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 - XVI







We acted the Muggle married couple again. At the mouth of Ebbor Gorge was the village of Wookey Hole, and the major attraction in the village was the paper mill and caves. We paid the fee to take the tour of both.

Severus had cast his glamour and again, he was Mr. Prince. I was his wife, and no one seemed to pay us any mind as we followed the tour into the caves. It was cooler in the bowels of the earth and in some ways; it felt like the dungeons at Hogwarts.

“The markers, runetones, whatever you would like to call them, come from the stone composing the Isle of Avalon,” Severus whispered in my ear as we followed behind another couple, American tourists. “It is a type of rock that is found mainly in Dorset, blue lias, and in parts of Somerset.”

“This unique formation is perhaps the centerpiece of our cave, the Witch of Wookey Hole…”

Severus and I gathered to see the formation, a stalagmite, that was darkly wet, made of limestone. The guide continued.

“To give you a brief overview of the legend, as many of you might not be aware, the Witch of Wookey Hole cursed a young man from Glastonbury. The Witch was a bitter woman who cursed the young man to never have love. Once upon a time, she had been jilted. The man, after many years, became a monk, and sought the Witch to have his revenge. He chased her into this cave, and here she hid. The man from Glastonbury, now being a monk, blessed the nearby river and then splashed it on the witch. The power of the blessed water then turned the Witch to stone…”

“An instance where there is almost no truth to the legend,” Severus whispered as tourists began to snap photographs of the stalagmite. “There was a witch who did exist, but she never turned to stone… The fallacy was the man from Glastonbury, it was the witch that came from Glastonbury.”

“What do you mean?” I whispered back as the tour began moving again, but Severus and I remained

Stepping off the tourist path, Severus moved about the stalagmite, lighting his wand to look in the dark niches under ancient curtains of wet stone. He searched while I watched until he stopped by the wall of the cave, his arm and lit wand disappearing in a low indentation.

I moved over the slick rock, slipping once and grabbing Severus’ coat. He moved aside to let me see into the hole. Deep in the dark was a dry stone, out of place with the wet limestone of the cave.

“One of the seven of nine placed the markers along the ‘caerdroia’ to lead their descendants to Avalon.”

The carving into the blue-grey stone was slightly worn away, but I could see the design and the tiny figure, only a short way from the centre goal. I stepped back as Severus pulled his arm and wand out of the hole before shoving his free arm into the hole. I studied his face as his palm made contact with the stone.

His lips moved silently, and he pulled away.

“Come, we should go,” he said finally, his voice a whisper.



“Muggles cannot see the stones like we can,” Severus explained as we sat in a small pub outside of Evercreech later in the day. “Else, they would have ended up in a museum.”

We ate a hearty stew with fresh baked bread and pints of pale ale. We had Apparated to Evercreech, about to set out for Small Down Knoll, the place Severus said the next marker laid in a barrow.

“You touched them,” I stated, the bowl of my spoon resting against my lips.

“There is magic and memory in the rock.”

I had not touched the stones, and I wondered that if I had, would have felt some connection of magic? Severus ate quickly, evidentially hungry. I continued to eat as well, but slower. He finished before I did and sipped on his ale.

“The next marker should be easy to find, unlike the one before. It must have been moved from Cheddar to a safer, more hidden location…”

“But you found it.”

Severus nodded, his glamoured face shifting. “It is like a whisper, or a feeling. We have been following the stones in the correct order.”

“And if we hadn’t?” I ventured.

Severus seemed to smirk. “We would not be so close to the goal.”

It was odd, circling toward Glastonbury, since it was only miles away from Evercreech. We could perhaps walk to Glastonbury in a day or less.

“The path is broken since I destroyed one stone, I am wondering now if I should have destroyed every one we have found,” Severus mused.

“Would it have really made a difference?”

Severus shook his head. “Aberforth was being followed… Danger ahead, danger behind.”

I set my spoon next to my bowl and leaned back into the booth. It was odd having to think of Somerset as some great invisible labyrinth. There were not walls, but there were plenty of impediments.

“Davies said that his ‘group’ was in Martock…” Severus continued, more to himself than to me. “I doubt we will be going so far as that.”

