The Necromancer Amulet

Author's Notes: Thanks so much to my wonderful and very thorough beta reader Beulah Page (from perfectimagination.co.uk)!

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Chapter Twenty-Five - Secessa Returns Home

As he walked across the valley covered in yellowing grass towards his home, the sun casting a shadow over his path from behind the fells and the first cold winds of autumn piercing his bones, Domitius Laburov was beginning to feel uneasy. He was sure it wasn't just his imagination; the beasts were behaving ... strangely, and had been for days. They weren't openly revolting or anything, they just carried an ... unwillingness to obey, and it disturbed him.

Especially his own creation, the snow-tigrans, whose paddock he was now crossing, had been very unsubmissive, almost as if someone else was controlling them. This was ridiculous, of course; no one had power over them but him. Maybe he was growing weak? He shuddered with the thought.

Looking over his shoulder he noticed that some of the snow-tigrans were following him, some distance away. He quickened his pace, and so did they, almost lazily.

Half an hour later, he was beginning to become worried. Everywhere, beasts were appearing from behind trees and boulders of rock, approaching him, and he cursed the Anti-Apparition wards that covered the valley to prevent thieves. Now, why hadn't he brought his broom? Stupid idea, to get some fresh air through walking.

He expanded his mind, finding the tiny link with every beast - and realised that the links had weakened, just over the day. What was going on? He fumbled towards a few of the beasts, trying to strengthen the contact, and found a wall.

DO NOT FOLLOW ME! he yelled silently to them. They hesitated, and then continued on. He realised he was sweating, and brought out his wand. It would be impossible for him to bind them all again. Perhaps he could stun some of them, and then scare the rest away. If he was lucky.

The edges of his vision registered a thin shape suddenly appearing on the top of a small hill, and he looked up with surprise. What was she doing here? Shouldn't she be somewhere ... sewing, or something? "Stay away, Secessa," he told his daughter. "Let your father handle this."

He suddenly realised he had no idea what his daughter did during the days. Well, it didn't matter, did it? She never bothered him, and she obeyed his every command. As she would obey this one.

But the blonde girl walked securely down the slope, the edges of her robes flowing over the red moss and cloudberries, and the animals did not seem to mind her presence at all.

What the...?

Changing his aim from animal, he scrutinised the eighteen-year-old girl as she moved closer. The beasts had stopped in a circular formation around him, and she walked in between them. Her cool, hard eyes measured him up.

"Very well done, daughter, to master the beasts," he said, choosing his words carefully. "Now hand them back. You don't know what to do with them."

"These animals are very violent," she murmured dreamily, "I can feel their anger. It was bad of you, father, to cross a snow-leopard with a manticore."

"You have no idea what you're talking about." He tried to give her his usual, stern look, but suspected it was not as efficient as it once had been. His daughter had become far too independent lately; perhaps he needed to use the cane on her? "I bred them out of necessity, to save the estate; when I sell them next week, I will be able to pay off our debts. Obey your father and give them back!"

"It was always the beasts," she continued, a little harder. "You never cared for me as you cared for them. You wouldn't even put down the ones that killed my mother!"

"They are our livelihood, of course I need to care for them," he replied firmly, feeling increasingly uneasy over her strange behaviour. She had never revolted against him in any way, before. At breakfast, she had been perfectly calm. Was someone using the Imperious Curse on her? No, then she would not have been able to control the beasts properly. Besides, her eyes were sharp, not blank.

"You will understand when you get a bit older," he continued, his mind racing through his options while he spoke. "And I have never neglected my fatherly duties; your finals report from Durmstrang was outstanding."

"Oh, yes," she hissed, "I am very good at cursing. It is because I am cold-hearted, like you. You made sure of it when you obliterated all the memories of love that I ever had!"

For a microsecond, he was silent.

"The memories of your mother weakened you," he then said evasively, making a mental note to find the squib governess and punish her for spilling this to his child. "What is this nonsense? You're betraying your Laburov heritage by disobeying me. Return the beasts this instant!"

Her wand lowered slightly, and for a moment, he thought he had swayed her. Then, she steadied her hand again, and a cold fist took hold of his heart.

"Your plan was to shape me into a mindless puppet," she said with hatred, "that would follow your bidding and marry well, ensuring the survival of the business. I don't think you have ever loved me."

