Harry Potter: Fire Lord Black

Dumbledore's footsteps were very light as he followed behind Edward, treading on the creaking stairs.

When he pushed open the unlocked wooden door, a thick, musty odor rushed to meet him, and Dumbledore's brow furrowed almost imperceptibly.

The apartment was pitifully small; a tattered sofa occupied most of the space, next to which were piles of old newspapers and empty plastic bottles, and the only window was covered with a piece of rag, the light leaking through it dusty.

In the corner stood a wooden board with a missing leg, covered with a thin blanket; this was likely where Edward slept.

Dumbledore walked to the sofa, raised his wand, and tapped it lightly; the dust on the sofa armrest turned into a wisp of thin smoke and dissipated silently.

His gaze swept slowly over everything, the gentleness in his eyes tinged with a bit of sympathy, before looking at Edward, who stood at the doorway, at a loss.

"You should know what the surname Black means in the wizarding world," Dumbledore's voice was very soft, as if afraid of startling him, "the House of Black is one of the oldest and most prominent pure-blood families in the wizarding world. They have a long history and high prestige; even though the family has declined, it is still an existence that others dare not underestimate."

Edward lifted his eyes, a trace of confusion in his gaze - he did not understand these things, nor did he understand what this surname had to do with him.

Dumbledore looked at his bewildered appearance and continued: "The blood of the House of Black flows in your veins; this is beyond doubt."

The family retains many ancient books recording lineage, as well as some ancient magic for discerning kinship; they might be able to help you find out who your parents are and clarify your true background.

I will notify the people of the House of Black; they will accept you, and at the very least, they will not let you live such a life of hunger and homelessness again."

After hearing this, Edward finally had a visible reaction.

He took half a step back, his back pressing against the cold doorframe, a look of vigilance crawling back onto his face, his voice as cold as the wind outside the window: "I will not go."

These three short words carried an unquestionable resolve.

He never trusted the goodwill of strangers, let alone a family he had never met.

The years of displacement had taught him that all unearned gifts hid an invisible price behind them.

Dumbledore seemed to have anticipated his refusal; not only was he not angry, but he chuckled softly, slowly paced to the window, raised his hand to lift the rag, and let the golden glow of the sunset flood into this dim little room.

"I do not mean to force you to return to the family immediately," Dumbledore turned around, his gaze falling on Edward's white-knuckled fingers, "but aren't you curious?"

Why do you, someone who possesses magic, live in the Muggle world?

And where did your parents go?

These answers can only be found by yourself."

Edward's eyelashes trembled violently.

This was the first time in eleven years that he had heard someone clearly articulate the deepest questions in his heart.

"The doors of Hogwarts are always open to you," Dumbledore's voice carried a strange, soothing power, "Even if you are unwilling to see the people of the House of Black, I can help you arrange everything for enrollment."

"You can choose to continue being yourself, or try to be Edward Black."

"The choice is in your hands."

The light of the setting sun wrapped around the boy's thin figure; at his fingertips, hidden in his sleeves, a faint flame was quietly flickering, like a hesitant, unyielding star that refused to go out.

Dumbledore looked at him, his smile gentle and patient, and said nothing more.

He knew that some seeds had already quietly taken root in the boy's heart.

The golden glow of the setting sun crawled slowly across the floor, stretching the shadows of the scattered plastic bottles into long, thin shapes.

Edward remained leaning against the doorframe, his fingertips inside his sleeves burning slightly; the tiny flame flickered on and off, much like his own wavering thoughts.

Dumbledore did not press him further, simply walking slowly over to the dilapidated wooden bed. His gaze swept over the holes worn into the thin blanket, the gentleness in his eyes deepening with a touch of pity.

He knew very well that a child who had struggled in the Muggle world for eleven years would only be filled with wariness, not longing, at the word "family."

"You do not need to rush your decision," Dumbledore said, turning around. His voice remained gentle but carried a hint of seriousness. "I think you should know the current state of the House of Black - it might help you decide whether or not you wish to contact them."

Edward's eyelids twitched. He did not look up, but he quietly pricked up his ears.

"the House of Black was once one of the most prominent pure-blood families in the wizarding world. The ancestral home is located in London at Grimmauld Place - a magnificent manor housing countless treasures and ancient books." Dumbledore's voice carried a faint sense of nostalgia. "But over the years, this family has withered away into a shadow of its former self."

He paused, as if organizing his thoughts, or perhaps giving Edward time to process the information.

"Sirius Black is currently the most famous person in the family, but he is now imprisoned in Azkaban, charged with betrayal and murder. The rest of the family members have either perished in the struggle following the Dark Lord, or have gone into hiding, their whereabouts unknown." Dumbledore's gaze fell upon Edward's lowered profile. "the House of Black today has a prominent name and substantial wealth, but it is thinly populated, and even the continuation of its bloodline has become a problem."

Edward's fingertips trembled violently, and the flame in his sleeve nearly leaped out. He clenched his fists instinctively, his heart skipping a beat uncontrollably.

Thinly populated... bloodline continuation... These two terms felt like needles, pricking into that pitch-black void in his mind, stirring up a faint, sharp itch.

"You are of the blood of the House of Black; this is a fact clearly marked in the Book of Admissions." Dumbledore saw through his wavering, his voice softening further. "To the current House of Black, your appearance is not a threat, but a continuation. As long as you complete a simple blood verification - it is just an ancient magic ritual and will not cause you any harm - they will welcome you wholeheartedly."

Edward finally raised his head. For the first time, there was a visible emotion in his light gray eyes - it was confusion, but also a hint of imperceptible inquiry.

"Wealth, ancient books, connections... everything the House of Black has accumulated over hundreds of years will open its doors to you." Dumbledore looked into his eyes, saying every word clearly. "You will no longer need to scavenge for plastic bottles to trade for bread, nor live in this drafty apartment. More importantly, they can provide you with the most comprehensive information on the wizarding world, helping you familiarize yourself faster with a world that should have been yours all along."

He paused, emphasizing his tone: "Including helping you find clues about your parents."

This sentence struck Edward's heart like a bolt of lightning. Finding clues about his parents.

This was the deepest longing he had hidden in his heart for eleven years, an obsession he dared not easily touch even himself. Those blurry fragments, that pair of warm hands, that whisper as light as the wind... He had never known what they were, only that every time he thought of them, a hollow ache would well up in his chest.