A Deal

Anton could do nothing about the Old Wizard.

The Old Wizard could do nothing about Anton, either.

Other than muttering in his ear, he couldn't do much else.

And ever since Anton had stuffed cotton in his ears, not even the Old Wizard suddenly sticking his head out of the Diary Anton was intently reading could make the tough-minded boy so much as change his expression.

He could stare at Anton until Anton felt a chill creep through him.

And Anton could stare right back until the Old Wizard grew uneasy, even though he didn't have a heart anymore.

The Old Wizard helplessly circled Anton a few times before floating through the wall and leaving again. The Leaky Cauldron's location was downright magical: take one step forward, and you were in the mysterious Muggle World; take one step back, and you were in the secretive Diagon Alley and Knockturn Alley.

He didn't notice that, once he'd floated out, Anton quietly let out a breath of relief.

"Holy crap!"

"Holy crap! Holy crap!"

Anton tossed the Old Wizard's Diary aside, rushed to the Washroom, and splashed water over his face.

"How am I supposed to live like this?" The little face in the mirror was full of sorrow.

If this kept up, he'd either be scared to death one day or develop a heart of steel. Anton figured he'd probably end up with the former. What the hell was with that ugly face popping out of a book? They'd been together for two months—how had he never noticed the Old Wizard was such a prankster?

"Damn it!"

Anton's prediction had been right!

When he woke up and opened his eyes, he saw the Old Wizard holding his ugly face by the hair, hovering beside Anton's head and staring at him.

God knew how he managed to clench his jaw so hard he nearly cracked his teeth without reacting.

While washing his hair, he kept feeling an icy chill creep from his scalp down his back. He hurriedly rinsed off the suds, and the mirror was already empty.

When he went to the toilet, the Old Wizard slowly raised his head out of the bathtub, nearly making Anton suck his shit back in.

The most disgusting time was when Old Tom, the pub owner, cooked a pot of boiled pork slices using Anton's recipe. The Old Wizard floated in the soup the whole time!

He literally grabbed his own hair and dunked his head in the soup.

Anton gritted his teeth and kept picking out slice after slice of meat and garnish without even blinking.

He regretted it so much now.

When would the cycle of vengeance ever end? He shouldn't have killed the Old Wizard in the first place.

He felt like he was trapped in a nightmare he couldn't wake from.

"I'll never kill anyone again!" The Old Wizard had taught Anton through both words and deeds how to be ruthless and vicious, and how to navigate the chaos of the lawless lands. Now, his actions were teaching Anton to appreciate life.

One Old Wizard was disgusting enough.

What if, one day, he was eating with a whole row of strange Ghosts of every shape and size gathered around him...

Anton hurriedly shook his head, driving away the terrifying thought.

He endured it like this for three days.

Late at night.

Anton couldn't bring himself to sleep, so he lit the Oil Lamp and continued reading the Old Wizard's Diary. He'd already read it for the second time and finished everything worth reading.

Now he was memorizing the three elements required to cast every spell in it.

He was working harder than he had for his college entrance exams.

Aside from the Shield Charm, the Diary contained nothing but genuine Dark Magic. Every spell was astonishingly powerful.

They were highly destructive—not only to enemies, but to the caster, too.

He'd tried casting a few Charms over the past three days and found that if his emotions weren't strong enough, the spells either failed or came out so weak they barely tickled.

To cast them successfully, he needed a long time to build up the right emotions.

And if he wanted to be able to cast Dark Magic successfully at any moment, he had to remain immersed in the emotions the spell required at all times. That was why Dark Magic harmed people.

He couldn't imagine keeping murderous intent boiling inside him every second. If he did that for a year, would he start looking at everyone and thinking he could kill them with a spell?

Learning Dark Magic was extremely dangerous.

The Wizarding World's consensus was clearly right.

The Old Wizard drifted around above the bed out of boredom, occasionally tossing his head high into the air, catching it with his left hand, tossing it up again, catching it with his right, then his left...

Anton really could grit his teeth, pretend he didn't see anything, pull the covers over himself, and go to sleep.

But he'd rather not. He'd rather sit by the window, enjoy the breeze, sip a drink, and memorize his lessons.

This was a war of attrition, and he was prepared to be patient.

As he gradually got used to having a Ghost beside him, Anton made a deliberate effort to face the Old Wizard's presence. So what if it came down to patience, perseverance, and self-control? Was he afraid?

He refused to believe the Old Wizard could stick around him for the rest of his life.

Let's see if he could last a year first!

"Nobody can learn it all," a voice whispered in his ear.

Anton glanced over. At some point, the Old Wizard had floated out the window and brought his head close to Anton's ear to speak.

"Ha!" Anton laughed smugly. "I'm almost done memorizing it all."

"No, no." The Old Wizard held his severed head in his left hand and wagged a finger with his right.

"Memorizing a spell doesn't mean you've learned it. Whether it's Dark Magic or white Magic, the more powerful the Charm, the stronger the emotions it requires."

"You can't keep yourself in a hundred different extreme emotional states at once."

"You've read my Diary, too. Olaro explored this herself. She even went to the Muggle World to study psychology and successfully split herself into dozens of alternate personalities. It was useful, but the consequences were serious."

He held up three fingers with his right hand.

"Among Dark Wizards, those with proper master-apprentice lineages all receive a stern warning: don't study more than three in depth."

"One as your most-used spell, and two as backups."

Anton sneered. "So that's why you cast the Cruciatus Curse so smoothly, right?"

The Old Wizard fell silent for a moment. "You killed me. You even cut off my head. Even after death, all I can do is carry my own head around. I think we're even."

Even?

Anton didn't think so. The past two months had brought him more than just suffering; they'd changed his personality, too.

He didn't know whether he'd changed for the better or worse, but he knew that if his former self saw him now, he'd seem like a stranger.

"I'll never forgive you." Anton stared fixedly at the Old Wizard's head. "Never!"

Bury the hatchet with a smile? Sorry, he wasn't that magnanimous.

The Old Wizard waved his head with his hand, as if shaking it.

"I don't need your forgiveness."

He floated in front of Anton. "I just want to make a deal with you."

Anton gave him a cold look, chuckled, and put the Diary back in his shoulder bag. Then he walked straight through the Old Wizard toward the bed.

"Not interested."

With that, he rolled over and lay down, pulling the covers over himself.

"..."

The Old Wizard sat on the edge of the bed with his head in his arms for a long while. Anton couldn't be bothered to pay him any attention.

His body was still young and needed plenty of nutrition and sleep.

Before long, he drifted off to sleep.