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 8

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters belong to JKR. All situations are mine. No $$$ is being made from this fanfic.
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Chapter 28 ~ Give Me Flowers While I Breathe

Next on the itinerary was the less painful of activities Hermione arranged. Severus enjoyed window-shopping although he didn’t have much opportunity to indulge himself. Now, with Hermione on his arm, he strolled the streets of Hogsmeade. They stopped in first at Honeydukes, where Severus indulged his secret love of the tiny pepper imps candies, taking a sample piece and blowing a magnificient tongue of fire at a startled Hermione, who had been perusing the toad-shaped peppermint creams.

“You’re so hot, Severus,” she grinned at him.

He raised an eyebrow. “Of that, there is no doubt,” he replied with a purr, mirth in his black eyes.

Next, they stopped in Dervish and Banges, the wizarding equipment shop, where Hermione lost herself in the laboratory supplies aisle, and Severus browsed through the self-heating cauldron section, taking in the newest designs and improvements. He shook his head when he saw a cauldron made of a copper alloy that promised to distribute heat with better control. Any potions master or student worth his salt knew that copper reacted with many ingredients, and any potion brewed in that cauldron would most likely be contaminated. This item was designed for sale to the uninformed poser, who preferred showy glitz instead of substance. He shook his head again, and browsed a bit more until Hermione was ready to move on to the next shop.

And that is how they spent the next two hours. And although they appeared relaxed and enjoying a pleasant day together, both Hermione and Severus were very aware of their surroundings, including the sneaking Colin Creevey, who maintained a safe enough distance to be out of transformation range. Hermione cajoled Severus, and persuaded him to allow Colin one picture. She had always liked the young camera-clicking wizard, and didn’t feel it would do any harm to let him make a couple of galleons. Freelancing was hard, and Hermione remembered very well what it was like to be short of money.

“He may have one picture, but it had better be a tasteful one, or else,” Severus scowled as they turned into Gladrags Wizard Wear. Here Hermione purchased a ridiculously floppy straw hat, with a pink ribbon tied around it.

“It’s to block the sun as we’re picking flowers,” she explained. She then attempted to get Severus to purchase a baseball cap to protect his pale skin from overexposure. He looked at her imperiously, informing her that the oils he used on his skin were specially brewed by him, and had powerful sunblocking properties. Still, she pouted, claiming he wasn’t trying to get in the spirit of the day. How could he, when death was waiting for them both? But he hated pouting. He thought it an unfair weapon women used against logic and reason. Finally he gave in and bought a black visor that appealed to him. It read, “You Can’t Fix Stupid.” Hermione scowled a little. Even his cap had to be snarky. But at least he bought something.

Outside Gladrags, Severus checked the time. It was ten after two. He sighed. Time to head for Shropshire Gardens to go pick flowers. He hoped that Colins would not get a shot of him plucking daisies.

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Draco and the Death Eaters were already at Shropshire’s. They had paid the admission price and were given a large wicker basket and pruning shears. They wandered around, pretending to admire the varieties of flowers while watching the gate for Severus and Hermione. There was no way in the world anyone would have suspected the brightly dressed wizards and psuedo-witches to be Death Eaters. Draco was the only one who cut a fine figure in his jeans, cotton shirt, Rayband glasses and Bad Boy cap. He made sure his white-blonde hair was completely hidden. His stomach was in knots of expectancy as the clock wound down.

Goyle, in flowered robes, shades and floppy hat pulled low over his even lower forehead, made a very unattractive witch, but it didn’t stop the attentions of a small, balding old wizard who insisted on carrying his basket for him, and helping him choose choice blooms. Only Draco’s look of warning kept Goyle from hexing the old coot. Finally he snarled he was a happily married witch, and that made the old man leave to look for more attainable quarry. He went through five of the six “female” Death Eaters, before admitting defeat and leaving the gardens, but not until after having surreptiously pawed four of them.

“Draco!” hissed one of the Death Eaters, pointing his pruning shears at the gate. “Look! It’s them!”

Cold hatred flared up in Draco’s heart as he watched Severus and Hermione approach the garden gate. He eyed Hermione, dressed in a white sundress, looking absolutely delicious. He imagined ripping it off her, and forcing himself upon her in a hundred different, painful ways. Maybe he wouldn’t kill her right away, that would be too quick. Maybe he’d keep her around as a toy for himself and his Death Eaters, prolonging her agony. His own private mudblood whore. He’d love breaking her spirit. It was a wonderful thought. But Severus, he’d torture and kill. Slowly. Horribly. While he watched them rape and sodomize his muggle-born lover over and over again.

He watched as they paid the gatekeeper, who was talking to Severus, whose scowl grew blacker and blacker until Hermione pushed a basket and shears into his hands and pulled him away. They began to wander through the paths, looking at the orderly rows of blooms. They would have to wait until the couple turned down one of the many pathways, and were not visible from the gate.

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In his office, Dumbledore gazed worriedly at the charmed parchment. The footsteps of his two staff members had turned a vivid red, and they were not at Cuttlesbury Park. In fact, he was not sure exactly where they were, because no location name appeared beneath their footsteps. He could see they were somewhere with ordered, neatly arranged paths. What Hermione wasn’t aware of was that Shropshire Gardens was in transference to a new owner, and the name in process of being changed to Gladmoon’s Glorious Gardens. So no name registered on the map. On the itinerary, she had simply written Flower Picking at the appointed time of two-thirty. There were several gardens around the vicinity of Hogsmeade that offered this activity. Albus flooed Minerva.

