Elle!Fic | You May Be a Sinner (But Your Innocence Is Mine) (PG-13) | Scabior/Hermione Granger
Title: You May Be a Sinner (But Your Innocence Is Mine) (1/1)
Author: Elle, aka elle_blessing
Fandom: Harry Potter
Characters: Scabior/Hermione Granger
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Mature themes.
Words: 800
Disclaimer: Harry Potter is JKR’s. No copyright infringement intended, and no money is being made.
Author’s Notes: This piece was written for the_woods_ at rarepair_shorts' 2011 Wishlist Event. Though I love this pairing and the darkness inherent to their relationship, I've never written them before. Inspired by Woods' gift for me at the Wishlist Event (" Sweet Dreams"), I'd thought I'd give them a try :D The song lyrics come from "Eyes On Fire" by Blue Foundation.
Summary: Scabior didn't know who she was, but he knew the scent of her. If he closed his eyes, he could almost feel the curve of her jaw as he nuzzled to the spot just beneath her ear where the spicy smell would be strongest.
I seek you out, flay you alive
One more word and you won't survive
This was all her fault.
Scabior didn't know who she was. He couldn't see her face, and he didn't know the timbre of her voice. He didn't know the feel of her skin or the warmth of her breath. He knew nothing but the scent of her, soft and spicy.
He should have listened to his gut, the nagging feeling that had distracted him since that night; the scent hadn't belonged to the forest, or to the night. Even now he could clearly recall how the spice had filled his lungs, warm as if he had breathed it from the source. If he closed his eyes, he could almost feel the curve of her jaw as he nuzzled to the spot just beneath her ear where the scent would be strongest. And it was so soft, barely there. It would be necessary to be close enough to press his lips to her skin; it would be the only way to fully breathe in the scent that had very briefly teased his senses.
Awake or asleep, she was there. She was obscured in shadow, but for the damn smell of her. Scabior just wanted to be rid of her; he wanted her out of his thoughts, out of his nose, out of his dreams. She haunted him.
Scabior hadn't ever liked ghosts. He didn't like living phantoms any better.
I'm taking it slow, feeding my flame
Shuffling the cards of your game
And just in time, in the right place
Suddenly I will play my ace
Scabior pressed the delicately woven material to his nose again. It wasn't the first, nor would it be the last. The forest debris crunched softly beneath his boots as he led his Snatchers through the dense wood. The air was cool against his skin and the damp mist clung to him, a gentle reminder that winter was not quite over. His dark eyes flicked about, ever alert for movement.
Even so, all his thoughts were on her, on the dreams he'd had of her the night before, and the night before that. She was close enough now that he could breathe her in all hours of the day and night; she was more vivid in his mind than ever. Now when he closed his eyes, he could feel her breath stirring his hair when he found the sweet spot beneath her ear, knew that her pulse would pound deliciously beneath his lips, that her breath would hitch at the contact.
She was a tease. A sadist. She'd left the scarf to drive him mad.
Perhaps it had worked. Scabior felt unhinged. Driven to find her. What he would do with her, he didn't know; part of him wanted to snuff her out for driving him to such a precipice and another part of him wanted to know if she tasted the way she smelled.
The only thing he was certain of was that he wanted her. Needed her. He could only be put to rights if he found her.
No, not if. When. She wanted to be found.
He fingered the soft material, brought it to his nose. Inhaled.
And I'm not scared
Of your stolen power
I see right through you any hour
"What's your name?"
"Dudley. Vernon Dudley." Ugly as piss, is what he was.
Scabior was almost bored. It was always the same. There was always running, always curses and hexes, always one that didn't know when to stay dead. And of course, there was always a face to be remembered with a name like Vernon Dudley.
"Check it," he clipped out as he turned on his heel.
There wasn't always something nice to look at, however. There wasn't always such a pretty girl. "And you, my lovely," he drawled as he stepped into her personal space, "what do they call you?"
"Penelope Clearwater. Half blood."
Muggleborns were worth more, but he wasn't choosey. They were all galleons in his pocket.
Lips twitched as his gaze raked over her features and he shifted to step away. Only a gentle breeze stirred her hair then, and the world narrowed down to a pinpoint. Scabior leaned closer, close enough to feel the warmth of her skin on the air between them, and lifted his hand to catch her wavy strands. Her hair was soft against work-roughened fingerpads, a luxury in and of itself, but it was the scent that filled his lungs when he breathed deeply that made awareness and something else buzz beneath his skin.
Penelope.
Scabior had known she would be beautiful. He had known the spicy, cloying scent would be heady so close to her pulse point. He'd known there would be soft pants whispering near his ear when he claimed the space between them.
"There's no Vernon Dudley in 'ere."
Scabior paused as the voice permeated the headiness of his discovery. It was in him to curse the interruptor, but he'd waited this long to find her. He could wait just a bit longer.
