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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.

Chapter List
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Remember November

Chapter Five

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I do not receive profit from posting or writing this story. :)

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He had finally shrugged off Abraxas Malfoy to take quiet stroll down Knockturn Alley that afternoon. His school supplies had already been purchased through the scholarship that Hogwarts granted him, being an orphan and all, and he had impassively accepted to spend the rest of the afternoon with the blond pure-blood on a whim. The two schoolboys had passed the entrance to the dark alley shopping district more than hour prior, but Tom had suddenly felt the inexplicable urge that he needed a peaceful walk down that way. He could not explain the desire, even to himself, but he trusted his intuition more than he trusted any of his Knights. There was something that would happen, something he needed to see in Knockturn, and he was not one to deny himself the curious novelty of what he might miss. His legs carried him gracefully down the impoverished, destitute-looking streets and he passed several shops of a more notoriously dark history. He caught sight, out of the corner of his eye, several artifacts that were quite rare and unique that he was determined to have in his possession at some point in the near future, but he did not stop to stare. He continued on his stroll and kept his eyes alert for any untoward activity. He was not the greatest wizard of all time for his nonchalant attitude. Lord Voldemort was always aware of his surroundings. It proved easier to manipulate environments and situations to his benefit.

It was near Borgin and Burkes that the young Dark Lord’s legs finally began to slow and cease their exercise near the opening of a deserted back-alley. When he saw that nothing was down the cramped alley, he made to turn away, but found that something kept drawing him back. It was as if his legs refused to move. A sense of magic was in the air, it was distinctly feminine; it felt invitingly warm, with seductive undertones, and whoever it happened to be was powerful – extremely powerful. The magical signature was there, in a specific spot in the tiny back-alley, but there was no witch to pin it to. It was empty, but the power called to him, beckoned his own with sweet notions and pleasurable promises.

Making to move down to the spot where the magic was calling out to him proved impossible. He was rooted to the spot, in the shadows of an adjacent shop near the entrance to the space and forced to stay and watch air and space. It was infuriating. What magic was this? Who was doing this to him? He demanded that the source of his predicament show itself immediately!

There was a glimmer, like gold flakes glittering in a body of clear water. Before it became clear what exactly the huge globe-like…thing…materializing in the middle of the back-alley was, there was flash of golden light and two bodies fell to the filthy ground. One made a very noticeable “Umph!” noise as she fell backwards onto the black-clad man. Yes, it was a woman, definitely a woman by the sound of her, but also because she was the source of the irritatingly inviting power that had been beckoning to him for the past ten minutes or so. She made quick movements, and Tom was certain he had been spotted, but she pulled something from around her neck and held it away from her to examine it. From where he stood, it seemed as though the little trinket hanging from the golden chain was…melting? It radiated a faint red-orange color, as if past the point of merely burning, and the dials connected had turned to a more viable consistency and looked to be drooping. She rolled off of the man, brushing her knees off as she stood; making sure to hold the burning thing away from her. The witch conjured a small box and placed the necklace inside before shrinking it down and pocketing it.

To Tom, the witch seemed to be quite horrified as she took in her surroundings. Apparently she had not expected to appear in a back-alley of Knockturn Alley. ‘Curioser and curioser,’ mused Tom.

When she turned, he could finally see her face. She looked just a few years older than he and wore the most elegant style of dresses he had seen on a witch of her power. ‘She must be a pure-blood to be wearing materials superior to the Malfoys,’ Tom continued his contemplations. She had a very pretty face – if plain was pretty – and she wore her hair pulled harshly back into a tight bun, but he noted that several frizzy locks had dislodged and fell around her face in a…in a somewhat attractive way. She wasn’t a beauty, but she could be pretty if she tried more. It looked as though she had put thought into the clothes, but make-up had been forgotten.

Tom remained silent and hidden in the shadows as he watched her pull the hood of her cloak up, barely looking at the stunned wizard on the ground next to her. “Get off the ground, Professor,” she said in a quip-like tone. “We have a copy of the Daily Prophet to locate…”

She passed without a second glance at Tom, and he was relieved that she had not noticed him, but infuriated as his legs began to pull him down the street a ways behind her. His body urged him forward as her magic called to – coerced him to follow. Did she know he was there? Was she aware that she was empowering his anatomy to work against his will? Was she doing this on purpose? When he had had quite enough of it he found his voice refusing to work. He remained silent, and he was thankful for it eventually as the dark haired wizard – Professor, she had called him Professor – came up from behind him and passed by without looking to see who he was brushing past.

