"Oi! Earth to Maurise?"
It wasn't until Professor Kettleburn physically clapped a hand onto his shoulder that Maurise was startled out of the world within the pages.
"Oh! My apologies, Professor," Maurise said, snapping the book shut with a slightly guilty look. "The text was... rather absorbing."
Professor Kettleburn pulled a face that suggested he had just bitten into a particularly earwax-flavored Bertie Bott's Bean.
Absorbing? That dusty old tome?
Even Kettleburn, a man who found delight in Fire Crabs and Manticores, wouldn't have touched that book with a ten-foot pole, or his remaining prosthetic limb, if it weren't for his friend's Swallow-tailed Hound contracting a nasty case of scale-rot.
"Can I borrow this, Professor?" Maurise asked, seizing the moment.
"Strictly speaking," Kettleburn drawled, eyeing the student with his one good eye, "removing books from the Restricted Section requires a permission slip signed in triplicate and the personal blessing of Madam Pince. However... I'm in a good mood. Take it."
"Thank you for your generosity, Professor," Maurise said, adopting his most respectful, model-student tone.
It was rare to find a professor so refreshingly lax about the rules.
With the heavy tome tucked under his arm, Maurise's nightly excursion came to an end.
While Professor Kettleburn had graciously overlooked the curfew violation and even authorized the loan of a restricted book, he did offer a parting warning. As an educator, he felt obligated to tell Maurise not to sneak back into the Restricted Section. Instead, he suggested that if Maurise needed anything else, he should simply come to his office.
Maurise naturally agreed on the surface.
But... well, anyone with half a brain knew how that would actually play out.
The Restricted Section was a treasure trove of forbidden knowledge. It was far too alluring. Maurise had a strong premonition that he was going to become a regular patron of those shadowy aisles. He would just have to be more cunning next time to ensure he didn't get caught by someone less forgiving than the Care of Magical Creatures professor.
By the time Maurise returned to his dormitory, the grandfather clock in the common room had long since chimed one in the morning.
Yet, sleep was the furthest thing from his mind.
He dragged his trunk from the foot of his bed and rummaged through it until he found the parcel he had neglected for quite some time: the fragmented bones of a Swallow-tailed Hound.
Laying out an anatomical diagram of the creature, Maurise began the macabre puzzle. It was like building a model airplane, only with more calcium and death.
It took nearly two hours to piece the creature together.
Under the dim wand-light, the skeleton gleamed with a pale, eerie beauty.
Unfortunately, nothing in life, or death, is perfect. Whether it was lost during transit or simply a packaging error by the sketchy vendor in Knockturn Alley, the phalanx of the left paw was missing a segment. The dog was effectively missing a toe.
Maurise clicked his tongue in annoyance, a wave of mild perfectionist regret washing over him.
It wasn't flawless.
He made a mental note to visit that shop in the darker corners of London to find a replacement bone later. But for now, the missing toe wouldn't stop him. His primary goal was within reach.
Finally, he could attempt to transform this pile of calcium into a genuine undead construct.
Maurise waved his wand, transfiguring a basin of water on his desk into red pigment. Using a minor blood-letting charm, he extracted a few drops of his own blood and mixed it into the crimson liquid.
Next, he transfigured his wand into a long, slender calligraphy brush.
Ten minutes later, a standard necromantic transmutation circle was intricately drawn upon the wooden floor of the dormitory.
Maurise moved with practiced ease. He had done this before.
During the process, Tin and Cinder had emerged from wherever they usually slept. The two pets, usually chaotic balls of energy, sat quietly by the bed. They watched their master's every move with unblinking, intense curiosity.
The magic circle pulsed with a faint, dark crimson light against the floorboards. The center was left empty, perfectly sized to accommodate the canine skeleton.
Maurise carefully lifted the Swallow-tailed Hound's remains and placed them into the heart of the array.
He straightened up and exhaled slowly, centering his magic.