"Love?" He snorted, trying to banish his nervousness. Surely, she wouldn't harm him? This was just a threat, right? A juvenile revolt. Nothing to worry about. She was just testing him. "Love is beneath the likes of us. It's an invention by fools, who live their lives through others. You will thank me, when you realise what I have saved you from. Now please, stop this nonsense!"

"You are a horrible man," Secessa said, "and you deserve to die!" His daughter's greyish blue eyes flashed strangely. "I am what you made me, father," she said in a choked voice, "and I will do what I have to do."

She blinked, the beasts leapt, and his hearted skipped a beat. For a brief moment, all he could see was her eyes, coldly boring into his, and then he was knocked off his feet, screaming, immense pain searing through his limbs as they were torn apart. His vision faded, and then, there was nothing more.

.........

Climbing up the last slope of the set of fells that separated her estate from the small, Muggle village nearby, Secessa inhaled deeply, and the fresh air that filled her lungs lightened her spirits somewhat. Her trunk and owl-cage hovered lightly beside her, and she could see that Odin was becoming increasingly restless as they approached his old hunting grounds. Since she had managed to set some time aside to go see Madam Pomfrey before she left, her foot was now fine, and the memories of the Feast were fading quickly, as if the distance affected her recollection. For that, she was very grateful.

The landscape was barren, but the red moss and the small yellow flowers in the grass gave life to the mountain surroundings, and the trickling sound of water from a brook nearby was refreshing. However, she could not keep the small gloom from her heart as she reached the fell-top and looked down upon the Laburov estate, the place where she had spent most of her youth.

The large house, set in black stone, was in disrepair (even though the house-elf was supposed to keep it habitable), and she saw with some annoyance that darkened moss had ventured to grow on the house foundations. Tendrils of the old magic guarding the house touched her where she stood, recognising her blood, welcoming her. She suppressed a shudder as she walked down the hill, past the remnants of the old beast-paddocks, and towards the Main Gate. It was rusty, but it soundlessly swung open at her approach.

As soon as she was inside the fence surrounding the house, the gate closed behind her and the Laburov house-elf appeared with a small pop on the stone path before her, a black tea towel impeccably tied around his shoulder.

"Mizil is most happy to find Mistress has returned," he said obsequiously with a low bow. "Does Mizil dare hope Mistress is planning to stay?"

"For a while, Mizil. Is the house clean and free from infestation?"

The elf's ears twitched, and he seemed a little bit offended. "Of course, Mistress!"

"We need to get rid of this Darkmoon Moss as well," she said, indicating towards the black growth on the walls. "It parasites on the house's magic."

"Yes, Mistress!"

"Very well, you may prepare my room."

He looked very satisfied. "Mizil will do as his Mistress says. Does Mistress wish to eat?"

She grimaced. "Is there anything in the house?"

"Good Mizil has kept supplies to feed half-breed in case he returns, just like Mistress asked him to."

The house was already brooding on her mind, and his words unleashed her bad temper. "His name is Vladimir," she snapped, "and don't you forget it!"

Mizil bowed submissively. "Mistress must forgive poor Mizil. He has forgotten his manners during his fifteen years of loneliness."

Somehow, she suspected he didn't quite mean it. Probably, he's been serving the portraits until now, she thought grudgingly, listening to them moaning about me.

"Very well," she muttered, dismissing him with a wave of her hand. He picked up her luggage smoothly and vanished with small crack.

The huge front door in blackened wood loomed before her as she approached the house, the large obsidian snow-leopard paw that had adorned it for centuries still hanging imperiously in the middle. She touched it; it shimmered briefly, and the door opened. I am the Mistress now; she thought with some trepidation, the last of the Laburovs.

She entered the murky hall. Stuffed animal heads of all sizes adorned the walls, and in front of her loomed the enormous black staircase leading to the first and second floors. The air was very stale. Wrinkling her nose, she flicked her wand, and the torches on the black stone walls around her burst into flame.

"Where have you been?" boomed an imperious voice from above. "This sort of behaviour is simply inexcusable!"

She looked up upon the angry portrait of her magisterial, sharp-faced grandfather, hanging above the landing.

"It's nice to see you, too," she muttered.

"You left the estate to rot," he continued with crossed arms. "Neglected your family duties, and for what? A whim? You have responsibilities!"

Ignoring him, she removed her cloak and hung it on a peg.

