nownovels Chapter 274 Items for the Competition Preparation Ceremony
Chapter 274 Items for the Competition Preparation Ceremony
Chapter 274 Competition Preparation Ritual Items (4.8K) (2/2)
Lynch reached out and took Malfoy's copy of the "Preliminary Self-Observation Record of Magic Resonance".
Large areas of the parchment were blank, and the few notes that were written were illegible, filled with phrases like "not bad" and "—".
Vague and uninformative terms like "般" are clearly products of perfunctory work.
He gently placed the parchment back on the table, his gaze calmly fixed on Malfoy, skipping the discussion of the table's contents.
"Written records are limited, Mr. Malfoy. Let's talk directly about your actual feelings while casting the spell."
Malfoy quickly looked up, a flicker of surprise crossing his gray eyes, which he then quickly lowered again, mumbling, "What?"
"For example," Lynch continued in a gentle tone, seemingly oblivious to his reaction, "when you use spells that have 'binding,' 'weakening,' or even 'eroding' effects, do you feel the flow of magic exceptionally smooth? When you see the spell take effect—for example, the target's movements slowed, or the shield weakened—do you feel a sense of satisfaction—a satisfaction of precise hits—rather than just the ease of completing the task?"
Malfoy's body tensed almost imperceptibly.
Lynch's descriptions accurately touched upon some experiences he was unwilling to admit but was vaguely aware of.
In the corridor, he indeed found himself mastering those curses particularly quickly and with exceptionally remarkable results.
It wasn't just because he practiced a lot—although he did practice a lot in private—but it was a kind of natural feeling.
But he said it firmly, without any pretense: "I feel this way when I cast other types of spells too."
He tried to make his voice sound as sarcastic as usual, but it lacked a certain confidence.
Lynch leaned back slightly. "But I don't think any other spell can give you that same feeling of resonance."
He looked calmly at Malfoy. "Our magic influences our spells. Some strengthen their spells through the conviction of protection, others perfect transformations through the joy of creation. And similarly, the keen perception of things' vulnerabilities, the precise guidance of magic to dismantle or influence them, is also a unique talent, an affinity for a particular magical domain."
He paused, noticing the slight change in Malfoy's expression, and continued, "This is an objective fact, Mr. Malfoy. Your magical properties seem to have a natural affinity for spells that require precise manipulation of negative energy, or the application of accurate weakening or control. This makes learning and casting such magic much more efficient for you."
Malfoy's initial resistance was gradually replaced by a complex contemplation.
The greed for power is hidden in the nature of Slytherins, and curses and evil spells are also a manifestation of power, a potential proof of the superiority of pure blood.
If I do have a more outstanding talent for spells in this area, then I can enhance my magical power more efficiently.
He stopped trying to refute, and instead unconsciously leaned forward slightly. The resistance in his gray eyes dissipated, replaced by a curiosity eager to seek more information.
Lynch saw his transformation and knew that his guidance had worked.
He didn't delve deeper into the topic, but simply concluded: "Recognizing this will give you a clearer understanding of your own strengths and the areas where you may need to invest more energy in understanding and controlling them in the future."
Power itself is neither good nor evil; the key lies in the will to wield it. You may go back now, Mr. Malfoy.
Malfoy paused, seemingly surprised that the conversation had ended so abruptly.
He stood up somewhat hesitantly, this time not immediately fleeing, but instead giving Lin Qi a quick, complex glance before turning around. He seemed to want to say something, but his lips moved without uttering a single syllable.
So he could only turn around and walk towards the door.
"Mr. Malfoy," Lynch's voice rang out again calmly as his hand touched the doorknob, "do you think I'll have any chance of seeing any other Slytherin classmates today?"
Malfoy visibly paused. With his back to Lynch, he hesitated for a moment, then lowered his voice, making a barely perceptible murmur: "—Unlikely, Professor."
"Very good, thank you for informing me." Lin Qi's voice was devoid of emotion.
Malfoy didn't linger any longer, quickly opened the door and walked out, as if something was chasing him.
Silence returned to the office.
Lynch's gaze fell on the door, which had closed again. He recalled Malfoy's barely concealed awkwardness when he entered, his "positivity" that clashed with the overall atmosphere of Slytherin, and his earlier reply of "unlikely."
When these fragments are pieced together, they point to a conclusion that is all too obvious.
A faint, yet distinctly sarcastic, smile flashed across Lin Qi's lips.
Lucius Malfoy.
It was indeed the work of that shrewd and calculating head of the Malfoy family.
Realizing his status as a professor at Hogwarts, he tried to use his son to indirectly socialize and build a good relationship with him.
