"You've been following me," Snape's cold, piercing gaze locked onto him, wand held lightly. "Explain yourself, or I wouldn't mind casting a nasty curse."
'It's over, he's caught!' Though a terrible school professor, Snape was a deadly force in this chaotic world. His fearsome reputation among dark wizards was well-earned, a trail of dismembered corpses left by his magic. 'He might actually kill me!'
He quickly assessed their strengths, reluctantly tucking Fiennes's wand away. Discarding the tree branch, he raised empty hands. "Snape, I mean you no harm."
Snape glanced around, ensuring no one was nearby before approaching swiftly. "How did you recognize me?"
'Oh, definitely your unkempt, greasy hair,' Anton thought, knowing telling the truth would lead to his burial in this desolate mountain.
Long accustomed to constant life-and-death pressure, he possessed a resilient spirit and sharp intellect.
Without the intimidating, unpredictable old man, he'd be long dead.
He pointed at his face. "We know each other, right? Should I drop the disguise?" Snape nodded slightly.
He lowered his hood, removed his beard, sipped the throat reliever, and set aside his backpack. "I have a dream." With the disguise gone, his mind cleared, his eyes shining. "To be a Potions Master."
"When I was young, I wandered aimlessly among wizards, finding no purpose in life. I seriously thought I was gonna end up just wasting away, forgotten by everyone..."
"As if by fate, a copy of the Daily Prophet flew right into my face," he looked at Snape, his voice thick with emotion. "And guess what? Your picture was on it! It went on and on about how you have perfected the Wolfsbane Potion, and the papers were just gushing with praise."
"Little did you know, all the wizards were singing your praises. countless werewolves were literally on their knees, bawling their eyes out!" He was practically buzzing with excitement.
He tightly clenched his fist and raised it. "That's when I swore I'd be just like you!" He continued,"I'm not just studying potions diligently, I'm digging up everything I can about you."
He completely morphed into his ex's celebrity-crazed friend from his past life, he gushed, "You're the guiding light of my life! The only thing that keeps me going when I'm wiped out! My one true belief, my idol~"
In his fervent idolization, seemed a devout believer finally beholding God. Even the hardened Snape shivered, instinctively taking a half-step back in panic as Anton excitedly approached, lost in his own world.
Snape coldly raised his wand. "Don't come any closer!"
Anton, lost in theatrical despair, leaned his head onto the wand's tip, eyes wide and watery. "I know I'm a fool," he sniffled. "I'll never be as amazing as you. Sometimes I get so tired..." He sighed, "You're a distant, unreachable star." With a shaky breath, Anton squeezed his eyes shut. "End it, please. Let me die by your wand. I'd be perfectly happy."
The wind whistled. A leaf landed gently on his face.
He raised his eyebrows, opened his eyes, and surveyed his surroundings. "Snape?"
"Snape?" The latter had vanished, a truly disappointing outcome, he mused with a wry chuckle.
He picked up his backpack, retrieved his wand, hummed a tune, and continued on. The previous display, while embarrassing, had left him unscathed.
"Man, life can be so challenging," He sighed, a pang of sadness hitting him. 'Seriously, making a kid grovel just to make it through the day? Sigh. I'm so tough.'
"Expelliarmus!"
His wand flew from his hand again.
"Bring it on!" His face hardened, fingers tightening around the spare wand. If Snape wasn't his caliber, he'd gladly eliminate him. What's the point of the Cruciatus Curse if it can't finish the job?
He looked up. "Hold on a second! Snape?!" The damn Snape had reappeared. Back to the old tricks, huh?
"You almost had me fooled with that pathetic display!" Snape sneered, his lip curling in disdain. "I remember you now. You were the snot-nosed brat selling those rare Fluxweeds at the Leaky Cauldron...and not once did you look even remotely impressed to be in my presence."
And naturally, Anton hadn't. Truth be told, Snape's pride had been deeply wounded that day. When Hagrid pulled out the gold, the boy's eyes were fixed solely on him—as if Snape didn't even exist. It might as well have screamed: "Snape, you're just a freak."
No one knew just how much that had stung. Yes, he was petty, and yes, he remembered every slight.
"How dare you doubt me!" Anton cried, his face burning crimson with feigned humiliation.
Time to put his endurance to the test. This was all about sticking it out and showing how tough he really was. Honestly? When it came to sheer resilience, grit, and patience, nothing could phase him.
