"Scabs' poutin' again." Was the quiet, yet oh so loud murmur heard round the recently produced campfire.

The snatchers, masters in the art of the hunt, still had yet to understand the importance of subtlety outside of the job. Sure, he may deserve the jab if the childish scowl on his face had anything to say about it, but his men should know that he could hex them within an inch of their life for a comment like that. Instead he crossed his arms and glared at the campfire harder.

The flesh around his eye stung in a bitter reminder of the previous day. He was angry, furious even, and on top of it all he was sick and tired of explaining his black eye. Sure, he could have healed it with a swish of his wand or a stiff potion, but Scabior was a petty man and refused.

Leaning back onto his forearms from his seat on the floor, Scabior's eyes sought out the hulking figure of one Fenrir Greyback.

"Oi! Greyback, you know anything 'bout a Penelope Clearwater?"

Fenrir looked over at Scabior with a sneer and chucked the Ministry appointed list of names at him with a growl.

"Surly old dog," Scabior muttered, pulling out his wand. Tapping the cover, he stated the name in question and the book flipped open to a random page. The words bled onto the paper as well as a photo; a new development adapted from something out of Weasly's Wizard Wheezes of all places.

Penelope Clearwater

Blood Status: Halfblood

Location: Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

"Well that confirms what I already know," Scabior muttered to himself, "Now who are you really…"

His train of thought was interrupted by a few rowdy snatchers peering over Greyback's massive shoulders to look at something presumably filthy.

"Now that is one mudblood I wouldn't mind getting my hands a bit dirty for!" One of the younger snatchers exclaimed.

"I'd cut those hands off if you even got close enough. This little mudbloods going to be my prize after we finally snatch her and the Potter kid."

Curious (and a bit disappointed that someone hadn't come up with a slag mag), Scabior joined the small crowd to find them looking at a Daily Prophet. The title was a large, bold print questioning the whereabouts of the boy who lived to piss off one of the darkest wizards of all time. Really, what else is new?

But it wasn't the story that had caught their interest; it was the photo center-page. There, standing between the infamous Harry Potter and a ginger boy he assumed was a Weasley was the sweet smelling girl from the forest.

Two of the famed 'Golden Trio', Harry Potter and Hermione Granger, pictured, are assumed to be in hiding from the Dark Lord. Their third, Ronald Weasley is said to have come down with the highly contagious Spattergroit….

Hermione Granger. Her name was Hermione Granger.

Bloody hell, she was Hermione Granger! As in Harry Potter's best friend, Hermione Granger!

He gripped the book of names tightly in his hand and walked quickly to his tent. Pulling out his wand once more, he excitedly stated her name and watched as her lovely face appeared on one of the pages.

She was a bit younger than he thought, but no matter. The picture was one of her smiling, something he'd yet to see, and it was truly something to behold. The stressed, stern angles of her face had softened with joy and he vowed to himself that he'd someday see that in person. He had a lead now- her name- and he just knew they'd run into each other again. With a smirk, he leaned into his small cot and spent the night staring at the face of his not-so mystery girl.

Hermione Granger was having a bad day. Well, a bad couple of years really, but this day was particularly unenjoyable. She was in a right foul mood and she had no one to blame but herself.

What was she thinking, going so far into the forest like that? Bypassing the wards she herself had put up? Harry and Ron had a fit when she returned to the tent shaken, freezing, and empty-handed. She didn't tell them exactly what happened; just that she saw a snatcher. She didn't, however, inform them that the snatcher had seen her as well. They couldn't afford anymore worry and her wards were stronger than ever, so she kept her little terrifying adventure to herself.

She knew that anyone associated with you-know-who must be a bit messed up in the head, but this particular snatcher had been absolutely ludicrous! 'Just wanted to chat', as if! What kind of fool did he take her for? She hadn't earned the title of brightest witch of her age for nothing.

Still, she did notice that he seemed just a surprised to see her as she was to see him. He didn't seem to have been looking for her, even if they had crossed paths previously. She'd been a fool then as well, wearing that perfume.

The perfume had been a birthday gift from her parents, and wearing it helped alleviate the grief and homesickness. Not to mention it helped cover the smell that comes with camping and having to go days without even a quick bath.

She was broken out of her reverie by the sound of Ron and Harry bickering. This had become a usual occurrence these days, especially if it was Ron wearing the locket-turned-horcrux.

This time it was about food portions of all things. Really, Voldemort could be in the room with them and Ron would still be thinking with his stomach. She was going to let them hash it out themselves until she heard her name brought into the mix.

"Pardon me?" She inquired, noticing Harry eyeing Ron cautiously.

Ron's face matched his hair at this point and she was about to gently ask for the locket when he responded.

"We never have enough food! We need to start scavenging houses or something instead of starving ourselves!"

"Are you suggesting," she accused, "that we steal from people?"

"This is a war, Hermione, you can't afford to keep yourself on the moral pedestal. We'd be fine for the next few days if you'd actually found something yesterday!"

"How dare you, Ronald Weasley! I told you, there was nothing to find and I didn't want to stray too far and risk getting lost!" She had to remind herself over and over, like a mantra, that he was only saying such things because of the locket.

"Ron, maybe you-" Harry tried to interject, only to be cut off by a glare from Ron.

Hermione sighed deeply, running a hand through her dirty, tousled hair. "Ron, we're all stressed. It's okay to have a bit of a release every once in a while, but look at yourself. Please, please take off the locket."

With a final glare, he removed the locket and handed it to Harry. Hermione watched as the tension left his body as the dark magic was no longer affecting him. He looked up sheepishly and smiled at Harry and Hermione.

"Better?" Harry asked, slipping the horcrux around his neck.

"Loads. Sorry about that." They slipped into a casual conversation about when they'll next risk a hunt and Hermione sighed and threw herself into her cot. With a small ache in her belly and head full of worries, she fell into a deep sleep.