Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

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
- 5
- 6
Chapter 6
Scab
The boy in the ill-fitting robe, no older than fourteen or fifteen, spat into his palms and tried desperately to tame his wild mane of hair. He launched himself from the wall against which he had been leaning. Calliope Shepperd's laughter bounced off the ceiling and echoed all around her and her group of friends.
"Why do girls always have to be inseparable from their friends?" the boy muttered under his breath before clearing his throat emphatically.
Calliope turned around. Her tiny button nose and wide, light blue eyes captivated him. "What do you want?" she inquired testily. The little nose wrinkled in distaste, and the boy was far too aware of his out-of-control hair and well-worn attire. He nervously fingered his second-hand spellbook.
"Do you think, well, that is, would you like to…." He scanned all of the girls. The anxiety he felt seemed nearly tangible. "Calliope, would you do me the honor of attending the dance with me?"
The girl froze, her eyebrows creeping to her hairline. "Excuse me? Why would you think I'd ever agree to go to the dance with a little scab like you?" Her eyes swept over him, spending a few extra seconds on his overly large ears and untamed hair. "I think I'd rather go to the ball with the giant squid!" The girls tittered and one of Calliope's friends spoke up, smirking. "Alright, you tried. Good job! Now run back to the dungeons like the flobberworm you are, Scab!"
And so he did. He ran back like a flobberworm, if a flobberworm had legs, and launched himself onto his bed, humiliated. "Someday," he thought savagely, "I'll be rich! And have the best clothes and all new books and," he grabbed his hair with both hands, "They'll be sorry for how they treated me."
His roommate entered and paused to look at him. "Merlin, Scabior. You can't let them get to you like that. They're just dumb birds."
The boy looked up, distraught. "You already know? What are they saying?"
"I think everyone knows. Bill Weasley asked her right after you did and she said yes. Serves you right for asking out a Gryffindor."
Scabior hung his head again. "I'll never get her. My old man was right. Like should be with like."
Amycus Carrow sat down on the bed across the room and kicked off his heavy shoes. "Mate, forget about the bint. I have something better to cheer you up. What do you know about the group called the Death Eaters?"
}{}{
He awoke with a headache the size of the Dark Lord's ego. Sickly streams of coagulated blood streaked one side of his head. It felt as if his skull had been split in two, though a quick pat-down of the area proved that he remained in one piece.
As soon as his health was assured, a roiling vitriol flooded his body and soaked itself into his very soul. He staggered to his feet, head snapping left and right as he tried to determine the direction of his witch's flight. After a moment, he locked onto it: a fuzzy, flickering, and barely visible residue more like dust in the air than anything else, pointing due north.
His immediate response was to panic, slapping desperately at his body for his wand. It ended up being on the ground near where he had been laying. He picked up the wand, aimed it at the nearest tree, and screamed. A burnt orange light scratched its way out of his wand and enveloped the tree, consuming it in less time than it took for him to put his wand back in the holster with his knife.
"You stupid girl," he hissed. Something in his chest ached. For a moment, he had thought—
What would any girl want with a low-rate like you? asked a voice inside his mind.
Scabior's pacing stopped. Because I can protect her.
Not if there's nothing from which to protect her but yourself.
The man paused, and then lowered himself. His hand raked the area where blood had run off of his forehead and onto the ground. In his palm, the earth was cold and brittle and a disturbing shade of red so dark, it was nearly black. He spit into his palm and watched his saliva mix with the earth. "There you go," he said softly, considering the mixture. "Mud-blood for the Mudblood."
His hand tilted to the side, and he watched the dirt fall back to the ground, leaving streaks on his skin. A plan was beginning to form.
A few minutes later, Scabior Disapparated.
}{}{
Harry, for all his obsessions with Quidditch and pretty redheaded sixth-years, could detect the negative energy between Ron and Hermione, and he had just enough wisdom and common sense to stay out of it.
Ron burnt the toast intended for their breakfast as Hermione packed her beaded purse, mostly because he spent more time peeking at her than the bread. He hadn't slept at all since she had left. He had been waiting for her, hoping to talk to her once she had calmed down. The boy was sure that she would accept his apology over the bungled proposition. He really did care about her, bushy hair and all. However, when Hermione came back, he found her to be even more upset than before, and hadn't even spoken a word before the tip of her wand was in his face, and she demanded that he keep his mouth shut and leave her alone.
Women, he thought. I'll never understand any of them.
"It's getting warmer. That's nice," Ron offered. The olive branch hung in the air.
"This toast is disgusting," Hermione snipped. Ron flinched.
Harry mumbled an excuse about having to use the bathroom, and stepped outside to get away from the tension.
"You know," Ron began, his face beginning to flush. "I didn't mean to—"
"Help!"
It was Harry's voice, Harry's startled cry. The fight was immediately placed on hold, and Hermione and Ron ran from the tent, wands at the ready—and immediately realized that they were surrounded. Hermione's eyes flicked over the dirty men. A red-headed man with soft eyes. Two short, surly men that looked like they could be brothers. Fenrir Greyback. It's them, she realized. God, I hope they don't remember me.
