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Remember November	By : brightneeBee Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Hermione/Voldemort Views: 8042 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

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Remember November

Chapter One

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor do I receive profit from writing using JK Rowling's characters.

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                “I hate this house…Don’t you think this house is small, Crookshanks?” She asked her furry orange companion, while she ran her fingers through the cat’s thick coat. Hermione scoffed at herself, “Merlin’s beard! I’m having long conversations with my cat – I am that deprived of social interaction!”

                She continued to pet her fluffy friend as she ranted in her boredom induced irritation. “I mean…Okay, look at this house! Look at this house, Crooks! Look at the spotless floors and surfaces! Look at the organized shelves and all around cleanliness of it! It only took me an hour to clean the entire house by hand! That was at eight ‘o’ clock this morning! It’s only a quarter after nine, and I have nothing left to do other than wait around for something to happen!”

                Hermione stood, staring out the sitting room window at the beautiful view of the backyard. She remembered when the Order had moved Ron and her to the small cottage; in the middle of the dense Forest of Dean, where the trees thinned out and disappeared into a beautiful meadow filled with lavender and daisies and alyssum blossoms, secluded and off the Ministry's radar. It was a safe-house, mainly to keep Hermione from being captured by Death Eaters, and several other Order members who could no longer be seen by the Magical population – not with posters advertising rewards for most of the Order of the Phoenix’s capture.

                Ron, of course, had begun considering it as their home, even if there were three other people residing in the house, as well. As though Hermione would be staying once (if) the war ever ended in the Order's favor. Even if Tom Riddle won, Hermione would be transfiguring herself and buying a plane ticket out of Britain, Doesn't seem like an entirely bad idea right now.

                “Four years, Crooks,” she sighed, turning her back to the window, “Four years in this prison with a man I despise...Of course, I've come to despise the entire Order, as of late, but at least they don't talk about me like I'm a piece of chattel; a prized choice of breeding stock.”

                She gazed at the backyard, at the beautiful flower and vegetable gardens. She remembered the first months after arriving at the safe-house; gardening with Remus while Tonks entertained their son, Teddy, by making funny faces. Hermione knew the cottage wasn't as small as she complained it to be, but it felt tiny compared to Grimmauld Place and the Burrow where there were rooms to hide in, space to breathe. Yes, she had space if she left the house, but there was always so much research to be done. No one else knew of the task at hand, not even Ron. No, this idea had been hatched between Professor Snape and herself. Hermione was no fool; it would be another stroke of luck if Harry defeated the Dark Lord, permanently. She had had more than several conferences with the Professor, in secret of course, about the Potions Master's allegiances. More importantly, Hermione had read over the reports Snape had brought to her, along with his progress in the experiment. It seemed the Dark Lord, with the backing of his Pureblooded followers, planned to better the Magical community, instead of ruin everything the Ministry of Magic and Statutes of Secrecy had built thus far. From Professor Snape's notes, Hermione could see why Voldemort gained more followers with each passing day. Her only problems stopping her from jumping ship were quite simple: Harry, and the fact that she was Muggleborn. She sighed, watching Remus and Tonks play with their son in the flower garden.

                She remembered the night of the Battle of Hogwarts, how chaotic and unorganized both sides had been. It had been a realization to her, seeing how outnumbered the Order was compared to the Dark Lord and his Death Eaters. They had been lucky to get Harry out before everything was lost. Now Harry was so deep in hiding, freed from the piece of Voldemort's soul, both adversaries weakened, and Hermione hadn't heard from her friend or the rest of the Order for quite some time. She certainly hadn't heard from Harry since the Battle of Hogwarts.

                With Voldemort now running the Ministry of Magic, Harry was untouchable to anyone that mattered to him, and Hermione had been confined to the cottage, unable to leave.

“It is just so tiny, Crooks! I feel claustrophobic stuck in this house, day after day! We rarely get visitors anymore! I am so bored with doing nothing every day! It’s been ages since I received a visit from Professor Snape…I don’t even know where Harry is or what he is doing…”

Ginny and Fleur were not able to come by, save for rare occasions; Ginny was in hiding now, as well, living in Brussels somewhere veiled in the way of muggle culture and living. Bill and Fleur had added extra security to their home, Shell Cottage, now that they had children together; two beautiful little girls, Victoire, three, and Dominique, two, and a one year old son, Louis. How Hermione longed to spend time with Dominique and Victoire, and coo over Louis and his pale blonde hair. She fingered the cubby holding the paints and other art supplies she and the girls used. She missed those two. If she did not survive this war, she would regret the fact that she would never see her nieces and nephews again.