I won't soothe your pain, I won't ease your strain
You'll be waiting in vain
I've got nothing for you to gain
Author: Elle, aka elle_blessing
Fandom: Harry Potter
Characters: Scabior/Hermione Granger
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Mature themes.
Words: 800
Disclaimer: Harry Potter is JKR’s. No copyright infringement intended, and no money is being made.
Author’s Notes: This piece was written for the_woods_ at rarepair_shorts' 2011 Wishlist Event. Though I love this pairing and the darkness inherent to their relationship, I've never written them before. Inspired by Woods' gift for me at the Wishlist Event (" Sweet Dreams"), I'd thought I'd give them a try :D The song lyrics come from "Eyes On Fire" by Blue Foundation.
Summary: Scabior didn't know who she was, but he knew the scent of her. If he closed his eyes, he could almost feel the curve of her jaw as he nuzzled to the spot just beneath her ear where the spicy smell would be strongest.
I seek you out, flay you alive
One more word and you won't survive
This was all her fault.
Scabior didn't know who she was. He couldn't see her face, and he didn't know the timbre of her voice. He didn't know the feel of her skin or the warmth of her breath. He knew nothing but the scent of her, soft and spicy.
He should have listened to his gut, the nagging feeling that had distracted him since that night; the scent hadn't belonged to the forest, or to the night. Even now he could clearly recall how the spice had filled his lungs, warm as if he had breathed it from the source. If he closed his eyes, he could almost feel the curve of her jaw as he nuzzled to the spot just beneath her ear where the scent would be strongest. And it was so soft, barely there. It would be necessary to be close enough to press his lips to her skin; it would be the only way to fully breathe in the scent that had very briefly teased his senses.
Awake or asleep, she was there. She was obscured in shadow, but for the damn smell of her. Scabior just wanted to be rid of her; he wanted her out of his thoughts, out of his nose, out of his dreams. She haunted him.
Scabior hadn't ever liked ghosts. He didn't like living phantoms any better.
I'm taking it slow, feeding my flame
Shuffling the cards of your game
And just in time, in the right place
Suddenly I will play my ace
Scabior pressed the delicately woven material to his nose again. It wasn't the first, nor would it be the last. The forest debris crunched softly beneath his boots as he led his Snatchers through the dense wood. The air was cool against his skin and the damp mist clung to him, a gentle reminder that winter was not quite over. His dark eyes flicked about, ever alert for movement.
Even so, all his thoughts were on her, on the dreams he'd had of her the night before, and the night before that. She was close enough now that he could breathe her in all hours of the day and night; she was more vivid in his mind than ever. Now when he closed his eyes, he could feel her breath stirring his hair when he found the sweet spot beneath her ear, knew that her pulse would pound deliciously beneath his lips, that her breath would hitch at the contact.
She was a tease. A sadist. She'd left the scarf to drive him mad.
Perhaps it had worked. Scabior felt unhinged. Driven to find her. What he would do with her, he didn't know; part of him wanted to snuff her out for driving him to such a precipice and another part of him wanted to know if she tasted the way she smelled.
The only thing he was certain of was that he wanted her. Needed her. He could only be put to rights if he found her.
No, not if. When. She wanted to be found.
He fingered the soft material, brought it to his nose. Inhaled.
And I'm not scared
Of your stolen power
I see right through you any hour
"What's your name?"
"Dudley. Vernon Dudley." Ugly as piss, is what he was.
Scabior was almost bored. It was always the same. There was always running, always curses and hexes, always one that didn't know when to stay dead. And of course, there was always a face to be remembered with a name like Vernon Dudley.
"Check it," he clipped out as he turned on his heel.
There wasn't always something nice to look at, however. There wasn't always such a pretty girl. "And you, my lovely," he drawled as he stepped into her personal space, "what do they call you?"
"Penelope Clearwater. Half blood."
Muggleborns were worth more, but he wasn't choosey. They were all galleons in his pocket.
Lips twitched as his gaze raked over her features and he shifted to step away. Only a gentle breeze stirred her hair then, and the world narrowed down to a pinpoint. Scabior leaned closer, close enough to feel the warmth of her skin on the air between them, and lifted his hand to catch her wavy strands. Her hair was soft against work-roughened fingerpads, a luxury in and of itself, but it was the scent that filled his lungs when he breathed deeply that made awareness and something else buzz beneath his skin.
Penelope.
Scabior had known she would be beautiful. He had known the spicy, cloying scent would be heady so close to her pulse point. He'd known there would be soft pants whispering near his ear when he claimed the space between them.
"There's no Vernon Dudley in 'ere."
Scabior paused as the voice permeated the headiness of his discovery. It was in him to curse the interruptor, but he'd waited this long to find her. He could wait just a bit longer.
I won't soothe your pain, I won't ease your strain
You'll be waiting in vain
I've got nothing for you to gain