The Burning Pen

A New Beginning
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.

CHAPTER 16

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters belong to JKR. All situations are mine. No $$$ is being made from this fanfic.
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Chapter 16 ~ Harry Learns the Truth

Professor Snape didn’t contact Hermione for the rest of the week. On Friday evening, she left for the Burrow with two contrived stories, one for Molly and one for her children. Hermione didn’t make it a habit of lying to her children, but in this case she felt it would be best to withhold the truth.

“Oversized Mandrakes?” Molly said incredulously, “They’re dangerous enough when they’re normal-sized Hermione. What in the world do they need those for?”

”A better yield of ingredients,” Hermione said, forcing her eyes not to shift.

Hermione told Molly she had suddenly been informed that workmen would be delivering and planting oversized Mandrakes and that their screams would be deafening and it would be best that the children be removed from the premises to avoid any accidents.

“I should say so,” Molly agreed, looking fondly at Rose and Hugo who both wore straight faces, “My word. Oversized Mandrakes.”

Molly fussed and clucked over Hermione for a couple of hours then went off to take care of some housework, leaving the witch alone with her children.

”Wow, mum. You sure know how to tell a lie,” Hugo said, impressed.

Hermione scowled at him.

”That’s not a good talent, Hugo. It’s not a lie, just a fudging of the facts. Your grandmother would have conniptions if she knew you fell off that mountain. More than likely it would bring up your father and we all know that she still cries a lot whenever she thinks of him. So it wasn’t as much a lie, as a kindness,” Hermione said, rationalizing her untruth.

Hugo nodded. Grandmum did cry a lot over both his dad and his uncle Fred, who had died years before he was even born. He hated to see her cry.

”So mum, did you find out who saved Hugo?” Rose asked her anxiously.

Hermione got ready for the second big lie of the night.

”Yes I did. It was Mr. Vespers, the site supervisor. He patrols the grounds disillusioned and saw Hugo climbing the mountain. He utilized a magic carpet and was on his way to get you when you fell. That’s how he was there to catch you,” Hermione said.

Hugo and Rose looked at each other. They knew Mr. Vespers was a wizard who came to oversee things at the site. It made sense he would keep an eye on things. And the magic carpet made a lot of sense too, especially if he were standing on it when he caught Hugo.

“However, neither of you can come back to the site this summer. You’re going to have to spend the rest of vacation here at the Burrow,” Hermione said.

This seemed a bit mean, but she really wanted to work with Professor Snape and find out more about his life after Voldemort in the process. The wizard would never show if the children were on the premises. Maybe by next summer he will have come out of the broom closet. The children would be fine with Molly and Hermione could see them on the weekends.

The children didn’t even question this, figuring they were banned because of Rose breaking the ward around the mountainside and Hugo almost killing himself. It was a bummer, but they’d manage. It could have been worse. They could have been banned from the worksite for good.

Hermione spent the rest of the day alternating between laughing and screaming at Rose and Hugo as they showed her their Quidditch skills, Rose plunging toward earth at an insane speed and catching the Quaffle mere inches from the ground, her feet dragging across the dirt as she did so. Hugo even had the nerve to show her how good he could balance, standing on his broomstick and catching the Quaffle.

Hermione was a nervous wreck by dinner, Molly having to give her a calming potion as Hugo and Rose tried to reassure her they were not going to kill themselves on the Quidditch pitch. Like most youngsters, they didn’t even associate their mother’s fears with Ron’s death. He had fallen after all, and they were purposely flying and had control of their brooms the entire time.

They had a wonderful supper and Hermione announced she was going to spend Saturday at Harry’s house, then come back Sunday. Rose and Hugo wanted to go, but Hermione told them she had things to discuss with Harry and she’d prefer it if they’d wait to go over until Sunday. They sullenly agreed.

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Harry and Hermione sat outside on the small patio behind Harry’s house, a bottle of firewhiskey on the table. Harry had been a bit surprised Hermione suggested he bring a bottle out. She really didn’t drink.

Then she said only one glass would be needed.

”This is for me?” he asked her.

