The Smell of New Year's Eve

Written for the Death Eater of the Month challenge.
Prompt: Scabior

A/N: This one came to me when I was in the store a couple weeks ago. I walked in and saw that they were selling scented brooms for the holidays, and I knew I had to use that in a story somehow.

The year was drawing to a close, and all around him the streets were shining, with Christmas lights and glimmering trees twinkling in the night. People everywhere were celebrating the magic of the season, and when Scabior stepped outside, the first thing he noticed was the heavy scent of wood smoke lingering in the air.

The smell was atrocious, the head Snatcher tugging on his plaid scarf, using it to cover his mouth and nose as he continued down the street. He was looking for somewhere to get a drink, something warm with a sprinkling of cinnamon and nutmeg. And then he stopped, the stench of wood burning stoves thinning.

"Wha's tha?" he muttered, lowering his scarf and taking a look around. He caught a whiff of cinnamon and turned to his right, seeing a sign advertising scented broomsticks.

It was an alluring aroma, not unlike the scented candles his wife burned during the holidays. He quickly ducked into the store, breathing deeply as he untied his scarf and slung it over his shoulder.

"'Fifty percent off apple an cinnamon 'oliday brooms,'" said Scabior, the people passing by as he bent to examine the sign. According to the sign, a "festive charm" had been placed on the twigs, releasing just the right amount of scent to liven up the holidays.

It sounded like a good deal, but Scabior wasn't really in the market for a new broom. His old one worked just fine, and if past experience had taught him anything, it was that these limited edition holiday broomsticks started malfunctioning the day after the charm wore off, leaving one with a shoddy broomstick that smelled like its rider's backside.

Then again, it wouldn't be long until New Year's Eve rolled around, and while there were plenty of laws against drinking and flying, Scabior thought a scented broom would be exactly what he needed in order to mask the smell of alcohol on his breath

Scabior thoughtfully rubbed his chin, taking a moment to think things through. In the end he decided to buy a scented broom, tossing a handful of coins on the counter before walking out with his fragrant new purchase.

.oOo.

The air erupted in a magnificent display of light and color, signaling the beginning of a new year. Scabior was with his Snatchers, laughing and drinking as gold and pink fireworks sparkled overhead, the colors bursting and mixing with balls of neon blue.

It was a beautiful sight, but the head Snatcher was too gassed to the gills to notice. He put his drink down on the counter, doubling over and laughing at some joke his friend had made, though he wasn't entirely sure what they were laughing at.

"Right," he said, reaching over and clapping Greyback on the back. The werewolf snorted into his drink, still grinning as he lifted his head and looked at Scabior. "It's been great, mate. You've all been absolutely 'ilarious!" Scabior exclaimed, spreading his arms wide and knocking over a lamp in the process. "But I gotta go, mate. I do, I really gotta go."

Scabior rose from his seat, stumbling and reaching into the pocket of his jacket. He was almost falling to the floor when he found what he was looking for: a scented broom, pre-shrunk and tucked away for safe keeping.

"There you are," he said, unaware that Greyback had seized him by the arm to keep him from landing on his face. "My little beauty," Scabior cooed, flicking his wand and restoring the broom to its original length.

This startled the werewolf, who let go of his friend and let Scabior splatter on the floor. In truth, neither one of them should be going anywhere after drinking so much. But they were Snatchers, and you couldn't tell them no. They did what they damn well pleased, even though it was it a bad decision.

"Hey, hey, hey," said Greyback, sounding very much like Crusty the clown. "I smell lady!" He leaned forward and almost got a face full of the twigs on Scabior's broom. "Well, ello beautiful."

"Oi! Tha's my line!" said Scabior, reaching out and pushing the werewolf back against the counter. "An this ain't no lady. It's a broom, ya dingy mutt."

"Huh?" Greyback blinked up at him, then quickly scrambled to his feet, trying desperately to snatch the broom out of Scabior's hands. "But I smell it!" he insisted. "Ladies perfume." This time he succeed in getting the bristles up his nose, snorting and sniffing the apple cinnamon fragrance. "Mmm, pretty. What's your name, darling?"

"Alright, you randy mongrel. Go 'ome before I 'ave you neutered." Scabior pressed his palm into Greyback's face, the intoxicated werewolf failing his arms while attempting to grab the broom.

After a bit of a struggle, Scabior managed to get to his feet, broom in hand as he attempted to flee the pub. His escape attempt might have worked if he wasn't carrying the broom sideways as he ran.

He got caught in the doorway, slamming into the wall and landing flat on his back. The last thing he heard before losing consciousness was the sound of Greyback making out with his broom.