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-Six - The Visit

Snape did not look particularly happy, Secessa realised, as his facial expression became more visible closer to the house. By flicking her wand from where she stood outside the main entrance of her house, she politely opened the gate for him. He was wearing some sort of woollen travelling-cloak, obviously having misunderstood the summer climate up north, and he seemed hellishly uncomfortable, his stringy hair even more disorderly than usual.

"This is an unexpected visit," she said lightly as he approached her. Meeting his angry glare steadfastly, she stepped aside from the doorway to welcome him.

"Quite," he muttered with a dark look, and stalked inside the Entrance Hall.

"Has something happened?"

"In England, not much." He turned to face her with crossed arms as the door slid shut behind them. "Why haven't you answered the Headmaster's summons?" he snapped.

She frowned. "I haven't received any. It must be the distance, or possibly, the magic of the house is interfering with the magic from the outside." Suddenly she realised why he was so angry. "You didn't come all the way here just because...?"

A vein on his forehead throbbed angrily on his shiny forehead as he glared at her. "Oh yes," he hissed. "I thought it would be quite obvious that you have a responsibility to report to us, but that fact doesn't seem to have penetrated that otherwise seemingly lucid mind of yours. Why did you think the Order sent you here? On holiday?"

"I'm very sorry Dumbledore's message didn't reach me," she said calmly. "Would you like to sit down? You look exhausted."

"Where's your report?"

"It'll soon be finished. If I work hard, you can have it by tonight."

"Do that."

He paused, as if preparing for another verbal assault, and she tensed, but he remained silent, and after some consideration he stood back a little bit. His eyes thinning, he eyed the murky hall and the stuffed animal heads with mild revulsion. "Is there anywhere I can sit and wait?" he asked curtly. "The Headmaster mentioned some books."

"Certainly; my library is at your disposal." Relieved at the thought of having Snape in a temper disposed of in a dark corner, she walked over to the library door to the right, sending a glance over her shoulder to make sure that he followed. He did so, albeit stiffly.

The Laburov library had always been a stuffy place, and was even more so now that the books stood unused and covered with dust. Even though Mizil tidied regularly, he wouldn't spend time on the books unless she asked him, and she wasn't particularly bothered herself. Hence, the mahogany bookshelves along the walls had a grey, dirty appearance, but at least the reading chairs in the room were clean, even though the fabric on the seats and the armrests were worn down from long use.

"I assume Dumbledore meant the books on poisons," she told Snape evenly, and walked over to the far end of the room where she pressed a panel on the wall. One of the bookshelves nearby sprung to attention and slid aside to reveal a small study, containing a plain stone fireplace, some more bookshelves, a chair and a desk. "They're in here."

Her colleague said nothing; instead, he briefly studied some books on a bookshelf to his left before walking up to her. His temper seemed to be subsiding, for which she was very grateful.

After having entered the room, she opened a desk drawer and took out a pair of dragon-hide gloves. "You'll need to wear these," she said, and without turning to look at him, she put them on. "The books are covered in poison."

"How original." His quiet, ironic tone wasn't lost on her. Apparently, he had decided to go for the sarcastic approach instead. Rolling her eyes at the wall, she walked up to one of the bookshelves and briskly started to retrieve some books.

"It isn't all for show," she muttered. "My great-great-grandfather firmly believed that the person who wants your secrets is the person who will eventually kill you."

"And do you believe this?" he asked softly, and his tone took her completely by surprise. The floor creaked behind her, and suddenly she could feel the heat of him radiating onto her back. It was not entirely unpleasant, which was a shock in itself. Disconcerted, she turned around to face him, and he started slightly. In the tenebrous light, his eyes were like black holes, and she met them briefly, before averting her eyes and walking over to the desk to put the books down.

"I'd say that depends on the person," she replied quietly, feeling more than a bit uncomfortable about the small space of the room. Withdrawing her wand, she lit a fire, banishing the darkness, and with it, whatever strangeness had caught hold of her. There, the feeling's gone. It was nothing, just my imagination.

"This'll get you started, I think," she continued, and handed him the gloves. He took them, his eyes now reflecting the firelight, and her gaze was captured in his for a moment. "There's a Translating Looking-Glass in the right desk-drawer, in case you don't read Russian," she added. He didn't even blink. "I will be in the drawing room, at the other side of the hall. Would you like anything to eat?"

