Hellow eweone! *chewing dark chocolate while reading this chapter* Thank you so much for your support, interesting thoughts and alerts! I'll be free from uni in a week and will have so much more time to write to my precious readers. I've been thinking about making other hp-stories too, so watch out. And as a note to those wondering, sometimes a person going through chock or trauma just reaches for another person because it's a small escape from the horrors the mind experience. The brilliant show Single Father with David Tennant showed this, and it inspired me. But you are of course allowed to think differently about Hermione. Enjoy and review!

Inspirational music: Curly Sue by Takida

Chap. 19 Frustrations

With every nerve poised with anticipation, Hermione felt how Scabior's lips touched hers. Never would she have thought that the impact of two soft things clashing together could be so great and send tingling sparks through her body.

His lips pressed tenderly against her, neither demanding nor passive. Hermione wanted more and firmly pulled his head nearer with her hands secured around his neck; the only anchor in the midst of a ferocious sea. She heard him let out a small growl through sealed lips and before she could comprehend it, Scabior's arms on her back gripped her steadily.

This time it felt so much better because now he was fully conscious of his actions. Suddenly her every thought vanished as she felt him open his mouth and let his warm tongue leave its cavern, and slowly glide on the still closed line between her lips that created the thinnest and yet most evident barrier between outside and inside. His ministrations became more insistent, even impatient, and Hermione understood his intention without much pondering.

She opened her mouth and there was barely air between the two of them. His hand came up to cradle the back of her head which made her sigh into his mouth contently. He took a sharp intake of air and charged, forcing her head forward while he entered and conquered her mouth with his tongue. Had she not had Scabior's arm on her lower back and his other one holding her head, Hermione was convinced she would have descended to the floor and melted into a pool of non-being.

She settled for closing her eyes and just enjoy how he roamed her sensitive mouth with unashamed skills that caused her heart to nearly break through her ribcage. It was not curiosity or courage but simple need that made her reach out for him with her own tongue and gently caress him. Upon the hot contact, both moaned in the oldest symphony on earth and began to cling to each other more desperately.

Hermione was aware of Scabior's lower hand that had quite swiftly ventured in under her white t-shirt and frantically stroke the small of her back, the big calloused palm leaving shivers in its trace on her soft skin. All the while their lips remained sealed together and only occasionally, sounds from the consensual dance within reached Hermione's ears. Astounded by her unlikely ability to muster up enough strength, she lifted her arms and began to wound her fingers in Scabior's nest of snarls before she dug her nails into his scalp.

"Oh, beautiful…" Scabior groaned before he once again attached his lips to hers. Hermione felt something growing warmer by her stomach and then Scabior leaned back to lie on his back. He brought her with him and with a feral desperation released his hand from under her clothing and grabbed her thigh. Hermione was unable to do something before Scabior pulled down her thigh to rest beside his. The other leg slid down too when Hermione tried to regain balance, making her straddling Scabior.

The heat between the two of them seemed to increase even more, especially where his hips rested beneath Hermione's thighs. The hand on her leg began to go back its path but stopped on her bum. Hermione moaned into his mouth when the hand caressed her while the other held her pressed against the firm chest. She wanted to touch Scabior and slowly let her hands wander to his decorated jacket to unbutton it with nimble fingers. Once three buttons were undone, she could swear there was a wave of heat rising from the exposed skin. She placed her hands on the muscular chest and began to carefully play with the patch of dark chesthair.

When Scabior started to massage her cheeks with both hands, causing her hips to bump into him, she distinctly felt the warm, hard body part hidden under checkered pants.

She shook her head which made all her curls fall down and frame Scabior's face.

"I'm afraid," she whimpered but hissed exquisitely when a particular strong stroke on her bum sent her right to his hardness, sending a pang of longing to her very womb.

Scabior left her lips and panted as his mouth made its way to her ear, licking along her jawline in passing. Hermione sighed from both arousal and relief when Scabior's hands stopped their movements and in stead began to travel upwards and nestle again on the small of her back.

