Sandwich

Anthony took a deep breath and exhaled slowly.

He stared at the chandelier above him. It was odd that he'd never noticed its beauty before. This chandelier, along with his desk and chairs, had been crafted by the same master elf artisan. The intricate copper frame was adorned with delicate floral motifs, its curves flowing gracefully. Enchanted candles flickered within, never burning out, dripping wax, or extinguishing, their flames eternally bright.

Crystal beads hung from the chandelier's base, sparkling and translucent, like tiny stars clustered together, swaying gently.

Anthony pushed himself off the floor.

To avoid alarming Professor Quirrell, he had temporarily reattached his numb arm, but it felt as strange as if he'd stuffed bubblegum up his nose. He discarded the unfeeling limb, intending to deal with it later. He had more pressing matters.

He needed to see his cat.

.....

His cat was curled up on his pillow, head resting on its tail, fast asleep.

Anthony flopped onto the bed, looking at the cat. Its belly rose and fell with each breath, its fur quivering slightly. Anthony chuckled and reached out to scratch its head. "Meet your new friend."

The resentful little mouse huddled in the corner by the bedroom door, refusing to come closer. It pressed itself against the wastebasket like a small, stuffed toy.

The cat paid it no mind.

Anthony nudged the feline. "Come on, get up. Aren't you usually running around at this hour?"

The cat remained motionless.

It was then that Anthony finally realized something was amiss. He rolled over and sat up, lifting the cat onto his lap. It was still deeply asleep, breathing evenly. It felt like a living, breathing, warm kitten.

It was like a living ginger cat that simply wouldn't wake up.

"Oh god, no," Anthony muttered, and began trying various methods to rouse it. He attempted to revert it to its skeletal form, but nothing happened. He opened the window for fresh air, even brought in a basin of water, pretending to give it a bath.

The cat slept on.

In desperation, he tried to control the cat directly, as he did with the bones—a terrible idea. The cat's eyes snapped open, and it took a few hesitant steps under his command, tilting its head and looking at Anthony in confusion.

He immediately released the magic, taking a deep breath to steady himself. This wasn't his cat.

The cat's eyelids drooped, and it returned to its slumber.

This wasn't the grumpy, finicky feline that only tolerated his presence. This wasn't the cat that loved to roam but hated being seen by the living. This wasn't the cat that could shred furniture to splinters in a fit of pique. This wasn't his first summon, his constant companion since he'd clawed his way out of the grave, watching over him through countless sleepless nights.

The magic that kept it animated flickered weakly. He had overexerted his necromantic powers today, and the skeletal cat, his first summon and the one with whom he shared the most magic, had been affected.

"No," Anthony whispered. He finally understood why the basilisk's soul had such a profound impact on him and why his cat had stopped assisting him.

His cat was alive—or undead, depending on one's perspective. Gods, couldn't people invent a better word to describe this state?

If it were still just a skeletal cat, he knew what to do. Repairing bones was something he had experience with. But now, flesh and blood clung stubbornly to those bones.

He cradled the cat, desperately searching for a solution. He knew how to summon it back if it were pulled back into death, but he had no idea how to pray for life to return to his undead cat.

This wasn't fair. There were so many living cats in the world. Cats of all colors, personalities, sizes, ages, and appearances. All kinds of cats, living vibrantly, basking in the sun or lurking in the shadows. But he only had one undead cat, one he didn't have to worry about being devoured by his nightmares.

Why shouldn't this one survive?

.....

Anthony, clutching the cat tightly, hurried back upstairs. An idea had struck him, a possible solution, or at least, a glimmer of hope.

During a conversation about resurrection, his notes mentioned a theory – not about reviving skeletal pets, but about using the magic of returning people to life.

But if he reversed the process,

Anthony burst back into the Room of Requirement.

The long, slippery passage, the damp, dark tunnels, the sound of his own frantic footsteps. The massive snakeskin, the scattered bones, and – most importantly, his goal – the eerie green glow of the basilisk's corpse in the dimly lit, pillar-filled chamber.

"Okay, good." Anthony whispered, hugging the cat closer.

Magic pulsed in the air. The basilisk's corpse remained still on the ground, a formidable giant, yet hollow. It felt like knocking on it would produce a tinny, drum-like sound. The strange, bony essence. Anthony had extracted it – and the skeletal cat's bones began to emit a crystalline light.

"Come on, kitty," he murmured.

The soul belonged to death, the flesh and blood to life, and the bones to the necromancer caught between. He had a powerful desire.

If an undead cat fell into slumber because it contained too much life—because its summoner had overexerted their necromantic powers—what was the summoner to do?

The simple answer was to infuse it with more necromancy.

This was how Inferi were created. The byproducts of those resurrection experiments were infused with immense necromantic energy. Their souls were trapped by Death, refusing to yield even a sliver. Yet, under the influence of necromancy, the life in their flesh and blood was suppressed, and the lingering consciousness within their bodies could still control them.

Necromancy seemed to treat everything living as a sandwich, according to the notes. The usual way to consume a sandwich – the most common way to die – was to bite into it, mixing the bread with the filling. But with magic involved, well, it got complicated. Some spells stripped away the top layer, some ate the lettuce first, some magic avoided the egg in the middle, and some devoured the tomato and bread, saving the ham for last.

In essence, the notes suggested that the necromancer was the one in control of the sandwich. Anthony was now attempting to add something extra to his cat, to restore the flavor of this little sandwich.

The cat's body temperature dropped rapidly, its breathing slowed. The echo of dripping water filled the tunnel, and its ears twitched. Then its eyes opened.

Anthony stared. The cat looked at his empty arms in displeasure, then clawed its way up his shoulder.

Anthony lowered his head, letting the cat settle, and breathed a sigh of relief.

..........

Here's a breakdown of the situation, incorporating the metaphor of a sandwich:

The Sandwich Analogy

Bread (Flesh and Blood): Represents the physical, tangible aspects of life - breathing, heartbeat, warmth, etc. In death, it's left behind to decompose or be consumed, contributing to new life.

Filling (Bones): Represents the in-between state. It's physical, touchable by the living, yet also connected to death. Necromancers have a special affinity for this part.

Nothingness (Soul): The intangible essence that departs upon death. It's beyond the physical world, held by Death.

The Cat's Situation

Originally Undead: The cat was primarily "bones" (necromantic energy), with some "bread" (flesh and blood) due to the potion. It was undead, existing due to Anthony's magic.

Overexposure to Necromancy: Anthony's extensive use of necromancy caused an imbalance. The cat's "bones" (necromantic energy) were overwhelmed, and the "bread" (life aspects) became dominant.'

Result: Living Dead: The cat is now more alive than dead. It has life functions (warmth, breathing), but its soul is still held by Death. It's in a liminal state.

Anthony's Challenge

Restoring Balance: To return the cat to its undead state, Anthony needs to reassert the dominance of "bones" (necromancy) over "bread" (life).

Ethical Dilemma: Bringing back full death might mean sacrificing the cat's newfound life-like qualities.

....

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