Chapter 16. Intent.
Edward stood before the desk; the old wand left behind by Regulus, held in his hand, grew increasingly warm and smooth from his palm's heat, and the House of Black's briar crest carved into the wand's body shimmered with a dull luster in the firelight.
After days of almost obsessive repetition, those introductory spells had been honed to perfection - the flames of his Lumos could burn steadily for an hour, with a brightness comparable to candlelight in broad daylight;
the fiery thread of his Alohomora was as thin as a silver needle, capable of precisely picking the most intricate secret locks in the library without leaving even the slightest scorch mark on the lock core;
even the most difficult to control, Wingardium Leviosa, allowed a feather to be wrapped in a thin layer of firelight, spinning steadily in mid-air without falling an inch for half a day.
Yet, Edward's brow remained furrowed.
His gaze swept over The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 1 spread out on the desk, his fingertips tracing the page on "Fundamentals of Transfiguration" repeatedly, his eyes swirling with undisguised impatience.
Transfiguration was a required course for first-year students; the book stated in black and white that it was the foundational core of magic, yet also one of the most difficult spells to master.
He had already grasped the knack for those simple spells and was eager to cross the threshold of Transfiguration, wanting to make himself stronger - faster, just a little faster, fast enough to break free from all shackles, fast enough to stand above the rules.
He gripped his wand tightly and took a deep breath, the flame at his fingertips rising half an inch with his intent; just as he was about to attempt the rudimentary form of Transfiguration on a quill on the desk, Kreacher's cautious voice came from behind him.
"Master Edward, please take a rest."
The old elf carried a cup of warm honey water, his footsteps extremely light for fear of disturbing him, his withered face full of worry,
"Although Transfiguration is first-year material, it requires a solid foundation and an extremely clear intent; it cannot be achieved just by rushing.
You haven't even found the balance point between your spells and the flame yet; forcing yourself to practice Transfiguration will only cause your magic and the flames to collide, damaging your own magical pathways."
Kreacher's gaze fell on Edward's tightly clenched fingers, a flicker of heartache passing through his cloudy eyes.
He remembered Sirius back in the day, who had been just as eager for quick success, diving into Transfiguration as soon as he got The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 1, only to end up turning a teacup into a crooked, misshapen mouse and suffering magical backlash that left his hand swollen for three whole days;
Regulus, on the other hand, had been steady, practicing Lumos and the Levitation Charm until they were flawless before, under the guidance of a Professor, turning a feather into a silver needle.
The master before him was more gifted than both of those children, yet also more desperate than both of them.
Edward's movements paused, the flame suddenly retracting into his palm, leaving only a lingering warmth.
He turned around, looked at the honey water Kreacher handed him, and took a sip; the warm sweetness washed over his throat but failed to dispel the anxiety in his heart.
"I am not trying to rush for success."
His voice was very soft, yet carried an unquestionable stubbornness, his fingertips unconsciously tracing the side of the cup,
"I just want to become stronger, quickly."
To become stronger, to become someone no one could look down upon, to become someone no one could manipulate, to become strong enough to control his own destiny.
He didn't say these words aloud, but they weighed heavily on his heart, like a red-hot branding iron, searing him until his whole body felt like it was burning.
Kreacher looked at the obsession in his eyes, sighed, leaned forward, and pointed at the open book page, his voice carrying a tone of gentle guidance:
"Master Edward, look at what the book says - the key to Transfiguration is, first, to precisely outline the form of the target in your mind, and second, to use the wand to guide the magic, allowing the magic to reshape the object along the trajectory of your intent.
The wand is the balance point for magic, and intent is the core of magic; both are indispensable."
These words were like a spark, slamming into Edward's mind.
His gaze locked onto the text on the page, his pupils contracting sharply.
The wand is the balance point for magic, and intent is the core of magic.
That's it!
How had he not thought of this before?
Lumos requires thinking of "illumination," the Levitation Charm requires thinking of "rising," and Transfiguration requires thinking of "reshaping" - all magic is, at its core, driven by intent; the wand is merely a medium to guide the magic and stabilize the effect.
Then what about his flames?
Edward's gaze trembled violently, and a flash of inspiration shot up his spine to the top of his head.
From the moment he first summoned the flames, this flicker of fire, named "Ember," never needed an incantation, never needed a wand.
It only needed a thought - he wanted it to shine, and it shone; he wanted it to condense into a thread, and it would never turn into a ball; he wanted it to extinguish, and it would obediently lie dormant in his palm.
Where his mind went, the flames followed.
This was exactly the same as the core of magic!
When he cast spells before, the reason the flames interfered every time was not because the flames were out of control, but because his consciousness had never truly separated the "intent of the spell" from the "intent of the flames."
When he cast Lumos, his consciousness thought of "illumination" while subconsciously allowing the presence of the flames; when he cast Alohomora, his consciousness thought of "unlocking" but did not stop the flames from surging along with the magic.
The flames were a part of him, a companion closely linked to his consciousness; if there was a hint of guidance in his thoughts, the flames would immediately respond.
So that was it.
It wasn't about suppressing the flames, nor was it about controlling the flames; it was about separating his consciousness.
To split the "intent of the spell" and the "intent of the flames" into two independent parts, letting them act separately - when he needed the flames, he would let them surge with the spell; when he didn't, he would let them lie dormant in his palm, without interfering in the slightest.
And the wand in his hand was both the balance point for the spell's magic and the anchor point for him to distinguish between the two types of intent.
This realization was like a clap of thunder, splitting the fog that had been shrouding Edward's heart.
He slammed the cup down, grabbed his wand, and a blazing light erupted in his eyes.
"I'll try."
He took a deep breath, walked to the desk, held his wand level, and flicked his wrist gently.
This time, he deliberately discarded all thoughts of the flames, locking his consciousness firmly onto the word "illumination."
In his mind, there was only one image - a pure, soft white light, with no orange, no heat, and no trace of flames whatsoever.
He treated the wand as his only anchor, letting the magic flow along the wand's body without a trace of the flames' aura.
"Lumos."
His voice was low and steady, carrying an almost harsh focus.
The moment the tip of his wand lit up, Edward's heart tightened abruptly.
It was a faint white light, a bit dimmer than the light from an ordinary Wizard's spell, but it was clean, with not a shadow of a flame.