Pedro the goblin is a renowned healer across the lawless corners of the wizarding world — wise, and a master of goblin alchemy and great Time‑Turners. Yet in potions, healing, and especially the study of the soul, he is clearly outmatched by Fiennes.
The clearest proof of this could be found inside Pedro's own home.
Climb the winding stairs and open the top door — you step into a forest rising from rich, sweet‑scented earth. Above, an endless sky with soft falling rain. The forest stretches out of sight… until you turn back, and there stands a stone archway.
And out from it came Anna Rosier, slipping through like she was passing through some clear, invisible wave.
Noticing Anton's curiosity, she explained, "This is a Threshold Arch — goblin magic, far cleaner and more reliable than Floo powder or Portkeys."
With that, she turned and headed toward a stone path winding off to the left. "Come along — I'll show you to your quarters."
She moved with striking grace, yet strangely never looked down — her head stayed perfectly still, eyes fixed straight ahead. Just watching her made Anton feel exhausted.
They followed the winding path till the light suddenly brightened. Vines tangled through the bushes to make a leafy fence around a small clearing. Three big oaks stood there, each with a cozy little cabin perched where the trunk split, and wooden steps spiraled down each one to the ground.
Anna pointed toward the leftmost cabin. "The one with wind chimes at the window is mine. You can pick either of the other two."
She went on, "Just leave your dirty clothes in the wooden pail by the back door — the house‑elves will wash and mend them for you. They also bring your meals every day and set them on the table by the window, so it's best not to leave anything else lying there."
Anton stared in surprise. "You have house‑elves here? I've not seen a single one since we arrived."
Anna smiled softly. "Good house-elves only get appreciated when people don't even notice they're around."
She greeted him with icy formality, nothing more than the bare minimum of courtesy. Once the introductions were over, she turned away haughtily and left without another word.
Anton didn't care one bit. Sure, he looked like a kid about her age, but inside he was a grown man in his twenties — and he really had no interest in chatting with some stuck-up little girl.
He chose the oak cabin on the right and climbed up. Inside, the space was well‑proportioned: a soft bed, desk, wardrobe, and small round table by the window. Compact but spotless — perfect as his temporary quarters.
They chatted a bit, then Lupin drifted back to sleep, leaving Pedro with nothing much to do. Fiennes had said there were potions that could help Lupin's condition, but he'd have to dig through all his old memories to remember exactly which ones.
And so, Anton ended up with loads of free time on his hands.
As a boy he dreamed of many things, but now he only longs for one thing: a peaceful night's sleep. Yet danger lurks everywhere, and old habits of vigilance make it impossible to rest.
With nothing to tend to, he headed into the forest. Following the winding path to the stone arch, he walked further beyond. The place was plain — nothing but wild, towering trees — ideal for practising magic without interruption.
"Animus Transferro!" he called out, waving his wand.
A faint, translucent blue light flickered out and hit a tree trunk. It barely used any magic at all — proof the spell was incomplete — but enough for repeated practice.
He was determined to master this spell until it came naturally. Far better to refine something useful than to waste time perfecting curses like the Cruciatus.
"Animus Transferro!"
"Animus Transferro!"
"Animus Transferro!"
They say repetition reveals meaning — and casting the spell again and again, Anton sensed something faint, yet couldn't grasp it. His mind was wholly wrapped in the strong resistance the magic demanded; he could only keep repeating it.
It was a maddening contradiction. To tudy the spell properly, he needed to keep his wits sharp and clear, yet to make the magic work, he had to summon powerful, almost extreme emotion.
"What spell is that?"
The voice came out of nowhere, making him jump — he nearly whipped his wand around and cast it straight toward the sound.
He turned to find Anna standing there, watching him with sharp suspicion.
"I haven't mastered every spell yet, but I've memorized every entry in The Complete Book of Spells," she said firmly. "And I've never seen this one before."
Anton raised an eyebrow. "Maybe you missed it."
"Impossible." Her chin lifted, proud and unyielding. "The Rosiers have been masters of magic for generations. There's no way we'd miss something like this — it's just not possible."
"Really?" Anton's curiosity piqued. "Well then, what do you know?"
"I'm especially fond of the Patronus Charm," she answered calmly. "One day, when I can wield magic fully, I hope to conjure one — to have it always by my side."
Anton looked her over, from head to toe, and shook his head. "Nice try, but that spell needs good, happy memories to work."
She barely had any of those kinds of feelings, honestly. She's just the perfect picture of a refined, well-bred young llad —her face was almost always blank. Even when annoyed, she only rolled her eyes in secret — otherwise, she stood as stiff and expressionless as a carved statue.
He was surprised a distinguished magical family could raise someone so emotionally detached. It suited a noble lady well enough, but wizards need to connect with their emotions — making such an upbringing less than ideal for mastering magic.
Unaware of his thoughts, Anna lifted her chin proudly. "Of course I have happy memories."
She tilted her head, curiosity showing for once. "My mother is an Animagus who takes the form of a rabbit, and she loves me more than anything. I love her just as much — maybe my Patronus will be a rabbit too."
Well, that was something, at least.
Anton pressed his lips together, having no wish to meddle in other's business, and turned back to his practice.
"I answered you," Anna pointed out, frowning slightly with quiet irritation, "but you haven't answered mine."
…
He waved his wand. "This is a type of dark magic, it's used to split the soul apart."
"Dark magic?" Her eyes widened in understanding. "That makes sense — The Complete Book of Spells my mother left behind never mentions anything like that."
Strange, really. The Rosier name had long been synonymous with the Dark Arts across the wizarding world.
"Your family doesn't do stuff like that?" Anton asked, puzzled.
Anna shook her head. "Not my mother. After she married into the Rosiers, someone tried to teach her. She refused at first, but eventually agreed to give it a chance."
"My aunt studied with her, and then… something terrible happened."
Anton's mind flashed back to the old tale he'd heard — of a wizard so obsessed with dark magic that he'd ended up tearing himself apart, body and soul.
"My aunt… she went completely mad."
Anton just stayed quiet. Did learning dark magic really come at that high a price — even pure-blood families couldn't seem to stay away from its influence?
Anna let out a soft sigh. "It happened because my uncle had an affair and fathered another child. My aunt couldn't bear the betrayal. She flew up high on her broom, then jumped off… and died right in front of him."
His mouth twitched slightly at the story.
"After that, my mom decided dark magic only brings bad luck," Anna said sadly. "She's never touched any of it since."