"Professor Flitwick wrote this himself?"
"Yeah, he did. His signature's right there." Rock nodded, his face calm as he looked at Mrs. Pince.
Mrs. Pince double-checked the slip—his name, the title of the book he wanted—and fixed Rock with her sharp, hawk-like stare. After a moment, she gave a very reluctant nod.
"I'll go get it."
She left Rock standing there and walked toward the Restricted Section.
A moment later she came back, moving slowly, and handed Rock a thin book bound in dark-purple leather.
Rock thanked her and took it. There was no title on the spine—just a single odd-looking symbol.
A… moon making a goofy face?
When his fingers brushed against it, the entire book trembled—just slightly—like it was breathing.
"Remember: no tearing, staining, scratching, or damaging this book in any way. Otherwise, I will ensure you face the most dreadful consequences my authority allows."
"Professor Flitwick's slip allows you one month. I expect it back here exactly one month from today."
Maybe because the book came from the Restricted Section, Mrs. Pince stressed the rules again.
"Yes, thank you, ma'am."
Rock nodded quickly, promising he understood. He gently tucked the book into his backpack and hurried out of the library under her watchful eyes.
---
Back in his dorm, Theo and Adam were nowhere to be seen.
But half the food they'd brought back from the kitchen was gone, with a single serving left neatly on his desk.
They'd probably eaten and then run off to goof around in some corner of the common room. Rock hadn't paid attention when he came in.
He was still stuffed from dinner in the kitchen earlier, so he wasn't hungry. He set down his backpack and pulled out the library book.
Rock hopped onto his bed and placed the book on the windowsill.
The book—which had trembled in the library—was now perfectly still. He wasn't surprised. He opened it.
And froze.
The words were moving, wriggling across the parchment like tiny living creatures.
How was he supposed to read this?
Mrs. Pince definitely didn't warn him about this.
Then Rock remembered something. He closed the book and looked again at the spine—the moon that had made a goofy face.
It only reacted after he touched it earlier, right?
Curious, he reached out and lightly scratched at the symbol.
Skritch, skritch—
A small patch of cloud swirled over the moon's face, covering it. The book trembled again, stronger this time, and Rock was now absolutely certain—it was breathing.
He opened it again. Sure enough, the letters had settled down and stayed still.
So… he had to make the moon hide before reading?
Rock rubbed his temples. Honestly, from the outside, the book looked less like a spellbook and more like some magical prank toy.
Remembering how Professor Flitwick described the book as "too absurd," Rock's curiosity finally kicked in.
The inner cover—the page with the moving letters—turned out to be the book's frontispiece. The handwriting was messy, like someone had scribbled it in as an afterthought.
---
— Warning: This book is not for those seeking answers. It is for those who enjoy questions… and overturning them.
If you want stable, reliable magic, close this immediately.
If you're the type who wonders, "What if…?" then welcome.
But bring a good sense of humor and a spare clean robe.
(If you don't have one, kindly return the book.)
— G.G
---
Well… now he understood what Professor Flitwick meant. To some people, this page alone was ridiculous enough.
Rock shook his head and turned the page.
The paper felt strange. He'd assumed a book this thin wouldn't have many pages.
But the pages were incredibly light and thin, yet tough. After a rough estimate, he figured ten pages of this material equaled one normal sheet of parchment.
"What is this stuff? So thin… but the ink from the front page didn't bleed through at all."
He checked the back of the frontispiece—clean. Not even a hint of smudging.
Then came the preface.
---
To the reader who found this book by chance—or by fate:
Have you ever felt bored of casting a perfect Lumos in Charms class?
Ever wondered why the Levitation Charm must lift things gracefully instead of wobbling around like a drunk?
Rock frowned. He'd underestimated this. These lines were even stranger than the warning page.
Sensing his thoughts, the book's breathing slowed again.
Rock quickly scratched the moon. "Hey, buddy, I'm just venting here—don't take it so personally."
The book resumed its normal rhythm.
Rock slapped his own cheeks lightly, giving himself a pep-talk.
Enough complaining. Whatever happens—you read it. No snark.
He focused on the preface again.
---
This isn't heresy, nor is it a guide to dangerous magic.
It is a travel diary of "spell possibilities."
I recorded every childish yet stubborn question that kept me awake at night, staring at classic spells and asking:
"What if… it didn't work the way it's supposed to?"
You'll find that many variations are "failures"—at least by O.W.L. standards.
But are they truly failures?
If a Lumos only lights up things you already know, is it not teaching you that when facing the unknown—things you cannot illuminate—you must turn inward instead?
Magic isn't a formula. It isn't just waving a wand and chanting words.
It is the language you negotiate with the world.
Every standard spell has been polished over thousands of years into a shared language.
But speak a dialect now and then, twist a phrase, or let your tongue slip—and you might glimpse the deeper structure behind the language, the hidden grin beneath it.
All experiments in this book were conducted safely, with no injuries—and only after I'd fully mastered the original spell.
If you start feeling strange, don't worry.
It just means your thinking is becoming… let's say, "special"—like this book.
Not magical backlash.
May your wand always stay curious.
— Grimold "The Sophist" Garn
(Written on an afternoon when a Mending Charm accidentally turned my teapot into a pocket watch. Honestly, it made my day.)
---
Rock let out a slow breath. This preface alone had hooked him.
"Interesting…"