Chapter 17

The night air hung thinly in the air, crisp and cool. Sira remembered the street; she had walked down in many times before, but very rarely with Scabior's arm around her shoulders and never with the Snatchers. Scabior and she walked behind the rest of them, dropping back slowly to get themselves out of the other's view. Sira didn't want to go to a tavern but she thought it was sweet, almost cute, that they were going to the one where she first kissed Scabior. The thought brought a small smile to her face.

Soon, they all reached the tavern and entered, Scabior and Sira still hanging back quite a ways. Fenrir and the others went directly up to the bar while they headed for a little booth in the far corner. It was quite full, filled with people she didn't recognize. She sat down in the booth and he settled down next to her. "'ow are you 'olding up?" he asked as she rested her head on his shoulder.

"Okay, I guess," she breathed as she closed her eyes. Everything she'd just done was bothering her, it was like she'd just ripped four souls away from this world, like she'd killed them, but she knew that she hadn't and sent them to experience a fate worse than death. She tried not to think about that, even though it ate at her. She wished their screams would leave her thoughts.

"Do you want anything to drink?" he asked, trying not to disturb her too much. For once in the longest time, she felt like she really did need a drink.

"Firewhiskey," she said flatly as she looked up into his face, astonishment flickering in his eyes for a second before a smirk pulled at the corners of his mouth.

"Anything for you, beautiful," he said tenderly as he moved out of the booth and headed over to the bar. As she watched him leave, someone caught her eye. He was looking at her, watching her. She looked at the man, recognizing him instantly, and he walked over to her with a little smile on his face.

"Lark," she said, a bit of surprise in her voice, "how are you?"

"Good," he stated politely, "but the real question is how are you doing." He sat down across from her, his emerald eyes glittered in the dim light. "Cal told me about what happened to you, but I didn't really believe it. He really did force you to become a Snatcher?" he asked, his eyes studying her face carefully.

"Yep, and I just had my first Snatch today, so we're celebrating," she said with a little shrug. "It's only been a week and my life has changed so much. Just a few days ago, I thought nothing could hurt me and now, look at me. I'm at the bottom." She put her hands in her hair, sighing as she did so. "I even fought Fenrir Greyback and now he desires to have me. What has the world come to?"

"Wait, Fenrir Greyback, the werewolf, desires for you?" Lark asked, disbelief entering his eyes. "And you fought him?"

"Yes, Lark." Her voice was a whisper as her hands fell to the table.

"Unbelievable." He shook his head, sighing.

"Lark," she said softly, breaking the pause of silence, "what happens to the Muggle-borns that are sent to Azkaban? I just need to know so, maybe, I can get some peace with my guilt of being a Snatcher."

"They are held there, for right now," he stated blankly, showing barely any emotion on his handsome face, "but they are starting to bring the Dementors back in." All color drained from her face, they were using Dementors on innocent people. She felt so much worse now; she almost wished she had never asked Lark about it now. He noticed her concern and her guilt and quickly thought of something to move her away from her thoughts. "Cal's going to be so mad she didn't come tonight," he said with a little chuckle and Sira gazed at him, completely baffled. "She doesn't drink, don't get me wrong. She just comes with me and is usually bored. She refused to come tonight but she would've had fun."

"How is she?" she asked as she glanced over to the side to see Scabior still at the bar.

"Good, just wanting to do something." A smile flashed across his face. "She's stir crazy."

"If you would tell her what I told you, I would greatly appreciate it," she said kindly as she saw Scabior heading back towards her, his eyes focused on Lark.

"No problem," he said proudly as he, too, noticed Scabior. "I better get going. It was nice to talk to you, Sira."

"It was nice to see you, Lark," she replies as he stood and started to walk to the door, giving Scabior a stiff nod. Scabior's blue-grey eyes watched him leave, making sure that he was actually leaving. He set a bottle of firewhiskey down on the table along with two shot glasses. She almost couldn't believe that she wanted to drink again, not after the last time.

He poured equal amounts of the drink into the shot glasses and then handed one to her as he sat down beside her. "Cheers," he said flatly as he raised his glass to hers, clinking their glasses together before putting them up to their lips and letting the liquids fill their mouths. Her face twisted with an instant of disgust as the drink burned its way down her throat. Scabior let out a little chuckle as he watched her relax and glare at him, elbowing him in the side. Soon, as the firewhiskey started to send fuzziness through her insides, she had another shot in her hand. She looked at Scabior, he, too, had another and was watching her. Again, they swallowed it and she cringed as the burning returned.

"It's not that bad," he chuckled as he threw his arm around her shoulders, the firewhiskey on his breath.

"To me it is," she panted as the burning continued in his mouth. "I've never had anything this strong." She set her glass down on the table and Scabior poured himself and her some more. Her mind wandered back to the poor family she destroyed as she put the glass to her lips, their cries filling her ears. She wanted the drink to make her forget, so she swallowed it again, no matter how much it hurt her.

Each time she put the glass to her lips, she lost a little bit of her memory of what she did. Everything slowly became warm and blurry. She felt numb, but a good, joyful numb, as if nothing could hurt her, as if she could do anything. As her awareness of the world drifted away, she became more and more focused on Scabior.

"I love you," she slurred as she batted her eyes at him, laughing like someone who was out of their right mind. "I don't, I don't tell you that enough." Her hands cupped his face as he set down his glass, gazing at her as what he thought was a passionate way in his drunken state.

