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Hermione can still feel the way his hand had brushed just above her chest – as if sensing the pounding of her heart as his nose flared, drinking the smell of her perfume despite being unable to see her, eyes seeking and wanting, an invitation leaving his breath – just low enough for her to hear as he pulled back.

Harry and Ron are both asleep and Hermione knows that she should be staying and keep watch but her hand pushes up against the protective barriers and she slips through them with barely a ripple, breathing in the autumn air, a shiver creeping down her back, air misting as she breathes out.

Hermione can’t put into words the curl in her belly as leaves crunch softly beneath her boots as she makes her way deeper into the forest, wand grasped tight in her hand as she listens for any noise, anything that would give away the position of the other-

What am I doing?

She halts, staring into the dark forest, ground barely visible in the cast of the moonlight, just a step from being full above her.

“Didn’t think you had it in ya.” The touch of a hand on her shoulder, a nose pressing against her neck, makes her freeze – feeling the way he inhales as one arm creeps around her, drawing her back against a much taller figure on stiff limbs as he nuzzles up against her. “Brave little mudblood,” he praises, hand curling and tugging at her scarf, baring the back of her neck to a tongue that flattens and drags against her to a hitch of her breath as it curves down the sensitive skin of her throat, lips sealing and sucking as she reaches up to grasp at his arm with blunt nails.

She can smell him – dirt and rust, something ragged and wild and everything that she wasn’t. His nails are longer than hers, sharp, and there’s danger in the sharpness of his canines, the glow in his eyes.

She trembles when his hand shifts down, pushing up and beneath her hoodie and the shirt beneath it, flattening against her skin, palm rough, nails dragging against her skin all the way up to the cup of her bra, a low rumble against her neck as he cups her and he grinds himself up against her back as she flushes, feeling the growing bulge in his plaid trousers as he palms her with increasing roughness, teeth dragging against her neck.

He drags his hand out from beneath her shirt, reaching and undoing the zipper of her jacket, dragging it off her and letting it fall on the ground as she stares out into the dark forest, shivering as he gets her shirt up and over her head, bra undone and roughly tugged off, leaving her upper body completely bare.

His hands immediately seals over them, kneading the soft skin, tugging at her pebbling nipples as she shivers at the contrasting warmth of his calloused palms and he rubs himself against her back, her body practically enveloped by his, teeth clamping down on the shell of her ear and sucking as she jerks, a low noise leaving her.

He drags himself off her, twirling her around and pushing her up against the rough bark of a tree, hands finding and undoing the button of her jeans, zipper pulled down and jeans impatiently rucked down her legs along with her underwear, easily discarded aside as he steps back, drinking the sight of her nude form with dark intention and a flash of teeth, only her pink scarf left loose around her.

Hermione flushes, one arm rising to cover herself but he halts her with a hand that curves around her with bruising force, prickling against her skin.

“I want to see ya,” he murmurs, voice rough and she shivers from cold and want alike as he inhales more of her scent, eyes dilating, and he leans forward to drag his tongue over her sternum with a low groan and then she jerks, gasping as his teeth digs sharp into her neck, one hand clasping at her thigh and hauling her up, legs around his waist as he presses her hard against the tree with a roll of his hips that pushes his bulge firmly against her bare folds to a jolt of shock as she inhales sharply.

He hums his approval, repeating it, allowing her to really feel the girth of the erection as it pushed up against her – spreading her out, dragging over her clit, and she wraps her arms around him, flushing at the proximity, the heady scent in her nose, toes curling, gasping into his ear as he ruts against her with increasing fervour.

He’s a Death Eater, a Snatcher, responsible for so much evil in the world and yet all Hermione can focus on is the feel of his cock – the roughness of his pants as he pushes up against her, larger and stronger than her, wand discarded aside, knowing there was little she could do if he chose to take her-

There’s want curling in her cut, orgasm climbing, and she presses her face into his neck, biting down on her scarf as he hitches against her, back dragging against the bark, walls clamping down as she comes with limbs that lock down and a hitch of her hips as he laughs, low and rough, grinding her hard against the tree as she rides it out to a whimper that finally makes him ease off, eyes glittering.

“You smell so good.” He drags his tongue up her throat, leaving a trail of saliva that cools in the night air to a shiver. “I’m going to fuck you,” he promises her, nosing up against her throat, mouthing against the bite mark already bruising on her shoulder.

Hermione stills as he reaches down and her hand darts out, grasping and curling around his wrist as he halts, a warning in his eyes.

“You – you have to pull out.”

He pauses, considering her, a particular sort of expression in his eyes that Hermione doesn’t really understand as his mouth curves and he tilts his head, slanting his mouth over hers as her grip slackens in surprise, mouth opening with a gasp as he twisted hard on a nipple, deepening it with a heady sort of roughness that makes her walls clamp down on nothing.

She hears the noise of buttons being undone, her head tilting back to bare her throat, staring at the moon as he drags his teeth against her jaw, mouthing and sucking dark bruises into her skin with a push of fabric that makes her quiver.

