For Harry, it was a battle not of spells but of spirit.
A fight between morality and mortality.
On one side stood morality—his heart whispering that necromancy was wrong, that it twisted death, that only villains ever reached for such power. On the other side was mortality—his memory of the apprentice's glowing blue eyes, of skeletal blades biting into his armor, of how close he had come to death.
And that was just a dungeon echo. Not even the real apprentice.
If he couldn't survive a shadow… how could he ever survive the real world?
The conflict chewed at him day and night, and the unopened Necromancer's Grimoire weighed heavier in his inventory than any blade.
In the end, it wasn't the grimoire that gave him the answer. It was Teozad Umbra.
Harry arrived at No. 9 Privet Drive as he often did—groceries in hand, smile carefully in place. Teozad welcomed him inside with his usual dry wit, and Harry sat at the kitchen table while the old man spun tales of forgotten kings, ancient wars that had reshaped the world.
Harry always listened, fascinated, drinking in every word. The man was a library disguised as a person.
And then, casually, while peeling a potato with a knife, Harry asked:
"What if you had two options… either take a bad power and grow strong, or don't take it, and stay weak?"
Teozad paused. For a moment, his pale eyes seemed to cut straight through Harry, weighing him, measuring him. Then he spoke, voice quiet but sharp as steel:
"There is no bad power. There are only bad men who use it. Power is just that—power. What matters is the hand that wields it, and the will that directs it."
He set the potato down and looked directly at Harry.
"Light or dark, life or death—it's not the spell that defines you. It's you."
The words sank deep into Harry's mind, burning brighter than any fireball.
There was no bad power.
Just bad choices.
If necromancy could make him stronger, then maybe—just maybe—it wasn't a curse at all. It was an opportunity. A tool.
Harry left Grandpa Theo's house with his heart pounding and his hands trembling, but his mind was clearer than it had ever been.
The conflict that had gnawed at him for days had finally broken.
He knew what he had to do.
[Quest Decision Made: Embrace the
Grimoire]
Objective Updated: Learn the basics of Necromancy.
Note: Your choices will shape your reputation in the magical world.
Harry had come to a strange realization. Maybe Grandpa Theo wasn't a bad person.
For weeks—no, months—Harry had looked at him with suspicion, solely because of his title: Necromancer. The word alone carried enough baggage to make his skin crawl. But the more time he observed the old man, the harder it became to hold on to that fear.
Teozad Umbra had lived in Privet Drive since it was built. There had never been any missing people, any strange disappearances, any dark clouds hanging over the neighborhood. The man went to the church cemetery, told fascinating stories, drank his tea with a bit too much honey, and had a habit of humming when the kettle boiled.
If that was evil, it certainly wore a convincing disguise.
Still, it felt absurd. A good necromancer? That was like saying there were caring Vernon or polite Dudley. But…
Then Harry remembered Miss Holloway.
The kindest teacher he'd ever met. Patient, funny, and fair. And she had been arrested right in front of him. By Aurors.
Why? Because she was a werewolf.
Because people just assumed.
Because of stories, stereotypes, fear, and ignorance. And if Harry had never learned about magic, if he found out there was a werewolf living just two streets away, he might've wanted her gone too.
The same way people probably looked at Teozad Umbra.
Harry stared at the Necromancer's Grimoire in his inventory for the hundredth time.
He had tried to learn it manually, hoping to avoid the consequences of fully distroying it. He spent two whole days flipping through the strange pages, trying to pronounce the runes, replicating the motions, even attempting the basic Bone Spear incantation.
Nothing.
No spark. No magic. No result.
He sighed and opened his inventory again.
The [Necromancer's Grimoire] hovered in its glowing blue box.
Would you like to absorb the content of the book instantly?
[Yes] / [No]
Harry stared for a long time. Then, slowly, with a deep breath…
He clicked Yes.
