Hello y'all! I'm freaking back and have brought a fresh chapter. Hallelujah ;) I apologize for the long wait but you are a brave lot who inspire and encourage me. I honestly got a mean cold some time ago so sadly the chapter was delayed by one week, but I couldn't help it; only nurse my cold. Now, this chapter only includes Scabior's POV but I figured you are all excited to see what's happening to him. Hermione will feature in the next chapter. It's a start, so I sincerely hope you'll enjoy this. /sycamoretree
Inspirational music: A prayer for England by Massive Attack
Chap. 44 Consequences
Scabior was confused and he didn't like it one bit. After the party of Hogwarts impressive teachers left the dungeon, everything changed.
The Aurors had been given back their wands, though with an unreadable expression, by Professor Flitwick.
Scabior woke up as the uniformed wizards and witches marched up and down the rows of stretchers and cast basic healing spells on the prisoners. Someone, he didn't know who, made him warmer and reduced the bruises on his body but that was all, so Scabior was grateful for Hermione's earlier attention.
Then the offended leaders amongst the Aurors explained to everyone. They were to be taken to the Ministry of Magic until other orders were declared. As expected, the snatchers and Death Eaters were all muted by silencing spells, but at least they were released from the cold and degrading shackles.
Aurors roughly pushed them to their feet and gathered them in one corner of the stinking classroom. Scabior sent a silent thank you to Hermione and Merlin for good measure, because despite the prickling pain in his legs and back, and the way his legs weren't fully co-operating, he could walk. And it seemed he would not be executed by sheer neglect and sadism. That had to count for something.
"Listen, you rats! We will start disapparating in a minute and you better stay calm and not try anything while we do it. Remember who's got your wands and magic," the one they called Darnton had told them with malice.
Those words made even the few defiant Death Eaters freeze and everyone's gaze landed on each of the Aurors who had confiscated their magic powers. Scabior doubted anyone had ever heard of such a cruel act done to a wizard or witch in all the known history. And who knew what would happen if the one who carried their magic was killed. No-one fancied the prospect of becoming a muggle, forever excluded from the magical world.
Another thing that probably ensured the prisoners would behave during the transfer was the fact that they could risk getting splinched on top of everything else and everyone was seriously injured already.
One by one, the silenced, damaged, shocked prisoners disappeared with one Auror's hand clutched around their arm and then the uniformed men and women returned alone to repeat the procedure. Scabior breathed shallowly to spare his aching ribs from pressure and flinched at every loud bang as the disapparation was executed with haste.
He vaguely acknowledged that this must be one of the few times ever it was actually possible to disapparate inside the school, as he leant his head against the cold wall and had a short, pale snatcher woman holding onto his shoulder for support. Her thigh was clumsy wrapped with a dressing and couldn't quite carry her entire weight. Scabior tolerated it because they were in this together, and it felt pleasantly comforting to have a female presence nearby. If he closed his eyes, he could pretend it was Hermione.
Suddenly brutal hands briskly wrenched the woman from his side, which really was unnecessary since she went willingly. She vanished too, and Scabior grimaced at yet another loud pang that made his ears hurt. Suddenly it was his turn to get transported like a helpless child, and he promptly shut his lids to not get sick when the spinning begun. Just to be safe and not get splinched, he pictured the Ministry in his head and let the Auror clench his upper arm.
They landed safely in the large but now partly destroyed hall of the Ministry. What before had been an impressive, grandiose official building now resembled Hogwarts in its current state. Debris and dust lay everywhere and made the black stones dimmed and sullied.
Scabior was absently aware that he was passed from the Auror to another, larger and grim colleague who looked like he had never had a fun day in his life.
"Get a move-on," the new Auror muttered and pressed his wand into Scabior's back to indicate he should move. The snatcher began limping through the silent hall which was nearly void of humans, save for another pair of one prisoner and one guard entering one of the apparently still functioning lifts and disappearing from view. Scabior's soft leather boots made no sound but the heels of the Auror echoed.
He shuffled over the copious amount of shards covering the floor and instinctively tipped his head back to study the many windows of the offices above the place where previously a fountain and, after Voldemort's reign, a monument over the purebloods superiority, had been. Every single window was shattered. The battle of wizarding Britain had even reached inside the Ministry of Magic.
Scabior was reminded of the last time he had been in the building, at first huddling with the other "followers" who didn't really support the Dark Lord but didn't dare go against him. Voldemort had seemed so strong and invincible back then. It wasn't that long ago, he realized with astonishment, merely months, and yet it seemed like a different life-time.
