Revelations

Characters are property of J.K. Rowling and the Harry Potter Universe. Thankfully, she allows me to borrow them for a bit of fun.

Chapter II

Revelations

"The green eyes found the black, but after a second, something in the depths of the dark pair seemed to vanish, leaving them fixed, blank and empty. The hand holding Harry thudded to the floor and Snape moved no more." –Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows.

My morning, following Harry's departure, seems to flash by in a blur. Something inside my head seems to click and I move around my tiny flat in whirlwind, readying everything for a night full of reading and, hopefully, writing. Tidying the place is done with a flick of my wrist as I cast a cleaning spell I learned from Molly Weasley. Even though objects whiz around the room finding their rightful spots on the shelves and in drawers, my subconscious remains a jumbled mess. The project that has consumed nearly all of my thoughts in the past few months continues to do so. Although the aroma from the freshly brewed pot of tea and the sight of an orderly kitchen and sitting room relaxes me, I can't help but reflect on how finishing this book will, with a bit of luck, change everything. Less than a year ago, I was struggling to come to terms with the light we were all painted in.

Harry may have been called the Chosen One but, in reality, the public never had a clue. The first few months following the war were especially dark for Harry. Voldemort had taken his entire family away from him, not to mention numerous close friends. Harry had spent so much time fighting Voldemort, desperate to avenge his loved ones, that he had never been allowed to grow up. He certainly was not ready for all the attention he would receive after the war. Sure, he had always been famous, but he had always been insulated by Hogwarts. The "real world" was a different story. Countless requests for interviews, public appearances, and authorized biographies poured in before Harry had even had the opportunity to properly say goodbye to those lost at the Battle of Hogwarts. Harry had declined all such requests and had tried to remain out of the public eye as much as he could. He spent many nights at home alone and shut himself off from the rest of the world, sometimes even to Ron and myself. It took a lot of urging from Arthur Weasley and a personal visit from Minister Shacklebolt to finally convince Harry to accept an Auror position at the Ministry. The position had done wonders for him. He seemed to genuinely enjoy life again. However, he rarely talked publicly about the war. He used his job as a way out of doing any interviews saying that he simply didn't have time. So, if anyone was going to tell the story of the Battle of Hogwarts, it would certainly not be Harry.

Ron was not a likely source of information either. The loss of Fred had taken an enormous toll on him. He too had been hounded for interviews, and he didn't handle being in the spotlight well. He tried working at George's shop in Diagon Alley but that endeavor didn't last long. George had battled depression after Fred's death, and he and Ron argued often. He moved back in with Arthur and Molly but, predictably, that didn't work out either. Tensions ran high and Ron's relationship with his parents was strained. Finally, something went right for Ron when his brother Charlie asked him to come to Romania and help him with his dragon breeding operation. Ron seized the opportunity to escape Britain and the media circus that followed the war with both hands. He wrote occasionally and had promised to be home for a couple of weeks for Christmas, but other than that he was rarely heard from.

If anyone was going to give a firsthand account of the Battle of Hogwarts and the Second Wizarding War, it would have to be me. And the truth has to be hold. In addition to those who will not speak about the war, the ones who cannot give their accounts deserve to be heard. Remus and Tonks deserve for people to know of their bravery and commitment to one another. Their son deserves to know how brave his parents were. People need to know that underneath all the jokes and pranks, Fred Weasley was as courageous as anyone and never thought twice about putting his life on the line for what he knew was right. And people have to know the truth about Professor Snape. He died a disgraced traitor and murderer. I know that isn't a true picture of the man who died in front of my eyes on the Shrieking Shack floor, and everyone else should know his true story. The problem is that even I don't know his story; not all of it at least.

After the Battle of Hogwarts, Harry had taken Ron and me aside and told us what he had seen in the Pensieve. He told us that Snape had been working for Dumbledore the whole time and that he wasn't really a traitor at all. I got the sense that he had seen much more in those silver fragments of Professor Snape's mind but, for some unknown reason, Harry flatly refused to divulge the details. I had suspected that Harry's reluctance was out of respect for Professor Snape's privacy or perhaps something he saw in our professor's memories. Whatever the reason, every time I tried to painstakingly piece together the information from Harry's limited confession, it never seemed to come out right when ink was put to parchment.

