Harry Potter: Prince of Shadows

The morning sun rose over the peaceful yet lively village of Hogsmeade. Wisps of smoke curled from chimneys, blending with the light mist that clung to the ground. Though it was still early, the streets were already dotted with wizards strolling about, sharing drinks, and enjoying casual banter with an air of unhurried leisure.

A small wooden cabin sat quietly amidst the bustle. Its modest windows, framed by creeping vines and adorned with small, fragrant flowers, let the sunlight seep through. The delicate interplay of light and shadow brought a cozy vibrancy to the cabin's interior, where Ian was just starting his day.

"Brush my teeth, wash my face, and embrace a brand-new day!" Ian announced with mock enthusiasm, his voice breaking the tranquility of the morning.

It wasn't his second day in Hogsmeade; in fact, Ian had already spent several days here. Since Snape had unceremoniously left him behind, Ian had been fending for himself. Thankfully, his self-sufficiency far surpassed that of an average boy his age. Otherwise, surviving alone in an unfamiliar magical village might have felt like a full-on wilderness survival challenge.

"Time for a honey tart to start a disciplined day!"

Ian, now quite familiar with his surroundings, headed straight to Honeydukes to grab his breakfast. Afterward, he made his way to the Three Broomsticks, intending to buy a glass of refreshing lemonade.

"Good to see you, young Ian," greeted Madam Rosmerta, the bar's charismatic proprietor. Her graceful charm, honed by years of enchanting patrons, had little effect on Ian, who much preferred younger company.

"If you'd sell me a Butterbeer, I'd be even happier to see you," Ian said cheekily, his eyes fixed on the gleaming bottles lined up behind the counter.

He had tried and failed multiple times over the past few days to convince her to sell him the famed drink. His attempts, however, had been met with consistent rejection—proof that even a pocket full of Galleons couldn't always bend the rules.

"If you manage to turn thirteen overnight, I'll gladly treat you to one," Rosmerta replied with a smile, once again denying him.

"Rules are dead; people are alive. Flexibility is the key to fortune," Ian quipped, still hopeful.

"An interesting perspective," she said, laughing. "But I'd rather avoid fines from the Ministry than chase elusive fortunes." She handed him a glass of lemonade instead.

Ian took a sip, only to grimace as the sourness contorted his face.

"Extra sour lemons this time?" he sputtered, his sleepy eyes now wide open.

Rosmerta chuckled. "I just added juice from two more lemons. Consider it my gift for waking you up properly."

Before Ian could argue, she deftly snatched up his coins from the counter, leaving him no chance to demand a refund.

With a resigned sigh, Ian popped two mint candies into his mouth to neutralize the tartness and made a quick exit from the "evil lair" of this mischievous witch.

***

By now, Ian had become a familiar face in Hogsmeade. Many of the shopkeepers and vendors recognized him, and he moved through the village with an ease that belied his young age. However, some aspects of the wizarding world's lifestyle still felt foreign to him.

For one, the prices here were significantly steeper than in the Muggle world. If not for the cold Galleons Snape had left behind, Ian might have resorted to selling wild herbs in the streets to make ends meet—a scenario pitiful enough to make even Ron Weasley call him unfortunate.

"Ian, care for another round of wizard chess?"

A vendor wearing a flamboyant hat waved at Ian from his chess stall. The man made his living challenging passersby to games of wizard chess, charging a single Sickle per match. Winners earned five Sickles, though few ever walked away victorious.

"I think I'll pass. I'm just a kid, after all," Ian replied, sparing only a brief glance at the animated chess pieces before walking away.

His refusal was firm, and with good reason. The vendor had already swindled several Sickles from him in prior matches. The man's strategy was clear: he always made players feel as though they had narrowly lost, luring them into another game with the promise of redemption.

Ian had even witnessed an international wizard chess competitor fall prey to the same ploy. From that moment on, he vowed never to challenge the cunning vendor again.

***

Returning to his cabin, Ian resumed his disciplined routine. With his wand in hand, he began practicing the Fire-Making Spell, the fifth incantation he'd tackled from The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 1.

"Incendio!"

A small flame burst forth from the tip of his wand.

The Fire-Making Spell was among the few first-year spells capable of causing harm. Though primarily used for lighting fires, its flames could inflict burns if directed at a person—making it a valuable tool for both practical and defensive purposes.

"Incendio!"

"Incendio!"

With each attempt, the fire danced brighter, and his status panel updated accordingly:

[Fire-Making Spell (Level 1): 1/100]

As the familiar wave of fatigue washed over him, Ian knew it was time to pause his training. He spent the remainder of the day tidying the cabin and completing other mundane chores. Though the lack of modern technology sometimes felt inconvenient, the simplicity of this magical life brought its own sense of fulfillment.

That evening, Ian retired to bed earlier than usual. He had a reason for this: tonight marked the return of his lucid dreaming sessions—a gateway to the Limbo realm he had been visiting in his sleep.

"Time to see if Ariana's back," he muttered, anticipation flickering in his voice.

As his consciousness drifted, Ian felt himself cross the invisible boundary into the dreamlike realm. When he opened his eyes, however, he was met not with the familiar verdant fields and serene skies, but with an entirely new and unexpected setting.

A grand palace stretched out before him, its opulent halls radiating a golden glow. The sheer magnificence of the structure left him momentarily speechless.

Then the chaos began.

Furniture sprang to life, sprouting legs and arms as they scrambled to flee.

"A human! A human!"

"How terrifying!"

"Help! Somebody save us!"

The cacophony of panicked cries filled the air, creating a scene of utter pandemonium. Only one object remained still: a gilded chair, perched at the center of the chaos.

Seated upon it was a witch.

Her gaze was calm but piercing as she looked up to meet Ian's eyes.

"Well, this is… unexpected," she said, her voice carrying an air of conspiracy.

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(A/N: I've launched a Patreon page where you can get access to 20+ chapters ahead—come check it out! on my patre0n.c0m/HP_PS)