The Pacifist Necromancer of Hogwarts

When Anthony returned home, the skeleton cat was fighting with his tail in the bedroom.

It chased and jumped all over the room, angrily trying to hold down the bones. The soul fire was burning in its eye sockets, illuminating the bottom of the bed. He must have forgotten to throw a few cleaning charms down there when he was cleaning the room, so it was covered in fluffy dust.

Good evening, he said.

The cat stopped, turned to look at him, and continued to flap its tail intently.

The wraith chicken suddenly poked its head out of the bed, its red comb particularly conspicuous between the light green pillow and quilt. Anthony opened the closet and took a look, and found that the colorful billiard balls had been pecked to pieces, and the mouse took the opportunity to stuff two apples into the closet.

Good evening to you too. Anthony sat down on the edge of the bed. Bad news, chick. I had a fight today with the living person who was going to curse you.

The Wraith Chicken didn't seem to care. It was fluttering, trying to jump on his head. When it found it couldn't stand, it backed away and landed on its shoulders, flapping its wings for balance.

Really, I think we need a live person, Anthony said, turning his head and trying to turn his ears away. Someone should have warned him in advance that the chickens were flapping their wings so loudly.

The skeleton cat gave up his tail, jumped on the pillow, and stared up at the Wraith Chicken with interest.

Anthony warned it: How dare you—

The skeleton cat jumped up and rushed towards the resentful chicken. It left several black and gray bone claw marks on the pillow, but Anthony had no time to care about that. The cat's paws and the chicken's paws hooked his shoulders and beat him around the head. For a moment, Anthony regretted not bringing back the cat climbing frame given by Professor McGonagall.

The resentful chicken held the skeleton cat's ribs in its mouth, while the skeleton cat clung to Anthony and refused to be taken to the sky.

Well, no one listens to me. Anthony muttered, reaching out to grab the chicken wings, pressing the skeleton cat wrapped around his shoulders, and lying back. The war was forced to stop, and the cat struggled to pull out its paws from under him, crawled out in embarrassment with the sheets, turned around angrily and gave him a paw. The chicken flew to the head of the bed and stood proudly, looking down at the skeleton cat.

What, you don't allow the cat to fall down on the climbing frame, tyrant? Anthony asked, turning over.

The quilt was in a mess, the pillow was stained with dust, the Wraith Chicken jumped on his back, pacing back and forth, while Anthony hugged the skeleton cat and laughed, feeling that his bed was extremely comfortable.

…

On Tuesday night, Anthony opened the refrigerator and wondered if he could make a salad with just lettuce and onions. He was going to the Burrow tomorrow, and Mrs. Weasley had a reputation for keeping all her guests well fed.

Amid the hum of the refrigerator and a flash of fire, Fox suddenly appeared in his kitchen. It dropped a letter and landed on the electric lamp. Its long crimson tail feathers hung down and swayed in front of Anthony's eyes.

What- Anthony said in surprise. Fox bent his neck and glared at him backwards from between his golden-red tail.

The cat heard the noise and came out of the bedroom curiously. It was startled by the big bird occupying the kitchen. It flattened its ears and whined in warning, slowly arching its back while Fawkes looked at it in disgust and spread its wings.

No, don't. Anthony quickly went over to pick up the ginger cat and scratched its ears. Good cat, stay in the bedroom.

He threw the cat firmly onto the bed. The cat barked angrily and turned to jump back, but Anthony had firmly closed the door. Amid the squeaking of mice, there was a loud cracking sound in the bedroom. The chandelier seemed to have fallen.

Dumbledore told Anthony in circle-within-a-circle font that he had contacted an old friend, Nicolas Flamel, a master alchemist who was interested in the whole subject.

I spoke to Nico, and although he was a little confused as to why I suddenly decided to study this subject, he was still willing to generously share his thoughts with me. Dumbledore wrote, Perenal said that he once knew several people. A necromancer, but all of them are no longer alive. On the other hand, she also admits that she doesn't like those guys very much-

Anthony read it again and then remembered that Nicolas and Perenal Flamel had indeed lived through the era of witch hunts. At that time, the magic world had not yet introduced the International Statute of Secrecy. Young wizards sought refuge in magic schools, and necromancers still wandered around cemeteries.

Perenal remembers that when cursing a necromancer, a similar ritual was commonly used: the flesh and blood of the person who cast the spell, the bones that the necromancer controlled, a prayer to death, and finally, the cursed person. The desired result. This was purely because people at the time believed that all magical rituals needed to include the three parts that make up a human being: bone, flesh and blood.”

At the same time, Nico Flamel also asked Dumbledore not to pay too much attention to the wording of the curse when he pressed him. Like most magic of the era, necromancy was a vague form of magic, as were the curses directed against necromancers. Unlike modern magic, slight changes in wording and differences in details do not have that dramatic effect on the final result.

As Anthony himself realized, the process of casting necromancy was incredibly simple.

In an era when talent was the main basis rather than learning, people tended to believe that language and wands were just tools used to communicate with magic, and that different expressions could convey the same meaning - Nico Flamel believed that this This is why even today, on the basis of standardized spells, people can still invent subtle variations of spells.

Dumbledore also quoted Nicolas Flamel's words in his letter: Alchemy may have been the only discipline known for its precision at that time, but from our current perspective, it still seems rough and random. If you had told me five hundred years ago that the way to summon an object was to 'fly' rather than 'come', I would have told you, my friend, that you were definitely not a wizard.

Finally, he wrote: So, if we're lucky, we may not need to turn to dear Quirrell. Since the point is simply to connect the spellcaster to the cursed undead, magic doesn't necessarily care much about his blood— —After all, we all agree that magic and blood shouldn't have much to do with each other.

Please say hello to the completely magical, bloodless wraith chicken for me. Enclosed is a good-tempered phoenix. I hope Fawkes won't cause you too much trouble. Yours faithfully, Dumbledore.

Also, Fox likes to eat herbs. Pomona complains about that to me sometimes.

Anthony turned his attention to the fresh food on the kitchen window sill. It had grown quite a bit since Neville gave it to him. Perhaps the loss of a few leaves would be acceptable to it.

Decided to update this morning!

It’s time to adjust your work and rest, everyone eat well, drink well and sleep well!