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 8

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters belong to JKR. All situations are mine. No $$$ is being made from this fanfic.
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Chapter 8 ~ In Her Element

“Wow,” Hugo said to his sister Rose with wide eyes, “It sounds like mum’s living in a mansion or something, doesn’t it, Rose? Her own Room of Requirement, a pool, a house elf to take care of her? It sounds awesome. I really want to go see it, don’t you?”

Rose nodded as she looked at the parchment she received by owl that morning from Hermione. She and Hugo were down by the lake sitting on the ground and reading it together, over and over.

Even though they were back at Hogwarts, life felt so different now. Before, both children had little worry about their mum’s condition. She was home with dad and fine. But now, their father was gone and so was the house. Hermione was no longer in a familiar place, a comfortable place they could return to, a place they could call home. She lived where she worked now for the most part and was alone except for a house elf. For Rose and Hugo, their lives had taken on an unreal quality. The stability they once had was gone and it was disconcerting for both of them. Still, they did the best they could, not wanting Hermione to worry. She had enough to handle with her new job and all.

Rose and Hugo were going to be spending a lot more time at the Burrow with their uncles and grandparents. They had plenty of room and Molly was always happy to see them and spoil them with rich meals and desserts.

”Look at you, Rose . . . you’re as skinny as a broomstick,” the witch would say, looking at Rose critically. It was easy to see the witch was going to be tall and slender like Ginny and her father, “Have more mashed potatoes, dear. They’ll stick to your ribs.”

They had lost their maternal grandparents years ago, Mr. Granger passing on first, followed closely by his wife a year later. They were Muggles, and so had much shorter life spans then magical folks. Hermione always believed her mother died of grief. Her parents had been very close.

Rose studied the parchment again, then answered Hugo.

“Yeah, it sounds great, Hugo. The only thing I don’t like is that mum’s all by herself,” the witch said, “She must be lonely.”

“But she can leave on the weekends, sis. And she probably has a lot to keep her busy. She’s studying right now for a test. You know how mum is when she’s reading something. She tunes everything else out. She probably likes being by herself,” her brother said, trying to put a positive spin on the situation.

“Maybe. She’s going to stay with Uncle Harry this weekend. Maybe we can go see her. I’m going to write her back and ask,” Rose said.

She really wanted to see her mum. It would be reassuring to see her. Rose wanted physical proof her mother was all right.

“That’s great! I hope she says yes,” Hugo said enthusiastically. The pair stood up and began to walk back toward the school. Hugo looked up at his sister.

”You know Rose, the Grangey twins have relocated, and there’s two spots on the Quidditch team for chasers. We should try out,” the young wizard said.

Rose snorted.

“Right. I’m going to play Quidditch,” she said to him.

“Sure. You played with me all the time at home, Rose. You’re a great flyer. Anyway, I think you need to do something different, something with other people. Ever since dad…well…what happened to dad, you’ve done nothing but lock yourself in your room and study. It’s not good, Rose. You’re not talking to anyone, that’s a good way to go mad, you know. Plus, it would be great if we both made the team. I really want you to try out with me. Come on. What do you say?” Hugo asked her, his blue eyes pleading.

Rose looked at her brother, then shrugged. What could it hurt? She wasn’t going to get picked anyway and it had been a while since she’d been on a broom. She loved to fly fast. Apparently she and Hugo had been spared Hermione’s fear of flying.

“All right. I’ll do it, Hugo . . . but just because you asked me to. Don’t be disappointed if I’m not chosen for the team,” she said to him.

Hugo gave her a smile.

”Don’t be surprised if you are,” he responded happily.

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Disillusioned and dressed in a light robe, Snape made his way through the forest toward the far side of the mountain. It was time to check on his most precious cultivation, Susarium Folani, a type of rare mold that grew on the walls in the depths of dank, damp caves. Up to this point, no one had been able to make the mold take hold in a controlled environment. Snape discovered after years of trial and error, a solution that if brushed on the wall would attract and hold the spores of this rare substance, which would then generate. He had no idea how potent it would be, but maintained his crop carefully, waiting for it to turn the rich brown color that determined peak maturity.

The dark wizard wove his way through the trees, which became sparser and sparser, giving way to low lying brush, then grasses before the ground became next to barren, small stones scattered about. He walked up to the sheer rock face. There were no crags or handholds here, and the cave itself was located quite a ways up.

The Professor had no broom with him. Even if he did it would do no good. The airspace around this area was carefully warded and no broom could enter it or even garner the power for lift-off. But Severus Snape needed no broom.

The wizard stood before the mountain and concentrated, drawing upon his own wealth of darkness and letting it build up inside him like a dark fire, waiting for release. He looked up toward his destination.

“Locomordres!” he hissed, flying upward via the use of the dark magic he had learned from his former Master, the magic that enabled him to escape Hogwarts and his pursuers those many years ago during his short stint as Headmaster. As with apparition, a wizard had to have a wand on his person in order to perform this feat, a wand and a great store of inner darkness.

Severus Snape had both.

The wizard landed on a small ledge before what looked like little more than a fissure in the stone. He pulled up his bandana, then squeezed through, pulling out his wand.

