The Pacifist Necromancer of Hogwarts

Chapter 324 The Upcoming Quidditch
The door to the headmaster's office closed silently, blocking the sound of Umbridge's angry footsteps going down the stairs.

"I guess that solves the problem," Dumbledore said briskly. "Biscuits?"

Professor McGonagall said sternly, "That's only part of the problem, Albus. To solve the problem completely, we'll need a broom that can get her out of Hogwarts."

"Do you mean flying or sweeping?" Dumbledore asked slyly. "Well, my dear Minerva, that day does not seem too far away - if she persists in not taking my warnings seriously. It is strange how quickly power has corrupted her... It is as if someone is secretly fanning the flames..." His voice gradually trailed off.

"You mean... Death Eaters, Albus?" Professor McGonagall lowered her voice. "But what good will that do them?"

"I don't know. I have some guesses, but none of them can be confirmed at the moment. Some of them, let me just say, I would rather they never be confirmed..." Dumbledore turned his gaze to Anthony (who was trying not to interrupt the conversation by handing the biscuits to Hagrid), "What did you seem to want to say just now, Henry?"

"What?" said Anthony. "Oh, yes, nothing very important. Mr. Fudge is not aware of the F.O.C., sir?"

Dumbledore smiled. "That is another thing I do not know. Of course, knowing Cornelius, I would say that he may have heard of the name of the task force, but he would not care about what they were doing -"

"He's the dumbest idiot in the world," snorted Hagrid. He carefully picked up the biscuit and put it in his mouth.

Dumbledore shook his head at Hagrid and continued, "—and besides, I know one thing at least, and that is that he will not admit to me that he knows."

Anthony nodded knowingly: "That's enough."

Professor McGonagall complained, "When is he going to pretend that he knows nothing about Educational Orders and Senior Inquisitors? Albus, can't we take back the Inquisitor's excessive powers? You know, she almost fired Sybil!"

Dumbledore's tone was calm, even a little compassionate. "As I reminded her, if power is not handled with caution, it is likely to bring unexpected consequences... However, there is a more urgent matter now." He stood up from behind the desk and smiled at everyone. "It's time for dinner."

……

Perhaps because the Investigative Team could no longer deduct points, Anthony found it difficult to run into students with the little "I" on their chests in the corridors.

Tracy still wore it to Muggle Studies class, seemingly oblivious to the wary looks her classmates gave her. Whenever she walked into the classroom a second before class, Katie would frown in disdain and turn her face away. During a demonstration of how steam provided power—energy conversion—Anthony saw Katie taking notes while staring at the rapidly spinning cans and whispering to her deskmate about why Tracy hadn't dropped out of the class.

Roger Davis probably thought his sister had dropped out of the class. When he met Tracy at the door of the classroom, he looked a little embarrassed, but in the end he just nodded to Tracy silently and walked into the classroom. Tracy strode away.

"Mr. Davis?" Anthony looked up in surprise as he was packing up things on the podium. "What's wrong?" Because they had just finished teaching the chapter on trains and the Hogwarts Express, there was still a kettle and a steam engine model on the table, but the cans had been thrown away.

"Uh..." Roger seemed a little hesitant, "Can I take a day off tomorrow, Professor Anthony?"

"Why?" Anthony asked.

"Quidditch practice," Roger said. "This weekend we're playing against Slytherin. Ravenclaw is at the bottom of the standings, and everyone except me is free tomorrow..."

Anthony thought for a moment. "Okay, Mr. Davis, but you have to write a paper on... "The Relationship between Muggle Radio and Wizard Radio", how about that? Or "Why is Muggle Radio an Electrical Appliance"?

Roger complained, "You never assign papers, Professor."

Anthony put the last model back into the box and stuffed it into his bag. "Yes, but no one has ever asked me for leave for Quidditch practice." He cast a quick-drying charm to evaporate the water on the podium. "From what I know, if Mr. Wood heard that his Beaters, Chasers and substitutes could easily leave class to participate in training, he would be very happy."

"Oh, Oliver." Roger sighed, "That makes sense, Professor Anthony, I'll write it. Is there a length requirement?"

Anthony paused. What is the typical length of a paper?

"Same length as the last paper in Herbology - no, never mind, Charms," ​​he said. "Turn it in to me before class next week. You've taken apart a few Muggle radios, Mr. Davis, so I'm sure this won't be too difficult for you. Deal?"

Roger smiled. "Deal, Professor Anthony."

……

The next day, Roger did not attend the Muggle Studies class. His classmates heard the reason for his absence from somewhere. During the test, Anthony heard several students encouraging Cedric: "Why don't you take a leave next week? You want to compete too!"

