'ere not long ago."
She gestured at the many chairs and once again her beautiful face became marred by a tense grimace. Hermione clutched the woman's delicate arm and asked worriedly, "Fleur, where are they now? What's happening?"
Fleur stared defiantly at the empty table and refused to meet Hermione's searching eyes as she in a weak tone elaborated.
"Every member zat was 'ere 'as gone to the Malfoy Manor. Eet's a big mission which we've planned for a long time now. Rumors said zat many hostages to ze Dark Lord are 'idden there. And we suspected the 'orrible Mrs Lestrange, curse 'er, 'ad something 'arry and Ron needed."
Hermione's involuntary gasp caused the part-veela to quiet before she tossed her cascade of hair over her shoulder and looked straight at Hermione. "Pardon, I suppose you 'aven't heard anything about ze boys since you were separated from zem. Zey are alright now, but eet's taken a long while for zem to return to normal."
"No, I heard fleetingly the Dark Lord tortured them but that the Order managed to set them free. Fleur, are Harry and Ron here? Can I see them?"
Hermione's voice cracked when all her pent up fear for her two best friends began to seep into her mind. Fleur hunched her shoulders.
"Zey would 'ave been 'ere if eet wasn't for their stubbornness. Zey insisted on joining the rest of the Order and 'elp us retrieve ze prisoners. Zat's l'esprit de Gryffindor, non? So we took to use Polyjuice potion again and made everybody look like my Bill. 'e 'as ze most strength, you see."
A spark flared in Fleur's eye for an instant before it went out and she continued glumly, "Once we got ze message from Ginny about you, eet' was too late to call off our big operation. We decided quickly to send me for you. Bill said 'e would be calmer if I didn't go to ze Manor."
Hermione lowered her head and studied the floor intensely. She had left Scabior behind too for the sake of love. Fleur wrapped her arms around herself and tripped to the kitchen where the smell of tea appeased troubled minds. Hermione followed and was bid to sit down at a smaller table and have a cup. Silence often reigned in the room but occasionally had to give way to questions between the two waiting women.
"We don't know what you've been through, 'ermione. Did you get hurt in any way, and you know zat I can listen to anything you want to share?" Hermione shook her head dismissively. "
No, I'm fine. Some minor injuries along the road but nothing that will last. I was lucky compared to others." She hoped Fleur would notice her reluctance to spill more details. She was not keen on telling everybody about Scabior just yet. Maybe she would consider telling Harry and Ron if there was time after their raid. It was complicated to verbalize a relationship.
"How did you manage to rescue Harry and Ron from the Dark Lord's clutches? How were they?"
Fleur closed her eyes for a moment and sniffed as if fighting off nausea. "Kingsley came up with ze eenventive idea we would arm ourselves with muggle weapons too. Guns, yes? The dark powers never expected zat. We stormed ze Ministry entrance and attacked ze few guards who were present. One troop ran off to find Ron while ze rest of us tended to 'arry and would ensure zat no Death Eater reinforcements arrived and trapped us."
Fleur's voice trembled and Hermione clasped her hands to chase away the fear the other woman clearly relived.
"There was no casualties on our side, thank Merlin. But when we apparated back here with ze boys we understood ze extent of their torture. 'arry's eyes, those green eyes, were completely empty and he was listless. Whereas Ron, the poor boy, screamed he wanted a wash and fought with his fists every time we tried to get close enough for 'ealing. Eet was 'orrifying. At last, Remus crouched in front of 'arry and spoke to 'im so quietly we others could not 'ear. 'arry came back to us, upset but sane. Ron never tired of fighting, so when Bill couldn't stand it anymore, 'e wrapped 'is arms around the flailing boy and kept 'im from moving until 'e calmed down. Ron remembered who 'is brother was and cried against 'is shoulder. Since zat day we've 'ealed zem and taken good care of zem until zey recovered. Though, I must warn you, 'ermione, zey are a bit different than zey used to be. But then again, I think none of us are unaffected by this awful war."
Fleur's voice trailed off, only to leave a very eerie silence in the cosy kitchen. Hermione stared mutely into her cup and tried in vain to fend off the feeling of guilt. Here she had lived in a shelter and been safe most of the time she had spent as Scabior's prisoner and later as his lover. It was too small a comfort knowing that she often had thought about Harry and Ron and the important struggle to destroy Voldemort.
