As class ended, Ted pulled Neville aside and spoke in a low voice. "Neville, do you want to get stronger?"
Before Neville could respond, Ted immediately regretted his wording. That sounded way too much like some shady guy at a train station whispering, Hey, big guy, want to buy a rare disc?
Shaking off the awkwardness, he cleared his throat and continued, "I mean… do you want to be able to stand up for yourself? To protect your friends when things go wrong? If you do, then start running with me."
Great. Now it sounded like something straight out of One Piece.
Ted was so embarrassed he nearly wanted to Disapparate on the spot—if only first-years were allowed. Instead, he turned and walked off before Neville could even reply.
Last night's battle had made one thing clear: Neville had serious potential. The way he wielded that sword was something else.
Ted had been thinking about it all morning. Gryffindors really did have a talent for reckless melee combat.
Harry, at twelve, literally killed a basilisk with a sword.
Ron had thrown himself onto a life-sized chessboard, sacrificed himself like an absolute madman, and later drove a flying car straight into the Whomping Willow.
Hermione? She straight-up punched Malfoy in the face. And Neville? He decapitated Nagini with a single swing.
It was like they were all born for hand-to-hand combat.
Honestly, if Neville had been born into another universe and trained under Gandalf instead of coming to Hogwarts, he might've become a legendary warrior.
But it wasn't too late. With the right training, maybe he could wield his wand like a lightsaber, hone his instincts, and become something like a Jedi wizard.
That same morning, after plenty of thought, Neville approached Ted with a newfound determination.
"I want to get stronger," he said. "I want to protect my friends. I'll run with you."
Ted smiled. Neville's perseverance was nothing to scoff at.
For the next week, rain or shine, Neville was there at dawn. On one particularly stormy morning, Ted arrived to find him waiting by the entrance, soaked but standing tall.
His dedication even started rubbing off on their roommates.
Ron and Jerry—normally the kings of procrastination—eventually caved and joined in.
"Alright, alright, we're in!" Ron huffed. "But if we're doing this, I better see some results. Like, I don't know… being able to out-duel Malfoy."
Jerry grinned. "Or at least being able to dodge a rogue Bludger without falling flat on our faces."
They all laughed, but the truth was, Ted wasn't just making them run for no reason.
A strong body was the foundation of a strong wizard.
Most young wizards didn't realize that magic wasn't just about wand movements and incantations.
It required energy, stamina, and focus. The stronger and healthier a wizard was, the better they could channel their magic.
Think about it—if someone like Stephen Hawking had been a wizard, he probably would've only been able to work on magical theory.
The act of spellcasting itself took a toll on the body.
And magic power? It wasn't just about talent. It was mostly genetic, sure, but it could also be trained.
Wizards from ancient bloodlines—like the Potters, Weasleys, and Longbottoms—naturally had strong reserves.
But Ted had already started noticing that Jerry, a Muggle-born, was at a slight disadvantage in that department.
The gap might not seem obvious now, but give it a few years, and by fifth or sixth year, it would become significant.
Not that Ted bought into that "pure-blood supremacy" nonsense.
History had already proven that obsession with bloodlines led to nothing but inbreeding and weak minds.
If anything, muggles or half blood seemed to produce some of the most talented wizards—just look at Hermione, Snape and Voldemort.
Still, while natural talent mattered, training mattered more.
That's why Ted was using the Strengthening Handbook training regimen, adapting it to his friends' needs.
If they stuck with it, they'd not only be stronger physically, but their magic control would improve, and spellcasting would become smoother and more instinctive.
And, let's be honest, if nothing else, being bigger and stronger would make dealing with Malfoy and his goons a whole lot easier.
With Hermione around, there was never any risk of slacking on homework.
If they even thought about skipping an assignment, she'd remind them. Repeatedly. Relentlessly.
"You do realize," she'd say, arms crossed, "that if you don't finish this, you'll fall behind and—"
"We get it, we get it!" Ron groaned. "For Merlin's sake, we'll do it!"
Most of the time, they finished their assignments quickly just to avoid Hermione's lectures.
That day, after wrapping up their homework in the library, they all headed toward their "secret base"—an abandoned classroom they'd repurposed for training.
Since Hogwarts wasn't a traditional college, students' free time was usually spent in the Great Hall, the library, or one of the many abandoned classrooms scattered throughout the castle.
