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.




Damnation of Memory - II



I watched Severus eat in the kitchen, the early morning light streaming into the room from high windows. In the sunlight, I was struck again, at how young Severus Snape seemed. He had not aged, not since the last time I had seen him.

He was still dressed in what he wore the night before, wandless, but his long hair was pulled back into a tattered red ribbon I knew he had found somewhere in Sirius’ old room. I was in a pair of baggy denims and old tee shirt with a faded imprint of The Clash’s ‘London Calling’ album cover on the front. I wore my hair in a ponytail, a cup of tea poised before my mouth.

“Harry will not be coming today, but tomorrow.”

Severus paused, a sausage on the end of his fork lifted halfway to his mouth. “Who is coming today?”

I smirked. “Arthur Weasley, in about ten minutes.”

Severus growled as he continued eating. It seemed, to me, that Severus Snape remembered Arthur Weasley. This fact was verified when Arthur entered the kitchen, stopping just at the door to stare, open mouthed at the man across the table from me.

I rose, and took Arthur’s arm, helping him to sit in the seat I had vacated. I moved about the kitchen, drawing my wand from my pocket, and Charming more teacups and kettle to the table for the two men. I kept Severus’ wand hidden in a holster strapped to chest under my shirt—my old holster I used working for the MLE. I kept my wand in another holster strapped to my left forearm.

Arthur stared for a long while at Severus, who, annoyed, finished his breakfast, and poured himself some tea. Arthur no longer gaped, but his wrinkled face was pale, his pale blue eyes following Severus’ motions.

“How is this possible?” Arthur asked to no one in particular.

I leaned back against the mantle of the kitchen fireplace, arms crossed, watching as Severus began to study Arthur in turn.

“That is what I would love to know, myself, Arthur,” I answered. “This man, Severus Snape…”

“…hasn’t aged a day since the Last Battle,” Arthur finished.

Severus smirked. “Unlike you, Arthur…”

Arthur reddened. It had been the sound of Severus’ voice, I knew. The voice was unmistakably Severus’.

“You realize, that if you are him…Severus, that we will have to question you under Veritaserum…”

I shook my head. “I doubt it will be affective,” I asserted.

Severus met my eyes with a smug smirk. “I have a limited tolerance, but it would not be a bad idea.”

Arthur cleared his throat nervously. “Hermione has informed me that you cannot remember much about your life, or how you were able to survive…”

Severus sipped his black tea, his dark eyes moving to Arthur again. Slowly, he set the tea aside.

“I remember the Dark Lord’s snake striking me in the throat…”

Severus turned his neck to the sunlight, and for the first time, I saw the scars. If Severus had not been so pale, I would have noticed sooner, the puncture wounds of fangs.

“If I remember correctly, Arthur, you were attacked by the same snake?”

Arthur’s face paled again, his eyes moving to mine. “Not many knew about that…”

“Nagini?” Severus asked in a near coo.

Arthur nodded, meeting my eyes again. I knew then that Arthur was convinced. It was true, only a few knew the true circumstances of Arthur’s hospital stay in late 1995. A plausible excuse had been given to the Healers, but only the Order knew the exact nature of his Arthur’s near death experience, Snape included.

“You do not exactly remember Harry?” Arthur then asked.

“I taught him…”

“And your past, do you remember the Order members of the first war?”

My eyes narrowed as Severus’ eyes clouded as if trying to slip backward into his mind to recall names and faces.

“Black, Lupin…Potter and his wife…”

I blinked. ‘Potter and his wife?’ I had known ever since Harry had watched Snape’s ‘supposed’ death that Snape had been close to Lily Potter—the memories had shown Harry that truth.

“Lily Evans?” I asked, moving to sit next to Arthur.

Severus’ eyes were still distant. “I think that was her name.”

I glanced to Arthur. After so many years, Arthur, too, had learned the truth about Snape—the whole, remaining Order had. Harry had even named one of his children after Severus Snape, learning that after seven years, Severus Snape had always tried to protect him, in his own way.

