13 Chapter 13

Mike lay awake in his dormitory bed, still reeling from the shock of the Fire-Making Spell that Professor Flitwick had demonstrated. He couldn't even recall how he'd managed to return to his dorm from the office.

Magic can do that! Reflecting on how he once believed casting spells was merely about waving a wand and uttering incantations seems absurd now. In hindsight, he realizes he was utterly naive, like a frog in a well.

Today was the first time he truly witnessed the power of magic and understood what it means to be a wizard.

Just consider, how could a group of "superhumans," capable of wielding spells with the might of heavy artillery at their whim, ever see themselves as equals when confronted with "mortals" who lack any magical gifts and seem as insignificant as ants?

Mike even thought it a miracle that humans weren't enslaved or exterminated by wizards before nuclear weapons were invented.

Wizards facing Muggles were like Europeans encountering Indigenous Americans during the colonization of the Americas, not even on the same level in terms of power.

And the fate of those Indigenous peoples, as we well know, was almost entirely wiped out.

Reflecting on the purple flames produced by Flitwick, Mike recalled his mentor's words from his days as a "cook" about how red or orange flames, the most commonly encountered, can reach temperatures around 3000 degrees Celsius.

He explained that as a flame's temperature rises, its color shifts, ultimately reaching the ultraviolet spectrum, invisible to human eyes. Such intense flames could attain temperatures in the tens of thousands of degrees Celsius.

If a mere Fire-Making Spell could achieve such a degree, what about more fearsome spells like Fiendfyre? It could burn indefinitely without a counter-curse, growing stronger over time, its destructive power rivaling nuclear weapons in certain conditions!

Mike longed for such power!

"Compared to this immense magical power, the physical strength and reflexes I initially focused on training, believing them to be significant upon entering this world, now seem utterly insignificant."

With these thoughts, Mike was too excited to sleep.

But he had no clue about the meditation and sensing the flow of magic that Flitwick mentioned.

Firstly, sensing the flow of magic.

Flitwick's advice seemed to suggest feeling the flow during spellcasting. Yet, when Mike cast spells, it was always a simple wave and incantation, never sensing any magic.

Mike thought he might have missed it before, so he casually cast a Lumos, but like before, felt nothing.

Now, Mike was perplexed. According to Flitwick, one must be fully in control of their own magic to amplify magical power. But how could Mike control his magic if he couldn't even sense it?

After several more attempts, casting nearly every spell he knew, the results were disappointing.

Other than exhausting himself, he didn't sense any hint of the so-called magic flow, leading Mike to question his own talent.

Sensing magic might be a talent, like his inherent luck, and those without it, no matter how hard they try, might never perceive magic.

But Mike didn't give up. After all, he was so lucky that even being killed could lead to a rebirth. If sensing magic truly required talent, then he must possess it.

After all, good luck can indeed make anything possible.

Mike tenaciously sifted through his memories in search of the elusive sensation of magic from his previous experiences with spellcasting.

As he sifted through his memories, Mike again confirmed that he had never felt this so-called magic flow during spellcasting. When he was about to tear his hair out in frustration, an idea struck him.

It didn't have to be during spellcasting!

Compared to the formulaic casting of spells with the help of incantations and a wand, magical outbursts that caused supernatural phenomena were something he accomplished without any external aid. Perhaps the magic flow during such outbursts was easier to detect?

Mike immediately recalled his most recent magical outburst, which occurred at the Leaky Cauldron.

Despite being consumed with rage at the time, determined to end that wizard, he faintly recalled a sensation as if a force was unleashed from within him, akin to the flow of water!

Having found a glimmer of hope, Mike almost immediately wanted to induce a magical outburst to experiment, but reason held him back. If he caused a magical outburst in the dorm, it would definitely lead to big trouble.

He knew Professor Flitwick had explicitly warned him not to experiment with magic in the dorm. Although Flitwick's tone seemed somewhat joking at the time, Mike didn't think it was a joke.

Teachers prefer students who are both high-achieving and obedient. And Mike had already caused Flitwick some trouble during the day; causing an explosion in the dorm at night, despite the warning, would undoubtedly upset him.

He decided to postpone the experiment for later, with an ideal location in mind: the Room of Requirement!

Controlling his impulses, Mike decided to experiment in the Room of Requirement the next day. Although finding it so quickly might attract the attention of Dumbledore, time waits for no one.

As he grew older, magical outbursts became increasingly rare. Initially, Mike even had to actively suppress his emotions to prevent such outbursts.

During his days at Hogwarts, even when he let go of his emotional control and even used emotional casting techniques, he didn't trigger a single magical outburst.

At this point, Mike seriously doubted whether he could still induce a magical outburst.

Having planned his activities for the next day, Mike began to ponder another keyword mentioned by Professor Flitwick: meditation.

Mike had no prior experience with meditation, his knowledge of it coming solely from Amanda, his wife in his previous life.

He remembered her yoga obsession phase, a time marred not just by her affair with her damn yoga instructor but also by her hours spent in stillness, sitting cross-legged on a yoga mat. Whenever Mike inquired about her activities, she would simply say she was meditating.

Could meditation simply be sitting cross-legged with closed eyes?

Mike tried to mimic Amanda's posture from his memory and sat on the bed. However, it wasn't long before sleepiness overcame him.

His head, with its full head of golden hair, nodded off gradually until, with a heavy nod, Mike fell asleep.