The Pacifist Necromancer of Hogwarts

Anthony listened quietly to Barrow's story about his life, about his mentor, the homely Hogwarts, and Helena Ravenclaw, whose beauty and elegance took his breath away. His unforgettable and crazy way of showing love, and a tragic ending.

Perhaps because he had only met Anthony, a necromancer, for so many years, Barrow almost couldn't help but pour these stories to Anthony, like a breaking wave.

In a hollow and hoarse voice, he talked about how he lost his mind, how when he came back to his senses, he felt the warm blood splashing on his body being slowly cooled by the breeze in the forest, how he couldn't believe what he had done, Holding the body in regret, how he frantically tried to wake Helena - just as he had seen Anthony hurrying up the stairs with his cat in his arms, a mad fire in his eyes. It was at that moment that Barrow knew for sure that he had encountered the Necromancer, the kind of determined madness he was very familiar with.

He described his haggardness and told how he was so heartbroken that he decided to abandon his undead magic - because it was originally the study of magic that spans life and death. If he was completely unable to make up for his mistakes, what use would such magic be - For the first time, I deeply understand why necromancy is called Death's toy.

Why? Bloody Barro asked softly with jealousy, Why are you also an apprentice, but why are you favored by the God of Death? Why did it allow you to resurrect that cat? His hands trembled slightly due to suppressed excitement, and the shackles issued The sound of tinkling.

Anthony shook his head: That's not resurrection... You are a necromancer, can't you see that? My cat has no soul.

When a person says I want a sandwich, he does not mean I want bread, I want tomato or I want chicken, but a complete and well-behaved sandwich, everything must follow the rules Arranged.

Similarly, when a person says I want her to live, what he is begging for is not living in any part, but the consciousness, soul, body, and everything else, to wake up lively.

Anthony never kept live cats. He is not greedy. Whether it is a cat or a chicken, they are all things that the necromancer is most familiar with, such as consciousness or desire... Living things may die, and only dead things make him feel safe. They share the secret of death with him. , souls rooted together in the land of death.

Bloody Barrow said hoarsely: I am no longer a necromancer, can't you see that?

Anthony looked at him doubtfully... As the only existing necromancer, he really didn't know how to tell whether someone was a necromancer.

I'm a ghost, Barrow said.

Anthony looked at his milky transparent body and the silver blood that dried on his robe, and nodded: Yes.

…

Bloody Balor became a ghost after abandoning necromancy.

In order to explore the secrets of death, necromancers are the group of people closest to death... They take the initiative to detain their souls from death to ensure that they are in a half-dead state at all times, in exchange for quite terrifying magic.

If it's not presumptuous, Mr. Barrow, I have always had a question. Anthony said, Why did the necromancers become extinct?

Barrow laughed hollowly and hissed, Because we are destroying ourselves.

The weak died of witch hunting, the powerful died of themselves. Some necromancers are so weak that they can even be burned to death on the stake. They smell like burnt flesh like the corpses they tried to play with on the campfire. Powerful necromancers usually trade their souls step by step. , sliding uncontrollably into the dark and deep abyss.

There are also some necromancers who maintain that delicate balance and carefully pass on necromancy magic to their students. However, when the wizarding world gradually separates from the Muggle world, this skill requires a lot of raw materials and should not be easily revealed to people. The magic before him faded.

However, due to the special nature of spellcasting, even if they are also wizards, the wizard society - quite understandably - very much excludes necromancers. At the same time, as other magics flourished, wizards had other, simpler ways to achieve their goals, and no longer needed the undead magic that was highly intimidating to Muggles.

So I'm really the only one alive... Anthony murmured.

I guess so. Bloody Barro said hoarsely, What's your name?

Henry, said Anthony. Henry Anthony.

Then, listen up, Anthony. Bloody Barro floated up and said condescendingly, his shackles falling long on the student's test parchment, This is a loser talking to you. Don't leave me. road.

He nodded to Anthony and drifted away with his eyes straight.

…

It's already getting light. The stars faded, the pale white moon hung beside the mountain on the west side, and the chirping of birds came from the Forbidden Forest. Anthony exhaled and picked up his arm.

Black blood flowed sluggishly in his arms. In order to prevent the beating heart from pumping poisonous blood to every part of the body, Anthony simply drained the blood in this arm before putting it back on his body.

The blood flowed hesitantly into the dry blood vessels, slowly connecting it to the torso. Anthony leaned back in his chair and raised his hands to cover his eyes, feeling for the first time that he was anemic.

The early morning sunlight penetrated into his office through the window, passed through the cat climbing frame, flowed across the ground where an arm once lay, climbed up to the office table where Bloody Barro's chain once passed, and finally shone on the person after this long night. The torn wizard robe fell on Anthony.

Antony opened his eyes, pulled out his parchment and quill, and began writing a note. Like a good employee should do, he needed to tell Dumbledore all this. At the same time, like a good colleague, he was going to notify Snape to collect his potion ingredients.

After all this, he wished he could take a hot bath and come back to make himself a pot of hot tea.

After that, he needed to see how the cat and mouse got along. He whispered to himself, running away won't solve the problem, Anthony.

The good news is that in addition to his necromancy, his spells are also always good. He figured he'd get plenty of practice today to get it cleaned up and restored.

He glanced out the window. The lawn in February is still yellow, but there are already sporadic green shoots sprouting. In the distant mountains, the ice and snow melt, and everything is quietly waiting for spring.

Anthony smiled slightly and heard the cat smash his bedside table against the wall.