Self-Created Magic

Tom's magic stirred, but not by him; the magic itself stirred.

Magic flowed from my fingertips, spreading into the air, into the blankets, and into my clothes.

Water vapor is captured, compressed, and condensed by magic; water vapor in the air, in the blankets, and in the clothes is drawn out and gathered together.

Even the mold spots in the dark corner were drawn in, mixed with the moisture, and turned into a green water ball, about the size of a head.

Tom stared at the ball of water, stunned.

The room is dry, the air is circulating, the blankets are fluffy, and the clothes no longer stick to the skin.

Zabini and his two companions were dumbfounded.

Malfoy put away his wand, glanced at Tom, then at the ball of water, and said nothing.

The system panel flashed.

[Created Magic: Dehumidify and Remove Mold. +30 Credits. Current Credits: 9.]

Tom stared at the panel for three seconds. Magic he created himself? He had only thought that if he could squeeze out all the excess water, it would be great, and it worked so easily!

"Andros, what's going on?"

"Creating your own magic requires three conditions: having the idea to accomplish something, magical support, and a sudden flash of inspiration."

"It's that simple?"

"It's that simple. Magic is an absolutely idealistic power. It's not about 'whether I can do it,' but 'why I want to do it.'"

Tom looked at the water sphere and waved his wand. The water sphere dispersed, the water vapor returned to the air, and the room became damp again. He waved his wand again. The water vapor was drawn out and coalesced into a water sphere again.

"Since it can dehumidify, can it also humidify?"

He closed his eyes, wishing he could increase the concentration of water vapor in the air.

Magic flowed from his fingertips and spread into the air.

The water vapor was captured by magic, extracted from the water sphere, and released back into the air.

The room was wet again. He opened his eyes and laughed.

"Humidify."

[Created Magic: Humidify. +30 Credits. Current Credits: 39.]

Tom put away his wand and leaned back in his chair. Thirty-nine credits. He'd paid off his debts and even had thirty-nine credits left over.

He stood up, walked out of the dormitory, and Daphne was waiting for him. Seeing Tom's smile, Daphne asked...

"Why are you laughing?"

Tom touched his face, a smile playing on his lips, his eyes narrowed, and he was in a mood as sweet as if he'd eaten honey.

"Nothing much, I just created two spells."

Daphne stared at him for two seconds. "You created magic?"

"Yes, it's for dehumidifying; the cellar is too damp."

"You can even create this? That's amazing!"

Daphne laughed, Tom, watching her laugh, wanted to laugh too. The two of them stood in the common room, laughing at each other like two fools.

In Transfiguration class, Professor McGonagall stood on the podium, wand in hand.

She was explaining the advanced techniques for turning a button into a beetle, and Tom and Daphne were sitting in their Slytherin seats, both of them laughing.

Professor McGonagall walked over and looked at them.

"Mr. Riddle, Miss Greengrass, what are you laughing at?"

Tom and Daphne shook their heads simultaneously. "It's nothing, Professor."

Professor McGonagall stared at them for two seconds. "Button to Beetle. Begin the practice."

Hermione sat in her Gryffindor seat, slapping her forehead. These two idiots are hopeless.

Tom took Daphne for a walk. The rain stopped, and the sun shone warmly on the grass.

Snape walked from the direction of the Forbidden Forest, his black robes stained with leaves, and his face was not good, more gloomy than usual.

Tom stepped forward. "Professor Snape."

Snape cautiously took two steps back, looked up at the sky, and saw Tom greeting him.

Something unusual must be going on, so he became extremely vigilant.

"Professor, you must have noticed, Harry's broom was tampered with during Saturday's match."

Snape's expression remained unchanged, but his fingers tightened around his wand.

"Harry believes you are the one who wants to harm him. Someone saw you staring at Nimbus 2000 and muttering something."

"If Professor Quirrell hadn't been injured and interrupted you, Harry would be a bloody pulp by now."

Snape nearly coughed up blood. He had worked so hard to resist Quirrell's curse, and in the end, he was being accused of murder? He was innocent!

"Nonsense!" Snape growled, his face turning green. "I've never been so wronged in my life, more wronged than a Squib accused of killing Albus Dumbledore with the Killing Curse!"

"You idiot who doesn't even know who your enemy is, yet you dare to make wild guesses! Who told you that? Tell me, and I'll deduct fifty points from their score!"

Snape was really anxious; he wished he could take Harry to solitary confinement right now and lock him up for ten days or half a month to vent his anger.

Tom blinked, looking completely innocent. "I don't know which Weasley said it; I just heard it from other kids in the same grade."

"If it's a misunderstanding, Professor, you should go and explain to Harry right away, or your reputation will be ruined!"

Snape laughed in exasperation. "No, from now on it's not a misunderstanding. Potter was right, I really did want to kill him. And Weasley, well, very well indeed!"

Snape strode past the two men and charged aggressively into the castle, as if he were about to tear down the Gryffindor Common Room.

Daphne watched Snape's retreating figure. "Don't you think Potter suffered enough in Potions Class?"

"Even if Professor Snape were to die of anger, he wouldn't do anything to Harry; at most, he'd torment him a bit." Tom walked forward.

"My main target is Ron. I haven't settled the score with him yet for saying that Hermione has no friends."

Daphne paused for a moment, then laughed. "You hold a grudge."

Quirrell suffered a brain injury during the game, and sustained severe contusions and multiple fractures while rolling down the stairs. Snape filled in for two weeks.

During Defense Against the Dark Arts class, Snape stood on the platform, his black robes gleaming coldly in the candlelight.

He scanned the class, his gaze lingering on Harry for a moment, then on Ron.

"Professor Quirrell injured his brain during the game," Snape said, glancing around the classroom with a sarcastic tone.

"But it's not a big deal for him. Curly-Winged Demon would have to sigh if it saw his head."

It was a lame joke, but few first-year students understood it. Only Hermione's face turned bright red, and she almost burst out laughing.

The Curly-Winged Demon is a Level 5 dangerous magical creature that feeds on human brains. Snape's words clearly imply that Quirrell is brainless.

His voice was unnaturally calm. "Today's topic: Ghoul."

"Ghoul are low-level dark creatures. They prefer dark and damp places, such as cemeteries, cellars, and abandoned castles. They are not very intelligent, but their attack power is not weak."

"A single adult wizard can easily deal with a Ghoul, but a group of them requires skill."

He turned around and looked at Harry.