My necromancer career begins at Hogwarts
Maurice, a reborn individual, wanted to live a peaceful life, but a letter from Hogwarts disrupted his plans.
Also appearing was a book that recorded all sorts of necromancy.
Becoming a necromancer? Perhaps that wouldn't be so bad.
Bones serve him, ghosts keep him company, and the whispers of the dead murmur in his ear.
"I'm just an ordinary wizard who loves research," Maurice said with a gentle smile to his trembling classmates.
Until one day, he suddenly woke up in a fright while looking in the mirror—
Wait a minute, am I some kind of psychopath who deals with corpses all day long?
Chapter 1 The Cat with Wings
"Dinner is ready."
Amidst the emotionless shouts of the caregiver, Maurice, who had just returned from school, quietly walked into the restaurant.
Despite being called a restaurant, it was really just a dilapidated room.
A large table and a few benches are all the furniture here. The mottled mold spots and peeling paint on the walls also tell of the long-term disrepair.
When was this building constructed?
Victorian era?
Or perhaps even longer.
In short, this is where Morris has lived for several years.
The food on the table was the same as always: spaghetti bolognese with a little bit of meat sauce, cheaply purchased sausages, and plenty of mashed potatoes and onions.
To be fair, the taste wasn't too bad; at least Maurice didn't dislike it.
The price of food does not reflect the quality of the food itself.
Morris walked leisurely to his corner seat and sat down. Just as he settled in, the sound of hurried footsteps approached from afar.
A tall, thin boy with hair like dry, yellow straw practically burst in. He glanced at Maurice habitually, then plopped down on the bench diagonally opposite him, his eyes darting quickly between the food.
He was starving, Maurice thought.
Then the other children filed in.
There were about ten of them, ranging in age from six or seven to fourteen or fifteen.
One of the older children even had a hideous scar on his face.
After everyone was seated.
"Eat."
The caregiver's voice rang out again, followed by the clatter of cutlery and chewing sounds, along with some quiet conversation.
Perhaps because summer vacation has arrived, the children are in a good mood.
Morris picked up his fork and slowly stirred the sticky mashed potatoes in his plate.
Going to school, eating, and sleeping.
This is his daily routine, unchanging and extremely boring.
He hates being bored.
Why do you ask him why he lives this kind of life?
Because this is an orphanage located in the suburbs of London.
Oh, it's not called an orphanage anymore, it should be called a "children's home".
In short, it is an institution established by the government specifically to take in homeless children.
Morris was one of those children.
He had no other choice.
This marks his eleventh year in this world.
Yes, Maurice is not a native of this world.
He comes from a major Eastern country in the 21st century.
And this year, if he remembers correctly, should be 1991.
An unfamiliar place, an unfamiliar time.
"It'll be a long time..."
Thinking of this, Maurice sighed silently.
In this life, he had just turned eleven, a very awkward age.
Although he had insights ahead of his time, he was still a child after all.
With such a small body, there is almost no room for maneuver.
The only thing we can do right now is to grow up safely into adulthood.
Afterwards, he believed that based on his understanding, even if he didn't become extremely wealthy, a bright future was still foreseeable.
...
After dinner, the children returned to their rooms.
Although this orphanage is old, it is spacious enough.
Thanks to this, their dorm rooms are all shared by two people.
"I really wish we could eat something different... Why can't they make some cakes or something?"
As soon as Morris entered, the blond boy who had been at the same table immediately struck up a conversation with him—this was his roommate.
"It's good enough to have something to eat, Scott," Morris replied casually, climbing up to the top bunk and lying down without even changing his clothes.
Scott's complaint was not wrong; dinner at this "children's house" was basically the same set every night.
It's cheap and filling.
There were other options six months ago, but it has become like this since we changed caregivers a few times.
However, it didn't matter to Morris.
You can't expect caregivers in a "children's home" full of troubled children to be very conscientious and responsible.
He might resign in less than two weeks, who knows?
Moreover, at least their meals at school are guaranteed.
At this time, we should be grateful for the help from society and the government.
"Oh, by the way," Scott kicked the bed leg listlessly, "where are you going to go for high school?"
"Northwood Comprehensive School." Morris put his hands behind his head, stared at a crack in the ceiling, and yawned.
"Ah, I knew it." Scott exclaimed with an air of certainty. "That's the best school. Your grades are definitely good enough for you."
There was no jealousy in his tone, because it was already a fait accompli.
In this "children's home," Maurice was a unique individual.
He could always quietly finish reading those dreadful thick books, and his homework always had more "A"s than others.
"Hmm," Morris mumbled a reply, giving his roommate a perfunctory answer.
Studying may be the only thing he can do now.
It wasn't just for a brighter future; more importantly, he could also receive additional scholarships.
Although a single scholarship may not amount to much, when accumulated, the total amount can be quite substantial.
At that time, whether you use it for investment or to go to university, it will be a crucial source of start-up capital.
Morris didn't dislike learning. Reading was one of his greatest pleasures in life.
Incidentally, he felt that with his current learning progress, he could go directly to university without any problem.
"Clang!"
Just as Scott was muttering about wanting to eat cake, a loud bang suddenly came from the direction of the window.
The window, which was already a bit loose, was suddenly blown open by the wind and slammed against the wall, the glass making a teeth-grinding rattling sound.
It was obvious that Scott, who was on the lower bunk and by the window, was better suited than Morris to handle this unexpected situation.
"Damn it."
He scratched his blond hair in frustration and walked to the window. "This damn window has broken three times this week! It's repaired, then breaks again, then repaired again, nobody cares..."