11.
Hermione
It was a mutual agreement between them that they wouldn't tell Orrick. On Hermione's part, she decided to keep it from him because she felt the tension between the two brothers might only escalate now that she was dating Scabior, and that was something she most definitely didn't want. She wondered how Orrick would take the news, if they were to tell him. Would he be upset with Hermione? He obviously didn't think too highly of his brother and it might reflect badly on Hermione's judge of character when he discovered their newfound relationship. Then again, she knew Orrick liked her and he wouldn't be so unkind as to turn his nose down at her decision. Still, she wasn't entirely sure what his reaction would be, and decided it best to keep it from him until further notice.
It was another ten minutes or so after she and Scabior had returned inside the cabin before Orrick finally emerged from the bathroom. He'd wrapped a dark green robe around himself and was rubbing at his damp hair with a towel, his eyes narrowed at the two people standing equally soaked in the middle of the room.
"Wha' 'appened to you two?" he asked, stopping to stare at them suspiciously.
Scabior shrugged his shoulders. "We wen' outside and got a little wet."
"I can see tha'." Orrick looked to Hermione and his face noticeably softened. "Why were you outside?"
She forced an easy going smile, the kind she'd seen on Scabior's face so often, and motioned vaguely behind them at the door they had just returned through. "I just needed some air and Scabior offered to come outside with me. It's still raining quite hard, as you can see." She laughed meekly and pulled at her damp tee-shirt, giving evidence of the obvious. Despite how lame her excuse was, Orrick asked no further questions, telling them both that he was going to go get changed before he started supper. He nodded politely at Hermione as he made his way to his bedroom but he wouldn't look at his brother. That is, until he was closing the door, and she noticed the suspicious stare he was wearing again directed right at Scabior. He was on to them.
The door had just barely met its frame before Scabior turned and reached for her, his hands finding her waist and pulling her close to him. Hermione looked up at his face, at the stretch of his lips, his dark eyes that the light of the fire danced in, and the slight stubble on his jawline. She traced her thumb over the rough skin and continued to stare at Scabior, her mind racing. She was done fighting everything she felt for him. She was done pretending that her skin didn't come alive when he touched her, or that her lungs didn't seem to collapse on one another whenever he walked into the room. She'd given in to everything that her mind and body had been begging her to do and feel ever since she got here.
"I should go get changed." Hermione murmured, making no attempts at moving.
Scabior nodded in agreement. "I should too." But just like her, he didn't break from their embrace.
They stared at each other a moment longer before he looked over his shoulder at Orrick's bedroom door. She did the same and saw that it was closed, now a barrier between two worlds: one where she was with Scabior and the other where she was forced to act like nothing had changed. As Scabior returned his gaze to hers, Hermione felt her heart tugging at the thought of Orrick reappearing soon and her having to go back to pretending she still resented the idea of being near his brother. It wasn't fair. She wanted so badly to just tell Orrick but she couldn't do that, not until she was sure of what his reaction might be. She didn't want to risk anything that would jeopardize her friendship with him.
She looked up at Scabior's face again, her eye brows pulling together anxiously. "He'll be returning soon."
"I know." He sounded just as disappointed as she felt.
Without warning, Hermione drew herself up onto her tip toes and pulled Scabior's face down to hers, pressing their mouths together. The other two times they had kissed, it had been him who'd leaned him, him who'd lead the actions of their lips with his own, but this time it was Hermione who was in control. She kissed him softly, passionately, her eyes squeezing shut as she basked in this moment for all it was worth. Scabior's lips tasted of the rain and something sweet, like tea. It was incredible and she most definitely did not want to pull away, especially knowing this might be her last chance to kiss him all night. She'd never felt this way about anyone; she'd never wanted to be so close to a man, to feel the heat of his body pressing against hers or to be around him every second of the day. Scabior was changing her perspective on everything.
