Unexpected! Sooner Than Tomorrow!

Hogsmeade Village was peaceful after sunrise, yet still bustling with life.

Between the buildings, wisps of cooking smoke curled upward, intertwining with the morning mist. Though it was still early, many wizards were already wandering the streets, drinking, joking around, and enjoying themselves at leisure.

The Small Wooden House's windows were not large, but they were fitted with clear glass. Whenever sunlight broke through the clouds and fell gently inside, it cast mottled patches of light and shadow across the room.

A few vines occasionally wound around the window frames, their green leaves dotted with tiny unknown flowers that swayed softly in the breeze, giving off a faint fragrance mingled with the scent of earth.

"Brush my teeth! Wash my face! Welcome a brand-new day!"

This was not Ian's second day in Hogsmeade Village. In fact, he had already been here for several days, and Snape, who had dumped him here, had not visited even once.

If Ian had not been far more capable of taking care of himself than his peers, a Little Boy barely over ten trying to live in an unfamiliar place would have found it no easier than surviving in the wilderness.

"Have a honey tart and begin a disciplined day!"

Ian had already become completely familiar with the area. He first bought breakfast at Honeydukes Sweetshop, then made his way around to the Three Broomsticks Inn to buy a glass of lemonade.

"Good to see you, little Ian."

The innkeeper, Madam Rosmerta, was a charming woman whose mature allure had won over many regulars. Clearly, though, it had no effect whatsoever on Ian.

He preferred fresh-faced young girls.

"If you sold me a Butterbeer, I'd be even happier to see you, Madam Rosmerta." Ian's eyes remained fixed on the liquor cabinet behind her.

He had always been curious about the Butterbeer that everyone praised so highly, but unfortunately, despite several attempts over the past few days, he had never gotten his wish.

Even Galleons sometimes failed to work.

"If you could grow to thirteen right this instant, I would be more than happy to treat you to one." This was clearly another tactful refusal from Madam Rosmerta.

"Rules are dead, but people are alive. Only by being flexible can you make a fortune."

Ian still refused to give up.

"That's an interesting way of putting it. But compared to some vague fortune, I think a fine from the Ministry of Magic is much closer at hand."

Madam Rosmerta smiled and handed Ian a glass of lemonade.

The unsweetened lemonade was so sour that Ian's face twisted.

He could not blame anyone else.

He could only blame himself for not being used to the tea here, with its milk and soup.

"I'm awake! I'm awake! This batch of lemons must have been treated with some kind of sourness-enhancing potion!"

Ian's still-sleepy eyes instantly became much clearer.

"Hahaha, I don't sell lemons like that. I just squeezed two extra lemons into yours!" Madam Rosmerta laughed happily as she snatched up the money Ian had placed on the table.

She was guarding against the possibility of Ian asking for a refund.

"..."

Faced with an adult wizard's "overwhelming malice," what could Ian do?

Naturally, he could only mutter, "I got two lemons for free," to comfort himself. He stuffed two Fainting Fancies into his mouth, then quickly fled the nest of that "evil wizard."

Over the past few days, he had also made himself familiar at quite a few shops around town. He had adapted to the environment remarkably quickly; ordinary Young Wizards simply did not have his level of adaptability.

To be honest.

Even now, Ian had not completely adjusted to the wizards' way of life here.

Prices were far higher than in the Muggle world.

If not for the cold, hard Galleons Snape had left behind, he might have ended up as a Little Boy selling wild vegetables on street corners. The sort of sight that would make even Ron cry out in pity.

"Little Ian, want to play another game of Wizard Chess?"

Besides the shops lining the cobblestone streets, there were all sorts of vendors. A middle-aged wizard in a ridiculous top hat waved enthusiastically at Ian.

He was a chess player who set up a stall here specifically to challenge people to games. The price was not high—one Sickle per match, and if you won, you could earn five Sickles from him.

"You should go scam someone else. I'm just a child." Ian's gaze lingered on the moving chess pieces on the table for only a moment.

His refusal was resolute.

Naturally, that was because the chess player had already swindled several Sickles out of him. This man understood psychology—he always made people feel as if they had only narrowly lost.

Whether it was a Wizard Chess beginner like Ian or an experienced veteran who had played for years, in the end, all they could do was obediently hand over a Sickle with a sigh of "What a pity."

At first.

Ian had thought that perhaps he was some once-in-a-generation Wizard Chess prodigy. But after he saw an international Wizard Chess competitor hand over a Sickle with the same sigh of "What a pity," he understood the sinister money-making scheme the chess player used and never tried challenging him again.

"Honestly, you're very talented. Practice a little more, and maybe you'll win."

The chess vendor spoke in a thoroughly earnest tone.

Ian pretended not to hear him.

He jogged away, distancing himself from one of the unforgivable vices among gambling, drugs, and prostitution.

"Incendio!"

The incantation sounded.

A wisp of Flames sprang from the tip of the Elder Wand.

Just as Ian had planned.

Once he returned to the Small Wooden House.

He began another disciplined day.

He had already learned four spells from Standard Spell: Beginner—the Lumos Charm, Wingardium Leviosa, Alohomora, and the Reparo Charm—and all of them had reached Level 1, the beginner level.

What he was practicing now was his fifth spell, and one of the few practical spells in the first-year textbook that could produce a degree of offensive effect.

Incendio.

It was a spell that conjured a jet of fire and could be used to ignite things. Most of the time, it merely served as a substitute for a Muggle lighter or blowtorch.

However.

If the flames produced by the spell struck someone, they would inevitably cause a certain degree of burns. It was one of the few offensive methods available to first-year wizards.

"Incendio!"

"Incendio!"

"Incendio!"

Flickering firelight flashed continuously.

The proficiency on Ian's Personal Panel continued to rise as well.

Incendio (Level 1): 1/100

When the skill on his Personal Panel reached Level 1, a familiar exhaustion enveloped Ian's entire body. He knew it was time to temporarily stop studying for the day.

Clean the house.

Wash the clothes.

There were actually quite a few things to do. Life without a television lacked some of the pleasures brought by technology, but it had its own sense of fulfillment.

When the Night Curtain fell.

Ian climbed into bed earlier than usual. There was no other reason: today was that special day again, the day when he would enter the world of Misty Illusion in his dreams.

"I should see whether Ariana has come back."

As his consciousness crossed some boundary in sleep and entered the World of the Departed, completely isolated from the mortal realm, Ian slowly opened his eyes on the other side of the world.

"Hm?"

The scene before him gradually came into focus.

However.

Ian did not see the dreamlike meadow and sky, nor did he see the familiar lush trees and welcoming birds. It seemed that he had arrived somewhere utterly unfamiliar.

A palace.

Magnificent and resplendent.

After Ian appeared.

Countless pieces of furniture seemed to come alive, sprouting arms and legs as they fled in every direction.

"A human! It's a human!"

"So scary!"

"Waaah! Help!"

Amid the deafening chaos.

Only a golden bench remained unchanged.

The Witch sat upon it.

She raised her head to look at the visitor.