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 - III




Harry still had time off from work and agreed to stay with Severus at Grimmauld Place while I would Floo to the Ministry. Ginny had returned to the Burrow to see to the Potter boys, only after swearing that she would not say a word to any one but her father about Severus Snape taking shelter in her home. The issue of where to place the man would have to be addressed soon, but I was more concerned about getting to my office.

With my hair up in a hasty bun, dressed in a set of pale blue robes, I was halfway down the corridor to the office I shared with Hestia Jones when I saw that men in unmarked black robes were moving in and out of the office door.

“You cannot do this! I want to speak to your supervisor immediately!”

Hestia’s voice rang out in distress, and automatically I had my wand out, running as fast as I could in two-inch heels towards the sound of her voice.

I forcefully knocked into one of the men carrying a box of papers from my office, spilling the contents of the box into the near empty corridor floor.

I did not apologize as I found Hestia, a short, black haired witch, sobbing in the middle of the tiny office as two men clumsily swiped every paper, every book, and every file on our desks into boxes.

I hated when my feelings were correct.

Glancing to Hestia, who was wringing her hands violently before her robes, I grasped the nearest man by the collar and pressed my wand tip into his throat. Immediately every man dropped what he was doing and had their wands trained on me.

I studied the man’s face that was turning red from the manner in which I twisted his collar about his throat.

“Who the hell are you people, and what are you doing to our office?” I growled.

In the past few years, I rarely had to revert to playing the ‘intimidating Auror,’ but to see sweet Hestia so upset I let the Auror out of its cage.

All through school, I had kept a tight reign on my temper. Of course, it slipped from time to time, usually resulting in me slapping or punching Draco Malfoy in the nose. However, I would let the Auror out when I wanted answers.

“We are part of the Department of Intelligence, Ms. Granger, and we have reason to believe that the information you have been gathering is far too sensitive to remain in your care,” one of the dark robed men answered from the door.

“Where’s the order? Who authorized this?”

The man in the doorway produced a scroll and passed it to Hestia, the only person who did not have a wand drawn.

“This action has been authorized by the Head of the Department of Intelligence and the Minister’s Offices, Ms. Granger.”

I released the man and lowered my wand. I took a breath and moved to Hestia who was busy unrolling the scroll, and together, we read. Hestia hiccupped on her sobs while I clenched my teeth.

All around us, the office was laid bare, even personal items taken, and I knew there was nothing I could do about it.

‘…information too sensitive for this small office to continue to safely protect…hereby dissolved…please report to the Secretary of the Department of Intelligence for reassignment…’

Hestia collapsed into her office chair when the last man left with the remnants of several years’ tireless work.

I stalked to the door, and peering into the corridor, slammed the door shut, falling back against the wood, staring at the floor.

“How can they do this, Hermione? Years of work…gone! What provocation, what reason could the Department have to seize everything?” Hestia wailed, burying her pink-cheeked face into her hands.

I shook my head. I had an idea, but I could not involve Hestia.

As I let my eyes roam through the now desolate office, finding it much larger now that everything was gone, I knew I needed to go back to Grimmauld Place.

For the Ministry to seize all my research was a sign that I had inadvertently stumbled upon something the Ministry or someone high in the Ministry wanted. The current Minster of Magic, Malfalda Hopkirk had paid no attention to my office before, and I knew that it was doubtful that anyone in the Minister’s Offices had even a budding interest in my work. This thought left only my department. The men who had collected everything ‘claimed’ to be part of the Department of Intelligence, yet I did not recognize a single face of those who had little taken my career away from me.

Percy.

“What are we going to do, Hermione? They want to reassign us!” Hestia wailed.

I wondered why I was not distraught. In fact, I had almost anticipated that something like this would happen, and it all had to do with the Knights of Walpurgis.

“We do what we have been told, Hestia. Go to the Secretary’s office and be reassigned,” I said flatly, pushing off the door to turn to grasp the knob.

“What about you?” Hestia sobbed, jumping to her feet.

Oddly, I felt my lips curl as I turned to my colleague.

“I feel that my career with the Ministry of Magic is over.”




As my heels tapped into the linoleum of the corridor stretching toward the Head’s office at the far end, I suspected that Percy knew I was coming.

