The Burning Pen

"What Was I Thinking" Series
"#1 ~ What Was I Thinking? ~ Part 1"
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 4

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters belong to JKR. All situations are mine. No $$$ is being made from this fanfic.
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Chapter 4 ~ Frustration Will Do That to Ya

Hermione woke the next morning to the sound of insistent pounding. Groggily, she sat up then sputtered, spitting out some chestnut strands that had worked their way into her mouth during the night. She pulled the offending strands away, then ran her hands through the riot of tangles that was her "morning hair" and blinked twice to clear her head. The head girl groaned inwardly as Ron's impatient voice wailed plaintively from the other side of the locked and warded door.

"C'mon 'Moine. Get up. I'm staaaaarving!"

"Go ahead down to breakfast, Ronald," she called out as she swung her legs over the edge of the bed. "I'll be along in a bit."

A pregnant and disbelieving silence loomed. She sighed.

"I'll be there."

Another expectant pause.

"I promise."

She could hear the relieved smile in Ron's voice.

"Oy, alright then. We've missed you the past couple of mornings. See you in the Great Hall."

Ron's heavy footfalls faded away as he walked swiftly down the stairs, through the common room, where he was joined by a waiting Harry and Ginny, then out the swinging door portrait of the Fat Lady, who offered up a spritely "Good Morning!" as the young witch and wizards passed.

Hermione shook her head. Sometimes she could swear that Ron was the blissfully unaware host of a gluttonous fifty-foot long tapeworm, which had happily occupied the bowels of his slim, lank body since first year. Madame Pomfrey, the school medi-witch assured the young witch that this was not the case, as tapeworms were muggle monsters not suited to infesting a magical host.

"I guarantee you, Miss Granger, that Mr. Weasley is NOT the victim of a greedy parasite,", the witch said archly as if the sum total of her knowledge was being questioned. "He's just plain insatiable when it comes to good food presented in abundance."

Insatiable hunger. The snake. Her dream.

Hermione fell back on her bed as the memory of last night's dream flowed back into her consciousness, as well as the recollection of her furious but semi-successful attempt at self-gratification that followed. She didn't understand why she felt so aroused and needy by a dream about a snake. Hmm. The snake in her dream was no common reptile.

It was a mesmerizing, black-eyed Slytherin serpent that embraced her lioness form, and transformed her into a woman. A sentient serpent who spoke to her with a sensuous voice, licked the sensitive shell of her ear and nuzzled at her throat with something like...desire. A serpent who held her naked body possessively as it alleged it was she that intruded first on its space, ventured into its territory and drank deeply from its pool without permission. It threatened to devour her, and promised she would love being devoured.

Hermione's belly fluttered as the intimacy of the scenario touched some unfamiliar part of her. She sucked in her breath, and did her best to force the powerful emotions away.

Sequestered in the back of her mind stood a stranger with insolent dark eyes and alabaster skin. He leaned arrogantly against the locked gate of her subconscious, applying subtle pressure, waiting patiently for recognition, acceptance...waiting for her to open up her troubled heart and let him in. Let him in despite the fact he was someone...something dangerous and forbidden. He represented a dark embodiment of all illicit temptation, an irresistable flesh and bone incarnation of fulfillment, As he prodded at the edge of Hermione's consciousnes, the sharpness of his countenance was punctuated by a sardonic and feral smile,

Hermione lurched to her feet, propelled by a disturbing throb in the pit of her stomach. She looked around the room wildly, feeling as if someone else were there, watching her. Someone she wanted in her presence. She saw no one. The room was heavily warded and alarmed. No one else could be here without her knowledge.

"This is crazy," she muttered, hugging herself tightly against those unseen eyes. Another surge of heat washed over her like a lava flow. The fine hairs on her arms stood up in alarm. She took a deep breath to calm herself, trying to find her center amid the whirlwind of desire that tried to swallow her.

She needed to shower. She needed to feel something cool against her skin to ease the heat cascading over her body. Even the slight breeze flowing through the open window made her shudder from its contact. She turned to the mirror and studied herself. Even disheveled from sleep she was amazed at the wantonness reflected in her amber eyes. She licked her lips, aware of the scent of desire wafting upwards.

She knew a shower couldn't help her. A crashing waterfall couldn't cool the ardor of this inner burn. She was empty. She needed filling. Something other to fill her than book-found knowledge, some other kind of completion. She needed to know...something.

Her mind clicked over, the locked gate of her subconscious thrown open. Grinning triumphantly, he sauntered through the corridors of her mind, his arms spread wide to the daylight of her admission.

"Snape. I need Snape," she whispered to the walls and her own aching emptiness. She listened for a moment, then answered the unspoken question that hung heavily in the quiet.

"Why? Because I know he wouldn't hesitate to devour me."


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Standing in front of his ornate hall mirror, fastidiously fastening the cuffs of his shirt sleeves, Severus paused as the very air of the dungeons seemed to warm and shimmer. A wave of liquid longing washed over him, causing a tightening in his groin. A powerful longing, full of need. The time was close. He knew.

Shrugging on his robe, and he started methodically closing the numerous buttons. He could almost smell the witch's arousal. Severus smiled. A not entirely unpleasant smile that brought him to this side of almost handsome. After a few moments, he allowed himself one more look in the mirror, and arched one eyebrow suggestively. Pleased with the effect, a chuckle rumbled deep in his throat. He turned in a great swirl of robe and determination, then headed to the Great Hall.