"Perhaps later." His look suddenly became slightly searching, and she had no idea how to respond to it, so she looked away.

"Come and tell me when you do."

He nodded briefly, walked up to the books, and put on the gloves. Leaving him to entertain himself, she returned to the drawing room.

It did not take long before she realised that with Snape in the house, focussing on her work was much harder. Her mind kept on straying away from the subject, and she kept on glancing at the door, much to the amusement of her ancestors.

"Really, Secessa," said Quirinus Laburov after a while, a small smile on his lips, "all you need to do is ask."

She sent him an angry glare, and then gave in. "Fine. Would you please see how our guest is doing?"

"Of course, my dear," he said unctuously, and walked out of his portrait. A moment later, he came back. "He's working diligently, it seems," he said with a smirk. "And he has found the liquor cabinet."

"Right." Sighing, she took up her quill again, and decisively immersed herself in her work.

A few hours later, Secessa's stomach was rumbling too much to be ignored any further, and she ordered Mizil to cook some dinner, which she took where she sat. She sent some over to Snape as well, who, according to Quirinus, ate it, after an initial close survey of the contents.

Mizil had just disappeared with her plate when there was a knock on the door, and several of her ancestors turned towards it expectantly. After some threatening looks from her, however, they grumpily pretended to return to their idle occupations of reading books or playing chess.

"Yes?" she said, putting down her quill.

The door opened, and Snape stood in the doorway, his face unreadable. She blinked. Snape minus one cloak was a new experience; suddenly, he lost his whole flowing black look, becoming more of an ordinary man and less of a Death Eater. His shirt was actually not black, but dark grey, and he had unbuttoned it at the neck.

My, the man relaxes around books, she thought with some surprise. I must remember to get him that book on Bone-Crushing Curses I saw in Moscow: that could possibly keep him placid and off my back for a month!

"I came to inquire if there's a Potions workroom in the house," he muttered.

"First floor, left-hand corridor, first door to your left," she replied, and continued, after some consideration, "The ingredients there might be quite old, though."

"I'll manage."

"Do you need any help in finding the right ingredients?"

His eyebrow arched slightly. "I think not."

Suppressing a smile, she picked up her quill again. "The room is at your disposal."

He left, and she looked up at Prometheus, who met her glance, put down his book, and walked out of his portrait.

A while later, there was another knock.

"Yes?"

This time, Snape was wearing an irritable expression as he stepped into the room. "The ingredients are labelled in an illegible Russian shorthand," he said waspishly.

"Yes, I know. And sorted by the Russian alphabet."

"I suppose you find this amusing?"

"I did ask if you needed help," she said innocently. "I assume the answer is yes, then?"

His face turned the colour of pale brick. "You may assist me," he replied shortly, turned, and swept out of the room.

Leaving her work, she hurried after him upstairs to the Potions Study, where he jerkily opened the door for her, clearly not intending to be more polite than he absolutely had to.

Prometheus' workroom was tidy as usual, as he was a fastidious man who would not allow Mizil to let it decay, despite the fact that he was no longer alive to use it. Hence, the large oak worktable in the middle of the room was spotless, and the glass on the doors of the ingredient cabinet gleamed. So did the brass frame of the large portrait to the right of the entrance featuring Rasputin sitting at a table, now playing chess with her oldest ancestor.

One of the medium-sized cauldrons, its Laburov insignia partly faded with age, stood out on the table on top of a small brazier, and she walked up to it. Inside, dark red fluid simmered soundlessly. Beside it stood a bottle containing red powder, one of Prometheus' poison-books, and next to it...

"Is this...? My grandfather's home brew!" she exclaimed, "You're not wasting it on potions, are you? That's very fine vodka, you know, the best you can get around these parts."

"You mean the only you can get," Snape replied dryly from where he stood by the door, watching her. "See it as a compensatory repayment to me, to make up for the travelling I was forced to do."

"What are you using it for?"

"Dried lizard blood in an infusion of alcohol makes an excellent substitution for fresh, coagulated blood," he said scholarly. Beside him, on the wall, Prometheus gave him a look of approval.

"In your dreams," she muttered to her great-great-great-grandfather in Russian, and he rolled his eyes.

Snape's eyes thinned. "What was that?"

"I spoke to Prometheus; he seems to agree." Snape glanced suspiciously at the portrait where the two spectators were again immersed in the chess game. "Fine," she continued shortly as he turned back, "you may use some, just remember that it's high quality."

