"It is easy to go down into Hell; night and day, the gates of dark Death stand wide; but to climb back again, to retrace one's steps to the upper air - there's the rub, the task." Virgil
Scabior sat on a stump in front of the dying fire. The other men lay scattered about on their bed rolls. Snoring, snorting, wheezing, murmuring. Bloody annoying is what it was. His cheek rested on his fist, and he picked up a stick to stoke the fire.
They had been on the move for two and a half weeks and hadn't caught a single person on the list. It was disheartening and, as she would put it, "infinitely frustrating." He liked succeeding, even if it meant using questionable tactics. But, because Raoghnailt was in the field with them, those methods had been hidden away.
He rolled his eyes as her name crossed his mind. It was bad luck to have a woman around, or so he figured. And she wasn't a Snatcher. She was an Auror. Lot of good that would do them. The only thing she had proved to be good for was getting them rooms in inns.
That's it.
Well, no. She also proved to be quite the distraction.
If he swaggered around the Ministry, she sauntered through the woods. Was it intentional? Probably. He couldn't be sure. Women were a mystery to him. Always had been, always would be.
He smirked.
There was just one thing a woman was good for and that was-
A pop, a snapping twig, and a quiet "Shit!" sent Scabior reaching for his wand. He quickly stood and cautiously stepped towards the edge of the clearing.
"Stupe-"
Without a word, his wand flew from his hand.
"Lumos."
She stood an arm's length from him, "What in the hell do you think you're doing?"
"Keepin' watch," he sneered.
She pushed passed him, murmuring "Nox."
"What?" he groaned, exasperated. "Wha've I done wrong now?"
"Next time, ask for identification."
"An' wha' if you was lying?"
As soon as he had said it, he knew it was stupid.
She turned and, even in the darkness, he could see the look of disbelief on her face, "Why in Merlin's name would I lie about who I am?" she spat.
"I... don't know," he answered lamely.
As soon as her back turned to him, he narrowed his eyes at her. Bloody woman.
"'Ey, wha're you-"
Raoghnailt proceeded to kick every man lying about with her perfectly polished brown, Italian leather boots. Several shot up, brandishing their wands. Others groaned and rolled over.
"Get up, you oafs," she barked.
"Why?" someone grumbled.
Scabior nodded in agreement, drawing himself up to his full height and crossing his arms over his chest defiantly. "Wha's got you so snippy this mornin'?"
She eyed him, "I've got a lead."
They crouched behind a fallen tree at the top of a hill, looking down on a small campsite. Nothing stirred. The sun had barely begun to rise. All in all, optimal conditions for snatching.
"You are absolutely certain about this?" Fenrir growled lowly.
"Yes, they'll be right down there. In the tent. In all likelihood, they'll make a run for it, but, as I've said, there are more of us and we are much faster."
"'Ow d'yeh know that?" Scabior whispered.
Her jaw set and her eyes narrowed at him. It was a look he was all too familiar with. "She's pregnant. You expect her to be a marathon sprinter or something? And I highly doubt her husband is just going to let her fall behind."
"What about the kids?" Fenrir asked. "They could make a run for it."
"You're going to tell me that three children, all under eight years old, can run faster than grown men?"
"Well, if they team up or-"
"Greyback?" she interrupted him.
"Yes?"
"Your outlandish stupidity never ceases to astound me."
Scabior sniggered, thoroughly amused by the exchange.
"Goes for you too, Scabior," she snapped, glaring at him.
"Wha've I done tha's stupid recently?"
She glared. "'Really fink you can run fast in them fancy boots, Raoghnailt? You should leave the runnin' to those who're fit 'a do so,'" she mocked quietly, her voice dropping to a lower register and taking on his affect.
He had to admit, she did a decent impersonation of him.
He shrugged, "I was genuinely concerned."
She rolled her eyes before glancing at her watch. "Three minutes," she whispered.
Scabior had made the mistake earlier of asking why she did everything according to a precise plan. Apparently, plans left less room for error. It was stupid, if you asked him. Without her around, he would've marched into that little encampment by now and bound everyone up.
Done. Easy. No plan, no hassle.
"C'mon," she hissed, standing and straightening her jacket as the sky began to grow lighter. Fenrir and Scabior followed suit, though neither made any adjustments to their appearances.
Below, the tent flap opened and out walked a sandy-haired man holding a small frying pan. Scabior couldn't help but smirk knowing that this fellow had absolutely no idea what was about to happen to him, what hid amongst the trees. He could feel the adrenaline finally kicking in. The thrill of the hunt, and it all came down to these next few moments.
He was delighted.
Raoghnailt took a deep, shaky breath beside him. He glanced down at her for a moment.
"Nervous?" he asked. A child bounded out of the tent, followed by another. A woman, the man's pregnant wife, slowly stretched before joining her husband by the small fire.
Raoghnailt let out a huff, a small smile on her lips, "Not really. I've done this before."
