The Pacifist Necromancer of Hogwarts

Quirrell's voice echoed so clearly off the tiled walls that Anthony couldn't even pretend he hadn't heard it clearly. In the cold black and white room, the king wearing a stone crown stood at both ends of the grid, looking at each other from afar with faces without facial features.

Why do you think so? Anthony asked, Even if I am not a graduate here, what about you, don't you still have no nostalgia for Hogwarts?

Quirrell's face twisted for a moment.

I - of course I have, I have. Even if everyone looks down on me and ignores me, I still... but it is no longer like this. He said calmly, I have realized the stupidity of the past, and Become incredibly powerful because he is with me all the time.”

Him? Anthony wondered, then realized he had asked a stupid question. This is indeed how believers describe their gods and lords.

Sure enough, Quirrell said: My master, my caretaker and overseer. He seemed not to want to mention this topic anymore, because he trembled again, showing a painful expression, and then quickly changed the topic, So many For days, Henry, we have repeatedly observed and tested you, and we are finally sure that you are indeed a necromancer. I hope you can understand our caution, because most people are stupid. They regard black magic as a scourge and are ashamed to admit it. My own ambition to pursue power. We dark wizards...

Anthony frowned and interrupted his rambling lecture: 'We dark wizards'? Are you too?

Although he knew that Quirrell, as a professor of Defense Against the Dark Arts, had a very in-depth study of black magic, research and practice were two different things. One does not need to be a plant to become a botanist.

What's more, what determines whether a person is a scholar or a dark wizard is not actually the depth of his research on dark magic, but the official documents of the Ministry of Magic and his personal positioning - when Quirrell calls himself a dark wizard, this definitely means What are you wearing?

Me too? Quirrell repeated softly, with a strange expression. Of course I am, don't you know. Come, follow me, and I will show you my power - his power - and then, Henry, I really hope you’d like to join us.”

He stepped onto the chessboard, walked through the interlaced black and white grids, and walked straight to the opposite side of the room. He gently touched the white king standing there, and the king fell on the soldiers in front of him, shattering to pieces. A door appeared behind the chessboard, and there was undoubtedly another corridor behind it.

Anthony saw Quirrell turn around, with an expression of impatience that he had never seen before. The expression was so unfamiliar that he had a strange idea that the other person was not Quirrell, not the professor who lived next door to him and used a garlic painting as a door.

Follow, unless you want to experience that power for yourself. Quirrell said, Or have you discovered it? Yes, this chessboard is enchanted, and those stupid and weak people can only follow stupid instructions. , only by winning this boring game of wizard chess can I reach where I am. But I don’t need it.” He coughed a few more times, “My body may not be in good shape, but my strength will not abandon me. With such strength , I’m good enough to laugh at the rules in their face.”

Anthony walked slowly across the chessboard. His patchwork slippers pattered on the ground, carrying him past knights on horses, soldiers in neat rows, bishops in stone robes, and the queen standing majestically, and finally came to Quirrell's side.

Very good. Quirrell said with satisfaction, and walked forward with him, That's it, Henry, you don't have to hide your power anymore... Although the content of his words seemed to be superior, there was a hint of hiddenness in his tone. Envy and madness made Anthony couldn't help but glance at him.

In the dim light of the corridor, Quirrell looked like the enthusiastic, friendly professor he was familiar with again. He still had the funny big scarf around his head. Under the light of the fire, the shadow of the scarf danced around his forehead, eyes, and nose, as if he was still making that twitching facial expression.

Reaching the end of the corridor, Quirrell opened the door with ease, as if he was very familiar with this area.

Even though he missed the Halloween mayhem, when the startling stench hit him, Anthony knew immediately what was inside.

A troll. The humming thing was sitting on the ground boredly. It seemed that it had not noticed the open door and the human being exuding the fresh aroma of garlic outside the small door. It also did not notice that behind this human being was a person who was already smoked. A dead body.

Quirrell walked in first.

Watch it, Professor Anthony, he whispered excitedly.

Quirrell raised his wand and waved it violently. The troll jumped up as if it had been stung and looked around furiously. But before it could raise the stick above its head, a flying magic spell made its forearm and the stick crash to the ground. The troll didn't seem to realize what was happening. He waved his remaining arm in pain, throwing blood onto the surrounding walls, the ceiling above his head, and even Quirrell's big scarf and wizard robe.

Quirrell laughed softly, then looked at Anthony who was still outside: Come in, Anthony, don't make me repeat myself. A fanatical smile flashed on his face, I'm worried it's too late for you to leave now.

Quirrell certainly looked like a dark wizard now, and Anthony found himself completely unable to lift his feet.

Maybe all this is an illusion, and there is no dark wizard Quirrell at all. This bizarre incident is the mechanism that Dumbledore said will lead to innocent death, and this is the end; maybe this is a trap set by Quirrell, Anthony miserably stepped on it; maybe the troll's snot was sticky and he just happened to be unlucky enough to get his slippers stuck to the floor...

But it's neither. With an impatient pull, Quirrell entered the warm, smelly room. At the same time, he heard the sound of the memory of his warm, friendly, peaceful life being shattered like a stone being thrown into a black lake.

Gudong.

…

Gudong.

The troll fell to the ground, unconscious. Its little head was pressed against the corner, facing Quirrell and Anthony, and blood was already flowing all over the floor. The room stunk, and even though Anthony didn't need to breathe, he still wondered why Quirrell could talk so calmly and calmly, and why Quirrell's face was still pale instead of green.

