Disclaimer: Everything belongs to the wonderful J.K. Rowling.

Hermione frowned.

"Damn it Ronald Weasley, if you aren't satisfied with the food, then why don't you go and find something else to transfigure into something actually edible!"

Fortunately, Ron wasn't there to hear Hermione cursing his very existence.

"Hermione cook this, Hermione do that! And guess what I'll do? I'll be a bloody prat and whine and moan and do nothing at all!" She fumed as she stomped about the forest, looking for berries and mushrooms for dinner. Hermione was alone, and because of this she was ranting to the air, as if she were expecting the woods to listen to her problems.

It wasn't like there was anyone else to talk to, really. When you were on the run with your two best friends who were both too preoccupied to listen – one gallantly trying to save the Wizarding World from Voldemort and the other off being a prat – you could only really talk to yourself and pretend that someone invisible was listening. So that was exactly what Hermione Granger was doing.

Things were a bit tight around the tent, but it was understandable why. Harry, Hermione, and Ron were on the look for Horcruxes, and with very little information to rely on, things were often a bit heated around the Trio. Hermione usually had no problem with any of this – she knew how to handle things when they got tough – but at the moment, she certainly was having trouble handling Ron's attitude.

Since he had been wearing the locket, one of the only Horcruxes that they had managed to find – his attitude had become increasingly worse. They got into arguments almost daily, and Hermione had constantly tried to be the better person. Today however, had been her last futile effort.

Scanning through bushes with fervent anger, Hermione remembered the mishap that had happened only a few hours ago.

"Urgh!" Ron cried out loudly, shoving his plate of mushrooms away from him. Hermione had only been able to find one thing for lunch today, and it had been scrawny, gray, bland mushrooms. She and Harry had both been quite unenthusiastic about it, but Ron had been the only one to blatantly call Hermione out on it.

"Honestly Hermione, these are disgusting! I know you could do better! How do even expect me to eat this?" He whined, and Harry shot him a smarting look. He didn't like when Ron took out what the Horcrux made him feel on Hermione, and he always tried his best to stick up for her without causing an uproar from Ron.

"Ron, come on. You shouldn't yell at Hermione like that, after all, we both looked for something to eat and she found some when you didn't even bother to search!"

"Why is it that you always side with her? She can't even manage to –"

"Manage to what?" Hermione bit out angrily before Harry could stop her. "Not once have you tried looking for food, Ronald!"

"Well that's because I have to wear this bloody Horcrux around all fucking day –"

"Enough!" Harry yelled out before Ron could continue. "Hermione, you're trying your best and you're doing brilliantly. And Ron, take the Horcrux off. " He stuck his hand out for the locket and it slapped against his palm as Ron roughly handed it to him. Immediately, there was a change in his aura, but it was too late. He had already embarrassed and angered Hermione, and before either of the boys could say anything, she stomped out of the tent.

Hermione nearly groaned in frustration as she remembered. It had been hours ago, and she was still upset about what had happened, not just because of it, but because of how he had been acting lately. Taking deep breaths to calm herself again, Hermione began to mutter a silent mantra.

'It's just the Horcrux. It's just the Horcrux. It feeds off of bad energy; you can't let it get to you'.

As true as it was, it made no bloody difference. She was still hurt by Ron's actions. It had happened nearly two or more hours ago, and Hermione still hadn't returned to the camp. She wasn't too far away from the tent, but she felt guilty nonetheless, as she was sure that Harry was worrying about her.

He had enough things to worry about, and Hermione felt terrible for burdening him with one more thing to be concerned with.

She had been about to turn back when she heard the crackling of leaves not far off. Hermione looked around, and immediately, her wand tightened in her grip. It hadn't been her. She had been standing completely still. Gazing at the trees around her, Hermione's heart began to accelerate. Had someone been watching her this whole time? Had her protective enchantments worn off? She prayed they had not, and even at the slightest negative thought, her thoughts traveled straight back to the camp. What if intruders – Death Eaters – had found their tent, and possibly seized Ron and Harry? The thought of this nearly made Hermione vomit from fear, but she held her ground, and her stomach. The crackling of the ground was increasing, and a few seconds later a large thumping noise and murmuring introduced themselves.

Hermione's breath caught in her throat.

