Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter - I know, really random but hey - such is life.

Author's Note: Written because Scabior is awesome - and to offer an explanation as to who Scabior is, how he came to be leading his group of Snatchers (movie shows a different dynamic to Greyback/Scabior so I wanted to offer an explanation why Scabior was more in control), why he was in the Ministry during the takeover (we all saw him there first) - and Yaxley was just added because I thought his actor Peter Mullan did a good job in DH1.

Hope you enjoy. Hasn't been beta'd. Thoughts are appreciated.

A Sorry Sight

"Aren't you a sorry sight,"

Scabior glanced up from his glass, eyes narrowed.


The name slipped from his lips, the last vowel drawn out as he considered the man before him. Yaxley could've been some Muggle crime boss, with his dirty blond hair pulled back, tailored black suit and the rings that adorned his fingers. Expensive rings at that – silver, goblin-wrought with emeralds and azures, and gold. There were more lines on his face, his hair had a hint of grey, and his eyes were just as cruel as ever.

Scabior hadn't seen Yaxley for six years – when he had gotten out of Azkaban he had immediately started living on the fringes of society so that he wouldn't be caught and put back. He never wanted to go back. Not ever.

The older man slid into the booth, sitting across from Scabior and studying him. He couldn't but wonder what Yaxley saw when he looked at his former student – three day stubble, matted hair tied back, shadows under his eyes no doubt. Scabior hadn't been looking after himself, preferring to wallow alone in his self pity, and chase skirts at night for some warmth and human contact.

The bar he had chosen was small, out of the way. It held a certain rustic charm, a slight throwback to the 1930s with a smoky air, leather booths and green tinted windows. He had chosen it deliberately for that purpose, as no one would have thought to look for him here – or should've found him. He didn't want to be bothered by anyone, he just wanted to sit here and think – reflect. Drink. And the drink here was good: age old scotch on ice. Sure this was a Muggle bar – something that should be considered beneath wizards such as himself but it was a nice Muggle bar – none of those flashing lights. No self respecting pureblood would be caught dead in the Muggle world ... then again Scabior wasn't a self respecting pureblood – he did have a quarter mudblood in him after all.

So how Yaxley had found him was beyond Scabior. Though not really. This was Yaxley – the man who had taught him everything he knew about dark curses and finding people.

Yeah, he wasn't sure if he should be proud of being mentored by a Death Eater either. He supposed in present times, what with the Dark Lord back and all, he should be proud of it in a sense but his fragmented memories of the past reminded him it wasn't a good thing, and if he had half the brain he thought he had, he should've bolted from the country to escape the gradual descent into darkness.

And then again not – it was always nice to read about the bastards who had sentenced him getting tortured and killed.

"Glad to see you've remembered my name,"

Scabior shrugged.

"No comment?" drawled Yaxley.

Scabior raised an eyebrow and took another drink. He swallowed it and stared down Yaxley. "It's absolutely fucking-tastic to see ya, sir. Now wot do ya want, darlin'? Because in case you 'aven't noticed: I'm busy,"

"Drinking yourself to death?"

"Nah," he said with a grin. He cocked his head to his left, towards the bar. "See that girl? The blonde? Well when 'er shift is over –"

"That's disgusting,"

Scabior shrugged. "A pussy is a pussy no matter 'ow you dress it up,"

"It's a Muggle,"

"No, it's a pussy that 'appens to belong to a Muggle – that is da key difference,"

Yaxley 's face of disgust grew.

He grinned and picked up his glass, watching the liquid swirl for a moment. That was the truth after all. And he had the experience to back it up – unlike Yaxley whom he knew was of the opinion was that to even touch a Muggle meant you were infected with some sort deadly disease.

Scabior felt the sides of his mouth quirk up. "And might I add that pussy, well 'er owner is pretty fit –"

"And here I thought Azkaban would've improved you,"

Scabior flushed for a second, his body turning for ice for a second. Then he smirked, pulling on a mask. "Ah so - is that why you sent me there? Even after I –"

The words stopped dead in his throat. He was unable to verbalise it as her eyes: fierce brown that wept blood as her last breath came out as a rattle, filled his vision.

