A whole day of writing. Holy crap. I haven't done one of these in so long. I blame the snow storm that hit the East Coast. It just feels like the day you curl up to write or read a book or watch TV. Screw the fact I need to read for discussions in class. Thank you guys for the reviews, love them as always. :)

And...I'm completely naive as to actual locations in Britain. I chose a real location by name and am going off of a small description by the forestry commission. So, using the location's name and what lays there, but as to the specifics, they'll be made-up.

And smut be ahead. I felt it was necessary.

Scabior stared at the map that had been pinned to the board for months. It was dotted with red marks, lines connecting them creating a vast web. As if they would create some shape that the Aurors and he could make sense of.

There was no real shape. Just a radius. A few outliers, over the borders or in the city. Riley's picture was up with all of the others, along with pictures of her wounds and a copy of the medical records. He wanted nothing more than to tear them down and burn them. Hell, he wanted to toss everything. The more he stared at it, the more he hated Greyback.

There had to be a pattern. They kept muttering that, the wizards trained in this. Even Scabior knew that; the runaways always stuck to a pattern. But with Greyback, the only seemingly obvious pattern was that everyone attacked was a witch or a wizard or a Muggle. In other words, there was no victim pattern.

Which was, in itself, a pattern.

They had taken some of the smaller dens (attacks around there marked in green; they occurred but the area was now under control of Ministry patrols), and attacks kept occurring in specific areas. Clusters.

Logic would follow that the area with the most attacks, or the most vicious, would have Greyback. For every attack, there was always one person that seemed to meet Greyback personally, and the corpses reflected that.

So, locations with the highest number of vicious attacks…Greyback was likely to stay where he wouldn't be caught, in a good, strong, base of operation. His comfort there would show, and hence more attacks because he felt he wouldn't be caught.

He was never one for numbers, but in this case he hadn't wanted to ask; he was the head of the team, after all. Someone had double-checked his math, for the sake of correction.

"So you're thinking he's around here, then?" The second man, Scabior could never remember his name, pointed to a dense area of red dots and string.

Scabior got up from his chair, pacing, like he always did when trying to think clearly. "Believe me, I've seen Greyback when 'e thinks 'e won't get in trouble for what 'e does. The attacks around here," he pointed to the spot, "are extremely uncontrolled. It took 'ow long to identify some of 'em, and some still remain John and Jane Does? Everywhere else, we've been able to figure out 'oo they are. An' there's more attacks 'round 'ere than anywhere else."

He stood back, and stared at the stupid board, shaking his head. How had they missed it earlier? Seriously? He knew Greyback well enough; it fit with his...what was it…MO? Was that what they called it?

It was late, so late it was early. He checked the watch that sat in his pocket at all times. They'd want an actual plan in place as soon as it was humanly possible. But he was tired and they didn't want someone too tired to help them, especially someone that was supposed to be very aware of Greyback's habits. Scabior leaned back against a desk, hands resting on the dark wood behind him. If he was right…so many more people would die, even if they had the most-foolproof plan in existence.

And if he was wrong…

Audrey was asleep, and no one ever dared disturb her when she was home unless it was an absolute emergency. So it would definitely have to wait, planning.

Time to double-check his sources. As he headed to the Atrium, he circumvented and went into the potion storage for Aurors, a small, tiny room filled with hundreds of potions, a few dozen of the same kind. He looked towards the bottom for the one he wanted. He picked up the first one he saw and dashed back onto his path.

Azkaban was just as he remembered it being. Cold, deathly cold. A feeling of depression and hopeless washed over him, once so familiar to him. It still was, in a vague half-remembered-dream way. It felt like it was so long ago that he sat in the cell he just passed. It had only been nearly two years. Such a short time that felt like a lifetime ago.

He passed Crouch Junior, slumped against a wall. Several Death Eaters that had been tried and found guilty. Greyback's men filled most of the cells.