"You have shamed your blood," he said. "We all agree. I sincerely hope that you are here to make amends!"

"I am not," she replied calmly. "I am here on private business, and I will not stay for long."

He looked as if he was about to explode. "BLOOD-TRAITOR!" he yelled in outrage. "BEGONE FROM THIS HOUSE AT ONCE!"

"Remember, grandfather," she said smoothly, "that there are many ways of removing displeasing portraits. And you severely displease me right now."

Her grandfather quietened with a 'humph', and gave her an indignant glare, which she returned with a little smile.

"That's better, isn't it?" she said, walked up the flight of stairs to the second floor, and entered the door to the corridor that held the family bedrooms.

*

"My God, Secessa, how long has it been, fifteen years?" Ivan Khomutov walked up to where Secessa sat at a table in the corner of the somewhat dingy restaurant, his oval face breaking into a familiar smile. This place had been their local once, but the clientele had changed, and not for the better. That fact did not seem to bother him, however; perhaps he was used to it. She noticed that his features were not as smooth as they once had been, and that his hair was turning grey by the temples. Do I look old to him as well? she wondered as she took his outstretched hand. His handshake was warm, and a bit damp.

"More," she replied with a small smile. "I prefer not to think about time passing, though; it makes me feel old."

"You look ... good," he said as he sat himself down on the rickety chair opposite her. The table separating them was shabby and stained.

Yeah, if you don't count the bags under my eyes and the fact that my hair's a mess. "Thank you. You do as well."

Gazing at her ex with a mix of mild interest and trepidation, Secessa tried to get the waitress' attention. "Vodka?"

"Sure," he said.

There was an awkward pause, in which they both continued to look at each other curiously. I can't believe I've slept with this man! I never really loved him, and he wasn't my type at all in the first place. The things one does for some comfort...

"So, how are things at the Ministry," she asked casually, trying to avoid thinking about what type of man she seemed to be attracted to, and whether she was happy about it or not.

"Pretty much the usual," he said, while ordering their vodkas from the waitress. "Long, hard days. They expanded the Beast Taming Program, but it doesn't seem to have helped, because my workload's the same."

"Why is that? Are there more beasts?"

"I suppose so. I don't know, though, it's all very hush-hush."

Their vodkas arrived in semi-dirty glasses and he downed his at once, holding it out for the waitress to refill. Nervous, are you?

"What, you mean more than before?" She tried not to sound too keen.

"We don't have access to the whole building anymore. I, for instance, can only get to the Class II beasts in the West Wing. And they've built several new complexes. But this must be boring you. What are you doing, now?"

For some reason he seemed uncomfortable talking about it, and she wondered why.

"I live in England. I teach."

"Good for you! What subject?"

"Dark Arts," she lied, glancing down at her glass and taking a small sip. Home-brewed: very nice!

"Really, not beasts?" He seemed surprised.

"It's included."

"Right."

Wondering how to bring the subject back to his work, she took another sip of her drink. "So, are you married?"

"No, you?"

"No." Her answer seemed to relieve him for some reason.

They were both silent again.

"So, how long are you here for?" he asked, a bit nervously, fingering his glass.

"A few weeks. I won't stay long; I'm just here to settle some business."

"Right." He turned around, and tried to get the waitress' attention again.

Nervousness, or alcohol-problems? she wondered incredulously.

"Are you still hanging out with the old crowd?" she inquired while leaning back in her chair.

"Pretty much. Some of them quit, of course, like you," (at this she raised an eyebrow; she had been fired and he knew bloody well that she had. Perhaps he was trying to be nice) "but most of us still go out together. Many are married, though, and only stay out for a drink or two."

"Married; really? Who?"

"Zolotov, Babulova, Ruusti..."

She was shocked, but managed to smile. "I'm happy for them! Do they have any children?"

"Zolotov hasn't, but the others do. It's all I hear about nowadays, I suppose it's the curse of being middle-aged." He smirked a little. A flush was rising on his cheeks, now, as the vodka went to his head. After all, it was before dinner, and she felt pleased with her timing.

"You know, I wouldn't mind seeing my old workplace again," she said lightly. "It's been awhile."

"I'm sorry, but you can't do that." He did seem earnestly sorry as he downed his third vodka in twenty minutes. "There are new security measures now. Some sort of political decision, I think."