She walked up to the large cabinet and pulled open both doors. An enormous collection of ingredients, mostly which had been her great-grandfather's, opened up before her. Shelves with various sized jars, all standing in alphabetical order marked with little tags in her great-grandfather's shorthand, filled the insides of the cabinet from the floor to the ceiling. A cloud of their combined scents diffused out into the room, and her nose tickled.

"You needed?" she asked Snape while she eyed the contents, satisfied that Mizil had kept the dust off the jars.

"Asphodel," said his voice softly from behind, and her abdomen tingled in response. Damn, I thought this had passed! "Wormwood, Boomslang skin, Hellebore, and Dragon scales."

Desperately trying not to blush, she took out the jars one by one and handed them over to Snape, who opened their lids and examined what was inside before taking them over to the table. After making sure everything in the cabinet was in order, she closed it and turned to Snape, who looked up. His eyes had an odd look to them as they briefly bore into hers, and she realised that she had had quite enough of whatever nonsense was going on.

"Right, I'll just -"

"I'll need help with pulverising the Boomslang skin and the Dragon scales. Start on that while I take care of these," he interrupted calmly, and indicated towards the Wormwood and Hellebore."

Realising she couldn't take back her offer of help, she grumpily grabbed a mortar and pestle, and started on the Boomslang skin.

Soon, the room filled up with the pungent smell of blood mixed with Wormwood. Secessa threw occasional glimpses at Snape as she worked, noticing that he was entirely focused on the cauldron, and her great-great-great-grandfather's Potions book.

When she was finally finished (which took a while, since the Dragon scales were extraordinarily resilient and unresponsive to her futile Chopping Charms), she walked up to him, carrying the powders in two small bowls. He acknowledged her arrival with a glance, and then returned to the cauldron. Steam was now rising from it in puffs, and one shot straight into her face as she looked down at the potion. She snorted.

Immediately, she felt as if she had been knocked over the head with a troll's club, and for a brief moment, she lost all track of where she was.

Then she came to, and found that her body had gone partly lax and that she was leaning on the arm of a tense Snape, who was steadying her with a claw-like grip of his free hand as he stirred the cauldron with the other.

"You'd better watch the fumes, in case you haven't realised that the potion's colour is suspicious," he said dryly, releasing her, and she regained her footing, blushing furiously. "The potion's expulsing nitrates; Hellebore and Wormwood interact if they are mixed with coagulated haemoglobin."

"What is it that you're making, anyway?" she asked, trying to focus her vision as she moved away from the danger of the cauldron.

"An antidote to a common snake venom. Your ancestor claims he improved the standard recipe," he replied evenly, his attention drawn towards the potion again. He added the powders meticulously, one before the other, and stirred slowly. Both of them watched as the potion bit by bit took on a dark green hue. The strange puffing had stopped, but Secessa's head was still cloudy. How can Snape not be more affected? she wondered as she leaned towards the worktable for support, briefly closing her eyes.

"I suggest you learn how to control your breathing," Snape continued a bit snidely, as if reading her mind.

She nodded and inhaled deeply, trying to banish her dizziness and the strange prickling under her skin. Licking her lips, she removed the tang on them.

When she looked up again, she found that Snape was watching her, wearing that same slightly odd expression as before. "Then there's ... just the Asphodel," he muttered, but his voice had changed tone, becoming quieter.

She handed it to him mutely, sudden warning signals screaming inside her head. When a man looked at you like that, it usually meant -

Right, say 'good luck', and leave! she told herself forcefully, but her tongue was strangely limp as she handed him the bowl. When her hand touched his, a small surge of warmth spread through her, and fascinated by the sensation, she began to watch his every precise movement. All her senses were on high alert.

He stirred the cauldron, adding the asphodel, his arm very precise as he performed and intricate stirring pattern, casting occasional glances at the book. Another steam of vapour rose from the cauldron with an angry hiss, and when he retrieved his wand, his movement seemed a bit strained.

"And now, it's just to wait..." His voice trailed off as he looked into her eyes. There was a short moment of silence as they stared at each other, and then his gaze ripped though her wards and plunged into her being. And he saw.

