The Necromancer Amulet

Author's Notes: Thanks so much to my two excellent beta readers Beulah Page (from perfectimagination.co.uk) and kitkatkitty7!!!

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Chapter Twenty-Two - Secessa Faces Her Past Yet Again

Dumbledore kept his word: when Secessa returned to Hogwarts, no one mentioned the events that had taken place in Gryffindor Tower. Well, truth be told, no one hardly spoke to her at all; the teachers kept their distance, and even though Dumbledore treated her kindly, his example of friendliness was not followed. And no one thanked her for removing the snake from the Main Gate, either.

She had been surprised to see the serpent by the gate at first, as she had thought all the magic performed by her the night of the attack would be unmade as the amulet was broken. But then she realised that the power over beasts belonged to her alone. However, she had, in her emotional turmoil, bound it too harshly, and so the once so intelligent snake had been reduced to a dumb animal. She had told it to go hunt rabbits in the forest. It had slithered away.

Life went back to normal, at lest partly. Teachers nodded at her; she taught classes again. She could live with the isolation: at least no one was rude to her, and it was little difference to the distant-but-friendly disposition they had previously shown towards her. But with Severus Snape, it was a different matter entirely.

The first week of her return was almost comical. Every time she would arrive at the dinner table or the Staff Room, he would coolly get up and leave within the next five minutes or so, which was just enough time to make it noticeable only to her. She thought his behaviour rather childish, all in all, but couldn't help feeling a little bit distressed by it, and his icy behaviour towards her whenever she met him in the corridors, which was sometimes watched by approving and smirking Slytherins, didn't do anything to improve her mood.

The Monday of her third week back at Hogwarts, her temper had risen from slightly vexed to absolutely furious; she'd had enough, she didn't deserve this treatment. All right, she had behaved irresponsibly, but her mind had not been her own at the time so it was hardly her fault! She had saved his life, hadn't she? And so, deciding enough was enough, she decided to confront him once and for all.

It was a very sunny day, and since the students were now preparing for their exams, there wasn't much to do work-wise. Hence, Secessa was sitting in the Staff Room, jerkily browsing through a Daily Prophet a few chairs away from Professor Sinistra when Snape walked in, stopped dead at the sight of her, picked up a paper from the pile by the door, and abruptly left the room. She threw the Prophet to the side, rushed up from her chair and followed him, slamming the Staff Room door shut behind her.

"Severus!" she yelled at the black, billowing robes that were already halfway down the deserted corridor. He stopped and turned, his face very pale and still.

"Did you want something?"

Walking up to him angrily, she put her hands to her sides. "You cannot avoid me forever," she said curtly.

"Whatever gave you the idea that I'm avoiding you?" he replied coldly. "I'm doing nothing of the sort."

"What the hell is wrong with you? You treat me like I'm carrying the bloody plague, and to tell you the truth I'm completely fed up with it!"

He eyed her up and down. "Actually, some of us have work to do. May I remind you that I've been teaching double hours for two-thirds of the term, and that contrary to you, I cannot afford the doubtful luxury of social frolicking? So, if you'll please excuse me -"

"Out with it, whatever it is!" she growled, putting an iron grip on his arm before he had a chance to turn around.

Suddenly, he put his face very close to hers, his thin features very tense. "You want to know what my problem is, do you?" he hissed, plucking her hand off his arm like it was a large, annoying bug. "You are my problem. Your lies, and your secrets, put people's lives in peril!" His teeth were bared in an unflattering way as he spoke. "Do you think I'm celebrating the fact that we're forced to work together? Quite the contrary; you're a walking bloody curse, causing mayhem wherever you go! What's it to be next, I wonder? For all I know your next little Dark Arts hobby could involve obliterating the students and the teachers, including me, so I hope you excuse my staying as far away from you as I can!"

"I have no 'Dark Arts hobbies'," she replied, appalled by his malice, "and I only lied to you once. That can hardly be called a habit."

"Your behaviour has been inexcusable from the day you set foot here," he said, his eyes glittering with disdain. "Maybe you should save your little stories for a more indulgent listener, or have you run out of people to fool? Did you cause the death of one too many of your friends, perhaps?"

