The Pacifist Necromancer of Hogwarts

Written at the front: A long-winded personal attack came and I was tired of being scolded, so I brought the story I originally planned to write later to the front to explain. Just let me tell you about Anthony's strange calmness and calmness in the first few chapters.

But obviously I can't have Anthony and Snape discussing student education and childhood trauma in the cellar, and then have Anthony return to the office and start dreaming about teenage things late at night... This is too irresponsible. Therefore, considering the reading experience, this chapter has become a side chapter (face covering) and because this side chapter is quite long (for my poor hand speed), I may be paralyzed for a day after writing it orz

I apologize to everyone who doesn't want to watch the extra. I'm not in a good state and can only write the extra. If you don't want to watch it, just think I stopped updating it today. Orz, the main plot will still reveal the story of Anthony's resurrection bit by bit.

--Dividing line--

Mr. Wright is the happiest man in the world. He has always believed so.

Of course, his happiness has a source: he is a good person.

Even if the family has ordered newspapers, every time he sees the newspaper boys on the road, he will still call the poor children and get another newspaper from their hands.

He goes to church every week, never fails to pray before meals, and kneels beside the bed before going to bed, not only for himself, but also for his dear wife, lovely son and daughter, and for the millions of people in the world who are still there. People who suffered - not that he really knew who these people were.

He also has a passion for helping people in his community. Of course, it has something to do with his job - but there's no denying that there's no one better suited for the job. No matter what happened to anyone's family, he would be among the first to know. Alas, in this indifferent world, there are not many enthusiastic people like him.

Honey, you can't imagine what kind of day I've had. His wife took off his coat for him, and he stuffed himself into the sofa, huffing.

What's the matter? Mrs. Wright asked half-heartedly, eyeing a thread in the seam of her suit.

Do you remember that boy named Henry? The one who lived down the street?

Henry Anthony, right? The nerdy guy who used to live with old Anthony and his wife?

He has done a great job! Mr. Wright announced happily. He saved a nobleman's daughter who fell into the water. A team of carriages was sent over there to take him back! Carriage, this is rare! I also received a copy Notification, Your Excellency has allocated a large sum of money to allow us to bury him properly...

Bury! Mrs. Wright raised her head in surprise, You're saying he's dead!

Mr. Wright was very satisfied with the reaction caused by his narrative and nodded proudly: Yes, so now our community has a life-saving hero, got a lot of money, and an extra empty house. I must say, that Henry This time I finally did something good.

His wife glanced at him angrily: Shh, don't say that! We should mourn for that young man. But there was a smile on her face, I guess you are very busy today?

Of course, of course, said Mr. Wright. It would be great to have lamb stew tonight, dear... I think I can smell it. Oh, sure enough! You are an angel! Where is our baby? ?”

They're upstairs, I'll tell them to come down. Mrs. Wright said, kissed the side of Mr. Wright's face, and went upstairs to call their son and daughter.

Mr. Wright moved himself to the table and sat down, contented.

…

According to the nobleman's instructions, they customized the best coffin for Anthony and arranged a grand funeral.

The young man had perhaps two or three friends, and they were all present in grief. According to them, they had not had contact with Henry for a long time, but it was still shocking to hear the news of his passing.

In addition, there were five or six friends present. They all said that they were very busy, but after hearing that he died trying to save the nobleman's daughter, they all became close friends who would take time off to attend the funeral no matter how busy they were. Friends.

Disappointingly, the nobleman was not present.

Such a beautiful coffin - and flowers. In this weather, it would take a lot of effort to find flowers that can cover the ground. This place is so beautiful that it could be used as a wedding venue...as long as the big wooden box at the back is not a coffin, but a mosaic window from the church.

Even the priest is ready-made.

Mr. Wright looked with some regret at the wasted decoration.

But no matter what, from now on, a hero lies buried in this cemetery. No matter where you are, it's always good to have a hero. Taking care of tombstones and tidying up the cemetery all require those shiny silver or paper gadgets, and multiple dead good people will give you one more reason...

Mr. Wright thought slowly. The priest was still talking about his... Oh, no, Mr. Wright is a devout believer. He crossed himself on his chest and lowered his head sadly.

…

Mr. Wright is a busy man, and everything has to be arranged by him. Without him, people simply don't know how to live.

I think we should organize an event, Mr. Wright announced.

Activity, sir?

Mr. Wright nodded: Yeah, it's a rare holiday, and men and women will want to go out and get together... The weather is getting warmer. It's such a good day. This is a planning book written by my nephew, take a look.

He stroked his mustache with satisfaction. He had just trimmed them carefully when he went out in the morning. It's so frustrating that no one notices how awesome they are... tasteless guys...