"Still can't verbalise it, eh?"

Scabior shrugged, glancing to the side. "Considering I lived with that for five fucking years mmmm ... I killed a mudblood and was forced to relive it day in and day out ... I do wonder why I can't say it?" he paused for a moment, staring at Yaxley in the eye, "Oh wait I just did."

Yaxley's eyes narrowed. "What was her name though?"

He couldn't even remember now. He'd pushed her name so far away so she wouldn't haunt him. A part of him did want to remember – the part that sought for him to repent for his sins. But he couldn't let it – her face, her body turning cold, and the blood that had marked his robes was enough for him to deal with. He didn't need to remember her name as well – didn't need to make her an actual person. The guilt was always with him - he hadn't meant to kill her, he hadn't killed her for being a mudblood. But pushing her name aside clearly hadn't helped stop the dreams though, he thought bitterly as he turned his attention to Yaxley and his many rings.

"Does it matter? Mudbloods are all the same, innit," said Scabior stiffly.

"Good boy,"

Scabior rolled his eyes and gestured to the barmaid to get him another drink. "So what do I owe the pleasure?"

"I'm sure you've heard the whisperings,"

Scabior rolled his eyes. "Who hasn't?" He dug his hand into his leather satchel which sat beside him, pushing past his notebook, a small bag of galleons, a spare shirt until his hands closed in on the Daily Prophet. He pulled out the tattered paper, and unfolded it, fingers lingering above a large headline 'TIPS TO STAY SAFE FROM DEATH EATERS'.

"You aren't exactly subtle," said Scabior dryly.

Yaxley smirked. "No, we aren't – but soon we won't need to be,"

Read: the Dark Lord was going to take over the Ministry very soon. Meaning a lot of mudbloods were going to die, a lot of people were going to lie no doubt about blood status. Meaning that either the Minister for Magic was going to die or find himself Imperiod – Scabior knew personally that Scimgeour was not the type to start following the Dark Lord's world views.

"Didn't realise Scrimgeour was a sympathiser," said Scabior slowly.

"He isn't."

A shiver of excitement shot its way up his spine at those words – at that tone, and he couldn't help but smile slightly. Scimengeour was going down, tra la la, he was going to be pushing up daises soon, he thought as the barmaid came over with his drink and he gave her a parting wink before getting lost in his thoughts.

Scabior had no love for the current Minister for Magic: Rufus Scrimgeour, the former Head of The Auror Office, had been one of the leading prosecutors that had resulted in Scabior going to Azkaban six years ago. He hoped the bastard bled out, screamed. He deserved it. Scabior almost pitied that he wasn't going to be the one to do it.

"I thought you'd like to hear that,"

"That has made my night," he admitted. He twisted his glass around. "But you still haven't told me why the fuck you're here,"

"Well when that does go down," said Yaxley, pulling out some files, and placing them on the table, "I'll need you to find some people – there will be some panic, people will –"

"Run and hide," finished Scabior.

He could already picture the ruined homes, the crying children, the panicked adults – all mudbloods – as they ran. It would be beautiful in a sense – England's Grindewald. But tragic: for all the blood that would be spilled on both sides.

"And I need someone to catch them all," said Yaxley. "A team,"

The Death Eater tapped the files twice and Scabior pulled them towards him, flipping them over, eyes scanning. Pictures of young men stared back at him, all half-bloods or purebloods and a few years younger than him: all trouble makers, 'racists', and very good at Dark Arts.

"What about them Aurors?" asked Scabior as he stared at one young man's photo taking from when he was at school – the kid was only nineteen, half-blood and had been kicked out of home for spouting pureblood superiority. He had moved to England only a year ago from Sweden. His light grey eyes gleamed up at Scabior through the photograph.

