Harry Potter: Fire Lord Black

"They followed the Dark Lord, burning, killing, looting, torturing Muggles, persecuting half-blood wizards and Mudbloods, torturing those who resisted them until they wished they were dead, or directly... directly killing them!" Kreacher's voice trembled, "Their robes were all marked with the dark mark. As long as the Dark Lord summoned them, no matter how far away they were, they would arrive immediately and commit every evil deed!"

He choked, suddenly looking up, staring fixedly at Edward, his eyes full of urgent admonition: "Master Edward, you must be careful! If you ever hear that name in the wizarding world, or see the dark mark, you must hide immediately! You must never let them find you!"

Edward listened quietly, his light gray eyes still showing no ripples, but the flame in his sleeve had quietly extinguished at some point.

He could feel from Kreacher's fear just how terrifying that Dark Lord and his Death Eaters were.

So this wizarding world not only had ancient books and spells but also so many hidden dangers.

"Got it." Edward responded indifferently, turning the book in his hand back to the first page, his fingertips sliding over the cold paper pages, "Let's continue reading."

In the time that followed, under Kreacher's guidance, Edward settled his heart to flip through those most basic magical texts. From the history of wizard development in "A History of Magic" to the principles of simple spells in "Standard Book of Spells, Grade 1", he read with exceptional focus, not even noticing the light outside the window gradually dimming. Kreacher stood by, occasionally handing him another relevant book, occasionally answering his naive questions in a low voice. The library was filled only with the rustling sound of turning pages, unnervingly quiet.

Until the moonlight shone through the stained-glass windows, casting a hazy patch of light on the pages, Kreacher coughed softly and reminded him in a low voice: "Master Edward, it's late. There is bloodline verification tomorrow, and Narcissa will be coming. You should go rest."

Edward then looked up, rubbed his sore eyes, looked at the night outside the window, nodded, and carefully put the book back on the bookshelf.

Kreacher led him to a bedroom on the second floor. The room was laid with soft velvet bedding, and a warm flame was burning in the fireplace, a world of difference from the drafty apartment he had lived in in the Muggle world. Edward lay on the bed with no expression. Kreacher tucked him in, gave a few more instructions about the etiquette to pay attention to tomorrow, and then bowed and retreated, gently closing the door.

The bedroom was left with only the sound of the firewood crackling in the fireplace.

Edward kept his eyes open, staring at the flickering shadows of the candlelight on the ceiling, but his mind began to surge uncontrollably.

He thought of the brutal and powerful Dark Lord in Kreacher's words, thought of the terrifying Dark Arts he could cast at will, thought of the names of the Death Eaters that struck fear into people; then he thought of the boy named Harry Potter, thought of the light yet heavy titles "The Boy Who Lived" and "Savior", and thought of the disdainful tone Kreacher used when mentioning him.

Finally, his thoughts settled on his father, Regulus.

The man who was soft-hearted enough to apply medicine to an injured kitten, the man who had once worshipped the Dark Lord's power, the man who chose to betray him because he couldn't stand the slaughter of the innocent, and finally perished in the cold lake.

Was his death worth it?

Edward did not know the answer.

He only knew that in this perilous wizarding world, weakness meant being slaughtered - just like he had once been while drifting in the Muggle world, just like those who were wantonly trampled by the Dark Lord and the Death Eaters, and even like his father, who was soft-hearted but ultimately perished.

An extremely strong desire suddenly emerged from the depths of his heart, like the flame that had once flickered in his sleeve, burning brighter and brighter.

He wanted power.

He wanted power strong enough to protect himself, strong enough to control his own destiny.

The moonlight outside the window, through the window lattice, fell silently on the boy's face, reflecting a light in his eyes that had never been there before, almost scorching.

Morning light filtered through the clerestory windows of 12 Grimmauld Place, casting fine golden rays onto the floor of the entrance hall, barely dispelling the shadows that had lingered in the old house for years.

Edward had woken up early, still wearing the old clothes he had brought from the Muggle world - a faded cotton shirt, trousers with worn-out edges, and it looked completely out of place in this ancient, luxurious manor. Just as he reached the stairs, he was bumped into by Kreacher, who was guarding the spot.

"Oh! Master Edward!" Kreacher's eyes widened instantly, his withered fingers pointing at his clothes, his shrill voice filled with heartache, "Why are you still wearing these Muggle rags! No, no! How can this be worthy of the House of Black!"

Before the words had even faded, Kreacher waved his hands and began to chant a spell, and a soft silver light flashed over his body. Before he could react, the old clothes on him quietly faded away, replaced by a well-tailored Black wizard robe, with an exquisite silver thorn emblem embroidered on the collar, the fabric soft yet structured, making his slightly thin figure look a bit more coldly noble.

"This was Master Regulus's robe when he was young, and Kreacher has kept it well!" Kreacher leaned forward, carefully smoothing out the wrinkles on the hem of the robe, his cloudy eyes full of relief, "Just right! The Master Edward looks exactly like Master Regulus when he wears it!"

He lowered his eyes to scan the clothes on his body, his fingertips brushing over the thorn emblem on the collar, the cold metallic touch seeping into his heart. For more than a decade of displacement in the Muggle world, he had lived with the name "Edward", which was the only mark of his own that he could grasp while struggling in the mud. And from now on, he had another name - Edward Black.

Kreacher, however, seemed to have put down a huge worry, bustling back and forth in the entrance hall, wiping the silver candlesticks until they were spotless, and spreading a dark-patterned black velvet tablecloth on the central round table, upon which two white magical candles for blood verification were solemnly placed. He looked up at him from time to time, muttering, "Madam Narcissa and Lucius will be here soon, Master Edward, don't be nervous, the blood verification is very simple, just drip a drop of blood..."

He didn't answer, just walked to the family tapestry and stood still, his gaze falling on the patterns with golden names, his fingertips unconsciously rubbing his sleeves, where a faint flame was hidden, quietly lying dormant. That flame, like the name "Edward", was a mark carved into his bones and blood.

Just then, a slight fluctuation in the air came - a sign of Apparition.

There was a sound like a crack in the open space of the entrance hall, and after the halos dissipated, the figures of three people clearly emerged. Walking in the front was Lucius Malfoy, wearing a well-tailored ivory-white wizard robe, his platinum blonde hair combed meticulously, his expression carrying a natural nobility, yet his eyes did not have the arrogance of typical pure-blood nobles. Beside him, Narcissa wore a dress in the same color, the hem embroidered with fine silver threads, her temperament elegant and gentle, her brows and eyes carrying a natural softness. Behind them followed a boy of similar age, also with dazzling platinum blonde hair, his chin slightly raised, his eyes carrying the unique arrogance of a teenager, and it was none other than Draco Malfoy.

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