My necromancer career begins at Hogwarts

Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry: Albus Dumbledore (President of the International Magical Union, President of the Wizarding Association, First Class Wizard of the Order of Merlin)

Dear Mr. Blake:

We are pleased to inform you that you have been admitted to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Enclosed is a list of required books and equipment.

The semester is scheduled to begin on September 1st. We will await your reply by July 31st via owl.

Respectfully presented by Vice Principal (female) Minerva McGonagall.

......

The next morning.

Scott, in the lower bunk, was still fast asleep.

Morris lay in bed, using the light filtering through the curtains to look through the letters he had received from Hogwarts the night before.

He didn't think it was anyone's prank.

"Hogwarts..." he murmured.

This is truly a word that can evoke long-standing memories.

So, in this life, he was reborn into the world of Harry Potter.

Morris quickly accepted this reality.

That might not be bad either.

Magic...

This should bring some fun to his boring life.

However, to be fair, he doesn't actually know much about Harry Potter.

He had not read any related books or watched any related movies.

Or rather, his only impression of this world was the name "Harry Potter".

Oh, and there's that Avada Slurp meme.

For some reason, only that thing was imprinted in his memory.

The human brain is truly amazing.

Although no useful intelligence was found, Maurice did not feel any regret.

He wished he knew more about Harry Potter... but he didn't think that way.

He preferred the feeling of exploring the unknown to that.

The desire to explore!

For Maurice, this was the most primal driving force that propelled him forward, and it was a characteristic that remained unchanged throughout his journey.

A completely unknown magical world is far more interesting than a predictable future that has already been spoiled.

After repacking the letter and tucking it under his pillow, Maurice jumped out of bed and headed straight for the door.

There's one more thing he needs to verify.

......

The "children's home" where Morris works is located in a rather dilapidated and quiet neighborhood—which is to be expected, given that land in bustling areas is extremely valuable.

The morning mist had not completely dissipated, and the air was filled with the faint smell of damp bricks and garbage.

Several early risers wrapped their coats tightly around themselves and hurried along, none of them giving the boy who emerged from the old porch a second glance.

Morris walked purposefully toward the trash can on the street corner.

"It should be around here..."

Behind an overturned trash can, a dark shadow was huddled up.

This is Morris's goal—

The carcass of an adult black cat.

This is probably a stray cat; Morris found it when he came home from school last night.

It lay there, its body still warm, but it had stopped breathing.

Judging from the black cat's emaciated appearance, it probably starved to death.

After a half-second mental preparation, Maurice picked up the poor cat's corpse.

Unexpectedly, he did not feel any discomfort, only a cool sensation in his arms.

It's quite comfortable.

The corpse's characteristic stiffness and the lightness of being lifeless gave him a sense of peace.

"Do I have some kind of perverted tendencies...?" Maurice couldn't help but begin to doubt himself.

Without lingering, Maurice carried the black cat's body quietly to the warehouse in the orphanage's backyard.

He fumbled around for almost half a minute before finding the light switch.

Turn on the lights.

This is a fairly spacious area.

Since it was a warehouse, the corners were naturally filled with all sorts of odds and ends.

Broken tables and chairs, smelly blankets, several deflated balls... and a dead rat.

Now, let's get started with the preparations.

Morris placed the black cat's body temporarily on a table with a missing leg propped up with old books, then went to the pile of groceries and began rummaging through it.

......

About two hours later, Morris wiped the sweat from his brow.

"That should be about right."

He looked at the result of his work on the open space in the center of the room.

It was a pattern resembling a magic circle from some movies or TV shows.

Or rather, it was a magic circle.

The shape of the magic circle exuded an ominous aura: scarlet lines outlined two perfect concentric rings on the floor. Between the rings were densely packed, twisted, and coiled unidentified symbols, resembling some kind of unknown script.

Extremely frightening.

In fact, Maurice did not intend to paint anything so suggestive, but he only found red paint in this warehouse.

The other paints were either completely dry or used up.

Yes, pigments.

He used only ordinary paint to draw this magic circle.

Of course, he didn't just scribble.

That's what it says in the book.

Simply draw the approximate shape with colored materials.

Next, Morris picked up the black cat's corpse from the table and placed it in the center of the magic circle.

He stepped back, examining his work, a hint of fervor involuntarily appearing on his face.

Even he himself didn't realize it.

An indescribable excitement seized him.

My heart was pounding in my chest, and the sound of blood rushing through my ears was deafening.

Fear? Or excitement?

The intense urge to explore the mysterious has overwhelmed everything else.

Now we're just one step away.

That is—activating the magic circle.

Morris then sang an obscure chant.

"The world of the living has not forgotten you, and the peaceful rest of death is not the end of your story."

He didn't know what language it was, but he could pronounce every syllable fluently.

What's strange is that he was able to understand the general content of what he was chanting.

As the last syllable fell, the air in the warehouse seemed to freeze.

Immediately afterwards, the scarlet lines on the magic circle seemed to come alive, writhing and contracting on the floor, eventually forming a vortex centered on the black cat.

Almost instantly, they all burrowed into the black cat's corpse.

then.

Under Maurice's watchful gaze.

The black cat—the once cold and stiff corpse—slowly and steadily stood up.

It shook its slightly messy fur, looked at Maurice, tilted its head, and opened its mouth.

"Meow--?"

So the black cat said.

At the same time, Morris felt an unprecedented weakness, accompanied by a sharp headache.

Something inside him seemed to have been hollowed out.

It goes without saying that it must be the so-called "magic".

But it's still bearable, albeit barely.

"Good cat, come here," Morris called softly.

The black cat leaped lightly and landed precisely in Maurice's arms.

It nuzzled Morris's cheek affectionately with its head, purring contentedly, behaving just like any other cat.

However, Maurice could clearly sense that the fur and body he touched still carried a lingering chill.

After all, this is a ghost cat; it is ultimately an inanimate object.

However, Morris didn't care about that.

He stroked the black cat's thin body and said with some heartache, "Good cat, you should eat more."