The Burning Pen

"What Was I Thinking" Series
"#2 ~ What Was I Thinking ~ Part 2"
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 10

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters belong to JKR. All situations are mine. No $$$ is being made from this fanfic.
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Chapter 10 ~ In His Service

Upon apparating into Voldemort’s throne room, the first sight Severus saw, other than the reptilian form of the Dark Lord sitting majestically on his throne, holding his wand like a scepter, was Peter Pettigrew. He was lying on the floor next to his Master’s throne, his fat, hairy buttocks exposed and hunching between the thighs of a struggling muggle girl screaming her revulsion at the top of her lungs. She didn’t seem to be much older than Hermione. Severus looked up at the Dark Lord. There was no change in his expression, no reaction to the detestable spectacle before him. He bowed formally to Voldemort and said, “Greetings, my Lord and Master.”

Voldemort extended his skeletal hand, offering it to Severus, who stepped forward, grasped the cold, bony member and kissed it, just above middle knuckle. The Potions Master stepped back to his original position and stood at attention, while the screaming continued. He did not react. He could not.

“Just a little gift for my faithful servant,” drawled Lord Voldemort, his red eyes focused on the Potions Master. “I can tell you don’t approve, Severus. Just because your particular tastes don’t run to the ah...carnal...” Here Voldemort waved his hand toward the copulating couple, “you can’t possibly begrudge Peter his lusty little pleasures. Isn’t that right, Peter?”

“Yessss...my...Lord, “ the rotund, balding little man grunted as he thrust into the screaming girl. “Thank... you...my...Lord.” He proceeded to roll the girl over and hump into her from behind. The girl howled her horror and disgust. The Dark Lord looked down at her.

“The girl is too noisy, Peter,” Voldemort said. Almost lazily, he pointed his wand at the wailing young woman.

“Avada Kedavra,”

The screaming abruptly stopped. But Pettigrew didn’t. He continued to hump and thrust into the prone body of the girl for a few minutes more, before he stiffened and groaned, flopping on top of her body. Sweaty faced, he looked up at his Master and wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “That was very good, Master. Thank you. Thank you.”

“It is nothing, Peter. A small reward for your service. Now, take it away and give it to Nagini. She hasn’t had a good meal in weeks. She’s looking a bit peaked.”

“Yes, my Lord. Right away, my Lord,” Peter said as he stood, pulled up his boxers, and let his robes fall, mercifully covering his hairy body. He then bowed to Voldemort, grabbed the girl’s body by one arm and dragged it out of the room.

Severus could have gagged on the sour smell of sex that lingered on the air. The Dark Lord leaned forward, and pointed one long finger at the Potions Master.

“What news of the Muggles, Severus?” he lisped, his red eyes slitted in anticipation.

“Well my Lord, I’ve discovered how the muggles have been escaping your well-planned attacks. It seems the families were all provided with disillusioned portkeys, disguised as necklaces. When attacked, they activated the keys, and they along with all their members, were transported to a safe house, said to be located somewhere beneath the Carthipian Mountain Range. I have been discreetly inquiring as to the exact location of the safehouse, but apparently, the information is under the Fidelus Charm. I have no doubt that Albus himself is the Secret Keeper.

Voldemort’s face contorted in rage. “Damn Dumbledore! He is forever thwarting me! Crucio!” he screamed, pointing his wand at Severus, who fell to the floor and started writhing in pain.

“This will not do, Severus. I need answers. Give me answers!” He ended the spell. Severus was curled on the floor, his body shuddering, bucking up from the floor. He was covered in sweat, his hair wet and stuck to the side of his face. He wretched and coughed up a large blood-flecked blob of mucus. The Dark Lord eyed the fallen man.

“Get up, Severus. I want answers.” He said coolly.

The Potions Master gasped, “Yes, my Lord.” He struggled to untwist his body, and forced himself to his knees. He shuddered again, gritting his teeth against the ache tearing through his body. Slowly, painfully, he rose to his feet. He tried to draw in a deep breath, but only managed a few gulps. His black eyes were full of suffering as he met the Dark Lord’s gaze.