I had a million half formed thoughts rattling through my brain, but the one that kept popping up again and again was: There is a Dark Lord in one of these offices.

I could not explain why I was accepting Severus Snape’s message without learning more about the ones who had sent him. I could not explain why I felt in my very bones that something dark was looming on the horizon—a storm rolling in. I also could not explain why I felt my blood boil in my veins, propelling my mind five feet in front of my body as if I were somehow disconnected from the present time.

I just knew that if the Knights of Walpurgis were real, they wanted me to act in some manner. However, something or someone was at least a half step in front of me, beating me at my own game.

I almost felt as if I were seventeen again, trying to outwit Voldemort to find the pieces of his soul.

I sailed past Percy’s protesting secretary and threw open his office door to find him yelling at someone in the Floo.

“…was I not informed, the Department Head, that one of my own offices has been dissolved? And don’t you dare presume I will believe it has anything to do with funding!”

I blinked at my friend whose hair was disheveled, his robes undone and his eyes blazing with an internal blue fire. I had rarely ever seen Percy angry.

The call ended with a ‘whoosh’ and Percy rose from his kneel before the fireplace in his spacious office with enchanted windows unrealistically overlooking the Houses of Parliament. Turning to me, Percy feigned a smile.

“I was wondering when you’d get here, Hermione.”

I stood close to the door, my hands clenched at my sides.

“Who is doing this, Percy?” I asked, trying to keep my voice level.

Percy ran a hand through his hair, and I knew then that he was truly frustrated. Only when he was he frustrated did he ever muss his crimson hair. Adjusting his rimless glasses on his long, straight nose, he fell back into his padded leather office chair behind his obsessively neat desk.

“Not me. I have been superceded by a so-called special liaison to the Minister and about ten accountants telling me that our Department is taking funds from the MLE.”

I was not convinced, taking a step across the office to Percy’s desk.

“You don’t believe that?” I asked speculatively.

Percy smirked. “It is complete shite, Hermione.”

I snorted. Percy was not as prim and proper as many believed and as he propped his shoes on the edge of his desk, shrugging out of his robes, I could see the sweat stains under the arms of his button down dress shirt, and down the front. It seemed that Percy had worked himself into a fervour, on my behalf.

“The men who came to your office, they were mine…but not there under my orders.”

I frowned. The scroll declaring that I was no longer part of the Department of Historical Records had not literally inferred Percy’s name.

“Men in black…” I muttered.

Percy did not understand the reference.

“Did they have jurisdiction?” I asked finally.

Percy sighed and adjusted his glasses again. “Yes, unfortunately. But what I do not understand is why… Why you and Hestia? I’ve been reading your files, there was nothing that I found sensitive.

And excuse me for saying so, Hermione, but you and Hestia are harmless.”

“You are excused,” I growled.

Percy smiled and continued. “Unless there is something you have been withholding…”

I growled a sigh and took another step forward. “You know me better than to suggest something as ludicrous as that…” I began, but stopped short as Percy raised his hands in surrender.

I straightened and took a step back. “What do you suggest I do?”

At my question, Percy’s face drained of mirth.

“Lodge a formal complaint to the Minister’s office, and in the meantime, go for reassignment. My hands are tied, and even with my credentials, I am getting nowhere. Someone is using my own agents without my consent. Only someone higher in the Ministry can do that.”

Percy’s words swept over me, and I felt my temper spike. I would have liked to vent to my friend and Head of Department, but something told me that I needed to worry about other matters first. My anger would have to wait.

I walked from Percy’s office in a quiet calm.

Something was happening, something was coming, and I did not want to be lost. I walked a little quicker down the corridor to the lift. I pitied Hestia in some ways, not knowing where she would be put next. As for me, I knew where I needed to go although I was not sure what I needed to do. There was something afoul in the Ministry, and in my lifetime, it would not be the first, or last time, I feared.




My mother never cared much for Ron, that much had been clear the first time they met after the War. My mother was always kind to Ron, but behind it all, my mother complained that I should distance myself from him.

She would never tell me why.

In my dreams, my mother, or the woman who resembled my mother, was the guardian of the apple tree. Her words of warning about the poison apples reminded me of God telling Adam and Eve not to eat of the Tree of Knowledge.

I, however, after my miscarriage, trusted my mother’s words.

