The Burning Pen

"What Was I Thinking" Series
"#4 ~ The 'Up Against the Wall' Wars"
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 23

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters belong to JKR. All situations are mine. No $$$ is being made from this fanfic.
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Chapter 23 ~ Arriving in Hogsmeade

Severus opened his eyes slowly. Hermione still lay on his chest, her arms encircling him, breathing deeply. He hated to stir, to move her, but he needed to send his will to his solicitor. Slowly, he eased the sleeping witch off of him, gently sliding her to the mattress, and climbing over her. Hermione tossed, her hands questing for him, but she didn’t wake. He covered her with the sheet, kissed her brow, then pulled on his robes and exited the bedroom quietly.

He retrieved the will from his desk, and exited his office, warding the door behind him securely. He headed for the Main Hall and the staircases that would lead him to the owlery tower. He needed an owl, because an owl would wait to deliver a message to the assigned person. Raucous had no patience for waiting. He had returned several times with the original message still tied to his leg. So Severus only used him when he knew the person for whom the message was written, would be there.

Hogwarts was quiet for once, no one was in the halls. It felt as if he were the only man alive in the world. It was a lonely feeling as he silently passed the sleeping portraits, he was like a living shadow, or ghost, black robes billowing as he rode the stairwells up, and up as if toward heaven. He reached the owlery tower, and stepped through the arched stone entrance, the discarded bones of small animals crunching under his feet. Above him a hundred round eyes watched his entry, and small hoots of welcome greeted him.

It was dawn, and the first rays of the sun were flowing across the landscape, the waking sky colored in purple, rose, orange and gold. When was the last time he saw the sun rise? He stood there a moment, admiring the legion of clouds preceding the majesty of Sol, and watching the long shadows of night recede before the light, much as his own shadowed soul had withdrawn from the darkness. He breathed deeply. The air was so crisp, so sweet, here, far above the machinations and intrigues of men. He wished Hermione was here to see the rising of the sun, leaning back against him, wrapped in his arms, the breeze lifting her jasmine-scented curls, the curls tickling his nose as he held her toward the new day, a day that held nothing but love and hope for the future...

He shook himself. He was pining, daydreaming like a love struck sixth year. He didn’t realize it was the specter of death before him that was making life seem more precious, and he more appreciative of the things so often taken for granted. Like a sunrise or a woman in his arms.

He turned back to the owlery, a small scowl on his face, and held out his arm, beckoning a school owl down to deliver his parchment. A beautiful, snowy white owl landed on his outstretched limb and looked at him, cocking her head almost three hundred degrees and back, her golden eyes rolling as she studied the dark-eyed, pale wizard. Severus recognized her...it was Potter’s owl, Hedwig. It was rare that a familiar would approach someone who was not its master, but Hedwig hooted softly, stepped up his arm, and preened his silky, black locks for a moment, before hopping to the ledge, and sticking out her leg.

Severus hesitated. He knew the bird was an excellent carrier, having located wizards and witches that no one knew the whereabouts of. He didn’t understand why she deigned to serve him, but she did. Maybe it was because of Hermione. Harry loved her, and Severus loved her. Maybe the owl felt this connection between her master and the Potions Master, and acted upon it. Severus tied the parchment securely to the owl’s outstretched leg, then took a moment to caress her soft feathers. Her eyes rolled in pleasure.

“To the office of Finchley Wardsworth, my solicitor in King’s Cross, Hedwig,” he said firmly to the bird, “and if I return, I shall deliver you a nice, fat mouse for your troubles.”

Hedwig hooted, and leaped from the tower ledge and soared away, her wings flapping strongly, flying into the sun. Severus watched, squinting, until she disappeared, then turned and left the owlery.

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Severus and Hermione spent the morning putting things in order. Hermione carefully stacked her notes and research neatly on the lab table, for easy access for the next Spell Mistress, if she should not return, along with the wish lists and market analysis for future reference.

Severus, on the other hand was judiciously locking things away, placing difficult wards on the cupboard and drawers. If he were to be replaced, let the next Potions Master start from scratch like he did. Hermione entered the lab, and watched him, shaking her head.

