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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 Three

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Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor do I earn profit from writing this story.

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                The weeks passing Hermione’s transformation from normal, bookworm to radical liberator of magical boundaries and limits was spent doing an inordinate amount of time consuming activities. Waiting, waiting, waiting for the Dark Lord to summon Snape was extremely beneficial for her. It gave her the time for physical training and dueling with the Professor, reading anything that could be pulled down from the top shelves of Snape’s personal library, and adding the finishing touches on her genealogical research regarding the magical and Muggle ancestral lines, and the blurring of said family trees. To Hermione, time seemed boundless. There were no ends in sight. The road before was infinite and full of potential and it was difficult for her to ponder just one new project at a time. Where to start? When to begin? How long would it take? Time was no longer a problem – she had eternity!

                During brief moments in between blocking an attack from Snape and sending a defensive spell, Hermione wondered why the Professor seemed to melancholy. Ever since the ritual he had been – for lack of a better phrase – downright nasty to her. Could it have been during the conversation just the other night? He had inquired about what she would do if she found love. Hermione had been befuddled, since love was a mistaken notion. She could not love a person. How could she? She had longed for Ron Weasley for so long, and he had gone off with other witches. It had been a school girl crush, but not love. No, certainly not love. It was all a chemical reaction in the brain; mere hormones and synapses firing off, a pheromone response that fooled the more ignorant into believing they were “in love.” But it was not real, it couldn’t be. So, Hermione had shrugged it off, giving a logical response to her disbelief in such notions. It was a better explanation than admitting that Ron had left her broken hearted, and she refused to feel such pain again. Instead, she would love books and learning; a book could never break a heart, a person could.

                It was the end of November when Hermione noticed the attitude in which the Professor interacted with her. He withdrew from conversations early, but more noticeably he had reverted to the teacher/student dynamic. He became cruel in his remarks to her to the point it was bordering intolerable. How could she possibly understand what his problem was when he refused to tell her? “Intolerable chit.” “Insufferable know-it-all.” “Muggleborn plague!” Every utterance cut her down, but she declined to rise to his bait. He could be angry at her all he wanted, but his words meant nothing when he asked that she remain at Spinner’s End. It was a clue behind the reason why he was so insufferable himself. He loved her and she could not reciprocate such feelings. It took a few weeks, but she had finally figured it out. While she read late at night once he had gone off to bed, Hermione had attempted to understand the psychology of the incomprehensible Severus Snape. The only logical explanation she could come up with was that the lonely man had assumed she felt the same; that her flirtations through the last five years had been more than just shallow attraction. A man that showed her more attention than Ron ever had, of course she was going to participate in playful banter and simple teasing. Perhaps he had become too attached to her? She knew that he had clung to Harry’s mother, Lily; years at Hogwarts, or even before that, pining for her, loving from a distance. Just as he had been doing for the past three years with Hermione – it all seemed plausible. She wished she could return the feelings, redeem him, making him happy, but she could not. It wasn’t in her nature any more. She had changed too much, done too much, and she just was not the naïve and carefree witch she used to be. She was cloaked in dark power, it was wrapped around her like fine silk, and she reveled in the fact that it was so warm and cozy here in her new life. No, there was nothing she could do for Severus Snape, other than ignore the fact that he was in a perpetual bad mood.

Yes, the Professor was a good man; there was no denying that. He was intelligent, his personality quite rough, and he was not the best looking of the male species. She remembered the thrill that would run through her during the years spent in the safe-house. He would press against her, slide past her, cop a feel when he could, and she had always enjoyed the feeling. Back then she would have gladly taken him to bed. Nothing would have aroused her more than to shag Severus Snape and force Ron to listen for an entire night – or several nights. But Ron was gone now – she had killed him without a single regret. She could still sleep with the Professor, but she doubted he could satisfy her. Ron never had when they had been together. Any orgasm she achieved had been by her own fingers and she would rather avoid the awkwardness afterwards when Snape failed to fulfill her desires. It was simply not worth it to her at the moment. Maybe in the future, who knew?

