Chapter 17. History.
Success?
A flash of wild joy crossed Edward's eyes, but before he could catch his breath, the white light began to shake violently, and the next second, orange flames suddenly shot out, devouring the white light completely.
Failed.
Separating his consciousness was far harder than he had imagined.
He had been too deliberate, so deliberate that his Magic had become stiff, which was why the flames had taken advantage of the opening.
Kreacher stood to the side, saying nothing, just watching quietly, his eyes full of encouragement.
Edward was not discouraged.
He closed his eyes, took several deep breaths, and suppressed the wild joy and anxiety in his heart.
He raised his wand again; this time, he did not deliberately suppress the intent of the flames, but simply placed it gently in a corner of his consciousness, like setting aside a precious treasure, neither touching it nor driving it away.
In his consciousness, half was the command for "illumination," clear and pure; the other half was the thought of "lying dormant," gentle and firm.
And the wand in his hand was the balance point that maintained these two intents, allowing the Magic and the flames to each return to their proper place.
"Lumos."
This time, the white light that lit up at the tip of his wand was steady and soft, like a small moon, quietly radiating light amidst the shadows of the library.
No flames, no heat - it was exactly the same as the effect of a spell cast by an ordinary Wizard.
Edward's fingertips trembled slightly.
He attempted to gently nudge the thought of the flames in the corner of his consciousness.
Almost instantly, the white light faded, and orange flames danced once more on the tip of the wand. A gentle warmth spread out, illuminating his profile.
He withdrew the thought of the flames back into a corner of his mind.
The flames vanished, and the white light shone once again.
Once, twice, three times...
At first, the switching process was slightly sluggish; either the flames were slow to fade, or the white light was dim and lackluster. But as the number of practice sessions increased, his control over his consciousness became more precise, and the wand in his hand felt more natural. The transition between the two forms gradually became fluid.
In the end, he could shift between the light and shadow almost in the blink of an eye.
White light, flames; flames, white light.
The changes at the tip of his wand were like a silent magic trick.
Edward lowered his wand, the flames in his palm dancing quietly, as if affectionately nuzzling his fingertips. An indescribable joy washed over his heart like warm water, finally causing the corners of his mouth, tense for so long, to curl into a faint smile. The anxiety and fatigue of the past few days dissipated at this moment, replaced by a sense of groundedness that came from mastering his power.
He had finally found that balance point.
This cluster of flames that had accompanied him as he grew up was no longer an "accident" that interfered with his spellcasting, nor was it an elusive "alien" element, but a power he could truly wield at will.
Beyond the joy, a deeper curiosity began to grow wildly in his heart.
What exactly were these flames?
Why were they so in tune with his consciousness?
Why did their characteristics subtly resemble the Obscurus that Sir Phineas had mentioned?
Since he could not touch deeper magic for the time being, he might as well study this power hidden within his own bloodline.
Edward looked up at the visibly excited Kreacher, a startling brightness in his eyes: "Kreacher, are there any books in the library that record information about an Obscurus?"
The smile on Kreacher's face froze instantly, and a flash of terror crossed his murky eyes. He waved his hands repeatedly, his withered fingers turning white from the force, and his voice went out of tune: "Master! Absolutely not! An Obscurus is one of the most insidious dark powers; it is a monster formed by the backlash of forcibly suppressed magic. It is not something you should be touching at your age!"
"I am not trying to touch it, only to understand it." Edward's tone was calm but carried an unrefusable persistence. He opened his palm, letting the flames dance on his fingertips. "Sir Phineas said that the flames within me are somewhat similar in essence to an Obscurus - both are powers that do not require a wand and are bound to the bloodline. I want to know the difference between them, and I want to know the origin of these flames."
Kreacher looked at the docile orange flames, then at the stubbornness in his master's eyes. He finally sighed heavily, hunched his shoulders, and retreated half a step into the shadows, as if afraid of disturbing some terrifying entity. His voice was low and wary: "An Obscurus... it is not something one is born with. It is those young wizards who, because of fear, pain, or having their magic forcibly suppressed, end up with nowhere for their inner magic to vent. It ultimately backfires on them, condensing into a dark entity."
He paused, his tone filled with a touch of pity: "This power is sinister and predatory; it slowly gnaws away at the life of the Obscurial. Once an Obscurus is born within an Obscurial, almost no one survives past the age of ten. They become incredibly weak, and at the slightest emotional fluctuation, the Obscurus will lose control and erupt, incinerating everything around them. In the end, even their own bodies are consumed by this power, leaving not even bones behind."
Edward's brow furrowed slightly, and the flames in his palm flickered gently.
"However..." Kreacher's voice dropped even lower, as if recounting a long-buried secret. "Kreacher once heard the old master - that is, your grandfather - mention that many years ago, there was an exception. It was a boy named Credence Barebone; he not only survived past the age of ten but could also briefly control the Obscurus within him."
"He was a pitiable person, abused from a young age by the family that adopted him. His magic was suppressed for over a decade, and the Obscurus had hidden within him for so long that it had long since merged with his bloodline." Kreacher's tone carried a hint of lament. "Later, he met Gellert Grindelwald - that Dark wizard who stirred up such monstrous waves. Grindelwald saw the power within him, took him under his wing, and promised him an identity and a home."
Edward's gaze flickered slightly. Grindelwald. That formidable figure imprisoned in the tower of Nurmengard.
"Credence followed Grindelwald and participated in many of his plans." There was a trace of lingering fear in Kreacher's voice, his withered hands clenching involuntarily. "The old master said that back in Paris, in order to incite chaos in the wizarding world, Grindelwald induced Credence to release the Obscurus, using that dark power to sow discord among the people. Even more terrifyingly, Grindelwald personally took action, casting the forbidden Protego Diabolica - a defensive and offensive spell that even Dark wizards fear. When the spell is cast, it conjures a sky full of ghostly blue flames. Those flames are unlike ordinary fire; they carry a bone-chilling cold and can devour any magic and life that comes near them."
"At that time, the night sky over Paris was dyed a bizarre, ghostly blue. That wall of fire was overwhelming, nearly engulfing half the city." Kreacher's voice trembled, as if he had witnessed that terrifying scene himself. "At the critical moment, countless white wizards stepped forward. They joined forces to form a magical circle and chanted the Finite Incantatem spell in unison. Golden light, like a massive cage, tightly imprisoned those ghostly blue flames in mid-air, preventing the disaster from spreading."