George lived in the same neighborhood, with Fred who did not die during the Battle of Hogwarts, but only slipped into a coma for a very long while. With the care of Hermione and the detested Potions Master, Fred finally awakened…and then begged to be killed once he was informed of the Dark Lord's small victory.

Not one to sit in a house with Hermione and her short temper, Ron had taken to disguising himself to traipse about the pubs in the nearby villages, never caring that he could be caught and killed. He usually came back to the safe-house when he felt like it, always reeking of cheap perfume and booze, with lipstick smeared over his face and neck.

Hermione sighed, “I just want more than this life, Crookshanks! I need this venture to work…I need to have an advantage – I need to be able to survive-”

Her rant was interrupted by a distinct knock at the front door, causing her to get excited and rush to the front of the house, pausing in front of a mirror to smooth down flyaway frizz from her loose hanging curls. She consciously strived to be as put together as her untamable hair and plain appearance allowed her to be. It did not matter as much to her, but the more smoothed down her wild hair was, the more teasing of a hint of cleavage from her jumpers all worked in her favor to loosen the Professor’s tongue just a little more easily. She found she drove a very delicious satisfaction from their meetings, even if very little happened, sometimes.

She peeked through the peep hole in the door, before opening it to a very tall, blonde, and European man. “Just come in, up the stairs and first door on your left. Remus and Tonks are in the backyard.”

The man sniffed the air, entered the house, his body sliding against the front of Hermione to get past, even if there was enough room for him to walk by easily. The blatant flirtation the Professor, under his disguise, never failed to rev Hermione's engine, even if it was with the snarky, rather rude Death Eater spy. She may have wanted to take him, if only to feel like she was living a little, but she never assumed it would go past heavy flirtations and light petting. It gave her something to look forward to, and it ensured that he would continue to pass along reports on Voldemort's latest improvements within the Ministry under the Thicknesse administration, and further progress on the experiment. He seemed so close to a breakthrough during his previous visit, and she was counting on him.

Up the stairs in her private bedroom, he was able to drop the facade and revert to his original form. He pushed her against the bedroom door, and with his hand firmly planted against the wall beside her head, she could feel his heart beating through his expensive black suit and his breath sifting over her face. Her blood boiled with want as his spare hand turned her face to the side, and he took the moment to trail his fingers along her dainty neck. He knew he could never have her while she was trapped in the cottage with Weasley, but the no-good-carrot-top was never home when he dropped in with news of the Death Eaters and reports on his experiments. He knew Hermione was the only chance, the only brain, besides his, that could help take down Voldemort from the shadows, and she knew he wanted her, but she was too focused on everything else to even consider the almost kisses when he was there.

“Listen very carefully, Miss Granger…” He always started with this, and it always set the mood for Hermione, and he knew this. Acting like her Professor always aroused her, and kept her mind on the hand now sliding up the outside of her bare thigh. “The Dark Lord is closing in on Potter. I have kept them off his trail this long, but I cannot keep him safe and off the radar forever without my presence being noticed. He needs to go into a different form of hiding, somewhere the Death Eaters would never think to look…”

Hermione could hear her own breathing, her heart was pounding, and she felt excited and alive again, “I don't even know where he is...” Why did he always have to put his mouth against her ear and breathe down her neck? It was so distracting, and it was so difficult to push through it and think correctly, “Perhaps some tea?”

“After you,” he stepped away, giving her room to move easily to the small desk pushed up against the far right wall next to her wardrobe. He watched her flick her wand and the desk scraped forward to settle between the two wooden chairs, a tea tray popping into existence. There was already tea steaming in the pot.

Once both of them were respectively seated on opposites of the desk, Hermione began preparing the tea cups. “Your usual?” She asked, beginning to pour the Earl Grey.

Professor Snape settled in, took his cup of Grey with just a lemon wedge, and waited for Hermione to make the suggestion he knew she was about to bother him with. He watched her under a thin row of black lashes, and waited. Every move was graceful and elegant, even if she didn’t even notice herself; he reveled in his thoughts, ‘I cannot keep living on day dreams about her writhing in pleasure underneath me, no matter how real they might feel…Hopefully, soon...'

He was brought back from his musing by a delicate sigh from across the coffee table. His eyes focused and asserted Hermione gazing at him from above her tea cup. “So, what is your suggestion, Ms. Granger?”

“Muggles,” she said simply, thinking of Fred and George and Ginny. “We could move him into Brussels with Ginny, change his identity – his face, his hair, and cover the scar. He would have a freedom that he does not have in seclusion, like he is in now. Fred, George, and Ginny, they will keep him safe, monitor him.”