I could find no consolation in his words. As it was, the pattern of our path had been slightly erratic. We were still inside the imaginary boundaries of a circuit leading to Glastonbury, but the markers were not at any exact distance apart along the circuit.

By late afternoon, were we on Small Down Knoll, the sun beginning to move west for the evening. The knoll was higher than the rest of the surrounding pastureland, and the earthworks, like ramparts, ran along the edge of the flattened top. From the top of the knoll, I could see all around, the road below, the farm, and houses beyond.



I had my wand drawn as I walked several paces behind Severus as he approached the string of barrows atop the hill. Despite the sunny weather and near cloudless sky, I felt ill at ease. We had been attacked before at Castle Neroche, and Small Down Knoll had a similar ambience to it.

Severus stopped at the slope of the barrow furthest west on the hill. I watched him curiously, as he seemed to sniff the air, the glamour gone, and then fall to his knees halfway up the barrow. With his wand, he seemed to gently blast wandlessly into the grass and earth until there was a gouge in the ancient barrow.

“These barrows have been disturbed, robbed even, but the Muggles would never have seen this…” I hear Severus say as I moved into earshot. “Come.”

I hesitated, glancing around the knoll, anticipating the sound of arriving agents. However, as Severus reached a hand toward me, I took it, and together we knelt against the barrow mound, staring down at the blue-grey face of stone.

“Touch it.”

Severus’ hand moved to my shoulder as with my left hand, I leaned down, my hand reaching to place my palm against the dirty, carved stone. The circuit of the crudely carved labyrinth was the same as every other stone before it, only the tiny figure in a different location. The pads of my fingers pressed against the five-petal design in the centre, and then I felt it.

It was like touching a live electric wire or plunging your fingers into icy bathwater. A shock stirred something deep in my blood and brain.

Images flashed into my mind, like flying on a broom at high speed over the countryside. Then, jarringly, I saw a place as if zooming in to a particular spot. Market Cross, Somerton.

I gasped and pulled my hand away, feeling as though my mind, which had travelled was suddenly back in my body. Severus had been watching my face all the while and nodded when I withdrew my hand. He touched the stone, and pulled away after a few seconds. Had my experience only been so short? It had felt like minutes or hours had passed.

Severus manually replaced the soil, but cast no spell to replace the grass. Instead, he twisted to sit against the barrow, his arms resting on his knees.

“You won’t destroy it?” I asked over the sudden gust of wind that swept over the knoll.

“No.”

I pursed my lips and looked at the dark soil next to Severus. I supposed it did not matter, in the end.

We sat for a long while on the slope of the barrow. It was almost sacrilegious to do so.

The wind was warmer than it had been for days, the sun, and clouds making the sky a wonderful shade of azure over our heads. The day was peaceful, quiet, and I soaked it in even as the hum of magic from the stone still coursed through my blood.

It was strange to share such a serene moment with Severus. I wondered if such a thing would have been possible had he lived through the years after the War. I wondered if I would have had the chance to be near him, know him, or begin to care for him as I did in that moment.

My thoughts turned darker, however, as I felt that unwelcome company could dash the tranquility of the moment at any time.

The agents, commanded by some disembodied entity, were ordered to capture me. I glanced to Severus, who, so far, was safe from notice. Davies’ words were beginning to haunt me.

The Dark wizard wanted to expose the Magical world to the Muggle world. Why? Granted, it was a novel idea, naïve by Davies’ telling, but I knew that if the worlds were to combine, it would be disaster. The Magical Segregation Act had been placed for very good reasons. Muggles had advanced far since the Sixteenth Century, but still the Muggle world was not in any position to accept the Magical world. The ‘novel idea’ was not as benign as Davies’ believed. Grindelwald had wanted everything for his concept of the ‘greater good,’ and that had included having dominion over the Muggle world. Voldemort wanted to be a god, immortal, and wipe Muggles and any Muggle-borns from the face of the earth. In both cases, they would have exposed the Magical world to the Muggle world.

Such a union was not meant to be. Muggles had forced Wizarding folk to segregate the societies. Muggles had ostracized anything magic as the ‘devil’s work,’ and in the Twenty-First Century, it would be no different no matter if religion was no longer a driving force in society and government. A ‘witch hunt’ was still viable, no matter how the context of the phrase had changed.

