They were good apart but together they were brilliant. They could earn as much as 500 galleons for one capture, depending on the blood purity. When they told Him about their idea, He was impressed, something they did not expect. He formulated a team of them - Snatchers - and they scoured the towns, the cities, the hillsides, but Scabior and Nero preferred the woods. There was room to run, room to think. Scabior wasn't particularly fond of their newfound profession but it was growing on him. With each capture, he became a little more aggressive. Nero tried to keep him in check once or twice but the power was getting to him. The people he was stumbling upon were becoming less like humans and more like animals, and he saw fit to treat them as such. He degraded them, screamed at them, used his most brutal spells on them. And he found that he liked it.

But late at night when Nero stoked the fire, Scabior would let out a sigh and wish he had been a little more humane. He shouldn't have hit them so hard, used that particular spell on them, etcetera. Nero was civil about his feats. He'd round them up, bound their wrists and apparte them where they needed to be. Once he even obliterated a woman's memory so when she was killed, she wouldn't know what it was she would be missing. But Scabior took it to another level, day by day. He figured that it was enough for him to regret some it, but he never changed his behavior. It was becoming easier and easier to shrug it off.

"When do you think this will all be over?" Nero asked absently, lying on his back, his hands tucked behind his head.

"What do you mean?" Scabior asked, truly puzzled by his brother's inquiry.

"The war. When do you think it will end?"

"When He wins. And even then, nothing will change." Scabior explained easily.

"You honestly think He'll win?" Nero asked, truly surprised.

"Of course." Scabior said systematically. "You don't?"

"Scab," Nero said after a moment, "He won't win as long as there are people fighting against him."

Scabior hadn't considered the idea of a world in which He didn't exist. Of course, he had lived in a world where he didn't exist but that was beside the point. He was in such a place of high power now, there was no way He could lose. But when he went to sleep that night, Scabior couldn't help but wonder what he might be doing if he wasn't a Snatcher. He always liked Potions when he was at school. Maybe he'd be a Healer. Instead of hurting people, he'd be healing. That would be a nice change, he thought drowsily.

Within the following months, the two brothers had outdone themselves and He called upon them several times, asking them to join Him and His most trusted followers. 'You have the potential, the determination to be great,' He had said. Scabior's interest was peaked, but Nero politely and hastily declined each time.

"Why not?" Scabior said eagerly one morning as they took down their tents.

"Because if we do, there'll be no way out." Nero said with a shake of his head.

"Nero, there's no way out now, you know that. He's too-"

"Scabior," Nero said firmly, "It's not over. It's never going to be over. Anyone who gains power the way he's gained it will lose. It's only a matter of time."

Scabior was conflicted, needless to say. He trusted his brother's judgment and valued his opinion, but it was impossible for Voldemort to lose. Loren's words came back to him, you're either with Him or against Him.

It might have been cowardice but Scabior didn't want to live in constant fear for his life, even if that meant standing up for what he thought was right. Nero, on the other hand, he was much stronger.

"You loved your brother a lot." You said, more to yourself than to Scabior, who had pulled on a pair of trousers and stood facing the window, his arms folded across his chest.

Scabior did not speak, but nodded his head. You couldn't be sure but you thought that he refrained from speaking so that his voice would not crack.

You tried to picture Nero in your own mind. Scabior described him as ruggedly handsome with a strong bone structure. You thought about asking if he kept a photograph of him, but decided against it. Perhaps it was better left in your memory.

"Go on." You said tentatively.

Scabior took three long strides to the window, gripping the panes with his hands. He was silent for a moment before bowing his head.

It was April when Nero left. Nero was growing impatient, restless. Each capture he made he made with less effort. He had even let a group of half-bloods go a few weeks ago. Scabior was furious. Did he know what he was doing, what he was risking? Scabior had tried talking to him, but the tensions were growing and eventually, Nero took off. Scabior thought about chasing him, but he thought better of it. If someone asked him where Nero was, he wouldn't be able to lie. It was better that he didn't know.

