Hermione is books and small smiles and vanilla perfume. She is everything he's ever wanted, everything he shouldn't have, and everything he takes anyways. She's one of the most beautiful, loyal souls he's had the pleasure of meeting, and he's only mildly ashamed to exploit that.
It started on a hunt. Some fearful muggle-borns (he wonders when they stopped being mudbloods) were caught hiding out in some forest or other and he and his men were hot on their trail. It was after they had caught their bounty and were wandering about that he caught a whiff of sweet vanilla. Now, if asked, he would accredit this to his superior snatcher senses, but really after traveling about with possibly the rankest smelling man in the wizarding world- Greyback- something that's not exactly foul becomes unusual.
He doesn't know how or why he knew he needed to help her, but he did and regret and satisfaction are now prominent, uncomfortable emotions he carries. He certainly didn't expect to love her and he certainly won't divulge that bit of information to her.
They meet when she was out gathering food. Such a pretty little thing shouldn't have to hunt her dinners herself, and she certainly shouldn't do it alone, especially if she unknowingly wanders past her own wards. He had a bit of a spat with a couple other snatchers about their lack of finds so he'd stormed off in a true show of Slytherin pettiness. He was just as surprised to see her, too. He flinches and she jumps back gasping. He narrows his eyes and takes a step forward and isn't surprised when she turns to run.
Her bushy (but lovely, nonetheless) hair flies behind her and he catches that familiar scent of vanilla in the wind.
"Wait!" he called, and began the chase.
She turned as she ran, wand in hand, and cast some spell or other that completely missed him in her rush.
"Oi!" he cried indignantly, "I just wanna chat, I promise!"
She's still running aimlessly; probably trying to avoid leading him back to her camp. Her speed is no match for his though and he tackles her to the ground, a bit rougher than intended, but it got the job done. He closed his eyes and inhaled the scent of her perfume and knew that this was her.
She was struggling underneath him, reaching for her wand that had been thrown from her grasp at impact.
" 'Old on a bit, love. Jus' wanna talk to you is all." He rose to his knees, still half on her and peered into her frightened, pretty brown eyes.
"I'm a halfblood! I promise, I'm a halfblood!" She looked frantic, the poor thing. Reaching over her and plucking her wand off the damp forest floor, he rose to his feet and offered her a hand. She still looked wide-eyed and terrified; eyes darting from his face to his hand.
"Calm down, darlin'. I aint here to snatch ya. I told you I just wanted to talk." He drew his hand back- she was obviously not going to take it- and watched as she stood up in a rather defensive pose.
"Talk about what, exactly? I told you, I'm a halfblood. Penelope Clearwater; you can check it!" She practically yelled, her voice becoming shrill in desperation.
Twirling her wand in his hand, he narrowed his eyes, "Clearwater, eh? Last I heard, you were safe and sound at Hogwarts." He circled her tense form, "now, my lovely, regardless of who you really are I told ya I just wanted a nice chat."
She's still breathing heavily and glaring at him, but she's not running so he takes that as a good sign.
"Are you mad?! As if I would willingly chat with someone like you!" She lunges for her wand, but he pulls back in time for her to stumble forward and miss.
"I smelt you," he blurts, feeling a bit foolish for it, "two or so weeks ago. Vanilla, that's your perfume innit?"
She narrows her eyes at him, but doesn't reveal that yes, she knows, and it scared her out of her wits when it happened.
He smiles crookedly and holds up his hands in a pose that suggests he comes in peace, despite the fact that her wand is dangling in one of those hands.
"That came out a bit off, didn't it?" he defends, "I wasn't looking for you, I swear. I just smelled that perfume again and thought hey, what are the chances?" The normally calm and self-assured snatcher was withering under her glare.
"You're not going to snatch me?" she asks hesitantly, sounding shy despite her ferocious glare.
"Cross me 'eart and hope to die if I'm lyin', love." He smiles roguishly as her glare diminishes into a mild scowl.
She doesn't know what to do with herself. She wants to run, he can tell, but she'd be a fool to leave her wand. She tenses once more in a primal attempt to make herself more intimidating
"Give me my wand back." She demands. Must've been a Gryffindor, this one.
"What in it for me?" he smirks and leans forward.
She looks bravely into his eyes for a few long seconds and he thinks maybe she's finally giving in until her fist finds his eye and he staggers back, dropping her wand. She grabs it quickly and performs a petrifying spell and he watches, unable to move as she disappears into the forest.