Nevertheless, what haunted me the most about Davies’ words was the idea that I was somehow a ‘key.’

In the short time I had spent in death, the image of my mother had said something similar. I was the key and the keeper. I was not sure what it meant, exactly.

Severus grasped my hand, and my thoughts lightened.

“Have you ever been to Somerton?” he asked over the blowing wind.

I had not, and I shook my head.

“There’s a lovely bed and breakfast there…”

I chuckled, making Severus frown. To hear him speak so lightly made me wonder if he was truly such a Byronistic hero of sorts, after all. I rose first, helping him up, still smiling. He had a suspicious expression on his face, the brooding darkness returning.

Somerton, it was to be.



We were the Princes again as we took the last room at the Lynch Country House. The tariff was high, but Severus seemed to have an unending supply of money in his pockets. We were installed in a room in the main house, and the first thing I did was take a shower. It was dark outside the window by the time I emerged, wrapped in a large, soft pink towel. The room, which was uniquely decorated, as a combination of pink and white. The large four-poster bed in the middle of the room had a floral decorated duvet, and near the foot of the bed was a handsome oak writing table.

I was, once again, alone in the room. I sighed as I sat on the edge of the bed, looking toward the window. My brown canvas bag rested on a low bench at the foot of the bed with my dragon hide armour, but my Muggle clothes were missing. Besides the dragon hide, I had nothing to wear.

I found my wand hidden in the canvas bag, and figured Severus had placed it there to keep it out of sight. I fell back into the bed, wandlessly Summoning the telly remote from the bed side table. I turned the set on to Sky One, and absently listened to the programme. I had not watched television since going to my mother’s funeral in Melbourne. It was a Muggle convenience that I had lived without.

However, as I started to turn the volume down, the electronic device made a hissing noise and sparks lit at the back of the box. The telly died.

I wanted to laugh. I had ruined several of my parent’s electronics. Magic and Muggle truly could not work well together in a modern age. I would have to mention the broken television to Severus; surely, we would have to pay for a replacement. It was always ‘hit or miss’ with electronics and me. They either worked fine, or exploded in varying degrees of destruction.

I was left to the silence of the room. I began drying my hair, to pass the time.

It was an hour and half before Severus returned to the room, his glamour in place, and several Muggle shopping bags dangling from his hand. He set them on the writing desk, and I immediately smelled food. He had gone into Somerton, it seemed, to bring back take-away, and new clothes for me.

Take-away consisted of Chinese food, which I disliked, but did not complain. I was only slightly hungry, having eaten at Evercreech earlier in the day. Clothing consisted of a pair of khaki trousers, cargo pants; I believed they were called, a new grey camisole, and a dark green jumper. The underclothes were a plain white, all of the garments fitting well when I tried them on in the lavatory, but the last article of clothing was what I wore before Severus. It was a silken nightgown with an Empire silhouette, scalloped with lace, all in black. The gown fell past my knees, and when I studied myself in the mirror, I found the gown quite pretty.

“Very nice,” I had said to Severus as he began dishing out chicken fried rice and some egg rolls onto paper plates. He glanced at me for only a moment. He seemed uncomfortable at the state of my undress.

“I was not sure if it all would fit…” he started, his back to me as he stood at the writing desk.

“It all fits,” I murmured, sitting on the bed, my eyes moving to the remaining shopping bag. I assumed he had bought some new clothes for himself as well.

Severus sat at the desk and ate, after passing me a plate and plastic fork. I ate what I could, and then disposed my plate after retrieving my wand to Vanish the scraps.

“Market Cross, or Butter Cross, is not far from here,” Severus stated, a grain of rice sticking to his upper lip.

I smirked, rising.

“We can go in the morning…”

I was standing before him, his plate still in his hands, and pulled the grain from his lip, placing it in my mouth, not thinking. It was something I had done so often with Ron and his terribly messy eating habits. I blinked at my own action, and began to blush. Severus, however, tossed his plate to the desk, the plastic fork clattering against the stone surface. He pulled me into his lap, and kissed me.

I made a startled noise into his mouth, but wrapped my arms about his neck.

Severus pulled away, turning his glamoured face away, but still had his arms about my waist.

“Dispel it,” I whispered.

