Damnation of Memory

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




Damnation of Memory - IX





My dream ended abruptly when I awoke the next morning. An obnoxious high-pitched squeak made me bolt up in bed, searching for my wand. I was alone in the bed, Severus’ side cold and half made. On the foot of the bed, seeming to roll and jump was the source of the unwelcome noise.

“Pig, shut it,” I growled.

The little Scops owl obeyed with its large eyes staring back at me dolefully. In my half waking state, I was surprised to see Ron’s little owl. For so many years, I had grown accustomed to the excitable owl’s squeaks, but I had not seen the owl in almost six years.

“What do you have for me?” I asked, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. Glancing to the window, I figured it was approximately eight in the morning.

Pig had dropped the letter on Severus’ side of the bed, and at my question, the owl perked up and hopped to the letter, skillfully picking up in its beak. Hopping up my sheet covered leg; Pig dropped the letter in my lap.

I sighed although my insides began in clamp up. Ron had not sent word to me about anything for years. I had a sudden dread. With shaking fingers, I stroked Pig’s fathers atop his head.

“Go down to the kitchen, Pig,” I muttered.

I did not bother to watch the owl take flight, his small wings beating the air frantically as he slipped between a small crack between the door and the frame. I idly thought that perhaps Pig’s appearance in the kitchen would cause some alarm. I turned my still sleepy attention to the letter on my lap.

My name was printed on the front of the parchment, but it was not Ron’s scrawl. In fact, the letters seemed intentionally ambiguous in the sense that the letters were uniform. I flipped the letter and broke a wax seal with no stamp. Inside was a card, and again printed, uniform letters were on one side.

‘Extremely urgent. Meet at Blue Anchor Inn, Helston, seven pm. Mention to no one. Come alone. Parkinson.’

I licked my lips and slipped the card back in the envelope. The first thought was: trap.

I rose and began dressing, slipping the note into my carpetbag and out of sight. I automatically dressed in my dragon hide uniform and pulled my hair back in a low ponytail. I donned my holster and slipped my wand inside.

In the kitchen, I found Greg drinking coffee by the scullery door, staring at Pig who was eating from a small plate, his beak crunching on bacon at the end of the kitchen table. Severus was missing, as was Harry. At my entrance, Greg nodded a greeting. I began preparing myself breakfast on the stove, a fried egg, two strips of bacon and toast. As I sat, so did Greg, across from me, graciously pouring me a cup of what looked to be strong coffee.

“Isn’t that Weasley’s owl?”

I paused with my coffee in hand. I was surprised Greg remembered the owl; he must have remembered it from school.

“I think he lost a letter for Harry,” I mumbled, casting Pig an apologetic glance. The little owl hooted mournfully and continued eating.

“Potter left for the Ministry about an hour ago,” Greg commented as I began eating slowly. “Severus is upstairs with Fannie.”

I blinked. “Is she awake?”

Greg nodded, “She was awake when I popped my head in when I got up. She knew who I was, but asked for Severus.”

Greg’s voice was slightly tremulous when he said Severus’ name. I supposed he wanted to call Severus ‘Professor,’ much as I had when I was first faced with the man I believed to be dead. Then again, Greg’s voice seemed natural calling Perpetua Fancourt ‘Fannie,’ as the portraits had.

I ate silently, but I could feel Greg staring at me.

“What is it?” I asked finally, finishing my plate and raising my eyes to the man across the table.

Greg shrugged his wide shoulders. He still wore what he had on the night before, the button down shirt rumpled from sleep. I wondered why he had not bothered to Transfigure the shirt, or at least resized it to fit properly.

“I am just wondering…” he started, setting his coffee down and reaching for the pot to refill his mug. “Is this going to turn out to be a fight?”

I sighed. I had wondered the same thing.

“There are still to many secrets in the way…” I trailed, listening to the sound of coffee pouring.

“If the Knights of Walpurgis are to protect the secret of Merlin’s prison, and if we are now the Knights of Walpurgis, we need to know who the enemy is,” Greg reasoned.

