The Burning Pen

The Ring

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 16

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters belong to JKR. All situations are mine. No $$$ is being made from this fanfic.
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Chapter 16 ~ A Manifestation

Herimone was sleeping peacefully, her head resting on her hands. She was so exhausted that she did not wake when the ring began to pulse with a blue light that quickly grew in intensity and strength. It pulsed faster and faster until the flashing became a steady glow that dimmed as Hermione shifted in her sleep, then brightened as she fell still.

Ozmadias was sitting on the mountainside, watching the campsite from his perch. His golden eyes showed no reaction as the tent lit up inside, but he cocked his head with interest as the glow intensified until it surrounded the small tent. It hovered a moment, then drifted a few meters away from the campsite, condensing into a dark solid shape and settling on the side of the mountain path. To the watching bird, it seemed as if the glow had simply extinguished itself, but a form sat there in the darkness. Waiting.

Grog picked up his pace, salivating as the scent of human flesh grew stronger. He moved noiselessly down the mountain path intent on a fast, hot, squirming meal. Ozmadias watched the ogre pass from his perch on the mountainside. He could barely make him out in the darkness, but he knew Grog. The ogre had come close to eating him once, stealthily climbing up the mountain as the large bird dozed. Only a misstep that dislodged a stone alerted Ozmadias to the great brute’s approach and he barely got away, leaving a handful of tail feathers in Grog’s knotty clutches. He had no love for the ogre, but knew he was an efficient killer. Hopefully he would not swallow down the ring when he ate the witch, and spit it out with her bones. Otherwise he would be forced to track the ogre and retrieve the ring from his droppings. Ozmadias clipped his beak in disgust. There were few things in this world as pungent and revolting as ogre droppings. The bird shuddered.

Grog walked a few more meters. The scent was extremely strong. He looked off the path and saw an extinguished campfire and a small orange shape. He smiled toothily. His meal came already packaged. The ogre moved so quietly that Raucous, asleep in the tree with his head under his wing, never heard him approach, and so sounded no warning. Step by step, the ogre drew closer to the tent, and the unsuspecting witch inside. He lifted his club high. He would bash the entire tent, that way he’d be sure his meal would be properly tenderized.

Grog threw his weight forward to bash the tent, but found he could not bring his club down. He tried again, straining, but his club was immovable. The ogre turned his head and looked up. His small sharp eyes went wide with terror and he released the club, turned and ran, leaving a pungent dropping behind.

The ogre loped up the mountain path at top speed, his ponderous heart pounding in fright, his grotesque face contorted in fear. Was it chasing him? Small stones shuddered as he trundled past, not so silent in fleeing mode. Grog didn’t stop running until he was safely in his cave, his chest heaving, his great bulk hunched against the furthest wall, crouched and trembling. He had never seen anything bigger than him on the mountain. Until this night, the ogre hadn’t known the meaning of fear. Grog’s ears twisted forward alertly. He thought he heard a small, scraping sound outside the cave entrance. The ogre grabbed a huge thigh bone and clutched it close to his chest as if for comfort, his small eyes focused on the cave entrance. There was another scraping sound, louder this time. Something heavy was moving over the stones. Suddenly the cave entrance went black as a great shape filled it. Grog bellowed shrilly in horror as the thing advanced at lightning speed and closed over him.

Hermione woke. The ring had heated up uncomfortably on her finger, then quickly cooled. She looked at it groggily, her brow furrowed with irritation, then rolled over and fell back into her dreamless sleep.

Outside, Ozmadias watched the scene unfold. He had been surprised to see the ogre flee. He didn’t see a reason for it. Something had happened, but he wasn’t sure what. His night vision wasn’t that good. No matter, the witch was still safe, which meant the mistress would still be very displeased. She had escaped death twice. That was two times too many.

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Hermione woke to the gentle sound of bird songs. She wriggled out of the sleeping bag and stretched. She hadn’t had a bad night at all, except when the ring woke her by heating up on her finger. She didn’t understand why it did that. This was the second time it had happened. She dressed herself, retied her ponytail, then flattened and tightly rolled her sleeping bag. She unzipped the opening, picked up the bag and the warming stone, then exited the tent. Immediately she gagged and dropped her items, clamping her hand over her mouth and nose. What the hell was that smell?