Severus blinked, and I realized he had forgotten about the glamour. He extracted his left arm from my waist and touched his wand resting next to his abandoned plate. His fingers slid over the dark oak, but he did not grasp the handle.

“I rather like being Mr. S. Prince,” he mumbled, grumpily.

“I don’t,” I said softly.

Severus’ dark eyes narrowed. Even with the glamour, I could tell he was brooding.

I sighed and pulled away. After Stoke-sub-Hamdon, I had hoped that Severus would simply… No, it could never be so easy, I thought. Severus Snape had ‘issues,’ and at that thought, I snorted. Severus was too lost in his own self-hatred to notice that I had moved back to the bed.

He slowly dispelled the glamour and then Vanished the food. I watched him rise from the writing desk, snatching up the shopping bag and moving into the lavatory, shutting the door. I listened to his movements and water running.

I began turning down the bed, switching off the lights so that only moonlight lit the room. The sky had remained clear since Evercreech, and for the first time in what seemed like months, I could see the waxing half moon. I slid down into the bed, half sitting, half lying, waiting for Severus to return.

He wore a pair of pyjama pants, black and with a similar fabric to my gown. His hair was damp and lank about his pale face. In the moonlight, the scars on his chest and back seemed to glow silver. He padded around the bed and sat on the edge, his back to me.

“I do not know how this is to work,” he said softly, and I turned to my left side. I was not sure what he was speaking about. He slouched slightly, the scarred skin of his back stretching over hard muscle and bone. “Of all the times to be…” he trailed.

I sat up in bed, frowning. Severus turned his face and all I could see was the end of his hooked nose.

“I have no recollection or notion on how to behave around someone like you.”

His words were strained, and I could tell he was having a hard time trying to say what he wanted.

“I have never been ‘with’ someone, not longer than a few hours…”

I bit my lower lip.

“We have been forced together by outside forces, given a task, and all I would like to do is make you scream my name.”

I was panting for air at his words. Had he never been any sort of relationship with another woman, one that demanded him to feel something more than obsession?

“You confound me,” he whispered, turning his face away again.

I pressed a hand to my heart, feeling the violent pound under my breast. Severus Snape could not remember me, and I supposed, it was for the best. I was not an ‘insufferable know-it-all’ to him, that memory was gone. I was Hermione Granger, his companion. He had cared for me in healing wounds, or in buying me new clothes. He had protected me, saved me, and there were no real reason why he should. What did it matter if I were the ‘key’ and the ‘keeper?’ He had never expressed an interest in anything more than ascertaining Aberforth Dumbledore’s whereabouts.

I thought I should say something, but I could not manage anything that would be in the least bit comforting or consoling.

Since Severus Snape had returned from the land of the half-dead, for lack of a better term, it seemed that a part of me had also revived.

Words would be meaningless, perhaps, and I touched his back, my fingers running along the scars. He, unsurprisingly, stiffened. Severus Snape was not a person that others touched.

I moved under the covers of the bed to sit just behind Severus’ pale back. I did not embrace him, though I wished to, instead my fingers moved over his scars to his wide shoulders then up the back of his neck. Despite the oily and dampness of his hair, it was soft and smooth. I brushed at his hair that draped to his shoulder, pushing the length over his right shoulder. It was like stroking a half wild animal, his body tense and coiled as if ready to snap at me at any moment.

The coil was sprung after my lips pressed into the back of his neck, and we rolled onto the wide bed until I was atop him. In the moonlight, his skin was like alabaster, his eyes like coals.

“Tell me you care for me,” he whispered.

Our lips were only inches apart, his hands grasping my upper arms to hold me above him.

“I care for you,” I answered, my conviction true.

How could I not care for this man?

“Tell me that you want to be here now, with me.”

“I want to be with you, now,” I whispered.

I could not imagine going through this new world of mine without him. How I had lost my former perspective was not important. Nor was when.

“Tell me that you want me.”

His voice was smooth, like velvet or the silken material he had bought for me to wear. I wanted him. I wanted him in so many ways that I could not begin to vocalize it all. I wanted to find some resolution to our task. I wanted to know him better. I wanted to tell him about my dreams. I wanted his icy façade to melt. I wanted to see him flustered.

“I want you…”

Severus’ eyes burned as if smoldering, and his lips twitched, but he did not smile.

“What is this?” he asked softly, and I knew his meaning well.

