Soul-Transferring Charm

Anton had thought the old wizard would take him to Ollivander's wand shop in Diagon Alley.

But he didn't.

They headed deeper into Knockturn Alley, passed its largest shop, Borgin and Burkes, and finally stopped at a shop that looked very much like a scrapyard.

Countless battered cauldrons used for brewing potions were piled into a small mountain by the entrance. On the other side of the door, an iron cage held a thick-bodied snake with several patches of scales missing.

This time, the old wizard didn't tell Anton to wait outside.

They followed the aisles heaped with merchandise to the counter, where a plump middle-aged woman stood in loose wizarding robes.

Her smile looked especially warm and friendly.

"Oh, my dear Fiennes, it's been so long."

The old wizard nodded in greeting. "Do you have any Wolfsbane Potion left?"

The shopkeeper's smile grew wider at the question. "Wolfsbane Potion doesn't come cheap, you know. And what I have here was brewed by Professor Snape himself."

So the old wizard's name was Fiennes. Anton's expression shifted at the mention of Snape. In this strange, terrifying world, even hearing a familiar name gave him a sense of comfort.

That comfort didn't last long, however.

He had a clear view of the shelf behind the shopkeeper.

On it sat a large ivory pen holder, with seven or eight visibly worn, used wands casually stuck inside.

It was hard to look at that arrangement without remembering the chopstick holders he used to see when he went to Shaxian eateries for fried rice.

He had a bad feeling.

He probably wouldn't get to enjoy the sort of bespoke wand-selection experience described in the novels.

Tch.

He really was a cheapskate.

The old wizard, Fiennes, haggled with the shopkeeper over every last copper coin. Finally, he irritably pointed at the chopstick holder behind her. "Give me two of those wands, and don't charge me for them."

Two, no less!

Anton was beyond words. He really wanted to tell the old wizard, Why don't you buy yourself two as well? Then you won't need a spoon to eat noodles anymore.

The shopkeeper refused.

In the end, the prolonged bargaining match concluded with one old wand thrown in for free.

"Don't think I don't know how much you're making!" The old wizard casually grabbed a handful of herbs from a nearby shelf and stuffed them into the pocket of his robes.

He left, cursing under his breath.

Behind the counter, the shopkeeper called after him with a smile, "Come again!"

They continued deeper into Knockturn Alley. Gradually, the houses grew sparse, and after they rounded a corner, a vast lake appeared before them.

Haphazardly built houses of all sizes dotted the lakeshore.

The old wizard led Anton to a clearing in the farthest corner, behind several tall trees.

"There's a Safe House here." As soon as the old wizard finished speaking, a crooked three-story house appeared before Anton.

Its rough wooden boards almost touched Anton's nose.

Startled, he hurriedly took a step back.

The old wizard smiled smugly. "This is the Safe House I inherited from my teacher. It takes extremely complex and powerful magic to create one. Only people who know there's a Safe House here can see or touch it."

Anton paused, then immediately understood. "So if nobody knows about this place anymore, it'll disappear from everyone's sight completely, as though it doesn't exist?"

"You could say that." The old wizard gazed around wistfully. "Unfortunately, I was only a poor apprentice and never learned this spell from my teacher. It'll stop working altogether in another ten years or so."

After they arrived at the Safe House, their meals improved noticeably.

A bowl of hot oil noodles, accompanied by a small cup of wine.

Yes, they now had sweet fruit wine, with plenty of it stored in the cellar.

They ate wheat products every day, and aside from a thin layer of oil on top, there wasn't a trace of meat or animal fat. Anton felt this was downright unhealthy!

The old wizard hauled the iron cage out of the suitcase. Watching him struggle finally convinced Anton that this dark wizard really didn't know the Levitation Charm!

How ridiculous was that?

He knew the Cruciatus Curse, one of the three Unforgivable Curses!

No, he probably knew all three.

"The Soul-Transferring Charm I'm about to teach you is a branch of the Imperius Curse, a form of dark magic. Not many people know it these days." The old wizard looked as though Anton had landed a bargain.

Anton clutched the old wand, looking utterly lost.

What?

You're starting me off with a spell this complicated?

Shouldn't we begin with something simple?

The old wizard roughly forced the Wolfsbane Potion down the middle-aged man's throat inside the iron cage. "Wolfsbane Potion must be given to a werewolf a week before the full moon. It allows him to keep his mind when he transforms."

"You have one week to learn this spell!"

"If you ruin my plans..." The old wizard's expression turned icy as he brandished his wand. "I'll let you taste the Killing Curse."

"Believe me, no one in this world can survive the Killing Curse!"

Hah.

Harry Potter survived.

Voldemort survived when it rebounded and hit him, too.

Anton's inward snark finally dissolved into a sigh. But I'm not either of them.

One week to learn dark magic on par with the three Unforgivable Curses, and death if he failed. It was utterly absurd.

The old wizard clearly had no intention of teaching him any other spells.

He raised his wand and moved it, signaling for Anton to copy his gestures.

Then he corrected Anton's movements bit by bit.

"To cast a spell successfully, you need to get three things right." The old wizard had a solid approach to teaching: concise, direct, and focused on the essentials.

"The gestures. Especially for a beginner, even the slightest movement must be correct."

"The incantation. Differences in pitch and pauses determine whether a spell succeeds or fails."

"Finally, you need to summon the corresponding emotion within yourself."

The old wizard explained the short incantation for the Soul-Transferring Charm, "Soul, leave the body," syllable by syllable.

"Emotion—or rather, a wizard's will—directly determines a spell's success and power!"

"When casting the Soul-Transferring Charm, your heart must be filled with unstoppable drive and unwavering resolve."

"Huh?" Anton was puzzled. "Those sound like positive emotions. Isn't dark magic supposed to require negative emotions?"

The old wizard gave a rare burst of laughter. "Who told you this was dark magic?"

Once his laughter faded, his expression turned cold. "Practice hard. You only have a week."

Anton had already seen more than enough of the man's mood swings. Sometimes, even while sweeping with his back turned to him, he would suddenly have a nasty curse come flying his way.

"Unstoppable drive and unwavering resolve?"

"That state of mind doesn't seem too hard to reach."

Anton wondered why, if that was all it took, this spell had gradually fallen out of use until so few people knew it.

He closed his eyes, and an image slowly took shape in his empty mind.

It was the night of the full moon, one week later. The old wizard was roaring at him to cast the spell, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't do it.

Then the old wizard's wand lit up with a dark green glow, his expression terrifying, like a beast poised to devour its prey.

At that moment, fighting for his life was the only option left. Anton had already quietly positioned himself beside a basin of medicinal powder. He grabbed a handful and flung it up, blinding the old wizard.

Then he drew the boning knife he had sharpened in the kitchen beforehand and lunged at him, resolved to live or die.

This was Anton's final, desperate contingency plan: close combat with a knife.

Anton's eyes snapped open. He swung his wand. "Soul, leave the body!"

Spell-light flickered, and a deep blue glow extended from the tip of his wand, surged forward, and finally sank into the old wizard's chest.

"How is that possible?" The old wizard's eyes went wide!