The Pacifist Necromancer of Hogwarts

Chapter 366 Voldemort? Snake? Anthony?
What is this? The giant snake stretched out its tongue, hissing as it probed the surrounding scents. It felt very strange, as if… uh…

“Take good care of it, Nagini,” the red-eyed man said softly. “I will come back to you when the time is right.”

"Come back?" he asked. "Are you leaving?"

“Dumbledore thinks he’s so wise,” the other person muttered to himself. “He thinks I’m weak and helpless, that he can capture me with just two men… or is he afraid to face me? That crazy old man…”

"It stinks! Can you smell it?"

The other person paused for a moment, then gently stroked his head with a finger: "Stinky? Maybe. I can't smell it. Like I told you, this body is too weak, and has lost most of its sense of smell and taste. It even needs to rely on your venom to fight the curse of the unicorn blood... But this will soon be over. Another body is ready."

"Ready?"

"Ah, yes... I'm ready... I can feel it..." The blood-red eyes closed.

The giant snake hesitated for a moment, then gently swam over, coiled itself around the package, and rested its head on its body, preparing to rest for a while. It vaguely remembered that it had been guarding this package like this ever since they encountered it in the forest… wait. The snake raised its head. It had been chasing a stench because some foul-smelling creature had damaged something it was quite pleased with… something? Its contents? Was it an empty tree trunk?
Regardless, the thing that annoyed him was a package, very similar to the one beside him. The snake flicked its tongue. Hiss. It stank; almost identical. But hadn't this package always been very kind to him? This strange man could speak the language of snakes, and sometimes he would throw several people into swarms of snakes, ensuring each snake had a good meal… Eaters? Did he eat people?

Just as he was irritably shaking his tail, a voice came from the bundle again: "Come here, Nagini."

The giant serpent raised its head, peering over the bundle. The ugly, fleshy infant hissed, "Time's up." He gently stroked the serpent's scales with his fingers, a cruel smile spreading across his face. "Unlike those worthless creatures, you are loyal. As a reward, you may devour Quirinas. Enjoy your meal."

At the command of that soft, strange serpentine language, the giant snake involuntarily loosened its coils and slithered towards the person lying on the ground. The body was no longer warm, no longer fresh, which made the snake lose its appetite. If only there were a microwave… what's a microwave? The snake pondered as it crawled towards the corpse on the ground.

The microwave oven is a square box that makes a buzzing sound. The snake frantically searches its memory. The microwave oven sits on the cabinet, next to the sink, next to the stove, and below the stove is the oven. A dish towel draped over the oven handle. Clean pots and pans are stacked together on the dining table, waiting to dry. The window is half-open, and flies buzz in and out.

The snake coiled around the corpse, its mouth open—he tilted his head. He didn't want to eat people now. But the parseltongue had commanded him to. Why such a command? He had never encountered a rabbit, roe deer, or wolf that enjoyed watching him devour their kind. However, some snakes do eat other snakes; perhaps the package contained a humanoid snake. But if that was the case, why didn't he eat it himself? Quirrell's lifeless eyes stared at a clump of bored bushes.

On sunny days, sunlight streams through the windows into the kitchen, warming half of the dining table. On the windowsill lie a collection of clean, sanitized plastic yogurt cups; some are yellowed and brittle, while others are filled with soil and a few seeds. Sometimes mint sprouts, sometimes basil, and sometimes some kind of long-leaved weed, but they manage to stay lush and green in the room for months.

The snake clamped its fangs around Quirrell's neck. The skin, now cold, no longer trembled; beneath it, the throbbing and gurgling of blood ceased, leaving a silence as still as a frozen river, utterly devoid of flavor for the snake. He was ravenous, yet utterly devoid of appetite. The best parts were gone; all that remained was cooled sauce, garnished herbs, burnt parchment paper, and a crunchy plate.

Suddenly, he sensed something moving behind him. The snake raised its head and looked sharply at the empty space where the package had been lying.

The package was floating slightly in mid-air. The parrot looked down at him and hissed, "Enjoy your meal, good girl."

“You are flying,” the snake described.

*Thud.* The package fell to the ground, shook twice, and then fell silent.

He crawled over and found that the person inside had closed their eyes again and stopped breathing; they too had become a corpse. Now there were two corpses here.

The snake rested its head on the bundle, deep in thought. The pungent stench gradually dissipated, bringing it relief. But a lingering odor remained, as if clinging to it. It coiled its tail before its eyes, staring at it. It wasn't a tail. A bird cried out hoarsely from a high branch.

The smell reminded him of a gloomy, rainy day several years ago. That day, he had just finished his last final exam of the semester. He had arranged to meet a friend at a bar outside the classroom that evening, then returned to his room, set his alarm, and fell into a deep sleep. When he awoke, the room was pitch black, and the faint smell of kitchen waste from outside was carried into the room by the damp breeze. His head throbbed, and he could hear something ringing in his ears. He turned over, sinking back into the mattress. After a while, he realized the alarm had been ringing for some time.

At that time, his name was Henry Anthony, and he was still alive.

Like surfacing, Anthony jolted awake. He realized he was inside the carcass of a dead snake, lying on top of Voldemort, with Quirrell beside him. A few dozen square feet, three corpses—quite a lively scene.