I knew I needed to ignore my memories of the man when he was a Malfoy lackey. Had Greg always been so articulate? I pursed my lips and glanced to Pig again. The little owl had seemed to be listening to us, and I rose, moving down the table to the last chair. I reached a finger out to Pig and the owl hooted happily and fluttered to land on my hand.

“I thought you and Weasley were a pair,” Greg said softly, and I smirked.

“About six years ago.”

Greg hummed into his mug as he drank. I paid little mind to the soft slurping noise the larger man made, and stroked Pig’s back with the wide of my finger. Despite the owl’s excitability, he was cute and friendly. I had, at times, liked Ron’s owl more than the man.

“I haven’t really kept up with people from school,” Greg stated.

I glanced to Greg to find him watching me stroke Pig’s grey feathers.

“Neither have I, in some ways. Besides Harry and Ginny, I haven’t really been…” I trailed. “And Percy, but that’s about it.”

Greg nodded. “After Vince…”

He did not finish and looked away. I frowned. I knew so little about Gregory Goyle that much was certain. He had been Malfoy’s lackey, a brutish fellow who grunted more than he talked in school. As I studied his face, I realized that my conceptions had been wrong. Greg was not some troll descendant, and I could see as I studied his face, that there was intelligence in his brow, his eyes.

“I enjoy my work,” he said. “It is odd not going to work this morning, I’m not sure if I like it,” he finished with a crooked smile.

I could sympathize. I liked my job at the Ministry, and now I was unemployed. In fact, because of my job, Greg Goyle was sitting in the kitchen of Grimmauld Place, something that I would never have imagined in my wildest daydreams.

I stroked Pig’s feathers a while longer, my mind turning to the note he had brought.

Parkinson’s note sent by Pig. It was a puzzle. I could not ask the owl how it came to be that he was bringing a note from a Parkinson, if it were truly from a Parkinson.

There was Petroc Parkinson, the patriarch of the family, exonerated Death Eater, then his wife Steren Parkinson nee Selwyn. There was the daughter Pansy, and older son Piran who was estranged. The only reason I knew much about the Parkinsons was due to the portraits I had interviewed. Piecing together family histories, I had sketched family trees in my Codex. The sketches were in no way complete, and possibly inaccurate, I was still trying to figure out how the Black family seemed to be related to every wizard in Britain.

The question, however, was which Parkinson wanted to meet me in Helston. I only knew Pansy, and as far as I knew, her family would have no reason to contact me.

Petroc Parkinson had identified Horace Slughorn’s body, and I had already accepted that perhaps the Parkinson who wanted me to meet them in Cornwall had information about Slughorn. I frowned to myself; I was to tell no one and to come alone.

It could be a trap.

Extremely urgent, the note had said. I wished I knew why Pig would be the one to deliver the cryptic note. I wished I knew a lot of things.



“You don’t have any chocolate, do you, boy?”

The unfamiliar voice had startled me and I lost my place reading my Codex in the front room under the gaze of the portraits. I had sent Pig away soon after breakfast and Greg disappeared upstairs, claiming to want to clean up and speak to ‘Potter’s nutter elf’ about some proper clothes.

Severus appeared in the door to the front room, and in his arms, was Perpetua Fancourt, dressed in a long kimono robe, her bare feet dangling and swinging as a child’s would. In Severus’ arms, ‘Fannie’ did seem like a child. She was a small woman. Compared to the day before, she seemed quite well, her glittering violet eyes full of life.

I closed my book, dropped it on the couch across from the door, and rose to my feet. Severus’ eyes passed over me to the portraits. He set Fannie on the other couch, moving to stand by the door.

“Hello, gentlemen,” Fannie said to the portraits.

I shifted on my feet, feeling awkward.

“It is good to see you, Fannie,” Arcturus said with an odd smile. Abraxas merely nodded.

Fannie’s hair was still a mess of grey curls, but they were pulled up in pins. Her wrinkled face shifted from a smile to a frown. The childish mien was gone.

