The Burning Pen

An Unlikely Savior
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.

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters belong to JKR. All situations are mine. No $$$ is being made from this fanfic.
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Chapter 3 ~ The Voice

Nine o’clock the next night, Hermione was standing outside of Snape’s door. Her nightly rounds were covered and she was full of anticipation concerning the night’s upcoming events.

She knocked on the door and it was immediately pulled open, Snape standing there with a satchel in one pale hand. Hermione surmised it contained harvesting tools, because there were one or two pointy bulges poking out of the side.

Snape was dressed in dark robes as usual, his hair characteristically lank and his face sober as he looked down at the witch, who wore light robes. More than likely she had on Muggle clothing beneath.

”Punctual as ever, Miss Granger. Follow me,” he said shortly.

Hermione stepped back as he walked out into the corridor, then turned and closed the office door, warding it securely. Instead up walking up the dungeon corridor, he walked further down, towards Slytherin house.

”Where are we going?” Hermione asked him, hurrying to his side.

He gave her a sidelong glance.

”This will go far smoother if you keep your questions to a minimum,” he responded with a slight frown. “But, we are exiting the castle through a little known exit.”

He stopped in front of the wall and pressed a brick. The wall slid sideways, revealing a small niche. He entered, followed by a wide-eyed Hermione. The door closed behind them and they were encased in total darkness for a few tense seconds, tense because of Hermione that is, who didn’t like the dark at all, then the far wall opened up. A tangle of vines hung there and Snape pushed them aside, exiting. Hermione did likewise, fighting through the thick tangle.

Now they were on the grounds, and the moon was full, partially obscured by passing clouds. Snape walked ahead of her quickly, his robes billowing. Hermione once again hurried to catch up to the silent wizard.

Hermione was full of questions as they walked toward the Forbidden Forest. They were almost there when Snape suddenly stopped and turned to her.

”Come here,” he ordered.

Hermione looked up at him.

”I said, come here, Miss Granger. We have to be in contact,” the wizard hissed, his black eyes narrowed.

Hermione wanted to ask why, but didn’t. Instead, she approached Snape, who wrapped both of his arms around her securely. It wasn’t a lascivious embrace however, more like a protective one.

”Put your arms around my neck and hold on,” he told her.

Hermione did so. Was he going to Apparate? No one could Apparate on the school grounds, and anyway, all they needed to do was link arms if that were the case.

Suddenly, Snape hissed,” Locomordres.”

Hermione gasped as they rose up off the ground, clutching the wizard’s neck tightly, her legs reflexively wrapping around his as she was inverted, hanging on to Snape as he flew straight as an arrow over the Forbidden Forest. She’d forgotten he could fly without a broom. A spell taught to him by Voldemort in the days when he had the despot’s favor.

”You’ve quite a grip,” Snape said as she clung to his neck, afraid she’d fall even though he had his arms wrapped tightly around her, the satchel dangling from his hand. The Forbidden Forest was quite deep and they flew for several minutes before Snape landed in a clearing, releasing Hermione.

Her heart was still pounding as she looked around. The clearing was quite small, surrounded by trees. What she noticed the most though was everything was completely silent. There were no animal sounds, which was strange. Not even insect sounds.

And the moon overhead was completely clear of clouds, its monochromatic light flooding the area so she could clearly see Snape wasting no time reaching into the satchel and taking out an ornate wooden goblet and a silver flask with a woman in flowing robes etched on the front of it.

He filled the goblet and placed the flask back into the satchel, then murmured something, bringing the goblet to his lips and drinking from it. He lowered it slowly, his eyes fluttering a bit, and a slight smile playing about his lips, which he licked as if he had just drank the most delicious drink in existence. He held the cup out to Hermione.

”Drink,” he said rather thickly, his eyes resting on her. They weren’t full of meanness as they usually were. In fact, they looked rather . . . pleased.

”What is it?” she asked him, taking the goblet, and was startled when he gave her a bit of a grin in response. He looked a bit inebriated.

”Magic,” he said softly, “Drink it. You must if you are to be freed of your debt to me.”

Magic? Obviously some kind of potion. Well, it didn’t seem to be anything that would harm her, although it might make her a little high. Still, the professor seemed to have his wits about him and didn’t drop dead, so she tilted the goblet to her mouth, first taking a sip, then drinking deeply as the delicious ambrosia filled her mouth. She had never tasted anything like it. It was sort of like hazelnut in flavor, but richer, creamier, filling her mouth, then her head, then her body with pure pleasure. The world around her seemed to bend for a moment, then pulsate as if taking a deep breath, then expelling it.

She lowered the empty goblet slowly, her eyes closed, mouth moist and parted as she ran her tongue slowly over her lips to collect whatever wonderful flavor remained. Slowly she opened them to see Snape was gone.

But, for some reason this didn’t bother her. Everything around her was luminous with moonlight, as if painted silver, or covered in ice. But the night was warm, and she could smell the scent of new growth and Spring, small green things springing from the earth, bursting from the trees. She looked upward toward the moon. It seemed closer and larger than it had ever been.

She stared upward, and watched as a cloud crossed the face of the shining orb, long and thin, then bent toward her, streaming downward, small whispers sounding on the wind. As it drew closer she saw that it wasn’t a cloud but thousands of butterflies.

