The Necromancer Amulet

Author's Notes: Thanks so much to my wonderful and very thorough beta reader Beulah Page (from perfectimagination.co.uk)! I would also like to thank all my reviewers, especially Jords, Faile, Ella Clark and TRE, whose continuous encouragements really kept me going through this (in my opinion) monster of a lengthy fic (I planned it to be fifteen chapters at first, and then it just went on...and on...). THANK YOU!!!

By the way, this chapter might feel a tiny bit fluffy. You have been warned!

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Epilogue

It was late at night, and the glumly lit Entrance Hall of Durmstrang Institute stood deserted. The room was small, and empty except for the two large obsidian urns that stood on either side of the staircase leading to the First Floor. The torches that during the days spread a pale blue light along the dark walls and thereby lessened the duskiness, had all gone out but one. The last torch flickered faintly already, prepared to give in to the night.

Suddenly, the air by the empty, westernmost wall began to swirl. Faster and faster it went, until it liquefied, gradually turned opaque, and then, a hook-nosed man with pallid skin and black, stringy hair, suddenly emerged from it, landed softly on the floor with a small thud, and quickly straightened. The swirling motion of the air died, and his black cloak billowed ever so slightly, absorbing the pale light. As he surveyed the room, his face was austere, and a small flicker of recognition briefly shone in his black eyes.

He walked up to the bottom of the staircase, and there he waited calmly.

*

The Durmstrang Transfigurations Professor, Erik Staal, was walking along one of the ground-floor corridors on his usual round when he heard the thud from the Entrance Hall. He quickly increased his pace, suspecting trouble. The urns there were precious, and although most students would never dream of touching them, he ha a sneaky suspicion that by keeping the urns by the Main Staircase, they were leading the students into temptation. That was what you got when a politician took over the Headmaster's Chair: no sense, and all gaudiness.

He saw the greasy-haired stranger in the black cloak as soon as he entered the room, and his eyes narrowed. So did the eyes of their guest, and they glared at each other for a few seconds.

"Who are you, and what are you doing here?" Erik asked shortly. The Deputy Headmistress had arranged for Portkey connections abroad recently, and Erik was not entirely convinced of the benefits, even if she had assured him the people in charge of the Portkeys could be trusted absolutely. Besides, the time was past any reasonable visiting hours.

"I have come to see the Deputy Headmistress," said the man, his voice almost as quiet as a whisper.

No name, then, Erik thought disapprovingly. Dodgy, just as I guessed. "The Deputy Headmistress does not usually receive visitors at this hour."

"My errand is...private."

Erik scrutinised the man suspiciously. He didn't look like the type of man any woman would let into her chambers willingly. However, she had to be informed, at least. Perhaps they could deal with this intruder together? He looked like he knew a nasty curse or two, and Erik knew better than to push his luck.

"Very well," he said curtly. "Your name?"

The stranger hesitated, and then said quietly, "Severus Snape."

Erik frowned; the name was vaguely familiar, but he could not remember where he had heard it. Still not letting the visitor out of his sight, he went up to the fireplace, withdrew his wand and tapped a chipped stone ornament on the top in the shape of a thistle. It shimmered, and the stones beside it rearranged themselves to reveal an opening containing a small jar of floo powder. He threw some on the hearth, and a green fire flared up.

"Secessa, a visitor for you."

*

Secessa looked up from her desk, rose, and walked up to her office fireplace, frowning mildly. Vladimir usually sent her a fruit bat before he visited, and who else would call on her this late?

"At this hour?" she asked the fire.

"His name is Severus Snape."

She stiffened, stared at the flames, and blinked a few times. The fire died, which released her from her lethargy. Her insides tensing, she threw some new powder onto the hearth.

"Show him to my office, Erik. By foot; we're low on floo powder." That ought to give her some time to think.

"I understand," her colleague replied succinctly.

The fire died again, but her eyes were still fixed on the scorched stone where it had flickered.

Six months had passed since she last had seen Snape.

*

Her last year at Hogwarts had been hard. After the Dark Lord had gathered his forces and launched an attack on the Ministry for Magic in October, the school had become a refuge for fleeing wizards and witches. Hence, the Order of the Phoenix gained supporters rapidly, and the Dark Lord saw that he was threatened. In February, he had decided it was time to wipe out the resistance once and for all, and he unleashed his minions in a large-scale attack at the school.

Secessa had stood in the front-line of the defence, side-by-side with Vladimir, bonding or paralysing beasts for him to kill, and killing some lesser creatures herself (she loathed casting the Killing Curse, so she used it sparingly). It sickened her to have to kill so many the poor beasts, but for most of them, their minds had been destroyed anyway; by imprinting the commands of war into them too deeply to remove, the Russian tamers had reduced the creatures into simple beings of hatred. But the touch of so many evil minds against her own, however brief, had eventually taken its toll, and before the battle was over, she had collapsed, retching on the grass, feeling so polluted that she could hardly breathe.

Vladimir had carried her to a safe spot inside the castle, where someone had given her a Calming Concoction, and she had fallen asleep instantly, to weak to care about anything.

