The Pacifist Necromancer of Hogwarts

Quirrell grunted and fell forward. The deflected spell made deep carvings on the wall behind Anthony, and even the half-open door was cut in half. The metal lock hissed and corroded, and finally fell to the ground with a clang, curling into a strange shape.

The troll lifted up his big foot and stepped on it hard, but he only stepped on the corner of Quirrell's robe. Quirrell rolled over in embarrassment to avoid the troll. He waved his wand rapidly in the air, trying to cut off the monster's legs like a forearm. However, the big man's legs were as thick as a thousand-year-old tree. Quirrell only cut off the monster's legs. It lost its forefoot.

The troll looked down at his bare foot, grumbled in confusion, and raised his other foot to try again. Anthony quickly stopped the corpse from fighting the way it had muscle memory before it found it difficult to stand on one foot without the balls of its feet.

But Quirrell had seized the opportunity. Before the giant monster's intact legs could be lowered, he shouted a magic spell, and a lighting torch suddenly flew out and turned into a huge fire ring, trapping the giant monster. But one thing he overlooked was that the corpse no longer felt pain.

Although the flames burned the flesh and blood of the troll corpse, it still pursued Quirrell's big scarf like a good troll, trying to crush the human in front of it. Quirrell screamed, dodging the flaming troll arms that whizzed through the air.

While hiding, he didn't forget to find something for Anthony to do. The corners were quickly filled with gravel, broken bricks, poisonous snakes and swamps. A flock of small, glittering keys with wings flew through the shattered door and pecked at Anthony like a flock of mad birds. Anthony soon discovered that unless he was willing to be buried peacefully for a while, he would not be able to stand around and watch leisurely.

Ha! Quirrell laughed loudly and circled the wand above his head several times, Ha ha!

With a deafening explosion, the charred corpse of the giant monster exploded. Black ash was flying in the room, choking Quirrell and coughing a few more times, but his face was filled with the ecstasy of victory.

Anthony, Anthony. he said, directing the golden keys to surround Anthony, I admit that I should not have given you a body. It was my mistake, but now it is all over. Thank you for always treating me Help, it’s a shame we can’t always be colleagues—”

Is everything over? Anthony asked. He silently called his cat in his heart, it couldn't sleep anymore, it had to come.

Quirrell seemed about to give him a killing curse, but stopped just in time.

That's right, the Necromancer. He said to himself, his voice so low that Anthony could hardly hear him. The Death Curse should be ineffective, but... He raised his head suddenly and said coldly, Own it for yourself. Are you complacent about the almost lost magic, Anthony? How do you think no one can touch you? But if you noticed, I also hold the secret of the soul...

When no one noticed this thin, pale, easily bullied Ravenclaw, I locked myself in the dormitory, hid in the corner of the library, and gained strength from those ancient parchments and ink - The power of knowledge. It's a pity that necromancy is going to be extinct in the end. Quirrell said, swiping his wand on his left arm, a wound suddenly appeared on his thin arm, and blood poured out, covering him There were dried troll blood stains on the wizard's robe.

Even without knowing what he was going to do, Anthony knew it was best to stop him immediately. There is this principle in the stories and novels he has read: if your enemy behaves strangely and keeps chattering, you'd better take the opportunity to act quickly and mess up the situation. This is almost common sense.

So he raised his hand and spread it flat in front of Quirrell.

Quirrell immediately stopped reminiscing about the neglect of his youth and stared warily at his hands.

It's good that Quirrell didn't know the universal theorem in Muggle fiction, because he asked, How-what?

Because of this moment of stammering, Anthony almost thought that the crazy man in front of him was that Quirrell.

Please show me your palm, said Anthony. I want to know the day of my death.

Then he clenched his fist fiercely at Quirrell's expression of confusion and ridicule: Oh, no, I think I know.