The Auror that was with him had a Patronus in front of them, a proud tiger that roared and growled at every Dementor that they passed. They back away, and Scabior felt as if they were welcoming him back, getting close but never enough to take his soul, remembering him.

They came to the cell he was looking for; the Auror stayed outside as Scabior sauntered in, looking down on the man in front of him. Davidson glared up, eyes betraying the man. He was full of anger, of basic drives. Stubble had grown into a scruffy beard, hair past his ears, oily and caked with dirt. He was covered in fresh and old wounds; he had been transforming, frustrated at not being able to attack and thus attacked himself. Even the depressing chill hadn't entirely snuffed out the desire to kill and to maim.

"Come to kill me?" The werewolf growled.

"I think you're takin' care o' that jus' fine, don't you?" Scabior replied. "I came for information."

"You won't be getting any."

"Is Greyback 'iding out near Black Rocks?"

"And why would I tell you, Scab? Really? Think you can just waltz in here and demand information from me?" Despite his ragged, bloody state, Davidson grinned wickedly. "I don't think so."

"A trade, then." Scabior stuck his hand into his pocket, digging around for the one thing a werewolf might want at this point. He pulled out a small bottle, the Ministry tag still on it. "Know what it is, Davidson?"

The werewolf simply stared at the bottle, waiting. Scabior popped the stopper out, a faint smoke coming from the neck of the bottle.

"Wolfsbane." Davidson looked unfazed. "And why would I want that, just so I can live a little longer in this hellhole?"

"I think you'd rather not kill yourself, am I righ'?"

"And you know I'm not going to lie…how?"

"Comply an' I'll put in a good word for you, maybe reduce your sentence a bit."

"A bit?"

"We'll see on the time, but Kavanagh wants Greyback caught. Give us information an' they'll be sure to 'ave a nice reward for you."

"Like they did you? They'll toss you back here when they're through with you, Scab. They don't need a Snatcher who still has a sentence to finish and another one to start out on the streets."

"Not like they 'ave the room for me a' the moment." Scabior held out the potion. "Your choice. Is Greyback 'idin' out in Black Rocks?"

Davidson hesitated, wanting the bottle. Wanting to stop causing himself harm every single full moon. But to comply would be becoming like Scabior. A traitor. A traitor with a death wish-he wouldn't have come on his own with a single Auror unless he planned to go after Greyback himself.

By all means.

"He's in one of the abandoned quarries, the tunnels beneath it."

"That means nothin'. Quarries implies more than one."

"It's not filled in with water. So there's access from the quarry itself. Find the room filled with different tunnels, and if you smell rotting flesh…"

The men glared at each other for a few moments. Davidson was trying to keep his mouth shut without really keeping quiet at all.

Scabior tossed the bottle of Wolfsbane at Davidson, hands with bloody nails catching it, holding on it as if it were his lifeline.

He didn't bother returning to the Ministry.

Riley still hadn't let him back into her apartment, despite their knowledge of the mutual feelings between them. He didn't blame her, and somehow found it better that way.

He wasn't going to head into Greyback clutches without seeing her one last time. Cliché as it was.

It was far too early for her to be up, but most restaurants in the Alley started early for preparation. It was a shot in the dark, but he smiled lightly to himself to see the lights on behind the bar, to see Riley rather than Emily grinding the coffee and filling the machines.

She flicked her wand in his general direction, unlocking the door when she saw him. There was something giddy but grave in his eyes as he snaked his arms around her waist, causing her to put down whatever she was doing. She was tired; she wasn't sleeping well again, he noticed, brushing a thumb over the rings under her eyes.

"I think I found 'im, love." He murmured. "Almost. Pinpointed where 'e is, just not the specific location within the location."

She stood on her toes, kissing him and taking him off guard. He let her dominate for a short while before pushing her back into the counter.

"That's a very nice thank-you." He chuckled.

It took him a moment before realizing his hips were pinning hers, remembering the last time he had done that. He backed away, his hands back at her waist with a small space between them. Riley reached for him, pulling him back to her.

