Hello, my loyal fans! University and real life are keeping me from updating as often as I have before, but my devotion to this fic remains. I want to thank you all for the reviews (especially since some of you are as disapproving of Ron as I am), the alerts and favorites, as they all make me happy. This chapter is entirely from Scabior's POV and believe me when I say I wrote it as quickly as possible between lectures. I hope you like it.
Inspirational music: Against the odds by Phil Collins
Chap. 43 Frazzles
Scabior shivered and tried to not touch the iron that trapped his wrists. He was so cold and felt somewhat numbed in his mind. Delirious even.
The hours after Hermione had left him had come and gone with an increasing worry. Even though he occasionally was able to feel tingles along his spine, he still could not feel or move his legs. His body was slowly going into shock after his ribs had been fixed so swiftly by Hermione and Scabior hated not having control over himself. And then there was the trouble with the Aurors.
As the night passed, more and more prisoners were muted, some only because they had nightmares. Scabior preferred to stay awake to know what was happening but the cost was high. His vision was clouding and he trembled violently on the hard stretcher when another wave of coldness hit him. So empty without his magic.
"…how many rats do you reckon will wake up today?" an Auror muttered to another by the potion shelves and Scabior saw the blurred head turn towards the pale, unmoving bodies in the heap by the wall.
He refrained from moaning miserably to not alert them and instead fled inside to his heart that confirmed he was alive and caring.
'Mum, I'm alright. I'll be fine as soon as I get a shot of heated Firewhiskey,' he thought and searched in his memory for a refuge. Green hills and a cottage on cliffs above the roaring sea. A red-haired witch mocking him with a smirk and burgundy velvet on sofas. Scabior's lips tugged upwards and he closed his eyes just to rest them for a moment and revel in the comforting thoughts.
A woman by his side, her hair as wild as his, though with silken curls. He having to bend his frame in order to receive a kiss from her lush lips. A moan escaping her and his tongue invading her glorious, wet mouth, mating with hers until both of them were breathless. Hands beginning to gently fondle sensitive parts on their bodies. Yes. Warmth.
Scabior suck in a deep breath and opened his eyes. He had chased away some of the chill and traced the faint taste of her finger within the cavern of his mouth. Good.
"Hey, Rogerson! What's going on out there?" a brutally loud voice sounded through the classroom and Scabior let his head fall to the side. A man in battle robes stood by the door and spoke to someone on the other side.
"I told them to leave but they won't. What do I do?" the slightly panicked voice of a younger man answered before a female exclaimed with an icy tone that left no room for objection; "Mr Charles Rogerson I presume. I remember you from your years at Hogwarts: potential in Defence Against the Dark Arts but no talent whatsoever in Herbology, am I not right, Pomora?"
Scabior recognized the stern witch who said that. But he was too dizzy to figure it out.
"Yes, I can spot the bites on his chin from the Fanged Geranium," another woman chirped and then there were rustles from moving robes coming from outside the room.
"See, boss! They won't go. They are demanding us to let them in," Rogerson shouted, clearly scared of the witches. Scabior frowned and saw other prisoners start to wake up from the voices and raise their heads to better see some of the guards who had gathered around the closed door.
"You are on our territory now and since I am the Headmistress of Hogwarts I am commanding you to open the door to this Potions classroom immediately. My staff of professors and I are inspecting the damage done to the castle and we do not have time for unaccommodating Aurors. For the last time; let us in!"
Whispers were shared between two Death Eaters and a look of revelation appeared on their ashen faces until an Auror discovered them and punched them in the temples before silencing them with his wand so no-one could hear them when they writhed from the pain.
"Williamson. Perhaps…we should…" one of the few female Aurors tried and gestured at the door. Another man, Scabior could only see his back, gave a short nod and turned before giving the room a scanning glance. "Okay. It's not as if there's anything worth seeing here, but if they insist... Unlock the door."
The thick door groaned as it swung open and a group of adults entered, dressed in dusty robes but carrying a fierce expression nonetheless.
Ah. Now Scabior could put a name on the voices.
Professor McGonagall, Professor Sprout, Professor Flitwick, and a pudgy man in a tweed suit, who he assumed was another teacher, an ordinary-looking man, Madam Pomfrey, and Mr Filch who wobbled behind the others, probably from standing on his toes to see the room. They entered and formed a line just within the room, and then Scabior's eyes caught sight of her at the far left. Hermione.
He exhaled heavily and felt both energy and worry leave his body. She had returned, and brought help. And she granted him her presence.
Discreetly, he sniffed the air and waited for her scent to reach him across the classroom. He was not aware of the other visitors until McGonagall's shrill voice cut through the silence.
"What in the name of Godric Gryffindor have you done?"
