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  The sun rose over the peaceful vilge of Hogsmeade, which was not without its bustle. Between the vilges, wisps of smoke rose into the air, mingling with the early m mist. Although it was still early, many wizards were already wandering the streets, drinking, chatting, and leisurely enjoying themselves.

  The window of the small wooden house was ne, but it was fitted with transparent gss. Every time the sunlight pierced through the clouds aly poured in, it cast a patchwork of light and shadow across the room.

  Occasionally, a few vines ed around the window ttice, with small, unknown flowers led between the green leaves, gently swaying in the wind, releasing a faint fragrance mixed with a hint of earthiness.

  "Brush your teeth! Wash your face! Greet the brand new day!"

  This was not Ian's sed day in Hogsmeade. In fact, he had already been here for several days, and during this time, Snape, who had left him here, had not e once.

  If it weren't for Ian's exceptional self-sufficy, the difficulty of a young boy, just over ten years old, living in a strange pce would be han surviving in the wilderness.

  "Eat a honey-filled pie, start a self-disciplined day!"

  Ian had already bee pletely familiar with the enviro around him. He first went to Honeydukes, a dy store, to buy breakfast, then headed to The Three Broomsticks tavern to grab a gss of lemonade.

  "Gd to see you, Ian."

  Madam Rosmerta the Innkeeper was a charming dy, with an allure that many regurs found irresistible. However, she had no effe Ian, who clearly preferred younger, sprightlier girls.

  "If you could sell me a Butterbeer, I'd be gd to see you, too, Miss Rosmerta," Ian said, his eyes fixed on the shelves behind Rosmerta.

  He had always been very curious about Butterbeer, which everyone seemed to praise endlessly. Unfortunately, despite multiple attempts over the past few days, he had not yet succeeded in obtaining a gss.

  Even gold galleons sometimes lost their power.

  "If you could magically age to thirteen right now, I'd gdly get you that drink," Rosmerta replied, obviously another polite reje.

  "Rules are dead, people are alive. If you know how to adapt, you'll make big money," Ian said, not giving up.

  "You have an iing point. But rather than dreaming about making big money, I think the fines from the Magic Department are probably a bit closer to me," Ian tinued, his tone light-hearted.

  Rosmerta smiled and handed Ian a gss of lemonade.

  The lemonade, without sugar, was so sour that Ian's face twisted in disfort.

  Of course, he couldn't bme anyone else.

  He could only bme himself for not getting used to the tea here, which often included milk and broth.

  "It's awake! It's awake! These lemons definitely have added acidifiers!" Ian's half-sleepy eyes suddenly cleared up much more.

  "Hahaha, I don't sell that kind of lemon! I just squeezed two extra lemons for you!" Rosmerta ughed happily, grabbing the money Ian had left oable.

  This was her way of preventing any possible returns from Ian.

  "..."

  Ian faced the "full malice" of the adult wizards.

  What could he do?

  Of course, he could only mutter to himself, "I earwo lemons," while popping two mint dies into his mouth and quickly retreating from the "evil wizard's" ir.

  Over the past few days, he had visited many of the town's shops and had bee a familiar face. He had adapted to the enviro remarkably quickly—something most young wizards couldn't do.

  To be ho, even now, Ian had not fully adapted to the life of wizards here.

  The prices were much higher than in the Muggle world.

  If it weren't for the cold gold galleons Snape had left behind, Ian might have been reduced to a street ur selling wild vegetables, the kind of fate that would make Ron feel pity.

  "Ian, would you like to py a game of wizard's chess?"

  Along the cobblestoreets, there were not only shops but also various vendors, with a middle-aged wizard wearing a ical hat enthusiastically waving at Ian.

  He was a regur vendor who set up a stall to challehers to a game of chess. His rates were reasonable— one silver Sickel per game, and if you won, you'd get five silver Sickels from him.

  "Why don't you try scamming someone else? I'm still just a child," Ian said, his gaze lingering only for a moment on the moving chess pieces oable.

  He rejected the offer firmly.

  The reason was simple— he had already lost several silver Sickels to this chess pyer. This chess pyer uood psychology well and always made you feel like you had almost won.

  Whether it was a beginner like Ian or an experienced wizard, they all ended up relutly handing over a silver Sickel with a sigh of "What a pity."

  At first, Ian thought he might be a genius at wizard's chess, but after seeing an iional chess petitor also sigh and hand over a silver Sickel, Ian realized the chess pyer's triaking money and tempted to challenge him again.

  "Holy, you have potential. With more practice, you might win," the street vendor said seriously.

  Iaended not to hear him and jogged away from the "unfivable" pitfall that was the chess challenge.

  "Indio!"

  The sound of the spell echoed as a small fme leaped from the tip of his elder wood wand.

  Just as Ian had pnned.

  Ba the small wooden house, he began his disciplined routine for the day.

  He had already learned four charms from 'Standard Spells: Begihe Lighting Charm, Levitation Charm, Unlog Charm, and Repairing Charm—each at the beginner level.

  Now he ractig his fifth charm, which was one of the few in the first-year textbook that could have some offensive effect.

  The Fire-Making Charm.

  It was a charm that summoned fmes to ighings, often used as a substitute fgle lighters or fmethrowers.

  However, if the fire from this charm hit a person, it would iably cause some degree of burn, making it one of the few offensive spells avaible to first-year wizards.

  "Indio!"

  "Indio!"

  "Indio!"

  The flickering fmes tio dance, and Ian's profi his personal panel grew steadily.

  ''[Indio (Level 1): 1/100]''

  When the skill reached level one, Iahe familiar fatigue settling over him. He k was time to take a break from his studies for the day.

  He tidied up, and did some undry— there was quite a bit to do. Life without a television cked some of the eaieology brought, but it offered a satisfying sense of fulfillment.

  When nightfall came, Iao bed earlier than usual. The reason was simple—today was the special day when he would ehe Twilight Zone world in his dreams.

  "I wonder if Ariana has returned."

  As his sciousness crossed some boundary in deep sleep aered the world pletely separated from the living, Ian slowly opened his eyes in the world behind the mundane.

  "Huh?"

  The se in front of him gradually came into focus.

  However, this time, Ian didn't see the familiar dreamlike grass and sky or the usual birds weling him in a tree-filled ndscape. Instead, he found himself in an unfamiliar pce.

  A pace.

  Magnifit.

  After Ian appeared, tless pieces of furniture seemed to e alive, growing hands and legs and scrambling in every dire.

  "People! It's people!"

  "How scary!"

  "Ah! Help!"

  In the midst of the chaotioise, only a golden long bench remained untouched.

  "This is… truly ued," Ian thought.

  A witch sat gracefully upon the bench, looking up at the visitor.

  '(End of Chapter)'