Under Quirrell's gaze, a gust of wind seemed to blow from nowhere, and a black smoke suddenly gathered from the corner of the wall, swirling past the wall splattered with the monster's blood, and condensed into a huge figure on the pitted and damaged ground—— The charred corpse of the troll stood in pieces in the center of the room, and the head on his neck seemed to have been burned into a quaffle.

Or a troll? Quirrell said. The efficiency of your recycling is indeed beyond my expectation, but why do you think it will be useful?

This gray-black monster-shaped thing swatted away the flying flames like a fly, and turned the jingling keys into a ball of waste, while the red curse passed directly through its palm. , hitting the wall behind in vain. Quirrell's expression finally changed.

He looked at Anthony and opened his mouth as if he wanted to say something else, but soon showed a painful expression and spread his blood on the ground without saying a word.

I curse you with living flesh... Quirrell said, looking suddenly uncomfortable. The blood on the ground boiled.

He continued to read quickly: I curse you with the bones disturbed by undead magic. Before he finished speaking, he knelt down on the ground because of the bricks thrown by the ashes troll, and then the troll grabbed his robe and threw him against the wall. superior.

In the presence of—ahem, ahem, death—

——Nothing will happen. Anthony answered and stuffed the apple into Quirrell's mouth.

He closed his eyes and leaned against the wall, feeling himself spreading out uncontrollably. But this time he allowed the undead magic to lead him into the broad body maintained by magic, and stretched out comfortably.

He looked around the room, trying to find a handy weapon. He remembered that he should have something that was very useful and he could swing it to make the wind blow. But he didn't find anything suitable.

So while the strange-smelling thing was paralyzed on the ground, he raised his foot and stepped on it without thinking.

Kill him! He seemed to hear a voice saying in the sudden explosion. He felt that it was absolutely right, because that was what he intended to do, and this body longed to do that.

Suddenly, he noticed something had changed around him. He stepped down hard and found that the thing lying on the ground was gone.

Under the witness of death! the thing shouted tremblingly, I will expel you from this land of living things!

It took him some effort to notice that the strange guy was pointing with the small thin wooden stick in his hand - oh, he remembered, he should have something similar, but bigger, heavier and more beautiful - With a... uh, corpse. The body felt familiar to him, as if he actually belonged there.

He vaguely felt like he remembered the feeling of those fabrics on his body, but that shouldn't be the case. A good troll wears no clothes.

When a dark yellow light shot out from the small wooden stick, Quirrell laughed. The troll was staring in fascination at the swaying velvet dressing gown, and a small little one crawled out of the shaking dressing gown pocket. , a transparent gray figure, jumped up nimbly, hugged the flying magic spell, and ate it in one bite.

The thing in the troll suddenly felt an inexplicable emotion - it was strange, in addition to the familiar anger of the troll, there was also an inexplicable feeling that made him want to smash the room, smash everything, and immediately let the opposite person A person pays a price, he must pay a price——

He spread out, wrapped around the thing in the body, and pulled hard. According to his experience - when had he had such experience - the thing should slide out smoothly, like oyster meat from its useless shell, and then be stuffed down his throat, filling his ...something like the intestines and stomach.

But this oyster screamed.

No! No! screamed Oystermeat.

He frowned and pulled again. It's strange, like a barnacle sucked to the bottom of a ship, this thing that doesn't actually smell good clinging to the world.

Go away, you fool! cried the high-pitched voice.

He took the thing—the thing that couldn't be pulled out—in his hand, lifted it up and looked at it carefully. The thing looked horrified and trembled, and its smell changed from not very tasty to unpleasant to stomach-turning. Only then did he notice that this thing was very strange. Half of it seemed to have gone bad, while the other half was still edible. But the spoiled acidic water flowed out at this time, completely ruining his appetite.

Just then, he heard a small squeak.

At his feet, there was a very small thing, a very kind thing, lovingly hugging a red ball-shaped thing in the corner. Its beard trembled, and its little paws quickly stroked the thing with a small hole missing, wiping away all the ashes on it.

