Chapter 38: Learning to Understand and Control
Chapter 38: Learning to Understand and Control
Ever since he had accidentally overheard Quirrell's conversation with the locket-bound Voldemort, Weed had stopped venturing into secluded corners of the castle. When he didn't have classes, he spent most of his time in the umbrella room. Thankfully, Michael's enthusiasm for Quidditch had finally waned—probably because Ravenclaw had lost to Hufflepuff in the match, and the fact that two students had been injured made him feel that Quidditch wasn't as interesting as he thought.
During the Dark Magic Defense class, Weed paid close attention to Professor Quirrell. When facing the students, Professor Quirrell was still the timid and pitiful Quirinus Quirrell. When a mischievous student asked about the scene where he fell on the podium, he embarrassingly stuttered, "I—I didn't notice—it seems—it seems—someone pushed me—"
The students all showed expressions of disbelief—which student would dare to play a prank on a professor? They all felt that it must have been Professor Quirrell who got too excited and lost his balance, but he was too embarrassed to admit it.
Of course, no one would suspect Weed of being involved in this incident. He had always been considered a model student in everyone's eyes—respectful to the professors, diligent in his studies, and never causing any trouble. He was the epitome of a Ravenclaw.
After class, Padma quickly packed her bag and ran over excitedly to ask, "Are we heading to the umbrella room to do our homework?"
Professor Quirrell's teaching skills might not have been the best, but his ability to assign homework was almost on par with Professor Snape. Every time, they had to write essays that were at least a foot long, which even the Ravenclaws found daunting.
However, after studying in the umbrella room for a while, Padma seemed to have cracked the code for writing these essays and even began to enjoy the process. Perhaps it was because after quickly finishing her homework, she could look at her classmates who were lamenting about the amount of work, complaining about its difficulty, and pulling their hair out in frustration, and the sense of superiority she felt gave her great pleasure.
Weed had witnessed Padma chatting with others in the Great Hall on several occasions—
"How much homework do you have left?"
"Hmm? You still have that much left? I finished my essay in just forty minutes yesterday. I thought it was quite simple. How come you haven't even started? Were you not paying attention in class?"
After a few of these incidents, most students stopped engaging with her, and Padma ended up spending time with her sister. But from Pavarti's expression, it seemed that she tolerated Padma's bragging just so she could borrow her homework for "reference."
Weed had intended to advise her against always being so boastful, but Michael stared fixedly at Padma's smiling face at the other end of the long table and then said, "Don't you think she's adorable? It's as if her face is saying, 'Am I not amazing?' and 'Come on, praise me'— "
He couldn't help but smile, "So silly yet clever—just like a little kid."
...Alright then.
Weed swallowed the words he had been about to say.
He wondered if his mindset was too old and that he considered things too realistically, which was why he couldn't appreciate the charm of a little girl's silliness.
At this moment, Padma was brimming with excitement at the prospect of going to the umbrella room, but behind her back, Michael was winking and gesturing at Weed.
Weed glanced in their direction and then turned his gaze back, saying, "You two go ahead. I have something to discuss with Professor Flitwick."
Michael was overjoyed. He gave Weed a thumbs-up and then bent his thumb twice to express his gratitude.
Padma looked a little disappointed, "—Okay."
The two of them left together, while Weed packed up and made his way to the seventh floor.
He wasn't intentionally creating opportunities for Michael but genuinely had something to discuss with Professor Flitwick.
Professor Flitwick's office was on the seventh floor, and since students rarely climbed up to this floor, it was usually quiet. In the long corridor, only the whispers of the portraits could be heard from time to time.
Come to think of it, Weed had never seen a portrait as lively as Gryffindoth's.
Most of the portraits in the castle would, at most, stretch lazily or turn their heads, and some had never been seen leaving their frames.
Take, for instance, Miss Claudia.
Weed arrived at an oak door with an eagle engraved on it. Upon seeing Weed, the eagle flapped its wings and seemed to mutter to itself, "Weed Grey is here to visit."
After a moment, it added, "Entry permitted."
The oak door slid open, and Weed walked in.
Professor Flitwick's office style mirrored that of the Ravenclaw Tower—the room had an arched structure with thirteen windows offering a view of the Ravenclaw Tower and the Owlery. Sunlight streamed through the colored glass, casting a kaleidoscope of hues on the floor.
Most of the furniture in the room was miniature, perfectly suited to Professor Flitwick's stature. The exception was a magnificent bookshelf that towered from the floor to the ceiling, filled with hundreds of books. Piles of thick parchment lay on the floor, mostly consisting of Professor Flitwick's personal notes, which he occasionally lent to his favored students. Weed currently had two such tomes in his bag.
"Oh, Weed," came Professor Flitwick's voice from above. Weed looked up to see the professor standing on a tall, self-propelled ladder. The ladder contracted, segment by segment, until it transformed into a short set of steps, from which Professor Flitwick jumped down.
"I am delighted with your essay on the Softening Charm. Is there something new you wish to inquire about today, my child?" he asked cheerfully.
"Yes," Weed replied, taking out the borrowed notes. "I've finished studying all of Standard Book of Spells, Grade 3, and I'd like you to assess my progress."
"Certainly," Professor Flitwick said. "Let's start with a Cheering Charm!"
Weed proceeded to demonstrate the dozen or so spells that third-year students were expected to learn, and he performed each one flawlessly, causing Professor Flitwick to become so excited that he nearly fainted!
"Oh, Weed! Oh, Weed! You are a genius, my boy! Just three months! I've witnessed your progress from knowing nothing to this level! Your pace is astonishing! At this rate, you'll reach the O.W.L.s level in less than a year! Mark my words, you will become someone extraordinary!"
Weed smiled and said, "Professor, I'd like to borrow the fourth-grade textbooks and notes."
"Of course, I've already prepared them! I knew you'd finish them before the Christmas holidays." Professor Flitwick waved his wand, and several books flew over from the desk. They included Standard Book of Spells, Grade 4, which Professor Flitwick had used himself, as well as the materials he referenced for teaching, his lesson plans, and outstanding essays by previous students.
Having taught at Hogwarts for several decades, Professor Flitwick had long since reached the level where he only needed to bring a wand to class. Yet, he had carefully preserved these early writings, occasionally patching them up.
Weed's eyes allowed him to quickly learn spells, but for the same Fire Charm, someone might only be able to light a cigarette, while another could ignite a bonfire, and yet another might raze a city to the ground.
This was a difference in power.
In terms of control, one person's Fire Charm might inexplicably backfire and singe their face, while another could control the flames, shaping them, burning, and extinguishing them at will.
This disparity was due not only to the difference in magical power but also to the wizard's understanding of the intrinsic nature of the spell.
Weed's eyes enabled him to "learn," textbooks and library books helped him to "understand," but the materials in Professor Flitwick's possession guided him to "control."
(End of Chapter)
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