The Burning Pen

"What Was I Thinking" Series
"#3 ~ You Shouldn't Walk About in the Dark"
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 2

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters belong to JKR. All situations are mine. No $$$ is being made from this fanfic.
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Chapter 2 ~ Tell Me Something Good

The Whomping Willow was now a wizarding landmark of note, since it was the location of Voldemort’s downfall. The tree had not ever fully recovered from the binding curse placed on it by the Dark Wizard, and though it waved its branches threateningly, it no longer whomped.

The willow was now surrounded by a velvet rope boundary, much like the ones seen at movie theatres to keep the audience in line. There was also a mahogany plaque that when activated, played a three dimensional hologram of Voldemort’s death, with Harry bravely charging Voldemort, leaping into the air with his sword extended, and impaling the Dark Wizard to the tree, where he died in writhing, screaming agony. It was very exciting, if not precisely true. In reality, Hermione had accio’d a stunned Harry to the Whomping Willow, impaling Voldemort on the blade in passing. She had sworn Harry to secrecy about this, and no one other than Severus knew the truth.

Access to the Whomping Willow was opened to the public during specific times. Interest had died down over the past few months, and crowds were minimal now. The public had adjusted to a Voldemortless world. What was not known to that fickle public however, was that beneath the tree was a passageway that led to a small, rickety shack, a safe house of sorts where Remus Lupin would transform into a werewolf years ago. The shack was of little note anymore, and attracted attention only as an eyesore, and the supposed domicile of rather unpleasant shrieking ghosts. No one visited the shack precisely for this reason. There had been precursory checks of the premises when Voldemort fell, but it was decided that no Death Eater in his right mind would hide so close to Hogsmeade. Possibly, this one was crazy.

The Death Eater ducked under the dividers, and walked toward the base of the tree, Hermione still unconscious on his shoulder. The Whomping Willow shuddered its boughs weakly, as if longing to strike the robed figure passing beneath its branches. He took the witch off his shoulder and pushed her through an opening hidden between the trees roots, and slid in after her. The passageway was dark, but he knew the route, following for a great distance before coming to a set of rickety stairs. Carrying Hermione, he walked up these and into a shabby, dusty bedroom. There was a table, two chairs, three small lanterns and a large four-poster bed whose mattress had seen better days, sagging in the middle. The windows were spelled over, so no light could escape, and of course the room was warded for extra protection from discovery. The door of the room had been badly repaired, and the splintered wood was obvious. It looked like it had been hit by a very great weight. And it had. This was the room where Sirius Black had been discovered by Harry and his friends. Severus had caught the bad end of an expelliamus spell and was thrown through that very same door, and left unconscious.

The Death Eater carried Hermione over to the bed, and laid her down. He then cast a slight disillusionment on his face, so his featured were blurred and unrecognizable, although he still wore the mask. He also altered his voice, so it was rather tremulous, alternating ranges so it could not be pinned down, should she ever get the chance to try to identify him.

Withdrawing his wand, he bound the unconscious woman to the posts of the bed, her body securely tied by wrists and ankles, her legs pulled wide apart. He then walked to the table, picked up a wicked looking dagger and returned to the bed, looking down on Hermione, an angry look in his eyes. He pointed his wand at the unconscious witch.

“Enervate!,” he said, then walked back to the table and sat down quietly.

Hermione groaned as her eyelids fluttered open. She looked around groggily taking in the somewhat familiar surroundings. It was rather dim, but she recognized where she was immediately. The shrieking shack, and she was in the ancient bed. She tried to sit up, and realized with a cold, feeling in her belly that she was tied, spread-eagle to the sturdy bedposts. She peered into the semi-darkness.

“Who’s there?” she asked as her eyes adjusted. She could just make out someone sitting in a chair, watching her from across the room. There was no answer.

“You’d better let me go,” she tried again, “Dumbledore will know I’m missing, and come looking for me.”

“You’re Severus’ private piece of fluff.” came an odd sounding, but cold voice. “No one thought he liked pussy.” The voice paused here, then added bitterly, “No one believed he was a spy either.”

Hermione shut her mouth, her heart starting to pound as the figure rose, dagger in hand, and stepped out into the light where she could see him better. He walked over to the bed, and towered over her, turning the dagger idly over in his hands. He was dressed as a Death Eater, gloved and masked. She couldn’t quite make out his features, or his eyes. It was as if a small, indistinct haze moved over his face. He leaned down and pressed the cold, metal blade against her jugular.

“I could kill you now,” the Death Eater said. “Or I could rape you first, and kill you later. Which would you prefer, witch?”

“Neither,” answered Hermione, swallowing against the blade pressing on her neck.

The Death Eater laughed, his voice rising and falling strangely, then took the dagger away from her throat. He lifted the neck of her robes, inserted the dagger under the fabric, and cut down the front of it, splitting it from end to end. He tossed it open, revealing the t-shirt and muggle jeans she wore beneath. The t-shirt was rather tight, and she wore no bra underneath it. Fear and exposure had made her nipples hard, and they peaked noticeably against the white fabric, that clung to her rounded curves. The Death Eater looked at her breasts, and his hand spasmed. He turned suddenly, and retrieved a chair from the corner and set it down close to the bed. He leaned forward.

“You should be dead by now,” he said, “the only reason you aren’t is because I am starved for company. I am going to give you a chance to live a little longer and maybe to die with your virtue intact, if you do what I say...”

“What about letting me go?” Hermione asked.

The Death Eater shook his head. “No, I don’t think so. Because of Severus.”

Hermione thought it best to change the subject. Thinking about the Potions Master’s betrayal might enrage this Death Eater, and as a result, he’d murder her outright. Maybe she had a chance this way...

“What is the chance you are giving me?” she asked.

“Are you familiar with the story of Sheherazade?”

Hermione thought a moment. “Yes. She was a woman who told an Arabian king tales night after night, to keep him from killing her.”

The Death Eater nodded.

“You are Sheherazade. Entertain me and you will gain a few hours, and possibly die untouched.”

The Death Eater sat back and slipped one hand beneath his robes. The other still held the dagger. By the way he adjusted himself, Hermione knew he was gripping his cock.

“We all have our little quirks,’ he said, his weird voice heating up, “mine is I love stories, true ones...erotic confessions, intimate sexual details. But they have to be real experiences...”

He took a deep, excited breath and jerked his hand sharply. His strange voice dropped low.

“Tell me about you and Snape,” he said, turning the dagger in his hand a little so light glinted off the blade. His other gloved hand started moving slowly up and down beneath his robes, “And you’d better make it good...”


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A/N: Ooh...storytime!

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