My mother had never known that I was pregnant, but if she had, she would have certainly insinuated herself into my life with Ron. My mother understood that I was an excellent Auror, and she never complained about the danger of a career in law enforcement, all she complained about was Ron.

“He may be Harry’s best friend, and you and he may have been through much together, but Hermione… He is not the one for you. And don’t roll your eyes at me, young lady.”

I could smile at my mother’s words after all was said and done.

My mother died not long after my miscarriage. An automobile collision killed her instantly, crushing her body between metal and plastic, perforating her internal organs and snapping her neck. My father had been driving, and it had been an accident. My father survived, paralyzed from the waist down, but still worked in Melbourne as a dentist, never marrying again, and never moving the house they had called home in the years during and after the War.

I rarely spoke to my father as time wore on. I do not resent him, sometimes things happen beyond our control, but I rarely speak to him because he cannot bear to see my face or hear my voice. In many ways, I resemble my mother.

After so many years, I was still in shock. The death of a parent never seems real. Denial was something I clung to, until…

In my dreams, I see my mother, Helen, and sometimes I want to change the dream and go to her, touch her. In my dreams, she is beautiful with honey-coloured eyes, hair and skin, wearing golden robes that make her glow almost too brightly to look at directly. She matched the colour of the apples on the great tree, and sometimes she plays a harp, an ancient lyre. I wonder sometimes if the woman is my mother, or some projection of her that haunts my dreams.

She had told me once, after one of my eye-rolling moments about her complaints about Ron, that I someday would know what it was to be loved.

“You will love him, he will love you, and together you will see each other as sacred beings. You will worship him, he will worship you, and between the two, you will have as much of God as you will ever want.”

That was how my parents felt about each other, and I supposed, after my mother died, my father lost his God.



As I Flooed back to Grimmauld Place, I ripped out of my robes as I stalked through the kitchen, ignoring the stares of Harry and Severus; I retreated to one of the guest rooms. I changed out of old carpetbag I carried and into a set of clothes I had not worn in years. Like my mother, I threw nothing away that could not be used again.

My old Auror’s clothes fit like a second skin as they were meant to, dragon hide trousers and boots, and a long sleeved top made of Muggle materials, interwoven with metal fibre to repel projectiles, and softer dragon hide to repel spells. I stood before one of Walburga’s full-length mirrors and surveyed myself as I slipped on my chest holster. If it was not for the lines in the corners of my eyes, I would have been much like Severus—an image of the past.

With a determined glare at myself, I tucked my wand into my holster and wiped a piece of hair from my eyes.

I had a plan of what to do next, and Severus Snape was coming with me.




Severus blinked at me as I handed back his wand, and hesitated to take it from my hand. Both he and Harry had decided to gawk at me when I returned to the kitchen.

“If you raise your wand against me, I swear you will regret it,” I warned as Severus slid his wand into his belt holster.

“Slow down, Hermione, what is happening?” Harry asked, his large hand grasping my wrist as I pulled my hand away from Severus.

I did not bother to sit next to Harry, but leaned into the back of the kitchen chair, regarding Severus’ pale face as I spoke.

“My office has been dissolved, all my work has been seized, I have been charged to be reassigned, and I got no answers as to why.”

Harry frowned. “Not from Percy?”

“Percy? Percy Weasley?” Severus asked, his back straightening, his eyes flashing.

“One and the same. Why? Does that mean something to you?” I asked brusquely.

Severus shook his head, several strands of dark hair falling from the frayed ribbon holding the thick, greasy hair from his pointed face. “Not really. It just surprises me that he is not closer to the Minister.”

I smirked. “Hopkirk is Minister now, Fudge has long been returned to the annals of ‘bad management.’”

Surprisingly, Severus smirked.

“And why are you dressed like that? Are you rejoining the Aurors?” Harry asked roughly, finally releasing my wrist.

I glanced at my old friend. “Never.”

Harry sighed and rubbed a hand over his face, ruffling his hair in the process. “You know, luv, I am not the fastest out of the gates, so if you’ll care to explain…”

“Yes, Ms. Granger, do explain.”

I pursed my lips.

“If what Severus says is true, and that he is our first contact to whatever the Knights of Walpurgis want to warn us of…we are going to have to go rogue.”

