Chapter 4 - A Pulse and too Much to Bear

Chapter 4 – A Pulse and Too Much to Bear

Normally, Hermione Granger was never reckless, but lately, overloaded with 'too much' of everything... too much time on her hands, too much monotony, too much sameness, too much idle, caused her to feel a sort of recklessness, which, in turn, made her want to seek out him.

That night in the alley, he told her that if she 'needed' him, he would come. She knew she would never 'need' him in the full content of the word, yet here she was in a Muggle diner in the middle of the afternoon, her scarf in one hand (not wrapped around her neck), her wand in a hidden holster on her leg, and she was waiting for him to appear. That wasn't need – that was lunacy.

While Harry, Ron, and she were busy trying to discover a way inside the Ministry so they could steal the locket from Umbridge, they had been doing things on their own during the last few weeks. Harry had been exploring more of number twelve Grimmauld Place, forever searching for his past. Ron had been listening daily on his radio for news of his family, and she had been hidden away in an old guestroom on the third floor and had studied this scarf.

And found out that it wasn't really just a scarf, was it?

She'd studied the scarf for weeks before she decided on this course of action. Detecting no dark curses on the scarf, no true tracking device, no black magic, she thought she finally understood the magic he placed on it and she wanted to see if she were right. If she were right in her assumption about the scarf, then 'need' had nothing to do with the scarf. Want... Wish... Desire... Longing... Those were better words in which to describe the spell that Scabior had placed on the simple wool article of clothing.

So, this morning, while Harry and Ron went over their plans for retrieving the locket for the umpteenth time and the Polyjuice Potion Hermione was making was still far from ready, Hermione pulled Harry's invisibility cloak out of his rucksack, told the boys she was going out for awhile, and before they could protest, she did just that.

Now she waited. In addition, it was the 19th of September no less - her birthday. And neither Harry nor Ron noticed this morning, but then again, they never really noticed any other year. Why should this year, a year that was so very different, be any different? She could scarcely believe they had been gone from their families and friends for six weeks already. In her mind, it was very apropos that she should discover the hidden magic behind the scarf on the cusp of her 18th birthday, a day that was traditional for Muggle-borns, if not for wizards, finally to feel like an adult.

Staring out the diner window, she saw that it was beginning to rain. She checked her watch again; another half an hour gone. He wasn't coming. Could she have been wrong after all? Was the scarf's magic more of a 'locator' spell, which only he could enact, not the true 'desire' or 'honing' spell that she felt had to be two way?

The waitress pulled her from her thoughts and asked her if she wanted another cup of coffee. She ordered another cup along with a chocolate cupcake so she could celebrate her birthday, even if by herself. Expelling a long, jagged sigh, she sipped the hot liquid, her eyes darting back and forth from her place at the last booth, at the back of the diner. He wasn't coming, but it was reckless for her to want him to, and it was reckless to be here, and it was reckless to have come alone, and it was reckless to have exposed her self to danger, and someone might have followed her... and... and... damn.

Placing some Muggle money on the table, she unwrapped the long tartan scarf from around her wrist, letting it glide off her arm, where it then slipped onto the red leather seat of the booth down to the dirty green tiles of the floor. She would let it stay there on the dirty floor. If he came now, he could see that she didn't care, not one bit, not one iota.

Swiping at the frosting on the cupcake before she stood to leave, she started to put her finger to her mouth, but before she could place it there, someone grabbed her wrist, startling her. He pulled her body flush against his, smiled at her, and then brought her finger up to his lips before he placed it right into his mouth.

He sucked on it hard, his tongue swirling around the frosting on the tip. She felt the action all the way down to her toes, between her legs, through her breasts, and down to the split ends of her hair.

Pulling her finger slowly from his mouth while still holding it captive in his, he said, "Hmm, chocolate. It was good, but I personally prefer vanilla. Come to think of it, you taste a bit like vanilla, too."

She swallowed so hard she was sure he could hear it, along with her rapid pulse. Giving her a half smile, he pushed her back into the booth, none to gently, and then sat beside her, not opposite her, in the booth that looked out toward the diner.

Nodding toward the waitress, he said, "Another cup, sweets, for me and the pretty lady." He still had Hermione's hand in his, but he had moved his hand slightly so that his thumb was pressing on her pulse point as he held her hand tightly in his grasp. The woman brought their coffee, Scabior winked at her, and then after she left, he said in a low voice, "This place is chock full of Muggles. Gives me the willies, it does. Why are we here today, beautiful?"

