The
Burning Pen
Heroes
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.
Disclaimer: All recognizable characters belong to JKR.
All original characters and situations are mine. No $$$ is being made from this fanfic.
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Chapter 6 ~ Checking Out the Accommodations
“Dungeons? You’re keeping us in the dungeons?” Artimus asked Hermione
disbelievingly.
Dahlia didn’t say anything, but her eyes took on a glazed look as they walked
down the cool stone corridor. There was plenty of space, but Dahlia felt as if
the walls were closing in on her. She began to breathe a bit harder, fighting
back the panic that always came over her when she was in enclosed, windowless
places. She couldn’t let this witch see her break down. She didn’t want to show
her weakness.
”Dungeon five is actually a little used classroom,” Hermione said, trying to
make it sound less horrible. “This area is where the art of Potions is taught by
Professor Slughorn. I know it looks rather dismal here, but we don’t have
facilities for guests under normal circumstances.”
This was true. During the Tri-wizard Tournament years ago, the students from the
visiting schools of Durmstrang and Beauxbatons did not stay in the castle to
sleep. The Bulgarian students slept on their ship and the young women from
France reposed in their large carriage during their stay. They ate their meals
in the castle and mingled with the students when they weren’t in class, but were
domiciled elsewhere.
”You mean to tell me in this huge castle there is no place for guests?” Artimus
asked her.
Hermione shook her head, then brightened.
”Well, if after you see the room you decide you really can’t stay there,
possibly Miss Joiner could stay in my quarters and you can bunk down with the
Headmaster, Mr. Rogue” she suggested, trying not to think of how terrible
Severus’ reaction would be to having the sorcerer in his quarters.
Artimus frowned and was about to say something completely scathing when Dahlia
suddenly screamed and leapt into his arms, clinging to the sorcerer so tightly
she was cutting off his air.
”What the fuck is that?” she screamed at a startled Hermione, one trembling
finger pointing down the corridor as Artimus gasped for breath, trying to loosen
her arms.
Floating up the hallway towards them was a translucent, glowing pearl-gray
figure. It had horrible staring eyes, a gaunt face and wore robes stained with
shining silver blood.
”Oh, that’s the Bloody Baron. He’s a ghost,” Hermione replied as the Baron
continued floating toward them.
Loosening Dahlia’s death-grip, Artimus could breathe now, and watched the
approaching specter as Dahlia hid her face in his shoulder.
”There are no such things as ghosts. All so-called ghosts are simply flashes of
the past that we stumble into from time to time,” he said evenly, although his
blood was running a bit cold as the thing drew closer, slow and menacing.
”I’m afraid you’re wrong, Mr. Rogue. At Hogwarts the ghosts are . . .
interactive. They communicate with us and help protect the castle in times of
trouble,” Hermione replied as the terrible thing drifted closer and closer.
“Actually the Bloody Baron is the one of the resident ghosts. He is linked to
Slytherin House.”
”There’s more of them?” Dahlia asked in a muffled voice as the Baron stopped,
bobbing in front of them like a pale balloon.
”Oh yes. There are at least twenty on the premises,” Hermione answered.
”I don’t do ghosts,” Dahlia murmured. “Tell it to go away!”
Dahlia had a fear of ghosts deeply embedded in her psyche. She was of a very
mixed ancestry, having a bit of everything in her from European to Native
American to African and a few other ethnic groups sprinkled in. Whenever anyone
asked her what her “race” was she’d respond, “Human” and leave it at that. But
she had grown up on Mama Gigi’s ghost stories, and despite what she had learned
about specters in her studies, a part of her still feared them. And that fear
was coming out in spades.
Seeing he had a captive, terrified audience, the Bloody Baron let out a low
ghostly moan.
”OooOoooOOOoo!” the ghost intoned, flicking his staring eyes at Hermione for a
moment, and smirking as Dahlia let out a terrified shriek against Artimus’
shoulder.
Hermione swelled up indignantly. This was no way to treat guests!.
”Baron! Shame on you! Stop that and go about your business this instant!”
Hermione scolded.
The Bloody Baron smiled. If one thought his deadpan expression horrendous, his
smile was a thousand times worse. Well, he was satisfied. Hardly anyone at
Hogwarts was afraid of ghosts since they were used to them. Scaring Dahlia had
been a real treat. Hopefully she wet her pants.
The Baron drifted off, purposely passing through Artimus and Dahlia, who both
shuddered as his icy coldness washed over them for a moment. Artimus turned just
in time to see him slip into a wall and disappear.
