Harry Potter: Fire Lord Black

Immediately after, Snape's figure also appeared from the corner of the corridor. His face was gloomy, the hem of his Black robe sweeping across the floor. He walked to Dumbledore's side and whispered a few words.

Edward's consciousness had already begun to blur, but he still caught a few fragmented sentences of the conversation.

"...Lily's magic..." Snape's voice carried a hint of imperceptible hoarseness. "An ancient spell in the name of love, left upon him... Quirrell touching him is like touching flames..."

Dumbledore nodded gently, his gaze falling on Harry's pale face, his tone carrying a hint of melancholy: "Love is the most powerful magic in the world, Severus. It can withstand all darkness."

magic in the name of love?

This sentence echoed in Edward's mind. He thought of the flame power flowing in his blood, thought of the ancient records that accompanied darkness, and felt it was absurd and weird. So, there was such a power that did not rely on spells or bloodlines.

He could no longer hold on, his vision went Black, and he lost consciousness completely.

When he woke up again, Edward found himself lying on a hospital bed in the Hogwarts Hospital Wing. Sunlight spilled in through the window, landing on him warmly, and the air was filled with the faint scent of Potions.

He turned his head slightly and saw that on the two hospital beds next to him, Ron had already woken up and was whispering something to Hermione. Their gazes fell from time to time on the middle hospital bed - Harry was still sleeping, his face looking a bit better than before, but his brows were still tightly furrowed.

Hearing the movement of him turning over, Hermione and Ron both turned their heads. Hermione's eyes carried a hint of complexity, as if she wanted to say something but stopped herself; Ron scratched his head and looked away.

Edward ignored them and just slowly closed his eyes.

The conversation between Dumbledore and Snape echoed repeatedly in his mind. The words "magic in the name of love" were like a pebble thrown into his silent heart lake. He thought of the inextinguishable flame in his blood, thought of those records about bloodline power in the Restricted Section, and thought of that special power in Harry Potter that could even withstand Lord Voldemort.

Two completely different powers, yet both had the power to shake the darkness.

At his fingertips, unconsciously, a faint wisp of fire condensed, then quietly vanished.

The sunlight fell on his eyelids, warm, but it couldn't dispel the mist in the bottom of his heart.

This late-night adventure was far more complex than he had imagined.

The sunlight in the hospital wing was like melted honey, flowing through the window frames, washing over the white bedsheets, and warming the bitter scent of potion that permeated the air. Edward closed his eyes, his fingertips unconsciously tracing the fine texture of the sheet, while Dumbledore's words, light as a sigh, echoed repeatedly in his mind - love is the most powerful magic in the world.

These words were like a stone thrown into still water, sending ripples across the lake of his silent heart, yet he could not grasp any sense of reality from them.

On the adjacent bed, the whispers of Ron and Hermione were kept extremely low, like the rustling of wind through grass, yet they still stubbornly drilled into his eardrums. It was nothing more than fretting over Harry's still-unconscious face, or reviewing the harrowing events beneath the trapdoor that night. Edward's brow furrowed almost imperceptibly, and just as he was about to turn over to shut out the annoying noise, the ward door creaked open.

The figure of Draco Malfoy appeared at the doorway, his platinum hair gilded with a layer of shimmering light, making his usually arrogant face look uncharacteristically tainted with genuine anxiety. He wore his neatly pressed Slytherin robes, followed by his two tower-like lackeys, Crabbe and Goyle, and the moment his gaze swept across the ward, it landed precisely on Edward.

He walked over quickly, the wind from his footsteps brushing against the edge of the bed. His concern was unconcealable, yet he deliberately maintained his usual air of arrogance: "Black, you're finally awake! I heard you fell into a trap deep within the castle. I've asked Madam Pomfrey at least ten times over the past few days, and she kept saying you were still unconscious. You're alright, aren't you?"

These words were like a match, instantly igniting Ron's explosive temper. He sat up abruptly, ignoring the force with which Hermione was gripping his wrist, and glared at Draco, his voice suddenly raised: "Malfoy! Stop acting all hypocritical here! If it weren't for Edward, the three of us would have become fertilizer for the Devils Snare or snacks for a Troll long ago! Unlike you, who only knows how to hide in the warm common room, gossiping and making snide remarks!"

"Oh?" Draco raised an eyebrow, turned around leisurely, and looked down at Ron with a mocking curve of his lips. The contempt in his eyes was like a blade tempered in ice: "Weasley, are you thanking a Slytherin? This really is a rare sight in Hogwarts in a hundred years. I thought you Gryffindors always considered yourselves the chosen ones to save the castle. What's the matter, now you have to rely on us Slytherins to survive?"

"You!" Ron's cheeks turned the color of a ripe tomato with anger. He clenched his fists and was about to throw off the covers to get out of bed, but was firmly held down by Hermione. Hermione frowned, first glaring at the impulsive Ron, then turning to Draco, her tone filled with helpless restraint: "Malfoy, this is the hospital wing. Please keep quiet and don't disturb the patients' rest."

"Quiet?" Draco sneered. As his gaze swept past Ron and landed on Hermione, that contempt turned into bone-chilling coldness: "I wondered who was meddling, turns out it's a Mudblood - "

"Malfoy."

Edward slowly opened his eyes. The weariness in them hadn't faded, but a layer of frost had gathered. His voice was not loud, like crushed ice hitting a jade plate, clear and cold enough to make Draco stop talking instantly. Draco turned to look at him, his tone softening unconsciously, and even the hostility in his brow faded slightly: "What's wrong, Black?"

Edward rubbed his brow, his slender fingers brushing past his forehead. He scanned the tense group, his impatience almost overflowing: "Go ask Madam Pomfrey when I can be discharged."

Draco was stunned for a moment, then pursed his lips, but still replied: "Got it." Before leaving, he didn't forget to cast a disdainful glance at Ron, an expression that seemed to say "that ignorant Weasley boy," which made Ron grab his pillow, almost ready to throw it.

Before long, Draco returned, hands in his robe pockets, walking in a leisurely manner: "Madam Pomfrey said you have a good constitution and your magic has recovered quite well. If you feel no discomfort, you can leave anytime."

Edward nodded and, without a word, threw back the covers and got out of bed. His movements were so agile that it didn't seem like he had just experienced an adventure that exhausted his magic. The hem of his robe brushed the edge of the bed, creating a cool breeze. He smoothed the wrinkles on his collar, not sparing a single glance for the frozen Ron and Hermione, let alone paying attention to Draco who had come up to speak, and walked straight toward the ward door.

"Hey, Black, aren't you waiting for me?" Draco was taken aback, then hurriedly chased after him, with Crabbe and Goyle quickly following in his footsteps.

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