"Well, that's all about to change," I say aloud. A slight smile sweeps across my face as I lean back onto the sofa with my tea cup. "It's all about to change." As those five words sink in I expect to feel relief, but instead a gnawing feeling of nervousness judders in the pit of my stomach. Change is good, right? Waiting with just my thoughts to keep me company will not bode well for any future productivity I hope to have. I stare down into my cup at the remaining tepid liquid and frown.

A surge of annoyance jolts through me as I sit the cup on the table. I blink a few times and look around the room, as though searching for an escape from my impatience. The sound of rain falling imperceptibly beyond the window seems to make me restless, and I soon find myself pacing the floors, clutching my notes in my hands. I must read over the various pages in the journal nearly half a dozen times before the words turn into a jumble of letters.

I've got to get out of this flat before I drive myself mad. Tossing the worn journal on the settee, I retrieve my jumper from the cupboard and head out into the streets. The rain, a grey drizzle that washes the colour from the London streets, is surprisingly calming. I pull my hood over my head to prevent my hair from becoming a disaster as I start off in the direction that will take me to my favourite café.

The streets aren't terribly crowded, but that is mostly because of the rain. Most people either huddle under umbrellas or race to get indoors, but not me. I need this time to clear my head. Besides, the soup I have set out to get will soon warm me sufficiently to counteract the cold raindrops that currently soak through my clothing. In mere minutes, I have reached my destination. I wait in the queue for about five minutes before ordering my soup and sandwich. I sit at a table in the corner of the café and gaze absently at the streams of water cascading down the window. The soup does its job in warming me up, and by the end of the meal, my mood has improved significantly. I had not noticed how hungry I was, but apparently, I had been neglecting myself more than I realised.

By the time I finish my meal, the rain has let up. Walking home from the café, I feel refreshed and relaxed for the first time in weeks. The time away from home and my research has done a world of good, but before I know it, I have made it around the block and am back home. As I walk up the pavement, I spot a piece of parchment stuck on my front door. Dread overtakes me. I've missed Harry. He must have left a note telling me he tried to drop off the materials and the door was locked. Now I'll have to wait even longer to get what I need. In my nervousness, I quicken my pace and only refrain from sprinting toward the door out of fear of appearing suspicious to onlookers. I rip the parchment from the door and read it:

H,

...HP

Totally ambivalent to the fact that either my best friend has just broken into my home or I had forgotten to lock the door, I breathe a sigh of relief. I make my way to the kitchen and spot the package immediately. Upon opening it, I see that it contains several phials filled with a shiny, stringy, silver substance. I know that these contain the memories of Professor Snape. Under the phials is a folder full of documents. Opening the folder, however, is a bit of a shock. I stall for a moment, taken aback by the document that is at the front. I had expected some written transcripts of Snape's memories, perhaps some official Ministry press releases concerning his death. What I had not expected, and what was currently staring me in the face, was Professor Snape's autopsy report.

For some reason, I can't bring myself to read it. The events I witnessed that day in the Shrieking Shack are among the most gruesome I have ever seen, and I have no desire to relive them. Besides, I know exactly when and how Professor Snape died. I was there after all. Instead, I thumb through the rest of the papers in the file. They are just what I expect. Written accounts of Snape's memories; useless to me since I prefer to see them for myself. I quickly decide there is not much of value in the papers. What I really need is in those phials. I'll have to visit Minerva again soon to look at the memories in the Pensieve. As I stack the papers back into the file, something catches my eye. On the autopsy report, Professor Snape's date of death is incorrect. The document lists the date as May 4th, 1998 but I know for a fact that he died on the second of May. I am intrigued enough to put aside my prior reservations and give the document a thorough reading.

SUMMARY REPORT OF AUTOPSY

_________________________________________________

Name: Severus Tobias Snape

Species: Human

Gender: Male

Date of Birth: January 9th, 1960

Date of Death: May 4th, 1998

Body Identified by: Kingsley Shacklebolt, Minister of Magic and friend of the deceased.

Investigative Agency: The Ministry of Magic of the United Kingdom: Department of Magical Law Enforcement.

