The Necromancer Amulet

Author's Notes: Thanks so much to my excellent and very thorough beta reader Amelie, and thanks to my proof-reading beta Aly (both Amelie and Aly are from perfectimagination.co.uk)!

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Chapter Seventeen - Solitary Confinement

"Mother! Nooooo...."

The little girl screamed, a high-pitched wail of terror that reverberated through the large Laburov mansion. Within seconds, a nervous-looking, half-dressed woman slipped into the small, sparsely decorated room, shut the door behind her, and rushed up to the girl's bed.

"Please, little Miss, be quiet!" she whispered worriedly. "You'll disturb your father!"

But the girl was caught in a dream-world, beyond the woman's reach, and with her eyes glazed, the girl wailed in paroxysms of grief as invisible events seemed to unfold in front of her. The woman touched her shoulder, but quickly pulled her hand back, a red weal appearing on it.

"Miss?" she said frantically, as the girl let out another terrified scream, her body in spasms. "It's only a dream, Miss, please ...."

The door flew open and a stately, blonde man, completely clad in dark grey, entered. He took in the scene with disgust.

"I have just about had enough of this!" he said callously, his voice a touch of iron.

"Please, Sir, just give her a couple days. She's just lost her mother. It'll pass soon enough -"

"Silence, squib!"

The governess backed away as the man strode up to the bed, his wand raised, and his blue eyes cold and unforgiving.

"I am her father," he said coldly. "This is my decision."

The woman looked at him, horrified. "No, Sir, please, she's in too much pain. She'll get hurt!"

"Obliviate!"

A blinding flash of light hit the small girl's forehead. She stiffened, white-faced; her wails were abruptly cut off, and she fell back onto her pillows, empty eyes staring into the ceiling.

Domitius Laburov pocketed his wand, gave his daughter one last, cold look, and in three strides, he had exited the room, the door slamming shut behind him.

The governess looked over at the girl where she was lying, white as a corpse, her face tear-streaked, but now devoid of emotion.

"Oh, little Miss, what has he done to you?" the woman whimpered, clutching her rumpled clothing.

.........

It was the first week of March, and the very welcome beams of spring's first sun shone in on Secessa where she sat at the teacher's desk in her classroom, correcting essays absent-mindedly. All that could be heard was the rasping sounds of quills, as the students worked diligently on the assignment she had set them (discuss the magic of wards by considering the following issues: reliability, strength, history, properties, tracing techniques and usefulness), and the day promised to be peaceful.

February had flown by. As the inane excitement of the term's two Quidditch games died down (she had joined the audience like the other teachers, but blatantly refused to wear any sort of scarf), Secessa had gotten into her usual teaching routines very quickly. Work, she had always thought, was the best remedy for any upset feeling, and this proved to be the case now as well. She had even managed to get some enjoyment out of her Duelling classes, where the Slytherins, to Snape's immense surprise, had completely failed at trip-jinxing the Gryffindors. This, of course, increased the general learning pace significantly, as the lessons flowed pretty well without interruption; and she found out that it was indeed possible to work with Snape, if all the obstacles were removed.

A fruit bat had arrived with a letter from Vladimir in mid-February, telling her that he was now staying at the Damascus Wizard Maladies Clinic, looking into their treatment of genetic diseases. If she needed to get in touch, he advised her to use the fruit-bat, as the heat would not send it awry. However, he recommended her to send it at night as it was a lazy bugger who slept during most of the day.

"Look, it's an owl!"

The outcry from one of the girls abolished Secessa's line of thought.

"Professor, there's an owl outside the window!"

She looked up at the window, and indeed, there was an important-looking owl fluttering outside, carrying a letter.

"Well, let it in then, Miss Patil."

The girl opened the window, letting in the owl, and a fresh gush of spring blew through the classroom as she did do. To Secessa's astoundment, the barn owl flew up to her and dropped the letter in her lap. The students were looking at her intently while she opened it. As she read the letter, her insides turned ice cold.

