"Are you mad?" Scabior shouted at Bellatrix who as a quick response trained her wand on him and strangled him painfully making him fall to the ground and struggle until she released him.
"Go!" She yelled at him and Greyback, "Go!"
The snatchers pulled themselves up and made their ways out.
Pity. Hermione actually felt pity when Scabior struggled for breath. She felt pity. For him who had turned them in to this insane witch! She couldn't believe herself. What was happening to her? Why would she feel anything than anger and disdain for him? Why would she –
Her thoughts were harshly interrupted when she heard Bellatrix.
"Put the boys in the cellar! I am going to have a conversation with this one. Girl to girl."
Hermione shivered at the sound of her voice while Harry and Ron were dragged downstairs and she was facing to be alone with the person she almost feared as much as Voldemort. Or even more.
"That bitch!" Scabior swore as soon as they were outside the manor.
"That's all your fault," Greyback snapped at him angrily, "taking them to the ministry would have earned us much more reward than this!"
Scabior couldn't help but agree with the werewolf though their motives might not have been quite the same. Unnoticed by himself, he played with the scarf in his hands, Hermione's scarf. He gazed into space and was sunk in thought recalling their encounters, her scent, her pretty face, her voice, her... Why was he being so sentimental? Over some girl. Prey actually.
"Scabior!" The werewolf's face was now right in front of his, "What're we going to do now?"
Scabior returned the steady gaze of the fellow snatcher before he heard screams coming from inside the manor. Female screams of which he knew perfectly well whom they belonged to. Another scream and yet another. He shuddered.
"Well?" Greyback demanded ignoring the screams.
"We're going to claim the reward," Scabior replied determined, not meeting the sharp blue eyes of the werewolf.
"And how are we supposed to do that? Just walk back in again and ask her kindly?" Greyback mocked, then grabbed his companion and pulled his face close to his own forcing him to meet his eyes, "Listen, if you want to go in there and dice with death 'cause of a reward we'll never get for not even a handful of children that might not even be who we think they are, go ahead, but I'm not joining you!" His words more and more turned into growling with every syllable he spoke.
Scabior kept his eyes fixed on Greyback's. He could hardly believe what he was thinking, what he intended to do, and how little he wanted to restrain from putting his plan into action. Yet another scream came from inside.
"Then bugger off!" Scabior snapped.
Hermione lay on the floor of the drawing room, hurt, tortured, degraded, broken. She was alone, too weak to move, and silent tears ran down her face. She heard footsteps on the stairs and her heart began to speed. Had Bellatrix come back to torture her again or even kill her? Or was it one of the Malfoys? Or had Harry and Ron managed to escape and came to save her? She didn't dare open her eyes as the steps came closer. They sounded hard, but quiet on the floor. Whoever it was drew nearer slowly and cautiously and knelt down besides her eventually. She pretended to be dead, in case it was one of the Death Eaters.
Suddenly she felt something cool touch her neck. Fingers. Male fingers. And cloth, something made of leather. Her heart was racing now. Could it be? Was it –
He put his hands under her body to lift her up when she opened her eyes. She widened them in shock. It was him. The snatcher! She opened her mouth to scream, but he covered it quickly giving her a look that she couldn't interpret. Was it fear or even concern? What was he doing here anyway? Was he trying to rescue her? Certainly not. He pulled her up helping her to stand as she still didn't have enough strength to do so on her own. She couldn't believe he was doing this. He who had unscrupulously hunted them and brought them here to leave them to their fate? A snatcher whose only motive was money? A possible Death Eater? A –
"Hold on to me, my lovely," he said preparing to apparate.
"Where do you think you are going with her, Scabior?" An all too familiar female voice rang through the room making Hermione shake with fear.
Scabior span around pulling Hermione close to himself with her back turned to him. He threw a sharp look at Bellatrix who grinned evilly.
"Think you can just creep away with her without me noticing it, huh?" she shrieked.
Hermione trembled at her voice, but at the same time felt the warmth of her captor's body flow to her own. She could feel his breath on her neck. He was nervous or even terrified.
