Her mind always wandered back to that time when it was windy. Just like today, the leaves crackling in the air and crunching underneath her boots. She half expected to round the corner and see him there in front of her, his blue eyes boring into hers and the red streak in his hair unmistakable.


Hermione had been with him for almost three weeks and they had spoken maybe twenty words to each other. The week before she had suffered the tremendous indignity of having to ask him to procure feminine hygiene items. Her cheeks blushed even at the thought of admitting something so personal to her captor. If it affected him, he didn't show it. He really didn't show her anything much. He was mostly disagreeable, didn't seem to want to speak to her or associate in any way. He was different from the man that had hunted her; pulled her to him as he smelled her hair. His eyes still roamed her body at times, but mostly they had settled into a fairly mundane routine; moving camp, her waiting as he and his team chased and hunted Mudbloods, the evening meal and then bedtime.

She had thought he would force himself on her, especially after all his lewd comments, but he did not. He was probably too tired, she thought. Or drunk.

Bedtime consisted of her laying down, trying to sleep and him stumbling in, hours later, drunk and hair wild, climbing into the small shared bed and settling on the far side of the mattress.

He brought her books occasionally. She refused to accept them at first; refusing to give him any sort of satisfaction. Because she wouldn't accept gifts from a monster. Because he was a monster when all was said and done.

He brought her a book about birds today, for what reason, she had no idea. Probably because it was available. Most likely because he had taken it from some poor Mudblood he then disposed of. She wondered briefly at its previous owner but immediately tried to put that out of her mind. It did no good to dwell on such thoughts. As she turned the book in her hands she noted the crease in the binding and the musty smell of the pages. That smell always brought her back to Hogwarts; back to the restricted section of the library where she spent so much of her time.

The book had been left on the makeshift table they ate their meals at in silence in his tent.

She wondered if she was ever going to be released. If the war would be over, if she would see her friends or her school again. If she'd ever be free.

Looking around she realized he must be gone for the day, again, as every day. She took her book over to the bed and started reading.

Hours later, it was the wind that woke her, howling through the trees. Cracking her eyes, she saw that it was dark, and as she rolled onto her side she saw that he was in bed with her.

'What hour is it even?,' she thought for a moment. Who cared. All her days bled together and blurred into an unending mass of time.

She rolled onto her left side, away from him and was startled when his arm came about her waist, pulling her to him, her back to his chest.

He made some sort of noise deep in his throat and settled his nose in her hair. Her heart was racing, as she hadn't expected him to pull her to him. This was the closest they'd physically been since she became his prisoner.

His even breath ghosted over her ear, signaling he was still asleep. She exhaled and he, in response pulled her harder against him. She tried to gently squirm away, careful to not wake him but as she tried to work her way loose he shifted against her and she felt something press against her strangely.

Hermione was book smart but lacking in practical knowledge and it didn't take her long to realize what it was that was so insistently pressing against her lower back. Before she could decide what to do she felt his hot lips kiss the shell of her ear.

She froze.

He continued slowly, gently kissing just the outside of her ear. Each touch of his heated mouth made her feel something low in her belly. Something she had never felt before. Not even with herself.

His hand ran around her neck, grasping her hair and twisting it over her shoulder, leaving her neck bare on one side. Before she could take in another breath his mouth was ghosting over the side of her neck.

Hermione could feel the gooseflesh pebbling on the sensitive skin that lay between her neck and shoulder. She couldn't move. She was locked in place waiting for him. If she was being honest with herself, she didn't know if she wanted him to stop or to continue.

"You're enjoying the book." he said quietly, words dancing their way down her spine. It wasn't a question; it was more of a statement, and it was obvious to her he didn't mean for her to respond.

She cocked her neck to the side, displaying the flesh for him, her breath hitching at her boldness. This was all so new. She hated him, but the feeling was so intense, so world-alteringly sublime she had to have it again.

He complied, dipping his head to her neck and inhaling deeply, before gently kissing her where neck and shoulder met.