“I don’t know,” I answered. I did not know if it was love, or something wrought of desperation. I had been asking the same question for a long while now. “It does not matter now,” I finished.




There is a subtle difference between sex and making love. One consists of fulfilling a need; the other has much to do with trust and mutuality. I did not know what we were doing.

Severus was dominant, as I supposed was what he preferred to be. I only could acquiesce to him, his every touch, no matter how unpracticed or rough, sent only delight through my humming body.

The blankets had been kicked off the bed; my gown was a puddle of blackness on the floor, as was Severus’ pyjama bottoms. I knelt on my hands and knees, my head thrown back as I moaned toward the foot of the bed. Severus lay under me, his mouth lapping at my hole, his tongue licking away every trace that trickled from my body.

He held my hips still as I tried to squirm away. He growled against my pussy as his arms moved to curl about my hips, forcing the cheeks of my bottom apart to delve deeper. His fingers moved to part my labia as his teeth scored against my clit. I jerked, a hiss passing between my teeth. Severus pulled his mouth away and I heard his lips smacking, his tongue tracing about his lips.

I shifted as his arms released me, and grasped the root of his cock, causing him to gasp. I could not see his face as I sank down upon him, but I could feel his hands upon my back, fingernails scratching into my skin. I moaned as the need to feel him inside was met. Leaning forward, my hands resting between his shins, I moved. I rolled my hips and grunted.

I felt as if I was on fire and even the sweat that trickled down my body was scalding. The position allowed for deep penetration, but Severus expressed a protest by sitting up suddenly and grasping my arms. He slipped out of me, but continued to rise, grasping my wrists behind my back and pushing me down to the bed.

I anticipated the full sensation of being penetrated; instead, I felt his mouth upon me again. I shivered. I wanted more. I wanted him. I tried to pull my hands from his hold, but at my resisting movement, he pulled his mouth away, and I was rewarded with a sharp slap on my buttocks. My eyes widened, and gasp passed my lips. I was shocked, but more than that, I was nearly mad with lust.

I struggled again, and was able to pull my wrists free. I thought I heard a soft chuckle as I whirled about. I found Severus kneeling behind me, his face softened with a smirk. I gazed at him as he stroked his thick cock with one hand, the other curled into a tight fist against his thigh as if to keep the hand from moving. I licked my lips at the sight of a glistening bead of pre-cum on the tip of his cock. I wanted to taste it; a lustful compulsion that was squashed as Severus’ fisted hand rose and grasped my neck, pulling me up and against him.

We kissed, sloppily, the tip of his cock pressing into my belly.

This Severus Snape was the same man that had doubted moments before. It was not the same man who had denigrated me as a schoolgirl. I was not sure whom he was, but I was growing to like him.

We fell to the bed, my left leg moving to drape over his slim hips, my hips shifting closer so that his cock pressed into the natural indentation of my pussy. It was a natural place for such male anatomy to fit—the head of his cock pushed inside at my pressing movement.

“Tell me that you need me,” he whispered.

The haze of yearning cleared for a moment at his words and his face became clear, thin lips, hooked nose, dark brow and all. He seemed to levitate over me then, my right knee over his shoulder, my left leg curling about his waist.

“Tell me,” he whispered, leaning down so I could feel his hot breath against my face.

“I need you…”

A violent thrust was all it took, and I screamed aloud. I could feel him tremble, his hands on either side of my face. His face had softened, his lips curling into a smile. It was the strangest sight, to see Severus Snape smile. I had no recollection of him ever smiling before.

It made his face handsome.

I clung to his arms as he moved against me, my face betraying my wonderment and pleasure. Perhaps my face betrayed something more, and Severus bent down to let me wrap my arms about his neck.

“I need you,” he whispered against my lips. The timbre of his voice had changed, there was vulnerability there, and something more that made me kiss him. Adoration.

I knew that if I were to lose this feeling, I would regret it for years to come. I had never felt so safe, so wanted. There was an intensity that had never existed before, and Severus was the only one to make me believe that I was adored.

I held tight to him as the pressure began build inside of me. He moaned into my ear, his arms wrapping about me, to hold me impossibly closer. I bit into my lower lip to stifle my whimpers, but still they came out.