"Class dismissed," she said quietly, and the NEWT students scrambled up from their desks, leaving the room, some of them sending her curious glances.

"For you, too, Mr Potter," she told the black-haired boy who was lingering behind.

"I ... thought we were to ... discuss my detention."

"There will be no detention this week, Mr Potter."

The boy frowned.

"Class dismissed, Mr Potter," she repeated evenly, and with one last frowning look at her, he left the classroom.

*

Dear Ms Laburova,

It has come to our attention that you have been teaching at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry without a work permit, thereby violating the International Code of Foreign Wizard Employment. Due to the brevity of this offence, you are to be extradited at the earliest convenience, and you will be declined entry to England for a year onwards from today's date. Ministry officials will be dispatched to your place of residence tomorrow morning, to escort you to the Russian border. You may under no circumstances continue your lessons today. We apologise for any inconvenience this may have caused you, and we wish to remind you that work permits for foreign wizards who intend to stay in Britain for more than six months may be obtained from any of our office representatives in Europe or beyond.

Yours sincerely,

Olivia Harding

Foreign Office

Ministry of Magic

Sitting at her office desk, Secessa lowered the parchment with a sigh. There was nothing she could do, of course; her time in England was over. Hopefully, someone could continue her classes until they found a new teacher fill her place - Snape, perhaps? She slowly started tidying up her desk, to make way for its next occupant.

There was a tap at the door, and she looked up. "Yes?" she said quietly.

The Headmaster entered, wearing a solemn face. "I am really sorry, Secessa, none of us had any idea ..."

"I know," she replied. "It's fine. It was my own responsibility to find out about these things, so I am the only one to blame. However, I don't plan to be escorted out of the country. I will leave tonight."

"I'm afraid you cannot do that," he said calmly.

She looked up, surprised.

"I rarely interfere with decisions made by the Ministry," Dumbledore continued gravely, "but I think that this is one of the rare occasions when the situation calls for it. I have prepared a room for you on the fifth floor, where you can hide until I have sorted out this situation. With all those Death Eaters after you, leaving Hogwarts is hardly a good idea. In fact, they might have sought to manipulate you into leaving, by exposing you in this way."

"I ... I'm very grateful," she stammered, "I would very much like to stay. But will my absence from teaching not cause you an endless amount of trouble, if you cannot employ a new Professor?"

"Not at all. I will tell Severus to take over your lessons."

The mention of the Potions master's name made her flinch.

"I really don't wish to inconvenience anyone," she said tensely. "At least let me plan my lessons, and help with the correcting work until all this is over."

"An excellent suggestion," Dumbledore said with a sudden smile. "I shall ask one of the house-elves to carry messages between you. And now, I shall leave you to pack. The floo-network will be connected to the fireplace in your new chambers between ten and ten-thirty this evening; just say, 'South wing, fifth floor'."

Secessa smiled back. "I will. And thank you."

Dumbledore gave her a shadow of a wink, and left her quarters, leaving her to ponder over his extraordinary helpfulness.

*

"Abysmal, absolutely abysmal," Severus muttered to himself as he scribbled yet another D on a fifth-year essay on the properties of the ingredients for a Confusing Concoction. With another ten to go, and none of them promising to be reading-treats, he was hardly in for a pleasant evening. And then, on top of that, he had to disembowel horned toads for a second-year practical, and read through the fourth-year essays on Unforgivable Curses, which meant that he would bear the resemblance of a ghoul and smell like a dugbog tomorrow morning. Not that I care.

With an exasperated sigh, he put down his quill. Now, where were Laburova's essays? She usually wasn't as late as this; in fact she was a very punctual person. Due to her help, his workload was still manageable (this, of course, was the least she could do, considering the situation), but this did not mean that he would look kindly upon being kept awake all night, waiting for her to finish.