”He’s gone,” he said to Dahlia softly. She was trembling in his arms.
Dahlia peeked around cautiously, her hazel eyes wet. Artimus gently stood her on
the floor, concern in his eyes. Not much rattled the sorceress and he felt
rather helpless and out of sorts to see her in such a state. Dahlia had never
run from anything before.
Hermione studied at the five foot seven Protector as she looked around furtively
for any further signs of ghosts. It was hard to believe this was the same woman
who was flinging staff members around with impunity just a couple of hours
before.
Well, everyone had weaknesses.
Hermione quickly decided she wouldn’t tell Severus about this. Knowing the
Headmaster, he’d set a contingent of ghosts outside Dahlia’s room to keep her
inside all four days of her stay.
He was like that.
”He’s gone, Dahlia, and I’ll put out the word that the ghosts are to avoid this
part of the castle for the duration of your stay,” Hermione said to her
soothingly.
”They’ll listen?” she asked Hermione uncertainly.
Steede’s stable wasn’t looking too bad as alternative housing at this point.
”Of course. I’m the Deputy Headmistress. The only other person whose word
matters more is the Headmaster’s. Don’t worry, I’ll take care of it. I promise,”
Hermione said to the sorceress, who relaxed.
Well, there was one good thing about meeting the Baron and that was Dahlia was
no longer focused on how closed in the dungeons felt. One fear had temporarily
negated the other. They walked further down the hall, passing Slughorn’s office
and then the Potions classroom itself. The door was open and Dahlia paused to
peek in.
An elderly rotund wizard with a white walrus-like moustache stood in front of a
large mahogany desk, apparently giving a lecture to the attentive students
seated before him. There were only about twenty pupils sitting at long desks
taking notes with long feathered quills, dipping them into inkwells from time to
time. There hardly seemed to be enough light to write by.
The classroom itself was Spartan, with nothing hanging on the damp stone walls
except sconces for the torches. The only decoration she could see was a
sculpture of a perfectly hideous gargoyle in the corner, water pouring from its
mouth into a basin.
”What class is that?” Dahlia asked Hermione, catching up.
”Potions,” Hermione said, “Professor Slughorn is teaching them about the
processes involved in making magical elixirs, draughts and the like. It is a
very precise art that uses a plethora of ingredients.”
”Eye of newt, bat wings and puppy-dog tails figure heavily, I imagine, Artimus
said bad-naturedly. He didn’t like anything about this world. Ghosts and now
magical potions?
Cletus.
”Eye of newt and bat wings are common ingredients, but I’ve never heard of a
potion that used puppy dog tails, although I imagine it is possible. Headmaster
Snape would know, he’s a Potions Master,” Hermione replied as she stopped in
front of a heavy wooden door with large studs in it and a gargoyle doorknob.
“Here we are.”
She turned the handle and opened the door, torches flaring up.
Dahlia walked in first, then Artimus behind her. Both were pleasantly surprised
to find the room quite un-dungeon like. There was a living room, with a large
cushy sofa and two high-backed upholstered armchairs, (all Slytherin Green) a
fireplace with a nice fire going, plenty of torches that gave off a light and no
smoke, a coffee table, and a large writing desk with regular pens and paper on
it. A small bookshelf with a number of books rested against a wall, thick throw
rugs covered the floor, paintings of landscapes complete with trees waving in
the breeze hung on the wall and there was a large curtained picture window that
opened on a very pretty area of the Hogwarts landscape.
”Your bedroom is through that door,” Hermione said with a smile as Dahlia looked
around.
Artimus frowned at the picture window.
”We’re in the dungeons. How do we have a picture window that contains anything
other than stones and dirt?” he asked Hermione.
”It’s an illusion, just so you don’t feel so closed in,” she said.
”How long will it last?” the sorcerer inquired.
”Until it’s removed,” she answered him. “It will most certainly last your entire
stay, Mr. Rogue.”
Dahlia looked out the window. The grass was waving in the breeze and cloud
scudded by slowly in the blue sky above. It certainly was realistic. She could
almost smell the fresh air.
Artimus looked for something to complain about, but couldn’t find anything. Even
though they were in the dungeons, the accommodations were quite nice. There was
even a vase of roses. Dahlia walked into the bedroom
”Oh Artimus,” she said, her voice full of pleasure.
Artimus walked into the bedroom and saw an enormous beautiful, hand-carved four
poster bed with a canopy and curtains that could be drawn closed. Cherubs graced
the mahogany headboard and posts, which gleamed in the torchlight. There was a
wardrobe and beautiful hand-carved dresser as well. Dahlia walked up and looked
at herself in the mirror. Her tunic was covered in dirt and her hair tangled.
