"Sleeping already?" Draco closed the magazine, stood up from the armchair, stomped her bare feet on the carpet a couple of times to find her slippers, and yawned as she put them on. "I almost forgot, the first period tomorrow is Transfiguration, and I can't be late for Professor McGonagall's class."
She tossed the cushion back onto the chair, picked up the robe draped over the armrest and put it on her shoulders, walked over to Harry, and glanced back at Herman.
"You should go to bed early too. Don't stay up late studying again. You'll go to class with dark circles under your eyes tomorrow, and when Professor McGonagall calls on you to answer a question, you won't even know which way is which."
Herman stood up from the sofa, reached for the plate of unfinished cookies on the coffee table, and put it on the low cabinet next to the fireplace, so that it wouldn't be kicked over by someone tomorrow morning.
"Okay, I'm going back too."
The three of them walked into the dormitory corridor one after the other. Draco stopped in front of her room, put her hand on the doorknob, turned around to look at Harry, then at Herman, as if she had remembered something.
"Wait for me at breakfast tomorrow, don't run off first again."
After she finished speaking, she pushed open the door and went inside. Before the door closed, you could still hear her muttering something about the alarm clock and being late.
Harry walked to the door at the far end of the corridor, took out her key, turned the lock, and the door opened.
She stood at the doorway without going in immediately, and glanced at Herman from the side.
Herman stood in front of his door, took out his key from his pocket, and was about to open it.
"See you tomorrow," Harry said.
"See you tomorrow."
Harry nodded, turned and went into the room, the door closing gently with a soft click.
Herman was the only one left in the corridor.
The candlelight burned quietly on the wall lamp at the end of the corridor, its light much dimmer than outside, casting a long, thin, and blurry shadow of him.
He pushed open the door and entered his room. The lake above his head, suspended on the magical ceiling, had darkened, with only a few faint green lights slowly moving in the depths, like the last few points of light unwilling to be extinguished at the end of the day.
Herman closed the door, walked to the desk, and took the book that Dumbledore had given him out of his bag.
The book was thicker than a regular textbook, with a dark brown cover. It had no title, only gold foil patterns extending from the spine to the cover, forming an abstract design that was difficult to decipher.
He turned to the first page, where there was a line of handwritten words on the title page. The ink had turned yellow, but the writing was still clear.
"To Albus, may you find the answers you seek in the essence of magic."
The signature at the end was in cursive script, which Herman couldn't decipher even after trying for a long time; he could only make out that it was a foreigner's name.
He turned to the table of contents, which listed more than a dozen chapters, most of which were theoretical topics such as the flow of magic, the guidance of consciousness on magic, and the connection between the spellcaster and magic.
Herman took a deep breath, picked up a quill pen and a roll of parchment from his bedside table, and began to read.
The first chapter discusses the nature of magic.
The book presents a completely different viewpoint from that in the Hogwarts textbooks. The textbooks state that magic is an innate ability of wizards, as natural as breathing, and that they only need to learn how to control it. However, the author of this book describes magic as a medium between matter and spirit, both a part of the wizard's body and an extension of the wizard's consciousness.
"Magic doesn't reside in the blood," Herman read a passage, "It exists at the boundary between consciousness and matter. Wizards can cast spells because their consciousness is powerful enough to channel the magic within them into the external world, making it produce concrete effects."
He paused, recalling what Dumbledore had said in his office.
Most wizards can only channel magic through spells and wands, but you can invoke magic without a wand. This means you are closer to the essence of magic than ordinary wizards because you have one less intermediary.
So this is what Dumbledore meant by "essence".
Herman dipped his quill in ink and began copying down the key points in his notebook. He wrote slowly, keeping each word as concise as possible, because the book contained so much information that just one chapter would take him several days to digest.
By the time he got to the second chapter, it was completely dark outside the window, and the lake on the ceiling had turned into a deep, unfathomable dark green. Herman looked at the clock and realized it was already two o'clock. He knew he had to go to sleep.
Herman rubbed his eyes, closed the book, and put the parchment and quill into his bag.
He lay down on the bed, staring at the dark ceiling.
My mind was still replaying the book's discussions about the nature of magic, but my eyelids were already starting to feel heavy.
The Transfiguration starts at 8 a. m. tomorrow. Professor McGonagall's class is on time, and he can't be late. Draco just reminded him. He can still sleep for five hours now, but he won't eat breakfast. He'll stand Draco up, but it's not really standing her up. If he doesn't wake her up, she'll probably sleep until 7 a. m.
Herman closed his eyes and went over the things he needed to do tomorrow in his mind in the darkness.
I attended class in the morning, spent the afternoon learning more about controlling my magical arms from Professor Malin, and continued reading this book when I got home in the evening.
Hmm, the schedule is packed. Herman is very satisfied. With this much going on, he's sure to beat up Snape, kick Gori, and beat up Dumbledore soon. Uh, that might be a little later.
Herman, lost in his beautiful fantasies, suddenly realized he had insomnia! Damn it!
While Herman was studying late into the night, most of Hogwarts Castle had fallen into darkness and silence. The candles in the corridors had been extinguished one by one by the House-elf, leaving only a few flickering lights on the wall lamps.
The portraits had all fallen asleep; some were snoring, some had turned over in their frames and continued sleeping, and even the usually most active knights and noblewomen had quietly stopped visiting each other.
But the Gori deep in the dungeon didn't involve sleep, nor did it require him to.
Vampire don't need real sleep; so-called "sleep" is more like an energy-saving mode for them. It's an energy-saving mode they invented to pass the time and prevent their emotions from wearing off too quickly over the long years.
But at this moment, there was no leisurely mood in the Gori. He sat on a stone chair, leaning against the cold stone wall, his eyes slightly closed, and his consciousness was extending outward.
It felt like threading a single hair through the eye of a needle.
The dungeon's magical restrictions suppress all magical activity; Slytherin's protective measures cover every brick and every crevice.
When the magic in the Gori surged out of my body, it felt as if it were being pulled and twisted by countless invisible hands, and every inch it spread outward required many times more power than usual.