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 27

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters belong to JKR. All situations are mine. No $$$ is being made from this fanfic.
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Chapter 27 ~ A New Level

Gronin scowled at Rod when he showed up at the Thestral stables dressed in nice robes and shoes.

”Not dressed for work,” the caretaker said to him, “Don’t think you’re going to skive off like you did last week. You’ve got a job to do ‘round here.”

”I’m dressed fine,” Rod said, walking up to the stables and entering, Gronin shaking his head.

Rod was alone. He only brought Tom with him once here. The spirit had gone on and on about how unsuitable it was for him to do such grunt work, but Rod was used to it and it was how he stayed at Hogwarts. Rather than listen to Tom’s comments, he returned him to the other side, which infuriated the spirit.

Rod entered the stable and looked at the empty stalls. He knew the Thestrals were there, but he never actually saw them, because he had never seen anyone die. He did see their dropping however, wet, pungent and plentiful. He pulled out his wand and set about using magic to clean the area. It certainly was more pleasant and efficient than using a shovel. Using a water spell, he carefully rinsed the area out and then using another spell, dried the area. It took him about forty-five minutes to do a job that usually took him three hours. He walked out of the stable. Gronin, who was cutting up raw meat to feed to the Thestrals, looked up at Rod.

”Where do you think you’re going?” he growled at the boy.

”I’ve finished,” Rod said to the caretaker, who dropped the piece of meat he was holding in one bloody hand and stalked into the stable, squinting as he looked about. The area was completely spotless, the air fresh. Usually, no matter how good a job Rod did, there was still some scent of dung.

Gronin spun on him.

“How’d you do this?” the wizard demanded.

”I used magic,” Rod replied, “I got a working wand.”

Gronin eyed him. A new wand eh?

”Well, new wand or not you’ve got other work to do. The hedges need trimming on the south side of the castle. Today,” the caretaker groused, a bit angry that Rod didn’t take much time to complete his chores.

“I’ll do it now,” Rod said amicably, strolling off as the wizard frowned after him.

A new wand. How’d he get a new wand?

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After finishing the hedges, Rod took out the stone and turned it once, Tom appearing, frowning.

”Done with your ‘work?’” the spirit said bad-temperedly.

”Yes. I did it fast too. Having a good wand makes it a lot easier,” Rod replied, walking up the stairs to the castle’s double doors and pulling it open, entering.

”It doesn’t make it anymore dignified. You’re a Slytherin after all. You’re not supposed to do menial labor,” Voldemort hissed at him as he just passed through the doors as they fell back.

”I do what I have to do to stay here, Tom. It’s not so bad really, I’m used to it,” Rod said as they walked up the dungeon corridor.

”Are you used to being called a ‘shit-shoveler” too?” Tom asked him with an ugly sneer.

Rod didn’t answer him. Of course he didn’t like it, but it was what he did.

When Rod entered the Slytherin Common Room, he was greeted by several smiling Slytherin witches.

”Hi Rod,” they sang out as the male Slytherins looked up scowling.

Rod stopped and blinked at them, shocked. Girls never paid attention to him.

”Er … hi?” he said back.

Several of the girls grinned at him.

Slytherin witches always gravitated to wizards deemed powerful, and Rod had inadvertently fallen into that elite group.

”Looks like someone’s going to get laid soon,” Tom said in his ear, a lascivious grin on his face as he looked at the smiling witches.

Rod looked even more shocked and started walking quickly toward his room. Rod liked witches of course, but didn’t even dare think about touching one, much less shagging one.

“I don’t see why you’re all mooning over that loser. So what he can block spells. He’s still a bloody shit-shoveler,” a male voice said.

Rod slowed at the comment.

Freud Backerbone, a seventh year Slytherin with black hair, brown-eyes who wore a perpetual scowl stood up and walked toward Rod, who turned around.

“He has no bloodline, no family, no ties to anything remotely important. He’s not a proper Slytherin and will never be, I don’t care how good he is with a wand,” Freud continued, his eyes glittering. “He’s a loser and will always be a loser.”