”Oh my dear, you’re lovely, but you do need to fix yourself up a bit,” a
motherly feminine voice said as Dahlia’s eyes widened as she looked at her
reflection.
”Oh, that’s a talking mirror. It makes comments on your appearance. I can
silence it if you like,” Hermione told Dahlia as she stood in the doorway.
”Silence it,” Artimus growled. He didn't need a damn mirror evaluating him every
time he looked in it. Or commenting on his sexual techniques either. He liked to
do it in front of mirrors.
Hermione walked into the bedroom, pulled out her wand, murmured an incantation
and flicked her wand at the mirror.
”It won’t say another word,” she assured the sorcerer, who was studying the bed
again. It was a fine piece of craftsmanship.
Dahlia’s voice rose from the bathroom.
”Artimus! Come in here!” she called him.
Artimus entered the bathroom. It was wood paneled, with beveled moldings, a
large sink, recessed vanity, a shelf containing soaps and lotions and a huge
sunken green marble bathtub big enough for four people. Several spigots
encircled it and a set of stairs with a small silver railing led down into its
depths. On the back wall was an equally enormous shower, with a sliding
translucent door.
”Oh, this is beautiful!” Dahlia said, smiling at the tub. She planned to fill it
up and just soak as soon as possible. This was more luxury than she’d seen in a
long time. If this were a hotel room it would cost a fortune to stay here. Maybe
she would enjoy her stay at Hogwarts.
”I’m glad you like it,” Hermione said, smiling from the doorway, “the spigots
are scented. They’re labeled. And the water stays magically warm as long as you
are in the tub. Or it should.”
Hermione wasn’t sure if the magic would work for the sorcerers, but they were
used to cooling water so it shouldn’t be a problem.
”What will we do for clothing?” Artimus asked.
“Just give the size of what you want to the house elves and they will bring you
whatever you need,” Hermione told him. “And they will also escort you around the
castle and grounds. They know every nook and cranny of Hogwarts.”
”House elves?” Artimus repeated. “What are house elves?”
Suddenly a small creature walked into the bathroom. The house elf was dressed in
a little blue towel-like dress with a Hogwarts crest over the heart. She had
large bat-like ears, a long nose and eyes the size of tennis balls, along with
beautiful long lashes and blue eyes.
”I am Bluebell,” the house elf said in a high squeaky voice, curtseying to
Dahlia and smiling up at her. “I will provides your service while you is at
Hogwarts. Just says my name and tells me what you needs when I come.”
Dahlia stared down at the creature. She looked a little like a kobold, but much
more pleasant and without the scales. She wondered if it was a relation. Kobolds
used to live in peasant houses, on ships and in other human domains, doing
service. But they would do mischief if nothing were left out for them to eat and
drink, feeling they were unappreciated. Most lived in the magical forests of the
realm now, due to the wide use of iron by humans. Cold steel is deadly to most
of the Fey, with a few exceptions.
“Thank you Bluebell,” Dahlia said to the elf, which bobbed and smiled up at her.
Suddenly her features feel, and her ears folded back. Hermione looked at her.
”Bluebell, what’s wrong,” the witch asked her.
“I can tells the Headmistress what’s wrong,” a low, gravelly voice answered from
someplace beyond the door. “I can tells you what’s awry.”
Hermione stiffened as a small, rather bent form entered the bedroom slowly.
Hermione’s eyebrows rose as she looked down on Kreacher, the aged former servant
of the house of Black. He wore the gold locket of Regulus Black around his neck,
and peered up at Hermione, then at Dahlia and Artimus with a slight frown on his
face before he lowered his eyes again.
”Kreacher was sent by the Headmaster. He tells Kreacher he musts serves one who
is not Muggle and not wizard. Kreacher wonders what kind of thing it is,” the
house-elf said as if to himself. “Kreacher wonders what kind of thing he serves
for four days.”
Hermione let her forehead fall into her hand for a moment. How could Severus do
this? Send Kreacher of all the house elves to serve Artimus? Although Kreacher
showed his true colors at the Final Battle, he was still an ornery and rude elf.
Shit. That’s exactly why Severus sent him. Oh gods damn it. And Hermione
couldn’t override his orders.
Kreacher peered up at Artimus again.
”It looks like a man, but Kreacher cannot see its secrets. Bluebell cannot see
the Miss’ secrets. Will be much work to serves these things,” Kreacher muttered.