"Oh. Oh well, it doesn't matter." She forced up a face of disappointment. "I was just hoping to see some of the beasts again. Silly, really."

Ivan put an apologetic hand on her shoulder and patted it awkwardly, and then leaped into an account of his new beast-team. She tried to look captivated, while nodding in the right places and smiling at him. Although her old role fit her like a garment two sizes too small, it wasn't that hard for her to crawl back into it, and he seemed to enjoy her attention.

Thus the early evening progressed, bit by bit, until Ivan had had as much vodka as he could possibly manage.

She rose when he did, and followed him to the door. Flushed and a bit unstable, he finally decided that showing her the paddocks wasn't necessarily a difficult thing, and so they left the restaurant, arm in arm, her keeping him as steady as possible.

They got into the grounds through a back entrance that was guarded by a magical seal. It didn't look much to the eye: just a wooden gate in a fence in the middle of a field, but the air around it was dense with magic. She kept careful note of Ivan's every spell and word while he slowly (due to his drunken state) worked his way through the wards, and she was surprised at the high security. Clearly, something fishy was going on.

When they finally reached the proper paddocks, after a rather dull but sobering walk, she was briefly stunned by the uplift that had taken place during the past seventeen years. Gone were the wooden fences and dirty troughs; instead, a smooth, black fence stretched out for several acres, and on the grounds, a large herd of Hippogriffs grazed in the company of Graphorns. Further away, she glimpsed a couple of Granians; they were placid, but she knew it was all due to the binding spells set upon them. For a moment, she felt a bit sick. What had once been a small centre for research seemed now to have been turned into a something akin to a breeding factory.

"No Thestrals?" she whispered to him, knowing it had been a dream of his to keep them.

"We haven't managed to get them to breed, yet; they're too independent to control completely without wiping out their primal instincts. So, we have to do with the Granians," he replied, and gestured somewhat embarrassedly at the beasts, but when she looked at him and smiled, he relaxed.

"They should never have exposed you to those vampires, you know," he said after a while. "It was wrong. I told them in my report that banshees were your limits, but they insisted that your profile said otherwise." Humphing to himself, he looked out over the paddocks. "That was always their problem: too caught up in paperwork. I saw the strained expression on your face when you worked with the beasts, and I reported the few accidents to them as well, before the ... big one. They should have paid more heed to me."

Not knowing what to say, she was silent. He had been wrong about her, but correcting him was certainly not a very good idea. Who cared if the strain had been due to magical limitations or the state of her mind, anyway? The result would have been the same.

They stood a while and watched the animals; well, he did at least. Pretending to be absorbed by the herd of Granians, Secessa stealthily peered towards the square Head Office concrete-building far away on the hill to her right. She could make out figures patrolling the grounds outside the building, and cursed to herself.

To get access to what was inside, she needed help from a friend.

When she arrived at her house an hour later (thankfully, alone; she had had to use all her imagination to get rid of Ivan, who obviously expected some sort of 'reward'), she slowly climbed up the stairs to the third floor and the small owlery that now stood almost empty. A chirrup helped her locate the small fruit bat that Vladimir sent her the other day (he had told her he had placed a tracing charm on the other one that had disconnected with its death), and she spent a few minutes writing her message on a small piece of parchment. Then she tied it tightly to the small creature's leg and let it fly away into the pale summer night.

*

Two nights later, Vladimir Cherniak carefully worked his way through the wards of the Russian Ministry Beast Department. Then, covered by his own blackness, he moved swiftly across the grounds. No guards saw him as he entered the building by a side door, and he accessed the third floor undisturbed. After having found the Head Office Filing Archive, he took his time going through scroll after scroll, almost leisurely, muttering copying spells, his charmed eyes piercing the darkness without effort.

Vladimir smiled briefly to himself when he, several hours later, shrunk the large pile of parchment down to a manageable bundle. He quite enjoyed breaking into a Ministry that had labelled him a half-beast, and was very tempted to curse the entire place while he was at it. Of course, he did not do that, as it would attract attention, but he did jinx the newly drawn maps of Manabilant dwellings in Russia. Not that he for one second thought that Binding Charms could control them - the idea was ludicrous. However, simultaneously preventing accidents and sending government officials on a wild goose chase was simply too great a temptation to resist.

All in all it was a job very well done.