“Interesting idea, Miss Granger,” the Potions Master stated in a crisp and cold tone, “How do you plan we do that? Potter still distrusts me, and as the Weasleys have turned on you, so has Potter…”

There, it was done. A small challenge to her allegiances, and she would be mulling it over for days. It was a waiting game for him at that point. He was a patient man and he could wait as long as it took.

Hermione’s resolve turned to stone, showing nothing, her eyes were completely blank, “If you finished with the experiment then I would not have to worry about such a problem. Are there any other bits on the Dark Lord?” She took another sip from her tea.

Humph, Severus thought, and then shrugged off the feeling of disappointment; he had obviously trained her well. Instead, he continued to watch her talk, entranced by the supple pink lips. ‘I would change the world to taste her lips. If only I could kiss her…Merlin, just once! I imagine they would taste sweeter than Lily...’

He decided to lead into the heavier information he knew she would be passing along, “I have already told Potter this, so the grapevine is severely short for you now…” He paused to look out of the large bay windows before continuing, “The Dark Lord is closing in on the Weasleys, most notably Ronald, since he is out in the open every single day –“

                “– and night. Yes, I know,” Hermione set her cup down. She cleared her throat, attempting to keep perverse thoughts of her Potions Professor from her mind. Anger was always present when Ron was involved, which was usually a perfect way to run the seductive images of Professor Snape from her mind. “But…He brings it on himself. I know that he transfigures himself and goes off drinking every damn day into a stupor. I know these things...Professor. I know! He is Death Eater bait, he is a drunk…I try to help him, and he takes offense, runs off while leaving me here, locked up in this house like a prisoner because I have the sense to stay hidden. So, yes…Please…tell me something I do not know.”

                “Yaxley has been most impressive with his tracking of Weasley these last few weeks. In three days, the Death Eaters will have broken the wards the Order so exquisitely placed around this cottage with the hope of killing Weasley and capturing you. Lupin's little family will need to be moved, and Weasley and yourself will need to separate if you have any chance of surviving before I can complete the last trials of the experiment...They plan to torture you until you give up Potter. What use will you be, Hermione? Dead, you would be useless! Alive, you will help end this war!”

                Hermione smirked, “Do as you must, Professor Snape. I told you in confidence that if I could, I would make a decision about allegiances, but I cannot give you an answer just yet…Regarding Yaxley’s abilities with ward-breaking – I doubt he would be able to break all of the extra security measures I placed after the Order dumped me here.”

                Severus Snape cocked his head to the side, the long ebony locks falling over his shoulder. He was confused, and Hermione derived sweet satisfaction when he showed his confusion. She continued, “They do not know the exact location, or the name of this place…thus, they will never break in, or see it from the outside. Do you know why that is, Professor?” She stressed, gleaming at him from over the rim of her teacup.

                Severus gave a big sigh, and conceited his defeat, “No…please, enlighten me.”

                Hermione smirked again, “Because I made you Secret-Keeper.”

                She smiled, almost evilly, while she watched his face produce a look of horror, then denial, and then rage. “YOU DID WHAT?!” His fist slammed down upon the coffee table.

                “I made you Secret-Keeper, Professor. You are the only person I know that can keep a secret, even under extreme torture and threat of death. I am not basing this on Dumbledore’s opinion of you, and his respect for you. I am basing this on my experience and observations of you. You are one of the few people I can trust.”

                “YOU MADE ME SECRET-KEEPER…WITHOUT…MY…APPROVAL, GRANGER!”

                Hermione laughed, leaning forward to touch the fist that was still trembling on top of the desk. Her touch halted his rage, causing him to stare down at the delicate and soft hand caressing his masculine hand. Her touch sent flames up his arm to spread through his body. Lust was ignited in him, and he worked hard to squelch the desire. If it grew into the wildfire he knew it could, he was not sure he could be held responsible for his actions. He withdrew his hand quickly, startling Hermione. Her hand retreated close to her chest, insecure and unsure if it was because she touched him, or if he did not want her touching him.

                “It was just a Fidelius Charm, but I apologize,” said Hermione. “I didn’t mean to violate your personal space. I’ll try to refrain…”

                He cleared his throat, “Regarding the experiment,” he proceeded, as if nothing had transpired between them, “I am almost finished...I brought you the theories and steps, the results from the last trial, if you wish to look it over?”

                “I would very much like to see where we are,” Hermione set her tea down, reaching for the parchments the spy pulled from his inside his frock. She leaned back to read his findings as he watched in silence, prepared to answer any questions she may have had.

