August 18
It's been a few weeks since I received the letter. During that time, I've been learning a bit of gardening with Prik. The plants my mother cared for and cultivated had remarkable properties when it came to casting specific spells.
I've also spent time reading books and exploring some corners of the house, trying to remember old times. Most of the books are about the history of magic—I suppose the ones containing ancient spells will be easier to find at school.
Alphonse told me the best plan would be to make the trip to London this week to purchase the items listed in the Hogwarts acceptance letter. London… who would have thought I'd be going there before the great tragedy? Thinking about it still reminds me that it was the beginning of everything I lost.
From what I remember, London lived in constant darkness, its skies always heavy with rainclouds. It was like looking at a colorless, damp place.
I wonder what it was like before all that. I'm already excited to go explore, though of course, I can't let myself get careless. I must delay—or end as quickly as possible—anything that could spark the resurgence of death in the future.
Alphonse has been helping me with my magical control. I'd forgotten how terrible my flow of magic and control were at this age. I asked him to help me, not because I didn't know how to do it—on the contrary, I had been forced to learn through countless battles I managed to survive against the forces of darkness.
But there was always something about Alphonse that filled me with admiration and curiosity, something I never had the chance to ask him directly.
Alphonse had an incredibly stable magical flow. He could even see how much magical power another person had, as well as their weaknesses. Even my father, who had been one of the greatest wizards at Beauxbatons Academy, could never defeat Alphonse in a direct duel.
And yet, despite his talent, Alphonse chose to serve my family. A splendid wizard, without a doubt—so much so that other families wanted him as a bodyguard or for duties worthy of his skill.
These days, we often have duels in the backyard. I usually apply enhancement spells to my body so I can move more freely, since this younger body of mine is neither as strong nor as fast as my future self.
That's why, during morning training, Alphonse focuses on teaching me theory, precision when casting spells, and finally, reinforcement combat.
Back then, I didn't understand these kinds of training sessions—they were boring and exhausting. I'd even sneak out of the house through its secret passages. But Alphonse always managed to find me.
Casting techniques were simple—my aim wasn't the issue. My real problem was my limited magical reserves.
And yet, Alphonse kept insisting on teaching me these techniques. At first, I didn't get it, but over time, I realized he was simply preparing me for future conflicts. Now that I've been given another chance, I know I can make the most of his teachings.
Prik is at the edge of the garden, casting protective spells to shield it from harm. Amelia watches, astonished, from the kitchen window.
Or so I thought. But I was wrong. Alphonse hadn't moved a single step from where the duel began, while I had been running around aimlessly. My magic drained far too quickly because of my small reserves—and even then, I could only strengthen two parts of my body at most with spells my master would teach me in the future. Spells that enhanced resistance and speed. With them, I could run, dodge attacks, and even endure or lessen damage.
But there he was, standing in front of me, wand in one hand, the other behind his back, looking as if his guard was down. And yet his presence said otherwise. His pressure alone made my body feel heavier, kept me from casting spells. The few I managed to shoot either fizzled out or missed entirely, deflected without effort from the wand Alphonse had lent me for practice.
It was frustrating. I thought it would be easier. But Alphonse's determination and confidence were clear in his eyes. I couldn't find a single opening. Even with all my combat experience, I hadn't managed to touch him once. Now I understood why my father had struggled so much to defeat him.
Then, without realizing it, one of my spells shot toward the kitchen window where Amelia stood. For a split second, I thought it had hit her—but in the blink of an eye, Alphonse had stepped in front of her, repelled the spell, and sent it back at me. I hit the ground hard, air knocked out of my lungs.
"My lord! Are you all right?" Alphonse's voice called, his footsteps approaching fast.
"No wonder my father couldn't beat you," I managed to say, gasping for air. "You're incredible, Alphonse. You've thought of everything."
"My lord, it is you who has surprised me," he replied. "You've improved your magical control significantly. Of course, there are things you still need to refine, but your mobility is remarkable—not to mention your flawless battlefield awareness. If you continue like this, in a few years, even I may lose to you."
After healing my injuries with Episkey—a healing spell that treated relatively small wounds and fractures, and could even ease pain—Alphonse helped me up. Apparently, he had developed his magic during the battle against the first Dark Lord. That would explain his mastery of both combat and healing magic.
"Thanks," I told him. "But I didn't think it would be so difficult to control magic."
I meant it. The body of a child whose magic is only just awakening is volatile. Measuring the amount and strength of each spell was exhausting. That very morning, I'd had several magical accidents: some shots had landed perfectly, but others had failed completely due to my lack of control. Something a seasoned wizard like me shouldn't struggle with—but for a child just stepping into the magical world, it was an uphill climb.
"That's right, my lord," Alphonse said, brushing dirt from my shoulders. "Some people struggle more in their youth because their magical pathways are blocked. Over time, these open, allowing them greater power and control. So don't push yourself too hard. With time, I'm certain you'll go far."
The flow of magic isn't something easily unlocked. Some say it's simply luck. But in the future, my master discovered a way to accelerate the process—painful, intense, but highly effective.
Many considered it against wizarding law to seek greater power that way. But it wasn't so. The process merely opened the pathways early, allowing magic to flow naturally.
The complete method required a high level of magic—though even three moderately skilled wizards could perform it correctly, and the process would take no more than a month.
Then there was the long method. The method one could perform alone, if one had the knowledge and endurance to withstand it. That one could take months, even years. A torturous effort of opening the pathways one by one. This was the path I had to take, since such magic didn't yet exist in this time. Teaching it now could lead to it falling into the wrong hands, bringing the future's disasters forward into the present.
After our morning duel, I showered and dressed. At least now I had more decent clothes. I'd asked Alphonse to buy me something more comfortable—something sporty, or at least something I could move in without feeling like I was wearing armor.
Training lasted for weeks. I managed to unlock a few magical flow points in my body. I still bore bruises and marks from the painful method, but I also improved my accuracy and took advantage of the chance to have Alphonse teach me some healing magic. He made me promise not to tell anyone how I learned it—or from whom.
"My lord, it is best you say your goodbyes now," Alphonse said gently, knocking at the door. "It's time to leave."