Damnation of Memory

Title: Damnation of Memory
Author: ianthe_waiting
Rating: MA/NC-17
Disclaimer: The Harry Potter books and their characters are the property of JK Rowling. This is a work of fan-fiction. No infringement is intended, and no money is being made from this story. I am just borrowing the puppets, but this is my stage.
Genre: Suspense, romance, angst
Warnings: Character Death, Violence, Adult Situations
Summary: DH-EWE: With every generation, a Dark Wizard rises. Hermione Granger has survived one. However, after nearly thirteen years, a dead man returns to inform her that she must fight again, and this time, Harry Potter will not be the one to save the world from madness.
Author's Notes: This is my 1st full length SS/HG fic and my second 1st person POV fic. Please note that not every detail is canon, including the canon floor plan of Grimmauld Place. This chapter is also unbeta’d, so please, pardon the mistakes!




Damnation of Memory - XI




Severus’ pacing woke me. He moved before the foot of the bed, back and forth in long strides. In the candlelight, he looked different, his hair trimmed, his clothes altered with a baggy black jumper over his usual trousers.

As he paced, he twirled his wand between his long white fingers. I could see that he was brooding over something, an expression that I remembered so well from my schooldays.

“Stop it,” I croaked from the bed.

Severus stumbled in his pacing and whirled to gaze down on me. He glided to the bedside and gently sat down, his brooding expression unchanged.

“I am going to live,” I wheezed, shifting in the bed so sit up slowly. Severus’ hands helped me before pressing a cup from the bed stand to my lips. I drank, but let my eyes study his face and the deep crease between his brows.

“We were listening to Weasley’s questioning,” he said when I finished drinking. “It took everything to keep Mr. Goyle from rushing down from the attic to pummel Weasley.”

I smirked. “How did you manage to hear everything?”

Severus sighed as he put the empty cup on the bed stand next to the pitcher of water. “Extendable ears, it seems Fannie likes gag products…”

I rolled my eyes and slouched forward. It felt as if my ribs were bruised, but the pain was bearable.

“We have spoken, all of us, and we have decided our next course of action.”

I blinked. “All of us?”

Severus smirked. “Parkinson, after a bit of shock and awe, has accepted the fact that Horace Slughorn came to tell her about her destiny. After her incoherent sobs, the girl seemed to think I was god, or a priest—she confessed her undying love for me.”

I snorted. “Do you even remember her?”

“Vaguely. I remember more of her than of you.”

“So you played upon her schoolgirl crush to make her agree to her role in all of this?” I asked with a impressed smirk.

“Basically, but I think it was more than that. You saved her life. Parkinsons believe in life debts…”

I sniffed. A life debt. I had never intended something so serious. Pettigrew’s life debt to Harry had saved Harry, but killed Pettigrew…

“What did you have her do?”

Severus straightened. “Look into who has set Weasley onto you, us. Parkinson was never the cleverest Kneazle in my House, but she has a way of culling the truth out of people.”

I smirked. Pansy Parkinson was a bully in school, but she was also a great manufacturer of rumours, spinning rumours that were more often fact than not. Parkinson scared most Gryffindor girls, which was something to be respected.

“Then there was Mr. Goyle, who seemed to scare the truth into Parkinson after her initial denials.”

Slytherins, I never could totally understand the strange dynamic of that House. It was a strange mixture of loyalty and fear that cohered the House into one.

“And the others?”

Severus shifted on the bed. “Fannie will have to stay here. Goyle will have to go back to Glasgow for a time, sort his affairs, the to Hogsmeade to do some digging, but then he is going to Ashbrittle at Fannie’s behest, as means of protection for her. Potter will keep us apprised of official Ministry movements, look into Percy Weasley…”

“You realize how dangerous it is for Goyle to be going out into the open?” I asked, stuck on Greg’s task before anything else Severus had said.

Severus nodded. “But if he doesn’t whoever is trying to eliminate us will eventually trace him here. The protection of this house will not last indefinitely.”

I agreed. I could see Severus’ logic. If the Knights were somehow tracked to Grimmauld Place… Images of destruction, the Potter children somehow injured, flashed through my brain. It made me shiver.

