"Truth is, I'm scared of death, Professor," he said with a faint smile, wiping water droplets from his wand. "I've always lived so carefully, knowing a curse could strike me down at any moment."
He paused, his gaze growing steady and resolute. "But that's exactly why I've realized: to truly live, you have to let go of the fear of life and death itself."
He shrugged, a helpless, wry gesture. "Kinda backwards, isn't it?"
"So," he raised his wand high, eyes blazing, "I've decided to be free—free to do whatever I want, no longer tied down by fear!"
"Severus Snape! I challenge you to a duel!"
"Today, only one of us walks away!" His voice rang out, unshakable and clear.
This was their second encounter; and though the mood had shifted, Snape recognized the same wild, unbound spirit in the boy.
He waved his wand in the formal salute of a wizard's duel, his tone laced with genuine regret. "I once admired your gift for Potions. I looked forward to the day you might come to Hogwarts… and become my student. What a waste."
"Sectumsempra!"
"Protego Totalum!" Anton's shield flared instantly around him. Flicking his wrist sharply, he countered—
"Animus Transferro!"
Whoosh!
The spell's brilliance tore across the sky, sliced cleanly through Snape's sleeve, and vanished into the distance.
"AAAAAHHHH!"
A piercing scream split the air right after.
Anton's wand slipped from his fingers as he clutched his head—casting the Animus Charm felt like it's splitting his skull. Already drained from repeated shield spells, he had pushed far past his limit, overloading his magic.
He felt utterly hollowed out. Pain surged up from the depths of his soul—a maddening, all‑consuming agony that made him want to tear at his own flesh, yet he could not find where.
"Extraordinarily powerful…" Snape murmured, staring at the torn edge of his sleeve in disbelief. "Dark Magic."
He looked at the boy—barely ten years old—with genuine shock. It was the first time he had ever witnessed such raw, terrifying talent at such an age.
Ten years old.
Even among pure‑bloods, many had yet to even manifest their magic by this age. He could say with absolute certainty: most wizards graduating from Hogwarts would never be capable of casting such a spell, not in their entire lives.
And yet…
Dark magic.
Snape's lips twitched upward, just barely. "Then I shall grant you one more chance."
In a blur, he shot past Anton, wand aimed straight at the werewolf. "Ventus!"
"Protego!"
The curse rebounded once more.
A ragged, breathless sound drew Snape's gaze. He turned, astonished.
Anton lay slumped over his broom, wand still gripped tight in his hand, panting between faint, breathless laughs. Blood seeped from his eyes, nose, mouth, and ears—yet his smile remained bright, unbroken.
"Aha! Professor Snape… my idol… bet you didn't expect this—I still have my wand!" His face was ashen, deathly pale, yet he lifted a shaky brow, utterly pleased with himself.
Snape's brow furrowed, half exasperation, half disbelief. "Was it worth pushing yourself to ruin… just to protect a werewolf?"
Anton smiled faintly, voice barely a whisper. "He's a person… not just a monster. You really need to choose your words better, sir."
And then—Snape smiled. A rare, genuine smile, the first he had ever seen. "You have earned my respect."
"Finally…" Anton chuckled weakly. "Someone actually thinks I'm worth something."
"Is that so…" Snape murmured, with a faint note of amusement.
"Whoa… dizzy…" Anton's voice trailed off as darkness swept over him.
He rolled his eyes back and slipped quietly off the broom—only to be left dangling mid‑air, caught by the cord still looped around his waist. The sight was absurdly comical.
"Accio."
Both wands—the one he'd dropped mid‑fall and the other bobbing on the waves—flew straight into Snape's grasp.
"Clever of you…to hide a spare," Snape sneered. He casually tucked both wands into Anton's hair, then pulled a vial from his robes and tipped the contents down the boy's throat.
He pressed his lips together, glancing first at Anton, then at the werewolf still raging and roaring on the tiny islet below…
With a sharp flick of his sleeve, there was a loud crack, and Snape vanished into thin air.
...
...
...
The sun blazed bright, and the sea breeze carried a crisp, refreshing tang.
A sudden chill washed over his face, and an urgent voice buzzed near his ear. "Hey… you little scamp? Wake up, you scamp!"
"Keep it down…" Anton waved a hand as if swatting away flies, then scratched lazily at his stomach.
