Pedro the Goblin

The journey ended here. What came next was an adventure into the unknown.

Anton licked his dry lips. Since crossing over, he had never known a single carefree day. Constantly walking the line between life and death had long since given him a new realization.

If he wanted to live, he had to take life and death lightly.

He opened the suitcase and carried the unconscious Lupin out, his left hand tightly gripping his wand within the wide sleeve of his Wizard Robe.

He knocked softly on the door.

Knock, knock, knock.

As he knocked on the door of a dangerous intelligent creature, Anton felt his heart pounding in rhythm with the knocks.

He did not wait long. Steady, crisp footsteps approached. The bolt slid open with a clink of chain, and the door slowly opened.

There was no old Witch, no Dark Wizard with a face covered in pustules, nor any strange and frightening Goblin.

Instead, there stood a girl who held herself very straight. Well, perhaps a little girl.

Her jet-black hair was groomed with exquisite care, and her deep emerald eyes were filled with indifference. Her slender hands rested before her lower abdomen, while the dark green silk dress emphasized her square shoulders, making her look exceptionally dignified.

She was as exquisite as a proud peacock.

Anton raised his brow. This air of impeccable breeding gave her the bearing of a medieval aristocrat. Could she really be from one of those legendary Pureblood families?

The Old Wizard had always said that Pureblood families carried an ancient, decayed aura. Yet Anton felt that the Wandering Wizard was simply jealous of nobles who had been born privileged and fortunate.

Anton swallowed and lowered his head to check the slip of paper again. This was a Goblin?

If he remembered correctly, Goblin was the name of a species in the Wizarding World, not the Muggle term for a little fairy.

"Mr. Pedro is not here. You may wait for a while," the little girl said. She seemed very polite, yet there was a faint distance in her manner, as though it did not matter who stood before her or what he looked like.

Anton nodded. "Thank you. May I wait inside?"

The little girl gently pulled the door open and stepped aside. Her entire body was so straight that even her head seemed held high. "My name is Anna Rosier."

Rosier!

So she really was from a Pureblood family. Anton understood at once. In the Harry Potter series, this family had been a standard villainous faction. Whether it was the first Dark Lord Grindelwald or the second, Voldemort, the Rosier family had always been at their side.

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

Anna Rosier stared sharply at him for a moment before turning and leaving with elegance.

Clearly, in the eyes of these decayed aristocrats, etiquette was the foremost concern. The young lady had given her full name, yet Anton had not.

In Europe, many multisyllabic names had customary abbreviated forms. Anton could also be short for Antony when one was not being formal.

It was suitable for everyday address, but not for introducing oneself to others.

Anton smiled faintly and paid her no mind.

His name was Anton. Family name An, given name Dong.

With considerable effort, he half-carried and half-dragged Lupin inside, laying him on an exquisitely carved Oak Chair. Anton frowned deeply.

He truly could not imagine that Lupin, who ranked above average in strength in the Harry Potter world, would look like this after being hit by the Cruciatus Curse.

The Old Wizard tortured Anton with the Cruciatus Curse every other day, and he barely felt anything.

Could Lupin really be that weak?

Lupin was in poor condition, half-conscious. His eyeballs darted rapidly beneath his lids, and his face was as pale as if he had lost a massive amount of blood.

If he died just like this, would Anton not end up changing the timeline?

If there was truly no other way, he might have to go to the Post Office, find an Owl, and write to Dumbledore.

But given Dumbledore's opposition to Dark Magic, Anton would not even need to mention what was in his suitcase. He himself might lose all chance of entering Hogwarts.

Therefore, if he intended to contact Dumbledore, he could only discard most of the things in his suitcase.

Anton's expression shifted as he swiftly weighed the gains and losses in his mind.

In the end, he could only sigh silently. Lupin had not left beforehand; he had been struck by the Cruciatus Curse while trying to save Anton.

A person could not simply throw away his conscience.

Pedro the Goblin clearly would not be back anytime soon. Anton glanced outside through the open door, then quietly sat down.

Closing his eyes, the contents of the Old Wizard's diary that he had read today surfaced in his mind once more.

Whether it would drive him mad or not, the Displacement Soul Curse was currently the most suitable means of protecting himself.

Compared to the Soul Transfer Curse, the wand Hand Gesture had one extra motion: a circling upward flick. The incantation, "Soul Displacement," was also largely similar.

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

In the Old Wizard's account of the explanation given by the Witch Auroro, he had written down one word—rebellion!

Rebellion against rules, rebellion against hierarchy, rebellion against life and death, rebellion against oneself. Such intense villainous emotions were ill-suited to ordinary people.

Immersing oneself in all kinds of extreme emotions for a long time while researching soul-related magic—no wonder that Witch had gone mad.

But Anton still found it easy.

Was it not simply gathering emotion? Of course he had rebellious feelings. What he rebelled against was every circumstance fate had imposed upon him.

My fate is mine, not Heaven's. He especially liked a line from Wukong Biography—I want the sky to no longer blind my eyes. I want the earth to no longer bury my heart. I want all living beings to understand my will. I want all the Buddhas to vanish into smoke!

This was not childish posturing. This was a genuine struggle against fate.

And fate had never treated him fairly.

He could understand it and even accept it willingly: the poverty of the orphanage in his previous life, people's discrimination against orphans, the hardship of having no one to depend on, the ordinariness of having no great talent, and everything he had encountered since crossing over.

But that did not mean he was willing to accept it.

"Hahaha, Master Pedro, this truly is an interesting..." A hearty yet elegant voice sounded as a Middle-aged Man in an exquisite three-piece suit walked in.

He met Anton's suddenly opened eyes head-on.

The intense emotion in that gaze startled him so badly that the rest of his words caught in his throat.

Then, a short figure walked in. "Mr. Rosier, what is it?"

That figure was clearly Pedro the Goblin.

He was four feet three inches tall, with a build sturdier than that of an ordinary human. His enormous head bore a tall, hooked pointed nose, and upward-pointing ears stood at either side of it.

He wore a brown suit with a garishly pink vest threaded with gold beneath it. A particularly intricate, finely crafted pocket watch hung from his chest.

His huge eyes lit up when they fell on Anton. "Aha, I remember you!"

The Goblin strode forward, glanced at Lupin, and stared at Anton. "You are the little apprentice beside Alex Fiennes!"

Anton narrowed his eyes as well. He remembered this man.

At a gathering in a dilapidated factory on the outskirts, there had been a whole crowd of people who looked like demons and monsters, trading information and magical items.

The corpse of the Moonlight Turtle Anton had killed had been purchased by this Goblin at a high price.

This one was no harmless fellow!

And...

Anton had personally seen the Old Wizard kill the Witch who had been following this Goblin with a single Killing Curse. He had no idea what their relationship had been.

He slowly exhaled and tightened his grip on the wand hidden in his Wizard Robe.