Author's Note: I am most humbled by the feedback and attention this story has been getting! I hope I don't mess anything up!

Thank you to AshTonks for giving me her opinion of this chapter. Thank you to spaceagesuffragette for the advice as well! I'll be keeping it in mind.

Anyway, hope I don't disappoint with this chapter. I wrote it at work (usually working in a library is pretty busy - but today was like a ghost town - what?).

Some things about this particular chapter:

1) The primary focus for this chapter is background on Scabior. His role in this story, motivations, etc. So it will probably be a bit weird?

2) Hope the terms of this arrangement aren't too far out there! But this is how I envisioned them (is envisioned a good word?) I also wanted to give it more of twist. Hopefully this wasn't too far out. I always seem to overdo things. I've been reading too much horror/sci-fi stuff again I think, like Souless or Godchild, as well as listening to far too much Abney Park and Voltaire.

3) Other than the first two, I don't want to say anymore for fear it will ruin everything. Well, except for him smoking. An author I like on deviantart was the first person I've read that featured it; though I can totally see him doing it. Please enjoy! Remember critique not flames. There is a difference. Only you can prevent forest fires!

Alright, enough of me.

Warnings for this chapter: Mentions of murder? Fenrir? Blood? I didn't want to get super graphic like I tend to do...

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or its associated characters. I do not own the title of the fic. No money is made from this.

Chapter Two: The Empty Man

For Scabior, life wasn't a big deal. It wasn't the best deal ever, but it surely wasn't a big one either.

He just couldn't see what all the fuss was about to excel at something you hated. So he didn't. Life was short. You had to keep moving to get what you wanted out of it.

He lit a cigarette, one of the last few in his pack, taking a long drag before watching the smoke from his mouth curl into the air. There was something so marvelously sensual about the way it wound through the morning chill, like a womanly fog.

These quiet moments alone were some of his favorite. He could be nothing, just part of the background; he was nothing special, just another tick in the clock of the universe.

Until that precious silence was broken by the muffled scream of his young captive.

"Love, I've told you before," he sighed turning his heavy gaze on her, "and I won't say it again. Be quiet." Scabior had perfected his special brand of fear over the years with his gift. He never had to raise his voice, make any frightening gestures, or even change his deadpan expression.

Everything conscious or otherwise reflected in his eyes. It was both a blessing and a curse. He had read it once, in one of those posh books, about the eyes being the window to the soul, or was it the heart, or even the stomach?

It would be nice to have a window to the heart and soul, he mused as he continued smoking and ignoring the frightened young woman at his feet, if he had a heart and soul.

Sure his present emotions were quite visible, sometimes his desires, but his morals? No, he didn't have any lasting ones. He just did the things that suited him at the moment. Everything inside were like butterflies, flitting in and out as they chose. Being fond of things was not the same thing as loving them.

You liked something for a time, until something else took over; a new obsession.

But that would change once his deal with the devil was complete.

It was taking forever to fill his part of the bargain though, because of the way he was built. If he felt like working on the curse, then he did. If he didn't, then he didn't. Often times though, it was hard to find the specific girls needed. Sometimes, he couldn't get the particular one he needed,, so he had to wait on a replacement.

Scabior had taken years trying to pick the right ingredients for the mix, he just needed one more.

His heavy burden had started with his birth, his father making a deal with the devil to marry Scabior's mother. Because his father was cunning, a selfish, brute, instead of selling his own soul, he had promised his first born son's heart as payment. The devil hadn't been picky; he probably had a loophole ready for him later.

While Scabior had a physical heart, he was missing the heart and soul function. He couldn't put his heart into anything, because his heart didn't exist. He wasn't capable of true or lasting love. He only liked things. His sense of right or wrong was also skewered because of this.

What an unhappy childhood it had been. When he wasn't in trouble, he was alone, because no one could stand to be around him, even his parents.

