At six in the morning, Harry opened his eyes right on time.
His eyes were completely lifeless as he stared blankly at the ceiling.
It took a good while for Harry to snap back to reality.
A bitter smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, and he struggled out of bed to begin washing up.
Ten minutes later, Harry reappeared on a vast, open training field.
Out on the field, Ian, dressed in a blue tracksuit, glanced at his watch.
He said nothing, merely giving Harry a firm nod before breaking into a jog around the perimeter.
Harry’s lip twitched as if he wanted to say something, but in the end, he adjusted his glasses and fell into step behind Ian.
Due to years of malnutrition, Harry was small and thin, his stamina practically nonexistent.
After just ten minutes of running, his breathing turned ragged and labored.
Even so, today’s performance was a vast improvement over the past two days.
For one thing, he was still young, and a child’s body possessed remarkable recovery capabilities.
On top of that, the nutritious meals over the last couple of days had helped his body regain some vigor.
Most importantly, after every run, Ian would have him drink a cup of a special home-brewed potion, which was the real reason he was able to keep going.
Gritting his teeth, Harry worked hard to regulate his breathing, keeping his eyes glued to Ian’s steady back ahead of him.
Sweat quickly soaked his bangs and trickled down his pale cheeks, yet he never slowed his pace.
Another twenty minutes passed.
Harry felt as though his legs were weighed down with lead, and the burning sensation in his lungs grew increasingly intense.
Just as Harry’s vision began to blur, Ian’s voice finally broke the silence.
“Alright, that’s enough for today.” At those words, Harry’s spirit relaxed, and he couldn’t hold himself up any longer.
His body collapsed forward, but Ian had been watching him closely all along.
With a flick of his wand, a gentle breeze swept under Harry, holding him upright.
“Not bad.
Five minutes longer than yesterday!” Ian walked up to Harry and extended a hand.
“Huff…
huff…” Harry stumbled to his feet with the help of Ian’s hand, gasping heavily for air.
Yet upon hearing Ian’s words, the corners of his mouth couldn’t help curving upward.
As Ian walked Harry in slow circles to ease the muscle fatigue, he asked casually, “Today is the third day.
Have you finished reading all those textbooks?
Very soon…” Before he could finish, Ian felt Harry’s grip on his hand tighten.
Then came Harry’s hesitant, faltering voice: “I’m sorry, Ian…
I still have a bit of the Potions textbook left.
But don’t worry, I can definitely finish it today.” Ian paused in his tracks, but he said nothing, simply resuming his walk.
Harry, however, began to panic.
Over these three days, aside from the half-hour morning runs, Harry had to pre-read all the first-year textbooks.
While Ian didn’t expect him to fully comprehend all the material—that would be unrealistic—he demanded that Harry read through every single book from cover to cover.
Yesterday, however, Harry had lost track of time while sneaking out to play with a broomstick, falling just short of a goal he easily could have achieved.
Harry knew Ian was doing this for his own good, and it was a plan he himself had agreed to.
“Ian, I’m sorry.
I shouldn’t have played with the broomstick.
I’ll go back to the study right now and finish the rest.” Saying this, Harry struggled to head back toward the house.
Unfortunately, his body was far too exhausted.
Instead of breaking free from Ian, he nearly dragged himself down onto the ground.
“Alright,” Ian signaled for Harry to calm down, offering a comforting word.
“It’s not worth rushing like that now.
I’m just a bit surprised that it was the Potions textbook.
I thought you’d inherit more of Lily’s natural talent for Potions.” “I was planning to start your spellwork training today, but it looks like we’ll have to push it to the afternoon.” Hearing Ian say this, Harry felt an even deeper pang of guilt.
He took a deep breath, forced himself to stand straight, and said in a low voice, “Ian, I will definitely finish the Potions textbook this afternoon, and then I’ll train in spells with everything I’ve got.” Ian didn’t reply right away.
He simply let go of Harry’s arm and drew a small glass vial from his robes.
The liquid inside glinted with a faint silver light, resembling liquid moonlight.
“Drink this recovery potion first.
Otherwise, you’ll be completely drained for the rest of the day.” Harry looked at the glass vial in Ian’s hand with clear reluctance on his face, but in the end, he took the potion and downed it in one gulp.