"I want ya," he whispered passionately and pushed his hips up, eliciting moans from both of them. "Feel 'ow much I want ya, love."

Hermione struggled for composure when Scabior began to suckle hard on her earlobe, the now only moving thing on his body. "Scabior, I don't think we should. Please stop, mmmnnnn…"

Her ability to speak disappeared when teeth lightly bit down on her ear shell and Scabior hummed pleasantly. With her mind occupied with the slight pain, she was not aware of his hands before she felt them wriggle inside the top of her jeans and rest, with only one thin layer between the still hands and her bottom.

"Just let me feel ya 'ere for a sec, Hermione," Scabior begged and nibbled on the corner of her mouth before he continued, "I won't 'urt ya, beautiful bird."

But Hermione's brain caught up with her and she resisted opening her mouth to him. 'He's evil! Evil!" she thought repeatedly and yet her body responded to the warmth and comfort his body offered. His hands lay motionless and almost innocently on her, only radiating more heat to her.

She decided she needed to get away from atop of Scabior to be able to think through this unexpected event when Scabior hissed sharply and tugged out his hands from her trousers.

He promptly lifted her lithe body off him but stayed down on the floor. Hermione blinked where she sat beside him, confused by his actions, when Scabior began to groan through clenched teeth and writhe. His face was marred with a look of agony and he clutched his left wrist. This was beyond Hermione's comprehension and she began to feel really scared.

She launched herself to grab hold of his jacket and said nervously, "Scabior? What's wrong?" Scabior did not answer but pushed her away from him and during a few seconds of pained cries, he savagely ripped off the green jacket, scattering golden buttons on the floor and turned his head to examine his Dark Mark. Hermione followed his gaze, and would forever be haunted by the ghastly sight that met her brown eyes.

There, on the naked skin was the horrible tattoo but it looked different. The black colour seemed to be darker than the night, the snake now moving unrelentingly as if it was alive but trapped under the skin and the tattoo itself had risen, creating a sickening bulge on the pale wrist. Scabior tossed and turned as in a fever and every time he breathed it was with a wheezing sound. Small beads of sweat gathered on his forehead and his whole body went stiff, as if preparing for more torture.

"Scabior! What's happening!" Hermione cried out but he did not seem to hear her. Then he began to tremble and screamed loudly which made Hermione flinch and back away from him. Scabior flung his hands to grasp his head, his nails clawing at his temples and he jerked his head, apparently not caring that he smashed his skull on the floor repeatedly.

Hermione found her sense and began to look for his wand, wanting to save him from whatever thing that hurt his body. As she spotted the wand under the table and reached for it, she heard male shouts form the outside sounding equally distressed as Scabior. Her hand clasp around the wand and she felt strength and calmness flood her system at her reunion with magic, no matter that it was somebody else's wand.

She turned back to the tormented snatcher and stared at his Mark. Red, liquefied life trickled along the outlines of the tattoo and stained the floor beneath Scabior's arm. Hermione nearly bit her tongue out of horror but became determined to end this dark magic. But before she had time to think up the proper spells, Scabior's body relaxed in front of her and he closed his eyes. His breathing slowed down and his face was free from wrinkles, although very grey.

Hermione cautiously placed her left hand on the bare chest and tried to distinguish heartbeats. And something did beat steady and reassuringly against his ribs which made Hermione slightly less worried. She turned her eyes to the irritated skin on his wrist and discovered that the blood had stopped; only the swollen Mark remained as a terrible reminder of the previous state. Hermione leaned over Scabior's damp face and cupped his cheek.

"Scabior, can you hear me? Wake up," she said quietly. Scabior frowned with his eyes jammed shut and growled menacingly. Feeling unsettled, Hermione retreated and put a couple of feet between them, to be sure.

After a minute the male body began to move slowly, bending the limbs and placing the hands and boots flat on the floor. Scabior opened his dark eyes but looked straight up at the roof and frowned in what could be deep concentration. Then he flexed the exposed biceps and struggled to sit up.