No. Not butterflies. Moths. Thousands of moths, fluttering toward her, their flowing motion beautiful and mesmerizing. Then, they came in contact with her, swirling around her, beginning at her feet, shifting her robes. She held out her arms, delighted as they swirled around them, then some lit on them, and she could see they weren’t moths at all, but fairies. Tiny naked fairies.

They lifted her hair, and her robes, flitting around her, teasing and playing, calling her “Mother” and “Goddess” as they began to undress her. Hermione didn’t fight it. Her clothing felt so confining anyway. She would love to feel the night air on her bare skin.

The fairies removed her robes, pulling them over her head as Hermione held her arms straight up to assist them, then they did the same to her t-shirt, others working on her jeans with a little aggravation. Blasted Muggle clothing. A chain of them pulled down her zipper as several fought to unsnap them. Finally after much effort and reminiscing about proper maidens wearing proper clothing back in the day, they had the witch nude.

Hermione laughed as they descended on her body, anointing her with some sweet smelling oil that that made her skin tingle and her head even lighter. Her senses were enhanced and she found understanding in the swishing of the trees, and the whoosh of the wind. Not words, but . . . but something that went deeper. Life. Even the small stones radiated life as the fairies whirled around her.

There was no fear, no modesty, only an intoxicated sense of delight and joy as she stood naked in the clearing, bathed in moonlight. She felt, she felt like dancing and began to sway, the music of the spheres falling on her ears although no one else could have heard it if they were present. The fairies smiles as they watched her, then several appeared with a gauzy gown made of gossamer. Through half-lidded eyes, Hermione watched them approach, the delicate gown swaying between them as if it had a life of its own.

Hermione raised her arms over her head and the fairies carefully lowered it over her, covering her in the garment, which did indeed swirl around her with a life of its own, caressing her skin deliciously, urging her to move.

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Click Here for streaming interactive music:
http://www.theburningpen.com/savior/tv.m3u
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Hermione did begin to dance now, urged on by her garment and the flitting fairies whirling around her, forming shapes and curves, following, frolicking alongside her. She had never felt so free.

Then she heard it.

Hermione.

A soft, silken voice calling her on the wind.

”Who calls me?” she said carelessly, the fairies suddenly ceasing their dancing and looking extremely excited.

I am the voice of your destiny. Be not afraid, come follow me. Answer my call, and I'll set you free.

Hermione laughed, and said, “I hear your voice, but who are you? Tell me.”

She swirled beneath the moonlight teasingly as the voice called to her again, more imploring this time.

I am the voice in the wind and the pouring rain. I am the voice of your hunger and pain. I am the voice that always is calling you. I am the voice, I will remain.

Hermione ran toward the far edge of the wood, then danced back, the fairies following her, urging her with their tiny voices to follow the voice wooing her.

”Go, goddess . . . into the wood,” they pled, whirling around her.

But Hermione wouldn’t go. She was fickle and playful and only wanted the moonlight, the night, the scents around her and the voices of the trees, who also pled with her to enter and pass through them.

Her name was called constantly by the low, silken voice, urging her to follow it, to come willingly, but Hermione was like a nymph now, detached, self-absorbed. All she knew was Joy. Unbridled joy as moonlight bathed her and her gossamer robes swirled around her, her body visible beneath the sheer, flowing fabric. She danced for more than two hours as the voice continued calling her.

Suddenly she stopped dancing, seeing a shadow on the edge of the forest.

”Is it you?” she called to the shadow. “Come out where I can see you, Voice.”

The shadow edged nearer although Hermione didn’t approach it.

Suddenly, a beautiful stag entered the clearing, looking at her majestically.

”You’re beautiful,” she breathed, and the voice rose again although the animal didn’t speak.

I am the voice in the fields when the summer's gone. The dance of the leaves when the autumn winds blow. Ne'er do I sleep thoughout all the cold winter long. I am the force that in springtime will grow.

And the stag began to leap about, frisking, mock-charging, prancing as it circled the perimeter of the glade. It was magnificent, dancing in the moonlight, its dark eyes on the witch as it courted her.

”You’re so beautiful,” Hermione said, holding her hand out to the beast.

The stag stopped its antics and cautiously walked forward, almost touching the palm of her hand with its nose, its beautiful black eyes meeting hers.

Hermione stared at the creature, completely enamored. She reached out to caress it, but the beast started and fled into the woods.

”No! Come back!” Hermione cried in despair.

Then, the voice came floating back to her, distant now . . . but still calling her.

I am the voice of the past that will always be. Filled with my sorrow and blood in my fields. I am the voice of the future, bring me your peace. Bring me your peace, and my wounds, they will heal.

Something inside Hermione stung when she heard the final lines of the voice. The sting of something sadly familiar when it said its wounds would heal.

She hesitated, then ran into the woods, the fairies remaining behind.

It was close to midnight.

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A/N: This part of the story turned into a little songfic. The words of the voice are actually the lyrics to a song called “The Voice” which is sung by Celtic Woman. The song is so beautiful I included it in this chapter. I changed one word, substituting “destiny” for “history” in keeping with the storyline. Hope you enjoyed this little chappie. Before anyone asks, the stag wasn't Snape in Animagus form.  More than likely a magical image enhanced by her state sent by him to draw her into the woods. Thanks for reading.

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