Anthony... The oyster shell opened its mouth and said with difficulty, Please, please...

…

At his master's urging, Quirrell ran in confusion from corridor to corridor and from room to room. Even after Anthony waved to him, he just sat there blankly, staring at the terrifying mouse, and he did not dare to slack off at all.

Master, I can't get up—I can't get up— he cried in the devil's ivy. Help me, master.

A sharp voice shouted angrily: Trash!

With the help of his unrecovered master, Quirrell finally noticed the broomstick with the keys that had been scattered in the troll's room, turned back in horror, and flew out of the trap door on the broomstick. The harp music had stopped, and the damn three-headed dog was barking and biting at him, and he thought the whole of Hogwarts might wake up.

Are we—are we going back, master? Quirrell asked tremblingly.

Go back? His master, the great Voldemort, said angrily, Do you want to be scratched by that cat again, idiot? Go away!

But—Anthony—the Philosopher's Stone—

The Philosopher's Stone is only the best option, but it is not the only option. Voldemort said, Now, let's go!

Quirrell screamed and almost fell off his broom.

Because you went against my will and because of your failure, I have to punish you. Voldemort said cruelly, If you let me down again... Quirinus, you don't want that day to happen. …”

Yes, Master.

Quirrell's face was pale, his clothes were stained with his own and the troll's blood, and he flew out of Hogwarts under the gentle evening breeze. Under the moonlight, a huge ripple suddenly appeared on the black lake. The giant squid was leisurely slapping the shore with its tentacles, occasionally picking up scattered stones and throwing them on top of its head as if playing.

…

You're okay, aren't you? Anthony stretched out his hand, teasing the mouse who felt sorry for Apple, and said in puzzlement but thankfully, Why are you okay?

The mouse finally stopped examining the perfect apple that was no longer perfect, held Anthony's finger, and whispered: Squeak.

Anthony suddenly found that he could feel the mouse's emotions again. It was not alarm-like panic, but a quiet joy.

He shook his head in confusion. Something had changed, but he didn't have time to feel it carefully now. He was tired and missed his cat.

Just as he was thinking this, he suddenly felt a kind and comfortable emotion from the mouse. Then, through the door walked a ginger creature—a ginger dead thing.

The cat's ears were flattened, its tail flicked, and it looked at the terrible environment around it with disgust. It seemed that it didn't want its smooth fur and clean soles to come into contact with the dust and blood.

You know, since you have fur, you have become more pretentious. Anthony said to it.

The cat flicked its tail dissatisfied, jumped directly from the door to Anthony's lap, jumped over the rubble and corpses, and hooked its paws firmly into his dressing gown that was in urgent need of cleaning, adding a layer of need to it. Repair the wounds as before. Anthony touched it, and it was still as cold as the moonlight on a winter night.

I don't understand, said Anthony, hugging both the mouse and the cat close. He found that he still couldn't understand what the cat was thinking.

Holding them in his arms, he stood up and looked hesitantly at the two doors. The broken door led back - as he was cleaning himself up, he thought that Quirrell had escaped through that door; and the intact door he was leaning against was said to have eternal life hidden behind it. secret.

He looked down at the two pairs of shining death eyes: I admit that I am a little curious, but...

But isn't this movement a little too loud? A smooth voice came from the other side. Anthony raised his head and saw Snape striding over, followed by Professor McGonagall with a hairnet behind him.

Henry, you... Professor McGonagall looked around the room with a bit of disbelief, looking as if she had just been rudely awakened from her sleep. I think we need to go to the Headmaster's office. Albus Waiting for us.

If I had the pleasure of knowing... said Snape, how do you intend to explain all this, innocent and harmless Professor Anthony?

Anthony helped the mouse pick up the apple and said, I guess I just chased the rabbit and fell into the rabbit hole. Alice didn't really do anything, did she—she just didn't take a nap.