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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 Two

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Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or affiliates. I am merely, humble FanFiction writer, and these stories bear me no profit, only immense satisfaction and something to fill my day.

A/N: Just a head's up. Yes, I have deleted the story, and am now re-posting as I fix plotholes that I had found after the millionth review of the chapters I have written so far. I apologize for the confusion.

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                “My Lord,” Severus knelt, his head down and his eyes fixed upon the parquet floors of Malfoy Manor. It had taken weeks, but he had finally been granted a private audience with the Dark Lord. The room was completely warded and void of the other followers in the Manor. His secret venture with Hermione Granger, Mudblood extraordinaire, would be revealed (even if it meant a tongue lashing from aforementioned Mudblood), and he was certain the Dark Lord would be pleased enough to spare the death sentence hanging over the woman’s head.

Hermione would have already been caught and murdered by now if Severus had not stashed her away in the depths of his family home in Spinner's End; all the while perfecting the experiment they had so tortuously been working together on for close to two years. It seemed surreal that they had finished so quickly, but he knew Hermione had been more than relieved once the last problem had been resolved. It seemed a pity that once Hermione went under the experiment, herself acting as the final test subject, she would be taking her intelligence and fleeing the UK. If this meeting worked out in her favor, Severus hoped to keep her in the Dark Lord’s ranks, close to him, for as long as he lived. He was too attached to let her slip through his fingers. He may be an intelligent man, but Severus Snape was also a greedy little boy, and he wanted Hermione Granger all to himself.

                While he waited for the Dark Lord to permit him to speak, Severus thought upon the idea that Hermione was tracing entire ancient family trees in her search to locate the deciding factors in wizarding DNA. Apparently, Hermione, with access to Muggle and magical family records, had been able to trace how the magical bloodlines that had inter-married for hundreds to thousands of years continued to produce Squib offspring, and how those Squib lines created so called “Muggleborns.” As well as tracing how much Fey and Veela heritage that had been intermingling with Pureblood wizarding lines since the First Century, she was also tracing the lines into Muggle lineage, hoping to find that she was related in some way to the magical community she had been invited into by Minerva McGonagall before the girl began Hogwarts. It was enough to keep her from bothering him in the underground cellar as he abducted Muggles and wizards to base his trials on. She was very close to finding what she sought, and Severus admired how nothing could hide from the woman, with that scrutinizing eye of hers.

                “Severus,” the Dark Lord hissed softly, “Stand and indulge me upon this bizarre request. What is so secret that my followers could not be present?”

                Standing, Severus gazed emotionless into the snake-like face of Voldemort, the visage irrelevant to him after so many years of service. He pulled the huge stack of parchments from the hidden pocket of his frock and stepped forward for the Dark Lord to examine, “I have been meeting with the Mudblood Granger, my Lord, just as you asked me to,” he cringed under the suspicious glare from those glowing red slits called eyes and chastised himself for his blatant show of weakness, “She has a brilliant mind, my Lord. She came up with the fundamental theory; I merely perfected the experiments through trials. She is more Slytherin than anyone could have imagined.”

                “What are her plans with all those ancient writings, Severus: To take me down on her own?” The Dark Lord would be suspicious of any Order member conspiring with his followers, Severus was well aware of that fact. “I believe I asked for you to seduce her to the Dark – not create experiments and test them using her as the guinea pig.”

                “We have used Muggles and Mudbloods, my Lord. She has yet to test her theories on herself,” he said plainly, “As for your offer, Master. You are aware that she has been persuaded to the Dark…but she is hesitant to join your ranks, Master. You told me of her power, of her potential, but I believe she may have drifted too far-”

                “Nonsense,” The Dark Lord eyed his follower, disbelieving of anything in relation to Potter’s Mudblood. “She has read and practiced with first-try accuracy, she has not murdered or torn her soul, nor has she – and she will never – achieve the feats that I, myself, have. She is powerful witch, a dark witch, but she will never travel far enough down the path to reach her full potential. Not without proper tutelage, my tutelage…”

                “But she has killed, my Lord,” Severus admitted, keeping his head bent and his eyes on the floor.

                The Dark Lord leaned forward, intrigued, and used the tip of his yew wand to lift Snape’s eyes to meet his Lord’s gaze, “She has committed murder, Severus? Whom did she kill?”

                “The Weasley brat, my Lord,” said Snape. “Ron Weasley – the one Yaxley was told to follow.”

                “And she killed him…why?”