Closing Relative Similarities Between Arithmancy And Muggle Mathmetics, Hermione sat in her dilapidated chair near the small fireplace and listened to the constant creaks of Spinner’s End. It was so old and neglected. The floors had been covered in a thick layer of dust since she arrived – since before she arrived, actually – and cobwebs linked walls to bookshelves to other walls. The color scheme was dark and depressing with ancient brown paint and old woods. More than once she had questioned whether the house had ever been cleaned in the last ten to twenty years. Probably not, she mused. Still, it was a cold house, cruel and meant for someone of a more…astute personality. Hermione desired a broader color scheme, warmth that translated to more than just a temperature, and just a general sense of “home.” She wanted to be at her parents’ house. She wanted to lounge on the furniture in the sitting room and bask in the cool light that flooded in through the many windows. Instead she was stuck in Spinner’s End, hunted by the Dark Lord’s followers with a bounty on her head, with candlelight and dust. She had books, yes, but she needed more than books. It was boring if she wasn’t suffering under the Professor’s temper. Dueling against him was a testament to how much she still had to learn. Of course, she had absorbed entire libraries in just a few short years, but there was a larger age gap between the Dark Lord and her. He had fifty more years of knowledge and experience over her; and Snape had over twenty years, tops. How was she to compete against those numbers?

                There were sudden crashes from under the floorboards, down below in the Professor’s personal laboratory. A grunt followed the noises, and before Hermione could turn her head Snape was already throwing the door in the floor open.

                “Get up, Miss Granger,” the Professor barked, rushing through the “reading room” towards the stairs. “I’ve been summoned!”

                With a sigh, Hermione followed suit. In her room, she pulled out her beaded bag – hidden under a warded floorboard – and rummaged through until she found her periwinkle dress robes from the Yule Ball all those years ago. She laid them out on her small single mattress and transfigured them as best she could with no clear idea of what she was expected to wear. Days ago, the Professor had described vaguely what female Death Eaters wore, but that Hermione would not be expected to wear such apparel since she was not a follower of the Dark Lord. It basically left her with whatever she fancied. Taking conservative, pure-blood society into consideration, Hermione transfigured her periwinkle robes into a lovely silver hue, with undertones of ivory, and transformed the skirt length and design to something more classic. The idea in her head came to life, and Hermione was very proud of the 1950s style dress with matching robes lined in black. The line across her chest would cover just below her collarbone and skim over her skin, just barely on her shoulders. The dress was high-waisted, but flowed out in the time period type, stopping just around her knees. She turned her attention to her shoes and transfigured them to match; silver-satin flats, no heel, with a simple metallic-fabric flower, very small, but it set the tone – the more innocent she appeared, the better. As for her hair, she gave up before she began to try. With a swish of her wand she summoned several bobby-pins and began pulling her bushy hair into a tight bun at the base of her neck. She applied a temporary Sticking Charm to the pins and hoped that her hair would surrender to magic for the night, but she would not hold her breath. Her hair had a mind of its own at times, and she had never cared enough to find more permanent solutions to frizz and untamable volume. The finishing touch was her altered Time Turner tucked securely underneath the front of her dress, trapped between her scarred breasts.

                Descending the stairs, she pulled her simple black cloak over her shoulders and threw the hood up to hide her identity. She took the Professor’s arm at the bottom of the stairs and allowed him to escort her from the house into the backyard. He pulled her along through the squeezing sensation of Disapparition and disentangled himself of her upon arrival at the destination. The Professor strode away from her and she followed as she took in her surroundings. It was dark, just after twilight, but the stars were crystal clear in the sky above. The air was cold and crisp on the hilltop they had appeared on, and there was a breeze flowing around her, down the dip and into the cluster of trees at the base of the hill. Her cloak and skirt flapped around her knees while she held tight onto her hood as she looked back up to the sky. It looked exactly the same as the night she let go of mortality. She regretted losing the ability to grow old, to experience certain milestones that the Professor and her schoolmates would in years to come. Deep down, if there had been a way to imbibe her body with the strength to push through a duel practically unscathed, without the immortality that came with it, she would have been far happier with the result. As it were, she could only look at the positives and take comfort in the thought that she understood the only way to end her life without proficient difficulty.

