Author Note: Another story from yours truly. I know I should finish Breaking the Habit, but this particular plot bunny has been eating away at me for some time now. I just finished reading the Anita Blake series and so don't be surprised if you recognize some stuff from there.

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Everything within either belongs to JK or Laurell K. Hamilton.


The Necromancer's Sacrifice

Prologue

There was a time in my life when I did not realize the horrors the world held. Even though bad things happened, they never shattered the illusion that the world was a safe place. Life, I thought, could only improve and so I did not believe that something could ruin my carefully constructed future. Of course, I was only twelve at the time so I suppose such a view is understandable.

In one horrible day, everything I had planned crumbled around me. My grandfather passed away during the summer between my first and second years at Hogwarts. He had not been dead for more than a few days when I awoke to him standing beside my bed. I remember my parents bursting into my room and their screams mingling with mine.

It is a surprise our neighbors did not call the police because of all the noise we were making. Upon further inspection, it became very clear that the body beside me was nothing more than that, a body. It was a corpse, nothing more. We did not know how it had crawled up from its grave and come straight to me, but we all knew that the best course of action was to get Dumbledore to our home as soon as possible.

Even to this day, the horror of learning the cause to this mysterious appearance still sends a shiver up my spine. Necromancy, the ability to control the dead, the darkness. Who ever would have believed that me, the innocent, bossy, know-it-all Hermione Granger was the strongest necromancer the Wizarding World had ever seen?

But even that did not go far enough to completely explain why he looked so very, very alive. All the others before me who have raised the dead have never been able to get their corpses to shake that wholly un-alive look. My zombies appear completely human. Of course, that is because I am more than just the average necromancer.

I also am a natural witch. Most people don't know what that is and, to tell the truth, I did not either when I first learnt of them. Natural witches have strong ties to the elements and it is not uncommon for their abilities to show themselves in certain areas of study, for me it was Potions. It is also a relatively common gift but rarely is it strong enough to be considered a force to be reckoned with.

While I am not the strongest natural witch in history, my power is nothing to be sneered at. One would think that I was invincible with all this magic to call my own, but such an idea is so far from the truth. I spent the next six years training to control my wayward powers. Even now, if my concentration wavers greatly, they still escape me.

Once I graduated from Hogwarts it became very clear to me that the career I had once hoped for, to be an Auror, would not come to fruition. Most of the magical community saw me as a creature to fear. It was automatically assumed that because a great deal of my magic was rooted in darkness that I only did dark things.

It makes me wish that people were not so ridiculously closed minded. It seemed fitting then that I become an Unspeakable, a person who deals with the most nefarious and darkest aspects of the Wizarding World. My gifts definitely came in handy here. By the time I was twenty, I had seen things that would make most loose their minds.

Not to mention, I had killed enough times to create an empty space within me that shielded me from the pain of stealing life. I still am not fully comfortable with killing and I am glad, for it is a sign that I still cling to my sanity in an age where many go mad. By that time, the boys and I had drifted apart.

We rarely spoke, let alone saw each other. It was difficult being alone but I felt that I could not risk anybody in the dangers of my lifestyle. I would never have forgiven myself if a loved one died because of me. Crookshanks was the only one that I lost. His death rocked me to the core and the vengeance I had upon the rogue werewolf that tore up my flat and several of my neighbors did little to fill the gap inside of me.

The clichéd phrase that one never realizes how precious something is until it is gone is so very true and I owe Dumbledore a great debt in helping me to close that bleeding wound on my soul. That favor I promised him is the reason I am traveling to Hogwarts seven years after graduation. The War is in its last throes and the Final Battle is fast approaching. Even the children, the future of our world, will have to fight. I am the one who will prepare them for the battle.

The lives of so many will rest solely on my shoulders. It is up to me to teach them the skills they must know to survive. But, that is merely a cover story. For the past year there has been an itch in the back of my mind, a sense gone haywire that I could never fully soothe. I am being called to Hogwarts by power that mirrors my own.

Could it be that another necromancer awaits me within the ancient stone castle?


Well, it's a prologue so of course it is short. But, the next chapter should be up soon. Please review!

Blessed Be

Ame