“And what about you?” I asked finally.

Severus smirked and he shifted on the bed, his hand moving to rest on the other side of my legs so that we were face to face.

“We are going to Somerset ahead of Fannie and Goyle. We are going to start there, on the trail to find Aberforth Dumbledore.”

Fannie’s words came back to like a far, distant memory. To find the path…



Of all the surviving generation, Pansy and Aberforth was missing from the room. Pansy had vowed to keep us apprised of anything new, and if she were needed, she would come. We sat in the front room, facing the portraits. I sat next to Fannie, she faring better than I was as far as health went. It had almost been two days since I died, and the pain of the Curse upon my body was gone, but my energy was still low. Fannie let me rest against her as she was wedged between Greg and me.

On the opposite couch, Severus and Harry sat as far apart as the chesterfield would let them.

Harry had just finished telling us the results of Horace’s autopsy. Poison. The mechanics of how Horace, a Potions Master, was poisoned were still a mystery. In addition, the fact that his body ended up in Portleven harbour only compounded the mystery. There theories, of course, but nothing concrete.

“Then, that’s it. We’re really going to have to start moving,” Greg sighed.

“It is the only way. We cannot keep staying here, waiting for something to happen,” Harry answered remorsefully. “Percy Weasley is going to have come up with some answers…”

“To rule him out?” I asked.

Harry nodded. “It is his men, it is his responsibility.”

I said nothing more. I had already asserted that Percy, my friend, was hiding something from me, but that was not a true implication that he was responsible… I sighed. I knew I did not want to think that my own friend would send his agents to harm me, but still, I needed to know what Percy was hiding. I would have to confront him again, more directly than before.

“I will try and see what the word is up north,” Greg said softly, “Then I’ll make arrangements to take Fannie back to Ashbrittle.”

“It will be safer for me there, for all of you,” Fannie added. “Severus and Hermione, you’re welcome to stay at the cottage if you need a place to land during the search.”

Severus nodded. “Somerset is not so large.”

“Aberforth surely started from Ashbrittle, as we had arranged if something should begin…” Fannie trailed. “The path starts there.”

I licked my lips as the room fell silent again. The portraits had been listening all the while, but had attributed little to conversation.

“We start in the morning,” Severus announced, rising from the couch. “We still need to discuss some means of communicating safely…”

I rose from the couch, and on unsteady legs passed by Severus, who paused in his speech. I could feel all eyes upon me, and I stopped at the door, muttering ‘loo’ to Harry who was closest to the door.

I limped out into the corridor, moving in the direction of the downstairs lavatory, but continued on to the kitchen. I could still hear the timbre of Severus’ voice as I descended into the kitchen, where I found Kreacher padding about the scullery, muttering to himself as usual.

I glanced about the kitchen, finding one of Harry’s old leather jackets hanging on a peg near the door of the scullery. I Summoned it wandlessly and donned it. Kreacher paid no attention to me, again, as usual, as I limped to the fireplace at the far end of the kitchen.

It was a weekend morning and I knew that Percy would be at home at his Islington flat. I had come unannounced to his lush flat before, I doubt that he would be too shocked to see me. Adjusting my wand holster over my armoured shirt, I zipped the worn black leather jacket, tucking my low ponytail into the collar.

I could hear Harry’s voice, distantly. It seemed there was an argument, but it was enough distraction for me to Floo to Diagon Alley and then slip into the city among Muggles. If I were being followed, I would know in the tight confines of a Tube train. I had forgone going out the front door, surely someone would have noticed…

I knew that going out alone would be risky, but Percy would never talk if I approached him with someone else. Percy trusted me, and although I had betrayed that trust, I knew that I did not confront him alone, I might not learn anything.

And so, grabbing a handful of Floo powder, I announced my destination, a place that would not arouse suspicion except for one man.

Number 93 Diagon Alley.




Angelina Weasley stifled a scream when I stepped out of the fireplace in the back workroom of Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes. I immediately pressed a finger to my lips, stepping toward her. Angelina’s dark eyes widened for a moment and then narrowed.