Fenrir had already started down the hillside. "Could've fooled me," he said casually, following suit. He could feel her hurrying after him.
"I caught you, didn't I?" she hissed.
He couldn't help but smile wickedly, "Took you long enough, though."
She grumbled something just as they entered the clearing.
"Well, well, well," Scabior began, his eyes flicking towards the various other Snatchers surrounding the site. "I do believe, Mis'er and Missus Fenwick, yer runnin' from the law."
A third child crawled out from the tent. Mrs Fenwick quickly scooped the girl up and held her to her chest. Mr Fenwick stood protectively in front of his wife and children, slowly drawing his wand. He whispered something to a nodding and frightened Mrs Fenwick.
"You don't want to be doing that," Raoghnailt said, an edge in her voice that he had never heard before.
"Run!" Charles Fenwick bellowed.
"Expelliarmus!"
The two oldest children ran in different directions. Mrs Fenwick, kid still in her arms, bolted to her left.
Scabior turned to Roaghnailt who caught Fenwick's wand. Another Snatcher had him bound up quickly and looked down at the now shaking man menacingly.
"I though' you said she wouldn't run!" Scabior barked at her.
She shot him a glare as she pocketed the wand and set off at a sprint up the hill, after one of the kids. Scabior turned, joined by Fenrir and another Snatcher named Domitian, to chase down Mrs Fenwick. They dodged around trees, jumped over stumps and roots, and Scabior could see her dark red robes ahead of them.
"Split up," he barked.
They effectively cornered her within minutes. Her back was pressed against a tree trunk, and the young girl in her arms was wailing.
A wicked grin tugged at his mouth.
"Please, please," Mrs Fenwick begged through tears, "don't do this!"
Scabior drew his wand, "Incarcerous."
They arrived back at the campsite, Scabior dragging the woman after him by the back of her robes. She had been sobbing the entire time, the little girl continued to bawl, and he was absolutely pissed. He unceremoniously let go of her robes when he reached Mr Fenwick, Fenwick Junior, and the rest of the Snatchers.
He looked around, "Where's Scrimgeour?"
He noticed Mr Fenwick's eyes widened at the name.
"She's off gettin' the last one."
Scabior turned to Fenrir, "Go find 'er."
Fenrir nodded before setting off at a light jog. He stopped, though, when Raoghnailt stepped through the tree line, her hair loosely hanging around her face, her boots covered in dirt, and a small boy, bound up, struggling next to her.
She let go of the boy next to his mother and other siblings. She pat down Mrs Fenwick, finding her wand tucked away inside of her robes, before standing.
"To the Ministry, then?"
After having delivered the Fenwick family to Yaxley, leaving the five of them in his custody for questioning, the Snatchers apparated to their campsite outside of Cheltenham. A fire had been started already by the time Scabior landed near a tree, and the smell and sound of sizzling meat made his stomach groan.
He surveyed the group, smiles on all their faces, delighted at the new provisions provided by the generous Fenwick family. A meal well-deserved.
A stomping sound brought him from his reverie.
He turned to see Raoghnailt scraping the foot of her boot on a rock. With one particularly violent scrape, she nearly lost her balance.
Amused, Scabior approached her.
"Stupid, little twat," she grumbled to no one in particular.
"Wha're you talkin' about me for?" he asked jokingly as he came up beside her.
"Not you," she snapped. "That stupid little boy."
He raised an eyebrow. Never thought he would hear that from her.
"Tell ya what, we'll get you a new pair o' boots next time the job takes us to It'ly, 'ow's that?"
She turned to face him fully, looking a bit wild. "Ha, ha," she said sarcastically.
He looked at her forehead and reached forward, running his thumb along a bleeding and dirty gash above her eyebrow. He hadn't noticed it before. "What's this?"
She winced, "The boy threw a rock at me. He had better aim than I expected."
"Hm."
Scabior promptly left and rummaged through Fenrir's knapsack, pulling out a bottle. He returned to Raoghnailt, who had started scraping clean her other boot, with a bunched up scarf that smelled strongly of Firewhiskey.
"C'me 'ere," he said. She turned and studied him, her brows knit. Before she had a chance to duck away, he had slipped one hand around the back of her neck and pressed the wet scarf to the injury with the other.
She immediately hissed and started struggling, "That bloody hurts!"
He rolled his eyes, and she gave up her struggle. He kept his eyes on the wound, though Scabior could feel hers studying his face. He pulled her a little closer, though it was entirely unnecessary, finding that he liked whatever feeling this was giving him. He figured he was probably just horny.
When he had finished cleaning the wound, he slowly released her.
She looked up at him, taking a step back, "I, er... Thanks."
He stared at her for a moment before leaving her to return to her boots.
I wanted to post this sooner, but the site decided to be a bitch... Anyway, JK Rowling owns the HP Universe, I own that which you do not recognize from it. So what did you think of the action? Please be ever so kind and leave me a review! Yours.