“Severus tells me that Horace has been murdered,” she said, her tone grave.

“Yes,” Abraxas grumbled.

“We will have to move faster then. Find Aberforth and get these young people to the place… There is no time for an offence.”

I blinked, my eyes moving to Severus. He did not meet me eyes and quietly slipped from the room. I took half a step forward to follow, but Fannie’s voice stopped me.

“We have met once before, Miss Granger, if I remember correctly?”

I took a step back and slowly sunk to the couch. Fannie’s eyes were boring into my face, and the face I remembered meeting years ago was staring back at me.

“Yes, madam,” I answered.

Fannie’s eyes moved over my face, to my body, to my wand handle poking out of the holster. Her scrutiny made me shiver. Perpetua Fancourt, in many ways, reminded me of Severus, her gaze just as penetrating and haunting.

“Have you located the eighth?”

I blinked. It took me a moment to understand her question.

“No, madam…”

“It is priority, Miss Granger.”

Her tone was scolding and I felt a blush burn my cheeks.

“I am old, Miss Granger, so is Aberforth, we cannot fight. With Horace gone, you will need all the strength you can muster. That is why you must find the eighth Knight.

Horace had no descendants, and my own child died. Horace’s entire line has died with him, and I expect before long, mine will die as well.”

Abraxas made a noise and Fannie’s eyes moved to his larger portrait.

“My line will diminish, unless my grandson bears an heir worthy to keep the secret,” Abraxas conceded. “Even then, it would be too late for some of us.”

I inhaled deeply. I had no bloodline to keep me, to obligate me. However, Abraxas believed that I did, though obscured by time.

“Why was Horace in Cornwall, Fannie?” Arcturus asked. “Have you had any contact with him?”

Fannie shook her head, several dull gray curls falling from the pins and about her pale wrinkled face. “I have not seen Horace since we hid the boy at Ashbrittle. When the boy woke, I sent a signal, the old ad we used to use in the Prophet if we needed to gather. Horace did not come at first, and Aberforth made his excuses, and began preparations.”

“Horace and Aberforth disappeared over two weeks ago,” Arcturus said softly. “Did you know?”

Fannie sighed. “I suspected that they would leave Hogsmeade at some point. Men were coming around, asking questions. They came to Ashbrittle, asking what I knew about the ‘watchtowers.’ Whoever is responsible now knows about the ‘watchtowers.’”

The violet eyes moved to me and I felt my blush deepen. The eyes were not accusing, but sad. The eyes drifted back to Abraxas and I risked a breath.

“I had to move the boy, and it was no easy task. Aberforth helped me hide him until I could perform the Charms and send him here…”

I licked my lips. She was speaking of Severus.

“I assume Horace went to Cornwall seeking the eighth.”

Again, the violet eyes fell upon me. I shifted on the chesterfield.

“I was lucky to send Gregory here the first time, but he did not stay put. The men tracked me somehow to Glasgow, but I was too frantic to find Gregory, get him here…”

Fannie trailed and her eyes moved to her kimono-clad lap, a kimono, I realized, I had given Ginny as an anniversary present three years before.

“I realize, Miss Granger, that there is much you do not know, and as it is, you must know now.”

I stiffened as Fannie pulled her wand from her sleeve. I had not noticed a wand before, but as I watched her Charm the door to the front room shut, locking, warding, and silencing it, I realized that her wand looked very odd. Yew wood, approximately twelve inches long…

“Toward the end of the War, there was movement around the Knights, questions being asked about the us. Of course, Tom Riddle had tried to adopt the name of the Knights early on, and because of that, the Ministry began ‘red flagging’ any mention of us.

We kept to the shadows; Riddle was only interested in the Hallows. However, we watched the descendants of our lines, those who would replace us. We had considered letting it all end with us, but having two Dark Wizards in one age…”

Fannie slipped her wand back into the silken sleeve of the borrowed kimono. She regarded me with a soft smile before continuing.