Case number: 426513

_______________________________________________

Evidence of Treatment:

No treatment administered. Subject had expired prior to arrival.

External Examination:

The autopsy is begun at 9:17 A.M on May 5th, 1998. The body is received in an M.o.M standard-issue death shroud. The subject is wearing black teaching robes, a black, long sleeved frock coat, white cuffed dress shirt, and black trousers. The left sleeve of the frock coat had been torn completely from the garment and had been wrapped around the subject's neck. Smaller tears in the fabric of the frock coat were discovered as well as traces of blood residue. Subject is wearing black wool socks and black dragon-hide boots.

The body is that of a normally developed Caucasian male measuring 71 inches and weighing 170 pounds. The subject's appearance is consistent with the stated age as suggested by date of birth. The eyes were closed upon arrival, but further investigation revealed black irises and dilated pupils. The eyes had lost their lustre as indicated by the lack of a soul and magic. Subject's hair is black in colour and hangs straight. At its longest point, the hair is approximately nine inches. The fingernails are trimmed with dirt and blood under each fingernail. The nail beds are light blue in colour. On the right index finger, teeth marks, matching the placement of the subject's are visible and are contained to the metacarpal and proximal phalange. The skin is not broken, but bruising on the digit indicates bleeding under the skin as caused by applied pressure. The injury suggests the subject sustained the self-inflicted bite before death. There were scratches on the skin of the palms of both hands, measuring varied lengths and depths. These wounds are also self-inflicted as evidenced by subject's blood under the nails.

Removal of the sleeve of the frock coat revealed tears in the collar of the coat as well as the dress shirt. A severe laceration was found on the left side of the subject's neck as well as multiple small puncture wounds to the left side of the chest and upper body. Evidence suggests the injury was sustained prior to the subject's death.

Upon removal of the subject's garments, strong discolouration of the left side of the body was visible. Further and more in depth analysis of the afflicted are is needed to determine the exact cause. Six smaller puncture wounds were found on the torso and left side, measuring approximately one to two inches in depth and a quarter of an inch in diameter. There are residual scars of varying lengths covering the body, all of which appear to have been sustained prior to the subject's death. A single marking was found on the left forearm of the subject, the Dark Mark of Lord Voldemort. The Dark Mark is faded, having an appearance of bleeding off the subject's arm.

Internal Examination:

The internal examination began at 9:53 A.M on May 5th, 1998 under the direction of Healer Uriel Barns. During the examination, Mister Barns utilized a hawthorn wand with a thestral tail hair core in accordance with magical law as stated by the Ministry of Magic and regulations established by St. Mungo's.

The first full body wand scan was to determine the overall state of the central system of nerves. The subject's brain was within the normal limits of weight and size for a male aged thirty-eight years. Evidence also suggests the subject suffered a mild concussion due to slight swelling of the frontal lobe. No lesions were present.

A skeletal wand scan was then completed, resulting in the discovery of three cracked true ribs along the left side of the torso. Fractures in the bone suggest they are from unusual or repeated stress. Bruising along the left side of the torso supports evidence of the broken ribs. This injury was most likely sustained prior to the subject's death.

A respiratory scan revealed the throat structures were damaged by a lesion stretching from the left ear to the base of the throat. The gash is approximately an inch wide and varies in depth throughout. A wound of this nature would have produced significant blood loss if left untreated. Samples of blood and tissue have been collected for testing. There were no obstructions in the airway. Scan of the lungs shows slight build-up of fluid and possible haemorrhaging. Fluid samples were extracted for testing.

A cardiovascular wand scan suggests the heart is of normal weight and size for a male aged thirty- eight years. An anomaly, however, was detected in the configuration of the organ. It appears as though the heart had been sliced into two equal parts and reattached. There is no evidence to suggest foul play as the subject's chest cavity remains whole and intact. The size and colouration of the fissure suggests this wound was inflicted post-mortem. Evidence of substantial but prolonged blood loss is also detected.

Healer's Footnote: Include in official report to the Ministry of Magic the possible detection of Resonare Mortis.