"No," Cedric whispered, crossing out the two wrong options.

His deskmate asked eagerly, "Why?"

Anthony looked in that direction, and the students quickly lowered their heads and pretended to be reading the questions. But before they could stay quiet for long, Cedric's deskmate came over again and said, "If Slytherin loses this week, it will be almost impossible for them to win the Quidditch Cup. Of course, if we can beat Gryffindor - by the way, I heard that Gryffindor's Beater was detained. Is that true? I heard that they didn't even have time to participate in training..."

Anthony coughed.

"That's true, but it has nothing to do with Muggle Studies." Cedric turned to the next page and kindly reminded his deskmate, "There are still about five minutes left."

The other party shut up immediately.

While his deskmate was writing furiously, the student sitting behind Cedric poked him in the back: "Hey, Cedric! Do you want to ask for leave?"

Cedric leaned back and said patiently, "No. I don't want to miss class for training."

"That's right." The classmate behind him immediately agreed, "We still need your notes. What should you choose for question 4?"

"I chose the battery," said Cedric.

Another person joined the discussion: "Why not the antenna?"

Anthony had to speak up: "Ladies and gentlemen, I am trying my best to ignore you, and it is becoming increasingly difficult."

Half the classroom laughed.

……

Saturday was a cloudy day, not too cold or too hot, with a gentle breeze, perfect for walking and Quidditch.

But instead of going for walks or watching the Ravenclaw vs. Slytherin match, Anthony spent all his time mending the relationship between his three pets.

The wraith mouse was angry with the cat for tearing up the cat bed, and the wraith chicken was unhappy to find the mouse huddled there sulking when he returned to his favorite corner of the wardrobe. This was because the skeleton cat had been very irritable recently, and in a rage because the wraith chicken had rejected his invitation to a fight for the fifty-eighth time, he howled and tore Anthony's pillow, quilt, mattress, several wizard robes, dressing gowns, boxes of coconut ice cream, newspapers under the boxes, and cat beds - a total of four galleons and six Sickles, plus twelve and a half pounds. As far as the value of the damage was concerned, Anthony was optimistic that the cat had become much more gentle.

After negotiation, his tie box will belong to the vengeful rat from now on, the wardrobe will belong to the vengeful chicken, and the space on the top of the wardrobe will belong to the three pets at the same time.

"Wait, I thought this was my closet," Anthony said. "Can I still put my clothes in here, sir?"

The grudge chicken tilted its head to look at him, pecked his finger gently, and agreed kindly. The mouse squeaked a few times in approval.

The skeleton cat got a small bag of dried fish balls and a shallow half bowl of white wine, which forced it to lie on the floor, wagging its tail and listening to Anthony repeating that it should get along well with other roommates, while chewing the dried fish. "There are not so many undead creatures in this world, cat." Anthony taught it, "If you can't get along well with them, you will be hated by most of the undead magic world."

Judging from the force with which the cat chewed the dried fish, it seemed that it did not mind responding to the so-called world of undead magic with equal amounts of annoyance. Its ears flattened in annoyance, as if trying to close the lid of its ear canal. Anthony could not help laughing and reached out to pry open its ears.

"Are you bored?" He watched the new wound on his hand slowly heal. "How about we go to the Quidditch match next week? There's - oh!"

The cat grabbed his wrist in anger and bit his hand. "Let go--" Anthony hit the cat on the head with his other hand, "I said let go, you fanged crusher!"

He sat down on the ground and took the cat to his side when it was loose.

"Don't want to go to the game, huh? No?" Anthony said. "How about you, chicken? Mouse? There are a dozen flying brooms, a few balls, and a lot of noisy living people. If you're lucky, there will be accidents and fights. Sounds tempting, doesn't it?"

Perhaps the Quidditch match was too tempting. When another Saturday came, Anthony woke up to the sound of breeze and slight vibration of windows. Bright sunlight shone into the room through the gaps of the open windows. All the pets disappeared at the same time, leaving only a few slightly torn curtains.

"Great, everyone's reconciled," Anthony muttered, sitting on the edge of the bed and hesitating for a while, finally deciding to go to the kitchen and ask the house-elves to make him a sandwich instead of going to the hall for breakfast.

It was definitely not because he didn't want to run into Umbridge, or Lockhart, or Snape. Slytherin had won the match against Ravenclaw and was the team most likely to win the Quidditch Cup. Whenever Snape asked Gryffindor about their preparations for the match ("Ah, I forgot. Mr. Weasley is unavailable for practice."), Professor McGonagall's face was not very happy.

He left a little late, and many students had already gotten up. They were walking slowly towards the hall, discussing dreams that were worth recording for divination homework, a complicated emotional dispute, yesterday's bad luck, Zonko's new magic props, and of course the upcoming Quidditch match.

