The Pacifist Necromancer of Hogwarts

As soon as Anthony opened the door with the books he borrowed from the library, the ginger cat rushed out, with its paws firmly hooked on his coat, and crawled and jumped to stand on his head.

Wait, wait! Anthony shouted, hearing his pants and jacket make an ominous sound, What's wrong with you?

He pushed away the cat's tail hanging in front of his eyes, turned around with difficulty, hooked the door handle, and closed the door.

Oh fine.

What lay ahead of him was disaster. The house was a mess: the sofa's springs were exposed, and it was standing unsteadily with a leg missing. The pillows were all lying on the floor, and the cotton had been turned out. It looked like a crime scene where the victim was foaming at the mouth. Half of the curtains were still hanging on the window, while the other half was hanging on the pillow.

In the kitchen, the watering can hung precariously on the edge of the window sill in an awkward position, and water was slowly dripping down the wall. All the magnets on the refrigerator were lying on the floor, and some of them were broken into several pieces.

The cupboards were open, the dining table was overturned, and so were the chairs. There were some broken pieces of china next to them, and Anthony saw teacups, plates, and bowls—wait, was that piece of wood a spatula?

He walked around the ruins and opened the refrigerator. A bottle of milk was poured but not spilled. The vegetables and meat were all in good order. Next to the lettuce crouched a wraith rat. Anthony stared at it and felt that it was smoothly conveying the emotion of pleasure and tranquility to him.

He took too long to open the door, and the refrigerator groaned reluctantly and hummed to life.

That's good. The destruction was not very complete. Anthony said, reaching out to fish out the mouse, closing the refrigerator door, and going to check the bedroom.

The bedroom was unbelievably pristine. The bed was not broken and neither were the pillows. The wardrobe stood neatly against the wall. Everything was fine except that he had no idea why his shirt was hanging on the chandelier.

Anthony opened the closet, and as expected, he found the Wraith Chicken squatting inside, and the colorful picnic eggs underneath him had been replaced by a few billiard balls. He didn't even know where he found the billiard ball.

Anthony pulled the cat off his head: What's going on?

He was too familiar with the overturned sofa posture. It must have been another fight between the cat and the chicken.

The cat stared at his round yellow eyes and said, Meow.

Change your move, kitty, Anthony said, turning the cat back into a skeleton cat.

The cat shook its frame in surprise, and Anthony reached out and poked at the gaps between its bones and laughed. It had been a long time since he'd had a cat transform back into a skeleton cat, but he'd felt like he could do it again since last month.

As he practiced, he discovered that his undead magic seemed to be getting stronger. If anything, it's a bit like he's digesting the soul of a basilisk.

Anthony shook his head in disgust at the thought, pushing the basilisk back as he recalled the raspberry jam and tomato bolognese lasagna in his mind.

…

While Anthony was packing his things, he was communicating with the wraith rat. At times like this, he had to admit that he was sincerely grateful for magic - but then again, if magic didn't exist in the world, there probably wouldn't be his cats and chickens, and he wouldn't need to clean the house like this.

If there was no magic, he would probably no longer be in this world.

The skeleton cat was lying on the top of the wardrobe, peering through the loose cracks in the side panels at the wraith chicken inside.

The white flowers outside the window are still growing vigorously. After Anthony put the kitchen away, he poured some water on it.

According to the feedback given to him by the Wraith Mouse, all this was purely because the cat was too bored and wanted to fight with the Wraith Chicken, while the Wraith Chicken wanted to hatch its picnic egg that was absolutely impossible to hatch.

The cat decided to steal the eggs - Anthony was wondering what all the paint-like stuff he had cleaned up and removed was - and the chicken was understandably enraged, resulting in the scene he saw when he came home.

Billiards is pretty good, isn't it? Anthony asked the mouse, putting the last repaired cup in the cupboard.

squeak.