“What do you remember of her?” Arthur asked, leaning with his elbows on the table.

I jabbed the older man gently, shaking my head. It was not the time for those sorts of questions.

“Nothing but her name,” Severus answered, causing me to snap my eyes to him.

Biting my lip, my amber eyes moved to the tabletop. I knew I would have to research… Was it possible that when Snape gave up his memories of Lily Evans-Potter, that he affectively lost all memory of her? What of his other memories?

“We need to call the Order. Harry and Ginny should be back late tonight,” Arthur whispered to me as Severus’ distant eyes were fixed on his shadow on the tabletop. “There is obviously something not right here, and I don’t just mean the fact that Severus Snape is alive.”

I agreed, in part, however, I did not think we should recall the Order just yet.

Almost thirteen years before, Snape’s body had never been recovered, but there was enough blood in the Shrieking Shack for the Ministry to easily assume Snape was dead. Many in the MLE believed that one of the Death Eaters had come to collect the body just before the Last Battle, but no one knew for certain. Severus Snape had been listed as dead for almost thirteen years.

Obviously, by Severus Snape’s own words, someone had helped him. Someone had healed him, and someone had sent him to Grimmauld Place with a message for Harry Potter. If the message was not to be astounding, the messenger certainly was.



After the miscarriage, I feared that the Weasleys would shun me. Of course, it had been a conception brought about by my own depression. The Weasleys, excluding Ron, were sympathetic. Molly and Ginny had been the most sympathetic of all. Molly had miscarried six times, and Ginny twice before Albus was born. My own mother had many miscarriages before I was born—and my isolation disappeared. It was strange to me that the women around me had had so many problems, but when I learned I could not have children, it did not surprise me as much as I first thought.

The Weasleys had been as much family as I would ever need. After the War, after Ron, I spent most of my time with Percy Weasley, surprising most of the family. Percy was divorced, a high-ranking Ministry official, and could easily keep up with me in conversation. It was only ever conversation and friendship that Percy and I shared. However, when I left the MLE, it had been Percy who found me a new career, a career more suited to my intellect.

The Department of Historical Records was an under funded, little known department that was attached to the Department of Intelligence, the department Percy Weasley headed. The Department of Intelligence was new, one of many things instituted after the War. The DHR, as I called it, consisted of two employees: Hestia Jones and myself. Hestia had the contacts; I did the ‘legwork.’

I was considered a glorified ‘art historian.’ Of course, this consideration did not bother me in the least. My job was to catalogue all the magical portraits in the United Kingdom. Who painted the portrait, who is the portrait of, where is the portrait located, and most importantly, what information did the portrait have to impart?

It was work for the sake of historical record—and it was busy work, but I enjoyed it. I learned a great deal from the Headmaster’s portraits at Hogwarts, history that was overlooked because the actual person was dead, but the portraits remembered everything.

There were some portraits that shouted more expletives than pertinent historical information, but I did not mind. I had been an Auror, and endured hours of Death Eaters shouting at me, denigrating my Muggle birth, among other things. Often times the portraits were happy to babble for hours, having not spoken to anyone for ages.

I had worked my way through the public portraits and had begun requesting audiences with individual families. Some families were hesitant to let an outsider speak to the portraits, afraid that the ancestor would reveal a secret, or, most odd of all, the family believed me to be slightly unstable to want to talk to a portrait. Put in that manner, it did sound strange.

What information I gathered, I added to a long running file, submitting additions to Percy. The last portrait I had spoken with had been Walburga Black in the cellar of Grimmauld Place the day before Severus Snape appeared in the front drawing room. The conversation had been rather one-sided and I had yet to file my notes.

A year before, in what I called one of great successes, I was allowed the opportunity to speak to Abraxas Malfoy, Draco Malfoy’s paternal grandfather. After the War, the Malfoys kow-towed to the Ministry, thus allowing me near unlimited access to the Wiltshire Manor and the great attic portrait gallery as long it reflected well upon the Malfoys in the eyes of the Ministry. The hospitality was cool, but I was allowed a week to speak to twelve portraits of Malfoy ancestors. Abraxas Malfoy had been the most interesting.