”Hex him!” Tom hissed at Rod, who had his hand on his wand in his pocket, “Don’t let him talk about you that way in front of the girls!”

Freud strode up to Rod and stared at him disdainfully as the witches and wizards in the Common Room watched them, their eyes narrowed. The brown-eyed wizard poked Rod in the chest pointedly.

”You know you’re a loser, don’t you Odd Rod? A wand’s not going to change that. Neither is a new set of robes,” he said, “A shit-shoveling, grounds-crawling, dung-digging loser.”

Rod felt fury rising up in him as he met Freud’s eyes. The wizard stepped back, challenge in his eyes.

”Come on, Rod. You didn’t throw any hexes today except for Expelliarmus. Everyone believes you dueled Flubbergone, but you didn’t. You just saved your own ass. I’m good with a wand. Try me. Come on, loser,” Freud hissed, drawing his wand.

“Get him. Blast him to bits!” Tom urged Rod, who stared at the wizard first, then the breathless witches, their eyes predatory and excited. They wanted blood.

”Hex him!” the spirit cried as Rod didn’t move.

”Say what you want, Freud. I don’t care,” Rod said, turning and walking down to his room.

”I’ll add ‘coward’ to your list of faults, Odd,” Freud called after him in disgust, then turning toward the witches who looked at him appreciatively.

Fuming, Voldemort walked behind Rod, wishing he was substantial enough to kick the wizard in his ass. How could he just walk away from that? It was his opportunity to show his power, to command fear and respect. The fucking idiot!

“Why didn’t you fight?” Tom demanded as Rod entered his room, opened his wardrobe and placed his wand on the top shelf.

“Words are just words,” Rod replied, “He didn’t actually attack me.”

Voldemort spluttered he was so disbelieving of what came out of Rod’s mouth.

“He most certainly did attack you! He couldn’t have struck a worse blow if he had hit you in your face! How you are in Slytherin, boy, I’ll never understand!” Voldemort said despairingly, sitting down on the bed and watching as Rod began to undress. “The Sorting Hat must have been off its game.”

Rod stopped unbuttoning his shirt.

”Sorting Hat? I wasn’t sorted into Slytherin,” the boy said.

Tom’s eyes went wide.

”What do you mean you weren’t sorted into Slytherin? All students at Hogwarts are sorted,” the spirit said.

Rod shook his head.

“Not the ones in my situation. There’s some kind of requirement that each house take in someone like me, who has no resources. Slytherin came up with the short straw when I arrived. They’d avoided students like me for years,” Rod said to the ghost, then began unbuttoning his shirt again.

Tom sat there stunned as he looked at Rod. No wonder he was so weak, so even-minded, so compassionate. He wasn’t a true Slytherin. Gods damn it!

The spirit watched Rod prepare for bed, his eyes narrowed. Well, his little display in the Common Room showed he wasn’t a Gryffindor. They were courageous and brave. His grades proved without a doubt he didn’t belong in Ravenclaw. Tom’s face contorted as he remembered the verse ascribed to the characteristics of a Hufflepuff:

These belong in Hufflepuff,
Where they are just and loyal.
Those patient Hufflepuffs are true
And unafraid of toil.

That sounded just like Rod. He was rather fair-minded to a point. His loyalty, well, he did stick with Tom despite the spirit’s nagging. The young wizard was definitely patient since he’d suffered mistreatment for years, and he certainly wasn’t afraid to work. Tom’s face wrenched up into a distasteful expression. Dear gods, had he become saddled with one of Helga’s lot because of some lunatic Hogwarts version of Affirmative Action? Damn the luck!

This was terrible. Just terrible.

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The next morning at breakfast, Rod fixed himself a bowl of porridge and was just about to dip in his spoon when the entire bowl flipped over on him, covering his robes. Across the table and down a little ways, Freud and a couple of other Slytherins jeered at him as students throughout the Great Hall laughed uproariously.

Rod pulled out his wand and easily scourgified himself, not bothering to look back at Freud or even reacting to the laughter. It died down rather quickly. Rod’s lack of reaction wasn’t fun at all. No one noticed Rod gave himself an extra little flick of his wand before putting it away.

