Special thanks to scabiorxxx and BlueNeutrino for the reviews, and anyone who put it on alert or their faves list.
Like I said, I'll put a new one up every few days. I work Friday nights and Saturdays now (closing shift and then back at 8:50AM and staying until 5:00), so I figure I'll put this up before I have to pull two days of not really being online.
She woke, feeling extremely gritty despite having taken that swim. Her body was stiff, uncooperative. And she had a headache and growling stomach to boot. It was like a knife was being pushed behind her eyes, sweet Merlin. Dehydration was likely as well, they had been running low on water and rationed it accordingly.
She couldn't go back. She was on the other side of the river, for starters. And they'd expect it. Auror training was kicking in. Survival. Water and food. Take in your surroundings, remember where you were. These thoughts were accompanied by the line that had been drilled into their brains when Moody was training them for a time: constant vigilance.
She supposed she could get some water from the river. As for food…it was still the time when nothing was really growing. Fish were a rare sight, but maybe some were heading upstream.
She'd figure it out. Maybe Apparate away, even. But without supplies, without money or something to put nabbed food into, and with people realizing she's hoofing it for a reason…they'd figure it out too. Her clothes were filthy from her trip into the part of the river that was churning silt and snow, and she looked every bit like a runaway.
Riley crawled out, stretched, and headed for the river for water. It might not be perfectly clean (it ran clear down here at least, for which she was thankful), but it was water nonetheless. No time to care about that stuff called 'bacteria'.
The sun grew high in the sky, and she shed her coat some time later, tying it around her waist. She scavenged, digging up roots, following hoof-prints of deer. She spotted a rabbit, but it was too quick for her. Where there's other life, there's food.
She found little. The roots weren't much, but she could trick herself if she chewed long enough as she walked and followed the river. Had she excelled in cooking spells or transfiguring food from inedible to edible, she would probably have better luck.
It was a stupid idea, really, to keep moving. But so was staying in one place. If there was a chance of not sleeping in a log, she'd take it…
Some days later, after suffering through a growling stomach that never ceased, she stumbled across a fallen tree that created a make-shift bridge. The roots stood high in the air; it wasn't a forced fall, no one had caused the tree to fall in order to cross on purpose. Time had taken its toll and the tree could no longer stand.
If it got her across the river, she really didn't care whether it was forced down or not.
She hopped off the trunk, leaves and twigs crunching under her feet. Riley paused, waiting for a moment. Another rabbit scurried away. Nothing else.
She looked to her right, up an incline. Was that…a tent…? Surely…if it was a Snatcher camp, they weren't completely dim. They would have enchantments. She wouldn't be able to see it if it was a Snatcher camp. Maybe it was just some Muggles, camping early. It was the late afternoon, hardly strange to pitch camp at such a time.
Unless someone never finished the wards, leaving the back of the tent exposed. Snatchers might be dim enough to do that.
Riley pushed herself, trudging up the hill. She knew if that camp held Snatchers that hadn't left, she was doomed. Desperation made people do stupid things, and she guessed this was one of them.
There was a single man, sitting hunched over on a log by the embers of a dying fire. He held a metal cup, steaming. Coffee. Ooh, sweet coffee. Caffeine. Sugar. Bitter warmth.
She silently pulled out her wand, muttering Stupefy under her breath. He fell over with a thud. No one else came outside. They left a single person in charge of the camp. So, no prisoners. They either killed Martin or took him to Hogwarts. They hadn't found the others. Good.
Helping herself to some coffee, she sipped the bitter liquid as she rummaged through their wares. She recognized a few of the parcels, as they were taken from her camp. That meant…she dug through a sack and found an apple. Yes, she had risked her neck for these in the nearby market in the village. She bit into the fruit, the skin snapping and crunching under her teeth. It awoke the hunger that she had been ignoring, but knew if she ate too much, she'd simply get sick.
Riley now took the time to look at the stunned man on the forest floor. He was one of the men who shrank into the background that night. Yes. This was the camp with Fenrir, and that strange man with the plaid pants. He was in charge. Rumors gave him a name…what was it…Scabior? Yes. The man with a nose for tracking.
Tracking.
Scent.
Her scarf.
She peered into the largest tent, or so it seemed by outside appearance since she knew they had to be bigger inside. She found a cot to the back on a raised level, a sectioned-off half-lavatory (no shower or tub), a second cot to her left, and a small table on her right with papers, a lamp, and a discarded tea cup. Relatively neat for a Snatcher. No visible scarf. And she wasn't about to go looking for it, in case he noticed someone went through his things. If she wanted her mother's scarf back, she'd have to ask the man in charge himself.
Riley shook her head. She went from worrying about food to wanting her scarf back. Priorities. Holding sentimental objects over food. That scarf got her through a lot of emotional bullshit, but it certainly never saved her from starving. The desire to have what was hers back outweighed the desire to escape; she had food for a moment, and if this was the right camp, she'd be able to get it back. Maybe.
If she wanted her scarf, she'd just have to stay and wait for them. That meant potentially running again or being caught and becoming a prisoner. Or being handed to the Ministry.
She wouldn't get off easy, considering she ran from her post because of a conflict of ideals. Branded a blood-traitor. She couldn't go back.
But if she left, she'd lose the one thing that reminded her of a woman that was a mother, not a shell of a human. Something from before all of this bullshit. Something that reminded her that everything might work out, and that maybe Potter was their only hope.
