OK, so imagine Ron and Harry were taken away to Malfoy Manor, but Hermione was too weak to continue. Scabior had been given directions to turn them all in unharmed, so they need to make camp for the night. As Scabior needs to both protect her from anyone else and deliver her safe and in one piece and also needs to keep an eye on her, he decides to share a tent with her, separate sleeping quarters.

Hermione glanced over at the man sleeping not six feet away. He had his left arm behind his head, bent at the elbow. His other hand rest on his stomach, near his wand in case of any trouble. His hair was wild and dirty, and he apparently slept in all his clothes.

And yet...

And yet he'd known she couldn't walk any farther; known she needed to rest. And even though it was his responsibility to bring her in without a mark on her, she knew he could have just made her keep going, or had someone throw her over their shoulder.

It was probably just Stockholm Syndrome, she chided herself, as she unwittingly sympathized with her captor. That's all it is, she told herself.

She watched him take another deep breath in, and still she studied him. His head tilted towards her and he opened his eyes, confused. He had felt her eyes on him but was unsure why.

She got out of bed and walked towards the bottom of his. His eyes followed her, curious.

Hermione cleared her throat, raised her eyebrows and spoke.

"Tomorrow I may very well die."

He regarded her, not speaking. She looked at her feet and continued.

"It's just that...I have never...," her eyes flew to the tent ceiling as she composed her words carefully, "...have never been with a man. And it's something I don't want to die without experiencing it at least once."

Again, he did not speak, but raised himself to a sitting position, and then brought a knee up, draping an arm over it. He wrung his hands together and looked at them. Had she really...?

She cleared her throat again. "You-," she stopped herself, willing her voice to not break.

"You were kind to me this evening. You didn't make me go on. You let me rest. I want it to be you."

He knit his eyebrows together still studying his hands. Slowly he removed his lone glove. He had never taken a virgin. His own virginity had been taken by a common whore. Then, his life had been a series of brothels, loose women, women in pubs and the like. He had never forced himself on a woman. Even though he had killed, he would not violate someone from the inside.

Hermione pulled her thin camisole over her head and stood, facing him.

"You're playing with fire, love," he said between gritted teeth.

"I don't want to be safe anymore," Hermione started.

"My orders were to bring you in unharmed."

"Then don't harm me," she spoke back directly, staring him in the eyes, challenging him.

He made a motion to her with his hand outstretched and she settled onto his bed, facing him. He gently reached for a lock of hair which fell over her shoulder and tucked it behind her ear. The hair almost grazed her breast. She took in a quick breath, her cheeks becoming hot as his gaze moved down to her bare breasts. He instead avoided this sensitive area and wrapped a hand in hers. Suddenly, he had placed their entwined hands behind her back and pulled her in to his lips.

His mouth was warm, his breath had the sweet remnants of firewhiskey on it. he gently pulled her closer to him, his hand still intertwined with hers and at the small of her back. She mewled against him and opened her mouth to him. His tongue was hesitant but explored her willingly. She struggled to get her hand away so she could touch him but he held her tightly. It was wrong, but so exciting. Having this man hold her and pin her so close to him.

His other hand went to her collarbone, brushing the hair on the other side back over her shoulder. Then he leaned in slowly and his stubble ran across a sensitive spot on her neck, making her shiver.

"I must be out of my mind," she spoke in soft whispers. "I don't even know your name."

He started kissing the sensitive skin at the base of her neck and whispered, "Scabior, beau'iful."

He bit down gently, and she yelped. He looked at her briefly. "Would you like me to stop?"

Hermione shook her head no.

A hand was at her breast, running over the nipple oh so lightly and she thought she would be lost forever. He gently nudged her so she would lay back on his bed. Then he did remove the hand at the small of her back. He ran his hands over her exposed midriff and lightly over her breasts. Hermione arched into his touch and closed her eyes.

She had never felt like this. She didn't even think she had had an orgasm. She couldn't even touch herself correctly. She got bored and frustrated and had to stop. This was completely new, and so wonderful.