Thinking of this, the mockery in Lin Qi's heart became even clearer.
These pure-blood families always waste their energy on these futile efforts of embellishing the details, trying to consolidate their influence by maintaining connections and demonstrating their status.
They teach the next generation how to scheme and how to behave "properly," but they neglect the most crucial issues: understanding the nature of power and gaining a true insight into oneself.
Lucius, through his son, subtly sought to establish goodwill and engage in social interaction, but overlooked the fact that the fundamental conflict between the Hangman faction and the pure-blood families was irreconcilable.
He withdrew his gaze, ignoring the Malfoys' ridiculous calculations, and refocused his attention on the pile of parchment in front of him.
There are many more young souls yearning to find their own magical path, waiting for true guidance.
In the following days, Lynch's office door became the most popular "consultation room" at Hogwarts.
He received each and every student who had taken the elective Magic Research course, using his unique "Preliminary Self-Observation Record of Magical Resonance" and his precise insight, like a highly skilled physician, to diagnose the unique flow of magic in each young wizard.
He clearly pointed out the magical fields best suited to some people—whether it was Cedric's natural affinity for Guardian spells, Malfoy's talent for curses, or Harry and Hermione's untapped potential in control spells.
Even for students whose feelings are vague or whose inclinations are not so extreme, Lynch can always provide valuable guidance on the general direction.
He would point out that their magic might be more inclined to "build" than "destroy," or better at "guiding" than "controlling," or more sensitive to "life force" than "inorganic matter."
These guidelines were like a lighthouse in the fog, giving them a direction to focus on rather than blindly groping in the dark.
This quietly emerging trend of "self-awareness" has inevitably spread throughout Hogwarts.
Especially in the common room, auditorium and corridors, students excitedly exchanged their "diagnoses", compared each other's "affinity tendencies", and even began to form targeted teams to practice, trying to apply their newly discovered personal traits to spell practice.
This atmosphere stirred up a few students who hadn't chosen the Magic Research course for various reasons—perhaps they found the Hell Run too arduous, perhaps they disagreed with Lynch's theories, or perhaps they simply followed their friends' choices.
As they listened to their classmates enthusiastically discussing things like "It turns out my magic is better suited to spells that resemble flowing water" or "Professor Lynch said I have a strong perception of ancient runic structures," and watched some classmates who were originally mediocre in magical practice suddenly become adept at it because they found the right direction, a subtle sense of loss and regret quietly arose.
"If only I had chosen Magic Studies instead." Such whispers began to echo in the corners of different houses, especially Slytherin.
Especially after seeing the potential for a huge boost in magic brought by Lynch, the feeling of "missing out on a fortune" became particularly strong.
But it was too late to say anything then. People need to take responsibility for the choices they've made, so they could only look on with envy at their classmates.
As time passed and the fervor surrounding "magical affinity" gradually cooled in the corridors and common rooms, another, more ancient and intense atmosphere began to permeate and accumulate between every brick and stone of Hogwarts Castle—the Quidditch season was drawing near.
The first area to change was the ground outside the castle.
On a sunny afternoon, the sky was no longer filled only with the occasional owl or a model of a lost thief. Instead, it was filled with the figures of team members from various colleges riding brooms and engaging in high-intensity training.
Like streaks of lightning of various colors, they darted, swooped, and spun across the sky. The whistling of the Quake and the dull thud of the Runner could be faintly heard even through thick windows.
Inside the Gryffindor Tower, an electric current, a mixture of excitement and tension, was everywhere.
Captain Oliver Wood had entered a state of war, his eyes burning with an almost fanatical flame.
He vowed to win the Quidditch Cup back for Gryffindor in his final year!
At all costs!
To this end, in addition to the same broom-hiding tactic as last year, he also devised a rigorous, almost cruel, training plan. So much so that at dinner time, the Gryffindor players, especially the Chasers, could often be seen with their arms trembling slightly as they held up pumpkin juice.
Wood's voice had become hoarse, but he continued tirelessly simulating tactics in the common room with salt and pepper shakers, grabbing any passing player—especially Harry—and repeatedly emphasizing: "Ravenclaw has a new Seeker this year, Cho Chang. She's very agile. Harry, you have to be faster than her! We have to win, we have to!"
Other colleges were not to be outdone.
The Ravenclaws displayed their characteristic meticulousness, often gathering together to study complex formation changes; the Hufflepuffs, on the other hand, trained with their signature tenacity; and the Slytherins—the atmosphere around them during training was always one of cold focus, and some had seen their new brooms, Nimbus 2001, gleaming with an ominous green light in the setting sun.
