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 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 ~ Snape Takes Action

Snape finally hit upon a plan he thought might help him break the ice with Hermione, and wrote it down, intending on enacting it first thing in the morning. He was drunk. Extremely drunk, but even inebriated he could tell when he hit on something that might work in his favor. It was remembering it that was the problem, which was why he wrote it down. He then drank several glasses of water, pissed and made his way to bed. In the morning, he’d pop a Bezoar in his mouth for a few seconds. Most took Sober-up potion for a hangover, but it only took away the symptoms. Alcohol was a poison after all, and a Bezoar cleansed it completely from the body.

Snape didn’t bother sharing this information with anyone, simply because he had invested in the commercial Sober-up potions business long ago, due to the Brits’ inclination to enjoy their liquor immensely, and received residuals directly to his Gringotts account. Wizards having access to an antidote that would never run out would be bad for the profit margin. And it seemed no one else was bright enough to figure it out yet.

He stripped down and fell into the bed, drawing the blanket partially over his pale, scarred body and falling fast asleep, snoring horribly.

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Hermione arrived at Hogwarts very early in the morning, still concerned about Ron and feeling a bit guilty about her self-love session with Severus as the star. She walked up to the door of her office and scowled slightly as she saw an envelope attached to it. A cramped, tight scrawl read:

To Miss Hermione Granger, Spells Mistress

She had hell prying it loose.

”Damn it, whoever did this must have used a spell similar to the one that kept Mrs. Black attached to the wall at 12 Grimauld Place,” she said through gritted teeth as she applied spell after spell. Finally she got the damned letter down.

She turned it over in her hands curiously and saw it had a green wax seal with the initials SS stamped into it. Oh, no wonder it was so hard to remove. Professor Snape had affixed it there, and done so securely. Hm. Now what was this about?

She let herself into the office, then into her private quarters. She took off her coat and hat, hung them up then sat down at her desk to read the letter. Once again it took a while to pry open the seal, but she finally did it, wiping the perspiration from her forehead before unfolding the missive. The handwriting was rather miserly looking, if that were possible, the letters very close together as if not wanting to leave any unused space available. But there was enough separation for the words to be readable. Barely.

Dear Hermione,

Forgive me for my hasty departure, but Dragonsbane wilts very quickly once harvested and loses valuable potency. It was imperative I take it to my lab and prepare it quickly for use.

Ah, so that explained it, and Hermione had thought he was just being rude, as usual. She read on.

I would like to thank you—

Hermione stared at the words, trying to fit them to the snarky wizard she knew. It was very difficult. Severus Snape thanking anyone for anything was a hard pill to swallow. She kept reading.

—thank you for your assistance last night, especially with the challenges of flying by broom and not knowing what to expect. You did quite well with your Charm work and without you my harvest would have been unsuccessful. Possibly even deadly.

I know that technically you assisted me to serve the school, but I believe my personal thanks are in order, and would like to treat you to a small, informal meal of foods you enjoy, on neutral ground. Perhaps in the ROR. I realize I am not someone you may perceive as ideal dining company, but I will do my best to keep any unpleasantness to a minimum. I am sadly lacking in social skills, so this may take some effort.

Hermione harrumphed at this. That was an understatement if she’d ever read one.

Gratitude is not my forte, but I feel I should attempt at least some expression of it. Then again, you may feel my invitation an imposition and reject it. Rather than arbitrarily assume you would reject it, I’ve approached you on the chance that I could be wrong. You can give me your answer at breakfast this morning in the affirmative if you decide to dine with me. If not, simply walk past me without saying a word and I will understand.

Sincerely,

Severus T. Snape


Hermione blinked at the letter. Severus Snape wanted her to have dinner with him? Alone? Dear gods, what in the world would that be like?

She studied the letter. It must have been a supreme effort for him to write it. It would have been nicer if he had asked her in person, but this was Snape. A face to face rejection would have been painful to him. It was easier this way.

Hermione couldn’t help feeling a little pang when she read how he believed she would reject his invitation, although he tried to cover his doubts and self-depreciating manner, and even more of a pang when she read she didn’t have to say anything and he’d understand he’d been rejected.

Hermione slowly folded the parchment and sat at her desk, staring into space, wondering exactly how a dinner with the dark wizard would go. Would there be wine? Candlelight? Music? Or would it be stark and uncomfortable, without conversation?

But there was a chance she might enjoy herself, or at least the food.

It was thoughtful of him to choose neutral ground, but also shrewd. Hermione knew that he could enter the ROR with her in mind and the room would most likely show him the foods she liked. It was an amazing place after all. Of course, it couldn’t produce the food. It wasn’t possible to create food magically, but Snape could have the house elves prepare it and deliver it much like they did to the Great Hall, by magic.

Hermione couldn’t openly admit to herself that she wanted to be in Snape’s presence again. Alone. He wasn’t the kind of man who invited others in, but he did so with her, and as a result, she did feel rather special, although there was an uncomfortable side to it. A rather frightening, belly-clenching side because he was so unpredictable. An exciting side that was missing with Ron, sweet as he was.

Snape gave Lily Evans the same feeling of specialness years ago, before she turned her back on him and his innate darkness for the bright glow of James Potter. But Hermione didn’t know that. All she knew was he had issued her an invitation and expected her to decline.

