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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 Four

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Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, and I do not profit from my stories, in any way.

Author's Note: Plotholes are nasty little buggers, but I am weeding them out, rewriting chapters, and editing paragraphs and so on at the fastest pace I can. I’ve been very sick the past week, and I’m still lagging, but I’m trying to get these chapters up as quickly as possible. I apologize for the recent deletion of Remember November off of AFF net, but I promise it was the last time. I am writing this story for me, and I am working on my constant need to delete and perfect, delete and perfect. My next story will certainly be fully written and reviewed before I start posting it.

And for reviewers, I have created a place for responses to reviews here: http://www2.adult-fanfiction.org/forum/index.php/topic/34217-remember-november-review-replies/

So, if you leave a review, check in at that link, and a reply to your review will be posted within 24 hours.

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                Her eyes grew wide as the damage was done. The world spun around Hermione and the Professor as they disappeared from sight. The vortex that extreme time travel caused made her nauseas, the daylight and dark of night swirling together while the feeling of being thrown down a rabbit hole made her scream. As suddenly as it had started, in a flash of light, it stopped and the Time-Globe encasing the two travelers deposited them out into the humid warmth of a deserted alleyway. That was highly unusual – they should have appeared in the same clearing that they had traveled through time at. There must have been a reason for the Time Turner’s sands to send them to this alley in who-knows-where. Hopefully they hadn’t arrived too far into the past. There were so many things that could be changed just by their appearance in an era they were not supposed to be a part of. Dumbledore could turn evil, Harry Potter could be born Harold Snape, the Weasleys could all become Squibs! It was too dangerous to even think of the repercussions. Horrible things happen to wizards who meddled with time…

                “Umph!” Hermione grunted, falling backwards and on top of a falling Severus Snape. The chain of the Time Turner around their necks was warm, and Hermione pulled it off of them both to hold up the actual tool that had caused this mess. Her heart sunk as she took in the shattered and cracked cylinders, the red hot glowing rings, and the melted dials. It was ruined. There was no fixing a Time Turner, it had to be replaced; and the next Time Turner that she could nick from the Ministry wouldn't be ready for another thirty to forty years, all because she had to save Snape. But she would do it again if it meant keeping him from an early death. No, it was Voldemort’s fault. He had executed the Potions Master right in front of her, to test her feelings for the man. The Dark Lord had wanted to see how far gone she was – how much darkness had consumed her. Bully for him, but Hermione still had a conscience even if her temper lashed out violently and stated otherwise. She still had some humanity left, and she still cared for the Professor in the only way that she could; she saved him. He was her friend, and she had saved him. It was the least she could do, the only thing she could do. She may not love him, but she cared enough to keep him alive.

                She rolled off of the Professor, brushing her knees off as she stood; making sure to hold the burning Time Turner away from her. She would need to transfigure something into a protective box to hold it in. She couldn't afford to leave it in a bin for someone to walk by and pick it up. There were certain things in the timeline that she couldn't change, and she already doubted the idea of allowing the Dark Lord to live past the day – if he was even born yet. Merlin, there were so many things that could go wrong by just being in the past! What if the Dark Lord took the Ministry sooner than in the original timeline? What if Muggleborn Registration was required – she would be killed before she ever found out she was a witch! She would disappear the minute her birthdate rolled around! She would need to talk to Snape about it, weigh the pros and cons, but first...they had to figure out how far back they had gone. If they were lucky, they had only gone back only a few years instead of several decades. One could cross their fingers and hope, right?

                “Get off the ground, Professor,” Hermione quipped, throwing her hood back over her head, “We have a copy of the Daily Prophet to locate...”

                She didn't wait for him as he moved to stand from the ground. He left his hood down as he followed her down the narrow streets of the Alley and into the bright sunlight of Diagon. The streets of the shopping district were packed with busy morning bodies getting lunch hour errands checked off their 'to do' lists before their return to work. Hermione glanced back to see Snape throw his hood over his head and step out from the shadows of Knockturn Alley. Thank Merlin! They hadn’t ended up in some far away country – they had landed in familiar territory! A small portion of her tension seemed to be released at that realization. It was a small comfort in an already horrible situation.

