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Please consider turning it on! Remember Me. In a postwar world, members of the Order and the DA are sent together into hiding.

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Trapped in claustrophobic circumstances, plagued by inexplicable dreams, surrounded by her closest friends – and her most dreaded adversary – Hermione struggles to come to terms with her postwar life.

I am no more a fan of long Author’s Notes than you are, dear Reader, but I feel strongly that this one is necessary. We follow canon right up until the end of Book 5, with one caveat: Before engaging Dumbledore in battle, the Dark Lord frees his minions from captivity.

They do not go to Azkaban, Fudge does not admit to the return of Lord Voldemort, and open warfare does not ensue. Fudge remains the Minister for Magic, the Malfoys continue to buy influence within the Ministry, and through these machinations, the Death Eaters engage in a completely undercover battle for power in the magical world with the Order of the Phoenix.

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There are no Horcruxes, Dumbledore does not die, Lupin and Tonks do not rush to marry, and the people who died at the end of Book 7 remain alive.

The war ends after one battle that takes place at Hogwarts but does not involve every magical person in the UK with the courage to fight. Only the Order and the DA are aware of the conflict, and only they fight for the Light.

I encourage you, every time you’re confused by something in this story that brings on cognitive dissonance, please return to this Author’s Note to clear your mind.

A second very important point is for you to carefully note the date headings on the various sections.

This story follows more than one timeline, and the date headings are there to guide your way through the story. Ten o’clock on Christmas night, and Harry Potter lounged in the Gryffindor common room with his two best friends.

It had been a quiet Christmas holiday thus far for them, because they had remained at school over the break at the suggestion of Headmaster Dumbledore, but very few other students had made the same choice.

Hermione curled up on the sofa before the fire with Harry’s gift in her hands—a book called Transcendent Quality of Remembrance by Professor Moneta Muninn.

Unlike Ron, who gave gifts based upon his lack of imagination the same ‘interesting’ perfume he gave her every year?

She had particularly wanted this book because its author was the head of a project at a wizarding university, where the phenomenon of memory was under research.

Hermione was fascinated by the subject—particularly since her two best friends had narrowly escaped having their memories wiped like a chalky blackboard by Gilderoy Lockhart when they were twelve years old.

Harry and Ron sat at a table nearby, playing a particularly violent game of wizard chess and gorging themselves on Mrs Weasley’s homemade fudge from their Christmas packages.

Hermione thought the behaviour of the chess pieces was barbaric, but it gave her a feeling of comfort to hear her friends’ voices.

That was how Professor Dumbledore found them when he came, quite unexpectedly, through the portrait hole and into the common room.

It was an unprecedented act. Harry saw Dumbledore first. Hermione abandoned her book and moved to join the three wizards in the middle of the room, a feeling of dread forming like an icy rock in her tummy.

She had a very bad feeling about this. There had been some particularly ominous articles in the Daily Prophet over the last couple of weeks.

It was Ron who asked the question in Hermione’s mind. The headmaster’s usually twinkling blue eyes were quite grave as he looked at them over his half-moon spectacles and answered.

Only students of wizarding blood will be permitted to attend Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Muggle-born students will be notified not to return to school for the winter term.

Immediately, Harry and Ron each put an arm protectively around Hermione, but although she appreciated the gesture, she was far too angry to be in need to emotional support.

We have plans to make! The headmaster took Hermione’s arm and led her to the sofa where she had left her book, and the two of them sat down.

The pounding upon the dungeon door was loud enough to startle Severus Snape into faltering in his anti-clockwise stirs of the potion in the cauldron, but the disturbance was marked by nothing more than the curl of his upper lip, lifted in a contemptuous sneer; doggedly, he continued stirring, counting as he went.

After the Christmas holiday break, the student population was always rife with head colds, and a fresh batch of Pepper-Up was needed in the infirmary.

The Potions master toiled over his cauldron, robes discarded, cuffs of his white lawn shirt rolled up his forearms, a heavy apron protecting his clothing from the ingredients.

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Septima Vector, seated upon a high stool at the work table across from him, marking papers, turned a startled look on Snape, but she wisely waited for her colleague to set down his crystal stirring rod before speaking.

To his surprise, the headmaster stood without, his deputy headmistress at his side. Minerva McGonagall was anxiously casting glances over her shoulder.

If she had been in her Animagus form, Severus thought, her tail would have been twitching. Severus stepped to one side, motioning them to enter.

The old man turned to Severus, his blue eyes bright, an almost manic light in them. The Dark Lord, through the machinations and seemingly unlimited financial resources of the Malfoys, had shot the tendrils of his influence all through the fabric of the Ministry now.