The eccentric thrum of magic in the air was hostile and ever reaching, searching for something but never finding whatever was looking for. It reacted to her own flowing magic in a pleasurable tango, attempting to pull it further from her. It beckoned to her, called her forth, but she pulled her tentative tendrils back to her and created an aura of goodness around her to cloak the Dark Lord’s menacing feelers hovering in the air. She followed the path that Snape had taken, and proceeded through the path that the Professor had taken. Down to the edge of the forest, she sent a small ball of Blue Bell Flames up ahead of her, before she pulled in her magic and closed off her mind completely. She only had to focus on the flames providing her light, keeping her clothes from catching on any of the branches and brush of the woods, and where the Dark Lord’s magic was leading her.

It was curious to Hermione how familiar Lord Voldemort’s power felt to her. It was blackness enveloped in an enticing aroma and vibrating sensation along her skin – like the most luxurious linens against naked skin. The weight of the Dark Lord’s magic intoxicated her, drawing her closer to him. The waves of magic he had sent into the air caressed her body in an attempt to draw out her magic again, but she kept it locked inside of her for the moment. No need to mingle now when there was plenty of time for that later.

Traipsing through the forest, Hermione found herself stepping into a secluded clearing where hooded figures in black stood, facing their Master, their backs turned to her. She knew that for ceremony’s sake the Death Eaters were all wearing the required silver masks, the Inner Circle wearing the more elaborate of workmanship. It was a symbol of worth in the Dark Lord’s ranks: the Inner Circle held more information, received more of the glory, were handed the more intricate of facial disguises, while the lower ranks were given simple, silver masks shaped like skulls. It seemed contradictory that the Inner Circle received more of the punishment during the Dark Lord’s venting sessions, but who was she to question the dynamic of a megalomaniac’s cult?

If there were signs of perfect timing, Hermione did not notice as she extinguished her Blue Bell Flames and unleashed the power she held inside of her. It flowed gracefully in a mixture of tri-hued wisps, tendrils in the air reaching as far as she allowed them to go. Her magic was feminine, soft and supple, but it was also suffocating like a heavy perfume. It clogged the senses of the Dark Lord’s followers, choking them with its might, and merely caressing Voldemort at the front of the assembly. The serpentine wizard laughed a bitter, cold laugh – almost a sequence of hissing – at her display. His followers fell to their knees, save for one; she allowed the Professor to remain standing, but she still let one small tendril of her power wrap itself around his throat and clench, just a little. It was the smallest form of revenge that she could take out on him while living under his roof. It would not do if she was tossed out like garbage and left to her own devices. She still needed him, and the few rare tomes in his personal library.

She moved gracefully through the flanks of Death Eaters. There was no need to fear or flinch away from them, since they were too busy attempting to breathe with the taste of her magic blocking their airways. They cringed as she passed; her power heavier closer to her body. She smirked, ‘At least they know their place now…Filthy Mudblood, indeed…’

                When she stood before the Dark Lord, she stared at him with no emotion left in her warm brown eyes – not that he could see her clearly, of course. He laughed again, but no one spoke. A pregnant pause settled on the clearing and the magic in the space in between and surrounding the two dark beings increased tenfold. His power crashed against hers and vice versa. The utter black of his magic seeped around and through hers, while the glittering tendrils of feminine black, white and gray caressed his in the most intimate of ways. It sent a shiver down her spine and a soft sigh escaped her lips. His magic was blazing hot, electrifying and evil to the core. Hers was subtle, alluring and enchantingly deceitful. She felt the overwhelming call from his magic but she fought to stay where she stood. She was a Gryffindor and she would not show fear in the face of Lord Voldemort, no matter how dangerous he was and how volatile his temper could be.