On the way to their usual spot, Harley brought up something George and Fred had told them the night before.
"Turns out," she said, lowering her voice, "we weren't the only ones sneaking around on Halloween."
That immediately caught everyone's attention.
"Wait, who else?" Ron asked, perking up.
"The twins and Lee Jordan."
Hermione huffed. "Of course they did."
"They actually went back to that third-floor corridor to check on the three-headed dog. They're convinced something's being hidden there, and honestly, they might be onto something."
"They really have too much free time," Jerry muttered.
"But here's the weird part," Harley continued. "On their way out, they nearly ran into Snape."
That got a reaction.
"Snape was there?" Neville asked, frowning.
Harley nodded. "Yeah. The twins said he opened the door, took a quick look inside, then left."
Ron's eyes narrowed. "I knew it. Snape's up to something."
Hermione tried to be reasonable. "Maybe he was just checking on the dog? Three-headed dogs are incredibly rare, and their fur is a valuable potion ingredient."
Jerry snorted. "So, what? Snape was stealing dog hair?"
Ron crossed his arms. "Sounds about right to me! If professors can steal, then why can't students?"
Ted could already see where this was going. In Ron and Jerry's minds, that three-headed beast had just transformed into a giant, walking goldmine.
It wasn't surprising. Ron's financial situation was no secret—his pocket money for an entire year barely amounted to a couple of silver Sickles.
Jerry, coming from a family that had struggled to integrate into the wizarding world, wasn't much better off.
"Look, Snape's already rich," Ted pointed out. "If he wanted potion ingredients, he'd just buy them."
Ron wasn't convinced. "I don't buy it. The monster in the corridor? Bet you anything that's his doing. He probably let it loose to distract everyone so he could go in and shave the dog for its fur!"
Ted sighed. "You really don't think very highly of him, do you?"
Ron scoffed. "Have you seen the things in those jars in his office? He's obviously experimenting on monsters. Who knows what kind of dark magic he's up to?"
Ted resisted the urge to laugh. He understood why Ron had such a grudge against Snape—Snape had made him a personal target in class, even more than Harley or Neville.
Maybe sitting at the same table as Neville wasn't the best idea.
And considering Ron was going to break his wand next year… maybe he should stop swearing by it.
When they arrived at their usual abandoned classroom, Neville was already swinging a wooden sword, its blade gleaming under the dim candlelight.
Ted had transfigured it earlier, making sure it was weighted properly. If Neville was going to learn, he was going to do it right.
Ted had him practice not just with two-handed grips but also with one-handed movements—especially with his left hand. Ideally,
Neville would eventually be able to wield a wand in one hand and a sword in the other.
Or, if things went really well, maybe he'd end up with a proper magical sword someday.
A lightsaber-style wand? Now that would be something.
Across the room, Jerry and Ron were locked in a game of wizard's chess.
Harley was offering suggestions, but it didn't help much. Despite their combined efforts, they were getting absolutely destroyed.
Ron stretched lazily, grinning as one of his pieces dealt the finishing blow. "Practice a little more, and maybe next time I'll give up an extra rook."
Jerry shot him a glare. "Oh, how generous of you."
Harley shook her head. "Unbelievable."
Ron simply leaned back, looking quite pleased with himself—until he caught sight of Neville, still training hard, sweat dripping down his face.
Ted and Hermione were buried in their books, scribbling down notes with intense focus.
Suddenly, Ron wasn't feeling so accomplished anymore.
"…Do you guys ever take a break?" he grumbled.
"Learning and solving problems gives me a sense of fulfillment," Hermione answered without looking up.
Ted smirked. "It's like winning a game of wizard's chess."
Ron blinked. "Oh. Well, why didn't you say so earlier?"
With that, Ted set down his quill and clapped his hands. "Alright, break time. Everyone, come here—I've got a secret to share."
The group gathered around, intrigued.
Ted lowered his voice dramatically. "Did you know that every time Big Ben chimes, exactly sixty seconds pass in the world?"
Neville's eyes widened. "Really?!"
Silence.
The rest of the group turned to stare at him. Then at Ted. Then back at Neville.
"…Are you serious?" Ron asked, deadpan.
Harley buried her face in her hands. Jerry looked like he was having an existential crisis. Hermione simply sighed.
Ted leaned back with a satisfied grin. "Listen to what I say, my friends—it's all wisdom."
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