Meeting and Lunch

With the meeting time confirmed, Anthony buried himself in the pile of parchments. He didn't even glance at the Potions section—if Snape truly expected him to understand it, then Anthony would have to question whether Snape was completely mad—but the sections on curses and rituals were genuinely interesting.

His household pets hadn't caused much trouble, aside from breaking the bedroom chandelier. The wraith mouse had somehow decided to decorate its room—which it had unilaterally declared to be Anthony's bedroom—by stacking apples everywhere. It had also perched more than a dozen apples atop a second-hand chandelier that was supposedly fifty years old.

In addition, the Wrathful Chicken had wandered over curiously to investigate what could possibly make Anthony so engrossed that he absentmindedly held it up while brushing his teeth. Meanwhile, the Skeleton Cat had grudgingly tried to remind Anthony that it was long overdue for a drink.

"Go away," Anthony muttered, absentmindedly nudging the cat aside as he studied a passage discussing the use of skulls in rituals.

From the perspective of a necromancer, the entire section was laughably incorrect.

The cat promptly retaliated by sinking its teeth into his finger.

Anthony hissed in pain but then, inspired, mused aloud: "Using the blood of the dead instead of wine... hmm..."

He switched the quill to his left hand and scribbled down some crooked notes. The cat gave him an exasperated look, scratched him one last time for good measure, and leapt away.

...

On Friday morning, Anthony opened his window and found the sky terribly gloomy. The entire city was drenched in gray, and even the supermarket lights seemed dimmer than usual.

At the supermarket, the cashier greeted him with a smile, handed him a sandwich for breakfast, and kindly wished him an enjoyable holiday.

"I hope so," Anthony chuckled, taking the sandwich. "I just hope my current colleagues welcome me as much as you do."

In Scotland, Hogwarts was similarly draped in dark clouds, and the air was thick and humid, foretelling at least one impending rainstorm.

Anthony traveled via Floo Powder from Honeydukes—as a "valued customer" who had ordered five entire cases of coconut sorbet, the shop had kindly let him use their fireplace. Stepping out into Hogsmeade, he passed the Hogwarts Express station and made his way around the Black Lake, all the while wondering whether he had remembered to close the window and bring his distillery back inside before leaving.

Snape was waiting for him at the entrance.

Or, more accurately—Snape strode out of the castle, fixed him with a cold stare, nodded impatiently, and skipped all formal greetings.

"You're late, Anthony. If you have even the slightest sense of gratitude, you should remember who this is for."

Anthony checked his watch. "I'm actually three minutes early, but sure. Sorry."

"You'll be late by the time you step into my office," Snape snapped. "Follow me."

Snape led him down the narrow stone stairs into the dungeons.

His office was as dim and unwelcoming as ever. The fireplace was dark and empty, making Anthony wonder if Snape kept his Floo deactivated at all times. Would any unfortunate heads attempting to pop through simply be doused with a bucket of water?

At Snape's signal, Anthony sat down in a chair as the Potions Master retrieved a small box from a cupboard. He carefully took out four tiny bottles and placed them on the table.

Anthony leaned in, squinting. Each bottle contained a single shimmering droplet at the bottom—each one resembling liquid silver or mercury, though some had a paler, almost white hue.

Snape spoke in a soft, deliberate tone, his gaze lingering on the vials:

"Anderson's Pure Blood. Siegel's Resurrection Potion. Gardner's Silver Moonlight. Senai's Water of Continuation."

Anthony waited for a "but"—some cutting remark to follow the praise.

It never came.

Instead, Snape's sallow face twisted into a cold smile. His next words were silkily sharp:

"Tell me, Anthony, why can't we just use them?"

"I don't know. Because they're too expensive?" Anthony said, seeing Snape's undisguised "you're about to get a T" look.

"No, because this one burns the throat of the person who takes it, this one will make the person eat only toads that have just eaten Flobberworms, this one will cause sunburns..." Snape said, pausing dramatically, "and this one, has no effect at all, but perfectly imitates unicorn blood in form."

"That's great," Anthony said.

