HP: The Necromancer

It took Anthony some effort to convince Hagrid to send an owl to the Weasleys to inquire about Charlie's dragon reserve.

"What if they won't accept a Norwegian Ridgeback?" Hagrid sniffled. "What if they're full of adult dragons, and they bully Norbert?"

Anthony handed the owl a dead mouse—Hagrid had prepared a large pile for Norbert—and said reassuringly, "If you don't like the reserve where Charlie works, we can try to find another suitable place. A dragon kindergarten... I think there must be something like that in the wizarding world."

The Weasleys must have been busy because Anthony hadn't received a reply yet.

After making arrangements with Hagrid to stay in contact, Anthony packed his suitcase and returned to his home in London.

The cat crouched in his arms, glaring suspiciously at every passerby who so much as glanced at him, while the mouse fidgeted in his pocket, trying to poke its head out to sniff at the mix of car exhaust and street food drifting through the air.

Anthony carried his suitcase and finally stepped onto the familiar concrete pavement. The mailbox was stuffed with colorful flyers and donation requests, and the weeds by the doorstep had grown up to his ankles. During the Christmas holidays, the bare branches had been covered in snow, but now, a warm breeze rustled through the lush green leaves, carrying the scent of curry from somewhere down the street.

Anthony checked the utility bills, retrieved the key from his bag, and unlocked the door. As soon as he cracked it open, the cat slipped inside, darting past his feet.

"Mr. Anthony, you're back?" his neighbor called out. He stepped outside with a garbage bag in hand and nearly bumped into Anthony.

"Yeah, it's the holidays," Anthony replied with a small smile. "Everything all right?"

"Everything's fine," the neighbor said cheerfully. "It's great to see you again, Mr. Anthony. Will you come over for dinner tonight? We're all curious about why you suddenly went off to Scotland to be a teacher."

"I'd love to," Anthony said, "but, you know, I just got back. I need to do a major clean-up and a lot of laundry."

The neighbor nodded in understanding and waved him off with a goodbye.

As soon as Anthony stepped inside, he spotted the cat perched comfortably on his favorite armchair, purring contentedly. The chair, already scarred from years of use, still had the coat he had last worn before leaving draped over it.

He pulled the mouse from his pocket and pushed the curtains aside to let sunlight flood the room. Outside the window, a few cobwebs clung to the frame, but the moment he shoved the window open, the sudden noise sent a spider scrambling in mid-air, desperately clutching onto a strand of silk.

Anthony coughed at the dust that swirled up and began making rounds through the house, calling for the rooster. He eventually found it—nested inside his wardrobe.

Before the Christmas holidays, Anthony had emptied the fridge and made sure to shut off the power before leaving. But the ghostly rooster had apparently found a few brightly painted picnic eggs from somewhere and had piled them up inside his wardrobe, now determinedly sitting on them as if brooding over its own makeshift nest.

When Anthony pulled open the cabinet door, the rooster turned its head sideways, staring at him for a long moment before lowering its beak to peck at the striped shirt beneath it.

"I'm back," Anthony said flatly.

A ginger blur shot past him as the cat, having abandoned its spot on the chair, now sprang excitedly at the ghostly rooster.

"Go ahead and fight if you want," Anthony grumbled. "But not in my wardrobe!"

Neither the cat nor the rooster listened.

The cat crouched on his tie box, its tail flicking in anticipation, while the rooster flapped its wings and took off, squeezing through the suits and coats before landing precariously on an empty hanger. The hanger wobbled, tilted, and then suddenly smacked against the back of the wardrobe. The rooster flapped wildly, trying to balance itself.

Just as the cat leapt after it, the hanger groaned under the weight—and snapped.

"Hey!" Anthony protested.

The ghostly chicken perched on the hanging rod, lowering its head to peer down at Anthony and the cat. The cat, having landed in a heap of shirts and sweaters, rolled over and stood up, shaking itself off indignantly.

Anthony had just managed to rescue his Christmas jumper from the cat's claws when he heard a fluttering sound. The chicken suddenly dropped from above, pecking and flapping at the cat. The cat leapt from one corner of the closet to the other, sending clothes flying in the confined space. A blue picnic egg rolled out, and before Anthony could react, the cat snatched it up, baring its teeth as if ready to bite.

