The Burning Pen

A Looping of the Scales 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 39

All recognizable characters belong to JKR. No $$$ is being made from this fanfic.
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Chapter 39 ~ Awkward Beginnings

Ron dreamed he was in a forest where Bishop cakes grew like fruits from trees, fragrant, dark and glistening as they hung from the branches, ready to be plucked and eaten. The only problem was when he’d jump to harvest them, the limbs would lift, swinging the luscious cakes out of reach. He groaned in his sleep, tossing and turning, tormented by his dream, the sweet scent of the cakes filling his nostrils. Then, they shriveled away on the boughs, leaving nothing but burnt little husks.

“No!” Ron cried sitting up and blinking around wildly in the gray dawn. Harry’s brow wrinkled at the shout. He snorfled and rolled over, still sound asleep. Ron rubbed his eyes, a horrified expression on his face. That had been a total nightmare. All those luscious, wasted cakes—

”That was bloody awful,” he groaned, dropping back to the bed.

But he could still smell the cakes. How was that possible? He sat back up and noticed a cardboard box tied with yellow and black string sitting on the end of his bed.

”What’s that?” he asked no one in particular, but leaned down and hooked the string with one finger and drew the box up to the bed. He sniffed. Yes, that heavenly smell came from the mysterious package.

”Oh—please,” Ron breathed, quickly untying the string and reverently opening the box. It was as if the clouds parted and a choir of angels began to sing as he looked inside.

It was a Bishop cake, glistening and packed with nuts, dates, and everything else that made the confection so delicious. On top of the cake was a little note.

Dear Ron,

You looked very upset when you left, so I went down to the kitchens and baked this for you, hoping it would make you feel better. The House Elves were very accommodating and delivered it for me. I hope it helps. And you really do have a wonderful Animagus form.

Susan Bones

Ron blinked at the message. She’d cooked the cake just for him? Especially for him?

He lifted the box, smelling the cake again, his mouth watering. He looked over at Harry covetously and for a split second resembled a miser hunched protectively over his box of gold or even Sméagol drooling lustfully over his lovely magic ring.

My precious.

No, Ron wasn’t that bad. Maybe he’d save Harry a piece.

A small piece.

He set the box down between his spread legs. The cake was almost too pretty to eat. Ron blinked at it again, then greedily tore off a piece with his fingers and stuffed it into his mouth. His eyes went half-lidded and he slumped with pleasure as he chewed and swallowed. It was even more delicious than it looked. It was as good as his mum’s cake, blasphemous as that was to think.

“Thanks, Susan,” he said around another piece of cake.

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Just before breakfast, Susan walked out of the stairwell that opened on the entrance hall to find Ron waiting for her.

”That cake was delicious, Susan. Thank you,” Ron said to her with a smile.

Susan blinked at him.

”Was? You ate the whole thing? I only sent it a couple of hours ago,” she said to him. She looked a little tired. She had stayed up late making his cake.

”The whole thing,” Ron replied, rubbing his stomach. “Now, I’m going to wash it down with breakfast.”

Susan laughed. She had a very pretty laugh.

”You must have some metabolism,” she said, starting to walk toward the Great Hall.

Ron walked alongside her.

”I can eat anything and not gain a pound,” he told her.

”That must be nice. As you can see, I’m a bit on the heavy side. One of my NEWTS is in Muggle Studies, and I’m trying to get excellent marks in my chosen topic, ‘Improving the Muggle Meal.’ I’ve adapted Muggle recipes using a bit of magic. I don’t want to let too many other people taste the food or the impact of what I’ve done would be ruined. So, I have to taste everything myself. The result—well, you can see what that is.”

Ron looked Susan over. Yes, she was rather thick, but curvy in all the right places. She didn’t look too bad at all to him. She even had a couple of freckles. Ron liked freckles since he had them too.

”You don’t look bad at all, Susan,” he said to the witch, not as a compliment but just a statement of fact as far as he was concerned. Still, Susan flushed with pleasure. “But, if tasting your own cooking is an issue, I could taste your food for you. My taste buds are supreme. My mum is a wonderful cook, everyone raves about her food. So I can tell you what tastes good and what doesn’t.”

Susan looked hesitant.

”I don’t know, Ron. It’s not just about taste,” she said, lowering her voice so others passing wouldn’t hear her. “Some of the food is magical because of the ingredients I use, almost like potions. For example, my spinach puffs make you very strong. My carrot cake improves your vision. Things like that. You’d be like a lab rat, testing everything.”