Cornelius Fudge, not the sharpest knife in the block, had proven himself to be quite susceptible to the twin influences of clandestine gold and insincere flattery.

Meanwhile, they want me out of the castle.

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Voldemort seems to believe I will be less of a hindrance to him outside these walls. Severus flinched at the Voldemort, knowing the ugly Mark upon his arm informed his Master each time the name was spoken aloud in the presence of a Death Eater.

Still, Riddle believed the Potions master to be his man at Hogwarts; he would not suspect Severus of perfidy. For the first time, the old man looked thoroughly disgusted.

Severus swore, and his three colleagues nodded as one person. Everyone at Hogwarts despised the toad-like Dolores.

McGonagall sniffed angrily. Either way, she will make our lives miserable, and it will be very hard to protect the students. Dumbledore did not react to the question; his attention was focused on Severus like a magical laser beam.

Severus was jerked from his roiling thoughts as rudely as if some gigantic being had snatched him up like a child from a sandbox.

The old man placed a hand upon Severus’ left forearm, just below the partially turned-back cuffs, his spindly, clever fingers brushing against the Dark Mark.

Hermione Granger is integral to his success, Severus. You know this, whether you wish to admit it or not.

Severus saw the deadly snare and felt as helpless to evade it as the simplest of forest creatures. Severus jerked away from his mentor, furious, his tone growing more violently strident with each new affront.

Dumbledore watched him with cold, commanding certainty. Black eyes locked with blue, and Severus threw up his Occlumency shields with frantic speed.

His lips peeled back from unattractive teeth as he battled to keep the old man out of his mind, until at last he yielded, as he always did, in the end.

After a moment, the headmaster withdrew from Severus’ mind, his shrewd eyes knowing. Argus Filch rushed into the workroom, Mrs Norris clutched protectively in his scrawny arms, where she purred, unperturbed by human drama.

Severus pulled away from him.

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Fawkes appeared from nowhere, his brilliant scarlet plumage jarringly beautiful in the cold, dreary dungeon workroom.

The phoenix sang one piercing note, which fell like a wash of calm and serenity upon its auditors, and then the old wizard and his familiar disappeared in a showy flash of golden light.

Hermione laid her rucksack on the floor and stared around the room assigned to her. It was at the very top of the house—an attic that had been converted to a bedroom—and quite small, with oddly slanting ceilings.

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Ignoring the pieces of furniture, she studied the old-fashioned wallpaper and framed still life paintings. There were windows on opposite walls that faced each other; one looked out on the front garden and beyond to a broad stream; the other looked out into the forest in which the house was situated, from which its name was derived: Forest Haven.

The view was quite lovely, really, and already she wanted to explore along the brook, where wildflowers grew in profusion. Footsteps thundered on the staircase, and Harry and Ron erupted into the room behind her.

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Hermione turned a tight-lipped glare on Ron, forcing herself to count to ten. She’d grown good at it in the last several months, learning to hold her peace and think before blurting out whatever was on the tip of her tongue.

Harry, recognising the signs, elbowed Ron sharply in the ribs. Harry gave her a rueful grin and changed the subject.

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Hermione went to the neatly made double bed and dumped her bag on the cheerful yellow counterpane. Ron shrugged.

Mum will cook, Fred and George will drive her nuts, and Dad will sleep in his chair and pretend to referee. Honestly, why couldn’t Ron just keep his mouth shut?

She didn’t want to thrash it all out again. Even though it had been over two months since the end of the war, here they were, in hiding again.

Headmaster Dumbledore had called them to an emergency meeting of the Order of the Phoenix and told them there was a ‘creditable threat’ against all the Order members.

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Dumbledore had an excellent lead on the perpetrators, and the he would be working closely with Magical Law Enforcement. Already in the midst of packing up to leave school for the last time, the trio had grabbed a knapsack of necessities and moved straight from Hogwarts to this place.

To Hermione, it meant only that she would be closed up in a house full to the bursting point with too many people, and that her other plans were to be … delayed.

Harry and I were going to London. We were going to have almost two months to be on the prowl before Auror training begins in September.

A fatuous expression crossed his freckled face, and Hermione felt a reluctant tug of affection. She still loved Ron and Harry—they were her dearest friends, and no one else could ever understand all they’d been through together—but she’d had to harden her heart of late.

She couldn’t spend as much time worrying about and helping them. She had important issues of her own that needed sorting out. Harry came close and leant upon the old-fashioned brass bedstead.