Hermione’s amber eyes scanned the campsite and fell on a pile of droppings, covered by buzzing insects. She had never smelled anything so horrible. She screwed up her face and hurriedly scrunched down the pop tent and inserted it in its carrier. She tied her sleeping bag on to the backpack, put the stone inside, slipped it on, grabbed her staff and quickly departed the campsite. Gods, that dung stunk!

Raucous was standing on a rock off the path, upwind of the droppings. He had discovered the disgusting pile as soon as he awoke and with a squawk of distaste hastily abandoned the campsite for sweeter smelling environs. He had cawed hilariously at Hermione’s reaction as she emerged from the tent, rolling on his feathered back, his claws kicking in the air The look on her face had been priceless. Hermione stalked up to the mirthful raven and glared at him as she huffed in the fresh air, trying to get rid of the stench that seemed to be clinging to her nose hairs. Raucous rolled to his feet, his black eyes glittering at her with mirth.

“That had to be the most disgusting thing I have ever smelled,” she said, frowning back at the campsite. “I wonder what left it? That was a huge pile of dung. The animal had to be enormous.”

Raucous shrugged, fluttered to her shoulder and started pecking at her backpack insistently. Hermione looked at him.

“I should make you forage for your breakfast,” she seethed as she took off the backpack, opened it and took out the bag of dried meat. “You could have warned me about the droppings. Sent me an image or something.”

She handed Raucous a piece of meat, took out another slice for herself and a piece of bread, then leaned against the stone, and began to eat. Her amber eyes wandered around idly as she chewed, looking at the landscape. She looked up the mountain, and stopped chewing. There on a crag, sat the huge bird Raucous had shown her. It appeared to be sleeping.

“Raucous,” she whispered, “Is that the bird you saw yesterday?”

Raucous stopped ripping at his meat and looked up. He fluffed his feathers excitedly and let out a low squawk of assent as his black eyes fell on Ozmadias.

“He’s huge. He could probably carry me away,” Hermione breathed. She considered the bird. It was late. Most animals were up at this time. Why was the bird asleep? It didn’t have the features of a nocturnal bird. And a nocturnal bird wouldn’t sleep in the open. Something definitely wasn’t right here.

“Raucous,” she said in a low voice. “Let’s go. Quietly.”

The raven hopped on her shoulder and they quietly headed up the path, leaving the sleeping Ozmadias to his dreams.

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Venoma was pacing the setting room in front of the window, stopping from time to time to look out of it, scanning the skies for her familiar. Ozmadias hadn’t contacted her in almost twenty-four hours. Where was that blasted bird?

Vivaldi awoke, his black eyes blinking away sleep. He tried to move and found both arms trapped under two naked, sleeping concubines, curled against him on either side. He sighed.

“Asera, Handei, get up,” he said, “I have to leave.”

Both women stretched and wrapped their arms over his slim pale body. Two sets of brown eyes stared at him affectionately.

“No, Vivaldi, stay with us,” Asera breathed, pulling on him insistently.

Vivaldi looked at the Lemurian witch. She had been with him since she was fourteen. She was eighteen now. He sighed.

“There is something important going on. I have to go see Venoma,” he said, trying to unwrap the arms holding him to the bed.

Handei groaned, and pressed against him seductively, her large breasts pressing against the side of his chest, her leg crossing his as she pressed her hot sex against his thigh. He looked at her, feeling a stirring in his loins. Handei had come to him when she was sixteen. She was nineteen now, a tigress from the very start and his favorite. She would do anything for him and to him. She never complained when he was rough with her, like the others did. He steeled himself and wriggled free of them both. He rolled from the bed, both women’s brown eyes sweeping over his body hungrily. He grinned down at them, his cock hard as a rock. He really did have to go, however.