"You're angry because I kept secrets from you?" she asked incredulously, at the same time as her throat tightened at his vicious words. "I did it to save your life!"

"No," he snapped, "your reasons were entirely selfish. You wanted to rid yourself of a debt, no matter what the cost. And this is the problem with you: you cannot be trusted, because you always act according to your own little hidden agenda, while refusing to listen to sense. The Headmaster might trust you, but I have certainly seen enough evidence of your Dark Arts dealings to think otherwise. In fact, you're a liability to the entire school!"

"You're wrong," she said, "on many accounts. You think you have the right to know everything about my past? A bit rich coming from someone with your dirty background, but all right, ask me whatever it is you wish to know, if that's what you need to do to be able to trust me! I won't lie to you."

His eyes narrowed as they bored into hers for a second. "Fine," he spat, and opened a classroom door to his left. "Get in!"

She entered the deserted room without looking at him, and he snapped the door shut behind them. Trying to compose herself and get rid of the furious tears that threatened to erupt, she walked up to stand by the teacher's desk, but as she reached it, Snape gripped her arm tightly and harshly turned her around, breaking her focus with an angry scowl. He released her arm and crossed his own, glaring at her through black strands of hair.

"Now," he said waspishly, "you had better not make me regret this. How long have you dealt in Necromancy? I assume that is your Dark Arts speciality."

It was too late to think about the consequences. Mustering up some courage while calming her beating heart, she cleared her mind of all thoughts that swirled on the surface, and looked straight into his eyes, enabling him to read her mind with ease if he wished. "Since I arrived at Durmstrang. I aided Khuditskii; you know this already."

"And what exactly did you do?"

"I leant my powers to him, via a Transfer Charm, to aid him when he divined."

"Divined?" said Snape, and suddenly his gaze became very piercing. "I thought your kind dealt in Inferi."

"He called upon spirits form the other side," she said softly, "asking them for guidance in the Dark Arts. We used blood from Muggle sacrifices. He also called spirits for the benefit of others."

"What others?"

"Karkaroff's acquaintances. I assumed they were Death Eaters; they were always hooded, wearing black cloaks."

Suddenly, he seemed slightly unnerved, his eyes bored uncomfortably into hers, and it took some determination to keep her mind open to his scrutiny. "What did they want to know?" he asked quietly.

"They had questions about people: their weaknesses, how to find them...that sort of thing."

"Did they notice you?" He was studying her face sharply now.

"I stood in the background, wearing a hooded cloak, playing the part of the assistant."

Hidden memories suddenly emerged up from the dark depths of her mind: images of bodies, pale and emptied of blood, and then, flares of green fire and the spirits within. And with it came the familiar panic, clutching at her heart like an icy fist. She did not want to see it, she did not want to remember, and she wanted to run away from it, but it was impossible. Her feet felt distant, and weak. All her instincts told her stop here, to avert her eyes. But she couldn't; it was too late for that.

"And for how long did this go on?" he continued, moving an inch closer, increasing her discomfort even more.

She tried to keep her voice even. "A couple of months; then Khuditskii died. Necromancy is extremely straining, especially if you don't carry it in your blood. People who lack the power also lack the resistance towards it."

"So that's how you learned it, by watching him?"

"Yes, and by reading his books, in secret." Determinedly, she focused her mind on the images of the books, forcing the bodies back. "Mostly, my knowledge concerns the theory."

"Do you realise how many people died because of what you did?" His voice was so quiet it was almost a whisper.

Her heartbeat was uneven, and she tried to focus on her breathing. "What do you mean?"

"We never knew how the Dark Lord found all those people that hid from him. Not all had the luxury to be protected by the Fidelius Charm, like the Potters, but there are many ways of hiding and the members of the Order were inventive. They were tracked down and killed, almost all of them."

"I never knew..."

"You never thought, for a moment, did you?" Snape's voice was cold and his eyes hard. "You were just saving your own skin, never mind the rest of the world."

At his words, anger flared up within her and she managed a glare. "Oh, yes because being the one who actually killed them was so much more courageous!"

