Harry Potter: Fire Lord Black

Edward Black put down the wand, looking at the flame that quietly appeared in his palm, a flash of realization crossing his eyes, but also adding a bit of deep thought. He could clearly feel that this cluster of flames had an ultimate affinity for him, like a born companion, able to change its form at will according to his wishes; but he also clearly remembered that a few days ago in the dining room, when Walburga Black's portrait insulted him, the flame in his sleeve accidentally shot out, instantly silencing all the portraits in the room, and even the mean-spirited Walburga Black was so scared she shut her mouth - the power of the flame, in the eyes of others, was always synonymous with fear.

He did not need to control this cluster of flames, because it would never betray him. What he needed to do was learn how to use it, to let this power become his stepping stone to the pinnacle of the magical world.

"Master Edward, you are too amazing!" Kreacher's voice was full of admiration, no longer able to hide the excitement in his heart. "When Master Sirius was your age, he practiced the Levitation Charm and fell on his bottom, and was even punished by Mistress Walburga Black by having to copy the family rules; although Master Regulus was steady, he wasn't as fast as you! You are truly a genius of the House of Black! This flame protecting you is your blessing!"

Edward Black looked up at him, said nothing, and just moved the corners of his mouth slightly. A blessing? Perhaps. But what he wanted was never just a blessing. What he wanted was to let this cluster of flames burn through the cage of rules of the magical world and burn out a path of his own.

"Master Edward, what should we do about this?" After his excitement passed, Kreacher frowned again, rubbing his hands together and saying, "Your spells all carry flames; although they look good, if someone else sees them..."

His words were not finished, but they reminded Edward Black of something. He suddenly remembered that Kreacher had previously mentioned that knowledgeable Sir Phineas. Perhaps that former Hogwarts Headmaster could give him some answers.

"Kreacher, take me to find Sir Phineas." Edward Black said, holding the wand, his tone firm.

The two walked quickly to the hallway. The portrait of Phineas Nigellus hung next to the family tapestry. The man in the painting wore black robes, his face cold and stern, his eyes as sharp as an eagle's, and he was idly looking at the empty hallway, his fingertips tapping lightly on the edge of the frame.

"Sir Phineas." Edward Black stood in front of the portrait and nodded slightly, the old wand in his hand still carrying the faint residual warmth of the flame. "I am Edward Black, Regulus's son. I would like to ask you for some advice regarding fire magic."

Phineas raised an eyebrow, his gaze landing on the old wand in his hand, then sweeping over the flickering flame in his palm. A mocking curve appeared at the corner of his mouth, but he did not deliberately make things difficult like other portraits.

"Regulus's son... he is more pleasing to the eye than that unfilial descendant Sirius." He snorted coldly, but his tone was much more candid. "Don't expect me to give you any profound guidance, boy. I am not a complete person, just a portrait formed by a wisp of obsession - we ancestors of the House of Black all voluntarily left our portraits to hang in the family residence and the Hogwarts Castle. When alive, we were proud of our pure-blood honor; after death, we use these portraits to continue to witness the continuation and prosperity of the family."

He paused, his sharp gaze fixed on the flame in Edward Black's palm, his eyes becoming a bit more solemn. "The memories preserved in us portraits are closely linked to the family's honor and disgrace. As for those deep researches on spells and records of obscure magic, they have long since become blurred with the passage of time. In my prime, I may have seen many rare powers, but now, I cannot remember them clearly."

Edward Black's brow furrowed even tighter.

"However, this cluster of flames within you..." Phineas changed the subject, his tone carrying a bit of hesitation, his gaze sweeping back and forth between the residual warmth of the wand tip and the flame in his palm. "Although I cannot remember the specific records, I can feel its uniqueness - it can be controlled at will without a wand, yet it will never backfire on the host. This is somewhat similar to a kind of dark power, but it is worlds apart."

"What power?" Edward Black asked, the flame in his palm jumping slightly because of his eagerness, as if soothing his emotions.

"Obscurus." Phineas's voice lowered, carrying a hint of wariness - that was the vigilance against dark forces carved into his bones. "That is a kind of dark, cold power hidden within an Obscurial, completely driven by emotions. Once it erupts, it destroys everything and even backfires on the host; Obscurials almost never live past the age of ten. But your flame is different; that one is cold and devouringly cruel, while your flame carries affinity and protection... Yet the essence of both is a power that can be driven without a wand and is bound to the Wizard's bloodline."

He looked at the longing in Edward Black's eyes, his tone adding a bit of admonition, and a rare solemnity appeared on his stern face. "I advise you, do not easily touch upon records related to the Obscurus; that is not Dark Arts that you at your age can master. Since you cannot find a direct answer, you might as well start by practicing basic spells and improve your control over magic - at the very least, you must be able to make the flame completely obey your instructions and become the sharpest weapon in your hands."

Phineas paused, glanced at Kreacher beside him, and added: "Also, in the future, when practicing magic, you must have Kreacher stand by. Your flame power is too violent; it's not that I'm afraid it will hurt you, but I'm afraid it will lose control and hurt others. A house-elf's instinctual magic can suppress it in time."

After saying this, he turned his head away, resuming his arrogant demeanor, and did not speak again, leaving the two with only a cold, hard profile.

Edward Black held the old wand in his hand, the flame in his palm swaying gently, illuminating the light in his eyes.

Obscurus...

This strange name was like a glimmer of light, splitting through the heavy fog of his exploration of his own power.

He finally understood completely - he didn't need to fight against this cluster of flames, nor did he need to struggle to control it. He only needed to learn how to use it, to learn to let this power that protected him become his most powerful trump card.

He looked up at the morning light outside the window, the golden rays spilling onto his profile, making the cold curve of his face particularly clear. Whether it be basic spells or the Obscurus, no matter how many thorns or unknowns lay ahead, he would step over them one by one.

He would use this cluster of flames and become a true powerhouse.

And all of this was just the beginning.

The library at 12 Grimmauld Place had been lit by orange flames for dozens of days and nights.

Sunlight filtered through the stained-glass windows, casting colorful splotches of light onto the mountains of ancient books, while dust motes danced in the shafts of light, mingling with the faint scent of smoke to create a warm haze.