Harry knew there was trouble in the offing before the Weasley twins approached him. The signs were there for all to see - the furtive whispers, the glances in his direction, the half-sketched maps, and the barely-heard argument debating who would ask "him." Yes, the signs were there for Harry to see, but the sheer audacity of the plan astounded the young wizard. Harry had known that the Weasley Twins had an unprecedented appetite for mischief, but this April Fool's scheme topped all others in suicidal stupidity.

"You two are crazy." Harry told the grinning duo bluntly.

"Yeah, crazy geniuses. Now, come on, Harry. We can't do this without you." Fred cajoled.

"This is our best plan yet," George pointed out, "they'll be talking about this one for years. Now wouldn't you like to get part of the credit?"

"Play a practical joke on Snape? No thanks. If I want to commit suicide, I'm sure Voldemort wouldn't be that hard to track down - it'd be a quicker and cleaner death." Harry argued.

"Say You-Know-Who!" Fred ordered, cringing at the Dark Lord's name. "And Snape can't kill you, you're the Hogwarts champion."

"Not willingly. Diggory's the rightful champion, I told you that already. Besides, with that Skeeter woman running around, I sneeze wrong and the whole world knows about it! No." Harry stated.

Fred and George looked at each other, then slid effortlessly to plan B.

"All right, Harry, but you're passing up the chance of a lifetime. I mean, how many people get to see the inside of Snape's quarters." Fred said, standing up.

"Yeah, you're the only one who could get in, what with your Invisibility Cloak." George pointed out casually. "You could get in, see what sort of things he's got in there, get out, with none the wiser."

"You can't say you're not curious." Fred said, stretching. "But, if you're sure..." Harry knew that he was being tricked. He knew it fully well, but the nagging tendril of curiosity invoked by the twins' words would not be silent. Fred and George were only five steps away when Harry's voice stopped them.

"All right. I'll help."

"Excellent. I knew you were a chum, Harry." George said proudly, clapping the smaller wizard on the back. Harry didn't know if it was pride or dread that made his stomach flutter.

~*~

"Okay, here's the plan," Fred explained as he, Harry and George stood at the foot of the boys' staircase, "under the cloak, we'll sneak down to Snape's room. Ron's creating a distraction in the Great Hall, and that should keep him busy. We'll get into the quarters, redecorate," George held up a can of Muggle silly-string, several cans of Zonko's Color-Shift Putty, a couple bags of Dungbombs, and Whisp's Instant Hair-Dye.

"For his shower," George elucidated. Fred jabbed him and continued the run-down.

"Then we'll get out and get back to the dorm. Then, we'll revel in the glory of our genius." Harry swallowed, the toast and eggs he'd nicked from the kitchens before breakfast to a cold lump in his stomach.

"Let's go," Harry said nervously, "just in case Snape decides to eat quickly this morning." With that, the three mischief-makers slipped under Harry's cloak and headed down the hall.

Snape's quarters were near the dungeon, not all that far from the prefects' bathroom and study. The lock proved to be vulnerable to George's Muggle lock-picks, and opened easily. The rose petal under the door was discovered and kept to be replaced later. Then Harry opened the door and stepped inside.

Snape's quarters were a suite comprised of living, bath and bedroom. The living room was done in green, silver and mahogany wood. There was a large bookcase off to one side almost filled with books. One shelf was glassed in, with a single black-bound book. Across from the bookshelf was a white fireplace with wood stacked neatly nearby. Three chairs and a small table were faced the fireplace. The floor was mahogany, with large floor-rugs interspersed throughout the room. For all its rich decor, the room lacked the personal touches of a home. Harry shed the cloak and the twins set to work.

"Wow. Teachers must get paid a lot here at Hogwarts." Harry commented, wandering around, looking at the books on the shelf. The rugs were expensive, probably hand-woven. One was a strange river, the other apparently told a story of some form. At the far end of the room was a small counter. A door off to the side opened to a staircase. The odd smell emanating from the black depths told Harry that the stairs led to a workroom. Next to the stair was another door. Harry opened it and peeked inside. Snape's bedroom.

The bed itself was a larger version of Harry's, only with green hangings instead of burgundy. The carpet was thick and comfortable. A small brazier in the corner provided heat. There was an armoire on one side, next to a door. On the other side of the room was another bookshelf stuffed full. Plants were everywhere, trailing along hooks on the ceiling, on plant stands, each plant neatly cared for. At the end of the bed was a small chest. It wasn't locked.

Curious, Harry was about to open it when Fred called him. Harry hurried out, alarmed. Was Snape returning? It was nothing so dire as that, Fred only needed another hand rigging the Dungbombs to go off when the workroom door was opened. Harry paused before going back to the intriguing chest in the bedroom to help George silly-string the bookshelf. George was about to spray the glass-encased book, but Harry stopped him, suddenly cold.

"George, look at that book." Harry whispered, peering at the black leather book. It had silver-plated corners, and odd darkened stains on the cover. Harry had seen the like of those stains once before - blood. Harry red the title aloud, and his blood turned to ice. "The Book of the Dead."