Snape reached out and grabbed her arm, taking over as guide and pulling her sideways in the direction of the Leaky Cauldron. Hermione grumbled under her breath, having already started that way to begin with. There were always garbage bins out back of the Leaky, next to the portal to Diagon Alley; there were bound to be a few tossed out Prophets from that morning. Great minds think alike and all that, but Hermione didn't enjoy being manhandled and pulled through the thick noon-time crowd by the surly Potions Master. If she had an option, she would have followed behind him, but of course, he didn’t want to lose her in the crowds. He was thinking several steps ahead, which meant he was probably thinking along the lines she was; lose sight and disappear in the hustle and bustle. At that moment they could not risk being separated. She was pretty sure her day would not be improving. It could only go downhill from there.

                The portal from Diagon to the Leaky Cauldron opened for them, and as they became sealed in to the small back area behind the tavern, Snape and Hermione lunged for the bins before anyone came through to enter or exit. Hermione was victorious, “Yes!” She un-crumpled the papers - a job in the classifieds catching her eye for a brief moment - and smoothed out the front, the breath she had been holding releasing in an exasperated noise, “This says...the 15^th of August in 1944 -”

                “Mine says the same,” Snape drawled, folding up the paper and tossing it back into the bin; Hermione followed suit, “I would still prefer to ask someone what the date is, just to be safe.”

                “We can't just ask people what the date is,” Hermione growled, “It would look strange, and we're already outcasts to this time-”

                “Then how are we supposed to be sure?! What happened during the meeting with the Dark Lord?” Snape hissed lowly, his face inches from hers. The close proximity made her nervous, but she wasn't going to allow him to intimidate her. Not when there were so many things to figure out. He had to be very confused, but she didn’t have the time to answer his questions. Hermione stood there, arms folded over her chest, staring at him blankly. It was fortunate for them that a wizard, Ministry it had looked like, exited the Leaky and tossed a Prophet into the bin before Disapparating. Hermione snatched it before Snape could, opening it and checking the date: 15^th August 1944. She checked every page, just to make sure, and when she was done, she threw the paper away, lifted her hood, and looked at him.

                She was enraged, but she hid it well. The explosion was coming, but she would make sure it was out of the line of sight of any witnesses. She offered her arm, knowing that he would be grabbing onto it any moment, neither of them made an attempt at conversation as they entered the Wizarding tavern. Looking around at the over-capacity lunch crowd, they left through the front and out into the streets of Muggle London. Hermione noticed quite a few double takes from several Muggles as the two pushed through the street in search of an empty alleyway, anything deserted and away from prying ears would do. It took a few blocks until they found an alley where homeless people weren't congregated. A couple Notice Me Not spells and Silencing Charms, and they were free to speak. It was lucky for Hermione that no one noticed or heard her, because her anger had just reached boiling point.

                “The Dark Lord killed you! That’s what happened!” She seethed, shoving him against the brick wall behind him. She could care less if she injured him and she needed to vent on something. “I turned back Time and saved you! I took that Killing Curse because you’re too valuable to die so early! It struck the Time Turner dead on, Professor – the entire hourglass shattered…we…we were surrounded by sand granules and glass shards, and then we landed here…in 1944. I don’t even understand that! The farthest back the Turner should have gone is 1955!”

                “Why would you jump between the Dark Lord and me, Miss Granger? You made it abundantly clear that you hold no deep or profound feelings towards me! Why not just allow me a peaceful death?” snarled Snape in return. His hands were balled into fists at his sides, and she could tell that he was restraining himself quite admirably.

