Adrian knew his first spell probably would not work immediately.
A small, unreasonable part of him expected it to anyway.
He knew the incantation, remembered the wand movement from the films, and had a system sitting in the corner of his vision.
Standing in the middle of his bedroom in an old T-shirt and track pants, he pointed his new ash wand at the wall, gave a confident flick, and said, “Lumos.” The wand produced one pathetic, sputtering spark that drifted sideways, landed on the edge of his bedroom curtain, and immediately singed a thread.
Adrian stared at the tiny plume of smoke.
“Right,” he muttered, quickly pinching the thread out.
“So the montage skips the part where you actually have to be competent.” A knock came from the door.
“What was that?” “Nothing.” Claire opened the door before he could hide the wand.
She sniffed once, spotted the blackened thread on the curtain, and looked at him.
“You have owned that wand for less than a day.” “It was a very small fire.” “That sentence is not reassuring.” She made him move the standing lamp, the mirror, and every breakable object away from his practice area.
Then she left the room and returned with a heavy jug of water, placing it deliberately on the desk.
“You may continue.” Adrian looked at the jug.
“Your confidence in me is inspiring.” “My confidence is why I brought water instead of a fire extinguisher.” When she left, he sat down at his desk and opened The Standard Book of Spells, Grade One.
Reading about wand safety, pronunciation traps, and magical exhaustion limits was entirely different from waving a stick around.
He read the same section three times before the warnings finally stayed in his head.
The five Magical Memory fragments sitting uselessly in his system reminded him that owning part of a skill was not the same as having it.
He checked his interface to confirm.
[Magical Memory: 5/20] Before trying again, he wrote three rules on a spare sheet of parchment: Ten attempts at a time.Stop if his hand started shaking.Keep the wand pointed away from anything flammable.
He pulled up the system menu again.
His Beginner Box had given him five Universal Basic Spell Fragments.
Adrian selected the Light Charm from the beginner spell list.
[Assign 5 Universal Basic Spell Fragments to Light Charm Pair — Lumos/Nox?
“Yes.” [Light Charm Pair — Lumos/Nox: 5/10] Then he returned to Lumos.
He focused on the intent, the precise angle of his wrist, and the exact enunciation of the vowel.
Over the next hour, he produced three weak glows.
The best survived for almost four seconds before collapsing.
The system chimed.
[Practice Milestone: First Successful Light] [Universal Basic Spell Fragment ×1] Adrian assigned it immediately.
[Light Charm Pair — Lumos/Nox: 6/10] Apparently, the system rewarded genuine breakthroughs rather than every successful attempt.
Flicking the wand until his wrist fell off probably would not keep producing fragments.
He opened the PP shop.
He had 240 Pervert Points saved.
[Universal Basic Spell Fragment — 10 PP each] He bought the remaining four fragments for 40 PP, bringing his balance down to 200 PP.
[Light Charm Pair — Lumos/Nox: Unlocked] The completed spell settled into place.
Adrian could finally feel when to push magic through the wand and when to cut it off.
He raised the ash wand.
“Lumos.” A white light bloomed at the tip of the wand.
It flickered once, steadied, and remained.
Adrian grinned.
“Nox.” Nothing happened.
He tried again.
“Nox.” The light finally went out.
The completed fragments had given him the knowledge for the spell.
They had not given him flawless control.
Adrian turned to the next marked lesson in the spellbook.
The Levitation Charm.
The diagram showed the familiar swish-and-flick movement.
Adrian had barely finished reading the pronunciation warning when another pink screen covered the centre of his vision.
[PERVERT MISSION: Practise wand movements naked in front of your open window for thirty minutes.
Remain visible from the waist up throughout the mission.] [Reward: 4 Wandless Casting Fragments and 30 PP.] [Failure Penalty: Your wand announces every failed spell for three days.] Adrian read the penalty twice.
If his wand started screaming his failures for three days while he was trying to learn basic magic in a small house, his parents would confiscate the wand and make him practise in the garden under direct supervision.
He locked his bedroom door.
He also checked that neither parent was in the back garden before removing anything.
He pulled off his shirt, tracksuit bottoms, and underwear, folded everything neatly on the bed, and walked over to the window.
He opened the curtains fully, pushed the window up, and let the midday air into the room.
He looked across the fence.
The neighbouring house appeared completely empty.
“Thirty minutes,” Adrian muttered.
He dropped to his knees behind the desk.
His head, shoulders, and bare chest remained visible above the windowsill, satisfying the mission while keeping everything below his waist hidden from the neighbours.
He raised his wand just above desk height and began practising the swish-and-flick movement for levitation.
Fifteen minutes into the mission, the elderly woman who lived next door walked out into her back garden carrying a green plastic watering can.
Adrian froze.
Moving away from the window would fail the mission.
Adrian remained on his knees, repeating the swish-and-flick movement while the woman watered her roses.
She finally glanced up.
Adrian stopped with his wand raised beside his face.
The woman looked at his bare chest, looked at the wand, and gave him a polite wave.
Adrian slowly waved back with his free hand.
She returned to her flowers as though half-dressed wand practice was an ordinary Clarke family habit.
[Mission Complete.
Rewards deposited in Inventory.] [PP Balance: 230] [Wandless Casting Fragments: 4/100] Adrian immediately scrambled backward on the carpet, dragged the curtains shut, and pulled his clothes back on.
Once dressed, Adrian returned to the quill on his desk.
He checked the pronunciation twice, aimed his wand, and repeated the movement he had practised at the window.
“Wingardium Leviosa.” The quill rolled across the desk and fell onto the floor.
He tried again.
This time, one end rose for half a second before dropping.
[Practice Milestone: Move an object with the Levitation Charm.] [Levitation Charm Fragment ×1] Adrian picked up the quill.
One fragment out of ten.
The system apparently intended to charge him separately for every useful spell.
Curious about the new fragments, Adrian set his wand down.
He stared at the quill, raised one hand, and tried to push his magic outward without shaping it into a proper spell.
The quill twitched.
It was not levitation.
It felt more like he had shoved the feather with a clumsy burst of raw magic.
[First Wandless Response Achieved.] [Wandless Casting Fragment ×1] [Wandless Casting Fragments: 5/100] That evening, Adrian demonstrated Lumos in the dining room.
Peter leaned closer to the wand tip.
“Does it get hot?” “Not so far.” Claire moved the fruit bowl away from him anyway.
“No practising near curtains,” she said.
Adrian glanced toward the stairs.
“That rule came slightly late.” After dinner, Adrian returned to his room and opened the system interface.
[Basic Light Charm] [Levitation Charm: 1/10] [Wandless Casting Fragments: 5/100] One working spell.
One barely moving quill.
Ninety-five fragments between Adrian and proper wandless casting.
He navigated past his status screen and opened the beginner spell list, deciding to see what else he could start building toward.
The menu expanded, displaying dozens of locked paths.
Charms, jinxes, household magic, and minor defensive shields scrolled past in glowing pink text.
The strongest options cost far more than he could afford, and there were too many practical spells to choose from.
Adrian stared at the overwhelming list of possibilities.
For once, the system had given him a problem completely unrelated to his trousers: he had to choose.