Scabior was nowhere to be seen, at least, and Hermione's shoulders relaxed. She took a breath. Four wizards. She and her friends could take them easily—after all, they had faced worse odds before and won. And then—
"Hello, pretty."
It took all of her energy to do so, but she turned her head. Centimeters away, his dark blue eyes bore into hers. She could see the vitriol swimming in them, the tense line of his mouth, the way his cheekbones cut away from his face. He was livid, and close, and above all, dangerous.
"'Ere, you wanker, get away from her!" Ron spat, taking Hermione's hand and jerking her towards him. Scabior's eyes glinted without humor. That tease. She deserves this.
"Now, now, girl. Keep an eye on that one. Your boyfriend will get much worse than that if he doesn't learn to behave himself."
He raised his wand. As if on cue, the outnumbered Golden Trio turned and ran past him. He closed his eyes for a moment, savoring the ghostly trail of her perfume, and then gestured gracefully, his face alight with the joy of the hunt. "What are you waiting for? Snatch them!"
Their pounding footfalls echoed through the forest. Combined with ragged breath, the sounds of escape were the only sounds that they could hear. Hermione's jeans were damp with sweat; her hair billowed behind her, knotting up and snarling. The wind snapped past her face. Every unit of resistance felt monumental. Just run, she told herself. Run!
She was so intent on her path that she hadn't noticed that Ron had split from their group. Now only Harry was behind her. An errant tree branch slapped her cheek and left behind a red line, which blossomed with blood.
Ron cried out from somewhere on their left.
If Harry hadn't stopped, Hermione might not have. She didn't know for sure. But Harry, a Gryffindor to the core, had, and so Hermione did, too. She could see the Snatchers emerging from the trees behind them. Quickly, she aimed her wand at Harry and cast a stinging hex.
"Ah!" Harry shouted, and fell to the ground, clutching his head. His trademark scar twisted as large bumps rose and disfigured his face. He moaned as Hermione darted forward, grabbed the glasses off his head, and tossed them away.
When she turned back, she found herself staring at a large, hairy chest. Before she could run, Fenrir Greyback was upon her. Grasping her by the arms, he pinned her against the nearest tree and pressed himself against her. "Delicious girl… What a treat. I do enjoy the softness of the skin."
Hermione stifled a whimper as the werewolf ground his hips against her stomach. It was difficult to breathe, not just because of the pressure, but his odor. He smelled like wet dog, rotten food, old sweat, burnt wood.
A stunned Ronald Weasley was dragged over by Scabior and the redheaded Snatcher. His body lolled limply on the ground, but there seemed to be no other damage.
Hermione did her best to catch Scabior's eye. She finally did, but he just silently returned the gaze. As she tried to think of what she could possibly say to get them out of this mess, the man turned away.
"And who do we have here? What's your name, ugly?"
"Uh... Dudley. Vernon Dudley." Harry's face, distorted and monstrous, warped his words, and they came out in a thick grunt surprisingly similar to his cousin's voice.
Fenrir roughly jabbed one hand under Hermione's blouse, raking his fingernails over one of her breasts. She cried out, and Scabior's eyes glinted. "That's enough!" he snapped. "Not until we know who they are."
I'm going to have to punish him later, he told himself. I want to scare her, not pass her off to that beast. What use is she to me in shreds?
Fenrir gave him an incredulous look. "They ran away from us. They have something to hide. And that one!" He pointed one gnarled and hair-covered finger at Ron. "It looks like one o' them Weasleys," he growled.
Scabior looked at Hermione. Her bright eyes latched onto his and he stared, fascinated, as a tear rolled down her cheek. She seemed to be pleading with him, begging him with those incredible, gold-speckled eyes.
"Please," she whispered. Fenrir Greyback's long, pointed tongue slipped from his mouth, and he began to trace the line that the tree branch had made on Hermione's face.
Alright, Scabior decided, feeling proud of himself. The point has been made. She knows now what can happen without me around.
"You know what, Greyback," he said. "I think there is a Dudley at the ministry. One of us. You, boy. Are you related to him?"
Harry nodded, too terrified to speak. Hermione sagged in Fenrir's arms, relief flooding her body. Scabior was going to let them go. And then—
"Hey! Boss! I found his glasses!" Antoine Casgrove bounded to them, the famous rounded spectacles of Harry Potter in his hand. He pushed the bangs out of Harry's swollen face and there it was, in all its twisted glory: a jagged, vaguely lightening-shaped scar. "It's them!" he said excitedly. "We found 'em!"
Scabior's stomach knotted in displeasure. This was not part of the plan. There was no way he could let them go now. A girl, a red-head, and a scarred, bespectacled boy? Of course it was them. Even Fenrir wasn't that stupid.
He had no intention of fighting his fellow Snatchers—this was his team; killing them would simply weaken him, and he was not keen on destroying his possessions, anyway. Obviously, getting killed was not a solution, either. A sacrifice had to be made. He looked at the girl. She was shaking. Ah, well. It was good while it lasted. A pile of gold will be a safer thing to keep, anyway.
He lowered his wand. "To the manor, then."
- 5
- 6
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

Scabior's Protection