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 5 ~ Snape Goes on a Mission

Hermione regained consciousness, aware that she was being held and her face was pressed against something very warm. She was sucking on something and her mouth was filled with warm bitterness. She swallowed, choked and nearly gagged as she desperately pulled away from whatever she was lying against.

She fell back on her hands and looked up at Liath, who was back to human form. He was bare-chested and the area around his right nipple was wet. He looked down on her soberly, his strangely colored eyes shifting from blue, to green, to hazel to brown in his otherwise handsome face. He stood up.

“You’ve awakened. Good,” the demon said.

Hermione gagged again.

”Were you—you breastfeeding me?” she choked.

”You needed the nourishment to survive,” he said, pulling the beige tunic over his head, then putting on his vest.

”That’s disgusting,” Hermione spat, wiping at her mouth.

”I disagree. I found it quite pleasurable,” Liath replied.

Hermione looked at her surroundings. They were inside a large cave, spluttering torches on the wall. There were no furnishings she could see.

”Welcome home. This is where you will reside with me for the next five years,” Liath said, walking into an area of darkness. Hermione could hear clanking and tinkling and her eyes widened as the demon exited the dark area with a whip, his eyes glittering. He walked up to her, looking down.

“There will be no kindness, no mercy, no relief. Your hatred will be fanned for me, and for the world. Your soul cannot start to mend, and your attachment to me will be unhealthy, wrong. When your powers manifest, they will be born from the fires within you, born of exquisite torment, like that of all the damned. If I instruct you properly, you will hate me with all the malice that you hate your enemies.”

Something hit the ground next to Hermione.

”Pick it up,” Liath hissed at her, letting the whip uncoil, his eyes becoming a hellish red.

Hermione felt about, not taking her eyes off the whip wielding demon. She felt something thin and long and grabbed it, staring at the object in disbelief.

”My wand,” she breathed.

“Yes. I retrieved it from some hospital in your world. You are a very convenient student in that I won’t have to waste precious moments keeping you attached to your mortal coil after your tortures. You will be able to heal yourself.”

Hermione looked up at him.

”Heal myself?” she asked him, her brow wrinkled.

”Yes, heal yourself,” Liath hissed, turning into his demonic form and putting the lash to work.

For the next five years, Hermione went through indescribable pain and torture under the demon, being tried by fire, water, air and earth. Stumbling naked through the elements, suffering great heat, and freezing winds. She was manacled to walls for days, pelted by stones, struck with clubs. She was beaten daily and fed at Liath’s breast for two years before she was weaned and able to fend for herself. The demon never showed her the least kindness for the sake of her soul. He did fan the hatred, lecturing her on the cruelty of her enemies, never letting her forget their crimes against her, even showing her the ambush and how Harry and Ron died, but not revealing their killers, the faces shadowed. But she heard the gloating and the laughter, saw how the corpses were kicked about and urinated on.

Hermione's hatred knew no end. She lived and breathed it. It manifested in her dreams. She was only allowed to use her wand to heal her wounds, cuts and bruises. She was not allowed to use magic to make herself comfortable beyond that. She could not use it to light fires or make water. Her cornucopia was destroyed by Liath. If she wanted food she had to ask him to suckle her or go out on her own and kill something with her growing powers. She was forced to eat her kills raw until she could create fire from within.

Eventually, she was able to create fire, many different types of fire. Especially Hell-fire, which was quite versatile as it obeyed her commands and could be whatever temperature she desired, even freezing. Once she learned to aim properly, she could cook an animal where it stood provided she hit it. It was excellent practice. For water, she pounded wide bowls out of stone and set them out at night along the mountain where the mists were heaviest. In the morning hours she would painstakingly collect the small puddles that formed inside the bowls and carefully poured them into an animal skin pouch she made with her own hands, and sip on it throughout the day. It was a hard life, a terrible life for the most part, but she thrived as much as anyone could thrive under such circumstances. Not once did she think of leaving. She had something to do.

Finally, after five years of harsh living, torment and instruction, Liath Greyman and Hermione Granger went their separate ways, Hermione seeking out the Dark Lord, and Liath once again free to roam the earth and make himself mortal.

The demon thought a few years of service in a monastery or church would speed up the process very nicely.


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Snape blinked at Hermione.

”You—you engaged a demon, my Lady?” he said in disbelief.

Hermione scowled at him.