“Merlin, Hermione,” she swore.

“I’m sorry, Angie, I’m just passing through,” I whispered, moving to her side at the work table where she had been Charming the wrapping on boxes of Patented Daydream Charms. I noted that George had changed the cover picture from a young couple on the deck of a pirate ship to a young couple dressed in medieval costume, the young man slaying a dragon with the damsel watching in awe. It was reminiscent of St. George slaying the dragon, but I thought no more of it as I turned to Angelina.

“Is something wrong? Should I get George from the front?”

Ever since the War, Angelina was always anxious when one of us—Harry, Ron, or myself—showed up unexpected to the shop.

“No, no,” I whispered. “I just need to slip out unnoticed, I really did not want to bother either of you.”

Angelina studied my face for a moment, her dark eyes crinkling, obviously suspicious of the dark rings under my eyes and my pale complexion. I had caught sight of myself earlier that morning, and I knew that I could do with a few glamours to hide my recent set back in health.

“Give me a minute, I’ll distract George,” Angelina whispered.

I sighed in relief as Angelina moved away and to the curtained partition into the front shop. She glanced back at me, her beautiful lips pursed. I only hoped she would keep my coming and going to herself.

I waited, moving to the curtain and peeking into the busy shop. George was behind the counter, watching as a few children too young to be at Hogwarts laughed at the tiny pygmie puffs near the front window and a few boys were gawking at the Skivving Snackboxes on the far wall. There were also several adults, mostly young women studying the expanded line of WonderWitch products.

Angelina was moving to George, and when she began whispering in George’s good ear. I acted as the married couple turned away from the goings on in the shop. I did not bother to look at the Weasleys or any of the customers, slipping out the front door just as a family were coming in.

Diagon Alley was busy for May Day, and there were banners and garlands hanging overhead, announcing sales and specials at the various shops for the holiday. As I wove through the crowd, I realized it was Beltane, and that evening, Walpurgis Night. I smirked to myself as I neared the Leaky Cauldron.

The smirk faded however as I felt eyes upon the back of my head, a sensation that made me shiver. I veered toward the front of Quality Qudditch Supplies where there was an outside bin of discounted toque hats for various British and Irish Quidditch teams. I snatched a Puddlemere United cap, pressing a galleon into the outdoor vendor’s hand, muttering that I did not need the change. Slipping the blue knit cap over my hair haphazardly, I walked on, ducking under the arm of a gentleman carrying a large cage from Eeylops, and falling in behind a group of young men in dark Ministry robes. I recognized Ernie Macmillan in the group and realized that they were weekend workers at the Department of Magical Transportation, perhaps on an early lunch break.

I slipped through the group as they stopped in front of the apothecary nearest the entrance to Diagon Alley, and through the gateway into the back of the Leaky Cauldron. I did not feel the weight of eyes upon me. I limped through the dark pub to the street door to Charing Cross Road. Once I was on the street, I took a cleansing breath, but only paused for a moment before heading to Charing Cross Tube station.

By the time I was on the Tube train, standing near the door, I adjusted my hat, pushing a few stray strands of hair from my face to look about. The Northern line could get me directly to The Angel station, but standing at the far end of the car was a face pointed in my direction, and I considered where I could get off the train.

I did not know the man, but by the dull eyes and face under a bowler hat, I knew he was an agent of the Department of Intelligence. He was not looking at me, but at the woman sitting in the seat next to the door. She was older, and surprisingly, resembled Fannie.

The train slowed at Holborn station and I stepped out of the way as the woman next me exited the train. The agent exited as well and I watched from closing door as the woman was followed from the platform. When the train moved again, I rolled the edges of the hat down to my eyebrows and turned my collar up. Again, I scanned the train. Muggles sat or stood silently.

I got off at Euston station, feeling that I had not been followed, and walked, limped, the Underground tunnel to the other side of the Northern line and boarded a train to The Angel station. My eyes moved all the while, scanning indistinct faces, searching for some sensation that alerted me that I was being followed by a witch or wizard.

