HP: The Necromancer

After arranging Roberts's telephone interview, Anthony immediately began planning the additional knowledge that several students needed to master. While speaking to the students, he created a table with "What I Want to Say" on the left and "What I Should Say" on the right. This table helped students replace phrases like "St. Mungo's" with "a private hospital in London," "Gringotts" with "a private bank," and "Diagon Alley" with "a street near Charing Cross Road."

"Try to imagine that you don't have magic," Anthony said. "Imagine that you don't even know magic exists."

One student interjected, "You're asking me to imagine I don't exist, Professor."

Anthony considered this and smiled. "Fair point. Instead, imagine you're a master of deception, and think about the consequences of violating the Statute of Secrecy."

Anthony also managed to secure owl-keeping certificates for the Weasley twins.

Surprisingly, this was easier than he anticipated and didn't even require much fabrication. Professor Burbage explained that the Muggle Mediation Committee had been dealing with the "owl issue" for years. A comprehensive process for obtaining an owl-keeping certificate was already in place, and the committee encouraged any wizard interacting with Muggles to apply for one.

"Worried about your visitors calling the police for illegally keeping an owl?" their flyer read. "Tired of hiding your beloved owl? Don't want to pay us or the Obliviators another Galleon? No problem! Get your Owl-Keeping Permit now! Only sixteen Knuts!"

Anthony chuckled, saying, "I'd never heard of this before."

The owl on the flyer appeared perched on a dock like a seagull, with furled sails and a sandwich shop in the background, looking rather out of place. When Anthony poked it with his finger, it flapped away impatiently, while the other owls on the flyer watched him suspiciously.

"That's because most people don't interact with Muggles," Professor Burbage replied casually. "And most Muggles don't notice anything tied to an owl's leg. They'll say things like, 'Owls are always flying around' or 'That's probably a tracking band from the owl reserve.' Some can't even tell the difference between an owl and a pigeon."

Anthony reflected on his own twenty-six years of Muggle life. He rarely cared about the types of birds flying overhead, nor did he scrutinize whether the neighbor's bird was a parrot or an owl. Similarly, just as wizards often paid little attention to Muggles, Muggles didn't often notice wizards. Everyone, it seemed, was too caught up in their own lives.

After several days of work, Anthony finally found some free time. After handing over the final grades to Professor McGonagall, he walked with her to the staff lounge.

The lounge was bustling with activity. Anthony had never seen so many professors gathered there at once. Even Professor Kettleburn was present, having removed his prosthetic limbs and placed them on the table while discussing wood-related matters with Professor Sprout.

"Come look at this, Minerva... Ah, Professor Anthony!" exclaimed Professor Flitwick. "Is the pet adoption business over?"

"Not yet," Anthony replied, narrowly avoiding the goat-footed stool clattering around the room and attempting to grab his wizard robe. "The telephone interviews start tomorrow morning. The first one is with Mr. Roberts. I've booked a hotel room with a telephone nearby. I'll leave Hogwarts at 8:40. Once I can Apparate, I'll head there directly and spend some time setting up the phone. I really hope the weather won't be like this tomorrow."

He glanced nervously out the window.

The sky was heavy with dark clouds, and the furious wind hurled rain as large as beans across the grounds. Everything outside was shrouded in darkness, making it impossible to distinguish the mountains from the stormy sky. Occasional flashes of white-purple lightning illuminated the horizon, accompanied by rolling thunder echoing over Hogwarts.

It was, all in all, dreadful weather for a telephone interview.

"Sounds good," Professor Sprout offered politely, though her tone suggested she didn't fully grasp why the weather mattered.

Anthony and Professor Burbage exchanged a knowing smile, recognizing her bewilderment. Taking a box of refreshments from Professor Sprout, Anthony began selecting his favorites while the storm outside raged on.

Professor McGonagall turned her attention to the goat stool. "What is this, Filius?"

"One of the students mispronounced a spell during the end-of-term exams this year," said Professor Flitwick cheerfully. "I think he used a 'g' instead of a 'k,' which caused the furniture to turn into… well, this."

