***Disclaimer, Hermione is at least 18 in this story*** all characters belong to JK!
"Penelope Clearwater, half-blood," Hermione stated clearly to her captor. Her insides turned as he approached her. He moved so slowly, bringing his face close to hers, that she was afraid for a brief moment that he would touch his lips to hers. Instead, and at the last possible second before he did touch her lips, he turned his head and inhaled close to her neck, making her shiver involuntarily. Then he moved his hand slowly, elegantly, over her shoulder to grab and breathe in a lock of her hair.
Instinctively she backed away, but couldn't for she was being held by another of the Snatchers she couldn't see. All she knew was the man holding her was much stronger.
The man with the red streak in his hair and the deliberate demeanor turned back to Harry and Ron, who were also being held. Another of the Snatchers spoke.
"There's no Vernon Dudley on 'ere…hear that, ugly, this means you're lying."
"How come you don't want us to know who you are?," said the Snatcher with the mask who held Harry.
"Then it's wrong, I told you who I am!," Harry shouted back as the man with the streak approached him. Using his want to lift Harry's hair he saw the faded outlines of the tell-tale scar that belonged to one Harry Potter.
" 'arry Potter," the man with the streak spoke softly, caressing every syllable. Hermione turned her gaze towards Ron who seemed horrified that this man knew who they were. Or at least, was about to find out.
"Scabior," the man with the mask said. The man with the red streak turned towards him. "What we gonna do with 'em?"
The man named Scabior turned back towards Hermione with an evil glint in his eye.
"We're going to take Harry Potter to the Dark Lord, obviously. But not before I take a little something for myself…," his voice trailed off as he eyed Hermione suggestively, cocking his eyebrow.
"If you touch her I swear I will kill you!," Ron shouted, earning him a crunching blow to his stomach.
Harry spoke as well. "Scabior, is that your name?"
Scabior turned towards Potter.
"I will go with you willingly, I won't try to escape.. just let the two of them go."
He smiled at the boy, "Well, aren't you the brave one. You're already coming with me, whether you like it or not. This just makes things….more interesting for me."
Scabior raised his head to the two men holding Potter and Weasley while walking towards Hermione and the man holding her.
"Hold 'em, and give us a few minutes."
"Don't touch her!," Ron screamed at them, and she heard another muffled punch.
"Please!" Harry said, but their cries were ignored.
Hermione thought she felt her heart lurch into her stomach as she watched him advance on her, the red mark burned into his hair, leering at her, his obvious prey.
"N—no," she stammered, and tried to bring up a hand between her and Scabior, now several inches from her, but her hands were held behind her tightly.
Scabior leaned in to her, breathing in the scent where her neck met her collarbone, and exhaled; his warm breath ghosting over her skin, leaving gooseflesh in it's wake. He looked at the man holding her and spoke softly, so only three of them could hear.
"Give her to me. Go help Greyback with Potter. I'm going to take this one over there," he said, motioning to the yawning expanse of dark forest behind him.
"No—I'm not going anywhere!," Hermione stammered and was greeted with a white hot burst of pain across her cheekbone.
"Leave her!," "Stop", and several other frantic pleas floated in and out of her ears as her eyes automatically closed and her head swam.
He had slapped her. She was momentarily stunned, both from the blow itself, and also from the realization of how dangerous this man apparently was. Pain bloomed on her left cheek and she felt tears at the corners of her eyes threatening to fall.
Before she could recover a hand was thrust, painfully into her hair, fisting, bunching, tearing at the roots and pulling her behind him into the forest.
She tried to become limp so he would have to drag her, but eventually the pain on her hair was too much and she struggled, but followed. She watched the back of his leather jacket with red scarf tied around his arm, following pitifully behind. They walked until she could only turn her head and discern Harry, Ron and the others much farther away than she would have liked.
She was unceremoniously flung into a tree trunk at that exact moment. She reached her hands out in front of her facing the tree and was able to catch herself before she fell. Still standing, she knew immediately she had to run and tried to but was grabbed and spun to face him.
"Now, now my lovely. No more fighting eh?," he said, pushing his full weight against her, the sharp bark and knots of the tree digging painfully into her back.
"Please…please-," she whispered as his response, pushing her harder, made her cry out.
