Thick of it : reboot

The early morning air was crisp and cool, the kind that made your breath visible as you exhaled. The Hogwarts grounds were bathed in a soft, golden light as the sun began to rise, casting long shadows across the dew-covered grass. James had woken up earlier than the rest of the boys in Gryffindor Tower, slipping out of the dormitory quietly so as not to disturb Ron's snoring or Neville's occasional sleep-talking about missing toads. He made his way down to the grounds, his trainers crunching lightly on the gravel path as he headed toward his usual spot near the edge of the Forbidden Forest.

James stretched his arms above his head, feeling the satisfying pull of his muscles. He began his routine with a light jog, his breath steady as he moved across the open field. The rhythmic thud of his feet against the ground was almost meditative, and his mind began to wander as he ran.

Let's hope all this running and training actually helps, he thought, a wry smile tugging at his lips. If I find out later that you can just whip up a potion to give yourself a six-pack, I'll be crying. All this effort for nothing.

As he ran, his thoughts drifted to the nature of magic. If our bodies are the vessels that contain our magic, then it stands to reason that the stronger our bodies are, the more magic we can contain. That would make us more powerful, right? But if that's the case, why isn't everyone in the wizarding world doing this?

He frowned, his pace slowing slightly as he pondered. I can only conclude that the wizarding world is a bit… well, dumb. They don't seem to have modern methods for physical training. But that still leaves Voldemort. If he's as power-hungry as shown, why didn't he train day and night? Unless… he did. Maybe he used rituals to strengthen his body. That would make sense.

James sighed, shaking his head. J.K. Rowling never really explained the magic system, did she? She left it all a bit vague, which I suppose keeps the magic feeling mystical and mysterious. But it's bloody annoying for someone like me who's trying to figure it all out.

He picked up his pace again, his thoughts racing as fast as his feet. I've reached a conclusion, but only because I've watched the movies from a third-person perspective. Either the wizarding world has forgotten about this connection, or they've deliberately refused to dive into it. Maybe magical power throughput is proportional to emotional state. Like in third year—Harry's Patronus was as powerful as a fully grown wizard's, and that kind of Patronus was only wielded by Dumbledore's brother in the last fight. That would explain why babies show their first magic during emotional outbursts.

He nodded to himself, feeling a sense of satisfaction. This theory also explains why not everyone uses the Killing Curse all the time. It requires genuine intent to kill, and that kind of darkness leaves a mark on you. As the saying goes, "If you stare into the abyss, the abyss stares back." Extended use of that curse would probably drive you mad, turning you into nothing more than a weapon of death. You'd lose yourself in the process.

James was so deep in thought that he didn't notice Hagrid approaching until the half-giant's booming voice broke the silence. "What're yeh doin', James? Up an' about this early?"

James skidded to a halt, turning to see Hagrid carrying a bucket of feed for his chickens. The gamekeeper's massive frame was silhouetted against the rising sun, his bushy beard catching the light.

"Just exercising, Hagrid," James replied, wiping the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. "Keeps me sharp."

Hagrid raised a bushy eyebrow, looking genuinely puzzled. "Why? Yer a wizard, ain't yeh? Yeh don't need all this runnin' about."

James chuckled, shaking his head. "It keeps my brain active, helps with studying. Plus, it's good for the body. You should try it sometime."

Hagrid scratched his head, looking thoughtful. "Really? No wonder me brain's always feelin' a bit sluggish. Never been one fer exercisin'."

James grinned. "Give it a try. You might like it."

Hagrid nodded, though he still looked a bit skeptical. "Might do, might do. Anyway, I've got ter feed me chickens. Fancy comin' with me?"

James glanced at the rising sun, realizing he needed to get ready for the day. "I'd love to, Hagrid, but I'd better head back. Don't want to be late for breakfast."

Hagrid waved a massive hand. "Aye, go on then. Maybe next time."

James gave him a thumbs-up. "Definitely next time, Hagrid."

As he jogged back toward the castle, James couldn't help but smile. The wizarding world might be a bit behind when it came to physical training, but he was determined to make the most of it. After all, if he was going to survive in this world, he needed every advantage he could get. And if that meant running laps at the crack of dawn while everyone else was still in bed, so be it.