"Of course not," he answered, strength, determination, and the usual hint of arrogance in his deep sonorous voice, "I'm only taking my reward since you still owe it to me."
"A mudblood as a reward?" She replied, followed by filthy and sinister laughter, before her face changed into icy seriousness and she growled, "You're not taking her."
That very moment Hermione spotted two figures ascending the stairs and a second later Ron and Harry were attacking Bellatrix.
Scabior used this moment of Bellatrix's distraction and apparated. The last thing Hermione heard of Malfoy Manor was Ron shouting: "No!"
Why the hell had he done this? Taken her? Stolen her from Bellatrix? Any Death Eater would soon be entitled to kill him once they found him. The ministry would be pleased to punish him with torture or death for not doing his job. And the rest of the wizarding world which the girl belonged to was eager anyway to find someone like him and kill him or send him to Azkaban which made no difference in the end. He was prey. Now he was the one being hunted. And all this for her? He looked down to the body of the sleeping girl.
She moved a bit and as he drew closer to her inhaling her sweet scent, the one thing that first caught his attention, she suddenly opened her eyes. Like a flash she jumped up and ran to the door stumbling more with any step. He caught up with her easily and grabbed her from behind wrapping one arm around her waist, the other around her shoulders. She gasped and struggled against him.
"You're too weak to go anywhere," Scabior more whispered than spoke into her ear, "unless you'd like to be caught right away."
Though she had a hard time admitting it, he was right. Her condition was very bad, she could hardly stand on her feet. But was it better to stay with him? Wasn't she in danger here as well, just in a different one? But he had saved her from Bellatrix, yet only her and that only as his reward. But why her? Why hadn't he claimed money? What was it he wanted from her?
She noticed that she had stopped struggling while lost in her thoughts and he had loosened his grip on her, though she could still feel his body close to hers, his breath on her neck, and his warmth spreading over to her. He let his hands slide to her waist slowly and gently. She liked it. "No!" she thought. She wasn't supposed to feel this. It wasn't real, she was only weak and weary.
"You need some rest," he spoke in his deep voice, pausing for a moment, "beautiful."
Scabior's last word sounded playful, but filthy. A shiver ran through her body and he smirked.
She was electrifying, something he hadn't felt in years. She was going to be an adventure and he smiled at the thought.
She woke up, in the same place as before, only this time it was dark outside and he wasn't there. She stood up and noticed she felt a lot better. Her legs weren't wobbly anymore, her head was clearer. She instantly thought about Ron and Harry. Where might they have been? Had they escaped from Malfoy Manor or had Bellatrix tortured them as well – or killed them? She swallowed. Hopefully they had escaped and were now trying to find her. Of course they were! And she needed to find them as well. Right now. Darting a few glances into the darkness around her, she made for the door. Just when she realised she didn't have her wand, she heard a swish and the room went light.
"Going somewhere?" Scabior said, his voice a mix of indifference, superiority, and ridicule.
Hermione turned around facing a smugly grinning Scabior standing at the far end of the room and playing with her wand in his hands. Damn! She should have known. He wasn't stupid after all.
"Well, I think, you might need this one," he said giving her wand a short glance and starting to approach her, "but you're going to stay a little longer, aren't you," he paused, "Hermione?"
She flinched. He knew her name? Oh, of course he did. He had seen Harry after the stinging jinx had disappeared and had heard her being called a mudblood by Bellatrix. Once again, he wasn't stupid.
He came closer, slowly, predatorily, and for any step he took forwards, she took one backwards. Until her back hit the wall. He sneered shoving Hermione's wand into the back of his plaid trousers and took another two steps to stand not even an inch away from her.
"Got you!" he breathed in a spine-chilling way. Hermione's breathing was fast and sharp and she could feel Scabior's hot breath on her face. His glowing eyes were fixed on hers not giving her the chance to look away. She was bound and he enjoyed it. The look in her eyes, her unsure breathing, her scent flooding over to him. He held their gaze and watched her agitation grow by the minute. He brought one hand to her face slightly touching her skin. She trembled and he smirked. Then he moved his face closer to hers feeling her quick and shallow breaths and led his mouth to hers not kissing, only brushing against her lips with his. Her eyes fluttered shut and she took a deep sharp breath.