Though at first, Scabior didn't notice he was missing something. He couldn't control his impulses well and after a time, he stopped trying. But as he grew older, a great hole tore open somewhere inside of him. What had seemed like a good thing was quickly turning sour.

And so Scabior made his own deal with the devil. If his father could, then there was no reason he couldn't too. Surprisingly, the devil wasn't that hard to contact. Scabior figured it was because his family already had an account with him. In fact, it was more like the devil had come to him instead.

Only the devil didn't want Scabior's help in securing the soul that should have been promised to him the first time. Instead, he wanted a different payment.

"A good heart is made up of different qualities," he had instructed Scabior. "Things that you're lacking." Scabior just shrugged. "Kindness, selflessness, dedication, that sort of rubbish." Scabior sometimes liked those things; he nodded.

"And what has that got to do with me exactly?"

"You'll need those things for a proper heart." So the devil provided Scabior with his own special recipe. "You'll collect the hearts of girls that embody these qualities. I'll even make it easy for you," he had smiled. "The girls will smell and look a little different from all the others." Everyone thought the devil was an ugly son of a gun, but when he smiled, it was hard to see the harm.

"I know you've got a catch," Scabior warned. "There's always a catch." He wasn't going to let the devil outsmart him.

"You're clever aren't you? The catch is that the hearts must be, let's say, stolen." In other words, not freely given. Scabior could steal things. That was something he usually liked. It had to be the literal hearts, just like in a real potion. Nothing else would suffice. They had to be kept in one giant jar too, all proper. When he had x number of qualities, then he would have his own heart and soul. "Since you're not capable of real love, I don't have to worry about you giving your heart away," the devil had laughed.

"Then you have yourself a deal," Scabior smiled. The devil handed him the list of qualities and the special jar after he had signed a contract in blood. Everything seemed proper enough, like those old timey movies and stories.

All of this leading up to the woman lying at his feet that cold winter morning. She was just quality number whatever, in a long and bloody history. There had been others like her over the years.

He knelt down, studying her terrified features in the pale dawn light, blowing smoke in her direction.

She had been crying, her eyes swollen and red, and her nose running. That was quite unattractive. Scabior never cried. It came with emotions he didn't like, so it never happened. Her clear green eyes reflected him in them.

Scabior wasn't fond of catching the girls for the deed; he had accomplices like Fenrir to do that instead. Fenrir Greyback was watching the proceedings with more amusement than most people would have been comfortable with; He especially liked the scent of blood and fear.

Fenrir had a nasty habit of killing people and eating them; Scabior had witnessed one of his more interesting attacks and saw the potential in the huge, beastly man. They formed a sort of partnership.

Once Scabior managed to build a relationship with the girls, which usually took quite a bit of time, Fenrir would kidnap them. After that, Scabior snatched only the heart and left the rest for Fenrir to enjoy. It was gory, but useful. Other than that, Scabior found Fenrir to be somewhat useless.

The papers and news would wonder where the girls had gone. If forensics found enough left of the girls to identify, they couldn't pin down a suspect based on that evidence alone.

Scabior's victims were so spread out, careful that he couldn't even earn a good nickname from the press, which he would have liked. They always seemed to have the cleverest titles.

He wasn't actually fond of the killing itself, he did like the sense of completion it brought. Killing was too messy.

This particular girl had not been as hard to catch as some of the others. She had fallen for him quite easily. Scabior figured it had something to do with the piece of heart she embodied. It had been great fun playing with her until she fell for him. Good times. She wasn't all that bad to look at. Sort of an average girl by any standards. She smelled wonderful though. He would miss that scent when she died.

"I'm sorry love," Scabior told the present girl as he readied his tools, stubbing the cigarette out with a boot. The sparkling of the stainless steel, the smell of antiseptic used to clean them always called to him on some primal level. Her eyes flashed as hot new tears rolled down her pale cheeks. Scabior pulled the gag from her mouth delighting in the soft whimpers and pleas that tumbled off her lips.

