He showed remarkable perseverance, practicing the Animus Charm diligently every day — even through the forest's steady, drizzling rain.
That maddening feeling of almost understanding the spell, yet never quite grasping it, left him wondering if he could truly master it on his own.
"You're clearly going about this all wrong."
Fiennes materialized out of thin air.
Anton gave a faint smile. "Not bothering Pedro today?"
Fiennes snickered. "Ugh, I've had enough of him, honestly. I even spun the Time-Turner, thinking I'd zip back a few days — stop him from ever making that Unbreakable Vow with you, and boot you right out of the house."
Anton smiled knowingly. "You think that would actually work?"
"Not in the slightest." Fiennes waved a hand dismissively and shook his head. "Nothing can be changed. No one alters the past with a Time-Turner."
"Besides, even if I went back, it wouldn't work. You and Pedro are bound by that Unbreakable Vow, not me. If I undid the deal, Lupin would never have ended up in his care, and you'd have broken your oath the moment the agreement vanished. That would kill you both instantly — and where would my fun be then?"
Anton couldn't help but chuckle to himself, highly amused. He was half tempted to tell Fiennes the vow was basically pointless anyway — but figured he'd keep that little fact to himself.
Now that Fiennes had had his daily fill of teasing Pedro, he smoothly shifted into teaching mode.
"Practicing on trees? That'll never teach you dark magic properly," Fiennes said. "Sure, it might look like you're getting somewhere, but you're really just going through the motions — nothing more."
Anton nodded. "Yeah, I've noticed that too. Feels like something's always missing, y'know? Like I'm barely scratching the surface."
Fiennes glided closer, his tone turning serious. "I couldn't give you a full explanation before, but let me say this plainly: dark magic is made to harm people — it's no game. If you want to use it properly… you must take a life."
Anton fell silent, thinking it over, his voice laced with both curiosity and unease. "Lately, I've started looking at life and magic way differently,"
"Listen well, you little rascal," Fiennes said, his eyes dark with a haunting kind of wisdom. "Wherever life ends, it leaves a mark. When you take someone's life, every bit of that terrible moment burns itself right into your memory and your soul. That's where all dark magic really draws its power from."
"That memory… that whole experience… it slowly changes who you are — your heart, your will. Every spell you cast after that gets shaped by it, driven by what you've done."
"Take the Cruciatus Curse, for example," he went on, his expression a mix of regret and grim understanding. "The longer you make someone suffer, the more you truly understand their pain — every twist, every spasm of their body. That's the real secret behind how strong it gets."
"These ideas are heavy, and I don't expect you to grasp them all at once," he added, studying Anton's face for any sign of understanding.
"I get it," Anton murmured. "Basically — the more you do it, the better you get."
Fiennes blinked, thoroughly confused. "…What?"
"Nothing — just a silly saying I picked up," Anton said quickly. "Poor choice of words, but I truly understand. Please go on."
"Very well," Fiennes replied, a faint sorrow creeping into his voice. "I never truly understood these things myself, no matter how simply they were explained. Being a ghost… I can't truly grasp what any of it means anymore."
Anton chuckled softly. "Don't worry about it. Even if you were still alive, this kind of thing's way too deep to explain properly anyway."
He then invited Fiennes back to his oak cabin, telling him to write down every single thing he'd just said on parchment — and promised he'd pay close attention to every word.
"Think about it this way, and you'll uncover something truly profound," Fiennes stated, careful to uphold his dignity as a teacher.
"Your life, your memories, your experiences—these are the very forces that shape your magic," he emphasized, his voice rich with wisdom.
"You'll only advance with enough experience," Fiennes explained, his eyes gleaming with anticipation. "And through it all, your will must stay unshakable. When experience fuels your resolve, you could master emotion‑driven magic effortlessly."
"Now that the theory's clear, let's move to practice," he proposed. "If you've read my journal, you know the two spells I've truly mastered."
Anton's face lit up at once. "The Cruciatus Curse… and the Shield Charm! Definitely the Shield Charm!"
"Hahaha," Fiennes chuckled. "I see you've been paying attention. Exactly — the Shield Charm."
"Don't let its plain name fool you — it's far simpler to learn than to master," he said, waving a hand with evident pride. "Plenty know the spell, but hardly anyone ever truly understands it. That's exactly what separates us from the Ministry of Magic."
Anton arched an eyebrow, more curious than surprised. "The Ministry? I know they're stiff and mediocre, but you make it sound like they can't even cast it right."
Fiennes nodded with a grin. As he did, his head slipped loose from his neck—he caught it just in time, and popped it back into place. "They only care about rules, not real understanding. There's a huge gap between just knowing a spell… and truly grasping it."
"Even knowing it well isn't enough," he added, flailing his arms about. "You see — when you're under attack, your heart's racing and you're all tensed up, spells you can cast easily just won't work. That's when you realize you barely know the thing at all."
"The Shield Charm holds incredible potential. Can you imagine what it would mean to truly master it?" he said.
Anton swallowed hard, feeling a little uneasy all of a sudden.
Fiennes went on, painting a vivid picture. "Every attack you face will bounce right off you — only the worst, deadliest curses from the most powerful Dark wizards would even stand a chance. You'd be unshakable; nothing could ever budge you."
"Truth be told, I can't say I'm absolutely flawless at it, but make no mistake — I'm definitely a master," he added, with a distinct touch of pride.
"Before I show you how to actually cast it, let me tell you the real secret behind it all," he continued, brimming with anticipation. "It all omes down to one thing: the wizard's will."
Anton's eyes lit up instantly. "Just like how a wizard commands magic as if he were a god!"
"Hahaha — you clever boy!" Fiennes chuckled delightedly. "Precisely. It is exactly the same rule. You command your magic, command this spell, and command it to block every single threat that comes your way."
He'd clearly prepared for this moment. guiding Anton through every detail — from correct pronunciation and precise wand movements, to faster incantations and quicker casting time as they progressed.
Then, he delved into the spell's true nature, having cast it exactly 384 times in over sixty years — and recounted each occasion, breaking down reactions, results, and every lesson he had learned along the way.
This was gonna be a long haul, so Anton just threw himself into learning from the ghost every single day — barely even stepped foot outside his cabin.
Piles of notes stacked high across his desk, growing taller by the day — each page a clear record of everything they had covered and mastered together.
Until one day…
Anna knocked on his door.
"Mr. Pedro is asking you to come over. Tonight's the full moon," she informed him.
Before Anton could reply, Fiennes chuckled and spoke up. "Excellent — at last I get to see my foolish master do something just as ridiculous."
With that, he sank straight into the ground and vanished.
Anton stared, stunned — trying to figure out how Fiennes had even gotten back to the island's cottage through that stone gate.
Anna peered curiously at the towering pile of parchment crammed full of writing. "Did you write all this?" she asked.
Growing up, Anna had spent little time around other children. When Anton first arrived, she had been overjoyed — certain she had finally found a friend.
Yet much to her disappointment, Anton showed no interest in being friends at all.
When he first showed up, he carried a middle-aged man inside, put him in a chair, and he just sat there with his eyes shut, not saying a single word.
As time went on, he basically stayed cooped up inside the house all day long — except for those first few days when he'd go off into the woods practicing magic.
Anna was incredibly curious, but she knew the rules: a proper young lady just couldn't go knocking on a boy's door out of the blue. It'd look really improper, so she never did.
Anton did not answer her right away. Instead, he looked at the pages with a strange, quiet expression, and let out a long sigh — as if some heavy weight had been lifted from his shoulders.
Then he turned to her and smiled warmly, bright with relief. "Yep, that's right. All these are spells my master taught me."