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Hermione rushed through the double doors of the Great Hall and past her fellow students, busily chowing down on bacon, eggs, ham, toast, pancakes, treacle tarts and a myriad of other delicious victuals piled high on platters distributed at strategic intervals along the house tables. Feeling flushed and irritable, she plunked herself down unceremoniously between Ron and Harry, reaching quickly for toast and jam.

Her hair was still damp, despite a quickly applied drying charm. She had stood for quite a while under the cold water of the shower, trying to cool the growing desire pulsing in what seemed like every nerve ending. It helped a little. Very little.

"Hermione, you finally made it!' Harry grinned, hugging her quickly before returning his attention to the large biscuit dripping with syrup and butter on his plate. "We thought you might not make it."

"Yeah," agreed Ron, his wide mouth filled to brimming with masticated bacon.

Hermione rolled her eyes at the unsavory display, her mind turning briefly to the tapeworm theory again.

"I'm just going to have a quick bite, then I've got to go," she said, liberally spreading elderberry jam on her toast. "Have some research to do..."

"The bloody library again, Hermione?!" Ron cried out aghast, losing some bacon in the process. "You know, Pince is going to open you up some shelf space one day, so you can move in and live there, for crying out loud."

Hermione's eyes narrowed as she hurriedly chewed her toast, and Harry could have sworn he saw a flash of premeditated murder in her eyes.

"Ron! Ease off!" He said placatingly, gazing at the young woman next to him gathering anger about her like an approaching storm. "You know 'Moine is a bookworm. She always has been, and thank the gods she is. She's gotten us out of more than one scrape by knowing what she was about. Be thankful, you insensitive git!"

Ron's face turned two shades redder than his hair and was about to shout a scathing reply at Harry when Hermione stood up and interrupted him.

"Ron," Hermione began, obviously agitated. "Just because you prefer to fill your belly rather than your mind is no fault of mine. Too bad there aren't any NEWTs for gluttony. You'd take first marks hands down!"

Ron tried to respond, but she was on a roll. Hermione placed her hands on her hips in a Molly Weasley-like fashion and leaned forward until she was almost nose to nose with the shocked redhead.

"Do I complain when you drag me out of bed at the crack of dawn so you can get first dibs on breakfast? No. Do I moan and whine when you drag me down to the kitchens so you can rouse off-duty house elves to fix you sandwiches and sweets? No. Do I complain when we go to Hogsmeade and spend half our time in sweet shops while you sample every blinking treat in the store? NO! I don't even complain when you meet up with your proper end and wake me up in the middle of the night to beg me to go to the hospital ward and disturb Madame Pomphrey and get a stomach draught because I am Head Girl and can go out after curfew. No matter how blooming tired I am, I go. And I go because I'm your friend and I accept you for who you are."

She drew a trembling breath and continued.

"You've known me for seven years, Ron. Seven years. You've seen me bent over with books all this time. You've watched me sit in the library and pore over tomes like there's no tomorrow. You've watched me lug dozens of books up to my dormitory when I turned in at night. You've seen me carry ten-pound volumes up several staircases, just for some light reading. When will you just accept the fact that I like to learn as much as you like to eat? Gods, Ron. Just live with it!"

Her last comment rang out loudly. She was shocked at the sheer volume of it.

The entire hall was silent, all eyes turned on the Head Girl, including those of the teachers. Professor McGonagal's mouth was drawn in a tight, thin line. Professor Flitwick was standing on his chair, patting his forehead with a multicolored hanky as he stared at the Head Girl like she had two heads. Dumbledore's stern over-the-rim-of-his-glasses look was a study in wordless communication, if given voice would say, "Admirably done, Miss Granger...quite an effective dressing down, but not really a suitable example of proper social behavior befitting a young lady in your authorative position."

"Bugger Dumbledore," thought Hermione angrily as she turned from his gaze and surveyed the rest of the Head Table.

The remaining staff wore expressions shocked into varying degrees of disbelief and disapproval. Well, all staff but one.

Professor Snape.

Severus gazed at the witch thoughtfully as he rested his fist on his cheek and tapped his temple absently with two long fingers. She was quite...passionate in her anger. Quite passionate indeed. When he realized she was watching him watching her, his eyes turned dark and knowing as his lip curled in a conspiratorial and somewhat lecherous cross between smirk and snarl. It was as if they shared some private joke.

Hermione's eyes widened, then resolutely narrowed as she forced herself to scowl blackly at the Potions Master, much to his amusement. Drawing a great, steadying breath, she spun about and, with shoulders ramrod straight, marched with all the dignity she could muster from the Great Hall, throwing the double doors wide, and letting them fall back with a satisfactory slam behind her. She walked quickly down the corridor. Despite the unsavory fact that this endeavor was much too close to the wooly art of divination for comfort, she needed to get to the library and look up the symbolism of that damn dream.


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Severus watched her go with an amused smirk on his sharp features, his black eyes clouded with a sinister mirth. "What a performance," he mused. "Ah, well, little lioness. Best you learn now that repressed sexual frustration will do that to a person."

He rose from the table and disappeared out the staff entrance with a flourish of robes, a determined set to his brow as he walked swiftly toward the library, set on interception. Time to make an appearance...have a bit of conversation...one on one.


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A/N: I would like to thank everyone who is reading this story, especially those kind enough to to take their valuable time and leave a review. It is much appreciated. I'm trying to build up a little more tension with this chapter and show how Hermione deals with frustration. Not well. Poor Ron. Anyway, we're riding towards the citrus orchards now. The road is hot and the fruits are ripening. Lemons are on the way, my friends. Thanks again.

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