Lesson 2: All Soul's Night
October 1996
Necromancy was, no matter what Ron and Hermione might have believed, not as much about creating Inferi but a lot about working with raw, unaltered magic. Once Harry finally managed to figure out how to sense it. And that was a long, slow process with a lot of trial and error and even more hardships to train this newly found sense to be on par with his fellow necromancy students – of which one had grown up with it, one had begun to learn in childhood and one had at least grown up around it.
It was a fascinating thing most of the time – until your teacher gave you an opal necklace to inspect that had cursed one of your housemates and put them into St Mungo's. Harry still had nightmares from the vile feeling creeping under his skin.
(When he had put forth his suspicions about Draco Malfoy's involvement, Professor Totengräber had smiled at him indulgently and neither agreed nor disagreed.)
Necromancy was a bit like a religion, too – or a lifestyle with death at the centre.
Halloween was thus a big thing for the necromancers. Fitting, Harry thought at first, not realising initially that the festival was deeply rooted in necromantic origins of the surprisingly profound kind.
Apparently, 'the veil between the worlds was thinnest' during this particular night of the year – whatever that meant. Apparently, Halloween – or Samhain? – did not always take place on the exact same date for the necromancers as it did for everyone else. Which made sense, considering that their tradition was based on a magical phenomenon and not a set date in a calendar system.
Harry had during his entire five years at Hogwarts not once noticed that some students did not celebrate Halloween – and likely not Christmas and Easter, either – but instead went to the grounds after the feast to conduct their own little Samhain rituals. When asked, Ron grimaced and said it was all snobbish pure-blood stuff and only being tolerated, because their parents were on the board of governors.
"I cannot speak for the rest of the traditional festivals," Professor Totengräber told him when asked, "though I can confirm that there is a special kind of magic to be found in the solstices and equinoxes. Many of the traditions you people practice these days are based on somewhat recovered lost knowledge and modern paganism, believe it or not. They will tell you that is still better than celebrating Christian holidays, which have nothing to do with magic whatsoever and I am inclined to agree. Our own families place value on All Hallows' Eve and All Souls' Day – much the same for us, if not for others – but not much on anything else."
She gave Harry a considering look. "You would benefit from partaking in the rituals tonight. Honouring your ancestors is always a worthwhile endeavour. My Lémures and the little Nott shall attend, so our lesson will have to wait until afterwards, either way. Remember to form a group of seven."
It took the better part of the evening for Harry to convince his friends to join him. Hermione had an academic interest in the rituals, but remained sceptical about the ritual actually working in any capacity. Ron only agreed for Harry's sake. Neville, shyly, asked whether he could join too, having apparently grown up with the traditions but never dared to participate before with the students from the other houses. At one point between leaving the Great Hall and joining the other students outside on the grounds – a mix of all years and houses, though predominantly Slytherin and Ravenclaw – Luna appeared at their side with two other students Harry had never talked to before, bringing their numbers neatly up to seven.
"Does anyone know what we are supposed to do?" Harry asked. "Neville?"
"We – er – we need some candles," Neville replied. "I think the older students usually bring more than enough."
"I brought us some," Luna said, opening the bag at her side and handing out candles in all colours to everyone.
She placed a large, black candle on the ground and they followed her lead to form a circle around it.
"Antheraea Lémure is officiating tonight," Luna told them. "We can listen to her recital and follow her lead."
Harry looked over to the group at the heart of the crowd, consisting of Lémure, Fawley, Nott and Zabini and three students he did not recognise. Somehow, everyone had arranged themselves around them and slowly, one by one, every group seemed to turn their attention towards the necromancers.
With a quirk to her lips, Lémure raised her voice, "On this night of all nights, when the veil between the worlds is thinnest, we call out to those who have gone before us. Tonight, we honour our ancestors, our beloved ones, who watch over us always, protect us and guide us. Spirits of our ancestors, we have gathered here to call upon you and invite you to sit and be with us tonight so we may thank you. We invite you to join us, beloved ancestors, so we may honour your memory."
Lémure made a sweeping gesture – not wearing gloves for once, Harry noted – and the black candle floating in the middle of her circle sprang to life with a small, blue flame.
Harry frantically looked around his own group, but Luna thankfully seemed to have it well in hand.
"We welcome our departed loved ones into this home and honour your presence amongst us," Lémure continued and then stepped inside her circle to light her own candle with the flame of the black one. The others then followed suit one after the other.
After having done the same, Harry once more looked to Luna for guidance.
