Chapter 96: I Really Like This Book
"Magic isn't difficult at all!"
Hermione once proudly told her parents, who were curious about her experiences at the wizarding school.
She grasped things instantly and understood them with a glance. While other peers were still struggling with what professors taught in class, she had already effortlessly mastered a wealth of knowledge from thick books in the library, things not taught in class.
She was proud.
And she had every right to be.
However, this pride was quickly shattered.
No one knew how horrified she was to see Ron knock out a XXXX-danger-level troll with a Levitation Charm, or to see Harry use a Disarming Charm to send the seemingly unmovable Quidditch goalpost flying across the pitch.
It wasn't logical!
The books said that the Levitation Charm could only control objects lighter than one's own body weight, and couldn't exert extra force; even Aurors from the Ministry of Magic couldn't do it. Yet Ron did.
The books also said that the Disarming Charm was for disarming, a counter-tactic against wizards' reliance on wands, used against small sticks. But Harry effortlessly sent a 15-meter-long, five-story-high goalpost flying.
This wasn't even about magical strength anymore.
It wasn't scientific! Oh, no, it wasn't magical!
Yet Professor Lockhart told her, "My dear, that's very magical."
Very magical?
Hermione had never known that "magical" could be an adjective until she saw Luna, who had only been at school for half a year, effortlessly cast a Patronus Charm in the Duelling Club, conjuring a vibrant rabbit.
The naturalness with which Luna did it, as if she was born to understand, brought Hermione an instant realization.
Yes, it was very magical.
The books said the Patronus Charm was one of the oldest spells, and only a tiny fraction of people in the world could conjure a full-bodied Patronus.
She had once thought this was due to its extreme difficulty and challenging nature.
But actually, no, it wasn't difficult. Magic wasn't difficult at all.
Magic was like that big-faced kitten that wags its tail and nuzzles you when you call it.
Some people are naturally liked by animals; even extremely unfamiliar animals get along with them easily. Others, no matter how much kindness they show, squatting there calling "Meow~ meow~," will only be regarded warily by the cat, which then bolts if they move even slightly.
Alright, she understood the nature of magic now. So, how did she find a solution?
She didn't know. It was hard, and the books offered no answers.
Well, some books did, but only with an arrogant, pure-blood supremacist tone, stating that wizards relied on bloodline and inherited power, and that others without that lineage would never achieve anything.
She had despaired at one point, even Professor Lockhart agreed with this view, saying that wizardry was a game for the talented.
But Professor Lockhart then added that the talent of the mind was also a path they could take. By aligning oneself with magic and embarking on a romantic fairy tale adventure, magic would naturally blossom—that was the principle.
Conversely, due to the increasingly rare intermarriage among pure-bloods, their descendants often developed mental defects, some even intellectual disabilities. These individuals, ironically, found it very difficult to enhance their mental talent.
Enter a fairy tale, and magic will naturally blossom?
Hermione had felt lost for a time, wondering if it was her overly rational nature that made it hard for her to be like the "loony" Luna.
Lockhart, however, used himself as an example, stating that he too was a rather rational person, the kind who could propose "defense against the dark arts strategies that focus on finding solutions based on specific characteristics," yet he could still feel the beauty of magic.
Alright.
Hermione was willing to try.
And so, something quite marvelous happened.
In this adventure, she attempted to feel the "call of adventure" that Professor Lockhart mentioned. She began to connect with the grandmother in this story, and thus resolutely donned a crimson cloak and rode a white horse into the adventure.
She really felt it, it seemed.
Even though she still seemed like a Muggle, unable to cast any magic here, she truly felt it.
That magic was such a wonderfully subtle sensation.
"...I keenly noticed a problem: Mr. Beast seemed to be in great pain during the full moon and locked himself in his room, not coming out. That's when I found an opportunity to slip away." Hermione excitedly recounted everything about the castle to the old witch, her face full of the joy of adventure.
The old witch merely watched her with a kindly smile, nodding. "He loses all his power during the full moon, becoming a powerless Muggle. He fears that some terrible entity in the forest will come to devour him, so he hides during the full moon."
Hermione paused. "He's human?"
"Yes." The old witch looked under the wooden bed behind Hermione, where a werewolf was watching them, itching to pounce. "They pursue powerful magical strength but don't feel the beauty of magic. They're only infatuated with the powerful offensive capabilities magic gives them, satisfying their ambition, and so they quickly become slaves to magical power."
"Their beastliness is unleashed but not disciplined, so their minds begin to resemble beasts, which ultimately causes their appearance to transform into that of beasts."
"Some will resemble wolves, some venomous snakes, some toads."
The old witch's wise gaze fell on Hermione. "Humans instinctively care about their appearance. When a person completely disregards becoming a beastly shape just to gain power, that's the most dangerous time."
"You-Know-Who!" Hermione gasped.
The old witch paused. "Who?"
