"I really can't imagine what Gregory went through for his eyes to be gouged out..." Goyle's mother sobbed as she carefully packed a few precious belongings into a suitcase.
Old Goyle sat silently beneath the oil lamp, gnawing on a chicken leg one bite at a time.
"I don't even know what we'll be facing next..."
His wife kept chattering on, but Old Goyle's eyes had gone distant. The experience Pure-blood families had accumulated over the years told him exactly what to do—calm his emotions before taking action.
This was the exact opposite of the emotional magic Anton had described: letting no emotion rise or fall.
The fundamental reason was that, after a thousand years of intermarriage among Pure-bloods, their Wizard Bloodlines had grown extraordinarily powerful—so powerful that they could summon terrifying Magical Power without needing much emotion at all.
What they needed to do instead was relax their minds, so they wouldn't be affected by the emotions their Magical Power stirred up in their souls.
They had to let their emotions ripple through their minds—cruelty, compassion, excitement, pain, all of it—letting them surge freely while they themselves stayed calm.
It was a contradictory approach, but the best method for modern Pure-blood Wizards whose Wizard Bloodlines had reached their peak.
Old Goyle couldn't make sense of these theories of Magic.
All he could do was firmly follow the conclusions the Malfoy family had reached through their research, even though doing so only made him duller and duller.
The Malfoys wouldn't harm them. They all knew that. The Malfoys were also still trying to find a way to continue their research, because sooner or later, they would end up like the Goyles and the Crabbes.
His wife kept chattering. "We betrayed him once, and now we're betraying the Dark Lord again..."