"Let us now think of our departed beloved," Luna said softly, closing her eyes. "And honour their memory."
o
Afterwards, Hermione remained entirely sceptical of the whole thing. Unlike Harry, she had not experienced anything at all, standing around with her eyes closed and feeling nothing. Ron was too spooked to say anything and Neville had this faraway look in his eyes, but Harry knew they must have seen what he had seen, what Luna had seen.
Harry had never thought he would one day get to meet his mum – to speak with her and walk with her along the shore of the Great Lake and then find himself back in the circle as if nothing had happened.
Harry had felt the magic rising around them like the tide with the initiation of the ritual and ebbing afterwards. He had felt the power that Lémure's words had invoked.
It had not been what he had expected from a ritual meant to honour the dead, but it had long become clear that Harry really had no clue at all about – anything, really.
He still felt oddly light, as if part of him was still there with his mum, when he went to join the Lémures and Nott for their lesson with Professor Totengräber.
The feeling abruptly changed to shock, his heart plummeting, when he laid eyes on the dark shape lying by Professor Totengräber's feet.
It's not Sirius, he had to tell himself, even though the dog looked uncomfortably similar to Sirius' animagus form. But Sirius had been a solid black dog not made of shifting shadows and fiery eyes.
"This is Inpu," Professor Totengräber introduced the dog when she noticed what had drawn Harry's attention. "My familiar."
"Is –" Harry licked his lips. "What kind of creature is – Inpu?"
The old woman looked taken aback at his question. "Why, a grim, clearly."
A Grim. A Grim? What –
"How well-versed are the two of you in blood magic?" Professor Totengräber interrupted Harry's rising alarm, her question directed at Nott and Harry.
"I have read a little bit," Nott said in his quiet voice. "My family's library has many tomes on the subject, but most tend to be for … somewhat immoral purposes."
"Er – isn't that illegal?" Harry winced, he glanced at the Grim then forcibly wrenched his eyes away. "I mean – blood magic sounds like the Dark Arts."
Next to him, Lémure snorted. "You sound like all the rest of the ignorant fools. Magic is magic, Potter. It is the intent that matters."
"But –"
"Even with self-harm –" Lémure continued, talking over Harry, "whether you see it as a reluctant but necessary sacrifice or do it with the intent to harm yourself makes a significant difference."
Harry … had to admit to himself that he didn't see the difference.
"I would like to think" Professor Totengräber spoke up, "that teaching you to sense magic and follow its natural flow would have taught you this lesson already. Magic is all around us. Magic is nature and magic is wild and magic is fate. Magic simply is. The way you interact with it and direct it shapes it. What you intend to do with it determines the outcome. It is how we work with the Old Magics and it is how spells work. If you do not want it to happen, even waving your little wand and saying a silly Latin word will not force the magic to do anything for you."
"Like the Unforgivables," Harry realised, remembering that day in the Ministry when – when Sirius had – and he had gone after Bellatrix and – "You need to really want to hurt another."
Professor Totengräber's face twisted – it was almost funny how her grandchildren mirrored her.
"Unforgivables," the old woman repeated wryly. "What nonsense. I do not use conventional magic and I can still tell you that there are far worse spells out there than those three." She tilted her head. "Except for the Imperius, perhaps. That depends on your mental constitution and personal opinion, I'd say."
Harry gaped at her. "The Imperius? Not the Killing Curse?"
"A painless, instantaneous death is hardly a horrible fate compared to the intrinsic horror of having your free will overridden or, say, what the Mutilatio might do to you."
"The what?"
"The Mutilation Curse," Lémure replied with a roll of her eyes and what she said next made all the blood drain from Harry's face – even more so in the face of the cheerful tone Lémure used, "It is a highly complicated spell that requires a lot of finesse and willpower. If performed correctly, it mutilates the victim slowly according to the caster's wishes – from dismemberment to skinning, anything is possible – while keeping the victim alive and conscious the entire time, so they will feel everything that is done to them."
Still reeling from the casual description of the cruellest curse Harry had ever heard of, he only faintly managed to bite out, "How is that not dark?"
"That is the limitation of spells," Lémure said with a shrug. "The Mutilation Curse was created with ill intent and can only be cast with ill intent. If you define the Dark Arts to be ill intent, then, yes, this curse falls under the Dark Arts. But it is not the spell that will corrupt you, it is your own intent that will do it."
"The same applies to all other forms of magic," Fawley spoke up. "Even necromancy."
"The difference is quite visible in necromancy," Professor Totengräber said, giving Harry a meaningful look. "I demonstrated that thoroughly during your very first lesson."
