Hermione seemed to consider this for a moment. She was all out of options. Her logical mind had abandoned her and instincts had taken over. But she was able to summon some courage and decided to try to leverage what he wanted for what she wanted. He was standing by the tent flap, the wind that seeped around one of the edges blowing the tendrils of his hair that had loosened around his face making him appear even more mad and dangerous than he already seemed. His jaw was set in a firm line.
"I eat gonna ask you twice, girl," he said gruffly and slowly.
Hermione's tongue darted out to wet her dry lips; a movement that did not go unnoticed by him. Maybe she could distract him, get him to talk, get his mind off of this.
Her voice was dry and hoarse when she spoke next. She had to repeat the first word because it was barely audible.
"Why….," she cleared her throat. "Why do you need me to cooperate? I mean….surely you are a wizard who knows all the requisite spells…," her voice trailed off as he took a step closer to her. Two more steps and he'd be right in front of her.
"Well, my lovely, if you must know I don't actually fancy holding down a screaming girl whilst trying to have my way with her. Much better if she's willing…..or sommat."
Her breath left her lungs in a whoosh. How many times had he done just this….cornered some innocent girl and…..? How many other girls were there? Did he not abide by the rules of war nor pay any mind for common decency?
But of course the answer was apparent. He was a snatcher; the lowest of the low, really. A rogue offshoot of the Dark Lord's subjects. She had heard stories of the particular deviations that these sorts of men enjoyed. Flaunting and using their power to suit their own purpose.
How many?
Stop thinking! Start talking, Hermione. Move your mouth. Keep him busy. Keep him thinking, instead of….
"I am presuming then…since you seem to be….a gentleman….," her voice caught and her tongue tripped over the word and the lie was so completely obvious in her delivery, "….that you would possibly grant me something in return for….my….my compliance."
He seemed amused by this and smirked at her. "You, my dear, are hardly in the position to be making any requests."
"Just the same….would you swear you will not hurt Harry or Ron while they are in your possession?"
Scabior licked his lips and the coldness overtook his eyes. He regarded this one, this doe eyed girl with the wild hair. He had to admire her impudence. And spirit.
"Yes. But you are trying my patience. Get on with it."
He turned away from her to secure the errant end of tent flap and her stomach dropped.
Oh Godric, it's happening.
It's going to happen.
That thing. That thing I've wondered about and dreaded and…
She kept her eyes trained on him as he slowly walked around the edge of the tent, approaching his bed. He looked to her like a lion stalking his prey. He moved with a lithe grace befitting someone of a much higher station. Hermione chided herself for the thought.
Who cares?
Who cares who he is.
Who cares what he does.
You can do this. You can take the power back for yourself.
Everyone is depending on you.
And then she thought of Ron. He would hate her. He wouldn't understand. He would be so horribly disgusted with her and—
No!
Hermione cut off her own thoughts. Scabior was regarding her almost quizzically. Probably wondering what she was thinking about.
Ron won't hate you. He is kind and good. He will understand. It's not your fault. It's not even your choice…
Her thoughts were immediately interrupted by Scabior pushing her very deliberately and very roughly into the wall of the tent. He grabbed her and held her tight around the waist as she let out a gasp, the tent wall cutting into her bottom.
"I'm done with waiting," he said his voice gravelly, ragged. He grabbed her right hand and thrust it to the front of his plaid trousers, holding it against the large bulge that was now there. She tried to pull her hand away quickly, like it had touched fire, but he held her by the wrist, painfully now.
She let out a choked sob, "please-," she started, but he paid no mind and his lips went to the base or her neck where it met her shoulder. He planted a single kiss there before whispering against her skin, "tell you what….if it makes you more….agreeable…..you can even pick the position you like best." He inhaled deeply as she instinctively shuddered away from him.
"I…I….," she started, tears forming at the corners of her eyes. But she wouldn't let them fall. Her hand felt on fire, being held against his body so intimately and she was so unsure of how to proceed. She kept struggling, though, knowing she couldn't give up yet.
He thrust his hips at her and released her wrist, and she slammed it back to her side, her cheeks brightening at his lewd manipulation of it. She turned her head away from him, as far as possible which served only to give him better access to her neck which he continued to kiss and suckle.
"I…don't…know," she spoke away from him, and he thrust his hips against hers a second time, this time kicking her leg so her legs fell open in a V and he between them.
"Everyone's got a favorite," he said against her neck, inhaling deeply again. She brought her hands up to his shoulders and pushed on him, but he resisted, crashing his body into hers again.
"I don't know because….because….I haven't …ever…done…it," she said each word with great deliberation, struggling to get her face away from his.
He stilled, but only for a moment. He let out a sound that was somewhere between a sigh and a groan. He thought there was something different about this one. About that smell….
He inhaled again as she struggled against him.
And then he shocked them both and took a step back.
He knew the smell. He knew it. He knew now. He knew why she was special.
And why she must be his.