He grinned and withdrew from her within a second laughing filthily while walking across the room to get a bottle of firewhisky and pour himself a glass.
She exhaled audibly and opened her eyes to look at him. Something frightened was in them, something furious and something longing. He returned her look grinning mischievously and laughed again before taking a sip and another from his glass of whisky.
"As I said," he spoke slowly in a deep voice, "got you." He loved playing with her, he truly did.
Disappointment? How could she be feeling disappointment? He was vile and hadn't even done something that she could have liked. How could she possibly like anything he did after all? Memories of his breath, his lips flashed through her mind. She unintentionally shut her eyes for a second and then turned her look to the floor avoiding his gaze, folding her arms around her body as if she was cold. "Stop it, Hermione!" she rebuked herself in thought, "Stop liking something you should not under any circumstances like!" From the corner of her eye she could see Scabior sneer once more. He must have noticed her fighting with herself.
"Well, my lovely," he started, strolling to another side of the room, still quite a dozen feet away from her, holding the glass in one hand, fiddling with the scarf in the other, "what do you suggest we're doing now?"
Hermione watched him with his proud gait, his eyes roaming through the void, his stag ring tinkling on the glass of firewhisky, his leather jacket groaning from his movement. She chose not to answer.
"Come on," he shot a glance at her, "Hermione."
She soaked the air in deeply. It was strange hearing her name out of his mouth. Why did he do this? What did he want to result in her? Perhaps exactly what she was feeling?
He put his glass on the small table in front of him and all of a sudden raced towards her and pressed her to the wall. She gasped for air. This was completely unexpected.
"No idea?" he asked, a hint of madness in his eyes, merging into sarcasm, "Too bad."
"I," Hermione stammered, "I do have an idea."
His eyes widened and a malicious smile formed on his lips, "Do you?"
She took his face in her hands for a passionate kiss before she felt him return it with the same eagerness only seconds later. She moved her hands to his back letting them glide downwards, slowly. His hands flew to her hair and her face, his kisses became stronger and demanding. She hadn't ever felt anything like this. It was intense, ardent, overpowering. She couldn't stop, she just couldn't stop it now – but she had to. In a flash she grabbed for her wand in the back of his trousers, pushed him away, and pressed the tip of her wand into his chest.
"So that was your idea?" he said, his eyes flickering, incapable of hiding his annoyed amazement.
He stepped back a bit and instantly drew out his wand, but with a quick "Expelliarmus!" Hermione had disarmed him before he could even think of a spell to use on her.
"Accio!" she said and Scabior's wand flew right into her free hand.
He stared at her for a moment speechlessly, then uttered a laugh and walked to the table, picked up his glass and took a sip. He should have scolded himself for being careless and unprepared, for letting her take over so easily, but in fact he was bewildered, amazed, fascinated even. Without doubt she was brilliant and truly thrilling. Now she was playing with him – and that caught his fancy even more than the other way round. Taking her as his reward had proven absolutely right. This witch was far more interesting than money could ever have been.
Hermione held both wands tightly, directing hers at Scabior. She was trembling and so did the wand in her hand. "Calm down, Hermione!" she thought slowing down her breath, "You've got two wands, he's got none." Thoughts wildly blew about in her head. Why had she done this? What was she going to do now? Who was he actually? On whose side was he if on any at all? What was he going to do now that he was at her mercy? And, most importantly, why the heck had she kissed him? And, even more importantly, why hadn't it felt wrong? Why had it felt so –
"Would you like some firewhisky?" he interrupted her thoughts in an untypically cautious tone, his eyes meeting hers in an indefinable way before he stared into space again, "I suppose that's a no."
"Well, actually I..." she started before he raised his eyes to meet hers and she stammered: "I... I think, I... need... I need to leave."
"Do you?" he smirked keeping his eyes fixed on hers.
She didn't take a step, she didn't move at all, she felt as if she was glued to the floor. His eyes were so strong, so deep. She couldn't break this contact. She didn't want to. "Get back to your senses!" Hermione instructed herself straightening her body, "You need to get out of here and find Harry and Ron." But she remained where she stood.