"Brilliant," said Professor McGonagall dryly, nudging the stool away as it tried to nibble on her sleeve. With a flick of her wand, she transfigured her own chair into a taller one, out of the stool's reach. The goat stool, unable to latch onto any fabric, circled the room forlornly.

"Have you had time to rest lately, Minerva?" asked Professor Sprout kindly, as Professor McGonagall poured herself a strong reddish-brown cup of tea.

Professor McGonagall sighed. "The students' grades are nearly finished, except for a few subjects. Please let me have their Divination marks by tomorrow afternoon, Sybill," she added, addressing Professor Trelawney, who was absent from the room. "But I have other matters to attend to as well."

"What's the matter?" asked Professor Burbage. "Has the Headmaster tasked you with finding yet another Defense Against the Dark Arts professor?"

"Oh no," Professor McGonagall replied. "Gryffindor has its last Quidditch match coming up."

When Snape strode into the lounge, pushing the door open with characteristic force, Anthony was playing Gobstones with Professor Flitwick. By chance, Anthony managed to win a stone from Flitwick, and the Gobstone sprayed its smelly, sticky liquid onto the diminutive professor's forehead.

"Oh! You won't be so lucky next time, Professor Anthony!" said Professor Flitwick with good humor, letting the slime drip down his face.

Professor Flitwick had been in an excellent mood recently, remaining unruffled even by some of the more baffling mistakes on students' exams. This was largely due to Roger Davies's recent progress.

After Professor Flitwick's visit to St. Mungo's, the healers there had taken Roger's condition very seriously. Several experts from the Department of Magical Injuries had come to the school hospital to consult with Madam Pomfrey, revising treatment plans multiple times. Recently, Roger had informed them that "the pain is much less severe now."

Standing in the doorway, Snape surveyed the scene with his usual expression of disdain. "Minerva, I only came to inform you that the results for Potions and Defense Against the Dark Arts have been finalized. But it seems I've arrived at an inopportune moment."

Professor McGonagall glanced up from her wizard chess match. "Thank you, Severus. Would you like a piece of cake?" she asked, directing her bishop to knock over an opponent's knight.

Snape opened his mouth as if to retort, but instead, he simply snorted, taking a seat in a corner chair. The goat stool immediately toddled over to chew on his robes.

"Busy week, Severus?" asked Professor Kettleburn, his prosthetic limb resting on the table.

"Oh, nothing unusual," said Snape with a scowl, his eyes narrowing at the box of refreshments that Anthony had levitated across the room. "Just some examination papers to mark."

"I'd like a slice of cream cake. Thank you, Pomona," said Professor Kettleburn as he took a hearty bite. "Three sets of exams are plenty for me. By the end of the next school year, I'll be retiring no matter what."

"Who will replace you then?" asked Professor Burbage, raising an eyebrow.

"I don't know. Albus always finds the right person," said Professor Kettleburn nonchalantly. "Speaking of which, has he found a Defense Against the Dark Arts professor yet?"

Professor Sprout interjected, "Severus, would you like a piece of cream cake too?"

She placed the cake in front of Snape without waiting for an answer. Snape stared at it for a moment, pressing the cherry into the soft white cream with his fork. His greasy hair hung on either side of his sallow face, which looked particularly gloomy, as though he were contemplating casting the Cruciatus Curse on the cake.

"Albus mentioned that the professor at Ilvermorny declined his offer," said Professor McGonagall, not looking up from her wizard chess game. "But Gilderoy Lockhart wrote back saying he'd be delighted to embark on a new adventure at Hogwarts."

"Lockhart?" Anthony asked. "The best-selling author?"

"That's the one," replied Professor McGonagall. "He graduated from Ravenclaw and was something of a celebrity even back in school."

Professor Burbage, seated across from her, sighed in relief and grabbed a handful of fudge.

Snape remarked darkly, "Yes, I remember his Valentine's stunts."

