He showered, changed into clean clothes, and cleaned his wizarding robes, hanging them to dry in the sun. Old Tom, the tavern owner, soon arrived with a feast: succulent roast suckling pig, marinated eel, fruit salad, and a glass of butterbeer.
Anton, using a double-finger gesture, requested, "Two servings, please."
Old Tom eyed Anton's stomach skeptically. "Think ye can manage that, lad?"
Anton chuckled, patting the suitcase beside him. "I have a companion with a hearty appetite."
Old Tom's expression was one of utter bewilderment. Years of running the Leaky Cauldron had prepared him for much, but not this. A sick man in a suitcase?
Returning with the extra food, his jaw dropped. Inside the trunk was Remus Lupin, pale and sweating.
"Lupin?!"
Lupin, pale and sweating, raised his head, offering a weak smile. "Old Tom, long time no see."
But Old Tom's reunion was far from joyous. He glared at Lupin, then at Anton. "Werewolves aren't exactly welcome around here, y'know!"
Lupin sighed, "I'll leave. Let him stay. I hardly know him."
Old Tom hesitated, eyeing Anton suspiciously.
Anton smiled, waving dismissively. "No need, I'll accompany him."
"No, I can't look after you in my condition!" Lupin protested, his voice laced with worry. "I'm a werewolf. It's too dangerous for you to be near me."
Anton shrugged. "Then stand and take two steps?"
Lupin struggled, collapsing back onto the bed. The Cruciatus Curse's devastating effects were clear. Anton wondered about its impact on others; it was, after all, one of the Unforgivable Curses. He recalled Neville Longbottom, whose parents, Aurors and Order members, had been tortured into insanity by Bellatrix Lestrange using the Cruciatus Curse, leaving Neville's parents scarred and confined to St. Mungo's for over a decade.
Old Tom insisted, "You can't stay!"
Lupin, looking forlorn, agreed to leave.
Anton smiled at Old Tom. "Before I go, may I enjoy this lunch? It's been ages since I've had a decent meal."
Without waiting for permission, he began to eat with gusto.
Old Tom, witnessing this, finally softened. "Eat up lad," he said, a small smile gracing his lips before he left.
The aroma of roast suckling pig, crisped to perfection, filled the air. Its succulent layers of crackling skin and rich, fatty meat released a burst of flavour with each bite, a stark contrast to Anton's previous disappointment with British cuisine. He devoured it with the relish of someone long deprived, his eyes shining with a newfound appreciation. "Magnificent!" he exclaimed, the words barely containing his two-month-long hunger for proper food.
He carefully transferred a portion to Lupin's bed. "A small bite, at least to regain your strength," he offered.
Lupin remained hunched, his messy hair a curtain concealing his emotions.
"Discrimination," Anton began, a thoughtful smile playing on his lips, "is woven into the very fabric of this world. In the wizarding world, pure-bloods scorn half-bloods, who in turn disdain Muggle-borns, who then look down on Muggles. Even those from prestigious schools shun outcasts. Goblins, house-elves, werewolves – even centaurs and veelas – all face prejudice. Even within pure-blood families, the insidious whispers of superiority persist." He paused, taking a long swig of butterbeer. "It's a chain, Lupin. Everyone occupies a link. Unless you're as powerful as Dumbledore, you can't escape it entirely."
Lupin looked up, surprised. This wasn't the typical supportive encouragement he was used to. This was… different.
"Don't expect everyone to accept you," Anton continued, his small frame radiating an unexpected intensity. "Recognize the prejudice, accept the reality, and forge your own path!"
"My own path?" Lupin echoed, a hint of despair in his voice.
"Precisely!" Anton grabbed a pig's trotter, crunching on it with gusto. "Your spells are powerful. Perhaps you could become a professor?"
Lupin offered a bitter smile. "A werewolf professor? Who would hire me?"
Suddenly, a burlap sack tipped over, spilling a mountain of Galleons onto the bed. Anton pointed at himself, a wide grin spreading across his face. "Me!" he declared. "My teacher...he's gone. Killed, and I'm left with nothing. No teacher, no magic lessons, barely surviving. You owe me compensation! Teach me magic, and I'll pay you handsomely!"
Lupin's mouth twitched. 'I almost forgot this boy killed his own teacher,' he thought, but remained silent.
Anton scooped up a handful of Galleons and placed them in Lupin's hand. "A mutually beneficial arrangement, wouldn't you say?"
Lupin hesitated, the glittering gold battling against his ingrained sense of morality and desperate need. Finally, he sighed, the weight of his circumstances too heavy to bear. "One condition," he said, his voice firm. "You stay away from me during the full moon."
Anton, having polished off his lunch in record time, tapped lightly on the window, his gaze fixed on the bustling street outside, his next adventure already forming in his mind.
"We should consider the Muggle world," Anton said, turning to Lupin. "Potions, Galleons – essential resources for the future. What are your thoughts, Mr. Lupin? I value your perspective."
He turned, his expression serious, only to see Lupin struggling, his fork fumbling with a piece of meat. His brow furrowed. "Is this…the lingering effect of a Cruciatus Curse? Are you in pain?"
Lupin attempted a weak smile. "It's nothing," he mumbled, before collapsing onto the table.
"Lupin?!" Anton cried, his voice sharp with alarm.