Harry Potter: Fire Lord Black

"I..." Edward opened his mouth, his voice hoarse. This was the first time he had spoken in front of Dumbledore. "How do I know... that what you say is true?"

His tone was full of wariness, but it lacked some of the coldness from before.

Dumbledore smiled, the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes bunching together like two blooming chrysanthemums.

"magic never lies, and the bonds of blood even less so." He gently waved the wand in his hand, the faint light at its tip flickering. "You can go to Hogwarts first, learn about the wizarding world at your own pace, and then decide whether you want to meet the people of the House of Black. The blood verification can be postponed, and I will arrange your enrollment properly."

Edward was stunned. He had never thought he could have another choice. He had assumed Dumbledore would force him to return to the family, force him to accept that strange surname. Yet the old man before him had given him the greatest leeway.

The sunset gradually sank, and the light in the room grew dimmer. The flame in Edward's sleeve brightened, illuminating his pale cheeks. He looked at Dumbledore's gentle eyes, then at the darkening sky outside the window; his mind was a mess, like a spiderweb scattered by the wind.

To refuse meant continuing to live a life of starvation, never knowing who he was or where his parents had gone.

To agree meant stepping into a completely strange world, making contact with a family he had never met, and bearing that inexplicable name - Edward Black.

Dumbledore watched his struggle and said nothing more. He knew that for this child, this was a life-changing choice that needed time to digest.

The evening breeze crept in through the window cracks, carrying a hint of chill. Edward clenched his fists, and the flame in his sleeve suddenly flared up an inch, casting a patch of dancing orange-red light in the dim little room.

He took a deep breath and finally raised his head, a flash of determination in his light gray eyes.

"If you can swear that what you say is true, then I am willing to try to make contact and return to the House of Black." Edward's voice was still hoarse, but it carried an unquestionable firmness. "Because this is inevitable, and it is only a matter of time."

The smile on Dumbledore's face deepened. He raised his wand and spoke solemnly, his voice gentle yet carrying the specific gravity of magic, every word wrapped in heavy power: "I, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, do hereby swear that everything I have just said is true, without a single word of falsehood."

The moment the oath was made, a faint silver light flashed at the tip of his wand, like a star falling into the night, dissipating silently into the air.

Edward's tensed shoulders visibly relaxed, and the flame in his sleeve also softened, no longer so restless.

Seeing this, Dumbledore simply nodded with satisfaction, making no extra movements. He looked up at the twilight sinking outside the window, then turned and walked toward the door, his voice soft and gentle: "I will notify the people of the House of Black to come and pick you up immediately. You can just wait here for news in peace."

His snow-white robes brushed against the doorframe, stirring up a breeze. The old man's figure soon disappeared at the creaking stairwell, leaving behind only a light sentence echoing in the empty room: "Good luck, child."

The room returned to silence, with only the wailing of the evening breeze sweeping through the window cracks remaining.

Edward stood where he was, not moving for a long time. He slowly raised his hand, looking at the quietly burning flame in his palm; his heart felt as if it had been gently scratched by something. For the first time in eleven years, he experienced the emotion of "anticipation," even if this anticipation was still wrapped in thick layers of trepidation.

That night, Edward hardly slept.

He lay on the hard bed, listening to the wind outside, his mind repeatedly replaying Dumbledore's words. House of Black, blood verification, clues about his parents... These strange terms pieced themselves together like fragments, weaving a net whose outline he could not see. The flame in his palm flickered on and off, reflecting the bewilderment and glimmer in his eyes.

When the sky was just barely brightening, Edward finally drifted into a light sleep.

He did not know how much time had passed when a soft but persistent knocking on the door startled him awake from his stupor.

Edward's nerves tightened instantly. He sat up abruptly, clenching his fists instinctively, and the flame in his palm shot up. He held his breath, listening to the movement outside the door. The knocking did not become urgent; it remained a slow, steady rhythm, carrying a strange sense of politeness.

He tiptoed to the door and looked out through the crack.

In the morning light stood a creature he had never seen before.

It was a short, hunched figure, likely only half his height, with large bat-like ears drooping down. A protruding, potato-like nose occupied half of its face, and its skin was an unhealthy, dull yellow. It wore a patched tea towel, standing barefoot on the steps, its withered, thin fingers gently tapping on the door panel.

Edward's heart skipped a beat, and he instinctively wanted to retreat.

He hesitated for a few seconds before slowly pulling the door open.

As soon as the door opened a crack, the short creature raised its head, its murky eyes landing straight on Edward's face.

The next second, the creature seemed to have been hit by a freezing spell, frozen in place. A few seconds later, it suddenly let out a sharp, hoarse sob, and tears instantly welled up in its murky eyes, streaming down its deeply furrowed cheeks.

"Master Regulus..." It trembled, extending a withered hand, wanting to touch Edward's cheek, but stopping in mid-air, as if afraid of disturbing some precious treasure. "Too alike... too much like Master Regulus..."

Edward was stunned, his fingers gripping the doorframe tightening slightly.

Regulus? He vaguely remembered Dumbledore mentioning this name.

"K-Kreacher... is ordered to come and pick you up..." The creature choked back sobs, its voice full of indescribable excitement and nostalgia. It bowed deeply, a standard ninety-degree bow, the tattered tea towel sweeping across the floor. "Welcome home... Master Edward..."

Edward released the doorframe he had been gripping tightly, and the flame at his fingertips settled down completely, leaving only a hint of warmth. He lowered his eyes, his light gray gaze devoid of emotion, simply looking at the strange creature before him. In a hoarse voice, he asked with a flat tone: "Are you... really from the House of Black?"

"Kreacher is a house-elf of the House of Black!" Kreacher raised its head abruptly, its voice sharp but carrying a hint of unquestionable pride, its withered hand patting its shriveled chest. "Kreacher has been guarding Grimmauld Place since birth, guarding Master Regulus!"

When mentioning Regulus's name, its voice suddenly softened, and its murky eyes welled up with water again, muttering in a fragmented way: "Master Edward loved feeding the owls in the yard when he was little... Your brows and eyes, your nose, exactly like Master Regulus..."

Edward's heart stirred slightly, as fleeting as a wisp of smoke. He remembered Dumbledore mentioning this name; perhaps this was the father he had never met? As soon as this thought emerged, he suppressed it. He pursed his dry, cracked lips and asked again, his tone still without ripples: "Are we leaving now?"

Kreacher nodded vigorously, its mung-bean-like eyes full of eagerness, almost shining. "Leave immediately, Master Edward! The ancestral home has prepared your room, the fireplace is burning warm and cozy, just waiting for you to come home!"