Originally Posted on AO3 September 2023 to December 2023

complete in 7 chapters

An undead Necromancer decides to try her hand at the Defence Against the Dark Arts position at Hogwarts, School for Witchcraft and Wizardry. The Jinx is not happy, but not the most creative, either.

Or: How many times does a DADA professor have to die, before they give up and let the Jinx win? (The answer is: Too many. The Jinx never stood a chance)

AN

Don't ask me. I don't know. A death a year? Perhaps two? We shall see.

On the SI tag: this is a "self"-insert only in the sense that Manea has read the books in a previous life and occasionally tries to keep things 'canon' despite her presence. It's fairly minor overall, I'd say.
I realise now, in hindsight, that I could have made her divine the (canon) future via the dead and thus circumvented the whole SI thing entirely, but oh well.

It's crack. I've run with it. Enjoy!

1992 to 1993

"Ms … Killgrave, was it?"

Manea set her cup down with a soft clink and gave the old man a perfunctory smile. "Yes, Professor."

Admittedly, the name was a bit on the nose. More than a bit. But considering what kind of world this was and how certain people had names that were just a touch too much … Well. The name she had come up with was perfectly in line with everything else, was it not?

"May I ask why you are applying for this position, Ms Killgrave?"

Truthfully, Manea didn't have any experience in teaching, but she figured she could hardly do worse than some of the candidates she would be replacing.

She tilted her head. "It is not like anyone else applied, is it? No one wants the job, because everyone thinks it is jinxed."

"If the position truly was jinxed, then why would you voluntarily want to fill it?"

"I am simply curious." Manea let the grin slip onto her lips. "For the past four decades, no Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor has lasted more than a year. For some, personal or impersonal circumstances forced them to quit. For others, the year ended in death." She leaned forward in her seat. "Now, what would happen to someone who would stubbornly refuse to quit under any circumstances and could, quite literally, not die?"

†

"Now, then," said their new Defence Professor.

Tracey didn't quite know what to make of her. She had never seen anyone wearing what looked like the skull of a very large bird fastened to their witch hat's ribbon – or tiny skulls attached to a leather band that tied a small bag full of what seemed to be herbs to their hip. Tracey had also never before seen someone so young with snow-white hair.

"You may address me as Professor Killgrave. Seeing as I will have to deal with just about six-hundred students and might not stay for longer than a year – although we shall see about that – I truly do not see any reason as to why I should memorise all of your names. Therefore, we shall make a seating chart."

Professor Killgrave let her piercing gaze sweep across the class. For some reason, it made Tracey incredibly uncomfortable.

"Until our next lesson, you will find a partner to sit with who is not from your own house and hand in a note that lists both your names and your average score from the previous school year. I will write up a seating arrangement until the lesson after our next and you will stick to it for the rest of the school year, unless I deem it necessary to be changed for a better …" Professor Killgrave tilted her head. "… learning environment."

Tracey exchanged a worried look with Millicent.

Professor Killgrave clapped her hands. "Now, how about a pop quiz?"

There was a collective groan that was a tad bit louder on the Ravenclaw's side of the classroom – if only because Slytherins generally did not groan out loud. Tracey imagined it would have been considerably louder in the Gryffindor-Hufflepuff class.

"None of the previous teachers left any notes whatsoever. I imagine evaluating your level of knowledge should not prove to be as complicated as most other classes I have to teach, seeing as you only had the one teacher so far."

By the end of the lesson, Tracey still did not know what to make of their new Defence Professor, but she held the tentative hope that this year would be more interesting than the last one had been.

†

"Nonsense," the voice of Professor Killgrave cut through the noise. "The cat is not dead."

She was standing at the front of the crowd, not even looking at Mrs Norris and instead frowning at the assembled students. Ron wondered who she was frowning at. He bet it was Malfoy.

Then Dumbledore arrived on the scene, followed by a number of other teachers, sweeping past Ron, Harry and Hermione to detach Mrs Norris from the torch bracket.

"Come with me, Argus," he said to Filch. "You too, Mr Potter, Mr Weasley, Miss Granger." He turned to Professor Killgrave. "Manea, if you please?"

Professor Killgrave turned to face the other teachers and sighed. "I suppose my office is closest. Very well, then."

The silent crowd parted to let them pass and Ron, Harry and Hermione hurried after Dumbledore, followed by Professors Killgrave, McGonagall and Snape.

