A/N:

Rating: T (mild language/ mature themes)

Pairing: Scabior!Hermione

(thanks for reading!)

1.

Hermione

Her eyes watched the flames of the fire, licking and spitting against the thick twigs she'd gathered, and felt her mind beginning to wander. It wasn't very smart of her do this, and it was something she regularly tried to avoid while it was her turn to keep watch at night, but lately she just couldn't help it. Ever since Ron had left, Hermione found herself plagued with thoughts that revolved solely around him and him alone. She wondered where he was, how he was doing, and, more often than not, if he'd been captured by any snatchers. This one lead her to an even further disturbing question: was he still alive?

That particular night, Hermione was sitting cross-legged in front of the tent with her hands clasped together in her lap, thinking about the possibilities of Ron's capture, when she heard it: a crack, coming from somewhere deep in the forest that spread out in front of her. There had been a few false alarms before this, moments when the fire had made a noise that sounded like someone's footsteps crunching against the decaying leaves on the ground. But this time, Hermione was positive that it had not been the fire, and as soon as the noise reached her ears, she whipped her head to the side, eyes wide and heart hammering wildly against her ribcage.

She couldn't see very far into the trees that seemed to cluster together into a dark, mysterious heap, and this made her even more worried. Wand in hand, she got to her feet, and began towards the direction of the noise, her eyes darting around her. Each agonizing step seemed to echo, and despite her attempts to balance her weight on the balls of her feet, she still managed to crunch the leaves and break the deafening silence. She could hear herself breathing loudly as well.

A couple yards from the tent, Hermione stopped to listen again. The entire forest was quiet. Whatever had made the previous noise had either left, or stopped as well. She swallowed, feeling every muscle inside of her beginning to relax from the previous, tense coils they'd wound into. But that was when the heavy, thudding footsteps against the forest floor suddenly became apparent and this time, when she looked to the right of her, she could see the source of the noise.

It was Fenrir Greyback.

And he wasn't alone.

A group of three men were making their way down the dirty knoll, kicking aside leaves and twigs as they drew closer and closer to where Hermione stood. She felt her stomach beginning to church when she noticed that Fenrir and another snatcher were carrying limp bodies in their arms. Who were those people? And what had they done to end up where they were now?

A man walked past where she stood, so close that Hermione could have reached out and touched him. He was a taller man, with thick, dark brown hair loosely tied back. There was a streak of red throughout the locks, which her eyes were almost immediately drawn to. She looked at his face, his angular chin and furrowed eye brows that sent a dark shadow across his features, and then she took in the odd, plaid pants he wore and the leather jacket with a red band on the sleeve. He was a snatcher.

She'd never seen him before, although she wasn't one to brush shoulders with his kind regularly. He looked to be the leader of the three, just from his confident strut and the fact that he was the only one not carrying a body. He had an air of importance to him as well, one that she caught as soon as he walked past. Holding her breath, she waited, praying that they'd pass by quickly and she could return back to the tent to tell Harry.

"What's that?" the man stopped walking, causing Fenrir and the other to stop as well.

Never had Hermione ever doubted her own magic, but at that moment, she felt panic growing deep from inside of her as she thought about her enchantment. Could the man see her? The others didn't seem to, as they watched their leader with curious gazes, oblivious to what made him halt.

Eyes narrowed and wandering the length of the forest, the man slowly fell back a few steps, until he was standing right in front of Hermione. She inhaled sharply without thinking, but she'd been caught off guard by the accuracy of his steps. If he couldn't see her, how did he know where she was standing?

He was looking past her, one hand poised as he sniffed the air suspiciously. "What's that smell?"

So that was it. He could smell her.

Scabior

The scent seemed to come out of nowhere. It wasn't anything that could be produced from the forest, and it was so sweet that it made him immediately think of a woman, more specifically a young woman. But where was she? All that lay before him were trees, a dark night's sky, and two idiots who were looking around them for someone rather than the scent that had caught Scabior's attention. He felt like informing of this, but he was so intrigued and puzzled by the smell that he fell quiet, focusing only on finding out where it was coming from. All he'd done so far was narrow it down to one spot, but there was nothing there to give him any more hints.

His best guess was that it was perfume, which should have meant that the person possessing it had just passed through the woods before them. But that wasn't the case. This was an ongoing smell, one that had yet to fade with its lack of source. It was still right there in front of his face, and as he inhaled, it only grew stronger, and he knew he was in the right spot. But where was it coming from?

The more he inhaled, the dizzier with curious thoughts Scabior became. It had been so long since he'd smelled a woman's perfume, missing it from his years spent in Azkaban, and now that he was standing in the midst of a strong cloud, he found himself reluctant to move. Whoever was wearing that perfume was intriguing him, and he was now determined more than ever to find out just who exactly that was.

There was a loud thud from behind him, and he turned around to see that one of his companions, a man whose name he'd never actually learned, had dropped the woman he'd been carrying.

Scabior scowled at him. "What're y'doin'?"

"It's heavy."

All of the anger and frustration Scabior had kept inside of him from the mysterious scent made him seethe at the man, and walk towards him, momentarily forgetting about what had drawn him away. "Oh sorry! D'you want me to carry it?"

"Yeah."

"Don't be ridiculous! Pick it up!"

The man bent down and struggled to lift the woman back into his arms. As they continued on their way, Scabior fell back behind him and Fenrir, making sure to catch the entire trail of the perfume before it disappeared. As soon as it was gone from the air, he looked back over his shoulder, but could only see the same empty field he'd seen before. He wouldn't soon forget that scent, though. It was sure to stay with him, and now he was hunting more than just Harry Potter; he had to find that girl, too.