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As if knowing what he was thinking, while preparing lessons, a barn owl tapped on his window.
Anthony puzzled over the note he removed from its leg, written in thin, slanted, looping handwriting:
Dear Henry,
Congratulations on earning the students' affection. If you're willing, please come to my office tomorrow at ten o'clock. I look forward to your reply and wish you a pleasant evening.
Yours faithfully,
Albus Dumbledore
P.S. It's a perfect time for Sherbet Lemons.
"The Headmaster?" Anthony muttered, grabbing a quill to write a note promising he'd arrive on time the next morning.
The owl surveyed the area, found no owl treats, and flew irritably onto the desk, trying to peck his hand.
The cat suddenly leaped up from under the desk. The owl startled and immediately took flight, but after barely two wing beats, it was dragged down by the cat's detached claws—the cat, as Anthony's first summoned creature, seemed to have acquired some of his abilities.
As he gradually understood necromantic magic, the cat had gained many fighting methods... methods Anthony wouldn't use to maintain his sanity.
For instance, controlling detached limbs.
"Uh," Anthony said distastefully. "Don't actually kill it. This counts as school property."
The cat retracted its claws, staring intently at the owl, tail swishing back and forth.
Anthony rubbed its ears. "Good cat."
"Sherbet Lemon," Anthony told the gargoyle, feeling somewhat foolish about the gesture. As if he were placing an order with the stone creature.
The statue jumped aside, revealing a moving spiral staircase through the split wall. Anthony stepped on, looking around curiously. He'd never been to the Headmaster's office before.
The door opened automatically.
"Come in, Henry, come in," Dumbledore said with a smile, looking at him. "Before we begin our discussion, I must say I'm pleased to see the owl returned almost entirely intact."
Anthony nodded. "My cat's temper has improved considerably."
He restrained himself from staring at an instrument on a table. The strange silver device was spinning with a buzzing sound. Sunlight streamed through the half-open window into the office, and the smoke it emitted dissipated in the beam of light. He forcibly withdrew his gaze, only to discover something even more captivating the next second.
A phoenix.
It stood sleeping on its perch, head tucked under its enormous wings, red and gold feathers so brilliant they took one's breath away.
"Beautiful, isn't it?" Dumbledore said. "No matter how many years I've been with it, it never fails to amaze me. Sit down, Henry. I promise it won't fly away immediately."
Anthony sat down slowly with awe. The phoenix looked at him from under its wing, shuffled toward Dumbledore, and went back to sleep.
"What did you want to see me about, sir?" he asked. Surely not for Yorkshire pudding recipes.
"Nothing major," Dumbledore assured. "First, of course, congratulations, Henry. You seem to be adapting very well to Hogwarts. I've heard quite a bit of praise for you—students and staff all like you... well, most of the staff."
Anthony immediately understood. Snape had filed a report.
"Neither the troll nor the Basilisk has anything to do with me," he declared, mentally cursing the perpetrator of the Halloween troll incident. That person had caused him so much trouble.
Dumbledore shook his head. "Relax, Henry. I didn't say they were related to you. I just wanted to ask—what do you think of Hogwarts?"
"Um... it's quite good?"
Dumbledore smiled, looking at Anthony. "Personally, I find the castle far too easy to get lost in. Once I clearly meant to go to Minerva's office, but somehow ended up in the kitchens. The house-elves were so enthusiastic, I had to eat three cakes and two ice creams there."
Anthony laughed too. "Elves are like that. They keep wanting to redecorate my office in Baroque style."
"I can imagine," Dumbledore said.
Under his encouraging, penetrating gaze, Anthony mentioned the parts he liked (students, colleagues, centaurs, meals, and the library) and the parts he didn't like as much (the troll, the Basilisk, Acromantulas, Filch, and Snape).
He concluded, "Overall, I think this truly is a magical castle. Maybe not quite like fairy tales, but still magical."
"Wonderful. I'm very glad you like this magical castle. Ah, speaking of magic." Dumbledore's expression grew serious. "Henry, how is your necromantic magic progressing?"
Anthony stared at him wide-eyed. Dumbledore had said "necromantic magic" so easily.
Before this, even in the most confrontational situations, the investigation team leader had been deeply reluctant to use that term, as if merely letting those syllables roll through his throat would turn him into an undead. (The only known living necromancer declared this wishful thinking.)
"Some progress," Anthony said honestly. "Sir, would you like to see a walking roast chicken?"
"Are you saying you can resurrect a roast chicken?" Dumbledore asked him seriously.
"No, I can control it," Anthony said. "Aside from myself—oh, right, you don't think that was resurrection—I haven't touched the resurrection part yet."
Dumbledore pressed his fingertips together, studying him, finally saying gently, "I truly don't wish to believe that was resurrection."
Anthony stared tensely at Dumbledore, hearing a "but" in his words. He didn't even know why he was nervous, but he could sense... he had a premonition... Dumbledore was about to say something he was hesitating whether to tell Anthony.
"But we did some investigation," Dumbledore said. "It appears your experience indeed doesn't match my initial hypothesis. I must admit, resurrection might be the most concise explanation... I mean, most concise in wording. Believe me, the magic involved is complex enough to give the most profound magical theorists headaches."
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