"Scamp?" the voice persisted, sharper this time.
"Quiet, will you?" Anton grumbled, scowling in his half‑sleep.
Suddenly, the voice boomed louder, practically shouting straight into his ear: "What do you mean quiet? You'll have all the time in the world to sleep once you're dead!"
Anton jolted awake, eyes flying open. "Master—sorry, I didn't mean to—"
"Hahahaha!" Fiennes pointed at him with his left hand, while the severed head in his right hand cackled in amusement. "Your little habits are quite entertaining, I must say."
"Ugh…" Anton glowered, glancing around. The wind had settled, and everything was calm and peaceful.
Everything, that is, except the rope cinched tight around his waist, still dangling from the broom floating overhead—digging painfully into his stomach.
He hauled himself onto the broom, tore free of the rope, and plucked his wands from where they had been tucked in his hair. He froze for a moment, then gasped, "Lupin!"
The broom spun about and plunged downward, touching down lightly on the ground.
Lupin leaned heavily against a fragment of wreckage, his face ashen, yet his gaze softened with warmth as he looked up. "You saved me again."
Anton frowned, puzzled. "I only came looking for you… hoping you'd be my guardian."
Lupin smiled softly. "Once I'm well again, I promise—I'll be that."
Seeing that Lupin was safe, Anton swung back onto his broom and turned to Fiennes. "Where are Anna and Pedro?"
"Floating out there somewhere," Fiennes shrugged his headless shoulders. "A pity my foolish master didn't perish after all that."
Anton fell silent, staring out over the water.
Far below, a large wooden plank drifted on the waves. Pedro lay motionless atop it, eyes closed, while Anna sat nearby, clutching the suitcase tight to her chest. The moment she spotted Anton streaking through the clouds on his broom, she pushed herself up to meet him.
"Anton!" Anna cried out in delight, dropping her suitcase and launching herself at him.
She wrapped her arms tight around him, breathless with relief. "Thank goodness—you're safe!"
"I saw it all—you stood so bravely. You are a hero!" she said, brimming with admiration, and impulsively kissed him on the cheek.
The moment she realized what she'd done, her face flushed bright red. She stepped back shyly, grabbed her suitcase to hide her face, and peeked out at him with one wide, curious eye.
Anton stood frozen for a moment, fingers brushing the spot on his cheek still warm from her kiss. Off to the side, he caught Fiennes's cheeky, knowing grin.
He looked at Anna's soft, blushing face and took a quiet breath. 'She's just a kid,' he told himself firmly. 'This is just innocent friendship, nothing more.'
He broke into a bright, genuine smile, eyes shining. "I think we're going to be great friends."
Anna blinked, tilting her head. "Great friends?" Then her face lit up with a sweet, beaming smile, and she nodded fiercely. "Okay! You're my very best friend!"
Anton breathed out, relieved. See? I was definitely overthinking it.
And with that, he laughed freely, too.
Their laughter rang bright and free across the waves—five survivors, finding a moment of joy amidst the wreckage.
But Anton's laughter faded quickly. As he towed the wooden plank toward the island with his broom, his eyes swept over the desolate ruins, and his stomach gave a loud, hungry growl.
"Anna… there's no way anyone can stay here," he said gently, concerned. "Why don't we head over to your place and rest for a bit? Besides, Pedro's a good friend of your dad's, right?"
Anna shook her head, unsure. "I wish I could… but I don't know the way back. All our family estates are guarded by powerful magic—you can only Apparate inside with a special spell. And Father's away right now."
Anton blinked, taken aback. "Wait—how long's he gonna be away?"
"Half a year… maybe?" Her voice trailed off, uncertain.
"Half a year?!" Anton's eyes went wide. "You mean he left you here all by yourself for that long?!"
Anna's shoulders drooped a little. She stared at the ground, nudging a small stone with her shoe. "I have a strange, rare illness," she admitted quietly, sounding both vulnerable and resigned. "Father's been traveling everywhere, searching for a cure. We often go months apart."
The Bloodcurse!
The realization hit Anton instantly, and he let out a long, heavy sigh.
He fell silent, staring blankly at the wreckage all around, uncertain where they should go or what they should do next.
It troubled him deeply. Why did this particular secret weigh so heavily on his chest?