The Pacifist Necromancer of Hogwarts

Chapter 360 A flash of inspiration

"There's a unicorn here," Anthony said as soon as he returned to the woods.

"A unicorn," Sirius repeated. "That's as far from Voldemort as I've ever heard."

"I don't think so," said Anthony, thinking again of the unicorn that Quirrell had killed.

They returned to the depths of the woods. Sirius looked around with extreme vigilance, turning over almost every stone to investigate. Although he said he didn't think there was any connection between Voldemort and unicorns, his shining eyes and tightly grasped wand showed that this small clue that "magic does exist in the forest" made him excited.

They searched the area for a while longer before they remembered they should get something to eat. Sirius had put all of his belongings in the tent, including most of their food supplies, so they had to eat the slices of American cheese that Anthony had in his pocket for lunch.

"If there are unicorns in the forest," Anthony said as he peeled back the plastic, "shouldn't they fill the entire woodland with magic? Why have we only detected them in one little witch?"

"Because we're detecting traces of magic. Traces are only created when magic is used, and unicorns usually just -" Sirius shrugged, "You know, running around. They don't usually use magic."

"But dragon poop—" Anthony paused, unsure if this was an appropriate lunch topic.

But Sirius didn't mind at all, tearing off a piece of cheese and throwing it into his mouth: "Who knows, maybe it's because dragons need to use magic to open their anuses. I don't study dragons."

"Or maybe it's because the dragon ate something with very magical traces of magic?" Anthony guessed, "During the digestion process, the traces were preserved."

Sirius said, "Maybe it was Voldemort."

Anthony said, "I don't think that would taste good."

Sirius swung the cheese slice and said very rationally, "But a dragon might find it delicious. You can't just guess what a dragon likes. Who knows, maybe if it's cooked just right, Voldemort will eat it like a roast lamb chop."

'It's definitely not lamb chops,' said Anthony. 'Please, Sirius, it's definitely not.'

Sirius laughed, and for the first time a youthful, mischievous, sly look crossed his face.

……

They wandered in the woods all afternoon. They did find two or three longer unicorn tail hairs on the branches, but apart from these dozens of Galleons, they did not find anything more meaningful. In the evening, they returned to the village again, hoping to find more clues, but still only the little girl could trigger Sirius's detection spell. They continued to walk north and encountered a gray wolf following them quietly. The gray wolf ran away the moment Sirius turned into a black dog, so Anthony secretly guessed that it was probably not Lupin. The night gradually deepened and the drizzle began to fall again. Perhaps because of the thought of the tent that could not be folded up, Sirius' good mood gradually disappeared.

They returned to the camp in the dark, without using the Lumos, for fear of tipping off Voldemort (if he was actually nearby) that someone was looking for him. Sirius made a quick check around the camp to make sure all the warning spells were still in place before motioning Anthony to get into the tent.

The tent was much larger than it looked from the outside: a kitchen, a bathroom, two bedrooms, a small cloakroom (where Sirius had tucked his motorcycle upright against the wall), and even a living room. Anthony boiled some water in the kitchen and made some tea (a gift from Professor Sprout), which he and Sirius ate with some biscuits.

The rain hit the roof, making a soft rustling sound under the magic. Anthony cleared his throat and broke the silence: "Should we go look for unicorns tomorrow?"

"I doubt if unicorns would be happy to be around Voldemort," Sirius replied, stirring his tea halfheartedly. "Besides, what are we supposed to do if we see a unicorn? Hey, have you ever seen a fellow like Merlin knows what he looks like now?"

Anthony corrected, "Hey, have you ever seen a guy who is half dead and cursed by a unicorn?"

"Voldemort was cursed by a unicorn?" Sirius looked up in surprise, "He drank the blood of a unicorn? No wonder Albus said Voldemort was very weak... But, this doesn't make sense..." He stared at the empty vase in the middle of the table, frowned slightly, and muttered to himself, "You used the Philosopher's Stone to set a trap, he was injured in it, but still escaped... Where did he go to find the unicorn? It's here, right? That's why Albus knew he was hiding in Albania!"

