Chapter 40. Cursed broom!
Professor Flitwick paused, then picked up the parchment again, pointing to the annotation of "elemental transmutation," his tone becoming even more earnest: "Secondly, the core of Rowena Ravenclaw's four-element theory is 'magic originates from nature and returns to nature.' The power of an Obscurial is a product of the alienation of magic from its natural trajectory, while the controllable elemental transmutation you want to explore might need to find answers in bloodline magic and ancient elemental magic. The magic system of ancient wizards is closer to the source of nature; it does not rely on standardized spells, but resonates with the elements of the natural world. And in the bloodline inheritance of pure-blood families, there are often secrets hidden about resonating with elements. These are all more worthy of study than the deformity cases of Obscurials."
Edward's heart sank a little.
Professor Flitwick's words were like cold water, extinguishing the heat in his heart based on his academic conjecture. He had always thought he had found a breakthrough in the study of elemental transmutation, but only now did he realize that the so-called "phased achievement" was merely his own wishful theoretical fantasy.
"Then, where should I re-explore the direction regarding the connection between elemental transmutation and the alienation of magical forms?" His voice carried a trace of confusion from encountering a bottleneck in academic research, his fingertips unconsciously rubbing the edges of the parchment.
"I don't know." Professor Flitwick shook his head honestly, though his eyes held expectation. "The world of magic is far broader than we imagine. You can try to start with ancient magic texts to see how those primitive magics that have not been standardized by modern spells achieve elemental control; you can also study the history of bloodline inheritance in pure-blood families, perhaps you can find specific cases of elemental resonance. These will all bring new inspiration to your research."
Bloodline magic... ancient elemental magic...
Edward silently chewed on these two terms, the academic fog in his heart seeming to disperse a little. He bowed deeply to Professor Flitwick: "Thank you for your guidance, Professor. I will readjust my research direction."
He thanked Professor Flitwick and turned to walk out of the classroom. He did not go to find Professor Quirrell.
The scene in the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom that day surfaced in his mind again - Professor Quirrell's suddenly changing voice, the heavy shadow under his turban, and that indescribable sense of dissonance. That feeling made him instinctively feel uneasy and unwilling to get close again. Moreover, Professor Quirrell's research direction was Defense Against the Dark Arts, which was far from elemental transmutation, so asking him for help would just be a waste of time.
The library was still quiet enough to hear the rustling of turning pages. When Madam Pince saw him enter, she just raised her eyelids, then lowered her head to organize the dust-covered ancient books without saying an extra word. Edward walked to the familiar bookshelf, pulled out a copy of "Tracing the Origins of Ancient Bloodline magic," and had barely opened it a few pages when he was startled by the thunderous cheers coming from outside the window.
He looked up and saw that in the direction of the Quidditch Pitch, colorful flags were fluttering in the hunting wind, figures were moving in the stands, and the shouting was almost going to blow the roof of the castle off.
And right now on the pitch, Harry Potter was gripping the handle of his Nimbus 2000, his palms full of cold sweat. Wood's instructions before the match still echoed in his ears, every word filled with heavy pressure: "Catch the Golden Snitch, and you can win, Potter! Remember, don't worry about the Bludgers, don't worry about the Chasers, you have only one goal - the Golden Snitch!"
Ron and Hermione were sitting in the Gryffindor stands, gripping their fists so tightly that their nails were almost digging into their palms. Hermione's eyes drifted from time to time to Snape next to the referee's stand, and she saw him staring fixedly at Harry, his fingers under his Black robes still secretly fiddling with something, his face as gloomy as the sky before a storm.
"He's not right." Hermione whispered to Ron, her voice full of certainty, "I'm sure he's cursing Harry's broom! He's never liked Harry!"
The whistle for the start of the match sounded sharply, but Harry's eyes were locked tightly on the vast sky - he was looking for the Golden Snitch, that tiny speck of light that would decide the outcome. Just as Harry's broom climbed to its highest point, an accident happened.
His broom suddenly shook violently, as if it had been grabbed by an invisible hand, and it spiraled out of control toward the ground. Harry grabbed the broom handle desperately, his face turning bright red, and Ron's exclamation and Hermione's scream reached his ears, along with the gasps that rose one after another in the stands.
"It's Snape!" Hermione stood up abruptly, grabbed the wand beside her, fire in her eyes, "I'm going to stop him!"
She squeezed through the crowded crowd, rushed to the side of the referee's stand, aimed at the hem of Snape's Black robe, and gritted her teeth as she whispered: "Incendio!"
A wisp of flame shot out and quickly burned Snape's robe. Snape exclaimed, hurriedly patted out the flame, and his movements stopped.
Almost at the same time, Harry's broom regained its stability.
He gasped for air, looked up at the sky in lingering fear, and saw a golden light flash by, as fast as a phantom.
It was the Golden Snitch!
Harry's eyes lit up, he suddenly leaned forward, and his broom chased after it like a red lightning bolt. The wind whistled in his ears, the shouting in the stands was deafening, and the Slytherin Seeker chased desperately, but was always a step slower.
Harry reached out, his fingertips touching that tiny, fluttering Golden Snitch. He grabbed it!
The sharp whistle sounded again, the referee raised his arm and announced loudly: "Gryffindor wins!"
The Gryffindor stands exploded in an instant, Ron and Hermione hugged each other and cheered, tears almost welling up. Harry circled in the air on his broom, a brilliant smile on his face, the sunlight spilling onto his face, plating it with a layer of golden halo. And in the Slytherin stands, it was dead silent, Draco was so angry that his face turned iron-blue, and he fiercely threw his hat on the ground.
Edward in the library listened to the cheers outside the window go from high to gradually subsiding, just gently turning a page of his book. He did not know about all the thrilling things that happened on the pitch, nor did he care who won or lost. To him, those obscure records about bloodline magic and elemental resonance were far more attractive than a Quidditch match.
In the evening, Edward returned to the Slytherin Common Room with a stack of ancient books. The warm yellow fire in the fireplace was jumping, reflecting a soft light on the silver-green silk curtains. Draco was slumped on the sofa, looking lifeless, with Goyle and Crabbe sitting beside him, cautiously handing over a cup of iced pumpkin juice.
Seeing Edward enter, Draco immediately sprang up from the sofa, complaining with a frustrated face: "It's all that Potter's fault! If it weren't for his luck, we would have definitely won! And that Granger, actually daring to burn Professor Snape's robe! It's just too arrogant!"
Edward did not answer, just walked to his desk and arranged the ancient books one by one. On the desk, a stack of basic classics about bloodline magic and ancient elemental magic had already piled up, and the title page of each book was filled with his dense annotation.