_______________________________________________

PROFESSIONAL OPINION

In accordance with the findings, it is the professional and medical opinion of Mister Uriel Barns; Healer, that the subject, Severus Tobias Snape, passed through the Veil on Monday, May 4th, 1998, forty-eight hours after the suggested time of death given by witnesses. He was aged thirty-eight years and one hundred-fifteen days. The unofficial cause of death is severe trauma to the upper body and high toxicity levels in the blood stream. The toxin is unknown and samples of blood have been sent to St. Mungo's for additional testing.

Addendum One (added 05/05/98): During the autopsy investigation, evidence was found to suggest the possible presence of the magical phenomena known as Resonare Mortis. Ministry officials have been notified and wand scans of the heart have been kept for further evaluation.

Addendum Two (added 05/06/98): Evaluation of blood samples suggests the subject's blood was laced with venom belonging to that of a magical serpent, origin unknown. Traces of anti-venom were also found in the samples tested. Samples offer evidence that the venom itself did not cause the subject to expire, but rather the wound sustained. Final conclusion: Official cause of death is prolonged haemorrhaging and dehydration.

Addendum Three (added 06/01/98): Findings from the Ministry of Magic show no evidence of Resonare Mortis. The location, the tunnel leading from Hogsmeade Village to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, has been secured and deemed clear by Ministry officials for permanent closure. Final conclusion: Case 426513 closed by The Ministry of Magic, June 1st, 1998.

Reporting Ministry Official: Augustus Strout; Senior Auror, Order of Merlin First Class.

Reporting Mediwizard: Uriel Barns; Healer, St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries

The parchment falls from my hand, and for a moment I'm paralysed from shock. I didn't watch Severus Snape die in the Shrieking Shack. "I didn't watch Snape die," I say aloud, as though it would make the statement any less true. I can feel the colour drain from my face as I stare at the autopsy report, the realisation of what I have just read sinking in.

We left him for dead.

My stomach lurches and I rush toward the sink before I am sick all over the floor. How long I stand over the basin, my mind reeling and my insides churning like butter, I don't know. It feels like ages before I can finally stand upright. This is impossible. I saw him lying in a puddle of his own blood, too much blood. There's no way he could have survived after losing that much. I saw the light vanish from his eyes and his body slump lifelessly on the floor. He didn't move. He didn't breathe. He was dead. He had to be.

My head snaps up to find the clock above the door and breathe a sigh of relief when I see it's only two in the afternoon. I have to speak with Harry immediately. I scrawl a note on a piece of parchment:

Harry, need to speak with you A.S.A.P.!

Hermione

I grab some Floo powder from the bucket on my mantle. "Harry Potter's office," I say as I toss in first the handful of powder followed by my hastily written note. The note vanishes, and I am left to wait until Harry responds. Mercifully, Harry responds in only a couple of minutes. Any longer and I'm afraid I would have bitten my fingernails completely off. I unfold the note that arrives. In it, Harry tells me that he can't get away from the office until this evening but that we can talk earlier if I want to come by. I waste little time getting ready. I slide the autopsy report inside my journal. I elect to leave the rest of the file at home. After all, I'm not supposed to have them, so walking into the Ministry with them would not be my smartest decision.

I decide that I absolutely cannot wait the amount of time it will take to walk to the Ministry, and Apparating to the middle of downtown London would be to risk being spotted by hundreds of Muggle onlookers. The Ministry's extensive security measures will not allow me to travel directly to Harry's office by Floo, but I can get to the Ministry itself. I make up my mind that this is the best way to get there quickly. I grab another handful of Floo powder and step into my recently enlarged fireplace. I throw the powder down and call out my destination. I feel a violent jerk downward, then sideways, and find myself in the lobby at the Ministry in a matter of seconds.

I make my way down the corridor that leads to the Auror Department. On my way, I pass several portraits of witches and wizards that were lost in the Second Wizarding War. Many of them stir up a lot of feelings, both pleasant and heartbreaking, as I pass them. Several of the people I considered close friends and trusted allies line the wall: Sirius, Dumbledore, Remus, Tonks, Mad-Eye, Fred. But one person conspicuous by his absence is Professor Snape. When Professor Snape died, everyone thought he was nothing more than a murderer and traitor, but people knew better now, especially the people at the Ministry. Snape was not the most likable person, far from it, but the fact remained that he gave his life fighting Voldemort in the war and to not include him in this memorial is inexcusable.