But she never could have fathomed her friends had been so cruelly treated by the Dark Lord. She truly was surprised He would lower himself to such a disgustingly barbaric level. In the midst of her tumbling emotions, she wondered if Scabior had known these gruesome details and kept them from her. No! She resolutely bit the inside of her cheek to get rid of her cowardly mind's sneaky attempt to blame Scabior for something she was not sure he had done in the first place.
Unexpectedly, the air shifted around her, a twinge of magic reached her and she flew from the chair before she knew it. And just within a heartbeat, the cottage was filled with people, shouts and frantic activity. She and Fleur exchanged one look before both of them dashed into the living room and became aware of the scene.
At least ten Bill Weasley crowded the space and either stood panting, apparently very much out of breath, or supported what resembled humans but it was hard to tell due to the ashen skin, unkempt hair and gaunt features every being sported. Many of the hostages looked like they had been through hell. Hermione's eyes registered old and new bruises, arms angled the wrong way and she was then hit by the pungent smell of blood.
"Bill! Bill, where are you?" Fleur called over the crowd and one of the Bill's gave her an intense glance before he gently laid down the person in his arms onto the large table.
"Go and fetch the brown bottle! I need it now!"
"Miss? Miss, can you hear me?"
"Take care of those with the worst injuries first! The others can wait."
"My parents. My parents are dead. Did you know my parents are dead?"
"Kingsley, I lost his pulse! Come and help me!"
"Quickly, we must stop this wound from bleeding."
"No, Dobby..."
Hermione flinched and drowned out the chaotic noises upon hearing Harry's pitiful keen. She threw herself forward and scanned each of the ten red-haired men as they began to change back to their usual appearances. And then, sitting on the floor with his back leaning against one leg of the solid table, the boy who lived gave a heartbreaking sob as the eyes of the house-elf in his lap glazed over.
Scabior's lashes fluttered open and he found himself staring at the ceiling where a tiny and forgotten spider web was hanging. The walls in the bedroom bathed in sunlight and he stretched his limbs contently. But something restricted his movements.
Frowning and a little more awake he threw an inspecting eye on his right arm. A thin rope was wounded several times around his wrist and an intricate knot adorned the handiwork. The tightness of the rope could be felt, but was not constricting. That at least calmed Scabior down but he would find an answer to this mystery.
He lifted his head and traced the rope with his sharp eyes as it ran to the corner of the bed and dipped down. He inched his body to get a closer look where exactly the hidden end of the rope was, when something tugged at his left wrist. Unwillingly, he recoiled back onto his back and turned his head. Another rope and another knot.
His snatcher inside started to fret but it had been so long since it last bothered Scabior that he did not wait to define the fluttering feeling in his core. His tactical self told him to look down and he found he could only barely raise his torso and lean on his elbows against the soft surface. Past his flat stomach and the wrinkled blanket which covered his nudity, his two feet could be seen with similar ropes attached to his ankles.
He swallowed down the sudden nervousness at being tied up in a vulnerable state. There must be a logical explanation to this. Hermione's absence had been noted minutes ago but Scabior smirked and forced himself to lie back comfortably. If Hermione had discovered a new, outrageous, daring and playful sexual side in herself, he would not complain being on the receiving end. Last night had indeed been a delicious surprise. Plus, he loved her and she loved him and everything was so fucking great. Morgana knew Hermione could give liquid luck a run for its money, according to him.
He could feel his member twitch in response to his vivid memories and raising expectations. At last, he could not help himself and called with a husky laugh, "Beautiful! I know you're out there! There's a trapped snatcher here who's gonna do anything to be freed!"
The echo of his voice carried through the closed door and morphed into a loud sound in the house. To his joy, no hangover headache split his head and he sniggered. When that firewhiskey had yet another trait beside its good taste, maybe he would consider buying a bottle from Desmond. Though, the drink apparently had caused Scabior to sleep through dawn and miss his ordinary run in the morning. Well, fuck it; he had deserved a lie-in after the eventful yesterday.
"Love? I'm getting desperate here! Soon I'm gonna beg you to bring your hands around something circular, long and smooth and fiddle with it until it releases something. And yes, I'm talking about the damn rope!"
Silence, which began to unnerve him to be frank, met his happy cry. If Hermione was planning on doing something spectacular for him, at least she could make a sound so he would know that everything was fine. He raised himself again and a thought flashed across his mind. 'Bugger! Perhaps mum's at home.' Well, she would have to blame herself for returning home so early in the morning if that was the case. Though, Scabior pondered, what if Hermione for some reason was stuck with Claire between her and the bedroom.
