The Pacifist Necromancer of Hogwarts

There was silence behind Anthony.

He returned his attention to the small book in front of him. The rough black cover says CHEERS DEATH in light gray and nothing else.

Opening the book, there is an inscription written diagonally in very thin lines on the title page: To the gibbering Beedle--Betho Blackthorne and his slippery heart.

This line of writing is very shallow, as if the person who wrote it was worried that the ink would penetrate the back of the page, so he tried hard to hang the pen tip and use only the thinnest part of the pen tip to lightly scratch the paper. The word slippery is written lightly and quickly, and the smooth curves look slippery.

As soon as he turned over the title page, what caught Anthony's eyes was the densely packed characters, arranged very regularly into a very beautiful wave shape.

Anthony worked hard to identify it, and recognized the rune horned beast representing one in the text at the top. There was also a very small horned beast rolling in the ink in the lower right corner of the page, killing several unlucky people. The runes were blurred.

Anthony read it character by character for a long time, and finally realized that this was another experimental record. However, the author deliberately wrote it like a long poem, adding a series of gorgeous and beautiful decorative - and incomprehensible - runes between words and lines.

What Anthony could barely decipher included walking into a village, standing on a rugged path and talking to the villagers, and then trying to attach the villagers' bodies to the horses' bodies, or attach the horse's head to the human body.

“…The strong wind howls, covering the giant golden eye in the sky/I am like a dark cloud/carrying the shadow of fate over the village.

Death harvested the centaurs' counterfeits/I heard it, it was his strange laugh/There are secrets you can never discover, he shouted when he left/But the sound of the wind was my laughter/I roared with laughter, big Laugh/Because a small fish escapes from the fishing net and an ear of wheat remains uncut.

“Death didn’t see those horse-headed monsters/They were walking leisurely around, kneeling on the ground eating grass/I created a village of vegetarians.”

Anthony frowned and turned over a few more pages, almost all of which were verses like this, describing weird and uncomfortable experiments. For example, a poem titled Breathing Poems (Part 3) describes how the author cuts someone's trachea in time, attaches a fish to it, and then pushes the other person into the pond to observe whether the other person has learned to swim in the water. Take a breath.

Looking further back, the author began to passionately introduce how he chose the right village and found convenient tools. He also spent a lot of space scolding those who told him what to do, and even stopped writing poems (Cowardly slaves cannot Understand the joy of all this - when the blood flows out, shivers and joy rush from my spine to heaven. If their God exists, He will definitely clink glasses with death for me... Their Creator, the one who in the legend lets everyone eat himself Sons, those who share oneself.”)

Further back, the author seems to have a big plan that makes him very proud. So after preparing a series of magic materials that are very difficult to obtain, the book writes: After being prepared, I knew I still needed to find one thing: a lover.

Anthony stopped, closed the book, and went to find a rune dictionary.

In addition to lover, other interpretations of this word mean [noun] relative, lover, tit, flower, and the corresponding variants are [adjective] amiable, tit, flower, pleasing , making the heart beat; [adverb] lovingly.

Looking down, the author of this book visited many villages in order to find a tit or a flower, and he became more and more polite and personable. But he never found the chickadees—or the flowers, for that matter—and his growing frustration led him to become ever more cruel to the villages that failed him, leaving patch after patch of blood-soaked land in his wake.

Finally, beside a stream, the author saw a titmouse gazing at the sunset on the top of a mountain. At that moment, he felt his heart tremble. He thought, this must be the tit. I had to be very, very careful in order to catch the tits.

He waited quietly until the sun sank into the valley and the night rose and the stars twinkled. The chickadee said softly, Hello, in a tit voice.

Hello, the author said.

I've heard about you. You mix lions with goats, people with cows, said the tit. If you want to do the same to me, can I ask you to wait until tomorrow?

The author repeats: Tomorrow?

I need to go back and prepare breakfast for tomorrow. Titmouse said, My parents will be very angry if they don't see the prepared food when they get up in the morning.

Oh, of course, I totally understand, the author said in the sweetest voice he could think of. Of course, you can take as many days as you need.

(Anthony flipped the book forward again, looked at the long poem, and confirmed that this was not a romance novel.)

The next day, the chickadee appeared next to the creek again.

I still need to prepare food for my parents tomorrow. Can you wait a little longer? Titmouse asked.

No problem, the author said.

