HP: The Necromancer

Since his resurrection, Anthony has rarely experienced such violent emotional fluctuations. Blood with an unusually high temperature was rushing through his blood vessels, and his temples were beating like a ghost beating a drum inside.

He would burn the notebook, let the cat tear it into pieces, dissolve it with the most corrosive potions... He would throw it into the most neglected place, and let the moths eat its pages and binding. thread, until the note's weight comes from dust instead of paper and ink, and the brown shell that pretends to be harmless becomes black with age... He will discard it to death forever... Let the undead study necromancy. , he wants to be a peaceful living person...

He exhaled slowly.

"Are you okay, Henry?" Professor Sprout asked concerned.

"It's okay, don't worry, Pomona." Anthony gave her a reassuring smile, "I was just... a little scared."

That shouldn't be him either. The desire for destruction that struck every nerve in him should not be his.

"I know." Professor Sprout comforted, "Think about it, troll! The student was almost injured."

…

Anthony returned to the office and closed the door tightly. The box under his desk locked his notebook silently, waiting for him to open it as soon as he entered the door as he had done for the past month.

He took out his notebook. The familiar cover seemed suddenly unfamiliar, as if he was holding something disgusting, making him want to throw it away.

Just as it had seduced Anthony to open it in the library and persuaded him to practice it during his studies, so now it reeked unabashedly of death. This aura is especially repellent to the living once they realize how necromancy is shaping itself into its vehicle.

Now he finally knew why the notebook was in that corner...it was discarded. It waits quietly in an unnoticed corner, chuckling, because it clearly knows that there will be fools who will pick it up and be deeply attracted by the knowledge and power inside.

Yes, man is a creature that loves to unbox. Anthony thought helplessly.

"I don't resent you, nor am I afraid of you." He said to the unknown owner of the note.

He remembers who he is. Even though the magic in his body was screaming at him to discard or destroy the notebook, Anthony just held it and sat quietly. He didn't allow anything - not even his own surge of magic - to control him. He would never allow it.

"But I do feel a little angry," he added.

His cat jumped onto his lap and curled up. Anthony stroked its fur and scratched the base of its ears.

"So, confinement, Mr. Notebook...or Madam, whichever you like." Anthony put the notebook on the bottom shelf of the bookshelf. "I haven't punished a student since I became a professor. Well, but if you think about it carefully, you are actually the one my teacher."

He placed a sprig of mistletoe next to his notebook, a trick he learned from his notebooks. The branches, which show a golden color after drying, are believed to contain the magic of life.

…

Suddenly free, Anthony didn't know what he should do. He looked through his records from more than a month ago and remembered how he discovered the necromancer's notebook.

He is following Myrtle's death.

Only then did he suddenly realize how much he had missed by being obsessed with undead magic.

He forgot that a ghost who did not know the cause of his death still lived next door to him and cried in the bathroom from time to time; he ignored the caring and friendly smiles of his students, and only prepared the lesson plan step by step, opened the classroom door to teach; ignored the words of his colleagues Invited for afternoon tea, he did not bother to go to the auditorium to eat with everyone. Therefore, Professor Sprout walked through half the castle, knocked on the door of his office, and asked him worriedly if he had been under too much pressure recently...

"And you." He picked up the cat. "How long has it been since you drank white wine?"

The cat purred happily.

Anthony held his chest lightly. Once he calmed down, his heartbeat returned to a slow, weak beat. But he knew it was still beating regularly, like the heart of the living.

…

He went to the kitchen and ordered a bottle of wine.

"Remember, it was only when I was human that I thought of feeding the cat," he said to the skeleton cat.

He still figured out how to reveal the true form of the skeleton cat, not for anything else but to let it use soul fire to make wine. Last time he poured white wine into the cat's food bowl, but before the cat had time to drink it, the house elf who came to deliver the frog kindly replaced it with milk. He had no choice but to hold down the angry cat, thank the elf who looked at him expectantly, and received a few scratches afterwards.

The skeleton cat buried his head in drinking white wine and paid no attention to him.

"I know you like that notebook," Anthony said, "but no. You're here to remind me that I'm human."

The cat flicked its tail.

…

The moment Anthony stepped into the library, Mrs. Pince saw him.

"Professor Anthony." She nodded towards him, "Is everything okay? Long time no see."

"It couldn't be better." Anthony smiled.

Mrs. Pince said: "That's good, I was worried... Hey! You! Come here to register and borrow books!" She shouted to a student who wanted to slip away while they were chatting.

"Okay, okay," the student muttered, "as if anyone really cares. There are at least a hundred Healing Manuals here."

Mrs. Pince looked at him suspiciously: "Why did you borrow this book?"

"This is not a book in the restricted area." The student said impatiently, "My ambition is St. Mungo's. Now I want to learn how to heal my wounds, okay?"

"Okay. Remember to come back on time." Mrs. Pince handed the book to him. After watching him leave, she complained to Anthony again, "They scribbled on the book, splashed tea and pumpkin juice on the pages, and they were so willful. Tearing pages out of books... There's nothing a student can't do, Professor Anthony, you can't imagine. Every year we repair damaged books, and there are still some piled up in the backroom. And those authors, books for themselves With the curses and black magic attached, it is simply difficult to repair..."

She rattled on and on, from students to authors to publishers and Flourish and Blotts, then to professors and finally Dumbledore stopped four readers who wanted to eat in the library, and also caught a student who almost entered the restricted book area because he was lost.

Anthony had been standing in front of the front desk, shocked at how Mrs. Pince could clearly remember the information of so many students who had violated the rules. The students passing by looked at Anthony with such outspoken sympathy that Mrs. Pince noticed: "Thank you for listening to me, Professor. What book are you looking for?"

Anthony mused: "Well...it may be presumptuous, but do you remember all the students' names?"

"I dare say I at least remember all the students who broke the rules," Mrs. Pince said proudly. "So, yes, I remember all the students."

"Then do you know what Myrtle's full name is? That ghost on the second floor?"

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