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The ginger cat leapt up the moment he entered the office, weaving around his legs and meowing. Anthony sank into his chair and pulled the ring from his pocket. All three pets crowded close, peering curiously at the dark stone said to be the Resurrection Stone.
He knew he should write to Lind immediately, request the whole story behind this ring, not sit here staring at the crack in the stone.
But he couldn't stop thinking about the conversation with Dumbledore.
The legend of the Resurrection Stone pointing towards Death. The people who sought it. The way Dumbledore had looked at the ring… Why had he refused to keep it safe? Why had the Flamels sent the Stone to him and not Dumbledore, especially when they'd even entrusted Dumbledore with their Philosopher's Stone? If Nicolas Flamel wouldn't name the Stone in a letter, should he even tell Lind what it was? And Dumbledore's 'hint' about the soul—the one he clearly didn't want to discuss—what in Merlin's name was that?
The Wraith Chicken lunged forward, its beak snapping shut on the ring. The next second, the cat pounced. They tumbled across the floor in a flurry of feathers and fur. The ring clattered onto the desk. The Wraith Mouse scurried over, nose twitching as it sniffed.
Anthony picked it up. That dizzying, giddy joy flooded back. He tossed it into a drawer, shoved it deep behind Barrow's notes.
The dragon model clattered out. Anthony looked down. "Your treasure, oh wyrm. And I'm sure it's cursed. Now you can build your castle."
He scooped up the cat, which was trying to scramble into the drawer, and dumped it on the floor. The cat gave an indignant yowl, swiping at his ankles the moment its paws touched stone.
"Go on," Anthony shooed. "Find something else to wreck."
The cat leapt onto the desk, snatched up the mouse, knocked over his teacup, sent the inkwell flying, and pushed a stack of books to the floor with a satisfying thud. Then it trotted out, perfectly obedient.
…
That night, Anthony dreamed of home.
He was in his own bed. The sound of a frying pan clanging against the stove came from the kitchen. Birds chirped outside the window. He pulled back the curtain. An owl stared back.
He turned and opened the door, wanting to tell his grandparents about magic and such. But the house was empty.
The owl flew away. The clanging in the kitchen stopped. Silence swallowed everything.
He stepped outside. A silent river flowed past the front door, its banks piled with broken, black pebbles. His grandfather was there, fishing. His grandmother stood beside him. Anthony started to run.
His grandfather saw him and waved a frantic hand. Don't scare the fish.
Anthony slowed, walked quietly, and stood shoulder-to-shoulder with his grandmother behind his grandfather.
"Ha! A big one this time!" his grandfather whispered. He held the bent fishing rod, face ruddy and focused on the water.
"Or a big boot," said his grandmother.
His grandfather shushed her, annoyed. Anthony sat on the ground. They all watched the bobbing float together. The sun was bright. The river glittered. Dazzling light danced on the water, almost blinding.
Anthony closed his eyes. When he opened them, Dumbledore sat beside him, gazing at the river.
"The Resurrection Stone," Dumbledore said. Anthony saw him sinking. The black pebbles of the bank crept over his legs. Like quicksand. Like a swamp. Like the tide.
He jumped up, trying to pull Dumbledore free.
Dumbledore said, "I like your boots, Henry."
Anthony looked down. Two fish were wrapped around his feet.
He woke up.
The room was pitch black. The cat stood on the pillow, looking down at him. Anthony reached out. The cat turned and walked away.
Something tickled his neck. He scratched and found the Wraith Mouse curled up there, fast asleep.
Anthony rolled over and closed his eyes. The silence was absolute. He wished he could sleep more.
Dumbledore's blue eyes flashed behind his eyelids. He could almost hear the old wizard's voice. "To see departed loved ones again… if only as in the tale… to speak with them…"
Anthony rolled over again.
Snape's voice, full of malice and curiosity. "I am curious… why is it that after becoming a Necromancer, you have never once tried to resurrect him?"
Anthony sat up with a sigh and reached for his wand on the nightstand. The chicken sleeping there gave a low, sleepy brrrp.
"It's fine," Anthony said.
He stood, slipped the wand into his pocket, pulled on a thin jacket, and put on his shoes. He decided to go feed the giant squid.
…
The days were getting warmer, but the Black Lake at night still held a chill. Mist soaked the path by the shore. Long grass whispered against his legs. A few insects chirped somewhere far off, trembling, then fell silent as he approached. Only the gentle slap of water against the bank remained.
Anthony broke the bread, tossing the pieces far out.
Curfew had been over for hours. Dawn was still a long way off. No moon. Only a few stars peeked through gaps in the clouds. The lake was a pool of ink, only the wave-tips catching a faint gleam. The bread floated, bobbed, and vanished.
It had to be a dark object. He couldn't see how it couldn't be.
Calling back a piece of a soul… that went further than Inferi or skeletons in disturbing the dead. And even if it wasn't a soul, just some shadow or illusion that brought only pain and longing—that, in the end, lured the living towards death like in the legend—that was still evil.
A splash. A tentacle broke the surface, coiling around a bread chunk. Anthony smiled and crouched down.
"It's not that Death is evil," he told the squid. "It's that Death—the neutral kind—never needs to tempt anyone."
He wouldn't try to resurrect his family. He knew they wouldn't want him to. He wouldn't try to kill himself either. He rather liked being alive.
He didn't know why he hadn't managed to die properly. But maybe—like Dumbledore and the Flamels said about the Philosopher's Stone being destroyed—'death is but the next great adventure.' And life's experiences were just supplies for the journey. Anyway, according to Gilderoy Lockhart's Guide to Befriending Dark Creatures, it never hurt to be over-prepared.