"You haven't read 'Advances in Potions Using Unicorn Blood Since the Sixteenth Century' at all, have you?" Snape whispered ominously.

Anthony said frankly, "Yes." In fact, he had even forgotten what its title was.

"Excellent, Anthony," said Snape. "Excellent."

"Look, Snape, you know I've only had a year of magical training, and you know I know nothing about Potions," Anthony said, ignoring Snape's "obviously" comment. "I don't understand why you felt I needed to be involved in the Potions project, I thought you were enough. Even the Headmaster didn't plan to get involved in the unicorn blood simulation project, and I don't think I can help with any of the production details."

"Because it was apparently you who summoned your little pet, and it was you who had the whim to curse it, just for the sake of...what was the phrase? Ah, yes, 'for its companionship after term has started'," said Snape, with more anger in his voice than he should have.

He slammed the cupboard shut. "It was you who witnessed Quirrell's casting - still completely ignorant of it - and it was you who came up with the idea of ​​emulating the ritual. And our headmaster, the great Dumbledore, for some unknown reason, thought he should support your foolish decision."

"Okay, I'm sorry," Anthony said. "If you find this subject very difficult, please let me know, because I really don't understand it. I don't want it to take up too much of your vacation time... I can try to find another way."

Snape glared at him fiercely for a while, then sat down on the chair opposite with a very unhappy look on his face.

"So?" Anthony prompted. "If you still want to discuss this, can we skip the potions part - I appreciate your effort on this, by the way, no sarcasm - and move on to curses and rituals? I see you sent material on that, too, which presumably means you have some details you'd like to discuss?"

…

Anthony and Snape argued over whether Quirrell had said "I curse you with the blood of the living" or "I curse you with the flesh of the living".

"'Flesh and blood' doesn't make any sense," Snape said impatiently. "Blood and flesh are two completely different things. They can't be compared."

"Of course they can. When the meat is cut, it will bleed, and the flesh will be damaged. They are things wrapped around the bones and are difficult to separate from each other." Antony explained, "The clever Portia took advantage of this and made 'cut a pound of flesh' become a dead letter."

"Listen, Anthony, blood and flesh are not the same thing in magic! Dragon blood has at least a dozen uses, while dragon flesh's greatest effect is just pain relief. If you're as humble as you pretend to be, at least admit your ignorance and look at other people's research. Not that I expect you to know anything."

"The review you sent me was full of errors. They are a thing in my magic - flesh and blood belong to the realm of life, a part of me that I cannot reproduce no matter how hard I try."

"That just means you're trying the wrong thing," Snape said mockingly. "Try to separate the blood from the flesh. You may find that the reason you keep failing is not because of magic, but because of your mind."

Anthony shook his head. "You think I haven't tried? Flesh and blood are entangled in the realm of life and death. Quirrell can't separate them. In fact, if he really just said 'blood', I would even doubt whether this curse can succeed."

"Oh, who is it that pleads ignorance by claiming to have only one year's magical education?" snapped Snape. "And now a Curse Master? You must think you're pretty clever, Anthony?"

"That is a curse specifically targeting necromancers. For God's sake, who is a necromancer, Snape!" Anthony said loudly, and then sighed, "Okay, can we stop this debate where neither side is convinced and move on to the next point of discussion?"

Snape did not answer, his expression was a little strange. Anthony thought about it for a moment, then realized how inappropriate the exclamation he had just said was, and couldn't help shaking his head and laughing.

"Well, for Death's sake, I am the necromancer," he said. "Can we skip the debate? In fact, I don't know why I'm discussing this with you. I thought you were solely responsible for imitating Quirrell's blood."

Snape narrowed his eyes and said in a smooth tone: "I don't know if you noticed, but the curser needs to be a living person."

"Yeah," Anthony said, and then suddenly realized what Snape meant. "Wait, you're not saying..."

"At the same time, this person needs to know your dishonorable identity. I hope you understand that this means your range of choices is not very large." Snape maintained his smooth tone and looked at Anthony coldly, "Quirrel, of course, you can definitely find him and persuade him to do it again; Dumbledore, too busy and noble; Minerva, oh, I wonder why you have been hiding your dark magic in front of her; the Ministry of Magic, a tempting option; and there is still..."