"The Inferi," Harry realised. "But – You said one was created with necromancy and the other with the Dark Arts."
"What the Ministry likes to call the Dark Arts," Professor Totengräber corrected. "Although it admittedly makes hardly a difference in this case. A necromancer respects Death and His ways – they would never work Death's magic with ill intent. Truthfully, had you more insight into our work at the time, you would have been able to tell that Katharina was not, exactly, an Inferius of the so-called Dark Arts but a mere imitation." She glanced at her granddaughters. "I was disappointed only Antheraea could tell, but we are working on that – aren't we, Lynea dear?"
"Yes, grandmama," came the dutiful reply.
"Wait," Harry said. "Wait, it wasn't –? I don't understand. What's the difference?"
"The intent, my dear. As I am quite experienced in creating Inferi, there was no difference to an amateur's eyes. None to anyone who does not follow Death's ways. But to all who know, it should have been obvious." The old woman gave Fawley a pointed look. "It is hard to describe with words. Perhaps you vol de mort shall do us the favour of sending one of his creations out and then you can see for yourself."
Professor Totengräber clapped her hands. "But this is not what I wished to teach you today. Although it isn't far off. Lynea, dearest, if you would."
She handed the girl a silver dagger and Harry watched with mild horror as Fawley cut her own arm, remembering Professor Totengräber's earlier question about blood magic and Lémure's words about self-harm.
"Use your senses, Harry," his teacher admonished him and Harry hastily pushed his feelings away to properly concentrate.
The blood dripping down Fawley's arm – her wound had already closed somehow when Harry hadn't paid attention – never reached the floor, evaporating into a fine, faintly glowing mist instead. Harry could feel the magic within – ever moving, restless – could feel it shaping the mist to its whims.
"A neat little tool to communicate with Death," Professor Totengräber commented. "Let us depart, then."
And so they followed the blood mist out of the castle, over the dark and silent grounds and right into the Forbidden Forest with its looming trees and moving shadows. No one lit a light, guided only by the glow of the blood mist and Harry was glad to be surrounded by other people for he would have never dared to do this on his own. His past experiences with the Forbidden Forest at night had not been pleasant.
(Though he couldn't help but flinch whenever he caught the shifting shadows that formed the Grim walking by Professor Totengräber's side out of the corner of his eye.)
"Today, I want our little rookies to witness the passing of a life." Professor Totengräber gave Harry and Nott a smile that was probably meant to be reassuring. "I know you two have been touched by Death already, but it is quite a different experience to witness it from a necromancer's perspective. And after, the four of you shall prepare the funeral together with all the rites that entails."
o
The walk back to his common room was quiet. Too quiet, if Harry had to be honest, hearing only his own footsteps echoing in the corridors and his own breathing and his own heartbeat loud in his ears. Professor Totengräber was an eerily silent companion at his side.
"Professor?"
"Yes, my dear?"
"I – erm – I met my mum tonight."
Professor Totengräber glanced at him, but did not say anything, waiting for him to continue.
"Was that – Was that real?"
"As real as anything can be. The veil is thinnest tonight, Harry. That makes it easier for the spirits to visit."
Oh. That – So that was what she had meant. He hadn't realised.
He opened his mouth to ask another question only to find himself already in front of the Fat Lady. He hadn't even noticed them taking any shortcuts. How did Professor Totengräber know about those, anyway, having only been at Hogwarts for two months and never attended as a child?
Harry shook his head. "Does Voldemort know all these things? The things you are teaching me?"
Professor Totengräber tilted her head. "Perhaps, though I doubt it. Did he attend Hogwarts, do you know? Perhaps one of my children or grandchildren knew him."
"Ah, he did. But I'm not sure – His real name is Tom Riddle, if that helps?"
"I will write a letter and ask."
There was a pause.
Then Professor Totengräber fully turned to Harry, her face serious. "I am not teaching you to prepare you for whatever destiny Albus has decided you must face, Harry. I am teaching you because my Master has taken a liking to you."
"Your … master?"
Harry couldn't decipher the look in her eyes. "Why, He who is the End that will claim us all, of course."
He swallowed, his mouth dry. "Death. Death has taken a liking to me."
"He may have a reason, He may not." The old woman shrugged. "It is not for us to understand His whims."
"You make it sound as if death were your god."
Perhaps Harry was imagining it, but he thought there was an amused quirk to her lips.
"Gods are fickle. Gods come and go, their worship falling and rising. But Death – Death is a constant in all times and all worlds."