His hands found the sides of her face, holding her in place as he kissed her. He's so good at this, Hermione thought to herself. She didn't let herself wonder how many girls had been in this exact place before her, though. She knew it would only upset her. Scabior was quite a bit older than her, and he'd probably had his share of women in the years they didn't know each other. But that didn't matter. Now he was giving himself up to her as she did the same, and they belonged to each other. She had to live in the moment, not dwell on the past.
Reluctantly, Hermione disentangled her lips from his, but he continued kissing her; feverish little pecks on the side of her mouth, her jaw, over her eye brows and on her eye lids. She laughed quietly and pushed on his chest until he stopped, keeping his arms on her waist all the same. It wouldn't be long until his brother joined them, and they both knew that. Even still, they didn't move away from each other, sharing a continuous smile that seemed to refuse the mere idea of being wiped off her face.
Scabior opened his mouth to speak but was silenced at the sound of a door knob turning. At once he and Hermione stepped away from each other, putting a fair bit of distance between them. She moved to stand beside the table, picking innocently at a bit of dried wax on a candle stub there while Scabior sank into the couch cushions and flipped through one of the books she had been reading previously. When Orrick stepped back into view, fully dressed, they appeared almost as complete strangers.
"You two should go get changed." Orrick suggested as he walked over to the kitchen and began rummaging in a cupboard, his back to them both. "You'll ge' a cold standin' there in your wet clothes."
Hermione nodded. "Right. Well, I suppose I'll be back in a moment then."
As she headed towards her bedroom, she looked over her shoulder at Scabior while Orrick's back remained turned, and smiled genuinely at him. In return, he winked, and she felt her cheeks flushing scarlet. She escaped into her room and pressed a pillow to her face so her squeal of delight was kept secret from the rest of the cabin. It was fascinating the effect this man had on her.
At dinner, the conversation was rather short although not entirely unpleasant, but mostly between Hermione and Orrick. As they discussed the books he had given her, Scabior remained silent across the table, picking up the contents of his soup with his spoon only to pour it back into the bowl with eating it. Hermione watched him out of the corner of her eye while she spoke, wondering why he seemed so bored and lifeless. It became clear to her when he looked up at a pause in the conversation and their gazes locked. He didn't say anything, but he didn't need to; the longing look he wore said it all. Hermione cleared her throat politely and dabbed at the corners of her mouth with her napkin, turning to smile at Orrick.
"That was a lovely soup."
He looked pleased. "Thank you. Care to 'elp me clean up?"
"Of course." She pushed her chair back from the table and began gathering the bowls, all empty except for Scabior's. As she reached over to grab his, he held out his hand so their fingers brushed. It was brief but enough to startle Hermione, and she nearly dropped the stack of dishes she carried from her surprise. She cast an anxious glance at Orrick, but he appeared not have no noticed as he stood at the kitchen sink, humming while he rinsed the soup pot. Hermione looked back at Scabior and gave him a warning stare. He merely smiled in return and touched the back of her hand gently, his fingers lingering. Everything inside of her came alive but she forced herself to move away from him and bring the dishes over to Orrick, trying to rid herself of the blush that had taken over her face.
She picked up a towel from the counter and began drying the wet dishes that were handed to her. It was while she was doing this that she heard Scabior's chair legs scraping across the cabin floor. A moment later she felt a body pressing against her back, and she froze, her eyes closing for a moment. When they flickered open again, she turned her head to the side and watched as Scabior dropped his bowl into the soapy sink, grinning briefly at her. She bit down on her lip hard when she felt his fingers brushing on the back of her neck, right underneath her hair where Orrick wouldn't see them. He remained there only a second longer and then continued on his way, leaving her feeling slightly naked without the warmth of his chest on her back. Hermione swallowed and rubbed the towel furiously against a bowl, her eyes growing distant and her movements going unnoticed, like she was on auto-pilot.