At that moment, a soft squeak sounded. The vengeful ghost mouse had hooked itself onto the round button handle of a drawer and clambered up onto the wardrobe's edge, twitching its nose in confusion as it observed the chaos.

The ghost chicken fluttered down, lowering its body and staring at the rodent with regal authority. The mouse froze, then immediately slid down the drawer and scurried to hide beside Anthony's shoes.

"This is the mouse," Anthony said, picking up the tiny creature. "And this is chicken."

The chicken pecked the mouse gently, seemingly accepting the new companion. Meanwhile, the cat, having lost interest in the picnic egg, caught the mouse in its mouth, leapt back into the closet, and carefully dropped it onto a pile of plaid pajamas.

"I think I've just found a way to take you to school with me," Anthony mused. He simply pushed aside the hanging clothes, settled himself into the closet, and addressed the ghost chicken. "I've been searching for a way to bind flesh and blood magic, but I never considered using a curse. Now I just need to know one thing… Do you want to go to Hogwarts?"

The chicken hopped into his lap, and Anthony cradled it gently.

"I'll take that as a yes," he said, deep in thought. "Now, the next step… we need to find someone willing to curse a chicken."

The chicken remained silent. The mouse burrowed under the clothes, and the cat was happily digging through the pile, trying to unearth its new playmate. Anthony reached up just in time to catch a pair of pajamas before they smacked him in the face.

"You really can't— Hey, that's a button!"

The chicken promptly pecked a button off his sleeve.

...

About a week later, Anthony finally received an owl from Mr. Weasley. It wasn't Elon from the rescue station, nor was it Percy's owl, Hermes—it was the old family owl, Errol.

Errol nearly crashed into the window, but thankfully, Anthony was already reaching to open it to water the dill plant that Neville had given him. With some effort, he had found a suitable hook and hung the small flowerpot outside his kitchen window, placing it somewhere less likely to be disturbed by his restless nights.

On the sofa, the cat and the chicken were rolling around in a play-fight, too distracted to notice the exhausted owl. Anthony retrieved some bacon from the refrigerator for Errol, but the poor owl wobbled and nearly fell into the sink.

The letter inside the envelope was from Mr. Weasley. He apologized for the delayed response and expressed his gratitude for the owl Anthony had sent to the twins.

"We went with Fred and George to get the owl. We took the train and the tube, and Fred and George even bought the tickets!" Mr. Weasley wrote excitedly. "Muggles are brilliant—they have so many cats and dogs, and they've even designed special little houses for them! Ms. Howard was surprised to learn that we have such a large family, but she was incredibly kind. Fred mentioned that Elon used to be a messenger owl for the Ministry, and Molly was a bit worried about whether it would be alright for us to adopt him. But George pointed out that since the tracking anklet had been lost, he technically didn't belong to anyone."

"They wouldn't send the owl away, but Elon turned out to be a fussy eater. The Ministry spoiled him, and so did that Muggle rescue station... He refuses to eat anything except dead mice. Ron wasn't too happy about that, since he happens to have a pet rat."

"He said that Elon always looks at Scabbers with hungry eyes and that one day, he might actually eat him. Fred said that was because Scabbers had gotten too fat, and it was only natural that Elon found him appetizing. (To be honest, I personally think that rat eats a bit too much.) Percy, of course, said that Hermes would never think of eating Scabbers. This turned into a big commotion at home."

"Anyway, Errol is still locked in his cage for now. As for the dragon sanctuary you mentioned, Charlie is currently raising dragons in Romania—I've enclosed his work address. We wanted to send him a letter directly, but Errol and Hermes may not be able to make the journey that far."

"Charlie likely won't be coming home this summer, as he already took a week off in March. If you do go see him, please tell him that Molly and I love him, that Bill is planning to give him a pair of fireproof gloves when he gets back, that Percy sends his regards, that Fred and George are looking forward to seeing him, that Ron thanks him for his Christmas present, and that Ginny sends a kiss."

"By the way, Molly would like to invite you to the Burrow at the end of the summer holidays. She usually takes the children to Diagon Alley around that time to buy their school supplies, and we could all go back together afterward. Of course, if you have other plans, just let us know—you're always welcome at the Burrow. Best regards, Arthur."