                She scoffed, “You have no right! I may not return your romantic feelings, but I do care!” She poked him in the chest, trying to hold back from punching him like she had Malfoy in her third year, “As it is, we are stuck here. There is no going forward in time, there is only backwards! No one has been able to travel to the future – it can’t be done! So stuff your bad attitude down and suck it up for the moment. We need to figure out what to do!”

                “Well excuse me, Miss Granger, but I am not used to the ways of time travel – nor am I to be spoken to in such a tone! According to you, I died, so pardon my ‘bad attitude’, but I feel as though I should be angry that YOU caused my death in the first place! I should have never gotten involved with you! You and your little friends have brought nothing but misery to my life since you walked into Hogwarts over ten years ago!”

                She remained silent. Her back turned to the Professor she rubbed her face with her hands and groaned. Again…there were too many things that could be affected, and she was still so conflicted. Snape didn't understand, he knew next to nothing regarding time; past, present, or future. Yes, time could be changed without the world shattering, the earth imploding on its self, but it required a sagacious analysis of events as they happened and a thorough knowledge of everything that had happened by everyone in the era. What if they changed too much? What if they were trapped in a time loop? What if they caused Harry to fail and Voldemort to rise to victory sooner than expected?

                There was also the problematic fact that they weren't of that period in time, they were from the future. They had no forms of identification, no birth records, no OWL or NEWT scores – Birth records, it dawned on her. Birth records – identities! It was a start. If they had to remain in the past, they had to assimilate into the past! Of course! Why had it taken her so long to think of it?! Oh, right...Snape.

                In an agile motion, she pulled her wand from her cleavage and whipped it around at the Professor. A silent spell was sent, hitting him square in the chest, “I'm sorry, but we need to go to St. Mungo's...”

                The spell took a minute, but it finally began to work as she threw a few more different curses and hexes at him. His heart would have already begun to constrict in his chest, cuts appeared across his stomach and arms, ripping the fabric of his robes and frock jacket. Bruises from a broken nose bridged between both eyes, and with a hand through his greasy hair, she mussed it enough to look as though he had been taken by surprise. One last spell and the finish touch was added, an oozing, swollen eye and his jaw was broken; minor things. It would be fixed within an hour and he would be sent on his way. He would hold this grudge against her, but she could care less in light of what she had to accomplish in such a small window of time.

                Grabbing his arm securely, Hermione turned on the spot and Side-Along'ed him with her.

                The waiting room of St. Mungo's was moderately busy, not chaotic, but not empty and quiet, either. Her face melted into a look of horror and worry as she yelled for someone to help the man with her. “I found him in an alleyway! I was going to Apparate home, and he was curled up on the ground next to the garbage bins!”

It worked like a charm. He was surrounded by Healers and Medi-Witches, a stretcher was conjured, and he disappeared through the swinging double doors leading down the Emergency Ward. She wasn't going to lie to herself – she had quite enjoyed throwing those hexes at Snape. It felt as though some of her anger had been lifted, a weight picked up off her shoulders.

                After a quick word with the witch at the Receiving Desk about staying and waiting to see if the man would be okay – 'Does he have any relatives that I could contact?' - Hermione slipped into the loo and washed the blood off of her hands. She placed a Disillusionment Charm on herself, once her nails were clean of any blood or dirt, and waited for someone to enter the restroom. She contemplated, after standing in a corner by the sink, invisible to the untrained eye for twelve minutes, how conspicuous it would be for a loo door to swing open on its own? Luck be on her side at that moment, as a tall, willowy witch and her two young children entered the public loo, giving Hermione enough time to slide against the wall, avoiding bumping into the three year old boy nearest her, and slipping through the closing door with a quiet sigh of relief.

                Instead of the double doors that lead to the Emergency Ward, Hermione took another direction, leading to the stairwells. Down three levels and two rights down a corridor, she found herself standing at the room she needed. A softly muttered spell let her know the file room was empty, and she slipped inside without anyone the wiser. Silencing Charms and wards were placed, and she looked around. It was a small office space, each wall must have been only nine feet in length, and the room itself felt cramped. Three large filing cabinets, with three drawers each, lined the wall behind the desk, and the desk, itself, was covered in towering piles of parchments and charts.