                The results were phenomenal, and Hermione could barely contain her glee while she continued to read on. Trials had shown the importance of willing sacrifices along with the way in which the sacrifice had to be made. It was pertinent in the Professor's results that the participant needed to be willing with no use of magical influences, it was basically suicide, but it was necessary. It was an experiment created from altering several ancient healing rituals; combining soul magic theories from the Shang Dynasty and scrolls from a collapsed cave in what used to be Nazareth, and handwritten tomes from before the year nine Anno Domini found scattered all over the globe. Reading over the refined notes that Snape had written, Hermione almost shrieked in excitement. With more trials on Muggle specimens, they would be well on their way to starting the work on solidifying magical cores into the bloodstream, and melding the soul into the body, permanently, with Arithmetic equations to boost the power source that would keep her alive. If they succeeded, Hermione would have achieved something that the Dark Lord had never been able to: Immortality. Willingly sacrificing herself for the Greater Good in the most obvious of ways, to be brought back from the dead…it had been a brilliant idea when she had been thinking just about creating a ‘thicker skin’ so to speak, but the possibilities that the Professor had uncovered were astronomically more beneficial. Hermione may have fallen far into the Dark Arts, but she had drawn the line at seeking power for personal gain, but by going through with this hybrid ritual, for it to be done on her, she would become a weapon upon herself – it would ensure that she survive whatever needed to be done. With the proper training afterward, she would be indestructible! All because of one idea and the Professor’s constant searching around the world for the information she needed.

Yes, she had kept Professor Snape extremely busy during his rejoining of Voldemort’s ranks. In fact, he had been lucky that the Dark Lord had taken him back into the folds, at all. But Hermione was certain the Potions Master’s closeness to Harry Potter’s encyclopedia had something to do with it. She could not blame the Professor for using her as leverage for his own life. Anything that kept him alive as long as she needed him would work in her favor, eventually. And indeed it had, it had worked out incredibly well for her.

“Why didn’t you write your thoughts regarding the Nazareth scrolls?” asked Hermione, looking up from the parchments.

                Severus sneered, “I am just the development department, Miss Granger, not the sole person executing this type of ritual, nor am I the one researching the fundamental theories perfecting this experiment, you are.”

                “Very well,” Hermione nodded, glaring at the parchments, “When I leave this house, where am I to go? I can hide myself pretty well, but it would complicate our work if you were unable to find me…”

                He could only smirk at her from over his tea, shaking his head before he finished his sip, “I have that covered, do not worry.”

                Hermione only nodded, knowing better than to even think of asking how, “When do you imagine you'll be finished with these trials? If I'm to send the Lupins and Ron on their ways, and myself to be chased down by the Dark Lord's followers...I need to know how long I will be on the run before we can proceed. You know I'm done with the Order. The Dark Lord is doing more good than bad in the public eye, and if the only thing signing my death warrant is my blood status then I need to find something to bargain with. As it is, I would prefer to be able to travel and take in as much knowledge as possible, without a Death Eater hunting me down everywhere I go.”

                The room was silent for quite some time as the sour Potions Master gazed at her from across the desk. Since they had begun the secret meetings under the pretense of him handing over information for the Order to her, Severus had yet to learn what had caused the girl's – woman, he corrected himself – the woman's change of heart when it came to whose side to fight on. He only knew she was impressed by the Dark Lord's work, besides the propaganda against Muggleborns, and disgusted with the Order's utter chaos and lack of organization or power structure after Dumbledore had died. Severus was only aware that she was not willing to give up Harry, no matter that he refused to speak with her, and she was now more obsessed with the Dark Arts than even he, Snape, had been in his youth. She would willingly serve up every member of the Order to the Dark Lord on a silver platter, except Harry Potter, in order to keep herself alive. This, above all else, puzzled him. Gone was the fearless, proud Muggleborn prepared to fight to the death for Dumbledore and his precious Order of the Phoenix. The woman that sat before him was practical, valuing her life more than anything else, and surrounded in an aura of extreme darkness. She was more like the Dark Lord than anyone would care to admit. It was one thing that Severus could agree with Dumbledore on, that the school sorted too early.

                “What if I captured you,” Severus suggested, “or brought you to the Dark Lord as a willing betrayer of Harry Potter?”

                “I’m not sure if I want to be his follower, Professor…I would much rather go off on my own to find what I seek…Besides, my blood status would make me a target by every single Death Eater of his,” she said, attempting to follow his train of thought.

