A one-shot that's been on my mind since I saw HP: Deathy Hallows Part 1. I wanted to add another girl to the Golden Trio, and what if she was in Gryffindor, but the rest of her family were Death Eaters and Slytherins? And what if she had a history with Scabior, and was still in love with the Snatcher when he captured her and Harry, Hermione and Ron? I wrote this to the song "Jar of Hearts", and got the titles from there, because I imagine that Scabior and this OC's relationship would be described by that song. Let me know if you like this one-shot, because then I may write a whole story. Reviews would be absolutely appreciated!

"The Ice Inside Your Soul"
A Scabior/OC One-Shot

I ran so fast, the pine needles under me almost made me slip because of my speed.

I swirled around quickly as I ran and a quick hex flew from my wand that I'd gotten when I was eleven, at Ollivander's. The men running after me, the Snatchers, chased Hermione, Ron, Harry and me like a pack of werewolves, which they actually were. I didn't stop, I just kept running as fast as my legs would allow me. My plaid shirt whipped in the wind and my hair smacked my face, the blond streaks slapping my cheek. I dashed faster, my knees working their hardest to make the joints move faster. I looked over to my right, in time to see Ron fall on the ground in shackles, binded. I swore under my breath but kept running, sending yet another hex backwards at the multiple Snatchers. Hermione and Harry were up ahead at the clearing in the woods. I picked up so much speed that it felt like it wasn't possible. But just as I reached the clearing, I tripped and I fell. Hermione hurled a charm at Harry, which completely disfigured his face, to conceal his identity from these predatory Snatchers, who were climbing down the rocks to us.

"Sawyer!"

Hermione called out to me as she saw me on the forest floor, which was decorated with old leaves from the past fall. I slammed both palms on the ground, ready to yank myself up, when a black combat boot-clad foot stomped in front of me. I swallowed harshly, huffing. A rough hand roughly grabbed me up by my old jacket and I was on my feet in a second, the back of my shirt bunching in the clenched fist. My straw-blond hair flailed in my face with the fast and aggressive movement. Greyback, the infamous werewolf, had me in his clutches. Harry was harshly grabbed by another Snatcher, as was Hermione. Ron was being dragged over by a Snatcher. We all stood in a small group, Harry, Hermione and me all swapping scared glances. And then we heard crunching of leaves coming towards us.

I didn't dare turn around.

He came to face the three of us. I never wanted to see him again, no matter how many emotions and feelings I felt for him, no matter how much we'd been through, no matter how many fights we'd been in, no matter how many "I love you"s he had muttered to me.

He strutted inside the circle like a professional, a smug smirk slapped onto his face. His greyish-green eyes were intensely looking at Harry, and he had his hands folded, attempting to figure out who Harry was. His torn, dirty clothing was nothing new. He wore a black, slim leather jacket, a thin burgandy scarf, a black studded belt, a dirty and torn red checkered shirt, old and skinny tartan pants and rough black, clunky combat boots. A silver chain hitched to his pants pocket and the rings on his fingers finished off the sinster ensemble. His long, mousy brownish-black hair with that signature faded red streak at the top was nothing foreign to me. "Well, well. And who do we have here?" He grinned sinisterly, his British accent putting ephasis on the menacing tone.

He glared at Harry first.

"Vernon Dudley," Harry made up his Muggle-uncle's name on the spot.

I swallowed hard, faithful he hadn't noticed me yet. He glared at Harry and grimaced rudely at the sight of Harry's distorted face. He glanced at his fellow gang and snarled, "Check that." His Snatchers nodded and began going through Hermione's bag. Greyback held me rough and tightly, almost painfully. A few streaks of hair was across my face, hopefully disguising me a little bit. He moved on to Hermione, who was struggling against her Snatcher. "And you?" He hissed at her, pointing at her accussingly. Hermione managed to choke out, "Penelope Clearwater. Half-blood," while shivering. He smirked, uninterested and moved on to me. I swore in my head and I trembled against Greyback, desperately wanting to run, run as fast as I could.

Not now.

His dark eyes searched mine, flickering back and forth and he realized it was me. He inhaled patiently and reached up a black-gloved hand, which had the finger spaces cut off. His hand was rough as he brushed my hair gently off my face. I huffed quietly, our glances not leaving each other. His dark eyes searched mine endlessly. I didn't reject his touch, I merely glared at him, trembling.

The wind blew a strand of his brown hair that was in his face, his hair long as always, part of it in a ponytail, the rest in tangles. He snapped out of his speechless silence and snarled at Greyback, "Release her."

Greyback threw me to the ground, to his feet, in humiliation. I gasped as I was thrown, to the ground, my ribcage aching with the swift body slam. I glanced up at him with fear and he lifted me up aggressively with one hand. The cut on my lip and gash on my arm from tripping burned, my ribcage aching. I was pretty positive from the piercing pain, I'd broken two or three ribs.

He held me close to him, so I could smell his familiar scent of the forest. He brushed a hand to my cheek and inhaled. I blinked at him, irritated, as he held me harshly in his clutch, his hand curled around my forearm, twisting it and bringing it to him, clashing our faces so close our noses brushed against each other.

"Sawyer," He breathed, our noses touching.

"Scabior," I muttered his name in an exhale, so frustrated I could barely speak.

"Still a traitor?" He choked out, in what I sensed was frustration, anger, and a little bit of disappointment. I glared at him and our faces were inches apart as he gripped me so tight he thrusted me even closer to his face, our lips almost brushing. I chewed on my lip. I nodded at him silently, holding in anger.

