Chapter 5 - Tremble Because He's Near

Chapter 5 – Tremble Because He's Near

Unless he gives me all in change,

Verse 9 - Amy's Cruelty

Elizabeth Barrett Browning

Sitting alone by the mouth of the tent, she heard every noise magnified tenfold. Every rustling of leaves made her tremble with fear and trepidation. Every whisper of the wind through the trees made her quiver with unease.

It was all such a mess. Things happened so fast today. Things didn't go as they had planned, and now Ron was hurt – his arm nearly severed from a Disapparition that had gone wrong – and somehow she felt it was all her fault.

At least they'd managed to find the locket, along with Professor Moody's eye, although she found the fact that Harry took the eye rather morbid. After she had managed to Apparate them to these woods, she healed Ron the best that she could. Harry and she set up the tent and put up protection spells, and then they tried every spell they could to destroy the Horcrux.

Yet, it remained intact.

Since Ron was still very ill and Harry was very depressed (because why hadn't Dumbledore told him how to destroy the locket?), she decided to take the first watch on this, the very first night of their journey.

Shivering in the chilly autumn air of the early evening, she couldn't help but wonder if Scabior was nearby. She hated thinking of that man at such times as these, but she couldn't control her thoughts anymore than she could control the sun, the moon, the stars, or the rotation of the earth.

She saw him today at the Ministry while she was under disguise of the Polyjuice Potion. Walking down to the courtrooms beside Umbridge, she walked right by him as he and some other Snatchers were escorting two men throughout the Atrium. It almost sickened her to see him like as she did... One of the men they were escorting looked bruised and battered, and Scabior looked pleased as punch.

The strangest thing happened, too. Although Hermione was under the magic of Polyjuice Potion, and there was no way he could have recognized her, when she walked by him, he actually turned and looked right at her – stared right in her eyes. She stared at him in return, for the briefest second, and then swiftly turned away.

She couldn't let her slight obsession with that man sway her from her task. He was scum, a malefactor, nothing short of reprobate who preyed on those who had no one to fight for them. The man his fellow Snatchers and he were escorting was a Muggle-born. He was begging them to let him go... saying that he was a wizard just like them, he had done nothing wrong, he had a family, a wife and children.

One of the Snatchers used physical force on the man and hit him on the back of the head. Hermione heard him scream right as she entered the lift. She kept her gaze on the floor so she wouldn't betray her reason for being there.

What if that had been her? Would he have pulled her through the atrium of the Ministry, wrists bound, beaten and battered as she begged for mercy? Would he have smiled with that same smug expression on his face? Was that his game? Was that what he wanted with her? Was that his final goal?

Hermione had to use her brain. She couldn't let this man get to her, Harry, or Ron. She couldn't be stupid any longer. Even though she wore his scarf around her neck, she knew that she would not, could not, let him manipulate her ever again.

Another rustling in the trees nearby caused her to turn her head to the side, stop thinking of things, right or wrong, and grip her wand tightly. She stood to investigate the sound, praying that her wards and protection spells would hold.

She walked to the very edge of her wards and then froze. She knew her charms and spells should block sounds as well as her, her friends, and their tent, but still, she practically held her breath when she saw people approach the thicket of trees. Holding as immobile as she could, she couldn't help but quaver slightly when she watched the werewolf Greyback, carrying a young woman, walk by her, followed by two of the Snatchers she had seen at the Ministry earlier, pulling a man whose hands were bound magically. Bringing up the rear was Scabior.

She froze in abject horror and fright.

He walked directly in front of her, close enough that she could touch him if she had wanted.

Then, inexplicably, he stopped, took a step back, and turned to face her. He had the strangest look on his face. She could almost swear that he 'knew' she was there, yet she knew there was no way he did. One of his fellow malcontents called out for him to hurry. He ignored them. Inhaling deeply, he frowned.

"Hurry up, Scabior, we don't have all evening. We have to get this lot to the Ministry!"

Turning his head toward the speaker, he said, "Go on without me. I'll catch up eventually, or perhaps I won't."

Hermione remained quiet and still, her heart beating an irregular cadence, her breath coming out in short little bursts. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the others walk away while he remained. On his face was the same bemused, anxious, almost angry look in his eyes that he had the last time she'd seen him.