"What's wrong, beautiful?" he said moving closer to her, venom in his eyes, "I thought you wanted to leave."
She stared at him, into his eyes, for a second and another, but finally she looked away and hurried to the door uttering "Alohomora!"
He began to laugh in an amused and filthy way, "Honestly, my lovely," he spoke in a low voice, "you really think I just locked the door without any further spells?"
"Of course not!" she thought. Why did she act so unconsidered? As clever a witch as she was, she should have known better. And she did. She started to murmur spell after spell towards the door, being observed by an amused and convinced Scabior. It just didn't work – anything she tried.
"You will need to know the spells I used to unlock the door", he said smugly earning a scornful, yet determined look from her.
"So tell me which ones you used!" she demanded.
He gave a short laugh before he mocked at her, a sparkle in his eyes, "And if I don't?"
"You will!" she replied narrowing her eyes and aiming both wands at him.
His eyes slowly roamed to the wands in her hands and then back again to her eyes, sneering, "Do you want to force me?"
"If I need to", she wanted to stay strong, she had to.
"You wouldn't use the Cruciatus curse on me, my lovely", his tone was smug and condescending, but he was right, she wouldn't use an unforgivable spell. Yet she was free to use any other.
She raised her wand and said: "Legilimens!"
Various images flew about in her head. She saw the forest, snatchers catching pupils, and she saw him taking her scarf from the tree she had left it on. She saw Greyback's face and Malfoy Manor. She saw herself lying on the floor... The images abruptly stopped.
"Think you're very clever, do you?" he growled at her angrily, wandlessly firing the spell back at her.
She felt him intrude her mind and couldn't keep him from seeing her standing in front of him in the forest behind the disillusionment charm and tying her scarf around the tree. She saw herself in Bellatrix's power again, waking up in this room, him in front of her, his face so close to hers, feeling all these strange and contradictory sensations again, fear, pain, longing, attraction, despair... Suddenly her mind was still and she knew he had seen and felt all this as well. She dropped the wands and fell to her knees in exhaustion, her eyes shut and close to tears.
He walked towards her, picked up the wands, shoved them into his trousers, knelt down in front of her and took her into his arms. He didn't know why he was doing this, he only knew he was. He felt her grab his jacket and keep it in a tight grip, her head leaning on his chest. What was she doing to him? Why did he feel sympathy for her? Why was he so touched, so monopolized by her? How come she had such an effect on him? Had he forgotten all that he was, all that he did? Was he honestly about to give up everything he had stuck to? Who was he after all?
Suddenly she pushed him away, quickly standing in front of him and glaring down at him with watery eyes.
"What is it you want from me, Scabior?" she angrily blurted out putting as much scorn as she could into his name, "Why do you hold me captive here? What are you hoping for? What do you believe you'll achieve with this?"
He stood up as well and went towards her. As she pushed him away again, he grabbed her by her shoulders in a flash and pushed her hard to the wall darting a fierce look at her.
"I've gone too far to go back now, Hermione", he half-whispered stressing her name, "Not that I haven't been wanted before, but now I'm most wanted by anybody! Because of you. So you'll stay here. You're mine."
Shivers ran through her, a mixture of the fire in his eyes and the iciness of his words, the proximity of his body and the painfully firm grip on her. He was stunning, yet fearsome. She wanted to be closer to him, yet break free. She wanted him to... She hoped her eyes didn't betray her.
What was that in her eyes? That sparkling? He brought his face closer to hers piercing through her eyes into her mind. She fought it helplessly, then shut her eyes in defence. For a split second he had seen or rather felt something – something that was hard to grasp. He could feel her breathe unevenly and tremble though her body was warm. She opened her eyes slowly avoiding his gaze.
"Why..." she began with a weak voice, "why don't you kill me?"
"Kill you?" he replied, honestly appalled, withdrawing his hands from her. Seconds passed noticeably. Was that what she believed he was? A murderer? He grabbed her chin and forced her to look into his eyes.
"If I had wanted to kill you, I'd have left you to your fate with Bellatrix, but I didn't, did I?" he inquired watching the fear in her eyes grow before he raised his voice, "Did I?"
