The Burning Pen

When Good Wizards Go Bad
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 3

Chapter 3 ~ A Revelation

Reginald brought Hermione upstairs and into a large bathroom with a sunken tub. It was already filled with hot, sudsy water. Reginald untied her wrists and pushed her toward the tub.

”Strip down, whore,” he hissed.

Hermione didn’t say a word, but began unbuttoning her robes. She was used to such orders expressed in such a way and tuned out. She always tuned out. A year and a half as every grubby handed wizard’s plaything had made her resilent. They could do what they wanted to her body, but they couldn’t touch her soul. Not one of them. She was a survivor.

Hermione stripped, then turned to look at Reginald, whose rheumy blue eyes washed over her body. She had a dull, glazed look in her eyes. She was curvy in all the right places, her full breasts brown-tipped and a nest of curly chestnut hair at the vee of her thighs.

”If you weren’t the Master’s whore, I’d give you a go,” Reginald said, “Used goods don’t bother me none. But, things being the way they are, get in the tub and scrub. Scrub good,” the wizard ordered.

Hermione turned and entered the tub. Reginald noticed four straight, even and cleanly healed scars on the right side of her back, just beneath her shoulder blade as she entered the water.

“What’s the scars from, whore?” he asked her.

Hermione sunk into the warm water and picked up the washcloth.

”Blood play. Some wizards like it,” she replied, her voice a bit hollow as she began to bathe.

Several house elves popped in.

”Take down the mirrors,” Reginald ordered them, “Every one. She could shatter the glass and make a weapon. Ward off the windows too.”

”Yes sir,” the Head elf squeaked. Three left the bathroom. One stayed to remove the mirror over the vanity.

Reginald closed the top of the loo and sat down on it, watching Hermione bathe.

“Wash your cat good,” he growled at her, “The Master’s probably going to have to wear ten condoms to fuck the likes of you.”

Hermione said nothing to this. She just continued to wash. Nothing the wizard said mattered. She had heard it all. Done it all.

After about twenty minutes of scrubbing under Reginald’s watchful eye, Hermione finished bathing, standing up and rinsing off. Reginald muttered something to a house elf and it winked out, reappearing an instant later with towels, deodorant, lotion and a short, red silk nightgown.

Reginald took the towels from the elf and tossed one to Hermione, watching as she dried off. Then he handed her the deodorant and the lotion. His lust was plain on his face as he watched the witch lotion her body, but he made no move. Reginald knew better. The Master was quite covetous about his property, and this witch was his property.

When she finished, he tossed her the nightgown.

”Put it on, whore,” he said, watching as Hermione drew it over her head. She knew better than to ask for knickers. She wouldn’t get any.

Reginald looked her over.

”All right. You’re presentable enough,” he said, grabbing her by the wrist and dragging her back into the bedroom.

“The elves will bring you something to eat. You’ll stay here until the Master comes,” he said to her.

Hermione looked up at him.

”Could I have something to read? Anything will do,” she asked the wizard.

”No. Ask the Master when he comes,” Reginald said, “I’m only to do what he tells me and he didn’t tell me to give you anything to read. Now, stay here. Don’t try to get out.”

Hermione sat down on the bed as Reginald departed the room.

A house elf walked up to her tentatively.

”What would you likes to eat, Miss?” it squeaked at her.

”It doesn’t matter,” Hermione said, “Anything will do.”

The elf bowed and winked out.

Hermione looked around the room. It was nicely furnished with a king-sized bed, gleaming wood paneled walls, blue silk curtains on the two bevel windows and a blue comforter covering the bed. A large wardrobe stood against the far wall, and an oak dresser with the mirror removed rested against the adjacent wall. Am upholstered wooden chair stood opposite with bed. The only things that detracted from the room were the barred windows.

“Well the accommodations are better than the brothel,” Hermione said to herself.

