Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter - I know, really random but hey - such is life.
Author's Note: I think all Scabior writers at some point need to write something to do with these two. It's like a law or something - because without the two of them we probably wouldn't love Scabior as much - then again maybe not.
Hope you enjoy. Hasn't been beta'd. Thoughts are appreciated.
She is there.
Standing there, watching him no doubt. He knows she is there, just like he knows the sun will rise each day, and the dark of night will claim the darkest reaches of the imagination. He knows she is there, standing, just beyond his reach – beyond his sight because as he stands there in the forest clearing. He inhales and his soul pulses as the sunlight and flowers consume. Sunlight and flowers – she smells of sunshine and flowers. How sweet of her.
Will she smell like that for him when he pushes her against a tree and stares in her eyes?
But she isn't there because there is nothing there – just the trees that creep into the dark, the pale blue of the moon, his Snatchers behind him and himself, standing here, wondering where she is , where she had gone – because someone had been here, recently as well as that smell lingered in the air.
Who she is hardly matters. She is sunlight and flowers and god he wants to chase her – he imagines she'd be fast. She'd dart just out of reach until her legs gave away and he held her against him, keeping her up, soothing her with light kisses and nothing-words.
She'd fight him, refuse to bow down because the sunlight and flowers now mingles with fear – he can taste it. He knows fear, knows how it runs wild and uncontrollable, claiming hearts and descending people into panic. Her fear is determination, determination to rise like the sun each day. She'd fight him, struggle against him, but her body would bend to his will as she fought – both him and herself.
He can't wait.
He'd keep her – muggle, mudblood, blood traitor, half-blood or pureblood she'd his. He'd watch her and each morning he could bury his nose in her hair, feel her scent surround him, inhale, and purge the demons from his soul.
She is there and he wants her.
How he wants her – words cannot describe it, cannot capture the way his mind drifts to long summer days and her running from him, tempting him and kissing him forcefully. It is more of the thought though – she herself will be nothing special, he reflects. He's just enthralled with her smell.
How sweet of her to offer him a distraction like this as he spends long nights in the woods, inhaling bark, dirt, animals and the other Snatchers. He smiles as she spins in front of him, now dressed in white, though sometimes in tattered jeans. He's going mad, but that is old news, it's hard to stay sane living this way – cabin fever is what Muggle's call it.
She is such a sweet and lovely girl for letting him use her as his purpose to keep snatching – he wants to thank her and kiss her and fuck her.
Maybe he'll be her first – he hopes so. He suspects he will.
He looks out for her as he races from forest to forest – the Dark Lord's name calling to him. Hopefully she'll say his name and then he can take her – if not he is sure he will find her. And chase her. And have her.
They pass by a lake one night. They all stand there and stare into the depths but don't stay. He knows the youngest of them, Mikael, seeks to. Mikael misses the open spaces. But it's too dangerous. He knows that they, themselves, are a target to potential wannabe heroes – he will not become the prey. The Snatchers are not prey, they are the hunters.
Sunlight and flowers is prey.
He waits for Mikael as the rest wander up to the edge of the woods. The boy throws one last glance at the lake and he can't help but wonder if she too is looking over an open space and seeking to be set free – maybe he'll take her here one day, hold her hand and take her down the rabbit hole.
They walk back in silence, Mikael talking of home – he's the only one who does. They reach the edge of the woods when he hears it – no smells it – faint but present. It can't be, His eyes dart, body freezing. Mikael asks what'ss wrong, he hushes the boy and they both look.
Mikael spots it, eagle eyes that could see a snitch in radiant sun: it is a scarf, pink, blowing in the wind, tied to a tree. A sign to mark the departure of another, to remember someone lost. He unties it and brings it to his nose. He is smiling. She was here, she does exist and has lost someone – she'll be in tears – no, not tears. She'll be staring into a blank space, not sure what to do. He can see it all.
It excites him.
Mikael frowns but doesn't say a word. The boy knows his place which he is thankful for. Some of the others don't – like Greyback. His gut twists for a second and he prays he catches her first and not Greyback. He will catch her, keep her, save her.
They set up camp with the others and he falls asleep, inhaling her.
Time passes. They sit around the campfire and celebrate the winter Yule time, drinking firewhiskey – maybe she'll be in his stocking tomorrow morning. He even almost hangs out a stocking in hope. Maybe Saint Nick will smile upon him. He doesn't think so. He's been naughty, he's not nice. He bets that she is on Saint Nick's nice list.
She is certainly on his.
A few days past and they decide to take a break – it is the holiday and they've been running since this all started. They're all tired, but try not to show it as they wander about the camp. Mikael picks a fight with Greyback, curses the werewolf and goes off for a bit, sulking. The kid wants to go home. He wonders if she wants to go home as well.
He tracks the brat down and brings him back where Greyback teaches Mikael a lesson. He watches to make sure it doesn't go too far. Besides that nothing happens, the chill greets them each morning, enclosing them in ice but they put on their layers, and begin to pack up.
It's the moment they finish packing that they hear the call in the wind. There are people to snatch and one by one they vanish, becoming one with the woods, standing behind and with trees, watching and waiting. Phantoms.
Two boys and a girl – black, red and brown. Talking, arguing. Oblivious to the chase that is about happen. This was too easy. But it was going to be fun – he hoped they were fast. He needed something to bring him back to this world – and the girl – she looked lovely. Lovely.
A late Christmas present.
She started to move towards the lake and as she did he stepped out of hiding.
"'ello, beautiful. Where d'you think you're going?"
She is still, the wind blows. He smells sunshine and flowers. He smells fear.
He has her and she knows it as she looks briefly to the tree where the scarf was and to his neck where it is now.
"Well, what are you waiting for," he smiles at her and then says loudly to his Snatchers, "Snatch 'em,"
She starts to run, he starts to chase. Magic is thick in the air, the forest falling apart as spells rip trees, as they run. They're fast, desperate. They won't last long. He knows this, already. Curse, dodge, push with their legs, leap. The Snatchers are racing with the hunt in their hearts, the prey running –fear driving them, the magic flying thick and fast in the air.
He needs to reach her, needs to hold her shaking form in his arms, kiss her and soothe her. She'll be so scared, so afraid, her little heart will race faster than a rabbits. It is. He can hear it beating against his own – her eyes – brown – he knows her eyes now – staring at him, unsure.
He flies over the ground, savage smile on his face.
They start to fall, his Snatchers grab them, hold them. They continue to struggle: Ugly twisting and turning, Ginger screaming at them to stop touching her as he struggles and is pushed into the dirt. He almost agrees with Ginger – it should be only him touching her.
He walks down to them, taking them in, gives her a pointed look – she is so lovely – and says. "Your boyfriend will get much worse than that if he doesn't learn to be'ave 'imself,"
She calms, still breathing heavily, but she stops to struggle, glaring at him. There is fire in her eyes, wicked determination, like the sun scorching the land. She'd be in Gryffindor no doubt – fearless and brave until the end.
He can't wait to know her name - her real name that is. As he steps into her, fingers her hair – so soft, so pretty, he smells her. And it is her, sunshine and flowers right before him, his for the taking. He has her, and she knows it, her body shuddering.
He reckons she'll be his favourite.
Author's Notes: Thoughts are appreciated :)