As I rode up the long escalator to the street, I began arranging my thoughts. If I wanted to learn anything from Percy, I was sure I would have to give up some information concerning what I had been doing since I left his office at the Ministry. I would not speak of the Knights, but I would address my current state of health and the involvement of his agents.

I paid little mind to the Muggles on the street and their quick glances toward me. I limped and lumbered along the street, dressed in black, with a cap pulled low over my brow. I was sure I looked slightly dangerous, but it kept the Muggles’ from looking long.

It had started to rain by the time I stood in the lobby of Percy’s building, his flat on the fourth floor. I considered taking the lift, but opted for the stairs instead. I winced with every step, feeling the strain on my ribs and lower back. It took about ten minutes for me to ascend, having to stop at every landing to hold my side and breathe through the ache.

I pounded on Percy’s door, flat 402, and waited.

The door opened and inside stood Percy Weasley, damp, and wrapped in a bathrobe, his hair dripping onto his terry cloth clad shoulders. I noted that the robe was a dark red, and then stepped into the flat before Percy could speak. His face betrayed his surprise, which put me on guard.

I pulled the cap off my head and tossed it on the Italian silk sofa in the front room with windows overlooking the street below. Percy’s apartment was a mixture of Muggle modern and Magical style. I had always felt comfortable in the white with red trim décor. On more than one occasion, I had slept on the sofa before the fireplace, too drunk to safely make my way home.

As I moved to the windows, glancing down onto the residential street, I felt satisfied, but still closed the sheer curtains. I then unzipped Harry’s old jacket, withdrew my wand, and turned to Percy who stood in the middle of the room, trying to hold his robe shut.

“This is an unexpected pleasure, Hermione,” Percy drawled sarcastically. “Do you mind if I put something on before you explain to me why you are here?”

I smirked and nodded. As Percy moved through the room toward the master bedroom, I allowed myself to look about. There were photos on the walls near the door, mostly of his family, and one of the two of us during an outing to Hyde Park to a concert several years ago. That photograph was the only one that did not move. It was the centerpiece, I realized, and I frowned.

Percy returned, dressed in dark grey trousers and black jumper, his hair still damp, his glasses missing.

“You shouldn’t be so surprised to see me,” I began, “Unless you expected me to be dead or gravely injured.”

Percy grimaced. “I know what has happened…”

“And I should be pressing charges against your department, Perce,” I growled, moving to the sofa and sitting slowly next to my discarded cap.

Percy moved to sit next to me, swiping my cap out of the way. “It was not supposed to happen the way it did,” Percy said and there was an edge of anxiety in his voice. He leaned toward me and for a moment, I thought he was going to touch me in some familiar way, but at the twitch of my wand in my hand, he pulled back.

“I need some sort of explanation, Perce,” I muttered, studying his face out of the corner of my eye. “After what Harry told me about the ‘raid’ on Malfoy Manor, one of your agents being killed, and now…now that I have…”

Percy did touch me then, his hand curling about my right shoulder. “You were not supposed to be in Helston when my agents were to apprehend Parkinson,” he said softly. “You were caught in the cross-fire…”

I could not let my face show my disbelief at Percy’s words. I bit the inside of my lower lip.

“I haven’t told Ron, but Parkinson is our main suspect to Slughorn’s murder.”

I cocked my head, stretching the muscles in my neck. “I don’t believe it,” I muttered.

Percy sighed, and misunderstanding the intent of my words, continued. “It will kill Ron to know… It will destroy Petroc Parkinson’s already sketchy reputation as well.”

I closed my eyes. “Has your department become part of the MLE as well?”

Percy’s hand slipped from my shoulder and I opened my eyes to see him staring at my wand. “You know very well that we specialize in investigations dealing with the security of our society, Hermione. We only point the MLE in the right directions…”

“Don’t play coy, Perce. Your ‘agents’ have been acting more like a ‘secret police’ than those gathering intelligence on security. The law states that your men are to be accompanied by Aurors when detaining suspects or apprehending known criminals…”

“The law is changing,” Percy growled, rising from the sofa to stand near the window. My eyes followed him. “It is changing with the times.”

