Since his resurrection, Anthony had rarely experienced such intense emotional turbulence. Blood at an abnormal temperature surged through his veins. His temples throbbed as if a wraith were drumming inside them.
He wanted to burn that notebook, have his cat tear it to shreds, dissolve it with the most corrosive potions... He wanted to throw it to the most forsaken place, let bookworms devour its pages and binding until the notebook's weight came from dust rather than paper and ink, let the deceptively harmless brown cover blacken with age... He wanted to cast it forever into death... Let the dead study necromancy—he wanted to be an ordinary, safe living person...
He slowly exhaled.
"Are you alright, Henry?" Professor Sprout asked with concern.
"I'm fine, don't worry, Pomona." Anthony gave her a reassuring smile. "I'm just... a bit startled."
That shouldn't be him either. The destructive desire assaulting every nerve shouldn't be his.
"I know." Professor Sprout consoled. "Think about it—a troll! Students nearly got hurt."
...
After returning to his office, Anthony shut the door tightly. The box under his desk silently locked away the notebook, waiting for him to open it upon entering as he had for the past month.
He took out the notebook. The familiar cover suddenly seemed strange, as if he were holding something repulsive that he desperately wanted to fling away.
Just as it had enticed Anthony to open it in the library and urged him to practice during study, now it unabashedly emanated the aura of death. Once aware of how necromancy was shaping him into its vessel, this aura became particularly repugnant to the living.
Now he finally knew why this notebook had been placed in that corner... It had been abandoned. It waited quietly in that neglected corner, chuckling to itself, because it knew full well that some fool would pick it up and be deeply attracted to the knowledge and power within.
Yes, humans are creatures who love opening boxes. Anthony thought helplessly.
"I don't resent you, nor do I fear you." He said to the unknown notebook owner.
He remembered what kind of person he was. Even though the magic within him clamored for him to discard or destroy the notebook, Anthony simply held it and sat quietly. He wouldn't allow anything—even his own surging magic—to control him. He absolutely wouldn't allow it.
"But I am rather angry." He added.
His cat jumped onto his lap and curled into a ball. Anthony stroked its fur and scratched behind its ears.
"So, detention, Mr. Notebook... or Ms., whatever you prefer." Anthony placed the notebook on the lowest shelf. "I haven't punished any students since becoming a professor. Hmm, though thinking carefully, you're actually my teacher."
He placed a small sprig of mistletoe beside the notebook—a little trick he'd learned from the notebook itself. This branch, which showed golden hues when dried, was believed to contain the magic of life.
...
Suddenly idle, Anthony didn't know what he should do. He flipped through his records from over a month ago and remembered how he'd discovered the necromancer's notebook.
He'd been investigating Myrtle's death.
Only then did he realize with shock how much he'd missed while immersed in necromancy.
He'd forgotten that a ghost who didn't know her cause of death still lived next door, constantly weeping in the bathroom. He'd overlooked his students' caring, friendly smiles, merely preparing lesson plans mechanically and pushing open classroom doors to teach. He'd ignored colleagues' afternoon tea invitations, had no time to eat with everyone in the Great Hall—for which Professor Sprout had crossed half the castle to knock on his office door, worriedly asking if he'd been under too much stress lately...
"And you." He picked up his cat. "How long has it been since you had white wine?"
The cat purred happily.
Anthony gently pressed his chest. Once calm, his heartbeat became slow and faint again. But he knew it still beat regularly, like a living person's heart.
...
He went to the kitchen for a bottle of wine.
"Remember, only when I'm still human will I remember to feed the cat." He told the skeletal cat.
He'd figured out how to reveal the skeletal cat's true form—not for any other reason, but to let it heat wine with soul-fire. Last time he'd poured white wine into the cat's bowl, before it could finish drinking, a house-elf delivering frogs had kindly replaced it with milk. He'd had to hold down the angry cat, thank the elf who looked at him expectantly, and afterward received several scratches.
The skeletal cat buried its head in the white wine, completely ignoring him.
"I know you quite liked that notebook." Anthony said. "But no. You're here to remind me I'm human."
The cat flicked its tail.
...
The moment Anthony stepped into the library, Madam Pince saw him.
"Professor Anthony." She nodded at him. "Is everything alright? Haven't seen you in quite a while."
"Couldn't be better." Anthony smiled.
Madam Pince said, "That's good. I was worried... Hey! You! Come register your book!" She shouted at a student trying to slip away during their conversation.
"Alright, alright." The student muttered. "As if anyone really cares. There are at least a hundred copies of Healing Handbook here."
Madam Pince eyed him suspiciously. "What do you want this book for?"
"It's not from the Restricted Section." The student said impatiently. "My ambition is St. Mungo's. I want to learn healing now. Is that okay?"
"Fine. Remember to return it on time." Madam Pince handed him the book. After he left, she complained to Anthony, "They scribble all over books, spill tea and pumpkin juice on pages, willfully tear out pages... There's nothing students won't do, Professor Anthony—you can't imagine. Every year we must repair damaged books. The back storeroom is still piled with some. And those authors, attaching curses and Dark Magic to their books—they're simply impossible to repair..."
She rattled on about these people—from students to authors, then publishers and Flourish and Blotts, then professors ("Casually allowing students to borrow from the Restricted Section!"), and finally even Dumbledore didn't escape ("So many precious books—I really don't understand what he's thinking!"). In between, she stopped four readers trying to eat in the library and caught a student who'd nearly wandered into the Restricted Section while lost.
Anthony stood before the front desk the entire time, amazed at how Madam Pince could clearly remember so much information about rule-breaking students. Passing students looked at Anthony with such frank sympathy that even Madam Pince noticed. "Thank you for listening to me so long, Professor. Are you looking for a particular book?"
Anthony pondered. "Hmm... This may be presumptuous, but do you remember all students' names?"
"I dare say I at least remember all rule-breaking students." Madam Pince said proudly. "So yes, I remember all the students."
"Then do you know Myrtle's full name? That ghost on the second floor?"
~~~~❃❃~~~~~~~~❃❃~~~~
Read up to (30+ ) advanced chapters on Patre\on
Visit us here: patreon.com/GoldenLong
Happy reading, everyone!