The Goblin Pedro

The journey ended here. Next came an adventure into the unknown.

Anthony licked his dry lips. Since crossing over, he had never had a single easy day. He was constantly walking the line between life and death, and it had long since taught him a new lesson.

If he wanted to survive, he had to take life and death in stride.

He opened his suitcase and pulled out the unconscious Lupin, carrying him on his back. His left hand gripped his wand tightly inside the sleeve of his oversized Wizarding Robes.

He gently knocked on the door.

Knock, knock, knock.

As he knocked on the door of a dangerous, intelligent being, Anthony felt his heart thudding along with each knock.

He didn't have to wait long. Steady, crisp footsteps approached. The latch clicked, and the chain rattled. The door slowly opened.

There was no old witch, no Dark Wizard whose face was covered in boils, and no Goblin with a bizarre, frightening appearance.

A girl stood ramrod straight. Well, perhaps she was a little girl.

Her black hair was meticulously arranged, and her deep green eyes were full of indifference. Her slender hands rested together in front of her abdomen, while the dark green silk dress gave her shoulders a sharp, square line. She looked very proper.

She was as exquisite as a proud peacock.

Anthony raised an eyebrow. She looked so well-bred, like a medieval noblewoman. Could she really have come from one of those fabled Pure-blood families?

The old wizard was always saying that these Pure-blood families had an ancient, rotting air about them. But Anthony thought the wandering wizard was just jealous of those nobles, born to privilege and good fortune.

Anthony swallowed and looked down at the slip of paper again. This was the Goblin?

If he remembered correctly, in the wizarding world, Goblin referred to a species, not the Muggle term for a "little goblin."

"Mr. Pedro isn't here. You can wait a while." The girl was very polite, but there was a faint air of distance about her, as if she didn't care who stood before her or what they looked like.

Anthony nodded. "Thank you. May I come in and wait?"

The girl gently opened the door and stood aside, her whole body so straight that even her chin seemed held high. "My name is Anna Rosier."

Rosier!

So she really was from a Pure-blood family. Anthony realized at once that this family was a classic villainous presence in the Harry Potter series. Whether it was the first Dark Lord, Grindelwald, or the second, Voldemort, members of the Rosier family had always been at their sides.

Anthony grew even more cautious and nodded. "My name is Anton."

Anna Rosier fixed her gaze on him, then turned and left with elegant poise.

Clearly, in the eyes of these decaying nobles, etiquette came first. The young lady had given him her full name, but Anton hadn't done the same.

In Europe, many names with multiple syllables had commonly accepted shortened forms. Anton, when people weren't being particular, could also be short for Anthony.

It worked well enough in everyday conversation, but wasn't suitable for introductions.

Anton smiled faintly and paid it no mind.

His name was Anton: An for his surname, Dong for his given name.

He struggled to half-carry, half-drag Lupin inside and set him on an intricately carved oak chair. Anton frowned deeply.

He couldn't imagine that, in the Harry Potter world, Lupin—who ranked among the more powerful characters—would end up like this after being hit with the Cruciatus Curse.

The old wizard had tortured Anton with the Cruciatus Curse every few days, and it had barely affected him.

Was Lupin really that weak?

Lupin was in poor shape, half-conscious, his eyeballs darting rapidly beneath his lids. His face was as pale as if he'd lost a great deal of blood.

If he died just like this, wouldn't Anton have changed the course of history?

If there was really no other way, he might have to find an Owl at the post office and write to Dumbledore.

But Dumbledore opposed Dark Magic. There was no need to mention the things in Anton's suitcase; he might even lose all chance of getting into Hogwarts.

So if he planned to contact Dumbledore, he would have to get rid of most of the things in his suitcase first.

Anton's expression shifted as he rapidly weighed the pros and cons.

In the end, he could only sigh to himself. Lupin hadn't left earlier, and he'd been hit by the Cruciatus Curse while saving Anton.

He couldn't abandon his conscience.

The Goblin Pedro clearly wasn't coming back any time soon. Anton glanced outside through the open door, then sat down quietly.

He closed his eyes, and the contents of the old wizard's diary that he'd read that day surfaced in his mind once more.

Whether or not it drove him mad, the Displacement Soul Curse was the best way to protect himself right now.

The wand movement had one extra motion compared to the Soul-Transferring Charm: a circular sweep followed by an upward flick. The incantation, "Soul-Reversing Charm," was also very similar.

The only difference was the emotion needed to cast the spell.

The old wizard had written down the explanation given by the witch Olaro. She'd summed it up in one word: rebellion!

Rebel against rules, against hierarchy, against life and death, against the self. Such intense rebellious feelings weren't suitable for normal people.

No wonder the witch had gone mad after immersing herself in extreme emotions for so long while studying soul magic.

But Anton still didn't think it was that difficult.

All he had to do was summon an emotion. Of course he felt rebellious—he rebelled against all the circumstances fate had forced upon him.

"My fate is mine to decide, not Heaven's." He especially liked a line from Wukong Zhuan: "I want the heavens to no longer shade my eyes, the earth to no longer bury my heart, all living beings to understand my will, and all the Buddhas to vanish into smoke!"

This wasn't childish posturing. It was a genuine struggle against fate.

And fate had never treated him fairly.

He could understand, and even willingly accept, the poverty of his orphanage in his previous life, people's prejudice against orphans, the hardships of having no one to rely on, his ordinariness and lack of exceptional talent, and everything he'd encountered after crossing over.

But that didn't mean he was happy about it.

"Hahaha, Master Pedro, what an interesting..." A hearty yet refined voice rang out as a middle-aged man in a finely tailored three-piece suit walked in.

His eyes met Anton's, who had suddenly opened his own.

The intense emotion in Anton's gaze made the man's remaining words catch in his throat.

Then a short figure entered. "Mr. Rosier, what's wrong?"

That figure was clearly the Goblin Pedro.

He stood a little over four feet tall, with a build sturdier than an ordinary human's. A large head bore a high, hooked nose and pointed ears that stuck up on either side.

He wore a brown suit, with a flashy pink waistcoat interwoven with gold thread beneath it. An elaborate, finely crafted pocket watch hung from his chest.

His huge eyes lit up when he saw Anton. "Aha, I remember you!"

The Goblin strode forward, glanced at Lupin, then fixed his gaze on Anton. "You're the young apprentice who was with Alex Fiennes!"

Anton's eyes narrowed too. He remembered this man.

At a gathering in a run-down factory on the outskirts, a crowd of strange-looking people had traded information and magical items.

The Goblin had paid a high price for the body of the Moonlight Turtle Anton had killed.

This fellow was no soft touch!

And besides...

Anton had seen the old wizard kill the witch who'd been with the Goblin at the time with a single Killing Curse. He had no idea what their relationship had been.

He took a deep breath and tightened his grip on the wand inside his Wizarding Robes.