Harry’s face drained of blood, but I was gauging Severus’ reaction, to which there was none.

“I…” Harry began, but trailed, rubbing his face more furiously. Severus was watching for Harry to scratch at the scar, I knew, but Harry’s scar had been dead for thirteen years. “I have a family, Hermione, for Merlin’s sake. I cannot…”

I sighed. “Then I will. I may not be an Auror any longer, but I have credentials, contacts, and most importantly, I have information.

Something is wrong, Harry. If the fact that Severus Snape, of all people, is sitting in your kitchen is not an indication…”

Harry groaned. “You haven’t the jurisdiction, and by merely speaking to you or harbouring you, I could lose my job. Do not be talking of going ‘rogue’ when you cannot see the implications!

But…” Harry trailed before meeting my eyes again. “It is you, Hermione. You!”

I frowned. “Me, what? My fault? Fault for what?” I breathed, trying not to scream.

Harry shook his head. He was ignoring his gut feeling that I was right—something was wrong with our world, he could feel the dread I was feeling, the dread so many of us had been feeling for years after the War. Something was wrong. Darkness was encroaching.

“It is your turn to do what you must, damn the world, and change it.”

I gaped at Harry. Eloquence was rare from him, and in his eloquence, I felt my heart soften just a bit. Slowly, I composed myself internally and took a breath.

“I will need a place to land, Harry,” I started softly. “Can I count on you for that?”

Harry nodded mutely.

“Talk to Kreacher about resetting the wards on the house. You might want to keep Jaime and Albus at the Burrow with Ginny.”

Harry nodded again.

“Ask Walburga about setting a Fidelus or renewing the old wards Orion Black set on the house.”

Harry blinked. “Ask Walburga?”

I wanted to laugh, but even Severus was gazing at me, shocked.

“Quote the Black family motto and she’ll talk coherently, and if it is about the ‘house of her fathers,’ she won’t shut up.”

Harry nodded again, slower.

“I am going back to my poor excuse for a flat in Sheffield, and then to Hogwarts, and Severus is going with me.”

Severus blinked and perched his chin on his folded hands. “And why would I do that?”

I said nothing, but glanced to Harry again for confirmation that he understood. Harry sighed. “Ginny is not going to like this.”

I wanted to say that I knew she would not, but Ginny could never pass up an adventure, no matter how small. I had a feeling that this particular adventure was going to be just as big as that thirteen years ago.




I hated Sheffield, but it was a perfect place to hide oneself, in my opinion. The blocks and blocks of old slum served as perfect cover. The city had yet to tear all the old slum down, and that was where I lived, in an old blockhouse on the top floor. The old crone that rented out the place often forgot she had tenants and many times I had to force rent money into her mail slot even though she stood on the other side of the door thinking me to be a burglar.

Severus had held to my arm as we Apparated into an alley down the empty street, his eyes taking in the yellow-grey sky overhead and the smokestacks in the distance. He said nothing as I pulled my arm from his grasp.

“You should pull your cowl up,” I said softly, motioning to his cloak.

Severus complied as his dark eyes found my face. Within moments we were scaling the rubbish-strewn stairwell to the fifth floor, the top floor, and to the metal door of my one room apartment, aptly number 508 ½.

Casting an unlocking Charm discreetly on the door, I let Severus inside.

The concrete walls were bare of any decoration, and the curtains over the one window over looking an empty lot, were open. Books lined the walls, stacked on top one another halfway to the ceiling. The lavatory was off the entryway and consisted of a toilet that worked when it did not rain and a shower that was clean as I could manage with simple household Charms. A clean mattress lay in one corner, a writing desk adjacent, and upon the top of the desk, just where I had left it, my Codex.

I moved across the room and snatched the book up, flipping the pages open to the last words that had been magically copied in my hand to the page.

Notes on Walburga Black’s portrait and the state of the painting were last. Luckily, I had not written any more information about Walburga Black’s portrait, mentally composing my notes before the seizure of everything in my office.

With a sigh, I turned from my desk and looked about my insignificant apartment, trying to think of anything else I might need. Sadly, my little flat had little in it that would tell anyone that I lived there. No pictures, no mementos, nothing that would indicate that Hermione Granger lived in that room…

Drawing my wand, I shrank the Codex and slipped it into my pants pocket and turned to Severus. He was standing just in the entryway, his onyx eyes scanning the room slowly.

