Hermione was awakened by a low rumble of thunder that crescendoed and echoed throughout the small room. Rolling onto her side, her eyes drifted open and the rain droplets tap, tap, tapping on the window pane slowly came into focus. She let out a deep breath. She hadn't slept so soundly in awhile. Remembering what had transpired, she reached her hand out to the bed beside her.
Empty.
For a moment, she doubted if it had happened at all. But several flashes to their earlier encounter and a pleasant soreness between her legs made her cheeks blush and her pulse speed up.
She had given herself to him.
And she should feel guilty.
Those were the first thoughts that came into her mind. She should feel guilty, yet she didn't. She was a cross between curious and horrified to realize she had liked it, she had enjoyed being with him in that way. And worse still, she wanted him. Again.
She shook her head bringing her hands to the sides of her face and then run them through the silky strands of her hair. No. She would not want him. It was just the hormones, upsetting her rigidly defined sense of self. Surely she should not be enjoying this. Ron would never forgive her. No one would. She wouldn't forgive herself.
She sat up, pulling the sheets and blanket around her naked form. As she looked at the empty space next to her several thoughts crossed her mind.
Had he gone?
Where?
Just then she heard a noise from the kitchen. Hermione looked around, her eyes settling on a loose jumper and trousers strewn across the bedroom floor. She shrugged into the clothing and padded out into the kitchen.
He was there, his back towards her, cooking over the range.
"Hello, beautiful," he said, his back still to her.
She blamed it on the hormones, but for some reason, when he said it this time it sent a bolt of white hot electricity from her chest to her core.
Get it together.
"Good morning," she said shyly, coming up until she stood behind him. She watched his hands scramble eggs and fuss about the pans. Not thinking, her arms shot out, almost of their own accord, and wrapped around his waist, gently, from behind. She leaned her cheek into his back. He stilled for a moment; then, after the initial shock wore off she heard him make a noise like a low chuckle as he brought his left arm up to run over hers.
"Sleep well?" he asked, finishing up at the stove, dropping his arm from hers. She backed away and moved to sit at the table.
Hermione blushed furiously and as he turned towards her with the plates of breakfast loaded high, he noticed the flush across her cheeks.
"Yes. Very," she said, her eyelids fluttering closed.
"Good."
Scabior crossed to the table and put down the plates in front of them. Eggs and sausage with toast on the side. Hermione's stomach growled. All of a sudden she realized how hungry she was.
"Thank you. I'm hungrier than I thought."
"I imagine so," he said, his eyes meeting hers over a bite of eggs.
"The…baby…," she said, her voice nearly tripping over the word. She had said the word "baby" only a few times and it sounded odd and foreign on her lips. She brushed it off and continued, gesturing to the eggs. "Thank you, this is delicious. As always."
He nodded at her and when she met his blue grey eyes with her own she felt something deep in her stomach clench.
Why? Why now?
She continued to study his face intently.
"Are you alright?," he asked, noticing her stare.
Hermione shook her head, embarrassed, and unsure of what came over her. "Yes, I'm…I'm sorry…I was thinking…"
He cocked his eyebrows and leaned in. "About?"
All she could think about was his hands on her body and the feel of him pressing her into the mattress. Her breathing sped up and she touched her tongue to her top lip. "I…," she started but didn't finish her thought. "Nothing."
He leaned back, confused. He shrugged, and resumed eating his breakfast.
Merlin, Hermione! What is wrong with you?!
After breakfast, she'd showered and brushed her teeth after he'd cleaned up as well, planning to sit and read on this dreary, rainy day. Scabior had made a fire in the fireplace, for which she was forever grateful. It warmed up the room, and the flat, and made Hermione feel cozy. Her fingers traced over several spines of the dusty books he kept in his bookshelf. For a snatcher, he had quite the collection. She looked over her shoulder at him sprawled out on the couch, reading a muggle detective novel. She cleared her throat and spoke.
"You have a nice collection here…,"
"Yeh, not much else to do in Cokeworth 'm afraid," he said, not looking up, cocking his arm behind his head and resting on it.
The rain continued hammering down on the flat as a large clap of thunder hit. Hermione yelped. He looked up from his book, his eyes meeting hers.
"'s only the rain," he said matter-of-factly. He rose and strode to the fireplace, throwing another log on the fire. He bent down and, removing the poker from next to the fireplace, prodded at the new log.
Hermione felt herself blush as her gaze drifted up over his back to his shoulders. She wasn't sure what exactly was happening to her, but she suspected the sudden onslaught of new feelings occurred as a result of her pregnancy. It wasn't unheard of to experience an increase in desire, she thought, in her limited knowledge of the female gestational progression. She pondered this, her eyes fixated on his back as he put the poker back in its rack and turned to her.
She wasn't sure exactly what emotion she saw on his face. He was surprised to see her studying him, of course. Perhaps confused. She had to avert her eyes, as she was so embarrassed he had caught her staring. He moved away from the fireplace, back over to the couch.
"I don't think I'll ever understand what's going on inside that head of yours," he said, rather amusedly, picking up his book and flopping down unceremoniously on the faded green velvet.
Hermione turned back towards the books, her fingers almost caressing the worn edges, longing to touch and be touched. He let out a low chuckle and her hand stilled. Immediately, she felt another bolt of white hot electricity shake her very core. Another clap of thunder startled her and wrung her nerves to the edge. Her heart sped up. Her hand moved down from the bookshelf, to her side, and she turned to him slowly.
Don't do it.
Don't say it.
And she wasn't going to. But then, ah then, he flipped a page in his book carelessly with his fingers, those fingers she remembered so well, and she knew.
I…can't help it…I need to…
"I'm thinking about what would have happened in the forest, that day," she blurted out, unable to stop herself. Neither one spoke for a moment as the air hung heavy around them. He lowered his book, cast it aside, his eyes met hers, and he stood up slowly…quietly…
Hot shame stained her cheeks as she continued.
"I'm thinking that I wanted you to chase me and hunt me down; drag me off into the woods and take me. Take me roughly, hard, against a tree or in the dirty ground." He stood there, his jaw set in a hard line; his brows knitted together ever so slightly…
"I'm thinking that I shouldn't feel desire for you. And I shouldn't want. And I'm thinking that I enjoyed yesterday so much that I can't wait until your hands are on me and you are inside of me again."
Something hot and wanting flared behind his steely gaze as she collected herself and continued, her voice quavering.
"That's what I'm thinking."
Scabior considered this for a long moment. He did not respond and every second that ticked by Hermione could feel her cheeks redden further under his heated gaze. She felt naked, exposed, in an entirely different way…
"There's nothing wrong with those thoughts."
He took a step towards her.
"You are allowed to feel desire. There's nothing wrong with it. It's how you know you aren't dead."
Hermione exhaled slowly as she felt some relief drift over her at his words. He took another step. The edge of his lip curled and his eyes narrowed. "You want me to be a proper baddie?"
Hermione moved to take a step back but seemed frozen in place and unable to will her feet to move.
"All of those things you said you wanted me to do to you, there, in the forest…," his voice drifted off, until she realized he wanted her to speak.
"Y-yes?," she stammered, her tongue darting out to wet her lips as he followed it's motion with his eyes.
"Would you like me to show you?"