”Lumos,” he breathed, picking his way through the darkness carefully toward the far wall on which rested his treasured mold. He stopped before it, studying the flat layer of fungus, moving the tip of his wand back and forth quickly. Yes, it was an even darker green now.

The Potions master pulled a spray bottle out of his pocket and carefully spritzed the ten foot length of mold, wetting it lightly with his special solution, making sure to cover the edges which could dry out quickly. Satisfied, he left the cave, blinking in the sunlight as he emerged. He pulled down his bandana and once again invoked the Dark Magic that gave him the gift of flight.

“Locomordres!”

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Hermione was busily scratching out her outline for the potential plant-growing charm. It was a list of what supplies she would need. A Time Turner for one. She had dreamed about dissecting one of the marvelous instruments, and now it appeared she was going to be able to do so. Time Turners were restricted however. Most likely Bartleby would have to get a special research dispensation in order to acquire one for her. She would need to create a containment sphere as well to keep the magic from dispelling once she released it, and a colorization charm that would make the energy visible so it could be worked with.

The witch was quite excited as she wrote, the possibilities popping into her head as minutes, then hours flew by. She missed her hour out because she totally ignored the siren and the voice telling her it was time to go. It kept repeating it until Hermione yelled in irritation, “I’m not bloody going out!”

The voice stopped and the wards came back down. It seemed Hermione could influence them to some extent, not that she noticed. She was so busy, that she missed lunch and when the house elf arrived and announced he had made dinner, she told him to leave it in the cooler.

Eli’s ears flicked forward, but he did as she asked and returned to the Potions master.

Severus didn’t usually speak to the house elf much, except to give him orders. But now he had a reason. He used the elf to keep track of Hermione’s activities. He listened as Eli told him the Miss did not eat her dinner and told him to leave it in the cooler.

The Potions master frowned slightly.

”What was she doing? It was after five was it not?” he asked the elf.

“Yes sir. But she still works, sir, at the desk, sir,” Eli said.

“I see,” the wizard said thoughtfully, tapping his chin with one long, pale finger. “Eli, I want you to go back to the site at ten and check the cooler to see if Mrs. Weasley has indeed eaten her food. Report back to me. I will be in my lab.”

”Yes sir,” the elf said with a bow as the Potions master exited the room, walked to the back of his house, pressed an area of wall and a hidden door revealed itself in the wall. He opened it and descended a long flight of stone stairs, torches spaced evenly along the walls to provide light. The door disappeared behind him

His lab was located within the mountain, carefully ventilated and warded. He felt magic pass over him midway in his descent. Anyone else who passed through that wall of magic would have been instantly rendered unconscious and an alarm would sound. Even Eli could not enter here.

Snape entered his lab, his black eyes drifting over the ten cauldrons bubbling simultaneously. He pulled off his robes, rolled up his sleeves and went to work.

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Eli returned to the work site and found Hermione still seated at the desk, several parchments spread over the surface, writing furiously. Her hair looked a bit wild, and she had a driven look in her eyes. She didn’t even notice the elf.

Hermione was in her element again, ideas, thoughts and possibilities filling her mind and her imagination as she furiously wrote down her findings. A few open books rested on some of the parchments, showing illustrations and diagrams of plant cell structures.

“I need an idea of what types of plants this Charm will be used on,” Hermione muttered to herself, “I guess I’m going to have to write the probability factor of the Charm for each of the classes.”

Eli watched as Hermione flipped through one of the books, found a page and started writing again.

” Ferns. Rushes. Grasses and Sedges. Fungi. Lichens. Mosses, Liverworts and Clubmosses. Seaweeds . . . hmmm, I doubt seaweeds, but I’d better include them anyway. Trees and Shrubs. Well, that's a start anyway,” the witch said.

Eli walked into the kitchen and checked the cooler. Hermione’s dinner sat there uneaten. He closed it back and walked back into the living room and studied the witch, who was still muttering to herself, her hair looking even wilder. He shook his head and winked out. He knew the Master would not be pleased.

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Eli waited for Snape to return from his labs, then gave him his report.

”The Miss still has not eats. She works still,” the elf said, “And mutters.”

”Thank you, Eli,” the wizard said, “That will be all.”

The elf bowed and winked out.

Severus sat down in his armchair and stared into the fire, thinking. Obviously, the witch hadn’t changed much. The pursuit of knowledge still took her over to the exclusion of all else. Well, he couldn’t baby sit her. Hermione was a grown woman and should know to take care of herself. But then again, time had a tendency to fade when the mind is absorbed and the needs of the body could be ignored. There had been times he too fell to the lure of knowledge and possibility. It could be addicting.

His black eyes captured the firelight. Something had captured the witch’s imagination. Something had inspired her. But she was supposed to be engaged in study. He couldn’t be certain it wasn’t study actually, but she still needed to see about herself.

What could he do about this?

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The next morning Bartleby received a letter from his most clandestine client. His brows went up in surprise as he read it. The solicitor shook his head, then pulled a piece of parchment with his letterhead out of his drawer, picked up a quill and began to address a letter to Mrs. Weasley, informing her there would be some changes at the site.

He was certain she wouldn’t like them.

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A/N: Thanks for reading.

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