Anton ran out of the room and glanced back. The entire building, haphazardly pieced together from wooden planks and iron plates, swayed unsteadily as magical light flickered from it.
Not daring to linger, he hurried away.
This was the deepest part of Knockturn Alley. Countless tents, shacks, and tree-branch huts were scattered across every corner of the Great Lake, layered one upon another.
It looked like a slum.
But it was far more terrifying than an ordinary slum.
A witch who looked like she was muttering to herself, raving mad, was boiling a pot of strange, bubbling green stuff.
Some children were playing with a few dolls in their arms. A closer look revealed that the dolls were actually shrunken, desiccated people!
Anton hadn't gone far before he noticed several unfriendly gazes.
One person was even following him, staggering along.
A child carrying gold through a busy marketplace. The saying flashed through his mind. The body he'd arrived in looked about ten years old, and he was carrying a Briefcase larger than himself. In this dangerous alley, he was an especially tempting target.
Anton thought for a moment, then stopped.
He turned coldly to look at the person following him. The man had huge eyes and an oversized head, but a gaunt body, disheveled hair, and a mouthful of crooked, yellow-black teeth.
He glanced at the malicious gazes hovering in the distance.
With a cold laugh, he called out, "I'm Alex Fiennes's apprentice. If someone attacks me and causes my master trouble, he won't hesitate to kill!"
As he spoke, he waved the Wand in his hand. A burst of spell light exploded on the ground in front of the big-headed man.
"The Imperius Curse!" the big-headed man shrieked. He quickly backed away several steps, stared at Anton for a moment, then slowly retreated into the darkness, one step at a time.
The other prying gazes around them vanished as well.
The Imperius Curse was one of the Three Unforgivable Curses. Even those who didn't know Fiennes could tell from his apprentice's fluent Dark Magic that he was no one to trifle with.
He was someone you couldn't afford to offend.
Anton chuckled, gazed around through half-lidded eyes, and continued on with an air of arrogance.
No one knew that his back, beneath his Wizarding Robes, was already drenched in cold sweat.
That was thrilling!
He didn't know a damn thing about the Imperius Curse.
The only spell he'd learned, the Soul-Transferring Charm, had magical light similar to the Imperius Curse's, making it easy to mistake one for the other.
He followed Knockturn Alley out, and at the end of the alley he reached Diagon Alley. From there, he made his way to the Leaky Cauldron.
Anton finally breathed a sigh of relief.
Then he was at a loss.
—Where was he supposed to go next?
Hogwarts?
Impossible. Not only had he received no acceptance letter by Owl, he didn't even know where the school was.
Should he get a room at the Leaky Cauldron first?
He had no money on him. There were probably a few coins in the Briefcase, enough to buy food, but he didn't dare open it and rummage around in a place like this. Besides the Old Wizard's corpse, there was also a Werewolf inside, and he didn't know what condition he was in.
Lupin wasn't doing well. Everywhere he went, he was shunned because of his Werewolf identity.
Suddenly, an idea struck him.
The Weasley family!
First, Lupin was their good friend, so they could help him.
Second, although the red hair on his own head was a little different from the Weasleys', it wasn't much. Among Europeans, redheads were Celts, and among wizards, the Weasleys were the only family with red hair. What's more, he looked a little like Ron. He could probably pass for some distant relative.
But then again...
He had no idea where they lived.
"Damn it." Anton gazed around in confusion, unsure where in this world he belonged.
But he didn't give up.
If he couldn't find anyone to rely on, then he'd rely on himself.
He had to find a way to get some money. It was the most essential thing he needed to survive.
A few people sat scattered around the bar. In the dim light, their low conversations drifted into his ears, making the place seem somewhat noisy.
Anton looked them over one by one, hoping to find an opportunity.
At last, he spotted someone with a particularly distinctive appearance.
His enormous height—three and a half meters—made him impossible to miss.
His thick hair and scruffy beard nearly covered his entire face, and he wore a Mole-Skin Coat.
Could this person be Hagrid?
"Hagrid, this situation is the result of your foolish actions. You can explain it to Dumbledore yourself!" The male wizard beside him wore a gloomy expression and spoke with a sharp edge.
Hagrid looked uneasy. "Professor Snape, I..."
He met Snape's piercing gaze, moved his lips, and finally lowered his head miserably.
After hesitating for a long time, he shifted in his chair, then edged closer. "Professor Snape, this can still be fixed. Please, help me. I can't let Professor Dumbledore down."
Perfect!
It really was Hagrid, and the other one was Snape!
Anton quickly recalled what he knew about the two, trying to find something useful.
First, even if they were willing to help him, they couldn't take him to Hogwarts.
Also, he couldn't let them know about Lupin's situation. Snape and Lupin were sworn enemies. Telling Hagrid alone wouldn't work either; he was famous for keeping secrets, so Snape would find out immediately.
It seemed there was only one thing he could do.
Anton carefully glanced around, went to a corner, and opened a narrow gap in the Suitcase, peering inside.
The Old Wizard looked completely dead. Maybe it was the angle Anton had shoved him in at: the Dagger had cut through his neck, severing it completely.
Lupin looked to be in especially bad shape. After just one Cruciatus Curse, he was now pale and weak, leaning against the corner. When he saw Anton peeking in, he smiled faintly.
Anton raised a finger to his lips. "Shh."
He quickly opened the Suitcase, jumped inside, grabbed a Glass Bottle from the shelf, and rushed back out.
The Old Wizard might have been poor, but he had plenty of treasures.
Take this Moonlight Turtle Brain, for example. It was a high-grade potion ingredient, essential for making Felix Felicis.
It was practically impossible to find one for sale.
Snape was speaking quietly with Hagrid when a small hand suddenly raised a Glass Jar in front of him. "Sir, do you need a brain?"
"No." Snape glanced at it coldly, but the brain floating in the potion inside the jar caught his attention.
The corners of his mouth lifted slightly as he looked at the thin Anton. "Ten Silver Sickles."
"!!!" Seriously? Picking on a kid? Anton was stunned. "Ten Silver Sickles? Do you think I can't afford Ice Cream or Sweets?"
Snape's cold eyes fixed on Anton. "You're wearing ill-fitting Wizarding Robes, so your family is clearly poor. Your clothes are filthy and full of holes. I could even tell you outright that you're a vagrant."
"There's no way you could own this brain. You stole it, didn't you?"
"Unfortunately, you have no idea what it is, and no one in Diagon Alley or Knockturn Alley would buy such a thing."
"Ten Silver Sickles. I've decided to buy it for my collection."
Indeed, if you met someone who didn't recognize the thing, you really couldn't get much for it.
But this was the famous Potions Master.
Ten Silver Sickles? What a rip-off!
Anton curled his lip and turned to look at Hagrid. Though he was secretly a rich man, he clearly had no interest in the Turtle Brain Anton was holding.
"Heh. The famous Potions Master doesn't even recognize a Moonlight Turtle Brain. If you don't want it, forget it."
He shrugged, turned around with the Glass Jar in his arms, and started to leave.
"Wait!" Snape called from behind him.
Heh. The corners of Anton's mouth lifted slightly.
Before you continue