*

"Absolutely not!" Severus was fuming; having spent a whole week Apparating back and forth gathering information for the Order and trying to keep the Dark Lord satisfied with his work at the same time, he had looked forward to his day off. He needed it, to collect his thoughts.

And now, the Headmaster had asked him to run an errand to bloody Russia, because their newest Order member couldn't be arsed to answer when she was called!

"She is probably busy," he said curtly. "Possibly, the distance is causing problems - maybe, she simply cannot be reached. There is no reason to be concerned. I'm sure the report will arrive sooner or later."

"Still, there is a possibility that something might have happened," Dumbledore replied mildly. "I agree that there is little risk of Secessa having any encounters with Death Eaters, but remember that her fruit bat was killed, and what that might imply. We shouldn't leave any members of the Order out in the cold. As few as we are, we cannot risk it. This is why you must go."

"Surely, there must be someone else you could send; someone with a bit more spare time on their hands? Lupin perhaps?"

"We should try to keep her involvement in the Order secret, as long as she stays in Russia. I'm afraid our Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher has made few friends during her year here. The only one who would have enough reason to visit her is you."

"I hardly know her well enough to go to Russia on a casual visit," Severus protested softly, crossing his arms. "And even if I had a good reason, how will I get to Professor Laburova? This is not reasonable."

"The purpose of your visit will be purely academic. I happen to know that one of Secessa's ancestors, Prometheus Laburov, was one of Russia's most inventive poison-makers of his time, and I am sure there will be ample material for you to browse through at the family house if you're interested. As for how you will get there, I have arranged for Portkey travel. The first Portkey will take you to my contact at the Moscow Minstry. He has arranged for another Portkey, which will transport you to the approximate location of the Laburov house."

"The approximate location?" This was getting worse and worse. Had it been any other person asking him (except, of course, the Dark Lord), Severus would have asked him to stick the errand up his behind, and Dumbledore very well knew it!

"Down to a few miles or so." The Headmaster's eyes glinted behind his glasses. "If I understand correctly, the Laburovs have dealt in illegal trades for centuries; and the location of their dwelling is protected by an Unplottable Charm. You will have to use a Finding Spell once you arrive."

Struggling to keep his temper in check, Severus stared at Dumbledore for a while before speaking. "The Dark Lord will not appreciate that I take a leave of absence to pursue a hobby," he then said quietly. "Surely, you understand this."

Dumbledore leaned back in his chair with a small smile, his blue eyes twinkling. "Tell him it is an order from me; that I wish to further your education. To disobey me, of course, would arouse suspicion."

There was nothing he could do but to take the blasted Portkey and leave.

Furious, Severus walked down the many flights of stairs to his dungeon. Was it on the Kola her home was? Bloody useless place to live! It was probably freezing so far up north; he would have to wear a warm cloak as well. Well, she would get the telling-off of the century once he found her; that was for sure.

Once in his quarters, he had a quick look through his belongings, trying to figure out what he would need to take with him. He certainly wasn't planning on staying long if he could help it, so maybe the cloak was all he required? As he opened his wardrobe, his eyes fell on the shirts hanging there, and suddenly, an urge to change his clothes invaded his mind from nowhere. He fought it, and won, clenching his teeth slightly with chagrin.

There was, of course, another reason for him dreading to go to Russia, and that was that he had recently discovered himself to be inappropriately attracted to his new colleague. The realisation had surprised him immensely, not because he wasn't attracted to women from time to time, but because he hadn't noticed the first signs straight away. Usually, he was quite good at handling these matters quietly, but as he had too busy focusing on his anger lately to notice what was going on, he had, in his surprise, let things develop a little bit too far. It had been rather galling for him to discover that he hadn't been on top of the situation.

Well, the situation needed to be dealt with. In a way, he was treading on uncharted grounds, and he needed to get out of there as neatly and quickly as possible. The only problem was that Secessa herself didn't seem too adversely inclined towards him, which made him slightly curious as to how far he could push it. He hadn't slept with a woman since...

It definitely had to be a quick visit.

Snatching the cloak from his wardrobe, he plunged his hand into his pocket, clasped the Portkey, and it carried him off.

*

Listening to the fire crackling soothingly in the fireplace of her sitting room, Secessa carefully dipped her quill in the ink-jar and started on a new scroll. She picked up a piece of parchment from the pile to her left on the shabby sofa, and methodically began skimming it, searching for relevant facts to put in her report. She was to summarise the content of various documents that Vladimir had copied for her during his visit to the Ministry, and since he had been a bit over-zealous, the gigantic heap of parchments had kept her busy for almost a week.