Hermione nodded, looking sober and excited at the same time. Ginny had gone over to the Burrow with the kids after Hermione told her how Hugo and Rose wanted to come. Plus the redheaded witch could see Hermione was anxious to talk to Harry privately. Ginny had an understanding about this. Hermione and Harry were friends for a long time and had a special relationship that she respected, although she liked Hermione very much.

Now witch and wizard sat across from each other at the wooden picnic table, Harry looking a bit worried as Hermione stared at him breathlessly. She looked as if she were going to explode and reminded him of how she was at Hogwarts when she knew something he didn’t, but should.

“Harry,” she began, “I have something to tell you. Something big. Bigger than anything else that’s occurred since Voldemort’s death. I need you to be calm and not overreact. Can you do that?”

Harry frowned at her.

”How can I promise you I won’t overreact if I don’t know what you’re going to tell me, Hermione?” he asked her, “I can’t see into the future.”

Hermione looked at him thoughtfully.

”Okay,” she said, “Let’s try this then. I want you to take a wizarding oath swearing you won’t tell anyone else what I am going to tell you until I say it’s all right for you to reveal it. It might be soon, or it might be years from now, or it might never be revealed at all.”

Harry stared at her.

“Hermione, what are you going to tell me?” he asked her.

Hermione scowled.

“Harry, I can’t tell you that until you take the oath. It’s important. Now promise you won’t reveal the information I’m about to tell you to anyone until I tell you it’s all right to do,” she urged him.

Harry thought he really was going to need a shot of firewhiskey.

”Fine. I swear I will not reveal what you tell me until you say it is all right to do it,” he said, invoking a Wizard’s Oath.

Hermione felt the magic swirl around her and nodded, her face taking on a hungry look.

”Now you know I work for Sparse Venues, right?” she said to him.

Harry nodded.

“All day, every day,” he responded.

”And you know Sparse Venues creates and patents potions, right?” the witch continued.

“Yes,” Harry said in a slightly irritated voice. Hermione made him take an oath for a history of her job?

“Did you know the first item they patented was a specialized Bezoar stone, one with healing and blood replenishing powers?” she asked him excitedly, “And they did it eighteen years ago?”

Now Harry scowled.

“No, I didn’t know that, Hermione. Why in the world would I know that? I didn’t even know what Sparse Venues was until you got a job there. Now, what’s this all about? Stop drawing it out,” he said in exasperation.

Hermione acted as if she didn’t hear him.

“And I told you about Sean Vespers, the site supervisor who oversees everything didn’t I?” she asked him, reaching into her pocket and pulling out a pen and a piece of parchment.

”Yes! Yes!” Harry said, feeling like taking a drink now because Hermione was pissing him off. He watched as Hermione got up, walked around the table and sat down next to him, writing the words “Sparse Venues” and “Sean U. Vespers” on the parchment.

“Now what are you doing?” he asked her.

”You know what anagrams are, don’t you Harry?” Hermione pressed, “Words that are turned around to spell something else.”

”Now you’re going to give me lessons on anagrams? I swear, Hermione…you have to be the most aggravating…” the wizard declared, then he faltered as Hermione pulled out her wand and pointed it at the words she’d written down.

”Ostendo Sum Lacuna,” Hermione breathed.

Harry watched as the letters on the parchment began to move, changing position and realigning themselves. He blinked down at them for a moment, then looked at Hermione wide-eyed.

“A specialized Bezoar stone …” he breathed, still blinking, his face going ashen as he stared at the name repeated twice on the parchment. Then he slowly began to shake his head.

“No . . . no, it can’t be, Hermione,” he said in a low voice, “It can’t possibly be true . . .”

”It is true, Harry. I’ve seen him. Talked to him. Even had tea and cakes with him. He’s alive, Harry. Professor Snape is alive. I work for him. Sparse Venues is his business,” Hermione said, her eyes glistening.

For a moment, it seemed as if the entire world suddenly warped and bent around Harry. This couldn’t be real. This couldn’t be true. But that was Snape’s name, not once, but twice . . . and Hermione had seen him, been with him. She wouldn’t lie about that. There was no reason to lie.

He looked at Hermione with wild eyes.

