Augusta POV
It had been three months since Neville began training.
The change was not sudden, nor was it dramatic. It came slowly, through repetition and routine, through early mornings and long evenings that followed a consistent pattern day after day.
Augusta Longbottom noticed it before anyone said anything.
Neville woke early now.
Not once or twice, not when reminded, but regularly. She had seen him pass through the hallway before breakfast more than once, already dressed, already awake. There was no hesitation in his movements, no wandering aimlessly from room to room as he used to.
He had begun to eat properly as well.
Not reluctantly, not with distraction, but with purpose. Meals that he once ignored or picked at were now finished without complaint. He even asked for changes in food—healthier choices, he had said. It was an unusual request for a child, and she had not questioned it.
There were other small things.
Once a week, without fail, Neville would ask to go out.
Not for anything specific. Sometimes he walked through town. Sometimes he watched a film. Once, he returned carrying nothing but a paper bag and said the food had been good.
He did not explain much.
But he always returned calmer.
More focused.
Augusta had not commented on it directly.
Still, she watched.
For years, she had worried about him.
Not in the loud, obvious way, but in quiet thoughts that came when she was alone. What kind of future would he have? Would he manage on his own? Had she done something wrong in raising him?
Those thoughts had not disappeared completely.
But they had changed.
Now, when she looked at him, she did not see uncertainty.
She saw movement.
She saw effort.
She saw something she had not expected to see again.
Potential.
She set her teacup down gently and watched him pass through the room, already on his way outside.
"…Good," she said under her breath.
It was a simple word.
But it stayed with her longer than she expected.
---
The yard behind Arthur Hale's house had not changed.
The same worn ground, the same wooden posts, the same scattered equipment.
But Neville had.
"Again," Arthur said.
Neville adjusted his stance without hesitation.
His feet were set properly now, his grip steady. When he lifted the wooden sword, his arms did not tremble immediately like they had on the first day.
He held the position.
One minute.
Two.
Three.
Arthur circled him once, watching.
"Better," he said.
It was not praise.
But it was not dismissal either.
Neville held the position for another minute before Arthur raised his hand.
"Enough."
Neville lowered the sword, breathing steadily.
Three months ago, his arms would have failed long before this point. Now the strain was still there, but it came later. His body had adapted.
That was the difference.
Arthur picked up another practice weapon and tapped it lightly against Neville's shoulder.
"Your balance improved," he said. "You're not leaning forward anymore."
Neville nodded.
Arthur studied him for a moment longer.
"I thought it would take you at least six months to get here."
He crossed his arms.
"Three is faster than expected."
Neville did not respond immediately.
He knew why.
The difference was not just training.
It was recovery.
---
At first, the training had nearly broken his body.
Muscles ached constantly. His breathing would become uneven after only a short time. Even holding a basic stance felt like a strain he could not maintain.
That had changed when he started using anti-magic differently.
Not for strength.
Not for speed.
But for recovery.
After each set of exercises, Neville would focus inward.
He directed the anti-magic toward his chest, letting it circulate through his lungs and heart. The effect was subtle at first.
His breathing steadied faster.
The tightness in his chest eased more quickly.
The fatigue did not disappear, but it reduced enough for him to continue sooner than normal.
It allowed him to train longer.
More repetitions.
More time under strain.
Over time, the effect became clearer.
But it had limits.
If he pushed it too far, a dull pressure formed behind his eyes. His head would feel heavy, and his thoughts slowed slightly. It was not dangerous, but it was enough to force him to stop.
That kept it in control.
He could not rely on it endlessly.
He had to manage it carefully.
Along with that, Augusta had allowed the use of simple potions.
Nothing powerful.
A mild nutritional tonic to support growth.
A light healing potion to reduce soreness and help the body recover naturally.
They did not make training easier.
But they made recovery smoother.
Combined with the anti-magic technique, the effect was enough to change the pace of his progress.
---
"Pick it up," Arthur said.
Neville reached for the wooden sword again.
This time, Arthur did not stop at posture.
"Move."
Neville stepped forward.
Arthur shook his head immediately.
"Too stiff."
He demonstrated the motion once, slow and controlled.
"Don't force it. Let your body follow the movement."
Neville tried again.
This time his step was smoother, but his grip tightened too much.
Arthur tapped his wrist.
"Relax your hands. If you lock them, you lose control."
Neville adjusted.
They repeated the movement several times.
Step.
Adjust.
Correct.
Arthur did not rush.
Every mistake was pointed out immediately.
Every correction was precise.
After several repetitions, Arthur stepped back.
"Strike."
Neville swung the sword forward.
It was not fast.
But it was controlled.
Arthur nodded once.
"Again."
They continued.
Each swing was the same.
No variation.
No speed.
Just repetition.
After a while, Neville's arms began to tire again.
This time, he did not stop immediately.
He shifted his focus inward briefly, letting the anti-magic support his breathing just enough to continue.
Arthur watched him closely.
He noticed the change.
Not the energy itself—but the result.
"You're lasting longer," he said.
Neville lowered the sword slightly.
"Recovery is better," he replied.
Arthur studied him for a moment.
Then he nodded.
"Good."
He did not ask how.
He did not seem interested in the details.
Only the result mattered.
---
By the end of the session, Neville's movements were still simple.
But they were consistent.
Arthur set the sword aside.
"That's enough for today."
Neville exhaled slowly.
His body was tired, but not exhausted.
That was the difference now.
Arthur crossed his arms again.
"From tomorrow, we continue this," he said. "Basic movement first. Then we build from there."
Neville nodded.
"Understood."
Arthur looked at him once more before turning away.
"Don't rush it," he added. "Strength without control is useless."
Neville did not respond.
He had already understood that much.
---
When Neville returned to the estate later that evening, the house was quiet.
He walked through the hallway without stopping and went directly to his room.
His muscles ached again.
But not like before.
This time, the fatigue felt manageable.
Controlled.
He sat down briefly and closed his eyes.
For a moment, he directed the anti-magic toward his chest again, letting his breathing settle completely.
Then he stopped.
No overuse.
That was important.
After a few minutes, he lay back on the bed and stared at the ceiling.
Three months.
It had not felt long.
But the difference was clear.
His body was stronger.
His movements were more stable.
And for the first time, the training had moved beyond simple preparation.
Now, it had begun.
Not just endurance.
Not just strength.
But actual technique.
Neville closed his eyes.
Tomorrow would continue the same way.
And that was enough.