“We did not know all who would replace us. We knew of Severus, Ulysses’ grandson, and we watched him with great interest. However, when Severus’ life was threatened, we intervened.

Aberforth took Severus from the Shrieking Shack and brought him to me in Ashbrittle. I hid Severus there until he was healed.”

“How?”

My voice was thin and dry, and I cleared my throat.

“He hasn’t aged…” I trailed.

Fannie’s eyes glittered with amusement and her thin lips curled into a smile.

“I hid him in a yew tree.”

My hand slipped over my mouth, and I closed my eyes.

“Death feeds a yew tree, and in return, the tree gives life,” Fannie continued. “The Ashbrittle Yew has lived for over three thousand years, planted on the tumulus of an infamous pagan king. My line has protected the secret of Ashbrittle from the time of Merlin, the tree, and the sacred well under what is now the Church of St. John the Baptist.”

My dream and Severus’ words were recalled and slowly I let my hand fall from my mouth.

“Protecting Severus for what was to come was paramount. Just as Harry Potter was protected in part by Aberforth, and Gregory by Horace during their time at Hogwarts, the descendants of the seven of nine were watched.”

I opened my eyes. “And me?”

Fannie sighed. “We did not know for certain. Aberforth watched you on occasion, your skill, and your power. Most of what he knew of you, he learned through the portraits at Hogwarts…”

I frowned. “How?” I repeated.

“His beloved Ariana was interested in you. She could move into Hogwarts through the ‘come and go’ room and she listened to the other portrait’s accounts of you. Ariana knew too much about us because of Aberforth, and many of us believed her to be a possible danger.”

But she wasn’t, in the end. Augusta Longbottom had destroyed the portrait as means of stopping the pursuit of Death Eaters.

“We told Miss Granger of our theory, Fannie,” Abraxas interjected.

“One that I share, Abraxas,” Fannie agreed, nodding to the portrait.

I scoffed a laugh. Fannie’s eyes settled upon me again.

“One that Aberforth shared, Miss Granger, and he would know.

You may be Muggle-born, but somewhere in your lineage, magic flowed. The Knights had lost track of that line long ago. Those who came before us, at some point, believed perhaps that by protecting the secret, the line of Merlin and Nimue had to be buried, purposely lost.

Now, events have been set into motion that requires secrets to be unearthed. You already know the secret we protect. You know that others want that secret and the power it holds. Horace is dead, and I doubt that he will be the last loss we experience before the end.”

“And how will ‘this’ end?” I asked skeptically.

Fannie pursed her lips, causing the wrinkles about her mouth to tighten.

“We do what we must to stop the one seeking to obtain Merlin. Kill, if we must, who we must.”

My brow knitted. I had had enough of killing in my lifetime…

“This has happened only once before,” Abraxas sighed. “In the Fifteenth Century, wizards sought the secret of Merlin, among other things. It was brought about due to the Muggle’s intent to eradicate what they considered to be the ‘devil’s craft.’ Of course, there was little Muggles could do to destroy us. There was a backlash in the magical community—witches and wizards wanted to subjugate the Muggles…”

I smirked, some wizarding folk still wanted to subjugate Muggles.

“By then, the truth of Merlin had been buried due in part to the Knights’ false propaganda. Hufflepuff had already diverted the true nature of the Order of Merlin five hundred years before, however, because of that, those wizards who wished to delineate the connection between magic and Muggle sought the truth of Merlin. To them, Merlin was a benevolent and fair-minded wizard, just as the children’s tales had taught.

If these wizards had the power of Merlin, they could segregate the two societies safely, or so they thought. All of this was a precursor to the Code of Secrecy, and the segregation acts, before there were Ministers for Magic, when there was still a Wizard’s Council.

Merlin’s very name carried weight and authority. With his power, the Wizard’s Council would be able to move forward, moving ahead of all other nations as the first to live in peace with Muggles. With Merlin’s power, the Church would no longer interfere, with Merlin’s power; the wizarding community would be safe.