Her friend now back in Russia (having brought with him suggestions for treatment of the Manabilant condition in the young), she had had no qualms about summoning him for this particular mission. After all, he was possibly the sneakiest person she knew, and he had performed admirably, returning with the copied parchments very quickly, smiling in his stony way over what he called 'medieval security measures'. Unfortunately, of course, she was stuck with the bulk of the work.

Suddenly, her meticulous scribbling stopped as she froze; something was tugging at her mind, and she looked up, scanning the portrait-covered walls as she looked for the cause of her distraction.

Her great-great-great grandfather Prometheus Laburov, who was standing in a portrait hung on the sitting-room's right-hand wall, immediately shifted position to look at her, his pompous jet-black robes following in a fluid movement. "Are you expecting visitors today, Secessa?" he asked casually.

Yes, of course: the wards. Her ancestor was as sly as a fox, and one of the few portraits whose company she actually enjoyed. Putting the parchments to the side, she rose and walked towards the large sitting room windows, which were presently partly covered by large, but somewhat frayed, black curtains.

"No," she replied as she peered out. "Curious."

Her grandfather, who was sitting imperiously in a chair in a portrait hanging to her immediate left, rose abruptly, clenching his fists.

"Intruders!" he shouted angrily. "Send the dogs on them, I say!" He had bred hellhounds in his day, and was of the opinion that a good whipping never hurt anyone.

She sent him an amused glance. "I thought I told you: there are no dogs here."

"Well, a powerful Hurling Hex would to the trick equally well," he added quickly as an after-thought.

Secessa pulled at the large black rope by the side of the window and the curtains slid aside. Daylight shone into the room, abolishing the yellow glow of the fire, and she surveyed the grounds. On the top of a hill in the distance far to her left, a man was walking briskly in the approximate direction of the house, and her heart skipped a beat.

"He's not an intruder," she said. "I recognise his gait."

"Well, well," said a sly voice from behind, this time her great-great grandfather Quirinus. "A male friend? Quite the little vixen, aren't we? Who'd have thought it?"

She turned round to face him angrily where he stood (or, hung) behind the sofa, his cold, grey eyes glittering as he smoothened his velvety, dark red broom-riding outfit with slender hands. "He's a colleague," she snapped.

"Right," he replied slowly with a grin.

"Is he a pure-blood?" wondered Prometheus in a well-rounded voice. "Because anything else, you know, would be completely out of the question."

Snorting, she returned to the window. Half-way down the hill, the figure suddenly stopped, and looking down into the valley below, he raised his right arm. A scarlet jet erupted from his wand (probably a decloaking spell, since only Laburov blood relations could see through the ancient magical barrier that was erected around the grounds) but it hit an invisible wall, and dissipated. I always knew you were clever. But this time, you need some help, I think.

With a flick of her wand, she connected to the house's magic and lifted the cloaking wards that hid the building from sight. The figure on the hill stiffened for a moment, then pocketed his wand and walked down the hill with determined steps.

"Another half-breed in the house?!" yelled her grandfather who had watched her actions intently and interpreted her silence as a 'no'. "In my day we gave them the bone-breaking treatment, and now you bring them here as guests?! What has the world come to?"

Ignoring him, she called, "Mizil!" and the house-elf appeared immediately.

"Prepare the first floor red guestroom. The one without paintings," she added pointedly. Mizil bowed curtly, and vanished.

She gave the three of them angry glares, saying, "Is it cold in here? Perhaps we should light another fire?"

Their eyes immediately flicked to the empty, scorched wall beside her grandfather's portrait, where her father's image once had hung, and the room fell quiet.

"Ah, silence at last," she continued sweetly. "Now, if I hear a single word from any of you to him while he is here, the consequences will be dire."

Several 'humph's sounded in the room as she walked towards the door.

"Meddling old women," she muttered as she opened it.

"Pointy-nosed little shrew," a voice behind her murmured in reply.

Turning immediately, she snapped, "What?" but all of them seemed completely absorbed in their books. Scowling, she closed the door.

After having dealt with this lot for a week, dealing with Snape should be easy, she thought grimly, walked up to the front door, and opened it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Author notes: Thanks for reading and please review!