Harold hesitated as he reached out, his fingertips pausing for a moment before they were about to touch the feathers, eventually landing gently on the top of the owl's head.
A chill instantly pierced through his entire body.
That was not a temperature a living creature should have. It was even much colder than frozen ice. It was as if he had directly touched death itself.
He jerked his hand back, but the lingering chill on his fingertips would not go away.
Fireworks twisted its body somewhat stiffly—it still didn't like being touched by others, let alone a stranger.
"It's an evil creature, isn't it?" Harold asked somewhat uneasily.
"That depends on how you define evil, sir," Alan replied. "I merely cast a spell, and it changed from a corpse into what it is now. From my perspective, I haven't done anything evil."
The key to the undead creature transformation ritual lay in the fact that the subject being transformed must possess a strong desire to survive. This was not difficult for ordinary animals, because survival was the instinct of all living things. In other words, the undead creatures transformed by Alan did not themselves resist continuing to exist in such a form.
Harold stared blankly at the undead owl, his eyes gradually losing focus, lost in thought.
"There is one thing I need to remind you, Mr. Green," Alan suddenly spoke, interrupting Harold's thoughts. "This magic can only be used on animals. It is impossible to resurrect a person. Please do not have any thoughts in that direction."
Harold was stunned for a moment, then revealed a bitter yet relieved smile. It seemed Alan had completely seen through his mind. As expected, this was an unusual child.
He sighed, then asked seriously, "Then, is there any other magic that can bring a person back to life?"
"I don't know," Alan raised his arm, letting Fireworks fly back to the roof. "But there might be. However, that would already be considered a miracle. I advise you not to let your imagination run wild."
He already understood in his heart. From the moment they first met, he had sensed that Harold was a person who harbored fear toward magic, yet some sort of longing kept driving this middle-aged man to want to delve deeper into the realm of magic. To resurrect someone. A logical and specific reason. Things that technology could not achieve, magic might perhaps bring a glimmer of hope. Presumably, this was the reason he was so eager to come into contact with magic.
"This magic can only be used on animals."
In fact, Alan had said that on purpose. Undead creature transformation would most likely be effective on humans as well. It was just that he wasn't prepared yet. Unlike ordinary animals, transforming a human into the undead required immense courage and determination. Moreover, whether the transformed undead could still retain their original personality and consciousness was also a question. It still required further verification. Alan was unwilling to easily give hope to others, because once there was hope, what awaited them would be an even deeper despair.
Harold's gaze followed the owl's figure as it swept onto the eaves, his voice trembling slightly. "I understand. Thank you for telling me this, Alan."
"Mm," Alan responded.
"Do you want to hear my story?" Harold asked softly.
"No," Alan's answer was crisp and clean. "I have no interest in other people's tragic pasts."
"..."
Why wasn't he playing by the rules?
Harold turned his head and laughed twice. "That's not some tragic past, but since you don't want to hear it, then never mind."
The sky grew dark without realizing it. Dark clouds pushed in from the distance, and the air was filled with a moist scent.
"It looks like it's going to rain," Harold looked up at the gloomy sky. "I should go. My daughter is still at home waiting for me."
He smiled warmly at Alan, a smile tinged with a bit of relief. "Goodbye, my friend."
"Goodbye," Alan waved his hand. "If there's anything I can do, you can come find me anytime."
When Alan returned to the house, the sky had been completely stained black. With the help of the light in the hallway, Fireworks silently merged into his shadow. Immediately after, a torrential rain poured down. Wild winds swirled with rain, snaking through the gaps in the windows. Excited screams from the children and the hurried footsteps of the caregivers closing windows echoed in the hallway.
Alan liked rainy weather, but he didn't like noisy environments. So he immediately decided to return to the dormitory.
Inside the dormitory, Scott didn't even look up, still focused on wiping that small knife he had picked up from who-knows-where. "Where did you go?"
"Just went for a stroll." Alan took off his damp coat and asked casually, "By the way, do you have an envelope and stationery here?"
He remembered that Scott had written letters before.
Scott didn't look up, using the tip of the knife to gently pick out the dirt from under his fingernails. "In the left drawer. But who are you writing to?"
"To an acquaintance."
Alan replied casually. He pulled open the drawer and indeed found a stack of yellowed stationery and a few envelopes with slightly curled edges. He didn't know where Scott had gotten them from. Probably swiped from somewhere; this guy wasn't as honest as he looked.
Scott finally looked up and said with some surprise, "You'll have to handle the postage yourself."
"Oh, that's no problem."
Owl mail was free, only requiring a bit of food—but since Fireworks was an undead creature, even the food was saved.
The pen scratched across the paper, making a rustling sound. Alan planned to first write a letter to the person named Ezra Frick, inquiring about the whereabouts of that skeleton. It would be best if he could buy it. If possible, he would pay a visit in person later. But not now; a place like Knockturn Alley required full preparation before stepping foot into it.
"No. 21 Knockturn Alley, Basement, To: Ezra Frick."
Folding the stationery and tucking it into the envelope, then writing the address on the front, Alan temporarily put it away in the drawer. It was raining outside now, not a good time to send a letter.
"By the way, you'll be fine sending the letter, right?" Alan looked down and asked the shadow at his feet.
Fireworks' upper body quietly emerged from the shadow and nodded affirmatively.
"Sorry to trouble you."
Fireworks showed a proud expression, then submerged back into the shadow. Owls in the wizarding world seemed to possess some kind of magic; they didn't need to be trained to recognize paths and were born with a supernatural ability to find people. And after becoming an undead creature, this magic had not failed.
"Who are you talking to?" Scott looked at Alan suspiciously, not noticing the abnormality at his feet.
"Don't mind me, just talking to myself," Alan replied calmly, walking to the window to gaze at the curtain of rain outside.
It was coming down harder and harder.
Just then, the window was suddenly pushed open from the outside, and the undead cat Canned Food nimbly slipped in. It stood on the windowsill and shook its body vigorously. Icy water droplets splattered everywhere, hitting Scott in the face.
"Hey! Control your cat!" Scott wiped the water from his face, glaring angrily at the undead cat on the windowsill.
Canned Food nonchalantly licked its front leg, ignoring this foolish human.
"Don't be angry, Scott." Alan smiled. "I'll treat you to cake tomorrow."
Scott raised an eyebrow suspiciously. "Where did you get the money?"
"Don't you worry about that."
He had previously asked for a little bit of pocket money from Harold.
//===================//