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!

Additional Note: For the purposes of this fic, I have resurrected a minor character. The Lexicon (bleh) lists P. Fancourt as dead by 1991, so count this fic as AU, if you wish.




Damnation of Memory - VI





“You must find the others,” Abraxas Malfoy said from his portrait.

Severus and I had waited the rest of that day for Harry to return from Malfoy Manor. We had argued on and off, I, wishing that we had Obliviated Lucius before leaving the Manor, Severus claiming that Lucius was immune to the common Memory Charms. Grimmauld Place, thankfully, was empty during our argument, Ginny having taken the boys to the Burrow hours before. As we had promised, we Flooed Greg to come to Grimmauld Place, and he came, stepping out into the kitchen as soon as Severus had pulled his head out of the fireplace.

Harry had returned with a sour expression on his face, which turned to disgust seeing Greg Goyle in his impeccable Muggle suit, leaning against the door leading down into the scullery. As I had thought, Lucius Malfoy would not be charged in killing one Michael Williams, an agent of the Department of Intelligence. The Aurors, after their investigation, found that the men who had entered the Manor had no provocation to do so. There had been no official order from the Ministry.

“Percy’s office is in disarray,” Harry had said after telling Severus, Greg, and me the news. “The paper trail of orders and seizures begins from somewhere in the Ministry, and then disappears. Percy is having a fit.”

It was as before. Someone in the Ministry, someone who had authority, was ordering Percy’s men to act. However, I could not think of that matter as we stared at the resized portraits of Abraxas Malfoy and Arcturus Black propped up on kitchen chairs.

“Albus mentioned eight, designating the eight ‘watchtowers,’” Severus said as a matter of stating and not directed to the older men in the frames.

We stood in the kitchen, too anxious to sit, but had the portraits in the chairs, facing the scullery.

“Who are they?” Harry asked, ruffling his messy hair.

“Four stand before us,” Arcturus said.

I scoffed, “I don’t remember being asked if I wanted to be part of some secret society.”

“Most of you are part by your blood,” Abraxas sniffed, “I don’t know about you, Miss Granger, but it was you that Prince’s grandson was sent to meet.”

I blinked. “No, it was Harry…”

“Whose family has been part of the Knights since the beginning.”

Severus paced. “My grandfather, Ulysses was part of the Knights of Walpurgis,” he stated instead of posing his words as a question.

Abraxas nodded. “The oldest of us when we numbered eight.”

“And the others?” Harry asked.

“Abraxas and myself,” Arcturus began, “Ulysses, my sister Belvina and brother Cygnus, Aberforth Dumbledore, Horace Slughorn, and Perpetua Fancourt.”

Abraxas made a hissing sound and glanced to his left, toward Arcturus’ portrait. Arcturus pursed his lips and continued.

“The last full court, as we called it, was a bit narrowed. There was three of the Noble House of Black for lack of finding the other heirs.”

I cocked my head, thinking. Harry was related to the Blacks, his great aunt Dorea Potter had been a Black, daughter of Cygnus Black. Severus’ grandfather Ulysses Prince…

“What of Greg?”

Greg perked up and took a step away from the scullery door.

Severus and Harry turned their attentions to me at the sound of me saying Greg Goyle’s first name. I straightened, pushing off the repaired sideboard to move closer to the portraits.

“Greg was sent here without any knowledge of the Knights of Walpurgis…” I trailed.

Perpetua Fancourt, inventor of the Lunascope, was, from last count, alive. I had met her once, not long after the War. Aurora Sinistra had introduced me when I was still considering going into something other than law enforcement. I remembered that Perpetua Fancourt was quite old, a bit barmy…

I slapped a hand over my mouth and bit into my forefinger. Greg’s face was colourless as he stared at me.

“Goyle? I have not heard that name in an age,” Arcturus scoffed. “You must be from Horace’s line. I believe the line of descent came through the Burkes. A Goyle married a Burke girl—Horace’s cousin…”

Greg opened his mouth to speak, but Abraxas spoke first.