                At the top of her list was finding the tools she would need. She stepped up to the desk and started opening drawers. Holy...How many quills does this clerk need? A whole drawer of them is rather a ridiculous waste of space! Hermione thought, closing the first two drawers she had rummaged through when she saw they contained a few blank parchments and a bag of Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans. The third drawer contained an inordinate amount of quills and lines upon lines of ink wells in varying colors. Pulling out two quills and two ink wells, one in black ink and one in red, she set them up on the only portion of clean, open desk there was. Searching for files was the next step, and she prayed for an uncomplicated filing system.

                She was sure that the filing cabinets behind her would hold files on every witch and wizard born since the Ministry of Magic had been established in the 1700s. There were no actual Departments for that at the Ministry in her own time, she figured it hadn't changed since St. Mungo's had been established long before actual Magical governments had replaced the Warlock's Council, which meant that all documents regarding living and deceased magical citizens, including immigrants, would automatically duplicate themselves and just appear in a small filing cabinet in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Birth, educational, health, and deceased records would all be bound together and filed away in the hospital, which meant she would have her pick of dead young mothers and stillborn infants.

                Searching the filing cabinets had been simple – Hermione had almost leaped with joy at the manageable code system – with extensive charms on each drawer to hold an infinite number of files, three drawers to each filing cabinet, all labeled according to status; Living, Deceased, and Foreign Citizens. It was an easy filing system, and Hermione was thankful for the simplicity of it. She looked through the Deceased drawer, counting backwards from the present year to seventeen years prior, pulling files and skimming through them to the Death Certificates until she found two female charts that she could use; the first file, an eighteen year old young woman, unwed, passed on during childbirth, father unknown; and the second, a baby girl born the same date as the deceased mother had given birth, unnamed and stillborn. Setting them on the desk, Hermione returned to the filing cabinet and pulled a chart for a deceased male, age 32, deceased in 1941 during the German air raid. She was sure Snape could pass as a 34 year old - he hadn't aged much since her first year at Hogwarts.

                She dumped the files on the desk, took a seat, and began duplicating the files. With the originals back in the cabinets, she began the grueling process of magically erasing certain information from the Birth Certificates and forging the Healer's handwriting. In the necessary red ink on the Birth records, Hermione added the deceased woman's name, her own name, and the delivery Medi-witch's signature; after a small alteration so Allegra Halding became Allie Granger, and the next of kin, a sister, now Anne Granger, became the legal guardian of a bouncing baby girl, Hermione Jean Granger.

                Fishing out the file of Allegra Halding's sister, duplicating it, and changing the information in the copy was easy enough, and as Hermione continued reading through to make sure there were no holes left, she could turn to the stillborn record again. The Death Certificate was easy enough to alter; instead of stillborn female fetus in the space for the name, Hermione replaced it with Anne Granger; and the date of death to 22^nd of June 1938, poor Auntie Anne had committed suicide via poison. It was simple enough, and there wouldn't be an autopsy report. It was a clean way to go for a fictitious Aunt, and the sympathy card could be played if Hermione felt it was needed.

                Schooling records were the most difficult, but with home-schooling records copied from a Living file on a witch with excellent O.W.L. and N.E.W.T. results, Hermione was almost half of the way finished. Unfortunately, the chicken scratch of the examiners had Hermione gritting her teeth in frustration as she carefully mimicked the quick slash of the pointed quill against the parchment to ink in her own name and the correct dates that she would have taken them. After a time, she had a stack of parchments to secure her a position at Hogwarts. She couldn’t pass for older than 25 years old, nor could she convince anyone that she was an underage home-schooled witch who just lost her last remaining relative; never knowing her own father. Besides, she knew more now then Hogwarts could have ever taught her in her own lifetime – she doubted that the forties could have provided information in school that she had not already possessed after skipping her seventh year. No, posing as her correct age and applying for an apprenticeship under the Hogwarts’s Medi-Witch was her best option. Snape and she needed identities, money – they needed shelter. Hogwarts was their best option, besides…Dumbledore was alive in this time. It was, truly, the best approach to their strange situation.

