Time passed quickly in necromancy practice. The weather gradually turned cold. Fireplaces lit throughout the castle grew hotter. Filch often stood with Mrs. Norris in corridor corners, triumphantly catching several students who'd put flames in jars for warmth.
When Anthony came to his senses, Halloween had already passed.
"No one admits it!" Professor Flitwick said shrilly. "I asked everyone. No one admits they did this!"
Anthony sat by the staff room fireplace, watching a group of professors stride in angrily.
He'd recently come to understand what "necromancers approximate dark creatures" meant. As his understanding and proficiency in necromancy grew, his body temperature gradually dropped, and his perception of temperature dulled. Once when a student asked with concern if he was cold, he realized he was wearing summer clothes and had to tell them he was practicing Warming Charms.
"They don't dare admit it!" Professor Burbage said angrily. "This is rather excessive! Think about it—if Potter and Weasley hadn't gone, leaving Granger alone..."
"Deduct two hundred points." Professor Sprout said. Even she was quite unhappy.
"No, expulsion. I will expel the culprit." Professor McGonagall said with a stern face, fury burning in her eyes. "I certainly will. This isn't some prank lower years could pull off—I'm quite certain. This person is old enough to have sufficient magical ability, fully understands what they're doing, yet still did it! Even—even the Weasley twins couldn't do something this vicious!"
Anthony asked puzzledly, "What are you talking about?"
"Ah, Professor Anthony, long time no see. I didn't notice you here." Professor Flitwick said, jumping onto the nearest chair. "We're discussing that troll. All students say they don't know where the troll came from."
"What troll?"
"That's right, Henry wasn't there that day!" Professor Sprout said. After giving Anthony homemade biscuits, she'd shown concern for him several times. Afterward they'd begun using first names. "On Halloween, a troll appeared in the dungeons. That big oaf rampaged around, smashing everything it could... It nearly smashed Granger too." She said with lingering fear.
Anthony recalled. That day he'd had a brilliant idea, wanting to test whether he could control necrotic limbs. He'd asked the house-elves to bring dinner to his office and hadn't gone to the Great Hall.
"Is Granger alright?" He asked worriedly.
"She's fine. Potter and Weasley saved her." Professor McGonagall said. "That foolish girl told me she thought she could defeat the troll... as if I can't tell she's lying! Either way, now she, Potter, and Weasley are friends." She shook her head. "I hope she can make Potter and Weasley put more effort into their studies."
"Also a good thing. I was wondering why Potter and Weasley's essays suddenly improved so much this week." Professor Sprout said.
"I won't encourage students to plagiarize, Pomona." Professor McGonagall said seriously. "If you discover any signs, you may punish them. Even as friends, Miss Granger shouldn't tolerate such academic misconduct."
"No, I think they had Granger help review their essays, perhaps at most with some literature research assistance." Professor Sprout assured her. "Relax, Minerva. They're first-year children."
"First-year children who knocked out a troll." Professor McGonagall said.
Professor Flitwick interjected enthusiastically, "They did brilliantly, cooperated very well! Mr. Weasley told me they used the Levitation Charm I taught that day. Minerva, your students have strong combat awareness."
Professor McGonagall showed her first smile of the day. "That's not my credit. Filius, I attribute it to Charms and Defense Against the Dark Arts."
"By the way, how is Professor Quirrell? Was he there that day?" Anthony asked curiously. He hadn't seen Professor Quirrell in quite a while.
"Quirinus discovered the troll." Professor Sprout shook her head. "He immediately came up to tell everyone. Poor man—ran until his face went white, but still forced himself to notify everyone. I hope he's alright now."
Professor McGonagall said, "He's fine. Severus checked on him. He told me nothing was wrong. Though he really doesn't like Professor Quirrell." She cleared her throat and imitated, "'No need to worry about Quirrell's health, Minerva. He just wanted to find some Halloween fun for everyone. He greatly appreciated the dungeon troll, thought everyone should go see it. You cannot grasp the humor in this—truly sad.'"
Professor Flitwick laughed. "Oh, I'm not surprised! I mean, you all know which position he most wants to teach."
Everyone laughed. Snape's obsession with the Defense Against the Dark Arts position had always been an unspoken little anecdote among professors.
"I've never seen a troll." Anthony said.
"Er, you wouldn't want to, Henry." Professor Sprout said. "That thing looks just like textbook illustrations, only larger. But that stench... Heavens, I can't understand those books that say its smell resembles dragon dung fertilizer. It was absolutely terrible."
"I haven't seen many trolls either." Professor Flitwick said thoughtfully. "I wonder which is bigger—it or a giant."
"The troll, I'd guess." Professor McGonagall said. "The few we've seen could only be considered small mountain trolls. Forest trolls are even larger than mountain trolls."
Anthony asked curiously, "How tall was the dungeon one?"
"I can't say for certain. I have no concept of tall creatures." Professor Flitwick said, gesturing at his own height without concern. "Ten feet at least."
"I'd say twelve feet." Professor McGonagall said. "Not small for humans either."
Anthony felt somewhat fascinated for a moment.
Until now he'd been experimenting with frogs, mice, and chickens—things he could ask house-elves to provide—and hadn't tried real magical creatures. According to records, remains containing magic, especially Dark Magic, were particularly suitable for necromancy, almost like commanding one's arms, like arms commanding fingers.
And a troll—such a large magical creature, its corpse, soul—if trolls could have souls—bones, flesh... what excellent casting materials they'd be. If he could also find a troll, cleanly extract its bones, summon its soul back from death... If he could test those sharp necromancy spells on this thick-skinned brute...
No.
Anthony pressed his forehead, startled with alarm. He wasn't a person addicted to killing. This wasn't his thought—this was the bloodthirsty whisper of necromancy within him.
He'd never imagined necromancy would twist him this way. But thinking back, not a single page of that notebook failed to calmly record various test subjects' gruesome deaths. And he'd indulged in the pleasure of controlling everything, forgetting what he'd originally been like.
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