FIC: One Night Of Sin
Author: roadkill2580
Title: One Night of Sin
Rating: NC17
Pairings: Scabior/Hermione
Warnings: dubcon, prostition, borderline noncon, implied orgasm delay,
Summary: Hermione bargains with Scabior for their freedom.
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.
AN: Different post, because I'm in rant mode right now.
Edit: Fixed the wonky formatting. Much easier to read now.
One Night Of Sin
Summary: Hermione makes a bargain with Scabior for their freedom. ScabiorHermione
I.
"And you...you, my lovely, what do they call you?" His fingers slowly stroked her hair, feeling the texture while he took in her scent.
Hermione trembled and hoped he did not remember the scent from all those weeks ago. Of course she'd forget to block scents; of course he'd just happen to smell her perfume.
"Penelope Clearwater...half-blood." Her voice shook. Hopefully the Snatcher would mistake it for fear and not the lie it was.
His blue, blue eyes lifted from her lock of hair to meet her own brown ones. Then, he glanced at Ron and Harry.
"That's a Weasley if ever I did see one. And this...black hair, green eyes..." He shoved her into the werewolf's hold to inspect Harry's forehead. Hermione held her breath. Would the Stinging Hex be enough to hide the scar?
Apparently, it did. The lead Snatcher cast a suspicious look at her, then at Ron, who was still chained and lying on the ground, than to Harry.
"So what earned you this, eh? Unable to...satisfy?" There was raucous laughter at the comment and Hermione turned her eyes to the ground when the Snatcher dug his fingers into Harry's stinging face. At best, she'd bought them a few hours. It had to be enough.
II.
They were kept in chains, tethered to a single post. The Ministry was closed for the day, so the Snatcher would have to hold them until tomorrow. Cheers had gone up as they were brought into camp. Tomorrow, they'd receive a pile of Galleons as a reward.
The Snatchers hadn't yet tried to open Hermione's bag, but when they did, they'd realize she'd warded it. And she couldn't let them look inside; the possessions were damning. She'd have to bargain somehow, or lie. But there were only so many lies she could tell before she was caught.
As night closed in, a heavily warded tent was erected around the trio. Their stomachs growled from hunger, yet they were nauseous from fear. Tied as they were to the post, they could not communicate silently and did not dare speak.
Cold was starting to set in their bones when the tent flap opened and the leader of the Snatcher stepped in. Hermione's heart pounded. By this time, the Stinging Hex would've worn off, and Harry's scar would be visible. She could only hope that he wouldn't check Harry's face, who was facing the back of the tent, unlike Hermione.
"Hello, beautiful."
III.
It was all she could do not to tremble in his grip. She was supposed to be a half-blood; if they never uncovered her deception, she'd be safer than any Muggle-born. The fleeting glimpse she had of her scarf, the one she left for Ron, around his neck had her feeling like a fool. Hermione should've known better.
Hermione did shiver when she was faced with the camp of Snatchers. They were all rough and dirty looking, cruelty etched into their faces. The Snatchers were the ones who eventually became Death Eaters, a supply for their forces. It was even possible that their leader would be promoted after turning them in.
"Well, lovely, you have a choice. You're very lucky; Mudblood or not, the girls usually don't get choices. But I like you, so I'll give you one. You can either spend the night with them..." He whirled her around tilted her face up to look into her eyes. "Or me."
She was in danger either way. The moment he smelled her perfume all those weeks ago, she knew exactly what he'd want from her. But even before she could fully think it through, she spoke.
"You."
IV.
Scabior, for she learned that was his name, led her into his tent. As the leader, he had his own, which was the biggest and most equipped with camping supplies and other luxuries. It was also warm, unlike the prisoner's tent, and Hermione welcomed the heat on her cold flesh. But even though she was grateful to be out of the cold, she resented the chains around her wrists and the man pulling her along.