“Pathetic, isn’t it?”

Severus’ eyes snapped to mine and for a moment, I saw a strange glow there. He said nothing, appearing out of place and out of sorts.

“What’s wrong?” I asked finally.

Severus hesitated, his eyes falling to his boots.

“I grew up near here.”

I cocked my head. I had almost forgotten that little factoid.

“Spinner’s End?”

Severus nodded.

“That whole section of the old slums was demolished five years ago.”

There was no reaction, and I wondered why he had bothered to bring it up.

I then realized that as I gazed at Severus Snape, a vision in black, that he, probably for the first time in his life had no place to call home. I knew about Spinner’s End because Harry and I had been the first Aurors to investigate the little house after the War. Between Severus’ supposed death and the afternoon Harry and I entered the parlour, someone had ransacked the house, vandals had set fires in the dilapidated couch, and the upstairs had been used for neighborhood squatters as shelter. The magic that had protected the house had failed at some point.

Severus Snape was a man totally out of place.

I could sympathize.

The room I stood in was not my home, and neither was any other place I had been since the end of the War.

“That book?” Severus asked softly.

I touched my pants pocket as I slid my wand back into my holster.

“Back up for what was taken. Every document I submitted to the Department of Intelligence.”

Severus smirked. “You did not trust them.”

I moved toward the door, but paused before Severus, gazing up into his pale face. “Not exactly. I also wanted my own copies to study later. Of course, if anyone knew about this book, I could be fined, or imprisoned.

And given what happened this morning, I’m sure it would be the latter option.”




There were ways in an out of Hogwarts that had remained a secret even after the War. However, as I walked with Severus Snape close behind me toward the Headmistress’ office, we had entered through the front doors.

After leaving Sheffield, it seemed that Severus was suddenly awake. He did not need to hold my arm to Apparate with me to Hogsmeade, just outside the gates of the castle. However, as he stared at the castle, I realized that in his mind he had left Hogwarts so long ago.

“Give me a moment,” he whispered, not taking his eyes off the battlements and the Astronomy Tower.

I stepped away from him toward the gate. I was hesitant to leave him out of my sight, but I turned away, gazing at the castle myself.

After the War, much had been done to restore Hogwarts, and to me, I saw the school I had beheld in such wonder in my First Year. Minerva had done much to erase the terrible Battle on the grounds and in the corridors. After thirteen years, the only thing that had changed was the plaque set into the stonewall near the front doors—a commemoration with the name of Severus Snape still emblazoned into the silver.

“Let’s go.”

Severus had stepped near without my notice, and out of instinct, I nearly hexed him. However, as I looked up at him, I did not see Severus Snape, but a strange pale man who looked like a close relation to Draco Malfoy.

“I know, you don’t have to say…” he muttered darkly as he walked ahead of me two paces.

I quickly caught up.

Glamours, intricate, professional glamours—I was impressed.

Blond hair replaced black, and much of his other features were fashioned to resemble a Malfoy, down to the piercing grey eyes. Only the voice was the same.

Moments later, we stood just outside the Headmistress’ door. Severus had begun to question the ease of our movement in the castle, but I did not have the time to explain that I had the authority as a Ministry official to come and go as I pleased. Of course, it did not hurt that I had developed a type of friendship with Minerva through the years and that half the teaching staff were once Severus’ pupils.

“I had the strangest news, Hermione,” Minerva said, standing sharply from behind her desk.

Behind me, Severus was surveying the office, and I knew he was noting the fact that almost nothing had changed since he had been Headmaster. He, of course, had not changed anything from the time Albus had the office.

“Phineas told me you were coming by way of Walburga Black!”

Severus closed the door behind us before, and together, we advanced toward the Headmistress. I glanced at the portraits out of the corner of my eyes and set my face. I knew I would have to have a word with Phineas.

“I’m sorry for the abrupt visit, Minerva, but I would like a favour.”

Minerva’s eyes flashed to Severus and back to me.

“Of course?”

I wriggled my fingers out of nervousness. Minerva was as perceptive as Albus, but not as nearly as kind when suspicious.

“I need to speak to Albus, in private.”

Minerva, predictably, frowned.

“What is going on, Hermione? Why are you wearing those clothes? And who is this man?”

