With a sigh he lies down on his bed and stares at the flickering spots of light, projected on the canvas by the wafting flames in the lamps. Across from him Michael is sitting on the edge of his, lazily waving his wand about , toying with a mouse suspended in mid-air. He makes it do tricks, changes its colour, enlarges it, and finally gives the Cruciatus curse a go. Loud screeching penetrates the silence and Scabior sits up straight.

"Stop that," he snarls. Michael, avoiding his gaze, shrugs, and continues to torture the mouse. Scabior's eyes narrow; evidently he is doing it just for the sake of annoying him. Spending week after week shacking up with the same three guys has taken its toll on his nerves. He draws his own wand and kills the mouse off, briefly lighting up the tent with a green flash. Michael glares at him, heaves an annoyed sigh and lies down to stare into nothingness.

Scabior flips onto his stomach, resting his chin on his crossed arms, and closes his eyes. He thinks of the girl, thinks of her eyes, her hair, her wavering voice, her flowery perfume which he caught a whiff of as he bore down upon her. He is most certainly infatuated, and he curses himself for it. If only there was a way to make her feel the same.

A thought strikes him and he opens his eyes.

He walks slowly towards the tent, inadvertently running his hands through his hair. The captives' tent is completely silent, but he sees shadows moving on the canvas. A knot seems to form in his stomach and he quickens his pace. He parts the canvas with vehemence and sees Greyback's back, his hand clasped over the girl's mouth.

"What the hell is going on?" he says slowly, though the scene unfolding in front of him tells him all that he needs to know. Greyback's assault triggers something in Scabior. As his eyes dart back and forth between Greyback's contorted sorry-mate-you-know-how-I-get-grin and the girl's expression of blank terror, he decides then and there that he wants her for himself. Inexplicably, illogically, she has made her way into his constant thoughts, just now as he was lying in his tent unable to sleep. She's lovely and she smells wonderful and he found her first. He curses Greyback, for taking liberties with a girl that means nothing to him. Finders keepers!

Scabior crosses his arms and looks at the pair, the werewolf still holding her in a tight grip. "I thought you said we'd deal with her tomorrow?" he says, curling his lip. Greyback's eyes narrow, as though he's betrayed him.

"Yes," he replies slowly. They stare at each other in silence.

"Leave the girl alone," Scabior says, eventually. Greyback lets out a short, derisive laugh.

"Don't think you can tell me what to do."

"We have a job to do," replies Scabior sharply. "Now let her go or I will fish yer spine out of your arsehole and show it to you!"

Greyback looks at her face, licking his lips, then resentfully at Scabior. But he gets to his feet, releasing his grip on the girl, and she gasps in relief.

The werewolf being bigger and most of all stronger than himself, he cannot help but gulp slightly as Greyback stands up and walks toward him. Scabior remains fixed to his spot by the opening, and when Greyback passes by him on his way out, calmly looks him in the eye without saying anything. The werewolf bares his teeth for a second, then disappears. Scabior watches his retreating back, inwardly proud of the power he has over his intimidating colleague, then strolls further into the tent and takes a seat.

With every step he takes she moves further away from him, curling up in a corner of the tent. He sighs.

"I'm not going to hurt you." She mistrusts us all now, he thinks, Greyback has ruined everything.

She gives a derisive snort and rests her forehead on her knees. When she looks up again, after a slong silence, he sees tear tracks on her cheeks glistening in the lamplight.

Scabior contemplates her, this tear-eyed beauty, so close and yet so far. He feels a sharp pang of loneliness and wishes he could protect her and keep her for himself, always.

Wake up, you idiot. You have a job to do, remember?

Offer her a drink spiked with Veritaserum, he can always do that. Quick, easy and successful. He'd know her real identity within seconds.

But does he want to?

He gets up without a word, goes to collect a cup of water and returns to the tent. He puts the cup on the table, then sits back down again. She stares at it with suspicion.

"Drink it," he urges, with a gentle smile. She snorts again.

"I'm not thick. You've put something in that."

He shrugs. "Suit yourself." He departs, making sure to leave a gap of a few inches in the tent opening. He doesn't return to his tent, but hangs about the campsite, going back every few minutes to see what she's doing. She is standing by the table, holding the cup to her nose and sniffing it gingerly. He smiles to himself. She swallows, he sees, with difficulty; she is thirsty. But she does not drink it. She picks it up and pours the contents on the floor, but the minute she puts it back the cup refills itself. Scabior grins at her frustrated expression. She bites her lip, then folds her arms and sits down in the corner again.

He rolls his eyes, points his wand and whispers, "Imperio!" Under his command she instantly empties the cup. He makes her sit on her chair again. He is so very tempted to keep her this way, so lovely and obedient... but there would be no fun in it, he decides. He lifts the curse, tucks his wand away and goes in.