“No, no,” Abraxas protested. “The boy would be through your sister Belvina’s line, it is that Burke you are remembering, Arcturus!”

Arcturus grumbled, his dark brow moving comically.

“Enough!” Severus growled, startling all in the room. “You mentioned Aberforth and Horace, both are missing,” he said when all eyes were upon him.

“Missing?” Abraxas echoed, his pale eyes widened. “How long?”

Arcturus, who knew of the two men’s disappearance said nothing, but had a satisfied smirk on his painted lips.

“Two weeks,” I said softly. “But more importantly, gentlemen, if we are to act in some way, we need to know why.”

Harry nodded, his face betraying his bewilderment. The men in the portraits seemed to share a glance and then rearranged themselves in their frames, still.

“It has begun,” Abraxas drawled in typical Malfoy manner.

“So we have been told when Severus reappeared after supposedly being dead for over twelve years,” I grumbled. “Unfortunately, Severus was only given a cryptic message to pass to Harry and myself.”

“It started with our own words, did it not?” Arcturus asked meekly.

I sighed, sadly.

“I believe so. So you see, whatever has begun is because of you two and…my notes,” I mumbled, glancing to Severus whose pale arms were crossed tightly before his wide chest. Greg had begun pacing before the steps leading down into the scullery, and I shifted my weight to one hip as I stood before the portraits.

“And so the Ministry, no—someone in the Ministry is trying to collect as much information about the Knights of Walpurgis as possible, all because of us,” I continued. “The surviving eight have noticed, sent Severus back from the dead, and here we are…”

The portraits said nothing, but their painted eyes had drifted to the bottom corners of their frames, deep in thought.

“What is this secret that the Knights of Walpurgis is so concerned with protecting?”

The real question and I had posed it to those who had effectively turned my life upside down.

“It deals with a legend,” Abraxas began, but paused, his old, pale eyes moving to each person in the kitchen. “A very famous legend that even children know.”

“Merlin,” Arcturus said bluntly, annoyed with Abraxas’ preamble.

I knew that the men in the room were staring coldly at the portraits as I was, but it was Greg who spoke first.

“Merlin? Merlin as in Myrddin Wyllt, the Bard, and the so many other epithets?”

I turned to stare incredulously at Greg, who, suddenly feeling uncomfortable moved back to the scullery door again.

“Yes, Merlin,” Abraxas sighed. “Two thousand or more years ago, Merlin’s influence left the land, before Hogwarts, before Christianity destroyed so much of our magic…” he trailed, his eyes closing as if to remember that time long ago.

“What does a legendary dead wizard have to do with the rise of another Dark Wizard?” Harry asked, irritated, “And Snape being alive?” he added.

“A great deal,” Abraxas answered with a snarl.

“When does history become legend, Mr. Potter?” Arcturus asked softly, “The answer is: when the truth is suppressed. The truth is suppressed for two reasons. One, to protect the populace from the horror of this truth. Or two, to suppress knowledge to make a society more docile, malleable, to be used by those in power who know the truth.”

I could see the truth in Arcturus’ words, but prerogative must be taken into consideration. Both of Arcturus’ reasons could be used as one, case in point, Voldemort’s quest for the Hallows and immortality.

“In the case of the Knights, it is the first reason why you all believe that Merlin is more a figure of legend than of fact,” Abraxas added.

I heard Greg make a noise, and then heard him say: “Then, what truth to the legends is being suppressed?”

I smirked. Good question.

“There is part of the legend of Merlin, a part that speaks of Merlin and a woman who had many names,” Arcturus said, glancing disdainfully at Abraxas.

I could see out of the corner of my eye that Harry frowned. “Nimue?”

“That is one name. Viviane, Nimue, Elaine, Nyneve, and in some legends, the Lady of the Lake in others…” Abraxas drawled.

“The witch who beguiled Merlin and imprisoned him,” I heard Greg mumble.

Both portraits grinned oddly. “That is the legend, and that is where the matter of the truth has been suppressed.”

I swayed on my feet, and suddenly, I was sitting, Severus having pulled a chair out for me to sit. In fact, as I regained my bearings, I found that all three men were around me, Severus behind me, Harry to my right, and Greg to my left. Severus’ hands rested upon my shoulders, and I could feel Harry seethe next to me.