                Once her story was complete, Hermione opened the file of the deceased male. The Death Certificate was wiped blank and burned, the ashes banished, while Hermione skimmed through, her photographic memory working overtime as she changed the name and dates. School records from a British citizen that had attended Durmstrang, instead of Hogwarts, were altered, a resume built upon from the student's high achievements and apprenticeships over the years, and letters of recommendation were changed to suit Hermione's purpose. It was brilliant work, some of her best, as she created files of Snape's deceased parents to cover any gaps or holes. A few Memory Charms on the right people and Snape would have confirmation that he had taught at Beauxbatons for the last seven years, specializing in Defence Against the Dark Arts and Potions; in case his previous employment was ever called into question. Though, Hermione highly doubted that Armando Dippet was as thorough in his hiring of teachers. From what she had heard and read about the Headmaster, he seemed to be quite lax.

                At last, she was done. She filed the fictitious charts back in the correct drawers, after copying all six of them and placing them in the pocket with the Expansion charm on it. She was at the forty-five minute mark, and still had swift work to do if she was going to get those Memory Charms placed before Snape was released from St. Mungo’s.

                Her Disillusionment Charm was still in place, and with the names of the individuals needing a little 'memory modification', Hermione set out down the halls, keeping out of the way of chatting administrators and rushing Healers. She controlled her breathing, focused on the names of the Healers, Ward Directors and Hospital Board Governers until she found the ones on her mental list. Office after office, Hermione slipped in unnoticed, raised her wand, and added the memories that she needed to make her story work. Soon there were twenty odd witches and wizards running and working for St. Mung's with enthusiastic memories of Hermione Granger and her blossoming brilliance in the art of Healing.

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                After slipping back in the waiting room near the Emergency Ward, Hermione kept the Disillusionment Charm on, and waited in the shadow of a large, wiggling plant that looked strangely like a moving rubber tree. By the time she had returned to St. Mungo’s after a few quick Appirations to Beauxbatons, her wrist-watch was reading two minutes left in her hour window. Five minutes passed, and then fifteen; she was beginning to grow impatient when she finally glimpsed Snape coming up the corridor through the narrow pane of glass in the swinging double doors. He looked good as new, his clothes tattered, but those could be repaired with a sharp eye and a steady wand. He walked into the waiting room and surveyed the faces in the chairs, finding her gone. With a stony expression, Hermione watched him go to leave, and she left her hiding place and followed after him.

                Down the sidewalk, in Muggle London, she followed him to the nearest Apparation point, grabbed his arm and tugged him behind, yet, another dumpster that day. She canceled the charm rendering her invisible when she had grabbed his arm, but found a wand pointed between her eyes and a seething Professor slamming her against a brick wall, “You have some nerve, Miss Granger!”

                Her anger flared again – she was really starting to consider some management for it – and she shoved him away from her, pointing her own wand at him, “If you knew how to forge documents, I would have gladly been the one in a hospital bed while you created new identities for us! Unfortunately, my skin is pretty much impenetrable, and I don't think I could have faked an injury for more than an hour,” she pulled the files from her pocket and sat down on a wooden crate, “Six files in forty-five minutes, Professor – do you honestly think you could have created such extensive backgrounds and dead relatives so quickly?”

                “Let me see those,” he snarled, snatching them from her in a spiteful manner. She sat in silence as he read through every file with a scrutinizing eye, looking over every page of parchment several times before turning to the next, and the next. She knew he wouldn't find any holes, gaps or contradicting stories. Everything was air tight, and with the pouches of gold she had lifted out of a pompous pure-blood’s traveling cloak while leaving Beauxbatons, they would have the required minimum balance to open a Gringotts account, which would solidify their places in the Wizarding world, and the era. And Hermione was more than pleased to see Snape speechless as he handed back the files, keeping his own and those of his 'deceased parents.'