Of course, of course. But there is a small problem, sir, we need funds...

Funding? He frowned, Isn't the budget enough? Let's see... He took back the planning book and looked through it, smacking his lips, Oh, young man. I want to do the best in everything. This, tables, chairs and benches Can it be removed? Walking in nature is not better than sitting all the time? Here, why do you need to rent a venue? I think the cemetery to the west of us is good.

Okay...tables and chairs...ok...cemetery... The pen rustled and he wrote quickly on the notebook.

Mr. Wright nodded with satisfaction. The problem is solved. He has always been good at solving problems. Without people like him, the world would have been in chaos.

…

Today is a rare good weather day. The breeze was gentle, the early spring sun was quite warm, and the lawn in the cemetery was neatly tended.

Mrs. Wright filled three picnic baskets to the brim, wore the goose-yellow skirt she wore when she and Mr. Wright met, and walked in the woods next to the cemetery on Mr. Wright’s arm: “Be a good child and don’t run crazy! Come, little darling, take mother's hand! Good boy, hold your sister.

Mr. Wright and his family are as happy as every day in the past.

Whenever someone greeted him with envy and respect, he nodded reservedly. How well he organized this event. How beautiful his wife is. How well-behaved his children are.

It's really nice here. Mrs. Wright chose an open space and spread out a red and white plaid picnic cloth. The washed fruits sparkle in the sun.

Honey, I'm going to smoke a cigarette. Mr. Wright said looking at his busy wife.

Mrs. Wright sighed and smiled: Go ahead, Mr. Wright.

I love you too, Mrs. Wright. Mr. Wright bowed pretending to be serious and gave Mrs. Wright a fake hand kiss, making her giggle before walking out of the woods.

He shook out the cigarette but did not light it. He just wanted to go out for a walk...see how the activities he organized and managed were going, and appreciate the results.

That's great. There are people picnicking everywhere... Oh, why is that young man looking so sad again? Mr. Wright didn't force him to participate in activities. He only gave suggestions--but his suggestions were always spot-on.

He frowned slightly and glanced at those people who were not happy enough.

For example, that couple actually had a quarrel... Oh my god, their child was crying again. Didn't anyone take care of it? Why are they still quarreling?

There must be enthusiastic people like Mr. Wright in this world. He immediately walked over and asked the little boy majestically: Why are you crying?

The boy cried sharply and shouted: I need to pee! Mom, Mom, I need to pee!

Then go and spread it! Mr. Wright frowned at his impolite choice of words.

I can't find the toilet! he cried.

Mr. Wright waved his hand distractedly: Just find a place where people can't see you!

The boy stopped crying, climbed up, and ran to a place where Mr. Wright could not see him. His parents still blame each other for forgetting to bring a picnic blanket.

Fortunately, Mrs. Wright always takes care of everything in order... Mr. Wright thought with satisfaction, staying away from the resentful couple.

…

The boy ran around and couldn't find a place where no one was. He originally wanted to find a tree, but there were one or even several families sitting on each empty space, and someone could always see him.

He was so anxious that he pouted and looked around, and suddenly found that there was no one around the square or cross-shaped stones. He ran over happily and began to enjoy the happiest time of the day.

Just as he was singing along with the sound of water, he suddenly found that a stone in the outermost row had moved. It's so strange. How can the stone move? Aren’t all stones dead? The stone seemed to want to jump out, and the mound of soil in front of it was shaking.

He put on his pants and ran back: Dad! Mom! Can the stone move?

His parents were still arguing, but curiosity burned in his chest to ask someone...and then he saw the kind gentleman, Mr. Light.

Mr. Wright! Mr. Wright! he ran over and shouted.

Mr. Wright took a deep breath: What's the matter, kid?

Do rocks move?

Of course not, said Mr. Wright. If it moved, it must be because something else moved it.

The boy pointed to the cemetery in the distance and shouted: But there is a moving stone over there!

That's nonsense, said Mr. Wright.

By this time the couple had stopped arguing and started looking for where their son was. Mr. Wright said: Go ahead, your parents are looking for you.

The boy used the question Why does the stone move? to pester the person he should pester. Mr. Wright really wants to find a place to smoke now... The cemetery does look like a nice place, quiet and quiet with no one to disturb...

He walked that way.

…

The thing opened its eyes. Or, if we take it personally, he opened his eyes.

He can't quite be called a person; a more accurate description would be corpse or dead man. The body was placed in a very beautiful coffin, but that's not why it was so well preserved. As people know, no matter what the method of death is, in the end it is just returning molecules to molecules, atoms to atoms, and finally disintegrating into something that is not suitable for description.

