So in my story you have to suppose after the chase, Harry and Ron escaped but Hermione was caught.
Scabior regarded the girl who had just fallen on the forest floor in front of him. Naked, arms wrapped around herself, she was shivering and silently crying as she rocked slowly back and forth. His eyes ran to her legs and narrowed when he saw traces of blood on her thighs. He crouched down next to her, reaching out a hand to touch the blood. Hermione jerked abruptly away from him and, not raising her eyes, spoke quietly.
"Please don't hurt me".
His eyes ran over her naked form as she averted her gaze. He couldn't help it. The pale skin of her breasts was almost translucent. The hard line of his mouth twitched as he removed his jacket and held it out to her. She didn't reach for it. He let it drop to the ground in front of her, pushing it towards her. Standing, he looked down at her and spoke gruffly.
"Use the jacket".
Scabior was not a kind man. He was not a decent man, either. However, he did realize the importance of keeping a supposed friend of Harry Potter's alive and well. He was more of a mercenary, really. He knew as long as the girl was alive and he possessed her that no harm would come to him. The Dark Lord was too eager to find the boy. The girl was simply a bargaining chip; a means to an end. He might make off with a tidy sum. Of course, an in incoherent, upset state, it might anger the Dark Lord. Although quite certain he'd love nothing more than to torture her, that was a sadistic pleasure reserved only for him. Also, if she was so upset she'd be less likely to communicate the whereabouts of Potter.
Angry that his success was threatened, he turned on his heel and approached the rest of the men who surrounded the campfire, laughing, rowdy and getting more drunk by the minute.
"Oi!," he called, making a few heads turn his way but most remained drunkenly speaking amongst themselves.
He strode close to the flames and spoke again, his teeth gritted.
"OI!," he said this time, louder. Satisfied he had everyone's attention he spoke.
"Who messed up that girl?"
There was some shuffling and murmurs but no one came forward or volunteered any information. They were so stupid, the lot of them. He slowly circled the fire.
"Did it not occur to any o' you gents that that girl over there is 'arry Potter's friend and we can use her to get to him?"
Again no one spoke.
"No one?," his eyes scanned the crowd. "Did you not think if you bring a hysterical girl in front of the Dark Lord he would wonder what 'ad 'appened? And that all our necks would be on the line?"
Still nothing.
"'O course you didn't," he turned back to the figure of the girl, yards away, huddled in his jacket. Looking up at the night sky hearing the low rumble of thunder, he started speaking again.
"We need her in one piece. Best not to forget."
He slowly turned towards her and walked away from the main campsite, back towards Hermione. He heard some talking, then laughing, as the 'festivities' resumed.
Bloody idiots.
He strode 'til he was next to her, at her side. He gently nudged her with the toe of his boot.
Hermione let out a small gasp and flung herself around his plaid covered lower leg. The jacket fell away completely but she didn't seem to care about her nakedness. He was startled and moved to take a step back but she hugged his leg to herself, sobbing onto the plaid fabric and spoke.
"Please don't hurt me...please...I'm begging you...please," and her voice trailed off.
She sounded almost delirious.
He was shocked, this girl, this friend of Potter's had been broken. She was crying on his leg begging him to not harm her. Scabior didn't really care one way or the other about the girl. He didn't care about keeping her safe for any particular reason. He had done many things he regretted. But he needed her; he needed to know where the boy was. So he would have to gain her trust. He knew this, and spoke to her.
"I'm not going to hurt you, love."
He bent at the waist to undo her arms from around his leg, and tried to lift her up by the forearms. She rose slowly with him, and as her face came into the light he saw her left eye was nearly swollen shut. Her body went slack and she fell into his chest, the shivers wracking her small body unmistakable.
More thunder.
Balancing her against him, Scabior knelt on one knee and picked the jacket up, dragging it up past her arms and putting it over her shoulders. Her small hands crossed over her chest and held the opposing shoulders of the jacket, pulling it tight across her, preserving meager shreds of dignity.
He looked at the sky as the wind picked up, whipping her hair around her.
"Come with me," he spoke, his voice suddenly low.
Hermione used a hand to brush a tear away from her swollen eye and looked at him, her face clearly worried.
"There will be rain. Come inside. I won't hurt you. But if you continue to try my patience I might reconsider."
Hermione's good eye went slightly wider and she dropped her gaze quickly to the ground. She gave a slow nod, and with that he turned towards the low row of tents at the back of the campsite. She followed, willing her feet to move, staring at the back of the terrifying man in front of her. He walked quickly and she had to struggle to keep up. The rain started as they walked, and even the very first drops chilled her to the bone. Pulling his jacket around her even closer, she thought several things.
He will rape me.
He will torture me.
He will kill me.
She tried to still her thoughts but to no avail. She really didn't have a choice. At least he had offered her his jacket. He hadn't been like the other man who pushed her down and took her in the rough leaves and sharp twigs. But he was just as frightening when he looked at her. This man, with his wild hair and terrifyingly cold eyes. He seemed the embodiment of evil.
He turned towards her and pulled the tent flap to one side, indicating she should precede him inside. She took a deep breath as the freezing rain continued to beat down upon her, and slowly exhaled as she walked past him and his predatory gaze into the warmth the tent promised.