When the Snatcher turned to face Hermione, she once again acted without thinking and spit in his face. His deep blue eyes seemed to instantly freeze over and she trembled before him. Slowly, Scabior wiped away the bit of saliva while he stared her down, but for all of her fear, Hermione refused to be cowed. Finally, after what seemed to be forever, Scabior gave a chilling smile.
"Lovely, I suggest you don't do that again." She swallowed, her mind flashing to the men outside, the cannibalistic Fenrir Greyback among them.
"My name is Penelope." Hermione cursed her soft, shaky voice. She'd have to try harder than that to make him listen to her. He seemed to dismiss her words and cupped her face with his callused hand, the other shortening the chain so she couldn't back away. Scabior lowered his head and she tried futilely to lean away. But Hermione could not escape him. His chapped lips pressed firmly against hers, and a soft whimper escaped her.
"Don't, please..." He used her open mouth as the opportunity to slip his tongue inside. When her teeth began to clamp down on the offending appendage, his hand moved to her hair and pulled. Hermione squealed into Scabior's mouth and tears sprang to her eyes. His grip loosened but remained tight enough to remind her that it'd be unwise to refuse him.
V.
He'd left her momentarily after the bruising kiss, and it was all she could do not to burst into sobs. She was going to be raped before being sent off to the Ministry, where she'd be tortured and killed. They were all going to die. Unbidden, a tear slipped down her cheek.
"Don't cry, beautiful."
She froze when Scabior's gently chiding voice reached her ears. Hermione hastily scrubbed at her face and steeled herself to face him. But his next words turned her insides into ice.
"How long did you think you could fool me?" He stalked around her stricken form to look her in the face. "I thought you looked familiar, pretty, pretty Her-mi-o-ne." His rough voice deliberately caught on the syllables of her name.
"You must be mistaken, I'm -"
"Shh, I don't want to hear your lies, lovely, filthy little Mudblood." Scabior pressed a finger to her open mouth. "Very clever of you, ruining Potter's face so I wouldn't see the scar. It very nearly worked. But you to have known I'd see his face in the morning, perfectly healed. Were you hoping to buy some time to escape?" A dry sob left her and she nodded helplessly. Scabior tugged on the chains and pulled her into his chest before stroking her hair. "Poor little Mudbloods and blood traitors, caught by the horrible Snatchers. Whatever will you do when we turn you in, in the morn’?"
"Please, what do you want?" Hermione pushed away from him to look into his eyes. His hand paused in its ministrations, betraying his surprise. Sensing she had found a bargaining chip, Hermione ploughed forward. "You want me, don't you? You can have me, if you don't turn us into the Ministry. No arguments, no protests, no struggles." She held her breath for his response.
Scabior blinked at her before chuckling. "Beautiful, I was going to have you either way. How do you know I don't like my girls feisty? Personally, I find the thought of putting a Mudblood, however lovely she may be, in her proper place very, very tempting," Scabior said. Hermione felt her hopes sinking like a lead balloon when he spoke again. "But I like the idea of you, willing, much more desirable. You would beg so sweetly, no doubt, my lovely Hermione."
"So you won't turn us in?"
Scabior leaned down to breathe in her scent, burying his face in her hair. "I won't turn you in to the Ministry."
VI.
His length was thick and heavy in her mouth. He did not attempt to thrust into her, for which she was grateful. Instead, Scabior was content leaving all the work to her. Her hair was wild and mussed from where he had tunneled his fingers through it, where he still gripped it.
Hermione held his thighs for support while she licked and sucked. Occasionally, a feeling of nausea would swell up in her, particularly when the hair on his groin brushed her face, but she pushed it back down. 'No arguments, no protests, no struggles.' This was for Ron and Harry. This was for the freedom of the Wizarding World.
Purpose remembered, she threw herself back into pleasing Scabior. She hollowed her cheeks, swirled her tongue, employed every bit of gossip she'd ever heard from her older cousin and her mum and aunts giggling about together. Above her, Scabior groaned in appreciation. His fingers would alternate between tightening and loosening in her hair. Hermione wondered if he'd expect her to swallow. She hoped not.