“Gasp…
gh!” Forcing the liquid down his throat, Harry’s entire face crumpled in agony.
He hurriedly pulled a piece of chocolate from his pocket and threw it into his mouth, chewing vigorously.
Not until the taste of chocolate overpowered the flavor in his mouth did Harry’s complexion begin to recover.
Before long, the potion took effect, and feeling gradually returned to his leaden legs.
This was a recovery potion Ian had specifically brewed for Harry’s training, capable of restoring physical stamina to a remarkable degree.
However, it suffered from one major drawback: its taste was utterly horrific.
Ever wondered what slop tasted like after sitting out for three days?
This was it.
It wasn’t that Ian couldn’t refine the flavor further—he was doing it intentionally, just to make Harry suffer a bit more, satisfying a minor streak of personal mischief.
Of course, if Harry managed to refine the recipe himself one day, Ian would be more than pleased.
But for now, that hope seemed rather distant.
With his strength restored, Harry no longer needed Ian’s support.
He kept his head bowed, following behind Ian as they walked back toward the house.
“At two o’clock this afternoon, we’ll begin spell training in the first-floor practice room,” Ian said, stopping outside the study door.
“Now, go eat breakfast, and then finish reading the rest of your Potions textbook.
I don’t think I need to stand over you this time, do I?” Harry guaranteed at once, “Of course not!
I’ll finish it as fast as I can!” Ian nodded and turned away.
At two o’clock sharp in the afternoon, Harry appeared right on time inside the first-floor practice room.
This was his very first time stepping into this room, and he couldn’t help but feel a spark of curiosity.
However, when he took in the furnishings, he felt a wave of disappointment.
Aside from several wooden dummies, there didn’t seem to be anything else inside.
A moment later, Ian pushed open the door and stepped inside.
He had changed into a tight-fitting outfit that left his muscular arms exposed, and a longsword hung at his waist.
At this moment, Ian looked far more like a knight than a wizard.
Because Harry could clearly see that Ian’s right arm, from wrist to elbow, was covered in a crisscrossing web of jagged scars.
Those aren’t ordinary scars!
The thought flashed through Harry’s mind.
Noticing Harry’s gaze, Ian glanced down at his arm, offering no explanation.
He walked unhurriedly into the center of the training room, drew his wand, and tapped the air in several directions.
In the next second, to Harry’s utter astonishment, the wooden dummies began taking stiff, heavy strides, marching directly toward him.
Though their movements were rigid, their strides were enormous.
In just a few seconds, the dummies had closed the distance, preparing to surround him.
Standing nearly two meters tall and clad in metal armor that reflected a cold, metallic sheen, the dummies carried an immense, suffocating pressure.
Standing under a meter and a half tall, Harry felt like a helpless chick before them.
Panic-stricken, he tried to back away, only to discover to his horror that his legs had turned as limp as noodles, refusing to obey his commands.
“Petrificus Totalus!” At that critical moment, Ian’s voice rang out sharply from behind him.
Simultaneously, a beam of grayish-white light struck one of the dummies hard, bringing them all to a complete standstill.
“Harry, as a wizard, the very first lesson I have to teach you is this: never, under any circumstances, forget your wand.” Ian’s cold voice echoed across the room.
Snapping back to his senses, Harry looked at Ian, his cheeks burning with embarrassment.
He remembered now—that very sentence was written on the first page of the Guide to Dueling that Ian had given him.
He had literally finished reading that book just yesterday!
“What you just saw was the Full-Body-Bind Curse.
It completely paralyzes the target, and it is the most effective offensive spell you can learn in your first year.” Ian walked over to the frozen dummy and lightly tapped its armor with his wand, producing a sharp metallic clinking sound, before turning back to Harry.
“The incantation for the Full-Body-Bind Curse is ‘Petrificus Totalus.’ Your wand movement must be decisive—slash a short diagonal line from top-right to bottom-left while speaking the incantation.
“The core of the spell lies in concentrating your intent, imagining your magic as a rope that instantly binds every movement of your target.” Hearing this, Harry finally remembered to draw his own wand.
He gripped the handle tightly, his palm sweating slightly, his eyes fixed unwaveringly on Ian’s demonstration.