Abraxas Malfoy made only comment about me, and it had been complimentary. I rarely mentioned that I was a Muggle-born to the portraits, but most deduced my origin since my name was not one among those of the greater Wizarding families. Abraxas had only commented that my eyes were the most peculiar shade he had ever seen.

“Have you head of the Knights of Walpurgis, Miss Granger?” Abraxas had asked.

I sat on a Conjured armchair, Muggle ballpoint pen and writing tablet on my lap.

“In passing. My research has turned up little other than the Death Eaters were once, supposedly, called the Knights of Walpurgis.”

Abraxas scoffed. “Nonsense. Tom Riddle was not nearly as smart as he liked to think. He came across the name in a book, which mentioned very little, I am sure. He liked the name, as it is a pun, and fancied his group to be ‘knights.’ ‘Death Eaters’ have a much better sound.”

I said nothing.

“The Knights of Walpurgis was a secret society…and would never reveal themselves like Riddle’s Death Eaters.”

“Why did you ask me about them?” I ventured.

Abraxas smiled, knowingly. “To see if they have revealed themselves.”

The conversation shifted from that point, but I noted Abraxas’ words.

In the office, I tried researching the Knights of Walpurgis, and just as Abraxas had said, found little. A secret society—one so secret that there was no mention of them in historical texts. So secret that even the Deathly Hallows had been easier to find and understand. The concept intrigued me.

Three months before Severus Snape appeared, I heard of the Knights of Walpurgis again from the portrait of Arcturus Black, an ancestor of Sirius’. I had found the portrait in the house that had once been the Lestranges, which had fallen to the Ministry when the family was given the Dementor’s Kiss.

“I am not surprised that madness manifested in that generation,” Arcturus said to me in the dark, dusty bedroom that had once belonged to Bellatrix Lestrange. “That girl was destined for the Kiss. And I, being just a portrait, had endured her madness for years.

Who is left of my line?”

I gently told the Black ancestor that only Draco Malfoy and Teddy Lupin were left. No one carried the surname of Black, and would never again do so.

“A pity.”

Conversation turned toward the historical. Black family history, history that the portrait remembered when it was alive…

“The Knights of Walpurgis. I am thankful that they have not been uncovered.”

“Who are they?” I asked.

Arcturus barked a laugh that reminded me very much of Sirius.

“I have said too much already, young lady…”

Again, I was intrigued. My research led nowhere, and two portraits, which had mentioned the organization, was hesitant to speak of it. By the time Severus Snape had arrived, I had set my interest in the Knights of Walpurgis aside.




Harry Potter, at age twenty-nine, was an imposing man with bright emerald eyes, handsome long black hair, and a faded silver scar on his forehead. He no longer wore glasses, and no longer wore hand-me-down clothes. He was an Auror, a husband, and father. He was also the master of Grimmauld Place, inheriting it from the last Black.

He stalked down the corridor of his home, his wife on his heels.

Ginny Potter was a svelte woman of twenty-eight, only five months pregnant with her third child. Her long auburn hair swayed as she walked, her blue eyes flashing in the lamplight of the corridor. Ginny was the foremost Healer at St. Mungo’s, specializing in spell damage. Two years prior, she had made a break through in treating Alice and Frank Longbottom, allowing them moments of lucidity—a cure was forthcoming.

The Potters had gone on a much needed vacation, and having to cut it three days short was not making either incredibly happy. Harry’s face was set, his lips bloodless from pressing them together.

After checking on James and Albus, they had Apparated to Grimmauld Place late in the evening after Arthur had arrived that morning.

I watched from my spot by the fireplace as Harry and Ginny entered the kitchen, Kreacher bowing low at the return of his masters. However, neither of the Potters paid a thought to their elf, but stared at the man sitting at the table, who was reading an evening edition of the Daily Prophet.