At the first rush of blood, she began screaming with animal abandon, trying to fight free of her bonds. They always screamed in the end. With their remote location of Fenrir's choosing, she could scream all she wanted and no one would hear her. He kept going.

"Just a little more now," Scabior admonished her, as he would a child, his voice frightfully soft. "And then it will all be over."

Fenrir was working himself up into a frenzy and the sun was beginning to wash the land quite well when Scabior finally finished. He had abandoned his usual mismatched outfit for one that could be bloodied and disposed of later in a fire. He was blood-soaked, as he wasn't a surgeon and couldn't be as careful, but his cigarettes were still dry.
He pulled one out and lit up.

The woman's heart floated in the jar among the others now, like a morbid type of jam. He pulled the list from the back pocket of his pants, where it had been tucked in with his smokes and used the woman's own blood to cross her dominating characteristic off. Just one more.

He cleaned himself off as best as he could, being careful to change the worst of his clothes, so that no one would be suspicious on his way back into the city.

"See you around Fenrir. You know what to do." With that, he gathered his things, still puffing away, and headed back for the transportation to his flat, swaggering all the way.

It wasn't the worst place his could live; the place wasn't a complete shit hole. He earned his keep by flogging things he stole, if that was what he liked doing at the time. Sometimes, he helped gangs find their missing men, or even helped lose them if the mood struck him. That was pretty good money as well a bit of fun; like a dark bounty hunter.

Tomorrow he would resume the hunt for the last girl. Tonight he would treat himself to the pub.

But he never expected to find the last girl he needed in the pub.

Scabior could smell her, time she came in the door. He watched, with hooded eyes, as she tried to fight her way through the crowd to the people she was supposed to be meeting. He knew the bunch of red heads she sat with by reputation only. The one she had been sitting beside slouched up to the bar for drinks.

"Oy, Bill!" Red called across the dingy counter. It was pretty obvious they were related. Scabior sipped his pint quietly and watched.

"What Ron? I'm Ron. I'm busy," the bartender shot back.

"So am I. I've got a date."

"Bout time. What do you need?"

"She just wants water. Give me my usual too." The man obliged him as quickly as he could. Scabior could sympathize with her already; the brew here tasted like piss. He did, however, file the information away that she wasn't drinking this night. It wouldn't hurt to irritate her by asking if she wanted a drink, provided he got the chance. It would make him stand out more in her memory.

He continued watching her from the bar as best he could, even as her night out came tumbling around her ears.

With her scent, he would be able to track her all over the city within a certain time frame. However, it wouldn't hurt to work and play. Scabior decided he would at least make contact with her; establish some sort of existence in her life.

So he confronted her as she was leaving. He didn't believe in fate. He was sure the devil had some manipulation working, otherwise how else would he explain her bumping head first into him?

Intelligent.

The word first came to mind as she tried to get away from him. His blood boiled with the chase though. The last girl. The one he had been searching his whole life for! He would savor the experience.

After she left through the door, Scabior returned to his drink. No sense in leaving it untouched after he had paid for it. He also needed to give her enough of a head start that she wouldn't notice him.

He slunk through the shadows, trailing after the delicious sent that permeated his nasal passages. She was a university student then, he realized as crossed onto the campus boundaries. This was a posh place, not that he knew much about universities. Scabior could tell this was quality though. He continued as far as her dorm.

A challenge then. They were from completely different parts of society.

Scabior wasn't much on book learning himself; part of his curse he figured. Life had to be experienced. You couldn't do that with books.

His prey was close by, a plus. Now he would just have to reel her in. His favorite part. In the place where he felt his soul would have rested however, he felt a strange fleeting twinge. Scabior chalked it up to indigestion from that awful stuff that passed as beer and continued back to his flat.

Sometimes he wondered how he would change once he had his heart and soul. But it was hard to imagine since he had been born without, so he didn't try often.

Author's Note: Too over the top perhaps? A penny for your thoughts?