Ten minutes later, after Ian had thoroughly explained all the key movements of the Full-Body-Bind Curse and ensured that Harry understood them completely, he stepped aside to clear the floor.
“Now, step into the center.” Ian took a few steps back and waved his wand, dispelling the body-bind on the dummies.
The dummies sprang back to life, though this time their movement speed was noticeably slower.
Ian offered a word of reassurance to the tense boy: “They will only approach you slowly right now.
You have more than enough time to practice.” Harry took a deep breath, raised his wand just as Ian had demonstrated, and locked his eyes onto the leading dummy.
When the first dummy pressed to within three steps, Harry shouted at the top of his lungs: “Petrificus Totalus!” A faint wisp of gray light flickered from the tip of his wand, sputtering out like a candle flame in the wind before instantly dying.
The dummy continued its forward march without the slightest pause.
“Keep going!” Ian’s voice sounded steadily from the side.
“Don’t just yell it out.
Your movements, your emotions, and your will must work together.
You are commanding it to stop!
“Remember, magic is an extension of your will.” Harry bit his lip and slashed his wand once more.
This time, he closed his eyes and poured his entire mind into picturing the beam hitting the dummy—”Petrificus Totalus!” A pale gray beam shot from the wand tip and slammed against the dummy’s breastplate.
Yet it only caused the construct to falter for a moment, as if given a gentle nudge, before it lifted its heavy iron foot once again.
“An improvement, but your magical output is inconsistent,” Ian said, having stepped beside him without a sound.
“You’re far too tense, Harry.
Magic springs from emotion, yet it can also be shackled by it.
“Don’t let your emotions overwhelm you.
Relax your body—like this.” Ian demonstrated the movement once more, his posture effortless and fluid.
Harry nodded and adjusted his breathing.
A second dummy was already closing in from his right.
He spun around quickly, this time keeping his eyes wide open, staring intently into the narrow visor of the dummy’s helmet.
“Petri—ficus—To—talus!” This beam was significantly brighter than the previous ones, striking the dummy’s shoulder in a dead-straight line.
The dummy’s movements ground to a halt instantly, one foot left suspended in midair like a crude steel statue.
“I did it!” Harry couldn’t help shouting out, a bright grin spreading across his face.
“Very good,” Ian said, offering a rare look of praise.
“But in a battle, you won’t face just a single enemy.
Keep going!
“And learn to move your feet.
You can’t just stand in place waiting for the enemy to come to you!” By now, the remaining dummies were closing in from multiple directions.
The brief joy was instantly swept away as Harry scrambled out of the path of one dummy, flailing his wand once more.
“Petrificus Totalus!” Harry stumbled over the incantation slightly this time, but managed to cast the spell nonetheless—only for the light to hit the floor at an awkward angle.
“Watch your footwork!
Mind your rhythm!
Focus on accuracy!” Ian called out continuously from the sidelines, correcting Harry’s mistakes as his voice grew steadily louder.
It went on for half an hour until Harry misjudged a dodge.
A dummy’s arm knocked against his wand, sending it flying from his hand.
“Finite Incantatem!” Ian’s voice rang out, and every dummy froze instantly before slowly retreating to its original position.
Harry lay sprawled on the floor, panting heavily.
Ian hurried over, kneeling down to check on Harry.
Seeing that he was merely exhausted, he let out a breath of relief.
“Alright, that’s enough for today.
Head back and get some proper rest.
Come find me in my study tonight.” With that, Ian stood up and called out to the empty air, “Pudding!” Crack!
With a sharp sound, Pudding appeared in an instant.
“Master Ian!
How may Pudding be of service?” Pudding looked up at Ian, her face brimming with excitement.
“Take Harry back to his room and help him wash up,” Ian instructed casually.
“Yes, Master Ian!” Pudding answered loudly.
She lightly touched Harry’s shoulder, snapped her fingers, and vanished from the spot.
Left alone, Ian looked around the messy training room and flicked his wand.
“Scourgify!” Moments later, the training room was restored to pristine cleanliness.
He picked up Harry’s wand from the floor, a helpless smile tugging at his lips.
“What’s this?
Disappointed in the boy?” Ian turned toward the sound, watching as Gandalf’s projection emerged from the longsword at his hip.