                The power – oooh, the power… The Professor did not have a fraction of the magical prowess that Voldemort was exuding – and he was holding back! How intriguing. She was not holding back, but then again, she still had room to grow. Eternity to learn and master her own abilities; and it seemed the he had not reached the peak of his magical magnitude, yet. He was forever shaping himself, creating stronger extensions of his own power through…something. Something unknown, something completely different than what Hermione had done to her own self, and she wanted to know what he had achieved; what he had done – she wanted to know what he knew. But that all came with a price, and she was uncertain if she desired the knowledge he had enough to shackle herself to him through servitude. No, she was free from the servitude of Right and Wrong, Light and Dark – she wasn’t going to sign up for another form of slavery once she had tasted the freedom of doing what she pleased. Not any time soon. She was no Severus Snape.

                “The Mudblood has arrived,” said Voldemort, a dangerous glint in his eyes. “You are…quite feisty Hermione Granger.”

                She lowered her hood and nodded her head, “I could say the same of you, sir.”

                “So very polite for one so young. You seemed to have forgotten such manners when addressing me via written word,” he poised. His magic contracted around her limbs, seeping into her muscles and urging her to step closer. She did. “You understand the reason you were called here tonight, Mudblood? You have offended Lord Voldemort, and I do not allow inferior beings to walk freely for such heinous acts.”

                “Hmm,” Hermione mused while blocking the seductive notion of the Dark Lord’s magic groping her skin. “I would beg to differ regarding my status as an ‘inferior being.’ I am far more superior then your hounds.”

There was an edge to her tone that cut through the background noise of gasping followers. She kicked out her leg towards the nearest Death Eater, struggling on his knees, and knocked the masked wizard onto his front with his face in the freshly fallen snow. With that simple act, she withdrew her blanket of magic back into herself and allowed the Dark Lord’s minions to breathe. The only masked wizard unaffected had been Snape, and Voldemort certainly took notice of that fact – and with a vehement glint in his crimson eyes. It was certainly unsettling. Not to Hermione, per say, but she could assume that Snape was not enjoying the scrutiny in which his Master glared at him.

Suddenly the Dark Lord’s magic around her disappeared. He drew it back from her and focused his gaze on Snape while his followers clambered back to their feet. There was a grumbling working its way through the Death Eater ranks. Hermione was sure that many hands and fingers were twitching towards their owners’ wands. Luckily for her, they seemed to obey their Master well – a trait tortured into them from years at the end of the Dark Lord’s wand. She wondered how high the number of Cruciatus Curses each one of them had been put under over the years. And for how long during each session of punishment. Not for very long, most likely. The Dark Lord could not afford to drive anymore of his followers insane. Bellatrix had proved to be a liability, and Hermione was certain Voldemort was hesitant to allow another just like Lestrange into his ranks. She had been a loose cannon – reverting back to a child-like state after all that time in Azkaban. No, Hermione was quite sure that Lord Voldemort had become more aware of the potential fiascos involved with recruiting less than stable minions.

“So,” the Dark Lord finally spoke, “Severus has a new Mudblood pet…”

Was that…jealousy in his tone? Hermione was confused by the statement, and extremely furious. She hissed, “I am no one’s pet!”

“Your blatant favoritism towards Severus proves that there is some form of relationship between-”

“There is NO relationship of any form other than a professional partnership, Voldemort!” She just cut off the Dark Lord! Did she really interrupt the most feared wizard of all time? She had spent too much time around Ron’s temper during the last decade. To object while the Dark Lord spoke, she had to be losing her mind! She had come with the understanding that she would be tortured for her minor indiscretion, but now she was digging herself a much larger hole.

His eyes glowed maliciously, “You would do well to hold your tongue and take your punishment, Mudblood!”

“Then I would suggest that you stop with the interrogation on Snape and,” she made quotation marks in the air to stress the sarcasm in her tone, “‘punish’ me!”

“CRUCIO!”