His face grew very still and white. For the first time, he seemed to have run out of insults. However, seeing him agitated didn't make her feel any happier, nor did it rid her of her own pain.

"Let's not displace guilt," she said, after a minute of silence. "It doesn't help anyone. What is done, is done."

Taking a deep breath, he looked away briefly. Then, after a quiet pause, he brought his cold gaze back to her, as if nothing had happened at all. "Did you practice Necromancy again?"

Careful not to avert her eyes, she shook her head. "No. Only for the Night of the Dead, to attract some ghosts. I used my own blood for that. Otherwise I kept my knowledge to myself."

"Karkaroff never asked you to?"

"Khuditskii never told him where his powers came from."

He paused briefly again, not severing eye contact this time. His eyes were like dark tunnels, and for a moment, their connection was so intense that she found it hard to breathe.

"How many people have you killed?" he asked softly.

She realised that her back was against the desk, and that she could not retreat further backwards. She had to answer.

"Two," she replied faintly. "Ursus and -" Paralysed by his eyes, she was unable to control her voice.

"-- your father," he whispered, at the same time as the image of her father appeared before her eyes.

"You have a very clear mind," he muttered. "I don't even think I need to -" Suddenly, vivid images from her life swirled before her eyes: Khuditskii kneeling before a bleeding Muggle girl, Elena smiling at her as she flicked her wand and produced a bundle of snow-drops, Bellatrix laughing raucously in a dimly lit corridor...

"Stop it," she breathed, "you're intruding."

Immediately, the images vanished, and Snape's frowning face came into view again: not angry now, and not as close as before. "Your childhood memories are unusually fragmented," he muttered, almost as if he was talking to himself.

"My father performed a Memory Charmn on me when I was twelve," she said quietly. "It ripped me, not only of my memories, but of my mind's defences as well. They had me practising clouding techniques during my education at the Ministry, and with constant use of these, my mind will appear normal. That is, until someone attacks me with a Legilimency Spell, or I am put in a situation where I will be forced to lie to a Legilimens."

"Which was why you feared meeting any Death Eaters."

"Naturally."

Standing back, he considered her thoughtfully with crossed arms. "And this is all?"

"Of my dealings in the Dark Arts? Well, there's the beast-taming, but I presume you know all about that; it is stated in my curriculum vitae," she said tiredly.

There was a pause, and in that pause, she felt a tiny flicker of their old connection.

When the Aurors took Bellatrix in, what did you feel? she suddenly wondered, and realising that she was still looking into his eyes, she immediately clouded her mind again, hoping that he hadn't noticed what she had been thinking. It took some effort, and her temples ached. At loss for words, she removed her left hand from the teacher's desk; she had leaned on it and a splinter had dug into her forefinger. It hurt surprisingly much, and she focused on trying to pluck it out, thankful for the distraction. The quick flare of anger had dissipated entirely, and she was left weak and dizzy.

What did I just do? she thought, unnerved. Why is it that I can never control my temper when facing this man?

"I'm not upset with you for turning Bellatrix in," he suddenly said softly, and she looked up, startled. His mouth curved slightly. "Your visit to St. Mungo's seems to have deprived you of all common sense. Not that you had much to begin with." She was far too tired to return the jab.

He paused, his attention caught by her struggling with the splinter. "Let me," he said quietly, took her finger and tapped it with his wand. The splinter eased out and the small wound closed, leaving no trace. His touch was strangely calming, and somehow, it strengthened her a bit.

"Thanks," she muttered, flexing her hand. I suppose this is your apology for the mind-intrusion, then.

"I see no necessity to reveal to anyone what you have told me today," he continued evenly as he carefully slipped his wand into his robes pocket, his face devoid of expression.

"So, everything is ... settled between us?" she asked, surprised that he would volunteer to keep her secrets.

"Well, you still owe me a life-debt," he said, his mouth curling a second time. "Other than that, I'd say our issues seem pretty settled."

"Good," she said quickly, averting her gaze again. How will I be able to face him everyday, knowing that he knows everything about me? she wondered uncomfortably, and a sudden urge to be alone almost overwhelmed her. He was silent.

