Just a little oneshot, I couldn't resist after the Deathly Hallows Part 1, and the pure sexiness that is Scabior.
Hermione did not dare to breathe as the Snatcher prowled close to her wards, the velvety sheen of the powerful magic the only thing separating them.
The Snatcher was tall, rugged and rough, his chiselled jaw and cruel blue grey eyes contrasting against the worn leather jacket and patched plaid trousers. His gaze seemed to pierce into her very soul, as he stood there, gazing unseeingly into her eyes.
That gaze haunted Hermione, even after they left the forest, even after Ron left and it was just her and Harry, alone and lost. His eyes stayed with her, haunting her, hunting her, draining her of reason and logic every night, as wild fantasies of rough skin and snarled hair beneath her fingertips intruded what little rest she could find, making her cry out. Fantasies of racing through the forest, as he chased her, catching her and forcing her down into the cold, dewy grass, sprawled beneath him.
The hunter and the hunted.
He was poison, death, prejudice, a Death Eater and a Snatcher, everything she hated.
He would be her downfall, if she ever let him get close enough to touch her physically. Mentally, she had already fallen.
In her mind, the hunter had already claimed her as his.
Even now, she knew he hunted her. There had been a silent, deadly promise in his steely eyes, that night they had stood close enough to touch, magic the only thing separating them.
So she wondered if the pink scarf she left behind at the lake was for Ron, or for him…
The night she and Harry escaped Voldemort at Godric's Hollow, she stood at the tent's entrance as Harry slept fitfully within, the wind whistling through the leafless trees, the moon full in the sky, its magic calling to her.
He called to her.
Tucking her wand into her sleeve, Hermione stepped beyond the walls of her wards, reckless and unthinking, and walked into the dark forest.
She could sense him following her not a mile away from the camp, despite the fact the forest around her was still, utterly still.
In a wide clearing, she stopped, spinning around, her skin rippling with shivers as she felt his eyes on her body, calculating, anticipating the claiming to follow.
She heard a noise behind her, boots crushing dead leaves underfoot, and she spun, wild hair haloing her pale face in the moonlight, and there he stood, her pink scarf around his neck, and watching her hungrily.
"'Ello beautiful," he grinned predatorily. "I've been huntin' for you."
Hermione didn't move as the Snatcher pushed away from his nonchalant pose against the trunk of the tree, and began to circle her.
She knew he had been hunting her.
"You 'ave led me a right dance," he continued, his eyes raking her form, over the slender body obscured by boots, jeans and a warm winter coat.
"You wouldn't have wanted it easy," she replied coolly, their game not yet over. He shook his head with a grin, facing her once more, the moonlight gleaming off the streak of red in his dark hair.
"No, luv. And neither would you, I sense, although you did leave this behind," he gestured to the scarf, as Hermione bristled.
"That wasn't left for you," she hissed, as the Snatcher's eyes narrowed. "Why are you here?"
"To claim what's mine," he snarled, seemingly annoyed by her words that the scarf was not left for him.
"You haven't caught me yet," she hissed back, already backing away, slowly sliding her wand out. The Snatcher's face once more transformed into that same predatory, seductive hunter she had seen back in that clearing, when they had stared at one another without truly seeing.
"Then run!" he growled, and Hermione did so, turning and sprinting into the forest, followed only by the Snatcher's exhilarated laugh, before he gave chase, hunting her down for the last time.
Her heart pounded, the wind bruised her face, her hair flew behind her and her limbs burned as she ran, flying over fallen logs and hidden stumps in the forest floor, skidding down dips and forcing herself up hills, always running away.
Her body pounded with even more feeling, as she felt him pursue, running her down, only occasionally firing the odd lazy jinx at her which always missed, but only just.
She let out an exhilarated laugh of her own, feeling more alive, more at peace than she had done for years, stripped down to this, to a primal being, running for survival, refusing to give in until her male had proven himself worthy of her.
Everything, the war, Voldemort, the Horcruxes, Ron, Harry, the fact he was a Death Eater and she didn't know his name, none of it mattered as long as she could keep running, and he could chase her, so she didn't have to be Hermione, bookworm and dependable, and oh so reliable Hermione who no one desired, or needed.
Tonight, she could be a sensate, purely animalistic being, and tomorrow…
Tomorrow she would go back.
The hunt was nearly over.
She skidded down a steep incline to find herself in a wide bowl, cushioned by dead leaves in the cold night, as she felt her feet taken from under her, and she cursed.
A Trip Jinx, damn it!
"Now, that's no language for a lady," he called tauntingly, making her growl, flipping over and aiming her own wand at him.
Time to even the stakes.
"Expelliarmus!" she shouted, and his wand flew high into the air, and the teasing smile on his face vanished. He growled and lunged for her, taking her to the ground exactly as she had dreamed, their legs sprawled together, tangled, and their breaths panting against one another as he grabbed her wrists and slammed them above her head, forcing her to drop her wand.