The house elf returned with a sandwich and a steaming bowl of soup. Hermione consumed everything under its watchful eye. The elf made sure to take the utensils. She was to have nothing she could use to harm someone, and even a spoon could be dangerous if used with enough force.

The witch yawned, climbing into the bed and curling up to sleep. That was her usual response when she was between johns. To sleep and hopefully not to dream.

She didn’t have to dream however. She was living a nightmare.

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Hermione was awakened by being shaken roughly. She turned over and looked into the pale face of Severus Snape.

”Get up,” he hissed at the witch.

Hermione obediently sat up in the bed, then slid over to the side of it, then stood up in front of the wizard, whose black eyes washed over her red-clad body.

”You don’t seem any worse for wear. Sit down,” he snapped at her.

Hermione sat down on the edge of the bed, looking at the wizard.

Snape pulled the upholstered chair away from the wall and sat down across from her.

”So, you managed to survive by sucking cocks and getting buggered, did you?” he asked the witch.

”Yes,” Hermione replied hollowly.

The wizard cocked his head at her for a moment.

“A brothel was the last place I thought you’d be, witch. The desire to live is strong, isn’t it?” he asked her.

”Yes,” Hermione answered him.

“Yes it is. A person will do whatever is necessary to take his or her next breath. Even fuck complete strangers for money,” Snape said, “I take it you’ve been through the wringer. Young, shapely. How was it fucking old men?”

”I got used to it,” Hermione said, her voice toneless.

“Did you have a ‘specialty?’” the wizard asked her.

”No. I did everything that was asked of me,” the witch replied.

”Mindless compliance, eh?” he pressed.

”Yes,” Hermione said.

Snape considered her.

”You are noticeably less talkative than you were at Hogwarts. I guess having an endless amount of cocks shoved into your mouth helped bring that miracle about,” he said nastily.

”Possibly,” the witch replied, not reacting to the lewdness of his comments. Why should she? They both knew what she was. What she had become in order to keep living.

“You know, I blame you for Harry Potter’s death. You and that idiot Weasley. You should have watched him rather than mourn for the dead. The dead feel nothing. It was the living you should have been concerned with. Because of that, he walked straight into the arms of Voldemort and was killed, martyring himself for all of you. And still the Dark Lord killed many. Senseless,” the wizard hissed.

Hermione looked at him with more interest now. She and Ron had been in the Great Hall grieving when Harry snuck out of Hogwarts. They had been distracted.

But Snape didn’t know Harry was alive? Apparently the Dark Lord didn’t tell his loyal servants everything. And what was this about he ‘blamed’ her? Why would he blame anyone? It sounded as if he didn’t want Harry to die. But why? He served the Dark Lord.

“Harry Potter isn’t dead,” the witch said quietly.

Snape snarled at her stupidity. Of course the boy was dead. Voldemort killed him and took the body away before returning to order the attack on Hogwarts. He witnessed it himself, having arrived too late to stop Harry from giving himself to the despot. All Albus’ plans died with the boy.

“Of course he’s dead,” Snape hissed at her.

”No he’s not. I was captured when I was brought to him,” the witch said, “I just thought it was another clandestine client who didn't like to visit the brothel. My glamour fell from the shock of seeing him alive. Then he called out my name and the guard grabbed my wand and captured me.”

Snape stared at her.

”You lie,” he hissed.

Hermione shook her head.

”Why would I lie? It makes no sense. It’s not going to help my situation in the least,” the witch replied.

But Snape wasn’t listening. He was familiar enough with Hermione to know when she was lying. He had taught her for six years.

Alive? Harry Potter was alive?

Good gods. This could change everything.

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A/N: Well as you can see, I didn’t clear this out yet. Still working on ANB next chapter. Thanks for reading.

A/A/N: Okay. I've decided to dedicate ALL of tomorrow writing for ANB.  All I keep getting are scenarios for this story and it's driving me crazy.  I already know what the next ANB chappie will contain, so, I'm going to stop stressing. ***

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