When they finished, Orrick commented on the heavy rain that had yet to let up, to which Hermione just murmured in agreement, hiding the fact that she hoping he would be returning to his bedroom for the night soon. Of course, since it was only just early in the evening, he did not such thing. Instead, he made his way over to the couch where her stack of borrowed books remained, and he picked one up from the stack. He asked her if she'd had a chance to read it yet, and she shook her head without bothering to check and see which one it was he held. Her eyes remained on Scabior who leaned against the opposite wall of the cabin, tugging on the hem of a navy polo shirt he'd been given to change into. When he caught her looking, he smiled gently, this proving to be a huge distraction as she missed whatever it was Orrick had been trying to say to her.
"I'm sorry," she apologized breathlessly and blinked, trying to focus on him. "What was that?"
He smiled, unfazed. "I asked if you wanted to read it together."
"Read what?"
"The book." He held it up a little higher for her to see. "There are a few good fairy-tales in 'ere I think you migh' enjoy."
Although she wasn't very much in the mood to spend quality time with Orrick, she did think it sounded like a nice idea and made her way over to where he sat, sinking down into the couch cushions beside him. As he flipped open the cover, the couch gave a quiet groan and Hermione felt Scabior sitting down beside her, their elbows pressed together from how close he was. Orrick turned his head and gave his brother a questioning stare to which he just shrugged his shoulders innocently. "Wha'? I like fairy-tales."
"Might as well let him stay." Hermione interjected quickly. "It may do him some good to actually read for once in his life."
Orrick gave an amused smile. "Right. Well, let's ge' started then."
He began reading from the book, and Hermione recognized the story as that of Rapunzel. While he spoke, telling the story in a beautiful tone that practically brought it to life right off the pages, she turned her head slightly and looked at Scabior. She only did this briefly as to not bring too much attention to them, but it was long enough for her to see the amused look he was wearing, no doubt from her comment made previously. When she looked away again, focusing on the pages while Orrick read from them, she felt his hand moving, and then he was touching hers lightly, almost feather-like. He traced the length of her palm, using his finger to draw aimless shapes and designs there before dragging it up each one of her own fingers slowly. It became increasingly hard to focus on the story, and on multiple occasions she lost track of where they were and had to stumble her way back in. By the time Orrick finished, her cheeks were flaming hot and she'd become fidgety on the couch.
"Beautiful story." Scabior commented enthusiastically as the book was closed. "One of m'favourites."
Orrick ignored his brother and looked up at the clock on the wall, his eyes narrowing. "Ah. I bes' be goin' to bed now. You two should, as well."
Hermione watched him get to his feet, stretch his arms above his head and then start towards his bedroom. Even once he'd disappeared inside and she'd returned to that second world where there was no pretending needed, she remained frozen on the couch, unsure what to do. She was afraid to immediately reach for Scabior, to lock herself in his arms like she had wanted to all night, out of fear of Orrick returning and catching them. Evidently, Scabior was thinking the same thing. He bent down and picked up the book that had been placed back on the ground, and handed it over to Hermione with a light smile.
"Read me another?" he asked, sounding so innocent she couldn't help but grin.
"Which one?"
"Any of 'em."
She flipped open the book and thumbed through the pages until she found one of her personal favourites, "Cinderella". While she read, she tried her best to mimic Orrick's dream-like tone that made the story sound so much better, but it proved difficult. She was constantly being sent off track by Scabior. He spent the duration of the story brushing her hair back away from her neck, kissing beneath her ear, playing with her fingers and other minuscule acts that were making her dizzy. When she finished, Hermione closed the book and kept it on her lap while her eyes closed and she fought to regain a normal breathing pattern.
"I changed m'mind." Scabior whispered, his lips right at her ear as his face nuzzled into her hair. "Tha's my favourite story."
"It's my favourite too." She breathed.
His fingers danced down her collarbone as he spoke. "You goin' to bed now?"
"I should, yes." Her eyes opened at once as she regained composure of her common sense. "I'll see you in the morning, then."
