DISCLAIMER: I don't own anything. Well...a dirty mind... but hush, don't tell anyone!

Summary: Hermione can't cope with the way Scabior sees her. Now she has to try her best not only to survive but also to get things her way. ScabiorxHermione. Noncon at start, romance later on, adult situations, lemon, rated.

NOTE: I've started writing this fic as Chronicles. Chronicle I occurs during the film and has a lighter mood. Anyone who wants to be at the dark part should pop in at Chronicle II Yes, You've read that right. Chronicle II shall start when Scabior gets his hands on Hermione. It's also where the smut starts. Anyway... Enjoy ;D


Passion


In Medieval Times wives were still expected to be submissive and obedient, and their 'place; was clearly in the home. The role of the wife was to generally be an obedient servant to her husband and a flawless mother to her children. This was the norm.

- Arden Davidson

I

Hermione closed the book with a moan and rubbed her eyes. She was tired, but not tired enough to go to sleep yet. Thoughts about recent events plagued her mind and she felt she could not close her eyes without seeing that strange mark appear in front of her again. A triangle, a line, and a circle. What could it mean? It had to mean something, she was sure about that.

Restless she sat up and swung her legs over the edge of her make-shift bed. She tried wiggling her feet in the hope of getting the feel back in her legs and toes. It was clear that her body needed the rest. Her eyes were drooping and her limbs sore. Yet she jumped up onto her feet, agile as she was ignoring the pain and the sleep, and made her way out of the tent.

The sky had turned dark yet she brought a hand up to shield her eyes. It was an unnecessary action, of course, but it happened almost automatically.

"Harry?"

She whispered. But he did not appear to be in sight.

"Ron?"

She could hear the radio squeak and gurgle from somewhere behind her. He must be inside the tent. She let out a sigh of relief. If he was still inside that meant he was probably in his bed, preparing for sleep. He needed the rest more than any of them for his arm was still badly wounded. Hermione could curse herself for having her friend hurt this way. She blamed herself. It had all been her idea and she should have been faster. She should have tugged Ron away from that woman who kissed him – oh, and how jealous she felt at the thought of it – and just dragged him to one of the transport points. It could have saved them enough time to apparate to her destined location. Now she had to suddenly think of something new, somewhere else, and cursed the woods around her. They were cold, damp and gave her the creeps.

Wrapping her arms around her shoulders as if to keep her warm she trudged forward, hearing the crunching of leaves underneath her feet and looking up at the darkness, trying to distinguish the tops of the trees to see if there were any birds in them. She saw none, though a tiny blur passed her vision and she imagined it might have been a small bat.

With a sigh she leant against a tree bark, gazing off into the distance. She had left the tent behind her and inhaled the fresh air of the midnight woods. How stupid she had been for allowing Ron to be hurt this way. How annoying it was now that he could not travel for and wide. She once again blamed herself for not being able to heal him properly and fully. She had wanted to, would have given anything to have him fully cured.

Hermione shook her head and gazed at the sky again. The moon was obscured by clouds and she got an eerie feeling taking hold of her again. It made her stomach churn, feeling nauseated by nothing in particular and taking a step away from the tree. She glanced over her shoulder at the tent, not seeing her two friends. She might have cast many a protecting spell already but she still felt unsafe. And thus she made up her mind and took her wand, saying a few more spells as she walked further and further away from their hideout.

One shield after another was formed, layer upon layer of protecting and deflecting membranes of spells and enchantments formed to keep her and her friends safe.

Harry had appeared by the tent, popping his head out of the opening before stepping out fully, his wand in his hand. He sat down as if to guard, but in fact just watched how his friend was trying to make them all a safe place to be. It made him feel warm to know she was doing this for them. Not only for him but also for Ron.

The ginger had been right.

They wouldn't last two days without Hermione.

The young witch was casting another spell when suddenly a twig snapped close to where she was. It made her alert, stand up straight, her breathing shallow as she froze. There in front of her snatchers had appeared. They had come from over the small hill, and she could smack her head for not having noticed them any sooner. Her guard was down, absolutely. Perhaps the day had been too tiring or her after all, perhaps it was because she should have gone to bed and sleep. But somehow she wasn't as alert as she normally was. Had her eyes been drooping again that she had missed the first sign of their presence? Her breath hitched in her throat. But it was too late now.

The group of men, carrying muggles over their shoulders as if their lives weren't worth the cash they would receive for handing them in, had come to a halt only meters away from her. They'd stopped at the sign of their leader. Their words and the conversation that followed sounded dull to Hermione's ears. The many layers of protecting charms seemed to muffle their speech as the leader stepped towards her. He came to a halt in front of her, sniffed the air, his blue eyes piercing right through her. No matter how dark the woods, it was as if he saw her.

And then she realised he did not, but he had smelled her perfume.

Her eyes slightly widened.

Her perfume had given her away.

Scared, that the man in front of her would take a step forward, she didn't even notice how his hand reached out and almost touched the shield of magic that protected her. The first ripple of magic wavering could be seen, but luckily they were both too distracted to notice. If the snatcher had seen it or had felt it, he would have known she was there. But the delicious scent that had reached his nostrils had distracted him and made it hard for him to focus. He had not felt it, or perhaps had thought it to be a bit of evening wind brushing past his flesh. Hermione was too focussed on standing still. Adrenaline had started to pump through her body as suddenly all sleep had left her.

One of the snatchers called out for their boss, Hermione could not hear the exact words. And then the snatcher in front of her turned away.

He had been so close to her.

As Scabior joined his fellow snatchers he grumbled something to them. Hermione watched him go, his tight pants catching her attention which then went to his boots. He had long legs.

Had he found out about her presence she'd never been able to get away from him. She'd never outrun him. Just as she was about to turn around she heard Harry's voice. It startled her and made her heart beat even wilder.

"Yes," She retorted to him. "It is good to know my enchantments work."

And watched how he offered her his hand. Thinking nothing bad of it she accepted his offer and walked back to the tent with him, laughing and smiling as he told her how he had watched the scene unfold and how silly the snatchers had been for not noticing their presence.

"Though that one man, he knew someone was there." Harry said.

"Yes, he smelled my perfume. I'm sure of it, Harry." She replied and smiled at him.

"Just don't wear it again, Hermione." Her friend replied. "It's not as if Ron would notice, he wears the perfume himself." They both laughed loudly as they reached the tent.

Hermione wondered if Harry's words had been true.