The Burning Pen

Yuleride
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 22

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters belong to JKR. All situations are mine. No $$$ is being made from this fanfic.
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Chapter 22 ~ Nefarious Plans Continue

Fleur decided she wanted to get in on the act and told Bill she would teach Ron about how to actually fuck, although she didn’t exactly say it that way. Still, Bill’s reaction was less than pleased.

”What!” Bill spluttered. He’d been drinking tea when she made the announcement.

”I will show him how he should move,” Fleur told him, pumping her pelvis a little and smiling at him. She was wearing a rather tight little blue blouse and stretchy jeans, her blue eyes twinkling and her silvery-blonde hair falling over her shoulders. Fleur was part Veela, and her effect on any male in the vicinity was always interesting.

Too interesting as far as Bill was concerned. Fleur only had eyes for “her Bill” as she called him, but he was extremely jealous of her.

”No you won’t,” Bill growled at his wife, shocked. “Brotherly love only goes so far, Fleur . . .”

She slapped him on the shoulder.

”You can watch,” she said to him naughtily.

Bill stared at Fleur as if he’d never seen her before.

”If you think I’m going to stand by and watch Ron shag you, Fleur, you’re bloody insane!”

Fleur scowled at him prettily, her hands resting on her hips.

”You are the one who is insane if you think I would fuck your brother! I said I would only teach him how to move! How dare you think anything else!”

Before Bill could react, Fleur stepped for and slapped him in the face, her eyes flashing.

Bill’s eyes began to glitter. Fleur had a thing for slapping him, and he had a thing for being slapped. It served as foreplay and was part of his hot-tempered wife’s French mystique. He slowly and menacingly rose from the chair, pushing it out of the way roughly.

”You slapped me,” he growled.

”You deserved it, you beast!” Fleur shot back at him. “How could you even form those words . . .”

”Beast? I’ll show you a beast, you little French hellion,” Bill said in a low voice, easing forward, a look of lust on his face.

Fleur always turned him on when she got physical, and he’d get physical right back although he didn’t strike her in the same manner she struck him in these situations. He much preferred her horizontal and naked when he was on “the attack.”

Fleur began to back up and her husband lunged at her. She ducked, let out a shriek and ran from the kitchen, Bill in hot pursuit. She wore a rather crooked smile as she ran.

She knew what she’d get when he caught her.

She always knew.

That was the fun of it.

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”Fleur is going to what?” Ron said incredulously as he, Bill and Fleur stood in the small room in the cellar. Ron was sitting in a small folding chair. The twin bed was there, but the blow-up doll was gone.

”I am going to teach you how to move inside a woman,” Fleur said in her throaty voice, walking toward Ron slowly and sexily. She was dressed in baby blue robes that fell just right on her, her hair loose and flowing. She looked more Veela than human as she moved toward Ron.

Bill leaned back against a work table, his arms folded and watched his wife approach Ron. Gods, she was beautiful. During “payback” Fleur told him exactly what she was going to do to show Ron the ropes, and after laughing, he agreed.

Ron’s blue eyes shifted to Bill. Fleur was very sexy and Ron used to have serious wood for her when he first saw her at Hogwarts, even asking her to a dance. She turned him down cold, of course. This was before he and Hermione were a real item.

“Bill, are you all right with this?” Ron asked, swallowing as Fleur trailed one finger around his throat, walking around him.

”Yep. But just remember she’s my wife, Ron,” Bill replied, his face studiously neutral as Fleur moved in front of Ron and bent slightly, running her soft hand over his cheek slowly as he looked up at her and swallowed again.

“You must learn how to stroke a woman, Ronald. This is very important in the lovemaking,” she said softly. “Do you want me to teach you how you should move?”

”Yesssss,” Ron said dreamily. Fleur gave him a perfect smile, then cut her eyes over to Bill, who stared back at her but didn’t say a word. She looked back at Ron.

”Roll up the sleeve of your right arm, Ronald,” she breathed.

Ron had no idea what rolling up his sleeve had to do stroking a witch, but he did as Fleur asked. He didn’t take his eyes off her as she watched him. When his sleeve was rolled up, Fleur gently grasped his wrist, turning his arm over so his hand was palm up. Her touch was somewhat electric, her Veela magic coming into play.

”Oh, such a strong forearm, Ronald Weasley,” Fleur purred as she rested her knuckles against his skin and slowly began to move it up and down his skin, caressing it.