The third day, the fourth day, the fifth day... On the seventh day, the author finally became impatient. He followed the tit invisibly and came to the tit's home, intending to kill the tit's parents so that they would not need food for tomorrow.

But what he saw shocked him: from the corner to the ceiling, there were all kinds of charms, bracelets and holy water to ward off evil spirits. A young man was waiting in the room. When he heard the sound of the door, he immediately raised his head, showing an expression of relief, and hugged the author's tits.

Oh my God, Titmouse, I've been worried about you. The young man said, You deceived your family and made the whole village leave, but what should you do? The devil will find out one day All of this.”

Don't be afraid, my tit. said tit. She let go of the man and looked at him carefully for a while. Why don't you leave?

How can you bear to say such things! The young man shouted, Because I love you, don't you know it yet? I'm not afraid of death. Death can't separate us, tit. If the devil really comes, I can - I can - I can at least grab his hair and bite his arm!

The tit - the lover - says, Shh, don't be so loud. I know, and I love you too.

The author felt dizzy. The word love hit him on the head, and he couldn't help but wonder if he had ever heard a more disgusting word.

(Anthony checked the dictionary again. At least in runes, love and lover are two words with no apparent connection.)

In the dizziness, the author appeared and said loudly: She is mine!

Screams rang out. With a crash, he was splashed with holy water. The author reached out and wiped his face. Whatever he was, he couldn't believe anyone would think this could work.

He turned his attention to the guy still holding the bucket. The young man was holding the bucket in his hand tightly, looking at the water dripping from the author's hair in bewilderment, as if expecting the author to melt like a slug when encountering salt.

The author takes a step forward.

No! the freckle-faced Muggle girl shouted loudly, rushed forward, held a gleaming kitchen knife in her hand, and stabbed the author into the chest. Before the author realized what happened, she grabbed the handle of the knife, twisted it hard, and said loudly: Go back to your hell!

You want to kill me? the author asked in disbelief and even a little funny, holding her wrist.

The woman struggled so hard that the author let her go. She pulled out the knife and slit the author's neck. Young men also took iron forks and pierced the author's side, or hit him on the back of the head.

The author felt a little impatient. A fish emerged from his windpipe. The author stuffed it back and touched his neck, but didn't feel anything was wrong.

He waved his hand, and the iron fork in the man's hand bent under the load, and the young man suddenly flew out and fell onto the pile of useless amulets.

The author turns to the woman, still holding the sharp knife, and warns: You are wearing down my patience, love.

I'm not your lover! the woman said, stabbing the author with a knife. I have my own lover! I also have parents and relatives who love me!

You don't understand what love is at all! the young man shouted, his dirty face seemed to suddenly light up, Love is not about what you want to get, but what you are willing to give up!

The author's chest suddenly hurt terribly, and then, no one understood what happened, his heart appeared in the woman's hands.

What about you, what are you willing to give up? the author mocked, and rip your heart out?

He was answered by the young man's determined thrust. He hung himself on the author's wizard's robe, bit the wizard fiercely, and dragged him away from the woman. With a tearing sound, the author's wizard robe was torn. The woman knelt on the ground and smashed his heart against the stone.

Finally, the author got angry. The angry author killed them, picked up his own heart, patted the sand on it, and stuffed it into his chest.

Perhaps because it's still collecting dust, the author sometimes feels that it doesn't work as well as it once did. It has become very lazy, no longer willing to pretend to be so knowledgeable and curious, and feels uncomfortable when faced with crying.

Later, according to a very small line of notes, the author was caught by a more upright wizard during a black market transaction. He knew all the wizards around him, but he didn't expect any of them to be willing to help him, and the fact was exactly as he expected.

Of course he had prepared an escape route. This was all normal, but he suddenly remembered that young Muggle whose name he didn't even know. He was so stupid that he threw himself on his wizard robe, opening his mouth to bite him. Order something. He thought about the Muggle girl, too, and then remembered that he still hadn't truly felt love.

Later one day, when the author once again thought about this abandoned experiment, he suddenly realized that he was only looking for a lover at first, not his lover. But because he never knew what love was like, he always silently found fault with the experimental products in his heart. When he finally vaguely smelled the fragrance of love, he killed the lovers.

“I agree, love is the most annoying thing in the world,” he wrote. “Cheers, death, to our collective failure.”

I hope there are no particularly outrageous questions - my head has stopped spinning, so I got up in the morning to edit the article.