Minvera’s Scottish bristle made me shudder, and surprisingly, Severus mimicked my motion. I knew, at some point, I would have to be honest, but at that moment, I knew there was little I could tell my old Head of House. I barely knew the truth. All the same, I would answer what I could.

“This gentleman is part of the Department of Intelligence, and he is assisting me in gathering some information on Riddle’s activities during the formation of the Death Eaters. Albus’ input would be very helpful…”

Minerva’s keen eye pierced me, and I knew, that she knew, I was lying through my teeth. Minerva pulled her glasses from end of her nose and let them hang by the chain about her neck upon her bosom.

“Hermione Granger…” she began angrily, but shaking her head, thought better of her original thought and moved around the desk to approach me.

Severus recoiled, causing Minerva to pause for a moment before moving to grasp my left and lean in close.

“I trust…I sincerely trust that whatever this is, you will tell me if I should need to fortify the wards on the castle and notify the staff,” Minerva whispered, her old hand crushing my shoulder with a strength that reminded me that Minerva McGonagall was no old fool like Albus had been.

I tried to smile. “Of course, Minerva. We should only be a few moments.”

Minerva nodded sharply before glancing to Severus and making her way to the door of the office.

I let out a low moan when I knew Minerva was safely out of earshot. If I were not careful, I would no longer have Minerva’s confidence, and that confidence was something I might need soon.

“Phineas,” I sighed, turning toward the portrait of one of the many Black ancestors.

“Granger, until you are Headmistress of this school, you are to call me Professor Black!” Phineas Nigellus bit out.

The other portraits of more hospitable Headmasters protested. Phineas Nigellus, despite being a taciturn old bastard, in all actuality, liked me.

“Then I shall call you Phineas,” Severus announced, dispelling his glamours with his long dark wand.

The portraits began clamour, and with a grimace, I cast a Charm I hated to use—a Charm to paralyze the portraits, rendering them temporarily inert and unaware of the world outside their frames. Only Phineas Nigellus remained active. Often times, when I wanted a private conversation with a portrait, I would cast a modified Muffliato Charm upon the portrait.

“Snape. Walburga did not mention you.”

“And how is it that you can speak to Walburga?” I asked angrily, slipping my wand back into my holster.

The dark haired man leaned forward in his chair, but did not speak to me, but to Severus.

“That Potter boy moved me out of the bedrooms in Grimmauld place and put me in a cupboard in the cellar. After my usefulness was over, it seems I have been relegated to listen to Walburga’s incessant moaning for all eternity.

Potter remembered where he put me when he was talking to Walburga and set me out to consult me about Grimmauld Place. After a while, Walburga’s mind likes to wander…”

I sighed. Of all the portraits, it was not Walburga Black who was the most tiring, it was Phineas Nigellus Black.

“Enough of this. Black, go back to Grimmauld Place and tell Harry…”

“I will tell him not to be so daft, yes, Miss Granger…” Phineas trailed.

I glanced to Severus.

“We should hurry,” he murmured.

I agreed, however, I was hesitant to speak to Albus when I knew what the Headmaster’s reaction to Severus might be.



After the Battle of Hogwarts, I did think about Severus Snape often. When all the details of the War had been sorted through, I could only feel a greater respect for my former Potions Master.

Of course, the man was insulting, reticent, and generally unpleasant, but he was brilliant—dangerously so as evident with his old Potions book Harry had used in Sixth Year.

I thought about him often when dealing with captured Death Eaters, wondering if they knew how insignificant they were to Severus Snape. I thought about Severus Snape when my superiors vented their own shortcomings on me. How would Severus Snape handle such asinine people?

There was much of Severus Snape’s character I adopted while working as an Auror. I was hardened by the War, I was sharp witted, sharp tongued, and sharp eyed. I honed my mind and body, learning Occlumency and Legilimency to a level that would allow me to see inside and beyond the criminals I interrogated. I kept my mind fresh with studies outside of working with the MLE, with every intention of perhaps attaining a Master’s level in Potions if I tired of the MLE. Strangely, that contingency never played out.

I respected Severus Snape in many ways, and I knew, realistically, that I truly did not know the man at all.