"Tippy," he called, and the house-elf appeared with a pop. Convenient things, House-Elves. Pity about their small brains.

"Yes, Professor Snape." Tippy was annoyingly cheerful, as always.

"Tell Miss Laburova that I need the essays."

"Certainly, Professor Snape," said Tippy happily, and disappeared.

It was not long before she returned.

"Miss Laburova is asleep, Sir."

"Then perhaps you would be so kind as to wake her up?"

Tippy smiled at him. Sarcasm is, of course, completely wasted on these creatures.

"Tippy cannot wake Miss Laburova, Sir. Tippy tried."

"Oh, very well," he snarled, annoyed now. "I will go there myself." Rising from his desk, he added, "I will call for you if I need you," in his coldest voice. The elf gave him another infuriating smile and vanished.

Luckily, no students could be seen around the castle at this time of night, but that did not mean that the aggravating Mr Potter was not skulking about, so Severus got to the fifth floor only after taking several detours to make sure he wasn't followed. Imagine how easy life would have been, he thought, had Potter not been around. Muttering to himself, he tapped on a mural with his wand, and entered through the door that appeared in front of him.

Secessa's room was cold, he realised, as he stepped inside. However, he did not have time to have a look around; a shriek caught him off-guard, and a big, grey-speckled owl flew straight at him, catching his robe with its claws, tugging at it frenetically while flapping its wings. Instinctively he whipped out his wand and sent the bothersome bird swooping across the room, where it crashed into a wall and dropped to the floor. It hooted at him reproachfully from where it lay, and then got up again, rustling its feathers. Serves you right for ruining my clothing, he thought irritably as he examined the tears on his robes.

The room was obsessively tidy. A pile of essays lay beside some quills and ink on top of an otherwise empty desk, and the two reading-chairs by the fireplace looked unused, their adjoining table empty. There was a door to his right, probably leading to the bedroom, and he opened it, sending a warning glance at the owl before entering.

Secessa was indeed sleeping deeply, her breathing slow and regular. However, she looked unusually pale, her skin bluish, and he wondered at the fact that she was fully dressed. He stiffened at the sight of a glass vial on the floor, before leaning down to pick it up.

He sniffed at it, recognised the smell, and had a sharp look around the room. On a small table to his right stood a medium-sized cauldron, and, beside it, some brown bags with potion ingredients, which he examined briefly to confirm his suspicions. It was as he had feared.

A badly concocted Draught of Peace, and guess who will get the blame for not supplying her with a proper one? It looks like I refused to help her!

"Tippy," he said sharply, and the house-elf appeared.

"Yes, Professor Snape?"

"Get me some blankets."

As she had gone into hypothermia, he needed to get her warm as soon as possible. However, as there was no antidote that would help against this type of poisoning, he would simply have to help her through it. If she hadn't died yet, she probably wouldn't die at all - that is, if she were kept warm.

"Yes, Sir!" Tippy said, looking nervous. "Anything else, Sir?"

"A large coffee with brandy, and make it quick!" He definitely deserved a drink.

"Yes, Sir!"

The house-elf disappeared hurriedly, and Severus turned towards the bed, casting a heating charm on it. Then he left the bedroom, and with a sharp jerk of his wand, he lit a fire in the living room.

A shrill squeal sounded from above, and he looked up to see a fruit bat hanging from the ceiling. The owl had perched on a bookshelf not far away from the bat, and gave him a hooting reproof. It's a bloody animal farm in here, he thought sullenly as he walked up to her desk. Well, if they expect to receive any food from me, they're dead wrong!

On the desk, he found the essays; unfortunately, over half of them were unmarked. As always, it was curious to see his own handwriting on parchment he had never touched, but he noticed with brief satisfaction that she had managed to produce another perfect imitation of his spiky, black scrawl. That is something, at least.

He picked up the unmarked essays and the quill, and was about to return to the other room when the house-elf appeared again, overburdened with blankets and holding a steaming coffee-cup.