"Wha...? Amazing!" George stopped his ministrations to look, and called Fred over from doctoring the fireplace with putty. Harry stepped back, not possessing the oblivious foolhardiness of the twins.

"I wonder if we can get the door open? I'd love to take a look at it." Fred wondered, examining the catch of the glass doors. Harry retreated to the relative safety of the bedroom, certain now that this had been a mistake.

"Maybe we should just get this over with," Harry said, somehow keeping his voice from shaking, "breakfast doesn't take that long."

"Yeah, good point. We'll finish this first, then take a look if we have time." Fred said, grabbing the hair dye. Harry pointed the way to the bathroom, which was also done in green, silver, mahogany and marble. The claw-footed bathtub did indeed have a shower head. Fred filled the head with dye, then dusted the forest green towels with a powdered skin dye.

Harry left Fred to it, and examined the trunk in the bedroom. It was carved in oriental style. Harry opened it, not quite sure what he would find. There were several different objects inside that Harry didn't recognize, but the topmost layer was somewhat familiar. A leather care kit was in one corner, next to a sheathed sword. A sapphire was set in the pommel, and in the well-worn but well cared-for scabbard. Harry picked it up, and drew the sword. The blade was shiny and sharp, resonating oddly with power. Next to the sword and slightly beneath it was a bandolier with seven bells encased in leather. The wood handles were visible.

Harry opened the third case, and withdrew the bell inside. The bell was silver, divinely crafted. Harry was tempted to ring it, but four years in the magical world had taught Harry using any strange magical instrument was very stupid. He was about to put the bell back when it twitched in his hand, ringing of it's own accord. Harry heard water rushing nearby and felt cold creeping up his limbs.

Why did Fred turn on the water? Harry dropped the bell suddenly, before it could finish ringing its odd, multi-toned ring. He shoved it back in the bandolier, placing both it and the sword in the chest and slamming the trunk shut.

"Come on Fred, George, we're leaving." Harry commanded, heading for his cloak.

"But-" George began.

"I don't care if you're finished. Pack it up, we're going back to Gryffindor Tower." Harry said, swinging on his cloak. Fred and George hurried, carefully removing any evidence of their identity. The twins slid under the Invisibility Cloak and departed hastily.

~*~

Harry described the odd devices and his discovery of the book to Hermione during lunch. He didn't tell her where he'd found them, but he didn't have to, Hermione was smart enough to guess.

"I ought to turn you in, you know." Hermione pointed out primly. Harry scowled, once again wishing Ron was talking to him. "But I won't," Hermione promised quickly, raising her hands in surrender at Harry's glare, "I won't."

"You have to have read something. Seven bells, odd sword..." Harry's voice trailed off. Hermione chewed her lip, thinking.

"I did read something like that in "A Comprehensive History and Analysis of the Dark Arts and Those Who Practice Them." Let me think-"

"The title alone is a book." Harry commented.

"It was a doctoral thesis from Doranus University of Magic." Hermione told him, still thinking. "It was under... seven bells... you say one tried to ring itself and you heard water?" Harry nodded. "Necromancy. Those bells were a necromancer's bells, Harry, and that sword was enspelled to slay necromantic constructs." Hermione finally stated.

"Necromancy?" Harry asked, already chilled.

"The raising, controlling, and communication with the Dead." Hermione explained. "If Professor Snape has that equipment, there's only one explanation - he's a necromancer."

"Necromancy's a Dark Art?" Harry asked. Hermione nodded.

~*~

Snape almost ran down the corridor to his rooms, focused on the half-felt song that had sounded in more than ears, heard in more than Life. Kibeth's ring had not been completed, whoever had run the bell had not been pulled fully into Death. He unlocked his door with a single word, the image of the last person to enter shimmering in the air before him. Nothing.

"Potter." Yes, Potter and his Invisibility Cloak. And not just Potter, it seemed. Putty and Silly String lay everywhere, over chairs, tables, shelves, in the fireplace... "Weasleys." Snape growled, taking stock of the damage. They weren't here now. Snape picked up a bit of the putty with his finger, watching it shift color. Given another ten minutes, thousands of Galleons of mahogany would have been ruined. Snape drew his wand, and with a wave cleaned up the mess. He removed the Dungbombs above the workroom door, and the dye in his bathroom.

Dark with anger, Snape opened his trunk. The sword was put in the wrong way, and Kibeth's case was only partially fastened. Snape fastened it completely, glaring balefully. He had no evidence against Potter, at least none that would placate McGonagall if he gave her star student detention for a month. Snape's lip curled in disdain.

This entire thing, the contest, the permissive treatment of Potter, Moody, all of it, was a mistake. That the Dark Lord wasn't pounding on the Hogwarts gates by now was a miracle. Another of Albus' miracles. I just wonder if he can keep on producing them. And if he couldn't... well. Voldemort had journeyed in Death after his curse on Harry had rebounded, he was Dead. And the Dead played on necromancy's ground.