Rufus Scrimgeour rubbed his forehead.

"So, Mr. Anthony, you've escaped from prison?"

"Not exactly, sir," Anthony replied calmly. "What you described is more like unlawful detention. I know nothing about the law, but it’s clear that I haven’t gone through the proper judicial process. I work hard, go home after work, and inexplicably, I was brought here, where a group of people who constantly threaten to kill me are asking why my finger-lickin' good chicken can move. I’ve been quite cooperative with your work—if this really is work—but it’s a bit unreasonable to keep me indefinitely with more than fifty things I don’t even know what they are. I just asked my boss for leave because I couldn’t explain what I was going to do, and she was unhappy, and so was I. As a taxpayer, I demand an explanation from the relevant department, and you are clearly that department, so here I am."

"Would you like some more tea, Mr. Anthony?" Scrimgeour tapped the edge of the table, and the teapot flew up for the third time to fill Anthony's cup. "Alright, I’ll say it again: necromancy is very, very, very dark magic. I’d like to believe you might not have intended it, but unfortunately, users of such dark magic can be sent straight to Azkaban without trial."

"Then I’ll say it again, Mr. Scrimgeour. I disagree, and I demand an appeal. If my appeal is not approved, I will keep walking out of whatever you call that prison over and over again, working at the supermarket during the day and coming here at night to block your way home,” Anthony said seriously. “I just want to live a peaceful life, and if that peaceful life violates any of your regulations, then explain it clearly to me."

Scrimgeour sighed irritably. "Mr. Anthony, in short, playing with bones and souls is not permitted, as it involves necromancy. Necromancy is entirely dark magic. It tries to blur the boundaries of life and death, and history has taught us not to do that. The history lessons at Hogwarts… never mind, you might have been studying Professor Binns’ lectures back then."

Anthony took a sip of tea and calmly pointed out, "This is clearly unreasonable, as you just attempted to punish me by locking me up with a bunch of rags that blur the lines of life and death. By the way, I’m not a student at your magical school, so unfortunately, I haven't attended your history classes."

Scrimgeour shook his head. "Mr. Anthony, I’m sorry, it seems there is indeed some misunderstanding. Your alma mater is…?"

“King’s College London,” Anthony replied. “I have a complete personnel file; since you’re so well-informed, you can look it up yourself.” He couldn’t help but throw in a jab.

The ignorance and arrogance of these people left him extremely disappointed with the wizarding world. At this moment, he surprisingly found himself missing his former colleagues in the HR department. Compared to waving wands, those colleagues' mastery of communication (and passing the buck) felt more like a superpower.

"No experience studying or working outside of England? Durmstrang?" Scrimgeour spread out a piece of parchment.

"Nope, feel free to check," Anthony affirmed. "Except for last March, I’ve lived in what you call the Muggle world. I have employment contracts, a rental contract, a registered address, health insurance records, and bank statements; you can even directly ask my street committee."

"Undetected British wizards… that’s Dumbledore's issue…" Scrimgeour nodded along as he listened to Anthony's complaints and scribbled a letter. "Mr. Anthony, I believe this is an unfortunate tragedy. Hogwarts did not timely test and inform you to receive magical education, so you do not understand the dark nature of necromancy and the reasons for its taboos… just consider that you don’t understand. Anyway, I will immediately inform the Minister and the principal of Hogwarts about your situation, and they will make a decision."

Anthony watched with interest as Scrimgeour tied the letters and copies to the feet of two owls. As things seemed to finally take a turn, Anthony’s mood improved. If sending owl mail was this complicated, it seemed their owls wouldn’t appreciate mass sending.

He even took some time to try to understand how owls read delivery addresses. Perhaps he was too focused, as one owl turned its head, fluffed its wings, and made a threatening noise.

"By the way, where were you last March?" After sending off the owls, Scrimgeour recalled what Anthony had said.

"Uh…" Anthony withdrew his gaze, a bit embarrassed, "I should have been dead at that time."

Scrimgeour stared at Anthony, seemingly trying to understand what kind of necromancer's secret language this was.

"So, about that blurring of life and death… uh… anyway, I probably died for more than a month," Anthony said.

"Died for more than a month," Scrimgeour repeated.

"Right, and then thanks to my relentless efforts, I came back to life."

"Resurrected."

"Then I found I could play with bones. I moved once, for reasons you can probably guess, and tried to rebuild my peaceful life. A year later, a whole flock of owls burst into my house, and then a group of people crashed through my door, killed my pets, and indiscriminately declared that I was to spend my remaining life with over fifty rags," Anthony summarized.

"I'm sorry to hear that," Scrimgeour said reflexively.

"Thank you."

Scrimgeour glared at him. "Do you know Dumbledore?"

"I believe you mean the headmaster of Hogwarts," Anthony said.

Scrimgeour corrected him, "It’s Hogwarts. Never mind. He needs to come over." He pulled out his wand. "Expecto Patronum! If Dumbledore hasn’t read the letter again, tell him there’s a self-proclaimed resurrected necromancer here, and I think he’d be interested." He hesitated for a few seconds. "Also tell the Minister that Dumbledore might come to check on the necromancer that let Hogwarts down."

Anthony watched the silver-white creature nuzzle Scrimgeour’s hand, leap over his desk, and disappear by the bookshelf.

"Beautiful, and quite clever," he marveled.

Scrimgeour sarcastically replied, "Yes, Mr. Necromancer, I'm glad you can appreciate it. The Patronus charm, the opposite of dark magic, the nemesis of Dementors."

At this moment, Anthony even had the curiosity to learn some knowledge he didn’t know. "Dementors?"

Scrimgeour waved his hand. "The dark creatures you mentioned that blur the boundaries of life and death. They live by feeding on human happiness, and it’s hard to say if they even have intelligence." He suddenly realized something. "Wait, can you control them?"

"Of course not," Anthony said. "Why?"

Scrimgeour breathed a sigh of relief, then realized something was wrong. "How did you get out then?"

"I politely asked them," Anthony said. "Please and thank you, very useful."

"Dumbledore! Come here immediately!"