                Severus steadied his breath, still disturbed at Hermione’s answer to the question he had posed weeks before, “She told me it was a better…decision than allowing him to live. She said…that he pounced about with a target on his back, she was only giving him what he was obviously asking for…”

                Voldemort withdrew his wand from the greasy-haired wizard’s chin and sat back in his chair to ponder Snape’s information. So, the Granger Mudblood had actually murdered someone – and not anyone, but her childhood friend, no less? It was positively alarming in witness to her previous character, let alone the short amount of time it had taken her to go from shining example of Light, to a formidable dark witch. He needed her under his control, or she could quite possibly bring another political upheaval to knock on his front door, so to speak. She was almost as intelligent as he, but she lacked the numbers to challenge him. Although, he could not dismiss her completely; no, she was far too valuable to let go. If only he could persuade her to join him, instead of standing against him. There must be some way to draw her in, a road he had not thought of to take? What all did he know about her, disregarding her Muggle life before she started her schooling at Hogwarts? Highly intelligent and logical, if not somewhat emotional at times; she had decoded Severus’ potion-riddle at the end of her First year, and then there had been her discovery of the Basilisk in the Chamber of Secrets in her Second year. She had aided Potter in the rescue of Sirius Black in her Third year, but she had used a Time Turner to achieve the…time turner…Time Turner! Time! According to Snape, she had made a duplicate of her Time Turner in Third year, and kept the original for emergency circumstances, but since her moral code had yet to allow her to meddle with time since – what had Snape told him? She had been modifying the Time Turner…experimenting on it. If he could push her into a situation to use it, if Severus ‘tripped’ or knocked into her at the right moment…she could be lost in time, in an era He, Lord Voldemort, was still a part of. Snape had said she had only managed to tamper with the Time Turner to achieve a total of fifty years backwards and forwards in time, could Snape even achieve to fool the girl? A Time Turner going back or forward that many years would grow red hot, most likely melt the glass phials that the sands are contained in – it could work. He would need to use his time wisely until then – he would need to send a message back to his younger self, with instructions, to ensure the Mudblood allied herself with him, and not to Dumbledore, the bloody old fool.

                Yes, this idea had potential, and as he divulged to Snape what would be required on his part, the dark Potions Master could only grin and nod his head. Lord Voldemort did not need to peek into the mind of Severus Snape to catch a glimmer of what had piqued the man’s interest in the plan. The Dark Lord could see by how willing the former Hogwarts Professor was to ‘chaperone’ the Mudblood in the past. Lord Voldemort did not care how Severus did it, or what the man gained by doing it, just as long as it was done and the Granger girl had a Dark Mark branded on her by the time she was able to return to the present…if she was able to return at all.

                “I have one more thing, my Lord,” Severus said, handing over a simple, unmarked letter on basic parchment. “Miss Granger asked me to bring this to you…”

                The Dark Lord took the proffered letter, opened it, and then read it. It took a few short seconds for his eyes to take in every word, but his red gaze kept returning to the way the Mudblood had addressed him:

                Dear Tom Riddle…

                “THAT MUDBLOOD WILL BE WITH YOU WHEN YOU ARE NEXT SUMMONED!” bellowed Voldemort, destroying the room in his fury as Severus Snape fled the room before his Master’s wand pointed directly at him.

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                …Jean-Paul Grenier, Pureblood wizard, married to Marie DeLacour, Veela and Seelie Fey hybrid (no wizarding contamination in twelve-hundred years). Three offspring born from union, one male heir, two twin females; Louis Grenier, Miranda and Adorabella Grenier. Grenier lineages have produced one Squib birth since 1589. Squib born, Philippe Grenier – adopted into Muggle family in England upon showing no signs of magical gift upon age 3. Ancestral Muggle familial name not given, Philippe Grenier name changed to Philip Granger. Granger line produced non-magical children until September 19, 1979 by union of Wendell and Monica Granger, Hermione Jean Granger. (Me).

                Hadrov and Fedorov lineages have been inter-marrying since 1942. Hadrov bloodline a mixture of Pureblood wizarding and UnSeelie Fey. Fedorov bloodline: Pure Veela. No wizarding contamination until 1901 – possible marriages into Russian Imperial bloodlines – Romanovs. Pureblood wizard / UnSeelie Fey hybrid line beginning with Aleksander Hadrov, born May 1, 1942. Marriage to Lydiya Fedorova (Pure Veela) on August 16, 1962. Two offspring born from union, two females, Lyssandra and Ophelia Hadrova; Pureblood wizarding, UnSeelie Fey, Veela hyrbrids.