She had woken up an hour or two later to the sounds of fireworks; Harry Potter had defeated the Dark Lord, finally showing his strength that was a raw power of love and bravery.

Potter had matured greatly during his last year at Hogwarts, and any doubts that she had had about him following the right path, she had completely banished late in the autumn. After the battle, the rumour about the prophecy foretelling the fall of the Dark Lord spread quickly, and she finally understood the intricacy of Dumbledore's scheming during the years.

However, she could not make herself celebrate the event, and neither could anyone else at Hogwarts. Many people had been carried off to St. Mungo's, and even more had died, among others Arthur Weasley, Charlie Weasley, Kingsley Shacklebolt, Emmeline Vance, several parents staying at the school, Professor McGonagall and Professor Sinistra, and the heartbreak of the great loss was almost unbearable.

Ashamed that she had not been able to contribute more to defending the school, Secessa had walked the corridors solitarily during the next couple of days, trying to give comforting words to students from all four houses that had lost members of their family. It was a period of grief and joy for everyone, and classes were cancelled for two entire weeks. Vladimir had left soon after the attacks, intending to spend a few years in the Far East, and she had missed him deeply.

And what about Snape? Well, her interactions with him during the months before the attack had been stiff and awkward, and at the same time, she had been worried sick every time he had not turned up for breakfast or dinner. And then, he had been gravely injured during the attack, and spent some time in St. Mungo's, as well.

Professors Flitwick and Hagrid had also been injured, which made for a couple of strange months once classes started again, full of temporary teachers in various subjects. It was during that chaotic time that Secessa had received a letter from Durmstrang, offering her old job back, with the title of Deputy Headmistress to go with it, and a possibility of advancing to Headmistress within a few years. But she had put it away, and waited until Snape's return before she had thought about it properly, and decided that she at least could try speaking to him about it. And even when he did return, she put the meeting off until the last minute, and did not visit him until after the last exams were over and done with, a few hours before the Leaving Feast.

The office looked like it always had done: it contained slimy things in jars, oppressive shadows created by the firelight, and its occupant, a thin man with greasy hair and an irritated expression, sat behind his desk marking papers. One item was different, though: on the right-hand wall hung a well-polished Order of Merlin, inscribed with his name. If it had given him peace, she saw no sign of it.

Snape had deep hollows in his cheeks, and seemed more than a little bit worn out. Her heart ached slightly at the sight. No wonder he had kept himself out of sight as much as possible, once he was out of St. Mungo's. She knew that by seeing him like this, she was treading on his dignity, but it could not be helped. The owl needed to be sent this very evening.

He looked up, his face well composed.

"Yes, Professor Laburova?" His tone was flat.

She took a deep breath, trying to stabilise her fluttering heart. "I have been offered the position of Deputy Headmistress at Durmstrang," she said, not letting show any sign of emotion.

He blinked, and studied her briefly before replying. "I suppose you are telling me this for a reason?"

Her heart sank. Why had she come? What had she expected?

"I ... suppose I came here to say my goodbyes. I'm leaving, tonight." As soon as she said it, she knew it was true: she would speak to Dumbledore, and blaming on the haste needed to establish her new Office, she would skip the feast and leave quietly.

"I never realised you were the sentimental type, Professor Laburova," he replied softly. "Very well, good luck, then."

And that had been it; not even a sarcastic comment. She had packed her things immediately afterwards, despite Dumbledore's protests, and it had been strangely easy to sever all ties and leave.

*

There was a knock at the door, and Secessa looked up from where she stood at the fireplace.

"Enter."

The door opened, and Severus Snape, looking a bit healthier than he had done last Spring, entered, followed by the her old school-friend, the blonde Transfigurations Professor. Erik looked extremely suspicious, and was grasping his wand in his pocket.

"Thank you, Erik," she said. He hesitated, seemingly a bit taken aback, looking first at Snape, then at her. Then he nodded, and left the room.

She and Snape stared at each other for a few seconds, and her insides churned. What was he doing here?

"This is a pleasant surprise," she managed to say, just before the silence got awkward. "Would you like a drink? Tea? Or something stronger; brandy, perhaps?"

"Yes, please," he muttered.

"Tea or brandy?" she asked, bringing out her wand. More to keep herself busy than anything else, she lit a small fire on the hearth. The small flames hardly gave off any warmth, but they were comforting.

"Brandy."

Nodding briefly, she opened the oak cabinet next to the fireplace, took out a glass and a bottle, and poured him some plum brandy; he took the glass silently. After a moment's consideration, she also poured a glass for herself. He was watching her intently, and it made her nervous.

"This is good brandy," he said quietly, after tasting it.

"Karkaroff left quite a good supply when he ... left; I split the remains of it with the new Headmaster."

Then she realised that Snape was still standing, and she indicated towards the chairs opposite the fireplace.

"I'm sorry; would you like to sit down?"

"I'll stand, thank you." He walked up to the window and looked out. She followed his gaze. Outside it was snowing, and the landscape was white, hilly and barren. The moon lit up the castle surroundings, covering them in a pale, white glow, leaving a vague pattern of shadows along the mountainsides.