”I thought I told you to call me, Hermione,” she snarled.

”Hermione,” Snape said quickly. Hermione’s eyes had reddened frightfully while she told the story of her years with Liath. They still were filled with that unholy light.

”Yes, I did, or I wouldn’t have said it,” Hermione hissed at him, then pulled out a parchment from her robes pocket and handed it to Snape.

”You are to take this to the Ministry immediately and deliver it directly to the Minister of Magic. It is a letter stating my demands as the Dark Lady, and contains details of what my reign over the Death Eaters will consist of. They are under my rule, and I will serve as judge, jury and punisher over them. The Minister and Council must agree to my terms. They are not unreasonable considering my position and how Voldemort was concerning his legions. Since some of the officials paid him tribute, the Dark Lord had friends or subjects in the Ministry. So, I am hoping that they will agree to this and continue to send their tributes. The only thing that has changed under my rule is there will be no more Death Eater attacks on the public. They are all still my servants and will continue to be until I say otherwise.”

Snape turned over the letter in his pale hands curiously.

Hermione’s eyes cut toward him, cooling somewhat.

”Don’t open that letter, professor. It is meant only for the Minister of Magic. If you do, it will be unfortunate, and your demise quite the tragedy,” she said with a small smirk.

Snape nodded, then studied the witch.

”They will want to know why you haven’t appeared yourself,” Snape said. “The Minister will not like an underling addressing him.”

Hermione looked thoughtful, then said, “Hold out your hand, palm down.”

Snape did so.

”This is going to hurt a bit,” the witch breathed, pointed a finger at Snape's hand.

A stream of light issued from the tip, wrapping around the wizard’s ring finger. Snape grimaced as white hot heat seared his hand and a ring formed. He could smell the burned flesh as the pain suddenly vanished. A ring of dark gold with a black stone with the letters HG etched in it rested on his hand. Closer examination showed images of demons made up the ring. It was an unholy thing, he was sure.

”That is your authority to speak for me, professor. If anyone questions why I do not appear myself, you are to say, my mistress only appears when there are—problems.”

Hermione wasn’t going to risk sitting down and negotiating reasonably, because of the possibility that such proceedings would help her soul grow. This was the same reason she didn’t go to see Dumbledore. Seeing him would definitely cause her to feel some good emotions such as joy, relief, a sense of friendship. Possibly love. Even seeing Hogwarts could inspire fond memories that would swell her heart. All of these things could weaken her, speed up her soul’s healing. As the newly seated Dark Lady over a throng of Death Eaters that would love to see her dead, she couldn’t afford that.

She had to remain strong and dark to keep her powers.

Snape had a feeling this wasn’t going to go smoothly. Politics never did.


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”What? Autonomous rule over wizarding citizens? Never!” Minister Odius Titwilder blustered, his thick jowls quivering and his thick brows drawn together like two impenetrable hedges. His thick lips glistened and he rubbed his hand over his balding scalp in anger.

”Minister, I understand your concern,” Snape said reasonably, “but Voldemort held full sway over the Death Eaters as well. He was judge, jury and executioner. Miss Granger is only asking that since she removed Voldemort from the equation, that she be allowed to preside over those bound to her as she sees fit.”

“No. And how dare she send you to negotiate this situation. Why didn’t she come herself?”

”My Lady says that she only appears when there are problems, Minister,” Snape replied coolly.

”Well, she’s going to have to show up then, because there are definitely problems,” the Minister snapped.

Snape studied the wizard. He didn’t understand how powerful Hermione was, nor how dark.

”Minister, may I be candid with you?” Snape asked.

Furious, the Minister folded his thick arms and nodded.

”Hermione Granger is no ordinary witch. She entered Voldemort’s chambers and killed him like he was little more than a helpless child. She also bested eleven Death Eaters that challenged her coup. At once, sir. There wasn’t even a duel. She just destroyed them, and was well within her rights to do so since they intended to destroy her. For years, the Ministry has attempted to bring Voldemort down, along with the Order of the Phoenix. Miss Granger has removed the problem and is asking not for a reward but to maintain control over the following she has acquired. It is a simple case of to the victor goes the spoils. If you refuse her, you may ignite another war, sir. There are only two hundred Death Eaters at the most, sir, compared to the rest of our population. She is setting forth a plan of reparations to make up for their acts against society, so she isn’t trying to form an army. She’s only asking for the right to mete out judgment against them.”

