Title: Remember Me.

Chapter I: Indifference Part I.

Rated: M for future chapters including; sex, some cussing, and some violence.

Disclaimer; I unfortunately own nothing from the HP universe. I don't own Scabior, which is even more unfortunate.

A/N: I'm thinking about stopping this, since I don't really have many readers at all and it's an outdated story. I keep adding chapters I wrote ages ago and just aren't up to scratch. If anyone is reading this, a review would be nice. Thanks~ Happy goings!

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"Black, as in Ebony Black?" Scabior asked, taking the girl's face in his hand.

"Ya. Can't believe I didn't see it before," Greyback was circling her, an unsaid threat looming in his voice. "Been on some wanted posters. Got a nice price on her pretty little head too, don't ya girly?"

Her face seemed to have broken somewhat, her blank expression riddled with fear and a large amount of guilt. She was staring at the ground and breathing in heavy breaths, trying to imagine any way out of this. She was smart, capable and cunning, but at this exact moment, she was just scared. Not of the band of snatchers surrounding her, but of him... The Dark Lord.

"Ebony... what a beautiful name," Scabior told her.

She felt like no matter what he said, he was mocking her. She wasn't even sure if he was, but the gentleness of his touch and softness of his voice was anything but kind. He had once again come too close to comfort as he twirled a strand of her hair in his fingers, looking her face over closely. Ebony closed her eyes and kept them closed as she tried to avoid looking at him, or anyone for that matter. Her face was bowed to the floor, her head moving to the side to shake away his hands.

"Blood-traitor. Been travellin' with Potter and his friends 'bout 2 weeks now. Runaway. Ma'am Lestrange sent out a price on her name when she joined the other side. Betrayal it was," a snatcher holding a large pad of paper declared.

Scabior pulled his hand away from her and turned to face the man holding the notepad. He snatched it off him and began reading it himself, out loud. "Member of the Noble House of Black, disowned. Niece of Bellatrix Lestrange, disowned."

Ebony's jaw tightened as her aunt's name was called. She began thrashing against the man holding her, anger surging through her veins. Memories of the horrid woman flashed before her eyes and she felt sick to her stomach with rage. She couldn't be taken, she wouldn't.

"Now, now, beautiful. Calm down."

"Ugh," she mumbled, pushing away from both men around her, feeling sickened.

She felt odd, having to be victimized by a bunch of men who were nothing but low riff raff in the Wizarding community. Although, she supposed she was to be considered even worse than these men now after running off and causing such a betrayal, staining her family name. The Noble House of Black was becoming more and more tainted by blood traitors, and even though Ebony herself tried not to care about blood status, she knew it meant a great deal in the community now. Life or death even.

Thinking back, she knew she had made a mistake joining her crazed aunt in this war. At the time it all seemed to make so much sense, it all seemed to piece together perfectly. Looking back from her experiences from the last year, a hard cold truth hit her. She had been wrong. Blood status, pure or not shouldn't be an excuse to kill. Her mother had once told her that. She said that there was only ever one way to excuse killing, and that was killing in the name of saving an innocent life.

She'd gone through life being told to hold hatred and nothing but disgust to all those who were different, who weren't as pure as she was. It was something that had been cemented into her from a young age. She was told who to associate with, how to act, who to be and how she should live her life.

"Change of plan, we're not takin' this lot to the ministry just yet."

Ebony looked up to see Scabior staring at her, watching her intently. Turning away from him, she caught the eyes of Fenrir Greyback. A shiver went down her spine as they locked eyes, she held the contact until he looked away, growling as another snatcher accidentally knocked his arm. She was always told that if you wanted to show power, you should never be the first to withdraw, especially with animals.

It was cold now, the evening was drawing close and Ebony shuddered, her creamy brown coat and tight black jeans not nearly warm enough for the current weather. She looked around frantically for a moment, suddenly aware that her small bag was no longer slung around her shoulders. It took her a moment to realize Scabior had taken it, along with her wand. She sighed in frustration.

"Back to camp," Scabior announced, grabbing hold of Ebony and pulling her away from his fellow snatcher. "C'mon."

With a loud crack, everything went blurry and began swirling. The forest turned into blackness and a tightness started to rise in Ebony's chest. She felt the familiar sensation of being forced through a rubber tube, then she felt the wind. Her eyes opened slowly and she stood, trying to keep herself upright.

She had always hated apparation. Never being the best at it herself. She remembered the first time she tried it she had splintched some of her hair off.

Suddenly aware of the draping hand over her waist, she pulled herself away slightly, huffing as pushed against Scabior. It didn't seem to bother him much, as he ignored her and continued to pull her roughly towards an area of vast trees and bushes. She looked around, trying to see if she was familiar with the area.

I was here last week, the thought struck her suddenly. I tied my scarf right over onto that willow...

Her scarf.

Oh.

It was draped around the neck of Scabior, who seemed to have dirtied and frayed it more than she had. She only just noticed it, that it was in fact the exact scarf she had been wearing days prior.

Before she could stop herself, she raised her eyebrow at him and spoke faintly. "Is that my scarf?"

A smirk formed on his lips and he looked down at her, still pulling her forwards. "Did ya miss it?"

His earlier words suddenly hit her with much more meaning. "I've been lookin' for you, darlin'."

Stomping on his foot and kicking at his shins, she refused to walk as her legs became unmoving. He had been looking for her and it was her own stupid fault. She should have known better than to leave something like that out in the open. It seemed she was full of stupidity lately, something she frowned upon in others.

Up ahead she noticed a camp had appeared almost out of thin air. Obviously a protective charm had been cast on their tents, as it had been cast on hers for the last couple of weeks. They walked through what seemed like a light blue line of clear water, floating in thin air. The defences had been lowered so they could step inside and once they had all entered, a snatcher began muttering the spell to re-enforce it once again.