"You mentioned you have work to do," she added, her voice as cool as she could make it.

He hesitated for a moment, and then walked up to the door and exited the room.

Secessa sat by the teacher's desk for a while, her head in too much turmoil for coherent thought. It will never be brought up again, she tried to comfort herself as the tears she had held back all through their talk finally flooded her eyes.

But somehow she knew that it was too late for things to be what they were; some words would have been better left unsaid between them, and now she would have to live with the consequences. She would always see reflections of the dead in his eyes, and he would see the same in hers.

*

One late afternoon later that same week, someone knocked on her office door.

"Yes?" she said somewhat disinterestedly while she pondered over the wording of a fourth-year exam question.

The door opened, and to her surprise, Potter stood in the doorway. He seemed a bit indecisive, his gaze flickering over her sparse furnishings.

"Yes, Mr Potter?" she asked impatiently, putting her quill down. She was surprised to see him; they had finished their lessons several weeks ago and she had told him that if he had any problems with his dreams, it would not be due to any fault in his wards.

He closed the door and slowly walked up to the chair in front of her desk, but he did not sit down. Instead, he weighed first on one foot, and then the other, chewing on his lip while pretending to be deeply interested by the spread of books in front of her. Exam-issues? Out with it then!

After some consideration, he finally decided to be kind enough to bestow his problem onto her.

"I heard you speak with the dead...Professor," he said.

It wasn't at all what she had expected, and she stared at him in shock for a few seconds.

"Now why would you think that, Mr Potter?" she managed to ask calmly.

Her answer seemed to dissuade him a bit, but then he looked her straight in the eye again. "There are rumours...in school. You're a Necromancer, right?"

Sighing, she gazed at his face for a while. Then she composed herself. He wasn't the Dark Arts type, so discouraging him should be pretty easy.

"Please sit down, Mr Potter."

He sat down, his face a little bit flushed.

"Why do you wish to speak with the dead, Mr Potter?" she continued, looking him straight in the eye.

"I'd like to ask someone a question," he murmured.

"And this question cannot be answered by anyone who's alive?"

"Well -"

"Do you know what it's like to speak with the dead, Mr Potter?"

His eyes on the floor, he shook his head.

"It's not exactly pleasant chit-chat," she said, choosing her words carefully." Bringing a spirit over to the realm of the living is hard, because they don't belong here. And even if you would manage to call one, it wouldn't be the person that you once spoke to anymore. For them, time does not exist, which makes them pretty hard to talk to. They get past, present and future all muddled up, and they have lost much of their identity. So, even if I could help you, there is little chance that you would get the answer you wanted."

He looked up at her at her words. "So, you can't do it ... Professor?"

She smiled wryly. He must think I'm quite the Dark witch! "You know, I'm quite surprised that you would ask this of me. Necromancy is illegal and I could have you reported. Of course, you must have realised that you could report me, too, due to some things you have seen. Is it not so, Mr Potter?"

Looking uncomfortable, he shifted position on the chair.

"I'm not a Necromancer anymore," she said evenly, "so I can't help you. But even if I could help you, I wouldn't. It's not worth it, you see; Dark Magic never is, because it always involves sacrifice. It will change you, and even if you might believe the price is worth it in the beginning, you will not think so at the end."

She paused briefly, hoping that her words had hit home.

"I will not bring this up with the Headmaster, Mr Potter. Ignorance is not a sin. But if I were you, I would think twice before considering using the Dark Arts again."

He nodded, and she scrutinised his green eyes carefully. They seemed sincere enough, and she was about to let him leave, when suddenly, she thought that she saw a brief flicker of fierce, raw emotion stir in them. She looked closer, but it was gone, like it had never been there; perhaps she had imagined it. After a small pause she picked up her quill again.

"You may leave, Mr Potter."

The boy got up and walked up to the door. After giving her one last glance, he exited her office.

There is more to this boy than meets the eye, she thought slowly to herself, frowning slightly. Something is brewing inside of him. I will have to watch him carefully.

She returned to her parchment with a heavy heart.

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Author notes: Thanks for reading my fic!!! Please review!!!