My parents were Slytherins, Purebloods. And they were Death Eaters, the followers of the Dark Lord, Voldemort. When I first went to Hogwarts, they expected me to be in Slytherin, seeing as every single family member in my line of heritage had been. It was a shock to them, therefore, when they were informed I had been sorted into Gryffindor. Our closest family friends were the Malfoy family, and my parents were close with Severus Snape. Both my parents loathed me, and I'm not lying. I hadn't spoken to them in months.

"Change of plans. We ain't taking this lot to the Ministry. Take 'em to the Manor." Scabior murmured to him gang, but still nose-to-nose with me, his eyes not leaving mine, his Cockney accent hitting every word.

Night fell, howling and fritghtening nighttime noises coming from the vacant forests around Malfoy Manor. Scabior had yet to release me from his clutch, his fingers curled around my neck. He towered over me in height, like boys sometimes do, and occasionally glanced my way as we walked in silence. The last thing I'd said to him was "I hate you". If I could turn back the hands of time, I never would have told him that. Because it was a lie.

The tall, hedge-rimmed walls of the long walkway to the gate of Malfoy Manor was surreal. Last summer I was spending my days here as a guest of Draco's, and now I was a prisoner here. The beautiful walkway now looked sullen and black-hearted. Times had changed.

Narcissa and Lucius Malfoy had been like second parents to me, Draco a friend and sometimes a crush. Bellatrix was always insane, but I saw her as an aunt-like figure, given I'd spent so much time around that house. Now all four of them were my enemies. It was like a slap in the face.

Scabior was walking faster than the others. His gang was way behind us with Hermione, Harry, and Ron in their clutches. They were so far away that it was hard to make out their faces. I glanced behind me to see them, but Scabior jerked my body aggressively. "Keep walking." He murmured, his eyes clearly reading frustration and sadness.

"You can stop this," I blurted at him, "You have the authority now. Just let us go and say we escaped, or ran, or something. Please, Scabior. You know you can stop this here, now." He stole a glance at me, but regained himself and kept walking, his eyes attempting to be steady, straightforward, and his walking rigid and strict, "No, I can't."

"Yes, you can." I felt the tears creep up somewhere behind my eyes. "Please, Scabior. You can't let this happen. Don't listen to Bellatrix, or Lucius Malfoy, or the Dark Lord. Or my parents."

He abruptly stopped walking, spinning around to look at me with frustration, "Sawyer, I'm a bounty hunter. I get assigned a target, I capture, I deliever. I get paid. That's how it works."

"No, this isn't like that." I attempted.

This made him snap.

"You bloody betrayed me." He yelled, lunging at me, our noses brushing again, his breath hot on my face. I glanced up in his eyes, trembling in fear and frustraion. He snapped, "You were weak. You refused to be by my side, and betrayed me and your family for them! The mudbloods, the half-bloods...the muggles." He spat the words with venom.

"Your parents begged me to go after you, to change your ways. To guide you, to protect you. To watch over you. So I went after you. And for what? To be told by you that you hate me, and you never want to see me again, replacing me with muggleborns and mudbloods? It's too late, Sawyer. Far too late. Once the faith is lost, everything else is lost." He snarled, our noses touching, our mouths two inches away from each other.

His British speech accented every word he spoke.

For my parents to beg Scabior was rare. They hated him before I became apart of Dumbledore's Army, but once I was on the other side of the war's frontline, they appreciated him and adored him. For their daughter to have fallen in love with the Ministry's best Snatcher and a Death Eater, they were pleased. But once they realized that I was on the frontline, they hated him less and hated me more.

"No," I said, feeling his hot breath on me, "It's never too late to change. I'm sorry, if I could take back everything I said to you...I would. You know I would. But times have changed, and so have I." His eyes flickered quickly, searching mine, another frustrated look on his handsomely rugged face, and a flash of heartbreak and anger surged in his greyish-green irises.

He gently, slowly reached out to me and his lips clashed with mine. I searched his eyes, then closed my own. He towered over me in height, so he arched his head down and the kiss deepened. His black-glove clad hand reached up and brushed the right side of my face, pushing a strand of straw-blond hair behind my ear. He kissed my bottom lip quietly, and the tears streaked down my cheeks, hitting our interlocked lips. The whole kiss feeling longer than it really was. The kiss felt ravenous, yet lonely. It filled me with nostalgia of better days with Scabior. He opened his eyes as he broke away, his eyes darting back and forth, looking into mine with something I sensed as heartbreak with anger, again. Against my better judgement, and I buried my face in his chest, my hot tears staining his black leather jacket.

"I love you." He murmured.

It was strange to hear him mutter that, seeing as that wasn't something he always rolled off his tongue. Anything he uttered usually was sarcastic, mean, and harsh insults, snarls and growls. Even if we were from seperate sides of the tracks, he still loved me.

Yet he had lost faith in me.

I trembled in Scabior's arms when I heard a heart-stoppingly loud rumble of thunder, a streak of lightening flashing across the night. It was then I noticed that we stood at the front gate of Malfoy Manor, the dark, black iron gates intimidating and tall. The edges were spiked and twisted and turned in different directions. We were there, facing my prison, ready to be judged by my enemies. He really was going to go through with this, no matter what happened between us.

"And I'm sorry, Sawyer. But this is the way it has to be."