Severus pressed his forehead into my shoulder, his mouth open to blow hot air between our bodies. The instinctual dance of joining always had me in an ecstasy, and so it was as I bit into his shoulder, climaxing.

He whimpered at the rippling of vaginal muscles and the flood of juices that coated the flesh between our bodies more than the sweat of exertion. I was gone, the room, the bed under me, it was a million miles away. Only the glide of Severus’ cock into my body anchored me, but even that was faltering.

I felt his seed inside me, hot and wet. Severus did not immediately pull away, but tenderly, pressed a kiss into my temple, trying to control his breathing by inhaling through his nose.

When he did roll away, his softening cock making an audible popping as it was pulled from my clasping orifice, he moaned softly. We lay sideways on the bed, Severus closer to the foot. The front my body was coated in sweat that was beginning to dry in the air. Severus still had a hand against the back of neck as we lay looking up on the pink canopy of the four-poster overhead.

We came together in the afterglow, embracing for a few moments. I listened to the pound of Severus’ heart as he stroked the side of my right arm. It was surreal, I thought, how everything had begun, how everything had been going.

I began to drift off into a doze. Heartbeats were joined by a soft tapping, which made me frown into Severus’ chest.

“Bloody hell…” Severus growled, the rumble in his chest waking me.

He extracted himself from the bed and rose, the moonlight accentuating his pale body as he moved to the window near the side of the bed. I watched him, sitting up slowly, casting about for my wand to cast a Cleansing Charm over my skin. However, the sight of his pert buttocks, the scars on his back, the dark hair that covered his legs and the fringe of shoulder length hair spilling down his back, made me pause.

The sound of the sash opening and the fluttering of wings brought me back to the moment. I quickly found my wand on the bedside table and cast several Charms, one to cleanse the stickiness between my thighs, another to clean the bed sheets and make the bed. In the moonlight, Severus whispered to an unfamiliar owl in thanks and plucked a thick letter from its beak. He turned from the window as the owl took off, opening the envelope. I considered switching on the lights, but already Severus’ dark eyes were reading the letter in the moonlight. His fingers moved, and several newspaper clippings fluttered to the floor.

I picked up my new gown and let it slide over my skin before kneeling to pick up the clippings. I blushed as I noticed Severus’ slightly erect cock near my face. He was too absorbed in the letter to think to dress.

I stood again, glancing at the clippings, the black print lettering clear in the moonlight. There were three in all; one from the front page of the Daily Prophet dated four days before.

‘MoM Chaos! Head of Department of Intelligence Murdered!’ In smaller letters, next to a particularly old photograph, I read: ‘Granger suspected of murder, now missing.’ Dennis Creevey had taken the photograh at Albus’ naming ceremony. I remembered how angry Harry and Ginny had been that the press had somehow been allowed into the parish church at Ottery St. Catchpole.

I snarled as I read the short article, written by none other than Rita Skeeter. I shuffled the paper to read the next article, apparently from the same edition of the Prophet as an editorial aside to the front-page article. It was a piece written by Alicia Spinnet, commenting on the unusual rise of activity in the DI, and the presence of agents with MLE Aurors. There were several sentences, at the bottom of the article, that caught my attention.

‘Sources in the MLE have expressed their reluctance to work with DI agents. Some Aurors are currently being investigated by the DI with no reason given. Other Aurors have been suspended, others sacked. As a member of the public, who owes much to the Aurors and the current members of the MLE, I feel that the DI has overstepped their jurisdiction. Many witches and wizards may not be aware of Muggle history, but government organizational take over has at times preceded war. Do we, as a society, want another war?’

I smirked, and then reading the last two sentences: ‘Do we, after so many years, need a department in the Ministry that has such a tight grip upon our civil liberties? What is the Department of Intelligence, and when have we become enemies of our own government?’

I found Spinnet’s editorial heartening. Someone besides the Knights had noticed the stench coming from within the Ministry, after all.

I unfolded the last clipping, which came from the ‘Society’ page. It was a notice of the cancellation of Ron and Pansy’s wedding. I knew then who had sent the unfamiliar owl.

“Read this,” Severus said, passing me the letter, moving to retrieve his pyjama bottoms and carrying them into the lavatory, switching on the light and shutting the door.

I moved to the bedside and sat down.

