"Now you can independently control your magic and perform some basic tricks. I think it's time we try combining spells and releasing magic more deliberately."
Albert's calm voice echoed through the living room.
"Really?!"
Harry, who had been reading at the table, instantly perked up. A full week had passed since the first time he had successfully lit a flame on his own.
Since then, under the guidance of his own consciousness, he had learned to perform simple magical feats—igniting small fires, snapping thin branches, and even coaxing flowers into early bloom.
At first, Harry had been extremely proud of himself. But that confidence had taken a hit when Mr. Lucifer casually mentioned that at the same age, Uncle Albert's magic control had already reached perfection. He could cast spells using any part of his body.
Apparently, Albert used to lie in bed, casting spells with his feet and breathing fire out of his—
That particular image had left Harry unsure whether he should laugh or cry.
In any case, it made him realize just how terrifyingly powerful Uncle Albert truly was.
"The first spell we'll practice is Reparo."
Albert opened The Standard Book of Spells, Grade One and slid it across the table toward Harry.
Reparo
A charm that repairs broken or damaged objects, restoring them to their original condition.
Harry had read countless magic books recently, so the spell itself was familiar. The text clearly described the incantation's pronunciation as well as the wand movement required.
He cautiously glanced up at Albert and saw the triumphant expression on the cat's face as he nodded.
"That's right. No wand. Use your hand."
As expected. Harry wasn't disappointed—if anything, he felt even more excited. He had simply wanted confirmation.
"You can use your hand as the focus," Albert continued, "and your glasses as the target."
Harry's glasses were in terrible condition. The temples and nose pads were held together with layers of tape, and faint cracks spread across the lenses. They were the perfect candidate for repair.
He nodded, removed his glasses, placed them carefully on the table, and took a deep breath.
"Reparo!"
Harry waved his finger hesitantly while chanting the spell.
The glasses trembled slightly—just two gentle hops—before falling completely still again.
"Don't rush, kid."
Albert chuckled and stepped closer, extending his own hand.
"Watch carefully."
Then, in a clear and commanding voice, he chanted, "Reparo!"
Swish—swish—
The tape wrapped around Harry's glasses suddenly began to spin. Tiny bursts of silvery light bloomed over the damaged areas. The cracks in the lenses slowly shrank, merging together until they vanished entirely.
In the blink of an eye, a flawless pair of glasses lay on the table. The metal frames gleamed without a trace of rust, and the old tape had fallen away, discarded.
"Wow…"
Harry couldn't help but gasp.
This was one of the rare times he had witnessed spellcasting so closely. Watching reality itself be rewritten right in front of him left a deep and lasting impression.
"Merlin," Albert said calmly, "is considered the founder of modern magic. He combined runes, Latin, and remnants of ancient Greek and Egyptian magical systems, forming the foundation we rely on today."
Harry listened intently.
"Tell me," Albert continued, "what are the three elements required for casting modern magic?"
"Gestures, incantations, and desire!" Harry answered immediately.
His recent reading hadn't been for nothing. In addition to spells, Transfiguration, and Potions, he had devoured books on the History of Magic.
Albert's words—Learn from history, and befriend the ancients—were already written neatly on the first page of Harry's notebook.
Albert nodded approvingly. "Good. Then what is the most fundamental difference between modern magic and ancient magic?"
Harry paused, thinking carefully. After a moment, his eyes lit up.
"Desire."
"Correct," Albert said.
"Before Merlin's era, most ancient magic—aside from certain dark Egyptian rites fueled by malice—was entirely rational. It relied on runes, arrays, and direct communication with the world's origin. There was no room for error."
Albert traced glowing runes across the surface of the table as he spoke.
"Precision was the minimum requirement for a competent wizard. But Merlin changed everything. He simplified complex systems, condensed spells and runes, and allowed magic to be cast with a single word or short phrase."
"These simplified gestures and incantations act as a skeleton," Albert explained.
"And your desire—your intent—is what drives the world's laws to follow that skeleton, giving it flesh and blood."
Harry nodded slowly. "I think I understand."
With a casual wave of Albert's hand, silver light flashed again. The glasses instantly reverted to their broken state, tape wrapping itself back into place.
Harry stared at them, stunned.
"There's no better practice tool than this," Albert said with a grin.
Harry sighed helplessly. "I guess not…"
Although Albert was technically encountering this world's magic for the first time, his vast theoretical knowledge and practical experience allowed him to master many spells effortlessly.
Still, he had deliberately avoided repairing Harry's glasses—or fixing the countless broken objects around the castle—until now.
This was the perfect moment.
Learning by doing, after all.
And Albert certainly wasn't a nanny.
Harry began practicing again.
"Reparo!"
"Reparo!"
"Reparo!"
Time passed, but nothing changed. Eventually, Harry slumped in his chair and looked at Albert with frustration and confusion.
Albert smiled, picked up A History of Modern Magic, and flipped to a specific page.
"The answer is in here," he said, handing it over.
Harry frowned but began reading carefully, line by line. Soon, one passage caught his attention.
"…The fusion and evolution of Latin and English have altered spell structures. All modern spells are merely imitations of ancient ones. Because modern spells are recorded using evolved Latin letters, discrepancies exist between written text and true pronunciation. To master spells effectively, one must abandon everyday speech patterns and instead identify subtle rises and falls in pitch, tonal shifts, and vocal modulation…"
Harry's ears burned.
He had read this passage before—but at the time, he had been far more interested in the dramatic historical stories.
"Reparo—"
Albert demonstrated slowly.
"Rise, fall, slow fall, then rise again. Lower your tone on the 'L'."
Harry nodded, focusing intently.
He tried again, this time fixing his gaze on a single crack in the lens.
If he couldn't repair the glasses all at once, he would do it piece by piece.
"Reparo."
A faint silver spark appeared along the edge of the crack and began moving steadily forward.
Wherever it passed, the crack vanished.
Harry lifted the glasses, eyes shining.
"Uncle Albert, I did it!"
Albert nodded, clearly pleased. With proper guidance, Harry would soon be able to repair the entire pair unaided. With amplification, even larger objects wouldn't be a problem.
"Not bad," Albert said. Then he smiled—an expression that made Harry uneasy.
"But this doesn't mean you truly know the spell yet."
"It doesn't?" Harry blinked.
"If you can repair the old objects scattered throughout the castle," Albert replied, "then I'll believe you."
Harry swallowed hard.
It seemed his real training had only just begun.
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