The morning passed quickly and before they knew it, it was time to apparate to Hogsmeade. Hermione carried a small bag, with a couple of changes of clothing. She wore her disillusioned deterrents, fingering her necklace nervously. Severus thought it was a good idea that she arranged to have her charms react only when the intent was clear, otherwise he would have been bound up like a mummy. She was dressed in a floral skirt that fell to her ankles, and a light green camisole.

Severus also carried a small, black bag packed with a change of robes, and vials of potions. Hermione watched as he walked to his bookcase and opened a panel, withdrawing his short sword, the one he used at the Final Battle. He pulled it out of its sheathe. The blade still had blood on it. He slid it back, satisfied and placed it in his bag. He then looked at her, reached back into the hidden niche, and withdrew a small silver knife, and a sheathe with a thong around it. He walked to Hermione, and handed it to her, handle first. She examined it.

The blade was double-edged, and deadly sharp. The handle was a snarling silver lioness in mid-leap, claws extended to either side. It fit her hand perfectly. She looked at Severus, who took it back from her and slid it into the sheathe-thong.

“Tie that around your thigh,” he said shortly, “I want you to use it if you have to.” His black eyes burned into hers. Hermione tucked her skirt into her waist and tied the knife securely to her leg. She felt it attach to her skin. It was charmed so it wouldn’t slip. She tested drawing the blade, and did so smoothly. She looked back at Severus. Approval showed in his eyes.

“Thank you,” she said in a low voice as she lowered her skirt.

“Use it,” he said again, command in his voice.

“I will if I need to,” she replied.

He extended his hand.

“Come, Hermione. It’s time for us to go.”

They walked into the Potions Class, and apparated.

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They appeared at a public apparation point in the heart of Hogsmeade, and wasted no time heading for the Three Broomsticks. Hermione tried to appear non-chalant, holding on to Severus’ arm, but her eyes darted back and forth, checking the passing witches and wizards for evil intent. Her stomach was in knots of anticipation. It was a good thing no one accidentally collided with her. It would have been ugly.

Across the street, two wizards in black, with black bowler hats drawn low around their heads watched the couple walk toward the inn, their eyes narrowed. They crossed to the apparation point, and vanished.

When they entered the Three Broomsticks, Madame Rosmerta swished up to them, a broad smile on her face as she hugged a startled Severus and embraced Hermione like a long-lost sibling.

“Welcome, welcome!” she beamed, patting both of them on the shoulders and summoning two young wizards to take their bags. Hermione handed hers over, but Severus scowled so severely at the young man who tried to take his bag, that the boy blanched and fell away from the frightening wizard. Severus then snatched Hermione’s bag back from the other stunned employee. Hermione stifled a laugh. Madam Rosmerta ignored this as she ushered them to the staircase.

Behind the bar, Annadale tied on her apron, ready to start her shift. She wore a new dress, and a pert new hairstyle. Her nails were nicely manicured and her makeup artfully applied. She had put the money given her by Draco to good use. She watched Severus and Hermione closely as she began to wash a few dirty glasses. She hoped they would come down to the bar later. It would make her job easier, and maybe get her a quick roll in the hay with that delicious Lord Malfoy.

“You’ll find everything in order,” Rosmerta gushed, her wide eyes blinking up at Severus, “just as you requested. Would you like me to show you up?” she asked, handing Severus the key.

“No, thank you. We’ll find our way,” he replied, gently moving Hermione before him with a pale hand on the small of her back and throwing an over-the-shoulder scowl at the quivering would-be bellhops. They wouldn’t be sniffing about for tips for the entire weekend.

The couple walked up the stairs, turned right and followed the numbers until they came to the last door on the left. Severus handed Hermione the key, and drew his wand.

“Open it and stand back,” he said. Hermione did so. Severus shot a huge stunning spell into the room. Hermione’s eyes went wide.

“I didn’t know a stunning spell could be scattered!” she said, looking impressed.

“You aren’t the only one who can modify a spell,” Severus replied, entering the room cautiously and waving on the torches. He looked around, poking here and there, looking in the closet, under the bed, behind the curtains and in the loo. Satisfied, he motioned Hermione in and closed the door, placing a silencing spell on the room and warding the door. He released a long-held breath.