"Wherever you run, I will always be there to hunt you," he growled against her aching mouth, the adrenaline rushing through their veins from the chase driving them on, following a drumbeat that only they could hear.
"And the harder you hunt me, the faster I'll run," she returned, her body softening beneath him in the cold earth, shielded by his hot body radiating heat into hers. She pulled her wrists from his grip and pulled his lips to hers, unable to wait any longer, kissing him savagely, letting instinct take over as her Snatcher groaned into her mouth, hands already going to the buttons of her coat, ripping them apart, desperate to reach her skin. The moment he exposed the soft, vulnerable flesh of her neck and collarbone to the icy air, he broke from her mouth to devour it, laying a trail of heat that washed down her body to pool in her stomach, and then lower. Hermione arched and moaned, sliding her hands into her Snatcher's wild hair to hold him to her, as a rough tongue and blunted teeth feasted on her skin.
"Mine," he growled against her, as she shifted beneath him, drowning in pleasure as he thrust his hips into hers.
"Not yours," she gasped defiantly. The Snatcher glanced up, his face dark before he reared over her, grabbing a hunk of her hair and pulling, so she was forced to arch her neck back to alleviate the pressure, gasping in mixed pain and pleasure as their hips continued to move together, the hardness of his body imprinted on her own with each roll of their hips.
"Be very careful, my beauty," he snarled. "I could call my Snatchers here in seconds, an' you'll be dead."
"You know who I am," she breathed. "If you were going to sell me to…Him, you would have done it by now. You want this as much as I do."
"Shut up!" he snarled, lunging for her mouth before she could continue speaking, as her nimble little hands sought out his jacket and coat, sliding the fastenings away and pushing it off his broad shoulders. "Yer scent drove me mad, since that night…"
"I aim to please," Hermione gasped, as he plucked her scarf from his neck, and she sat up to kiss and lick at the skin of his throat, greedily wringing groans from the Snatcher as he held her to him with one hand, while the other roughly finished tearing her shirt from her, spreading her winter coat over the floor, shielding her from the cold, frozen ground as he forced her back, her naked torso displayed for his delectation.
He watched her shift under his gaze, before hungrily laying a long path of kisses down her neck, marking her skin with his teeth like a wolf, moving down to her breasts and suckling them, making her cry out in ecstasy. Tempted to remain there, and torture her more, the urgency in their veins drove him on, hands tearing at her jeans, forcing them down and away, stripping her bare, before he returned to her lips, the rough material of his trousers abrading the sensitive inner faces of his thighs, as he duelled her fierce tongue, her bold fingers searching for, and then cupping the hardness impressing her abdomen, making him gasp and clutch her body tightly as she explored.
She was like a lioness, as much predator as prey, and she was all his. She was no Little Red Riding Hood surrendering to the Big, Bad Wolf, but a ferocious, hungry animal, taunting and tempting the one within him.
Their eyes met, and both met the other's kiss head on, before his lips ran down the curve of her neck, making her gasp and arch into his arms, as her hand frantically scrambled at the buttons of his trousers. The Snatcher grabbed her hands, pinning in one of them above her head, desire pulsing through their veins.
The desire rushing through them had no foundation beyond a single glance, a scent, a stolen moment fractured by magic and time, but there, in that cold, wintry clearing it anchored them in their stolen need.
Hermione gasped as he entered her, took without restraint, the sharp pain within mixing with the pleasure of his hand, the fulfilment of being whole, with him, her unnamed Snatcher, her enemy, her lover.
His blood mingled with hers, from the scores down his back where her nails bit into his muscle, with every thrust, every claiming of her body, but in turn she claimed his, taking him without fear, accepting the pain as well as the pleasure he inflicted, with every slide of his fingers, every glide of his body into hers.
When the heat that had taken them from the start fractured, bringing them oblivion, they clung to one another, and the moment, neither willing to let it go.
One hand on his cheek, Hermione looked up at her lover, the man who had hunted her and caught her, just for the hunt to begin anew in the morning, and felt her heart begin to break. "What's your name?" she breathed, brokenly. He bent his head to hers, drifting his lips over her forehead, down her nose to her lips, kissing them hungrily before meeting her gaze.
"Scabior," he whispered, the word shuddering in the air between them, as she licked her dry lips.
"Mine," she replied, nipping at his lip before drawing him down to kiss her, one hand tangled with the snarls of his wild hair at the nape of his neck, holding onto the moment, to each other, as he sighed her name.
His voice followed her into her dreams, long after they parted as the sun began to graze the horizon, knowing that their stolen moments were never to be again.
Theirs was a primal thing, unchecked, untamed and wholly violent and lustful. It held no place in the polite society which awaited after the war ended.
She tried to remember all she should have, when he had chased her in the forest, when they were taken to Malfoy Manor, when Ron touched her, kissed her, but every touch was him.
She could not be who she really was, for the real her was someone no one wanted, desired or accepted. Except him, her Snatcher, her hunter, her Scabior.
So instead, she dreamed.
In their dreams, the hunt never had to end.