The Burning Pen

Dark Lady
by Ruth Solomon

The story content is adult in nature and can contain graphic sex and violence.  Those under the age of 18 are asked to leave this site immediately.  You are not welcome here.  The author is not responsible for those under-aged who view these works.

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters belong to JKR. All situations are mine. No $$$ is being made from this fanfic.
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Chapter 3 ~ Summoned

Severus Snape was just heading for supper when he felt a pulse from his dark mark. It wasn’t painful, however, just a kind of powerful throb.

Apparently, he was being summoned by Hermione. Technically, he was still her subject and would be as long as he had the mark. At least her summons didn’t invoke great pain like Voldemort’s had.

He turned back toward his office, weaving his way through the Slytherins heading for supper, the students quickly parting so as not to impede him. Impeding Snape could have disastrous results on their free time, accident or not.

The wizard swooped into his office, warded the door and entered his private quarters. He strode to his bedroom, opened a panel hidden in the stone wall and pulled out his Death Eater robes and half skull mask. He didn’t know if Hermione would be as formal as Voldemort. He wasn’t taking any chances.

Once he was properly suited up, he answered the summons and was taken to the Dark Lady’s presence. He appeared before the throne, rising from a swirl of black smoke. He immediately dropped to one knee, his head bowed.

”My lady,” he said softly.

Hermione looked down at the wizard.

”Stand up, professor and take off that ridiculous mask. You do not have to kneel in my presence or wear that horrible thing,” she told him. “That’s for the formerly loyal followers of Voldemort, not you. You were never his man.”

Snape straightened, lowered his hood, removed his mask and stuck it in his pocket. His dark eyes rested on the witch.

”Thank you, my lady,” he said.

Hermione thought he still had the sexiest voice she’d ever heard. Her eyes flicked over him thoughtfully as the pale wizard stood there. His hair was still lank, his nose still hooked and enormous, but the wizard was appealing on a number of levels. She sat in silence, studying him for several minutes. Then she spoke.

”You do realize, professor, that although you will most likely receive preferential treatment from me, you are still my servant,” she said, her voice a bit harsh.

”Yes, my lady,” Snape replied.

”Good. I wanted to be sure that we understood each other. Did you give my message to the Headmaster?” she asked him.

”Yes, my lady. He was—stunned,” Snape replied.

Hermione gave a little unpleasant laugh.

”I imagine he was. I suppose you are to spy on me now, aren’t you, professor?”

Snape’s eyes widened, and Hermione’s lips quirked. The wizard knew better than to lie, but maybe he could soften it a little.

”He has asked me to keep an eye out, my lady,” he admitted.

”Keep an eye out?” Hermione said, then she laughed outright. “That’s a very nice way of saying ‘spy,’ professor. But he isn’t dealing with Voldemort. I know how he operates, and I know what purpose you served in the ranks. I didn’t think he would let you resign. I am a new power. No doubt he wants to know whether I am good or at least less evil than Voldemort. What do you think, professor? Am I good, or evil?”

”I don’t have enough information to make a decision like that, my lady. There are gray areas concerning good and evil, and most of us fall into that shaded place when it comes to our motives. I am certainly no authority on good although I have seen much evil. I cannot in good conscience give you an answer to that.”

Hermione twirled her wand.

”A fair answer, professor. We all must gather our facts, which is why I have summoned you here. I need a service from you,” she said, rising from her throne and descending the stairs. Snape stood stiffly as she approached him. Hermione was about five foot six. He had a few inches on her.

She stopped in front of him.

“Lean down, professor,” she said softly.

Snape did as she asked, and watched as she lifted her hand, then slowly caressed his hooked nose.

”I’ve always wanted to do that,” she breathed, a crooked smile appearing on her face as he quirked an eyebrow at her. Then she ran her fingers through his lank black hair. She removed them, examining her digits thoughtfully.

”Not a bit of grease,” she remarked. “Your hair is just very fine. I’ve always wanted to touch it as well. Thank you for slaking my curiosity. You may stand tall again.

Snape stood up straight, and Hermione walked around him consideringly.

