Chapter 18. Can everyone?
"And what about Credence?" Edward pressed, his curiosity growing even more intense.
Kreacher shook his head, his tone full of regret: "He was merely a pawn of Grindelwald. After that chaos, Grindelwald's plan was exposed, and he fled in a panic with his followers, not caring at all about Credence's survival. It is said that Credence exhausted his life force in that collision of power; the Obscurus spiraled completely out of control, and he was finally consumed by the dark power within him, leaving no bones behind. Some also say he didn't die, but simply disappeared, yet after so many years, no one has ever seen a trace of him again."
The entire library fell into a brief silence, with only the crackling of the dancing flames echoing softly in the air.
Edward listened quietly, the flames in his palm having dimmed slightly at some point. He thought of Credence's fate, thought of that Obscurial who had been treated as a pawn, and a flash of complex emotion crossed his eyes.
But soon, that emotion was replaced by a stronger curiosity.
His flames were completely different from an Obscurus. They were docile, affable, and would only protect him, never backfire on him. Yet their essence did indeed share similarities - both were powers that did not require a wand and were bound to the bloodline.
"I will not end up like him." Edward's voice was firm and clear. He clenched his palm, and the flames instantly flared up again, brighter than before. "I only want to understand, not to control. I must figure out what exactly these flames are."
Kreacher looked at the stubbornness in his eyes, and then recalled the talent and composure the master had displayed over these past few days. After agonizing for a long time, he finally sighed heavily, his withered fingers twisting together, as if he had made a difficult decision.
"The books are absolutely not to be shown to you; the records inside are too wicked, full of dark aura, and I fear they might affect your mind." The old house-elf's tone softened, carrying a hint of compromise. "But... Kreacher has lived for so many years and has heard many rumors from the old master about Obscurials and the Obscurus, and I also know some scattered records about forbidden flames. If you only wish to understand, Kreacher can tell you everything he knows."
Edward's eyes lit up instantly, as if stars had fallen into them.
He looked at the dancing flames in his palm, the curve of his mouth becoming clearer.
A corner of the fog had finally been lifted.
And his exploration of his own power had only just begun.
The sunset outside the window gradually sank below the horizon, the orange afterglow filtering through the stained-glass windows, stretching the young man's silhouette long and far. The flames in the library flickered gently, as if telling a long, long story about power and destiny.
The last vestiges of warmth from the sunset faded from the library. An orange flame danced quietly in Edward's palm, stretching their shadows long and thin.
Kreacher brought over a low stool and sat beside him, his hunched body bent low. His withered fingers unconsciously rubbed the hem of his clothing as he began to recount those dusty, long-forgotten secrets, bit by bit.
"The birth of an Obscurus is always inextricably linked to 'pain'." Kreacher's voice was low and raspy, as if he were leafing through an old, dust-covered book.
"You know, master, a young Wizard's awakening of magic should be a natural process. But some Muggle families, or wizards who fear magic, will forcibly suppress a child's magic - through beatings, imprisonment, or torture with Muggle drugs, making the child afraid to release even a shred of magic."
He paused, a flicker of pity flashing in his eyes: "magic is the foundation of a wizard; it is better to channel it than to block it. Suppressed magic does not disappear; it only accumulates and twists within the child, eventually backfiring upon them and coalescing into a mindless mass of dark power. This is an Obscurus. It parasitizes the Obscurial, surviving by devouring the host's life force, which is why most Obscurials cannot survive past the age of ten before they are drained to death."
"What about Credence?" Edward pressed, the flame at his fingertips flickering slightly. "Is it because his magic is stronger than others that he was able to live past ten and even control the Obscurus?"
"It is because of his obsession." Kreacher shook his head, his voice dropping even lower. "The old master said that Credence had longed for an identity and a sense of belonging since he was a child. This obsession kept him alive, allowing him to maintain a fragile balance with the Obscurus. But this balance is too precarious; once his emotions spiral out of control, the Obscurus will lash back. Grindelwald saw this and constantly provoked his emotions, using him as a pawn to stir up chaos."
Edward listened silently, the chaos in Paris that Kreacher had previously described flashing through his mind. Dark power swept through the streets, spectral blue cold fire devouring everything. That boy who longed for a home ultimately became a sacrifice for an ambitious man.
He suddenly thought of the flame in his own palm - it also required no wand and was also bound to his bloodline, yet it carried the exact opposite: warmth and protection. What kind of secret was hidden within this "Ember" fire?
"Kreacher," Edward looked up, his eyes full of inquisitive light. "What are the classifications of fire magic in the wizarding world? And what are the fundamental differences between them?"
Upon hearing this, Kreacher's eyes lit up; he was clearly much more familiar with this topic. He straightened his hunched body slightly and began to count on his withered fingers, his tone filled with professional certainty. "Fire magic has always been clearly divided, with White magic fire and Dark Arts fire as the two major camps. The core difference between them lies in the orientation of their power - White magic fire upholds righteousness, while Dark Arts fire trends toward evil."
"Most White magic fire is gentle and controllable, obeying only the caster's commands and never spreading wantonly. For example, the Fireball Attack spell taught in Hogwarts Charms class is the most basic offensive fire spell. By chanting 'Incendio', one can summon a fireball the size of a fist. Its power is limited, mostly used for self-defense, and the flame extinguishes automatically after touching the target, never harming the innocent.
Then there is Professor Dumbledore's signature technique, Firestorm. That is high-level White magic, summoning golden, sacred flames that carry the power to purify everything. It can repel dark creatures like Dementors and Inferi. Moreover, it possesses great sentience, harming only evil spirits and not the good. Back in the day, Dumbledore relied on this flame to repel several sneak attacks from He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named."
He paused and added, with a touch of pride in his voice, "There is also a special kind of White magic fire called Gubraithian Fire. This fire is most peculiar - it is eternal and unquenchable, yet it carries no searing heat, only a faint warmth. This flame is mostly used to decorate the crests of pure-blood families or to guard the entrances to secret chambers. The underground vault of the House of Black's ancestral home has a Gubraithian Fire lamp that has burned for hundreds of years without ever going out."
The flame at Edward's fingertips gave a slight jump. He pressed, "Can all wizards learn these White magic flames? Is there a big difference in difficulty?"
"That's not the same!" Kreacher waved his hands quickly, his cloudy eyes filled with seriousness. "The Fireball Attack spell is entry-level; as long as they are a Hogwarts student, anyone can master it with a few months of practice. But Firestorm? Very few people in the entire wizarding world can cast it!"
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