"Boy..." Pedro stood tall despite his size, his gaze piercing. "I know Fiennes. I know how many apprentices he has tortured and killed."
"You do not love him as much as you pretend."
The words struck like a physical blow. Anton trembled, his face paling.
'He knows,' Anton thought, his heart racing. 'But he doesn't know I already ended it.'
"This is not poison," Pedro said, tapping the vial. "It is the Tears of the Two-Headed Siren. It does not kill—it traps the mind in a beautiful dream. You are merely giving your master eternal rest."
The young wizard's eyes widened as he took a step back, exclaiming, "You're lying!"
Anton stepped back, eyes wide with feigned horror. "You lie!"
"Yet you defied him. You brought your friend here. Are you not afraid of what he will do to you when he finds out?" Pedro leaned in, his voice soft and dangerous. "You have nowhere left to run, do you?"
Perfect.
The performance was flawless. The emotions felt real, and the trap was closing exactly as he had planned.
Fear flashed in Anton's eyes. He frantically rolled up his sleeve, showing the dark brand covering his skin.
"What do you know?" he shouted, trembling with feigned rage. "I am nothing compared to him! I am his slave!"
Pedro looked down, his expression dripping with disdain. "Fiennes plays with his little toys. Such crude magic means nothing to me."
'Perfect', Anton thought. If he played the part, he would get the cure and be free. But he couldn't leave empty-handed.
"If I do this," he replied cautiously, "I need more than just the cure. I need to survive afterwards. I need gold."
Clink... Clink...
The sound of coins shifting inside his pocket echoed loudly in the silent room.
Pedro sneered, tapping his finger against Anton's chest. "Do not push your luck, boy!"
Anton took a deep breath, letting out a long sigh as if he had finally surrendered.
"Deal. You cure my uncle... and you remove this mark from my arm."
The goblin nodded sharply. "And you pour this potion into his drink. Can you do it? I give you one year."
Anton nodded slowly, his face grave.
'One year,' he thought silently. 'I don't even need one day.'
"Very well, Mr. Rosier." Pedro turned to the silent observer. "Act as witness. Bind us with the Unbreakable Vow."
"With pleasure."
Rosier drew his wand, smiling faintly at the sight of the goblin and the boy standing almost eye-to-eye.
He fixed Anton with a serious gaze. "Listen closely. This vow binds tighter than death. Even the greatest wizards cannot break it... save perhaps for Dumbledore himself."
"Break your word, and you die instantly."
Anton looked away. The man's eyes were too sharp, seeing too much. He glanced at Lupin, pale and still, then set his jaw.
"I have no choice," he said quietly. "I will do it. I will put the potion in my master's drink."
"I have no choice," he said quietly. "I will do it. I will put the potion in his drink."
"Good." Rosier looked intrigued. "Join hands."
He flicked his wand. A shimmering thread of light coiled out like a living snake, wrapping tightly around their joined arms.
It flickered and vanished, leaving nothing behind.
A strange sensation settled in Anton's mind—the instinctive knowledge that breaking this vow meant instant death.
But then... he smiled inwardly.
After all, how could he break a promise to kill a man who was already dead? The curse was meaningless. It was just light and smoke.
He tucked the vial safely away, but his eyes widened as Pedro rolled up his sleeve.
Beneath it lay a gray, withered limb—a real human arm.
"A White Hand," the goblin mused casually, lifting it as if it were mere plastic. "Still holds a trace of magic. A very common ingredient."
Anton felt his stomach turn.
Over the last two months, he had swallowed every vile brew Fiennes forced upon him. He had endured potions that tasted like ash and rot.
But this... this was actual human flesh.
He could not accept it.
The goblin took Anton's hand and pressed it firmly against the grisly limb.
"Huh?"
Anton gasped. The arm seemed to fuse instantly, moving exactly as he thought. It felt like it had always been part of him.
"Incredible!"
Even Anna Rosier drifted over, her eyes wide as she watched the strange extra limb twitch and move.
Pedro smirked. "Just a simple trick. It cannot lift weight, it cannot hold a wand, it is merely for show."
He murmured a complex incantation, bathing Anton's wrist in a soft glow.
Soon, Anton's mind blurred. He couldn't tell which hand was real and which was the illusion.
The work was done.
Pedro pulled the false arm away and tapped the dark mark on Anton's skin.
"You see? All those fancy curses are overrated. A simple Confusion spell is all it takes to fool them."
Anton touched his wrist, stunned. Beneath his fingers, the intricate markings had changed into something else entirely.
The goblin tossed the limb into Anton's hands. "Attach it anywhere you like. Your master will never know the real curse is gone. Just take it off when you need to."
"Brilliant!" Mr. Rosier clapped enthusiastically. "I was wondering how to bypass such dark magic. Mr. Pedro, your solution is truly flawless!"
Pedro waved a hand dismissively, though his grin betrayed his pride. "Simple work. Now get out of here."
He glowered at Lupin, cigar smoke curling from his nostrils. "Another victim of the Cruciatus... what a nuisance."
"But a nuisance I can fix," he boasted, looking at Anton. "Six months. He will be whole again in six months."
Six months?
Anton's eyes went wide. He had spent days just trying to keep Lupin alive, and this goblin claimed he could cure the incurable in half a year?
"Now get out," Pedro grunted. "I don't like wizards cluttering my shop." He paused, smiling at Rosier. "Except friends, of course."
His gaze shifted to Anna. "And you, little princess, are always welcome to come study alchemy with me."
Anton stood quietly in the corner.
He understood now. In this world, power was everything. And he was still just an outsider playing a dangerous game.
"May I visit him?" Anton asked quietly.
"Once every two weeks," the goblin grunted. "No more."
Anton nodded. He dragged the heavy suitcase out into the open air, clutching his worn wand tightly.
He stood there, gazing at the sea, feeling utterly lost.
He felt like a leaf torn from its branch, drifting aimlessly on the water. He had no home, no roof over his head.
If Lupin were with him, they could disappear into the Muggle world and live quietly. But alone? A ten-year-old boy with no guardian couldn't even rent a room.
He reached into his pocket and felt the cold metal of the gold coins.
"Alright then," he whispered to the wind. "Wizarding world...here I come."