Chapter 37. Permission granted!
Professor Quirrell took a deep breath, as if suppressing something terrible, a dull, strange sound emanating from his chest. He picked up his quill and signed his name at the end of the research proposal; the handwriting was crooked but carried a strange force, as if resisting and yet obeying, the ink bleeding into the parchment like a Black scar.
"I, I agree to be your recommender." His voice had returned to its usual stammer, but his face was deathly pale, cold sweat seeping from his forehead and sliding down his temples. "The books in the Restricted Section... y-you must be careful when reading them. Some things will, will devour a person's mind, like vines in a swamp - once they entangle you, you can never shake them off." Edward's pupils contracted slightly. He agreed? Just like that?
He looked at the name Professor Quirrell had signed, a strange sense of incongruity welling up in his heart. Professor Quirrell's reaction was too bizarre; from the earlier stiffness to the sudden change in voice, and then this overly ready agreement, it all exuded an unease he could not quite name, like an undercurrent hidden beneath a calm lake.
But he didn't overthink it; he took the research proposal and bowed to Professor Quirrell: "Thank you, Professor."
As he turned to leave the classroom, Edward subconsciously looked back. Professor Quirrell was facing away from him, his hands gripping his turban tightly, his knuckles white, his body trembling violently as if enduring immense pain, a suppressed whimpering sound coming from his throat like a wounded beast.
The light in the corridor flickered, and the spots of light from the stained glass danced over him. Although doubts flooded Edward's mind, he suppressed them.
All he needed now was the permission for the Restricted Section.
That evening, the Slytherin dungeon dormitory was covered by the deep blue of the Black Lake. Edward sat at his desk, the flame at his fingertips turning into a wisp of faint light, quietly licking the edges of the parchment. He recopied the research proposal, adding more content regarding the underlying logical connections between elemental transmutation, Transfiguration, and Defense Against the Dark Arts, making the entire research framework more rigorous and the research direction clearer. He even specifically added several paragraphs on the "relationship between elemental energy and the balance of dark forces" to cater to Professor Quirrell - after all, the man was the Professor of Defense Against the Dark Arts.
The rustling sound of the nib across the parchment was the only noise in the dormitory, echoing the sound of the waves of the Black Lake outside the window.
The next morning, before the morning mist had dissipated, Edward handed the research proposal, signed by Professor Flitwick and Professor Quirrell, into Professor Flitwick's hands.
Professor Flitwick's eyes brightened as he looked at the signatures at the end of the research proposal, his small silver mustache curling high like a blade of grass covered in morning dew: "Excellent! Professor Quirrell's signature, plus my recommendation, fully complies with school rules! I will take you to Madam Pince right now to process the access permit for the Restricted Section."
Edward finally let out a sigh of relief. The suppression and irritability of the past few days dissipated for the most part, like morning mist dispersed by the sun.
He followed Professor Flitwick into the library, where sunlight streamed through the tall glass windows, casting long shadows on the floor. Madam Pince sat behind the counter, and upon seeing the signatures on the research proposal, her brow furrowed so deeply it could crush a fly, her face full of disapproval. But she still took a yellowed permit sheet from a drawer and stamped it with a bright red seal, the color of the cinnabar like congealed blood.
"You may only consult them in the presence of an administrator," Madam Pince's voice was as harsh as sandpaper rubbing together. She stared fixedly at Edward, her eyes full of vigilance, as if guarding some treasure. "You may not take away any book, you may not damage any page, and you may not consult content unrelated to your research proposal. Otherwise, I will immediately revoke your permit and report you to Headmaster Dumbledore!"
"I understand." Edward took the permit, his fingertips trembling slightly. The texture of the paper was rough, yet it felt like a beam of light cutting through the fog before him.
The doors to the Restricted Section finally opened to him.
Professor Flitwick patted him on the shoulder, his eyes filled with expectation, his voice carrying the unique gentleness of magic: "Study well, Black. I believe you will find the answers you seek in there. The world of magic never fails those who truly seek knowledge."
Edward nodded, his gaze falling on the heavy wooden door at the deepest part of the library. Ancient runes were carved into the wooden door, glowing with a faint luster in the shadows. Behind the door lay the oldest and most obscure secrets of Hogwarts, the magical tomes sealed away for centuries, and his only hope for unraveling the mystery of the fire within him.
He clutched the permit tightly in his hand, took a deep breath, and walked toward the Restricted Section. The sunlight cast a long shadow behind him, as if the castle itself had decided to push him forward.
What he did not know was that the moment he turned around, a Black shadow flashed past outside the library window, as fast as a sigh. The eyes beneath the turban were staring fixedly at his back, filled with cold scrutiny and a trace of imperceptible calculation.
Lord Voldemort's voice slowly rang out in Quirrell's mind, carrying a hint of cruel amusement, like a venomous snake flicking its tongue:
[Watch him. Watch him well. The boy from the House of Black... pure-blood lineage, innate loyalty, perhaps he can help me retrieve the Philosopher's Stone.]
The air in the Restricted Section was filled with dust that had never settled for years, mixed with the musty smell of old parchment and ink, like a jar of wine sealed for a century.
The heavy wooden door slowly closed behind Edward, cutting off the noise outside the library, leaving only a few slivers of sunlight filtering through the gaps in the high windows, casting fragmented golden rays that danced among the bookshelves, illuminating ancient tomes that had slept in the shadows for a hundred years.
Madam Pince stood at the entrance with her arms crossed, like a vigilant stone statue, her eyes sharply tracking his every move, not even letting his fingertips brushing against the spines of the books escape her notice.
Edward clutched the permission slip, the flames on his fingertips having long since faded. He took a deep breath and walked toward the towering bookshelves.
Every book here bore the marks of time; the gilded letters on the spines were mostly faded, the edges of the pages yellowed and curled, and some were even wrapped in rusty chains, exuding a majesty that forbade desecration.
The days of research passed, one by one, amidst the sound of pages turning and Madam Pince's watchful gaze.
On the first day, he followed the thread of his research plan, starting with tomes related to elemental magic.
In an advanced, rare edition of "Magical Theory," Adalbert Waffling elaborated in detail that "magic is the foundation of elemental manipulation," but it only stopped at the level of standardized spells like Incendio and Water-Prison, emphasizing that "the essence of elemental magic is borrowing the power of nature, not derived from bloodline."