Hermione blamed her Gryffindor courage when she scrambled forward to help him. Now the tables were turned, as she was the one who supported Scabior by his back. She was concerned by the sudden green look on his face but stayed at his side, holding up his heavy form. Scabior coughed and brought up his right arm to wipe his face. The left one hang limply, with only the snake tediously wiggling under the black skin.

"What was that?" Hermione asked anxiously.

"It was Him. He called us," Scabior breathed out with a raspy voice. Whether it was from insidious desire or pure weakness, Scabior leaned his head against Hermione's shoulder.

"There's something more to it," Hermione whispered and brushed his wild hair out of her face.

"He was furious. The calling has never been like that. I think we all got a taste of His rage."

"When must you leave?" Hermione wondered, not unable to hide the quiver in her lowered voice. Scabior sighed tiredly.

"He wants us now. Everybody." He threw a look on his left arm and only lifted an eyebrow at the red stripes on the wrist. "Even the most insignificant snatchers," he mumbled absent-mindely and suddenly turned his head to look at Hermione.

"Sorry 'bout giving you a fright, love. And I'll be needing my wand back."

Honestly, Hermione had an urge to free herself from Scabior and disapparate with his wand but a thought nibbled at her mind. If Voldemort had called every Death Eater after days of silence, surely something was up. Was she ready to land somewhere in England without any news of him? And beside, she could perhaps find out where Harry and Ron was held prisoners if Scabior told her. She hoped with every fibre of her heart they were alright wherever they were. She would not want to be near a raging Voldemort.

With a sigh of disappointment, she surrendered the wand to Scabior.

"Thanks. Now help me up, will you?" he smiled weakly and she used her muscles to the point of straining to bring Scabior to his feet.

"Can you manage?" she asked sceptically when she watched him stumble to the table and leaned heavily against it. He waved her question away.

"It's fine. Just a tad exhausted, that's all."

He pointed the wand at his discarded coat and it returned to him and he put it on. The gleaming buttons on the floor flew up and re-attached themselves on his jacket and with another flick with the wand, the jacket was buttoned up and proper. Scabior grinned cheekily at her and Hermione felt herself blush from their earlier activity. Her t-shirt was wrinkled at the seams and it was almost possible to see her navel. She readjusted it hastily and through her lashes she saw Scabior not looking away.

"Listen, Hermione. This is very important." She lifted her gaze and Scabior continued with a serious voice, "I'll give you your wand back if you promise to not fucking run off until I'm back."She opened her mouth to answer but Scabior interrupted her.

"I suppose you'd want to, but trust me, you are safe here. I don't know what the Dark Lord is up to but I don't want you wandering into his grasp. Hermione, listen to me, you must stay in here."

The last part came out a bit harshly and Scabior began to look stressed. Hermione quickly made her decision. A wand was her only reliable weapon in the world.

"Fine, I'll stay here. But promise you will come back," she replied and observed how a key left Scabior's pocket and opened the chest. Her old wand emerged from it and flew to her outreached hand. She undoubtedly felt more confident now but knew she had to remain in the tent. Scabior beckoned her forward and she stopped in front of him, almost as tall as him now that he leaned on the table.

"Don't let anybody inside the tent but me. Do whatever it takes to disarm any strangers," he muttered in a voice she could barely hear. "And for Salazar's sake, use the Unforgivables if you have to. It's your life against theirs."

A chill went through Hermione and she became aware of the sudden dimness in the tent. The sun had been swallowed by dark clouds and she could make out a faint rumble from thunder in the distance. Scabior took a deep breath and raised his right hand, which held his wand, to catch a loose strand of her hair and gently put it behind her ear.

"You're beautiful."

He said it simply, stood up from the table and limped to the doorway.

"Do you really need to walk outside to disapparate?" Hermione asked quickly, compassion rising in her at the pitiful figure of the tall snatcher. Scabior huffed back, "Need to make sure the others in the camp come with me. Not everyone has a young witch ready at their side." He gave her a wink and walked out of the tent, leaving Hermione all alone. She turned her eyes to watch the pool of freshly spilt blood mingle with a ruined lamb stew.