He was just having a seriously bad day, all thanks to Fiennes getting into his head.
Agitated, he unconsciously cast the Cruciatus Curse, feeling Azkaban's call. "If this continues," he muttered, "I might actually end up there." even joking about needing a gun to prevent from using an Unforgivable Curse under stress.
The fascinating wizarding world, he realized, shouldn't be taken for granted. He'd wrongly assumed dark magic required sustained heightened emotions. Instead, agitation now instantly surged and released his emotions naturally.
The old man hadn't lied. Perhaps Fiennes had truly changed, becoming someone who appreciated life.
Fiennes, a picture of grandfatherly kindness, watched children from the entrance of Florean Fortescue's, never got mad when children approached him.
So, the once evil Fiennes had become a good man.
And as for himself, had he become an evil dark wizard?
"It's quite amusing, wanting to live even after death," He mocked, but Fiennes was unfazed, resuming his head-tossing game, eliciting screams from the children.
Anton, displeased, arrived at Gringotts. Griphook, greeted him warmly. He returned the journal and textbooks, then, consulting his booklist, quickly gathered books and potion ingredients from the shelves.
He had struck a deal: he would officially become the old man's apprentice again, just to learn his potions.
The ghost, unable to form an 'unbreakable vow,' calmly stated he couldn't control Anton's actions, relying solely on 'teacher's love and dedication' to influence his decisions.
He had truly witnessed a ghost unlike any other.
With school supplies overflowing his bag, Anton walked through Diagon Alley, then returned to Flourish and Blotts.
He purchased "One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi,""Magical Drafts and Potions," and Newt Scamander's "Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them."
At Wiseacre's, he bought 26-Galleon magical dentures for Old Tom, a thank-you gift he hoped would let Old Tom, whose passion for international cuisine Anton had sparked, truly savor his cooking.
Under Anton's influence, Old Tom's enthusiasm for International cuisine was unleashed. Anton believed that with the dentures, Old Tom would be able to taste the delicious food he prepared.
Old Tom was overjoyed.
With his backpack secure and broom in hand, Anton was finally ready to depart.
"Exchanging Galleons for Muggle currency at Gringotts is a rip-off," Fiennes remarked, gesturing nearby. "Go to the wandering wizard camp instead." He explained, "Gringotts offers only five pounds per Galleon. The camp gives ten, sometimes even fifteen or twenty if you're lucky."
Anton, surprised, asked, "Why don't they use Gringotts?"
Fiennes shrugged his headless shoulders. "Fugitives, dark wizards, non-humans, those with illicit funds—there are many reasons. Muggle currency is easier for dark wizards to acquire; a little border-crossing can evade Aurors."
"The closest spot is Carmela's Cafe, in a desolate mountain crypt. Carmela the Witch always has Sickles. It's become the preferred exchange point."
Crypts, cafes, witches... Anton's expression twisted. He couldn't help but picture Mrs. Lovett's meat pie shop in London. He knew this place reeked of danger.
"Wear a mask, a hood, blacken your hands with ink, and put a pillow on your back to pass as a wacky old dwarf, not a child," the experienced Fiennes advised. "Three drops of toad venom, crushed with horner leaves and held in your mouth, will make your voice hoarse. Gargle with overnight egg whites and horner leaf juice to recover."
Anton stared at him in astonishment. "There's nothing about that in your journal."
Fiennes's disembodied head grinned. "I stopped writing a journal at 20. These insights took fifty years to gather. Trust me, a young wizard can't survive alone. You'll need me."
Anton's mood was complicated.
He couldn't erase the memory of Fiennes's torture, nor the constant dread of impending death. Yet, he found himself begrudgingly unable to refuse Fiennes's unexpected kindness. The reason was simple: he simply wanted to live a good life.
A sudden thought struck him. "How did I became your apprentice?" Seeing Fiennes's peculiar expression, he quickly added, "Your Cruciatus still has side effects, and I don't remember my past."
Fiennes's peculiar half-smile lingered. "A single father once brought his young son to the campsite. The father, long deprived, saw a beautiful girl, couldn't control himself, and died happily in bed."
"He broke the wanderer's code: no beautiful women. He then met a centaur, drank a potent concoction, died, and his son was sold for ten Sickles."
Anton raised an eyebrow. "That's truly a sad story."
"No, no, no." Fiennes wagged a finger. "That child died two months ago."
Anton stared, horrified. "Dead...?"
Cradling his head in his right hand, Fiennes's left gently stroked his hair. "I was researching demonic-summoning," he murmured, his voice barely a whisper. "Even the most idiotic dark wizard wouldn't believe it, but I had a child's corpse for the ritual."
He chuckled darkly. "The child came back to life, perfectly healthy. Then my lab exploded, potion ingredients raining everywhere. I convinced myself I'd simply misjudged, that it was mere suspended animation, nothing more."
"But then, this child, who couldn't be killed by multiple Cruciatus, made me question if the experiment was, in fact, a success."
He raised his gaze, fixing it on Anton. "What do you think?"
'I think you're insane!' Anton's mind reeled, finally grasping the old man's true nature. He silently lowered his broom, staring at the desolate mountain below.
"We've arrived," Fiennes chortled, his laughter eerily harsh.