Tom followed the odd pair, his legs declining to listen to him; instead they chose to trail after the intoxicating scent of the witch’s magic. He felt the desire to reach out and grab her – to make his presence known. But soon the witch and the wizard were lost to him in the overwhelming crowds of Diagon Alley shoppers. They were gone…

An elbow nudged him in the ribs, pulling him from the reminiscence and back to reality. He controlled the urge to flinch from the sharp pain and turned to look at the perpetrator who dared touch him. It was Abraxas – of course, who else would sit at his right side? He looked around the table with a cold stare at his Knights sitting inconspicuously around him at the Slytherin table. The Great Hall was filled with students, and apparently he had missed the Sorting Hat’s ridiculous show and the sorting of first years. Headmaster Dippet was already mid-way through his speech, but Tom’s attention was drawn back to the dark-haired wizard sitting next to Dumbledore at the Head table. It was him. It was that wizard from Knockturn Alley – the one following behind the witch. What was he doing at Hogwarts? And where was that witch he had been with? What was going on?

“Are you feeling ill, my Lord?” Abraxas leaned in to murmur.

Tom gave a short “no” before turning his attention back to the Headmaster’s speech. Maybe he hadn’t missed the introduction of the new teacher yet? No, he had, because now Dippet was sitting back down. Drat! Tom turned back to Abraxas with a glare and motioned slyly towards the unknown wizard, “Who is the new professor?”

“Some unheard-of bloke,” Malfoy answered. “Professor Snape, the new Defense teacher to aide Professor Merrythought and Professor Slughorn, my Lord. Weren’t you listening to Dippet’s speech?”

“I have seen him before…is there another addition to the school staff? A witch?” His tone was short and cold as he dismissed Malfoy’s obnoxious attempt to pull information out of him. He had been too obvious with his staring at the new teacher, apparently. He would not make that mistake again. Tom Riddle did not appreciate being caught off guard. He hissed at the blond pure-blood’s hesitation, “Tell me, Abraxas!”

Malfoy flinched at Tom’s abrasive tone, but the Head Boy could care less. He wanted information and his knight was severely lacking in the spit-it-out department. “A-an apprentice Medi-Witch to Madam Nettlestone…Ms. Granger, if I recall correctly…”

Tom nodded once and began to help himself to the food as it appeared on the table. He lowered his voice, but icy authority dripped from his words as he spoke, “Use your contacts to find as much as you can about…Professor Snape and Ms. Granger…Can you do that, Abraxas – or do I need to order one of my other followers to it in your stead?”

Malfoy shook his head, wide-eyed, “No, my Lord. I will succeed.”

“Make sure that you do, Abraxas.” With that, Tom returned to eating the food on his plate in silent elegance as he listened in to the conversations his knights were absorbed in around him. He held back a glare and look of disgust at them all. Inferior beings, he thought. They did not even understand that there was something unnatural about the two new additions to the Hogwarts staff. It was of no consequence to them, though, since they had no reason to suspect something strange about the two newcomers. They had not been in Knockturn Alley the day “Professor Snape” and “Ms. Granger” appeared out of a golden, spinning globe – out of thin air. No, his Knights of Walpurgis had nothing to suspect, other than their Master’s curiosity regarding the witch and wizard. There was something…odd…about the dark-haired wizard and the witch’s arrival, and their subsequent appearance at Hogwarts at the Welcoming Feast. Tom planned to discover their origins, one way or another. At the moment, he would have to patiently wait until Abraxas handed him the information on the pair and then proceed from there. Whichever direction he chose to take after he learned as much as he could about the two strangers, he was completely certain that he would be one step closer to the one question that had puzzled him since he had first felt that teasing waft of power that the witch had exuded: why did it feel so familiar?

It was obvious that he would be seeking out this…Ms. Granger…and having a few words with her. He wondered why he had not felt the call of her magic reaching out through the halls of the school. Unless Knockturn Alley had been a fluke, but Tom highly doubted it. She must not have been controlling her power that day – yes that must be it. She must be hidden in the castle somewhere, most likely the infirmary with Madam Nettlestone, and she was probably restraining her magic. It was what Tom did every single day. He restrained and contained his magic from flowing out and encompassing everything within a twenty mile radius of him. Unless he was angry, that is. It was harder to control the potency and range of his magic when he was displeased about something – mostly something his knights had done, or failed to do. It crackled and sizzled around him like a large fire, dark and overwhelming.