I finally reach the end of the long corridor and come to the large wooden doors that lead to the Auror Department. When I pass through the doors leading to the Auror's offices, there is only a single desk sitting in the foyer. Perched in the chair behind the desk is a middle-aged woman, wearing green...the sort of green best suited for a lizard...robes. She doesn't look up as I approach, but when I get close enough, I can see she is dutifully working on the latest crossword puzzle in the day's paper. I must clear my throat at least three times before she even realises she's not alone. Finally, the witch puts down her copy of the Daily Prophet, seemingly annoyed at my intrusion.

"Can I help you?" she almost growls.

I can't decide if it is the bright red lipstick smeared across her teeth or her acerbic tone that catches me off guard but, for a second, all I can do is gape at her. "I... Yes, I'm here to see Harry Potter."

The woman's mood, if such a thing were even possible, takes a nosedive before I can finish my sentence. She looks at me sourly, as though she has a bad taste in her mouth. Apparently, this sort of thing happens a lot. "Do you have an appointment, Miss..."

"Hermione Granger, and no," I answer as politely as I can manage. "However, he knows I'm coming to see him."

Thumbing through the planning book in front of her, the witch makes several agitating ticking noises with her tongue. Part of me wants to reach out and rip the book from her hand, but that won't gain me admittance into Harry's office. Instead, I wait obediently for her to finish whatever it is she's doing.

"I'm sorry, but Mister Potter does not have an appointment at this time," she says triumphantly before adding, "You can come back next week if it suits you."

Annoyance rises in me like vomit. I don't have time for this, I think as I stiffen. "Excuse me, madam..."

The black-haired witch frowns, elongating the deep lines in her face. "My name's Genevieve."

Somehow it escapes me that she and I are on a first name basis. I feign courtesy once more, though it is quite plain my tone is daring her to interrupt me again. "Forgive me, Genevieve, but as I was saying, I spoke with Harry by Floo not fifteen minutes ago."

The receptionist holds up her giant planner and shakes it at me, as though to make a point. "Be that as it may, Miss Granger," she says with a slight smile, "your name is not written in my book. If your name is not in my book, you don't have an appointment. If you don't have an appointment..."

"That will be all, Genevieve."

I turn to see Harry's head poking out of the nearest door. Genevieve's smile withers on her thin lips as Harry comes to stand in the corridor. "Sir, she is saying she has an appointment with you. Her name isn't..."

"And she does," he says pinching his nose, as though to relieve tension. He looks at me briefly before waving me forward. "Come on, Hermione."

I look to the receptionist, pleased to see that she doesn't have the slightest notion of what to say. "Perhaps you should pencil me in," I say through a clenched smile. Turning for Harry's office, I am intent on displaying every ounce of my amusement. It is childish and in poor taste, but I simply can't help myself when I call out, "And, by the way, number fourteen down on your crossword is 'Hungarian Horntail'."

When I close the door to Harry's modest office, he chuckles freely. "You are unbelievable, do you know that?"

A wide grin finds its way to my lips. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Fourteen down? Are you back at Hogwarts?"

"She was being ridiculous," I counter. "Not to mention rude. I couldn't very well thump her upside the head with her precious planner, now could I?"

"She's new. I haven't had time to properly train her yet. My apologies." Harry takes a deep breath, as if settling in for what I have to tell him. "Anyway, what was it you needed to speak to me about? It seemed quite urgent."

"Yes, it is," I say as I search for a way to broach the subject. Harry and Professor Snape never got along, but I know Harry has held him in high regard ever since that night in the Shrieking Shack and seeing his memories in the Pensieve. I have no idea how he'll react when I tell him that we left Professor Snape for dead that night. Nevertheless, I know I have to tell him. "Look at this," I say as I hand him the autopsy report. "It lists the date of death for Professor Snape as May 4th, 1998, not May 2nd."

Harry looks at the paper quizzically for a moment. "That is odd. I'm sure it's just a mistake. Things were hectic after the war, and the examiner probably just wrote the wrong date."