Our ancestors acted to keep the Council away, to sow misinformation in the minds of the nation, and it worked—the secret was safe. Now, however, the tactics have changed,” Abraxas finished.

Fannie nodded. “Attacks, murder, intimidation, it is all telling of a darker force at work. Before, Merlin was sought for the ‘greater good,’ now, Merlin is being sought for personal gain.”

I leaned into the arm of the chesterfield, and let my mind drain of questions. I could see what needed to be done, and it frightened me more that I thought possible.





Greg stayed with Fannie, after Kreacher had found him some old clothes. I stood in the doorway of the front room, listening as Fannie told Greg what he must do. Greg sat close to her side in a pair of ragged jeans and an old dark green tee shirt. He looked like a normal man, and not some trollish wizard with a propensity to crack his knuckles.

“If Aberforth has left some as to the identity of who is ordering these men to attack, it could be in Hogsmeade,” I heard Fannie say to Greg. Then to me: “Ashbrittle. My cottage is near the church, and that would be the place to begin following Aberforth’s path.”

I had my reservations on sending Greg outside the protections of Grimmauld Place, at least, not alone. He had been tracked in his effort to bring Fannie to the house. However, as I listened, Fannie mentioned Harry.

Harry had returned to Grimmauld Place only the hour before and was talking with Severus in the drawing room upstairs. After Fannie had talked to me, I felt as if I were being neatly pushed aside. I had yet to speak to Severus about the night before, or the revelation Fannie provided about the yew tree.

It was six o’clock, and I knew that if I were no longer of any notice to those in the house, I could slip out easily. I would Apparate from Grimmauld Square as close to Helston as I could manage. I had never been to the village before, but I had been to the Loe or as come called it, Loe Pool, as a girl during a summer vacation with my parents. It had been my parent’s idea to visit every county in Britain, and at times, I wished my parents would spend the money to take us to France every summer instead. As an adult, I was glad to have had the time with them.

I already had my cloak in my hand as I listened to Greg speak in a near whisper to Fannie. It was obvious that Greg was concerned for the old woman, and he would do whatever she asked. I wondered what had formed such an attachment.

Quietly, I moved from the door down the corridor, donning my cloak. I passed the terminus of the stairs in the near dark passage. Something caught me by the wrist and jerked me to a stop.

“Where are you going?”

Severus had asked the same question the day before, but this time, his voice was rougher. I turned to him, surprised that he was not in the drawing room, as I had believed.

“Out.”

I snatched my arm away, and continued.

“We need to talk,” Severus said a bit louder and I winced. I had hoped that I would leave the house unnoticed. I paused at the door, but did not turn.

“I agree. When I get back…”

I heard Severus make a sound, perhaps speaking, but I was already out the door onto the stoop. It was raining outside Number 12, and I pulled the cowl of my cloak up over my head. A late spring drizzle had soaked the Square, forming puddles on the street as I walked to the derelict arbor in the middle of the Square.

Drawing my wand, the world compressed around me, and when it was normalized, I was standing in freshwater. I was in Cornwall, and the sky was dark and overcast. I stood in the middle of a shallow breach of Loe Bar, the sea behind me, the Loe before me. Freshwater flowed over the ankles of my boots and I groaned. The drizzle in London was a steady rain in Cornwall.

I began walking. I headed northwest along the wet sand bar, toward Portleven. As darkness fell, I started to Apparate short distances, heading northeast popping into one field to the other. When I came to the edge of Helston, I started walking again.

I had to ask for directions with an old woman at a bus stop. The old woman did not seem too affronted by my dark clothes and cloak and pointed a gnarled finger down the street. I was on Coinagehell Street, only a few yards from the Blue Anchor Inn.

The Blue Anchor Inn was a stone building with blue trimmed windows and door. It seemed to be wedged between two more modern structures. Standing across the street, I could tell that most of the people I could see through the windows were local tourists visiting on the off-season. Shivering as a particularly cold wind swept under the cowl of my cloak, I crossed the empty street.