VII.
She whimpered and mewled into the pillow as he pushed in and out of her in a steady pace behind her. He peppered her back with a series of gentle licks and harsh bites. Already, she could feel soreness on her left breast from where he'd bitten and sucked enthusiastically. Hermione was definitely sure there'd be hand shaped bruises on her hips and thighs tomorrow, along with other dark love bites along her body.
She moaned loudly when Scabior began to hit a particularly sensitive spot inside her. It made her see stars and flashing lights. The coil of desire in her belly tightened, and she wanted him, need him. Her lust scared her with its intensity and Hermione wanted to push Scabior off her so badly. 'No arguments, no protests, no struggles.'
Scabior must've known how close she was. He began to slow down, leisurely thrusting into her as if he had all the time in the world, not one night. When she cried out with need, he laughed.
"Beg me, lovely."
VIII.
He shook her awake in the morning. Hermione groaned softly, almost forgetting where she was before remembering last night. She shuddered at the dried stickiness she could feel on certain parts of her body. The marks and bites he left on her ached. But she rolled to her feet anyway. She kept her word, it was time for Scabior to keep his.
He led her into a side room that turned out to be a shower. He gestured to it and Hermione stepped in gratefully, only to gasp in shock when she felt him behind her. When he made to start kissing her shoulders, she pulled away. She received a firm swat on the bum for her trouble.
"We're still in my tent, pretty Hermione. You're not done yet," Scabior murmured in her ear. First he took her hard and fast against the cold shower wall. The second time as slow and thorough, leaving Hermione feeling as if she had been branded. Thankfully, the hot water that rained down on them helped to disguise the feeling of his essence dripping down her legs.
IX.
Hermione wished Ron and Harry would stop staring at her with those faces of concern. She was more than happy to let them remain oblivious of her compliance with Scabior, but the way they kept wordlessly voicing their worry irritated her. It didn't help that every Snatcher in the camp knew exactly what had happened last night.
Her humiliation was beginning to be replaced by fear when she took note of how Harry and Ron were still chained. She glanced around at the other Snatchers, who seemed more excited than last night. Scabior grabbed her arm firmly, and she turned to demand their freedom, but her words were lost in the whirl of Apparition.
It took a moment to gather thoughts after the sudden use of magic. When she did, a rush of betrayal and horror flooded her. Malfoy Manor loomed before them menacingly. It was beautiful, and the sight of it was enough to nearly make her sick. Behind her and Scabior, she could hear Harry and Ron struggling.
"You promised you wouldn't turn us in!" Hermione turned to Scabior, desperation coloring her voice.
He just smiled and dropped a kiss on her head. "I promised not to turn you into the Ministry, and I haven't. No fear, lovely. They won't need you, only Harry Potter here. You'll be mine forever before the day is through."
X.
As promised, Scabior asked Bellatrix Lestrange for Hermione. She trembled when the Death Eater agreed. Rationally, she knew she'd be better off. Better the relatively non-violent, unwanted attentions of a Snatcher than the sadistic torture of several Death Eaters, but there was something about Scabior that frightened her beyond all rationality. Perhaps it was the fact that he had already conquered her, if only for a night. But Hermione knew she did not want to be returned to him.
But that changed when Bellatrix caught sight of the sword. Everything was a rush of motion and feeling after that. Scabior demanding payment; Bellatrix defeating the Snatchers; Harry and Ron taken away to the dungeons; the Cruciatus. And Hermione lied and lied, wished to be anywhere but there, even with Scabior.
Thinking of him, of his blue eyes and brown, red streaked hair brought forth a shudder of fear. Hermione knew he would not rest until he had her once more. It was her scent her remembered, her scarf he wore, her body he made his. She looked up into the terrible face of Bellatrix, who'd promised her to Scabior. She hoped the cruel woman wasn't in the habit of keeping her promises. Hermione was more than willing to let Scabior pass quietly from her lift. She belonged to no one.