It's big, but very stupid. Quirrell said contemptuously, Just like many people in this world, they only know how to use brute force, but here - he pointed to his head, -it's empty One thing.”

I'm very good at dealing with this kind of stupid guy. Quirrell said, I can chop, chop, cut, let it hit itself, or I can let it feel pain without knowing where the pain comes from. …I could make it dance in circles—oh, how jealous silly Barnabas would be—you see, Professor Anthony, I have such power.”

Anthony said softly: Yes, you have such power... Just to confirm, do you do the same to humans as you do to trolls?

I - no. Quirrell said, his face twitching strangely, I haven't... haven't found a chance yet. I have to hide myself. I know these may be games in the face of undead magic, but this is just A small part of my master's strength, he- His words were suddenly cut off, and a large amount of sweat rolled down his forehead.

Anthony looked at him quietly.

Quirrell bent over, coughing and muttering painfully. His face seemed to look even worse against the backdrop of the troll's blood. When he spoke again, his eyes were filled with painful tears, and he changed the subject.

But such a big guy, such a big magical creature, should be of some use to you, right? Quirrell said, I know that undead magic always needs the assistance of some materials. Things like trolls, although No brainer, but it is such a big corpse after all...its bones, its flesh and blood, should be useful to you, right?

Seeing Anthony's expressionless expression, Quirrell continued: There is also the Basilisk. Its corpse has also realized its value in your hands, right? Professor Anthony, we can provide you with a steady stream of corpses, of magical creatures or Human, if you need them. Werewolves in shape, wizards still in Animagus form...the secrets of magic, the secrets of immortality, strength and power...

Why? Anthony asked.

Quirrell sighed impatiently.

Seemingly finding the moaning troll in a coma very annoying, he raised his wand above his head and waved it at the troll in the corner, causing it to make a sound like spitting. The troll's eyes opened, and then in a blank and painful stare, it stared at the contemporary art work formed by the blood behind Anthony, and lost its breath in confusion.

Quirrell wiped his wand and said: The lost magic of necromancy... You should be smarter than this, Anthony. From that day - the day Slytherin lost one hundred and sixty points - I knew that you A Dark Wizard too, a very powerful Dark Wizard. But until recently, we never knew for sure that you were indeed a Necromancer, and that a Necromancer deserves preferential treatment. Those idiots at the Ministry of Magic will never understand this, and neither will Hogwarts. We It can provide you with endless research materials and profound and mysterious magical knowledge, as long as you are willing-

I don't want to, said Anthony.

Quirrell paused: Excuse me?

I do not want to.

I suggest you agree, Professor Anthony. Quirrell said, looking a little uneasy for the first time. I really suggest you do this. It will do no harm to you. You see, you are a necromancer-

Yeah, but I don't like killing people, Anthony said.

Even though he seemed a little confused, Quirrell still seemed to be relieved: It doesn't matter, that's what I mean. You don't need to kill people yourself to get your own experimental materials...

Anthony shook his head: You don't understand. I mean I don't like to see dead humans, and I don't like to see things being tortured. In fact, I think life at Hogwarts is pretty good, and you - Quirrell , if this is really your name - whether your master is Satan or whoever it is, please tell him that I do not intend to go to hell for the time being, even if that is the destination of all necromancers.

Quirrell said in confusion: But aren't you a dark wizard? Aren't you a necromancer?

I am indeed. Anthony admitted, But I - how to put it, you can say that I am a pacifist necromancer, and what you invited me to do sounds a little bit far away from peace.

Quirrell opened his eyes wide and said firmly: You are crazy.

Maybe, Anthony said. The other thing I want to tell you is that whatever secret of immortality lies a few doors down, I'm not interested in it. And, guess what, I'm going to stop you on the way.

Quirrell squeezed his wand and said: Seriously, I suggest you think again. How do you want to stop me, strangle me with your dressing gown, or choke me with an apple? Where's your wand, Anthony? professor?

Anthony said nonchalantly: I really don't want to use necromancy.

The next moment, Quirrell turned his head because of the strange movement behind him, and saw the bruised troll slowly sitting up. He turned his head sharply and glared at Anthony's velvet pocket and the hand holding the apple inside.

You - you don't use a wand? Quirrell asked hoarsely, Not at all?

Of course not, Anthony said, I just don't need a wand when I use necromancy.

The troll dragged his body, which was covered in bruises and redness, with heavy steps to the small door opposite and sat down. Quirrell turned to look at the huge troll corpse, then looked at Anthony, and raised his wand.

Anthony asked the troll to tap the floor with his stick. Since there is a small arm attached to it, the sound is very strange. Quirrell glanced at the troll again, as if startled by the sound of bones rubbing against the floor.

There is a troll at that door, and it stinks. Anthony explained kindly, and then stood by the door and stretched out his hand to take out the little mouse's apple. And here are apples, which are fragrant and sweet.

The mouse squeaked and complained why he had taken away his apple.

Make a choice, Anthony said.

Quirrell held up his wand and slowly approached the apple in Anthony's hand. Then he suddenly snapped his fingers, and a rope sprang out from nowhere, tying Anthony tightly. At this moment, his expression was twisted and ferocious: My master——

—a fool, said Anthony. The troll's body rushed across the room, waving its severed arm and giving Quirrell a hard blow on the back of the head.

I thought I told you I didn't use my wand, said Anthony, feeling the troll's blow still reverberate through the room, making his ears ring. He seemed to hear a sharp voice shouting Idiot too.