“Dear H and S, I hope this finds you both well. Enclosed are some clippings you might find interesting.

I wish I could write about some good news, but since my last correspondence, things have taken a turn for the worse. I have been cleared of any wrongdoing concerning our old friend H.S. Unfortunately, H is being implicated. There are no grounds for the accusation, not even in P.W.’s death. I have been to London to see H.J.P. He tells me that ‘Padfoot’ was also accused of several crimes he did not commit during his time as a so-called fugitive. H.J.P. has told me a great deal of the things I had not noticed during school.

For worse news, G.G. has been apprehended by the ‘agents.’

I paused, glancing to the closed bathroom door. I could not hear Severus inside, but I knew that he was perhaps feeling as sick as I was at that moment.

‘H.J.P. is trying to local our mutual friend with little success. He is slated to be reinstated, but he feels he will be too late to help. I have been acting as much as I can in H.J.P.’s stead to find out large friend.

P.F. is in hiding. Ashbrittle was attacked and that was when G.G. was taken. He protected P.F., and she is safe. She has been in contact, giving an account of how the ‘agents’ did not charge G.G., but simply took him away. We fear for the worst. G.G. is loyal. He will not talk. I swear I will find him.

I broke off my engagement to R.B.W. The wedding is cancelled, but if you read the clipping, the gossip is that R.B.W. was the one to end the engagement. Lies. However, I now fear that by breaking off the engagement, his so-called professional attentions will be placed on my again. In the column, his reasoning has to do with capturing his brother’s murderer. H, I do not believe that R.B.W. can feel he is serving any ideal of justice. Finding G.G. is my priority, and I would rather do it without being noticed.

The Prophet, Spinnet, and others are refuting the DI’s evidence to your involvement on the attack in Islington. There is a growing consensus that the DI is getting too powerful. My other trusted contacts in the Ministry have told me that now that P.W. is gone, McLaggen is trying to resolve this PR nightmare. He is recalling agents, outing their identities. We have learned that there were approximately sixty agents under P.W.’s command. The names of active agents have been withheld.

To make matters worse, there is a new group getting a lot of free press in the Quibbler. This group calls themselves the “Order of Merlin.” It has caused some alarm within the Ministry because it is a group that advocates a congregation of Magic and Muggle. The MoM is moving to take legal action against the group, as there is already an “Order of Merlin” of sorts. This “New Order of Merlin” as they are now identified is headed by Finch-Fletchley. The members consist of Muggle-borns and Half-bloods, mostly. However, there is some hidden agenda that both H.J.P and the “painted gentleman” believe.

Again, manipulation has been employed to gather these people together. The “New Order of Merlin” is petitioning for the dissolution of the Act of Segregation. Not only that, but they are publishing manifestoes in the Quibbler, calling for the combination of Magical and Muggle government, among other things that are far to reminiscent of the Muggle-born Registration Act, only to register Muggles... Most see this group as some liberal, radical nuisance, which it is, especially to the Pure-blooded families.

The “New Order of Merlin” is harmless, but we can see it as guise for something larger, something our comrades have been fearing. Whether this “New Order of Merlin” is the public face of what has been happening to us, we cannot say yet. I will send more information on this rights group when I can.

Lastly, be safe. Do not worry about us, we are doing what we can and will. All that matters, according to P.F. and the “painted gentleman” is that you find the goal. Regards, P.’

I refolded the letter and set it on the table atop the clippings. I chewed on my lower lip, staring at the parchment in the moonlight.

“We’ll rest a few hours and then go to Market Cross,” Severus said from the doorway of the lavatory. The light was out and he leaned against the jamb in his pyjama bottoms.

“Greg has been captured,” I murmured.

“There is nothing we can do about that now,” Severus whispered, but I could tell that he was repressing a deep anger.

Fear gripped me, not because Gregory Goyle would somehow confess to a secret, but because he was not safe. The ‘Snatchers’ had returned with a new face. What was happening to my world?

Severus lay down, not slipping under the blankets. I lay next to him, my hands resting on my belly. I tried to keep my teeth from chattering. I rolled to my side, and already Severus’ arm had moved to hold me. I fit against his side, reading my head on his shoulder.

“This has to end and soon,” he whispered.

I agreed, and shut my eyes.

TBC...