Slowly, Severus lowered the paper to regard the two new people in the kitchen. Arthur had not left, and was sitting at the far end of the table, drinking tea.

Harry and Severus stared at each other for a long time, and I wondered if they were simply sizing each other up or if some sort of spell had been spun between them.

Ginny was first to break the silence, moving to her father.

“Is it true?” Ginny whispered.

Arthur sighed, placing his cup on the kitchen table. “As far as I can tell. You should examine him… I believe there is some memory loss.”

I moved my eyes from Ginny to Severus.

“Harry Potter,” he said, as if to ascertain that he was staring at the correct person.

Harry took a step toward the table, his hand reaching for his wand in the holster on his belt.

“You died. You are dead…and you cannot be him!” Harry hissed.

A wand was drawn, but I moved, floating over the floor to stand before Harry in a blink of an eye. My hand grasped his wrist, forcing his hand down, as well as his wand.

“Not yet,” I whispered. “Think, Harry…think!”

Harry’s eyes moved to my face and slowly the anger that had welled up was gone. Ginny was on her feet, her hand poised to draw her wand as well, but seeing that I had moved first, relaxed.

“We’ll need Veritaserum, Harry, only after Ginny has examined him. Only you can get it. I will be here if something happens…as well Arthur. Ginny will be fine.”

Harry’s face contorted, glancing over my head to Severus’ impassive face.

“Ten minutes,” he muttered.

I released my old friend and stepped back, allowing Harry to move to the fireplace and Floo away in a flash of green. Glancing to Ginny, I moved, drawing my own wand. Ginny nodded and moved around the table.

“Professor, I need to run a few diagnostic spells. Please don’t move,” Ginny said softly, trying not to let her voice quaver.

Severus nodded slowly, hesitant at the address of ‘Professor,’ and closed his eyes as Ginny stood directly behind him, casting several spells that I did not recognize. Arthur and I watched silently as Ginny’s face moved to display several different emotions.

Five minutes passed, sweat beading on Ginny’s brow, and finally she stepped away, moving to sit next to her father. Severus opened his eyes and gazed directly at me.

“I will have to verify a few readings with Madame Pomfrey, Professor Snape’s medical records should still be on file there…but as far as I can tell, the Dark Mark is legitimate. This man was a Death Eater.”

Ginny Conjured a handkerchief and dabbed at her forehead.

“I would have to take him to St. Mungo’s to diagnose him to the particular type of memory loss…there has been spell damage to his body, his brain. There are also latent traces of a poison or venom in his blood.

His vitals are all within the norms. Besides muscle and bone strain, he is a healthy thirty-eight year old man.”

I looked to Severus again, who strangely, had a frown upon his lips.

“Of course, if he is Severus Snape, it would be impossible that my readings would indicate that he is thirty-eight years old,” Ginny continued, her eyes flashing.

“I am a mystery to myself, Miss…”

“Potter. Her maiden name is Weasley,” I supplied.

Severus smirked. “She resembles her father then…of course, the red hair should have been an indicator.”

The kitchen fell silent. Ginny was clearly upset, and I considered telling her to get some rest, but before I could speak, the Floo activated, and Harry stepped out, a phial of clear liquid in his hand.

Harry wasted no time, sitting down in front of Severus, passing the phial to the dark man. Severus hesitated before taking the phial, his eyes moving to me. I pursed my lips, and Severus took the phial, uncorking it, and drinking the entire dose.

Ginny moved to her father again, and the two Weasleys began whispering to each other. I paid them little mind, knowing that in a few moments I would know some form of the truth.

I sat next to Harry, resting my elbows on the table, leaning toward Severus.

“What is your name?” Harry asked, frustration clear in his voice.

Severus took a breath, closing his eyes. “Severus Tobias Snape.”

“What did you teach at Hogwarts?”

“Potions, Defence against the Dark Arts…”

“Is that all?”

“I was Headmaster from 1997 to 1998…”

Harry glanced at me and sighed.

“To whom do you swear allegiance?”