She stood from the couch and carefully put the book back with the stack of the rest, fully aware of the pair of eyes following her every move. Slowly she turned around and faced Scabior, lounging across the length of the couch with a lazy smile. "Good night." Hermione said.
He grinned up at her. "Night."
Hermione bent down to blow out one of the candles that remained flickering on the coffee table, but was brought up short when Scabior reached for her hand and pulled her towards him instead. He captured her lips with his and kissed her deeply, making her knees feel so weak that she crumpled against him, unable to remain upright. She felt his hands brushing her hair back away from her face, the stag head on his ring tickling her earlobe and knew that she hadn't had enough of Scabior, not tonight, maybe not ever. As shameful as she felt, she knew she wasn't ready to go to bed, not yet. But they couldn't very well stay out there in the open. They needed to go somewhere semi-private.
"Do you want to come to my room?" Hermione asked breathlessly when she got the chance to speak.
Scabior
For the second time in the past two days, Scabior found himself in Hermione's bedroom, except this time he was coherent and able to enjoy every minute. They brought about eight of the candles still lit in with them and set them up around the room so that a soft, warm yellow glow surrounded them. Scabior laid himself out on her bed and she crawled up beside him, their bodies mirroring one another as they stared into each other's face, their hands interlocked between them. The rain pounded heavily against the window, filling the comfortable silence. It was the first time in a long time that Scabior felt like he was doing something right for once.
"What are you thinking abou'?" he asked quietly, watching as her lips pulled back into a dazzling, shy smile.
"Why do you always want to know?"
He shrugged one shoulder lazily. "Always curious, I s'pose."
"I'm thinking about my parents."
Hearing this made Scabior think about his own for only a brief moment. It had been years since they died and about that long since he'd actually thought about them. He wasn't use how close Hermione was with her parents but his relationship with his own hadn't been exactly picturesque. They fought a lot, especially after he finished at Hogwarts and fell in with the wrong crowd. He left his parents in the dark as much as possible for their own safety, but they knew he was dealing with dark magic, and they naturally assumed he would someday cross paths with Voldemort himself. Scabior was just glad they didn't live to see it actually happen.
"Do you get along with yours?" he asked.
Hermione's smile faded slowly and she looked down, her eye lashes casting long, spider-like shadows across her cheeks. "I did."
"Did?" it took him a minute, but Scabior realized what she was saying and felt his heart pinching. "Oh. Are they…dead?"
"No. I... I cast a memory charm to erase their memories."
"Why?" this didn't sound like something Hermione would do.
"To keep them safe." She whispered, her eyes growing distant. "It was before Harry, Ron and I…" she trailed off slowly and Scabior waited for her to continue, although when she did, she changed the subject. "Anyway, all that matters is they're safe, and I know they are. They know nothing which is how it's supposed to be. It's better this way."
Scabior was silent for a long time, thinking about a lot of things. He was afraid to voice what kept taking over his thoughts, but he couldn't help it. "D'you know 'ow difficult it is to lift a memory charm?"
"Yes." Her voice was barely above a whisper. "It's nearly impossible without torture."
"'Ow do you plan on doin' it, then?"
"I… I don't know." He could see the sadness in her eyes that contorted the rest of her face into a pained expression. "I'm not sure if I can."
They sat in silence for a while, listening to the steady drum of rain outside. Scabior looked back at Hermione's face, sensing that she was thinking about her parents, and felt the need to distract her from it, even if only just for the night. So he lifted out one hand and brushed the back of it across her cheek until her eyes flickered to his. "'Lemme guess." He said, raising one eye brow as a playful smile danced across his lips. "You're a Gryffindor?"
"How'd you know?"
"'Is pretty obvious."
"Really?" she frowned to herself. "That's interesting. You were a Slytherin, weren't you?"
Scabior nodded slowly. "Is it obvious too?"