"It's okay, Scab." She put a hand on his neck, his nose right under his ear on the other side, her lips grazing his jaw. She pulled back, looking at him.

His hand ran through her hair, holding back a few shorter locks from her face. "You sure? I…"

He didn't want to hurt her, or ruin any progress she had made in mentally recovering. The way she looked at him, there was no apprehension, no fear. She wasn't the hesitant woman he met in the woods anymore, but she wasn't the Riley he had met in the Leaky Caldron anymore, either. He had grown to adore her, respect her for what she had done with her life. Who could know what was best for her better than she did?

"I'm okay." She still had her hand at his neck, tucked under his scarf, running her thumb in a soothing pattern. "I've missed this."

"Well, not 'ere."

Riley rolled her eyes, nipping at his bottom lip. "Your place, then. I've never seen where you live."

"You 'ave a fireplace an' Floo Powder?"

"No Apparating?"

"Wards. Floo takes you in, Apparating would be outside the wards, an' it's a walk to get there after you get passed them."

She forced herself to push her thoughts away long enough to head down the corridor behind the counter and into the back, where she kept the money before it was deposited, and more paperwork and order forms. She figured Emily would be in soon enough, really. The woman was always earlier than needed, but that suited Riley fine. It was neat, too neat. Emily must have seen to that, because he knew Riley tossed her papers everywhere.

She held out a small pot that she had gotten from a small holder on the side of the fireplace. Clean. Never used. So they hell did she have one?

"It helps with deliveries, but I like Apparating whenever I can." She watched his foot brush the hearth, finding no ash.

She kept a log there, used all of once or twice.

"Why not 'ave it out front?"

"I tried. People sat in front of it, and then people came and went through it and then when I had bags of coffee being delivered…wasn't feasible."

He sighed, pointed his wand and lit the fire, grabbing a handful of the powder. He threw the powder into the newly-lit fire, turning them emerald green as she replaced the small pot of powder where she got it. Following him into the flames, and taking his arm for good measure, Scabior stated the destination. She didn't catch much of it, save the word "cottage".

She closed her eyes as she felt the rush of air, knew she could see other fireplaces as they went by, never seeing inside them. It was over in a matter of seconds.

He walked out of the hearth, leaving her to step out of the fireplace and spell away the soot on her shoes and pants.

The mere idea of Scabior owning a house seemed so odd to her.

She was standing in a sitting room, a trunk for a coffee table and a couch with wooden armrests and feet was behind it. Ahead of her and to the right, the house continued on; there seemed to be a study straight ahead, for her eyes caught sight of bookshelves and a desk, papers neatly in order.

She ventured to the right, finding a kitchen with a low ceiling. Slate floors, cherry-wood cabinets, a tiled countertop. A sink was positioned below a window that looked out onto a thick forest. A small table was to her left, a lantern on top of it.

Past the table was a dining room, dusted but never used. The front door was there, with a square window sectioned off into six smaller ones.

The layout wove to the right, taking her through a small room and then to a staircase. Past the staircase, at the foot, was the door to the bathroom. She saw an old claw foot tub, a simply cabinet and sink, and a mirror, behind which sat a medicine cabinet.

Riley cast a glance up the stairs but headed back through the kitchen. Everything was so minimal; she saw no indications of it being really lived in. There were touches of Scabior here or there, though.

She saw a picture of a woman, smiling, holding a little boy with dark hair and light blue eyes. The woman had dark hair and dark eyes, and would kiss the boy's head and say something, causing him in return to smile. His mother, surely.

"Is it to your liking?" He was leaning against the wall of the doorway to the other room.

"I find it charming. It's not…exactly lived in, but it's nice." She replied, taking her eyes off the frame.

"My mother. The only thing I have left of her, the one picture I was able to save." He shrugged, walking over to her. "She was sayin' 'kneazle' to me when this was taken. I found the word very funny for some reason…"

They headed up the stairs, where two empty bedrooms lay on either side of the hall, and the third at the end was the only indication he lived here.