She doesn’t tell him that part of the reason why she’d sought him out was because of the fear of dying with regrets, a virgin – and she doubts he’d care, doubts he’d go out of his way to take it easy on her, and it makes something fierce curl in her chest, something dangerous and yearning to give herself up completely, to give up the iron control she kept on herself and life.

But it still makes her freeze in place at the feel of his bare cock – her parent’s warnings ringing at the back of her mind even as the smooth head pushes up against her entrance, hand guiding the spread of her folds and labia, letting her feel the girth of him to a hitch of her breath that makes him smirk against her skin.

Her mind buzzes but she hadn’t exactly brought condoms with her and she hadn’t even considered magical contraception’s when she’d thrown herself out a mission to destroy the Dark Lord.

Hermione forces herself to relax, to keep still, arms curling around him, seeking some sort of comfort in his arms as he pushes up against her, forcing her to spread with a strain that makes her bite down on her lip with a low noise muffled against her scarf, gasping as he shoves forward, head settling inside of her, the feeling strange, alien, quivering as he spreads her even wider, pushing into her, wide and long as he sinks deeper and deeper into her until he pushes up flush against her, the feeling uncomfortable as the head mashes against her cervix.

She becomes aware of her harsh breathing, the way she’s digging nails into his back, his mouth sucking against her neck.

She knows she should be telling him off for that too but her eyes are pinpricks, locked on the feeling of having a cock buried inside of her – spread wide on a man who considered her kin little more than dirt beneath his feet.

He drags himself out of her and then he pushes back and Hermione forgets to think, gasping as he thrusts into her, leaving her little time to get used to anything before he’s set a punishing rhythm that makes her eyes squeeze close as he fucks her up hard against the tree, practically squishing her against it, growling as he fucks her hard and deep with pain and pleasure that mixes together strangely in her mind.

Everything is raw, the feel of him, the drag of his cock, the spread of her walls as he fucks into her.

He’s too large – that’s the reality of it and it hurts, her back curling, a desperate sort of noise trapped in her throat as she struggles not to clamp down on him, to make it worse, the beating of her heart loud inside her head, her breathing harsh as he hilts deep into her over and over again, pushing up against her womb in a way that she should never have allowed but had.

The taboo wrongness shouldn’t be turning her on but it is.

“Fuck,” he gasps, hitching her up tighter, his thrust growing harder, shorter, his muscles tightening and Hermione jerks as he clamps his teeth down on her shoulder, hilting deep into her and stilling, balls pressing up against her, buried to the hilt, head slotted up against her cervix.

She freezes as warmth spills into her, sticky and thick as he grounds himself up into her, her walls clamping down, betraying her as she drags him deeper with a gasp against his neck as he groans as she milks him deep inside of her.

And then her back goes stiff, reality dawning.

“You-“

“Me,” he agrees, smirking against her neck, stubble scuffing against her neck, her legs still around his waist, arms around him, and she pushes against him, fury coiling through her, but he merely slams her up harder against the tree to a choked gasp as his fingers found and tightened around her neck, cutting off her air.

“I’m a Death Eater, darling,” he growls, hitching up into her, already half-hard inside her warmth. “I do what I want.” He tightens his hold, her fingers sinking into his wrist, pulling desperately as he leans forward, inhaling with a flare of his nose before he lets go, pulling out and away from her as she crumbles to the ground, coughing.

One of his hands finds her hair, tightening and forcing her to look up through tear filled eyes. “Aw, don’t look at me like that,” he croons. “You knew well enough what you were getting into or you would have been fucking one of your little friends.” He crouches down, thumb wiping away at one of her tears. “You want it rough, you want it hard.” His lips presses against her eye, forcing it close. “Isn’t that right?” he murmurs and she swallows thickly, not denying it as his mouth stretches.

He pushes her back, onto the ground, autumn leaves spread around her, wild hair like a curtain below him as he settles between the spread of her thighs, running a hand over the flatness of her belly and up, kneading her breasts as he hardens against her, letting her see the way his cock stretches up and over the trail of brown between her legs, far up on her belly.

The Snatcher leans down, catching one of her nipples on his mouth and biting down to a twitch and curl of her back, swallowing thickly as she straightened up to loom over her with a sharp sort of hunger.

“I think I’d rather like to hear you cry my name, beautiful,” he tells her, grasping and stroking himself almost lazily, admiration for her body clear in his eyes as he drinks the sight of her. “Scabior,” he encourages her with a twist of his palm over his cock, a drop of opaque pre cum on the tip pressed down against her belly, dragging against her skin.

“Then make me,” Hermione challenges and his eyes darken with amusement and want both as he shifts, curving and pushing into her with a rough thrust that makes her back slide against the leaves before he grasps at her hips and hauls her back against him as he rolls into another thrust, burying deep enough that her back curves with a choked gasp, knuckles whitening.

He shifts over her, arms curving beneath her shoulders, grasping tight as he flattens himself against her, her breasts dragging against him as he fucks her with short and hard thrusts, locked around her, a choked noise at the brutality of it, her back curving to draw back but unable to.