I narrowed my eyes. “What does that mean?”

Percy ran his fingers through his damp crimson hair and slouched against the windowsill. “Even if I wanted to tell you, I couldn’t, Hermione.”

I rose as well, slowly, my left side burning. I had to change my approach.

“Ron questioned me yesterday at Harry’s. He implied that your department might be looking at me for some infraction…”

Percy closed his eyes. “Your signature was detected at the Lestrange House, along with another signature that cannot be identified…” he whispered. When he opened his eyes, they blazed. “What have you been doing? Who have you been with?”

I took a step back, instinctually.

“Nothing. I’m just…” I faltered.

Percy’s eyes moved to the rug under his bare feet. “I’ve read your statement, why you met Parkinson, but it seems every thing that has been coming across my desk has something to do with you…”

I said nothing, sinking to the sofa again, wincing.

“If you have anything to do with…” Percy trailed, shaking his head. “Why did you come here?”

I took a breath. “Your agent nearly killed me, Perce, and I killed one of them. I need to know that you aren’t responsible for the rumours I have been hearing.”

Yes, rumours, it would be the only way to gauge or begin to rule my friend out of the running of the next Dark Wizard of the age.

Percy moved back to the sofa, but did not sit next me. Instead, he sat on the small glass coffee table before me, his hand moving to my knees in a familiar gesture.

“What rumours?”

I sighed, dramatically. “Rumours that Horace Slughorn may have been murdered by your agents in order to silence him. Rumours that Perpetua Fancourt is missing after your men killed Muggles in Glasgow in pursuit of her…”

Percy’s eyes narrowed. “Where did you hear this?”

I shook my head and said nothing. Percy licked his lips, and I waited for an explanation. Again, I could see the tightness around his mouth, and could feel how his fingers clenched about my knees. It was not evasion I saw, but anger.

“Parkinson was the last person to see Slughorn alive, that is why she is a suspect. It is true that my men had been following him…he had sensitive information regarding matters of security…”

I wanted to roll my eyes. ‘Sensitive information regarding matters of security’ was a cop out. It was a phrase associated with the department’s concept of ‘plausible deniability.’ I may have been a low ranking employee in the department, but I was not blind to how the organization worked. It was the magical equivalent to the American Central Intelligence Agency, or Britain’s MI6.

“As for Perpetua Fancourt—there was an unfortunate incident in Glasgow. My agents moved to detain her for questioning when she fled. There was an altercation in the presence of Muggles, and since then, we have been unable to locate Fancourt.”

There was no mention of Greg or the tracking spell; of course, I did not expect Percy to mention that fact. I did not bother to ask why the Department of Intelligence wished to detain Fannie for questioning; I would receive that same lame answer.

“These rumours… I would like very much to know where they came from.”

I shrugged. “You know how rumours are, Perce,” I said softly. “I just want to know why. Why was I attacked? If you read my statement, surely you know that there was no provocation for what you men did to us…”

Percy’s grip on my knees tightened. “I don’t know… I mean, I know there was no provocation. There was no order to forcefully act, the Muggles were never to know…” Percy trailed, his eyes growing distant. Then, in almost a whisper: “I’m losing control. At every turn, I have been blocked, superceded, and all the blame is left on me.”

His face had softened, the tightness gone from his mouth. He took a deep, cleansing breath and met my eyes.

“I told you the day your department was dissolved that someone was orchestrating a shift in power from higher in the Ministry. It has only gotten worse since you left.”

I nodded.

“It has extended to the MLE and the Aurors. I have lost all control over my own agents, their allegiances lie elsewhere, and I am still trying to learn why. All I know is that it started with you.”

I blinked. I wanted to tell my friend, the one man who had supported me the most after Ron and the miscarriage, everything. Harry had always been a close friend, but Percy had, in so many ways, been my confidante. I could keenly feel the tear in my soul, I did not know if I could trust Percy when his own agents had wrecked so much havoc…

“All I do know is that I would never have you come to any harm,” Percy whispered, and he touched my cheek. His touch made my insides squirm. “Whatever it is you are doing, you need to stop.”