His voice was lowered and he spoke into her ear, the breath tickling the tiny hairs on the side of her neck where her hair was. "Look at you. You lovely, doe-eyed girl. So frightened. So brave. I'll tell you a secret, Hermione Granger…I'm going to have you, regardless of what you do-," his hand began to stroke her hair, "-so you relax, and I will make it good for you."
"No—no, please. Please," She spoke as he inhaled her scent and aligned his body with hers. His hands went to her waist, to her hipbones and he shoved her, hard, against the tree, to remind her who had the power. The tears fell then; and he leaned in to lick one away while he ground his lower body against hers. She was startled by the warmth of his body pressing her intimately and his tongue on her cheek.
"Please, I haven't…ah…" she started, putting her hands up on his chest between them, pushing him away, but was cut off.
"Oh now, don't worry, love," he said, and his hands went to her jeans, opening the button and thumbing down the zipper.
"I haven't done this before," she said and his hands momentarily stilled. "Please don't make me do this. I-I wanted to save it, for….for-," she would have continued but her voice trailed off.
He seemed to consider this for a moment before responding. "Alright then, love," he spoke to her, his voice low. "I won't take it from you."
Hermione let out the breath she had been holding. She relaxed for a moment but tensed again as she felt his hands pushing the jeans down her legs.
"Wait…but…but- I thought-," she stammered.
He knelt and removed her trainers and jeans leaving her in her pink cotton lacy pants, and then stood again, unbuckling his belt, the clinking of the metal unforgettable.
"I said I wouldn't take it, and I won't. Now, calm down-," and with that he suddenly, unceremoniously pushed her to her knees in the leaves at the base of the tree.
Hermione cried out as twigs and bark cut at her knees and lower legs. His hands were on the pink lace in an instant, peeling them down her legs and throwing them off into the forest as she kicked at him wildly.
"Get off of me!," she screamed at him and tried to swat at him, but he held her from behind, tightly around the waist. He pulled her jumper up and over her head and ripped her bra off completely as he held her. She struggled against him as he muttered something, a curse of some sort, and all of a sudden she felt moisture wicking against her in an intensely private place, one that she had no idea was even used for this sort of thing. And then, the reality and horror of her situation dawned on her and she struggled even harder.
"Imperio Lux," he spoke softly, and her body froze immediately and she ceased fighting. He positioned himself behind her, speaking to her in her ear.
"This is a variation of the unforgivable; you will still have your own thoughts, just be a little more…let's say… pliable."
Hermione didn't react as she could hear him and understand everything, but not fight him any more.
"I'm sorry, lovely girl, but you made me do it. You said you wanted to keep your virtue, and you shall. This is just a….different way. Not to worry, I'll be gentle with you, my little love."
Hermione wanted to cry out but she couldn't under the curse. He had her on all fours and she was completely at his mercy. He ran a hand to her shoulder and slowly trailed it down her spine, making her shiver involuntarily. She would try to fight it, though. She would try with all her might.
"It's all right….it's all right…," he spoke to her as he aligned himself and carefully pressed his tip into her body. Her mouth opened and her body bore down for a moment, fighting against the unnatural intrusion, but he touched her back again and softly stroked her skin and she forcibly relaxed as he moved forward inside her.
"That's it…..you are so…..tight…," he said, almost gasping as he filled her completely. Then he moved out of her, slowly, gently, so as to not cause her any undue pain. He craned his neck to the side so he could see her face.
Hermione stared down at her hands. It was all she could do as she fought against the curse and fought against the intrusion. She could barely breathe, she was so frightened. As he started moving forward again, her eyes snapped shut and she let out a small gasp. She felt it, then. His hand, moving towards her breast and pinching the nipple lightly as he moved again, deeper this time. There was no pain but an odd sensation of pressure, and when he touched her nipple, a forbidden pleasure sprang to life somewhere deep inside her. A low moan keened in the back of her throat, and he let out a chuckle, amused by her body's expected response.
He let his hand drift to her hip, and lazily find it's way between her legs as he rocked into her slowly. He ran it through the thin, soft hair at the apex of her thighs before pressing his fingers against her heated core. She hissed in a quick breath and he leaned his body over her, whispering almost inaudibly near her ear.
"You are so wet for me, my Hermione," he said as three fingers pressed against her nether lips, forcing the middle one between them. Hermione cried out as his middle finger grazed a very sensitive area and began stroking it in unhurried circles.