Hermione shook her head. "A legendary evil person. I heard he was very handsome at first, but later his eyes would occasionally flash red, and his face looked strangely twisted and blurred like melted wax, as if it had been burned..."
(Voldemort's early appearance, still had a nose before resurrection)
"That's truly dreadful," the old witch exclaimed, admonishing Hermione. "Everyone has a beast within them. Unleashing it will give you great power, but this power will only slowly consume your mind. You must learn to control it, to lock it in a cage!"
"Mind consumed by the beast within..." Hermione's eyes lit up. "Grandma, are you saying that Mr. Beast turning back into a human during the full moon means he can still be saved, right? He hasn't been completely devoured by the beast within!"
The old witch clearly paused, as if she had never considered the matter in reverse. She blinked. "Yes, I suppose so. He may indeed still have hope!"
"How can we save him?" Hermione was excited.
The old witch pursed her lips, seemingly hesitant, but finally stood up and found a small glass bottle. She went to the large cauldron by the door, filled the bottle, and handed it to Hermione, who had followed her out. "Make him drink this, and he will completely turn back into a human."
Hermione eagerly reached out to take it, but found the old witch holding the bottle tightly. "Child, I must warn you, this is very dangerous for you. He is just one step away from losing his humanity entirely. Besides—"
She shook her head, ultimately handing the bottle to Hermione and looking towards the edge of the forest. "Do you think he truly wants to become a powerless Muggle again?"
"If it were you—"
"Would you be willing to lose all your magical power and become a Muggle again?"
Hermione couldn't answer. She stared blankly at the bottle in her hand, opened her mouth, but ultimately just clutched the bottle tightly.
She eventually pulled up the hood of her red cloak, mounted the white horse, and intended to quietly return to the castle before the full moon ended.
People are always like this: it's easy to make decisions for others, simply by muttering "It's for your own good," but when it comes to themselves, it becomes very, very difficult.
The old witch gazed deeply at her retreating figure, then turned to look at the werewolf, who had appeared in the house at some point, panting heavily and ready to attack her at any moment. She sighed, "You didn't drink the potion I gave you just now."
The werewolf said nothing, merely crouching slightly, its long, powerful forearms swaying gently, its wide mouth full of jagged teeth dripping with horrifying drool.
"You're going to eat me, aren't you?" The old witch's gaze was profound as she looked at the werewolf.
But then, the werewolf slowly walked out, looking somewhat helplessly at the increasingly bright full moon in the sky. Its tall, burly body began to rapidly collapse and shrink, finally transforming into the form of a normal human.
Lockhart looked at his hands, somewhat dejectedly, and sighed. "I can never maintain my werewolf form, even after trying various methods. Is it because I haven't been truly infected with lycanthropy?"
The old witch smiled and shook her head. "No, that's not the problem. It's because you don't wish to become a werewolf at all, and you don't wish for magical power to corrode your mind. You crave magic so deeply, yet you also crave your own life just as much. The magic within your body already possesses the ability to resist lycanthropy."
"But why can't other werewolves do that?" Lockhart was repeatedly frustrated, feeling a bit helpless.
He looked at the old witch, bowing slightly, performing a standard wizarding courtesy. "Good evening, Ms. Benítez."
Doris Benítez, known as "the most vigilant witch of the Magical Congress of the United States," a powerful witch. Of course, she preferred to be called "the Forest Witch."
"Hello, Gilderoy." The old witch motioned for him to sit at the tea table made of wooden stumps nearby, pouring him a drink brewed from various brightly colored mushrooms and glowing plants.
Lockhart looked at the contents of the cup with a strange expression, somewhat resistant. "You appearing here, it's not to seek revenge on me, is it?"
Stealing someone else's life—even if it wasn't done by his own hands as a transmigrator, he still bore the guilt for it.
Lockhart enjoyed the fruits of the original body's stolen memories, so he naturally had to bear the karmic consequences.
The Forest Witch shook her head. "Gilderoy, I am already dead. A green tree swallowed my body and embarked along the ocean port, it will carry me back to the Amazon rainforest, becoming my coffin and turning into nourishment for that forest."
The passing of life is always sorrowful, and Lockhart fell silent.
The Forest Witch smiled and pulled a book from her canvas satchel. It was none other than Voyages with Trolls, the book the original Lockhart had written based on the Forest Witch's life experiences.
"I want to tell you, I really like this book."
She gently caressed the book cover, her eyes full of reminiscence. "I was once obsessed with the bustling Muggle cities and didn't want to talk much about my past life as a wild woman in the forest. I never thought my unseemly past could be so beautiful and romantic in your writing."
"This might be the only trace of me left in this world, even if it's under your name, but I still feel it's beautiful. After all, I abandoned my past; you picked it up and told the world that such beauty once existed."
She handed the book to Lockhart.
"You're making me feel very ashamed," Lockhart grumbled as he took the book. He opened it and found a line written inside: "I hope you go further along this magical path. Doris Benítez, the Forest Witch."
.....
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