After the sun rose, Hogsmeade Village was peaceful and lively.
Between the cottages, wisps of smoke rose, mingling with the morning mist. Though it was still early, many wizards were already strolling the streets—drinking, joking, and enjoying their leisure.
The windows of the small wooden houses weren't large, but each was fitted with transparent glass. Whenever sunlight pierced through the clouds and gently spilled in, it cast mottled shadows inside the rooms.
Occasionally, a few vines would wind around the window lattices, and unknown small flowers would adorn the green leaves, swaying gently in the wind and releasing a faint fragrance mixed with the scent of soil.
"Wash your teeth! Brush your face! Welcome a brand new day!"
This wasn't Ian's second day in Hogsmeade Village. In fact, he had been here for several days now, and Snape—who had left him here—had not returned even once.
If Ian's self-care skills weren't far beyond those of his peers, the difficulty of a ten-year-old boy living alone in a strange place would likely rival wilderness survival.
"Eat a treacle tart and start a disciplined day!"
Ian was already completely familiar with the surroundings. He first bought breakfast at Honeydukes Sweetshop and then stopped by the Three Broomsticks to grab a glass of lemonade.
"It's nice to see you, little Ian."
The landlady of the pub, Madam Rosmerta, was a woman who still possessed considerable charm. Years of experience had made her captivating to many regulars, though she clearly had no effect on Ian.
He preferred delicate little girls.
"If you could sell me a butterbeer, I'd be even happier to see you, Madam Rosmerta." Ian's eyes were fixed on the liquor cabinet behind her.
He'd long been intrigued by the butterbeer everyone praised, but despite several attempts over the past few days, he had yet to taste it.
Galleons don't always work.
"If you could grow up to thirteen right now, I'd be delighted to buy you one." Rosmerta's response was, of course, another polite refusal.
"Rules are dead, but people are alive. You can only make real money if you know how to be flexible," Ian persisted.
"That's an interesting point, but compared to the abstract idea of making a fortune, I think a fine from the Ministry of Magic feels much closer to home."
Rosmerta smiled and handed Ian a glass of lemonade.
The sugar-free lemonade was so sour that Ian's face scrunched up.
Of course, he couldn't blame anyone but himself.
He simply wasn't used to the tea with milk and soup served around here.
"It's awake! It's awake! This batch of lemons must've been soaked in acidifying agent!"
Ian's sleepy eyes suddenly lit up.
"Haha! I don't sell lemons like that—I just squeezed in two extra for you!" Rosmerta laughed and swiftly took the money Ian placed on the table.
A pre-emptive move to prevent him from asking for a refund.
"…"
Ian faced the "malice" of adult wizards.
What could he do?
Naturally, he muttered "I earned two lemons" to console himself, stuffed two Fizzing Whizbees in his mouth, and quickly escaped from the "evil wizard's" lair.
Over the past few days, he had also become familiar with many shops in town, quickly adapting to the environment. Most young wizards lacked his level of adaptability.
To be honest.
Ian still hadn't fully adjusted to the wizarding lifestyle.
Prices were much higher than in the Muggle world.
If not for the cold Galleons Snape left behind, he might have ended up as a boy selling wild herbs in the streets. Even Ron would have pitied him.
"Little Ian, want to play another game of wizard's chess?"
Along the cobblestone street, a middle-aged wizard in a funny top hat waved enthusiastically at Ian.
He was a chess player who regularly set up a stall there, charging one Sickle per game. If you won, you earned five Sickles.
"You should go trick someone else. I'm just a child." Ian glanced briefly at the animated chess pieces on the table.
He refused firmly.
Naturally, because the man had already tricked several Sickles out of him. The chess player was a master of psychology, always making you feel like you narrowly lost.
Whether it was a novice like Ian or a seasoned player, everyone ended up paying with a Sickle and a sigh of "pity."
At first.
Ian thought he might be a once-in-a-generation wizard's chess prodigy, but when he saw an international contestant also hand over a Sickle with that same sigh, he understood the scam and never played again.
"Seriously, you've got talent. Practice more, and you might win."
The chess player's tone was sincere.
Ian pretended not to hear.
He trotted away from one of the unforgivable sins—gambling.
"Incendio!"
The spell echoed.
A wisp of flame emerged from the tip of the Elder Wand.
Just as Ian had planned.
Back in the cottage.
He began his disciplined day.
He had already learned four spells from The Standard Book of Spells: Grade 1—the Lumos Charm, the Levitation Charm, the Alohomora Charm, and the Mending Charm—all at Level 1 proficiency.
Now he was practicing his fifth spell, one of the few practical first-year spells with minor offensive capabilities.
The Fire-Making Spell.
It summoned flames and was mostly used to replace Muggle lighters or ignite fireplaces.
However.
When cast directly at a person, the flame could inflict mild burns—making it one of the few offensive tools first-year students had.
"Incendio!"
"Incendio!"
"Incendio!"
The flickering flames continued to flash.
The proficiency on Ian's personal panel steadily increased.
[Incendio (Level 1): 1 / 100]
Once the spell reached Level 1, the familiar fatigue washed over Ian, signaling it was time to pause for the day.
He tidied the house.
Did the laundry.
Life without a television lacked some of the joys of modern technology but offered its own quiet sense of fulfilment.
When night fell.
Ian went to bed earlier than usual. There was a reason—tonight was a special night, and he would once again enter that mysterious dream world.
"I have to see if Ariana is back."
As his consciousness crossed a threshold in sleep and stepped into the world of the dead, separate from the living, Ian slowly opened his eyes beyond the veil.
"Huh?"
The scene before him gradually sharpened.
However.
There was no dreamlike meadow, no green trees, no birds to greet him. He had arrived in an entirely unfamiliar place.
A palace.
Magnificent.
As Ian appeared—
Countless pieces of furniture seemed to come alive, sprouting limbs and fleeing in panic.
"A human! It's a human!"
"So scary!"
"Wah! Help!"
Amid the commotion—
Only a golden chair remained still.
"This is really... unexpected."
A witch sat upright on it.
Looking up at the visitor.
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