Severus opened his eyes, and smirked. “Depends on the day of the week.”

Harry’s jaw clenched. “Who?”

“Lord Voldemort…”

Harry stiffened.

“…and Albus Dumbledore…the Order of the Phoenix.”

“Your moniker in a potions book?”

“I called myself the Half-Blood Prince.”

Harry’s eyes narrowed. “Why?”

Severus sighed. “I am a half-blood. My father was Muggle, my mother Pure-blooded. I explained this to Ms. Granger.”

I rolled my eyes at Severus’ address.

“Why are you here?”

I watched the corners of Severus’ mouth twitch.

“I am to deliver a message to Harry Potter.”

Harry frowned.

“From whom?”

Severus opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came. Again, and again, no sound came.

“He said he was under the Fidelius, Harry, when I tried to ask the same question. I am supposing that he can only speak this message to you alone…”

Harry nodded, glancing to Ginny, who needed no prompting. Arthur and Ginny left the kitchen. I rose, hesitating.

“We’ll be just outside the door,” I whispered, placing a hand on Harry’s shoulder before exiting, shutting the door behind me.

In the dark, I stood with Arthur and Ginny, unable to hear any voices beyond the kitchen door.

“I should Floo Poppy…” Ginny muttered, moving up the stairs and into the house above.

Arthur and I stared at the steps under our feet.

“It is as if he walked through some rift in time…” Arthur whispered.

I agreed. All Severus needed was his teaching robes, a haircut, and a strict diet, and he would be exactly that figure I remembered from years before.

The fact that Severus could only reveal his whereabouts, and a message to Harry, made me wary. Voldemort had been dead for nearly thirteen years, and most of the Death Eaters were dead or incarcerated, but still there were those left who resented Harry, the Order, and anyone who believed the world would be perfect without such evil. Severus’ disappearance, reappearance, all of it, could be a trap—a ‘thirteen years in the making’ trap.

Minutes passed, and I sat on the dark steps, beginning to feel quite tired. More time passed, and when Ginny returned, she beckoned Arthur and I up onto the first floor, standing under the gas lamps of the corridor.

In her hands, she held medical records, everything Pomfrey ever had on Severus, starting from his First Year at Hogwarts, Ginny explained.

“Checking the readings I took from my diagnostic Charms against these records…which stop one month before the Last Battle, and Professor Snape’s last sighting…the man in the kitchen with Harry is Severus Snape.”

I glanced to Arthur.

“Of course, it does not explain why he has not aged, or the spell damage affecting his memory…” Ginny trailed, passing the folder to me, still covered in soot from where I assumed it had been passed through the Floo. “I am not certain whether to call the memory loss ‘damage.’ It seems as if some of his memory has been excised purposely. I would have to get him to St. Mungo’s to be sure.

Has he performed any magic?”

I shook my head. “I took his wand as soon as I found him in the front drawing room.”

Ginny sighed, leaning back into the corridor wall. “Did he tell you how he arrived?”

I shook my head again. “I was more in shock that he was here than to ask. But I will. Kreacher claims that he did not know Severus Snape was here.”

Arthur rubbed a hand over his face. “It is clear that he knew this place to be the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix. Of course, toward the end of the War, it was not really a secret.

As for taking him to St. Mungo’s…it would cause a stir. Severus Snape has been presumed dead for almost thirteen years. He won’t face prosecution since the statute ran out two years ago…but there are still people who would like nothing better than tear this man apart.”

Arthur was very right. Severus Snape was never exonerated, formally. The Ministry was full aware of Snape’s role in the War, after the fact. The Ministry had even awarded the Order of Merlin First Class, posthumously, but never got around to pardoning him.

“Not to mention the man has not aged since the Last Battle. Alive, and unchanged? He would be a test subject besides a war criminal,” Ginny added.

We fell into our respective silences.

Only a few moments passed before I heard the door open, and glancing to Ginny and Arthur, moved toward the kitchen.