Then he inhaled again, deeper this time. He reached out his hand – she took a step back. Breathing harder yet, but trying to remain quiet, she gripped her wand so hard that the wood dug into the tender flesh of her hand.

Finally, with an annoyed look in his eyes, he turned to leave, looking back only once before he gave up and walked away.

Hermione exhaled the breath she was holding, loosening the tight grip on her wand. Harry walked up behind her. She felt his presence, but didn't turn to face him. Instead, she continued to stare at the empty place in the woods where Scabior had stood in the ever-darkening forest.

"Hermione?"

"Harry."

"At least now you know your wards hold," he assured her. He gave her shoulder a pat.

"But he knew I was here." She inhaled a quiet sob. "He smelled my perfume," she revealed.

"Who knew you were here? That man?" Harry grabbed her hand and held it in his.

Turning her gaze to his, she wondered if she had revealed too much. "Yes. I'm wearing a perfume that reminds me of my mother, called Beautiful. It makes me feel close to her. I think he smelled it."

Harry brought her hand up to his mouth and gave it a simple kiss. "I'm sure he didn't smell your perfume. I can't smell it. You're just on edge. Let me wear the locket now and stand guard."

Shaking her head no, she did, however, pull the locket over her head and hand it to him. "Here, you can wear it, or at least keep it safe for the night, but I'll continue to stand guard. I'm not sleepy at all. Go on, get in there and check on Ron before you go to sleep."

"Are you sure? I am tired," Harry replied.

Smiling a sad smile, her hand still entwined in his, she nodded. "Yes, go on; I'm fine."

"Wake me around three in the morning, and I'll take over," he pledged. With a sigh, he placed the locket in the front pocket of his jeans and walked inside the tent, pulling the flap shut behind him.

Hermione pulled the scarf tighter around her neck and then sat down near a tree, a slight distance from the tent, but still close by. The sky was almost completely dark now. There was a definite nip in the air. She wished she had asked Harry for a blanket, or had gotten her heavier sweater, but perhaps the cold would keep her awake.

With her back to a tree, her wand on her lap, she pulled the book Dumbledore had given her out of the back pocket of her jeans and opened it to read. She'd already cast a charm on it so that it could be read in the dark, so reading it tonight proved no effort.

Reading a story she had already read a few times, she was startled when she heard a sound behind the very tree on which she propped her back. Placing the book on the ground beside her slowly while holding her wand tight, she waited to hear the sound again.

And she did.

"Did you think to hide from me, my girl?"

From the sound of his voice, Hermione judged him to be standing right behind the tree where she sat. That didn't mean he knew she was near this tree, but yet knowing him, he probably did.

She looked up, and sure enough, he was standing next to the tree, propped against it as if he hadn't a care in the world. Hermione hated him for that. Standing quietly, still frightened, she faced him. She wouldn't speak, even though she was certain there was no real way he knew she was there.

However, he showed no such restraint. Continuing to speak, as if he knew she was nearby, he said, "I know you're there, sweetness. I smell you, but more than that, I feel you." His hand went to his chest, and he thumped it twice. "Right here, I do."

Swallowing hard, she took a step backwards.

"Did you think you could escape me? Did you think I'd let you?" he asked, pushing away from the tree. Walking back and forth in front of her, he said, "Caused quite the ruckus at the Ministry, you three did. Polyjuice Potion, huh? Who would have thought it? They won't underestimate you again, that's for certain. And you stole a certain something from the Undersecretary, didn't you?"

Hermione knew he didn't mean for her to answer, not that he could hear her if she did; still, she wondered what else this man knew. She wished she could ask him a few questions, but that would be foolhardy, and she wouldn't make that mistake again. Clutching the scarf tightly in one hand, her wand in the other, she steadied her breathing, blinked slowly, and sat back down to listen to him speak. If nothing else, it would entertain her, keep her awake, and inform her of what he knew.

He remained standing, but it was uncanny how he seemed to direct his conversation toward her, even though she knew he couldn't see her. "Everyone was talking about how Potter broke into the Ministry, right under everyone's bloody noses, and how smart and brave he was, but I know better. That whole scheme smelled of my girl, didn't it?"