He couldn't help but think back to his past life. Remembered how his ex's best friend totally lost it once when she heard some bad news about her idols? She looked completely broken, and his ex had to try and calm her down.
God, it was terrifying to see someone break like that.
"How dare you question me!" His eyes blazed with fury.
"Do you have any idea what I've been through?! No, you seriously have no clue!" he roared, voice trembling with hysteria.
"My master is dead! A potion went wrong, it blew up in his face! The explosion was so huge it left a crater two meters wide! I was left all alone, helpless, wandering around with nowhere to go!"
He thrust up two fingers, trembling violently. "Two months! I starved for two whole months!"
"You cannot imagine how grateful I was when you bought my Fluxweed! And yet... and now you accuse me of lying?!"
His gaze turned icy and sharp. "Snape, return my wand. I challenge you to a duel! Today, it ends here—either you kill me, or I kill you!"
He paused, voice dropping to a fervent whisper. "And even if I strike you down... you will still remain the perfect idol in my heart."
"..."
Snape stared at him, his expression growing increasingly strange. Had I... remembered wrong?
Though the child spoke of death and violence, his eyes glistened with tears of genuine heartbreak, stirring a deep unease in Snape's chest.
Had he truly wounded the heart of someone who worshipped him?
The wand soared through the air and flew back into Anton's grasp.
"???"
He stared at it, utterly stunned. What now? Was he actually supposed to duel? Did Snape expect him to fire the Cruciatus Curse without so much as a hello? Could a cheap trick even work?
Snape's expression softened. "How far have you progressed in your potions?"
Blinking rapidly, Anton quickly unslung his backpack, rummaged inside, and carefully pulled out a single sheet of parchment.
Seeing the bag overflowing with pages of dense notes, Snape was finally convinced.
Little did he know that almost all of them belonged to Fiennes; only this one was written by Anton. It was a task assigned after he had coughed up blood and stained the originals, forcing him to copy them out.
With a steady hand, he presented the note calmly.
He was secretly sweating bullets, praying Snape would just skim the parchment. Otherwise, poof, his whole act would be blown! He was practically having a meltdown inside, but he still managed to keep up the "how-could-my-hero-doubt-me" look.
Snape's lips twitched into a semblance of a smile, accepting the parchment like he was collecting homework. But then, as he read it, his brow furrowed.
"What in Merlin's name is this potion?"
"It's about a potion that boosts your sight, idol," Anton blurted out. "A key part of something called the 'Visual Acutus' potion."
"It's remarkably well-thought-out, and the approach is... unique," Snape mused, a flicker of surprise in his eyes. "You possess a certain talent, it seems."
Anton blinked. This wasn't his work, he knew that. Still, it showed how well he understood Fiennes's incredible potion-making—a skill even Snape had to admit was impressive.
"However, it is overly complicated. Far too many unnecessary steps."
Snape set down the suitcase containing Nagini, sat on it, and spread the parchment before Anton. "From here to here, seven steps can be simplified. All you need is powdered rhizome of the scarlet moonflower."
"And here..."
Under the cool night breeze, Snape provided an hour-long lecture, dissecting the entire recipe with startling clarity. The parchment became a canvas of red ink, adorned with his precise annotations.
Even after Snape departed, Anton remained, staring blankly at the parchment.
He actually understood this complex potion.
In just one hour, he had grasped it all.
See, beyond simply following the old man's instructions for handling ingredients, Anton possessed zero theoretical understanding.
"Bravo!" Fiennes clapped, materializing from a distance. "That was a marvelous display of deception, boy. You have the makings of a Dark wizard."
Anton pressed his lips together and unfolded the parchment for Fiennes. "Perhaps you should look at this."
"You dare tamper with my formula?" Fiennes bristled, but his anger quickly deflated. He fell silent, eyes glued to the parchment, eventually admitting defeat. "Since becoming a ghost, my mind isn't what it once was." He looked at it again, truly stunned. "The Master of Potions truly lives up to his reputation."
"Yes," Anton agreed, his gaze fixed on the direction Snape had vanished. "Now, he truly is my idol."
Snape had flung open the doors to a dazzling, captivating world of potions for him, and he found himself genuinely starting to enjoy it.
He eagerly awaited the day he would study at Hogwarts, to present his research to the Potions Master—openly, honestly, free from deceit.
For now, though, he felt no shame. His only goal was survival. Nothing more.