”This is just too easy,” Freud said to his cronies, aiming his wand at Rod again as he was about to drink some pumpkin juice.

The Slytherin flicked it and suddenly Rod’s pumpkin juice flew out of his hand, toward the wizard and splashed him in the face. Again, the Great Hall erupted in laughter, this time at Freud, who stood up and spluttered, wiping the juice from his face and glaring at Rod. But Rod hadn’t had his wand out, so he couldn’t be blamed.

He had simply cast a repelling spell on himself. Normally, a repelling spell would just repel a hex, but Rod’s had been so strong it reversed it. Freud soaked himself.

The Slytherin witches once again smiled at Rod, who looked at them soberly. He wasn’t sure if he wanted their attentions though after yesterday. They had looked so bloodthirsty when Freud wanted to duel him. Their allegiances turned quickly. Rod looked back at the Gryffindor table, and found there were a couple of witches smiling at him from there as well, Rose Weasley being one of them. He smiled back.

This caused the Slytherin witches to frown at him blackly. He was smiling at witches from another house? Gryffindor? What kind of Slytherin was he? When they finished eating, they all stalked by Rod with their noses in the air.

He didn’t even notice.

Very rarely were Gryffindors treated to witnessing any in-house fighting among the Slytherins. Freud wasn’t well liked by them anyway, being one of the meaner of that house and not beyond hexing surprised Gryffindors, even first years by ambush. He usually got away with it too, his other housemates giving him alibis.

So seeing him drenched with pumpkin juice was quite entertaining. The fact that another Slytherin was responsible was plain hilarious.

However, the Gryffindor males scowled at Rod just as blackly as the Slytherin witches. He’d better not try to put any moves on any of the witches from their house, or there’d be hell to pay.

Freud left the Great Hall, glaring at Rod as he did so.

This wasn’t over. Rod had embarrassed him in front of the whole school. No one embarrassed Freud Backerbone and got away with it.

Especially a shit-shoveling loser.

Rod would get his. Until then, Freud would just bide his time.

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A few weeks passed, and Hermione had a real breakthrough with her growing Charm. Using her eco-lab, Hermione demonstrated it for Snape, casting the spell and showing the Potions master what she had accomplished so far. The growing cycle was about six months from seedling to mature plant. Hermione’s plants grew to maturity within two and a half months. The excited Potions master harvested them and used them in a potion. He was delighted to find they were very potent. He came to the worksite to tell her of her success.

“This is wonderful, Hermione,” the wizard said to her, giving Hermione her first true smile. The witch froze in shock. Snape scowled at her.

”What’s wrong with you?” the wizard asked her.

With raised eyebrows, Hermione looked at him as if he’d fallen from the sky suddenly.

”You’re . . . you’re actually smiling,” she said to him, “Or you were. Not now.”

”I suppose you expected my face to split in half,” he said to her bad-naturedly, “Even I am known to crack a smile now and then. Particularly when I know my earnings are about to increase four-fold.”

Hermione laughed.

”I’m sorry Professor, I’m just not used to seeing you actually smile. You usually quirk your lips or give a little smirk. You don’t show teeth often, unless you’re snarling about something,” she said to him, smiling herself.

”Yes, well. I smile,” he said, frowning as if to accentuate the point. “Anyway, we must celebrate your success. You will come to my home for supper this Friday. What is your favorite food?” he asked her.

Hermione stared at him.

“Your house?” Hermione asked him in amazement. In all the months they’d been interacting, Hermione didn’t even learn where his house was, much less visit it.

”Yes, my house. Considering I always come here, it is only fair that you be allowed to enter my domain as well. Besides, this is a special occasion. Now, what is your favorite food? I will have it prepared,” the wizard said.

Hermione stared at him blankly.

Snape glowered at her.

”Am I going to have to use Legilimency to find out what you like to eat, witch?” he asked her in an irritated voice.

That seemed to snap Hermione out of it.