He wondered if the witch was just as dark as he was. Her magic hadn’t felt particularly dark, nor had it given off the notion that she was of the “Light,” either. It was almost as if there were several characteristics of her magic that entwined with each other and flowed from her in a seductive experience…and it had a scent, almost. It was like a pheromone. A chemical reaction in the brain that caused his body to react and assume she was giving off subtle perfume-like smell. It was experiencing a sample of the most delicious delicacy; it had been utterly intoxicating, soft and supple with undertones of warm spices and something that uniquely female – uniquely her. He had never known power could be like that and he wanted to know why.

The wizard was drastically different. He was a mystery to the young Dark Lord. He seemed powerful, but then he would drop his guard enough to let go of the reigns, slightly. He was more powerful than he was letting on - holding his magic in so completely that he could be passed over without a second glance back to him. This Professor Snape was…sneaky. Tom would have one or two of his knights keep an eye on the wizard from now on.

The food on the Slytherin table disappeared, and suddenly the students were rising from their seats and filing out of the Great Hall. Tom resigned himself to the fact that he would not be figuring out his conundrum quite as quickly as he would have liked, and exited his seat at the table. Once he was standing his knights followed suit, and as Head Boy he stepped away from his followers to herd the Slytherin first years to their common room. He went through his duties automatically – the guiding first years, the delegation to several Prefects, his orders to his knights – before he could depart for his scheduling patrolling of the corridors on floors two through four, which would put him in the vicinity of the Hospital Wing, he noted with a smirk.

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Hermione was not feeling well. Containing her magic for several hours – it was not a pleasant feeling. It wanted to be released, but as she was in a school filled with students and teachers and Dumbledore she couldn’t risk letting her power flow freely. She still had her impromptu tour of the potions cabinets by Madam Nettlestone, the staff meeting, and there was the required patrolling of the corridors that Dippet had shirked onto her, along with Snape, before she could dash up to the Room of Requirement and unleash herself. It was physically painful to her when she held back her magic for longer than a day at the most. She was not used to it, and it did not bode well for the inhabitants of Hogwarts.

At Spinner’s End, she could allow her magic to roam freely through the halls and rooms, as long as it remained within the house. But in Hogwarts, with Dumbledore around every turn when was there, always eyeing her with a curious twinkle in his eye, she had been forced to hold her magic in completely. It was increasingly difficult to wait until after dinner to slip away to the Room of Requirement with Snape and let her power roam freely. And she was dissatisfied with the amount of dueling and physical training the professor and she had been forced to cut back on. They couldn’t very well disappear for hours at a time throughout the day - it would look too suspicious and unseemly for a woman in the 1940s to take off in secret with her “fiancé.” So she her hand had been forced, she had to find other ways to ease her affliction. Humming and singing helped, when she was wandering the corridors alone; sneaking into an empty classroom during lunch and unshrinking the piano she had brought with her from Spinner’s End – it made her think of things other than her discomfort. Playing the piano with practiced hands drove away the constant need to let her magic out. It simplified the situation around her, but it soothed her more when Snape was around. His presence had come to soothe her in the past few days since they had interviewed and moved into Hogwarts.

Dippet was a lazy Headmaster, she had decided. He had been more than willing to offer them positions after meeting them. Professor Merrythought, a pleasant woman in her mid-fifties, was planning to retire at the end of the school year, and Professor Slughorn, the Potions Master, had been complaining about the constant demand of brewed potions for the infirmary. Slughorn was a lazy man, too. But Hermione had already known that when she first met him in her own time. He was also pompous and walked around with an air of privilege because of his plethora of “connections” in the wizarding world. Horace Slughorn was just as distasteful to her now and he had been during her sixth year. Nothing had changed it seemed.

