This thought, like a seed buried deep in his heart, broke through the soil then, took root and sprouted, growing into the prototype of a towering tree. He wanted to rebuild the order of this wizarding world. He wanted to let those twisted obsessions with lineage, those bloody jungle rules, all disappear into the dust of history. He wanted to ensure the tragedy of his parents would never repeat itself.
The setting sun gradually dipped below the horizon, and the twilight, like a soft net, shrouded 12 Grimmauld Place. The light in the library grew darker and darker; the candles on the desk were lit, and the flickering candlelight reflected the boy's upright figure and the determination in his eyes. The flames in his palm and the candlelight shone together, warm and bright. Just as Edward was immersed in his own thoughts, sketching out the blueprint for the future, a hurried voice broke the silence of the library.
"Master Edward! Master Edward!"
Kreacher's figure appeared at the doorway of the library. Kreacher was panting heavily, clutching an envelope tightly in his withered, thin hands; the envelope was stamped with the Hogwarts crest, the gilded patterns shining under the candlelight, and the wax seal still had a fresh luster. He ran to Edward and handed him the envelope, his voice held a touch of urgency and a touch of irrepressible excitement:
"The Hogwarts admission letter has arrived! Master Edward, your second year is about to begin!"
Edward looked down at the envelope in his hand. His fingertips touched the rough paper surface of the envelope, and the Hogwarts crest made his palm feel warm. He raised his gaze to the starry sky outside the window. Night had already fallen, and stars were lighting up one by one, like crushed diamonds scattered on black velvet. Second year. Hogwarts. The dusty ancient books in the Restricted Section, the Slytherin's locket of Salazar Slytherin, and those challenges and opportunities waiting for him.
A firm smile curled at the corners of Edward's mouth. He tightened his grip on the envelope, and the flames in his palm leapt even more brightly, like a burning sun, illuminating the path ahead of him. A new journey was about to begin. The candlelight flickered on the brass candlestick in the library, stretching Edward's shadow long and thin, casting it over the floor covered in ancient books like a silent dividing line. His fingertips unconsciously rubbed against his palm, his mind still swirling with the prototype of the hierarchy of the wizarding world he had just constructed - a cold and cruel order he had pieced together bit by bit, after poring over countless historical books and reflecting on his own background. He clearly divided the life, income, and power in the wizarding world into three tiers.
Pure-blood wizards were born standing in the middle tier; relying on their family's foundation and connections, they could easily reach the threshold of the upper tier without much effort. However, if they were mediocre in aptitude or lacking in strength, they would be abandoned by their families, falling back into the mire of the middle tier, where even maintaining a decent life would become a luxury. Half-blood wizards started at the bottom tier; they had to exert several times the effort of pure-bloods, passing rigorous evaluations to ascend to the middle tier. Only those with exceptional talent, the top individuals who could make waves in a certain field, might have a chance to knock on the door of the upper tier, but such opportunities were one in a hundred.
As for Muggle-borns and variant wizards, they were nailed to the very bottom from birth. Even if Muggle-borns were absurdly talented and diligent, they could at most stop at the middle tier; the threshold of the upper tier was forever closed to them. Those powers and resources were forbidden fruit branded with "pure-blood." Variant wizards were even worse; they did not even have the qualifications for promotion, could only linger at the bottom, and were rejected and despised by the mainstream wizarding world, like rats in a gutter, unable to see the light. Edward frowned, the flame at his fingertips flickering.
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This kind of hierarchical division seemed to have paths for advancement, but in reality, the power to set the rules was firmly controlled by pure-blood families from beginning to end. The standards of evaluation and the inclination of resources all favored them.
"No, this still makes the power of the pure-bloods appear too great."
A thought, like a spark cutting through the darkness, lit up in his mind. He needed a set of rules for checks and balances, a set of rules that both half-blood and Muggle-borns would willingly submit to. Establish a Senate, and then set up a Chief Justice. He would serve as the Chief Justice, relying on his unique flame power, his pure-blood status as a Black and a Shacklebolt, and, more importantly, his absolute control over this order. The members of the Senate could not all be pure-blood nobles; they must incorporate the best among half-blood wizards, the absurdly talented among Muggle-borns, and could even invite representatives of variant wizards who were accepted by the mainstream. They would jointly formulate evaluation standards, jointly supervise the promotion process, and jointly allocate the resources of the wizarding world.
In this way, those who were dissatisfied with the existing system would have no reason to clamor - because the most outstanding people in their tiers would already be in the position of making the rules. Those who worried about unfair evaluations could also put aside their concerns - because the supervisors would come from all tiers, ensuring fairness to the greatest extent. The power of pure-blood families would be checked, lower-tier wizards would have hope for advancement, and the order of the entire wizarding world could truly tend toward stability. A sharp light flashed in Edward's eyes, and the flame in his palm brightened a little.
He clenched his fist and whispered to himself, his tone holding unquestionable certainty: "That is what I will do." This prototype of hierarchy and checks and balances unfolded in his mind like a clear blueprint. And the first step of this blueprint was to break his solitary situation and find companions who could walk side by side with him. The Hogwarts acceptance letter was clenched in his palm then, the gold-stamped school crest shimmering with fragmented light under the candlelight, the texture of the wax seal pressing against his fingertips with a heavy, substantial feel, pulling him abruptly back to reality from those deep thoughts about order and hierarchy.
He looked down at the handwriting on the envelope; the ink was neat and upright, the unique font of the Hogwarts administration office, and the lower right corner was stamped with the sharp signature of Professor McGonagall, every stroke revealing rigor. The start date for the second year was next Monday, just seven short days away.
"I understand." Edward's voice broke the silence of the library, with hoarseness from being pulled out of deep thought.
He carefully smoothed the envelope and tucked it into the inner pocket of his robe, right next to his mother's letter. His fingertips, through the soft fabric, could feel the two thin sheets of paper, as though holding two heavy burdens of care - one was the protection his mother had exchanged her life for, and the other was the new journey about to unfold at Hogwarts. Kreacher breathed a sigh of relief, his hunched back straightening, his withered hands wringing uneasily in front of him, his fingertips repeatedly rubbing the creases of his apron: "Master, is there anything you need Kreacher to prepare in advance? The cauldron, quill, and ingredients for potion Class - belladonna root, bezoar, powdered root of asphodel - Kreacher can go to Diagon Alley and buy them back, ensuring they are the freshest goods."
Edward shook his head, his gaze falling into the heavy twilight outside the window. The evening breeze rolled rose petals, tapping against the window lattice, making a faint, rustling sound, and a glimmer of deep thought gradually flashed in his eyes. The thoughts that had been swirling in his mind just now were becoming clearer, like the pages of ancient books illuminated by candlelight, every word carrying a heavy weight.
Grindelwald had his Acolytes, those followers willing to shed blood and sacrifice their lives for his "greater good." They came from different families but gathered together because of the same goal, which gave Grindelwald the power to shake the wizarding world. You-Know-Who had his Death Eaters, those minions deluded by pure-blood glory and coerced by terror. They waved their wands, creating bloodshed and chaos, which allowed the dark shadow of You-Know-Who to shroud the entire wizarding world. They were able to stir up the world, but it was never by the power of one person alone.
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