                Standing, Hermione handed him a purse of Galleons, ignoring the raised eyebrow and suspicious glare he gave her, “I pick-pocketed a donator while leaving Beauxbatons…every member of staff there remembers you and your amazing skill in teaching Potions and Defence – even the Headmistress. I believe it was a stroke of genius on my part – it’s not like the fool needed three pouches of gold weighing him down. I’m sure he had plenty more where that came from.”

                “And why, Miss Granger, do I need a purse of at least fifty Galleons?”

                She raised her chin with a haughty smirk that did not fit her heart-shaped face, “Because we have a joint-account at Gringotts to open, my dear fiancé.”

                He pocketed the purse and sneered at her, “We will discuss this later…”

                He grabbed her hand tightly and Appirated them to Diagon Alley, directly in front of the Leaky Cauldron in London. The walk to Gringotts Bank gave them enough time for Hermione to discuss the cover story, and for Snape to question why they were suddenly engaged in this time period. It was plausible in Hermione’s mind, seeing as how they both needed a viable explanation as to why Snape and she were requesting a meeting with the Headmaster of Hogwarts, together. In her mind, walking in together but being completely separate and acting as though neither knew the other would raise too many suspicions. It seemed the perfect solution, easy to excuse and perfectly logical as to why a young woman and relatively “young” man were to be applying for jobs at a school.

                “Honestly, Professor,” exclaimed Hermione, rubbing the bridge of her nose, “it is an excellent explanation! The Headmaster won’t see through it-”

                “That is all well and such, Miss Granger,” replied Snape in his usual sarcastic drawl. “But may I point out that this is 1944, wherein ladies do not share rooms with their intended until after they are wed. On another matter, what makes you think that I would choose to go along with such a ruse? You, again, have made it abundantly clear that the thought of kissing me, let alone sharing a bed with me, is grotesque to you.”

                “I never said that, Professor! I merely meant that I,” she paused, unable to find the correct terminology to express exactly what she wanted to say, “I…I did not want to attempt a relationship in case things ended…I could not bear you NOT being in my life…you are my only friend…”

                Her voice trailed off to a whisper towards the end. It was enough to tug at his heart strings and make him see her reasoning. She could not tell him that loving anyone was impossible for her, not in public. Maybe in a private scenario she could divulge the fact that Ron Weasley had left lasting damage that she had yet to face. But at the moment, it was too painful a thought to shout out in the middle of Diagon Alley. Hopefully he would let the matter drop until she felt comfortable enough to let him down easily. Ignoring the matter had yet to work in her favor. Although, she was sure once he learned what saying they were “engaged” entailed, he would perk up regarding their lie to the staff of Hogwarts.

                “Very well,” said the Professor in a curt tone. “I will cease with my bad attitude, as you so eloquently put it, for the time being, but I will not be strung along because you require me to stay around for personal reasons, Miss Granger.”

                “An excellent point, Professor,” she answered, smirking. “You know, I will be required to act like your fiancé…which means excessive touching and public kissing…I’m sure you would be very agreeable to that, wouldn’t you?”

                He merely grunted, but she noticed the corner of his mouth fighting to turn upwards in a smirk of his own. At least that placated him enough to act more appropriately and less like a love-sick man about to be wed as they entered the elegant halls of Gringotts. The marble flooring gleamed while natural sunlight shone down from the opulent glass ceiling above. Hermione remained quiet as Snape spoke with a goblin about opening an account. Soon they would be signing documents on their joint account, renting two rooms at the Three Broomsticks and sending off their resumes to Hogwarts for Headmaster Dippet to review. It gave them time to decide on a plan of action, and how to deal with the imminent arrival of Tom Marvolo Riddle at the school come September. The thought of dealing with a perceptive Dark Lord in his youthful years was a worry entirely to its own.

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Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.
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