Ron was very impressed. Food magic? Wow! People cast spells on food or added potions to make it do things, but to actually cook the magic into a meal? That was quite an ability. He’d be willing to give it a go, providing she didn’t want him to test anything poisonous.

“It can get rather time-consuming, too,” Susan added. “You’d have to sit around and wait some of the time because I cook several different courses simultaneously.”

Several courses? Now Ron was really interested in becoming Susan’s food taster.

”I’ve sat in the kitchen at home for hours waiting for mum to finish cooking. I’m a veteran. Come on, Susan. I’m always hungry. Supper only stays with me an hour or two. The food just—burns up. I need more carbs. You’d be doing me a favor.”

Susan laughed again, then said, “All right, Ron. Meet me in the kitchens after supper. I promise you’ll go to bed filled to the gills.”

Ron gave her a big smile as he opened the door for her to enter the Great Hall.

”That’s great, Susan, just great,” he replied.

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“Here’s your robes. I—I Scourgified them,” Hermione said to a quiet Severus the next day when she came to his rooms for lunch.

He took the robes, then put his nose to them, inhaling. He closed his eyes for a moment, his brow furrowing as Hermione looked at him, reddening. His dark eyes opened and rested on her.

”They still smell like you,” he informed her. “The scent of you clings to the fabric. It’s even more female than you smelled the day you kissed me. It’s—it’s so much stronger. There’s some perspiration, but the other scent, I can’t seem to—“

Suddenly, Severus shook out his robes, holding them by the shoulders. Starting at the collar he began sniffing it, moving over the fabric and going lower. He suddenly stopped and inhaled loudly, then pulled back, looking at where the scent was located on the robes.

Hermione’s entire head turned red as he looked at her.

”I know what that is now. What is it? What excited you?” he asked, dropping the robes on the floor and catching her by her arms. “Was it me? Were you thinking about me, Hermione?”

Hermione began to tremble. Snape felt it and made his hold firmer.

”Don’t tremble. Just tell me, were you thinking about me last night when you did it?”

Hermione met his dark eyes. His big nose was flared and he was actually biting his lower lip in anticipation of her answer.

”Just tell him,” a little voice said in her head.

”Yes. I was thinking about you,” she said softly. “I didn’t mean to do it—but—“

”But you did it, and that’s what happened. What were you thinking about exactly?”

Hermione didn’t answer.

”I know what it was, Hermione. It could only be one thing. You’re ready for a lover,” he said softly. “And I’m ready to be one.”

Snape kissed her then. His lips were hungry against hers although he didn’t pull her into his body.

”A real kiss,” Hermione,” he said against her mouth. “I want to know what you taste like. Show me.”

Hermione had French kissed Ron before, but it was nothing like invading Snape’s soft mouth. He didn’t—tongue wrestle. His tongue moved slowly, caressed and entwined with her own easily. How did he know how to do that?

It was just Snape’s nature not to rush or be greedy because something important could be missed. His love of brewing taught him patience. It was paying off now.

He couldn’t describe the taste of Hermione, but it was the most compelling flavor he’d ever experienced. Her mouth was warm, wet, sweet, alive and he wanted to lap at it forever. He did pull her into him now, his erection full blown and resting against her belly as he continued kissing her.

For Hermione it was as if she’d consumed some kind of drug. Everything around her was losing reality and all she was, was a core of feeling. His mouth, his closeness, his maleness pressing into her. Snape’s hands moved over her shoulders, and down her back, stopping at the small of it and returning to sink into her bushy hair.

”Don’t go back to class, Hermione,” he said softly, pulling back from her mouth. “Stay here with me. Please.”

Hermione stared at him, then groaned as he lifted her hair and kissed her throat, slumping against him.

”You want to,” he whispered in her ear. “And I so want you to stay, Hermione. I want to be inside you. Let me inside you. Show me what it’s like.”

”Oh dear gods,” Hermione gasped as his mouth fell back to her throat. Ron never made her feel like this, never talked to her like this. Snape kissed his way up the side of her face, then fell back to her lips, holding her closer, his body beginning to rub against hers helplessly. He felt as if his boxers had grown two sizes too small.

”Let me take you to my bedroom. I promise, I won’t rush this . . . say you’ll stay with me, Hermione. Tell me we can do this,” Snape breathed at her, his face contorted by desire.

Hermione was nothing but tingle from the top of her head to the soles of her feet. Some parts of her tingled more than others. But—but skip classes? Someone was bound to notice. She never skipped class, and that could lead to an instant investigation, no doubt straight to Snape’s private quarters because it was well known that she frequented it. She’d hate to be discovered in a compromising position.

And judging by how she felt right now, it surely would be compromising.

