MoroTheWolfGod: okay. You asked for it.

777

"What was that about?" Ron asked, staring after the strangers. A dumbstruck expression on his face and he turned to face them, noting their looks of puzzlement as well.

"I don't know," Harry softly mused. "Don't you find it odd that Snape would be getting such a visit at the same time I'm experiencing weird black outs?"

"Harry," Hermione warned him, though she included Ron as well. "Remember what happened last time you jumped to conclusions about Professor Snape. You were proven wrong about him trying to steal the Philosopher's Stone and he did try to save you from Quirrell."

Though he sent her a disgusted look, he nodded in consideration of her words. "I'm just saying that it seems more than a little coincidental."

"Harry," Headmaster Dumbledore called from the school's doorway. "May I have a word with you?"

"Of course," he replied. "I'll see you at supper."

Hermione looked at him, an eyebrow raised.

"I'll talk to him," Harry muttered.

Once their friend had left, Ron turned to follow after Draco. "Where do you think you are going?" Hermione asked.

"To find out what Snape's up to, duh." He faced her, a 'what else' expression on his face.

"Ronald Weasley, you most certainly will not." Hermione latched onto his arm and dragged him with her into the school, towards the library. "You will be helping me learn what the significance of bells in the wizarding world is."

He stopped them, breaking free from her light grip. His hands rested on his hips as he glared down to inform her, somewhat haughtily. "Everyone knows that, Hermione. It's quite a common branch of magic in our world."

"Really?" she challenged. "I don't know what you're talking about-and I've read almost every book on magic there is."

"It wouldn't be in a book," he replied.

"Then what is it?" she asked, challenging him.

Ron's eyes rolled heavenward, as though asking for strength. Part of him liked teaching her what he knew. But another part felt frustrated by the necessity. This part of magic was something every child knew.

It was cradle taught.

"Bells are the tools of a necromancer. You know, someone who leads the dead into death and keeps them there," he said, going on thoughtfully after a moment. "Of course, they use other tools now, ones that are less obvious to the untrained eye. It used to be that they walked about with a bandolier and a sword."

The brown eyes went dark as she contemplated the information Ron had provided with what she'd read. "A necromancer? What has that to do with Harry?"

He shrugged, not really that concerned with this situation. "How should I know? After all, it's not a big deal if he's a necromancer. I've known more than a few in my family."

"Harry's your best friend, isn't he?" she pulled him along.

"Of course he is," he snapped.

"Then shouldn't you help him? You need to help me research this. I don't know where to start," she paused, studying him for a moment. "After all, Harry's counting on us. He needs to know what to expect."

"Then why don't I find out what the greasy git's up to while you do the searching?" he suggested, trying to pull free. He was fully aware of Fred and George's laughter in the shadows. Try as he could, he couldn't find out where they were.

He'd need to talk to Ginny later. See if she had any ideas about getting proper revenge on them. Young though she was, she was far more devious than he was. And he knew that she was more than a little annoyed by Fred and George's pranks.

"Because its time you saw more of this school than the classroom, I won't always be available to help him. And you need to stop suspecting a trap every time Professor Snape is involved," she scolded.

"But he usually is part of a trap," he objected. But he stopped fighting once they'd passed through the library doors. As scary as Hermione could be, she was nothing compared to the infamous Madame Pince.

The librarian scowled at them as they walked in front of her desk. She did not remove her gaze from them until another student asked for help in a tremulous, halting voice.

Even then, Ron was sure she kept one eagle eye on them.

777

Harry followed Headmaster Dumbledore into his office and took the offered seat. Looking about, he noticed that Fawkes was nowhere to be seen. "Sir?" he asked, wondering where to begin.

Or if he should wait until the headmaster said something.

"Fawkes is visiting Professor Snape at the moment. Something to do with a potion," he replied with a smile. First, he offered him a lemon drop, which was politely refused. "Why does no one ever accept my offer?" he murmured before changing the subject. "Now, do you have anything you wish to share with me?"

So, for the second time that day, Harry told what happened the previous night. Knowing that Dumbledore expected him to be honest, he left nothing out. "Only, this isn't the first time I've experienced this, sir."

"No?" he gently encouraged, sucking on a lemon drop.

Folding his hands in his lap to keep from twisting them into the folds of his cloak, he shook his head. "Every few weeks or so, I find myself wandering off to something that I can't quite define. But it's never been this bad before-I was always able to regain control of myself before to much time had passed."

Dumbledore nodded to show that he was listening to him. Outward, his face showed only a calm expression, but inside he felt a deep uneasiness. This story worried him for it wasn't what he expected to hear, though he had been waiting to hear that he'd started to grow into his mother's heritage.

It was obvious that the young Gryffindor had come into his authority. No one had thought to prepare him for the development of stronger powers than most wizards had. It hadn't been thought of as necessary.

Necromancy develops in wizards the same way as regular magic did, slowly and on an even course. This pattern of magical growth reminded him of something he had heard several years ago. Something that irritated him because what it suggested was impossible.

It mirrored the maturing of a certain young Slytherin's who had had to seek sanctuary among them because the maturation process had been so quick. This level of power Harry possessed was on a level higher than anyone in his father and mother's lines.

In fact, this level of ability existed only in Severus Snape's family line.

And there was a fly in that particular theory.

Everyone knew that the Potters and Snapes were related in some fashion. But that knowledge was buried so far back in the past that no one could faithfully trace them. Their families, unlike other pureblood families, was unusual in this manner.

And anyway, he didn't think that such a distant link would affect the lines of magical inheritance-especially since he knew the truth.

Moreover, magical heritage didn't work that way.

Magic passed directly from the parent to child. Even squibs possessed a hint of the magical powers of their parents, contrary to popular teaching. Not a lot of it, that was true, but enough that it was within them. For they saw things in the magical world as they were. Not the illusion that fooled the eyes of the muggles.

"Headmaster?" Harry stopped speaking, worried by the look on his face. It seemed to be a combination of fear and calm acceptance. The Gryffindor didn't think he'd ever seen such an expression before.

Shaking himself from his troublesome thoughts, he smiled genially. "You were right to tell me, Harry, but it does pose quite a few questions about some things I've been pondering."

"What things?" he asked.

"Nothing that concerns you right now, Harry. How would you feel about private lessons?"

"Private lessons?" he parroted. "Why? With who?" The question was needless. Harry knew that there was only one person that Dumbledore would trust to teach him privately, though he still didn't know why.

Snape.

"To prepare you for your future," he replied, a strange smile on his normally warm face. "Go on, see your friends, and think on it. I don't expect you to make this decision now. It would, of course, involve you dropping a few of your extra-curricular activities in order to make room for them."

With those words and an absent pat on his back, Harry found himself escorted out the door and into the hall. Dazedly, he watched as Dumbledore simply disappeared from the hallway, leaving him standing alone.

A chill wind blew by him and he shivered in the breeze. Not for the first time did he wish that he truly possessed the gift of prophecy. There was something within the deep recesses of his mind that let him know that danger was coming.

A danger that not even Voldemort would be expecting.