Hermione tried to pull her hand from his, but he held on tight. Using his left hand to pick up his cup of coffee, he didn't look at her. His eyes continued to scan the diner. Hermione finally said, "Are you that offended by being here among Muggles?"

"It's not that, love," he said steadily, placing his cup back down. He let go of her hand, then moved to the seat opposite of her so that his back faced the restaurant. Placing his booted foot on the booth next to her, (to keep her from escaping?) he said, "I'm merely looking out for your friends. Where are they today?"

"You think I'd lay a trap for them by inviting you anywhere where they might be, ha!" Hermione asked, anger on her face.

He smiled again and said, "Ah, then it's just you and me here today. Is this a date? How sweet. Did you bring me flowers? Candy?" He picked up the cupcake, placed it back down, and then said, "I have to warn you, I don't snog a girl on the first date."

"You're reprehensible," she leveled with a look of disgust.

"Yet you called me here, so what does that make you?" He pointed at her and said, "By the way, I came here at your beck and call, so to speak, which begs me to ask how you discover the magic of the scarf?"

"You mean the little magical two-way honing device charm you put on it? A honing charm was a perfect thing for this, but that's the only compliment I'll give you. It's hard to imagine you were smart enough to come up with such a thing," she accused.

Scabior made a funny face. "Are you calling me dense? I'll have you know I'm quite bright. Not as smart as you're known for being, but smart as a Snatcher as you'll ever encounter, I dare say." He took another drink of coffee and added, "Or at least I hope you'll never encounter another one, but let's not go down that avenue. Tell me, lovely girl, what do you think you know about the scarf."

Hermione couldn't help but smile as she explained, "In a metaphorical extension of the idea of a honing device, 'honing' has such a complex meaning in that it means to guide toward, or move toward something, but the word 'hone' also means to single out an enemy's weaknesses. Likewise, the word 'hone' means to want very much: to long for somebody or something. The honing charm can be placed on anything mundane, and an unsuspecting person would merely have to think of someone or something that they want or desire, and it would come to them. Yes, a nice little charm if one thinks about it." Folding her arms in front of her, she gave him a 'so there' glare.

"I don't understand a blimey thing you just said to me, sweetness," he said with a grin. "Talk English please, even the Queen's English will do. Speaking of the scarf, where is it?"

Hermione glanced under the table. "On the floor."

He merely nodded. "So, now that you understand the charm on it and that it can work both ways, what do you intend to do about it?"

"I plan to leave it here so you can't follow us," she accused.

He pointed his finger at her. "I don't think so, and let me tell you why." He took the toe of his other boot (the one not beside her on the booth seat) and he brought the scarf closer to him on the floor, then he leaned down and picked it up. "I don't think you went to all this trouble to find out how this thing worked, then went to all this, I don't know, call it adventurous dangerousness today to meet me here, just to tell me to take a flying leap off a bridge somewhere. You don't want to bid me farewell, lovely girl. You want something else from me today. Spill it, what is it you want?"

"Nothing." She pushed on the foot on the seat beside her and demanded, "Now remove your foot so I can leave."

"No, no, no, not so fast, lovely girl." He threw the scarf back to her. She didn't even attempt to catch it. She let it hit her on the shoulder, and slip down to the seat beside her. "I think you came here for something else. Might as well tell me what you came for."

"Remove your foot," she ordered, trying once more to push it out of the way. He quickly reached across the yellowed Formica tabletop and grabbed her wrist.

"Remove the wand from your arse, and tell me why you called me here today, sweetness, because... " But he stopped. His thumb could across her pulse point again. She reached up with her other hand to remove his, but he grabbed that one, too. Now he had both her wrists in his hands, and he removed his foot from beside her to join his other one on the floor.

Continuing his thought while she grimaced, he said, "Because that's what you did, isn't it. You called me here today. Before, I was in perfect control of the magic of the scarf, but now that you know all about the charm, I'm at a mild disadvantage, but a disadvantage all the same."

"What do you mean?" she asked, trying in vain to pull her wrists free.

"Stop fussing so and I'll explain," he clarified. "Before, I came to you when you wanted me."