"A little." Hermione admitted with a shy smile. "But you're nothing like the other Slytherins I know. At least not now."
He knew she was thinking back on him chasing her, giving her over to Bellatrix; everything he'd done before she found out his motives. It bothered him to wonder what she thought of him in that time period. Did she see him as a monster? Just as bad as Bellatrix? Just thinking about it made Scabior's lips turn down and he forced himself to focus on her face to remind himself that it was all in the past now. She was in love with him, the real Scabior.
"How long do you think we're going to be here for?" Hermione asked suddenly, her eyes drifting over to the window on the opposite wall, no doubt staring at the heavy rain fall. "It's been like this for days."
Scabior recovered from the guilty tidal wave that crashed over him, and shrugged his shoulders innocently. "No idea. Could be a while. Why? You wantin' t'leave me already?" he grinned at her playfully and she laughed, shaking her head.
"Of course not. I'm just…anxious, that's all."
"About wha'?"
"Can't tell you." She whispered, suddenly serious as she locked eyes with him. "I'd have to kill you."
Scabior took hold of the belt loops on her jeans and gave a light tug so her hips rolled towards him, and he hugged her against his body, laughing. "You wouldn' kill me, 'Ermione."
"I know." She sighed into his shirt. "I'm still not going to tell you, though."
"Top secret?"
"Exactly."
Scabior narrowed his eyes at her playfully. "'Ow top secret?"
"Confidential. Strictly need-to-know."
"'Is got somethin' t'do with 'Arry Potter and tha' red hair boy, doesn' it?"
Her cheeks coloured. "Top secret, Scabior."
He stared at her face, the smile slowly slipping from his lips as everything she was saying (or rather, not saying) suddenly made sense. "'Is about you-know-'oo, then."
When Hermione said nothing, biting down on her lower lip, Scbaior sighed.
"Why didn' you want t'tell me? D'you still think of me as the bad guy, even now?"
At once, she looked up at him in alarm. "Of course not! How could you say that?"
"You're givin' me all the righ' reasons, 'Ermione. If you trusted me you would 'ave jus' told me instead of sayin' 'ow secretive it is. 'Is not like I'm goin' to run off an' tell the death eaters or anythin' like tha'."
"I know." Hermione sighed. "I'm just afraid to tell you too much."
"Why?"
"The less you know, the less they have against you." She peeked at him through her lashes, and despite how frustrated he was, Scabior felt himself melting. "You're already in enough trouble as it is."
So that's it. He was keeping it from her to protect him. That rang a certain bell. He thought of the wand hidden in his waistband, the one he told himself he was hiding in order to keep Hermione safe, and wondered if this would be a good time to share this secret as well. Would she get mad? Now that they were together, would it matter? He could stop the storm; she wouldn't run away from him…would she? He hated being so unsure, but the fact of the matter was that Hermione remained a closed book that no matter how many times he tried to open, it remained that way, keeping everything inside a secret. Her emotions and moods could change so quickly, and her reactions would reflect these. If she was mad, she would leave, and he definitely did not want that.
"I'm sorry for accusin' you." He said finally, and smiled at her as he pressed his forehead against hers. "You were only tryin' to protect me, an' I appreciate tha'."
Hermione looked noticeably relieved. "You're not mad?"
"'Couse not. Because like I said, you were tryin' to protect me." He raised his eye brows, and gave a light shrug of his shoulders. "'Ow can I be mad at you for that?"
"Thank you for understand, Scabior." Hermione murmured quietly, "It means a lot."
She kissed him then, her hands finding his tangled hair and burying themselves deep inside of it. Scabior gave in to the kiss entirely but he couldn't help letting his mind wander. He hoped that Hermione would keep what he said in mind when he finally told her about the wand, if he ever did. He couldn't stand the thought of losing her. Instinctively, his hold on her grew tighter as if he was fighting someone from taking her away. In the end, though, it would be up to Hermione whether she left or not. And that frightened him to the core.