Scabior worked alone for a period of time, enjoyed his successes, but it wasn't the same without Nero. He had no one to talk to, no one to listen to. Nero was his other half. It was becoming increasingly harder to keep from looking for him.

By the time April bled into May and May faded into June, Scabior couldn't fight it any longer. He needed to know that Nero was safe, even if he didn't support the cause anymore. After visiting and revisiting all of their old haunts Scabior was close to giving up, but part of him refused to believe that Nero didn't want to see him again. He had to be somewhere.

Then it hit him. The woods, of course. The one place he didn't think to look. Despite the fact that there was a large area to cover, there was one section that Nero preferred above all others. It was close to the towns but far enough away to be secluded. A stream ran though the center. It wasn't that far away.

When Scabior arrived, he found Nero sleeping, wrapped beneath his coat. Scabior knelt down beside him and attempted to shake him awake, but nothing happened. He tried again. He grinned inwardly. Nero always was a heavy sleeper.

"Nero." He said in a soft tone. "Nero, wake up, eh?"

Scabior increased his tone with each word, but still his brother did not wake.

"Nero!" he said, more frantically upon realizing that Nero's chest was not rising and falling in his slumber. "Nero! Wake up! Please, wake up!"

POP

Scabior got to his feet quickly, his wand in hand. He whirled around to find Loren, who held his hands up in peace.

"Easy now, Scabior." Loren said distastefully, Mica and another man flanking him.

"What did you do?" Scabior demanded, his nostrils flaring in anger.

"What did I do?" Loren said innocently. "I did only what I was told. What I promised I would do, unlike Nero."

"What?" Scabior asked, confused.

"You thought He didn't know?" Mica said with a harsh laugh.

"Know what?"

"Your brother, despite his many talents, lost faith in the cause." Loren said disdainfully. "What good was he to us?"

Scabior lunged at Loren with as much energy as he could muster but Mica raised his wand and shouted "CRUCIO" before Scabior could close the gap. The pain was excruciating and for once, he realized what he had put his victims through. He rolled over on his back, choking air back into his lungs, struggling to find his wand that had slipped from his hands.

"I'm sure you're aware of how much faith He has in you, Scabior." Loren said, kneeling down, picking up Scabior's wand. "He admires your skill – He'd hate to see you waste it like Nero."

Scabior bit back the urge to let his eyes well and his throat close. He looked at his brother, who looked even more lifeless then he had before. Loren gripped Scabior's face, forcing the man to look at him.

"I recall having said this once before, but," Loren said venomously, "have I made myself clear?"

Scabior nodded curtly and Loren tossed his wand on the ground.

"Good." Loren said and with another loud pop, they were gone.

Scabior rolled over onto his stomach, still recovering from the spell, and crawled to where his brother lay. He wasn't aware that he was crying until he felt the salt water streak his face.

"I'm sorry." He managed to say. "I'm so … so bloody sorry. I … it's my fault. I shouldn't have …" Scabior said to his brother whose face seemed to be paling by the second. "I was trying to protect you, us. I didn't mean for this to happen … I" Scabior was at a loss for words.

He sat beside his brother for a few hours, calculating his next move. He had no family left, no one to be responsible for. It was a cold thought and made him feel like a shell. Part of him wanted to go after Loren and Mica and Voldemort but it would be foolish. He would be doing nothing but handing himself over to be killed. He wanted to fight against it, to fight against them for what they had done to him, to his brother. But he had to be smart about it. There was no way he would ever win.

Scabior got to his feet after resting his hand on his brother's shoulder.

"I'm sorry, Nero." He whispered before dusting his jacket off.

He would bury everything deep in the crevices of his heart, only to be thought of when he felt his most low. He could continue to do his 'job' but this time, he would be relentless. He wouldn't let himself get distracted again. He wouldn't make the mistake of caring about someone ever again.

"But it turns out," Scabior said, sitting down beside you, his eyes locked hard on yours, "It's a hard habit to break."