"The world of the living has not yet forgotten you; the silence of death is not your final chapter."
As he recited the familiar incantation, the magic circle dissolved into a swirling vortex of red light, drilling itself into the bones.
The skeleton flushed a deep, demonic crimson for a heartbeat before fading back to its original pale white.
A second later, deep within the hollow eye sockets, two clusters of ghostly blue soul-fire ignited.
Clack. Clack...
The sound of dry bone grinding against bone filled the silent room.
The creature stood up. Its movements were stiff, jerky, and possessed that distinct, gloomy elegance unique to necromantic creations.
Maurise smiled. The undead transmutation ritual was a success.
This was his third undead creation: a Skeleton Dog.
Tin and Cinder leaned forward, sniffing the air skeptically as they inspected their new colleague.
The Skeleton Dog seemed to be calibrating its new existence. It paced around the room, the rhythmic clack-clack-clack of its paws echoing on the wood.
"Come here," Maurise commanded.
The Skeleton Dog understood its master's will instantly and bounded toward him.
However, perhaps because it hadn't quite mastered the physics of having no muscles, it caught its foot on the edge of the rug.
CRASH.
It face-planted spectacularly. Upon impact, several ribs and a leg bone went flying, scattering across the floor like dropped bowling pins.
"..."
Maurise stared in silence.
He had to admit, the durability of this thing left a lot to be desired. It shattered like cheap glass.
Tin and Cinder looked at the pile of bones, then at each other. They seemed to share the sentiment that their new skeletal friend was not exactly the brightest bulb in the box. Those blue flames in its eyes certainly didn't scream "high intelligence."
Just then, the scattered bones twitched. As if pulled by invisible fishing lines, they flew through the air and snapped back into their sockets with a series of sharp clicks.
The Skeleton Dog, now reassembled, shook its skull as if dizzy. It stood up, faced Maurise, and opened its bony jaws.
Woof.
The sound of a bark echoed directly inside Maurise's brain.
Maurise blinked, surprised.
It seemed the Skeleton Dog not only possessed a self-repair function but also came with a built-in telepathic channel.
Woof! Woof! Woof!
Joyful, enthusiastic barking reverberated through his skull, conveying a sense of pure, puppy-like happiness.
However...
"What is the point of telepathy if you're just going to bark?" Maurise rubbed his temples, exasperated.
It was a dog. It didn't speak English. It spoke Dog. Transmitting a bark telepathically was, functionally, just a very sophisticated form of noise pollution.
"Quiet!" Maurise ordered.
The noise in his head stopped for a moment. Then, a long, confused, questioning whine drifted through his mind.
Woooooof?
Maurise sighed. "Go sit in the corner, you silly mutt."
The Skeleton Dog trotted obediently to the corner of the room and sat down. The soul-fire in its eyes extinguished, and it slumped back into being a lifeless pile of bones.
Maurise had learned all he needed to know. The creature had absolutely no capacity for independent thought. This was to be expected; it literally had no brain.
It could only follow simple, direct commands.
As for its combat capabilities... well, considering it fell apart after tripping on a rug, he wasn't expecting it to take down a dragon anytime soon.
But that didn't matter.
He hadn't performed the ritual for power or utility.
He did it simply because he wanted to.
He just wanted to see what the skeleton looked like when it moved. That was all.
Sometimes, magic didn't need a grand purpose or a dark scheme. Maurise preferred acting on simple, instinctual curiosity.
It was very late. He climbed into bed and stifled a yawn.
Time to sleep.
Just before closing his eyes, he habitually opened his mental grimoire, the Grimoire of Magi, to check his status.
To his delight, a new entry had appeared on the page, shimmering in fresh ink.
[Spell Acquired: Osteo-Evocation.]
In an instant, his drowsiness was incinerated by the white-hot flame of curiosity.
A new spell!
Well... it looked like he wasn't getting any sleep tonight after all.