There are three very important factors why he still looks like a human being. One, he wasn't cremated; two, he wasn't dead long enough; and three, yes, there was a bit of magic involved. All three factors are important, but one seems a bit strange.

But that's what happened. A bit of magic was involved, and the body, still intact, opened its eyes and found itself lying next to a pile of dried flowers.

He didn't feel anything about the dried flowers, but he felt uncomfortable. He would frown if he could remember how to frown.

What is this squeezing feeling called... Yes, restraint, this skin is very restrictive... He needs more space, more space... There is something burning in his throat, not this skin's throat , is his real throat... He needs to eat something, anything...

There were many bodies and bones in the distance, he could feel them. But no, he was too hungry to call them up to grab food...

Something was dangling above his head, and there was a dull vibration of dong dong dong. The corpse stared at the coffin board. The sound of water in the distance, and then the thing was gone. And then—it could be the next second, it could be the next century—something else comes. Bigger and more fragrant.

Like a loaf of bread, he thought, even though he had forgotten what it was.

The corpse opened its mouth. It was just a kind of intuition and instinct. The thing inside the corpse felt that the thing should taste good. And it's very big, which is very important, so that after eating, he can have a bigger space to... do whatever he wants, stretch or something like that, if he has a waist.

But first, he needs to have access to that tempting (corpse-baiting?) thing. He needed to get out, wherever, but not here.

He remembered that the world should be bright.

Just such a thought made his world light up. Sawdust flew everywhere, soil splashed everywhere, and the long loaf of bread sat on the ground, looking at him in horror.

While all this was happening, Mr. Wright had only one thought in his mind. He shouldn't be cheap and save an inch of board thickness. He is now willing to add a silver casing at his own expense.

…

The contents of the corpse turned its attention to the obese man.

The mustache was trembling violently. The man was sitting on the ground unable to move. His mouth was open but he didn't shout anything. He was frozen in a funny posture of half-sneeze. A large amount of sweat flowed from his forehead. You'd be surprised how much water he has in his body. Just by looking at it, one would think it would melt into a sizzling puddle of grease like butter on a hot pan.

But the thing inside the body - it's too cumbersome to call him that, let's call him Anthony, after all, it is the first name he can think of - it is not the outer shell that Anthony cares about. There is something very sweet in this watery butter, falsely sweet, but at least very sweet... If Anthony still remembers human language, he will say that it smells like happiness in a garbage TV series.

That was enough to attract him.

Anthony walked over...or rather he threw his leg over. He thought about it for a moment and then rolled over.

Ah——! This time the man shouted, Anthony! I'm sorry, I'm sorry...I, I shouldn't... He thought hard and couldn't think of what he shouldn't do. Anthony's head was fixed in front of him, looking at him quietly, as if expecting an answer.

Then the answer came like a revelation.

I shouldn't have organized this Easter event! I shouldn't have forgotten to visit your grave! I shouldn't have stopped the community from collecting donations for your grandfather's illness! I shouldn't have delayed informing you that Mrs. Anthony was critically ill! Mr. Wright shouted, I shouldn't have pretended that you didn't have any difficulties when you were applying for financial aid! I shouldn't have talked about you behind your back!

Anthony deadpanned. He didn't know what the mouth in front of him was shouting, but the sweet smell was gradually changing... Maybe it was best not to let him continue shouting, before he fully repented, while he was complacent about his happiness... let him Be Anthony’s dessert…

Dad! Mr. Wright's daughter shouted from far away in the woods, Dad, if you don't come over, we will eat all the brownies!

Her voice flew out happily like a bird and landed on the tip of Anthony's and Mr. Wright's confronting noses. I don’t know why, even though there were dozens of rows of tombstones and countless chirping families, both Anthony and Mr. Wright still heard her happy shouts.

His son ran over directly: Dad, mom is calling you - His voice stopped abruptly.

Anthony looked at the little thing in front of him. He is small and exudes a different kind of sweetness. A more pleasant sweet smell. Anthony rolled over.

No! Please, Anthony, I'm sorry, I'm sorry! Mr. Wright shouted, still frozen on the ground unable to move. He doesn't smell sweet at all now...it's a bit pungent and makes my nose itchy. If Anthony can recall, this taste is called spicy.

Anthony's hand crept over and touched Mr. Wright, then his son.

This one is bigger, this one is smaller. Choose the larger one. His simple mind decided so.

So he stared at the big one intently. The pungent taste is getting stronger and stronger, and there is actually a hint of sweetness in the spiciness. It smells better than before, better than anything else.

Yes, yes, choose me... Mr. Wright burst into tears and trembled weakly. Then he took a deep breath and commanded gently and commandingly: Son, little darling, close your eyes.