I frowned. Did Percy really not know what was happening?

“I’m doing what I must in order to survive. I cannot help it if it involves me nearly being killed by your men,” I grumbled.

Percy smirked. “Trouble follows you, luv, haven’t you realized that?”

I said nothing; I did not find his words amusing.

“Who is this ‘higher authority,’ do you think?” I ventured.

Percy moved his hands from me and moved to sit next to me. “I have my suspicions. After I was given the Department of Intelligence, Gawain Robards was moved from the Head of the Aurors to a position closer to the Minister after the War. He protested my appointment. There was a Vergil Uruqhart in Hopkirk’s office that vied for my position. He often makes things difficult in meetings with the Minister, second guessing everything I have proposed, I’m sure he’s laughing his arse off right now…”

I knew both men, and somehow I found it unlikely that they would have the power or the mental fortitude to orchestrate a covert movement against us. Us. I wondered when I had started thinking of myself as part of a cohesive unit.

“Then there is the Senior Undersecretary to the Minister, my old post after the War…”

I bit my lower lip. Cormac McLaggen.

McLaggen had been a nuisance in school, a boy that I avoided too many times. He was brilliant, but he was arrogant. He had managed to work his way up through the ranks of the Ministry in record time, and much as Percy had once been, he was a boot-licker. I had not followed McLaggen’s career, far too busy with my own to care. However, on every official memo, McLaggen, Undersecretary to the Minister for Magic, was signed in an obnoxious flourish at the bottom of the page.

“McLaggen has taken a personal interest in the operation of my department ever since I was given the post. Of course, he has also taken an interest in the MLE, having Gumboil and Shacklebolt send copies of every report to his office.”

Shacklebolt, after his tenure as Minister, had returned to the MLE not long after I left. Shacklebolt was now working under Gumboil who had taken Robards’ post. Harry had been Head of the Aurors for approximately one year after the War before realizing that paperwork out weighed the satisfaction of the job. Gumboil was then installed.
The shuffling of appointments after the War had ceased to interest me.

“Now, almost all information goes to McLaggen. I have my ideas as to the purpose, but if anyone is superceding my authority, he is the best candidate.”

I glanced to Percy, whose eyes had grown distant. I wanted to say something to soothe the deep crease in his worried brow, but somehow I could not. I had not considered McLaggen, for various reasons. McLaggen was vying to be Minister; everyone in the Ministry knew this. McLaggen had worked his way to Hopkirk’s side, calling in every favour, pulling every string. As Senior Undersecretary, he had power, and with the right information, he could sway influences in his direction to secure a position as Minister.

The corruption in the Ministry had not ended with Fudge.

Percy opened his mouth to continue, but the activation of the Floo in the fireplace before us cut him off. The sound made me jerk in my seat on the sofa, and as a piece of parchment popped from the fire, an emergency notice, Percy rose to snatch the envelope from the air. He said nothing to me as he ripped into the envelope and withdrew a card. I watched as his blue eyes scanned the card, the dark crease deepening.

“I’m sorry, Hermione, I’m going to have to cut this short,” he grumbled, wadding up the parchment and throwing it into the now empty fireplace. “I’ve been called to the Ministry on an emergency.”

I did not ask what the emergency was, and rose jerkily, my back stiff. Percy moved from the room and into the master bedroom, returning, slipping a holster for his wand onto the belt of his trousers. He stalked to the window and peeked through the curtains to the street below. By his demenour, I could tell he was angry, but I made no comment.

“I’ll hail a cab for us both. You don’t look well enough to Floo or Apparate.”

I sighed. I wondered if I truly looked as terrible as I felt.

Percy moved to the front door, drawing a corduroy jacket from the coat rack and donning it. I slowly adjusted Harry’s old coat on my shoulder and snatched up my cap off the sofa cushion, jamming it over my unruly hair.

“You shouldn’t worry about these things,” Percy said in the lift down into the lobby. “Just get some rest…and I’ll speak to legal about compensation,” he finished somewhat sheepishly.

