Days at Hogwarts

Dear Grandpa Bates:

How have you been recently? I hope you had a peaceful full moon night last week...

You're so lucky to meet me! Headmaster Dumbledore of Hogwarts is a kind-hearted man. With his and the professors' help, I got a magic potion. Drink it a week in advance, and it can keep you sane during your full moon transformation.

... Hehe, the downside is it's very bitter. Adding sugar makes the potion ineffective. I hope you old man can bear it...

The potion is attached to this letter...

I'm doing well at school, don't worry.

Loren

Loren wrote this letter after returning from Snape's office and planned to have Hannah deliver it the next day.

A week had passed since he last picked stamens from those delicate flowers. This time, Snape didn't make Loren deal with strange herbs. Instead, after testing his potion knowledge, he demonstrated how to brew a simple potion and asked Loren to hand in a one-foot-long written report next week.

Loren also finally received the long-awaited Wolfsbane Potion.

The potion was contained in a palm-sized bottle. It didn't look appealing: a vivid purple color, exuding a poisonous aura. Up close, it smelled like fermented rotten eggs.

Drinking it would take serious resolve. Loren hoped Grandpa Bates was old and his taste buds dulled; otherwise, the bitterness might be worse than the curse itself.

Loren was in high spirits. He didn't have to brew the potion himself yet had it in hand. And the lengthy thesis? Just a college student's formality—no need for plagiarism checks.

After finishing the letter, Loren turned over and climbed into bed.

He pressed the icon for the duel room and appeared in the magic book's virtual arena.

The room had a high ceiling and was empty of tables or chairs, feeling stark and spacious.

"Flamel, I think I'm ready to try!" Loren announced. After a week of practice, he could cast the Armor Spell smoothly.

Flamel floated down and landed before him, smiling warmly.

"I'm happy to serve."

Before finishing, Flamel's face blurred, shifting until it was a perfect replica of Loren himself.

"There's no better way to understand yourself than to fight yourself," Flamel bowed deeply in Loren's likeness.

Loren felt awkward—fighting himself sounded strange.

Flamel cleared his throat, his voice now crisp and slightly childish like Loren's:

"I won't use spells you don't know, and my spell power will match yours."

"Ready!"

Loren focused, bowed, and raised his wand.

The Armor Spell hovered on his lips, ready to cast.

"Lumos!" Flamel started with a bright, flashing spell.

Loren didn't hesitate: "Protego!"

But the Luminescent Flash wasn't an offensive spell aimed directly at him. It didn't trigger the magic barrier.

The dazzling white light blinded Loren. He instinctively turned away and closed his eyes.

Because Loren hadn't mastered casting Armor on himself yet, only the wand tip served as his defense. The sudden light made him lower his guard and cancel the spell.

Momentarily defenseless, Loren realized it and rolled to the right front.

Flamel was unfazed: "Depulso!"

The Repulse Charm was one of nine first-year spells. Loren and even Hermione had learned it but hadn't taken it seriously.

Now Loren understood that with perfect timing, no spell was useless.

The green light struck Loren, feeling like a kick to the chest. He was knocked back and landed hard on the floor.

Flamel stopped, smiling: "As immature as a child."

Loren clutched his chest, exhaled, and rolled his eyes. "I am just a child."

He'd thought he could rely on the Shield Charm to withstand a few spells, but he hadn't lasted two moves. A Luminescent Flash canceled his Shield, and the Repulse Charm finished him off.

Flamel summarized: "Don't expect to catch every spell. Dodge if you can, counter if you can, and if all else fails, just don't be a target."

Loren's mental image of wizard duels had been naive: one spell cast, one defended, turn by turn.

In reality, skilled wizards grasp battle rhythm and unleash spells in rapid combinations, exhausting their opponent and exploiting mistakes.

A skilled wizard might cast two or more spells in the time it takes an opponent to cast one.

"Come on!"

Loren stood, exhaled, and his eyes sparkled with excitement.

His duel class began in earnest, and his record was ugly—embarrassingly so.

The Luminescent Flash didn't just open the duel; it appeared between other spells, disrupting Loren's vision repeatedly.

"Come again!"

A fire spell pressured Loren's space, while a softening spell landed a few steps behind him, forcing him to lose footing on a loose floor tile.

Flamel crafted endless combinations from the nine first-year spells, interfering, controlling, and preventing Loren from hiding or casting Armor. The last move was always a simple "Depulso."

Loren realized that even basic first-year spells could form formidable combat power when cleverly combined.

After each battle, Flamel pointed out Loren's mistakes but never revealed how to counter them.

Loren could only slowly find his path forward, repeatedly kicked down and pushed back.

His combat system failed him—he was always on the defensive, dodging and blocking. Control and interruption were useless.

Yet this practical training was effective.

At first, Loren could only barely hold with Armor Spell, but gradually, he managed to land a hit to slow Flamel's attacks.

From surviving a few spells to holding on for three minutes—it was progress.

After an unknown time, Flamel stopped: "Let's call it for today. Take it step by step, Loren."

Loren was a little reluctant. He held his breath, confident he would one day cast ten consecutive Repulse Charms on this old guy.

Touching his chest, sore as if trampled by a wild horse, Loren sighed in relief. At least his injuries weren't real. He'd be brave again next time.

"Understand the importance of rhythm in battle. Only by mastering rhythm can you master victory."

Flamel was truly satisfied. This was the first time Loren made such progress. His combat awareness was excellent.

Most importantly, Loren's will was unyielding. Some would become discouraged after repeated defeat and play defensively, but a true warrior never retreats.