I ended up in a small parlour of sorts, after asking for ‘Parkinson’ with the publican. I was informed that I was ‘expected.’ I was surprised at the privacy, and the lack of noise from the other patrons. I was then asked if I wanted something to drink or eat by the publican, and I asked only for tea to which I received a curious glance.

I sat alone in the parlour at a small table with a lamp over my head, hanging from a beam in the ceiling. Tea was brought on a cheap porcelain service, and I waited. I had doffed my cloak, hanging it on a peg near the door. While I was alone, I stripped off my holster and dropped it in a pocket in my cloak, slipping my wand into my sleeve and out of sight of the Muggles in the pub.

I was not exactly sure how long I waited as there was no clock in the small room and I dared not draw my wand. I sipped my tea, and rolled my head on my sore shoulders.

The sound of the door shutting made me glance out of the corner of my eye. Standing behind the door was yet another face I had not seen in years.

Pansy Parkinson was dressed in a smart dress suit with an emerald pendant on the lapel. She wore a damp dark trench coat, holding a collapsible umbrella in her left hand. Upon her finger, I noticed, was a ring. I turned my face fully toward her, setting my teacup down.

“Parkinson,” I said in greeting.

Pansy nodded. She was still somewhat pug faced, but prettier after so many years. Her hair, although slightly damp, was coiffed in elegant, glossy black curls stacked atop her head. She looked like a professional, some executive of a prosperous company. I then realized that I did not know what Pansy Parkinson had become after Hogwarts.

She doffed her coat and hanged it next to my cloak, as well as the umbrella by the strap on the remaining peg, and moved to sit across from me, her hands folding upon the tabletop. Her dark blue eyes regarded me coolly.

“You look well, Granger,” Pansy started, but I raised my hand to stop her.

“Dispense with the pleasantries, Parkinson…”

Pansy’s face contorted and all traces of any sort of tolerance left her face.

“I don’t know why I’m doing this, I should have just…” she trailed, and then, strangely, rubbed her face with her hands. I watched her closely, studying her hands, her face. Pansy Parkinson was scared.

“You said it was urgent. It was your note, was it not?”

Pansy sighed and nodded, dropping her hands numbly on the table, jarring the tea service.

“I wrote it.”

I frowned as Pansy’s lips began to tremble.

“Professor Slughorn…” she trailed. “He’s dead because of me.”

I leaned back in my chair, crossing my arms before my chest. “He was in Cornwall to see you?”

Pansy nodded, and I could see tears in her eyes. “I was at my parents, getting things ready for the wedding…”

I eyed the ring again. It was a small diamond on a white gold band.

“You are marrying Ron,” I muttered.

Pansy nodded, and pulled a handkerchief from her sleeve to dab at her eyes. Then, I did something I would have never expected. I laughed. Pansy stared at me, gaping. I slapped a hand over my mouth to stifle my laughter, but it seemed to make it worse.

“He told me…” Pansy muttered. “He told me that you were insane, Granger, but I, being the stupid cow I am, thought better of you than that.”

My laughter stopped. We stared at each other for a long while, Pansy’s fear changing to anger, and my sudden burst of mirth changing to guilt.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered, and I meant it.

Pansy huffed. “It doesn’t matter. I’ll just say what I need to, and that will be the end of it. And it has nothing to do with Ron…”

I nodded.

“Professor Slughorn came to see me, the day before the Muggles found his body. He was frantic that I find you, go to you.

He did not speak long, and I could tell that he was anxious to leave. He told me that I needed to help him, and others. Professor Slughorn was so vague, so cryptic, that I had a hard time following him.

He kept squeezing my hands, telling me that I was a ‘watchtower.’”

I wanted to laugh, but all I could manage was a terrible choking noise. Pansy’s eyes narrowed at my reaction, and I began coughing. With tremulous hands, I poured myself some fresh tea and drank it down. I pressed a hand to my heart and cleared my throat.

“Do you know what he meant by that?” I asked finally.