She nabbed herself another apple and sat down on a log. Fine. She'd wait.
Scabior glowered, clearly frustrated. They had just gotten the gold for turning in that runaway student, the price being far lowered than he expected. That pink lady refused to give him more gold, and he had to haggle and accept a compromised amount because the fighting would only increase his chances of losing his position as leader. And there was no way in hell he'd take orders from Greyback.
They had to move on. No use staying where no one was. At least they could survive a bit on the food they took, because they were all low on gold and couldn't buy much of anything.
He pulled out a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, tipping it upside down and tapping it once or twice. He took a loosened one with his mouth, and shoved the pack in his pocket again. A box of matches followed; he found something satisfying about using a source of fire-starting rather than his wand. There was something different about using a match or a lighter, the effort needed to light it making the cigarette a little more worth it.
He blew smoke out of his nose, something he probably shouldn't do if he wanted to keep his good sense of smell.
They came upon their camp, with Erikson no-where in sight. In his place…a girl. She wasn't bound, she wasn't scared. Her legs were crossed, and her grey eyes locked on him as she bit into an apple. She clearly hadn't been sleeping right, light rings sitting under her eyes.
"An' 'ow did you get here, beautiful?" Scabior narrows his eyes, taking a drag of the cigarette.
"Someone didn't finish the wards. I saw the tent from the river." She had to have been with that group. She wasn't nervous, wasn't wondering why three man were pointing wands at her, a fourth drooling over a possible meal.
"Where's Erikson?"
"Knocked out. I slipped him into that tent." She pointed to the one she had pulled the heavy man into.
"Sweetheart, you do know who you're messin' wit', right? That apple you 'old, that's not yours."
"I wasn't aware morals were upheld by such outstanding members of society who are sent out to hunt down those the Ministry wants for questioning…the dirty work."
Shit, when had she gotten so snarky? Was it the conditions setting in? She was grumpy when she didn't eat, and she was far from satisfied with only the two apples. Or was she seriously letting go of the months of anger that sat in her stomach like lead?
He stared at her, anger written in his features. He finished the cigarette, and strode over to her, picking her up by her jacket, lifting her off the ground. His breath was hot on her face, and she could smell the tobacco, the campfire, coffee and a bit of alcohol. She stared right back into his eyes, grey locking onto blue again.
He was handsome, in a strange way. His hair was barely restrained by a single ribbon, a streak of red to match the band on his arm. Handsome and dangerous.
Or maybe that was the lack of human interaction talking.
"What's your name, beautiful?"
"Riley Trescott. Half-blood."
He took her chin between his thumb and forefinger, pulling her head to view her profile. He had seen her before…
"Says she's wanted for skipping her guard post at the Department of Mysteries, Scabior. Gone AWOL. Decent amount of galleons on her head…must be a blood-traitor, then..." Someone had checked the book of names.
"Well, well. You made a big mistake coming here, Riley…" Scabior nuzzled just below her ear. He remembered her now. She did speak out against the Ministry's ideals, refusing her orders when they conflicted her personal morals. Her mother was a Mudblood, something she was proud of. But fear had sent her out here, living with others.
"I lost a scarf, when I was running," she murmured. "Was it found?"
He pulled away from her neck, raising an eyebrow at her. "You're potentially goin' to be turned over to Dementors, an' you're worried about a scarf, love?"
"It's…the last thing I've got of my home. Before all this shit. I just wanted to know…"
He placed her atop the log, motioning her to stand there and do nothing stupid. Scabior pulled out a scarf, the pattern distinct to her. She nodded.
"You're in a bad position. We can 'and you over for a good amount of galleons. We could keep you prisoner. We could get it over wit' an' just kill you. I can give you to Greyback. You're an Auror. You know 'ow to bargain." He cocked his head to the side, waiting.
"Well, what do you want?"
"A great many things, love."
His hands crept to her hips, slipping his hands just under her shirt, sitting against the bare flesh of where her waist curved in. She flinched; his hands were cold.
"Share my bed." His nose went back to the spot under her ear. "Are you untouched?" A murmur, although their proximity didn't seem to bother the others in the slightest so had he said it louder, they might have simply laughed.
"Yes." She whispered.
A deep chuckle, lips meeting her skin. She shivered.
"I repeat: share my bed. Let me give you somethin' to remember. Shame to let you potentially die a virgin. And you'll get your scarf, and your freedom."
It wasn't like she had been saving herself; she had just never bothered to find someone. She was trying to survive; sex had been the last thing from her mind. An hour or so with this man would earn her what she wanted. It helped that he was good-looking, she had to admit. The promise of a bed helped too, assuming he didn't throw her out of the camp when he was done.
"Yes."
As soon as said the words, his lips crashed upon hers. Not urgent, not demanding, but not gentle. Simply dominating. He pulled away, leaving her to lean in slightly. He smirked, her carnal hunger catching up with her.
He put to hands on her waist and lifted her off of the log to beside him. He slipped one arm around her waist, holding her to him, and took her hand with his other. He was making it known that no one should touch her but him, should the men get any ideas. She was eager, but there was no mistaking the sudden fear in her eyes. He'd take her out of prying eyes and ears, out of the vicinity of Greyback.
"Get movin', you lot. You're Snatchers, aren't you? Someone wake up Erikson and take 'is post. Do not disturb me, unless you find the bloody Chosen One…"
