Legends of Frost: the Battle of Ancient Magic

4. the Dragon, the Goblin, and the Portkey

For two months, Alfie studied diligently. Each morning, he would rise and have breakfast with Professor Fig at the dining table, then practise his wand work in the wide lobby area, and in his free time he spent hours with his nose stuck to his books: from textbooks on Magical Creatures to fictional books on Classic tales.

Alfie had been quite active as a child, running amok the gardens and causing mischief to unsuspecting villagers back in Kyoto. Now, here in London, he barely leaves the house. Alfie wouldn't say the reasons for his sudden switch in behaviour. Professor Fig had an inkling that it was something related to the unfamiliar chaos and madness that populates the streets of London. This had given a new perspective to the Professor of Alfie's personality underneath all the playfulness: a shy and observant boy.

Professor Fig knew they had very little time before school starts at Hogwarts but he was quite surprised and impressed with how Alfie is fairing in his home studies: completing most subjects from year 1 to year 3. Unfortunately, Alfie lacks a bit of motivation to ever pay attention to History of Magic though some attempts were made in his notes: the name of the witches and wizards or events, the year, and... a very minimalist description of what he can remember from it.

'Uric, Oddball - middle ages

Wears a jellyfish for a hat (how does he get the poor creature over his head? Do jellyfish have organs?)

Has an abnormally large nose and a beard that curls up towards his nose'

'International Warlock Convention, 1289

A convention of some kind?

Sardinian?'

As August came to a close, the city was constantly blanketed by heavy rain and a crashing thunderstorm. It was only on a Monday morning, did the sun rise bright and warm over the grey London street.

Alfie stood in front of the mirror once more, smoothing down the lapels of his coat as if to smooth the creases of his nerves. He studied himself in the mirror, the three months had changed him somehow: his black hair was a lot curlier now, — resting at the nape of his neck — he had traded his silk kimonos for cotton and tartan two-piece suits, yet his eyes remained brilliant green that shone under the sunlight. Alfie adjusted his cravat then ran his fingers through his hair.

"Good to go..." Alfie murmured to himself in a relieving sigh as he moved to pick up a stack of books from his study desk and left his room without a backward glance.

He traced his steps out of the apartment, and climbed down the stairs to the cobble stoned street. The sound of his footsteps shifted from a soft creak to a sharp clack as he walked towards the waiting carriage. The rear axle is stuffed with trunks of various colours and sizes, books stacked precariously on top of the trunks and the owl cage rests between the mountains of books. Alfie shelved the last of his books into the heap of belongings.

"Ah! It appears we are almost ready to depart!" he heard Professor Fig said. Alfie turned to watch the Professor hobble over to him and he stepped up to meet him halfway with a smile gracing his lips.

"It's a pity we didn't have a bit more time to spend on spell-casting!" Professor Fig continued. "I presume you've been practising the spells we worked on." he clasped his hands to his chest, expectant.

Alfie lifted his wand, "I have, Professor..." he replied, twirling the wand in his hands as he beamed proudly at Professor Fig.

"Well, I'm quite sure I've never seen anyone take so quickly to a second-hand wand. You'll be a force to be reckoned with when you get your own." Professor Fig winked as if insinuating an inside joke that only they are aware of. Alfie, in fact, hadn't been aware of such a thing.