章節 93: Memories
Moonlight bathed the corridor in a soft glow. Anthony took a deep breath of fresh air and looked back at Quirrell, who was climbing up the rope. Quirrell's robes had been cleaned, but mud still clung to his forehead and turban. He refused to wipe it off.
Anthony understood, but was slightly surprised that Quirrell shared this sentiment. After all, besides specific spells, most magic didn't discriminate between where it struck. To magic, the head and feet held equal importance.
He was trying to think like a wizard, but his Muggle brain often defaulted to ingrained habits – for example, pointing a wand at someone's head felt inherently more dangerous than pointing it at their feet.
"It's been a long night, let's go back," Anthony said quietly, resisting the urge to covet another soul. Unlike the basilisk, humans were off-limits – not because he didn't crave something more flavorful, but for his own sake.
Out of fear of losing control, he never allowed himself to peek into the souls of the living, so much so that he couldn't sense them at all. Like he had once told his skeletal cat, he kept his eyes closed, held his breath, and refused tempting treats, because humans should not consume humans.
But despite its blandness, akin to unsalted meat, the basilisk's soul had left him feeling surprisingly full. He needed a place to digest it. He desperately wanted to return to his office.
He hoped his cat would be there when he got back. He needed it. He needed to introduce the spectral rat, and he needed it to remind him that he was human.
"Are you—alright, Professor Anthony?" Quirrell asked.
Anthony gripped his wand tightly, the light at its tip flickering slightly but holding steady.
The moon was bright, and they didn't need magic to see, but Anthony clung to it as a reminder. He mustn't slip into the abyss of necromancy.
"Professor An-Anthony?" Professor Quirrell stammered, reaching out as if to touch him.
Anthony swatted Quirrell's hand away before realizing what he'd done. He closed his eyes, checking himself for any damage.
"I'm sorry," Anthony said with a sheepish smile. "I guess I got a little spooked."
Quirrell gave him a look of veiled concern. Anthony knew why.
After consuming the basilisk, his body temperature had plummeted.
The cool night air wafted gently, carrying the soft hoots of owls from the distant Owlery. "How about you, Professor Quirrell? Are you alright?" Anthony asked.
He remembered Quirrell's extreme nervousness before facing the basilisk, a strange kind of nervousness. But he didn't have the energy to delve into it now. His mind was foggy, his body uncomfortable.
"I-I'm fine," Quirrell said. "I suppose it's a-a happy ending." He gave a nervous chuckle.
Anthony couldn't help but smile back. "Yes, it is a good ending," he agreed.
The basilisk was dealt with, Quirrell was unharmed, he had a new pet, and Snape got a dead basilisk. Everyone was fairly satisfied.
Before opening his office door, Anthony reminded Quirrell, "The hospital wing, Professor Quirrell. We're employees and have the right to use those employee benefits." He shook his head, too tired to care about Quirrell any further. "See you tomorrow."
"See you tomorrow," Quirrell said. "And, thank you."
In the pale moonlight, his face looked even more pallid than usual.
Finally, Anthony stepped into his office. The warm, familiar light greeted him, the slightly messy desk reflected in the window just as he always saw it.
He sighed in relief, locked the door, and collapsed onto the floor, not even bothering to make it to his bedroom.
He was dizzy and disoriented, as if intoxicated. He felt himself spreading out, liberated from his cramped body. He drifted around the discarded Daily Prophet on the table, up onto his desk, flowing comfortably into a porcelain cup with leftover tea.
Suddenly, everything shattered.
He was floating in a black river, no, he was the river. Just like in his countless nightmares, he drifted silently, dissolving into this flowing mass. The waves were turbulent, yet all was eerily silent.
He drifted along, a strange peace settling over him, knowing that there would be a waterfall at the end. Beyond the waterfall lay the unknown, but he would reach it. In fact, part of him had already gone over, because he was the river, filling it, and it filled him...
Then the scene shifted.
He was no longer in a dark river, but a clear, pristine lake. The girl he had pushed towards the shore lay unconscious. The people who had stood by, watching her struggle, now watched his.
But he couldn't float. He should have been able to float. He had learned to swim, to save people.
A white light blinded him.
Then he realized it was his friend, smiling and flashing a mirror in his eyes. Seeing that he had noticed, his friend proudly showed off the mirror, taken from his mother's makeup bag. They were playing – claiming to be testing the reflection principles they had learned in class – drawing angles and standing at various distances with the mirror.
A pebble splashed near his friend's feet. The friend laughed, shaking the mirror. The water shimmered in the sunlight. Anthony dropped the cardboard box he was holding and ran towards the lake. He reached out, frustrated by his short stature and lack of reach, unable to grasp it. He cried for help, but no one heard.
Suddenly, a weeping man collapsed before him.
Anthony recognized him. This was Mr. Wright, the community handyman, or something like that. Anthony had never been quite sure of Mr. Wright's exact role.
Mr. Wright smelled delicious. No, Anthony didn't remember who he was at that time, he had just emerged from his coffin and simply thought the man smelled delicious, like cake, like bread, sweet and capable of satisfying his hunger.
No.
No. Anthony suddenly remembered who he was.
In that moment, he realized he was still lying on his office floor, trapped in this limited body. The hallucination had come from the basilisk. After consuming its soul, he could instinctively inhabit its body, and he had done so unconsciously. Necromantic magic had taken advantage, attempting to scramble his memories – the memories that had shaped him.
He hadn't expected the basilisk's soul to be so potent. According to his knowledge, non-human souls were supposed to be far less impactful than human souls.
每周推薦票狀態
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