”Ah no. I love . . . I mean if it’s not too much to ask for . . . I mean, it’s rather expensive and I . . .” she stuttered.

”JUST TELL ME WHAT IT IS!” Snape roared at her, completely fed up.

”LOBSTER!” she yelled back at him, her eyes flashing.

”Fine, lobster it is,” Snape said more reasonably, smirking slightly as Hermione continued to frown at him. Snape turned to leave.

”Oh,” he said, “By the way, this will be a formal dinner, so be sure to dress the part,” the wizard said as he pulled open the door to the apartment.

Hermione blinked and followed him.

”Formal? As in dress up formal?” she asked him.

”No. Burlap sack formal,” the wizard said snarkily, “Of course dress-up formal. I haven’t had the pleasure of a nice shared meal in a very long time. So humor me.”

”Fine,” Hermione said as the door leading out opened.

Snape turned to her, his eyes sober.

”Again, Hermione, I must say you’ve done an excellent job. Thank you,” he said softly.

Then suddenly he caught her hand and brought it to his lips, kissing the back of it, his warm mouth pressed gently against her skin. It was so . . . soft. Hermione froze as the wizard straightened.

”You are quite an extraordinary witch,” Snape said, his dark eyes resting on her. Then he was gone.

Hermione must have stood there for five minutes holding her hand in the air. Finally she snapped out of it.

”He . . . he kissed my hand,” she said in a fair duplication of Sybil Trelawney seer voice, “Professor Severus Snape . . . kissed my hand.”

She wasn’t sure how she felt about that.

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Snape reappeared in the living room of his home, his mind on Hermione. He hadn’t lied to the witch when he told her she was extraordinary. In fact, he found her more than extraordinary.

Over the past few months, the Professor had developed a connection with the witch that he felt even superseded the one he felt with Lily. Although he loved Lily, he had to temper his words. She was easily upset and couldn’t handle being told what he really thought about a situation. So he had to always curtail himself with the witch, always mince words and be careful how he spoke to her or she’d storm away and stay angry with him for weeks until he groveled enough to get her to speak with him again. But inversely, she could say whatever she wanted and expect him to suck it up, which he did.

It wasn’t that way with Hermione. She could take the acid in his words and fling back a fair amount of her own. There had been times they were practically nose to nose arguing with each other, and the little witch never backed down or never took his comments to heart. In fact, she could be quite sarcastic herself.

And Hermione found his Potions work fascinating. There wasn’t a single ingredient he used that Hermione thought horrible and sick, unlike Lily, who used to turn green when he’d describe a particularly nasty brewing. Hermione could listen about entrails and bile until the Thestrals came home.

The Professor couldn’t help but think Ronald Weasley had been a very lucky wizard to have a wife like Hermione Granger, to have her love. It was going on two years since his death now. That really wasn’t much time for her to finish mourning however.

Hermione’s success was just an excuse to have dinner with the witch, to put his best foot forward. Snape knew he wasn’t a handsome wizard by far and had almost twenty years on the witch, but he wanted to know if anything more were possible between them. He found her attractive on a number of levels. He needed to know if she found him attractive in any other manner than cerebral. Her reaction to him kissing her hand didn’t tell him much. She looked to be in shock. Shock didn’t necessarily mean the kiss was welcomed. But then again she didn’t jerk her hand away as if he’d put a flame to it, so that was a little encouraging.

For the first time in his life, Severus Snape was considering courting a woman. A woman who was a widow, who had already found and lost the love of her life. Was Hermione capable of feeling anything for anyone else? Snape knew in his case, all he thought about for years was Lily. He never even considered any other witch.

Until now.

The wizard sat down and ran his pale hand over his face.

He hoped he wasn’t about to make a fool of himself.

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A/N: Aaaaaaand we’re off! Snape has admitted to himself he is interested in Hermione. We don’t know how Hermione feels about him though. And Rod. A Hufflepuff in Slytherin House. Lololol. I don’t know where these ideas come from, but I’ve always hated affirmative action or quota based decisions. I guess it slipped in somehow. Lol. Anyway, thanks for reading.


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