Anthony greeted them with a smile and wandered on the stairs leading to the Hufflepuff dormitory for a while. When there was no one around, he quickly found the fruit portrait and scratched the pear whose paint had slightly peeled off.

The pear chuckled and turned into a doorknob. Anthony quickly slipped into the kitchen - its location was supposed to be a secret, at least on paper. He had heard that the house-elves had requested that the kitchen be hidden because they enjoyed the surprise of making food appear out of thin air on the hall table, and they firmly believed that the best elves would not let wizards notice their work.

"Professor Anthony!" Several shrill voices rang out the moment he entered the door.

Several elves who were directing various dishes to fly to the table asked enthusiastically: "What do you need us to do, sir?"

One of the elves reached out and patted the table, and the silver plates with a mountain of baked potatoes, sausages, beans and bread disappeared. The next moment, a pile of plates reappeared, scattered with half-eaten fried eggs, irregularly shaped sauces, dirty napkins, and specially selected carrot pieces...

"Is there anything we can help you with? Anything!"

"Oh..." Anthony said, a little unresponsive for a moment.

When he came here before, the long tables at the kitchen door were covered with neat velvet cloths, as if they would always sleep under the quilt. He did realize that they were exactly the same as the long tables in the hall, but this was the first time he saw the elves using them to teleport food above their heads.

"Henry?" He suddenly heard his name. He turned around and saw Professor McGonagall coming out of the kitchen with a sandwich in her hand.

Anthony smiled and said, "Good morning, Minerva."

"Good morning." Professor McGonagall nodded. "What are you doing here?"

"Breakfast, at least that's what I plan to do. Any sandwich recommendations?"

"You can never go wrong with bacon," said Professor McGonagall. "A cheese and onion sandwich would be good, too."

Anthony thought for a moment and asked, "What flavor is that in your hand?"

Professor McGonagall conjured up a chair and sat down at the long table corresponding to Gryffindor. "This? The Coronation Chicken."

The elf who had conjured up a chair a step later lowered his ears and looked very annoyed, so Anthony had to sit down and thank him.

The elf immediately opened his ears happily, and while placing the plate in front of Professor McGonagall, he looked at him eagerly: "What would you like to eat, sir?"

"A bacon sandwich, please."

"Yes, sir!" the elf squeaked. "Would you like something to drink? Pumpkin juice? Milk? Tea?"

Anthony said, "A sandwich is enough--"

Before he finished speaking, a plate with a bacon sandwich appeared in front of him. Coco held the plate and stood proudly between him and Professor McGonagall.

"Bacon sandwich, Professor Anthony!" Coco said proudly, "Coco made a bacon sandwich!"

The other elf stared with wide eyes, looking between Anthony, Coco and Sandwich.

Professor McGonagall said, "Dippy, could you bring me another plate?"

The elf heaved a sigh of relief and said happily, "Of course, Professor McGonagall!" He immediately directed the plate to fly over, fearing that other elves would fulfill Professor McGonagall's request first.

Anthony took the plate from Coco. "Thank you, Coco. How was your morning?"

"You're welcome, Professor Anthony! Coco is delighted!" Coco squeaked. "Coco washed five hundred and seventy-six dishes, mopped the table three times, and picked out forty bags of very good potatoes!"

"Sounds very fulfilling." Anthony smiled at him. Dippy put the plate next to Professor McGonagall and disappeared again.

Coco nodded vigorously: "Yes, Professor Anthony! Coco is going to continue picking potatoes!"

“Enjoy your selection, Coco,” Anthony said. “I’m looking forward to the potatoes of the future.”

With a slight pop, Coco also disappeared.

Professor McGonagall placed the new plate under her old one and ate in graceful silence for a while. Suddenly, she said, "Speaking of the future, are you going to the match today, Henry?"

"Speaking of games, have you ever thought about swapping the Quaffle for potatoes?" said Anthony. "No, Minerva, there are no Quidditch games on my calendar. What's the matter?"

"No, Dolores will be very happy." Professor McGonagall said with a tense face, "She told me yesterday that the Weasleys had brought this upon themselves, and that a dangerous game like Quidditch should be reviewed by an authority before it can be held, preferably with an authority referee - she meant herself."

"She is the referee for this match?"

Professor McGonagall said contemptuously, "She would like to! I suggested that she and Madam Hooch fly around together to test our brooms, but she immediately backed off. However, I think she will try her best to prove the importance of the Ministry's High Inquisitor in Quidditch."

Anthony said, "In this case, I suddenly seem to want to see a group of students flying in the sky."

(End of this chapter)