…

After a week of reading about the effectiveness of unicorn blood and the records of methods of cursing the undead in the history of magic, Anthony couldn't stand it anymore. It's Saturday, with the rare good weather we've had in a week. The wind is sunny and the sparrows are jumping around on the lawn.

Forget about the banned book with weird illustrations borrowed from the library, the Horrifying History of Magic: Everything You Don't Know bought from the bookstore is the problem. It wails and screams for at least a minute every time a page is turned, and from time to time dark red viscous liquid drips from the spine.

The three pets are united in not allowing him to read in the bedroom, so he spreads his notebook out on the dining room table, secretly hoping that the neighbors think he just developed a new hobby of watching horror movies.

He finally understood why the clerk at Flourish and Blotts Bookstore did not hesitate to give him a 30% discount, and even happily found a bag for him so that he could take it home directly.

He announced to the mouse, cat, and chicken: I'm going out for a walk.

The mouse crawled into his pocket, shook its beard, and climbed out hesitantly. It recently started to like stacking apples on the windowsill, and even couldn't bear to leave for a short while.

It doesn't matter. Do you need me to bring you anything? Anthony said, then stopped the Wraith Chicken, No, I won't buy any more picnic eggs.

…

In the end, his shopping list contained only what he needed. Anthony bought some frozen peas and chicken from the supermarket, went to the baking section to grab two bags of bread, and went to the South Bank.

One of the perks of being a wizard is not having to worry about frozen treats in bags. They never come home and turn into a soggy, mushy mess.

The river flows through the city, interweaving with the traffic. Anthony carried shopping bags and walked through the crowd. Long lines formed in front of stands selling popcorn and cotton candy, and the smell of burgers and hot dogs wafted through the air. There were people talking everywhere, and a child was crying over an ice cream cone he had dropped.

Seagulls are always alert for any possible food, circling with a sense of urgency. Their piercing calls blend with the melodies of street performers.

Anthony sat down on the bank, opened the bag with purpose, and took out the bread. Seagulls flying over the river immediately noticed the food and flew to him.

Anthony opened the package, tore the toast into pieces, fed half to the seagulls, and chewed the other half slowly. More and more seagulls gathered, almost blocking the sparkling river in front of him. All Anthony could see were the flapping wings, and his ears were filled with their joyful and unpleasant cries.

Go, you've eaten enough! Anthony waved away the seagull that wanted to take pieces of bread directly from the toast bag, and held the bag tightly in his arms. Even among seagulls, it is a large bird.

My dear, you should throw the bread into the water as far away as possible, said an old woman next to him, so they don't stick around you.

Anthony looked at the other person, and she smiled kindly at him and motioned for him to try it. Anthony threw a small piece of bread out, and the seagulls flew away and returned.

Indeed, he said, handing the toast bag to the other person, Do you want to feed them?

The old woman smiled and shook her head: No, dear, God bless, I fed enough when I was young.

Oh. Anthony said, throwing a few more pieces of bread out. I used to feed them casually when I passed by with my friends. I had never come here specifically.

My husband, he thought it would be a perfect date spot. After feeding the seagulls for the fifteenth time, I made it clear to him that if he wanted to continue with me, he should take me to the show.

Then what?

He became my husband, dear. The old woman said with gentle reproach, But after he got married, he still liked to feed the seagulls... I was angry at him, and he was very surprised. She recalled. Smile.

My grandfather loved fishing, and my grandmother got mad at him, Anthony said. I think you like trout more than me! I remember her saying.

The old woman nodded: Yes, what did your grandfather say?

'But it was a twenty-one-inch trout!' Anthony said, laughing too.

He remembered that they had fried fish that day, and he was very happy. The street food was selling fish and chips behind him, and he seemed to smell the smell of butter and fish fried that day, with a hint of pepper, mixed with the aroma of parsley and lemon wedges.

He also remembered that his grandfather later complained that his grandmother was obsessed with knitting and ignored him, and his grandmother responded in kind.