Coming through the trees were three figures, two of them hauling a large object between them, their shadows casting an eerie glow in the evening light. As they came closer, it became clear that the three figures were all men, and that the murmurs Hermione had heard previously had been their deep voices.

Snatchers? Hermione wondered, and by the look of the three, it seemed her assumption was definitely correct.

Closer and closer they got, and Hermione had to fight against herself to keep her position. They couldn't see her – Hermione was sure of it – but as the group approached her direction, it made her doubt her magical abilities.

Could they see her?

Hermione worried her lip, and her stomach throbbed with fear.

It seemed as if one of them was looking straight at her!

The Snatcher in question was a tall man, muscular but sinewy, with long, dark, tangled curls tied up at the base of his neck, one lock bloodied with a long streak of red. Hermione observed him as he came closer and closer, and while she trembled in fear, her subconscious could not help that the Snatcher was extremely handsome. He seemed to be in his mid twenties to early thirties, with a powerful appearance to match. Clad in many different layers of clothing, as eccentric as they were, he seemed completely at home in the forest, wearing a set of plaid trousers and a long, dark, leather coat over many tops and a scarf. His clothing was dark, and the more she looked at him, Hermione could see that his character was as well. He also seemed proud, and the way he strutted ahead of the other two Snatchers indicated, if not too obviously, that he was the leader of the group.

As he approached her invisible form, Hermione took the time to observe the other two Snatchers, who were not nearly as attractive as their leader, but rather ill proportioned and foolish looking. One of them was tall and emaciated with ginger hair, while the other was short and bulky with a buzz cut. They looked threatening nonetheless, but Hermione barely had time to realize what was so frightening about the two because she had realized what they were holding instead.

Hermione gasped and immediately clasped a hand over her mouth, both from shock and for fear that they would hear her slight albeit present sound. What she had thought to be a sack of some sort was actually a body, tied up, gagged, and unconscious. The poor man looked about middle aged, and by the look of his clothing, he had been attempting to be perceived as a Muggle. But of course he had been caught. With no Muggle knowledge at all, he had thought of dressing in hot pants, a tutu, and a fishing hat, along with a very obvious, very bright, obnoxiously neon green shirt. The man was obviously a wizard. He had a gash at his head that was bleeding profusely, and as Hermione looked at it, she wondered if the handsome Snatcher had been the one to cause the blow. Hermione drew her attention to him again, and stared with apprehension.

Somehow she had lost track of his actions, and now he stood only a few feet away, his eyes glued blankly to the very spot she stood in, exhibiting an expression torn between disbelief and suspicion. Hermione held her breath again, and stood very, very still. Her wand hand twitched slightly, but she didn't dare raise it at the man.

The Snatcher seemed to be thinking to himself, and as his accomplices flanked him, he raised a thin, long, gloved hand to them. They halted immediately, and the wizard they had been carrying sagged in between their arms.

"What is it, boss?" The burlier of the men asked, and his mouth lagged open stupidly even after he was done asking the question.

The handsome man ignored them both, but instead muttered out loud in curiosity, "What's that?"

His voice was deep and smooth, yet rough, and as he spoke, Hermione could smell smoke and firewhiskey on his breath. It was oddly alluring, like his voice.

"What's what?" The other two asked dumbly in unison, and Hermione watched in silent trepidation as the unconscious wizard's head sagged even closer to the ground. But she didn't keep her gaze there for too long – the tall, rugged Snatcher was curiously approaching her, and Hermione feared that he would break through her barrier of magical enchantments.

"That smell", he continued, and his eyes searched the air suspiciously. This gave Hermione a small boost of confidence that he could not see her, but she still trembled in fear as his hand reached out and nearly caressed her. His eyes flashed right to hers, and it was almost as if his fingers had grasped a sliver of the invisible, magical orb that protected her from him. He sniffed again, and as he did, Hermione took in his appearance. His dark, slanted, onyx eyes were still searching what seemed to be invisible air for that scent, and he was so close that Hermione could've reached out and ran a finger across his long Roman nose and stubbly, prominent jawbone. His eyelids had been lined with kohl, for concealing purposes, but it only made his omniscient eyes seem even more aware that Hermione was there, standing just inches away from him. He sniffed the air again, and as he did, Hermione finally realized what he had been seeking the scent of.

