The Quest

A Severus Snape x Hermione GrangerFanfiction

A/N: Hello, everyone! I know it's been a while, and I apologize. But I found some inspiration to write again, and so here is the first chapter of a new tale. Please note two things: Hermione is initially a bit more arcane in this story than in the books, more instinctive and less intellectual. That is only fair due to the setting, but it will change. The second thing that will change is the rating—it may take a while, but yes, there will be smut. Just wanted to throw that in there so you all know what you're getting into; I'll give fair warning, though, so you can just skip it if that's not your cup of tea.

Anyhow, hold onto your horses and here we go! A new adventure awaits!

Please remember to favorite, follow and review! It's my bread and butter!

Ever Yours,

SunnyBunny99

Chapter I

Curtains of fog crouched low over the tiny village, thick and sibilant in the ominous quiet. The hazy, dark shapes of people were visible only by the yellow lights of torches bobbing through the murk; an occasional hushed shout was audible as they called each other for help. But it was futile; there were more lying on the cold ground than there were standing.

In the center of the village, a lone figure on horseback watched the panicked villagers scurrying to and fro in silence. Puffs of chilled breath wafted out from the slits in his helmet and he shifted slightly in the saddle with a squeak of leather and jangle of brass, but he made no move to aid anyone—not even as he saw a couple sobbing, dragging their wounded son from the splintered, smoldering wreckage of their home.

Thunderous hoofbeats sounded, getting closer by the moment. Several villagers, now paranoid and fearing it might be the enemy returned to finish them all off, cried out and ran for cover. But the lone knight remained unmoved as a troupe of similarly armored men trotted up to join him.

"Not in the mood to help, hmm, Severus?" one of them asked in a slightly derisive tone.

A growl rattled from beneath Severus' frost-laced helm, so low and foreboding it made the other man's horse whinny nervously.

"You would do well to watch the manner in which you address me, Kingsley," Severus said. "In case Dumbledore's message failed to penetrate your thick skull, allow me to remind you that he assigned me as the leader of this quest—not you."

"And a fine job you're doing of it too, sitting on your high horse and looking on at the suffering of these poor Muggle peasants!" hissed Kingsley angrily.

Severus turned in his saddle—"Tell me then, what can I do? The Dark Lord has already razed this place and killed most of its inhabitants; we have no mediwitch or healer..." He trailed off and turned back to the depressing scene. When he next spoke, his tone was weary. "But if you must, take Nymphadora and see what you can do. I had intended to scope the place out first and ensure that none of the Dark Lord's followers had lingered to ambush us."

"Oh. I see." Kingsley sounded slightly abashed. "Well...is it all clear?"

"If it had not been, you would likely be dead by now," Severus replied wryly. He sighed and gestured dismissively. "Go on, then. Keep your wits about you and your wands ready; swords should be first defense, but it is always wise to prepare for the worst."

Wordlessly Kingsley waved to one of the others, and they dismounted and strode into the foggy darkness together. The leader watched them go and then turned to a knight behind him. "Alastor...ride onward a few leagues and check for a trail. Report anything unusual to me."

"On it," said the knight named Alastor gruffly as he nudged his horse's flanks and cantered away.

Severus Snape flipped up the visor of his helmet and let his glittering dark eyes soak in the horrible scenes of death and destruction laid out before him. He knew that the next town would look exactly like this one, as would the one after that, and so on and so on. But he had been given a mission, and he would not rest until the Dark Lord Voldemort and his army of Death Eaters had met their maker.

But for now, he would have to satisfy his restlessness by occupying his mind elsewhere.

He turned to two more troupe members. "I need a pair of swift riders."

Hermione Granger saw the dust trails before the heard the hooves. Fear bubbled up in her breast and she ran to the woodshed, gripping her skirts high out of the path of her feet, even as her mother and father burst past her in the opposite direction—her father was holding an axe.

Just as she had rehearsed, the young woman dove behind a stack of kindling and quickly scraped hay over her body, burrowing under and shivering with mingled fear and cold. Her blood beat in her ears as she waited for ten seconds...then thirty...then sixty...then ninety...

The shed door groaned open again and Hermione tensed. In the chilled dark her slim fingers sought the length of wood she kept tucked up her left sleeve—only for emergencies, her parents had constantly reminded—and she readied herself to spring up and blast the intruder.

Heavy, slow footfalls drew nearer. "...Hermione?" came a hushed male voice. "Are you in here?"

Relief flooded her body to hear that all too familiar voice, and she scrambled up with a shaky sigh. "Ronald Weasley! You frightened the daylights out of me...I thought you were a Death Eater!"

