18: An Unexpected Arrival! Sooner Than Tomorrow!

After the sun rose, the village of Hogsmeade was peaceful yet lively.

Between the cottages, wisps of smoke curled gently upward, mingling with the morning mist. Though the hour was early, many wizards were already strolling through the streets, drinking, bantering, and enjoying their leisure.

The windows of the small wooden houses were modest in size but set with transparent glass. Whenever sunlight broke through the clouds and softly filtered in, mottled patterns of light and shadow danced within.

Occasionally, a few tendrils of vine clung to the window frames, dotted with delicate, unnamed blossoms. They swayed lightly in the breeze, exuding a faint fragrance tinged with the scent of earth.

“Brush your teeth! Wash your face! Welcome the new day!”

This was not Ian’s second day in Hogsmeade. In fact, he had already been here several days, and during that time, Snape, who had left him here, had never come once.

If it weren’t for Ian’s remarkable self-sufficiency—far beyond that of his peers—a boy just over ten years old surviving alone in an unfamiliar place would surely be as challenging as wilderness survival.

“Have a honey fruit tart to start a disciplined day!”

Ian had become fully acquainted with his surroundings. He had first bought breakfast at the Duke of Honey’s sweet shop, then stopped by the Three Broomsticks pub to get a glass of lemonade.

“Pleased to see you, young Ian.”

The pub owner, Rosmerta, was a woman with lingering charm. The grace accumulated over the years could captivate many regulars, though it clearly had no effect on Ian.

He preferred lively little girls.

“If you could grow up to thirteen right now, I’d be delighted to buy you a butterbeer, Miss Rosmerta,” Ian said, his eyes fixed on the liquor cabinet behind her.

He had always been fascinated by the butterbeer everyone spoke so highly of, but unfortunately, on several attempts over the past few days, he had yet to taste it.

Galleons sometimes lost their magic.

“If you could instantly turn thirteen, I’d gladly treat you,” Rosmerta said, her words a gentle refusal.

“Rules are rigid, but people are flexible. Understanding how to adapt is how you make big money.”

Ian was undeterred.

“That’s an interesting perspective, but compared to the elusive idea of making big money, I think fines from the Ministry of Magic are more likely for me,” Rosmerta smiled, handing Ian a glass of lemonade.

The unsweetened lemonade puckered Ian’s face.

Of course, he blamed no one but himself.

He simply couldn’t get used to the milk-and-broth teas here.

“Wake up! Wake up! This batch of lemons must have been sprayed with acid enhancer!”

Ian’s half-awake gaze suddenly sharpened.

“Hahaha, I don’t sell that kind of lemon. I just squeezed two extra lemons for you!” Rosmerta laughed heartily, snatching the money Ian had placed on the table.

She was guarding against a potential refund attempt.

“...”

Ian faced the “full malice” of an adult wizard.

What could he do?

Naturally, he muttered to himself, “I earned two lemons,” popped two mint candies into his mouth, and quickly fled the lair of this “wicked witch.”

Over these days, Ian had made himself familiar at many shops in town, adapting remarkably fast—far beyond most young wizards.

To be honest, Ian still hadn’t fully adjusted to the lifestyle of the wizards here.

The cost of living was much higher than in the Muggle world.

If not for the cold galleons left by Snape, he might have been reduced to begging on street corners for wild vegetables—something even Ron would pity.

“Little Ian, want to play another game of wizard’s chess?”

Along the cobblestone streets, besides shops, there were various vendors. A middle-aged wizard wearing a comical top hat waved enthusiastically to Ian.

He was a chess player who set up a stall to challenge others. The fee was modest: one silver sickle per game, and if you won, you’d receive five silver sickles.

“You should find someone else to scam. I’m just a kid,” Ian said, his gaze briefly resting on the animated chess pieces on the board.

He declined firmly.

The reason was simple: this player had already swindled several galleons from him. The player was skilled in psychology, always making you feel like you barely lost.

Whether a novice like Ian or seasoned veterans who had played for years, all ended up reluctantly handing over a silver sickle with a sigh of “what a pity.”

At first, Ian thought he might be a prodigy of wizard’s chess. But after seeing even an international chess competitor part with a silver sickle with the same sigh, he understood the cunning scheme and never challenged him again.

“Honestly, you have great talent. Practice more, and maybe you’ll win,” the chess player said seriously.

Ian pretended not to hear and quickly ran away from one of the unforgivable vices—gambling and cheating.

“Flames blazing!”

The spell’s incantation rang out.

A flicker of flame burst from the tip of Ian’s elder wand.

Just as Ian had planned, he returned to his small wooden cottage and began his day of discipline.

He had already learned four spells from the “Standard Spells: Beginner” manual: the Lumos charm, the Levitation charm, the Unlocking charm, and the Repair charm—all at a novice level.

Now he was practicing his fifth spell, one of the few first-year practical spells capable of causing some offense: the Incendio spell.

It summoned a jet of fire that could ignite objects. Most often, it served as a substitute for Muggles’ lighters or flamethrowers.

However, if the flame touched a person, it would inevitably cause burns—a rare offensive spell for first-year wizards.

“Flames blazing!”

“Flames blazing!”

“Flames blazing!”

The flickering firelight danced continuously.

Ian’s proficiency meter steadily increased.

[Incendio (Level 1): 1/100]

When his skill reached the first level, a familiar fatigue enveloped Ian’s body. He knew it was time to pause his studies for the day.

Time to clean the cottage.

Wash clothes.

There was plenty to do. This life without television, though lacking some technological amusements, had its own fulfilling charm.

As dusk fell, Ian went to bed earlier than usual. The reason was simple: tonight was a special night again, when he would enter a hazy dream realm in his sleep.

“Better see if Ariana has come back.”

Crossing a certain threshold in his semi-conscious state, stepping into the world of the dead, completely isolated from the mortal realm, Ian slowly opened his eyes on the other side.

“Hm?”

The scene before him gradually sharpened.

Yet, Ian did not see the familiar dreamlike meadows or sky, nor the accustomed shaded trees and welcoming birds. Instead, he found himself in an utterly unfamiliar place.

A palace.

Magnificent and resplendent.

As Ian appeared, countless pieces of furniture seemed to come alive, sprouting arms and legs and scrambling away.

“A human! A human!”

“So scary!”

“Ah! Help!”

Amidst the cacophonous chaos,

Only a golden bench remained untouched.

“This is truly... unexpected.”

A witch sat upright upon it,

Raising her head to regard the visitor.