The book erupted into spectral blue flames in his hands. The fire didn't burn—it merged with him, sinking through his skin and directly into his mind. His eyes widened as knowledge flooded him, symbols and chants and skeletal structures, diagrams of spectral beings, rituals carved into stone, and flickers of magic old and forgotten.
He gasped, clutching his head.
The storm ended in seconds.
And a soft chime rang in his ears.
You have learned the following Necromancer Skills:
[Bone Spear] – Launches a sharp bone projectile at enemies. Damage scales with Intelligence.
[Decay Touch] – Inflicts a rotting curse, lowering target's defense and slowly draining HP.
[Soul Drain] – Steals a portion of enemy's HP/MP and transfers it to the caster.
[Death Ward] – Summons spectral shields that reduce physical or magical damage.
[Corpse Explosion] – Detonates a corpse, dealing AoE damage to nearby enemies.
[Shadow Veil] – Creates a shroud of mist, reducing enemy accuracy and chance to hit.
[Raise Skeleton] – Animates skeleton warriors from corpse.
[Zombie Horde] – Raises multiple zombies; weak but overwhelming in numbers.
[Summon Wraith] – Calls a ghost that drains enemy stamina and morale.
[Bone Golem] – A powerful tank summon; consumes multiple corpses.
Harry's fingers trembled as he scrolled through the new abilities in his status menu.
He had done it.
He had crossed a line.
But somehow, it didn't feel as evil as he had imagined.
It felt… powerful. Strategic.
And above all—necessary.
Harry knew he couldn't master everything at once. The grimoire had given him ten new necromantic abilities—but trying to learn them all together would just leave him confused, tired, and vulnerable. So, he made a decision.
He would focus on four skills. Only four. Train them hard, master them one by one, and use them wisely.
[Bone Spear]
This was the first skill Harry selected.
It allowed him to form sharp projectiles made entirely of bone, conjured directly from his magic. Each spear was about the size of a short javelin, with a long, curved spine and a deadly sharp point at the front. At first, the spears were wobbly and weak—they would shatter on impact or miss entirely.
But Harry understood something important.
This skill didn't just need magic power, it also required throwing accuracy.
So he trained both. Every night, after flying to an isolated patch of woods outside Little Whinging, Harry conjured dozens of Bone Spears and hurled them at trees, old rocks, and targets. Slowly, painfully, he built his aim, his form, and the strength of the spears.
Sometimes he missed. Sometimes they backfired. But his [Throwing Skill] leveled up alongside [Bone Spear].
[Soul Drain]
The second skill Harry chose to master was also the most dangerous.
[Soul Drain] required physical contact. He had to touch the enemy—physically—to activate it. Once connected, it would steal a portion of their health and magic and transfer it to Harry. It sounded simple, but in a real battle, getting close to an enemy—especially one with a weapon—was risky.
But Harry wasn't afraid. Not anymore.
He began practicing Soul Drain by touching trees and sometimes uncle Vernon and Dudley. The sensation was strange—like plunging his hand into freezing water and pulling out fire—but powerful.
He saw its potential immediately. When he was low on HP or MP, this was his lifeline.
Even with its risk, [Soul Drain] became his favorite.
[Death Ward]
The third skill was a form of magical protection.
Harry had always relied on his [Water Shield], which protected him in a full dome. But [Death Ward] was different—it conjured a dark, spectral shield in front of him, like a slab of magical obsidian. It didn't wrap around his entire body, but it was immensely tough—will be able to block both magical spells and physical attacks.
And more than that… it looked cool.
The black shield appeared with a grim hum, etched with spectral symbols and skull-shaped impressions. When he raised it, enemies are going to panic and that gave him an edge.
It didn't just protect. It intimidated.
[Shadow Veil]
The fourth skill wasn't a combat move. It was tactical.
Harry had already used [Poison Mist] to hide himself before—but that cloud was dangerous to others. In fact, it was deadly. If civilians or allies were near, he couldn't use it safely.
But [Shadow Veil] was different.