Inside, Severus was standing near the fireplace while Harry stood near the door. I entered first, thankful to find that there were no curse burns marking the walls and both men were in one piece. Ginny and Arthur followed, moving to the far end of the kitchen to the door to the scullery.

“He doesn’t remember me,” Harry said flatly, his arms across his chest.

I stood next to Harry, studying Severus’ slumped shoulders as leaned against the mantle.

“He doesn’t remember Mum, or anything about why he saved me time and time again…”

I glanced to Harry’s face, which was not angry, but filled with unspeakable sorrow.

“When he gave me those memories, they were wiped from his mind,” Harry continued. “He’s lost, Hermione…and the only reason he had to speak to me was because the Knights of Walpurgis told him to…”

I blinked, moving to stand before Harry.

“What did you say?” I whispered, eyes widening.

Harry sighed. “He can tell you now…the oath has been broken…you should have been the one he told anyway…”

I frowned, “What do you mean?”

Harry’s hands moved to cradle my face, and I stiffened. Harry only every cradled my face when he had bad news—and I had hoped I had heard the last of ‘bad news’ for a long time yet.

“It is your turn to save the world. Harry Potter stopped Voldemort. Hermione Granger must stop the next Dark Lord.”

I gaped. “What the fu-“

“It’s true, Miss Granger. From what I have been told,” Severus said softly from the fireplace.

I shrugged out of Harry’s hands and whirled to face Severus, who was gazing at me with a sad smirk.

“Who told you? What did they tell you?” I asked, my voice rising in anger.

Harry took hold of my shoulders as I began to move toward Severus. I tried to break free, but Harry’s grasp was too strong. I found myself forced down into a kitchen chair, Harry pinning with his hands pressing down on my shoulders. Severus moved to sit across from me, his onyx eyes flashing.

“The Knights of Walpurgis. You have heard of them?”

I frowned, glancing toward Arthur and Ginny who stood together, faces aghast.

“They are the ones who sent me.”

If possible, my frown deepened. “Who are they?”

Severus sighed. “They are a group of witches and wizards, a secret society, whose existence reaches back even before the founding of Hogwarts. Helga Hufflepuff and Salazar Slytherin were members, but you would never find that in ‘Hogwarts, a History.’”

My body relaxed. “That sounds unlikely…Hufflepuff and Slytherin, together, in a society?” I muttered.

A dark brow rose. “Do not judge, Miss Granger. Petty differences aside, people with different views and ethics can come together for a singular purpose.”

I felt as if I were in the classroom again.

“And what purpose is that?”

Severus glanced to Harry whose hands were still on my shoulders.

“It varies. I am not privy to as many secrets as you might think. However, the message I was sent here to convey deals with more immediate matters.”

Severus paused, Harry’s hands moving from my shoulders. I glanced out of the corner of my eye as Harry moved to Arthur and Ginny, whispering too low for me to hear.

“Every age, a Dark Wizard rises. Unfortunately, in the past one hundred and twenty years, we have seen two. We are about to see a third. This is part of what the Knights wanted to tell Harry Potter…and you, Miss Granger.

Now, let me ask some questions of you, and I hope you will not have to send Mr. Potter off to the Ministry again for another dose of Veritaserum.”

The sarcastic tone sent shivers through me, and again, out of the corner of my eye, I watched Harry escort Ginny from the kitchen and Arthur to the Floo. When both were gone, Harry sat down beside me, nodding to Severus as if to pass along a secret.

“I had to tell Mr. Potter first because the Knights knew to trust him. Having vanquished one Dark Lord is something to be admired,” Severus uttered with a smirk. “However, it was not just that. Mr. Potter was the closest link the Knights could find to identifying the next Dark Wizard.”

I swallowed thickly. “The closest link?”

Severus nodded. “From what I have been told, this new Dark Wizard is getting very close to something the Knights have sworn to protect. With Grindlewald…with V-Voldemort,” Severus stuttered, but continued, “the Knights kept to the shadows. Neither Dark Lord threatened to uncover that one thing which the Knights protect. However… Someone, or something inside the Ministry of Magic has been prying too close to the Knights and their secret.”