                According to Bulgarian Ministry, Department of Magical Marriages and Bethrothals, Lyssandra remains unmarried. As of January 23, 1979, Ophelia Hadrova contracted betrothal and marriage to Louis Grenier, successful and financially beneficial to both Hadrov and Grenier familial bloodlines. Two offspring born of union, twin females, Helena and Hanna Grenier, heiresses to both family lines, titles of nobility in Muggle and Magical worlds in France and Bulgaria. First Seelie / UnSeelie hyrbrids in 2,000 years. First ever Pureblood wizarding / Seelie and UnSeelie / Veela hyrbrid offspring ever recorded in Europe and UK.

                Several Muggleborn families also related by Squibs born from Malfoy, Yaxley, Lestrange, and Black lines– Lily Evans (Muggleborn), Colin and Denis Creevey, brothers (Muggleborn), Monica Kensington (Muggle, married to Lawrence Granger, produced one magical child)...Will have to research more for Half-blood families (there should be more than substantial numbers of Muggleborn females marrying Half/Pure-blood males)...

                The information filled every page of the journal Hermione had handed over to Severus when he had returned from the private meeting with the Dark Lord. She had not been pleased by what the Professor had told the Dark Lord, and she had unleashed a furious tongue lashing on the wizard, suffocating him close to death by the weight of her power in the room, for his betrayal against her. It had gone against everything she had asked of him – ordered him – but he had still gone, making his allegiance to the Dark Lord complete, in her eyes. She had always known he would stay with Voldemort’s movement, since it was the side winning, at the moment. He was a turncoat, toeing the line between the two sides, playing both Dark and Light messenger, until there was a sole victor, and then Severus Snape would ally himself at the last possible moment to save his own neck. It was what Hermione would do, given that she actually had a choice. But she had more to think about than where Snape’s morals lay, and she turned back to the present moment, and what had the Professor so astonished.

Her findings had been extraordinary. Not only had she traced her own lineage to the Greniers, but she had also traced several other Muggleborn lines to the Greniers from marriages of daughters from the renamed Granger line. An entire book of family trees based from one Squib born in 1589, and several other Squib lines from most of the prominent Pureblood families of the present day. What she had uncovered would become the basis of where Muggleborn children came from, and it would help discover the exact genetic code where the magical core hid in each magical being’s body. Her research was flawless, well detailed and documented, with magical and Muggle birth records to back the information fully. More importantly, it provided the well-needed basis for Hermione to be able to discredit Pureblood supremacy values, which would wipe the sneers off of the Malfoy, Lestrange, and every other Pureblood, face that had ever called Hermione Granger, a ‘mudblood.’ The notion of being able to shove these discoveries into Lucius Malfoy’s obnoxious face was well worth the weeks spent bent over a table researching until the bones in her fingers screamed for relief.

                “Don't you see, Miss Granger?” the Professor waved the journal above wildly in his hand, “You've just proven that Pureblood families intermarrying created the Muggleborn gene!”

                “No one would accept that notion!” Hermione protested, “To Purebloods, like the Malfoys and the Lestranges, the family Squibs were killed by the age of three – no one looked into the fact that the graves were empty, or that the non-magical children were dumped at orphanages waiting to be adopted! They will never accept this theory because wizards don’t believe in paper trails!”

                “But you have the proof! You have the birth, adoption, and marriage licenses,” Snape explained, his glee unable to be contained, even if it sounded like a bored drawl, “He will be most pleased with this work. You are well solidifying your place in his ranks, and you haven't even been brought before him yet! Although you have managed to sign your name at the top of his ‘Torture List’ regarding whatever you wrote in that letter…”

                She looked well put-off and smug, there was no mistaking it. But all of Snape’s good intentions by speaking with the Dark Lord regarding her secret experimental ritual had truly ruined her mood. She could not even enjoy the thought of Lord Voldemort throwing a violent tantrum because she had addressed him by his given name. The research had been, at last, completed, the Dark Lord was beating down her door, metaphorically speaking, and she had finally finished uprooting the Lupins and Harry Potter. Creating new identities and backgrounds in the Muggle world were done via her innate gift for computer hacking, as well as memory charms, had gone quite far. All Severus knew was that Harry Potter was relatively happy pretending to be a Muggle, living somewhere in Wales with his girlfriend and her family, working as a primary school guidance counselor.