She started to protest, but he shook his head, spoke over her words, and said, "Just listen to me, sweetness, listen to me, bloody hell." He laughed, let go of her wrists, and sat back and took a long drink of his coffee. "You might think you didn't want me, but you did, but now that you know about the honing charm, you've changed things, haven't you. You've changed the magic a bit, somehow, you drew me here tonight under false pretences, such as it is."

"What?" Hermione shook her head, slightly confused.

He leaned forward, brought his hand up to her cheek, and drew a line down her face with one finger. "You've changed the game, haven't you? You said it yourself; it's a honing charm, a two-way honing charm. Meaning, it works both ways. I can find you, but bloody hell, beautiful, if I take that scarf back, you can find me too, and I can't have that, can I?"

"Why would I want to find you?" she asked with a deep breath.

"Why did you want me to come here today?" he asked softly. They sat in silence, staring at each other. His hand moved slowly back over toward hers. His thumb rubbed over her palm. "Don't fret so, you don't have to say, but you do have to take the scarf back."

"If you're afraid I'll find you, or something, throw it in the rubbish bin, but I'll leave here today without it," Hermione vowed.

He raised his brows and brought her hand up to his mouth again. The memory of how he licked the frosting from her fingertips moments ago fresh in her mind, she blushed, although this time he merely kissed her knuckles. "I'm afraid I must insist you take it. I have to know where you are now. I'm a bit obsessed with you, you see. I told you I won't hurt Potter, or your other boyfriend, not as long as you're with them and I can help it, but... well, call me sentimental, but I'm getting attached to you. Anyway, as I said, you've changed the magic a bit already, without realizing it, hence the reason I'm here today. I'm already afraid you can force me to come when I want you, too. Bloody hell, but what am I to do with you? Take the scarf back."

Still slightly wary of his meaning, she regarded him quietly for a few minutes more before she said a resounding, "No." She stood to leave. He stood as well and blocked her way.

"Aren't you afraid of being here alone? What if there were Death Eaters here?" he asked.

She looked around his body slightly and then said, "I'm not easily scared and I can take care of myself."

Bringing the back of his hand down her face, he said, "Sweetness, why should you have to, that's the question, isn't it? You should have gone wherever you sent your parents."

Hermione's eyes grew wide and she pushed him slightly. "What do you know about my parents?" she hissed. "Leave them out of it!"

"I know the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement personally searched your parents' house, but they couldn't find any sign of where they went," he leveled.

Hermione tried to quell the panic that was rising in her chest. She wouldn't show this man fear. Still, she said, "You'd better never hurt my parents."

"Still, no sign of trust. I swear. Don't have parents myself, so I don't see what all the fuss is about, but they aren't going to be touched by me, love. No worries there." He smiled again and then motioned toward a hallway near the back of the diner. It led toward the bathrooms and the back door. "Still, make old Scabior feel better about things and go out the back way, won't you, just in case the silly old Death Eaters are hanging out around front, 'right?"

Hermione started walking ahead of Scabior, feeling in her holster for her wand. She could feel his breath upon her neck; he was walking that closely to her, one hand on her shoulder. She could see that the scarf was wrapped around the hand on her shoulder. Once in the dark, narrow hallway, she turned to him and said, "I'll take the scarf back, but now that I know how to use it, I also know how not to use it, so don't expect for me to call you again."

"You never told me why you called me this time," he asked easily, pressing her body against the dark paneling near the door of the women's toilet.

Hermione wanted to tell him that it was her birthday. She wanted someone to wish her a 'happy birthday', to make her feel special, to tell you that they were sorry that she was by herself, alone, unloved, sad, lonely...yet she knew she shouldn't romanticize this man. He was dangerous. He was borderline psychotic. He was...reckless. Wait – so was she.

"It doesn't matter," she offered.

Smoothing his hand down her hair, leaning closer, he said in her ear, "I bet it really does, but fine, keep your secrets. I know I plan to keep mine." He pointed toward the back door and said, "There's the back door. There really are Death Eaters on the street out front. Disapparate away after you leave the building."

She shivered slightly, then pushed away from him and nodded. Starting back down the hallway, he grabbed for her again, his hand snaking once more around her wrist.

Hermione's mouth opened, she stared at him, but no words came out. He pulled her toward him and then pushed her into the small bathroom behind him. Whipping her around quickly, confusing her, disorienting her, he practically slammed her against the fake wood of the bathroom's door. Reaching out, he took her chin in his hand, pointing her face upwards to his, and said, "Oh, and beautiful, by the way, have a very happy birthday."