"So, how have you been?" she asked after a moment of mutual silence, the brandy making her braver.

"Fairly good," he replied with his back to her.

"How's teaching?"

"Moderately trying, as usual." His voice was slightly testy. Oh yes, the new first-years always bring him grief, she thought, and smiled briefly.

He did not say anything more. The silence between them made her feel slightly desperate, like she stood on the edge an abyss of pleasantries, unable to cross.

"It was ... nice of you to come here," she murmured, feeling like an idiot; Snape never did anything to be nice. Was he here because he had changed his mind? Her heart beat a little bit faster, sudden hope fuelling it.

"Dumbledore sends his regards," he said suddenly, as if he had not heard her. He was still looking out the window.

"Thank you. How is he?"

"Fine."

There was a pause, and then Snape continued, "He has sent me here to ask you to reconsider his offer."

Her heart sank; so that was it. Dumbledore had decided that if an owl could not persuade her to return, maybe his loyal messenger could. How could I have thought any different? she thought with chagrin, and slight anguish. I should have known better!

"I will do that," she said, making her voice steady and even. I will not embarrass myself! "But I don't think I'll change my mind."

"Well then," he muttered, and knocked back his brandy before turning around. His face was inscrutable, as always. So, she hoped, was hers. "I should go."

"Of course. You're busy."

As he put the glass on her desk, the corner of his mouth twitched.

"Yes. Thank you for the brandy."

He walked up to the door, and then stopped, turned slowly, and gave her a piercing look. "Why did you accept this position?" he asked.

"It was too great an opportunity to turn down," she said calmly, not feeling very composed at all. Thankfully, the lie was easy; she had told it to herself countless times this autumn.

For a moment, he stared at her. The he put his hand on the doorknob. "Very well then," he said quietly, and opened the door. As his foot crossed the doorstep, he hesitated for one second. Then, he briskly left the room and shut the door firmly behind him.

Slowly, Secessa slid down into one of the armchairs before the fireplace, her insides taut with the effort of remaining poised.

She would never see him again.

I will not give into this! she thought as she extended a rather weak hand towards the table where her brandy-glass stood. I refuse to! Why did he have to come here and reduce me into this pathetic state, why?

The glass halfway to her mouth, she changed her mind and threw it into the fireplace with all the force she could muster. The crash of glass hitting stone and the sudden flare and crackle of the fire was liberating, but it could not rid her of the knot of pain in her chest that threatened to burst open like an infected wound.

"Reparo," she murmured with her wand pointing at the pieces of glass in the flames, unable to let them remain disorderly, and the brandy glass was whole again, but it was now blackened; ruined.

She stared into the fire as her body, despite her efforts to control it, involuntarily convulsed into first one small, half-muted, dry sob, then another. Then the tears started forming in her eyes, and she could not seem to stop it; one particularly obnoxious specimen trickled down her left cheek, and she wiped it away angrily, cursing to herself, trying with all her might to stop it, to stop the humiliation and the disgrace...

There was a knock on the door. Bloody Erik! Can't he try to stay away for once!

"Yes?" she said, in a muffled sort of voice. Don't look at him; just dismiss him. You are tired. He will understand.

The door opened, and she could hear a soft rustle of fabric of someone entering.

"You lied to me. Again." The quiet voice did not belong to Erik, but to Snape.

His voice caused her to turn her head towards him, despite her intentions not to. New tears blurred her vision, and she blinked them away.

"Why did you leave Hogwarts?" he asked.

What did it matter, now? He couldn't possibly make her feel any worse than she already did.

"You ... never asked me to stay," she managed to murmur ashamedly, looking not at him, but at the floor between them.

In three strides he was by the fireplace, and he hunched down in front of her.

"These tears are a little bit too dramatic, don't you think?" he said softly. "Not to mention highly redundant."

Unable to speak, she let out another, slightly coarse, half-suppressed sob in reply.

"Let's remove them, shall we?" he continued, in the same quiet voice, and with a few exact wipes of his thumb, he smudged her few tears away. The he looked into her eyes, very seriously.

"Will you stay?" she asked silently, hoarsely, and they both knew what she meant.

"I shall, if you want me to." His eyes were unusually mellow.

"I do," she whispered.

He took her chin between his wet thumb and forefinger, and then he kissed her, tensely, but very lightly. Sighing, she moved into his stiff arms like it was the most natural thing in the world, answering his kiss first shyly, then with all the increasing fierceness of her pent-up grief. She was holding him so tightly, so dearly, that he had to carefully pry her arms away before moving her to the bedroom, but the small, dry smile on his lips was soon forgotten as she very determinedly pulled him into her bed.

Her dreams were beautiful that night, and when she awoke, she could vaguely recall a lingering scent of flowers, and the shadow of a woman's hand caressing her hair.

And this time, Severus did stay, until sunrise.

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Author notes: THE END - finally!!! And if you haven't reviewed my fic yet, perhaps you could consider writing a word or two...? All reviews are welcome!!!