It seemed, that even through twenty five or more magical blocking charms and enchantments, that he was able to smell her perfume. Hermione's eyes searched his as he smelled the jasmine scented aroma. He seemed entranced, almost intoxicated by it, and she watched as his eyes fluttered closed for a moment as he relished in the smell. She couldn't bear to look away from his face then, and how handsome he was. Hermione knew she shouldn't have been paying attention to that – but instead, apparating straight back to the tent to warn Harry and Ron that there were Snatchers in the area – but she couldn't rip herself away. Something about the way he had looked at her, although he couldn't really see her, had still affected her, and she couldn't bring herself to let go of the moment. As close as he was, she could feel his body heat start to radiate onto her.

Suddenly, there was a loud, heavy thud, and the Snatcher's eyes snapped open.

Startled, Hermione nearly yelped in surprise, but caught herself before she could even let out a squeak. This man could already smell her – who was to say he couldn't hear her as well? With his body, broad enough that if her presence had been visible to him that he could've covered her, still facing her, his head jerked in the direction of the two men, who had obviously caused the commotion. Hermione looked over his shoulder, and saw that the poor disheveled wizard had been tossed haphazardly onto the ground, his body lying there lifelessly, as if he were dead. She wished she could've helped him.

"What're you doing?" The striking Snatcher asked them condescendingly, his voice firm and demanding as he questioned them.

The taller of the two answered, running a hand tiredly through his ginger hair. "He's heavy boss!" He moaned, and as the shorter Snatcher agreed, Hermione couldn't help but be reminded of Crabbe and Goyle from school.

The rugged Snatcher scoffed, and suddenly his demeanor changed completely, going from mysterious and patronizing to a much more relaxed one as his face shifted into a tender, loving expression. The two other men looked at him with new eyes, confused, yet completely immersed in his actions.

"Oh you poor little loves", he breathed, and although they were transfixed by it, Hermione immediately caught onto the mocking tone in his voice. "Do you want me to carry it?" He suggested, and as the two Snatchers' eyes filled with thankfulness, his cold demeanor returned along with an even harsher voice.

"Just kidding. Pick it up!" He yelled, startling both the men and Hermione this time.

Both of the men's shoulders slumped with resignation as they took in the little trick that he had played on them. Hermione had found it quite cruel, but as he turned to her again, she heard the heavy Snatcher mumble something to the ginger.

"Well that's good old Scabior for you, eh Cosgrave?" He muttered, sneering softly. The tall ginger simply chuckled darkly, and from the look he was displaying, he wanted to hex Scabior –

Hermione paused for a moment as she considered what the burly man had said.

Scabior?

So that was his name, Hermione figured. It was odd. She had the urge to say the strange name aloud, to see how it would feel on her tongue –

But Scabior was beginning to walk away, obviously accepting his theory that he had just imagined her scent, imagined that someone could've been hiding, when it hadn't been his imagination at all.

It had been reality.

Although Hermione definitely didn't want to make her presence known – after all, she was still breathing as shallowly as she could – she didn't want him to go. He seemed so interesting, this Scabior, and she wanted to –

Hermione caught herself, and the thoughts that had been racing through her mind came to a sudden, halting stop.

He was a Snatcher.

How could she possibly be thinking such stupid, uncoordinated thoughts? Hermione felt drunk, and somehow, oddly violated, as if he had entered a part of her mind that was not supposed to be awakened. To be thinking such thoughts about a Snatcher –the very person whom, in fact, made it their mission to bind and bring her, Harry, and Ron to Voldemort – and she found him interesting? Alluring, even? Hermione didn't know why.

He was far away from her now, flanking his two accomplices as they practically dragged the wizard's body in front of him – but he was still looking at her, or rather, in her direction. Scabior paused again, to make sure that his assumptions had been correct. He refused to be fooled. Staring unashamedly at Hermione, a gloved hand dove into the pocket of his waistcoat – Hermione flinched, for she thought that he would pull out his wand – but instead, he retrieved a cigarette and held it in his mouth. He could do wandless magic, and well, for the tip of the little white rod caught fire and settled into a red peak as it burned through the tobacco.

