The Barnabas on the tapestry curiously craned his neck to look at the vanishing door. His not-so-studious students raised wooden clubs and tried to knock out their ballet instructor.
Barnabas immediately turned around and sternly criticized how they could hide wooden clubs in ballet tutus.
By the time the trolls finally put the clubs by their feet under his scolding and pleading, night had already fallen over Hogwarts.
If Barnabas could spare attention from the trolls inelegantly tugging at tutu hems, he'd see the door opposite appear abruptly again and a person quietly walk out from inside.
And if Barnabas saw this, he'd find himself struggling to describe this person. He wouldn't notice the short hair, gentle face, or capable hands. If he had to say something, Barnabas would use the night outside the window to describe him, because the feeling he gave was about like that.
A night when some slept peacefully, some stole.
Anthony pondered. Necromancy had some very interesting things. He temporarily didn't understand the principles, but they almost impatiently responded to his summons. He originally just wanted to understand more about what happened to himself but gained more mysteries instead.
He couldn't figure it out, because according to The Necromancer's Journal, he should've gone mad long ago.
Though his ability to stay rational probably related to his practice location. Uh... at least he thought he was rational. To verify this, he even did a complete set of mathematical analysis problems in the Room of Requirement.
He understood why the Room of Requirement responded that way, why it was a safe place, a place suitable for practicing magic—because it was the opposite of his nightmare.
Completely opposite to the flowing black in dreams, on solid white floors, everything was still. On smooth walls, he could confirm his human-shaped reflection at all times.
Amusingly, the Room of Requirement seemed confused by him and gave him a ridiculously large room.
While Anthony pondered what deep meaning the room's size had, the castle also realized something was wrong. The room started shrinking like a balloon poked with a needle until it became a size he thought about right.
But the Room of Requirement still seemed convinced his volume was frighteningly large. When he requested an attack target, a punching bag still appeared in the room, tall enough to touch the ceiling.
That bear that could hardly be called a Patronus played quite happily with the punching bag though.
When Anthony returned to his office, he found the cat hadn't gone out all day and was still curled up sleeping on the pillow. He habitually reached out to pet it, then frowned and petted it again.
The cat groggily woke and mercilessly grabbed his hand and bit down.
"Hiss." Anthony pushed its head. "Don't bite. Are you getting warmer?"
Seeming to finally realize what was in its mouth, the cat released its teeth, stood up and shook itself, condescendingly rubbed past his leg, then jumped onto his chair and lay down.
Anthony checked his own temperature, then put his hand under the cat's belly to feel. "Not an illusion. Your temperature's risen."
The cat perfunctorily flicked its tail.
Anthony crouched down and rubbed its head. "Hear that? You're becoming more and more like a living cat. I don't know if this is good or bad."
The cat looked at him lazily and meowed once.
Anthony sighed.
For living cats, temperature dropping might warrant vigilance. Then for a dead cat, gradually becoming warm—did it mean it was sick?
This worried him somewhat. More worrying was, he guessed this wasn't something any vet could solve, and novice necromancers didn't know how to handle their skeletal pets.
"Related to my practice this afternoon?" Anthony asked in a low voice.
His muttering finally annoyed the cat. It pushed its head against this person's hand and rubbed comfortingly.
Anthony scratched behind its ears. If really related to practice, he absolutely wouldn't overuse Necromancy again... He didn't want to lose the cat.
Because of the Skeleton Cat matter, Anthony went to the Headmaster's office early the next morning. Since Dumbledore instructed him to find him when encountering problems, when facing tricky magical difficulties, the first person he thought of discussing with was Dumbledore.
But Dumbledore wasn't in the Headmaster's office. Anthony gave the password and only met Professor McGonagall with a stern face on the spiral staircase.
"What's wrong, Minerva?" Anthony asked.
Professor McGonagall held a large stack of documents and her expression wasn't very good. "Albus isn't at school again."
Anthony asked surprised, "Where did he go this time?" As far as he knew, Dumbledore wasn't at school much last term either.
"Supposedly a meeting," Professor McGonagall said. "I must say, his meetings this school year are somewhat beyond expectation. And you, Henry? Why did you come looking for Albus?"
Even though Professor McGonagall knew his identity, Anthony still found it difficult to discuss his Skeleton Cat and Wraith Chicken with her. So far, Dumbledore was the only person willing to chat with him about this topic.
So he said, "A bit of research."
Professor McGonagall nodded. "All right, I understand." She looked down at the documents in her hands and sighed. "Going to the staff room, Henry? Since our Headmaster is such a busy man?"
Anthony was somewhat surprised. "Of course."
When they walked into the staff room together, Professor Flitwick called out loudly, "Look who's here! Two busy professors!"
Professor McGonagall poured herself a cup of tea. "Don't say you're not busy yourself, Filius. At least don't say that in front of the busy Deputy Headmistress."
"I wouldn't say I'm not busy. You know, Minerva, I've recently been busy..." Professor Flitwick said and glanced at Anthony. "Preparing some things."
Anthony asked amused, "Related to me, Professor Flitwick?"
"Oh my!" Professor Flitwick cried. "Don't spoil it! Professor Anthony, don't spoil it!"
Anthony added a sugar cube to his tea. "I guess I'm the only one who doesn't know."
Professor McGonagall hid her face behind her teacup and couldn't tell what expression she had.
"You're very perceptive, Henry," she said. "Please leave your colleagues some mysterious space."
Anthony nodded. "All right. Since you put it that way, I have absolutely no idea there's a celebration related to me Monday morning."
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