”I—I can’t skip class, Severus,” she said, pulling away from him. It felt as if it were the hardest thing to do in the world.

“Hermione,” he said, her very name sounding like a plea.

“I can’t,” she said again, weakly. “It would be noticed, Severus. People would come here looking for me.”

“We won’t let them in.”

”No. I can’t. I have to go to class. The NEWTS, remember?”

Snape blinked at her. Yes, the NEWTS. That was enough to throw cold water on her. But he could still smell her desire and it nearly drove him mad. It was a good thing he was used to be denied what he wanted, or he could be lashing out at her right now.

“All right. But you will come this evening, won’t you? To—study?”

Hermione slowly nodded her head, backing away from him. She knew if she did come tonight, they would be doing much more than studying together. This situation was just too heated to die down on its own. The desire and curiosity was too much. Even if it were only one time—

“I’m going to go, Severus,” she told him, still backing away. Severus was on point and looked as if he wanted to grab her and draw her back, but he held his ground, swallowing several times as she moved further and further away. She felt for the torch, not taking her eyes off him, then pulled it, opening the wall.

There was no way Snape was about to do it when he didn’t want her to go. But he was already in danger of breaking his own rule of not interfering with her studies, and he hadn’t even done more than kiss her yet. He had tried to keep her from her classes. He should have known that wouldn’t have worked. If it had worked, she might have resented him afterwards, so maybe it was good she left.

Snape looked down at his tented robes, knowing it would have been immeasurably better if she had stayed. Well, he wasn’t going to wank off this time. If he wanted this to go right, he had to do some preparation to make her feel more comfortable when she returned.

He didn’t want to muck this up. Hermione had said she’d be back, but she didn’t say she’d have sex with him.

It would be up to him to convince her.

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Hermione exited her last class of the day, Muggle Studies and walked out into the entrance hall. She had gotten cold feet and decided to study in her room this evening. She hadn’t counted on Severus coming to meet her.

“Going somewhere?” he said softly, materializing out of the crowd of passing students and catching her arm.

”Severus?”

”Yes, Severus. Where were you going?”

“Er—“

”My quarters are this way,” he told her, drawing her back down the stairs and directing her to the dungeons.

”My, Snape sure is pushy about Hermione studying, isn’t he?” Ginny said to Neville as they walked down the stairs, watching the two go down the narrow dungeon stairwell.

”He seems to be as bad as she is,” Neville agreed, then they continued on, unaware of just what it was Hermione was walking into.

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Snape opened the wall that led to his study.

”Go in,” he said to Hermione, pushing at the small of her back as she stalled.

Hermione walked through and gasped. There were candles and an unconscionable amount of flowers everywhere. On the mantle, desks, tables, hanging from the shelving, even from the ceiling. It was like an indoor garden.

“What is all of this?” she asked him, walking over to a bunch of small trailing purple blooms and sniffing them. It looked as if he’d raided every flowering plant professor Sprout had in the Herbology center. Well, not every one. There weren’t any roses.

”Well, it’s my attempt at—er being romantic. Lovers are supposed to be romantic. More romantic than a regular person, uh, boyfriend,” he said a bit nervously, looking around at everything then back at Hermione. “It is romantic—isn’t it?”

Hermione looked at him and smiled.

”Yes, it is rather romantic, Severus. You obviously went through a lot of trouble to set this up,” she said softly.

”And—and I have food,” he told her, waving his hand toward the table which was graced by two plates on which rested two very greasy bags of fish and chips. There was milk and pumpkin juice as well.

Hermione laughed.

“What? I went all the way to London to get those. They’re quite good,” Snape said a bit snarkily.

”Oh, I don’t doubt they are, Severus. It’s just usually, a meal is much fancier. Prawns or something like that. And wine.”

”Oh. I just thought it would go better if I served something we both liked. Everyone likes fish and chips. And to be honest, I didn’t know if you did fancy. You don’t seem as if you would, you’re so—down to earth.”

Snape looked a little put out that he not seen this side to Hermione. He much preferred down to earth.

”Actually, I don’t do fancy, Severus. Too time consuming, not to mention expensive. And I love fish and chips,” she said, putting her knapsack on the floor and walking up to the table. Snape hurried over and pulled out her chair, and she sat down as he carefully pushed it in. Then he walked around the table and sat down himself, looking at her as she ripped open her bag and dumped the contents on her plate.

”At least there’s utensils,” she said to Snape, picking up a fork.

“One has to have the proper tools,” he responded softly as he dumped out his own food. She seemed to like what he’d done.

He’d find out how much after supper.

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A/N: Thanks for reading. ***

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