Gripping her arms painfully, he abruptly pulled her towards him and pressed his lips to hers in a harsh kiss tasting of her father's whisky. Her world swirled pleasantly as she suddenly was pressed close to him, but the pain in her arms was a little bit too much to bear and she let out a small sound of protest. He immediately let go, almost making her stumble backwards.

"You know you wanted it," he said with quiet fervour, and he seemed slightly out of breath. His face was a mixture of emotions: as if he was half expecting her to slap him, and daring her to do it at the same time. She was quivering inside like a string pulled beyond its capacity, and tried to control her own breathing as she looked into his eyes.

Oh, sod it! she thought firmly. What does it matter?

Pulling him close again, she kissed him a second time, and when she started undoing the buttons of his shirt, he exhaled somewhat shakily, and then started on her blouse with impatient hands.

Suddenly, an annoyed cough sounded in the room, and both of them stopped and looked up.

Secessa's great-great-great-grandfather was giving them a look of disapproval that said: 'Really! In my workspace!' and Rasputin seemed mildly shocked.

"Outside," she managed to mumble, and he mutely pulled her out through the door, his eyes turning very dark in the glum light of the hall. Pushing her hard against the wall, he continued with her blouse with a one-sided focus, his touch making her shiver as his hands brushed against her skin. Heat racing through her, she trailed her fingers over his bared chest with a sense of giddiness, amazed at the sudden unevenness in his breathing that her touch seemed to cause.

Then, as his hands found their way underneath her clothing and wandered downwards, he kissed her with newly found determination. Her head swirling, she whispered, with her lips brushing against his, "There - is - a bedroom - at the end - of the corridor," but as he grabbed her arm and pulled her away from the wall, she reeled, swaying slightly on her feet as she tried to regain balance.

"Learning how to walk would benefit you greatly," he muttered brusquely, and after a second's consideration, he promptly scooped her up in his arms and started walking down the hall.

"I can walk, don't be ridiculous," she murmured, but she was, in fact, very comfortable even though his grip was slightly bony.

"Surely we've gone past that point by now," he replied dryly, his voice hoarse and a bit tense from the strain of her weight. Then he opened a door with a push of his shoulder, they were inside the fire-lit guestroom, and he abruptly dropped her on the bed, moved on top of her, and with his mouth exploring hers he jerkily removed the remnants of their clothing.

And suddenly, they were flesh against flesh, and she inhaled sharply as she felt his warmth, pulling him closer, needing him, and being more than a bit surprised about how much so. Neither of them cared much for procedure as they joined urgently. There was no need for words; their hasty union was all that mattered and they were for once moving in unison as they were swept away by its quick, furious crescendo, one being in two bodies.

He collapsed on top of her with a ragged outtake of breath, and he lay with is head buried by her neck for a long time, their chests heaving simultaneously in a progressively slower pace.

When he finally rolled off her, neither of them spoke. Her head slightly dizzy, she quietly pulled a cover over them both, and lay down with a head on his shoulder. He watched her with an exhausted, slightly curious look, and then gazed up at the ceiling, exhaled deeply, and closed his eyes.

Well, she thought, that was slightly unexpected.

Watching his chest rise and fall, she drifted off into a deep sleep.

*

She woke up sometime later that night, feeling extremely relaxed. Lifting her head, she saw Severus sitting up beside her, glaring dully into the dying fire on the hearth. The sun's morning beams had just begun to seep through the window.

"Is it the light?" she asked in a somewhat muffled voice, while yawning with a hand over her mouth. The intimacy of having him in her bed made her feel frivolous, and she smiled. "You can always close the shutters. Why don't you try and get some rest?"

"Go to sleep," he replied tonelessly.

Light-headedly, she turned her pillow and wrapped herself in the generous covers, snuggling up beside him. "It was ... good," she breathed.

"I'm glad," he said, and then he was quiet.

Looking up at him from where she lay, she suddenly noticed the ugly, black, snake-tongued skull on his left forearm. Her smile died away. "Did it hurt?" she whispered, and brought out her hand from underneath the duvet, softly tracing two fingers along its outline. Instantly, he flinched, as if her hand was a red-hot iron, and he reflexively covered the mark with his right hand, brushing hers away.

His eyes were bitter, as they briefly met hers. "Yes," he replied quietly.

"I'm sorry," she mumbled, but he looked away, refusing to meet her eyes.

"Go back to sleep," he repeated.

