Clatter, clatter !
Anton burst in and scrambled onto a stool. "Old Tom! How do I get to St. Mungo's?"
Tom shook his head, leaning in. "St. Mungo's treats folks bitten by werewolves, lad. Not the beasts themselves."
"But they're wizards too!" Anton argued. "Why treat them like monsters?"
"It ain't just what they are, lad—it's the danger," Tom scoffed. "One bite, and you're cursed. Even saliva or hair can spread it."
He lowered his voice. "If anyone finds out I'm hiding one here, I'm finished. Get it?"
Anton fell quiet, realizing just how deep the hatred ran.
"I'll pack him in my trunk and leave," Anton stated firmly.
Tom sighed in relief. "I like ye, lad. Ye've got sense. But that's as far as my kindness goes."
"Lupin took the Cruciatus Curse," Anton said urgently. "I didn't know it could hit him this hard. Where can I get help?"
Tom's eyes went wide. "The Cruciatus?! You'll never get him into a proper hospital without explaining who did it to the Aurors."
Anton's jaw tightened. He couldn't risk the Ministry finding Fiennes's body, or the forbidden research.
"Then… somewhere less official?" he asked carefully.
Tom nodded and scribbled an address. "Take the Knight Bus. There's a goblin named Pedro. He operates… outside the rules. He'll help, but he loves his gold."
"Thank you!" Anton reached for the paper, but Tom held it fast.
"Listen to me," he warned. "This world is full of dangerous folk. Stay sharp."
Anton nodded, tucking the note away. "I owe you one."
"Aye, that ye do," Tom chuckled.
Back in his room, Anton gently placed Lupin inside the suitcase. Amidst the chaos, he took a moment to find a few clean crucibles, a small act of care for what lay ahead.
Hunger gnawed at him. He dreamed of an undetectable Extension Charm packed with a year's worth of supplies, but that could wait. For now, he climbed into his suitcase.
Inside, the space was modest—about twenty square meters. Shelves groaned with potion ingredients, while sacks of flour and a simple bed occupied one side.
With Lupin unconscious, Anton had to defend himself. The only option was the Imperius Curse, which Fiennes had linked to the Animus Charm.
But the cost was high. Dark magic corrupted the soul, and discovery meant Azkaban.
Anton clenched his fists, looking at Lupin. 'I fought for you,' he thought. 'I trusted you to be my guide.' Lupin was everything to him—kind, strong, reliable. In this world, he was irreplaceable.
The risk was worth it.
Searching the shelves, he found Fiennes's research divided neatly: half potions, half spell theory. Tucked away lay a worn journal titled: "The Apprentice Journey of the Great Alex Fiennes."
He found a worn journal tucked away in a corner, its cover proclaiming: "The Apprentice Journey of the Great Alex Fiennes."
"So full of himself, even in death," he muttered with a smirk, and opened it.
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On the night of July 22nd, the storm outside matched the fury of my training.
I focused first on combat, leaving potions for later. For offense, I chose the Cruciatus Curse—a brutal weapon, even by dark standards. For defense, the Shield Charm was my shield. Everything else—speed, utility—could be bought or crafted. A better broomstick, for instance, was worth a dozen spells.
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…
…
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On the night of December 3rd, the blizzard howled outside, matching the tempest within my heart.
I was in love. Aurora was brilliant, a natural talent who captivated me completely. We were perfect together—her strengths filled my weaknesses, and mine completed hers. She was endlessly impressed by my command of the Cruciatus Curse, and in return, she opened my eyes to the mysteries of the soul. She taught me the Imperius Curse, revealing it to be far more complex and subtle than I had ever imagined.
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"Eureka!" he breathed, eyes blazing.
Fiennes wrote that the Imperius Curse controlled the soul, not just the mind. But the closest match to Anton's Animus Charm was the charm itself. He described it simply as "flipping a switch."
It displaces the soul, preventing it from aligning with the body—inducing a deep, enchanted sleep.
Anton scribbled furiously. Learning on the fly was dangerous, but Lupin was fading fast. There was no time to wait.
"Close enough," he muttered.
He turned the page, then froze, staring in utter shock.
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High noon, May 29th. Chaos reigned.
Aurora, driven to madness, murdered our master and the others. She turned on me next, but in her frenzy, turned her power upon herself. The curses ripped her apart, disintegrating her form as if a thousand Killing Curses had struck at once.
I swear never to wield such dark magic. The horror of this day will haunt me forever.
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He swallowed hard, stomach churning. He desperately wanted to erase the memory, to wipe the horror from his mind forever.