Your eyes fluttered open sometime later. The only reason you could be sure that time had passed was because the sky was now completely dark. The idea crossed your mind that everything had been a dream, that you had made it all up to keep yourself from getting bored on the walk home. But that didn't explain your current state. That's when the pain set in; a throbbing pain at the base of your neck behind your head. You tried to move your hands to inspect the area when you realized that they were bound together behind you between your back and that base of a tree. What happened? You thought hazily.

Flashback

You had wriggled free of your captor shortly after you crossed over the stream. If you don't do it now, you'll never do it. 'Don't let them take you to the second location' that's what everyone always says you thought frantically.

After staring at you for a long moment, he guided you as you walked, his hands firm on your lower back. It was uncomfortable but you knew that if you moved fast enough, you had a fighting chance. He didn't speak but you could feel his eyes on you, every inch of you as you walked. You thought about distracting him somehow but every idea seemed obvious. After finally taking a deep breath, you ripped yourself from his grip, sprinting hard toward the outskirts of the forest. You had thought for sure you had gotten a good head start on him when you felt the ground rip out from under you. You fell, face first, onto the wooded floor. But he wasn't anywhere near you – how had you fallen? You heard his footsteps nearing closer, branches snapping under his boots.

End Flashback

That was the last thought you remembered having before blacking out. He must have hit you, you thought painfully, your head still throbbing.

From where you sat, you couldn't see him and thought about trying to escape again but your body refused to move. You weren't alone for long – he emerged from the right, holding a long stick in his hand and what looked like a bottle in the other.

"Have a good sleep, beautiful?" he said nonchalantly, pointing the stick in his hand at the ground. You didn't plan on answering, but even if you did, it would have been cut short by the sparks that flew from the stick's end, igniting a fire five feet in front of you. Your eyes widened and for a moment, you considered that this was how he planned on killing you – live burning.

"How did you … ?" you breathed, more concerned with the inexplicable fire then anything else.

He looked at you for a moment, his face illuminated in the light of the fire. He was quiet and stepped in circles around the flame, as if he were debating something. You watched him carefully, having already underestimated him once.

"That, my lovely, is a story for another day." He took three long steps toward you before kneeling in front of you, tipping the bottle he was holding up, offering it to you.

"What is it?" you asked uncertainly. You were fairly positive it wasn't anything poisonous – he wouldn't dispose of you just yet, would he?

"Beggars can't be choosers – anyone ever tell you that? Tip your head back." He commanded and reluctantly, you did. He placed the bottle at your lips softly, more gently than you imagined. He poured some of the liquid into your mouth, waiting for you to swallow before giving you anymore. It was cold and sweet, almost like orange juice but not quiet the same flavor. At the quizzical look on your face, he simply said, "It's pumpkin juice, it won't kill you." Offering you more, which you accepted, you had a hard time accepting this man as the same one who promised to make you the victim of a homicide only hours ago.

Standing, he put the bottle into what you knew to be your satchel. From it, he pulled a newspaper and sat down a few feet away from you. He looked at the headlines intently, as if he were looking for something. Quickly flipping through the pages, you hardly had any time to read over any of the titles, though you did notice one thing – the pictures were moving. You blinked your eyes twice and wished you could wipe away the sleep from the corners of your eyes. You weren't imaging this – they were really moving.

The man caught sight of your bewilderment and watched you for a moment. His one knee drawn up to his chest, he rested his arm atop it, his eyebrows furrowed.

"You're a muggle aren't you?" he said slowly.

"A what?" you said after a moment, having to pull your eyes away from the photographs. "I don't understand."

"Of course you don't." He said, folding the paper and throwing it down. Running his hand across his face, he folded his arms across his chest.

"What does that mean?" you asked shaking your head.

"It means you're one of two things; either very valuable or very useless, depending on the circumstance." He said, biting his lip in thought before hopping to his feet. Grabbing you by the shoulders, he helped you up. After you were standing, he focused his eyes on you, inches from your face.

"You would be smart not to try running this time, eh?" he said, bringing his hand to the back of your head, applying pressure to the very sore spot. When you let out a painful squeal, you thought you saw him grin. "'S good to know we're on the same page."

Releasing you, he walked in circles around you, trying to judge what his next move should be. If you knew absolutely nothing, then Pius would have a much more pleasant time making an example out of you, though you wouldn't be worth much gold. If you knew even a little, you'd be a liability and Pius would have to give him something for you. And even then, your torment would be entertaining because then your begging would include promises not to tell anyone anything, which would of course be ignored. He tapped his chin in thought. Regardless, he would hang onto you for a few days before making any rash decision.

"You cold?" he asked thoughtfully, indicating the slight chill you had seemed to catch. The night air wasn't as windy but the temperature had dropped considerably. You didn't give him an answer but that didn't stop him from pulling his jacket off and draping it over your shoulders. Helping to you sit back down in your same spot, he surprisingly sat down beside you in close proximity. His jacket was warm and the scent of wood smoke clung to your body. His face was shadowed in the light but the blue of his eyes was still visible and almost enchanting.

"What's your name?" you asked before you had time to think about your question. It just slipped out but he didn't look surprised.

"Why do you want to know?" he said, taking his gloves off absently.

"Well, what am I supposed to call you?" you shrugged and he stopped.

It hadn't crossed his mind that you would want to address him at all. If anything, he thought, you should loathe him with every fiber of your being. The way he talked to you, treated you, hell, he physically abused you. He let his eyes rest on your face, the sweep of your eyelashes, the cupid's bow of your lips. He looked at you in the same way you had looked at him not so long ago. You thought you saw the corners of his lips turn up in a grin. It was the first time he genuinely felt endeared.

"You can call me Scabior." Was all he said before wrapping his arm around your back and pulling you in close. "Get some sleep, love." He whispered.

You were exhausted so you willingly closed your eyes. His body was warm and the sound of his heart and the crackling of the fire filled your ears. He wrapped his arms around you loosely, brushing your hair back. You couldn't be sure because the details were fuzzy, but you thought that you felt him kiss the top of your head before dozing off himself.

A/N; I didn't expect the overwhelming response that this story got - thank you all so much! I'm having a good bit of fun writing this and might have an additional chapter up tonight! Thank you so much for the reviews and feedback - it is greatly appreciated it!