They must have apparated without her, for as Lucy rounded the top of the hill there was no one there. Pulling her leather jacket tighter around herself against the cold, she started the trek back to the camp. Every twig she stepped on, every crackling leaf set her hair on end. Her encounter with Scabior had left her shaken.

Shortly later she was back at the camp; back at her tent. Well, their tent. She wondered if she should pack it up and bunk down with someone else. Crossing into the tent, she went for the first and only thing she was after. The half-drunk bottle of firewhiskey.

Fluffing her pillow, she leaned back against it, crossed her still-booted feet over each other and took a long swig. The liquid burned on its way down. She thought about what the hell she was supposed to do and how she'd get back in favor with the group. Her head hurt and her neck was sore. She ran a hand over it tenderly, testing the skin she found there. It was sore and most likely bruised. After a few feeble attempts at massaging it, she dropped her hand. It simply hurt too much. She sat up and removed her boots and socks, rubbing her feet. They were always sore after all the running on uneven ground her group did. Sighing, she leaned against the pillow once more, tipping the amber liquid back again.

Two more drinks from the bottle and she fell into a fitful sleep.

She was startled awake when she felt her mattress shift. Suddenly, someone swung a leg over her, straddling her. She struggled, and his hands went to hers, pinning them to her chest and her flat against the mattress.

"What the fuck?," she started, as a hand went to her mouth, silencing her, now holding both wrists with one hand.

"Don't move," he started. She knew his voice anywhere, it was Scabior. She was terrified and struggled even more. "I said don't," he spoke back, his voice cool, even and a little menacing. She stilled immediately. Lucy could smell alcohol on his breath. They must have dumped the muggles and gone to celebrate. As per usual.

He let go of her hands and mouth and ran a finger down to the waistband of her black trousers. Her breathing hitched as he slowly traced his finger up over her abdomen, then back down, flicking open the button carelessly. Her hands clenched at her sides as she felt his feather light touch against her skin. It had been so long since she had been with anyone. So very long...

She took a quick indrawn breath. Was he doing what she thought he was?

He set to work at the zipper of her pants and she realized, yes, in fact, this was what she was thinking.

Lucy knew she should be repelled. She should fight and struggle, but she felt the warmth radiating off of him, and breathed in his scent from outside. If she could just have this moment...to make it up to him, just one moment of someone wanting her, she would die happy.

She leaned up to him in the darkness, searching out his lips. He placed a hand on her chest and pushed her back flat against the bed, away from his lips, signaling this was not an option. Confused, she reached for his jacket to pull him down to her. He caught her wrist as it came to him and pushed it away. Then he moved to his jacket, tossing it off his shoulders and letting it drop softly at the floor.

What was wrong with her? She was lost in this man and his confidence and control, how he towered over her, how he decided that they would be doing this. She was startled back to reality when she felt his hands at her waistband once more.

Moving downwards he slid her trousers down over her hips. She did not know why but she lifted her hips to help him and at that moment he looked up suddenly, catching her gaze. Her heard pounded in her ears. The situation was terrifying in a way and yet comforting. She knew him. For months now. It was not like some careless guard trying to rape her in a corner. Her eyes glazed over and she tilted her head back, closing her eyes gently. He had to look away and before she could register what was happening he had pushed his pants over his hips, pushed her panties to the side and slid into her in a single motion.

It had been so long...

He filled her up and each time he pulled back she whimpered, begging for his heat; his warmth. He leaned over her, careful to avoid her lips but he did lower his face to her neck and softly kiss along there and the outside of her ear, making her body shudder. His long fingers went under her shirt to her left breast, gently kneading it. She arched against him, still trying to catch his lips. He was so cold, so aloof and unemotional that she gave up trying to touch her lips to his own, and lay back, enjoying the thrust and drag and the pounding of blood in her head. He sped up and she cried out, wrapping her legs around him. She was close, so very close, and then without warning he grunted softly and stilled, spilling himself inside her.

She hoped for his welcome weight laying atop her, but he withdrew from her suddenly, pushing his weight on his arms until he could fasten his pants. He didn't even look at her. Then, without a word, he moved to his bed, kicked off his boots, and laid down, facing away from her.

What the fuck? What the fuck had just happened?

After several moments of no speaking and wondering what the hell had just happened, she moved her hands down to her trousers, fastening them. She reached next to her and grabbed her wand. With a flick or her wrist she muttered a contraceptive charm.

She glanced to his sleeping form and it angered her. She was left unsatisfied and she was furious at him. She was angry he had nearly strangled her, angry that he had laid on her bed and helped himself to her body, so very angry at him for so many things.

Her blood boiled, and she rose to her feet, hurriedly pulling on her socks and shoes. She'd go sit by the fire and finish off the bottle. That's what she'd do. Having finished lacing them, she grabbed the bottle next to her bed and walked towards the tent door.

"Lush," he called softly over his shoulder.