After returning from Diagon Alley, Loren spent several days poring over the textbooks and began practicing some absolutely safe spells.
Professor McGonagall had once told him a cautionary tale about someone who nearly lost their life after mispronouncing a single letter in a spell. Even with Loren's courage, he wasn't about to try anything risky.
The introductory book Standard Spells, Elementary contained a handful of harmless spells that posed no real danger even if the incantation was slightly off.
Loren was already familiar with "Daisies, Sweet Cream and Sunshine," a charming spell noted at the book's end that coated objects in a soft yellow glow resembling daisies and sunlight. Another, "Rabbit Eyes, Harp, Clear Water Turns into Wine," added the scent and flavor of wine to clear water. Most of the other spells were similarly simple household magics with gentle effects.
The format of these spells was noticeably different from the more serious ones like [Repairo] or [Lumos] that appeared later in the textbook.
The magical world divided spells into four main categories: Transfiguration, Hexes, Curses, and Healing.
In The Standard Book of Spells, Elementary, Miranda Goshawk explained that most spells added specific properties to objects, making them perform actions, while Transfiguration spells actually transformed one object into another.
The first-year curriculum included just nine formal spells: Softening, Cutting, Levitation, Repairing, Unlocking, Locking, Illuminating, Repulsion, and Fire. These basic spells helped young witches and wizards get started.
The book didn't just teach spellcasting—it also explored the history behind each spell, the environments in which their inventors lived, and how the spells evolved over time.
For example, the unlocking spell [Alohamora], which originally meant "friendly to thieves," was introduced from Africa by a British wizard who later became a notorious thief himself, inspiring the invention of an anti-unlocking spell.
Before [Alohamora] became popular, more forceful unlocking spells like [Portaberto]—literally meaning "blow a big hole in the door"—and the crude [Open Sesame] were common.
Most incantations were derived from Latin. Loren began to recognize patterns and rules behind the spells just from their origins and histories.
After finishing the reading, Loren set out to try casting spells himself. Since they lived in the mountains far from town residents, he didn't need to look for a special practice spot, but his favorite place was the nearby lake.
His first attempt was at [Repairo].
He tore a 5-pound note into five pieces and laid them on a stone, then focused his wand on one fragment, hoping to magically restore the bill.
The attempt failed.
The piece Loren aimed at seemed to pull the other fragments toward itself, trying to reform the note, but the seams were obvious and imperfect.
Loren regretted not getting rich, but he also realized he might have mispronounced the ending tone. Adjusting his voice slightly, he found the spell easier to cast.
After repeating it several times with better tone and waving his wand more delicately—raising his little finger just so—the restored notes became almost flawless, with no visible joints.
This felt like a form of magical intuition, a concept he'd encountered in his previous life. While normal logic follows stepwise reasoning (A = B, B = C, so A = C), intuition lets one jump directly to conclusions.
It was also a sign of proficiency. With practice, Loren could feel his progress. He wasn't sure whether it was innate magical talent or a fortunate advantage from being a time traveler.
Every small improvement brought him a deep sense of satisfaction.
Eventually, Loren noticed that some corrections no longer needed conscious thought. For instance, his floating spell initially required emotional focus and graceful gestures. Later, even stiff recitations paired with straight wand movements yielded good results.
One spell Loren truly loved was [Portaberto]. Though the textbook emphasized the gentler [Alohamora], he was fascinated by the explosive effect of [Portaberto].
He practiced again and again. His intuition told him to adjust tone and posture. His wand even glowed red—but still, no effect. The red light hit a stone, but nothing happened.
One evening at dinner, inspiration struck.
Pointing his wand at the cabin door, Loren clearly shouted, "[Portaberto]!"
A loud explosion tore a big hole in the wooden door that had stood for who knew how many years. After a day of practice, the spell finally worked perfectly, much to Bates's fury—he almost transformed into a werewolf on the spot.
In the end, Loren agreed to take over kitchen duties until school started on September 1st, which eased Bates's temper.
But Loren's experiments didn't stop there.
He realized the [Portaberto] spell required a door as a target.
So, he built a simple wooden door outside and blew it up easily.
Next, he tried his spell on the cave where Bates hid during full moons, bombarding the boulder blocking the entrance.
At first, only a small black dot appeared, but with relentless practice, he finally blasted a football-sized hole on a sunny morning.
The explosion sounded like gunpowder.
Looking at the hole, Loren felt pure satisfaction.
He seemed awakened, now treating any obstruction as a door to open, endlessly repeating his spell.
In 1990s Britain, Loren felt a nostalgic joy like that of Chinese New Year firecrackers in his former life.
With continued practice, his "Portaberto" spell mutated into something strange—an unclear incantation different from the original.
He didn't know what to call it, but the happiness it brought was undeniable.
Stones and trees around the mountain bore the brunt of his magical bombardment. The roaring blasts continued, and Bates, upon seeing the devastation, was more horrified than when he transformed into a werewolf.
For an eleven-year-old child not yet at Hogwarts, Loren was an unstoppable RPG with unlimited ammo. An adult wizard would be even more formidable.
Fortunately, Loren never used the spell against animals, which comforted Bates. The boy was mischievous, but fundamentally kind.
This state lasted less than two days.
Soon, Loren started frying fish.
Bates calculated that the fish they caught in an afternoon would last them a week if they ate it all.
Eventually, Bates lost patience and beat Loren up before taking the fish down the mountain to sell.
At night, Loren sat on a stool feeling wronged but said nothing. Frying fish was fun—but he couldn't do it anymore.
He stroked the silly spectacled owl, feeling a little down, and thought about what to write to Hermione.
In the end, he gave up—how could he confess he'd been playing with "firecrackers" for nearly a month?
He almost let the owl find food by itself.
Life in the mountains was comfortable for the little owl, but Loren was overwhelmed by how soft its feathers felt, his hands constantly stroking the bird.
The owl blinked, the white stripes on its face twitching.
The cat-headed owl seemed wronged but could not protest.
Meanwhile, Loren read Wandering with Werewolves during this time.
It was a good story, a decent novel.
Aside from the heroic, flawless smile of the brainwashed Lockhart (complete with beautiful illustrations), it offered little practical knowledge about werewolves—of no help to Bates.
Loren opened Alchemy: From Beginner to Master, but closed it within five minutes.
He resolved not to open it again until school started, as it required far too much prerequisite knowledge.
It wasn't an introductory book—it assumed mastery of several subjects about spells and potions. Outrageous.