Pansy blinked and then let her eyes fall to her ring.

“I do,” she whispered.

I felt my heart give a particularly hard beat under my hand.

“It was something my great-grandmother Selwyn told me in tales before bed. As far as tales go, it was interesting—Merlin, Avalon, the sisters, and Nimue.”

A shiver passed through me. How was it that Parkinson knew more than I? I sighed; she was a Pure-blood, that was why.

“The only Pure-blood watchtower not directly related to the Blacks,” Pansy mused. “My grandmother found it amusing, but she was related to the Malfoys in Wiltshire. She acted as a watchtower before Abraxas, before Horace…”

“You know then, the Knights?”

Pansy sighed. “Professor, no, Horace explained the connection. I had only ever thought that the ‘watchtower’ meant a descendant of the seven of nine—a guardian of Avalon, a honourary title, a myth.”

“And you wrote to me…” I began.

“Horace was adamant that I contact you, see you. Then, the Muggles found his body in the harbour…”

Pansy inhaled shakily.

“There was danger, he said first thing to me. He was being followed, the Knights were to assemble, the new generation summoned to act. The druid was in hiding, the bard had been dead for years, and the vates—Horace, he knew his life was in danger.”

“How did he know?” I asked, leaning forward in my chair.

Pansy sighed. “Men in black cloaks, Ministry types, had come asking around Hogsmeade, he said. Simple questions at first about the War, the Dark Lord, and any recollection he might have had about the Knights of Walpurgis. As you know, the Dark Lord tried to adopt the name for the Death Eaters.”

I nodded.

“Agents of the Department of Intelligence… Horace knew he was being watched and possibly followed.”

I frowned. “Did you see them?”

Pansy shook her head, sniffing mournfully. “No. Not at first…”

My eyes widened and I glanced to the door. “Explain,” I growled.

Pansy wiped her nose. “I saw them after the MLE had gone, first in London, then on an outing with my mother in Falmouth.”

I rose, and glided to the door. Outside I could hear the patrons and the clink of pint glasses.

“Being engaged to Ronald Weasley has taught me enough, Granger. I was not followed,” Pansy said with a sniff.

I sighed and turned away from the door. “You have your wand, I hope?”

Pansy acted as if I had offended her honour, and in attestation, she gracefully flicked her right arm and her wand slid into her hand. Her sour smirk nearly amused me.

“You’ll need to come with me, Parkinson,” I announced.

“What?”

I grabbed my cloak and twirled it onto my shoulders, not bothering to put my holster back on. I then grabbed Pansy’s coat and tossed it toward her.

“The last run-in I had with these agents nearly killed Lucius Malfoy. If we hadn’t gone to the Manor when we did, he surely would have died, and everything…everything would have been much worse than it is now,” I growled.

Pansy stood, her face unreadable, and slipped into her coat. I let my wand slip into my hand. We could Apparate right to Grimmauld Square from the parlour…

“I cannot go with you, to wherever…” Pansy began softly.

“Do you really understand anything you’ve just told me?” I asked incredulously.

Pansy’s face flushed. “I do, Granger.

I contacted you, as the Professor wished, I am obligated to no more…”

I took a step toward Pansy. I could grab her and go. However, before I could reach out my hand, Pansy’s wand was trained at my face.

“Enough, Granger. Before the Professor left, I spoke my mind. Fairy stories are one thing, but I’ll have no part of this madness.”

I opened my mouth to speak, but nothing came as Pansy continued.

“Ron and I are marrying in a week, my family’s honour will be restored, and I will continue the purity of my line.”

I closed my mouth to ground my teeth. I did not care a whit about Ron and his impending nuptials. I did not care if he had a happily ever after with Pansy Parkinson or not. All I cared about was putting the pieces together, finding who had killed Horace, finding Aberforth, and squashing the dreadful feeling that something terrible was going to happen.