”I imagine you are wondering what service I wish from you,” she said to him as she halted in front of him again.

”Yes, I am curious, my lady,” Snape responded.

Hermione gave him a rather sexy smile, which surprised the wizard, although he didn’t outwardly react. She turned and walked back up the stairs and settled in her throne.

”I have a few plans for you, professor, but for right now, I need your services as an Advisor. Draco has his talents, but I prefer the point of view from someone who was never a follower of Voldemort. Someone I think I could trust. I believe, despite your having to ‘keep an eye out,’ I can trust you to advise me and familiarize me with the way Voldemort ran his operation. I was thinking of torturing information out of my followers, and to be honest, that isn’t completely off the table, but it would be less time consuming if I could simply have my questions answered. I also need someone to represent me, be my right hand man when dealing with Dumbledore, the Ministry and the public in general. I would like you to be that person, professor. You do accept, don’t you?”

By the way Hermione’s eyes were glittering, Snape knew she really wasn’t asking him a question. She had made it clear he was her servant. She didn’t expect a ‘no.’

”I’d be honored to be of service, my lady.”

”You’re a very wise wizard, professor. Now, I have a few questions to ask you,” Hermione said, flicking her wand so a comfortable armchair appeared by the wizard.

“Sit”

Snape sat down, his eyes on the witch curiously. She certainly had the air of a queen about her. He sort of liked it. Better than the simpering chit she used to be, brilliant as she was.

“Now, I need to know, does Voldemort have any assets?” she asked him.

Snape nodded.

”He has a treasure room on the premises. But it is guarded by very deadly wards. You cannot even enter the corridor without dying. Only Peter could pass through it.”

Hermione snorted.

”That’s not a problem for me, professor. That’s good. Now, how does he gather his treasure?”

”He gets tribute from the Death Eaters each month, as well as some Ministry officials,” Snape said.

Hermione’s eyebrows rose.

”Who are the officials?” she asked.

”Their names are in a charmed ledger kept in the treasure chamber. Peter handled all of the details,” Snape informed her. “Again, to touch that ledger—“

”Means death. Again, I’m not concerned about that, professor. My powers will protect me, believe me. Not even the Killing curse can affect me as I am now.”

Snape looked skeptical. He couldn’t help it.

”You look as if you don’t believe me, professor,” Hermione growled at him.

”Forgive me, my lady, but as you know I am a product of my surroundings. I have always been taught there is no defense against the Killing curse.”

Hermione gave him a very predatory smile that rather chilled him, it was so feral.

”No earthly defense,” she said, accentuating the word ‘earthly.’

She rose from her throne again, walked down the stairs and past Snape. When she was about twenty feet away she turned to him, her arms at her side.

”Cast the Kedavra spell on me, professor. It is not a request,” she said darkly.

Snape rose from his chair, not bothering to question her or hesitate. If she died, it would be her own fault and he’d be free of his service both to her and Dumbledore. She was interesting, but his world wouldn’t be affected by her absence. He took out his wand and focused his intent, staring at the witch.

”Avada Kedavra!” he roared, casting the green light at her.

Although Hermione’s hair and robes whipped around her as she was bathed in the dread light, she didn’t stumble and didn’t fall. Snape held the curse on her a full thirty seconds before he stopped, exhausted.

Hermione looked at the panting wizard, her eyes slightly narrowed.

”Well, I can’t say you didn’t try,” she said to him as she walked past him again, up the stairs and back to her throne of bones. She sat down. “I imagine you are convinced.”

Snape wasn’t just convinced, he was amazed. She should have died several times over with the amount of intent he had combined with the length of the spell.

”How—how did you . . .”

Hermione gave him a small smile.

”I have a little bit more than a half-soul, professor, which means I have a half life. The curse can only take a person’s entire life. A loophole of sorts, at least until my soul regrows completely. So, although surviving the Killing curse is a wonderful ability, it is a temporary one. Don’t worry, I am not invincible for good. But I have other protective abilities that don’t even require invocation. Killing me is extremely difficult because technically, I have the physical nature of a demon until I’m fully restored.”