Dad? his son asked doubtfully.

Anthony tore the delicious mass out of the shell and stuffed it down his throat.

Mr. Wright's embarrassed body trembled, and he let out a surprised Oh, as if he didn't expect that he did it so neatly, and then he collapsed on the ground like a sack filled with cement.

His son, without closing his eyes, still shouted in confusion: Dad? He didn't believe that he really saw a broken man playing games with his father. This must be a kind of magic. The next second, a dove will fly out from behind Dad.

Something sweet burned in Anthony's throat. It was delicious—and then he remembered.

This tastes like lemon cake.

The simplest lemon cake, the first cake he had ever eaten... His grandmother baked it for him, and she took it out proudly and carefully in her apron and printed oven mitts... It was Anthony's seventh birthday that day. , Grandpa lit the candle...

Memories flooded into my brain, which had been dry for more than a month.

His grandfather looked at him with helplessness and guilt, watching him dig out the hidden medical records... He had always been good at this. When he was a child, he often helped his grandmother dig out the tobacco hidden by his grandfather... He was really glad that he was so good at digging out the tobacco. Looking for it, but would rather not find it...

He buried his face in his grandmother's quilt. Her withered hands could no longer pat his head gently...but he could still smell her. Among the disinfectants, potions and various strange smells, there was a trace A very light smell, a smell that reassured him... She smelled like she was still alive, and a part of her was always alive...

He vomited violently.

He - he can't - he's human - he can't -

It's like the world has turned inside out, everything is twisting and trying to find its place.

The chaotic creatures were running around in confusion, except for a vomiting young man, standing intact on the cemetery. He was almost unable to stand due to vomiting, so he reached out and grabbed randomly among the mess, trying to grab an armrest or a cane - but he found a bone.

With his touch, the bone stabilized. The next second, he found that he was holding a bone tail and a skeleton cat.

Yes, a cat... He has always wanted a cat... His grandmother would give him a woolen hat with a cat on it, and his grandfather would buy porcelain with cat patterns as his special tableware. The cat's plate cost twopence more than the unpainted one.

The skeleton cat's eyes suddenly burned with two balls of soul fire. It gave Anthony a paw in dissatisfaction, jumped to the ground nimbly, then jumped into his arms without running, and curled up like a real cat.

Anthony stood up straight. He controls his body - no, he doesn't want to devour anyone's soul, nor does he want to occupy anyone's body - he is a human being, and this will never change.

He didn't know what was happening, but he knew he shouldn't have let it happen. Maybe one day he'll understand where all this confusion comes from. Yes, he would figure it out, but now—

Grandma’s lemon cake, Grandpa’s candles. The aroma and firelight lingered warmly and long in his throat, eyes, and mind.

Mr. Wright gasped sharply and woke up. Even though there were no pigeons, his son still stood up and applauded.

The soil was piled in front of the tombstone that read Henry Anthony, and the young grass that had just sprouted came out of it. There are no more broken pieces of wood on the ground, so it can be assumed that there is an intact (one inch less thick than originally intended) luxurious coffin in the mound.

Only now it's an empty tomb.

Anthony watched Mr. Wright cry and hold his child tightly, promising him game consoles, toy airplanes, toy cars and many other things.

And Mr. Wright's son shouted: Dad, we've been calling you for a long time! It's time to eat brownies!

Magic was puzzled to find Anthony's heart beating again. The blood started flowing again, dripping from the cat's scratches. He became... became... like a living person.

I am a human being. My name is Henry Anthony, I am 26 years old. I am - always have been - always - human.

I'm sorry. His voice had not been used for many days, and his voice was as light as a violin without rosin.

Mr. Wright held his son and shook his head, not sure if he heard him. Anthony took it as tacit forgiveness.

And, you're a bastard, but I forgive you. Anthony said again.

The corpse hugged the skeleton cat tightly and slowly walked forward. With all his common sense, he needed to move.

I would like to thank the person who gave the reward and present the lemon cake: (in chronological order)

Book friend 20230723081226533 (2 points), book friend 20230414200929886 (100 points), book friend 20221227181148244 (100 points), solidity in blessing (100 points), Yuan Baozhen (8 points), Ye Ling Yang plus (100 points) , White Dove (6 points), Jalen (100 points), Silent Apostle (500 points), Meow Woof No. 2 (500 points), neil0reikes (100 points), Frog Twelve (100 points), Book Friends 20230804021050251 (2 points), Lao Yu (500 points), split124 (100 points)

--Dividing line--

A provincial version: Anthony climbed out of the coffin and found that he could either be a human or eat a human, so he chose to be human