The squid, not getting more bread, lazily raised a tentacle and felt along the bank.
Anthony reached out and lightly touched the slippery, faintly-glowing tip.
The tentacle jerked back. But when Anthony tossed another piece, it surfaced again, snatching the bobbing bread from the waves.
Anthony picked out a raisin, popped it in his mouth, and threw the rest of the loaf to the squid.
"Goodbye," he said, standing up.
The squid's tentacle remained, waiting. If he knew Mermish, maybe it would understand him better. But Anthony didn't fancy swimming in the lake. The shore was fine. Even if he couldn't die a second time, he'd rather avoid the feeling of being wrapped in too much water.
He walked back towards the castle, mind wandering through unimportant things. The sky was still black. The castle's towers and turrets were just darker shapes against the dark. Only a few windows showed light.
A hoarse yowl cut the quiet.
He turned. Mrs. Norris poked her head from a nearby bush, her lamp-like eyes scanning. Anthony smiled at her.
Mrs. Norris looked up at him and emitted another loud, grating cry.
"Hey, what's wrong, Mrs. Norris?" Anthony bent down, puzzled, and held out a hand. "It's just me."
Mrs. Norris arched her back and hissed. Then she shot past his legs, tail low, straight for a tree behind him. She yowled there, a nasty, triumphant sound.
A figure stepped out from the shadows. Mrs. Norris kept up her victory screech.
"Right," Anthony said. "Good evening, Miss Davis."
Tracey said calmly, "Good evening, Professor Anthony."
Just then, Filch came puffing up, lantern held high. Mrs. Norris immediately strutted over, tail held high.
"Oh, my clever girl," Filch crooned, raising the lantern to their faces. "Good evening, Professor Anthony… Now, let's see what we've caught… Ah. A student out of bed. Aiming for the lake? The forest? Hogsmeade?"
"I couldn't sleep."
"Couldn't sleep!" Filch spat. "Couldn't sleep! That won't wash with me, missy! Professor Umbridge is right. Students should follow rules. Curfew means curfew." He squinted, peering at Tracey. "Slytherin, eh? Come along. Professor Snape will deal with you. Trust me, you're in for it now."
…
"Good evening, Filch." Snape's voice was icy. He stood in his office doorway.
Filch said gleefully, "Hate to disturb you so late, Professor Snape, but—" He stepped aside, revealing Tracey. "Caught this one out of bed. Roaming about in the dead of night. Up to no good, I'm sure…"
Snape glanced at Tracey, then his gaze landed on Anthony. "Good evening, Professor Anthony."
"Evening," Anthony said.
Why is it, that after becoming a Necromancer…
Anthony shook his head, trying to dislodge Snape's voice. Snape raised an eyebrow slightly but said nothing. He turned back to Filch. "Where did you find Miss Davis, Filch?"
"Outside the castle. Past the front doors. Mrs. Norris found her, else she'd have slipped right into the Forbidden Forest, no doubt… These students, Professor Snape. No respect for the rules."
"Detention, Miss Davis. Next Wednesday, you will be cleaning the Potions classroom," Snape said. "Now. Good night, Filch. If you'll excuse me, I have a potion that requires my attention."
"But, Professor Snape, she was outside the castle—"
"Hence the detention," Snape said politely. "Good night, Professor Anthony."
Bam. The door shut in their faces.
"I suppose he's busy," Anthony said.
Filch glared at the door, nostrils flaring. He whirled on Tracey.
"If Professor Umbridge hears about this, she won't be pleased. Might even kick you out of her Inquisitorial Squad," he hissed, low and mean. He glanced at Anthony. "She won't like the news. A member of the Squad, caught—" Another glance. "Caught out of bed. I know she won't."
"Probably right," Tracey said. "May I return to my dormitory, Mr. Filch?"
Filch studied her, then finally gave a curt, grudging nod. Tracey turned and headed down the corridor toward the dungeons. Anthony thought for a moment, then decided to see her to the common room entrance.
To his surprise, she was waiting around the first corner. She gave a small, resigned smile as he approached. "I anticipated this, Professor Anthony."
"A professor's duty," Anthony said. "Why were you out there tonight, Miss Davis?"
"I couldn't sleep," Tracey repeated.
"Hm. I'm sure I've said this many times, but Madam Pomfrey is very helpful. And a professional," Anthony said. "Not that I'm encouraging it, but—were you missing an ingredient for a potion?"
Tracey stopped dead, staring at him in shock.
Anthony then remembered. He checked the abandoned bathroom on every patrol, but he'd never actually talked to her about it. Then again, he'd been checking so often, and had never bothered to hide… he'd assumed she knew it wasn't a secret anymore.
Anthony said seriously, "Honestly, I'd advise you to steal from Professor Snape's stores before considering the Forbidden Forest—again, not that I'm encouraging it." But compared to Hagrid's 'pets' in the forest, Snape was two hundred percent the safer option. At least he wasn't classified as XXXXX. Yet.
Tracey let out a slow breath, seeming to relax.
"No. I'm not missing an ingredient," she said. "I'm missing a cauldron."
"What?"
"One day, my cauldron vanished. Later, I heard Potter got knocked out by one. I've been using the shared, second-hand ones in the Potions classroom, and Professor Snape inventories them."
Anthony fought the urge to suggest she just steal one during her detention next Wednesday.
"Go see Madam Pomfrey, Miss Davis," he said.
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