“Consider this,” Arcturus said, a strange glimmer in his grey eyes. “Consider every story of Merlin you have heard, consider the tale of Nimue. Then consider that perhaps Nimue did not imprison Merlin because she was a spiteful witch who wanted all of Merlin’s power. She did this because she had enough power herself, and imprisoned the wizard to keep from becoming something more than an advisor to a Muggle king and manipulator of fates.”

“She imprisoned him because he was becoming too powerful,” Severus sighed.

“And in that manner, she kept Merlin from becoming a Dark Wizard, and eventual Dark Lord,” Abraxas added.

Lord Acton’s dictum scampered through the forefront of my mind. Besides the famed quote, the next part had said: ‘Great men are almost always bad men.’

Then Harry said it, through his shock, what we were all beginning to conclude.

“This new Dark Wizards is looking to somehow use Merlin or his magic?”

The portraits answered with their silence. I closed my eyes. I wanted to swear, say ‘Merlin,’ but it seemed wrong now.

“What do Dark Wizards usually want, Potter?” Severus asked, a rhetorical question from my point of view.

“More power,” Greg answered, “Immortality, dominion over every living thing, one or all.”

“Yes,” Abraxas said finally, “and now after generations, the Knights of Walpurgis, once called the Order of Merlin, has been reformed.”

“Reformed?” Greg spat. “I may have said some high and mighty things before, but this is…” he trailed.

I opened my eyes.

“We have been contacted, and now, some of us, by birthright, have been chosen. Severus, by whatever machination, was sent to us, just as you were Greg,” I whispered. “This has been put before us…”

I still could not foresee the implications, I could not see the totality of the danger, but I knew it was there, if the attack on Malfoy Manor had been any indication.

“Miss Granger, you asked the right questions, spoke to the right people. You have the knowledge to do what may need to be done,” Abraxas said, steering all my attention to his pale face. “There will be one more, most likely born into the role of a Knight.”

I shook my head and my stupor from my brain.

“And what does that mean? I have lost my position at the Ministry. I am destitute… I am not…” I trailed, unsure of what I wanted to say originally.

Harry knelt next to me, grasping my hand. I could feel frustrated tears in my eyes as I looked into his familiar, handsome face.

“You are not alone in feeling a bit lost, luv,” Harry whispered.

I sighed a laugh.

“We need to find the others—Horace, Aberforth and the last member of our confused little band,” I said with a catch in my throat as Harry rose, but still held my hand. “I don’t want to wait until we are contacted again. If we have been charged to neutralize another Dark Lord… I want to do it before it leads to a full scale war.”

I heard all mutter in agreement. Another war would destroy our world, especially a world still in tatters so soon after Voldemort.

“What now?” Greg asked, and I felt the mood of the kitchen lift. “I have a life in Glasgow, a job…”

“A vow,” Harry said.

“A vow of secrecy or some equivalent,” Greg agreed. “Prof-Severus?”

I felt Severus’ hand move on my shoulders, gripping me although he probably thought nothing of the motion. “A variant of an Unbreakable Vow.”

I bowed my head. Something about the talk of Dark Wizards and Vows made me think I had stepped back in time. I moved my eyes to the portraits again, who was staring back at me, their faces grave.

“Gentlemen, you will have to stay in this house, for the time being,” I told the portraits.

Both men nodded, but Arcturus added: “No where near Walburga, I beg you.”




Sometime in the early morning, I sat again at the kitchen table, resting my head on my folded arms, leaning into the table. The portraits had been moved to the sitting room and covered. Greg had Flooed back to Glasgow and Harry had Flooed back to the Burrow. Severus and I were left alone in Grimmauld Place, lost in thoughts and speculations.

When Severus set a cup of tea before me, I straightened in my chair as he moved to sit across from me. Sitting at the table, across from each other seemed to be habit after only a few days.

“I can only imagine how you must feel,” I blurted out, knowing that my words were vague.