"In the other room," he said curtly, and Tippy obeyed him fearfully.

Having covered Secessa in wool blankets, he noticed contentedly that her cheeks soon turned a healthier colour. A bit calmer, he sat down. He was in for a very long night. Sipping at his coffee and marking the essays, he started to vent the remnants of his annoyance in angry black ink.

*

A couple of hours later, Secessa started to stir, breathing shallowly with twitching eyelids, her lips slightly parted. Severus watched her for a while, and couldn't help feeling a bit captivated; without that constant frown upon her face, she was actually quite pretty, in an odd sort of way. He suppressed a primitive urge to move closer, before forcing his gaze away. Great, am I assaulting women in their sleep now?

His head feeling strangely light, he looked down at his coffee-cup suspiciously. It was still full. The bloody house-elf must have fed him with refills for hours.

Cursing, he got up. I have to leave, right away!

He was by the door to her quarters, when a shrill, banshee-like scream erupted from the room behind him, and he swept back inside, wand at the ready.

Secessa was sitting up in her bed, breathing in short gasps, her eyes open and moving, terrified but glazed. He stared at her for a few seconds, and realising she was still asleep, he pointed at her with his wand, and quickly said, "Enervate," just as she was opening her mouth for another yell.

*

Claws, tearing at bleeding flesh, blood on the snow, beasts circling, the growl of monsters, fear calling them, more blood, more claws, death, blood, fear...

...and the little girl screamed, her heart dying more and more as the terrible scene was played out before her. "Mother," she yelled, "Mother, noooo...."

"Enervate," someone said, and Secessa opened her eyes with a jerk, a memory of fear enveloping her, making her body stiff. She had a wild look around, registering a bed, a small room and a hook-nosed man pointing a wand at her; and then she finally realised where she was, and why.

"Vat are you doing here?" she managed to ask the man in a drowsy, but appropriately upset voice. "Zis is my bedroom!"

Snape stared at her in disbelief for a moment, and then his eyes flashed dangerously. "Having spent most of your life at a school, Miss Laburova," he said angrily as he lowered his wand, "I do not believe you can have avoided learning about the poisonous effects that result from a badly concocted Draught of Peace. And I certainly cannot fathom why you should be so utterly stupid as to poison yourself. Explain!"

"I ... vos agitated ... couldn't focus on my ... work," she said dozily, desperately fighting her sleep-induced, embarrassingly thick accent. "I've slept badly lately...due to my nightmares." The room swayed as she moved into a more comfortable position in the bed, wrapping her arms around her knees. Her heart pounded forcefully, but its beat was slowing down.

He gave her a sharp look, and put his hands in his robes pockets. "The same nightmares as before?"

Blinking, she tried to bring her mind to focus. "No, these are my own. I never remember them. I've had them since I was a child, only ... not as often as I've had them now. I don't react well to enclosed spaces."

Her fear was dissipating quickly now, and was replaced by indignation. She was still a bit dopey from her long sleep, and Snape in her bedroom, telling her off, was hardly the first thing she wanted to see when she woke up.

He gazed at her, unmoving, for a little while, before continuing.

"Why the Draught of Peace? An ordinary Sleeping Potion would have sufficed."

"It is one of the few I remember how to make," she said, trying to focus her eyes into a glare; Snape was looming over her in a Potions masterly manner that wasn't entirely comfortable. "Besides, I just wanted a short rest before I finished the essays."

The essays! She had a look out the window, and realising it was dark, she blushed.

"Surely, you must know about the risk of poisoning yourself?" he asked coldly.

"I didn't care," she replied curtly, her mind now clearing. "I needed the rest to be able to work."

"Why did you not consult me about it? I believe I have supplied you with a sleeping draught before?"

"I didn't wish to inconvenience you." She glared at him angrily. How dare he talk to me like this!

