Necromancy

No spell can reawaken the dead. ~ Albus Dumbledore

She wasn’t quite sure how the idea had entered her head. Perhaps she had known of it since Voldemort’s resurrection in her third-year, or maybe the idea had rooted itself in her mind when she saw him fall. All she knew was that once she'd had the brainwave, it wasn’t going to go away again. And so she decided that she would, at the very least, give it a go, no matter the consequences. Anything, anything at all, to see him again.

There were things she needed, if she was going to pursue it. And the first thing was a book. A book she had heard tell of many times, but never by name, because those who spoke of it were too protective of it to let any outsiders in on its secrets. Others were too afraid of it to mention it at all, but she had heard by those brave enough that one copy had evaded being ransacked by the Death Eaters. The single surviving copy of The Art of Necromancy was hidden in the one place no one would ever think to look: the Restricted Section of the Hogwarts Library.

This presented a problem. There was only one way to get a book out of the Restricted Section: with a signed note from a teacher. She weighed her chances, and decided her best bet for getting away with a note, but not many questions was Professor Slughorn. So one windy, rainy Tuesday, she waited while the rest of the seventh-year N.E.W.T. Potion class filed out, and approached the teacher’s desk.

Slughorn looked up, perhaps startled by her footfalls echoing in the silent dungeon. He opened his mouth to speak, but she cut him off.

“Professor Slughorn,� she said, in ringing tones that echoed almost as much as her footsteps had, “There’s a book that I need in the library, but it’s in the Restricted Section. I was wondering if maybe you could sign a note for me?�

It was a question, but her tone let on that “no� was not an acceptable answer.

Slughorn didn’t even ponder the query. “Of course, Ginny. Schoolwork, is it?�

She had anticipated this question. “In a manner of speaking. It’s more like extra study for my Potions N.E.W.T. I really do want to get the highest grade possible, and I’m sure this book will help.�

He nodded, and she handed him the note she had already written out. He didn’t even glance at the name of the book on the page before scrawling his name in ornate, almost illegible writing. “Good luck, Ginny.�

“Thank you, Professor.� She left the dungeon and tore straight up to the library, knocking over a few second-years in her haste.

Madame Pince was her usual, irritable self, but she could not find anything wrong with the note the seventh-year produced. She swept away and returned with a thin book bound in faded leather. Without bothering to thank the librarian, the recipient dropped her precious acquisition into her schoolbag between Advanced Potion Making and 1000 Magical Herbs and Fungi, and ran until she reached the seventh floor. She gasped the password at the Fat Lady and slammed the door to her dormitory before flopping on her bed and opening the book.

It wasn’t until later, when she had devoured the book’s contents and hidden it at the bottom of her trunk, that she realised something about Professor Slughorn. Apt though he was at spotting candidates for the next Minister of Magic, the Potions Master had a bit of a blind spot. He was much too willing to relinquish valuable and dangerous information to those who would undoubtedly abuse it.

---

For months she worked at it. She collected everything the book listed as necessary, and hid them all away in the Room of Requirement, where she knew no one else would find them. By Christmas, she had found every ingredient except one: a single emerald.

She actually owned an emerald, but it was attached to a ring she wore constantly on her left ring finger. Ron and Hermione had found it in a manila envelope in his bedroom with the words “For Ginny� written on it. She would part with it if she had to, but it was the only thing she had left of his, except memories. But hadn’t he proved to her that even memories could be ripped away?

---

On Christmas Eve there was to be a grand ball. Several boys asked her to accompany them, but she declined each offer. Instead she went alone, hoping to find the last ingredient for her endeavor into black magic. Maybe luck would at last be on her side.

It wasn’t. Discouraged, she fled to the Room of Requirement, ready at last to begin the process of Necromancy. She double-checked the list of ingredients in the book, which read:

In order to raise the dead, you must have all of the following essential ingredients. Make sure everything is exactly right, because the process to reverse death can sometimes rebound on its originator.

You will need:

Endpapers from the deceased’s favorite book,

Wood from the species of tree their wand was crafted from,

A gemstone the color of their eyes ,

Dirt taken from the sight of their grave,

Blood from the one that they loved,

Parchment bearing their handwriting,

Cloth from the robes they once wore,

A quill they once wrote with,

Their full name, written on parchment in red ink,

A bezoar,

Scarab beetles,

Essence of belladonna,

Doxy venom,

Bubotuber pus,

And a cup of tea.

Yes, she had everything. She turned an old, yellowed page in the book and read the instructions.

Place everything except the tea in a large cauldron and boil them. Stir three times counterclockwise and then wait exactly fourteen minutes. While you are waiting, drink the tea. You’re going to need your strength.

Having done everything else, she blinked, then drank the tea. She then proceeded to follow the rest of the book's instructions. When it told her to draw a circle on the floor and stand in it, she did. When the steam issuing from the cauldron turned purple and hissed, she was informed that nothing had gone wrong. And when, on Christmas morning, the potion was finally ready — she lost her nerve. There was no way she could go through with it. She was being selfish — he was better off where he was now and she knew it. She had wanted him back for her own foolish reasons, and she hated herself for it.

Suddenly, a tinny whistling filled the room. She had left the potion idle too long. A breeze picked up in the still room, fluttering the curtains so the sun was visible, rising over the December snow. The potion flashed violet, scarlet, blinding white, and then started splashing, fighting to extract itself from the cauldron. The wind picked up, higher and higher, the windows burst open and the potion began to fly. It hit the walls and the paint was seared away instantly . It gathered in a menacing, totally gravity-defying cloud and it wreaked havoc on the entire room. She shrieked and flung her hands over her face, hoping the raging would end, hoping it hadn’t worked, and secretly praying he would come back anyway —

Silence fell. She looked up and found the room totally destroyed. Only fragments of the curtains still hung at the windows, which had shattered. The paintwork had been ruined so badly it was hard to tell what color it had been. But in the middle of the room, all was calm and something was gleaming on the ground. As she approached the place where the cauldron no longer stood, she realised what it was – an emerald ring. And in the ash on the floor, two words had appeared. “For Ginny�.

And so the ring went back on her finger. The book went back to the Restricted Section. Never again did she attempt to reverse time and erase the past. For as Dumbledore had once said, no spell, potion or otherwise, could reawaken the dead. And now she believed him.

Finite Incantatem