”No. I am the main Authority in the wizarding world. I will not have one iota of my power taken by a witch who was lucky enough to get the drop on the Dark Lord,” the Minister huffed. “She is to turn over a list of the Death Eaters to me immediately, and they are to be remanded to the custody of the Ministry of Magic.”

Then the Minister’s eyes narrowed as he looked at Snape, who had a bad feeling.

”In fact, you are under arrest, Mr. Snape. You serving as her envoy is proof you, too, are a Death Eater. Now that your dark master is gone, you will be brought to justice as well. Aurors!”

Instantly, the doors to the Minister’s office were flung open and several Aurors strode in, frowning at Snape.

”Take Mr. Snape’s wand and lock him up,” the Minister said.

The Aurors surrounded Snape, who calmly produced his wand. He stood up and looked at the Minister.

”I think you’re going to regret this, Minister. You don’t have any idea who you are dealing with. In some ways, Hermione Granger has the capacity to be worse than Voldemort, and you are pressing her . . . “

”You forget, Mr. Snape, that your supposed Dark Lady is still on the wanted list for her attack on a St. Mungo’s employee and that she was certifiably insane when she escaped the hospital. Do you really believe I would give any power or respect to someone like that? Take him away.”

Snape quietly went with the Aurors.

The Minister relaxed. So, Voldemort was finally dead. That was excellent. Now, he wouldn’t have to keep sending tribute to keep the evil despot at bay. All he needed to do was lock up this crazy witch and gather up the Death Eaters. He’d be hailed as the greatest Minister of Magic in years. Re-election was in the bag.

He took out his pipe, filled it and lit it with the tip of his wand, puffing contentedly.

Yes, things were going to work out just fine.

He summoned an Auror.

The door opened and a red-haired young Auror entered, standing at attention.

”I want you to go to the Daily Prophet and tell the editor to send over his best reporter. I have a statement to make of great importance.”

”Yes, sir,” the Auror said with a bow. He left quickly.


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It took Draco several trips to bring all the food supplies Hermione had ordered to the throne room. He had put everything on his account. Now, dressed only in a leather harness and tight leather trousers that left little to the imagination, he had to put everything away without magic.

Hermione wanted him to see him sweat and that strong, sexy body glisten. She watched him slave from the throne, carrying boxes on his shoulders, his muscles bulging.

”Mmmm,” she intoned as he walked back through one of the doors, his abs glistening under the harness’ crisscross. Draco really was a beautiful example of man flesh. He was scowling too, which only added to the allure. Maybe she’d do him again after she accessed the treasure room and the ledger.

Then, Hermione thought of something.

”House elves!” she cried.

Immediately five House Elves appeared. They were scarred and trembling, looking down at the floor. Hermione’s rested her eyes on them for a moment, then quickly flicked her wand five times, a small shirt appearing before each of them.

”Get out of my sight!” she hissed.

The elves couldn’t believe it. She’d given them clothes. She’d freed them. She was—good. They could serve a good mistress.

”We will serves you!” one trembling elf squeaked, stepping forward and looking up at her hopefully.

Hermione blasted the creature to bits and the others grabbed their shirts and winked away forever.

Draco stared at her. He remembered when Hermione had fought for House Elf rights. She had made some kind of stupid club or something. SPAT, SPEW—he couldn’t remember the name. But now, she just kills an elf for no other reason than it was willing to serve her? This certainly wasn’t the witch he remembered.

Now Hermione brooded on the throne. She had to do it. She felt pity the moment she saw the bent, beaten creatures. It was clear they had been badly mistreated under Voldemort’s reign. If they had remained, she would be driven to be kind to them. She couldn’t be kind. And when the elf had said he’d serve her, she felt moved, so killed it to stop any growth of her soul and frighten the others away. She felt no remorse. It had to be done.

Her eyes shifted to Draco, who was looking at the splattered bits of elf.

”Get back to work, Draco,” she hissed at him.

Draco did so, as Hermione’s eyes rested on the remains of the elf, the torn head right at the bottom of her throne, the bulbous eyes dull in death, looking up at her as if to ask “Why?”

She let it remain there, basking in the evil and horror of her act.

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A/N: Wow, that was really cruel. :( Oh no, Snape’s been arrested and Hermione is deemed a criminal still. I don’t think any good is going to come out of this situation. Nope, not a bit. Thanks for reading.

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