"Mum! If you're out there, take a sleeping draught and go to bed! You don't wanna hear the next things Penelope and I emit," he shouted to save Hermione from an obstructing woman.
No response. And now, Scabior grew a bit worried. It was so unlike Hermione to not answer when he called. He began to doubt if Hermione really had let go of the fight yesterday. But the two of them had made up, had they not? With a nagging unease, Scabior began to look around in the room to find possible traces of female wrath. But everything was in order, until he saw a folded piece of paper on the night table where he was fairly certain his wand had been.
Immediately he became scared for real. What had happened and where was Hermione? The snatcher instincts chased away the lustful feelings and his eyes narrowed. He reached for the paper, hoping it would explain the situation but the rope efficiently prevented him from getting it. With a swift swing with his hand, he only grasped the corner of the night table. Disgruntled, he growled and tried to angle his body so his head would reach the damn note. This time, the ropes at his legs and other hand kept him from biting the paper and with his mouth bring it to his lap. He began to grow warm despite his naked body.
Angry at his failures, he left the paper as it was; immobile and taunting him, to more thoroughly search the room. And there, just visible as it protruded from behind one of his old banners on the wall sat his wand.
If an enemy had been here, he would not have left Scabior's wand, unless it was a very soppy and shitty one. Scabior tried hard to bend his knees and used every newly acquired muscle to stretch or break the rope but it did not budge. He took to using raging fury and trashed on the bed, not caring that the rope burnt his skin. He fisted his hands and felt the ropes tighten further around his wrists when more blood pulsed into his fists. He jerked and attempted to cross his arms in front of his chest and could see the veins in his swollen biceps.
"Fuckin' arse an' cock in 'ell! Ya'll regret this!" he bellowed to the closed door and it did not matter he had no idea who he addressed.
When he had stayed tense for too long, red sparks appeared in his sight and he reluctantly relaxed his limbs and let the ropes slacken as he panted like an animal and soaked the bed with sweat. He sagged tiredly against the pillow and fought to slow down his pulse to a controlled level. If pure strength could not get him out of this, then probably his head would.
He took a deep breath through his nose, and the snatcher jumped.
He raised himself to his half-lying position one more time and began to greedily inhale air and examine the scents in it. There were he and Hermione, of course, as their natural scents had been imprinted on the sheet a long time ago. Along with that, the smell of sex hung heavy in the room, as did the general perfumes from a decent pub. But there was something more. Something Scabior had not perceived since the day he was still the leader of a snatcher group. Forest.
Yes, the familiar fragments of wet leaves, soft moss, fresh winds without salt or sand in them, humid ground and pines. Scabior grew cold inside and shivered despite the sunrays shone through the window. Death Eaters rarely travelled through the woods as they often were ordered to disapparate to the places where the Dark Lord wanted them to be. They had no reason as far as he knew to smell that way. However, snatchers did.
Before Scabior had time to process this new aspect, he heard the front door open and close and someone giving clothes a brush. He froze and strained his ears to hear more. A naïve voice in his mind begged it would be Hermione and that he had drawn a conclusion too soon. At least it did not sound like someone from the Dark; they had a tendency to not waste time on dusting off their clothes. A female humming made Scabior turn his attention to the door and cry in what would have been an embarrassing, needy voice had the circumstances been entirely different.
"Mum! Mum, help me!"
His ears perceived how Claire strolled down the corridor with short steps until she stood right outside the bedroom.
"No, I'm not that much o' a pervert, boy. Whatever ya're doin' with yer bird, ya're on yer own," came a miffed retort from the other side of the door.
Scabior grunted in frustration and yelled back, "Something's wrong, mum! She ain't 'ere an' there's some shit goin' on. Come in an' 'elp me!"
The door was burst open and Claire peeked inside curiously and discovered her son on the bed.
"Whatcha doin' there? An' where's the girl?" she uttered before she waved her wand and made all the ropes dissolve at once.
Not caring about the brightly red marks on his pale skin, Scabior held the blanket to hide himself as he dove for his wand and snatched it from its place. If Dark powers had entered his current home, he preferred to face the danger armed and dressed. He twirled around and hissed out the incantation to make his ordinary attire cover him within seconds.
Next priority was a Homenum Revelio which said no-one else was in the house, not even Hermione. Scabior grit his teeth and there was a small tremble to his fingers as they finally gripped the paper and unfolded it. The writing was neat but the ink did not emit any fumes. Whoever wrote it had done so some time ago.
