Summary: In her haste, she left behind the one garment he coveted: a scarf. Unable to capture her on-sight, and the scent trail cold, he keeps it. Just in case. He didn't except the owner to drop in on the camp, and bargain for it back…

Pairing: ScabiorxOC

Rating: M, for adult themes later on.

This is my first attempt at an M-rated fic; yes, it will contain a smut scene. This is already written in its entirety. I'll put up a new chapter every few days (four in all, it's a short piece). This is pretty much a loose-plot-in-order-to-write-some-Scabior-smut thing.

Anyway...

Winter had finally broken, the snow had stopped falling. Spring was trying to break through, but it was still cold, the ground was still hard, and there was no green to be found. At least it was pretty when it snowed, despite the gray, gloomy sky. Now it just looked horrible. Wet. Gray. Sometimes fog set in.

It was a nasty time, reflecting the things that were going on. She would wonder if the fog was Dementors, not nature, but there weren't sightings of floating, dark figures. Most of the Dementors were at Hogwarts, and at the Ministry. Not here. That's what the Snatchers were for.

She had nothing to really fear, being a half-blood. She was linked to a pureblood father, and his lineage. Her mother, a Muggleborn, had to suffer through a trial with Umbridge. She was always frail, emotionally. Even though her father pulled strings to ensure she wouldn't be given the Kiss, she had not made it out of the ordeal whole. Her mother laid in bed most of the time now, occasionally crying, occasionally moving out of bed to the window-seat.

In perspective, as much as Riley hated to think this way, it wasn't the worst fate. She was alive, right? Maybe not her usual self, but her mother was alive.

That couldn't be said for some of the lot she was staying with.

She was in one of the two tents the group of seven had; one for the girls, one of the boys. Three girls, four boys. It was mostly those who had graduated Hogwarts already; they used to work at the Ministry, or in the Alley. There was one boy among them who didn't go back for his seventh year. They let him stay, only because he could cook.

She was in the middle, at nineteen. She was an Auror when they were investigating their mother, and abandoned her post when she realized the things that were going on. Said good-bye to her parents, shouldered her pack, and Apparated to the first place she thought of. If she would be found guilty of anything, it'd be going AWOL. But they'd find something to pin to her on top of that, and she hated the Ministry and the Death Eaters. All of this was stupid and discriminatory. Their own government overthrown; the claim that the Minister stepped down was a downright lie.

Scrimgeour wouldn't retire even if Death was in front of his desk, scythe in hand. Anyone who had worked with him in the Magical Department of Law Enforcement knew that, dammit.

"Riley, dinner's ready," Hannah, a petite blonde, said as she peeked into the tent.

"I'll be out in a second."

She got up from her cot, ruffling her brown hair. Sleep grasped her eyes, boredom having set in for too long. She rubbed her grey eyes with the heels of her palms, which did nothing.

She threw on her jacket in a last minute decision; it was cool enough to warrant it, but warm enough to not have to wear five layers. Pushing aside the canvas flap, she made her way to the tree stump that had become known as her seat.

Martin, the seventh year whose hair had not been cut in some time, was stirring some sort of stew, which smelled wonderful. They had gotten their hands on some chicken, and Riley was looking forward to it.

"Saw a Snatcher today," Amber commented. It wasn't her hair that matched her name, but her eyes. A deep red-gold that reminded Riley of a feral beast. "Just one. He was sent to look for firewood, I think. Didn't look happy about it."

"We'll be fine so long as the wards are in place," Anthony muttered, his nose in a book like always.

"And what if one of us makes a mistake? If they're nearby…" Lawrence began, but was hushed by Riley with a hand. He may have been the eldest, at twenty-one, but he was never aware of how loud he could get. Muffliato was in place, but there was no need to raise voices.

"Let's just get through dinner." She did a quick head-count; there were six of them, including herself. "Where's David?"

"Went to the nearest village for supplies. Said he'd be back by now…" Martin answered, spooning the rich stew into a bowl and passing it to Anthony.

They waited until all six of them had a bowl before digging in. It was warm, savory. The chicken tasted exquisite, something they hadn't had in so long. Nostalgia seemed to cross everyone's face at some point during dinner; they were reminded of home.

The fire was the only source of light, an orange glow giving facial features a bit of distortion. They talked, remembered things. Riley played with the scarf that was loose around her jacket's collar, purple and blue and pink and orange, with a paisley pattern painfully embroidered by hand by her mother. The last thing she made before the trial.

