Anthony was jolted awake by a sharp peck. The Wraith Chicken stood at the head of his bed, regarding him with a beady eye. Familiar chicken, familiar ceiling, familiar dreams...
He yawned, burrowing deeper into the covers. "Yes, yes, you're back... Thank you for your unwavering reliability," he mumbled.
The chicken let out a soft cluck. The skeletal cat hopped onto the bed, rubbing against Anthony before turning its attention to the Wraith Chicken. Its bony form poked uncomfortably into Anthony's side.
Anthony patted the cat's skull and reluctantly climbed out of bed to wash up. He changed into his pajamas, put the kettle on the stove, and decided to start his day with a cup of tea.
His cupboards were bare. The entire neighborhood was celebrating Christmas, meaning all the usual food sources – canteens, convenience stores, restaurants – were closed for the holiday. He'd planned to pick up groceries from the convenience store where he used to work, but then remembered they would be closed too.
Thankfully, his electricity bill was paid quarterly, so even after months away, everything in his home still functioned, including the refrigerator, which hummed dutifully, chilling a bottle of milk that had long since transformed into yogurt.
The kettle whistled on the stove. Anthony set down Professor McGonagall's Transfiguration notes and poured himself a cup of black tea.
The notes were meticulously detailed, almost as if tailored specifically for him. Though brief, they significantly enhanced his understanding of the subject. On the title page, Professor McGonagall had written, "A pleasure to have you in class. Hope this helps."
Anthony tapped his teacup with his wand, transforming the yellow logo into a prancing reindeer.
Helpful indeed. He could now effortlessly turn a pencil into a straw, a kettle into a basket, a chair into a sled... Yet, he still couldn't manage to transfigure a beetle into a button or a snuffbox into a mouse.
Unsure of what he was doing wrong, he jotted down some notes, intending to ask Professor McGonagall for guidance upon returning to Hogwarts.
The skeletal cat, unable to find its usual wine, hesitated before attempting to dunk its soul fire into Anthony's tea. He nudged it away and it went to play with the Wraith Chicken.
To keep the cat occupied, Anthony transfigured its fur, prompting it to abandon the chicken and leap onto the coffee table to groom its new feathers.
Now the Wraith Chicken decided to torment the cat. It was the first time it had encountered a cat in disguise. Cautiously, it tugged at a tuft of fur, only to be swatted across the coffee table by the irritated feline. The two resumed their playful brawl.
Anthony persisted in poking at the beetle in front of him with his wand. Finding beetles was a challenge when sharing a house with a cat and a chicken.
...
After a while, the defeated cat approached Anthony with a mournful whine. Its new fur provided ample targets for the chicken's pecks, yet it couldn't land a single blow on its opponent – whenever it wanted, the Wraith Chicken could simply phase through solid objects and vanish.
"It can take on a physical form too. I'm working on it," Anthony reassured the cat, scratching behind its ears. "Even if I could bring it to Hogwarts, I can't exactly explain a translucent chicken to anyone. We'll just have to say it's my owl."
The victorious Wraith Chicken strutted along the back of the sofa, chest puffed out in pride.
.....
Since even wizards need sustenance, Anthony dug out flour from the depths of his cupboard and retrieved butter from the refrigerator, intent on baking shortbread. The Wraith Chicken, perched on the sofa, watched as Anthony and the skeletal cat attempted to wash the mixing bowl.
After a few frustrating minutes, Anthony slapped his forehead, shook the water from his hands, and tapped the sink with his wand.
The dirty dishes sprang to life, hopping into the sink and scrubbing themselves until they gleamed. A towel hovered in midair, catching the clean dishes as they emerged, drying them, and stacking them neatly.
Anthony had to admit, magic was undeniably convenient.
"I'm starting to understand why some wizards are so ignorant and arrogant," he mused, watching a bowl levitate to the top of the stack. "They probably can't even imagine life without magic."
When such power could shape the external world, it was easy to develop a sense of superiority, to believe that one's every whim could be fulfilled, that the world revolved around them.
Those without this power – Muggles – were often dismissed as irrelevant by such narrow-minded wizards, oblivious to the fact that in their blind arrogance, they overlooked the vast majority of humanity and the immense power it collectively wielded.
But Anthony's Muggle upbringing, the foundation of his twenty-six years of life, provided a different perspective. Beyond the enchanting world of magic, there existed a vibrant ordinary world, a world familiar to most people.
A world where one could bake delicious shortbread without the need for spells.
Anthony dipped his shortbread into his tea with satisfaction, enjoying his first meal since the Christmas feast at Hogwarts.
...
To his surprise, the book that proved most helpful in his quest to make the Wraith Chicken fully opaque wasn't his necromancy notebook, but the dark magic book on soul studies, a Christmas gift from Professor Quirrell.
The book began with a comprehensive review, outlining various attempts and findings in soul research across different fields, attempting to synthesize the experimental results.
The review concluded that each individual's soul manifested differently, based on the unique mark of death it carried. Interestingly, it refuted the claim that a broken soul couldn't produce a Patronus. Instead, it argued that even a fractured soul could theoretically conjure a Patronus, provided it could access sufficient positive emotions.
Anthony felt a flicker of hope. He had always been fascinated by the Patronus Charm, but every spellbook and Defense Against the Dark Arts textbook he'd read insisted that dark wizards were incapable of conjuring these silvery guardians.
Having delved deeper into the magical world, Anthony had come to terms with the idea that he might be a dark wizard by nature. After all, he did dabble in life and death, even if not with human lives.
His only defense was that he had never intentionally harmed another person. Despite the bloodthirsty whispers that had haunted his mind upon awakening, despite his magic's initial urge to seize nearby life force, he could proudly claim to have never truly lost control.
If this pride could be considered a positive emotion, perhaps he too could summon a Patronus. Perhaps it could banish his nightmares, free the Wraith Chicken and skeletal cat from their constant vigil, and allow him to sleep peacefully at Hogwarts without fear of what he might do in his sleep.