His eyes followed the lines of words and unfortunately, his brain registered what the note read. Once he had finished, the dumfounded man stared at the paper. He did not acknowledge the icecold claws seizing his sanity, nor the spear of molten iron piercing his chest. Instead he had to reread the note.
Slowly the message sank in and yet he stood rooted to the spot, his whole body shuddering, preparing for a reaction.
No.
A hand on his shoulder, another pair of eyes reading.
"Scabior. Calm down."
It did not make any sense, any of it. Hermione was going with him, not without him. They had decided that. She loved him and one does not leave the ones you love alone. Who had been in the cottage and taken her? Not Death Eaters he had established already. What about snatchers? The light? The Order of the Phoenix?
He staggered away from the hand and placed his palms against the wall. He choked on bile and wheezed out air through a constricted throat. Another rope was there, he had just missed it. It kept him from breathing and it was coiled tighter until he could not take a real breath. The paper in his hand was being crushed into a tiny ball of lies. Hermione had been forced to write it before they took her from him. Yes, that was it.
The rope released him and it fell from his neck and landed in a heap around his leather boots. He drew a ragged breath to compensate for the momentarily lack of oxygen before he looked down. There was no rope.
He shook his head like a dog and tried to focus his confused mind.
A Fidelius! Only three people could enter the area around the house. So how could anybody barge in and take Hermione? Unless...
If Scabior had been able to see his own reflection right now, he would have been astounded. Bloodshot eyes from the sudden pressure accompanied with clothes drenched in sweat and a body which rocked restlessly back and forth in front of the wall. And that was when the wounded snatcher, hurt beyond pain, took over.
He swept around calculatingly and fixed his murderous and red eyes on the drunken bitch and whore who claimed to be his mother. He had no mother anymore. Forgetting the wand in his hand, he charged and pushed her into the chest of drawers to question her.
"Ya betrayed us! Ya fuckin' whench, my own mother! 'ow could ya do it?"
The woman held up her hands in defense and croaked out, "I 'ave no bleedin' idea what ya're on about! Scabior, ya must calm down. Rein in the snatcher fer Merlin's sake!"
Screeching pain spread through his hand when he punched a drawer beside her head and broke some knuckles.
"The Fidelius! We were protected against everybody on the other side o' it! But ya 'ad ta tell someone in the pub, right? Tell 'em where exactly ya lived so they could come by an' shag ya. Well, ya exposed us, bitch! Ya exposed the love o' my life! I fuckin' 'ate ya!"
The windowpanes rattled, whether from the volume of his crazed voice or the magic slipping out from his anguished soul.
"Fer fuck sake, I didn't do anything like that. Check me with my own Veritaserum, bastard! I never told anyone 'bout our location or 'ermione."
The snatcher snarled upon hearing her name from the woman with the unflinching features and blue, ablaze eyes but some side of Scabior regained control over his broken sanity.
"Oh, hush with yer insolent manners! Yes, I've known fer quite some time who my guest is. Refugees bring newspapers ta Ireland, ya know. But I didn't turn 'er in. Not even when they raised the bounty to fifteen thousand galleons! Why would I take away the only thing that makes my son 'appy besides runnin'? That's what yer fuckin' whench o' a mother did fer ya!"
She poked him repeatedly in the empty chest. Angry tears streamed down her face and Scabior backed away from the strong scent of salt. No, not scent.
A salt stench so sickening he reeled back and pressed his bleeding hand over his nose but then his eyes prickled from a reek of iron.
"Mum. The smells," he mumbled weakly as his knees buckled and he landed with a thud on the floor.
His sight blurred and he whined when every odour in the room mingled and assaulted him until a terrible headache hit him. A fuzzy green skirt flowed forward and urgent fingers yanked up his dizzy head.
"Scabior! Is yer sense o' smell getting' too sensitive? Ya mustn't let the snatcher win! Fight it, ya 'ave it in yer heart! Do it fer 'er!"
He swallowed a sob and whispered ancient snatcher words before he closed his eyes and passed out.
"I gave her my heart. I must find her. Find her."
A little help with the French, perhaps? I wrote some words like J.K. Rowling did in her English books, so you know. Hope it wasn't too hard to understand Fleur.
i= ee (it= eet)
th= z (the= ze, them= zem)
no h in the beginning of words (Harry= 'arry, here= 'ere)
très= very
l'esprit de Gryffindor, non= the spirit of Gryffindor, right
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