The familiar pain acutely related to the Cruciatus Curse raced through her nerve endings instantly. It was stronger than Bellatrix’s by leaps and bounds and Hermione fell to her knees with a groan of pain. She clenched her jaw and dug her fingers into the snow underneath her in an attempt to not scream. It was excruciating and she wanted it to stop. Her training with the Professor had included the Cruciatus, but no one could come close to the almost lethal vengeance behind the Dark Lord’s curse. He put so much anger behind it that Hermione wondered what had happened in his life to create such volcanic rage in a person. Every fiber of her being was overloaded with pain. Her eyes were pressed tightly closed, her ears roared with the Death Eaters’ laughter and her muscles tensed to the point she was certain they would snap her bones. She kept her jaw clenched, groaning long and loud as the curse continued without break. It felt like an eternity. When would it end? Sweat began to bead across her forehead and she felt feverish, but the Dark Lord was relentless. She could not possibly have offended him this badly, could she? It was his name, for Merlin’s sake! A little teasing banter before she proceeded with a light explanation as to why he had to wait another month before she handed over the Nazareth scrolls. What had it been? Not less than ten minutes, at least, that she had been under the Cruciatus.

At last, Voldemort lifted the curse and glared down at her. He was obviously angry due to her lack of screaming. According to the Professor, the Dark Lord quite enjoyed the sounds of pain drenched screams as he tortured people. She was definitely not giving him the satisfaction. She. Would. Not. Scream. That was for damn sure.

His magic was back, blanketing her in that sizzling electric current that left blazing trails over her skin as it contracted around her. It urged her to stand and she allowed his power to do most of the work for her, taking the little satisfaction that she could get out of such a simple act of defiance. He came close to her and used the tip of his wand to raise her chin. Her eyes locked with his and she felt his attempt at Legilimency crash into her Occlumency shields. Keeping him out only infuriated him more, so she allowed him in. She guided him towards the memories he sought and mentally giggled at his aggravation that she had already gone through with the experiment he had so been hoping to intervene and stop.

He stepped away from her, furious. A tendril of his magic wound itself around her dainty neck and squeezed until she could not breathe. Instead of flailing, her arms hung by her sides, shaking in fear, but she remained calm. Choking could not kill her, and she took solace in that. Apparently her lack of panic to breathe raised his irritation with her. He closed in on her, shoving his wand’s tip into her jawline as he seethed, “Why do you defy me when you could benefit from my power, Mudblood? I offer you amnesty and yet you mock me! If you served me you would be rewarded!”

“I…serve…no…one,” gasped Hermione.

“Then you oppose me!” hissed Voldemort. Oddly his magic unclenched from around her throat and allowed her to draw a proper breath. He glared at her and she returned the look with the same heat.

“I do not oppose you,” she spat, rubbing her throat with trembling fingers. Even if she could not die easily did not mean she was not scared of what he could do to her in the meantime. He was still Lord Voldemort and his violence had always frightened her. “I just decline to serve you…I just want freedom to do as I please without your lapdogs yapping at my heels.”

“I can only assume that Severus would prefer the same freedom with you?” snarled Voldemort, raking his nails across her bare shoulder. It elicited a shudder from Hermione. Her eyes fluttered shut and she sighed softly at the sensation of nails digging into her skin, unable to break the surface, while Voldemort’s magic flared around her. “I have seen what he desires; a little mudblood to love him…as if it will redeem him in some way. He would gladly turn his back on me for one night with you, Hermione Granger.”

The hate in his eyes as he snarled the confession into her face chilled her feverish body. It gave her to opportunity to steel her nerves and squash the fluttering in her abdomen. The Dark Lord had not told her what she already knew, but it unnerved her to learn the extent of Snape’s pining for her. The Professor was a decent man, but she was too hesitant to dive into those waters. She still needed him around, but not at the risk of killing what little dignity was left in him. She wished desperately that the relationship between them could have remained platonic. She regretted ever returning the flirtations he had flattered her with for so many years. She may not love him like he did her, but she did feel strongly for him, like she had for Harry all those years ago. Like a friend. She wouldn’t know what to do without the Professor in her life - he had become such a fixture in her every day routine by now. It pained her to say it, but it had to be done.

“Severus Snape returned to you of his own free will,” said Hermione, eyes still closed. “The Dark Mark on his arm is non-negotiable…and he will remain in your ranks as a loyal servant to you. He could never satisfy my needs,” she stared pointedly at the Dark Lord, “and neither could you or any other man.”