Several Aurors shifted their weight from one foot to the other upon hearing the barely concealed fury in the witch's voice.
"Now, look here, Professor…" Williamson begun when McGonagall cut him off by swinging her arm abruptly.
"It's Headmistress! I believe I am the one who has the right to receive answers, not you lot. Now tell me, what exactly have you done to these prisoners in the very heart of my school?"
No-one could miss the accusation in her hiss. Hermione sought out his eyes. His heart began to beat faster but he didn't have the strength to smile at her. To stay awake was the only thing he was capable of at the present. Hermione raised an eyebrow in query. He heard the man clear his throat and use a stern tone.
"Headmistress, I apologize for not informing you of this, but we figured you have plenty on your plate as it is. However, if you and the teachers,"
"Professors."
"…if you are worried about the state of the tables, you have my word as a wizard that we will clean them properly from the dirt of filthy Death Eaters and snatchers before we leave."
Scabior flinched and his hands bumped into the shackles. Leave? But Hermione was here… She had shadows under her eyes but the red spots on her cheeks implied she was warm, maybe even had eaten something. Good.
The sound of a drawn wand travelled across the room. Many of the prisoners had turned their heads towards the terrifyingly calm headmistress but to Scabior's surprise they all lay still and were silent, as if calculating the situation. Although, the unconscious ones did not stir. The Aurors tensed and hunched together while some of them frowned at the new group.
"Shacklebolt would be ashamed of you if he knew what vile crimes you, the pillars of the Ministry, have committed after Voldemort was defeated! This is where our children are being taught magic, and you have sullied it with death and torture!" the woman screamed and aimed her wand directly at Williamson who had gone red from resentment. As the other Aurors reached for their wands, McGonagall gestured at Flitwick who muttered something inaudibly and waved his hand. The wands slipped from the Auror's grip and flew towards him and landed neatly by his feet.
"You foolish…!" another Auror shouted when he suddenly stiffened and grimaced. From his pocket a wand was elevated until it brutally prodded into his stomach before it was free and also fluttered to Flitwick. Several other guards received the same treatment and Scabior guessed that there were approximately thirty wands taken from pockets and robes.
His snatcher within jumped. He wanted to come closer to the wands that lay abandoned on the floor. It was as if something was calling for him. Why, and how…?
He could not help but tip back his head and close his eyes when nausea hit him. His brain was not functioning as he wanted it to. And his back tingled and the legs were numb. Somehow he knew he alarmed Hermione and he regretted it.
'Sorry, love,' he thought and only caught parts of sentences as he slipped in and out of sleep, or perhaps unconsciousness.
"Are you mad? You've made us defenseless in the presence of…"
"The prisoner's wands have been tampered with! They are not responding as they should… Oh, Merlin! The Auror's wands are filled with the essence of magic! Look here, Horace; they have actually stolen the magic from…"
"Poppy, please make sure everyone in that heap is dead. If they are, throw a blanket over them and then examine the prisoners so…"
"This is outrageous! You're interrupting us when we are trying to interrogate all the sneaky…"
"…years, I have never had so little respect for the Auror office! I will personally write Shacklebolt a letter and demand repercussions!"
"…nothing bad has happened to them. Look, they're not even complaining."
"Because they are muted, you imbecile! And can't you see they are all dying!"
"Scabior."
The snatcher sighed contently at his beautiful dream before a burning hand ran over his palm.
He jerked and gasped in shock and his eyes snapped open. A mane of brown curls and luminous eyes above him. Retreating hands.
"No," he managed and stretched his fingers as much as possible to reach for her. Her hands returned and scorched his skin. Then he realized. She had a normal temperature. It was he who was colder than the cloak of a Dementor.
A whisper fluttered to him and he fought to get a clear image of her as her fingers stroked his to work some blood into them. "How are you, darling?"
He felt bliss ease the pain that had held his body captured for the last hours. She was with him and she was alright.
"Better now. You came."
She softly caressed his calloused palm and her face came closer. "You and your flattery," she smiled before intensely studying his features. "You are in pain."
"I can take it."
"You don't need to be brave. You are a Slytherin, not a Gryffindor. You're supposed to focus on surviving now," she quietly lectured and brought out her wand.
"Hermione," Scabior said and she stopped moving. She was so breathtakingly beautiful his heart ached.
"Yes?"
"I love you."
Her fingers laced into his and he could feel his hair stand on its end.
"What do you need? I must be quick so no-one detects our secret," she emitted and turned away her gaze, investigated his torso instead.
Scabior's fragile smile fell. There was the catch. He should have known the unknown deities would not let him be completely happy. Now that he had her, he did not have time.
"Some Firewhiskey would chase away the chill," he muttered and fastened his gaze on the ceiling, determined to not let tears gather again in his eyes.
