Harry Potter: Fire Lord Black

Glancing at the dusty "History of Magic" on the shelf, he lowered his voice to a whisper.

"That Dark wizard had great ambition; he wanted wizards to rule the Muggle world and stirred up quite a storm. The number of wizards and Muggles who died by his hand was at least eight hundred, if not a thousand! But in the end, he was still defeated by Dumbledore and locked in the high tower of Nurmengard, never to see the light of day again, unable to even touch the sunlight!"

When mentioning that Dark Lord whose name could not even be spoken, Kreacher's body shrank back even more subconsciously.

He hurriedly covered his mouth, his knuckles turning white from the force, his voice pressed down like the humming of a mosquito, yet still carrying a persistent bias toward pure-blood ideology.

"That... that person, he turned the wizarding world upside down back then, and half the cells in Azkaban were emptied by him! His Dark Arts were extremely powerful; "Dark Arts: A Guide to Self-Protection" doesn't even dare to mention his methods! But he happened to fall into the hands of a baby - hmph, it was just luck! A half-blood brat, actually held up as a savior - it's simply a joke of the wizarding world!"

Edward listened quietly, his fingertips gently stroking the handwriting on the pages, the rough paper rubbing against his pads, carrying the chill of time.

He did not interrupt, nor did he agree; he simply lowered his eyes, keeping every word Kreacher said in his heart.

The history told by the old house-elf with such bias gradually pieced together a bloody picture in his mind, more vivid and cruel than the words on the pages.

The defeated goblin race had their spines broken, reduced to generations of slavery, where even looking up at someone became a luxury; they could only lower their eyes and be submissive amidst the scolding of Wizards, their very breath dependent on their masters' whims.

The legendary villain Grindelwald, who once attempted to sweep the world with magic, with countless followers at his beck and call, ultimately fell at the hands of Dumbledore and was imprisoned in the tower of Nurmengard, accompanied only by cold moonlight through iron bars for the rest of his life, his name gradually forgotten by the world, reduced to mere gossip.

And Dumbledore, simply because he stood on the side of victory, became the Patronus of the wizarding world, his words able to settle storms, a wave of his hand able to calm turmoil, revered by thousands, radiant and glorious, with even the absurdities of his youth whitewashed into legends.

As for that name that once made the wizarding world tremble in silence, it had now become a taboo, a laughingstock, with no remains left, not even a trace.

Meanwhile, a baby in swaddling clothes, just because he was lucky enough to survive, was placed on a pedestal, crowned with the name of savior, enjoying endless glory, chased and adored wherever he went.

Edward slowly closed the book.

The soft sound of the pages colliding exploded in the silent library like a clap of thunder, making one's heart tremble.

In a trance, images of the Muggle world flashed before his eyes - under a damp and dark bridge, he fought in the mud with a group of street urchins for half a piece of dry, hard bread.

His fists throbbed with pain as they struck his body, his lip was split, seeping the taste of blood, yet he gripped that morsel of food tightly, refusing to let go.

In the dead of winter, the north wind cut across his cheeks like a knife.

He huddled in a tattered cardboard box, beaten Black and blue by some older children for a worn-out blanket to keep warm, finally able only to hug his arms and shiver in the cold wind, without even the strength to cry.

In those days, he was like a stray dog, struggling to survive in the cracks of the city, eating food left by others, wearing clothes discarded by others, without even the courage to look up at the skyscrapers, simply because he was the weak, an ant to be bullied by anyone.

So, whether it was the Muggle world or the wizarding world, the rules had never changed.

The wizarding world never had any gentle, tender order; the so-called rules were nothing more than cages drawn by the strong!

Those who win hold the power to shape the world and write history; even if they have been stained with countless blood and their hands are covered in sins, they can still be revered as legends, worshipped by thousands.

Those who lose become dust, trampled by others; even if they have earth-shattering achievements or world-shaking talent, they are only fit to be reduced to a stroke of ink in history books, not even worthy of having their names mentioned!

This is the most naked, the most cruel iron law - the strong survive, the weak die; the victor is king, the loser is the bandit!

This realization was like a thunderbolt splitting open all his beautiful fantasies about the wizarding world, and like a basin of boiling molten lava poured onto the long-suppressed desire in the bottom of his heart.

The humiliation he had suffered in the Muggle world, the fists he had taken, the hunger he had endured, instantly turned into the fiercest fuel, letting that flame named "power" burn fiercely in his chest, burning until his blood boiled, burning until his very bones felt hot!

He recalled what Kreacher had said about Grindelwald's world-shaking ambition, Lord Voldemort's chilling Dark Arts, and Dumbledore's unfathomable strength.

These people were all powerhouses standing at the top of the wizarding world's pyramid; with a single thought, they could stir up storms and decide the fates of others; with a single word, they could make countless people bow down.

And himself, his first half of life had been spent wandering, struggling to survive at the bottom of the Muggle world; now, although he had returned to the House of Black, bearing the title of a pure-blood aristocrat, he knew nothing of his own power.

That flame named "Ember," at times docilely lurking in his sleeve like an obedient little beast; at other times, it would become restless when his emotions fluctuated, as if it wanted to break free of its shackles and burn everything to ash.

He didn't even know its origin or understand its characteristics.

An intense desire to explore surged and churned in his chest, almost bursting out!

He looked down at his palm, and with a thought, a cluster of orange-red flames suddenly popped out, dancing quietly at his fingertips.

It was warm, yet it carried an indescribable violence, as if it hid the power to burn the heavens and destroy the earth, even baking the surrounding air until it felt slightly hot.

Edward stared at the flame, the light in his eyes growing brighter and deeper, as if tempered in ice, yet also burning with fire.

Inside, there was unwillingness, desire, ambition, and an unstoppable determination.

He would no longer be an ant to be bullied by anyone!

He would understand this power!

He would master this power!

He would step over blood and fire, climb to the peak of the wizarding world, and become the one who set the rules, not a weakling at the mercy of others!

"Kreacher." Edward spoke suddenly, his voice low and hoarse, carrying a trace of suppressed trembling, yet also revealing an unquestionable power, like a sword about to be unsheathed, breaking the silence of the library.

Kreacher, who had been guarding nearby, quickly snapped back to his senses. He had been hunched over, carefully tidying up the pages scattered all over the floor.

Wanna read more?

Check bio!