                “What if we faked adoption records? There must be some way to legitimately say you are a Pureblood – or a half-blood,” he challenged, “You are more than accomplished with memory charms and computer hacking, Miss Granger...why not put it to the ultimate test? I know of every orphaned -”

                “No, Professor, I will not agree to any of this until I decide on what I want to do,” Hermione stated sternly, “Why can’t we just perfect the ritual, and then I can decide what I will do next?”

                “Because you don’t have the luxury of time, Miss Granger,” said Snape. “I am sorry, but I need an answer for the Dark Lord. He wants to collect you…though he will not tell me for what purpose…he is desperate for the scrolls of Nazareth, and the theories from the Shang Dynasty – and he knows you have them!”

                Hermione glared, “I will not be forced into a decision, Professor – especially, not by him. He can wait, or he can come for me on his own. I would not decline a civil meeting, but I refuse to be pressured into following him because he is unnerved by the surge in my power…just because it took him twenty years when I breezed through the Dark Arts in a mere three year span,” she grumbled, rolling her eyes and gazing across the room to the window. “I ally myself with no one but you, at this moment in time. If he proves himself to be trustworthy enough to meet, I will give him all the information after we are finished with my experimental ritual. I would not put it past him to take all the information I carry and then kill me. I would like to have an advantage over his mortal body.”

                “Very well,” Snape bit out, looking quite ruffled under the feathers. “I am not your minion, Miss Granger – nor am I your personal owl-”

                A suffocating pressure cut off the Professor mid-sentence, as Hermione’s irritation levels reached their peaks. Delicate wisps of crackling, statically charged black smoke rolled off of her skin in dainty tendrils weaving through the air between the two beings, twisting around the Professor’s throat and clenching down on his Adam’s apple. He had yet to be on the receiving end of her acutely controlled power, and the fact that she was holding back exponentially made him wonder as to how far she really had fallen into the Darkness of her own self? It made him wary to see how she could change her aura from Light to Dark, as fast and simple as one could flip a switch, but to feel a fraction of the strength she had unleashed inside of her, all the power she had been born with and had simply locked up to keep her friends safe…It was terrifying, but he would not allow her the satisfaction by showing her how frightening, or arousing, to him she had become. No, he had survived under the Dark Lord; he could certainly hide his caution from a little witch.

                “I understand your aggravation, Professor,” she smiled, alleviating some of the pressure off of his windpipe, “but you are under the assumption that I will do as you, or anyone else, asks. I am not the naïve little girl any longer. I may have been trapped in this house for the past four years, but I am just as deadly as the Dark Lord – and just as intelligent…I will not be fooled.”

                “Miss Granger,” stated the Professor. “I will do what I can, but you cannot keep eluding the Dark Lord for long. He will be less understanding if you continue to play these games with him – I refuse to be on the end of another Cruciatus Curse because you refuse to give him an answer!”

                She withdrew her presence quickly before exuding an aura of calm and warmth – a useful trick she had mastered from the written teachings of an ancient Sorceress in Greece. It would leave the Professor less stressed until he left the safe-house. She summoned a plain parchment letter and handed it to him, “Just deliver this to the Dark Lord, Professor. I cannot guarantee that it will persuade him from taking his frustrations out on you, but it will placate him enough to hopefully consider the option of choosing someone else for his torture practice. Is there anything else that I need to know?”

                “No, Miss Granger,” he answered, pocketing the letter. “I will be back tomorrow at midnight to collect you, and you will be moved to my home on Spinner’s End. No one will come looking for you there.”

                She nodded her head in agreement, “That leaves me twenty-four hours to relocate Remus and his family, and decide on what to do about Ron…You will take care of Harry?”

                “Yes.”

                “Good,” said Hermione, getting up from her seat. “I will show out you, Professor…”

                He reinstated his Transfigured disguise, standing tall as a blonde Scandinavian wizard, once more. He slid past Hermione down the stairs to the front door, stealing feather-light touches of her smooth skin, before slipping out of the house as the witch turned to face the bemused Lupin family with a look of grim offerings. She offered no coddling behavior, no warmth when she spoke, it was all cold and crisp, and her tone caused Remus to flinch.

                “Pack your things,” she said matter-of-factly, “He’s closing in on us. I need to move you tonight.”

                As Remus and Tonks tore up the stairs to their rooms, Teddy bouncing in the werewolf’s arms, Hermione set to packing her own things quickly, securing her research in her beaded bag, before settling in the sitting room and tapping her wand against her thigh while she decided what to do about Ronald Weasley. Several ideas flitted through her mind, some with too many complications, others that appeased to her darker nature. In the end, her lust for revenge won out, and her decision was made by the time Remus and his small family came back down from upstairs.
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Remember November