Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Scabior's Protection	By : DirtyThings Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female Views: 2706 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own any part of the Harry Potter series or universe, and I don't make any money at all off of Scabior's Protection.

Chapter List
- 2
- 3
- 4
Chapter 3
Nothing But Sky
Outside the flickering lights of the tent, snow drifted in aimless spirals. Inside, Hermione laid, awake and with eyes open, staring at the pitched ceiling of the tent. A book rested on her stomach, heavy and reassuring.
Harry was out. He was probably sulking, or thinking, or missing Ginny, or whatever it was that he did in the silence of the forest. Hermione loved him; Harry was like the brother that she'd never had, but being stuck in the same tent in the same forest day after day had the same effect on each of them: they were tired, and claustrophobic, and irritable. So Hermione did not begrudge Harry's late-night wanderings. If only Ron would come back, she thought, maybe he'd have someone to talk to. Obviously, there were things they couldn't share with each other. "Ron," she whispered. "Harry needs you. We need you."
She smiled slightly as she remembered the dance. Ginny was lucky. Harry possessed a natural sweetness that came out at the most unexpected moments. As for Ginny, well, Ginny was a bit of a dud, as far as Hermione could tell. Who else could write to Voldemort for an entire semester and not realize they're talking to the most evil wizard in history?
She didn't want to admit it, but to some extent, she blamed the Weasleys in general for Ginny's empty-headedness. She liked Arthur very much. It was impossible to dislike the man. Bill seemed nice. Sensible. But the twins irritated her—never serious, always joking, and often at the cost of a smooth lesson or study period. Molly had never been as welcoming to her as she had been to Harry, which stung. Percy was a blithering idiot. And the worst one of all, of course, was Ron. At one time, she had thought she had something with Ron, but she was wrong. Whatever closeness they had forged was ruined by his embarrassing dalliance with Lavender Brown. She had thought they were getting past that, though. For the past few weeks, she had felt that they were regaining that feeling of intimacy, creeping a level beyond friendship, but then there was the fight. Ron left, and then... It happened.
Hermione replayed the events of that day in her head several times a day. She knew it wasn't healthy, but her mind couldn't seem to stop. Depending on her mood, the recollection was either dark and terrifying or confusing. The confusion was certainly the worst. While she knew in an objective and logical way that she had not brought the encounter upon herself, her reaction to the dark wizard's body was bitterly consuming. She knew about sex. It had not been her first orgasm. She knew more about her body than she thought she needed to know—the precise anatomy of her reproductive organs, the process of development, the names of each of her bones. But this reaction—this was something she had never thought about before. It was something that, at least up until this point, she did not understand.
"Play it back," she commanded her mind. Her brain obliged, mentally rewinding the day up until the point she felt his hands brush through her hair and wrap around her neck.
He was going to assault her no matter what she had done. And if she fought, it would have hurt, far worse than if she had played such a willing victim. She had to forgive herself. She deserved forgiveness. Given two terrible options, she had made a difficult decision for not just her own good but for the continued survival of her companions.
Why did I enjoy his touch, though?
His kisses had been deceptively gentle. The movements of his hands sent her nerve endings into joyous, maddened frenzies.
In the tent, she traced the path his hands had taken. She bit her lip.
She remembered the fullness. Before this, she had never known that any part of her was empty.
She pressed her legs together. The intensity was delicious.
What is in me that makes me want more?
Research. Analyze. Understand. The best way to learn. Her hands slid down under the covers and cupped themselves between her legs. "Scabior…"
}{}{
At the Snatcher's camp, Scabior's dark blue eyes opened and he sat up, one hand at his wand. "Hominem Revelio," he muttered, and detected only the forms of those sleeping nearby, as well as Fenrir standing guard at the perimeter. He could have sworn he heard a voice saying his name. Her voice. Merlin, he was going mad. "Cut it out, old man," he growled to himself, shaking his head at his own foolishness. "Get her out of your head. You'll go to the camp in the morning and turn the Mudblood. Turn her in, get the gold. That's the plan."
He eased himself back down and closed his eyes, but instead of finding bliss in sleep, he saw... lights. Flickering lights, whirling snow, the golden-brown curls of a small woman in a white nightshirt, writhing against her own hand. She was calling his name while she touched herself.
He opened his eyes. She was gone. Nothing but sky above him. Holding his breath, he closed them again, and in his mind, he saw her.
"Scabior," the girl moaned, hips rising to meet the ministrations of her delicate fingers.
Scabior's breath came out in a short huff and he felt himself rising with arousal. He unbuttoned his trousers with one hand and rescued himself from the tight constraints of the fabric.
}{}{
Deep in reverie, Hermione closed her eyes—and promptly opened them. For a moment, she had seen him, sprawled in what looked rather suspiciously like a Hello Kitty sleeping bag, one hand over his face and the other gripping the base of his cock.
"What the fuck?"
}{}{
"What the fuck?" Scabior wondered aloud.
"Kitchen chairs," Antoine Casgrove muttered from a sleeping bag several yards away, lost in some unknown dream. "Chocolate chairs and doorknobs made of sugar."
After a moment, Scabior nodded. "Alright, then. Go back to sleep."
