Hermione sat their bewildered, her thoughts no longer made sense; she wasn't entirely sure what Scabior's kiss had meant, if anything, to her or to him. But what she did know, is that she wanted him to do it again, and soon. She wanted to feel him next to her, she wanted him to touch her and caress her cheek like he had done once before. She wanted him to call her beautiful and smile his crooked charming smirk.

Seconds ticked by, rapidly turning into minutes…

Her thoughts raced around her head, Could she? Would she? Should she? Hermione didn't know. The bitter night air was becoming noticeably colder, it was as though Scabior had taken the warmth away from the fire when he'd left her alone. Soon she'd have no choice but to enter the tent, the anticipation bubbling up inside her was like a fresh brew of polyjuice potion; far too much to handle and about to overflow. She wanted to go inside, a confident, purposeful and focused woman, but somehow she knew, that however hard she tried, he'd still have the same impact on her as he had done all afternoon and that she'd fall into the uncontrollable, illogical catastrophe that she so hated in herself. She hated that he had that effect on her, it was so wrong; she was Hermione Granger, a good, strong, intelligent witch that loved Ronald Weasley. and yet all that, all her values and past seemed to vanish because she loved Scabior's effect on her at the same time, and yearned to feel his blue/grey gaze again.

Without further ado, before she changed her mind again, and before it became even colder, she stood up shakily, and walked slowly, with a slight limp from her injured ankle, over to the opening of the tent. Hermione swiftly became aware that her palms had begun to sweat with nervousness and her stomach was doing somersaults. She hastily scrubbed her hands on her jeans and fluffed up her already outrageously messy hair, and walked inside.

Before she could place it's location, a gruff voice spoke out, "You took your time."

Then Hermione found it's source, leaning back on a rickety wooden chair with his feet balanced on a stack of precarious looking books which lay on a crooked wooden table. He smirked her favourite smirk and twiddled his thumbs thoughtlessly, before rocking forward with a insignificant crash. She noticed that although they still sat on his feet, that he had undone the laces on his boots and also he'd taken off his leather coat, which hung, she noticed, from a purposefully placed coat stand behind him. His single leather, fingerless glove remained in place and so did her scarf, along with two studded leather belts draped over his plaid trousers.

"Well don't just stand there lovely, you're making me nervous, have a seat will you?" he grinned.

Hermione tried to smile and looked around, searching for another chair...

At that moment, he slapped himself on the forehead and grunted to himself in a comical fashion, withdrew his wand from a hidden pocket of his military jacket, gave it a swift, dramatic circular wave and stood up in time to catch a chair that popped out of nothing. Hermione tried to hide her amusement at his theatrical display, and walked over to the chair. He waited to push it forward as she sat down and then reoccupied the seat opposite her again. Scabior waved his wand again and the books flew off the table and compiled themselves in a rather untidy pile in one corner of the tent.

"So," he began, "I reckon right about now you're wondering what's gonna happen next? And what my 'plans'," he made a quotation gesture as he said it, "are for you, and much more importantly, me" he said with little more than a hint of sarcasm. He paused, "Am I right?"

"Well, yes I suppose…"

"Aha! You see Miss Granger, I'm very rarely wrong" Scabior stated, "Well, the answer to that question is entirely up to you…I'm bored of making decisions, I reckon this'll make it more interesting don't cha think?"

Hermione had no clue what Scabior was talking about, and was thinking for the first time that he wasn't quite all there in the head.

"Well?" he asked, the sexual tension remained ubiquitous.

"Well what? You've just fed me a load of crap that doesn't even begin to make sense, and then you expect me to answer your 'none question'? What I really want to know is why you haven't handed me in yet? Whether my friends are safe or whether your hideous friends have snatched them too? Whether you really are a nice guy or whether you're a creepy, criminal, murderous snatcher? Whether you're going to hand me over to the Ministry of Magic to be sent to Azkaban or more likely, you know who? Whether you're being nice to me so I won't try to escape, or whether you actually care? What that kiss meant outside…and yes, what will happen now?" She finished rather out of breath after her little rant, and none the wiser to how he would react after she had talked to him in that blunt and bitter manner.

He sat staring at her, obviously slightly stunned at her sudden and highly unexpected outburst, and hopefully, Hermione thought, lost for words.

He took a lung full of air and exhaled slowly, building up the tension, then started, " I haven't handed you into the Ministry yet because I haven't actually decided whether I'm going to or not, I don't know whether your ginger boyfriend or Potter have been caught or not, and believe me, I'd like to know just as much as you. I can't judge whether I'm a 'creepy, criminal snatcher' or not, that's for you to decide," her words stung her as he said them back, she wished she hadn't said them, he continued without stopping for breath. "But I've never murdered anyone, nor do I intend to, I'm not in direct league with you know who, and I don't completely agree with his rule, so I wouldn't hand you over to that lot. I know that you can't escape, you're powerless without a wand and quite frankly you don't have the desire or nerve to try it anyway. And I'm beginning to think that kiss was a mistake…"

There was silence as the pair stared intently into each other's eyes, trying endlessly again to figure each other out, to understand.

"You're not going to hand me over?"

"Not just now…like I said, it'd be a waste of a pretty face and a clever witch"

"You're not in league with you know who?"

"That's what I said, I like my freedom, and like I said, I don't like his beliefs"

"So why are you a snatcher then?"

"Money," he said without hesitation, as though he'd answered the question many times before. He hadn't spoken like this before, he was being serious, and sticking to the point, clearly not willing to give in depth answers.

There was another pause, a horrible silence, Hermione was sure she could hear her heart beat. She looked down, avoiding his eyes, she was embarrassed but couldn't rest without knowing the final answer.

"and the kiss….the kiss was a mistake?" she asked the floor with a saddened tone, slightly more audible than a whisper.

He breathed out in a sigh, her heart sank, her fantasy bubble popped. Her face fell, her eyes filled up, but thankfully her hair hid it.

"You tell me," he said, and tucked his forefinger under her chin and pulled it upwards, she looked at him, his face was inches away from hers, she hadn't even heard or felt him move. He stared into her soul, she beamed and he returned the smile. Then she lunged at him and began to kiss him.

Her movement had knocked him off balance as the impact made his chair skirt away from him, he stood up in time and took her with him. Scabior moved his left hand to her face and then through her hair, stroking through it frantically as his tongue mimicked the motion inside Hermione's mouth. He gripped her thick hair as it tangled around his fingers and moved his right hand to her hip and slid it until he embraced her narrow back, pressing her body to his own. Hermione held his face between her hands, never wanting to pull away or let go, he was kissing her like she'd never been kissed before, in a way she never knew existed. He tasted of intoxicating firewhiskey and mint, just like he smelt, it was so appealing. He stroked her spine and held her close, his lips moving rhythmically over her own.

She'd never felt so alive or eager to do anything in her life, they didn't waste a moment, barely pausing for intake of air. She couldn't pull away, she felt like someone had cast a spell on her and Scabior, like the world had stopped and paused whilst two people joined together. When opposite forces called an irrational, unforeseen and astonishing truce. They both loved the idea, the thrill of it; when good collided and bound to evil, when Gryffindor merged with Slytherin. Opposites attracting in a way that in the real world they never could, Hermione knew she couldn't have a relationship with Scabior, it was impossible, even though he wasn't in league with Voldemort, he still wasn't on the right side, but that idea wasn't even in her head at the moment, all she could think about was Scabior, and how she wanted him now. Her heart was pounding with relish and excitement as she began panting and gasping for air as he moved his head slightly away from hers, he used to the tip of his soft, wet tongue to lick her bottom lip before he began kissing down her neck.

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