Anthony heard himself say, "You."

"Sound logical reasoning, Anthony."

"I'm really sorry," Anthony said. "I didn't mean to cause you so much trouble. You know, this is not your responsibility, but mine. I will find someone else. Forget about the curse. Snape, I'll be grateful if you can help me simulate Quirrell's blood."

Snape looked at him inscrutable for a moment, then suddenly said, "Eight unicorn hairs."

"What?"

"Eight unicorn hairs," Snape repeated impatiently, "plus the basilisk corpse, and we're even."

"Oh, okay, I'll give it a try." I wondered if Hagrid would be able to do anything. "Thank you."

Snape nodded gruffly, accepting the thanks reluctantly.

…

They almost had lunch in Snape's office, but Anthony happened (or didn't happen) to notice a shelf along the wall, which held rows of large glass jars, each filled with something disgusting.

"Either the hall or the kitchen," Anthony insisted. "Or I'll come and discuss this with you after lunch. Whatever you want, I want to eat somewhere warm and bright."

So here comes the kitchen.

Snape's face was as gloomy as the weather outside the castle, but Professor McGonagall happened to hear that Snape was at school and came to discuss Roger Davis' final grade with him.

She welcomed Anthony with surprise, accepted his invitation to lunch, and agreed that the elves would be pleased to see more people in the kitchen, and when McGonagall really wanted to do something, she rarely failed.

"Caridi wants me to teach three grades at once," Anthony said, grabbing a piece of apple pie for dessert.

As Snape pointed out, he preferred not to remind Professor McGonagall that he was a necromancer.

For some irrational reason, he was a little worried that the fact that he was a dark wizard would hurt her feelings. Snape actually stopped trying to continue discussing the connection and difference between "bones" and "skulls", and instead asked about Professor McGonagall's sixth-year course selection.

"Which three?" asked Professor McGonagall.

"I think she said third, fourth, and fifth grade. But I'm a little hesitant because fifth grade... you know, they have to take OWLs."

"But if you are not going to continue teaching fifth years, they have only received fourth year Muggle Studies training from you," Professor McGonagall pointed out. "They are also students of Charity in their third year. I don't think it would be good for them to change professors too frequently."

Anthony joked, "No more often than Defense Against the Dark Arts."

"Well, if you must compare it to Defence Against the Dark Arts," said Professor McGonagall, allowing herself to relax slightly against the back of her chair.

"But you do have a point, Minerva," Anthony said. "I'll think about it. By the way, no matter which grades I teach, the textbooks won't change. I don't think Charity is going to change the textbooks either, so you don't need to worry about sending the textbook list for now."

Professor McGonagall raised her eyebrows slightly and said, "That couldn't be better, Henry."

"What's wrong?" Anthony already knew this was her "I have some not-so-polite complaints" tone.

"Lockhart, our potential future colleague..." She glanced over there because of the sound Snape made, "wrote to me not long ago, telling me that if he really accepted our offer - as you may know, the offer has not yet been sent out - he hopes to use his series of best-selling books as teaching materials for Defense Against the Dark Arts. A complete set, for every grade."

Anthony asked, "Including 'How to Get Rid of Household Pests'? That seems to have always been Flourish and Blott's best-selling book." And he knew that Mrs. Weasley had a copy, and heard that she wanted to buy another hardcover copy.

"No," said Professor McGonagall, daintily wiping her mouth with her napkin. "It's the Lockhart and Dangerous Creatures series."

Snape commented dryly, "What a shame. Vermin sounds like the most likely book to be useful."

Anthony said impartially: "I know that set. It's really nice. The illustrations are beautiful, the text is very interesting, and it's all his personal experiences. If it weren't for the fact that the whole set might be unaffordable for some students, it might become their favorite textbook."

"That's right, Henry," said Professor McGonagall. "There's a whole set for all seven grades... I can only hope that if he is hired at last he'll stay a few years longer and not have the students buy so many books."