Scabior inhaled deeply and let out a puff of smoke. He stood there for a few moments before smirking, more to himself than anyone else. He shot one more look in Hermione's direction before one of the men signaled him with a whistle and he turned hurriedly to catch up to them.

He was gone, and Hermione watched almost absentmindedly as the smoke traveled upwards, her nostrils picking up the smell.

What had just happened?

Hermione didn't stop to think of the Snatcher, Scabior, his name had been, and how he had suddenly entranced her, but instead, turned on her heel and ran, wand clutched tightly in hand. She had to get to Harry and Ron and let them know about the Snatchers. Her friends came first, before ruggedly handsome, dangerous men. Hermione felt shame rise in her stomach while she ran, for she couldn't stop think of Scabior, and how close he had been to touching her.

As if that would've been a good thing.

Hermione arrived at the trio's campsite, panting from the long run back. She had wandered off farther than she had thought.

"Harry!" She shouted, and the alert, bespectacled boy came running out of the enchanted tent not seconds later.

"Hermione? Hermione all you alright?" Harry replied as he arrived, wand at the ready, running to the girl. She seemed distraught, and at her yell, Harry had suspected that she had been cornered by something or someone threatening. Hermione grasped onto his arms, nearly heaving.

"Snatchers, Harry…I've just ran into them – "

"What?" He asked incredulously, grasping onto the girl as well. "What happened? Did they see you?"

Hermione shook her head no and continued on, as best as she could. "No, Harry, that's not it. They didn't see me…they…they…"

"Hermione!" Harry panicked, and he shook her. He couldn't contain himself. What had happened? He needed to know!

Hermione took in a large breath and calmed herself before speaking again. However, this time her voice was tinged with something particularly close to guilt.

"He could smell it, Harry. My perfume."

Harry stared at her for a moment, bewildered. He'd thought it had been so much worse. And who was she talking about? He wondered.

"Who, Hermione? Who is 'he'?

Hermione swallowed for a moment, and urged herself to look up at Harry again. She didn't want to belabor this, it was hard enough to mention his name aloud to another person, strangely.

"Scabior." Hermione murmured, and she collapsed weakly into Harry's arms. He caught her, but she didn't bother to thank him or look up to see the look of utter confusion that was plastered on his face. Instead she thought of Scabior, who had probably apparated from the forest already, on his way to drop off the poor, unknowing wizard to the Ministry of Magic. Or perhaps he had set up camp, not many miles away? Hermione couldn't figure out why she ached to see him again, but she did, and as her head lay against Harry's chest, she began to imagine the man who had smelled of smoke and firewhiskey, the red streak in his hair bloodied and faded –

"Oi! What's all the commotion?"

Ron had emerged from the tent nosily, his wand clutched in his hand. He opened his mouth to say something, but as his eyes set on Harry and Hermione, wrapped in a warm embrace, his mouth thinned into a worn, tight line. Hermione could've sworn she'd seen a flicker of jealousy in his eyes.

Harry, always the peacemaker, went to say something to him, but Ron looked away, leaving his gesture unnoticed.

"Oh. So you're alright then. Great. Did I hear something about Snatchers? Treacherous little bleeders they are." Ron stated, his eyes sparkling with a blend curiosity to hear Hermione's story and dislike for Scabior and his groupies.

As they all retreated to the tent for dinner – Ron and Harry had managed to find berries and catch some fish by the nearby river – Harry began to retell Hermione's story, which somehow, he knew vaguely although she hadn't said but two sentences. She would chime in when he ran out of things to say, she decided, as it would give her time to regain herself.

Hermione took one last look at the forest as Harry and Ron entered the tent. She wondered if the Snatchers would come back. She wondered if Scabior wasn't too far away. She sniffed the air again, and as she did, she could've sworn she smelled something vaguely similar to firewhiskey and smoke. Shaking her head, Hermione tried to push the thoughts out of her head. She had Horcruxes to worry about, for Merlin's sakes. And for a moment, as she entered the tent, Hermione wished that the Snatcher named Scabior was a Horcrux, so that she would be able to find him too.

}{

Hey guys! I hope you guys enjoyed this one-shot! Please feel free to review and tell me what you thought about it! Reviews and constructive criticism are definitely welcomed! Thanks!