Harry Potter: Fire Lord Black

Edward did not stand on ceremony; he pulled out the chair, sat down, and picked up the cake to stuff into his mouth. He had always wolfed down his food in the Muggle world and knew nothing of table manners. Cake crumbs fell all over the table, and cream smeared the corners of his mouth. His eating habits were certainly not elegant.

"Hmph, what a poorly bred Muggle way of doing things."

In a portrait at the end of the dining table, Walburga Black spoke coldly, her disdain overflowing, "How could Regulus have such a vulgar child? It's a complete disgrace to the House of Black."

The old man with the white beard next to her chimed in: "It's one thing that his eating habits are ugly, but look at that starving-ghost look of his. I'm afraid he never had a full meal in the Muggle world, did he?"

Other portraits followed suit, whispering, their mean words buzzing like mosquitoes.

Kreacher's face flushed red, and he was about to retort when Edward raised a hand to stop him.

Edward wiped the cream from the corners of his mouth unhurriedly, looked up at the portraits, his light gray eyes calm, even carrying a hint of faint mockery: "At least I can sit here and eat openly, unlike some people who are trapped in frames forever, not even knowing what cake tastes like."

As soon as these words were spoken, the dining room fell silent instantly.

Walburga Black was so angry her face turned purple. She slapped the frame and cursed shrilly: "You ill-bred brat! How dare you speak to me like that!"

Edward, however, couldn't be bothered to deal with her anymore. He finished the cup of hot milk on his own. The warm liquid slid down his throat, soothing the chill in his stomach. He put down the cup and stood up: "I'm done. Let's go to the library."

Kreacher, suppressing a laugh until his shoulders shook, hurriedly nodded: "Yes, Master Edward! The library is on the second floor!"

The library was even larger than Edward had imagined. Huge bookshelves stretched from the floor to the ceiling, filled with thick ancient books. Some of the covers were yellowed and worn, exuding an aura of time. Sunlight shone through the stained-glass windows, casting mottled light and shadows on the floor, and dust danced in the light like tiny sprites.

Edward's eyes brightened; this was the first time he had seen so many books. He walked quickly to the bookshelf, brushing his hand over the spines. As his fingertips touched the cold paper, a strange excitement welled up in his heart.

"A History of Magic", "Origins of Ancient magic", "Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them"... unfamiliar book titles came into view. Edward randomly pulled out "Standard Book of Spells, Grade 1" and squatted on the floor to flip through it.

He read very carefully, frowning and pondering when he encountered words he didn't recognize, occasionally looking up to ask Kreacher a few questions. Kreacher stood to the side, answering his questions patiently, his eyes full of adoration.

After an unknown amount of time, Edward closed the book and looked at Kreacher, asking the question that had been circling in his heart: "Kreacher, my father... Regulus, what kind of person was he? Why was I left in the Muggle world?"

Kreacher's eyes dimmed, and his cloudy eyes welled up with moisture. He sighed, his voice low and hoarse: "Master Regulus... he was a good child, very soft-hearted. When he was young, he would secretly bring home injured kittens from the alley to apply medicine; he couldn't even bear to step on an ant."

He paused, lost in nostalgic memories: "At that time, the Dark Lord's name spread throughout the wizarding world. Everyone said he could lead pure-blood wizards to the pinnacle. The master was still small then, blinded by those flattering words, worshipping his power, thinking that by following him, he could protect the glory of the House of Black. That was why he joined that terrible organization."

"But not long after, the master regretted it." Kreacher's voice choked up, and cloudy tears streamed down his cheeks, "He saw the Dark Lord leading Death Eaters to slaughter the innocent. Those defenseless Muggles, those half-blood wizards who refused to submit, were all tortured to the point of wishing they were dead, or even killed directly. That was not honor at all; it was complete and utter brutality! The master's heart was so soft, how could he endure such things? That was why he made up his mind to betray him."

"Later on..." Kreacher's voice was as light as a wisp of smoke, "To destroy one of the Dark Lord's objects, the master sacrificed himself. Kreacher watched him with his own eyes... fall into that cold lake, and he never came back up."

Edward gripped the book in his hand tightly, his knuckles turning slightly white, and his heart twinged for no reason.

He remained silent for a few seconds, then suddenly looked up and asked, his light gray eyes filled with scrutiny: "The 'master' you spoke of, is that the Dark Lord Dumbledore mentioned? Where is he now?"

Kreacher's body jolted violently, as if he had heard something extremely terrifying. He hurriedly covered his mouth, his thin voice filled with uncontrollable fear: "Shh - Master Edward! You cannot say that name! You cannot!" He shrank back, his cloudy eyes full of terror, "That Dark Lord... he went to look for trouble with the Potters a few years ago. As a result, James and Lily both died, but only that infant in the cradle survived. The Dark Lord himself had his physical body shattered, his soul scattered, and no one knows his whereabouts!"

"An infant?"

Edward frowned, a clear look of doubt appearing in his light gray eyes for the first time.

Could the Dark Lord, whom his father revered so much and even sacrificed himself for, really be defeated by a helpless infant? This sounded too unbelievable, like an absurd joke.

Kreacher nodded heavily, his tone carrying a hint of disdain, clearly scoffing at this rumor: "It's true, Master Edward. That infant is named Harry Potter. Now the entire wizarding world hails him as the 'Boy Who Lived' and calls him some kind of savior!"

He curled his lips, his withered fingers waving dismissively, and shouted shrilly: "the Potters were originally pure-blood, but James Potter was cut from the same cloth as that traitor Sirius. Instead of associating with good pure-blood wizards, he insisted on marrying Lily Potter, who was Muggle-born! Hmph, a bunch of mixed-blood trash. Even if that child was lucky enough to survive, what good could he be!"

Edward's fingertips paused slightly, and the flame in his sleeve flared suddenly.

Harry Potter.

The Boy-Who-Lived.

He repeated these two words silently in his heart, his brow still furrowed.

Luck? Perhaps. But an infant who could cause the Dark Lord to fail, even if by luck, was special enough.

He didn't ask more about Harry Potter, instead turning his gaze back to Kreacher, his light gray eyes holding a deeper sense of inquiry: "That Dark Lord... just how powerful is he?"

Kreacher's body stiffened again, and this time he shook even more violently. He hurriedly shrank to the side, his withered hands clutching his own clothes tightly, his voice laced with sobbing, as if recalling some extremely terrifying scene: "Powerful... too powerful..."

His voice was extremely low, as if afraid of being heard by something, "His Dark Arts are the most terrifying Kreacher has ever seen! Crucio, Imperio, he could cast them at will! Those he cursed rolled on the ground in pain, not even having the strength to beg for mercy... and his Death Eaters, every one of them is a lunatic!"