I held my breath.

“How do you know of the Knights?”

I exhaled.

“My…my work.”

“Which Mr. Potter has explained. You have heard of the Knights from the portraits you interview.”

I nodded, my stomach heavy with dread.

“The portraits have only ever mentioned the Knights of Walpurgis, but never explained why or what it was. A secret society, which has not been exposed. That is all I know.”

Severus frowned.

“Honestly,” I added.

Harry made a noise, and Severus’ dark eyes flashed to my friend and back to me.

“Have you mentioned the Knights of Walpurgis to anyone?”

My stomach sank. “It is in my reports of the Department of Intelligence…a mention, and nothing more…” I whispered, eyes widening.

Severus sat back in his chair. “Department of Intelligence?” Severus’ eyes glazed over, “I have no recollection of this…”

“It was formed a year after the Battle of Hogwarts,” Harry supplied. “Its initial function was to gather intelligence of rogue Death Eater activity so the MLE could move on that intelligence. Since then, the department has become more a watchdog group…internal affairs for the MLE, ‘homeland security,’ or so some call it.”

The onyx eyes shined again, and I looked away to the tabletop.

“Interesting,” was the only comment Severus made.

“The question is, Hermione, one that I waited to pose Prof-Severus is this: if another Dark Wizard is on the rise, what are we supposed to do about it?” Harry asked, leaning toward the table.

“Find him or her before the world is turned on its head again,” was Severus’ answer. “The Knights have one true goal…to protect a secret. This secret is now threatened.”

I frowned. “Why us? I know you said the Knights trusted Harry…but why us? Why you?”

Severus shook his head. “I cannot answer everything, Miss Granger. I am just a messenger.

All I know is to tell you this information, and urge you to act to counter whatever it is to come.

My instructions after that… There are no instructions after that.”

I sighed and rubbed my face. “That is not enough.”

Harry laid a hand on my shoulder and I stiffened instinctually. Through my lashes, I watched Severus, whose eyes narrowed at Harry’s familiar gesture.

“How could we begin to act with so little information?” I asked more to myself than to the two men in the kitchen. “I will accept that you are Severus Snape, and I will accept that you are not here to harm me or Harry, for the time being.”

Severus nodded.

“However, I, for one, want to know how you survived Nagini’s attack, and how you have not aged in thirteen years!”

My frustration had reached the point of anger, and I stared pointedly into the black eyes across the table, demanding answers.

Severus sat back in his chair and crossed his pale, muscular arms.

“The ones who aided me were meant to be unknown to me. Even if you sifted through my mind, you will not find names or faces, Ms. Granger.

All I can tell you is that the Knights of Walpurgis aided me, saved my life, and instructed me to come here. As to not aging, I could not tell you by what device such a thing is possible outside of Dark Magic. And I would know if some Dark spell were upon me.”

Harry frowned again; it seemed the only expression besides blankness that he could manage.

“You understand our reaction, Snape?” Harry asked.

Severus sighed and nodded again.

“Do you have any way of contact these Knights? Why haven’t they come personally?” Harry asked again.

Severus rolled his eyes. “I suppose because they wanted to get your attention first by sending a man you believed dead? Think Potter, if you were an organization who wanted to remain secret, wouldn’t you send an agent first?”

Severus was right, but still I was speculative. I also knew that the mention of an organization of the Knights of Walpurgis could not be a coincidence.

I needed to get back to the Ministry. My files, my notes, everything I had mentioned about the Knights of Walpurgis were there.

No.

I closed my eyes. I had learned early to always keep a backup copy of everything, because in darker times, information, like lists of DA members or possible locations of Horcruxes could be stolen or destroyed.

I had copied everything into a journal stowed safely in my Sheffield flat, a place chosen for its obvious lack of magic. No one would think to look there, I hoped.

I had Charmed every file I had ever written to automatically copy to what I called my ‘Codex of Time.’ It was a silly title, I knew, but I never planned to let anyone see the Codex, which was little more than a black leather bound book, an enchiridion, a journal.

