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Anthony followed the glow of Necromancy and spotted the pets huddled together almost immediately. Ignoring the Wraith Mouse's terrified shrieks in his mind, he shot out from the bushes and scrambled over to the Wraith Chicken. Through the chicken's transparent wings, he could see the cat, sleeping peacefully.
He squeezed under the Wraith Chicken's wing. The cold wraith was doing its best to stop the cat's temperature from climbing higher—in a way that somewhat resembled trying to freeze the cat to death. The chicken shuffled aside with a relieved cluck, making room for the large snake.
Anthony opened his mouth and clamped his fangs around the cat.
The cat's breathing hitched. Anthony felt the soft, furry belly pressed against him rise and fall sharply. Venom and Necromancy flowed through his fangs into the cat's neck, slowly making him dizzy. Clearly, a snake's venom supply was limited. He kept his fangs embedded, listening to the breaths grow shallower, quieter, and wondered where he could find more death, more Necromancy for his cat.
The answer was obvious… No. Of course not Quirrell or Voldemort. For no reason he could name, Anthony was certain their deaths held too many impurities for his cat. There was a better choice nearby. Freshly dead, then awakened by Necromancy. Snake corpses.
He scooped the cat up in his jaws and slithered deeper into the forest. The Wraith Chicken flew ahead, scaring off a few curious roe deer; the mouse scurried behind, pausing now and then to stand on its hind legs and scout cautiously. The cat swayed in his mouth. They needed to be quick. If the cat lost too much Necromancy, if the corpse had been 'alive' for too long, even if he woke the Skeletal Cat, Anthony couldn't guarantee it would be the cat he knew. Just as death consumed life, life eroded death.
He couldn't stop thinking of Dumbledore's story about the Resurrection Stone: a wizard who crossed the boundary to bring his dead lover back, but she wasn't happy to return. He thought of his own pets. They loved staying in the room, or taking walks far from crowds, because they hated living things.
When he'd first awakened the Wraith Mouse, he'd hesitated about letting it return to death. It had twitched its whiskers and chosen to stay. He'd asked the Wraith Chicken if it wanted to come back. The chicken had come back. But had he ever asked the cat?
He climbed over a few mounds, wove around tree trunks and rocks, and there it was. His own leg, lying ahead. Past the leg, a field of intertwined snakes and the long-dead unicorn.
He placed the cat on the ground. It lay on its back, belly exposed. Anthony nudged it gently with his snout.
There was enough death here. Like a stream feeding a lake, he carefully guided the flow of Necromancy toward the cat. He wanted it back. But a part of him worried it might prefer to sleep forever, comfortable, not having to exist as an undead thing in the cracks between the living. Maybe because of that hesitation, in his Necromantic sense, the cat's glow flickered, dimmed, brightened, as if it too hesitated at the boundary.
The cat had been with him since he crawled out of the grave—perched coldly atop his wardrobe watching him, or tearing hotly around the room reminding him to feed it, fix the furniture, clean up. I want my cat, Anthony thought, dragging more snakes closer. But if…
Suddenly, the cat's fur vanished. Replaced by bone. In the skull, two points of Soul Fire flared to life. Anthony froze, shocked, then leaned in closer.
The cat recoiled with clear distaste, lifted a paw, and with a swift, precise swipe, severed the giant snake's head—again—along the nearly faded seam. Thump! Anthony poured out of Nagini and flowed back into his own body.
The Wraith Chicken and Wraith Mouse gathered around the cat, delighted. The cat tucked the Wraith Mouse under its chin. Anthony let his head roll closer, but before he could speak, the Skeletal Cat swatted him again, sending him tumbling away with a series of clatters.
"Hey!" Anthony protested.
The Skeletal Cat stood, stretched leisurely, and walked over to inspect Anthony's… current state. Anthony couldn't help but laugh. In that final moment, it had been the cat's desire, not his, that ignited the Soul Fire. The cat was back. It had chosen to come back. Nothing else mattered. Nothing could make him happier.
The cat lowered its head and, with great solemnity, nudged the prominent bump on Anthony's head—or rather, its nasal bone met Anthony's nose—in a gentle touch.
"Let's go home," Anthony said.
…
A large black dog emerged from the trees, nose twitching, eyes sharp. It looked first at the giant snake corpse by the roots, then glared at the skeletal cat sharpening its claws on tree bark, then at the Wraith Mouse desperately tugging Anthony's half-arm into a sleeve, then at the hand trying to help the mouse, and finally met the gaze of Anthony's head on the ground.
"Afternoon, Sirius," Anthony said. "Come to help pack?"
The bear-sized black dog bared its teeth and growled.
"For the record, Voldemort is not a lamb chop," Anthony said. "And your Felix Felicis must have been faulty."
…
"Just a Necromancer, Sirius. Think of those dead snakes moving earlier. Really, I'm not some other magical creature skilled in Legilimency and Transfiguration…"
"Don't talk to me right now, please," Sirius said. He leaned against a tree, silently watching Anthony's foot drag a calf toward the clothing, then wordlessly tossed a bag onto the ground.
"The dragon reserve bag," Anthony noted. "You know only you can open this, Sirius."
Sirius crossed his arms, not answering. Anthony hesitated, then continued his slow journey toward the clothes. If he could convince Sirius to trust him, maybe Sirius could help bundle the clothes and carry him back to the tent…
"Remus Lupin!" Sirius suddenly exclaimed loudly. "He knows, doesn't he? The bastard, he knows you're a Necromancer, doesn't he? Bloody Moony! And Dumbledore—damn it, I knew he wasn't telling me everything! 'An expert at handling this sort of thing,' 'an absolute natural'—"
As he ranted, he picked up the bag and pulled it open. "I saw Voldemort's body. Is he dead, or did he run off again?"
For a living person, Sirius was processing all this remarkably fast. Then again, Anthony remembered Harry or Hermione mentioning the heads of house-elves mounted in Grimmauld Place. Maybe Sirius was used to seeing isolated heads. They just usually didn't talk to him.
"I think he's just… departed for now," Anthony said. "He seemed to have hidden something in the forest, told the snake to guard it. But with the snake dead, I doubt we'll ever know what it was."
"Look, Henry, I'm glad you're alive," Sirius said thoughtfully. "But are there magical hospitals in Albania? Or should I get you to St. Mungo's?"
Anthony directed his hand to help Sirius open the bag wider. "Can't go to St. Mungo's. If I'm not mistaken, I'm currently a fugitive Unspeakable or something."
"Tent first, then," Sirius said dismissively. "I also need to find a way to reattach my arm… Harry was trying to reach me in the two-way mirror earlier."
Anthony remembered. "Right. Their exams should be finished."
"Oh!" Sirius's face lit up. "That's right, I promised him he could spend the holidays at Grimmauld Place this year!"
"I wonder if Charity is cursing my name behind my back," Anthony mused. "I told her I might be back to help grade papers."
Sirius grinned. "I'll ask Harry, maybe he knows. I'm guessing you don't want to say hello to him looking like this?"
"Quite."
"But I have to find a way for Remus to see this," Sirius said, his mood lifting visibly. "Once we're back, can you do this again in front of him?"
"Er…"
"Then I'll convince him to pack you up and take you to Madam Pomfrey. Pomfrey will scream at him, ha!" Sirius said, growing enthusiastic. "Wait, no. Should we tell Madam Pomfrey what happened?"
"A rather severe case of Splinching," Anthony's head supplied.
Sirius thought for a moment, then nodded. "Quite severe." He tossed a section of Anthony's arm into the bag.
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