"Uh, Sirius…."

Anthony then remembered that they only had time to tell Sirius that Voldemort was the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor last year and that no student at Hogwarts was injured, but they didn't mention the dead unicorn. In order to help Anthony conceal the identity of the necromancer, when Sirius mistakenly thought that Voldemort was injured and fled because he identified the Philosopher's Stone trap under the castle, Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall did not correct him.

Sirius stood up suddenly, a big smile on his face. "Oh my God, Henry, yes, we are going to find unicorns! We will find unicorns tomorrow!" His eyes sparkled, and he paced back and forth in the small space of the kitchen. "Unicorns don't like adult men, but I can turn into a dog... That should be enough to fool them..."

"Voldemort killed a unicorn in the Forbidden Forest, Sirius!" Anthony interrupted loudly, "He was already very weak before he stepped into the trap of the Philosopher's Stone, so weak that he had to rely on unicorn blood. I'm sorry, but the unicorns in Albania are not necessarily related to Voldemort - come down!" He said the last sentence to the ginger cat. It jumped lightly on the cabinet and was quietly approaching the bottles and jars of seasonings.

Sirius paused in his pacing.

"Come down," Anthony said seriously. If he didn't want to eat sugar-baked potatoes, they couldn't lose the salt in the forest.

"Well..." Sirius slumped back in his chair and managed a laugh. "This at least proves that he's not in his right mind. If he was that weak in the first place, why did he bother being a Defense Against the Dark Arts professor? I can think of at least five ways to sneak into Hogwarts."

"He was injured during the term," Anthony said. "He was struck by... well, another curse, one that I'm better at detecting." He wasn't sure if now was the right time to tell Sirius who he was. If Dumbledore hadn't told Sirius, there was probably a reason.

"Oh..." Sirius drawled, looking more energetic. "I see, Henry, you are a curse master. No wonder Albus said he fully trusted your professional judgment. What curse did Voldemort have? One of those curses that loses its effect when its name is spoken, right?"

The ginger cat jumped onto the dining table with a bang, howled long and dissatisfied, and left in a bad temper.

"Good kitty," Anthony said.

...That night, Anthony woke up suddenly.

He moved his hand to his chest in his sleeping bag, closed his eyes, and felt his heart beating steadily in his chest. A small cool breeze brushed his nose. He opened his eyes and saw the ginger cat looking down at him seriously. Anthony smiled and pulled his hand out with difficulty, wanting to touch the cat, but the cat nimbly jumped over him and went into the bushes where the ghost chicken was sleeping.

The rain had stopped, and there was no sound except the occasional drop of water hitting a puddle. The moon shone brightly, illuminating every leaf in the bush, but the deep woods were still dark and shadowy.

Anthony sat up and found that although he had chosen the driest ground before sleeping, his sleeping bag was still covered with water droplets, reflecting a sparkling silver glow under the moonlight. He reached out to brush the water droplets away, watching them sink into the soil, and then looked at the wet and drooping grass leaves around him, poked them with his fingers, and then retracted them into the sleeping bag.

The air was so humid that he could smell the damp earth beside him. The wind blew through the treetops, shaking water droplets from the leaves, which clattered onto his sleeping bag. Overhead, a bird woke up and suddenly, tremblingly, cried in the night.

Anthony opened his eyes and got out of his sleeping bag, intending to move it to the eaves of Sirius's tent and lie there for a while. Just as he stood up and used the moonlight to identify the direction, he suddenly realized that something was wrong near the tent.