As I opened my eyes and realized that both Harry and Severus were staring at me, I flushed.

“I have a feeling…” I began, but trailed, noting Severus’ concern. “This is my fault.”

Harry turned to me. “What do you mean?”

I shook my head, my ponytail swishing against my shoulders. “Tomorrow will tell.”

Harry blinked. Tomorrow was a workday for me, and I had a feeling that Severus’ sudden reemergence back into mine and Harry’s life, had been prompted by some thing I had done, not out of carelessness, but ignorance.





For years after the Battle of Hogwarts, I had had dreams. All of us, all who fought in the War had dreams, all attributed to post-traumatic stress. However, I did not dream of the War often, and I did not dream about Voldemort.

When I was pregnant, the dreams had been the worst, and usually, almost always, the same. The night before I miscarried, I had had the most vivid dream of the series, and for years, I could not tell anyone that after that particular dream my subconscious life had become my personal hell.

Ron had gotten used to me waking up in the middle of the night screaming, and for as long as we had been together, he had always soothed me back to a dreamless sleep. But after the miscarriage, and finding myself sleeping alone, I learned how to cope with the dreams.

It was not until almost a year before Severus Snape appeared in Grimmauld Place, out of place and out of time, did the dreams change.

The night before I miscarried, I dreamt of a tree, a great yew tree, that seemed support my whole dream—an axis mundi. This tree was in a graveyard as most yew trees were in Britain, but I did not know the graveyard, and the stones were distorted and indistinct in my dream. The sky above the great tree was red, as was everything, cast in red light like a evening sky before a storm.

In my dream, I stood just before the thick trunk of the yew, which I knew, had to be centuries old. And always, I reached to touch the wood, reaching toward a crack between the bark, reaching for something I felt compelled to grasp.

The night before I miscarried, my fingers found something inside the tree, something warm and alive. In the red sky’s light, I stepped closer to peer inside the crack in the tree, and at the point in that particular dream, I saw my fingers sinking into the flesh of a placenta filled with a half formed child.

The last dream I had of the yew tree had been almost the same, except for inside the tree was not my unborn child. I grasped the cool fingers of a man whose face was obscured by the grain of the wood. In the last dream, I did not wake immediately as I usually did, but instead, began pulling upon the man’s hand in the tree, trying to tug the man out of the tree. I had a right arm free when it decided to come to life and press its palm into my belly, where my womb was full in my dream with my baby. I awoke in pain, screaming for no one to hear and no one to come.

I did not dream of the yew tree again for a year.

I knew what the yew represented, and I knew that I dreamt about them because I, in my love for symbolism, knew the tree to be a symbol of life and death.

I had dreamt of the death of my unborn child, and I had dreamt of the resurrection of a man.

The yew tree was no longer my axis mundi of my subconscious life by the time Severus Snape appeared. Instead, I dreamt of another tree, an apple tree, a symbol of immortality, of magic.

The night before I would return to work, Severus Snape confined to Sirius’ old room, I dreamt of that apple tree. It was as monstrously large as the yew tree of my dreams past, bearing golden apples that looked too perfect to eat. Instead of a graveyard, my axis mundi was atop a hill surrounded by mist and water.

It was not a nightmare, staring at the tree and the apples, but it was disconcerting all the same for the only other thing in my dream besides the hill and the tree, was a woman who looked very much like my mother. In my dream, she was telling me not to eat the apples for they were poisoned by madness.

I had variations of the dream at times, and the night before returning to work, Severus Snape in the other room, I dreamt that he stood next to me, staring at the tree.

“She tells us that the apples will make us mad, do you believe her?” Severus asked, the fingers of his right hand tangling with the fingers of my left hand.

My mother smiled warmly.

“I do.”

“Then should we cut the tree down?” Severus asked glancing to me.

He was dressed just as he was when I had last laid eyes upon him in the kitchen.

“No. We should forget we ever saw it.”


TBC...