I said nothing.

We stepped out of the lift in the lobby, and Percy slowed his pace to match mine as we moved to the street door.

“Are you still staying with Harry and Ginny?” Percy asked, opening the door for me.

I inhaled. “Not for long. I mentioned I might travel before, I think I will do so soon.”

Percy nodded as he moved to the sidewalk and together we began walking toward the cabstand at the end of the street. On our outings, Percy always insisted on taking a black cab through the city, seemingly fascinated with Muggle transport, as well as seeing London from the large back seat of the taxi.

The street, despite the number of cabs waiting at the curb, was strangely desolate for a weekend. Percy did not seem to notice that we were the only people on the street as he stopped on the sidewalk before the cabstand, buttoning his jacket to obscure the wand on his belt.

The sunlight broke over one of the blockhouses and fell upon our side of the street, and I noticed how red Percy’s hair seemed. And then, the world sped up on me, as several things happened simultaneously.

It started with a loud cracking, one crack after another, and eight to ten figures in black appearing on the street forming a perimeter around Percy and myself, and the taxis. Next, there was an explosion of light and sound as the cab at the far end of the queue flew up into the air, blowing apart in a ball of fire and sound. Percy instinctually crouched, covering his ears, before rolling on the damp sidewalk to avoid a car door falling to where he had stood.

I was frozen on the spot, but not for long. I was being pulled backward, a cold hand pressed over my mouth and nose. Even as Percy drew his wand and yelled something indistinct over the sound of an exploding gas tanks and the yells of fleeing cab drivers, I was being pulled back into a narrow alleyway between houses. When the bright colours of flying curses and hexes made the air electric with energy, I began to fight.

My only thought was that I had been caught by one of the men in black.

I fought to get to my wand, which was obscured by the zipped up jacket. When a strong arm wrapped about my chest, trapping my arms, I began to kick and bite. The instinct to fight overruled any aches or pains in my body, but my captor was too strong, and I soon could not see the street as I was pulled deeper into the alley and finally onto a lane behind the house block.

I kicked at rubbish bins, anything to make a noise, to alert anyone to my plight. However, I was quickly released and thrown into a garden wall, my left shoulder slamming into brick. The force of the impact made me scream, and I crumpled to the lane, grasping my arm. I had dislocated my shoulder several times during my Auror career, but after so many years, the pain was just as bad.

I coasted through the pain and sudden numbness to gaze up at my attacker. But before I could spit out a curse or begin screaming again, two pale hands grasped my face and thin lips moved over mine.

Severus knelt before me, frantically kissing my face, before pulling away, his dark eyes hidden under the edge of the cowl of his cloak. His mouth was twisted into a painful snarl as he place a hand on my shoulder.

“What are you doing here?” I hissed.

He said nothing, and grasping my left arm, pulled. I screamed again, sweat staining the knit cap on my head, wetting my cheeks along with tears.

I could not believe he would risk coming out into the open. He was so obviously out of place in his black cloak in broad daylight. However, the sounds of battle in the street reached my ears, and I began to shake. Severus pulled me to my feet, and then, wrapping a hard, pale arm about my shoulders, he crushed me against him.

The world compressed around us, my face pressed into his jerkin-clad chest, and Islington disappeared.



I stumbled away from Severus when the world normalized, falling on my backside on cold stone. I let myself fall further to lay on my back, gasping for breath. I then groaned, grasping my arm and banging the back of my head into the ground. Frustration was all I could muster beyond the pain.

“You can never just well enough alone, can you, Granger?” Severus snarled.

I stared up at a high, unfamiliar timbered ceiling.

“Bloody Gryffindor arrogance…”

His voice echoed in the space, and I began to realize where I was. I was lying on the floor of a church, stained glass windows streaming coloured light upon my face. There was a scent of ancient power far below me, and slowly I rolled to my right side to curl upon myself.

The sound of Severus’ boots upon the stones rumbled against my ear and soon I was being set into a church pew. He knelt before me again, his hands holding my face.

“I can heal your shoulder, but do you have any other injuries?” he asked softly, his face still half hidden under the cowl of his cloak.

