"This is a very dangerous field," Sprout said slowly. "Sound magic, especially when it involves the mental plane, lies in the borderland between profound, complex Dark Magic and White Magic.
Historically, there have indeed been wizards who studied therapeutic rhythms, but most experiments ended in tragedy."
"Because it's hard to control?"
"Because sound is invisible and diffusive," Sprout explained. "You can precisely control the trajectory of a spell, but it is difficult to control the propagation of sound.
Moreover, every person's soul has subtle differences. A treatment that works for you might be deadly poison for me. There is no universal solution."
No, sound can be contained. Physical means can achieve it, so there's no reason magic can't.
Regulus noted this in his mind. No universal solution, but what if there's a way to detect individual souls? What if the rhythm can be customized?
Most importantly, if healing varies from person to person, what about lethality?
I could use it for large-scale lethality.
"One more question, Professor. If the Mandrake's cry is so dangerous, why isn't it affected itself? Or, how do other Mandrakes communicate with each other?"
Sprout smiled. "The questions you are asking now are approaching N.E.W.T.-level research topics.
The short answer is that Mandrakes have their own immunity measures; their hearing is different from wizards'.
As for communication... we aren't sure if they need to communicate. At least, no wizard has successfully translated the Mandrake language, assuming anyone would actually want to try."
She stood up and brushed the dirt off her robes. "Keep your curiosity, Mr. Black, but remember: do not attempt anything lightly until you have sufficient knowledge and protection."
"I understand, Professor. Thank you," Regulus said with sincere gratitude.
Regulus also stood up, several ideas flashing through his mind: large-scale lethality, precise lethality, mental damage, physical damage.
And if there was time, mental healing would be a good direction.
The bell rang, and students began to leave the greenhouse. Regulus deliberately slowed down his packing, waiting for the others to get far away.
"Mr. Black," Sprout called out to him as expected. "Could you stay a moment longer?"
"Of course, Professor." Regulus turned and nodded.
The two walked out of the greenhouse and stood on the pebbled path outside the castle. The September wind carried warmth, and fine ripples appeared on the surface of the Black Lake in the distance.
"Your ability to perceive magic is quite unique," Sprout said directly. "Most wizards perceive magic like seeing colors, they know it exists, can distinguish strength, but find it hard to describe details."
Regulus answered cautiously, "For me, magical perception is like having an extra sense. I can see the emotions of the Bubotuber, or more accurately, it's a feeling."
He decided to be partially honest. Sprout was the Head of Hufflepuff, known for being gentle and fair, and she had a profound understanding of plant magic. She was worthy of a certain degree of trust.
Besides, in terms of magical perception ability, he was just outstanding, not particularly special.
Sprout looked toward the greenhouse. "In the innermost part of Greenhouse Two, there is a Whomping Willow sapling. I planted it thirty years ago, during a time when I was going through a... difficult period.
That willow has remained more irritable and aggressive than others of its kind to this day. I've always suspected that my emotions affected it."
Sprout sighed and said seriously, "So I give you a piece of advice: remain sensitive, but do not delve too deeply into dark plants.
Some plants, like Devil's Snare and Venomous Tentacula, especially those variants bred through Dark Magic, accumulate pain, anger, and despair that can backlash against those who perceive them."
She turned to Regulus, her gaze solemn. "Your talent is a gift, but it can also be a curse.
If you encounter something too dark in your perception, cut the connection immediately and come find me or another professor. Do not bear it alone."
"I will remember that, Professor." Regulus looked up at Professor Sprout and nodded steadily.
Regulus could feel that Sprout's warning came from the heart. Perhaps she had seen similar situations, maybe even tragedies.
"Additionally," Sprout's tone softened, "if you are interested in researching plant magic, you can apply to be my assistant after your O.W.L.s.
But for now, build a solid foundation. Every piece of knowledge in the textbooks has its use."
"I will, Professor."
"Go on then. Don't be late for your next class."
That evening, during the free hour before dinner, Regulus took a detour to a small garden on the west side of the castle. Ordinary ornamental plants grew here, nothing magical, and few people usually visited.