But it's a twenty-one-inch sock! she said.

…

Anthony left a few slices of bread for the old woman, said goodbye to her, and went to buy a small portion from the fish and chip stall.

He realized critically that it wasn't nearly as well-done as the Hogwarts kitchen, but the sun was shining on him and he felt like he was being sunburned, so he didn't really mind.

The seagulls stared closely at him. Anthony jealously guarded his little portion of fried food, while the old woman began to feed them bread again. The big white birds swarmed around her.

…

A few more days of reading followed by howls of agony followed, and then one morning an old owl crashed into his window. Anthony carefully fed Errol a small piece of chicken, shut the skeleton cat back into the bedroom, and then untied the letter from its lap.

This is Mrs. Weasley's letter. She set a specific date with Anthony to meet and told him that Mr. Weasley had been busy lately.

He is still drafting the Muggle Protection Act... Anthony read it again in surprise. He had always thought that this was already the current law. Mr. Weasley always swears by his letter every time, and Professor Bubbaji talks as if the items in it have already taken effect.

...At the same time, we have to deal with magical artifacts that cause harm to Muggles. Mrs. Weasley wrote. Arthur has been working overtime, so he is not sure whether he will be able to accompany the children to Diagon Alley that day, but he Promise yourself to welcome you at dinner.

He said he had a 'wonderful gadget' he wanted to share with you. I guess it was the old car. I told him Henry was used to seeing things like this, but he wouldn't listen. Whatever it is, just pretend. Gotta be surprised - he's been so tired lately and needs a little happiness.

Anthony let Errol rest for a while before he began to write his reply.

He promised Mrs. Weasley that he would meet them in Diagon Alley, and that he would be surprised by whatever Mr. Weasley came up with, complimenting him on his discernment.

As for next year's book list she asked about, he could only guarantee that Muggle Studies had no plans to change textbooks for the time being. As far as he knew, Transfiguration, Charms, Herbology, and Potions were probably not available either, and the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor had not yet been determined, so the textbooks had not been determined either.

After finishing the letter, he had to give Errol another break because he had his pen caught in the screaming book. Errol was startled by the sudden wail, and bumped headfirst against his cupboard in a panic as he tried to fly away.

…

A few days later, another owl flew to his windowsill, carrying an incredibly heavy envelope.

After Anthony opened it, he found two literature reviews inside. One summarized the research of potionists on simulating unicorn blood in the last century. There were about forty pieces of parchment, and the other was about the relationship between various factors in curses and rituals. The collection of conjectures is more than seventy pages long.

He flipped through it for a while before he saw the message in the upper right corner of the first review, and wrote it directly in the corner: For reference. Free next Friday? Best regards, Si.

Anthony sighed at the message without any courtesy and tore a piece of paper from his notebook.

Dear Professor Snape,

real.

Thanks for the material, I'll read as much as I can before next Friday.

Regards, Henry Anthony”

He sent the owl away - it seemed to fly much more easily with such a light piece of paper - returned to the table and began to study the documents that Snape had sent.

He glanced briefly, skipping over the long list of authors and paragraphs discussing the importance of researching alternatives to unicorn blood, and was immediately struck by the trivial potion materials and treatments on the next page.

Different names added different materials in powder or granular form at different temperatures, and stirred them clockwise or counterclockwise for how many times... The author compared and analyzed their differences with relish (As Pollachi pointed out , the palliative material thrown from the middle of the crucible will obviously be easier to transform than other materials), and Anthony only felt that Snape must have done it on purpose.

He decisively gave up these forty pages and turned to the curses and rituals, and he breathed a long sigh of relief. With the Christmas gift from Professor Quirrell - and now that I think about it, Voldemort - and his usual study, he can at least understand what this article is about.

But he put it down immediately when he saw an illustration of a person being skinned.

I haven't eaten yet, he muttered, taking out a piece of frozen pizza from the refrigerator and throwing it into the oven.