“You two would drain me dry if I stayed here with you. Pleasure each other if you need orgasms so badly,” he said. “The women smiled at him, then moved into each other’s arms and began to kiss. Vivaldi watched them caress each other for several moments, and considered joining them again, but…duty called. He slipped on his robes and headed for his own room, closing the door on the gasping concubines.

The wizard showered and dressed quickly. He was starving. Last night had been enjoyable but tiring. He satisfied both women several times, Venoma swimming in his head as they climbed over each other sweating and panting. He liked fucking two women at one time. It increased his stamina. When he finally got Venoma…

Vivaldi sighed as he walked toward the kitchens, his hands shoved deep in his pockets. So much hinged on his getting his hands on the ring. Venoma was making him nervous. She looked so hungry whenever she spoke of the ring. The young wizard was starting to believe she had designs on it, and on taking over Snape Manor. With the ring in her possession she could do it. If she did, she wouldn’t stand for his presence there. He would always be a threat if she didn’t force him to leave the Manor, or worse…kill him with the power of the ring. His black eyes glittered. He would have to make sure he was the one to claim the ring.

Vivaldi pushed open the kitchen door, startling the servants. He walked to the storeroom and looked at the cured meats. He selected a ham and set it on the counter. He made a cutting motion with his hand and several pieces of meat were sliced neatly from the bone. He gathered them together and exited the storeroom. He walked to the kitchen table and sat down.

“Bread? Plate?” he asked one of the servants, who hurriedly brought a plate to the Master, then retrieved a loaf of fresh crusty bread from the oven and set it in a basket and brought it over to the table, setting it down close to Vivaldi.

“Drink?” the wizard said, as he broke off a piece of bread and wrapped it around the meat, taking a healthy bite and chewing. A glass of cold juice was set next to him, and he picked it up and drained half of it.

“Bring me the pitcher,” he said around his meal.

The nervous servant quickly obliged him. She wasn’t used to seeing her Master in the kitchens. She had only been at the Manor for three months. Vivaldi looked up at her. He hadn’t yet bedded her. He made it a point to fuck all the female servants. It was his right as Lord of the Manor.

“What’s your name?” Vivaldi asked her, his black eyes sweeping over her. She had brown eyes and brown hair, full lips and a curvaceous shape.

“Shaaron,” the nervous girl replied. His black eyes settled on her face.

“How old are you?” the wizard asked her, turning slightly in his chair to see her better as he ate.

“Seventeen, my Lord,” she responded.

Vivaldi smirked. She was young.

“Are you a virgin, Shaaron?” he asked her.

The girl blushed. Vivaldi took that as a yes. He leaned back in his chair and stared at her until her blush spread over her entire body.

“You know your duties as a servant of this Manor?” Vivaldi asked her, his voice low.

“Yes, my Lord. They were told to me when I arrived three months ago,” she answered him, her eyes lowered to the floor.

Vivaldi leaned forward.

“Then I assume you know your duty towards me,” he said, his black eyes sweeping over her again.

“Yes, my Lord,” the girl responded in a small voice. Yes, she did know. And she dreaded it. She had heard stories about how Vivaldi treated virgins from the other servants.

The wizard looked her over one more time.

“Tonight, instead of retiring to the servants quarters, I want you to come to my rooms. Be prepared to stay the night,” Vivaldi said to her. He had let her go long enough.

“Yes, my Lord,” the girl said in a whisper, curtseying.

Vivaldi nodded in approval. “Return to your work,” he said, dismissing the girl.

Vivaldi turned back to the table and continued eating. The girl returned to her work, her brown eyes glistening with unshed tears. It wouldn’t do for her Lord to see her cry.

Vivaldi wolfed down the remaining bread and meat. He wiped his mouth on a napkin and rose from the table. Taking one more look at the girl, who was bending over as she tended the oven, he smiled lasciviously, then exited the kitchen.

He needed to check on his half-sister.

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A/N: Poor Grog. No wriggling meat for him. Ozzy sleeping on the job. Vivaldi having threesomes, plotting and deflowering his servants. Busy, busy. Please review.

Lola_Lola: Sorry about the non-update. I edited a previous chapter, and the story was automatically moved to the top of the list because of it.

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