The old wizard never stayed in one place for long. This cabin had originally belonged to a solitary lumberjack.
With a spell cast by the old wizard, it quickly collapsed.
"Gah, gah," the old wizard laughed unscrupulously. "Let's go."
Anton curled his lips. He didn't plan on coming back, so there was no need to tear the house down. He was simply a natural villain.
He laboriously dragged the huge box behind him. The brown leather box looked a bit worn and larger than his young frame.
A traceless extension spell had been cast on the box, which contained all of the old wizard's research materials and belongings, as well as an iron cage for a werewolf.
The box was not heavy, but Anton had been suspended in mid-air, and his wrists were in shredding pain, so he could only take one step and stop.
The old wizard turned his brow and frowned at him, then finally waved his wand.
"Double your strength!"
Anton felt his heart pounding so hard that he could even feel a vein behind his ear fluttering.
A chill washed over him, and the box in his hand suddenly felt as light as a box of cookies.
The pain in his wrist had only been slightly alleviated.
"Since you can lift it, then walk faster!" the old wizard said impatiently, and Anton hurried to catch up.
He walked behind him, his brow furrowed in thought as he watched the old wizard's back. According to his Harry Potter readings, the old wizard had many options for casting the spell just now.
Perhaps he could use a 'Healed As New' spell to heal his wrist, or a Levitation Charm to make the box float.
So, why didn't he use either?
Anton had a wild guess: Could this unskilled wizard, untrained in the arts, have no idea how to cast these two spells?
This was intriguing.
He decided to observe further. He wondered if this wizard was truly an unskilled one. If so, wouldn't that mean he didn't understand the most advanced techniques of wandless magic?
He hesitated to make any rash decisions, constantly reminding himself to be extremely cautious.
He only had one chance. If the old wizard caught him trying to resist, he would definitely kill him on the spot.
After a mile of mountainous road, they finally reached a wide concrete road.
Soon, a vintage-looking emerald green sedan pulled up, and soon after, they were on their way again.
They sped along the road, finally stopping in front of a large bookstore on Charing Cross Road in London's Westminster district.
The driver looked around in confusion, then frantically picked up his phone as if awakening from a dream.
"Hello, dear, I didn't mean to be late. Something magical happened to me, and I'm back in the city. No, no, no, I haven't left yet. Honey, let me explain. Hello? Hello?"
Beside him, the old wizard opened the car door and stepped out. Anton opened the trunk and followed behind, carrying his suitcase.
The two of them walked quietly towards a shabby little bar next to the bookstore.
His outlandish attire went unnoticed; a middle-aged man on the phone almost bumped into Anton.
It was as if no one had noticed him at all.
The Leaky Cauldron, those were the words written on the shabby sign.
The old wizard wasn't there to spend money. Ignoring the innkeeper Tom's greeting, he walked straight to the small patio at the back and tapped the bricks with his wand.
As if stunted by some advanced special effect, the brick wall tumbled, revealing a hole. Looking out through the hole, he saw a bustling crowd milling about on the street.
He gently kicked the trash can, shifting it slightly, and then walked in as if nothing had happened.
According to the normal procedure, count three bricks up, two down, and tap the wall three times with his wand. The brick would tremble, a small hole appearing, eventually transforming into an archway leading to Diagon Alley.
But what if the trash can was moved?
Even if this wizard didn't practice the Dark Arts, he would surely be a loathsome person.
Anton rolled his eyes behind him and followed, suitcase in hand.
The old wizard clearly didn't dare to linger in Diagon Alley any longer, and quickly made his way to a dark corner.
The scene suddenly shifted, even the sky took on a gloomy atmosphere. On both sides of the road, unnatural-looking wizards slumped against the walls. It was obvious—they had entered Knockturn Alley.
"Wait here!"
The old wizard snatched the suitcase from his hand and, struggling to drag it, walked towards the first shop at the alley's entrance.
Anton's brows raised.
He couldn't levitate!
That was his first thought.
How could that be?
That was his second.
His eyes narrowed slightly.
Just then, a group of chattering children stopped in Diagon Alley, just outside the entrance of Knockturn Alley.
They all had unusual red hair.
A pair of twins were trying hard to persuade their mother, "Mom, maybe you could go have a leisurely afternoon tea. We can go buy Madam Malkin's robes and wands ourselves."
Their mother was clearly tempted, but hesitated for a moment, still worried about them. "No, I have to watch you!"
Behind them, a little boy who looked similar to Anton, his face covered in freckles, stared blankly at Anton in the alley with wide eyes.
Sunlight shone on the little boy's red hair and the colorful lollipop in his hand.
"Damn it!" the mother suddenly screamed, glancing at the entrance to Knockturn Alley, which was filled with hostile glances. "How could we stop here?"
She urged the children to hurry, grabbing the freckled boy and pulling him up. "Ron, hurry up! What are you daydreaming about?"
Ron blinked, curiously eyeing the young wizard in the dark alley, and hurried after him.
"Ron Weasley!" Anton's lips curled up, and he took a step back, disappearing into the darkness of Knockturn Alley.
He knew the exact time.
This man was one of the three protagonists of the Harry Potter novels, and his twin brothers were two years older.
He had heard the twins clamoring to buy their own wands.
This meant it was two years before Harry Potter started school!
He now had a perfect way to escape the old wizard's clutches: rush out and grab Ron's mother, telling her that he was a child captured by a dark wizard.
Molly, with her overflowing sense of justice and immense strength, would surely save him.
But he had a doubt.
The old wizard knew he would escape, and yet he had so casually left him waiting at the door. He simply couldn't take the risk.
Anton gently rubbed his wrist, silently staring at the intricate tattoo on it.
A pattern of curved lines and a square, interspersed with runes whose writing was indecipherable.
He wondered if this was it.
His memories of his original form were hazy, to the point of being unable to recall anything beyond his almost instinctive memory of language.
He couldn't remember how old he was, his name, where he came from, or how he had fallen into the old wizard's hands.
He didn't know what precautions the old wizard had taken against him.
But he knew that only a dead old wizard would cease to threaten him!
It wasn't long before the old wizard emerged, and Anton, smiling, hurried forward to take the suitcase.
"Come on, I'll take you to buy a wand."
"???" Damn! Where did you, a poor wretch, get the money?
The plan failed. Anton followed silently, patiently waiting for the old wizard's next flaw.