”Does that feel nice, Ronald Weasley?” she asked him, her fluid arm motion reminding Ron of a hand job. The contact was very sensual. Ron could feel it down to his toes.

”Yes. Yes, it does, Fleur,” he agreed, feeling himself becoming aroused.

”Good,” she breathed, before suddenly digging her knuckles into Ron’s skin and speeding up, giving him a good, hard friction burn, his forearm turning red as he yelled and tried to break away. It took a surprising amount of strength.

”Ow!” he cried, finally wrestling his arm away from Fleur and scowling at her as Bill cracked up.

”That doesn’t feel so nice, does it? It does not feel nice inside a woman either,” Fleur told him as Ron rubbed his burned forearm. “Remember that and you will be good.”

Fleur turned around and walked out of the small room, Bill chuckling after her. She certainly knew how to get her point across. He looked at Ron, who was still rubbing his arm.

”That didn’t go anything like I hoped it would,” Ron groused as a renewed stream of laughter came from Bill.

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Minerva sat behind the desk in her office, drumming her fingers on the desktop as Hermione took a seat in the comfortable armchair facing her. It was lunch hour and her class had just let out when she received the summons, golden words requesting her appearance floating in the air before her, then fading away.

She sat down and looked at the Headmistress curiously. She had no idea what she wanted to talk about.

”Thank you for coming, Hermione,” Minerva said briskly. “The reason I’ve called you here is because I have an assignment for you, one that will take you off the grounds of Hogwarts overnight.”

Hermione stared at her. An assignment?

”What kind of assignment, Headmistress?” she inquired.

”It is a service for the school. As you know, I keep tight control over the budget and try to save Galleons any way I can so we can provide the little extras that make an education at Hogwarts so exemplary,” Minerva explained.

Hermione nodded, wishing she’d just get to the point.

”There is a shortage in materials that can cost the school a great amount of money if purchased. This would negatively affect the plans I’ve made for several outings for first, second and third years for the last two quarters. Yet, we can save the entire amount if these materials were collected rather than purchased. Professor Snape has experience in gathering Dragonsbane, but it is rather dangerous and I want you to go along with him to provide extra protection if needed.”

Hermione scowled.

”What? Go with Professor Snape?” she repeated.

Minerva nodded.

”Yes. As an employee of Hogwarts duty requires you give any service to the school deemed necessary,” the Headmistress said pointedly.

“I know that,” Hermione said, still scowling. “I bet he asked for me to accompany him, didn’t he?”

Hermione knew the Potions master had blatantly set this situation up to get her alone in his company, the sneaky, conniving bastard. She was rather surprised by Minerva’s answer.

”Actually, no, he didn’t. It was my suggestion. In fact, he insinuated he didn’t want you along. I believe he said something about you running away from the first waft of smoke you saw. He doesn’t appear to have much faith in you, although I know you are more than up to the challenge,” Minerva replied. “Besides, hiring an assistant would require pay, and that is what I am trying to avoid. You are on salary so there is no extra expenditure. So, you will accompany him this weekend. I suggest you speak to him as soon as possible to hash out the details.”

Hermione was rather stunned by this. He didn’t want her along? That couldn’t be true. Of course he wanted her to come with him. He had already said he knew she was courageous and someone he could trust to back him up. Something was rotten at Hogwarts, and the stench was coming directly from the dungeon area.

Hermione knew it would be a waste of time to try and get out of the assignment. Minerva had spoken. She wasn’t much like Albus, who used to reason with his teachers and hear them out. Minerva’s nickname among the staff was the “Velvet Dictator.” She spoke softly but carried a big wand. When she wanted something done, she brooked no opposition.

”Very well, Headmistress. I’ll talk to him,” she said.

”Good,” Minerva replied, then said in a low voice as if someone could overhear her. “Show that blasted Slytherin that a Gryffindor can face anything he can, Hermione, and with dispatch. I don’t like his attitude at all.”

”I will, Headmistress,” Hermione replied, slightly amused that Minerva still went “house” when confronted by the possibility of being bested by Slytherin. She had to have graduated a hundred years ago. Well, maybe not that long, but still . . .

Hermione departed Minerva’s office, frowning. She had another two classes after lunch. She’d make arrangements to see Severus after supper. Then she’d find out what was what.

