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Chapter 91: The "resurrection" of a corpse.

"If using magic outside of school for the first time only results in a warning, maybe I can..." He looked at his wand, recalling the powerful spell the diary had taught him.

"This spell should be easy for you, but you must have a strong desire to destroy— the stronger the desire, the more powerful the spell!" the diary had said.

Harry took a deep breath, slowly raised his wand, and pointed it at the sturdy iron bars outside the window.

These bars were the biggest obstacle on his road to freedom. If he could use that spell, he could break free and head to King's Cross Station, to Diagon Alley, to the Weasleys'... anywhere but this prison-like house!

He opened his mouth, trying to utter the spell.

But a voice in his heart seemed to tell him—don't say it, don't use that spell! A spell that requires such a strong desire for destruction must be evil and sinister, leading him down a dark path!

Harry's hand trembled, torn between his longing for freedom and his fear of the spell.

He deeply regretted not working harder, like Hermione, to learn spells from higher grades. If he had, he could have used a cutting spell to escape, avoiding the need to use this unknown spell.

"No, I can't do it..."

Harry gently put down his wand and took out a quill to write in the diary:

"Tom, can you teach me the cutting spell? I don't want to use this spell anymore."

"The cutting spell isn't simple; it's hard to teach you through text alone in a short time," the diary responded.

Tom's handwriting in the diary seemed agitated, as if angered by Harry's hesitation.

"The spell I taught you is easy to use; you just need a bit of anger. Think about how Vernon Dursley locked you up! Think about how this family treats you like a prisoner!"

"Harry, don't you feel angry? Don't you want to leave this cage immediately?"

"Come on, raise your wand. Your future is yours to control!"

The diary continued to write persuasive words, and Harry's hand holding the wand went up and down repeatedly.

Finally, his longing for freedom seemed to outweigh his doubts about the spell, and a red light flashed in his eyes.

He gripped his wand tightly, raised it fiercely, and pointed it at the bars blocking his way to freedom.

"Avada—"

As Harry uttered half of the spell, his wand began to tremble violently, accompanied by a chaotic noise, as if an unseen evil entity was flying by.

At that moment, a black, inverted cross pendant around Harry's neck emitted a deep red light.

Its short, slanted crossbar resembled the wings of a demon, now dyed as if in blood, expelling the red light from Harry's eyes.

Harry's eyes cleared instantly, and he closed his mouth, swallowing the rest of the spell.

He lowered his trembling hand, then collapsed onto his bed, as if all his strength had been drained.

"No... I can't..." Harry murmured painfully, "I can't use that spell, Tom, I can't..."

The inverted cross pendant around Harry's neck gradually dimmed, the blood-red wings fading, leaving only a deep, dark color.

After a long while, the diary on the windowsill slowly opened, revealing a line of faintly blurry text—

"You disappoint me, Harry."

...

At that moment, the cat flap rattled.

Harry instinctively hid his wand under the pillow, then realized the people outside couldn't care less about looking in through the small flap. They didn't care about the poor soul inside.

Aunt Petunia's hand pushed a bowl of canned soup through the flap.

Harry was starving; he quickly put his wand away, jumped out of bed, and grabbed the cracked bowl meant for him.

The soup was cold, but he gulped down half a bowl before stopping. He walked to Hedwig's cage, pouring the soggy vegetables into her empty food dish.

Hedwig puffed up her feathers, glaring at him with disdain.

"Don't look so offended. This is all we have," Harry said sternly.

He placed the empty bowl back by the flap and lay back on his bed, feeling hungrier than before.

What if a month passed and he didn't die of starvation but missed going back to Hogwarts? Would Professor Dumbledore send someone to find out why he didn't return? Could the professors make the Dursleys let him go?

If Professor Dracula himself came, there'd be no problem. He never cared about rules, maybe he'd turn the Dursleys into fat pigs and a carrot...

The streetlight outside the window went out, plunging the room into darkness.

Harry, exhausted and overwhelmed by hunger and deeper pain, didn't know if not using the spell was the right choice or what his future held.

Lost in thought, he fell into a restless sleep.