Professor Flitwick chuckled. "Ah, yes, he began those when you were still a student, Severus. Do you mean the time he received a million valentines?"

"And along with them, countless owl feathers and droppings," Snape added, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "He generously shared his joy with all of us, and we were all so grateful."

Professor Flitwick responded with a grin, "Fifty points from Ravenclaw for that, I'm sure."

"I've read his books," said Anthony. "They're quite well-written, but doesn't he prefer traveling the world and experiencing thrilling magical adventures? Would he really come to Hogwarts?"

Professor Burbage joked, "Well, we've had our share of thrills. If he'd been here this year, he could've written a book called Protecting the Philosopher's Stone with Trolls."

"I doubt he'll actually come, Henry," Professor McGonagall replied. "Albus has already reached out to several other candidates. Unfortunately, four have declined. One of the reasons they cited was the awkwardness of working alongside their former professors."

"Is that really so strange?" asked Professor Flitwick.

Snape raised an eyebrow and remarked dryly, "I wouldn't know."

"How are the students faring in Defense Against the Dark Arts, Severus?" Professor McGonagall asked. "I hope I won't be seeing a long list of Ps."

"I maintain my stance: they've learned nothing," Snape replied curtly. "The headmaster seems to agree, which is why he made the exam ludicrously easy. No, Minerva, you'll be seeing a long string of As."

"That's good, then," said Professor McGonagall with satisfaction, sipping her tea. "What about Potions? By the way, would you care for a game of wizard chess, Severus?"

"No, thank you," Snape replied. "As for Potions—it was a disaster, as usual. Out of sheer benevolence, I allowed Neville Longbottom from your house to scrape an A. I trust you won't complain about how I fail so many students, Minerva."

"It doesn't matter. Longbottom also got an A in Transfiguration," said Professor McGonagall. "I know he doesn't have much talent in academics, but he's improving." She sighed and then asked Professor Flitwick, "Have you seen Frank and Alice recently?"

Professor Flitwick's expression turned somber. "I have. It's still the same."

"Frank and Alice?" Anthony asked, puzzled.

"Mr. Longbottom's parents," explained Professor Sprout, her voice tinged with sadness. "They were both Aurors—wonderful people, kind and endlessly optimistic. They were tortured into insanity by Death Eaters."

Anthony's eyes widened in shock. "What?!"

Professor Sprout nodded sadly. "Yes, Mr. Neville Longbottom's parents are now in St. Mungo's. They endured prolonged Cruciatus Curses...and their minds couldn't withstand it."

"Bellatrix," said Professor McGonagall in a low, steady tone. "She is the one who reduced Alice and Frank to their current state. I hope she suffers endlessly in Azkaban."

Professor Burbage added bitterly, "She deserves the Dementor's Kiss. My aunt was killed by her... Bellatrix Lestrange is a complete lunatic who fanatically worships another lunatic."

Anthony asked cautiously, "Do you think there's a chance she could escape from Azkaban?" The idea worried him. Since Voldemort was not dead, it seemed plausible that his fanatical followers might attempt a prison break.

"That's impossible, Henry," said Professor Burbage firmly. "You don't understand what Azkaban is like. It's swarming with Dementors. No prisoner could escape with their sanity intact—though, truth be told, I doubt Bellatrix's sanity to begin with. Something's clearly wrong with her."

Professor Sprout nodded in agreement. "Azkaban is an impenetrable prison, Henry. It's never been known to fail."

"Well...okay," Anthony said, though still uneasy. "I mean, if something were to happen."

In truth, Anthony thought Azkaban seemed like one of the most escapable prisons in existence. The so-called Dementors had granted him passage out of the prison without much resistance. Reflecting on the possibility that he had unknowingly lived next door to a cruel murderer like Bellatrix, Anthony shuddered with relief at his habit of keeping his doors securely closed.

Professor McGonagall observed him silently for a moment. She sipped her tea and said nothing. Anthony met her gaze, offering her a smile, though his unease lingered.