Hello, everyone! This is my first published story, so I hope you'll enjoy it. I would be very grateful for any kind of reveiws, so please r&r. Consider this chapter like a prologue, the future chapters will be longer and contain more talking. So long for now, my HP-fellows!

Chap. 1 Fingers

The cold twilight wind blew against Scabior as he lay flat on his stomach on the snowy hill in the forest. He smirked a little at his success; a snatcher should always be aware of such things as wind direction, camouflage and potential escape routes of the victimes. It wasn't an easy job, but the payment was acceptable and to tell the truth, Scabior was born for this. He loved to feel his whole body moving when he ran after some wizards foolish enough to believe they could escape him. The adrenalin pulsing in his pure blood making him endure the hunting longer.

His clothes was well suited for his trade: a warm black leather coat which was waterproof, two pair of gloves with and without fingers depending on the temperature, checkered tight pants that enabled fast running and, finally, old but trustworthy black boots. But even a snatcher could get tired of dark clothing and being his slightly vain self, Scabior wore underneath his coat an armystyled jacket with golden buttons and a pink scarf that he found near a lake in the middle of Britain.

And that particular scarf brought him to the place where he was currently lying and quietly watching the white tent with the young woman inside fifty feet before him. She suddenly came out to relieve the darkhaired man guarding the tent.

Scabior saw them talk a little before the man went inside and the woman settled down against a tree beside the tent. She was very pretty with golden brown curls, fair skin and a lithe body. This was his favourite part of the espionage, when he alone could enjoy the woman for two hours while she was keeping watch. When he saw what she brought with her he rolled his eyes. 'Merlin, these people are so obvious!' he thought, as the woman opened the book she always read when outside the tent. She looked content as she became engulfed with the damned book resting against her thighs.

Still Scabior stayed, because he knew that his wait would soon be rewarded. And as the wind caught her hair and continued to blow towards him it carried with itself the sweet smell of her. Scabior breathed deeply and greedily, like a starving student reaching for a Hogwarts buffet. The smell of vanilla and summer flowers intoxicated and eased him at the same time; the scarf would preserve some of the scent yet again presented before him. And so Scabior lay there for a long time feasting on the girl with his eyes and nose.

The night arrived and it grew darker but Scabior would stay as long as he could see her from his hill. He saw how she yawned and drew her wand from her jacket to cast Lumos so that she could continue to read. But after some minutes she suddenly laid the book on her legs and dropped the hand holding the wand so that the Lumos disappeared and her head lolled back to the tree.

Scabior raised his head a little to meet this new occurrence. The sudden darkness forced him to stare towards the girl. When he spotted some smoke appearing before her he calmed down. 'She's fallen asleep,' he thought with a slightly annoyance; a guard must never sleep on his duty. It was a clear rule amongst snatchers, but common witches and wizards could evidentially not assimilate that important rule. But when Scabior glanced at her again his mood was restored.

Now that she was sleeping her body was completely relaxed, her palms were open and even the small wrinkle between her eyes was gone. Her chest rose and sank more prominent and the rhythm became Scabior's undoing, a prison from which he could not escape. When her breasts anew thrusted up he could honestly feel how his blood began to race. The desire sparked to life and he too started to breath deeper. The woman moved a little and let out a small moan. It was enough to make him feel a stir in his abdomen.

He was getting hard, which was not pleasent when lying on a cold ground with tight trousers.

He thought about easing his problem and slowly let his hand slip under his hip and inside his pants. When his leatherclad fingers touched the hardness he bit down on his lip to mute any sounds of pleasure. He looked at the woman and imagined her naked form in front of him, moaning and writhing. The fingers squeezed his cock firmer and he managed a fast stroke before he realised what he was doing. 'I'm on duty, for Salazar's sake!' And with that he removed his hand from his pants and took a deep breath.

Scabior shaked his head and looked away from the beautiful creature to compose himself. Anyway, it was time for him to leave his post and return to the snatcher camp. Silently he began to crawl backwards and threw a last glance at her. Then he stopped his movement. She was still sleeping safe and sound, but there was something different about her hands. With his skilled eyes trained on them he registered red marks on her fingertips. 'Shit, it's frostbites!' he realised and got worried. Luckily the marks weren't black yet, but it was dangerous yet. Frostbites were very hard to treat even for wizards, and especially for wizards who didn't had the special healing potion.

If the woman continued to sleep in the cold she would suffer the consequences. Him being a snatcher knew very well how fast the body could be harmed by the forces of nature, which was why he always saw to his needs and stayed warm and dry. But this stupid girl didn't even think about wearing gloves when it was frezzing outside, and furthermore, when she was supossed to stay outside for two hours. And now she was asleep and ignorant of her reddening fingers.

Scabior didn't care. He shouldn't care about the wellfare of a prey. The internal snatcher rule No. 3 stated: "A snatcher will not pity or help victimes or he will be thrown to the inferi or something like that". The rules were not written down, but traveled from snatcher to snatcher so the rules were a bit inconsistent but they all understood the meaning of them.

So why should Scabior help the foolish girl from her own mistake? But when Scabior began to retreat something tugged in his very core. It hurt and Scabior wasn't much of a masochist. 'Fuck this!' Gritting his teeth, knowing full well that he would regret it in the future he brought out his wand and aimed it towards the woman. Because he didn't want her to get harmed, not now at least. Preparing himself to crawl away he whispered softly:

"Enervate tranquillus"