"No, you didn't", her voice was shaky and some tears finally made their way down her cheeks.
What was he doing? Why did he have so much power over her? How could he break her without using any spells? She felt his hand loosen the grip and slide away. Instead his warm fingers brushed her tears away and she looked into his eyes. There was some flickering, some quivering in them. He took a step back from her, broke the eye contact, and walked over to the table to get his glass of firewhisky. She watched him sit down with his glass in his hand leaning back and closing his eyes.
"The door", he spoke in a deep, calm, kind of resigned way, "is locked with a password, as well as the windows", taking a sip of the firewhisky he continued, "and a Flagrante curse which should easily be made ineffective by a simple Finite."
She watched him carefully, not quite able to believe what he was saying. He leaned forward and placed her wand on the table in front of him.
"The password is simple", he took another sip of his whisky, his stag ring briefly tinkling on the glass, "it's your first name."
She opened her mouth, but shut it quickly as she didn't know what to say. He had just given her the information she needed to get away right after he had claimed her for himself only. Why was he doing this? She didn't understand. She couldn't understand. She didn't want to –
"What's the matter?" his eyes met hers, "You meant to leave, didn't you?"
She remained silent returning his steady gaze, withstanding his forceful and relentless eyes. Yes, what was the matter, actually? Why didn't she move? Why didn't she take the chance he was freely offering to her?
"I can't", she finally stated and immediately gained his full attention.
He put his glass down, rose from his seat, and closed the distance between them.
"You can't", he repeated slowly, his eyes roaming to her trembling lips and back again to her eyes.
"I don't..." she took a deep breath, "I don't want to."
His eyes widened and his mouth opened a bit. Where did this come from? Just a few moments ago she had desperately fought for freedom and had feared he would kill her, but now she didn't want to go? What had happened to her? And what had happened to him? Telling her how to unlock the door? The one thing he still had could have just walked through that very door and disappear. Yet for some ridiculous reason, she didn't.
"You", he spoke in measured tones, half asking half stating, "don't want to leave."
"No", she mouthed slightly shaking her head.
Before he could even think about the meaning of her words, he felt her hands pull his face to hers and her warm lips meet his. She kissed him passionately, intemperately. He pulled her body as close to his as possible and kissed her back deeply and fervently. He had wanted this. He had wanted her to fall, to be captivated, to be beguiled by him. But had he wanted himself to fall as well? Hadn't he made it a game, maliciously, selfishly playing with her feelings? Hadn't he been ecstatic about pestering her and watching her struggle with herself? Wasn't he the captor after all? A captor who was now captured himself? When exactly had this happened, when had this changed? How come he felt this for her? This...
With a deafening bang the door was burst into countless pieces. That minute Scabior was attacked by a quick series of various spells, but was able to block each of them. Hermione made for the table to get her wand and tried to shoot a glance at the attackers just to see Harry and Ron. She was paralysed. What was she supposed to do now? She couldn't possibly attack her friends, could she? But she also couldn't stand and watch. Her mind was twirling. Harry and Ron hurled a few more spells at Scabior which he seemed to block hands down. A brief moment of stillness ensued before Hermione could see a green jet of light shoot out of Scabior's wand. Only seconds later she heard Ron and Harry simultaneously yell "Stupefy!" Before she could come to his aid, two scarlet flashes of light hit Scabior hard in his chest and threw him to the wall. He sank to the bottom and Hermione rushed to him kneeling down beside him. He was bleeding and choking heavily.
"I'm so sorry", Hermione sobbed speaking hastily, "I should have helped you, but everything was so fast and loud and confusing. It was so unexpected and I didn't know what to do. And now you're..." she could hardly speak, tears were streaming down her face, and she wailed pitching higher, "This is my fault."
"No, no", he replied stertorously, "it's not."
"Don't", she begged him helplessly becoming quieter, "don't die now."
He lifted his hand up to her face stroking her cheek with the back of his hand. His eyes rested on hers.
"Beautiful", he uttered choking, but smiling at her and his eyes didn't move any longer.