A shadow flashed across Scabior's weary features upon recalling the next time he had had to come here. To be tortured and utterly at the mercy of the mad Dark Lord. To be chained to the monument and sliced open as the viscous wizard ordered his snake to eat his legs. Scabior shuddered and looked the other way when he and the Auror rounded the grey area in the middle of the hall.
But he, the insignificant snatcher, had survived not only that but also tumbling from a burning bridge and hurting his back. Of course by the vital help from Hermione, but still. That gave him hope. He was a survivor. He wasn't meant to cower and die now. Not when the new world had been born during a promising dawn yesterday. For he had things to live for.
Finally the grumpy Auror steered him in the direction of the lifts and the gate rattled when it moved to the side. Scabior stepped inside and felt the other man follow close.
Instead of staring at the destruction in the hall through the intricate pattern of gold, Scabior turned his gaze to evaluate his companion when the lift started to move. If his magic couldn't stop a prisoner from being resistant, his frame itself would surely succeed, with a broad chest, bulging shoulders under the stretched uniform, and enormous arms. His black stubble was tinted with dust but even after participating in what must have been the most straining fight in his career, the Auror looked dangerously alert and composed.
The lift made a jerk to the side and continued down diagonally, always down. Scabior sighed.
"Got any hints about my future, mate?" he delivered tentatively and the bear-man turned his head around and stared him down.
"The prisoners are supposed to stay quiet."
Scabior bit his tongue and refrained from rolling his eyes. So this Auror was one of the somber ones. Tricky. And yet Scabior considered trying another approach to get information.
What he didn't like at all was the possibility of Hermione not knowing where he had gone. Then he figured that she would find him, with her special conviction, persistence and courage, she would find him wherever he went.
"Please, sir. I'm only asking to see if my rights as a citizen of the British Ministry of Magic and a member of the wizarding community are respected. How long will I be kept here?"
Once more, he received a stern frown.
"As long as we see fit. Now shut that mouth and behave," the man said with a deep voice and Scabior thought he could hear a menacing rumble from the man's chest over the screeching sounds of the lift. He fell silent.
Once the lift came to a stop, minutes had passed since the ride begun so Scabior assumed they were very, very deep down in the infamous but mythical cellars below the public floors of the institution. The large man indicated to him to take the lead and they began walking.
The corridors were considerably darker than the ones above, with only a few faint lamps lightening their way and a shiver ran down Scabior's spine as the temperature dropped. He supposed the Ministry, no matter what ruling government, never had been particularly keen on making the accommodations for prisoners more than tolerable.
They passed door after door made of metal and Scabior thought dimly that if Hermione's friend, that Weasley boy, had been kept here by the Dark Lord, it wouldn't surprise him if the bloke lost his sanity.
Glumly, the snatcher stumbled on until he failed to orientate himself after all the turns they had made in this maze of similar corridors. Eventually the guard grunted eloquently behind him and they came to a halt outside an anonymous door. With a fair amount of spells, the Auror made the door swing open and then came the awkward moment when the prisoner didn't want to enter his cell whereas the guard wanted to finish the task he had been given.
"Get in," the man growled roughly with his wand visible and Scabior took a deep breath that failed to give him courage but did give him fresh oxygen, before taking the step over the threshold. He almost expected a shove in his back from the Auror, like a last, petty display of superiority, but the man did nothing of the sort.
The memories of Azkaban fluttered to his mind and he chose not to study his surroundings because he would most likely have more than enough time to do that later. Instead, he turned around and his inner snatcher was anxious, aware that the only way out, to the freedom he depended on, was about to become sealed from him.
Scabior took in the doorway and the man standing in it. Surely the air shouldn't logically feel constricting already?
"Food tonight. Different guards each day so don't try to trick or manipulate any of us. News will come only when we are ordered to carry them out. Prepare yourself for the trial."
The Auror spoke with a bored, monotone voice. As if he had no compassion for the human before him.
"Thanks for the tour 'round the Ministry. Though, I would suggest making the last stop somewhere prettier. Bit of a downer to end the fun down here," Scabior drawled in return and flippantly dragged a hand through his dirty hair. Not that he expected to coax a laugh from the guard, but it was some kind of desperate interaction before he would be left in complete solitude.
The Auror only lifted an eyebrow and stepped back. He moved his arms and the door slammed shut, leaving Scabior in darkness that wasn't chased away, only more prominent by the bleak light that came from a ball hovering in the ceiling. Still, it provided enough light for Scabior to make out the interior of the cell.
The metal door was rusty here and there, but the sheer weight of it would make sure no-one could escape, never mind the magic keeping it locked. A narrow shutter on the bottom of it resembled too much an opening for food deliveries. Not that Scabior pretended to plan a break-out, but he preferred looking at a person through an open door now and then over having an impersonal hand push in meals to him like feeding an animal.