                As the Lupins went, all Hermione said on the matter was that they were quite happy with their new identities while permanently vacationing in the somewhere very warm and south of the Equator. It was secluded, and far enough to keep Remus from attacking anyone during the full moons, but close enough to the Wizarding markets for the family to interact with others in the wizarding community there. Wherever ‘there’ is, exactly…

                As for Ronald Weasley, she had been quite candid regarding the man’s fate. The Weasley brat was dead, by her own wand, and she had not regretted or showed any form of remorse regarding her former lover’s departure from life. She had spared no details, and even though the cold and emotionless story had chilled the Professor down to the bone, he had still remained aroused by the passionate way she had told him. He was certainly twisted, Hermione knew that, but she had not been ready to learn how certain things heated up the Professor’s skin in a flush, giving him the nerve to make passes and tease her with the slightest touches, before he withdrew and left whichever room she had been occupying at the time.

Hermione had been residing at Spinner's End for more than a month, and Severus had been quite aware of her presence, even several rooms away. He had taken to watching her through the veil of his hair, or from afar; the grace of her every movement, her poise as she studied book after book from his infinite library and the parchments he had slyly slid into his frock pockets while visiting Grenier Estate during a rather boring political Gala. Hermione had grown from a frizzy, bushy haired encyclopedia into a rather stunning swan, in his opinion. Her intellect at times seemed to surpass his own knowledge and he marveled late in the night, under the sheets of his rather old bed, how her intellect made her prettiness seem so natural. Her curls were still untamed, falling over her shoulders in soft frizzy waves of chestnut. Her skin was pale from time spent inside reading instead of soaking up sunlight, but smooth and flawless, sometimes breaking out into a rather attractive, peachy blush when she caught him staring. He spent many a night falling asleep with a cramp going up his arm from thinking of her far too much.

                The New Year and spring had long passed, and the end of October was fast approaching, as well as the date in which Severus was to use Hermione as the final test subject for her ritual, all before the Dark Lord could summon his followers. The Professor was required to bring Hermione forth to the next meeting, she knew that from Snape, but she was still affronted by the Dark Lord’s assumptions that she would be present. Maybe if he had asked nicely, or sent chocolates, to sweeten the request, she would have been more than happy to oblige. But to outright state that she would be there, well…that caused quite a spark of defiance and spitefulness in Hermione. She did not like being told what to do, not when she had realized her magical potential, and certainly not when she was basically a free agent, either taking sides, nor stating that she was neutral. The Dark Lord would do better to appease her more if he expected her to consider his offers.

                “Miss Granger, what is that solution to the physical to metaphysical ratio?” asked the Professor from across the sitting room. “If Immortality is achieved, yet one’s body does not expand to show the results of physical training, then how do you expect to keep the working magic inside the body? It would burst forth, like muscles ripping through a jumper…”

               Hermione looked up from her book, curled up by the small fireplace to gain some semblance of warmth in the cold, damp house. She would have rolled her eyes, had she felt that doing something so childish would ruin the credibility of her answer. She merely looked at him with her usual blank stare, “It’s all there in the notes, Professor – the magical core would be solidified into the genetic make-up of the blood, which would meld it into the actual body. If I were to sustain a rather fatal looking wound, even I lose half of my blood supply, it is written into the red and white blood cells…it would replicate itself, just like it would replicate and heal the wound.”

                “Magic cannot regenerate itself-”

                “Why not,” asked Hermione, setting down her book and preparing for another infamous debate between the Professor and herself over the limits of metaphysics. “It is all right there, in the research. The Nazareth scrolls prove my thesis, the Shang Dynasty wizards wrote down every viable piece of information regarding soul magic, and blood magic, and they succeeded in proving that magic has no limits as long as the intent is there to push the boundaries. An intelligent man, such as you, surely can see that as plain as day!”

                “It seems simply irresponsible,” said Snape. “Those ancient readings were pure theory, no one has ever been able to actually perform those rituals and live!”

                “I will!” Hermione snarled, pulling her power around her like a blanket before she lashed out at Snape in a magical/physical sense. “It worked on the Muggles you tested it on, and then on the wizarding subjects! It will work because you will…will it to work! It is all about intention and you will have the intent to make it succeed, or I will die.”

                “Hmph,” was all he supplied her with. He picked up his parchments and ignored her for the rest of the evening. Hermione was quite content with that, since she was fed up with his incessant questioning of her abilities. She had not dug down inside of her and pulled every last bit of power she had been born with just so Potions Masters could question her intelligence.

