Under Robert's steady gaze, the pot of Goldfish Vine bathed in the shimmering hues of the blue-purple Frequency Light Spell didn't appear all that different at first glance. However, the magical aura it emitted felt subtly more vibrant than the control group's.
A flicker of excitement lit up Robert's eyes.
He double-checked the setup, ensuring that all variables were controlled and no external interferences could account for the change. Only after rigorous confirmation did he arrive at a preliminary conclusion:
The blue-purple spectrum emitted by the Frequency Light Spell noticeably promoted the growth of Goldfish Vine—by approximately five percent.
That may not sound groundbreaking, but in the field of magical botany, even minor advancements could lead to significant long-term gains.
If he could fine-tune the spectrum—locating the precise optimal frequency—the estimated growth effect might increase to seven or even eight percent. With a bit of luck and precision, the enhancement might even reach ten percent.
Robert exhaled slowly, pleased.
It wasn't earth-shattering. It wouldn't go down in wizarding history. But it was a result. And in academic research, tangible results—however modest—were always valuable.
Accumulative growth, even at a ten percent increase, could yield substantial outcomes over time.
It made all the effort he put into acquiring the Frequency Light Spell worthwhile.
He even considered drafting a paper on this discovery, listing Professor Sprout and Professor Flitwick as corresponding authors. A publication in a leading Herbology journal within the magical world seemed within reach.
Because in academia, as Robert well understood, implementation was more valuable than ambition. Novelty mattered, yes, but so did execution.
Expecting groundbreaking results from a single, undeveloped concept? That was unrealistic.
True academic achievement was born of persistence, failure, revision—and deep reserves of knowledge.
He remembered stories from his previous life—of a certain agricultural scholar who pioneered a new crop species with an unconventional theory. That scholar published in top journals, collected awards, and basked in prestige.
But the backstory, shared only among academic circles, painted a different picture.
That great researcher had failed numerous times, pivoted their research focus multiple times, and only then—after years of groundwork—achieved their celebrated success.
It was the same story in other fields. Robert recalled late-night barbecues with the materials science students next door. While they tinkered with refining magical 'elixirs', they'd joke with envy about how a graphene specialist had isolated single-layer graphene with adhesive tape and won a Nobel Prize.
Or how another researcher had mimicked the structure of bird droppings to create biomimetic graphene—then published their work in a top-tier journal and returned home as a celebrated "Youth Thousand Talents" scholar.
Yet these same students would shake their heads, knowing that such success stories made everything look easy. They weren't. Far from it.
Even with access to the original ideas, most researchers wouldn't achieve the same results without the foundational work already in place.
Robert understood. Academia was a battlefield where failure reigned supreme, and success came by accident—an accident prepared by tenacity and unseen labor.
That's why he was satisfied with this modest breakthrough.
Only three magical plants remained untested: Blood Emerald, Protective Tree, and Piranha Weed.
But Blood Emerald was far too rare—Professor Sprout had the only known specimen.
Robert wouldn't dare experiment on it. One wrong move, and the damage would be irreversible.
As for the Protective Tree, his magic perception wasn't yet sufficient to handle its complex aura.
That left Piranha Weed.
Robert instinctively rejected the idea.
His aunt had warned him explicitly: Piranha Weed was fatally sensitive to light. It perished instantly under exposure.
"Is there even a point in testing it?" he muttered.
"Wouldn't that just be a waste of precious seeds?"
With that thought, Robert began to walk away from the greenhouse. He had other tasks demanding his attention. For something with a predetermined outcome, repeating the experiment seemed pointless.
But just as he passed through the greenhouse door, he stopped.
He took a long, measured breath.
Then turned on his heel and walked back in.
Years of academic training had taught him one thing: "Impossible" was rarely absolute.
Progress—true, meaningful progress—came from daring to challenge what others deemed unchangeable.
He'd never made it far in his past life's academic career, but that single concept had stayed with him. That creed had shaped every inquiry he ever undertook.
So, despite all warnings, Robert prepared a new set of experiments.
He retrieved his remaining Piranha Weed seeds and set up two distinct conditions:Control Group: No light, as per traditional cultivation requirements.Experimental Group: Exposed to varying light intensities, spanning from weak red to strong purple wavelengths.He arranged them in a linear gradient, from minimal red light to maximum purple light. Some were even illuminated under faint Lumos spells.
The control group responded predictably. Once the seeds touched water in the dark, their fronds unfurled with visible vitality.
Robert's eyes turned to the experimental group.
Even under the faintest glimmer of Lumos, the Piranha Weed seeds perished on contact. As expected.
He had dimmed the spell to its lowest intensity—barely enough for the naked eye to perceive. And yet, the light still proved fatal.
Robert frowned.
"Is their light sensitivity truly this extreme?"
He was about to record the results when something caught his eye.
The speed at which the seeds perished—and their physical condition post-exposure—differed depending on the wavelength.
Under the purple spectrum, the seeds died faster. Some were scorched, showing shriveled husks and blackened skin.
But those under the red spectrum?
They died slower. Some even began to unfurl their fronds before succumbing.
Robert's heart skipped a beat.
Could it be...?
He scanned toward the test tube at the extreme end of the red spectrum, under the lowest light intensity.
Here, although the seeds died, their fronds were fully open—something not seen in the other experimental tubes.
And as the light intensity increased, not only did more seeds begin to unfurl before death, but eventually, under the highest red-light condition...
One seed remained alive.
Robert leaned in.
"It's alive?" he whispered in disbelief.
A wave of realization surged through him.
Perhaps Piranha Weed wasn't afraid of light—it was just selective.
"What if," he thought aloud, "Piranha Weed is actually light-loving... but only under an extremely narrow frequency range?"
"In darkness, it reproduces using one mechanism. But when exposed to the right kind of light—perhaps infrared—it enters a more evolved growth state."
He clenched his fists.
"If I can provide that precise light spectrum... it might grow even faster than in darkness!"
He already knew what light frequency this might be. In Muggle terms, the range would fall in the infrared spectrum—invisible to the human eye.
And within the Frequency Light Spell, this frequency had already been demonstrated by Professor Flitwick—completely invisible light with magical properties.
Robert took out his wand and tried to replicate the spell in that specific, invisible frequency.
But no matter how hard he tried, the output was unstable—flickering erratically.
He eventually stopped, sighing.
"My magical perception isn't refined enough yet."
Then his eyes fell on the system panel in front of him.
The progress bar for [Magic Perception Enhancement] was more than halfway to silver level.
Thanks to all his recent work—trimming broom bristles, grinding potion ingredients, harvesting Goldfish Vines—it wouldn't be long before it advanced.
Maybe three days. Five at most.
When that time came, he'd have the sensitivity needed to cast the spell in the exact invisible spectrum he theorized.
If his theory proved correct...
The cultivation method for Piranha Weed could be completely revolutionized.
Its growth rate might increase exponentially.
And if paired with offensive spells like Sectumsempra, it could produce devastating magical effects—turning a humble plant into a deadly ally.
His pulse quickened.
Without wasting another second, Robert grabbed his notes and hurried toward Snape's office, mind spinning with possibilities.
If this experiment succeeded, it wouldn't just be a paper—it would be a legacy.
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