Hermione stiffened, defiantly, as she gazed up at him. Then she turned her head to the right side to stare at the small frosted window high above the commode, which was broken in the corner. A tear crept down the side of her face, and she squeezed her eyes closed so that no more would escape.

Damn this man. Damn his black soul to hell and back again.

She moved her chin from his hand, so he moved his hand from her chin, down her shoulder, to her arm, and then down to her hand. Opening her eyes, she pulled her gaze from the broken, frosted window back to his eyes, and they stared at each other for many long moments. He had as much tension in his long body as she did in her agile form, and she saw heat, desire, and something foreign flicker in his gaze.

His other hand went to the pulse on her neck. "Are you going to have a happy birthday, Hermione?"

Hermione closed her eyes again at the sound of her name on his tongue. This man didn't love her. He didn't even like her, and she didn't know what she felt for him. They felt desire for each other, nothing more, and that wasn't enough, was it? Was it?

"You don't have to answer me, but you do have to open your eyes," he said against her cheek, "and well, yes, answer my question." When she looked up into his face, his eyes darkened, and she knew that if she let him kiss her again, she would be lost to him forever. If she let desire overtake her this time, she would be a slave to him the next time. It didn't matter that he didn't even respect her because she wouldn't respect herself any longer.

He pulled her closer and said, "Cat got your tongue? If not, may I have it?" Then he bent his head more and placed his hot mouth over hers. She pressed her hands on his chest to push him away, really she did, but ended up pushing her hands under his coat, then through the layers of his clothing instead.

His arms tightened around her like bands of steel. She wasn't in control, she wasn't calm, and she wasn't collected. SHE WAS RECKLESS. Her pulse was dancing wildly as her blood danced through her veins.

He shook her shoulders, and she blinked and then fully opened her eyes. She almost said she was sorry, but then he moaned, pulled her back, moved his hands down her back over her bum, and pulled her up against him as his hands went down her sides in even, full strokes. The intimate movement of his hands, his caresses, shocked her, and she knew it was wrong, but for once, she didn't care. Convinced it would be the last time she would see him, she would give herself this one last moment of freedom, and then she would throw away the scarf and make a vow never to think of the man again.

Knowing that she should feel repulsed, appalled, because he was doing things that no one had ever done to her before, she wondered what she would do if he touched her breasts. She no sooner thought it then he reached up and placed a hot, heavy palm on her left breast, this thumb pushing hard on the centre, causing an ache to form in every fibre of her being.

Even as his thumb continued to circle her nipple, his mouth moved from hers down to her neck. He pulled her jacket and shirt up and exposed her bare stomach; then his hand went under her clothing and pushed aside the scrap of silk that was her bra. He touched the bare skin of her breasts. She gasped louder.

Her head fell back and hit the door hard, eyes closed, blinding desire blossoming deep within her. Hermione felt his lips and tongue wet on the skin on her bare stomach and looked back down, and for the first time, she saw a bright red streak in his hair. She thought it was an odd time to notice such a thing. Then his lips went around her nipple and he sucked hard and her legs gave out and she moaned.

He held her up, one arm around her hips, his mouth moving across her flat stomach, his other hand moving aside her clothing to accommodate his lips.

With her head moving side to side, she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror to the left of her, and the image shocked her. Closing her eyes tight once more, she grabbed a handful of his hair, yanked hard, and forced his head back.

He looked up at her from his place on the floor.

She said one word. "No."

So, he stopped.

Then he closed his eyes, but he managed to stand. Leaning against her, dropping his face into the crook of her neck, he said, "Hell, passion is highly overrated anyway, and it's your birthday, so I guess you get what you want, if you're sure stopping is what you want."

When she didn't say another word, he adjusted his long leather coat to cover his lower body, then he helped her straighten her clothing, and she let him. Shaking all over, in embarrassment, fury, and other emotions unknown, Hermione turned her head first toward the left, but she couldn't bear to look at the mirror again, so she turned it back toward the right and looked at the broken window even as he wrapped the scarf around her neck. He pulled her away from the door.

Then he did what she thought was the oddest thing of all. He embraced her. A small embrace, hardly a hug, but an embrace all the same, and he was out the door before her.

She turned, locked the bathroom door, sank to the floor, cried for ten minutes, then pulled the invisibility cloak out of her bag, placed it over her, and Disapparated back to number twelve Grimmauld Place.