It was a small camp, although considerably larger than the one she had spent the last two weeks in. Her old camp had only one tent, which was enough to fit four people inside. Potter, Granger, Weasley and herself had all occupied it, and she'd often get into tiffs with Weasley, who seemed to always be in her way. Nerves were easily stepped on with the four of them, or at least when she was around.

Weasley had hated her and often made a point to show his distrust for her. Granger didn't trust her either, always trying to keep her a step behind and out of the loop when she could. Potter had been quite the same, although oddly enough a lot more trust was thrown her way with him. Either way, she was still the outcast of the group.

There were several occasions when she had questioned her judgement of joining the trio. She knew them all from school, she'd been in quite a few of their classes in fact. Her knowledge of them was quite varied though, as she'd never taken the time to get to know any of them. She never associated with mudbloods or blood-traitors, mostly in fear of what her fellow Slytherins might think.

She didn't miss the irony.

She had become a blood-traitor now, something most wizards nowadays considered worse than being a Muggle or a Muggle-born. It was thought of as the worst thing a pure-blood like herself could do, turn her back on her own and stray away from purity. She was once told -by her father, whom had held a special hatred for blood traitors- that being a blood-traitor was like carrying a family heirloom and purposely breaking it. Wrecking something so beautiful and irreplaceable, a thing that once gone, you can never have back.

At her young age she had never understood those things her father would say to her. Horrible things concerning anyone lower in the chain of power and purity. She'd tend to ignore those things he said, in favour for those that her mother taught her. Even though her mother was bound by purity and lived her life by the rules of marriage, she'd never loved her father. No one in their family had.

Snapping out of her thoughts, she came back to reality as she felt Scabior tug the chains down on her arm.

"You listenin'?" Scabior asked.

"No," Ebony snapped, without even realizing what she had said, and most importantly who she had said it to.

It only took a second for her body to be swung around, Scabior bringing her to face him. "'What did you say, sweet'eart?'"

In an instant his wand was at her neck, pressing into the delicate flesh. She swallowed, feeling the wooden tip pushing into her throat and feeling a slight pain in the area it was focused on. His voice; although calm as usual, held a threat and streak of anger as cold as his glare.

Silence.

"Scabior! C'mere!"

Saved by timing.

A rather ruff tug at her chains and she was being pulled in the direction of what looked to be a sitting area. There were logs and a few large fold-able chairs lined around a fire that had yet to be lit. Anyone who didn't know better would say it was quite a nice place to relax, apart from the men now littering around the area like flies.

"What?" Scabior asked the man who had just called to him, a slimy looking guy.

"Found this in his bag," the man pulled out three wands, all wooden and antique looking. "He's got about ten more in here, look!"

He proceed to pull more old looking wands from the captive's bag, each having it's own unique twist of wood or hint of difference. After he had them all out, he began pulling cans of food, bottled up waters and clothes from the small carrier bag. The man, Jonathan; which she remembered to be his name, had an extendible charm on his bag. Just like she did.

She realized they would soon be doing the same to her possessions, ruffling through her own bag. There wasn't much in there, certainly nothing of value. She hadn't had the time to pack before she had left and ended up with nothing but her wand and the clothes on her back. Luckily for her Hermione had spare clothes and although they had been a tight fit, she was grateful she had something until she could get her own.

There was a sudden pang of guilt as Ebony thought of Hermione's kind offer of clothes. More guilt floated to the surface as she began thinking of how they had all done at least one kindness for her, despite the hell she had once put them through. Her constant mocking and teasing in first grade, her looks of disgust five years after; when she had returned to Hogwarts for her sixth year. Sixth year was the worst offender, especially for Potter, whom she had been especially sour to. Horrid looks and nasty words for exchanged on more than one occasion.

The guilt slowly faded into the back of her mind as she began thinking on those very exchanges between her and Potter. Exchanges in which both parties had been guilty of a rude gesture or particularly nasty word. Both.

"What's all this then?" someone asked Johnathan, who had his head bowed again.

"S-Stuff," he replied shortly.

"We can see that," Scabior began. He was staring at Jonathan, his head tilted to the side. "But what sorta stuff?"

It was clear that he was talking about the many wands scattered in John's pack, but either by stupidity, nerves, or something else, he replied with "M-My clothes... some water so I don't d-dehydrate... some canned food because-"

"The wands!" Scabior cut him off.

"W-Wands... well..." Jonathan paused. "I... s-stole them."

"Huh..." Scabior said seeming disinterested, and twirling a twisted looking wand in-between his fingers. "Where?"

"D-Different places... p-please..."

"He asked where," the slimy looking man said, hovering next to John. "What places, eh?"

To Ebony's surprise Johnathan kept quiet. A few moments passed and he was still facing the ground; his face an odd shade of red.

"Sohl," Scabior motioned the man named Sohl to step forward. He was older, with rugged features and dirty clothes. "Take Johnny here to one of the tents and see if he's more talkative there."

Jonathan finally looked up and Ebony noticed his eyes brimming with tears. The red blotches on his face matched the colour of his venetian red jacket, and his reddening eyes only added to the disturbing match.

She watched as he was marched off into a near tent, off to the right. She quickly wondered if she would soon be in one of the surrounding tents, getting prodded for information. She almost snorted at her stupidity. Of course she would.

There were only seven men that she could see now, seeing as how "Sohl" had just left with their unfortunate guest. She held her breath and wondered what he was doing to Jonathan, most probably torturing him for answers. It struck her that she would soon be taken inside and tortured too.

She wondered briefly if it would be Scabior who interrogated her. He most probably would, he seemed to have taken an interest in her already.

Wonderful.