The Pen of Destiny (COMPLETE!!)

I would like to thank all those who took the time to review. It bolstered my flagging spirits like nothing else did. And as a result, I thought to give a gift--the next chapter early! Not to worry, I'll post tomorrow too. Enjoy!

PLEASE READ AND REVIEW!!!

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Chapter Eleven


Staring at the ceiling was proving to be ineffectual, Hermione discovered after two hours of doing so. Getting up from bed, she slipped on her house shoes and robe before she left to go downstairs. Sirius was sitting in front of the fireplace, smoking a hash and tobacco blend from the smell of things. She went over and slipped into his lap, taking the joint from him.


“Lovely,” Hermione murmured after taking a hit, handing it back over to him. “Thank you.”


“You’re most welcome, love,” he sighed, kissing her temple. “What are you doing awake at this time of night?”


“I couldn’t sleep,” she whispered, letting her head rest on his shoulder. “Thinking too much about too little.”


Sirius put out the joint, wrapping his arms around her. He closed his eyes as he allowed himself the luxury of inhaling her scent.


“Having nightmares again?” she inquired as gently as she could.


“Ah, love, how well you know me,” he told her. “Tell me a story.”


“Fiction or non-fiction?”


“You choose,” he said, relaxing further against the leather of the recliner.


She hummed, thinking it over. “ ‘A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away…’,” she said somewhat dramatically.


It was with a snicker that he muttered against her ear, “Brat.”


She laughed to herself saying, “I thought you didn’t care what story.”


“Too true, love, but I at least want to hear one that isn’t so familiar.” His fingers absently combed through her curls, massaging her scalp. “Why couldn’t you read smut and trash like other birds?”


“Because it’s too painfully obvious,” she told him, groaning when he hit a sore spot near her neck. “Romance books as of late are lovely, but lack something.” She lifted her head to look him in the eyes. “Where is the seduction of the reader?”


“Like what?” he was barely able to croak out.


She thought it over before whispering, “ ‘You have absorb’d me, I have a sensation at the present moment as though I was dissolving.’” Hermione was shocked when she felt a tremble rock through his body at her words.


“Keats,” he said quietly. “I’ve never liked him.”


“Pity,” she said.


“He’s over quoted,” he pointed out to her, trying as he might to control his own body’s reaction to what she had said.


“Too true, but perhaps that’s because he got it so right?” she suggested. Letting out a yawn, she got up and stretched. “I best go off to bed. There’s still so much work to do.”


“Good night.” He watched as she nearly fled from the room, knowing without a doubt he would end up right back in a cold shower within minutes.


Closing the door to the guest room, Hermione leaned on the wood of it, wishing the taste of smoke, fire whiskey, and man would stop haunting her. She had been so close to kissing him, wanting to taste his mouth again. Why did she do this to herself, she asked of no one in particular. You, Hermione Jane Granger, are in a relationship with Bill Weasley. You shouldn’t be thinking about kissing other men, or tasting them, or fucking…


“Shit,” she muttered, going over to the bed and laid down.


It was going to be a long night.


***


It wasn’t until midday that she saw it. She wasn’t certain what she was staring at for so long as she was still half asleep. But then it clicked like a switch in her mind allowing it for the first time that morning to operate clearly. What, she asked herself, was Hitler doing with a plume on his desk? Grabbing up a magnifying glass, she studied it more closely. Sweet Merlin, could it be? Hitler had the Plume? Think, she told herself, closing her eyes tightly as she tried to focus. What had she heard? It was rumored that Hitler was a collector of artifacts. That he had at one time or another a great deal of items of what he thought to be great mystical weapons. The majority of them turned out to be bunk, but could he have just lucked out and found a few real ones along the way?


“What have you found?” Sirius asked as he set a hot mug of coffee next to her on the desk. He looked over her shoulder to where she was tapping on the picture. “Is that a plume?”


“Yes,” she murmured. “Better question would be is it Machiavelli’s Plume and if so how in the world was that delusional megalomaniac able to get his hands on it?”


“Was he a wizard?”


“No,” she muttered. “If he were, World War II would have been far worse. And believe me, it was bad enough. Millions dead, missing, tortured, whole villages wiped from the map, and for what?” She sighed as she leaned back. “All to appease a madman’s ego.” Hermione took up the coffee and looked over to Sirius. “It certainly wasn’t to make the world a better place.” She took a sip, letting out a groan. “Great coffee, thank you.”


“You’re welcome.” He went over and sat down on the chair across from her. “Then how do you wager the burk got it?”


“It could be that he got it by mistake,” she reasoned. “He was constantly looking for and collecting different supposed magical items. Most of what he stole were expensive muggle reproductions of what they thought the item looked like.”


“In other words, they were worthless,” he murmured.


“For what he wanted, yes.” She studied the picture again. “But to get something that’s so specific to the wizarding world, not to mention something that’s barely been heard of within it at that, is…” She shook her head. “No, I doubt it was a coincidence. There’s a chance that a dark wizard was within his inner circle, but why would they surrender the power of the Plume to a muggle?”


“Maybe it’s the way the Plume works,” Sirius suggested. When she frowned as she looked over to him, he added, “Why didn’t Machiavelli use the Plume for himself? Instead he had others in the seat of power instead of himself.”


“Perhaps he had it in mind that it was better to be at the right hand of the leader than the leader himself?” Hermione thought aloud.


“There is that,” Sirius murmured into his coffee mug. “But in either case, there’s still the question of how in the name of Merlin did those Natties…


“Nazis,” she corrected absently.


“Thank you, Nazis get it.”


They were still pondering this question when Harry rushed out of the floo, looking panicked.


“Ginny, baby, now, come, St. Mungos!” And then he ran out, right back into the floo. But he had to go back out again to grab some floo powder, leaving yet again.


“What was that?” Sirius asked even as Hermione got to her feet.


“Ginny’s having the baby,” she told him, pulling him to his feet. “Right now over at St. Mungos! We have to go!”


“Why didn’t he say so?” Sirius asked as he grabbed up the floo powder and pulled her into the floo.


“Why didn’t they get someone whose wife wasn’t in active labor to spread the news of the birth is what I want to know,” she stated, wrapping her arms around his waist as they laughed.


“Remind me to find who did that, will you?” Still smiling, he tossed the powder as he gave the location and they were on their way.


***

Okay, here it is confession time again. I have no idea whatsoever where that Keats quote came from. Horrible of me, I know, but I looked up quotes online and I thought it was a fantastic quote to use. I couldn't pass it up. If any of you know what book, story or whatever Keats used it in, please let me know. Thanks and have a nice day!