She felt his fingers hook in the sides of her shorts and although her heart was beating fast in her chest, she lifted her hips for him so he could slide off the garment.

He looked down at her and then at her eyes as he leaned in to kiss her.

Her hands went to his shoulders immediately, pushing off his jacket and then waistcoat. Before she even knew what was happening a finger was inside her, then rubbing against a spot; the spot she herself had touched many times trying to discover her body.

She groaned into him, pulling his mouth to his and unbuttoning his shirt until they were bare skin to skin.

He pulled back but only for a moment, and to remove his pants. It was dark but she could make out the outline of him and well...that part of him that was going to enter. She was almost scared to look. She had never seen one in real life. She took a deep breath and stilled herself.

Scabior positioned himself between her legs and his mouth found one of her nipples and he continued his ministrations on her tender spot. It was exciting and terrifying and she felt herself spiraling out of control not long after he started. He leaned up and claimed her mouth again and he moved, faster now. She was arching into his hand, grinding against him, feeling tighter, tighter, tighter... And then finally she released in an earth shattering moment that made her weak and dizzy. He stilled for a moment, but then began kissing her again, his hand reaching, his finger inside her gently again. He moved it in and out while she clawed at his shoulders.

When he thought she was ready he placed himself at her entrance and looked down at her. Their eyes locked and he slowly moved forward. Then in and out. Then slightly deeper. Then in and out. His hand reached for her nub, still sensitive and she yelped at the combination of feelings.

"More," she pleaded silently. He increased the pressure of his hand on her and moved further and further in until he was buried at the hilt. She felt pressure but no pain. Then he was moving in and out against her, and her legs went around his back. Her hands felt the slick muscles of his chest and he grabbed her hips, diving into her, pulling her to him. They were completely joined and again she felt glorious pressure building. She wanted to scream. She wanted to cry. She forgot her name. And for a moment she forgot what she was doing. Then her heart was beating so loud she could hear it in her ears, feel the blood pulsing through her veins. With a strangled cry, she released in his arms, and pulled him along with her.

He lay on top of her, his weight welcome. She could feel his heart beating through his chest too. It was so fast. Their bodies were so slick, covered in a sweaty sheen. Oddly enough she found that erotic instead of unwanted.

Slowly he removed himself from her crashing next to her. She stood up and walked to where her clothes lay, picking them up.

"That was not at all like I expected," she said to him softly. She turned to look at him, noticing the hurt in his eyes. She then realized he thought she was commenting on his performance. She blushed and looked down.

"That's not what I meant...I...there was really no pain." She paused looking him square in the eyes.

"You were gentle," she continued.

"You asked me to be," he replied quietly.

After a moment, she spoke again, "yes, but you didn't have to be."

She looked at him and he looked down this time.

"Scabior...may I...," she turned away from him and spoke, "may I sleep next to you?"

It was an odd request. No one wanted to share his bed. Usually it was women he met up with who enjoyed him, then wanted to get on with their own lives. Even several who were married. Sleeping together, actually sleeping, was out of the question.

He stretched back on the bed and laid his arm across the other pillow, so as to signal to her he would let her.

She sat on the edge of the bed, working her tangled hair into some semblance of a braid. She laid down, his arm under her, staring at the ceiling. She looked over at him and he was silently studying the tent above. With a small sigh, she curled herself around him, stretching her arm across his narrow waist and pulling herself closer.

He didn't know what to do at all. So he did what he wanted. He curled his arm which had been flat against the pillow around her back.

She spoke into his neck. "Tomorrow...will there be pain?"

He took a deep breath in and let it out slowly. They would torture her, of course. They would probably beat her until she herself confessed to being Harry Potter. Anything to stop the torment.

He turned and looked at her. His face changed; it was harder now.

"Listen to me very carefully. You go. Now. Don't look back. I promise to give you at least ten minutes. All the wards are down. You go, and do not look back."

She stared at him, stunned. He sat up abruptly taking her with him.

"Go. Now! I will find you again," he said, and with that he pushed her towards the tent opening. She grabbed her clothes and struggled into them quickly. With one last look at him, she was running through the forest once more.