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Scabior's Protection	By : DirtyThings Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female Views: 2706 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own any part of the Harry Potter series or universe, and I don't make any money at all off of Scabior's Protection.

Chapter List
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Chapter 4
A Pinch of Soul
The blond man sat with his fingers embedded in his dirty, lank hair like they too were attached at the root. How could he—why had he… But it was too late, and he had surely doomed her as he had doomed himself and those children. Those poor, innocent children. The world was on their shoulders, and Luna was on his. His only solace was that his dearly departed Livia did not know the suffering of her husband and daughter.
An agonizingly slow creak attracted his attention, and he stood up to see the wooden door to his cell swing open. A wicked-looking man entered, wild hair gathered about his head and tied in a delicate ribbon. His mouth quirked and a smile appeared on his face. He nodded, and unseen captors pulled the door shut. "Muffliato," he pronounced emphatically, and turned to Xenophilius. Xenophilius had not let the cold of the prison or the damp of the stone walls chill him, but when he saw the unnatural glint of Scabior's blue eyes, he could not help but shiver.
Scabior's smile transformed into a grin. He twirled his wand in hand and then pointed it at Xenophilius. "Flagrate," he hissed, and fire pirouetted from the tip of the wand to the blond man's chest, carving out words in a jagged font.
Traitor.
}{}{
"That bastard! That bloody bastard!" Ron shouted. He formed a fist and drove it towards the bark of the nearest tree. The mistake was discovered immediately, and he sank to the ground, nursing his red knuckles with his mouth. "Hw wood 'e?" he mumbled into bleeding skin.
"How could he?" Harry echoed, shaking his head. "I mean, I understand that they've got Luna, but he could have told us, we could have helped…"
Shaking, Hermione steadied herself by leaning on Harry. Disapparation was difficult enough when she was just transporting herself, but dragging the two boys along with her was exhausting. Despite her commitment to performing well, Apparation was something with which she continually struggled. Anxiety, though helpful when it came to triple-checking papers and remembering exam dates, did not aid in relocating one's body to another place entirely. Don'tsplinchdon'tsplinchdon'tsplinch. Her mantra.
While she regained her energy, she considered the events that had just occurred at Luna Lovegood's house, and found that she could not blame Xenophilius for his actions. That wasn't to say that she would have done the same—she would have sacrificed herself a thousand times over before giving up Harry or Ron—but she understood the sense of desperation she detected in Xenophilius's voice. He had lost the only thing he had left, and was rendered a shell of a man snapping desperately at any strand that could make him whole again. To Xenophilius, Luna was the Greater Good. Hermione could find no fault there.
}{}{
Scabior leaned forward and pulled Xenophilius up by his stringy hair. "And I suppose that you thought that the Dark Lord would have swapped one blood traitor for the Mudblood, the Weasel, and Potter? As if they aren't things owed to him already?"
Xenophilius's voice caught in his throat, and he keened uncontrollably. "My daughter! My Luna, I just wanted my Luna!"
Scabior chuckled. "Well she's as good as dead now, thanks to you. As for you... The Dark Lord doesn't appreciate weakness. You had the element of surprise—why didn't you use it?"
"I didn't... I didn't know if I should! My Luna, my—" The man struggled to control his hysteria. "My Luna would not have wanted me to do it. She's as loyal as a Three-Horned Gillysnort... But I had to do it. She's worth it."
"She's worth more than ten of your brats," Scabior muttered to himself.
Xenophilius's eyes darted up towards his captor. His struggle to parse the pronouns in the sentence was almost palpable. "She… Hermione Granger?"
Scabior's head turned sharply towards Xenophilius. The older man was nodding so fervently, it was as if his head were attached to his shoulders by rubber.
"The muggle-born witch! You feel something for the muggle-born, don't you?" He flinched as Scabior darted forward, picking him up by the arms and pinning him to the wall.
"You don't deserve to speak of her!"Scabior growled. "You are a traitor to your daughter's name, to your wife's memory, to the Dark Lord, and to... To her."
The blond man bowed his head as best as he could, zealous with confirmation. "You care for the girl, you want her, yes, you do," he babbled, eyes closed. "A nasty old Snatcher, not even good enough to be a Death Eater, obsessed with a muggle-born—"
The eldest Lovegood was abruptly silenced as Scabior released his hands, allowing him to fall to the floor. The younger man stood over him, panting slightly. One hand caught the loop of his belt, following it to the sheath at which his favorite toy, a six-inch blade imbued with Hiskakaj venom, was holstered. The thought of sinking it into the neck of the traitorous scum was appealing. However, even in his rage, Scabior understood that a captive was valuable only while still alive.
Still, the high-pitched keening continued, and Scabior turned to face the broken man.
"Obliviate."
It was time to go back to the Lovegood house. He had felt the traces of her Disapparation earlier. With any luck, there were slivers of her magic left, and he could trace the path she took. He could find her. He would find her.
}{}{
Hermione, Harry, and Ron shared a lackluster dinner consisting of cold biscuits smeared with a too-sweet blackberry jam. Afterwards, Hermione slept. Despite the fact that she had successfully evaded captured only hours before and was now safe, her sleep was restless.
She dreamed of fathers and tea, of waves hitting the shore. She dreamed of death. She dreamed of making Horcruxes on an assembly line, ripping a piece out of her soul for each one that glided smoothly down the belt towards her. The Horcruxes were different things: a toothbrush, a tennis shoe, an old book, a pair of fingernail clippers. Hundreds of senseless things blurred by her. Finally, something new came.
Hermione Granger looked into the eyes of Hermione Granger, who was sitting on the conveyer belt with her hands clasped over her shins. She reached inside herself for a pinch of soul to bestow, and found that there was nothing left.
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Scabior's Protection