Ron looked around curiously when they entered Professor Killgrave's office, but was disappointed to find nothing interesting at all in it. In fact, the office was so bare, it barely felt like an office at all. The Professor in question lit some candles with a wave of her hand and then leaned against the wall, watching as Dumbledore laid Mrs Norris on the table and began to examine her.

Ron exchanged tense looks with Harry and Hermione.

"Frozen in time or something," Professor Killgrave said, sounding almost bored – or maybe disappointed? "Most certainly not dead."

"You are sure?" Filch said in a choked voice. "She is not – dead?"

"Indeed," Dumbledore said, straightening from where he had been crouched over Mrs Norris, giving Professor Killgrave a look Ron couldn't decipher. "She has been Petrified. But how, I cannot say …"

"Ask him!" Filch shrieked, turning his blotched and tear-stained face to Harry.

Ron thought he heard Professor Killgrave huff in amusement, but when he looked over, her expression was neutral. He exchanged another look with Hermione. Harry was too busy staring at Filch.

"No second-year could have done this," Dumbledore said firmly. "It would take Dark Magic of the most advanced –"

"I think," Professor Killgrave interrupted and her frosty tone sent chills down Ron's spine, "that is a conversation better held in a more private setting. Perhaps, instead, while he is here, Mr Potter ought to explain his presence at the scene of the crime. Fortunately for him, there are several dozen witnesses of his presence at Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington's Deathday Party."

"And how," came Snape's drawling voice, "did you learn of this?"

Professor Killgrave grinned. (Ron had never seen her grin before and he very much hoped he would never have to, again.) "How do you think, dear? You know, I am more surprised to have seen one of your students at the scene. The second floor is quite a ways from the dungeons, is it not?"

The expression that appeared on Snape's face in response to this would have been hilarious, had Snape not decided to ignore the question altogether and round on Harry in the next moment.

†

"How curious," Professor Killgrave said as she prowled around the petrified ghost. "Very curious."

"Do you have any idea as to what to do with him?" Professor McGonagall asked.

"A few."

For some reason, Harry had a feeling she wasn't thinking of ways to help the ghost. He didn't want to imagine what she might have been having in mind instead. He truly didn't.

"For now, perhaps we should –" Professor Killgrave made a shooing motion.

And Harry got to watch Professor McGonagall conjure a large fan that she gave to Professor Killgrave, who passed it on to Ernie, who then wafted Nearly Headless Nick in the direction Professor Killgrave indicated.

This left Harry and Professor McGonagall alone together.

†

Professor Killgrave greeted the students with a disappointed look on her face and Kenneth's stomach sank. He had only seen that look on their teacher's face a select few times and it was never a good sign.

At least it wasn't a look that preceded the news of yet another attack. Small mercies, Kenneth thought to himself.

"Well," Professor Killgrave began and Kenneth's stomach sank further at the tone of her voice, "I did not expect you to be quite on par with your Slytherin-Ravenclaw classmates, but you are beginning to lag further and further behind and that is simply unacceptable. I admit I did specifically ask for the houses to be paired this way, but that was more out of necessity rather than actually benefitting your learning experience. In my opinion, Hufflepuff paired with Ravenclaw and Gryffindor with Slytherin would have created the best conditions – but, alas, for some unfathomable reason, Houses Gryffindor and Slytherin loathe each other so much so that any hopes of productive learning are simply impossible." Professor Killgrave gave them a disappointed look. "Truly a pity."

Kenneth raised his hand.

"Yes, Mr Towler?"

"Why not put us with Ravenclaw?"

"Because your House's tendency to act first and think later does not mix well with the Ravenclaws' significantly calmer and more rational temperaments."

"Which House were you in, Professor?"

"One point from Gryffindor for speaking out of turn, Mr Jordan."

"Sorry, Professor."

Slytherin, surely, Kenneth thought. The woman was dressed in mainly black with dark green and silver accents. Her hair was so white it was almost silver. She even had matching green eyes to go with it. And even if it wasn't for her appearance, the way she acted practically screamed 'Slytherin' – and really, who would choose to use skulls of all things as accessories? Kenneth wouldn't even doubt you, if you told him they were the real thing.

Their teacher swept her gaze over the class, expression indecipherable. "If you must know, I never attended Hogwarts. I am entirely self-taught."

Oh. That was. Huh.

Kenneth was clearly not the only one surprised by that, if the astonished and dumbfounded faces all around him were any indication.

So there was no house bias, after all? But he could have sworn … Well, it didn't matter.

