The Pacifist Necromancer of Hogwarts

Anthony was kicked out of the office by Snape in confusion, and was in a daze for a moment. He watched Snape striding away from the corridor, and then he began to think about what he should do.

He stood in the cold cellar for a while, and then slowly walked towards the stairs. But as soon as he got near the ground, he heard Lockhart say in a very loud voice: Very good, I hope you will practice with each other! I'll be right back!

Immediately afterwards, a burst of brisk footsteps echoed on the wall tiles of the corridor. Anthony could almost imagine Lockhart in all his glory, with his robes flowing.

He quickly pulled his head back, wondering if he would bump into Lockhart if he returned to the office now, and at the same time secretly wondered who Lockhart meant by you. Several Slytherin students walked quickly past Anthony and turned back to look at him carefully. Like him, they didn't understand why he was here.

Professor Anthony?

Anthony turned around and saw Tracey walking out of the Slytherin lounge with a few books in her arms, her hair pulled up for a rare occasion. Several students nearby looked at Tracy with uncomfortable eyes, but she nodded to Anthony indifferently: Good afternoon, Professor Anthony.

Good afternoon, Miss Davis. Anthony smiled, noticing that the top book was Standard Charms (Level 3), Going to the library?

Oh, no, Tracy said, stopping in her tracks, Roger invited me to watch his Quidditch practice.

At this moment, several tall Quidditch players wearing green robes came down the stairs with gloomy expressions. The leader was Flint: You should train harder, Draco. You have been absent several times. If the game is still like today, don't talk about Gryffindor, even Hufflepuff...

Draco Malfoy said impatiently: That's enough, Marcus, I understand. His gray eyes glanced at the broom in his hand, Don't worry... I will find a way.

Of course, Draco, you've always been a great flyer, said Pansy, who was walking next to Malfoy.

Flint seemed to want to retort to her, but he looked at Malfoy and Pansy's finely crafted wizard robes and swallowed his words. If you must think so... he muttered.

Malfoy narrowed his eyes unkindly: It sounds like you have a different opinion?

She doesn't understand Quidditch at all, another Slytherin member said angrily. Pansy turned around sharply and looked up at him grimly.

I'm sorry. The other party apologized.

Remember your place, Pansy said proudly, I have never missed a Quidditch World Cup since I was five years old.

Okay, Pansy. Malfoy smiled at her - Pansy's face immediately lit up with joy - and said casually, If you like Quidditch, next time you come to see me practice, You can also fly around a few times... oh.

Flint saw Anthony and stopped. Malfoy's eyes immediately fell on Anthony and Tracy in the middle of the corridor, and he didn't notice that Pansy's face immediately turned pale after he casually said this suggestion.

Good afternoon, Professor Anthony. Malfoy said coldly and politely. Then, as if he hadn't seen Tracy, he passed Flint who was blocking him and swaggered between Tracy and Anthony. Walked over.

The Slytherin players followed him silently, their eyes firmly locked on Anthony's face, and the hem of their robes flapped the brand new and shiny Nimbus 2001 in their hands.

Pansy walked last. As she passed, Tracy said with a smile and barely moving her lips: Like Quidditch, Pansy?

Pansy's newly recovered face turned pale again for a moment, and then turned red with anger: I'm warning you, Davis—than cheering for Ravenclaw—

Pansy? Malfoy's questioning voice came from the front.

Coming, Draco. Pansy said loudly, then turned to Tracy, took a few deep breaths, and finally said nothing. She finally gave Anthony a resentful look and walked away.

…

Ravenclaw always makes reservations for the training ground at noon on Wednesday, all Saturday morning and five o'clock on Sunday afternoon, Tracy said, holding the book and calmly introducing Anthony to the reservation arrangements for the Quidditch pitch, Her. Chipachi is on Tuesday at noon, the first half of Saturday afternoon and Sunday night...

They went up the stairs. A gust of cold wind blew in through the small window, and Tracy shrank into her scarf: Gryffindor training is usually all mornings, Saturday nights, and any other time when there is free time; Slytherin training is usually every week. From one to five o'clock in the afternoon on Saturday, and any time that would interfere with Gryffindor training...except in the morning.

Anthony said with some amusement: You sound very familiar with them, Miss Davis.

He glanced carefully down the corridor, not seeing any sparkling blond hair or beautiful silk robes, and hurried out with Tracy. He had decided to go find Hagrid - that would prove that he really had to sadly miss the Lock Your Heart Club event, and would be much more enjoyable than chatting with Snape.

Roger told me, Tracy said.

They were walking quickly through the staff room. The two gargoyles sat glumly on the pedestal.

The door to the common room was always soundproof (You never know how many students might want to lean on the door and eavesdrop. Professor McGonagall said calmly), so Anthony had no idea what was going on inside... not that he I want to open the door and take a look.

Even though it was still a cold and cloudy day today, Anthony couldn't help but breathed a sigh of relief after walking out of the door. The wind blew his wizard robes loudly. In this weather, except for a few interested people, most students chose to keep warm by the warm stove in the castle.

It rained heavily last night, so the ground was very muddy. After saying goodbye to Tracy, Anthony walked along the slippery path towards Hagrid's cabin.

In such gloomy weather, the golden pumpkins become particularly conspicuous. The pumpkin leaves are a little withered, but the incredibly large pumpkins have become more and more plump. Each one is so swollen that it looks like it will explode in the next second, and countless little elves will pop out and drop magic powder.

He smelled the aroma of onion soup from far away. As he stepped on the soft mud and passed the steamy windows, he could even hear the sound of boiling gurgling and the sound of pots gently shaking and hitting the stove. Before he even knocked on Hagrid's door, he heard Fang's cry of joy. Anthony smiled and knocked on the door.

Who is it? Here it comes! Hagrid said gruffly.

There was a sound of tables and chairs moving, and the wooden door opened.

Hagrid's black beetle-like eyes shone with joy, and he smiled at Anthony from under his tangled beard: Oh, Henry! Not long ago, I was wondering when you would come!

What's wrong? Anthony asked, resisting the rushing Yaya, Okay, Yaya. Yaya!

The big dog circled him affectionately, tried to put its paws on his chest and lick his nose. Anthony laughed, lowered his head and rubbed his shoes on the carpet at the door, then remembered to take out his wand and cast a cleaning spell.

Come here, Henry! Hagrid said, Charlie from the Weasley family has written back to me!