No one should have to carry so much bitterness, she thought, her heart suddenly overflowing with sadness. Unable to say anything more, she savoured the warmth of his presence for as long as she could, before finally succumbing to a dreamless sleep.

*

She woke up refreshed without any sense of what time of day it was. The sun shone brightly, but in the summertime above the Arctic Circle, that was hardly unusual. Looking to her right, she found the bed empty and cold, and to her left, on a chair, lay her clothes, neatly folded. She frowned.

"Mizil," she called, sitting up and clutching the covers.

The house-elf appeared with a pop. "Yes, Mistress?"

"Has out guest left us?"

"Master Snape is in the library," the elf said in his most servile tone, but she could swear he looked amused. "Does Mistress wish for Mizil to fetch Master Snape?"

"No, thank you, Mizil. What's the time?"

"Is six in the morning, Mistress. Shall Mizil make some breakfast?"

"I will take it in the drawing room. Make enough for Master Snape as well."

Mizil bowed again, and disappeared with a crack.

Her cheeks flushed but her face grave, Secessa quickly dressed and left the room.

Severus was sitting in the library, absorbed in a book. He looked up as she entered, his face very closed. She could feel the wall he had erected between them before he even spoke, and stopped a few paces from the door, her body tensing, preparing for the inevitable.

"I am not interested in any kind of commitment," he said, in a voice devoid of emotion, "just so you know."

Her chest ached hollowly, but she managed to snort, and focus her eyes at a point above his head. "Did you think I came down here to beg for a betrothal?" she asked acerbically, surprised at how steady her voice was. "I'm hardly the type." She paused. "Breakfast is ready, if you want some."

He seemed a little bit surprised, but recovered quickly. "Please."

"Mizil will bring it to you."

"I am still waiting for your report," he said, in the same, dulled voice, talking to his book now.

"I will be working in the drawing room. I should be finished in a couple of hours."

"Very well, I'll be waiting."

Her head slightly dizzy, she left the room, too mortified to look up at him before she closed the door and was drowned by the shadows in the hallway. Well, what did I expect? she thought heavily. Love? I've been too lonely for too long, that's my problem. I must be mental, throwing myself at him like that.

The sly looks from the paintings did nothing to improve her mood as she entered the drawing room, where Mizil was serving her breakfast. However, they did stir some fury into her, and when she glared at all of them, she did not manage to produce even a twitch in their calm faces. Then she realised that their staunchness was dignified. A Laburov did not bow down.

How dare he reject me like this! she thought suddenly, her pride regained. I'm not some common whore!

"Not a word from any of you," she said shortly to the portraits as she sat down. "It was a mistake, and both of us know it!"

"Really," said Prometheus smoothly. "Well, if you say so."

She shot him an angry glance, which did not seem to bother him at all. Sighing, she picked up a freshly sharpened quill and attacked the last scrolls of Ministry documents on breeding dangerous beasts for warfare, muttering irritably to herself.

Two hours later, she was finished, and rolled up the report with relief. She sealed it with the Laburov insignia, using a ring of her father's, and addressed it to Dumbledore. It was very petty, she was well aware of that, but it made her feel better. Let Snape get the humiliation of having to ask Dumbledore what is going on, she thought, with some spite. It serves him bloody right.

"Mizil," she called, and the house-elf appeared instantly. "Give this to our guest and show him out."

Mizil bowed, and vanished.

A minute later, there was a knock on the door.

"Yes?" she said irritably. She had hoped Snape would have the sense to leave quietly.

Busying herself with some old papers of the estate that she had found the day before, she did not look up as the door opened.

"I need to know when you intend to return to Hogwarts," Snape said dispassionately.

"Do you."

"You are a member of the Order, and you need to be accounted for."

"I'll be back in two weeks' time."

"The news may surprise you, but there is a war brewing." His voice was cold.

"I haven't seen to the estate for fifteen years, and I need to visit Elena's grave in Moscow." The words seemed to pour out by themselves, and she paused, taking a deep breath. It was none of his business, and she did not know why she had told him. "All right, ten days, then."

"I shall inform the Headmaster," he replied softly. There was a quiet pause; then she heard the rustle of fabric and a sudden swish of air. Snape was gone.

Secessa bit her lip and picked up another yellowed piece of parchment.

She was alone. Again.

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Author notes: Please review! I have been very apprehensive about writing this, ehm, 'intimate' scene, so I appreciate all opinions and comments you might have!!!