“I would beg to differ, Mudblood…filth like you are so easily sated,” Voldemort breathed against her cheek. His lipless mouth moving against her skin as his snake-like nostrils took in the scent of her and her magic. The act caused her to tense and he reveled in her insecurity. “But I have come to wonder just how valuable Severus is to you…”

He stepped away from her abruptly, withdrawing his magical aura from her. The Dark Lord motioned for the Potions Master to step forward, and the wizard did as his Master commanded. Hermione watched with repentant eyes as her worst nightmare played out before her. The Professor stood in front of her and knelt before Voldemort, just as he was expected to do; head bent towards the ground, averting eye contact. Hermione had seen the pain in the professor’s eyes through the slits in his mask as he passed and her heart dropped. She hadn’t meant to destroy his hope, but there was nothing she could do regarding her feelings for him. Fear froze her to the spot where she stood as the Dark Lord raised his wand and uttered the most fatal of curses. It left the tip of the yew wand with a fierceness that chilled Hermione to the bone.

“NO!” screamed Hermione, reaching out to pull the Professor out the way.

She was too late and she fell to her knees in the cold, harsh snow. Professor Snape lay in the snow, lifeless, as she pulled him to her. She cradled him in her lap and ripped the mask off of his face, brushing his greasy black hair from his forehead. This wasn’t how he was supposed to die. He was supposed to destroy the Dark Lord on his own and live the rest of his life out in peace and solitude, just as he had always wanted. A life spent brewing new and revolutionary potions in the calm of his own home until the day he died. It was unfair – life was entirely unfair! The Dark Lord was incredibly unfair! He had no right to kill Snape. There had been no need! The Potions Master was too crucial to his survival – to obtaining his own immortality! And Voldemort had just killed him without a second thought! She cried out in fury, completely livid as the Dark Lord laughed openly at her despair. It was unfathomable to her; life without Snape’s cruel remarks, biting retorts, his exciting intellect. There was still so much left for them to accomplish together! She needed more time with him – HE needed more time, period!

No, it was far too early for him to die. He had to live! She needed him to live!

Pulling out the Time Turner she had been altering, Hermione began working the dials as the Death Eaters continued to taunt her. She turned the inner circle a quarter of a turn and pushed the dial back into place. She stood as time reversed around her. Letting go of the Time Turner, it fell and dangled from her neck as time slowed and stopped for several brief seconds. She was invisible to the people around her. She pulled her hood up to hide her face in its shadow as she watched the scene play out much as it had the first time. She saw Snape kneeling in the snow before Voldemort, and she knew that her double behind her was reeling in fear. She had thought the Professor would be tortured for loving a ‘mudblood’ as he was silently called forward by his Master. She hadn’t expected the Dark Lord to kill him. But that was in the past now, it would not happen again. She would not allow it to happen again. She took solace in the fact that at least Hermione would not be recognized by her own self; as long as her hood stayed in place. She only had split seconds to save him, enough time to throw herself in front of the Killing Curse, and that is exactly what she did.

“NO!” her cry echoed through the air as she flung herself in front of Snape. The Killing Curse, emerald green and incredibly bright, impacted directly in her middle…where the Time Turner was hanging. The curse knocked her back into the Professor, making her weak but failing in killing her. Hermione’s hand flew out and grabbed hold of the Potions Master’s arm, gripping it tightly. The curse exploded the small hourglass in the center of the Time Turner and the circles around it began to spin of their own accord. The glittering beige sand inside the hourglass flew out to encase Hermione and Snape in a globe, glowing in a golden light. The granules sparkled in the darkness, and she could see Voldemort smirking at her through the translucent orb surrounding the Professor and herself.

“What have you done?!” she snarled, keeping a vice-like grip on the Professor.

The skin around Voldemort’s crimson eyes crinkled more as his smirk turned into a fierce grin, “As Dumbledore always said…for the greater good…”

She watched the glowing globe pulsate and the sand beginning to spin in horror. Faster and faster, backwards through time, and there was nothing she could do to stop it. She had been altering the Time Turner to go back decades just so she could prove that it could be done. But now Snape and she were being hurled back through eras with no idea where they would end up! There was no halting the time-globe around them. And more importantly, there was no way to get back to their time once the globe ceased spinning!

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Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, and I am not profiting from the creation or posting of this story.

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Remember November