On either side of the door were the walls of stone that gleamed from water which trickled over the uneven surface. By the wall opposite the door stood an uncomfortable-looking bed with a dirty blanket and no pillow. Scabior wasn't sure if that was intentional courtesy of the Ministry towards arrested wizards and witches or a clear sign of the bad budget, especially after the war. He looked past the bed and detected a hole in the floor that could pass for ground. Well, he was used of the simple accommodations of nature so he wasn't particularly affronted by the Spartan toilet. And that was the whole room.
Scabior sagged so his shoulders moved forward and gave him some sense of comfort. He peered up at the ball of light. If he stood on his toes he would be able to reach it. He didn't do it, partly because he was still injured and wasn't tempted to get a jolt or anything from the lamp, and partly because he should save that experiment for another day if he wanted to stay sane. No need to explore the whole cell now if he was going to stay here for weeks or even months.
Mentally, Scabior immediately began creating plans for the future. 'One task each day. And wander the expanse of the cell back and forth, and around at least two hundred times each day.'
He snorted at himself when he acknowledged he wouldn't know if it was day or night soon, save for the meals if they arrived regularly. His ribs ached after the ruthless treatment and the brisk walk so shortly after his healing. Precautious, he wrapped an arm around his chest to support it and keep it warm before padding closer to the wall, needing to keep his mind busy with something other than the pain and threatening dread.
He leaned in and sniffed the stone. It didn't even smell of earth. He couldn't find anything that indicated he was in front of something from nature. Nothing that reminded him of outside. Displeased, the snatcher held out his free hand and dragged it over the stone. He began circling the cell and felt the wall from floor to the ceiling. As his fingers fluttered over every inch of damp walls, he felt the magic emanating from them. A great jealousy grew in him at the realization that the walls had magic when he didn't. It wasn't a rational feeling, but being robbed of one's magic could affect a wizard most strangely.
"Damn you to the inferi pit!" he growled and thought without doubt that the wall was immediately responsible for keeping him trapped.
He had found no pause in the familiar buzzing under his searching fingertips which meant there was an unbroken band of magic surrounding the cell making it impenetrable except for those with a wand and magic.
He limped away from the charmed wall and lowered himself onto the bed. It was unyielding and hard. He cursed silently and envisioned himself trying to get some sleep on the thing that was barely better than the tables in the potions classroom. At least he wasn't chained. Scabior had to grasp at every optimistic fact here.
Suddenly something came through the shield of magic. He lifted his head and strained his ears. Incomprehensible sounds, maybe from the other prisoners, maybe from the warders. But there were mumbles and faint echoes of steps. Occasionally some louder noises he assumed were screams but equally as contorted. Well, it was definitely better than actually enduring the loud shouts like he had in Azkaban where Dementors kept their imprisoned victims company all the time with their coldness.
He wondered how the other snatchers were holding up. The arrested Death Eaters might be depressed now that they had been defeated, or furious and thus keeping their inner glow alive by feeding it hate during these circumstances, but snatchers didn't do well behind locked doors.
With a small groan, Scabior lay down on the bed on his side with his knees drawn up as far as he could stand with recently healed back and all. The blanket would have to work as a, theoretically, cushioning sheet this night, perhaps as a thin duvet tomorrow. He propped his face on his arm and glared at the silent door. The lamp kept shining but the light wasn't brutally bright so it wouldn't disturb his sleep.
Scabior was convinced the Ministry decades ago had made sure no prisoner could commit suicide in the cellar. Nothing would help a man or woman to carry through such an act and the walls would prevent any attempt. Not that Scabior considered doing something like that, but he feared other snatchers might not handle the isolation that well and get more and more desperate when they failed to end their misery.
No-one in the cells would be able to seriously hurt themselves physically, but nothing protected their minds from harm. Azkaban was infamous for driving its prisoners crazy but the Ministry seemed equally as potent. Snatchers were easy preys to madness within these walls.
Scabior closed his eyes and nuzzled his own wrist to keep warm and smell something. The long waiting had begun. He missed the freedom and Hermione.
What did you think? Send me a review and tell! And I confess that I have another delightful character who reminds me of Scabior and brings me inspiration, joy, and sassiness now that there won't be more footage of our favorite snatcher. The assassin Jaqen H'ghar from Game of Thrones season 2, played by the handsome Tom Wlaschia who absolutely nailed his minor part. Check him out, and admire his coloured white strands (just like Scabior's red one!).
Cheerio for now, my friends!