𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐑𝐎𝐒𝐒𝐄𝐃; ʜᴘ (𝐀𝐃𝐎𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐃)

𝟎𝟔𝟐; ᴅᴜᴀʟɪᴛʏ

"I have so much work to do." He muttered as he looked at the large library, that was seemingly endless.

Before an idea came to mind.

Time to see his grandparents.

Anastasia frowned. She didn't have the best relationship with her parents.

Then again who actually does?

The screen shifted.

There an old yet sophisticated pair were. Despise being old, they aged gracefully.

A man with unforgivable eyes, the same as Astrophel's own, and a women with hazel eyes. Both their eyes seemed empty, and hollowed.

When they saw Astrophel they froze.

They should have never let Anastasia marry James Potter, it would have prevented Astrophel brith.

"What? Why?"

The birth of a monster.

"Aren't we all a little bit monsteras inside?" Ophelia commented.

Astrophel is a necromancer.

A full blooded necromancer.

Many chocked on air.

They thought he just knew necromancy.

Not a full blooded necromancer.

Necromancy is the magic, spells such as the inferi curse, rituals to resurrect bodies, the trick to creating a ghost yet necromancers are abominations.

Fleamont kept a stoic face.

Necromancers are a bloodline ability.

Like metamorphmagi, parselmouths, but it's an abomination. It's a trauma to a person's magic that gives them their power.

Wary looks were given to the Potter's.

Maybe they're born with it, there must be some sort of bloodline element to it, but either way the long and the short of it is their magic is fucked.

Anastasia wondered what Astrophel had to go through for that to happen to him.

Broken. Their magic has to be to deal with life and death the way they do. There is a reason the necromancers are all dead.

They were hunted down.

Exterminated.

Because their broken magic?

It sent them mad.

"Sometimes I forget, what Astrophel is like. After what he did to the Dursley's..." Ophelia trailed off.

Imagine a group of people with the power of life and death. People who can drain wards and spells, hell, there are rumours they can drain a person's magic.

Fear filled them.

Yet who would have thought that the Potter's would he the last living true blooded necromancers, descendents from the Pevrelle's.

"Grandfather, Grandmother." He greeted.

"Whatever you want, we won't do it or talk." His Grandmother says, confidently.

"You'll talk." Astrophel says, with the odd brusque that leaves no question. "They always talk."

They all felt as if they were seeing a completely different person