He needed to verify an idea.
Daisies, commonly used by wizards as basic potion ingredients.
Regulus found two daisies growing side by side. One was healthy and plump; the other had distinct yellowing edges on its outermost three leaves, likely due to pests or malnutrition.
He crouched down, placing his right hand on the soil at the roots of the healthy daisy and his left hand at the roots of the damaged one.
Closing his eyes, he expanded his magical perception.
The magic of the healthy daisy was warm, steady, and a soft pale gold, like a slowly rotating halo.
The magic of the damaged daisy was much dimmer, its light flickering uncertainly, and the magic in the area of the yellowed leaves was almost stagnant.
Regulus wanted to try guiding the life magic of the healthy daisy to repair the damaged one.
This wasn't a healing spell; a healing spell used the wizard's own magic to forcibly repair the target.
What he wanted to attempt was to act as an intermediary channel, allowing magic to flow naturally between plants.
He extended his own magic into two fine threads: one connecting to the core of the healthy daisy, the other to the damaged area of the unhealthy one.
The threads were extremely subtle to avoid interfering with the plants' own magical cycles.
At the healthy daisy's end, he used his magic to draw slightly, creating a high magical pressure zone. At the damaged daisy's end, he created a low magical pressure zone.
Similar to water flowing downhill, if successful, the healthy daisy's magic should naturally flow toward the damaged area.
But there was no change. The magic of the two plants remained independent, ignoring the pressure difference he created.
Regulus adjusted his method. He recalled the emotional expression of the Bubotuber. Perhaps simple magical pressure wasn't enough; maybe a communication method closer to plant instinct was needed?
He adjusted his magical output, trying to mimic the fluctuations of the healthy daisy.
Five minutes later, a change appeared.
A very faint thread of golden light flowed out from the core of the healthy daisy, moving slowly along Regulus's magical channel. Very slowly.
The thread of light reached the damaged area and seeped into the yellowed leaves.
Regulus held his breath, observing carefully.
The magical flow inside the leaf began to revive. The stagnant magic points were reactivated and began a slow cycle.
It worked, but the efficiency was extremely low.
Ten minutes passed. He had only guided enough repair for about one-tenth of a leaf, while his own magical consumption was considerable.
After persisting for another five minutes, he slowly cut the connection and retracted all his magic.
The yellowed edge of the outermost leaf on the damaged daisy had receded by a small ring, and an area about the size of a fingernail had returned to a fresh green.
But that was all. The other leaves remained the same.
Regulus stood up and rubbed the bridge of his nose. The magical consumption was surprisingly high; the gain was not worth the loss.
But the direction was correct. A key hypothesis had been verified: plant magic could be transferred between individuals.
Furthermore, natural magic, even magic contained in seemingly passive life forms like plants, could also be guided, borrowed, and even harnessed by a wizard's will.
Mandrakes!
Since the mild life magic contained in ordinary daisies could be guided, then did magical plants containing lethal magic, like Mandrakes, follow the same principle?
His mind raced, and an idea formed:
[Reverse Deduction on Mandrake Lethality Based on 'Guidability of Plant Magic']
A Mandrake's cry can kill because it contains powerful destructive magic targeting the soul and body.
The magic in its cry is essentially the same as the life magic of a daisy or the chaotic magic in Bubotuber pus, it is a magical characteristic produced, contained, or released by the plant itself.
It's just that this characteristic is extremely dangerous.
Since the magic of a daisy can be guided and transferred, then theoretically, there should also be a possibility to guide a Mandrake's magic.
But their magical natures are extremely different: one is gentle nourishment, the other violent destruction.
The Mandrake releases lethal magic through the specific method of crying. This seems like an innate magic rooted in its life form.
To bypass the cry and directly contact or guide its source magic might require understanding the operational trajectory or convergence nodes of magic within the plant.
Perhaps he could start by studying the magical characteristics of Mandrake seedlings, observing the trajectory of changes in their magic as they grew.