The debates about the strength of each team, the new members, and the merits of the new broom models replaced some of the discussions about magical affinity, becoming the most popular topic at the Great Hall table and during breaks.
The betting was conducted in secret, and there was plenty of provocation and prediction between students supporting different teams—sometimes friendly, sometimes not.
Even the professors were infected by this atmosphere.
Professor McGonagall walked with a lighter step than usual and unconsciously looked at Gryffindor students with expectant eyes; Professor Flitwick publicly wished his Ravenclaw students "good luck" during Charms class; and Professor Snape—who seemed to have his usual gloomy attitude toward all sports activities, but some swore they had seen him looking out of the castle window at the pitch, especially during Slytherin training.
The air seemed to be filled with an invisible gunpowder smell, waiting for the first whistle to ignite it.
Courses, assignments, and even the newly discovered "magical affinity" have all temporarily taken a back seat in the face of the Quidditch craze sweeping the entire school.
All eyes were on that weekend, on the Quidditch pitch where the first fierce match of the new school year was about to take place.
This naturally includes Lynch.
But he wasn't looking forward to Quidditch matches; he was looking forward to the opportunities that matches presented.
Lynch stood at the window of his office, gazing at the magnificent stadium in the distance, which was about to erupt in cheers.
He was plotting something else that was more important and more secretive.
The core of the ancient dark magic ritual for communicating with Dementors is not readily available objects or materials, but rather requires him to personally prepare several key mediums.
The crafting process of these items inevitably draws upon dark magic, emitting unique magical fluctuations that might be as noticeable as a candle flame in the dark to a powerful wizard like Dumbledore.
Performing such an operation within the boundaries of Hogwarts is extremely risky.
He needed the perfect moment, one that would ensure the omnipresent principal's attention was firmly drawn elsewhere.
Quidditch matches present just such a golden opportunity.
As headmaster, Dumbledore was required to attend and would usually watch the entire game.
This not only means that he is far away from the main castle building, but also that his powerful perception will be greatly disturbed and diluted by the intense magical battles on the field and the mixed emotional waves of thousands of spectators.
Moreover, during such a large-scale, school-wide event, the professors' attention is mostly focused on the sports field, and security inside the castle is reduced to a minimum.
This is a brief but precious window of opportunity.
Lynch turned around and quietly waited for the day of the game to begin.
Finally, the highly anticipated Quidditch match day arrived.
At dawn, a festive commotion swept through the castle.
Students, dressed in their respective college colors, surged out of the castle gates like colorful streams, rushing towards the Quidditch pitch, eager not to miss a single exciting moment.
The castle emptied out at an alarming speed, and an unprecedented silence echoed through the corridors, with only a few ghosts lazily drifting by.
Just as the crowd was surging toward the stadium at its peak, Lynch also followed the flow of people, walking slowly toward the stadium.
He did not go to the high teachers' table, which was too conspicuous and would attract attention and small talk from Dumbledore or other professors.
He simply found a seat in a less conspicuous section of the stands near the edge, relaxed, his gaze fixed on the team warming up below, blending perfectly into the background, like a less enthusiastic professor simply fulfilling his duty as a spectator.
Meanwhile, deep within the Forbidden Forest, the real Lynch was walking among the trees.
The seclusion of the castle and the noise of the stadium created perfect conditions for him.
He did not choose to use the convenient Apparition—Hogwarts' Anti-Apparition Charm was like a finely intricate magical spiderweb; any attempt to forcibly open or close it was highly likely to alert Dumbledore, the other privilege holder, like a stone thrown into a calm lake.
So he chose the most primitive and safest way – walking.
He silently disappeared into the dense shadows of the forbidden forest, moving swiftly and quietly toward the low hill.
His goal was the entrance beneath the hill—a direct route to Salazar—the secret chamber left by Slytherin.
Deep beneath the foundations of Hogwarts, isolated by ancient magic and layers of thick rock, it was an ideal place to conduct clandestine magical experiments.
There was no more suitable location. It could avoid the omnipresent surveillance within the castle, and its inherent, powerful aura of ancient black magic could also, to some extent, conceal the energy fluctuations that might leak out when he was crafting ritual items.
Lin Qi reached out and pushed aside the vines blocking the cave entrance. As he entered the cave, the vines silently returned to their original positions, concealing all traces.
When he stood before the heavy stone door of the secret chamber, Mrs. Hooch officially blew the whistle to begin the Quidditch match.
Amidst the torrential downpour, the world on the Quidditch pitch is going crazy for the Golden Snitch, while deep underground, the prelude to a dangerous ritual to communicate with the dark forces is quietly unfolding.