Hermione looked around the room. It was done in blue and silver, had two full-sized beds, end-tables, a large bureau, a loveseat, two comfy chairs, a desk complete with writing implements, a cooler and a tiny kitchen area. On a wheeled cart covered with a blue drape, sat three bottles of wine in an ornate bowl of never-melting ice, and two glasses. A vase of blue flowers sat on each end-table next to the beds. A wireless wizarding network radio sat next to one of the vases.

“Good thing they aren’t roses,” Hermione thought as Severus’ eyes raked over them.

Severus set both bags on the bed and began to unpack. Hermione followed suit. They hung their clothes in the closet. Severus placed two vials of thick black liquid in the cooler.

“What are those?” Hermione asked him, curiously. Severus looked at her, a queer expression on his face.

“Those, my dear, could be our final escape,” he replied.

He wheeled the wine cart over to the loveseat, and motioned Hermione over.

“We need to stay up here for a bit,” he said, “to give the impression we are ... occupied.”

Hermione blushed a little at the idea of the whole inn assuming they were upstairs shagging.

She noticed Severus watching her. “We will have some wine and victuals,” he said, then raising his eyebrow added, “unless you want to be otherwise...occupied.”

“Not now, Severus. I’m just too nervous.”

The Potions Master nodded, turned the glasses up and opened the closest bottle of wine. He let it breathe for a moment, then tilted a bit of it in his glass. He held it up toward the window, and swirled it a tiny bit, studying it. He then sniffed it, and took a small sip.

“Fair,” he said, pouring Hermione a glass and then himself.

Hermione hesitated. “Severus, I don’t do wine well. Or alcohol period.”

“Really, why?” he asked, sipping his wine.

“It makes me...silly,” she said, reddening.

He wondered how silly when he saw her blush. So he asked.

“Give me an example of silly,” he said, interested.

“Well, there was a victory party in Gryffindor Tower once. We had beaten Slytherin for the Quidditch Cup...”

Here Severus scowled.

“And Dean Thomas and Justin Finchley spiked the punch...I drank a lot of punch that night. And the next day I found out I had done a rather sexy table dance. I don’t remember any of it, but I had to fight off a lot of guys for a couple of weeks before they realized it was a fluke.”

Severus thought he’d enjoy seeing Hermione do a table dance.

“Doesn’t sound so bad to me,” he said silkily, “anyway, you don’t have to worry about letting your inhibitions down with me...I’m quite used to it,” he purred.

Hermione smiled, and took an experimental sip. It tasted pretty good. She downed the glass.

“Whoa,” Severus thought as she held out her glass for more. He poured her another.

“You’re supposed to sip, not guzzle, Hermione. Wine has a way of creeping up on you,” he warned her.

“You’re with me,” she said shortly, “you’ll watch over me, won’t you?” She grinned at him.

“No tolerance,” he thought. “Yes, I’ll watch over you, Hermione”

He was glad he thought to bring sober-up potion with him. Well, considering how wound up she was on arrival, maybe she needed to let her hair down. Maybe she’d dance for him. If it wasn’t for the fact that they had to make an appearance downstairs to plant the itinerary, maybe she’d have done a bit more. What would it be like to make love to a slightly inebriated Hermione? He’d have to find that out one day, if they had any days coming to them. He finished his glass of wine and set the empty glass on the table. He looked over at Hermione, who was almost finished with her second glass. A pretty little flush was on her face, and she seemed more relaxed.

“How about a little music?” Severus asked, glancing at the radio.

“Oh, that sounds wonderful,” she replied, jumping off the loveseat and rushing over to the radio. She turned it on and rifled through the stations until she found a song she liked.

It was an instrumental song, very deep and sensual, mostly muted guitar and bass, with a steady thump running through it like a slow heartbeat. Severus thought it sounded like music to have sex to. The thump was very erotic.

Hermione stood by the radio and started to sway to the rhythm, her skirt swishing back and forth as she swung her hips on beat with the thump. Then she suddenly stopped and returned to the loveseat, looking at Severus expectantly. He was still captivated and she had to say his name before he responded to her. His black eyes swept up and down her body, badly wanting to see her finish the dance.

“More wine?” he offered, lifting the bottle.


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A/N: :::shaking head::: Severus, Severus. Getting Hermione drunk at a time like this. Well, this could be his last night on earth. What would YOU do? **grin**

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