With Snape’s impeccable resume with specialties in Defense and Potions, he had been hired immediately. The Professor would be taking over Merrythought’s classes for first through fourth years; and in his free periods would be doing the brewing for the Hospital Wing. At Snape’s insistence, Hermione had been granted several free nights throughout the week to assist him in the brewing, “to better help her succeed in her apprenticeship” he had said to the Headmaster and Madam Nettlestone. The Medi-Witch had seemed more than willing to relinquish the reigns to Snape but take the credit when it came to certain aspects of Hermione’s apprenticeship. She had an inkling that Nettlestone did not particular appreciate Hermione encroaching upon her domain. But when a soon-to-be-wed couple come calling for jobs at a prestigious wizarding school, one cannot be hired without the other. Or so Hermione made Dippet believe with just a little flex of calming, warm and friendly magic to caress his tired frame. It had been just a fleeting influence and nothing more. Hermione hadn’t wished to be caught by Dumbledore – the man had waltzed in just a few seconds later. He had definitely felt the shift in atmosphere in the office, but Hermione had faked ignorance almost as well as Snape regarding that particular matter. Albus had been suspicious ever since.

“Well, Ms. Granger,” Madam Nettlestone said with an exasperated sigh. Yep, the woman definitely didn’t like her. Or, rather her uncanny ability to correct the medi-witch in the proper way to categorize her potions’ cabinet. “That’s it for tonight. You may go – I believe the Headmaster assigned you to patrol tonight with your intended?” She waited for Hermione to nod before her stern, thin lips forced a tight smile, “Well then, you wouldn’t want to keep him, would you? Go along now. I will see you first thing in the morning to begin the stripping and washing of the infirmary linens. I bid you a good night.”

Oh, yay, Hermione grimaced, laundry – I’ve died and gone to heaven, haven’t I?! She rolled her eyes when she turned from the retreating back of the medi-witch. The woman was intolerably frigid, Hermione had decided. If she could flex just a tiny tendril towards the woman to make her less uptight, Hermione felt she might actually survive the next two years with the woman. But, what was done was done, and Nettlestone obviously was not going to change anytime soon and Hermione was too cautious about Dumbledore’s all-seeing eyes when it came to Hogwarts to attempt something on the old maid.

Leaving the infirmary, Hermione set off to the dungeons to meet Snape for her first lesson in the art of nighttime patrolling. It was confusing to her why Dippet had decided she – and apprentice medi-witch/Healer – would need to patrol corridors like the teaching staff. It wasn’t like she could hand out detentions, and she had only been given a limit on how many points she could take away from misbehaving students – a whopping ten point maximum, woo hoo! That’ll teach the devious miscreants, she was one-hundred percent certain that a total ten points taken from a student’s respective House would definitely teach said student a lesson.

She rolled her eyes and focused on the tune stuck in her head. It had been there all day, but she hadn’t complained. Humming it aggravated Nettlestone and it made her temporarily forget about the pain of locking her magic away inside of her for an entire day. Really, it was extremely painful, excruciating. Back to the tune, she wondered if there was anything else she could think of to hum or sing for the night. The Professor had quite enjoyed her singing just the other night, even if she felt affronted in a way because she had not known he had snuck into the Room of Requirement early to watch and listen. It hadn’t been the fact that he listened to her sing, it had been the fact that he had not made her aware of his presence. He never let go of his own power around her, therefore she had no magical signature to alert her to the fact that he was near. It was quite frustrating. He said it was no necessary to let it roam free, he had it under control. She did not have such control upon her magic. Keeping it in made her ill, it made her hurt, but she forced herself to find ways to ignore the feeling until she could escape into the sanctuary that only the Come and Go Room could supply her with.

She was only on the fourth floor staircase. It would take her another seven minutes before she met Snape in the dungeons and her body was screaming for release from the torture of holding back her safety net of magic. She was used to letting roam free from her, blanket her in a sense of security and warmth and…dark notions. It felt like she caging herself by caging her ability as to not raise suspicions. She wanted to stamp her foot like a petulant child and do as she pleased. She regretted ever mentioning Hogwarts as an option. She would much prefer to live in a shack in the woods with Snape’s bad attitude forever then spend another day in pain because she lacked the practiced control to contain her magic without consequence.