He put on his shoes, whispered an anti-slip spell to his feet, and tiptoed closer to the tent. The closer he got, the more he felt that there seemed to be a shadow under the eaves of the tent, a human-shaped shadow, lurking silently at the door. He held his breath. Could it be Quirrell? Could it be Voldemort? He couldn't believe that they would appear so brazenly near the tent. He didn't sense the necromancy. Could it be that Quirrell has recovered? Have they found a way to get rid of the necromancy? Have they even gotten rid of the unicorn curse? Quirrell - or Voldemort - is the wizard who has studied the soul most deeply that Anthony has ever seen. To what extent have they recovered, can he still grab their souls? What should he do, lead them away first to ensure Sirius' safety, or try to trap them immediately?
Anthony walked over carefully, calling his pets in his mind. The ghost mouse tried to sneak into the tent from the other side to take a peek, but was stopped by the protective magic. The cat climbed up the tree and approached the tent quietly. The ghost chicken waited in the woods, waiting for the right time to fly out.

A breeze blew by, and the figure moved, revealing his face. In the dim light, Anthony suddenly saw the other person's face clearly: Sirius was leaning against the tent, sitting with his legs bent, his head lowered, his half-long hair hanging on both sides of his cheeks, and he seemed to be looking at something in his hands. He moved his head slightly, shook off the hair that blocked his vision, and the object in his hand suddenly flashed. Anthony stood there for a while, confused, not understanding what Sirius was doing.

Sirius suddenly raised his head in Anthony's direction, jumped up and pulled out his wand: "Who's there?"

"Sirius." Anthony stated his identity.

"Oh, Henry." Sirius' wand was still pointed at Anthony. "Prove your identity."

Anthony thought for a moment: "Voldemort is not a lamb chop."

Sirius lowered his wand, "What brings you to sleep so early?"

Anthony walked over: "I often wake up early. What are you doing?" Only then did he see that Sirius was holding a mirror in his left hand.

"Nothing." Sirius shrugged, "I often wake up early too." He casually put the two-way mirror back into his pocket and fumbled in his pocket for a while, "Chocolate Frog?"

"Great, thank you." Anthony sat down next to him, took out his wand, and used the Flying Spell to summon the sleeping bag under the eaves.

The cat jumped down from the tree, shaking off the water in disgust. Sirius reached out to tease it, but it immediately hissed threateningly and stretched out its claws to scratch him. Anthony picked up the cat by the waist, hugged it to his legs, and stuffed it into the sleeping bag. The cat broke free, tore several long cuts in the sleeping bag, and jumped into the woods with its tail erected high to look for the ghost chicken.

"Restored to its original state." Anthony said as if it was normal.

"Most cats don't like me," Sirius commented.

Anthony said: "My cat doesn't like anyone. I sometimes feel like he just barely tolerates me."

"Well," said Sirius, watching the wraith mouse slink across the grass and into the dark woods, "did anyone ever tell you that your choices of pets were a bit odd?"

Anthony recalled for a moment: "Someone seemed to have hinted at it." He glanced at Sirius and took the initiative to say, "It was Snape."

Sirius closed his mouth and chewed his chocolate frog for a while without saying anything. After a while, he asked, "What are we doing today?"

"Let's find a way to pack up the tent first," Anthony suggested. "Then we can check out the rest of the places on the list and decide whether or not to focus on finding the unicorn."

Sirius said nothing.

"Or should we see what the Good Fortune Compass suggests?" Anthony said, pulling out the compass.

Sirius turned his head and smiled: "Henry, the fortune compass is not a divination tool, and it can't bring people real good luck. In fact - Ouch!" He suddenly stood up, opened the tent door and got in.

Anthony followed in: "What's wrong?"

Sirius had rushed into the cloakroom like a whirlwind and was rummaging around inside. The sound of bells and bangs kept coming from the dim compartment. He had parked his motorcycle in the corridor, blocking the way, so Anthony could only hold the handlebars and lean over to try to see what he was looking for.

Sirius let out a cry of triumph.

"I can't believe I forgot that!" He poked his head out of the cloakroom with a big smile. "This, Henry, is something that really brings good luck."

He jumped out of the cloakroom, opened his palm, and showed Anthony a very small glass bottle. The bottle was corked, with exquisite silver patterns wrapped around the bottle, and inside was a liquid as gorgeous as flowing gold.

"Efficacy," said Sirius, and then hesitated again. "Well... at least my mother's basement says it is."

(End of this chapter)