“Come with me now, Parkinson, there are those who need to inform you…”

Suddenly, there was a terrible crash outside the door, and before I could turn, the door burst open. Pansy made a strange noise and I found myself flying across the room, slamming into the far wall. The impact dazed me, but I jumped up as three figures entered the room, all in black cloaks and with dull faces.

“Granger!” Pansy screeched as one man approached her, wand drawn.

I shook my head roughly after a Stunner whizzed past my face. I growled. Ron had never been very good with stealth and tracking, he had been a strategist working for the MLE. Pansy had been followed.

I could hear Muggles in the pub shouting, excitement when it should have been fear.

There were three in all, all who were unfamiliar. Things were moving too quickly, and my heart pounded. One man moved to cast at Pansy, another moved behind the caster. The third man stepped toward me, slapping my wand from my hand, his wand tip digging into my throat.

“No…” I groaned.

The wand was lifted, and I knew the movement. A Killing Curse.

As much as Pansy Parkinson rankled my nerves, as much as Ron Weasley had spoiled, and delighted, much of childhood and part of my adult life, I could not let an innocent woman die before my eyes.

The wand tip bruised my throat, and then it was gone. I stood before Pansy, just as the Curse was being cast, and I pushed. I pushed at the caster with both hands, anger turning my vision red. There had been enough killing, Horace was one too many.

I heard Pansy scream, but before my eyes, bright light blinded me. Fire engulfed the caster, the man who had tried to kill one of the watchtowers, a Knight by blood right. The caster fell away, his screams joining Pansy’s. The man behind him was trying to put the fire out with Freezing Charms, but the fire, a bloody red colour, hissed, and burned.

Pansy grabbed my arm even as I wordlessly Summoned my wand to my hand. The third man kicked over the table, the tea service crashing to the floor, overturning the chairs to get to me. I back stepped, shielding Pansy with my body as the odour of burning fabric and flesh assaulted my nose. I could hear Muggles shouting now, insisting something was burning and the fire brigade be called. I growled, angry, as the man who had slapped away my wand pressed Pansy and I back into the wall.

On the floor, the burning man’s screams became more pained. The second man was shouting for the third to act, but his words were lost in the screams, shouts, and the booming of my heartbeat in my ears.

“Hold tight,” I gasped out to Pansy whose fingers dug into my left arm.

I saw Grimmauld Square in my mind, blocking out the sight of flames and the unfamiliar man whose teeth were clenched under cruelly curled lips.

“Reducto!”

I Apparated with Pansy, I could feel her fingernails dug into my sleeve, tearing at the fabric and breaking on the weave of metal and dragon hide. The parlour in the Blue Anchor was gone, Pansy pressed into my side, and then, we were on the ground in the disused arbor in the middle of Grimmauld Square, rain pouring down upon us.

Pansy was sobbing, but she rose first, panicking as her eyes scanned the Square. I wanted to tell her to be quiet, to shut her stupid mouth lest the Muggles notice. I did not speak. I could not speak.

I was lying on my back, trying to catch my breath.

“Oh Merlin… Merlin!”

Pansy’s face filled my line of sight, rain dripping from her coiffed hair into my face. I wanted to slap her, somehow the swear of ‘Merlin’ seemed like a blasphemy. However, the way her face was contorted and the feel of her hands on my body made me wonder.

I felt sleepy even though the cold earth against my back was uncomfortable. I wanted to shut my eyes, to block Pansy’s face from my sight.

“Bloody hell,” I heard her mutter, and I wanted to laugh. It was Ron’s favourite swear, I wondered if she had picked it up from him.

I started to close my eyes, but a sharp slap on my cheek roused me.

“For fuckssake, Granger, stay awake!” Pansy screeched. “Where are we?”

I felt my jaw unhinge to answer, but again, my voice did not work.

“Shit… Shit!” Pansy wailed.

“Parkinson, move aside!”

Severus’ face replaced Pansy’s, and I smiled despite myself. Severus’ black, bottomless eyes glowed at he looked down at me. I was safe, Parkinson was safe, and I closed my eyes.

And I supposed I died.


End Part One



TBC...