Hogsmeade Village was peaceful after sunrise, yet still full of life.
A few wisps of chimney smoke curled up between the cottages, mingling with the morning mist. Though it was still early, many wizards were already strolling through the streets, drinking, joking around, and enjoying themselves.
The little cottage had small windows, but they were fitted with clear glass. Whenever sunlight broke through the clouds and gently streamed in, it cast a patchwork of light and shadow across the room.
A few vines occasionally wound around the window frames, their green leaves dotted with tiny, nameless flowers. They swayed gently in the breeze, giving off a faint fragrance mingled with the scent of earth.
"Brush teeth! Wash face! Get ready for a brand-new day!"
This wasn't Ian's second day in Hogsmeade Village. In fact, he had already been there for several days, and Snape, who had dumped him there, hadn't visited once.
If Ian hadn't been far more capable of looking after himself than most kids his age, life in an unfamiliar place would have been incredibly difficult for a boy barely past ten—probably no easier than surviving in the wilderness.
"Let's have a honey tart and start the day right!"
Ian had become completely familiar with the area. First, he bought breakfast at Honeydukes Sweetshop, then headed over to the Three Broomsticks Pub to get a glass of lemonade.
"Lovely to see you, little Ian."
The pub's owner, Rosmerta, was a woman whose charms had weathered the years gracefully. Her mature allure could captivate many of her regular customers, but it clearly had no effect on Ian whatsoever.
He preferred cute young girls.
"I'd be just as happy to see you if you sold me a Butterbeer, Madam Rosmerta." Ian kept his eyes fixed on the shelves of liquor behind her.
He had always been curious about the Butterbeer everyone praised so highly. Unfortunately, despite trying several times over the past few days, he still hadn't gotten his wish.
Sometimes, even Galleons were no use.
"If you could grow to thirteen right this instant, I'd be delighted to buy you one." It was clearly another tactful refusal from Rosmerta.
"Rules are rules, but people can be flexible. You have to know when to bend them if you want to make the big money."
Ian still wasn't giving up.
"That's an interesting way of putting it. But compared with the vague prospect of making big money, I think a fine from the Ministry of Magic is much more likely."
Rosmerta smiled as she handed Ian a glass of lemonade.
The unsweetened lemonade was so sour that Ian's face contorted.
He couldn't blame anyone else, of course.
He could only blame himself for being unable to stomach the milky, soupy tea they drank around here.
"Damn, that woke me up! This batch of lemons must've been treated with extra souring agent!"
Ian's sleepy eyes cleared up in an instant.
"Haha, I don't sell lemons like that. I just squeezed two extra ones for you!" Rosmerta laughed cheerfully and snatched up the money Ian had put on the table.
She was taking precautions in case Ian tried to return it.
"..."
Ian faced the "boundless malice" of an adult witch.
What could he do?
He could only mutter to himself, "I got two lemons for free," as he popped a couple of Peppermint Toads into his mouth and hurried away from the "evil witch's" lair.
He had also become a familiar face in quite a few shops around town. He'd settled into the place remarkably quickly; most young wizards couldn't adapt as well as he had.
Honestly,
Ian still hadn't completely adjusted to the wizards' way of life.
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 the street. Ron would've taken one look at him and felt sorry for him.
"Little Ian, want another game of Wizard's Chess?"
Along the cobbled streets, besides the shops, there were all sorts of vendors. A middle-aged wizard in a ridiculous hat waved enthusiastically at Ian.
He was a chess player who set up a stall here to challenge passersby. It didn't cost much—one Silver Sickle per game, and if you won, you could take five Silver Sickles from him.
"You should go fleece someone else. I'm just a kid." Ian's gaze lingered only briefly on the animated chess pieces on the table.
His refusal was firm.
That was because the chess player had already swindled several Silver Sickles out of him. The man understood psychology; he always made you feel like you'd only narrowly lost.
Whether it was Ian, a novice at Wizard's Chess, or an old hand who'd played for years, they always ended up handing over a Silver Sickle with a rueful "What a shame."
At first,
Ian had thought he might be some undiscovered Wizard's Chess prodigy. But after he saw an international Wizard's Chess competitor hand over a Silver Sickle after the same rueful "What a shame," he understood the shady chess player's money-making trick and never tried to challenge him again.
"Seriously, you've got talent. Practice a little more and you might win."
The stallholder sounded perfectly earnest.
Ian pretended not to hear him.
He jogged away from one of the unforgivable vices of gambling and drugs.
"Incendio!"
The incantation rang out.
A small flame sprang from the tip of the Elder Wand.
Just as Ian had planned,
he returned to the cottage
and began his daily practice.
He had already learned four spells from The Standard Book of Spells: Grade 1: Lumos, the Levitation Charm, Alohomora, and the Mending Charm. He had reached level one in all of them.
Now he was practicing his fifth spell, one of the few practical spells in the first-year textbook that could do a little damage.
Incendio.
It summoned a jet of flame that could be used to set things alight. Most of the time, it was just a substitute for Muggle lighters or flamethrowers.
However,
if the flames conjured by the spell hit someone, they would inevitably cause burns. It was one of the few ways a first-year wizard could attack.
"Incendio!"
"Incendio!"
"Incendio!"
Flames flickered on and off again and again.
The skill level on Ian's status panel kept increasing.
[Incendio (Level 1): 1/100]
Once the skill on his status panel reached level one, the familiar wave of exhaustion swept over Ian. He knew he should stop studying for the day.
He tidied up.
Did the laundry.
There was actually plenty to do. Though life without a television meant missing out on some of the fun that technology brought, it also had a fulfilling charm of its own.
When night fell,
Ian went to bed earlier than usual. There was only one reason: it was that special day again, when he would enter the world of Limbo in his dreams.
"I should see if Ariana's back yet."
As his consciousness crossed some invisible boundary in sleep and entered that world of the dead, completely cut off from the living, Ian slowly opened his eyes on the other side.
"Hm?"
The scene before him gradually came into focus.
However,
he saw neither the meadow and sky of a dreamlike landscape nor the familiar trees and welcoming birds. He seemed to have arrived somewhere entirely unfamiliar.
A palace.
Opulent and magnificent.
As soon as Ian appeared,
the countless pieces of furniture seemed to come alive, sprouting arms and legs as they fled in every direction.
"A person! There's a person!"
"How terrifying!"
"Waaah! Help!"
Amid the chaotic din,
only a golden chaise longue remained unchanged.
"This is certainly... unexpected."
The witch sat upon it,
and looked up at her visitor.