She wanted to scream and cry and yell and fight him, but her entire world was narrowed to his fingers rubbing circles on her sensitive flesh and him, inside her, moving slowly.
"I'm going to make you come. If it takes all day, I'm still going to do it," he said, his finger pressing against her, moving, faster now, as his thrusts began to speed up as well.
"Has anyone ever made you come, you lovely girl?," he asked, his finger occasionally dipping shallowly inside her, careful to not damage her in any way. She didn't answer him but leaned her head back, almost against his, lost in the feeling as his fingers danced over her skin and he moved within. The gentle pleasure of his hand made her forget everything as he slowly forced her towards an inexorable ending.
"Have they? Answer me truthfully," he asked again, thrusting harder to punctuate the question, and that she must answer.
Hermione yelped and replied with an expected, "No."
"Have you?," he said to her, and ran his tongue against her neck, feeling her pulse point beating under it.
"No," she spoke softly, releasing a quick breath as she felt his tongue lick her again, then he blew over the sensitive flesh, and the cooling sensation made her moan.
"I-," she continued. "I tried…but…," she was unable to continue as his fingers weaved their magic, bringing her closer to the boundary between pleasure and pain.
"Let me show you," he said, his words ringing in her ears. His fingers moved faster and so did his body. She cried out, arching into his hand. She was shocked that she did not hurt as he moved more forcefully inside her. He was crushing her hips to him now, the slapping of skin noticeably audible as he traced patterns with his hand; carefully, insistently, and yet so gently on her inexperienced flesh.
"Do you want me to say filthy things to you? Whisper how I'm going to make you come all over me? Is that what you want?," he said huskily, still near her ear, one arm wrapped around her waist, forcing her down on himself.
"I…-," she started, but was unable to continue. "I…don't…"
His hand slowed slightly. Her legs were trembling and she could feel like she was sweating where they met her body. The feeling was terrible and somehow too much and not enough. She was so close. So very close to something… and he held her there and made her wait.
"Say it and I'll do it," he stated rather plainly, pumping slowly inside her but stilling his fingers. Hermione cried out as her legs ached and twitched in anticipation.
"Say you want me to make you come and I will," he said again, almost completely still now as her body pulsed around him, unwittingly drawing him in. And the words. Those filthy words that he said to her. That she ought not to like or listen to.
And as she hung there, in that awful moment, between agony and ecstasy, desperately trying to clench her thighs together to relieve some of the tension, she cried out. No words, and not for anything except for what would make that awesome and horrible ache subside. And he remembered, somewhere in the back of his mind, that once upon a time he had been considered a gentleman, and that the lady should always come regardless, and so he thrust forward again and before he could even resume the motion of his fingers she had tightened, and clenched, and screamed, and pulled him over the edge with her.
She wasn't sure how many moments had passed, but she settled into the earth, emotionally and physically exhausted from their encounter. He slipped out of her body wordlessly and his seed followed, a steady flow that narrowed to a trickle. Her legs ached horribly from the stress of being on all fours so she propped herself up on her arms and regarded her captor.
He ran a hand through his hair as he rose and then straightened his plaid trousers, fastening the belt as he did so.
"Get up," he said to her gruffly. "And get dressed."
Hermione paused for a moment. It was like he hadn't just been on her…inside her…whispering those things, those terrible and wonderful things…
She rose on unsteady legs and gathered her clothes, stepping into her jeans gingerly.
"Let's go," he said, and suddenly his hand was in her hair, tearing, grabbing again, insistently directing her back towards the group.
And she was sure, as her friends came into view, that they could tell what had just happened. The tear tracks on her face and her cautious gait would surely give it away, so she avoided their eyes altogether.
"Take Potter to the Dark Lord, and I'll follow behind once I figure how to keep this one," he said, gesturing towards Hermione, "from going anywhere."
"And you," he said to the snatcher holding Ron. "Take him back to Hogwarts."
Then he looked directly at Ron. "You tell Minerva, or whoever's in charge that little miss prim and proper Hermione Granger came…hard… on the head Snatcher's cock. And it was in her arse."
Scabior turned away before anyone had time to respond, grabbed the girl by the wrist, and, without warning, apparated.