Clatter, clatter !
Anton burst into the pub, leaping onto a bar stool. He faced Old Tom, the barman. "St. Mungo's. How do I get there?"
Old Tom shook his head, leaning closer. "St. Mungo's only treats wizards injured by werewolves, not the bloody werewolves themselves."
"But werewolves are injured wizards!" Anton exclaimed, frustrated. "Why aren't they treated humanely?"
Old Tom scoffed. "It ain't just being a werewolf, lad. It's the bloody risk of turning others. One bite, and they're infected. And it ain't just bites; saliva, even shed hair, can spread the curse."
He leaned in further, his voice a conspiratorial whisper. "If anyone finds out I'm harboring a werewolf, I'm done for. Understand?"
Anton fell silent, considering the prejudice against those afflicted with lycanthropy.
"I'll put him in my trunk and leave later," Anton declared, his gaze fixed on Old Tom.
Relief washed over Old Tom. "I like you lad. You're the future. But that's as far as my goodwill goes."
"Lupin was hit by the Cruciatus Curse. I didn't expect it to affect him this badly!" Anton exclaimed, his voice urgent. "Where can I get him proper treatment?"
Old Tom's eyes widened. "The Cruciatus?! You won't get him into a decent hospital without explaining to the Aurors who attacked him."
Anton's face hardened. He couldn't risk revealing Fiennes corpse, the forbidden research, the potions – his life's work – to the Ministry.
"So…less…decent hospitals?" Anton asked carefully.
Old Tom nodded, scribbling an address on a scrap of parchment. "Take the Knight Bus. This goblin, Pedro, he's…unconventional, but he'll help. He like shiny knuts – keen on a bit of gold."
"Thank you!" Anton grabbed the note, but Old Tom held it back, his gaze intense. "Wizards and magical creatures in the wizarding world are dangerous, lad. Be prepared."
Anton nodded, pocketing the address. "I'm in your debt."
Old Tom chuckled. "I reckon you do, lad."
Back in his room. He opened the suitcase, carefully placed Lupin inside, then found a few clean crucibles – a small act of care amidst the larger, more pressing concerns.
Hunger gnawed at Anton. He needed a solution – a small, undetectable Extension Charm bag, packed with enough food for a year. But that was for later. For now, he climbed into his suitcase and stepped into its surprisingly spacious interior.
It wasn't as vast as Newt Scamander's, merely a twenty-square-meter hall. One wall held shelves overflowing with potion ingredients; the other, a bed and sacks of flour. A corner housed various bottles and jars.
Anton needed an offensive spell, and fast. With Lupin unconscious, self-teaching was his only option. The only immediately accessible spell, given his current resources and Fiennes's teachings, was the Imperius Curse. Fiennes had hinted at a similarity between the Imperius Curse and the "Soul-shifting charm" he'd taught Anton.
But the risk was immense. Dark magic corrupted the soul, leading to wickedness and murder. Discovery meant a life sentence in Azkaban.
Anton clenched his fist, gazing at Lupin. "I fought for you. I relied on you to be my mentor, my protector." Lupin, his beloved character brought to life, was kind, understanding, powerful, trustworthy, and dependable. He was irreplaceable. In this strange, familiar world, Lupin was everything.
The risk was worth it.
Fiennes's bookshelves were neatly divided. One held potion research, half of it dedicated to the Oculus potion. The other held spell research, mostly observations of spells through the Oculus potion's effects. Strange, undocumented spells filled the remaining space.
He found a worn journal tucked away in a corner, its cover proclaiming: "The Apprentice Journey of the Great Alex Fiennes."
He chuckled. "Self-absorbed, even in death."
He opened it.
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On the night of July 22nd, a torrential downpour mirrored the intensity of my studies.
The learning process was arduous. I focused on mastering fundamental attack and defense, leaving potion-brewing for later. For attack, he chose the Cruciatus Curse – a dark choice, even for a seasoned wizard. For defense, the Shield Charm proved a reliable counterpoint. He reasoned that other abilities could be supplemented with magical items; enhanced mobility, for example, could easily be achieved with a superior broomstick.
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…
…
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On the late night of December 3rd, a blizzard raged outside, mirroring the storm brewing in my heart.
I was in love. Aurora, a bright witch who shared my path, excelled in spellcasting, possessing an innate talent that captivated him. Our partnership was a symphony of strengths and weaknesses, each complementing the other. He reveled in his mastery of the Cruciatus Curse, a skill that consistently impressed her. In turn, she introduced me to the fascinating world of soul-altering spells, including the intricacies of the Imperius Curse – a forbidden spell even more complex than i'd imagined.
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"Eureka!" He exclaimed, his eyes alight with excitement.
Fiennes's journal revealed the Imperius Curse wasn't a simple, static spell. Unlike the destructive Cruciatus and Killing Curses, it subtly manipulated the soul. Dozens of "soul spells" existed, and the closest to Anton's Institute's "Soul-shifting charm" wasn't the Imperius Curse, but the "Soul-shifting charm" itself. Fiennes described it metaphorically as "flipping a switch."
The "Soul-shifting charm" displaced the soul, preventing proper alignment with the body, inducing a state akin to Sleeping Beauty.
Anton furiously scribbled notes. Learning on the road was risky, but Lupin's increasingly pale complexion left no time for gradual study.
"Risky, but the spells are similar enough," Anton muttered.
He flipped through the remaining pages, then stopped, staring at a particular page in stunned disbelief.
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High noon on May 29th brought unimaginable chaos.
Aurora, consumed by a madness beyond comprehension, committed unspeakable acts. She murdered our teacher, every other student, and attempted to take my life as well. Thankfully, her self-destructive impulses ultimately prevailed. She unleashed a torrent of curses upon herself, tearing her body apart into countless, unrecognizable fragments – a gruesome, self-inflicted Avada Kedavra, multiplied a thousandfold.
I vow to forever shun these soul-rending, unforgivable curses. The memory of what I have just read will forever haunt me.
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He gulped, a wave of nausea washing over him. The desire to Obliviate the horrifying details from his mind was almost unbearable.