And now her temper was flaring just thinking of it. Darn. Humming just wasn’t working at the moment. Maybe she could shirk her duties and hide in the Room of Requirement early this evening? She hung her shoulders in defeat. No, the professor would come and find her before he allowed her to blow off “adult responsibilities” as he had called them, like she was a child who had no idea about responsibilities and ethics and morals. She knew, she understood what came with reaching the age of majority – she wasn’t naïve. She just chose to ignore most of what Dumbledore and her parents had instilled in her from a young age. She liked the Dark Arts to that extent – she could choose to ignore the idea of right and wrong and morality codes, doing as she so pleased when she so pleased, and there were hardly any feelings of guilt or consequences. It had been freeing, and now she had to adhere to Hogwarts’ rules and regulations, again. It made her feel slightly claustrophobic.

“When I was younger I saw my daddy cry,” her sweet, lilting voice rang out and echoed through the empty corridors as she stepped off of the staircase and onto the third floor. She walked close to the stone walls, letting her fingers trail behind her along the gritty surface, taking her time to look at the paintings decorating the halls, “and curse at the wind…He broke his own heart and I watched…as he tried to reassemble it. And my momma swore that she would…never forget...”

There was someone coming up the hall, a gracefulness to his stride as he slowed. She continued to sing in a quiet voice anyway, just to keep her mind off of the searing ache deep inside. It wasn’t a crime to hum and sing in the corridors – at least she wasn’t dancing. No, it didn’t bother her. Singing soothed her when the Professor was not around. He had that…calming effect about him to her it, at least. Even when he was in a bad mood, just being in the same room as him was quite consoling to her nerves. After spending years of sporadic meetings with him, then constant proximity in Spinner’s End and then they had spent entire days in silence while staying at the Three Broomsticks reading together while they waited for Dippet’s replies to their resumes, that Snape had become such a fixture in her daily life. Now that she was floors away from him during the day, she found she missed him and his cutting remarks when something irritated him.

“And that was the day that I promised – I’d never sing of love if it does not exist…” She wished she could figure out how to unfreeze her cold heart. She wished she could love Snape, sadistic and twisted as he usually was, as deeply as he seemed to lover her, adore her. He was caring and gentle but could become cruel and ruthless as quickly as a light switching on. He was very intelligent and Hermione found that very attractive. He didn’t need to be handsome for her – he seemed to be perfect for her – but there was that hesitation inside of her. It was infuriating, because she would like nothing more than to be who he desired her to be. He wanted her just the way she was, but he also secretly wished for her to be less damaged by a “Weasley brat.” If she could figure out how to accept the notion of “love” and “adoration” she would, for him. But that was not possible at the moment. She understood lust, even if she had never experienced the amazing wonders of good sex. She was still a virgin, for Merlin’s sake! Ron had never made it that far with her before he was blowing his load. She wondered if he was just that inexperienced, or if the thought alone of finally having her was enough to cause him to orgasm prematurely. At any rate, the most Hermione had experienced were fumbling fingers and an attempt at cunnilingus, and neither of those forms of oral sex had done anything for her. Maybe because it had been Ron and it was her body’s way of telling her that she didn’t want him touching her in those intimate ways? Snape had ignited many a flame in her by just looking at her during meetings; flames of desire that she had extinguished with her own fingers during the late hours of the night, after the wizard had left.

“Maybe I know somewhere, deep in my soul that love never lasts. And we’ve got to find other ways to make it alone, or keep a straight face.” She could almost see the face of the person heading towards her. Why didn’t Hogwarts have self-sustaining light fixtures again? Surely with a castle full of capable witches and wizards, one of them could have come up with a way to create little balls of light that floated in lanterns along the walls – or floating candles at night. Why did the corridors have to be cast in complete and utter darkness? “And I’ve always lived like this; keeping a comfortable distance…And up until now I’ve sworn to myself that I’m content with loneliness…” It was a student; male, most likely a seventh year by his height and almost adult appearance. He had a Head badge shining on the breast of his school robes, his wand lit as he patrolled the third floor. He had pale skin – smooth skin, flawless and unblemished – with dark eyes that burned in the dim light his wand was casting through the corridor around him. If it had been daylight, she could have been able to tell if he had black hair or if it was dark brown and only appeared black because it was almost a quarter to ten. “Because none of it was ever worth the risk…”

He was quite handsome – breathtakingly beautiful for a student. Looking like that should be made illegal, Hermione thought to herself as they reached a middle ground, hesitated, and passed each other. There was a flicker of…something…behind his impassive face. It had been in his eyes; a recognition of…her? She’d never seen him before – she was a newcomer to the 1940s, where would she have seen him before, anyway – but he seemed to be aware of her. She gave him a smirk and continued towards the staircase down to the second floor, never catching the flash of red that rushed through his dark eyes, “Well, you are…the only exception…You are the only exception…”

“Hermione,” growled the voice of Snape as she stepped onto the second floor steps. “You were to meet me twenty minutes ago, darling…”

He didn’t like it when she made him wait. He was punctual, and so was she, but at times she seemed to let herself slow down and enjoy quiet strolls. She snorted and let him take her hand in his when she reached the spot he had fixated himself upon, “Madam Nettlestone kept me late.”

