He summoned the Knight Bus once more and rode it straight to the Leaky Cauldron. Old Tom greeted him warmly, happy to have him back.
He was given the same room as before—Number 11.
Sitting on the bed, Anton poured the galleons into his palm and sighed. "Money...flows like water."
This wasn't living; it was burning through fortune. The Knight Bus was expensive, and despite its shabby appearance, staying here cost as much as a five-star hotel in the Muggle world.
This gold came from selling the Fluxweed.
It was an ingredient so rare and precious that Fiennes would have starved himself rather than sell it.
A strange pang of guilt touched Anton's heart. It felt... wrong. Like seeing Harry Potter melt down the Sword of Gryffindor to buy a fancy car and a suite.
No.
It's not the same.
The sword belonged to the school.
But this... this ingredient was his. He earned it.
"This is mine!" he declared firmly, thumping his chest. "I earned it, and it wasn't easy!"
He had never even brewed a potion complex enough to use something this rare. Mostly, he just liked having it, holding the power in his hands.
But needs are a must. Right now, survival was victory enough.
He was free of Fiennes. Lupin was safe. The future was finally his to plan.
Once Lupin was whole again, they would choose their path—wizarding world or Muggle. Either way, having an adult beside him would make everything easier. For now, he just needed a roof over his head and time to study.
His mind turned to the two spells he knows. They were powerful, but dangerous. He remembered the first time he tried them; the backlash had left him bedridden for days.
But when he did it for Lupin, Fiennes's potion had somehow sustained him, preventing the pain.
Night had fallen. The dim oil lamp in his room struggled against the bright glow of the streetlights outside.
Lost in his thoughts, Anton gently patted the suitcase resting beside him.
He wasn't completely broke. He had brought a fortune from Fiennes's collection.
The problem was the size. Dragging a suitcase bigger than himself was dangerous and drew too much attention for a ten-year-old boy.
'Tomorrow,' he decided, 'I'll go to Diagon Alley. I need a Traceless Extension Charm. It costs money, but it's worth it.'
He dreamed of having a storage ring, like in the novels—something invisible and endless. That would make life so much easier.
He heaved the heavy case onto the bed, tied the handle securely to his wrist with a rope, and blew out the lamp.
...
"Sorry, lad, we don't stock that 'ere," said the shopkeeper at Wiseacre's, adjusting his glasses.
Anton stared at him in disbelief.
"But this is the biggest equipment shop in Diagon Alley!"
The man smiled proudly. "Thank ye for the compliment, son. But that item simply isn't sold. You won't find it anywhere."
Anton frowned deeply.
He clearly remembered Hermione making an undetectable extension charm bag when she was just a student. How hard could it really be?
Was he wrong? Or was that just something he had read in stories?
What was the reality of this world?
The shopkeeper looked at Anton's oversized case, then pointed to a display on the shelf.
"Yours is a classic model from five years back. The new ones look fancier, but they ain't much bigger on the inside."
He shrugged. "Apart from luggage and tents, you won't find nothing else using that charm. The Ministry has strict rules, see? Using Traceless Extension for random items is forbidden. You can't even expand your own house! Imagine a tiny hut suddenly being the size of a castle? That would break the Statute of Secrecy faster than you can blink."
He leaned in, grinning. "And don't go thinking Knockturn Alley can help you. Those dark wizards talk big, but even they won't cross the Ministry. Not worth the trouble."
This was a problem.
Left with no choice, Anton bought a sturdy sling pack instead.
"Made from Hebridean Black Dragon hide," the owner boasted, yanking the pocket hard to show off its strength. "Strong as iron. Nothing gets through it. And it resists most spells, too."
It was an adult-sized bag, worn like a messenger satchel across his chest. It sat perfectly hidden beneath his robes, ideal for keeping valuables close and safe.
But the space inside was pitifully small. It was nothing but a drop in the ocean. It couldn't possibly hold the two shelves of books, let alone all the rare potion ingredients he carried.
"How troublesome."
Anton stood in the bustling street, feeling exposed. Every passing shadow felt like a pair of eyes watching him, waiting for a chance to strike.
Then he looked up.
At the end of the alley stood a building of pure white marble, towering above the rest.
Gringotts
In the wizarding world, this wasn't just a bank where money earned interest. It was a vault. A safe box.
The goblins didn't care if you deposited gold or goods, as long as you paid the fee. They would guard it better than their own lives.
Still... he hesitated.
From what he remembered, goblins were cunning and greedy. Was it really safe to leave his fortune here, where they could easily get their hands on it?
He knew better than to treat this place lightly.
He knew the books. Dumbledore hadn't just hidden the Stone here; he had placed it as bait, knowing it was the only fortress Voldemort would deem unbreakable.
And Voldemort? He had hidden his Horcrux here, trusting no other vault in the world could keep it safe.
If even the greatest wizard and the darkest lord both acknowledged its security, then this was truly the only place worth trusting.
"I hope the fees aren't too high," Anton muttered, struggling to drag his massive suitcase through the crowd. It was twice as wide as he was.
He approached the grand entrance. White marble steps led up to towering bronze doors. A goblin in a scarlet-and-gold livery stood guard, bowing slightly and gesturing him inside.
This goblin was different from Pedro. His skin was darker, his frame leaner. He looked sharp and official, lacking Pedro's flamboyant style.
Inside, a second door of polished silver bore the familiar warning:
"Enter, stranger, but take heed..."
Anton walked past it without a second glance.
The main hall stretched high above him, dim and solemn, lit by thousands of lamps that cast long shadows. It felt like a temple.
A goblin clerk approached, his eyes immediately fixing on the heavy case.
"How may I assist you?"
"To deposits," Anton said firmly, tapping the suitcase.
The best way to deal with goblins was to show nothing, say nothing, and let them guess. That was how the old man operated, and it worked.
The clerk's eyes gleamed as he looked at the case. "Quite a heavy load. You will need a private vault."
Anton nodded slightly. "Not a large one. Just something small... and private."
Keeping his voice ambiguous was another trick. Let them imagine whatever they wanted.
The goblin studied him, his gaze lingering on Anton's pale hair for a moment, before nodding knowingly.
"Ah, yes. Young wizards always want their own vaults. Parents need not know everything, eh? What have you got in there, anyway? Surely not dangerous items?"
He smiled, clearly not believing a child would be carrying anything truly lethal.
"Just... personal items," Anton said coolly. "Things I prefer to keep safe."
'Dangerous?' he thought. 'If you knew half of what is inside, you wouldn't just throw me out... you'd call the Aurors and send me straight to Azkaban.'
But he kept his face perfectly blank and indifferent.
"Lead the way," he said simply.