Therefore, when Severus stood before Albus’ portrait, it shocked me to see that Severus had his wand tip pointed at the painted surface, his pale and unattractive face twisted with hate. I did not move, however, but watched from my place near Severus’ back, one hand moving to my holster, the other to touch Severus’ back.

“I do not remember everything about my miserable life, old man, but I know and remember enough to hate you,” Severus snarled.

When I touched Severus’ back, the coiled muscles ready to spring to cast a spell, he seemed to relax.

“But this is not why we are here…” Severus trailed, taking a breath, his voice carrying his weariness.

I stepped to Severus’ right side, my hand sliding over his shoulder blades as he lowered his wand and glanced to me, his eyes still glittering black anger.

Albus Dumbledore’s portrait, on the other hand, was frightened.

“You are…” Albus began, but trailed as Severus’ eyes rose again.

“Alive? Yes. You are not the first to be surprised, and I dare say, you won’t be the last.”

“But it makes perfect sense. There was no portrait of you, Severus, and no body, I had been told.”

I glanced to Severus. It did make sense. No matter how long the tenure of the office of Headmaster, when the Headmaster died, a portrait appeared in the Head’s office—always. Every portrait I had interviewed corroborated this bit of information. The magic behind such an appearance of a Head’s was unknown. I added to my ever-growing list of ‘the Magical Unexplained.’

“Please don’t tell me that you are happy to see me alive, Albus. I have only ever been a sacrificial lamb to you.

And that is not what we want to speak to you about.”

I blinked. Severus had said ‘we.’

It was then Albus’ attention fell upon me. I glared back at the old man, a man whom in my adult years I had learned to dislike as much as Tom Riddle.

“The Knights of Walpurgis,” I said simply.

Albus’ blue painted eyes could only blink at me.

“A myth. Tom Riddle tried to appropriate the name early on before the Death Eaters…”

Severus sighed. “Then you know nothing about the Knights?”

Albus’ eyes moved toward the corner of his near life-sized portrait. I assumed, not knowing the mechanics of how a Head’s portrait was manufactured, that Albus’ portrait was larger than most because in life, Albus Dumbledore had seemed ‘larger than life.’

“We do not have the time to dance around vagaries or sift through riddles, Albus,” I whispered with imbued anger. I was angry because Severus angry and I did not know why that was…

“A myth, they were believed to be a myth, Miss Granger. However, in every myth there is a strain of truth. Walpurgis, Beltane, all particular moments in time when the boundaries between this world and another are the thinnest. Walpurgis is a commemoration of the Norse god Odin’s death to retrieve the knowledge of the runes…”

“Yes, we know this, Albus, every apt pupil in this school knows this. What is needed is something we do not already know,” Severus growled.

I had half a mind to smirk, but did not. Severus was correct, though, we—I needed to know something more.

Albus sighed. “I do know that the Knights of Walpurgis were once called the ‘Order of Merlin.’ Of course, the Ministry adopted that convention for their own purposes.

Nicholas Flamel once told me that the Order of Merlin was the original name of the Knights, which is, of course, a pun. The Order of Merlin was said to be an ancient group of witches and wizards, always eight in number, to act as ‘watchtowers’ of an age. Sadly, that is all I know. The Order of Merlin, the Knights of Walpurgis, and its possible other incarnations is a mystery that many have debated from time immemorial.

And now my logical question to you, Severus, Miss Granger, what is it that has brought you here to ask me about them?”

I glanced at Severus.

“The Knights of Walpurgis, it seems, is not a myth, and by them, we—Miss Granger, Harry Potter, and myself—have been informed that there is a Dark Wizard or Witch on the rise.”

Severus’ voice had calmed considerably, but still, as I stood near his right side, I could feel that the calm was temporary. Severus had affectively put a reign on his anger in lieu of acquiring information from the former Headmaster.

Albus ran his fingers through his beard in thought.

“There have been two Dark Wizards in my own lifetime, and that was two too many,” Albus mused to himself.

Severus was not amused. I sighed, of all the wizards in the world, living, or dead, I had hoped that Albus Dumbledore would be more informative.

“You might speak with Horace.”

I blinked.

Slughorn? I glanced again to Severus who nodded.

“Anything obscure, unusual, or secretive, Horace was always the one to know a bit more than I. He should be in the dungeons, and if not there, try the Hog’s Head.”

TBC...