“Inexcusable,” drawled Snape. He placed her arm around his, her hand resting on his forearm as he led her down to the dungeons. “We still have the staff meeting after rounds before we can steal a private moment.”

She preened, “Oh, you do know how much I enjoy those private moments…What will it consist of this evening? Will you be reading to me by a fire, or dueling practice – maybe an embrace and a chaste kiss? I do know how much you adore stealing kisses,” she lowered her voice to a breath against his ear, “Professor…”

He shivered, but his face remained an emotionless mask. She took enjoyment out of his shivers. It was the closest to more-than-platonic-feelings that she could come to at the moment. She held no lustful inclinations towards the wizard guiding her through the corridors, catching snogging students and taking points from Houses. Not unless he was using that commanding, cruel voice that reminded her of potions class during her time at Hogwarts, then she would experience a very specific tingle run along her skin. She had almost panted when he had told her that at some point soon he would be putting her enhanced skin through its paces to see how much damage she could withstand without weakening; it meant torture. And he had told her in his professor-voice. She imagined she would enjoy that type of pain quite a lot in this new body, her old body with a thicker skin. The pain she was in from holding in her magic was a sickly, ill torture – a pain from not feeling well. But she had seen the look in Snape’s eyes when he had implied what would take place as “experiments” on her physical self. At that moment she had realized that Snape had a very dark, evil side that he hid quite well. He was a closet-sadist, and that had sent a twinge of desire coursing through her. She was just as excited about the venture. She wanted to know how her body would respond.

He leaned away from her slightly and glared, “Not here, Ms. Granger…we have duties to perform.”

“Oh, yes,” she blushed as was expected, playing her part in their fake engagement perfectly since they had arrived at Hogwarts. “I’m sorry…Severus…” She still had trouble saying his first name. It seemed naughty to her. He had always been “professor” or “Snape” to her, and now she was expected to call him by his given name as if she had only ever called him by “Severus.” It slipped off her tongue well enough, but she desired for him to remain as her teacher. It seemed by calling him by his first name that the dynamic of their strange relationship/partnership would change exponentially. Though, she always noticed the flicker of pleasure run through his face when she said his name…Severus…

He liked it…

                She changed the subject as they finished their patrol and began to climb the stairs up to the staff lounge, “Would you like me to play the piano for you this evening? I’ve had this song stuck in my head all day and I believe you would enjoy it.”

                “I had other things in mind for the evening, Hermione,” answered Snape with a devious smirk. “I believe a little practice in control would do you good…”

                He was going to make her hold her magic in longer tonight, “Bastard.”

                He chuckled and grinned, and she glared at him impetuously. They strolled in silence, but Hermione gave his forearm an affectionate squeeze every now and then and it seemed to placate him more. As the days passed she found it more easy to manage and manipulate the mystery that was Severus Snape. If she wanted, one day she could play him until he was putty in her hands. But then, what fun would that be if he didn’t hold onto that feisty bite of his? If he wasn’t head-strong and stubborn, he wouldn’t be her professor, would he? He wouldn’t be Snape, and then she wouldn’t want him. It would just be a waste.

                She smirked, “It wouldn’t be a bad thing for you lose control sometimes, Severus. I’m quite sure that you would enjoy it immensely.”

                He remained silent, but she noticed the cringe at the corner of her mouth. The thought of relinquishing the reigns of his own body pained him, it seemed. Nevertheless, she would find a way to get him to release his power and let it wash over her. She wanted to feel it crashing against her skin like the Dark Lord’s had during the Death Eater meeting. She wanted to know if Snape’s magic was electric and white hot, or smooth and subtle; it was a mystery to her and she wanted desperately to know. It was an obsession to her. Would it feel like luxurious fabrics against her skin, or would it be commanding and rough and violent? Would it be gentle or would it drown her under its weight? So many different curiosities she had regarding Snape and his – wait…what was that?