Artimus scowled.
”What the hell is this?” he asked Hermione, pointing at Kreacher who looked back
up at him with open distaste.
“Um, he’s your personal servant. He’ll serve you like Bluebell serves Dahlia,”
she said to the sorcerer.
”But Dahlia’s house elf is . . . well . . . pleasant,” Artimus said, frowning
down at Kreacher.
”Kreacher serves the thing whether pleasant or not,” the house elf said to
himself, loud enough for everyone to hear. “For four days Kreacher serves the
strange thing not Muggle or wizard.”
”Thing?” Artimus said, outraged as Dahlia hid a smile behind her hand.
”I’ll talk to the Headmaster to see if he can assign another house elf,”
Hermione promised the sorcerer. She couldn’t arbitrarily dismiss Kreacher when
Severus gave him the assignment.
“Kreacher hopes the Headmistress is successful,” Kreacher intoned, his eyes
flicking up at her. “Kreacher would rather shovel dragon du . . .”
”That’s enough, Kreacher! You will give Mr. Rogue good service,” Hermione said
to the house elf sharply.
”Of course Kreacher will gives good service,” the house elf said, then bowed
stiffly to Artimus. “What does the Rogue-thing needs?”
Artimus turned red and looked at Hermione furiously, too mad to even speak.
”I’ll talk to him immediately, Mr. Rogue. Right when I leave here. Are you
hungry?” Hermione asked the irate sorcerer, trying to get his mind off Kreacher.
“I am. I’d like some fruit,” Dahlia said to Hermione.
”What kinds of fruits, Miss?” Bluebell asked, feeling out of sorts that she
couldn’t read Dahlia’s desires. House elves could usually bring what was needed
without asking. They just knew. But the minds of these strange visitors weren’t
open to them. It was unsettling. The house elf couldn’t even see Dahlia’s
secrets, not that she would tell them if she could.
“Do you have honeydew melon?” Dahlia asked hopefully.
”We has everything,” the house elf said proudly. “I will comes back with it.”
Bluebell winked out.
”I’ll have bacon and eggs with toast and coffee, black with one sugar,” Artimus
ordered Kreacher.
”The thing wants bacon, eggs, toast, coffee, one sugar,” Kreacher intoned,
winking out as well.
An uncomfortable silence ensued for several moments with Artimus frowning at
Hermione and Dahlia looking at Artimus as if she wanted to burst out laughing
until Hermione cleared her throat, thinking this would be a good time to depart.
”Well, I’ll give you two a chance to get settled in and go and talk to the
Headmaster about your elf, Mr. Rogue. But if you need anything, just ask the
elves, and they will be happy . . . er . . . willing to serve you and escort you
anyplace you wish to go,” Hermione said, wincing a little.
She doubted Kreacher would be either happy or willing to serve Artimus, but he’d
still do it. She could only imagine what was going through the old elf’s mind.
He had only recently come to terms with Muggle-Borns and finally stopped
referring to them as Mud-Bloods. Now this?
Severus was unconscionable.
Well, she was going to have a talk with him. He might be over her as Headmaster
of the school, but like in any relationship, Hermione was the real power behind
the wielded wand. And Mr. Severus Snape might not be wielding his wand for the
next four days if he didn’t reassign that elf, pronto.
Hermione shook her head as she walked up the dungeon corridor heading for the
Headmaster’s office.
She couldn’t believe him sometimes.
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A/N: lolol. Got to LOVE Severus. He’s so dirty. And Dahlia’s scared of ghosts. I
had originally wanted to put in that Dahlia’s fear of ghosts was genetic. She a
jumble of different ethnicities, but I wanted to say the “black gene” came out
when she saw the Baron. I didn’t do it though because I know somebody would get
offended. Doesn’t stop me from mentioning it in the author notes though. Now, as
comedian Richard Pryor pointed out years ago, black people don’t do ghosts,
demons or anything remotely related to them. If black folks had been in “The
Exorcist” the movie would have been about 5 minutes long.
Demon: Heeeelloooooooo!
Black folks: Goooodbyyyye! (Door Slam)
lol. And before you get offended, trust me, I’m black and I don’t do ghosts or
monsters (not even haunted houses at amusement parks, but that’s me.) and I
don’t know anyone black who does unless they’re in the movies. Then the ghosts
usually get them, which is even more of a reason to avoid them. ROFL. Just
having fun, ya’ll. Hope you liked the chapter. Thanks for reading. ***
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