Suddenly, he squatted down on his haunches and reached out his hand, scaring her into thinking that he could see her, sense her, so she scrambled backwards. There was no reason for her to do so because he reached for blank air. He sat down on the ground and she remained a good distance away.

"Some say that a couple of you were hurt while escaping." He scooted backwards until his back was against a tree, his long legs in front of him, feet crossed at the ankle. "I have to admit, I'm glad to know it wasn't you. Do you want to know how I know you weren't the one that was hurt? The scarf, of course. It still connects us whether you want it to or not. I can sense you. You, my girl, are connected to me, just as I am to you, and that's how I know you're fine."

Hermione looked down at the scarf in her hand. The Merino wool was as soft as ever against her skin. She almost wanted to cry. What was she doing? If what he said was true, she had to burn it, bury it, destroy it... before it destroyed her.

Perhaps he was playing with her head. He probably didn't even really know she was here. Leaning over, she picked up the discarded book of children's stories and then decided to go sit back beside the mouth of the tent. He could continue to talk to the trees and the empty air.

Standing to take her leave, she stopped when he said, "Hey, darling, wait a moment before you leave."

With a breath and a sob mingled together caught deep in her throat, she turned around slowly to look at him. How did he know she had started to walk away?

"Just give me a sign to let me know you weren't hurt. Call me sentimental, but I'd sleep better if I knew these things for certain."

If she walked beyond her wards, or lifted her protection spells, he'd take her into custody, just as surely as those people he had with him earlier in the woods, or the man he had with him at the Ministry. She knew it. Standing motionless, hardly breathing, but absentmindedly stroking the ends of the scarf, she waited.

Then he stood once again, just as before, until he was standing before her, looking bored, indifferent, and at total ease.

This time, she experienced a sense of relief because she thought he was going to leave. Peering upon his face, she really did think he was handsome. Dark long hair, elegant fingers, beautiful eyes. Tall. He was very tall. She would guess he was about thirty years old, now that she looked at him closely, without worrying that he was looking back at her.

And she wished she could say that she was scared of him. She wished she could say truthfully that she hated him. She wished she feared him, even a little. She didn't know him, she didn't even really want to know him. She didn't trust him, she didn't even really like him, but yet there was something in his posture, his manner, his quirky way of speaking, which enticed her.

"Well, my girl, are you going to make me wait all bloody night to know if you were hurt or not? Give me some sort of sign. I don't expect you to lift your fucking wards for me, but give me credit because I already know you're here, yet I haven't told anyone, have I? So, would it hurt you to give me some sort of little sign to know you're alright?"

That one sentence gave her pause. No, he hadn't told anyone of their whereabouts. That much was true. He had already left and had returned... alone. He could have brought Death Eaters with him, but he hadn't. He could have brought more Snatchers with him, but he hadn't. He came back alone.

Hermione thought for a moment and then she remembered a spell she'd seen in a defense book that Professor Moody had given her. Thinking hard to recall the correct incantation, she closed her eyes, waved her hand, and said the spell silently.

A barrier, thin and mist like, formed between them so that they could see each other, almost as if a window had appeared between them.

"Ah, there's my girl. I knew you were there." He reached out for her, only to draw his hand back when he realized that he couldn't touch her. "What's this spell?"

"You can only see me, but you can't touch me or breach the protection wards."

"And so she speaks," he said with a smile. "But only to tell me that she doesn't trust me. Yet, at least she speaks." He walked closer, so close that they almost stood nose to nose. Lighting his wand, he moved it up and down her body. When he saw the cuts and abrasions on her face, he frowned. "Looks like you've been through the wringer, love. I hope the other bloke got it just as bad." Then, he smiled again, but this time the smile seemed forced and strained.

"You smelled my perfume earlier, didn't you?" she asked, ignoring his comments, wanting desperately to know if her suspicion was correct.

He nodded with one brief nod of his head.

"I'll make sure I don't wear it again," she added.

He made no comment to that. "Is one of your boyfriends injured badly? That's the rumour."

"I won't confirm that with you," she leveled. "In fact, I shalln't talk with you ever again. This is the last time you shall ever see me. Now, go away and leave me alone. Goodbye."