Title: One Night of Sin
Rating: NC17
Pairings: Scabior/Hermione
Warnings: dubcon, prostition, borderline noncon, implied orgasm delay,
Summary: Hermione bargains with Scabior for their freedom.
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.
AN: Different post, because I'm in rant mode right now.
Edit: Fixed the wonky formatting. Much easier to read now.
One Night Of Sin
Summary: Hermione makes a bargain with Scabior for their freedom. ScabiorHermione
I.
"And you...you, my lovely, what do they call you?" His fingers slowly stroked her hair, feeling the texture while he took in her scent.
Hermione trembled and hoped he did not remember the scent from all those weeks ago. Of course she'd forget to block scents; of course he'd just happen to smell her perfume.
"Penelope Clearwater...half-blood." Her voice shook. Hopefully the Snatcher would mistake it for fear and not the lie it was.
His blue, blue eyes lifted from her lock of hair to meet her own brown ones. Then, he glanced at Ron and Harry.
"That's a Weasley if ever I did see one. And this...black hair, green eyes..." He shoved her into the werewolf's hold to inspect Harry's forehead. Hermione held her breath. Would the Stinging Hex be enough to hide the scar?
Apparently, it did. The lead Snatcher cast a suspicious look at her, then at Ron, who was still chained and lying on the ground, than to Harry.
"So what earned you this, eh? Unable to...satisfy?" There was raucous laughter at the comment and Hermione turned her eyes to the ground when the Snatcher dug his fingers into Harry's stinging face. At best, she'd bought them a few hours. It had to be enough.
II.
They were kept in chains, tethered to a single post. The Ministry was closed for the day, so the Snatcher would have to hold them until tomorrow. Cheers had gone up as they were brought into camp. Tomorrow, they'd receive a pile of Galleons as a reward.
The Snatchers hadn't yet tried to open Hermione's bag, but when they did, they'd realize she'd warded it. And she couldn't let them look inside; the possessions were damning. She'd have to bargain somehow, or lie. But there were only so many lies she could tell before she was caught.
As night closed in, a heavily warded tent was erected around the trio. Their stomachs growled from hunger, yet they were nauseous from fear. Tied as they were to the post, they could not communicate silently and did not dare speak.
Cold was starting to set in their bones when the tent flap opened and the leader of the Snatcher stepped in. Hermione's heart pounded. By this time, the Stinging Hex would've worn off, and Harry's scar would be visible. She could only hope that he wouldn't check Harry's face, who was facing the back of the tent, unlike Hermione.
"Hello, beautiful."
III.
It was all she could do not to tremble in his grip. She was supposed to be a half-blood; if they never uncovered her deception, she'd be safer than any Muggle-born. The fleeting glimpse she had of her scarf, the one she left for Ron, around his neck had her feeling like a fool. Hermione should've known better.
Hermione did shiver when she was faced with the camp of Snatchers. They were all rough and dirty looking, cruelty etched into their faces. The Snatchers were the ones who eventually became Death Eaters, a supply for their forces. It was even possible that their leader would be promoted after turning them in.
"Well, lovely, you have a choice. You're very lucky; Mudblood or not, the girls usually don't get choices. But I like you, so I'll give you one. You can either spend the night with them..." He whirled her around tilted her face up to look into her eyes. "Or me."
She was in danger either way. The moment he smelled her perfume all those weeks ago, she knew exactly what he'd want from her. But even before she could fully think it through, she spoke.
"You."
IV.
Scabior, for she learned that was his name, led her into his tent. As the leader, he had his own, which was the biggest and most equipped with camping supplies and other luxuries. It was also warm, unlike the prisoner's tent, and Hermione welcomed the heat on her cold flesh. But even though she was grateful to be out of the cold, she resented the chains around her wrists and the man pulling her along.