“A...a...simple spell should be used to identify which muggles wear the disillusioned portkey necklaces,” Severus gasped, trying to hold his broken voice steady, “Once the portkey is discovered, it can be accioed away, and the muggles would be unable to escape. Once a portkey is in your hands, Lord, you can have a spy use it to transport to the safehouse, discover its location and then plan an attack.”

The Dark Lord looked thoughtful. “Simple, but effective plan, Severus. Well done.” The Dark Lord crooned softly to the swaying man. “However, I should have been made aware of these keys long before they were put in use. You are slacking, Severus. You know that displeases me...”

“Yes, my Lord. I have failed you. I offer you my unworthy life, my Lord. Take it if you so choose.” Severus said, hoping for all he was worth that the Dark Lord would end his pain now. Voldemort considered the Death Eater before him.

“No, Severus. I will not kill you. I still need you. I sense you have no fear of death, so it would not serve as a punishment for you. It would be more of a release. I am not yet ready to release you. But pain, pain always makes an impression. You will do better, Severus,” the Dark Lord hissed as he pointed his wand at Severus once more. “I have forty-eight more hours to teach you to do much, much better. Crucio!”

Severus stiffened where he stood, pain holding him aloft, tearing through his body. His teeth gnashed uncontrollably, and blood gushed from his mouth, pouring from his bitten tongue. Then he fell, his body arching up from the ground while his legs kicked and arms writhed at odd angles, his bones fracturing themselves. The blood in his veins was boiling, he could feel himself cooking from the inside out. The cords of his neck stood out as he strained and buckled. He prayed for it, but the release of death would not come, that blessing was not yet to be his.

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Hermione’s lab was not yet ready for experiments. She started with her office, and didn’t even begin to work on this room. Books were stacked on the floor, and nnopened boxes lined the walls. But all she needed was space, her wand, her advanced arithmancy and rune texts, and her notes on magical theory. She had went straight to work.

Of the twelve rats Hagrid had provided, the ten remaining were all gathered in one corner of their cage, watching Hermione with glassy eyes, full of fear. Hermione had to apply the Cruciatus Curse at full sustained force on the first rat. It convulsed horribly, screaming in pain. Hermione could only watch with tears in her eyes as the creature writhed around the table, suffering at the end of her wand while she timed the spell. When she ended it, the poor creature continued to convulse. She could hear the small bones cracking, and blood flowed from its mouth. It convulsed almost forty-five minutes before it mercifully died. Hermione then began to work with ratios of the strength of the curse, compared to the size of the victim, the amount of time the curse was applied with the time it took to be fatal. She began to work out some complicated arithmancy equations, and made written adjustments to the relaxo spell, notating every step she took. She disposed of the first dead rat, then took out another struggling creature. It bit and fought for its tiny life, but was no match for the thick gloves that protected Hermione’s hands. She set it down on the table and applied the spell as it tried to flee. Again, the terrible writhing. The screaming. The breaking bones. This time she did not apply the spell as long. The rat convulsed for less time, and instead of dying, took on the glassy-eyed look of a creature no longer aware of its surroundings.

Hermione continued on this way with six more rats, cursing them into various states of suffering. She worked far into the night, attempting to alleviate the pain of the broken animals with adjusted relaxo spells, having varying degrees of success and failure. It was a quarter to six in the morning, before she flopped in her bed, fully dressed and exhausted. She would have to apply the curse to those same poor animals again later today. She wasn’t looking forward to it. She tried to push the image of Severus suffering like the rats, writhing and foaming at the mouth from her mind. It was horrible. Finally, she fell into a fitful sleep, dreaming of casting Unforgivables on small screaming Severuses, who cried out, “Why? Why, Hermione?” as they convulsed and died, one after the other. Then, mercifully the dreams stopped and there was nothing but blackness.


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A/N: Severus is stilling breathing, for the moment. Next chapter we’ll see what kind of shape he comes back in.

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