"And frosted windows with the soft frosting," Antoine agreed happily. The young man shifted, burrowed his face into his bag, and began to snore lightly.
Scabior closed his eyes. Hermione's eyes were also closed. And in that moment, they somehow saw each other.
}{}{
It had to be some elaborate fantasy her brain was devising to deal with stress, she reasoned. That's what it was. That's all it was.
Her legs tightened. For a minute, she paused. One arm pressed itself flat against her chest in a modicum of privacy. God forbid a vision of her attacker saw her naked breasts. Again.
But then she lowered her hand and once again touched herself. Maybe it would help her get past it. Maybe it would make everything better. Maybe… Maybe it would just feel really fucking good.
With a sharp breath, she slipped a finger inside of herself.
}{}{
It was magic, he knew it. Not a magic he'd heard of or seen for himself, but somehow, they were connected in a way he didn't understand. When they each closed their eyes, they saw the other. It was something new, unless she hadn't thought of him at all since the day they met. Not an hour had passed without him spending the better portion of it reexamining every memory of her delicious scent and recounting her freckles. Even his dreams had been dedicated to her: in them, wild-haired girls flickered like flames into sight just long enough for him to want them but not to be able to touch them.
He watched her explore herself the way that he had explored her. He touched himself, and gritted his teeth. Just like a dream, even when it was real—he could see, but not touch. The muscles in his palms ached to curve themselves around her breasts.
"Show me," he murmured, and she spread herself open.
}{}{
It wasn't as good this time, but she was learning that "not as good" couldn't mean "wonderful." She had known her nipples were sensitive, but she was pleased to find that the bottom swells of her breasts were equally responsive to touch. Each stroke shimmied down her body and pooled where she needed it most. Her fingers weren't enough, but this wanton exploration was thrilling.
He ran his hands over his cock, twisting gently as he neared the head. In one deft motion, he spit on his thumb and rubbed it firmly against his frenulum. The intersection of head and base was the most sensitive part of him, and he struggled not to moan.
That filthy girl! Did she know what she was doing to him? That little Mudblood, that little slut! That beautiful entity that was thinking about him of all possible things? His arousal was the highest he could remember it being. Fantasy and magical connection jumbled together. He was chasing the wild-haired girls; he was watching the way the dim light slid over her collarbone and highlighted the feature, casting shadows in the hollows of her chest. He reached out for her; she reached for herself. Her hair was pure flame. He joined her, and they furiously coupled in the forest while she cried out that she was his. There was snow everywhere. She struggled to keep her legs from buckling. He came into her, onto her, with her, for her. She laughed, and it was melodic. She cried, but just a little. She came, forcefully and cathartically. The fantasy was gone, and what was left was the girl in the tent a few miles away, slowly closing her legs and turning to her side. Hermione closed her eyes, and then the connection was gone, too.
The difference between the images was clear to him, but he still somehow felt confused.
I've got to have her, he thought to himself. In some way or another.
After checking to make sure that the camp was still being guarded, he quickly shuffled several feet over and wiped his sticky hand on the edge of Fenrir's sleeping bag. He pulled a cigarette out of his pants pocket and lit it. Scabior took a pull of the cigarette and leaned against the wall of the tent. He doubted he would get much sleep tonight.
}{}{
Hermione hugged her knees to her chest. She blinked cautiously several times, but didn't see the image of Scabior again. She was experiencing that dirty feeling again, that she was somehow contaminated. Suddenly, the room was too stuffy for her. She felt as though she couldn't breathe.
Pulling a sweater over her nightgown, Hermione shambled out of the tent on unsteady legs. A walk would do her good. Or a trip to the river. Or a one-way ticket home, she added sarcastically. Not that it was possible, of course. To run back home, one requires a home to which to run.
She was barely ten steps from the tent when she saw him—Ron, that is. Her heart fell. Of all the unexpected faces that could beam hopefully at her, his was the second to last she wanted to encounter. In Ronald's hand was a locket—one of the last Horcruxes. It was crumpled and bent, no longer worth anything. She stared at it a moment too long before raising her gaze to her friend's sheepish expression. So many questions.
Harry asked first. "How did you find us?"
Ron paused and ran his thumb over the Deluminator he clenched in his left hand. "With this. It doesn't just turn off lights. See, Christmas morning, I was sleeping in this little pub, keeping away from Snatchers, and I heard... it. The voice."
He looked up and towards Hermione, whose lips were sealed in a firm and unyielding line. "Your voice, Hermione." He didn't notice her hand twitch.
"What exactly did I say?" she demanded, eyes glinting. There were other things she wanted to ask, but couldn't.
Why did you have to leave? If you hadn't left, I wouldn't have been wandering around alone—
Why can't you see that I'm hurting? Why can't either of you see that I'm hurting?
Why do I hurt so much?
How can I stop?
"My name. Just my name. Like a whisper." His face was open and vulnerable. He seemed to be the opposite of the angry, explosive Ronald that had picked petty fights and then left them to the unforgiving winter. He reached a freckled hand out to her.
The next time I catch you, I might not let you go.
Hermione jerked her arm back and shook her head derisively. "It doesn't change anything, Ronald Weasley," she spat, and stalked back into the tent, angry and afraid and desperately wanting a friend.
- 2
- 3
- 4
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

Scabior's Protection