Chapter 19. The invitation.
He leaned in closer, his voice lowering with a touch of reverence. "This spell requires not only a thick reserve of light magic to support it but also a compassionate and kind heart from the caster. Those with crooked minds cannot summon even a spark; instead, they will be backlashed by the magic and burn themselves. Professor Dumbledore can wield this flame with such ease not just because his magic is unfathomable, but because he holds the safety of the entire wizarding world in his heart."
"What about Dark Arts fire?" Edward's voice held a touch of urgency, and the flame in his palm seemed to sense his mood, leaping slightly.
Kreacher's expression turned solemn instantly. He shrank back into the shadows, his withered fingers subconsciously clenching tight. His voice dropped extremely low, as if afraid of being heard by some terrifying entity. "Every kind of Dark Arts fire carries a destructive ferocity, and most possess their own sentience. Once released, even the caster finds it difficult to fully tame them.
The most forbidden is the Fiendfyre Curse. It is a derivative of the Unforgivable Curses, classified as top secret by the Ministry of Magic. The flames summoned are evil fire stripped from the depths of hell, appearing in an eerie black-red color. It will crazily devour everything that can burn - flesh, bone, or even magical barriers - turning them into ash. Back then, a follower of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named once used it to destroy half the Ministry of Magic, causing countless casualties."
Edward frowned slightly. "What is the origin of the Fiendfyre Curse? Is there no wizard who can fully control it?"
"Fiendfyre has no fixed incantation at all!" Kreacher's voice trembled, as if recalling some horrific scene. "It is driven by the caster's evil intentions; the stronger the will, the fiercer the fire. But this fire is like an insatiable beast. Once summoned, even the caster can be backlashed and devoured by it - back then, a follower wanted to use Fiendfyre against an Auror, but he lost control and was burned to ash himself! Even He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named dared not use Fiendfyre lightly; at most, he used it to intimidate enemies."
He swallowed hard and continued, "There is also Lava Fire. Although slightly weaker than the Fiendfyre Curse, it also belongs to the category of Dark Arts. This fire is a derivative variant of Fiendfyre. The flames summoned turn into boiling lava upon hitting the ground, leaving nothing alive in their wake; even rocks are melted into scorched earth. A defecting follower once used it to destroy a Muggle village, only to be subdued by Aurors from the Ministry of Magic using Finite Incantatem and executed on the spot. This fire requires extremely strong Dark magic to support it, and casting it drains a large amount of the caster's life force. Not many Dark wizards dare to use it frequently."
Edward was deeply shaken as he listened, and the flame in his palm grew slightly warm. He looked down at the docile, dancing orange flame and suddenly realized that his "Ember" fire was unlike any of the flames Kreacher had described.
It did not require the support of light magic, nor was it driven by evil intentions. It had none of the "upholding righteousness" constraints of White magic fire, nor the "master-devouring" ferocity of Dark Arts fire. It could change its form at his will; it could provide gentle illumination, precisely pick locks, and even emit a soul-shaking power when he was offended.
"Kreacher," Edward's voice held a trace of imperceptible excitement. "Do you think it's possible... to create a brand new kind of fire magic? One that belongs neither to White magic nor to Dark Arts, but belongs only to the caster themselves?"
Kreacher was stunned, his cloudy eyes full of shock, which then surged with deep pride. "master! Your fire is already unique! If you can figure out a brand new fire magic, it would surely shock the entire wizarding world! The glory of the House of Black might just be carried forward and expanded in your hands!"
A blazing light ignited in the depths of Edward's eyes.
Indeed.
Whether it is White magic fire or Dark Arts fire, they are all rules set by others.
But his fire was, by nature, an existence that broke the rules.
Perhaps he could really try to use this flame that belonged to him to develop an unprecedented magic - a magic that obeyed only his commands, guarded only his safety, and manifested only his power.
Once this thought emerged, it was like a flame meeting dry wood, burning wildly in the depths of his heart.
Just then, a flurry of wingbeats came from outside the window. A snow-white owl broke through the twilight and landed on the windowsill, holding a gold-embossed envelope in its beak. On its red leg ring was a clear, snake-like crest.
Kreacher hurriedly stood up and trotted over to take the envelope. The moment he saw the crest, his cloudy eyes instantly lit up strikingly, and his voice carried a touch of reverence. "master! It is an invitation from the Malfoy family! It's Narcissa's owl!"
He held the envelope and walked quickly to Edward, offering it with both hands, and added, "Last time, Narcissa brought Draco to Grimmauld Place and even helped you with the blood magic verification."
Edward took the envelope, his fingertips brushing over the gold-embossed snake crest. It felt cold to the touch. He nodded faintly. "I remember."
He tore open the envelope. Inside was a piece of stationery printed with intricate silver and green patterns. The handwriting was elegant and arrogant - it was the handiwork of Lucius Malfoy:
To Mr. Edward Black:
My family and the House of Black have been friends for generations. We are overjoyed to hear of your return to the pure-blood world. We have scheduled a welcome banquet at Malfoy Manor on the night of the full moon and cordially invite you to attend.
This banquet aims to introduce you to the younger generation of the Sacred Twenty-Eight. We hope you can meet your peers here and continue the glory of the pure-bloods together.
We await your presence.
Sincerely, Lucius Malfoy and Narcissa.
Edward folded the letter and put it back into the envelope. He looked up at Kreacher and asked in a calm tone, "Are there any procedures or rules I need to be aware of for this pure-blood family banquet?"
Kreacher immediately perked up, his back straightening even more. He began to count on his fingers, his tone full of familiarity with pure-blood etiquette, and every word revealing his reverence for family rules. "master, the rules for a pure-blood banquet are many and particular! First is the attire; you must wear a luxurious Wizard's robe embroidered with the House of Black's thorn crest. The fabric must be the highest quality silver-threaded damask; you cannot lose face for the family. Second is etiquette; you must bow when greeting elders, and forms of address must follow seniority - there can be no mistakes. At the banquet, there will be a segment for the younger generation to spar with magic; it must be stopped at the point of contact so as not to damage the harmony between families. Also, there are taboos in conversation; you must absolutely not mention anything related to Muggles, lest you displease the elders."
Edward listened to these rules, which were so tedious they bordered on harsh, and his brow slowly furrowed.
The mud under the bridge in the Muggle world, the biting cold wind in the cardboard box, and the scene of fighting with stray dogs for half a piece of stale bread surged uncontrollably in his mind. Although those days were unbearable, they carried the most straightforward truth. These rules and displays of the pure-blood families, however, were more like an exquisite shell, wrapping around the hypocrisy and arrogance within.
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