Harry Potter: Fire Lord Black

As soon as these words were spoken, the entire Great Hall instantly fell silent, so quiet that one could hear a pin drop. All eyes were fixed on Edward.

Sixty points! The ten points they were overtaken by were instantly wiped out, and Slytherin was directly back in the lead by fifty points!

After a brief silence, the Slytherin students erupted into deafening cheers! The ecstasy and excitement in that sound almost threatened to shake down the walls of the Great Hall! Draco was stunned for a moment, then jumped up in ecstasy, lunged toward Edward, and grabbed his shoulders, his voice trembling: "Black! That's amazing! You are truly the savior of our Slytherin! We won! We won!"

Edward was also stunned. He looked at Dumbledore on the stage, who was smiling at him gently, his deep blue eyes holding a profound meaning he could not read.

When Dumbledore announced, "The winner of this year's House Cup is Slytherin," the green banners of Slytherin flew high, and the golden snake emblem shimmered under the lights. The students hugged each other and cheered, and Draco was so excited he held Edward's shoulder, patting his back hard.

Edward was surrounded in the middle, looking at the excited faces around him, but felt no ripples in his heart. He just looked up slightly at the starry sky on the ceiling, his fingertips condensing a faint thread of fire, which then quietly dissipated. But he knew that from this moment on, he had become a hero in the eyes of Slytherin.

On the day the school year ended, the students of Hogwarts carried heavy luggage and flocked to the Hogsmeade station. Sunlight spilled onto the tracks, glowing with warm light. Edward carried a simple bag, walking through the crowd. Draco chattered incessantly beside him about his summer plans, inviting him to visit Malfoy Manor; he only responded occasionally, his thoughts drifting far away.

The train slowly pulled out of the station, and the Hogwarts castle outside the window became smaller and smaller, eventually turning into a blurry shadow, disappearing between the green hills and clear waters. Edward leaned against the train window, watching the fields and forests flying by outside, watching the sunlight pass through the gaps in the leaves, casting mottled light and shadows.

He thought of Dumbledore's instructions, thought of the restless power of fire in his bloodline, and thought of the questions about the marks his parents had left behind. This vacation, he would carefully consult the books on ancient magic in the library at home. Those ancient books that had been dusty for a hundred years, those parchment papers covered in dust, must hold the secrets of his bloodline, holding the answers that could solve all his confusion.

When the train arrived at the station, Edward got off the train with his luggage. At the end of the crowd, a house-elf wearing a Black dress stood there, his pointed ears drooping. Seeing him, he immediately bowed, his voice shrill and respectful: "Young Master, Kreacher has come to pick you up."

Edward nodded and followed Kreacher's figure, walking step by step toward the manor hidden in the twilight. The afterglow of the setting sun spilled onto him, stretching his shadow very, very long. The first school year at Hogwarts thus came to an end.

The sunset's afterglow, like molten gold sand, flowed over the towering, steep spires of the Black family house, dyeing the ivy covering the walls a dark bronze.

The wind passed through the withered rose bushes in the courtyard, whipping up a few fallen petals, and when it struck that heavy oak door, it let out a long, hoarse creak - the moment Edward Black followed Kreacher across the threshold, it was as if he had awakened a tomb that had been sleeping for a century.

The air in the Black family house was permeated with a damp, musty smell, mixed with the decay of old wood and the heavy, somber scent of faded velvet.

Portraits of generations of the House of Black hung on the walls; the men and women in the frames all wore stiff, pure black robes, their brows and eyes etched with the same inherited arrogance and indifference.

Their gazes were as sharp as hawks, slowly turning to follow Edward's footsteps, the mockery at the corners of their mouths like ice-quenched needles, densely pricking into the silent air.

In a silver-framed portrait at the end of the corridor, a youthful Regulus Black tilted his head slightly, his flaxen hair clinging softly to his forehead, his eyes clear and distinct from the other family members.

The plaque beneath the portrait was covered in a thin layer of dust, with only one line clearly engraved: Regulus Black, year of death unknown.

Edward's footsteps faltered, his fingertips curling unconsciously.

He had never seen his father in the flesh; only this portrait allowed him to glimpse a few shadows of the young Regulus.

"The young master's room has been prepared," Kreacher said in a shrill voice, walking ahead with his back hunched, the hem of his oversized black livery sweeping across the floor and kicking up fine dust. "Kreacher has changed the clean goose-down sheets and lit the fireplace, so you won't be cold. Young Master Regulus loved it when the fireplace was burning brightly; he said that was the only way the Black family house felt like a home, and not a cold, icy cage."

Edward nodded, his gaze still fixed on the portrait. His throat felt as if it were blocked by a wad of wet cotton, and it took him a long time to squeeze out a low "Hmm."

For the next three days, Edward was almost entirely lost in a heavy, drowsy sleep.

That night beneath the trapdoor at Hogwarts had exhausted too much of his magic and spirit.

His dreams were filled with the deafening snores of the three-headed Giant dog, the cold sensation of Devils Snare wrapping around his ankles, and that sentence Dumbledore had whispered in the Headmaster's office - it was not a creation of anyone, but a protective magic cast by Harry Potter's mother, Lily, upon her son with her life, in the name of love.

That spell was like a hazy light, always hovering at the edge of his consciousness; he couldn't grasp it, yet he couldn't shake it off either.

It wasn't until the morning of the fourth day that the chirping of a robin in the courtyard pecked his dream to pieces.

When Edward opened his eyes, sunlight was filtering through the carved window lattices, casting mottled shadows at the foot of the bed.

He got up and pushed open the window; the cool breeze, carrying the lingering scent of roses from the courtyard, rushed in, dispersing the stuffiness in the room.

On the gravel path below, Kreacher was hunched over, pruning withered flower branches, his small, thin figure appearing exceptionally fragile in the morning light.

Edward's gaze fell upon the locked wooden door at the end of the corridor - it led to the library beneath the Black family house, the only destination of his trip.

The heavy iron door was propelled by magic and slowly rose; the sound of the door hinges turning echoed through the empty basement, startling a few spiders lurking in the corners.

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