"Maybe," I say sceptically, "but you know how meticulous the examiners at St. Mungo's are. It is very uncharacteristic for them to be careless. Harry, do you think it's possible..."

"That Snape was alive when we left the Shrieking Shack? No. Absolutely not. I looked into his eyes. All the light had left them. He died clinging to my robes, Hermione. I am certain of that."

"How can you be certain?" I ask despite knowing that Harry wants this conversation to end. "We never checked for a pulse. I know it's an awful thing to think about, but it's at least worth investigating."

"For the last time, Hermione, there's no reason to investigate," Harry bites back, becoming visibly shaken as the suggestion sinks in. "Do you think I would have just left him there if I wasn't one hundred per cent sure that he was dead?"

I walk over to Harry and place a hand on his shoulder. "No, Harry, I don't think you would do that. That's not what I'm suggesting. I'm saying that it's at least possible that you were certain Snape was dead, as was I, but he really wasn't. It's unpleasant to think about, and believe me, I've beaten myself over the thought that we left him there to die. Neither of us would have left if we thought there was any chance he was alive, we both know that." Tears begin to well in my eyes as I force out the next sentence. "What I'm saying, Harry, is that maybe we were both wrong."

Harry shakes his head and sits down at his desk. He picks up the autopsy report and stares at it, rubbing his temple as if nursing a migraine. The two of us sit in silence for several moments as he flips through the pages, looking more and more confused. "This doesn't make any sense, Hermione. What are all these addendums about? And what the bloody hell is Re... Resonare Mortis?"

"That's the other thing I meant to ask you about. I've never heard of it. I thought maybe it was something you had run across or heard someone talking about," I explain. "I see that's not the case."

"No, I have no idea what it is. I can try to ask around, but it might seem suspicious." Harry hands me the document, and I tuck it neatly into the pages of my journal.

"Well we wouldn't want that. Hold off a bit on poking around for information. I'll check and see if I can find anything at..."

"The library," Harry interrupts. "Yes, I figured that would be your next stop."

I nod and turn to leave. Before I reach the door, however, I am reminded of something else. I turn back to Harry. "How come Professor Snape's picture isn't on the wall with everyone else's?"

"What? Oh, that. I tried to tell them to put it up, but they said he was still too controversial a figure. They said hanging his portrait could stir up bad memories, him being a former Death Eater, not to mention Dumbledore's killer. I told them that that was nonsense, but they still refused."

"Controversial," the word leaves a bad taste in my mouth as I repeat it. "What's controversial about a man who died bringing down Voldemort? Hopefully once my book is finished, he won't be so controversial anymore."

"I hope you're right, Hermione. I really do." He pops a lemon biscuit into his mouth "Good luck."

"Thanks, Harry," I say as I leave his office. As I exit the Ministry and make plans to go to Hogwarts,

I am now more resolved than ever to get to the bottom of Professor Snape's story and get rid of the nagging suspicions that everyone still seems to harbour against the man. I have to finish this book, and that means I have to start finding answers.

*****

I go back to my flat only long enough to warn Minerva of my imminent arrival. Thankfully, it only takes minutes for her to respond to my request for help. Of course, the Headmistress agrees just as she had promised. Carefully stowing the journal and a blank booklet of parchments in my knapsack, I grab a handful of Floo powder from the canister on my mantel and fling the tiny particles into the firebox.

"Headmistress McGonagall's office, Hogwarts."

The swirling green flames overtake me and I feel myself being hurdled across hundreds of miles to Hogwarts. When I emerge from the flames, Minerva is sitting behind her desk, reading the note I had just sent. She looks up, removing her glasses. It's clear by the expression of concern on her face that my hastily scrawled letter caught her off her guard.

"I apologise for such late notice," I manage as I dust myself off. The excess soot and Floo powder stings my tear ducts, but I look through watery eyes to the portrait hanging behind Minerva. Snape sits, just as before, with an eerily blank look on his face, staring through everything in front of him. It is unsettling, and I blink heavily to tear myself away from his intense gaze.

"It's quite alright," the Headmistress says, her eyes following my gaze to the Snape's portrait. "I take it you have made headway with our Potions master?"