Besides this, he also realized that there was something strange beside him—not beside the snake, but beside Anthony, squeezed together inside the snake's body.

The true soul of the snake had departed, and its consciousness had faded. Only Anthony had forcefully taken over the place, controlling the snake's body. The small, strange creature sat quietly beside him, stiff as a thief who had climbed through a window only to be met with a robber who had broken in first. In Anthony's rare experiences possessing other creatures, he had never encountered anything like this. During the standoff, he could almost hear the room's alarm bells.

The robber Anthony examined the unfamiliar object. First, it was a soul, and a soul shouldn't be inside a body he was using; second, because it was so out of place with Anthony, it wasn't the snake's original soul; finally, it didn't emanate any emotion or feeling, so it wasn't the soul of any intelligent being, nor was it a human soul.

So Anthony leaned in and swallowed it. The small clump of soul flowed smoothly into death.

The alarm was still ringing.

Anthony looked up, realizing the alarm was actually coming from his own mind. The vengeful rat was calling to him anxiously. Anthony stood up, glanced at Quirrell, then at the package containing Voldemort, and turned to swim back into the woods. Reason told him that the serpent's shell was indeed his best option at the moment.

……

The big black dog intently sniffed the scents among the tree roots and fallen leaves in the forest, occasionally limping along for a short distance.

Suddenly, a transparent chicken landed on its back, its claws gripping its fur tightly, pecking fiercely at its spine. The black dog growled threateningly from deep within its throat, shaking its body, trying to shake the chicken off. Then, with a clattering thud, a four-legged creature rushed towards the black dog. This strange animal was half bone and half fur, with eerie flames flickering in its skull's eye sockets; judging by its tail, it was a cat.

The black dog lowered its body, baring its teeth. The transparent chicken then began pecking at its head.

The dog lowered its head and suddenly began to grow taller—Sirius Black stood in the forest, looking disheveled and impatient, his right arm still hanging at an odd angle.

"I don't care what you actually want—"

Suddenly, a voice called out from his arms: "Sirius? Sirius!"

Sirius sighed in frustration, wiped his face with his left hand, looked down at the bloodstains and dirt on his hands, then at his severed arm and dirty clothes.

“Sorry, not now,” Sirius said in a low voice, then turned to the skeleton cat and the wraith chicken in front of him. “I don’t care what you do, but don’t get in my way! If you can, go and deliver a message to Dumbledore! Tell him that Henry is dead! He’s been wrong again, Voldemort has killed another man!”

"Sirius!"

Harry's voice only made Sirius pause slightly: "I can't give up now... Voldemort is nearby. Don't look at me like that!" He growled at the wretch chicken, his voice hoarse with hatred, "You're wasting my time! Yes, my right arm can't hold a wand, can't cast the right spells, but I can use Animagus without a wand—" He couldn't believe he was explaining to a chicken, "Get out of the way!"

Just then, the flames in the skeleton cat's eyes flickered a few times, then suddenly dimmed. The next moment, ginger-yellow fur covered the exposed bones, and ears and whiskers emerged. It transformed into a perfectly normal cat, closed its eyes, emitted a soft purr, and fell into a deep sleep.

The vengeful chicken immediately flew to the cat's side, spread its wings, and nestled the cat beneath it like an incubator. The transparent vengeful rat also emerged, clinging tightly to the cat's side, squeaking anxiously.

Sirius Black, using the opportunity, transformed into a black dog and continued tracking the scent, running deeper into the forest. The wind brushed his nose, and he could smell the various scents drifting in the air… Quirrell and Voldemort's scents grew clearer, a searing pain throbbing at the broken part of his foreleg. His desire for revenge made him both calmer and more frenzied… Once he reached the two, he needed to find the right moment to lure Quirrell away from his master… Voldemort's use of the Cruciatus Curse to wake Quirrell and have him lead him away proved that Voldemort was incapable of acting on his own, and Quirrell needed to grasp the wand in Voldemort's outstretched hand, meaning they only had one wand, and that wand was in Voldemort's possession… If he could lure Quirrell away, with his Animagus size, he could easily subdue him; as for Voldemort, without Quirrell, he could only rely on the snakes—

A giant snake slithered through the bushes next to Sirius, carrying the scents of Voldemort and Quirrell, along with a faint smell of blood, and a familiar aroma mixed in.

Sirius continued running forward, pondering his plan. He was very close, so he slowed his pace, hid in the shadows of the trees, circled around to the end where the Quirrell scent was strongest, and peeked out—

The pale-faced young man lay lifeless before him. The bundle that had previously contained Voldemort lay rolled away nearby, overturned, half of his nauseatingly thin arm slumped on the ground. The wand lay outside the bundle, looking no more than a specially polished twig.

What happened? Did Quirrell rebel against Voldemort?
No, there's something else here... a scent he'd smelled not long ago...

The black dog cautiously took a few steps forward, stealthily approaching the package on the ground from behind. There was no reaction.

He picked up the wand from the ground—no response—and snapped it in two.

Sirius sniffed, suddenly remembering what he recognized about the snake. It was Anthony's scent; it was the snake that had escaped from Anthony's clothes. The bloody smell in the air was Anthony's blood.

(End of this chapter)