Shirts were strewn all over, a pair of jeans laying over the back of a wooden chair in the corner. The closet door was open, on the handle was a scarf, pink and purple and orange. The bed was decently large, with a frame of dark wood. The headboard was carved with a forest scene, although it remained motionless. A stag, drinking from a river, trees in the background. To the right, more trees, little animals, a fox among them. To the left, the woods thinned out and a wolf stood on a rock, howling. A window was opposite the door, and they were high enough where she could see the tree-line for miles, the subtle green of spring peeking through the grey branches. The walls were a dark green, molding separating the paint from the wallpaper, patterned with dark green tendrils over a lighter green background.

Scabior turned her around, kissing her fully, longingly. She responded eagerly, fingers tugging at the ribbon in his hair. She twirled the locks around her fingers, keeping them at the base of his neck. He shrugged off his jacket, tossing it carelessly on the floor. His fingers brushed the hem of her shirt, snaking under the garment and lifting it, causing her to break the kiss and have to let go long enough for it to be removed.

She went for his thermal, flinging that aside. Resting her hands on his chest, they resumed kissing, a moan or a growl escaping every so often. Shoes were kicked off as they made their way to the bed. He unhooked her bra, dragging the straps down her arms. The backs of her legs touched the bed, and Riley crawled backwards, Scabior following on top of her. She tugged at his belt, undoing it and pulling it out of its loops. It joined the other garments on the floor.

Scabior's lips lefts hers, following a familiar path down her neck, her collarbone, stopping at her breasts. Her scars were better than they had been, thinner but ever-present. His tongue roamed over her nipple, eliciting a moan he hadn't heard in so long. He kneaded her other breast and then switched, her hands clawing at the sheets. His lips traveled back up, her hands finding his pants again and unbuttoning them, pushing them past his hips along with his undergarments. He shimmied out of them, kicking them behind him and off the bed, along with his socks. She lifted her hips as he removed her jeans and knickers together, killing two birds with one stone.

His hand went down her hip, feather-light touches down her thigh and back up the inside of the same leg. He entered her with one finger, catching her off-guard; she took a harsh intake of air, tensing up as he added another finger.

A reassuring hand was placed at his neck, her teeth dragging along his lip as he created a rhythm. He stopped as she was about to peak, withdrawing his hand.

He lowered himself, nuzzling below her ear as he positioned his body over hers. "If I hurt you, if you want me to stop, tell me." He trailed kisses along her jaw, nipping at her lip before he entered her slowly.

She arched up, moaning loudly in pleasure. She had to remind herself it was Scabior, even though all she had to do was look. She met his confused gaze, looking at her for approval before he continued. She captured his lips, rolling her hips in time with his. Their breathing became erratic, the familiar tension building up. She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling at his hair as she came, moaning his name. Scabior came soon after, releasing into her and kissing her again.

They had gotten under the thick blanket and warm flannel blanket at some point, and laid together, watching the sun trickle through the window.

Scabior had closed his eyes, exhaustion finally hitting him the way an old owl runs into windows. He was holding Riley to him, and she had turned to face him, curling up into his chest.

"Is it possible to just stay here?" She whispered.

"Wha'd you mean?" He slurred, halfway between the realm of the sleeping and the waking.

"It's so peaceful. No loud noises, no chatter, no bustle, no one shouting at me. Can we just stay here and be together and not worry about anything?"

"Riley, as wonderful as that sounds, we both know it ain't possible." He kissed her temple. "I can't wait for the Ministry to get its shit together. I 'ave to go after Greyback, an' I know you don't like that, but someone 'as to." She gave a small groan in protest, but couldn't find the words to reply. "There'll be plenty of time to lay 'round and stay in bed and be out of London when it's done, yeah?"

She didn't dare voice the idea running through both of their minds. That he might not return, might not survive going after Greyback. Instead, she moved closer to him, trying to burn the feeling of his arms around her into her mind.