“No,” I rasped. “Just heal my shoulder, please.”

I wanted to know how he had known to follow me, when he had started to follow me, but as he helped me out of Harry’s old coat, I whimpered. Severus then unbuckled the holster about my chest and set it atop the jacket on the pew beside me. My only protest to Severus lifting my shirt up and over my head was the manner in which my shoulder twisted.

Severus’ face did not flinch at the sight of the bruises on my skin or my simple white brassiere. I slouched on the pew as Severus finally pushed back his cowl before flicking his wand into his hand. It felt wrong to be half dressed in a church.

Severus’ wand weaved over my shoulder and slowly the ache disappeared. Overall, I still felt sore and sick. After he finished, he pressed my shirt into my hands and rose, stalking away toward the rood and to the chancel.

I donned my armoured shirt, pulling my hair from the collar. I began to look about the small church until my eyes fell upon the stained glass window in the chancel.

“This is…” I began, the sound of my own voice startling me.

Severus turned slowly from the window, his face impassive. “The safest place I could think to bring you.”

I pressed my lips together. It was not just that…

“You followed me.”

He nodded, his dark curtain of hair falling about his pallid face. “Meeting Percy Weasley was foolish,” he muttered. “And evidently, dangerous.”

I sighed. “I had to know…”

“What did you learn?”

I blinked and bowed my head. “Not much. I had a thought that perhaps he was the one…as it was his men who have been…” I trailed.

Severus turned away, slipping his wand into the darkness of his cloak.

“Has he implicated someone?”

There was a sarcastic turn to his voice, and it made me frown.

“Three possible, but he is set on one. Cormac McLaggen.”

Severus scoffed.

I reached for my holster and began to slip it over my shoulders. I winced and hissed as I straightened the leather straps, and Severus moved to me again, sitting next to me on the pew, his hands clasped before him.

“That boy was far more concerned about reputation than intellectual pursuits. I doubt he knew that ‘Hogwarts, a History’ existed,” he muttered.

“You remember him?”

Severus sighed. “Oddly. I’ve been remembering many things lately, but nothing of importance. Except one thing, thanks to Fannie…”

I glanced at the profile of his face out the corner of my eyes. His hooked nose, his greasy hair, the thin curl of derision upon his lips, it made me feel strange. Years ago, Severus Snape was my teacher, a man I trusted even though Harry and Ron did not. He was a man who was so distant that many times after the War, I wondered if he had existed at all. To me, Severus Snape was my idea of what sorrow truly was…

“This place. I remembered this place, the window in the chancel. I remember the graveyard outside, and the yew tree.”

I bowed my head. Severus sighed loudly through his mouth.

“This place is special, a great secret. Muggles have tried to cover the power under our feet, obscure the power of the tree planted upon the tumulus. So far, the Muggles have helped to conceal the truth.

You know the power of the yew, what it means to magical folk. Life, death, life…

This is the Church of St. John the Baptist, built over a sacred well. Fannie wove a tale yesterday that this well was one of the three Wells of Wyrd, that the tree outside is part of a root of Yggdrasil, leading to Hel.”

I smirked.

“Rubbish, all of it. I am growing tired of tales and legends,” Severus whispered.

But the fact remained. I had dreamt the tree.

“Shouldn’t we get back?” I asked after the silence in the church became deafening.

Severus shifted on the pew, making the wood crack. “No. We will simply start early.”

I was not sure for a moment what Severus meant, but as he rose, his hand grabbing my wrist, I remembered. The church, the tree, Fannie, we were in Ashbrittle, Somerset. I allowed Severus to pull me along, as if I was some petulant child to the doors of the church, which with a flick of Severus’ wand, flew open.

Into the churchyard, into the graveyard, past the massive Ashbrittle Yew, Severus pulled me through the ancient stones. Finally, just in the shadow of a hedgerow, he released me. I watched him pull up his cowl, and with a quick snatch, I was in his arms again, half hidden by his cloak.

“And so it begins,” I thought I heard him say, and once again, the world compressed about us.




TBC...