"The plan was to leave your last month free for self-study – to take into account that I might be unavailable during that time due to yet unforeseen circumstances. But it seems you are all in need of some serious tutoring before I can leave any of you to study on your own with no concern for your final grades."

Kenneth gulped. That did not bode well for his free time at all.

†

Poppy was done checking up on her patients and quite ready to retire, when she heard a sound coming from one of the curtained-off beds. She didn't fully realise just whose bed the sound was coming from until she had already pulled the curtains aside.

There was a loud clatter that, Poppy belatedly realised, came from the empty vials she had just dropped on the ground.

"Poppy," Manea Killgrave said cheerfully – or croaked, rather. "I think I might have cracked some bones in my shoulder when I fell. Perhaps my skull as well. Would you be a dear and check me over?"

"But that's – impossible! You were dead! I confirmed it, myself!"

Manea shrugged. (And then winced in pain.) "Nothing new there. As far as ways to die go, this one was actually rather pleasant. All injuries I sustained stem from the fall after I was already – well, 'dead' is not quite the right word, considering I was already dead well before that. I think I ought to talk to the headmaster, by the way."

Poppy stared at her. Then, she stared some more.

Poppy had seen many strange things during her time at Hogwarts, but never before had she witnessed someone coming back from the dead. It had been so very strange when the headmaster had insisted on keeping the body in the hospital wing and refused to tell her why.

"Poppy? My shoulder?"

She shook herself. Better not think about it. Poppy Pomfrey was a professional. She had seen very strange things in her career, indeed, and she would not let such a thing get in the way of her job.

"I fear the headmaster has been suspended for the time being," Poppy told Manea as she worked.

"Oh dear," Manea said, completely unfazed. "I suppose Minerva will have to do, then."

†

"And you are quite sure?"

"Yes, Minerva. It is rather curious, though, that none of its victims looked directly into its eyes and merely found themselves petrified." Manea paused. "Well. Except for me, of course. It seems to me that whoever set it free ordered it not to use any other of its many deadly abilities. Perhaps they never even intended to kill anyone in the first place."

Minerva gave her an incredulous look. "From what I understand, you were killed by its stare."

Manea shrugged. "Yes, but I was specifically following the trail of its peculiar magic and did not even consider that I should, perhaps, take measures against whatever I would find at the end. Now, if I could talk to Mr Potter?"

"Whatever for?"

"The boy is a Parselmouth. If I am to take care of the monster terrorising the school, I need to gain access to the Chamber of Secrets. Unfortunately, I do not speak Parseltongue."

"You cannot seriously be intending to take the boy with you!"

Manea laughed. "Of course not. I merely want him to teach me some basic words, so I can open the Chamber by myself. What for would I want to take an inexperienced child with me? That basilisk could easily kill him in seven different ways before he could do so much as blink. A twelve-year-old boy is of no use to me. Especially not a living one."

Minerva did not feel reassured by that at all.

†

Gryffindor did not win the House Cup.

Hannah thought they would. Harry Potter had landed himself in the hospital wing once more and if last year was anything to go by, then that meant he had performed some heroic deed worth several dozen House Points if not more. Susan would tell her one such incident did not mean more would follow, but Hannah knew Headmaster Dumbledore favoured Gryffindor above all and had a special soft spot for the Boy Who Lived. Such things were easily observed by simply paying attention.

At the end of the day, it didn't matter that Gryffindor didn't win the House Cup, because Hufflepuff didn't win it, either. It was Ravenclaw. And neither did that matter all that much, because the return of Headmaster Dumbledore paired with the announcements that the petrified students had been successfully cured and the monster behind the attacks been taken care of filled everyone with much more joy than the House Cup ever could.

There was an odd moment when Headmaster Dumbledore told them about the monster, during which several teachers, beginning with Professor McGonagall, turned to glance at Professor Killgrave, who Hannah thought might or might not have been holding back a satisfied smirk. There was no mention of how the monster had been taken care of, nor who had been involved, but Hannah was willing to bet their weird Defence Professor had had something to do with it.

There had been rumours around the time of the last attack that someone had actually died. Around the same time as Hermione Granger and Penelope Clearwater had been petrified, Professor Killgrave had suddenly fallen ill and been substituted by Professor Snape. After about a week, Professor Killgrave had returned as if nothing had happened, but Hannah couldn't help but notice that while the security measures hadn't been lightened, the teachers had seemed to be much more relaxed about them from then on.

Hannah looked at Professor Killgrave now and wondered.