"Not quite, but I'm close."

Minerva smiles and extends the invitation for me to sit in one of the plush chairs in front of her. "What can I do for you?"

"While looking for what I needed, I came across a rather unusual term: Resonare Mortis. I haven't a clue what it means, and I was hoping to gain access to the Restricted Section of the library."

Minerva studies me for a moment, as though deep in thought. I can tell she's working out the Latin just as I did when I first recognised it. "Resonare Mortis?"

I move to reach for the autopsy report in my bag, but stop. "Yes, it was mentioned in a document that I was able to obtain from Harry. Have you heard of it?"

"Only in theory," Minerva replies. "I don't know if you will find any answers in the Restricted Section; however, I may have something of relevance in the Headmaster's library."

The Headmistress stands and makes her way to a bookshelf near the back of her office. I watch, bewildered, as she peruses a shelf containing several aged tomes. After a few moments, she returns with a dust-covered book. I can tell it is very old given the cracked binding and brittle pages. I don't notice any identifying marks on the cover or a title on the spine. When Minerva hands it to me, I open it to find the words: Of Death and Dying.

I flip through the book, noticing all of the text has been handwritten. It suddenly registers that I am reading someone's old journal. "I've never heard of the title."

"Not many people have. It was penned by Bertrand de Pensèes-Profondes' lesser understudy, Soren Heidegger, sometime in the late eighteenth century. As you can see, it was never published."

"How did you get something like this?" I ask, enthralled by the authenticity of it all.

"Albus, naturally," Minerva answers. "Nicholas Flamel bequeathed it to him in his will. When Albus died, he donated all of his scholarly possessions to Hogwarts. I don't know if it will contain exactly what you need, but it is a start. Heidegger, in Albus's opinion, was far more realistic with the workings of death and the afterlife. He preferred him to Pensèes-Profondes, though that is neither here nor there in terms of relevance."

I finally feel as though I may be on the right track, though I can't help but think this has been far too easy. I'm sure that will change once I drive into the gold-leafed pages. "Do you mind if I borrow this?"

"Not at all," she says before adding, "Keep it as long as you need. That was what Albus intended it for, after all. He'd be pleased to know it's no longer catching dust."

"I really appreciate all of your help, Minerva."

"Anytime, though I'm not sure how much I've helped you. If you do find you need access to the Restricted Section, I'll inform Madam Pince you've been given permission," Minerva continues. "Come and go as you'd like."

I stand, carefully tucking the journal in a side pocket of my bag. "I think I'd like to go there now, if that is alright. I've always done my best reading in the library."

"Then it's settled." Minerva removes a crisp sheet of parchment from a stack on her desk and writes my letter of permission to Madam Pince. "That should do it," she says, signing and dating the note. "She shouldn't hassle you too badly."

The Headmistress hands me the slip of parchment before walking me to the door. "I trust you can find your own way? I would escort you personally, but I'm afraid I have a prior engagement with the Board of Governors. You will have to forgive my rudeness."

"There's nothing to forgive. I'm the one who should be apologizing for disrupting your afternoon," I say as I step through the door and out into the hall. "I'll be alright from here."

I walk down the crowded hallway leading to the library. Some of the students are vaguely familiar to me, as they would have been in their first year when I was finishing up at Hogwarts. Even those that are unfamiliar stare at me as I pass and whisper to each other. I try to ignore it, but can't help but find it annoying. It's time like these that I understand why Ron moved to Romania. The constant attention from everyone borders on being downright creepy.

Thankfully, the library isn't far from Minerva's office. I walk in and find Madam Pince, the Hogwarts Librarian, perched behind the checkout counter like a vulture, looking as irritable as ever. She eyes me with predictable suspension as I approach. She has always made me somewhat uncomfortable given the way she stares down her hooked nose at patrons.

"Madam Pince, good aftern..."

"Shhhh!"

My free hand goes to my mouth as the other produces the note from the Headmistress. Madam Pince snatches it from my grasp, holding it inches from her pallid face, as though examining it for deception. After a few moments, she frowns but concedes the authenticity. "Very well. Follow me."