"Thanks, boo-tif-fall," he said as she gazed longingly up at him. Then, he broke out into laughter with a sudden thought. "'ey, you should go and slap Fenrir just 'cause you can. I dare you." A huge smile spread across her lips as she giggled, her hands dropping to her chest and gently rubbing him.

"What's in it for me?" she asked, looking all cocky and tough.

"Anythin' ya want, boo-tif-fall," he said seductively and she giggled.

"I like the sound of that," she stated loudly as she brushed her lips against his neck, caressing his skin. She literally climbed over him and stumbled out of the booth, tripping over him as she did so. With a wink, she turned away from him and slowly made her way over to Fenrir at the bar. Each step seemed to be quick to her but it was actually very stammering and uncoordinated. She was constantly tripping over chairs and almost falling on her face every second.

When she finally reached Fenrir she placed her hand on his shoulder, causing him to turn to her. "What, Sira?" he asked, the alcohol strong on his breath, but not as strong as it was on hers. An evil smile formed on her lips as she looked at him.

"I was told to give you somethin'," she said flatly but he took it in a completely different way. "Robbie told me to- to give this to you." She moved closer to him and he smiled at her cruelly. Her hand struck his face with a loud smack and his eyes filled with confusion, quickly turning to anger. He pushed her aside, causing her to fall to the floor as her laughing started again.

"Come here, Robbie," Fenrir barked and Robbie's eyes filled with terror, "you little asshole!" He lunged and Robbie fell off of his bar stool, trying to avoid him. Sira crawled her way back to Scabior, her laughter hurting her sides as she struggled to breathe. The sound of scrambling and punching filled the bar as she pulled herself onto Scabior's lap, sitting on him as her hands cupped his face. Her touch held her desire.

"You're 'mazing," he breathed and she forced her mouth onto his, wanting the closeness. His breath was hot in her mouth, tasting of alcohol, addictive and making her want more. He was her drug and she would always want more of him. Her hands clutched the front of his shirt, forcing him close to her. There was nothing that could make her leave him.

"I know I am," she whispered in between kisses, where were becoming more vicious and wanting with each passing second. His mouth kissed her lips eagerly, needing the sweet taste of her mouth, the taste of her tongue. Her mouth was like candy and he couldn't get enough.

Her body leaned into his as she pressed him back against the booth's seat, gasping for breath in between each kiss. His hands pulled her towards him; her hands pushed him away a little bit. She didn't even notice the few people that were watching them, or the fight that people attempted to break up. She only cared about him. She didn't have to think about anything else if she didn't want to.

Her hands stopped holding him back, removing themselves from his chest and moving up to his hair. He saw the opportunity and he took it, forcing her even closer to him, as if they could never be close enough for their liking. His heart hammered in his chest, just as hers did. They wanted so much more, it was the only thing they desired for.

Somehow, a few people in the tavern were able to pull Fenrir away from Robbie, causing him to become even more murderous. They attempted to throw him out but it was more difficult than what they thought it would be. It was a battle, more than what they could handle.

Then, the bartender noticed her and Scabior and he walked over to him as soon as the others were thrown out. "Sir, miss," he said quickly as he pulled Sira away from Scabior, causing her to yelp in surprise, "You need to leave." Sira's eyes glared at him furiously, his eyes were dead serious. "Now."

"Fine," she spat and marched, well stumbled, over to the door, followed by Scabior. She shouted words at the bartender as she did so, thinking that she was saying awful things, but she yelled things like 'cat' and 'butterbeer,' which made no sense at all. She stumbled out of the tavern and onto the street where her stomach gave a painful twist.

She doubled over, her hands wrapped around her waist as she retched hard, trying to empty her stomach. Nothing came up but her nausea continued for the longest time. Her body ached with the strain, becoming stiff and painful, as she continued to retch. Scabior knelt down beside her, holding her until she stopped. Tears streaked down her face with her agony.

After the longest time, her pain and her nausea subsided but she was still shaking in his arms. He whispered slurred words into her ear as she gradually calmed down, still not knowing what was going on around her. She barely remembered why she was in the street in the first place.

Scabior pulled her up to her feet, holding her close. "It's okay, boo-tif-fall," he breathed, his eyes cloudly. "I'll get ya back 'ome." With that, they disappeared with a crack.

When they arrived outside of their tent, Sira was attempting to enter it, but she was stumbling into Scabior instead. Everything to her was blurry and off kilter. Her mind was foggy, not recognizing where she was or where she came from. She almost couldn't remember her own name. He came up beside her ane she leaned against his body as they made their way into the tent, heading for the bedroom.

Exhaustion filled her brain, drooping her eyelids, as functioning became so difficult she could barely stand. Her body longed to drop to the floor but she willed herself to keep going. She wanted to reach the bed if it was the only thing she ever did.

He entered the bedroom first, followed slowly by her fumbling self. Her eyes focused on the bed, fixing on it. It was all she needed to keep going. Driven by exhaustion, she gradually closed the distance between her and the bed. So close but so far away.

She took it one step at a time. Her feet felt as if they were weighed, making moving difficult. It seemed to take forever to get a few feet away.

Once she was close enough, she threw herself onto the bed. A satisfied smile formed on her lips as she looked at him, giggling softly as he gazed at her, his eyes hazy but a sudden desire burned in his eyes. He never looked away as he made his advance. He started to remove his shirt as a mischievous smile grew on his face. It was the last thing she remembered; the rest of the night was a blur.