Severus said nothing for a moment as he let his own cup of tea cool.

“Having pieces of my memory lost, not knowing how I survived or why it seems I have not aged since the night in the Shack, you mean?”

There was an air of sarcasm in his voice, but I ignored it. I nodded. He had known my meaning.

“I am not exactly sure how I feel about it,” he said, his lips twisting into some sort of strained smirk.

“You haven’t missed anything good or exciting, just so you know,” I said softly.

“How so?”

I laid my head down on folded arms again, resting my left cheek on my forearm; my eyes level with Severus’ chest.

“Imagine, what the would world be like after Voldemort? After so long asleep, Britain is suddenly shaken awake by Voldemort’s second War. After Voldemort is defeated, we see the signs we had missed of his revival and the War that resulted. Paranoia, fear, corruption, and those who profit from those things are suddenly in every bit of society after Voldemort—claiming to protect us. Britain falls asleep again, thinking that after instituting measures to keep something like Voldemort from happening again. Liberties are lost in lieu of ‘protection.’ That is what you have missed.”

Severus rubbed his pointed chin. “And you? Did you and Potter try to keep Britain awake?”

I smiled. “At first.”

“You were an Auror.”

“A good one,” I mumbled, growing very sleepy. “I specialized in interrogations…”

“Torture?”

Severus’ single word question roused me and I lifted my head, awake.

“At times,” I answered.

Severus studied my face, and I wondered what he saw there.

“And then you stopped being an Auror,” he said, his voice like the softest velvet running along my face to my ears to my brain, and downward. I sighed, remembering to breathe. I nodded.

“The Ministry restructured itself, sometimes for the better, sometimes not…”

Conversation died after my last word, and to occupy myself, I drank my tea. The awkwardness of the morning, waking in his arms, was still present. I felt a blush begin to creep up my chest, but with a deep drink of hot tea, it receded.

“We need to know what we are doing here,” I said, steering conversation back to what we had learned from the portraits.

Severus nodded, his inky hair falling into his face. “I wish I knew more, as I wish many things,” he said in soft sigh.

“For your memories?”

“No, I feel lighter without them,” his deep voice intoned, and I grinned.

“How do you know that you won’t need them?” I teased, as much as I felt I could tease Severus Snape.

However, as I watched Severus’ eyes shift to my hands resting on the table, I felt a change in his demeanor.

“I am alive, so far, without them. And, I am sure that if I would need them, I would find a way to retrieve them. In the meanwhile, I have other matters to consider.

I am more concerned as to why I was saved, surely there was a reason.”

His hand moved to touch the faint scars on his throat. It was a gently motion, but as he touched the skin, I could see the beginning of a grimace on his brow. He had been saved even before the Knights of Walpurgis had become a matter in the forefront of our minds.

I sat back in the chair, pulling my arms from the table. I felt stiff after returning from Malfoy Manor and the longer I sat, the sooner I knew I would begin to feel the strain in my muscles. It had been far too long since I had moved so quickly…

“There is a conspiracy of a sort, one that includes us. Though we only have an inkling as to the nature of the conspiracy, it is unique because it includes us…” I whispered.

“But it is obvious that I was to come here, see you and Potter. Just as Goyle was sent… The remnants of the Order were to be contacted because they were trusted. One can assume that the Knights of Walpurgis possibly wish to ally with the remnants of the Order—to oppose whatever or whoever is to come.”

Severus was right. None of the original Knights mentioned by the portraits was part of the Order of the Phoenix. Aberforth and Horace were sympathetic but were not members. Perpetua Fancourt was not a member…

“And if the portraits of Malfoy and Black are correct, we need to know who is orchestrating the agents of your Department of Intelligence to move,” Severus finished.

I nodded. I wondered if I could speak to Percy in a non-official capacity about his ‘men in black.’ First, however, Aberforth Dumbledore and Horace Slughorn needed to be found. I glanced to Severus who had risen and was adding tea to another pot on the sideboard.