"That's…not advisable. It will shock your body and on an empty stomach the alcohol will make your head swim. I suggest tea," Hermione said and Scabior gave a small nod.
"As you wish."
"Scabior."
He heard the serious tone and lifted his head despite the effort, in order to see her and come some inches closer.
"I would rather have you telling me what you feel than examine you with magic. I want to hear it from your own mouth."
Scabior sagged against the stretcher and his attitude was drained from him. "I'm sorry. It was a long night."
Her hand stopped moving in his. "What did they do?"
Scabior blinked and looked into her worried eyes. Was he really that easy to read now? "I don't know if I have the right to talk, but beating people in shackles who has no magic is like kicking a dying unicorn. It ain't necessary," Scabior confessed and watched Hermione's face harden. It was quite terrifying, actually.
"Details, now," she all but commanded and a thrill went through him. His woman was fierce and dangerous when the situation called for it, and he was impressed.
"Knuckle sandwiches to those who had nightmares, painful spells on the ones who complained over the injuries. Then they were silenced. No heating spell, so now you know why the man three rows away isn't moving anymore. Two more bodies were dumped on the heap some hours after you had gone."
He whispered quickly, afraid to expose either of them to the disgruntled guards who quarreled with Flitwick over their wands.
"You saw all this?"
He nodded and felt the corner of his mouth twitch in dismay. Even snatchers and Purebloods had some measure of decency but these Aurors could easily compare with Death Eaters. Hermione waved her wand over him, detecting what needed to be done before she muttered back, "It was bad for your health to not sleep but nevertheless this means you are a witness. That could work in you favour later."
A buzzing warmth spread inside him and he glanced along his body to see the tip of her wand glow red. Heat.
Heat helped him feel alive again, but also made it clear that he was sleepy.
"Later? What are you on about, sweetheart? And are you going to rescue me now?"
A piece of home baked, delicious bread was pushed into his mouth and he slowly chewed it, savouring the nourishment even if there was little of it.
"You show awareness of what is right and what is wrong and can tell the truth about Aurors without lies and exaggerations like some would expect of a man with the Dark Mark. I'm very proud of you," Hermione said and risked a kiss from her lips to her fingers to his lips. He couldn't control his tongue. The sudden onslaught of soothing vanilla scent and the promise of her taste made him part his lips and lick the delicate skin that was offered to him.
Her breath hitched and he felt the small tremble in her digits. They both needed this intimacy after being separated for so long, and especially during hazardous days. More heat surged through Scabior, perhaps even some sparse storage of adrenalin. Then he remembered his unanswered question. Hermione wore a dreamy expression, completely mesmerized in their own momentary world that constituted of wet fingers being sucked on lazily.
"Beautiful," he slurred before she retracted her fingers and came back to reality, "What will happen now, with us?"
"Us being?" she asked asked and looked around to see her companions finish the acute healing and fasten the dressings on the wounds. Time was running out. Scabior did not like dealing with stress when he was this wounded.
"The prisoners? When are you releasing me from these medieval irons?" he hissed and blew away an uncombed tendril that fell over his forehead. Once more, Hermione grasped his hand.
"Our mission was to enlighten the staff of what the Aurors are doing within the castle walls and establish that you are tended to in a humanly way. We don't have the authority to free you."
Scabior gaped at her and his tired mind helplessly spun to understand. That had been his hope; that Hermione would come back for him and unchain him. Had he been wrong to think that? Had he turned stupid after the fall from the bridge, or was it his snatcher who desired freedom so much the very thought of it began to haunt him? One thing was sure: Scabior was disappointed, and scared.
"What? I thought… My head is… Hermione, I can't stand these shackles. I need my magic and freedom. Please talk to the guards. Please, just…please," he whimpered and weakly tried to angle his body so his front was turned towards her but her free hand stopped him, and he was thankful for it as a pain suddenly jabbed him in his back.
"Scabior, please lie down. You're traumatized. Breathe deeply for me. Don't get upset."
Her voice sounded frazzled and apologetic. Scabior did not feel well but he breathed like she asked of him, and closed his eyes.
"I swear on my powers as a witch, I will do what I can to help you, my love. But it was all I could do to get another chance to see you today. I don't know what will happen now, but when the trials begin, I am your ally on the other side. I will make sure you are being taken care of."
"Miss Granger."
"I'm sorry, Scabior."
A small, too rushed kiss on his temple made Scabior sigh and he felt himself slip away, with her scent near. His mind felt light as a feather. Something slipped through his hand. He felt as if he should have held it tighter but he was utterly relaxed. Shoes walked away from him. He was almost asleep and he felt warm. Good.
I apologize for the misery in this chapter. I feel really sorry for Scabior but the question is, what will happen now... He he! I will love you with my whole heart if you send me some reviews. So long!