She stepped away from the small portal that she'd made, but he called out, "Now, now, now, love, let's not be too hasty or harsh. We both know that's not true, as well. And I think we also both know that you can trust me because I could have turned you in, many times over, just as you could have killed me right now, if you wanted to, so let's not talk anymore about goodbyes. There'll be no goodbyes between us, my girl. None at all."

She sighed and said, "I can't do this anymore. You don't understand. There's no cause or reason for it."

"Does there have to be a reason for it?" he asked.

"Yes, there does!" she insisted. "I don't even particularly like you!"

He laughed at that.

Hermione couldn't help herself and she laughed too. It felt good to laugh, especially after everything that she'd been through today. "Listen, I have to go. I don't know if I'll see you again or not, but it's very risky, and I can't take risks with Ron's and Harry's lives. It's not my place to do so. It's my place to take care of them, not risks their lives. Therefore, yes, I'm afraid it is goodbye."

She turned to leave.

Stunning her, he reached through the portal she'd made in her protection wards and grabbed her shoulder, pulling her through to his side.

She stumbled into him, his face hovering right above hers. She struggled for control, her eyes wide with shock (more than fear) as the heat of his body pressed upon hers, warming the chill from her that had filled her earlier, even as one of his hands tangled in her hair and the other went smoothly down her cheek.

She was rendered as mute as she was when he spoke to her earlier, but this time it was more because she felt prickles and trembles of anticipation due to the scandalous responses of being close to him again.

His breath was like a whisper of wind against her face. She closed her eyes even before the hint of intimacy came, tempted by what was to come and by the hint of shame that came with the threat of pleasure that was sure to engulf her very soul, until she smothered every last sensible thought.

Thoughts such as how much she disliked him. Or, how she knew she didn't love him because she could never love someone who didn't love her.

Nevertheless, to have one last kiss, one last hint of happiness, even if it was feigned, even if it was false, even if she did dislike this man, was too much to ignore.

His kiss felt real. It felt hot, hard, demanding, domineering, and she wanted it to continue forever and ever. Her breasts felt heavy, her head felt light, her knees felt wobbly, and she knew she was pathetic and she didn't even care.

Not knowing if she could stop it, she didn't even have to try because he stopped it this time, by drawing his head up from hers, brushing his index finger over her red, swollen, freshly kissed lips once, then twice. With the same finger, he touched a small cut on her face, then kissed the wound before he closed his eyes.

Wincing audibly, he turned her around, pushed her back through the little hole she created in her protection ward, then said, "That's how much the scarf connects us. I can even pull you through a handy little protection ward." He seemed angry again. Turning from her, he added unexpectedly, "I wish I could kill the bastard who hurt you."

"That's insane," she responded, bringing her hand up to her mouth. Then, "This is insane. All of this – you and I, kissing, everything – it's all insane! I don't even like you, not at all, and I know I certainly don't love you or anything! I was just thinking that I could never love someone who didn't love me, and I can't believe I keep going around risking everything for someone that I don't love!"

"And you broke through my protection ward! What was I thinking?" Waving her hand in front of her, she made the hole disappear, and she was back behind the protection of the ward. He could no longer see or hear her, although she could still see him.

His back still to her, she didn't know what he was doing at first when he reached inside his leather coat for something. As he pulled out an object while he turned to face her, she noticed he held a book in his hand. "This is your book of poetry, remember?"

She didn't answer, not that he would know if she had or not.

"I read it. Are you surprised – no don't answer that. You're probably just surprised that I can read, am I right?" He laughed at his own little joke. Opening the book, he read aloud:

"Love me, sweet, with all thou art, feeling, thinking, seeing. Love me in the lightest part. Love me in full being. Love me with thine open youth, in its frank surrender; with the vowing of thy mouth, with its silence tender. Love me with thine azure eyes, made for earnest granting." Then he added, "Love me."

Closing the book again, he stuffed it back inside an inner pocket of his long duster. Only then did he start to leave. Suddenly, as if he thought of something new to say, he turned back. "Oh, sweetheart, about not liking me, that's fine because that nasty aversion toward me will pass away. You'll grow to like me more and more each time you see me. I know it. I'll come back to talk again soon."

Hermione watched as he walked away, finishing the rest of the poem that he'd started in her head as she continued her watch throughout the night.