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 28

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters belong to JKR. All situations are mine. No $$$ is being made from this fanfic.
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Chapter 28 ~ Retrieved

Hermione owled Ron daily both at the Burrow and the joke shop, but didn’t receive any answer from him. He was probably sulking.

Hermione was a bit angry with him because technically, she hadn’t done anything wrong and only tried to be understanding. For Ron to punish her for his shortcoming really wasn’t Quidditch.

And she was right. Ron was absolutely miserable and refused to tell Bill and Fleur what happened.

”I don’t want to talk about it,” was his only reply.

Fleur wanted to go and talk to Hermione, but Bill told her to stay out of it.

”It’s Ron’s relationship, Fleur. He has to work through it.”

”But we spent so much time, Bill. I want to know what he did wrong,” his wife said stubbornly.

”No, Fleur, and this time, I’m serious,” Bill told her, his eyes sober as he met her gaze.

Fleur tossed her silvery-blonde hair and stormed out of the kitchen.

But she didn’t contact Hermione.

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Ron wouldn’t tell anyone in his family what had gone wrong. George nagged at him, and even attempted to cast a sneak Legilimency spell on his brother, but Ron felt his intrusion and slammed down his Occlumency walls. Then they had a huge brawl in the back of the store, knocking down items and setting off a large amount of jokes. After they cleaned everything up, George fired Ron for “hitting the boss.” He was unemployed for two days, until Molly made George hire him back. They worked for the rest of the week grunting at each other like reluctant, bad-tempered apes.

Ron had received all of Hermione’s messages to contact her, or asking if she could come see him. He didn’t answer them, because he didn’t know what to say to her. What must she think of him? Hermione complained about their sex life before when everything was working properly. She had to really be disappointed in him now that he couldn’t shag her at all. Ron just didn’t want to see Hermione right now. It would be like staring his failure in the face. He just needed some time.

He was seriously considering going to St. Mungo’s and having a targeted Obliviation done. It was very expensive, but the safest route. There were unlicensed wizards and witches that provided such services, but one could never be sure what they had removed. Some people woke up completely cleaned out of their Galleons, both in their pockets and their bank accounts, unable to remember who did it, all memory of the transaction, operation and person who did it wiped away. No. If he were going to do it, it would have to be an inpatient job. Ron had saved a little money, but he’d have to clean out his account to pay for the Obliviation.

His only other option was to confess to Hermione what happened at the joke shop. He was sure she wouldn’t forgive him for it. After all, he would find it hard to forgive her if she had been with another wizard in any manner, even if it were just a kiss. They were supposed to be loyal to each other, and he felt as if he’d broken a sacred trust.

Hermione would never do such a thing to him. She had control of her urges and thought before she acted. No wizard would be able to just sweep her off her feet and on to her back, nor would she give a bloke a blow job in a dressing stall for thrills.

Miserable, Ron made the decision to have his interlude with a stranger wiped completely from his mind. Once that happened, he’d be able to face Hermione again. The only thing was, he couldn’t tell her about the procedure. It would bring up too many questions. It was dishonest, but he could think of no other way to keep the witch he loved.

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Snape noticed during the week there was no influx of owls bearing gifts for Hermione. No flowers, no candies and no follow-up cherubs. It was as if Ron Weasley had just dropped off the face of the planet. It could be the wizard was out of town or something similar, but it just seemed rather strange after a previous week full of nauseatingly juvenile attentions.

Hermione seemed a little out of sorts as well, distracted. The wizard idly wondered if something had happened on their date, unrelated to Odessa. Something that might give him a bit of an advantage. If Ron were neglecting Hermione, then she might be more open to—a stronger approach at dinner. Maybe he might be able to fit breakfast into their date as well.

Again, he was probably getting ahead of himself, but any advantage he could gain, he wanted. Now, on Friday evening, the wizard stood staring at himself in the mirror. He was no one’s beauty king, that was for certain.

He tried to force a pleasant smile and winced at the grimace that appeared on his face. His slight smiles were a thousand times better when they were real, small as they were. He ran his fingers through his greasy-looking black hair, and cocked his head slightly. At least he could do something about its appearance for the short term. Working with potions constantly was hell on hair, not that he really cared. But, in trying to put his best foot forward for Hermione, he’d make the effort, sure she’d notice. He went to his lab and opened his potions stores and took out a number of ingredients.

It shouldn’t take him long to brew a shampoo to make his hair more appealing. He couldn’t do a thing about any other part of him other than apply a glamour. He drew the line at that. She knew all his imperfections already. It made no sense to try and pad them. He began brewing.

By six-fifteen, he had concocted a foaming unscented shampoo. He yanked a strand of his hair out and dipped it into the small cauldron, drawing it out slowly and blowing on it. The strand suddenly whipped about, became shiny and healthy looking. Snape studied it, wondering how odd he’d look with healthy, bouncing hair.