When the Snatcher turned to face Hermione, she once again acted without thinking and spit in his face. His deep blue eyes seemed to instantly freeze over and she trembled before him. Slowly, Scabior wiped away the bit of saliva while he stared her down, but for all of her fear, Hermione refused to be cowed. Finally, after what seemed to be forever, Scabior gave a chilling smile.
"Lovely, I suggest you don't do that again." She swallowed, her mind flashing to the men outside, the cannibalistic Fenrir Greyback among them.
"My name is Penelope." Hermione cursed her soft, shaky voice. She'd have to try harder than that to make him listen to her. He seemed to dismiss her words and cupped her face with his callused hand, the other shortening the chain so she couldn't back away. Scabior lowered his head and she tried futilely to lean away. But Hermione could not escape him. His chapped lips pressed firmly against hers, and a soft whimper escaped her.
"Don't, please..." He used her open mouth as the opportunity to slip his tongue inside. When her teeth began to clamp down on the offending appendage, his hand moved to her hair and pulled. Hermione squealed into Scabior's mouth and tears sprang to her eyes. His grip loosened but remained tight enough to remind her that it'd be unwise to refuse him.
V.
He'd left her momentarily after the bruising kiss, and it was all she could do not to burst into sobs. She was going to be raped before being sent off to the Ministry, where she'd be tortured and killed. They were all going to die. Unbidden, a tear slipped down her cheek.
"Don't cry, beautiful."
She froze when Scabior's gently chiding voice reached her ears. Hermione hastily scrubbed at her face and steeled herself to face him. But his next words turned her insides into ice.
"How long did you think you could fool me?" He stalked around her stricken form to look her in the face. "I thought you looked familiar, pretty, pretty Her-mi-o-ne." His rough voice deliberately caught on the syllables of her name.
"You must be mistaken, I'm -"
"Shh, I don't want to hear your lies, lovely, filthy little Mudblood." Scabior pressed a finger to her open mouth. "Very clever of you, ruining Potter's face so I wouldn't see the scar. It very nearly worked. But you to have known I'd see his face in the morning, perfectly healed. Were you hoping to buy some time to escape?" A dry sob left her and she nodded helplessly. Scabior tugged on the chains and pulled her into his chest before stroking her hair. "Poor little Mudbloods and blood traitors, caught by the horrible Snatchers. Whatever will you do when we turn you in, in the morn’?"
"Please, what do you want?" Hermione pushed away from him to look into his eyes. His hand paused in its ministrations, betraying his surprise. Sensing she had found a bargaining chip, Hermione ploughed forward. "You want me, don't you? You can have me, if you don't turn us into the Ministry. No arguments, no protests, no struggles." She held her breath for his response.
Scabior blinked at her before chuckling. "Beautiful, I was going to have you either way. How do you know I don't like my girls feisty? Personally, I find the thought of putting a Mudblood, however lovely she may be, in her proper place very, very tempting," Scabior said. Hermione felt her hopes sinking like a lead balloon when he spoke again. "But I like the idea of you, willing, much more desirable. You would beg so sweetly, no doubt, my lovely Hermione."
"So you won't turn us in?"
Scabior leaned down to breathe in her scent, burying his face in her hair. "I won't turn you in to the Ministry."
VI.
His length was thick and heavy in her mouth. He did not attempt to thrust into her, for which she was grateful. Instead, Scabior was content leaving all the work to her. Her hair was wild and mussed from where he had tunneled his fingers through it, where he still gripped it.
Hermione held his thighs for support while she licked and sucked. Occasionally, a feeling of nausea would swell up in her, particularly when the hair on his groin brushed her face, but she pushed it back down. 'No arguments, no protests, no struggles.' This was for Ron and Harry. This was for the freedom of the Wizarding World.
Purpose remembered, she threw herself back into pleasing Scabior. She hollowed her cheeks, swirled her tongue, employed every bit of gossip she'd ever heard from her older cousin and her mum and aunts giggling about together. Above her, Scabior groaned in appreciation. His fingers would alternate between tightening and loosening in her hair. Hermione wondered if he'd expect her to swallow. She hoped not.