The freckle-spattered face of the tall, lanky ginger-haired boy before her cracked into a wide grin. "I think a Death Eater might be a bit more stealthy, don't you?" Reaching out, he brushed a few bits of hay from Hermione's wild mane of unruly curls. "You've got a fine hiding spot, though. No proper high-class Death Eater would be caught in a dirty old place like this."

Hermione frowned. "Are you insulting my home?"

"No, no! I was just saying—"

"I know," laughed the young woman. "Anyhow, who was it? Riding in, I mean."

"Oh, that's what I came to find you for!" Ron exclaimed. "It was two knights from the Order!"

Hermione gasped aloud, her eyes flying wide. "What? Really? The Order of the Phoenix?"

"Yes, Lord Dumbledore's men! They're legendary warriors, you know!"

"Who doesn't know?" she retorted, then pushed past him with her heartbeat notching up in excitement. "Come on, let's go see! Wonder what they're here for...?"

"Dunno, but I heard a commotion as they rode in," Ron huffed, keeping step beside her. "They were shouting something, both of them."

The town square was already packed with anxious and excited onlookers as the pair of young people approached, but they managed to squirm and shoulder their way to the front. The two knights had dismounted and were talking to the town elders; Ron jabbed Hermione in the shoulder and pointed at the saddle of the nearest horse.

An eight-foot-long pike was buckled into it, sticking straight up into the heavy whitish sky above. But on that pike hung a banner flag, and its crest perfectly fit the descriptions which Hermione had only heard in tales: a huge golden pheonix with sweeping wings ascending from a tongue of flame on a deep burgundy field.

"It really is them," Hermione breathed. A pang of worry suddenly struck and she bit her lip, turning to look at her childhood friend. "But if they're here, that means it must be bad; they only fight directly with You-Know-Who and his army."

The cluster of elders and knights dispersed then, and the taller of the two newcomers lifted a gauntleted hand. The buzzing crowd immediately fell silent. Ron and Hermione looked on with baited breath as he spoke.

"Ladies and gentlemen, you surely know the reason for our coming. We have been sent from the Order of the Pheonix to warn you that The Dark Lord and his wicked minions are on their way here, only two days' ride Eastward. No doubt you have heard of his thirst for dominance of the nonmagical world and the extermination of all those in it...we in the Order seek to stop him. However, as none of you possess magic, we beg you to take up your belongings and flee as quickly as you can."

"But where?" someone cried.

"Out of Muggle—nonmagical—towns," the knight replied. "But do not fear for this place. We are simply forerunners; the rest of the Order will arrive late tonight and set up a defensive position to blockade The Dark Lord and his Death Eaters when they get here. Providing all goes well, you will be able to return when this is over."

"Will Lord Dumbledore be coming?" someone demanded from the crowd. An excited rustled stirred them all at the mention of the powerful wizard's name.

But to their dismay, the knight shook his head. "Lord Dumbledore is occupied with arranging our more delicate undercover operations; he leaves the frontal battles to us."

"Who leads you, then?"

"Master Severus Snape," came the reply, and this time the ripple of noise was not a good one.

"What?!" Ron bleated indignantly. "You don't mean that manky old turncoat...?"

Apparently most others felt similarly: "He was one of the enemies before this war—!"

"He can't be trusted!"

"I've heard he kills children...!"

"...cruel and vicious..."

"Enough!" thundered the knight, again waving for silence. "Lord Dumbledore has entrusted Master Snape with this mission, and so we are bound to follow and have faith in him. If you wish to leave, we encourage you to do so—there should be no more bloodshed then is absolutely necessary, and none at all from innocents. You are dismissed to go about your business, but keep in mind that the Order members arriving tonight will need places to stay, so kindly keep your homes unlocked if or when you leave. I can promise you that we are not thieves."

Grumbling and muttering, the throng of townspeople dispersed. Hermione caught sight of her mother and father and hurried over to them with Ron at her heels. "Mama, Papa," she greeted them breathlessly, "What are we going to do? Where will we go?"

The senior Grangers exchanged a look that made their daughter uneasy. "Ronald, dear," piped up Mrs. Granger gently, "I think you should go find your family, I'm sure they're looking for you."

"Huh? Oh, yeah, right. See you around, then, 'Mione," muttered Ron, blushing before he patted Hermione lightly on the shoulder in goodbye and vanished into the mass of bodies.

Hermione whirled on her parents. "What is this all about?" she demanded.

"Hermione, love," soothed her mother, "settle down. Your father and I have been talking, and we think that perhaps...well, perhaps staying with us isn't in your best interests."

Their daughter's jaw dropped—"What?"