                They were just a hall away from the staff lounge when she felt it; a shift of magic in the air. And it was a familiar magic in the air, as a matter of fact. She knew that power – she had experienced the cashmere and silk feel of it in her own time…just before Snape and she landed in the past…Voldemort?

                No, Tom Riddle, she corrected herself.

                Apparently Snape had felt it too. He was pushing her against the wall and sending up a shield when she began to turn towards the overwhelmingly tangible sensation that was the Dark Lord’s magic. Even at his young age he had it so well trained, and it was thoroughly intoxicating to her. It had a scent – hot and musky and purely masculine – almost like a spice of some kind. It tasted like the ultimate power when she breathed in through her mouth and nose. It pulled at her restraint, loosened her control until she was switching positions with Snape and covering the wizard with her body before turning towards the source of her unhinging. She had almost forgotten that he was a student in 1944 – what large thing to let slip from one’s mind.

                He was staring from the shadows; she could feel his eyes on her. She looked up and down the corridor before unraveling the tight grasp on her own magic and letting in uncoil outwards. It filled the corridor in mere seconds and she could feel where he was hiding. He was only a two meters away and she was certain it was difficult to breathe for him, at present. No matter how deceivingly feminine and soft her magic may feel to others, it could still clog the senses when she allowed it to. It would press around and then down upon Snape, make him fall to his knees as the tendrils caressed him; and she was certain that the young Dark Lord was being affected in much the same. She knew it was unfair – he was only seventeen – but she couldn’t pass up the chance to make Lord Voldemort kneel before her, if only for a few seconds. That was how long it lasted before he released his full wrath and lashed out. Her magic was rebuffed, and his circled her viciously.

                The feel of his full power at such a young age burned her skin deliciously. It sizzled and tingled and she sighed happily. She never would have expected to find power so attractive when she was a schoolgirl. Of course, when she was a student she would never have believed it if someone told her how far she would immerse herself into the dark arts later in life, or how good it would feel to be a little bad now and then. She would have laughed at the person and told them to be checked by a Healer for brain injuries. Now she reveled in the feel of just raw energy lashing out at her. Now she never wanted to go back to being innocent and naïve.

                She smirked towards the shimmering shadow of the future Dark Lord and let her power caress his skin like only a female would, “Hello, Tom, it’s been awhile.”

                “How do you know my name?” He stepped out of the shadows and cancelled his Disillusionment Charm. Hermione’s eyebrows rose slightly in surprise before her face became a teasing mask. He was the Head Boy from the third floor corridor – she had passed him a mere two hours ago. “Why are you here? Where do you come from? Tell me now!”

                “Tsk, tsk, tsk,” she waggled a long finger at him and letting Snape step in front of her.

                “I believe that you should return to your dorm, Mr. Riddle,” drawled Severus. She could only assume he had fixed the young Voldemort with one of his infamous glares. “We wouldn’t want to cause a scene if Professor Dumbledore appeared, would we?”

                “What do you know,” Tom hissed, taking another threatening step towards the odd couple. “You’ve been hear two seconds – you cannot possibly know every student by name and face!”

                Hermione peeked around Snape’s broad shoulders, the light from the boy’s wand dancing in her brown eyes. She watched him watch her as she reached around and clutched Severus’s arm tightly. She brought one finger up to her lips, “Shhh…”

                The look on Tom Riddle’s face was simply priceless as Snape and Hermione dissolved into the shadows. She could hear his furious shout echoing after them as they slinked off towards the staff lounge for the meeting. She knew what they had done was blatant provocation towards the future Dark Lord, but in her mind there had been nothing else they could do. Dismissing his inquiries, evading the prospect of answering his questions, or simply ignoring him would only prove to render the same reaction out of the boy. In all rationality, any avenue they took would have led to the same conclusion in Tom Riddle’s mind. He would seek them out, delve deep into their backgrounds, but he would come up with very little. Their presence alone had already, apparently, disrupted his school-life. Hermione shrugged it off and chalked it up to one simple thought: it would have happened eventually.

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Song lyrics used in this chapter are "Only Exception" by Paramore, I own no copyrights to the lyrics and I do not earn profit from using them in this fiction.

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Remember November