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Hermione entered the Great Hall through the staff entrance and walked along the dais. She stopped beside professor Snape, who was studiously eating a bowl of soup. He didn’t look up although he was aware of her standing there.

”Is there a reason you are perched behind me like a vulture?” he asked her in a low voice.

Hermione reddened.

”The Headmistress told me about our ‘assignment,” Hermione said, making the word ‘assignment’ ring with distaste. “I want to come see you after supper to discuss the details.”

”If you must,” Snape said coldly, still not looking at her.

”I wish I didn’t,” she snapped at him, then stalked down the dais and took a seat next to Trelawney, ordering her meal.

Snape smirked slightly at her apparent outrage at having to accompany him. It was going to be interesting and he’d be able to get the measure of her in a dangerous situation. Hopefully, she still had that courageous heart. He might find that she wasn’t the witch she once was, and that the settling she had done thus far had actually settled in her psyche and she wouldn’t be much good to him. It would be a real shame if that were the case, especially since they were so physically compatible. Now that he had experienced the witch, it was a given that they would be lovers if she agreed to go with him.

He was getting ahead of himself. There were quite a few obstacles he had to surmount in order to win Hermione. He hoped this mini-adventure would whet her appetite for more. One thing was for certain . . . she would find collecting Dragonsbane very exciting.

Especially the way he did it.

Suddenly, the Great Hall was filled with an influx of owls. It was the post. The students all chattered and caught their deliveries. A rather small owl carrying a rather large red heart, flew toward Hermione and let the heart fall in front of her, winging off quickly.

Snape scowled as she read the little card attached.

”Sweets for the sweet. Love Ron.”

Hermione opened the heart. Of course it was filled with assorted chocolates. She smiled as Trelawney and the other witches cackled over Ron again. He was the sweetest wizard. She shared them happily.

”Bribery,” Snape snarled to himself as he departed the Great Hall. “He’s buying her with . . . with chocolates. Candy. Pphttt. It’s fattening, doesn’t she know that? Not good for her figure. If he really cared, he’d send her something sensible. But Hermione’s as addle-brained as any other witch when it comes to—ugh—romance. It’s difficult to believe so logical and bright a mind can become completely befuddled by a box of confectionaries. It’s disgusting.”

But as Snape billowed toward the Potions classroom, he knew Ron had scored more points with Hermione by these simple little gestures. She believed herself in love with Ronald Weasley. Snape wasn’t sure if she was, but the wizard had an emotional hold on the witch that he couldn’t compete with at this point in time. Snape had issues with expressing emotion. He had no problems with showing anger, jealousy, hatred, possessiveness, disgust and other baser forms of human expression. It was the higher emotions he had a problem with. Trust, kindness, care and love weren’t a working part of his experience and it was supremely difficult to give to another what one never truly possessed himself

There was a time Snape felt these things, very long ago, but they were torn from him after the object of his affections abandoned him. The pain of losing her tore at his soul, and to protect himself, he hardened, casting away everything that made him vulnerable to that kind of paralyzing pain again. But then, he spent many years of his life a prisoner of those dead feelings. Despite becoming unfeeling, he still harbored one very deep set emotion that dug its claws into his soul and clung to him like a leech. An emotion it took years of pain and sacrifice to finally pry away.

Guilt

Now he didn’t even have that to keep him going. All he had was a dream that he wanted above all else. Challenge, adventure, danger and riches were calling to him. Hopefully, they would fulfill him.

But Severus Tobias Snape was a man, and no man was an island. Whether he acknowledged it or not, he wanted, craved companionship. This clashed with his basic make-up and he wouldn’t allow such a thought to rise to the fore. He’d been hurt before by a woman, and swore it would never happen again. He would never invest again in such a painful venture.

Snape told himself he wanted Hermione for her skills and for the pleasure he could get from her in the process. But it was more than that, much more.

He would be much better off if he just admitted it to himself. But, he couldn’t, and since he couldn’t, he relied on trickery, deceit and manipulation to try and acquire what he wanted without opening up those painful wounds again. He was trying to acquire Hermione without investing himself, without becoming vulnerable, without—feeling.

Poor Severus. Despite all of his knowledge, cunning and resourcefulness, despite all of his sacrifice and selfless suffering, he had failed to grasp the one immutable truth of human existence; just as Voldemort did . . .

Everyone needs Love.

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A/N: Thanks for reading.

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