“I have to go see him,” Harry said, “I need to talk to him . . . to thank him . . . to find out why . . .”

Hermione shook her head sadly.

”He doesn’t want to see you Harry. He said everything that could have passed between you two has already passed. I told him you’d respect his wishes. Don’t make me into a liar, Harry,” Hermione said to him softly.

”But he’s alive. Everyone should know this . . . he’s a hero, Hermione. He deserves to be recognized,” Harry said to her, “At least that.”

Hermione shook her head again.

”He doesn’t see himself as a hero, Harry. He blames himself for Voldemort’s rise to power and your mother’s death. He says all he did was try to clean up his mess and avenge your mother for his own reasons. He thinks he should be in Azkaban or worse,” the witch said.

Harry blinked at Hermione. He knew how the Professor felt. He had felt like that too at one time, responsible for the deaths of others.

”He never got closure, Hermione,” Harry said softly, “He did everything he could do, but he’s still full of guilt. There was so much left unsaid …”

Hermione stared at Harry.

”Yes, that could be it, Harry. But there’s nothing anyone can do about that. That’s something inside of him. If he can’t let it go, it’s going to be with him all his life,” Hermione said.

Harry looked at Hermione.

”Even though he’s free, Hermione . . . he’ll never really be free, not with that hanging over his head,” Harry said, “I know why he doesn’t want to see me. It’s my eyes. I have my mother’s eyes and he can’t bear to see them looking at him.”

“I think it’s a little more than that Harry. You bring everything back. Everything. Not just your mother, but your father too. You look like your father, Harry and Snape hated him. Hated him because he targeted him and hated him because he married your mother. That hate is part of him now. More than likely, he’s going to die with it,” Hermione said softly.

”What is he going to do, Hermione, now that he knows you know who he is?” Harry asked her.

Hermione shrugged.

“I don’t know. But he’s agreed to talk to me about the project. Maybe I can draw him out a little. He’s been alone a long time and he really seemed to enjoy having company when we talked. It could be he’ll just stay hidden. I promised I wouldn’t reveal him to anyone but you. You had a right to know he’s still alive,” she said.

Harry fell silent for a few minutes.

”I have to do something,” the wizard said, “Something to help him come back. Something to help him find peace.”

Hermione looked at Harry as if he were insane.

“Harry, if Professor Snape was living in the muggle world, it would take years of therapy to cure what’s wrong with him. It’s too ingrained, Harry. There’s nothing you can do to help him. He doesn’t even want to see you,” she said to her friend, “Harry, I know you feel you owe him, but . . . and I hate to say it . . . it’s hopeless.”

Harry looked at her with narrowed eyes.

”Years ago, I thought my fight against Voldemort was hopeless, Hermione. I really didn’t believe I could ever beat him. Everyone else did, but I didn’t. Still I didn’t give up and did what I had to do, with your help and the help of others. I couldn’t have done any of it if no one believed in me when I didn’t believe in myself. Professor Snape can find peace Hermione. He doesn’t believe it, you don’t believe it, but I believe it. I really do, and I’m going to find a way to help him. It’s the least I can do,” Harry said determinedly.

“It’s a noble sentiment, Harry . . .” Hermione began.

“No. No it’s more than a sentiment, Hermione. I’m determined to find a way to make things better for him, even if I never lay eyes on him again. I swear it!”

For the second time that day, Hermione felt the swirl of magic that accompanied a Wizarding Oath. She looked at Harry with wide eyes.

”Oh, Harry,” she said despairingly.

Now he was bound to find a way to help Snape, a wizard who didn’t want help, particularly help from Lily Potter’s son. Gods, he had taken an oath that was impossible to fulfill. How would that affect him?

“It’s all right, Hermione,” Harry said, “I’m going to find a way to do this and do it soon. I know it.”

He opened the bottle of firewhiskey and poured himself a shot. With Hermione watching, he threw it back and rasped.

”I’ve just got to loosen up my mind a bit. I’ll come up with something,” he said with a small smile.

”You’d better or that oath is going to give you hell,” Hermione breathed, very distressed.

She was going to have to tell Snape about it. Most likely the wizard was going to blow a torch. She could almost hear him ranting now.