Anthony brushed aside the sleeping mouse on his desk and hastily wrote a reply to Mr. Weasley, confirming that he would be happy to meet them in Diagon Alley and that he would definitely write to Charlie.

The cat and the ghostly chicken, huddled together, watched as Errol attempted to drink from the watering can Anthony used to water his plants. It wasn't often they saw an owl so utterly ridiculous. Anthony almost felt guilty as he tied the letter to its leg.

The old owl managed a few bites of food, flapped its wings, and then, with a slightly wobbly launch, glided toward the window. Anthony watched anxiously as it barely cleared the top of the plane tree outside, dipping precariously before finally flying away. Only then did he pick up the watering can.

...

Hagrid sent the letter to Anthony as promised.

Norbert had outgrown any teapot, and he now lived in a crate that had once held dead mice. His teeth and claws had grown sharper, and he was becoming more restless by the day. The Monster Book of Monsters had been destroyed in a small fire, and Hagrid sheepishly asked Anthony if there was any way to contact the author.

"Don't write back if you can help it, Henry. Norbert has been practicing flying lately. He's developed a habit of hunting anything that flies."

Anthony put down the letter and glanced at the tawny owl perched nearby, watching the ghostly mouse with a little too much interest. The cat crouched, preparing to pounce, but Anthony caught it by the tail just in time. Annoyed, the cat lashed out at him, and in response, the owl took off nimbly, landing atop the kitchen cupboard.

"Well, don't reply then," Anthony told the owl dryly. "By the way, how far can you fly? Is Romania too far?"

The owl turned its head and hooted softly, giving him a reproachful look, as if offended that he would even question its professional abilities.

"I'll take that as a yes," Anthony said thoughtfully, handing it another strip of bacon. "Give me a moment—I have a letter to send to Romania... I just hope the dragons there aren't practicing their flying skills right now."

More than a week passed before Charlie's reply arrived. The owl that delivered it looked utterly exhausted—its feathers were ruffled, and it seemed distinctly annoyed.

"Thank you for your letter, Professor Anthony. It was a pleasant surprise. Was the owl that delivered it a Hogwarts owl or your personal one? I ask because my dormitory is deep within the reserve, and she had to fly past at least a dozen Romanian Longhorns to reach me. What a brave girl. My arm still hurts from the peck she gave me."

"We'd be more than happy to take in a Norwegian Ridgeback hatchling. Although Romania isn't their native habitat, we already have several living in the reserve, so you can trust that we know how to care for them properly."

"However, transporting a dragon from England to Romania is no small task. Fortunately, Hogwarts is still on holiday. I've contacted a few friends who specialize in combating international dragon smuggling. They have access to some... convenient channels and will be traveling to England in a week. If you and Hagrid agree, you can meet them in Hogsmeade. You can decide the exact location, but I'd suggest the Shrieking Shack—no one goes there."

"If you're unsure how to get Norbert to Hogsmeade, ask Fred and George. They're bound to have a solution—I caught them sneaking around Hogsmeade last year. Please don't tell Mum."

"Give my love to Mum and Dad, and to all the Weasleys—I miss them all. Looking forward to your reply. Yours sincerely, Charlie."

...

Since the owl had proven its professionalism by successfully passing through a dozen Romanian Longhorn dragons, Anthony felt confident entrusting her with a reply to Hagrid, asking for his thoughts on the planned arrangements for the following week. The response arrived that evening—delivered by a different owl, as the previous one had likely gone on strike—with only a single word scrawled on the parchment:

"Yes."

The edges of the parchment were slightly yellowed and curled, and the ink was faintly smudged, as if someone had once—perhaps uncontrollably—allowed a massive teardrop to fall onto it.

Anthony locked the cat in the bedroom and welcomed his guest from Hogwarts into the kitchen. The cat, indignant at being excluded, scratched furiously at the door, while the chicken hopped onto the table, eyeing the owl with wary suspicion.

"I don't think I need to send a reply," Anthony said to the owl, rummaging through the fridge. "And... I'm out of bacon. Would you like some... broccoli?"

The owl ruffled its feathers in evident disdain, then spread its wings and flew straight out of the window, narrowly missing a small white fish Neville had given him. Anthony sighed, quickly picking up the fish and deciding to hang it up before bed.

...

Stones please