But she wouldn’t.

Hermione told herself that it would be rude to reject his invitation, especially after he’d gone through such pains to invite her. It was just dinner after all.

Just dinner.

Yes, that’s precisely what she told herself.

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Snape arrived early at breakfast, but lingered over his tea before ordering. He felt tight inside, coiled, like a spring as he waited for Hermione to arrive. She had to have received his invitation. Now, it was up to her. Would she stop beside him and tell him yes, or walk by silently without acknowledgement?

His stomach gurgled uncomfortably, and for a moment, nausea washed over him. Oh good gods, was he going to be sick? The last time he felt like this, he was just a child about to introduce himself to the beautiful red-haired girl at the park, and her skinny, horse-faced sister.

He steadied himself. He was no smitten boy. He was a man. Severus Snape. The darkest, snarkiest wizard in existence, if the stories were to be believed. He did nothing to dispel them—

Until now, that is. Now, he was reaching out to a witch, which showed he wasn’t as unfeeling as the stories said, and as he believed himself to be. Every time the door of the teacher’s entrance opened, his black eyes cut toward it without him moving his head. Each time he was disappointed and relieved as Hagrid, Minerva, Sybill and the other teachers entered. Students were also beginning to file in. Snape didn’t even give them his usual morning glare, he was so out of sorts.

Finally, Hermione entered, dressed in her staff robes. She walked slowly towards him as he studiously sipped his now cold tea. He tensed, expecting her to walk by.

She didn’t. She stopped beside his chair and leaned down so her lips were close to his ear. Snape reflexively closed his eyes as her warm breath tickled the pale shell of it, like a small, welcomed caress.

”I’d love to have dinner with you, Severus,” she said softly, then moved on.

The tightness left him and an unfamiliar feeling of lightness filled his thin frame as Hermione walked away and sat down next to Trelawney. The dark wizard ventured a small glance at her, and found her looking at him with a smile. He quickly looked down, flustered and elated at the same time, trying not to show any emotion.

But Hermione could tell he was happy. She could feel it somehow, although there was no visible change in him. She felt rather good about that.

Snape ordered his breakfast, his mind percolating now. He hadn’t made it past writing her.

Now, he had a dinner to plan.

Hermione was right. Snape did plan to use the ROR’s wealth of knowledge gleaned from Hogwarts to find out what Hermione’s favorite foods were. Also, using the room would take a lot of the guesswork out of it, because it would provide the setting needed for a good dining experience. All he would have to do was be reasonably—nice and polite.

Arrgh.

No pressure there.

If the dinner went well, perhaps Hermione would be amicable to another dinner, one where he could make his intentions known, although Merlin knew he’d like to engage the witch again. There were so many other acts he could show her to prove his prowess as a lover. But no, he had to move slowly, carefully. Stir her emotions the way he knew he could stir her body. It was unfortunate women and men were so intrinsically different.

Women gave sex for love, and men gave love for sex. Of course, there was intermediate ground. Sometimes it was just sex for sex’s sake or out of need for contact rather than love. Snape wanted love to motivate Hermione to accept him at the end of all this, and hoped beyond hope he still had, or could build up enough trust deep inside himself to return her love because of her acceptance. Perhaps, perhaps he could give himself a potion if he found himself lacking. It was a thought, anyway.

He cursed himself suddenly, making a sharp, reflexive jerking motion over his eggs and toast. There he went again, moving too quickly. There was still the matter of Ronald Weasley. He wasn’t just going to disappear, not to mention the possibility Hermione accepted his invitation just to be polite. She was a bleeding heart Gryffindor after all, and could just—just pity him.

His jaw tightened. He didn’t need to be pitied. He was fine—it was just—just that he wanted her with him so badly and time was running out. None of his other attempts had worked. He had to do it this way—it was his only option.

Other than kidnapping Hermione that is, and that option wasn’t completely off the table.

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After finishing his breakfast before Hermione, Snape waited outside the staff entrance, standing close to the wall and avoiding the eyes and greetings of the other staff as they exited, looking at him curiously. Usually, once Snape left the Great Hall, it was as if he’d Disapparated away, he headed to the dungeons so quickly. He wasn’t one for loitering in corridors, just slinking down them.

Hermione emerged, and Snape quickly approached her. His jaw was tight as was his throat, and he presented a very severe expression as Hermione looked up at him.

”Thank you for accepting my dinner invitation,” the wizard said, his normally smooth silken voice sounding forced.

Hermione looked up into his scowling visage.

”You certainly don’t look pleased,” she commented.

”Well, I am!” Snape snapped defensively, unable to help himself. Being vulnerable was a real chore.

”All right. All right,” Hermione said soothingly. “I’ll take your word for it, rather than how you look.”

”Good,” Snape replied as they began to walk. “Is Friday evening good for you?”

”Friday is fine,” Hermione said as they emerged from the corridor into the entrance hall.

”Good, I’ll retrieve you at seven,” Snape said, turning and billowing toward the dungeons at a fast stride, Hermione looking after him with raised eyebrows.

”I can’t believe it. I think this is the first time I’ve ever seen the Potions master with a real case of nerves,” she thought to herself.

Then she giggled. It was also the first time in her life she’d ever found anything remotely funny about Severus Snape.

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A/N: Thanks for reading.


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