“Yes, Albus?” responded the Transfiguration Teacher and Order member, her voice tense with worry. “Is it time?”

“It is drawing close, Minerva,” the Headmaster replied, “but there is a problem. The exact location of the flower garden Severus and Hermione are visiting is not registering on the parchment. It appears Mr. Malfoy has chosen to attack them there, rather than Cuttlesbury Park. We must send out the Order members to locate them by checking the surrounding gardens of Hogsmeade, and hope we can find them before Draco and his Death Eaters attack. Please go to Grimmauld Place and inform the Order members. Use Severus’ quarters to apparate. Have them dispatch quickly. We have little time. I will stay here and monitor the parchment, in case the location should be revealed.”

“Yes, Albus. Right away,” Minerva replied, closing the floo connection.

The Headmaster sat back in his chair and removed his glasses. A cold feeling of helplessness ran through him. They were alone. His two beloved staff members were totally alone and unaware that Draco was about to make his move.

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Leaf Ear stood cringing before a group of twenty house-elves, all who were looking at him wide-eyed, and gibbering, their ears flattened with horror. Eli, Severus’ most loyal house-elf, silenced them with a wave of his thin, clawed hand. His Order of Merlin medal hung gleaming against his scaled chest.

Our master is in danger!” Eli cried, “Eli must go to him. We all must go to him. We is allowed to fight Death Eaters. Dumbledore never said we had to stop. We is within our rights to protect and serve our master, and his best secret!”

He turned to Leaf Ear. “Where is they? Where does the bad wizard lie wait for our good master?’

“A garden,” Leaf Ear said. “A garden in Hogsmeade. But I not know where.”

Eli descended on Leaf Ear, his ears flat against his head, his sharp teeth bared viciously, his lips drawn back so severely the gray gums showed.

“You must tells us, Leaf Ear. If my master dies...you dies! Think!” the elf demanded.

Leaf Ear trembled...his mind working furiously as the other elves moved closer, snarls beginning to grow on their scaly faces. He brightened.

“I can still finds my former master,” he said, relieved. “ When I finds him, I can come back and bring you. Your master will be there where he is.”

“Then go now!” Eli said, his eyes narrowed, “and if you fails, we shall finds you and kills you.”

Leaf Ear bowed, “I will come back. I wish to serve your master.”

“Then proves yourself. Go!” Eli replied, slightly mollified at Leaf Ear’s admission.

Leaf Ear bowed again, and winked out.

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Leaf Ear appeared behind a large clump of blue flowers. He peeked out and saw his former master, watching a witch and wizard closely. He recognized the Snape. Snapping his fingers, he turned invisible and crept past the Death Eaters. He worked his way over to Hermione, and, still invisible, tugged on her dress. Startled, Hermione looked down. She didn’t see anything.

“Miss!” Leaf Ear whispered, “You is in danger. Very bad danger. My ex-master comes for you. But help is coming. We is coming to help the Snape and his Secret.”

Hermione recognized the house-elf diction. “Okay,” she said tremulously, “Thank you.”

Leaf Ear vanished.

Hermione walked over to Snape, who was examining a rosebush.

“I wonder if they charge for blasting flowers? It’s almost like picking them, after all, shouldn’t be an extra charge,“ he mused to himself.

Hermione grasped his arm, and whispered into his ear, “Don’t react, Severus, but Draco and the Death Eaters are here.”

Severus remain outwardly calm, but his stomach clenched and the familiar blood boil of the beserker began to rise.

“How do you know this?” he hissed as they non-chalantly continued their walk through the garden, arm in arm.

“A strange house-elf told me. He was invisible and said help was coming. He claimed Draco was his ex-master,” she informed him.

Severus’ eyes wandered around the garden, and focused on the gaily dressed patrons picking flowers. He caught one sneaking a glance at them from beneath a floppy hat. He looked around again, and noticed several patrons with no flowers in their baskets, busily pawing through the blooms. He looked back at Hermione.

“I see them. We must wait until they make their move, which they won’t do until we are out of sight of the gate. We have to turn down the next pathway.”

He looked at her with steeled eyes. “Are you ready, my love?”

Hermione gripped his arm tightly, her face determined, her eyes wet with emotion, “Yes, Severus, I am ready, ready to fight beside you until death.”

He patted her arm. “Until death, my sweet. Or life, which would be preferable.”

Then Severus kissed Hermione passionately and deeply, for all the world to see. There was a flash from behind a clump of bushes. Colin Creevey had his photo and it was a truly a thing of beauty. Severus wouldn’t mind such an image of them being left behind. It would be a fine testament to love.

He reached out and plucked a rose, handing it to Hermione.

“Give me flowers, while I breathe,’ she said softly, pressing the bloom to her nose and sniffing deeply.

Severus smiled at her tenderly, then, holding her arm tight against his body, he turned them down the next pathway, effectively cutting themselves off from the gate, both walking bravely toward whatever destiny fate chose to grant them.


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