Harry dreamt he was again standing before the barred window, raising his wand.

This time, he uttered the dangerous spell completely—

A blinding, eerie green light shot from his wand towards the sturdy cage.

But in the next moment, a red-haired, freckled boy appeared outside the window, struck by the spell.

He fell with lifeless eyes.

"No, Ron!"

Harry jolted awake, drenched in cold sweat.

He opened his eyes, seeing moonlight shining through the bars. Someone was staring at him from outside—a red-haired, freckled boy with a long nose.

Just like in the dream, Ron Weasley was really outside Harry's window.

"Even in your dreams, you're thinking about me, Harry?"

Ron tapped the glass, smiling at Harry.

...

Under a dark night sky, the stars hung low, touching the blood-red lake, at the edge of which stood a towering ancient castle.

Behind Dracula's castle lay a vast lake of blood, lying quietly beside an ancient tower.

Dracula and Selina, dressed in black and red robes, stood by the lakeside, with a bloated corpse floating beside them, drifting as they moved.

The corpse had a dull expression and cloudy eyes, but a hint of pride remained on its lips.

"Do you know necromancy?" Selina asked curiously, "I've never seen you use it."

"Not really," Dracula chuckled, waving his hand to submerge the corpse in the blood lake. "Just very good at it!"

He took out a wand made of eerie wood, drawing a complex pattern in the air.

Then Dracula waved his hand, splitting the pattern into two—one entered the corpse's forehead, the other shot into its heart.

After this, the blood-red lake water surged up, covering the corpse's arms, chest, face, and finally submerging its nose.

The next moment, the corpse suddenly moved.

It slowly stood up from the blood lake, then moved towards Dracula and Selina on the shore, stretching out stiff hands as if trying to pull them into the lake.

"Wow, necromancy works so quickly?" Selina's eyes widened.

"No, necromancy hasn't taken effect yet." Dracula clicked his tongue in wonder. "It seems this corpse was given a water-related command when created, hence its bloated appearance."

"What do you mean?" Selina casually pushed the corpse back, looking puzzled. "Was it always soaked in water? Why did it attack us?"

"This is a mechanism of necromancy." Dracula waved his wand, binding the corpse tightly, then pressing it back into the blood lake, explaining to Selina, "There are two main types of necromancy: one wakes up long-dead corpses..."

"These corpses are completely dead, retaining no actions or habits from life, like a blank slate, obeying only the summoner's commands, with 100% obedience."

"But they lose all malleability, moving aimlessly without control, easy to deal with."

"The other type is like this corpse. It was given a command by a dark wizard before death. When this command is triggered, it moves according to specific actions."

"You saw earlier, this corpse was activated when submerged in the lake, immediately attacking us on the shore."

"So I guess its command was to attack all shore life when in the lake, trying to drag them into the water."

Selina nodded thoughtfully, looking at the now submerged, struggling corpse, her eyebrows slightly furrowing.

"Wait, I have a question." She asked, "If it only moves when triggered, why was it on the plain under Dracula's castle? Can the command extend that far?"

"That's the second benefit of this type of corpse." Dracula chuckled, "They can move by command even without the summoner present, unlike the aimless corpses."

"Given the large number of corpses Fenrir Greyback brought, Voldemort probably used most of his previously made corpses. He commanded them to obey Greyback, bringing the lake-dwelling corpses to Romania."

The necromancy ritual was nearing its end.

Countless black lights passed through the blood water from the corpse's position, flying into the sky, gradually forming a giant skull with a snake in its mouth.

Seeing this, Dracula waved his wand, altering the black skull in the sky.

"I have another question," Selina asked while watching Dracula draw.

"Go ahead, I'll decide if I want to answer," Dracula, enjoying his drawing, smiled faintly.

"Why did only this corpse survive?" Selina asked, "I heard there were many commanded corpses, but you only kept this one."

"That's right, which is why I'm interested in it," Dracula said, drawing smoothly while explaining, "Corpses with pre-death commands retain some awareness and habits, distinguishing them from lower-level corpses."

"This corpse had a strong unfulfilled desire, retaining much of its potential awareness and habits