”I told you that he wouldn’t leave me alone once he knew I was alive! An Oath? Good gods. I’m going to have to relocate!”

Hermione sighed.

Maybe she should have listened to Snape.

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Four weeks passed without Hermione seeing hide or hair of the Professor.  The children returned to Hogwarts to began a new school year.  Harry was having a very uncomfortable time wrestling with his oath to help the Potions master move past his guilt and pain.  He didn't know what to do and spent many restless nights tossing and turning.

Snape was alive. Alive but not living. Alive and full of guilt after all he’d done. It just wasn’t fair. It wasn’t right. Yes, he made mistakes but everyone did. Not everyone spent their entire lives trying to correct those mistakes. Not everyone constantly risked their lives and suffered torture after torture in an attempt to make things right. And not everyone succeeded.

Snape did. And he deserved some happiness, or at least some freedom from the ghosts of his past. The past was dead and buried.

Suddenly, Harry sat up in bed, his eyes wild. Ginny stirred next to him as he reached over to the nightstand and picked up his glasses, putting them on and swinging his legs over the side of the bed. It had to be about three in the morning. Ginny’s eyes fluttered open.

“Harry? Harry, what are you doing?” she asked him sleepily as the wizard took off his pajama bottoms and began to dress.

”I need to go out,” he said.

Ginny sat up on her elbows now, alarmed.  Her husband hadn't been sleeping well since the day he spent talking with Hermione. He wouldn’t tell her what he and Hermione discussed but it was clear to his wife that his near sleepless nights and restlessness had something to do with that discussion.

“Harry, come back to bed. You don’t have anywhere to go this time of night,” she said to him.

Harry buttoned up his robes, sat down on the bed and pulled on his socks, then his trainers. He looked at Ginny. She noticed his eyes were clear, very clear.

“Believe me, Ginny, I do have someplace to go. I’ve got to get something. Something very important,” he said to his wife, “I’ll be back in a few hours.”

”But Harry,” Ginny began.

Harry leaned over the bed and kissed her, silencing her protests.

”I’ll be back, Ginny. Go back to sleep,” he said, grabbing his wand off the nightstand and striding from the bedroom with a determined walk.

Ginny looked after him and sighed. Well, at least he didn’t seem drunk. He’d be all right.

She lay back down, and heard the sound of apparition.

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Harry stood outside the gates of Hogwarts, his belly tight as he considered what he was about to do. He knew the spell to enter the grounds and unlocked the gate, entering then warding it back securely.

As he walked across the grounds, memories of the night he walked toward what he believed would be his death flooded back to him. The cold fear, the sensation of his heart beating, the blood flowing through his veins, how sweet every breath felt as he breathed in, thinking each breath brought him closer to his death.

But there had been some comfort, some help during those moments. He stopped at the edge of the Forbidden forest.

It had been more than twenty years since he had stood at this part of the Forbidden forest. More than two decades since he walked toward Voldemort and death. The trees were larger but there wasn’t much difference in the area. Still, after twenty years it would be difficult to locate what he was looking for even in daylight. What hope did he have of finding such a small thing after so long?

“I am about to die,” he had breathed, and then . . . then it happened.

Now Harry stood rooted to the spot, the memories returning. After that, he hadn’t cared what happened to it. Over the years it could have been buried in the soil, kicked away by visiting students, carried off by some animal for one purpose or another. Anything

But there was always hope. Always the slightest chance . . .

Harry continued on, imagining himself following Yaxley and Dolohov once again, into that clearing, into that dark presence . . . into the arms of death itself, alone again.

He stopped and looked about the clearing, images of Voldemort’s victorious face flashing before him, surrounded by Death Eaters made even more unearthly in the flickering firelight. Harry shook his head. That part of his life was over. He became the Master of Death that night and by doing such, the true victor. It was here he had let it go. Here where he let everything go . . .

Taking a deep breath, Harry pulled his wand from his pocket and pointed it randomly at the forest floor. He had to try.

“Accio Resurrection Stone!” he cried.

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A/N: Woo Hoo! Thanks for reading ya’ll.


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