Undead Magic Practice and Tea Break

Barnabas the Barmy, depicted on the tapestry, craned his neck to watch the disappearing door with curiosity. His less-than-graceful student raised a wooden stick, attempting to whack his ballet instructor.

Barnabas immediately turned his head and scolded them, questioning how they managed to hide sticks in their tutus.

By the time the troll finally dropped the stick at his feet, night had fallen over Hogwarts.

Had Barnabas been able to tear his attention away from the troll's ungainly skirt-tugging, he would have seen the door on the opposite wall reappear, and a man silently step out.

And if Barnabas had seen him, he would have struggled to describe the man. He wouldn't have noticed the short hair, the gentle face, or the strong hands. If pressed, Barnabas would have described him in terms of the night outside the window, because that's how he felt.

A night where some sleep and others prowl.

…

Anthony pondered. There were fascinating aspects to necromancy. He didn't fully understand the principles yet, but they responded readily to his call. Initially, he just wanted to understand what had happened to him, but he had stumbled upon even more mysteries.

He couldn't quite make sense of it, because according to the Necromantic Notes, he should have gone mad.

But his ability to maintain sanity likely had something to do with his practice location. Well, at least he thought he was sane. To test this, he had even completed a set of complex mathematical analysis problems in the Room of Requirement.

He understood why the Room of Requirement responded to him the way it did, why it was a safe haven, a place conducive to practicing magic – because it was the antithesis of his nightmares.

Unlike the flowing darkness in his dreams, everything within the solid white walls was still. The smooth surfaces allowed him to constantly confirm the reflection of his human form.

Amusingly, the Room of Requirement seemed perplexed by him, initially providing a ridiculously large space.

As Anthony pondered the significance of the room's size, the castle seemed to realize its mistake. The room began to shrink like a punctured balloon, until it reached what he considered a reasonable size.

Yet, the Room of Requirement still seemed convinced he was enormous. When he requested a target, a sandbag the size of a mountain troll materialized in the room.

The bear, who could hardly be called a Patronus, was having a blast batting around the sandbag.

...

Returning to his office, Anthony found the cat hadn't moved all day, still asleep on the pillow. Out of habit, he reached out to pet it, then frowned and touched it again.

The cat woke up groggily, grabbed his hand, and bit it mercilessly.

"Hiss," Anthony pushed its head away. "Don't bite. Are you getting warm?"

As if finally registering what was in its mouth, the cat released its teeth, stood up, and shook itself off. It brushed past his legs condescendingly, then jumped onto his chair and settled down.

Anthony checked his own temperature, then placed his hand under the cat's belly. "It's not my imagination, your body temperature has risen."

The cat flicked its tail in acknowledgment.

Anthony crouched down and rubbed its head. "Did you hear that? You're becoming more and more like a living cat. I'm not sure if that's a good thing or a bad thing."

The cat regarded him lazily and meowed.

Anthony sighed.

In a living cat, a drop in body temperature could be alarming. So for a deceased cat, could a gradual increase in warmth mean it was ill?

This worried him a little. More worryingly, he suspected this wasn't a problem a veterinarian could solve, and novice necromancers weren't known for their expertise in skeletal pet care.

"Could this be related to my practice this afternoon?" Anthony muttered.

His mumbling finally bored the cat. It placed its head on his hand, rubbing against it comfortingly.

Anthony scratched behind its ears. If it truly was connected to his practice, he'd never use necromancy again. He couldn't bear to lose the cat.

...

Due to the skeletal cat incident, Anthony went to the headmaster's office early the next morning. Since Dumbledore had encouraged him to seek his help when encountering problems, his first instinct when faced with a perplexing magical issue was to discuss it with the Headmaster.

But Dumbledore was absent. Anthony gave the password and encountered Professor McGonagall, looking rather stern, on the spiral staircase.

"What is it, Minerva?" Anthony asked.

Professor McGonagall was carrying a stack of documents, and her expression was grim. "Albus is away from the school."

"Where has he gone this time?" Anthony asked, surprised. To his knowledge, Dumbledore had been absent frequently last semester.

"A meeting, supposedly," Professor McGonagall replied. "I must say, he's had more meetings this school year than anticipated. What about you, Anthony? Why did you seek out Albus?"

Although Professor McGonagall knew his identity, Anthony found it difficult to discuss his skeletal cat and wrackspurt chicken with her. So far, Dumbledore was the only one willing to entertain such topics.

So he said, "A minor research matter."

Professor McGonagall nodded. "I understand." She glanced down at her documents and sighed. "Would you care to join me in the staffroom, Anthony? Since our Headmaster is such a busy man."

Anthony was slightly surprised. "Of course."

...

As they entered the staffroom, Professor Flitwick exclaimed, "Look who it is! Two busy professors!"

Professor McGonagall poured herself a cup of tea. "Don't pretend you're not busy, Filius. At least not in the presence of the overworked Deputy Headmistress."

"I wouldn't dream of it. You know, Minerva, I've been quite busy lately." Professor Flitwick said, glancing at Anthony. "Preparing some things."

Anthony asked playfully, "Does it have anything to do with me, Professor Flitwick?"

"Oh!" Professor Flitwick cried, "don't ruin the surprise, Professor Anthony!"

Anthony added a sugar cube to his tea. "I suppose I'm the only one out of the loop, then."

Professor McGonagall hid her face behind her teacup, her expression unreadable.

"You're very perceptive, Anthony," she said. "Please try to leave some room for mystery for your colleagues."

Anthony nodded. "Very well. Now that you mention it, I had no idea there was a celebration related to me on Monday morning."

....

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