It spread a pitch-black smoke screen over a 50-meter radius, completely obscuring vision—except for Harry, who could see through it clearly. It was like cloaking the entire battlefield in night, then moving through it like a ghost.
For escape. For ambushes. For surprise attacks.
This skill gave Harry control.
He didn't need to be flashy. He didn't need to raise armies of the dead—not yet.
He needed a solid attack [Bone Spear], a dangerous drain move [Soul Drain], a reliable defense [Death Ward], and an escape tool [Shadow Veil].
That was enough.
For now.
And as he trained night after night, wearing his armor and hearing the [Amulet of Whispering Skulls] giggle at his training targets—he didn't feel like a villain. He felt…
Prepared.
Harry visited Arabella Figg again to learn more about the wizarding world. She welcomed him in as usual, offering tea and stale biscuits, though Harry barely touched either—his mind buzzing with questions.
He sat on the edge of her couch and asked plainly,
"Why do you live in a Muggle neighborhood? Most witches and wizards avoid it, don't they?"
Arabella smiled softly, a little sadly.
"Because I'm a Squib, Harry. I can't do magic. There's no real place for me in the magical world. No job, no acceptance, not even in Diagon Alley unless I have someone with me."
Harry blinked. It was the first time she'd openly admitted it.
"But then… why here, of all places?"
Arabella leaned back in her chair, lost in a memory.
"Your mother, Lily, was looking to buy a house for your Aunt Petunia. She wanted to mend things with her sister. I was helping her find something close to Muggle London. We came here together. This street—Privet Drive—had two houses for sale. Lily bought one and planned to give it to Petunia as a gift."
Harry's eyes widened.
"Wait… you're telling me… that house?" He pointed toward Number Four.
"That's right," Arabella nodded.
"But by the time the paperwork finished, Lily and Petunia had stopped speaking. So Lily's parents gave it to Petunia, pretending it was from them."
Harry was stunned. The very house he was mistreated in all his life… was a gift from his mother.
Harry was quiet for a long moment, processing everything.
"Why did they stop speaking?" he asked finally.
Arabella sighed.
"All I know is… James Potter and his friend—the one they call Sirius—played a rather cruel prank on Vernon during the wedding. Something involving his mustache growing tentacles. After that, Vernon hated them all. Petunia picked her husband's side."
Harry could barely believe it. A stupid prank. A stupid grudge. And it tore his family apart.
Harry asked dozens more questions about the wizarding world—about shops, schools, spells, and creatures. Arabella answered patiently, smiling at his curiosity. As the afternoon sun dipped lower, she stood up and disappeared into a back room.
When she returned, she carried a large parcel wrapped in brown paper.
"What's this?" Harry asked.
"You left behind some wizard money last time, remember?," she said.
"So I bought you something useful—a beginner's potion kit."
She placed it on the table and unwrapped it slowly.
Inside was a small black cauldron, several neatly sealed glass jars of ingredients, a few old-looking but well-preserved scrolls, and a set of potion-making tools—measuring spoons, a stirring rod, and a small weighing scale.
"It's all safe. No dangerous brews, nothing explosive. Just simple potions—healing salves, cleaning solutions, cold medicines. It's how magical children learn at home, even before Hogwarts."
Harry's eyes lit up but he lied.
"But… I don't have a wand."
Arabella smiled mysteriously.
"You don't need one for potions. Just patience. And a good hand for timing."
What she didn't know was—Harry did have a wand. A very special one.
But he said nothing.
Instead, he carefully took the kit into his inventory.
[Item Acquired: Beginner Potion Kit]
Includes: Basic Cauldron, Wooden Stirring Rod, Ingredient Set, 3 Beginner Potion Recipes, Potion Scale.
Use: Can be used in any potion room. Does not require a wand.
Passive Bonus: Increases [Potion Brewing] XP gain by +20%.
Harry decided he would learn potion-making properly. It was another tool to become stronger. Another step in his journey—not just toward power, but toward understanding the world his parents had died for.
And maybe… becoming the kind of wizard they would be proud of.