The House of Control

The Novice Master

The morning light cast long shadows across Harry's new quarters, illuminating the simple furnishings—a narrow bed, a small wardrobe, and a wooden desk. He didn't need luxury; the order and sparseness felt almost comforting, and today, he felt the thrill of purpose in every detail.

Just after sunrise, Master Callun knocked on his door, and Harry quickly rose to meet him. They walked through quiet, dimly lit hallways toward a training room Harry had yet to see. As they entered, he took in the room's cold, disciplined atmosphere—the walls were lined with weapons and shelves of ancient, leather-bound books, while the center held a large open floor space with chalk markings and symbols drawn in strict, methodical patterns.

"Today we begin," Master Callun announced, his tone firm. "You have strength and potential, Mr. Potter, but potential is merely raw energy. It needs to be harnessed. And that requires discipline."

Harry nodded, eager, his curiosity flaring. "I understand, sir. Where do we start?"

Master Callun's eyes gleamed, showing a hint of approval at Harry's readiness. "First, we will test your control over your magic. Here in The House, our magic is more structured than what you're accustomed to. To master it, you must think of magic as part of yourself, something you wield not just with spells but with willpower alone. Let's see if you can manage even the simplest of control techniques."

Callun raised a hand, and a thin trail of dark energy—an enchantment of sorts—flowed from his fingers, forming a small, hovering sphere. He held it steady without a single word or wand movement, as though he had simply commanded the energy to obey.

"Now, try to mimic it," Callun said, lowering his hand as the sphere dissolved into nothingness. He gestured for Harry to take his place.

Harry stepped forward, focusing on the spot before him, his mind latching onto the energy he sensed in the air. Concentrating, he let his magic pulse through his fingertips, willing it to take form. He felt it gather, swirling, and a faint shimmer appeared, a sphere taking shape. It was nowhere near as steady as Callun's—it wavered and flickered—but it was there.

Callun gave a curt nod. "Good. Now hold it."

The effort strained Harry's concentration, but he kept his focus, willing the energy to remain intact. The sphere lasted a few seconds longer before it faded away.

"Not bad, Potter," Callun said, his tone approving. "But here, 'good' is far from enough. You'll keep at this until it's second nature."

For hours, Harry practiced, his control gradually improving under Callun's watchful eye. Callun demonstrated various techniques—how to focus energy without words, how to manipulate it using only intent, and how to project it as an extension of oneself. Harry watched intently, absorbing each lesson like a sponge. He knew he wasn't perfect, but with each attempt, he grew more confident, feeling the magic become part of his will.

As the evening approached, Callun gestured to a door on the other side of the room. "We have one last exercise for today. Follow me."

Harry followed Callun through the door, into a small, stark chamber where a young servant, Ivan, stood waiting with his head lowered.

"This is Ivan," Callun said, his voice carrying an edge of authority. "You and I are going to train him in obedience and resilience. Our servants must be quick, precise, and above all, loyal. It's a master's duty to ensure they are."

Harry glanced at Ivan, noticing the servant's nervous stance. Something in him felt unsettled, but he pushed it aside, reminding himself that this was part of the training—part of what it meant to be a master here. He nodded to Callun, waiting for instruction.