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                It was abnormally sunny day in the middle of November that found Hermione dressed in a simple white nightdress, basking and dancing in the warm sunshine and cool winds flowing through the decayed back yard of his ‘ancestral’ home. It was early afternoon, and after preparing the ritual grounds that morning, Severus Snape was obsessively watching the twenty-four year old woman take in the excitement of the day. Before the end of the day, Hermione Granger would be breaking all rules of magical theory, shattering the boundaries of Light and Dark magic, and be emerging as something unique and utterly indestructible. She would be obtaining Immortality – something the Dark Lord had yet to achieve without use of Horcruxes and damaging his soul beyond repair. It was something unfathomable to Severus. He longed to possess her, grow old with her, and die with her. She was his salvation from Lily, his last chance at happiness. Now she would remain forever young and full of energy, and he would wither and die alone. If he was honest with himself, he would only wish that she would come to her senses, but she was so far gone into the darkness now that fleeting glimpses at the witch she used to be were few and far between. He wished she would see him, truly see him, and just be content with what he had to offer; love.

After he performed the ritual for her that day, she would be pure power and intelligence – a formidable opponent to the Dark Lord. If Severus had it in him to deny her, he would simply botch the ritual before it could kill her, but he was too fond of her by now, too attached. If he could not have her as a moral witch, then perhaps he could have her in all of her immortal glory? He had readily agreed with what the Dark Lord had asked of him, in the hopes of having Hermione all to himself. She would have to rely on him if they were stuck in the past. The timeline was too important to meddle with, especially with such an enormous gap between past and present. Combined, they had the knowledge to keep events from being changed before they returned to their original time.

“Professor, come out here with me!” she called, waving at his presence in the window. “It feels amazing!”

His body tensed at the invitation, but he remained where he stood; inside and watching her from a distance.

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                Her adventure into the Professor’s enclosed back yard that afternoon had been a lift to the nervous weight she had woken up with that morning. Now, as she lay upon a cold stone altar in the middle of an elementally enhanced circle of rite, she felt that telltale thrill of the unknown overtake her. Nude and covered in small Arithmetic carvings to multiply the results by tenfold, Hermione was chilly while she watched the Professor continue the ritual she had been researching for the last two years. She wanted it done with and she wanted to rub it in his face that she was right. It was petty, but she wanted the satisfaction more than she had the desire to spare the man’s ego.

                At the moment, he was following the altered instructions regarding the soul, moving his wand over her nude form in intricate patterns, as the Shang Dynasty writings had described, and chanting. She could feel the low hum of magic running through her body, readying her for the only part of the ritual she was needed to perform herself. It tingled along her skin, leaving a warmth and dampness between her legs. It felt delicious, mingling with the two aspects of magic inside of her; the Light and the Dark. It reached down inside of her, caressing her inner being, with hot, electrifying awareness, and amplified each aspect before fusing them together in an explosion of power that escaped her body, blanketing the sky above in pure, uncontrolled magic. It lasted several long moments before the magic was called back to its vessel to vibrate through Hermione’s body, ready to be set free again.

Time passed slowly, but as the insatiable feelings running through her multiplied due to the Arithmetic equations and solutions carved into her body, which enhanced everything, erupted through her and she found herself far too busy holding back the low moans catching in her throat. By the time the Professor was finished ‘setting the stage’ for her to sacrifice herself, she was fully aroused and sweating in the cold night air. He placed the vial of muggle toxins, herbs whose sole purpose was to poison, and Hermione took it willingly, downing the contents quickly. Her body burst in tiny fireworks as the poison worked its way through her body, fusing with the soul magic already pulsing through her very core, and she slipped into seeming unconsciousness with a soft sigh.

She knew the Professor was finished when she gulped her first breaths after a shock melted her soul to her bones, to her skin, and to everything else in between, and her back arched to the heavens as she was brought back to life. He had performed the alterations to the blood rites before finishing the ritual, and the carvings in her skin had been healed by her own blood cells. It was a new beginning, and it enthralled her. She had done it – they had done it! The genetic sequences had been converted and imbibed with her magical essence, grounding her magical core in her very blood, tissues, skin and bones; it would be much more difficult to die from then on. She was immortal, her body indestructible, and it would never age. The side effects were pleasant, though most women might think them grave, Hermione reveled in the idea that she would never have to worry about menstrual cycles, nor fear a pregnancy. Ron and his family had been about procreation, but she had always been a major advocate for knowledge. She was not the mothering type, a herder, maybe, but never one to set aside her wants and needs for those of a child. She was frozen in time, forever twenty-four, and just as powerful as the day she had been born.

She had succeeded in breaking the boundaries that a millennia of wizarding beings had been too afraid of doing, and what Lord Voldemort had yet been able to achieve; she was Immortal. She shrieked joyously at the realization of her survival through the war, and the fact that losing her life was irrelevant from then onward. She was one step closer to being completely free of moral bonds…
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Remember November