"Well, you sure succeeded in that," he said scathingly. "Of all preposterous things to do -"

Suddenly, his face twitched, as from a sudden jab of headache. Then he blinked, his eyes unfocused. Is he drunk? she thought incredulously.

"Anyway," he continued icily, composing himself after a momentary pause, "you've kept me from my work of disembowelling some horned toads, and I believe there is a very easy way of making amends. Tippy!"

"Yes, Sir!" the elf said, appearing beside him, and smiling at Secessa, she said," Good morning, Madam! Tippy is happy to see that Madam is awake, now!"

Snape gave Tippy a menacing look. "There is a cauldron full of toads in my office, and some knives on the desk. Bring them."

"Certainly, Sir!"

"I am not your student," Secessa told him fiercely.

"Nevertheless," he said smoothly, "you will help me disembowel these toads. I have lost enough sleep on your account! I presume you have done this before?"

"Once or twice."

"I will oversee your work while I correct the rest of the essays."

Tippy appeared with the items described, and Snape took them to the table in front of the fireplace, where he put the cauldron down on the floor with a decisive clunk.

Realising it was an argument lost, Secessa sat down in one the chairs with a sour face; the toads stunk of swamp already, and she hadn't even cut them open yet! Sighing, she took up one of the knives and started cutting.

"Wrong way," Snape said instantly, as he took the seat next to her, essays in one hand.

"What?!"

"You cut them from the throat and down." He took her right hand, which made her start a little, and guided it firmly through the motion. "Like so." His hand lingered on hers for a while, and then he hastily removed it. His breath, she realised, smelled of brandy, and when she looked up, she saw that he seemed a bit flustered. Remembering his office supplies, she suppressed a smile. So, he drinks on the sly! I'm not surprised, considering that bad temper of his.

"Very well," she said with a forced straight face, and began to cut open the toads methodically. Snape watched her movements for a while, and then he began scribbling furiously on the essays.

Thirty toads and many an outraged correcting 'humph' from Snape later, they were finally finished. As the Potions master rose to leave, Secessa was strangely reluctant to see him go, despite his grumpy behaviour. After all, he was the only human company she'd had for two weeks.

"When will I get out of here?" she asked him, as she was collecting toad-gore from the table to save for Odin. "The appeal to the Ministry must surely have been read by now?"

"The Ministry is rather busy for the moment," Snape replied coolly, scrutinising his dissection-knives. "Surely, you don't expect them to prioritise your case over the murders of Muggle-borns?"

"Muggle-borns!?" She looked up at him in alarm. "Really? How many?"

His face was unreadable. "Ten, fifteen or so."

"Any relatives of the students?"

"Some of them."

"Are these random killings, or is there some reasoning behind it?"

"You mean except for the fact that they were Muggle-borns?" he asked acidly.

She considered his face curiously. Why is he trying to be vicious, all of a sudden?

"I don't get the Daily Prophet here, you know," she remarked tartly, "and I haven't heard of these events before, so save your sarcasm for someone else."

Handing him his cauldron, she indicated her head towards the door. "You may leave."

He took it with a very dour look, and exited the room without another word. On seeing the door sliding shut behind him, she sighed. Now, why does he have to be so snappy about everything?

Odin flew down from his perch on the bookshelf, and landed gently on her shoulder. Tugging at her robes with his beak, he rustled his feathers.

"Yes, I will let you out," she mumbled, and after having extinguished she fire, she opened her window and watched him soar up towards the stars.

*

The next evening, Tippy arrived with ten vials of Sleeping Draught and a Daily Prophet, that she was to receive on the condition 'that Madam never keeps Professor Snape awake half the night again, and Professor Snape looked very severe, Madam!'

Secessa amusedly dismissed the elf, and returned to her work. Well, he has actually helped me, she thought to herself, as she mutilated some more student essays with black, spiky scribble. Maybe he isn't such a bad person, after all?

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Author notes: Thanks for reading! Please review - I really appreciate everything you write!