"You're so…," he started, his voice trailing off as his tongue darted out to taste her there.

Hermione let out a sound somewhere between a cry and a groan, and before she knew what was happening his large hands had come around her, fiddling with the fastenings of her jeans that she'd fallen asleep in and pulling them down her legs.

She should have felt self conscious in only her knickers. She should have stopped him or said something or done anything else except letting him run his tongue over the sensitive side of her neck while she kicked her jeans off. The offending garment discarded, she clasped and unclasped her fingers, bunching them into tight little fists, then releasing them in anticipation of his next move.

His hand went up under her soft woolen jumper as his mouth went back to her ear. She hadn't been wearing a bra and as his hand reached her breast he hummed in appreciation. He flicked her nipple gently as he played with her ear, back to her neck and she slammed her legs together, seeking desperately to quench the ache that had begun.

She heard him rustling and the bed dip and shift, but he was back behind her in an instant, his left hand at her waist, his right hand traveling lower, forcing her to part her legs as he kissed the top of her spine.

She wasn't sure what happened next but she felt the length of him, hot and insistent, dragging between her legs. She brought her thighs together around him to try and alleviate the tension she felt. Back and forth, he moved, slowly as she clenched and unclenched her legs around him.

"That's it…that's it, my lovely…," he was saying into her ear, moving against her, kissing her neck and kneading her breast.

She felt the pleasure building then. To an almost painful peak. Her hand immediately went to his at her waist and gripped it almost painfully.

"Stop…," was all she managed to get out.

Her words had their intended effect, for he stopped moving against her. Her heart was pounding so hard she could hear it in her ears as the silence stretched out between them. She realized then, she hadn't actually wanted him to stop, but if she didn't something would happen between them; something that would change her forever.

She hung there in that moment of pleasure and pain and released his fingers, pressing them into her waist, urging him on.

"Let me…," he started, resuming his motions and having her press down onto him. So close, so close…that glorious friction she craved was helping her near something…

She was almost sobbing her need for release as his fingers again found her nipple and pinched. Then the world broke in two and twisted and she was pulled over the edge.

Her heart was pounding and he could feel it from behind. She curled her back into him, pressing against him, but it wasn't enough. Before she could even think to say 'no' or move, he had pulled her panties to the side and pressed the tip of his head into her wet heat.

She took a breath in and held it. This was new. She hadn't ever done this. She felt it though. Want, need, or whatever you want to call it. Some animalistic call to action.

She slowly pushed back on him, urging him deeper as she exhaled. She felt him shudder for a second before bringing his other hand around her breasts and pulling her back to him, on him, slowly, filling her fully.

She had heard stories about the immeasurable pain that one experiences, yet she felt none. She only felt the exquisite thrust and drag, and the wetness building inside of her.

She cocked her head and he resumed kissing her neck as he gripped her hips with both hands and pulled her to him, harder now.

Hermione could feel her inner muscles tightening, yet she was not nearing a release. Scabior instinctively knew this and reached one of his hands from her hip down, inside her panties, between her legs. He began to knead the soft, velvety skin at the apex of her thighs, and she rolled her head back onto his shoulder and let out a low moan.

"Yes…my lovely….," he was starting to speak in random intelligible ways but she didn't care, her head thrown back against him, body straining against his hand and the part of him inside her. His kneading turned into rubbing, went from slow to so fast it was almost too intense and she came apart in his arms. Her body spasmed as she let out a gasp, tightening around his and pulling him after her.

They lay like that for awhile, as she tried to catch her breath and will her heart to slow down. He pulled away from her as she felt him soften and fall out of her body, wondering at the stickiness she felt trickle out with him. She turned to look at him, but he was already facing away from her, his back to her.

She watched the curve of his spine and heard his breathing eventually settle into a calm rhythm. He had fallen asleep.

She rolled onto her back and eventually the wind lulled her into a dreamless sleep.