Her father drew close and spoke in a hushed voice. "Your magic, Hermione. We all know it's getting stronger, more difficult to control and hide. With this war, people like us—non-magic folk—don't trust Wizarding types quite so much."

"Some people have been whispering," her mother added. "Catching on. They suspect you as a witch, and you know how those trials in Scotland went just a few weeks ago..."

Hermione shuddered—she did indeed know; the accused witches had been burned at the stake without so much as a fair trial. "...this anti-magic epidemic is spreading," her father was saying, "and we want you to be safe." He took a deep breath. "So...we arranged for you to stay with the Order."

"What? With a bunch of brainless ragamuffin men in metal skirts?" Hermione exclaimed scornfully, shocked. "You claim you want to keep me safe and yet you would have me on the front lines of the upcoming battle!"

Her father cut in. "We've arranged for you to be under the care of Master Snape; he is their leader and the strongest out of all of them—he will keep you out of harm's way."

The young witch blanched. "Snape?! He's horrible! He was a Death Eater once—"

"—he gave up that life to join the Order—"

"—he's cold and cruel—"

"—he is a strict leader, but you need a good firm hand—"

"—and he murders children!"

"Oh really, Hermione!" Her mother scoffed. "Come off it. You haven't met the man! For all you know he could be as much a demon as Saint Nicholas."

"I'd happily take my chances with Saint Nicholas," Hermione muttered. She looked back up at her parents, her amber colored irises wide and pleading. "Mama...Papa...please, reconsider! I won't touch the wand, I swear—"

Her mother smiled sadly. "It isn't just the wand and you know it, dear. You can do magic without the help of a wand, and I think that became obvious when you lit the poor Weasley family's house on fire the day you argued with Ronald."

The girl flushed pink. "That was—that was...different," she finished lamely.

"I hear the Order has a quite effective method of sending written messages by owl," her father said. "We can write to each other."

"I don't want a bloody owl, I want you!" Hermione burst, now on the verge of tears. "And I don't want to be dragged around by a band of bastard Neanderthals who don't know anything other than violence! I'm no safer with them than I would be doing magic in front of the whole town!"

"Hermione, you're being childish," said her father sternly. "Master Snape has promised to protect you with his life, and if Lord Dumbledore trusts him, so do we."

The pair of elder Grangers spoke words of surety and comfort to their daughter as she pleaded and argued. But eventually the sun began to dim, the already cold temperatures dropping to such that fat flakes of snow began to float down from the heavy clouds. The trio noticed the change and Hermione's parents urged her to join them inside the house, but she pulled away and ran to her favorite hideaway—the bell tower.

The vantage point from the tower was the best, giving a view of the road leading into town as well as the surrounding valley. If anyone were coming, the occupant of the tower would know first. Hermione tugged her thin shawl closer around her shivering frame, but the weather was now the very least of her concerns.

Tonight, the Order member had said. The rest would be here by nightfall...and that included Master Severus Snape.

As for Hermione, she too had heard a good share of the legends surrounding him. Phineas, the old storyteller, insisted that Snape was the son of a wild panther and a demon-possessed prostitute. It had been said that he was once insulted in a tavern and snatched the other man's bottle up, broke it and stabbed him in the throat with shards of broken glass til he had suffocated in his own blood. There was no limit to the savagery of Death Eaters, and as far as Hermione was concerned, they didn't change.

And here she was, about to be handed over to this man—this monster—like some witless child bride!

Golden-red rays of the setting sun washed over Hermione's face, making the falling snowflakes glow and giving a beautifully eerie look to the scene. Gazing down, she saw the knight's horse with the pike in its saddle hitched up to a post—the standard was flapping in the breeze, its deep burgundy now turned into a rich crimson hue and the gold of the crest itself practically glowing in the dusk.

The whole town was strangely quiet save for the whistling wind. It was as if no one bothered to come outside anymore because they knew there was no point anymore. That, and everyone was most likely busy packing up all their belongings.

Tatta-lot, Tatta-lot...

Hermione dried her cheeks of the silent tears she didn't know she had been shedding and focused on the road leading into town. She knew what galloping horses sounded like, and what was floating in on the evening breeze sounded like a whole lot of them. Her eyes focusing hard on the ridge of that path, her heart skipped a beat as multiples of that familiar standard appeared first, followed by its bearers. They came charging down the road, trailing an impressive cloud of dust, all silver armor aglow in the wash of the dying sun.

Except, that is, for the figure at the lead, who was encased in a suit of burnished black from helm to boot...she had heard of only one knight who wore black armor.

And so, with a mighty clopping of hooves and a rush of cold, snowy wind, the Order of the Pheonix arrived in Hermione Granger's town...and thus began the journey that would change her life forever.