I fall into step a few paces behind her as she leads me to the section of the library I need. "It appears, Miss Granger, as though the Headmistress has granted you privilege to my library," she hisses.

"Yes," I whisper sheepishly, noticing her bony fingers clench around the parchment. It's obvious the thought of anyone touching her precious books makes her even more short-tempered than usual.

"Then I must allow you access," Madam Pince says with a touch of bitterness, "but I must also issue you a warning. I remember you from your time as a student here. I remember that you and your friends frequently engaged in mischief making and rule breaking. I am sorry to inform you, that in order to keep access to these books, you must follow my rules to the letter. You may have no more than two books off the shelf at one time. When you are finished with a book, you will return it to its proper spot. You are not to bend, damage, or deface the books in any way. If you do, there will be very serious repercussions. Is that understood, Miss Granger?"

"Yes, ma'am. I'll be on my best behaviour." It annoys me that she talks to me like I am a child, but I know being conciliatory is the fastest route to ending this lecture and getting my research underway.

"I'm glad we understand each other," Madam Pince says with a forced smile and returns to her desk.

I take the ancient journal to a table in the Restricted Section and sit down. I carefully turn the pages one by one, hoping to come across some mention of Resonare Mortis. I trudge through page after page of Heidegger's writing, through countless accounts of deaths that he observed or read about and theories he extrapolated from these observations. He spared no grisly detail, and some of the stories cause my stomach to turn. It is two hours, maybe three, before I stumble upon the two words I've been searching for. I take a second look to make sure I'm not hallucinating. Sure enough, there they are, staring up at me.

They appear in Heidegger's account of the death of an English witch that was stabbed to death by a Muggle man: Rumors abound; the woman's spirit lingers in the house where she was murdered – wailing in agony and begging for mercy. I plan to visit soon to see for myself if there are any signs of Resonare Mortis.

Beside the words, Heidegger had placed a footnote. I find the corresponding symbol at the bottom of the page. The footnote read The Magical Art of Dying, Fytherley Undercliffe, page 493. I spring to my feet and head directly for the card catalog at the front of the Restricted Section. I quickly rifle through the 'U's and find what I'm looking for in a matter of moments. On my way back to the shelf, my knees actually begin to wobble. This could be the breakthrough I'm looking for. I find the book easily. It is a thick book bound in green leather with gold lettering on the cover. I take it back to my seat and turn as quickly as I can without damaging its ancient pages to the spot indicated in Heidegger's journal. What I find is an encyclopedic entry printed in ornate calligraphy:

Phenomena: Resonare Mortis

While exorcizing a soul under the effects of Resonare Mortis is not impossible, it is considered highly complex as simple extensions of exorcism will not put the spirit to rest. Cases documented by Viridian imply the soul may only be persuaded to pass through the Veil if they are made aware of the fact they are deceased, which becomes increasingly difficult the longer a soul remains bound in Resonare Mortis. Termination of Resonare Mortis may only occur when the spirit has reached the end of the cycle, but never before a new phase has started, which substantially decreases the window of successfulness. Furthermore, it is recommended by Viridian that proactive action be taken immediately if Resonare Mortis is suspected. Failure to promptly release the soul from its bonds will result in endless suffering and eventually the disintegration of the essence entirely.

I don't know how long I stare at the page trying to understand everything I've just read, but it was long enough that the sun has gone down and the library has emptied. The library is completely silent except for the sound of footsteps getting closer to me. Still, I can't take my eyes off the words in front of me. Suddenly, the words vanish and a loud thud jolts me from my trance. I look up to see Madam Pince standing across the table from me, the book I had been previously reading floating in the air beside her grey head.

"Your time is at its end, Miss Granger," she says with an air of smug satisfaction. "The library is closing."

Author's Notes: While I hope you enjoy this story (and I believe you will), I should warn you that it is not for the faint of heart. This story is rated mature for a reason, as there are strong images of death throughout. That being said, it is not my intention to frighten anyone away, but to merely make you aware of the world you are about to step into. Also, a very special thank you to Meladara for her keen eye. And to Anoesis who worked very quickly to Britpick this tale. As always, reviews are welcomed and greatly appreciated! Happy reading to all!