Of the living Knights, it had to have been Horace Slughorn, Aberforth Dumbledore, or Perpetua Fancourt who had saved Severus and sent him to Grimmauld Place. I had ruled out Horace, and I knew that Perpetua Fancourt had no part in the War. That left only Aberforth Dumbledore.

It was possible that Aberforth could have removed Severus from the Shrieking Shack. I knew that Aberforth, despite his reputation, was a secretive man. The events leading up to the Battle of Hogwarts had been proof of that.

The sound of the kettle setting upon the table startled me, as Severus sat down. I wondered why he had not used magic to make a fresh kettle of tea.

“Why did you kiss me?”

I blinked at him as he poured tea into my cup. Of all the questions…

“I thought…” I started. “For over a decade, you were dead. To see you again was a shock.”

It a lame answer, I knew, but it was the best I could muster after such an abrupt question.

“So you kissed me out of shock? A strange reaction…”

He was smirking at me, his hands folded on the tabletop. I had to look away.

“For you to die… It was a true loss.”

“To you?”

There was a hint of amusement in his voice where there had been sarcasm and derision before. I still could not look at him.

“To us all. After the truth about your role was fully understood… You were a sacrifice, a diversion, and from my point of view, it was unfair. We lost so many—you were the greatest loss,” I answered, feeling the conviction in my words.

“You pity me?”

I huffed and met his eyes. It was a ridiculous question, one that sought some sort of placation.

“No, never pity. You, from what I knew of you and your life, were not pitiable. Unfortunate, but not pitiful…”

Severus blinked and the smirk faded. Already, I could see him retreat into himself without making a move or speaking a word. He was weighing my words.

“You know so much about me, and I cannot remember you at all. It seems that we will be…”

I had tuned out as I felt a change in the air between us. There was a ripple of energy, and I realized that I was feeling a precursory wave of magic. It was at that moment, the Floo activated.

Harry Potter’s head floated into view, and I moved, as Severus did to the fireplace.

“Hermione?” Harry’s disembodied head asked.

I frowned. It was very late, and Harry was to be at the Burrow, in bed with his wife…

“I’m here,” I said, kneeling so that I was face to face with the green flame apparition of Harry’s head.

Harry saw me, and then glanced to my left to where Severus knelt, his bare shoulder brushing mine.

“Cannot talk long…” Harry started. “I don’t know if anyone might be watching the Burrow, but I had to tell you…”

He voice seemed very distant although his visage was clear. It was if he were whispering.

“Horace Slughorn has been found…”

I narrowed my eyes, as the Floo connection seemed to break up like static over a Muggle telephone line.

“…in Cornwall.”

“Potter, terminate the call,” Severus snarled.

Harry’s eyes widened and then he glanced up as if to stare up the chimney and suddenly, in a flash of green, the call was cut. A blast of soot and ash made me cough and wave at the air. Already, Severus was on his feet pacing, rubbing his chin.

I rose, wiping at a piece of ash under my nose.

“What is it?” I asked.

“The Floo at the Burrow is being monitored,” Severus grumbled, continuing to pace anxiously.

“But Horace has been found…” I started.

“Dead, he’s dead.”

What little bit of hope I felt deflated. The interference had made Harry’s words incomprehensible. Had I missed Harry saying ‘dead?’

The man who had inquired at the Three Broomsticks, or someone associated, had found Horace. In Cornwall? I was missing something, something that my exhausted mind would not let me fathom. No matter how I tried to recall the elusive thought, it was just outside my reach.

“Nothing we can do now,” I heard Severus mutter as his pacing began to slow. “Nothing until the morning, nothing after sleep…”

He stopped before me, staring down his long, crooked nose at me. I suddenly felt twelve years old.

“Get some rest, Miss Granger.”

I wondered if he did remember who I was at that moment. I blinked up at him, as he seemed to tower over me, just as he had in Potions class, judging the colour of my potion, his nostrils flaring to smell the potion.

He grasped my arms and in his crushing grasp, I was awake.

“A hot bath and bed,” he said, his voice authoritative, demanding obedience. “No more struggling to figure out every mystery, not now…”

Did we have time? Horace was dead; a Knight of Walpurgis was dead.



TBC...