VII.
She whimpered and mewled into the pillow as he pushed in and out of her in a steady pace behind her. He peppered her back with a series of gentle licks and harsh bites. Already, she could feel soreness on her left breast from where he'd bitten and sucked enthusiastically. Hermione was definitely sure there'd be hand shaped bruises on her hips and thighs tomorrow, along with other dark love bites along her body.
She moaned loudly when Scabior began to hit a particularly sensitive spot inside her. It made her see stars and flashing lights. The coil of desire in her belly tightened, and she wanted him, need him. Her lust scared her with its intensity and Hermione wanted to push Scabior off her so badly. 'No arguments, no protests, no struggles.'
Scabior must've known how close she was. He began to slow down, leisurely thrusting into her as if he had all the time in the world, not one night. When she cried out with need, he laughed.
"Beg me, lovely."
VIII.
He shook her awake in the morning. Hermione groaned softly, almost forgetting where she was before remembering last night. She shuddered at the dried stickiness she could feel on certain parts of her body. The marks and bites he left on her ached. But she rolled to her feet anyway. She kept her word, it was time for Scabior to keep his.
He led her into a side room that turned out to be a shower. He gestured to it and Hermione stepped in gratefully, only to gasp in shock when she felt him behind her. When he made to start kissing her shoulders, she pulled away. She received a firm swat on the bum for her trouble.
"We're still in my tent, pretty Hermione. You're not done yet," Scabior murmured in her ear. First he took her hard and fast against the cold shower wall. The second time as slow and thorough, leaving Hermione feeling as if she had been branded. Thankfully, the hot water that rained down on them helped to disguise the feeling of his essence dripping down her legs.
IX.
Hermione wished Ron and Harry would stop staring at her with those faces of concern. She was more than happy to let them remain oblivious of her compliance with Scabior, but the way they kept wordlessly voicing their worry irritated her. It didn't help that every Snatcher in the camp knew exactly what had happened last night.
Her humiliation was beginning to be replaced by fear when she took note of how Harry and Ron were still chained. She glanced around at the other Snatchers, who seemed more excited than last night. Scabior grabbed her arm firmly, and she turned to demand their freedom, but her words were lost in the whirl of Apparition.
It took a moment to gather thoughts after the sudden use of magic. When she did, a rush of betrayal and horror flooded her. Malfoy Manor loomed before them menacingly. It was beautiful, and the sight of it was enough to nearly make her sick. Behind her and Scabior, she could hear Harry and Ron struggling.
"You promised you wouldn't turn us in!" Hermione turned to Scabior, desperation coloring her voice.
He just smiled and dropped a kiss on her head. "I promised not to turn you into the Ministry, and I haven't. No fear, lovely. They won't need you, only Harry Potter here. You'll be mine forever before the day is through."
X.
As promised, Scabior asked Bellatrix Lestrange for Hermione. She trembled when the Death Eater agreed. Rationally, she knew she'd be better off. Better the relatively non-violent, unwanted attentions of a Snatcher than the sadistic torture of several Death Eaters, but there was something about Scabior that frightened her beyond all rationality. Perhaps it was the fact that he had already conquered her, if only for a night. But Hermione knew she did not want to be returned to him.
But that changed when Bellatrix caught sight of the sword. Everything was a rush of motion and feeling after that. Scabior demanding payment; Bellatrix defeating the Snatchers; Harry and Ron taken away to the dungeons; the Cruciatus. And Hermione lied and lied, wished to be anywhere but there, even with Scabior.
Thinking of him, of his blue eyes and brown, red streaked hair brought forth a shudder of fear. Hermione knew he would not rest until he had her once more. It was her scent her remembered, her scarf he wore, her body he made his. She looked up into the terrible face of Bellatrix, who'd promised her to Scabior. She hoped the cruel woman wasn't in the habit of keeping her promises. Hermione was more than willing to let Scabior pass quietly from her lift. She belonged to no one.