She digs her nails into his still clothed back, feeling the way his cum squishes up against her womb with every thrust, hammered deeper into her, sticky and strange and not good, the fabric of his shirt rough against her stiff nipples, his pants scratching at the back of her thighs with every rolling thrust.

His teeth sinks into her shoulder as he pushes forward, grinding into her, biting down on her and she keens, shocked and overwhelmed and so close to orgasm that she feels tears prickling at the corner of her eyes – her body stiffening –

And then he stopped, completely, her eyes snapping open, a desperate sort of noise leaving her mouth as she attempted to push up against him only to have him settle his weight upon her more thoroughly.

“Oh I don’t think so,” he purrs darkly as she slowly dips from the edge she’d been climbing with a noise of desperate frustration. “I told you,” he says as he draws back, pulling out of her completely. “I want to hear you cry my name.” His eyes glitters at the anger in her eyes. “On your knees,” he says with a lazy little twirl of his index fingers as her cheeks burn.

She stares at him for a long time, pushed up on her arms, naked and growing steadily colder without his warmth pressed up against her.

She knows – she knows she could just take her clothes and leave, suspects that he might even allow her to, that there’s more to this than just taking and it’s that knowledge, that gut feeling that makes her slowly shift, stiff-limbed and still furious and humiliated as she settles on her hands and knees like a dog.

The smack against her rump makes her white-knuckled and then red cheeked as a tongue flattens up and between her folds.

“So desperate for me to fuck ya?” he rumbles, amusement as he inhales the scent of her without a hint of embarrassment, hands grasping and spreading her cheeks as her eyes widens, jerking as he drags his tongue all the way up and over the pink puckered entrance.

“That’s dirty-“ she protests, shocked by his audacity, but he merely grins as he repeats it – quivering at the strange feeling and canting away from it.

To her relief he shifts behind her and then she tenses again because he wasn’t pushing up where she wanted him and she goes stiff, tensing up and locking up tight.

He clicks his tongue, a curl of amusement as he leans down and drags it over her spine. “I would ease up,” he advises, nudging forward. “Or this is going to hurt.” Her eyes widen and she reaches back only to have him pin her arm against her back, pushing down hard with a twist that made her gasp, lower body flattening down, supported unsteadily on one hand.

Panicked Hermione forces herself to relax, trying to jerk away when she spreads around him, a helpless sort of noise leaving her throat at the feeling of the tight ring slowly settling over the head of his cock, leaving her tight against the girthy cock, an obscene sort of picture that made his mouth stretch as he admired the way she struggles not to clamp down on him.

He shifts on his knees and her eyes widens. “No-“ she gasps desperately.

But instead of making him slow down, to give her a chance to get used to the feeling, it only makes him push into her harder – feeding inch after inch into her gut with a rough smack of his pelvis against her rump, a filthy sort of noise that leaves her trembling, colour drained from her face.

He begins dragging out and she jerks. “Please-“ she gasps. “I’ve never-“

But he laughs, settling with just the head inside of her before slamming into her hard, nerves burning raw at the rough drag, only her slick to ease his thrusts. “Don’t pretend,” he says with a snap of his hips, “that I don’t know perfectly well that I’ve already taken your virginity once tonight.” He bares his teeth as she gasps, knees rocking forward into the dirt and leaves beneath her. “What is one more,” he teases, gasping as she clamps down on him, groaning as he practically yanks out of her and then pushes back inside.

She can feel sweat beading on her back, muscles straining, the force which he takes her rough and unsympathetic and everything burns.

So why can she feel herself coming closer and closer to an orgasm-?

She bows her head, spreading her legs and curving her back into the next thrust to an appreciative murmur, hand smacking against her cheek, making her clamp down even harder, teeth clamped down hard on her lip as she jerks with every hard thrust.

She feels him slowing down and her eyes snaps open.

“Scabior-“ the name leaves her mouth strangled and desperate and his hands tightens on her hips, snapping into her, and she nearly sobs with relief as he pistons into her, forcing her closer and closer to the edge until she’s so twisted up that the noise that leaves her is completely alien as she comes hard, his name on her lips, repeated and sobbed with desperation even as he keeps fucking her, burning and twisting her guts up until he forces himself flush against her with a grunt as he comes inside of her a second time, hips pushing up hard, sticky warmth shooting up inside of her.

He slowly relaxes his grip on her, allowing her arm back with a quiver and a curl of fingers against the leaves below her but she doesn’t move from the position, shivering as he pulls out of her to a twitch as the head pops out of her.

Hermione finds herself pulled up to a kiss that makes her tremble, opening her mouth willingly to his tongue, groaning and pressing up against him as his tongue drags against hers, coaxing her into something filthy.

His hand drags up against her belly, over her breasts, brushing against her neck and the scarf there, stealing it for himself with a tug as he sweeps it around his neck.

“A reminder,” he teases her.

-

She’ll see him twice after that.

He’ll watch her as Bellatrix forces her down on the floor, carving into her flesh as she screams.

And he’ll do nothing.

She'll watch him as he gives chase to Neville, lured into a trap that crumbles the ground beneath him, her scarf flutterin in the wind as he falls.

And she’ll do nothing.