My necromancer career begins at Hogwarts

After tidying up the scene, Morris made the skeleton dog stand still and stuffed it into his backpack.

Although he didn't think a living skeleton dog was unusual in the magical world, he was sure that if others saw it, it would attract unnecessary attention and questions.

It's always good to keep a low profile.

Just as he was about to leave, a sudden gust of hot wind blew by, bringing him a sense of warmth.

This is clearly unusual in December in the UK.

Immediately afterwards, a tall, thin figure suddenly appeared from the air and stood silently not far in front of him.

Morris stopped in his tracks.

He recognized the man—

Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts.

Dumbledore was wearing a dark blue wizard's robe embroidered with stars, and a few tiny flames still flickered on his shoulders.

Morris instinctively cried out, "Headmaster, your clothes are on fire!"

Dumbledore seemed surprised that Maurice's first words would be this.

He paused for a moment, then walked up to Maurice, smiled slightly, and said, "Ah, don't worry, Mr. Black, the phoenix's flames won't harm me."

As he spoke, he reached out and gently brushed his shoulder, and the flames instantly vanished.

"Look," Dumbledore bent down to show his robes, "it's perfectly intact."

Phoenix flames?

Morris nodded.

He had indeed heard from other students that their principal had a phoenix and the ability to teleport people.

But that's not the point right now.

The key question is, what is Dumbledore doing here?

Were they attracted by the commotion caused by the advancement ritual of the undead creatures?

Although he didn't think the magical rituals he performed were evil, necromancy was somewhat associated with elements like death and shadow.

This can easily arouse suspicion and prejudice.

It would be a bad thing if the principal caught you doing this in a secluded corner.

Sure enough, Dumbledore straightened up, maintained his smile, and asked, "Can you tell me what you were doing just now?"

"A magic experiment," Morris said honestly, "I read about it in a book, so I wanted to give it a try, and it turned out pretty well."

"I see."

Dumbledore looked up and around, his gaze lingering for a moment on the tree trunk that had been struck by the bone spike.

However, he made no other move, but simply said gently to Maurice, "Relax, Mr. Black, I have no particular interest in exploring the secrets of the little wizard."

"Although the magical fluctuations you caused were slightly noticeable, they did not cause any substantial damage or harm anyone, so it doesn't count as a violation."

"Of course, I still have to remind you, don't try any unfamiliar spells from the book lightly..."

"Ah, please forgive an old man's sudden lecture."

Upon hearing this, Morris breathed a sigh of relief.

Dumbledore probably didn't witness the actual ritual; he likely just assumed he was practicing some kind of spell.

As for dark magic—even the most vigilant person wouldn't suspect a first-year wizard.

And in fact, it is indeed the case.

Ten minutes earlier, Dumbledore was in Hagrid's hut giving Hagrid some instructions when he suddenly sensed a magical reaction in this secluded place.

So after finishing his business, he casually asked Fox to show him around here.

As he expected, it turned out to be just an energetic young wizard who had gone to a remote place to practice magic.

It's no big deal.

While it's rare for first-year students to do this, it's not uncommon.

Curiosity and a spirit of experimentation are among the most valuable assets of a young wizard.

"I understand, Principal. I will be careful."

Morris looked up at the sky, which had become completely dark, and heard the howls of unknown creatures coming from the direction of the Forbidden Forest.

He bowed slightly and said, "It's getting late, may I go back now?"

"Of course." Dumbledore nodded gently.

Before leaving, Maurice habitually touched his pockets to check his belongings.

As it turned out, he did indeed find that he had lost something.

The photograph that was originally placed in the inner pocket of the robe has disappeared without a trace.

It was probably swept away by the airflow during the ceremony.

He subconsciously looked at the open space where the ceremony had just taken place, and all he could see was flat dirt and gravel.

The photo itself is not large, so it will probably be difficult to find immediately.

Fortunately, he had already learned the Spell of Flight.

"What's wrong?" Dumbledore's voice came from behind, still calm.

"It's nothing, Principal," Morris replied casually.

He took out his wand and waved it gently. "The photo flies here!"

The next second, a yellowish square flew rapidly toward him from among the branches of a tree not far behind him.

The photo traced an arc in the air.

"Snapped!"

It landed perfectly on Dumbledore's face, completely covering his eyes.

The air fell silent for a moment.

Morris: "..."

Dumbledore: "..."

"I'm sorry, Headmaster." Maurice snapped out of his daze and quickly ran to Dumbledore to apologize, "I'm not very good at using the Summoning Charm yet."

"Well, it's alright." Dumbledore removed the photo from his face with a hint of helplessness and handed it to Maurice. "The Summoning Charm is a high-level spell, that's normal."

Just as Maurice was about to take the photograph, Dumbledore's outstretched hand suddenly stopped.

Seeing this, Morris looked up with some confusion.

Dumbledore's face was no longer adorned with the previous polite smile; instead, it bore an unprecedented solemnity as he stared intently at the photograph in his hand.

Morris always felt that Dumbledore was somewhat frightening now.

He asked hesitantly, "What's wrong, Principal?"

Dumbledore seemed to be startled by these words, his gaze quickly shifting from the photograph, a smile returning to his face.

“It’s nothing, Mr. Blake,” he said calmly, handing the photograph to Maurice. “Could you tell me where you obtained this photograph?”

Morris seemed to be deep in thought.

Judging from this behavior, Dumbledore must know something.

However, he doesn't want to reveal the secrets of the gap world yet, so he'll just make up any excuse.

“I found it,” Maurice said cautiously. “It was tucked inside a secondhand book I bought from Diagon Alley. Maybe it’s a celebrity… Do you recognize the person in the photo?”

"I recognize him," Dumbledore said.

"Who is it?" Morris blurted out almost immediately.

Dumbledore glanced at Maurice, as if stating something perfectly ordinary, "A long time ago, everyone called him the Dark Lord."

Dark Lord?

Morris knew perfectly well that the title referred to Voldemort.

However......

"Is this Voldemort?" Morris blurted out instinctively, his face contorted in disbelief.

In his memory, Voldemort was clearly an ugly creature without a nose.

Who the hell is this handsome, unruly, and spirited blond man?

Dumbledore seemed amused by Maurice's reaction and corrected him, "No, not him, it's another one."

"Gellert Grindelwald".