”Half a soul? How can that be?” Snape asked her, returning to the armchair.

”Perhaps I will tell you, professor, but first, I have another question. Do you know the identities of the Death Eaters who killed Harry and Ron?”

Snape paled. Hermione saw his reluctance.

”Professor, you have undergone torture under the Dark Lord and it was terrible. As much as I like and respect you and wish you no harm, I really need to know this. I must avenge the death of my friends and release the hatred inside me. Please, tell me who they are. I don’t want to have to resort to torturing you for the information. They are murderers, professor, and deserve punishment. Now, tell me.”

”Amycus and Alecto Carrow, Bellatrix LeStrange, Antonin Dolohov and Walden Macnair,” Snape said quietly.

Hermione didn’t say anything at first, her face contorting.

”Dolohov nearly killed me in the Department of Mysteries,” she growled, her eyes reddening frightfully.

Snape watched the transformation. For a moment, she looked less than human, but then her eyes fell on him and her rage seemed to die down.

”Thank you for telling me, professor,” she said with a controlled voice. “I’ll deal with them shortly. Now, you’re curious as to how I received such power, I imagine?”

Snape nodded.

”Well, Draco shouldn’t be back for a while. I sent him to get food supplies. This place has no food at all. He’s paying for all of it, of course. I think we have time. So settle in and listen, professor. Becoming who I am was no cakewalk, believe me.”

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After the deaths of Harry and Ron, Hermione went mad from grief and guilt. She was supposed to have met them and gone to the Quidditch match, but Hermione skived off on them and didn’t show. When they were ambushed, she hadn’t been there to help them. She might have been able to save them, or help turn the battle to their favor. It was as if she’d helped murder them and there was no solace for her.

She ran through the streets of Hogsmeade and Wizarding London at first, screaming at the top of her lungs for the murderers to show themselves, to fight her, to try and kill her. She was heard too, but Voldemort gave orders that no one engage her and let her go mad with rage and guilt. He delighted in her misery and believed it to be a better punishment than the peace of death. After about two days of ranting and raving, Hermione was forcibly taken to St. Mungo’s for treatment, but nothing seemed to help the witch. It was as if all she knew was hatred and rage.

”Kill them all!” she’d screech at the top of her voice, her cries echoing through the hospital. “Kill every bloody Death Eater and their entire families! Kill them! It’s the only way we’ll have peace!”

Eventually they put her in the psychiatric ward, feeding her potions to keep her subdued. But she’d mutter her hatred anyway. One day, her room was entered, the door strangely unwarded. They found a nearly naked medi-witch on the floor with a huge bump on her head, a tray of food scattered on the floor and Hermione—gone.

Because of the attack, and Hermione’s state, the Ministry put out a wizarding world wide manhunt for her. Aurors sought her everywhere, even her parent’s home, but they couldn’t find her.

Hermione hadn’t headed for London. Instead, she headed for the Highlands—the mountains. She had stolen a cornucopia from a wizarding food shop, some clothing from a line and took off. It had been a terrible journey, but she was still mad and had the strength of a person no longer connected to the world by anything but her hatred. She had no wand either, and that was a good thing. In her state, she may have injured or killed many people.

She found herself in the Rothiemurchus Forest, at the foothills of Ben MacDhui, Scotland’s second highest mountain peak. She began to climb, driven. Without ropes, without spikes and without a thought for her life, the little witch climbed, clinging to stones and outcrops where necessary, heading for gods knew where. Maybe to throw herself off the top in despair.

“And that’s when I met him. He was sitting on a rock, playing a flute as if he were waiting for me,” Hermione said in a hollow voice. She was staring into space.

”You met who?” Snape asked her, enthralled.

Hermione turned to look at him, her eyes just as hollow as her voice. Like this, she looked very much like her old self—vulnerable.

”Him. Liath Greyman,” she answered softly. “My master.”

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A/N: Just a little more for Dark Lady. I’m blending a bit of Scottish folklore into the story. It will vary greatly from the true myth because I’m going to put my own twist to it, but you can google “The Grey Man of Ben MacDhui” for more info. Thanks for reading.

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