"Aurors are too risky," said Yaxley, "They'll catch some – but sending out a team? I can't trust them to do a proper job,"

Scabior nodded. It made sense – the Aurors weren't going to be very receptive to the sudden change in Ministry politics. That still didn't count out the no good screw-ups and tough guys who would hunt the mudbloods down for gold.

"But others will –"

Yaxley waved him off. "The ones who will do that will most likely be idiots – I want a team I know that won't screw up,"

"And these wizards," Scabior gestured to the files, "are that? They aren't exactly O students –"

"Over the years – due to their little run ins with the law I've personally been able to see what they can do – take Mikael Blomsky for example," Yaxley pointed at the folder Scabior had opened, "he was a Seeker at school – very fast, good runner, can see a needle in a haystack, smart and has a bit of power – he's just not a leader,"

"And that's why you need me,"

"More or less," said Yaxley, "And don't worry – I'll make it worth your while,"

Scabior took a sip of scotch, musing over it. He had nothing better to do – and this could be a good source of income – as an escaped convict finding work wasn't a walk in the park. He needed gold – he missed gold. Gold opened doorways.

"I'll get paid on an salary for babysitting these kids, as well as collect whatever the bounty is?" asked Scabior.

"Yes, on an unofficial level,"

It sounded too good to be true. It was all well and good to make a team but there had to be a real reason. A hidden agenda. Yaxley was a Slytherin after all. There was something more here. He gave another glance over the files to see if any of his 'team' were real psychopaths that needed babysitting but he couldn't see that.

"Wot's the catch?" asked Scabior evenly.

Yaxley hesitated a second before saying in a low voice. "Greyback will be joining you,"


It came out louder than he expected and he saw a few dozen Muggles' turn their eyes on them but he ignored their stares, his hand subconsciously crept to his chest where he could feel the scars beneath his shirt.

He could not work with that monster.

"Yaxley," said Scabior, "'e attacked me,"

"And made you better at finding people," was Yaxley's cold reply.

"I'm not – why would he even be snatching anyway?"

"Snatching – I like that," said Yaxley slowly. He reached over and took Scabior's glass, draining it. Scabior just watched his mentor, wanting to know why Greyback was going a snatching. He had heard whispers that the werewolf was right up there near the inner circle after all.

"Greyback thinks he's more important than he is," said Yaxley.

Scabior rolled his eyes. "And so I'm going to get lumped with the bastard – I don't watch pets,"

"You'll do what I tell you to – and think of it like this ... you'll be in control, you'll be running the show," said Yaxley, "You'll be making sure Greyback doesn't tear up any runaways who happen to have good blood by accident,"

Scabior smiled. Yaxley was good – playing to Scabior's side that liked to control, that liked gold, that liked being above his enemies – and playing the card that he was smarter than the rest and that was why he was needed.

But still Greyback. Even Scabior had standards – and it wasn't to do with the scars the bastard had inflicted on him – fortunately not on the full moon. He knew the wolf took sick pleasure in circling children, in taking little girls and boys. He was vicious, strong – oh and he was smart. Scabior knew that, smart enough to successfully lead the majority of the werewolf community, and climb the Death Eater ranks even though probably had more to do with his violent nature than anything.

Still if Scabior was there ... he could prevent the bastard from getting too carried away. He knew no mudblood would be safe with just Greyback there because no doubt there would be fun to be had – he felt a twitch run up his spine as he imagined the girls, especially the girls, fresh out of school, cheeks read from running, tears glistening on their faces as he cupped their heads in his hands and stole a kiss. Scabior would keep them in one piece – Greyback might not ...

And then there was the gold.

Sure if this war ended and he was on the wrong side he was sure he'd end up back in Azkaban – but then again sitting here and doing nothing wasn't appealing either.

"Well, well," said Scabior slowly, musing over his options, "Does sound awfully tempting ..." to snatch or not to snatch – that was the real question. He looked at Yaxley in the eye and smiled, "When do I start?"

"Three days,"

Yaxley rose and nodded his farewell, strolling out of the Muggle bar, leaving Scabior with his empty glass and files.

And the blonde barmaid.


Author's Notes: Thoughts are appreciated :)