After a moment, he shrugged. Hell, he was going out on a limb concerning everything else, why not this, too? He poured the shampoo into a bottle, cleaned the cauldron and headed for his quarters to shower and dress.

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Hermione stood in her white bra and knickers, eyeing her wardrobe as she tried to decide what to wear. Severus had said it was an informal meal, not an intimate dinner. She didn’t want to dress in robes, because that was a little too ordinary, and Muggle jeans were out of the question as well.

She thought about it, tapping her cheek with a fingertip as she looked at her little worn dresses. She should look nice. Attractive. But not too attractive. It might give the wizard ideas, ideas that couldn’t happen.

Even as she thought it, Hermione felt a little twinge inside and again, pushed it away. Ron had left her hanging Sunday, and although she managed to twiddle her way to a small release, it was nowhere near as satisfying as a wizard-inspired orgasm. She didn’t dare think a Snape-inspired orgasm although that was the truth of it.

She pulled out a green silk dress. It was a good dress. Pretty, but demure. It fell below her knees, was long-sleeved, flattered her figure and didn’t show too much cleavage. A modest dress for a modest occasion.

Hermione didn’t allow herself to think she chose the dress because it was one of Snape’s house colors. Nor did she think when she chose to wear a silver necklace and earrings. But the earrings were little dangling lions, so represented her house. She had a pair of nice matching low-heeled green flats and put them on as well. She had conditioned her hair so it looked more curly than bushy. Hopefully it would hold during the meal.

She lightly applied a little lipstick and mascara. She didn’t need blush, she was slightly reddened already. She looked at her perfumes and decided against them. She studied her loose, curly hair again, then decided to pin it up, so it looked as if she’d made an effort. She twisted it, then secured it with a silver comb. She stepped back and studied herself.

Gods, if she didn’t look like a walking invitation for a Slytherin encounter. She started to unpin her hair when a knock sounded on the door. She looked up at the clock.

It read seven and her belly dropped. She drew a deep breath, picked up her wand and slid it up her sleeve. She tugged at the hem of her dress, then walked out of her quarters, let the wall down behind her, walked through her office and opened the door. Severus was standing there rather stiffly. He was wearing his regular robes, his dark eyes drifting over her slowly.

”I said it was to be an informal meal,” he said to the witch tightly. He said it tightly because there was a responding tightness in his groin area as he looked at her, wrapped up so prettily and perfectly. She wasn’t flashing her wares, but they were delightfully presented by understatement.

“This is informal,” Hermione said to him, arching an eyebrow as she looked at his hair. “I suppose you having shiny, manageable and tangle-free hair counts as informal as well.”

”There’s nothing wrong with making an effort,” the wizard snapped, displeasure on his face at her turning things around on him.

”My feelings exactly,” Hermione replied coolly, walking out of the office and closing the door behind her. “Shall we go?”

Snape stared at her. She was wearing lipstick and it made her lips look fuller. How he’d love to smear it with his mouth all over her smug little face. His eyes narrowed unpleasantly for a moment.

”Yes,” he said shortly, turning and waiting for her. They walked to the narrow stairwell that led to the second floor.

”After you,” Snape said, making a gesture.

Hermione walked up the stairwell a bit self-consciously as Snape followed, his eyes resting on her buttocks as she ascended. Hermione swore she could feel them burning into her skin and flushed as she emerged on the second floor corridor and turned quickly to catch him. Of course he was looking at her face by then.

Snape gave her a little smirk because of the unspoken accusation in her eyes, and the redness of her face.

”It seems the slightest effort makes you flush, Hermione. Am I going to have to carry you to the ROR?” he purred at her.

”No—it’s just that I felt—I knew—“

“Yes? You knew what?”

”Oh—nothing. Just forget it,” she snapped turning away from him and walking ahead.

Snape’s eyes were right back on her rump again.

It was a very nice view, plump and shifting beneath the silk fabric like two nifflers having a mild altercation. He was particularly appreciative since her arse was also draped in Slytherin green. It just added to the allure.

Hermione stopped in front of the door to the Room of Requirement, which was clearly visible since Snape had set it in place. But when he left the room, nothing had yet appeared by way of furnishings. He did, however, find out what foods Hermione liked and made arrangements for the house elves to deliver the meal once the room was properly oriented. There would be a small assortment of various foods and desserts. That was all Snape knew and expected. He’d find out the rest once they entered the room.

Hermione stood before the door, feeling as if she were about to embark on yet another adventure with the wizard. Snape leaned over her, bringing his lips close to her ear and startling her slightly when he murmured silkily, “Welcome to the feast, Hermione,” twisted the knob and pushed the door open before her.

She stared into the room as Snape caught her shoulders gently, guiding her in as he told her, ”Here, behind closed doors, all of your appetites—will be met.”

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A/N: Thanks for reading.

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