"I hate this, this whole situation. I miss home. I miss my parents. Hell, I miss the old lady down the hall who'd snore and wake up half the block…" Hannah murmured. "All because of this stupid Dark wizard named V-"

"Don't say it!" David's voice carried throughout the campsite, but he was inside the barriers; no one would have heard it except them. He was carrying a heavy back-pack, and set it on the ground with a soft thud. "Do not utter that name…" His blonde hair was caked with dirt, and possibly blood.

"What name, Vold-" Anthony was silenced by David rushing at him, the two of them meeting the hard ground. "-mort." The last part came out as a gasp, air leaving Anthony's lungs.

There were a few sudden cracks, new feet landing on twigs, holding their landing for a moment. Six Snatchers; she recognized Fenrir Greyback instantly. Riley caught sight of a man in plaid pants before standing up, taking a few steps back and then turning and full-blown sprinting out of there.

"Are you morons waitin' for the next century? Get them!"

They scattered, the seven of them fending for themselves. Her wand slid from her sleeve, and she sent a leg-locking curse behind her, hoping it hit a Snatcher. She wasn't going to look back. She couldn't afford to.

Run. Just keep running. She'd hit the river in a little while, and she could decide then.

Her heart beat like a drum, pounding and pounding. Her lungs felt like someone had poured Firewhiskey in them, burning in a way that only came from running for your life.

The river, while usually very low and easy to cross, had become stronger with the melted snow and ice. There was a current, no doubt, and it was heard before it was seen.

She couldn't cross it.

She could Apparate away. But Snatchers could sometimes catch people that way, depending on how much time passed by the time the Snatcher reached the spot of Apparation. They could sometimes follow the small bit of energy that remained to where their prey went. Judging from the footfalls, they weren't far enough behind for it to be a viable option.

She'd have to go in.

The water came to her waist, pushing her downstream. Undertoe snagged her and brought her under. Shit. She'd underestimated this. Air. She needed air. But was it safe to get air? What if someone saw her?

She risked it, fighting the current and going up for air. She was far away by now; the forest was thicker here, the trees older. She could just make out voices, distantly. No wand light to be seen, no firelight. Far from where she'd come.

They had gotten Martin; his screams were piercing the evening, disturbing every creature that could hear them.

It was still too much fighting to try and grab a hold of some land, just flop on the edge even-she couldn't get proper footing. The water was freezing, and she had no extra clothes. She still had her wand, tight in her hand. The water calmed a bit about a mile down, when she was properly able to place her feet on the muddy bottom.

Riley trudged into the muddy banks, soaked to the bone. She needed to find shelter, set the wards, and get dry. She shook her head like a dog, trying to rid her hair of the extra weight. She was met with a mouthful of wet hair and sputtered.

There was hollowed-out log nearby. Large enough for her to crawl through and then some. She kicked it, muttered Homenum Revelio. Nothing. No nearby humans. Beggers couldn't be choosers; she needed to hide and this log was her chance.

She set about the protective enchantments, charmed dry what she could, and crawled into the log as Martin's screams finally died out. She reached for her scarf, the one comfort she went to when things like this happened.

It wasn't there. She cursed herself in her sleep that night, hoping it fell into the water so there was no scent to be found. Not that it mattered, hopefully the river had removed any traces of definitive scent from her.

He had gone after the pretty ones, of course. There had been a lovely thin blonde, and a tan girl with crazy-colored eyes, and the one with the scarf. One of them was bound to get away; six going after seven that scattered in all directions.

Scabior's eyes fell upon a piece of cloth snagged on a branch; the height that was right around that girl's neck. She had lost it, and not known it. Or she laid it to set a false trail. But she had been running the entire time, she wouldn't have stopped to do such a stupid thing…

He took the soft material in his hands, and brought it to his nose. Campfire. Traces of vanilla and mint. Perfume or lotion, he guessed. It wasn't exactly easy to snag a bath every day when the water was still freezing. She had to smell decent somehow.

He followed the smell, weaving through trees to the river. Water rushed passed him. No recent Apparation activity. And she couldn't have crossed it.

Scabior stared at the muddy water, carrying chunks of snow and earth. At her size, she wouldn't have been able to survive that. If she didn't get caught in the undertoe, maybe a chance of survival, if she got out and warmed up quickly enough.

He gave the scarf one last sniff, before pocketing it. He needed to have a fresh scent source, not marred by his own.

The boy they captured had to have been a Hogwarts kid. Skipped the train, went into hiding. He'd be brought back in a few days, after they tried to get him to give the names of who he was staying with.

And he so hoped that lovely smelling girl was on the list.