In the dark room, the only candlelight illuminated the vague silhouette of a child hunched over an old, heavy book. The flickering glow revealed the child's small frame as he flipped through pages beneath the weak light.
The book itself gave off an ominous aura — bound in unknown leather, with occasional wisps of black smoke curling from its pages.
A short, bald-headed house-elf with a thick pig-like nose and large, bat-like ears bristling with white hair appeared in the dim room.
"Third Master, the lady's funeral has been completed. Do you have anything else to ask of Kreacher?" the elf rasped, his voice hoarse and croaky like a bullfrog.
At Kreacher's words, the boy's hand paused mid-turn. After a moment of silence, he slowly turned to face the elf.
Through the moonlight filtering in from the window, the boy's face was revealed. Under tousled black hair was a strikingly handsome face — dark gray eyes gleaming with quiet light, exuding the calm refinement of a young British noble.
But his pale skin and dark circles spoke of exhaustion well beyond his years.
He sighed and asked quietly, "It's all done, then? What were the other families' reactions to my inheriting the Black family's legacy?"
Kreacher nodded. "Yes, Third Young Master. The family estate has been fully transferred to your name. At the funeral, Miss Narcissa was deeply sorrowful. But Miss Bellatrix was quite agitated — she was displeased by your absence. Aside from the Rich family(i think it's malfoy) showing some ambition toward your inheritance, the other families did not react."
The boy gave a small nod and jumped off his chair.
Yes — jumped.
From a distance, sitting upright and surrounded by shadow, the child had appeared to be a youth. But now, standing, his small stature made it clear — he was only around three or four years old.
He looked up at Kreacher. "And the Selwyn family? Who came from their side?"
"Mr. Elrond," Kreacher replied. "He was once on very good terms with the Third Young Master. Before he left, he asked Kreacher to convey his condolences."
The child nodded and said no more on the matter. "Alright. Let's not talk about this anymore. Take me to my room."
Kreacher obediently lifted the child into his arms and carried him out of the study, ascending the stairs.
The house they were in was a five-story mansion — the ancestral home of the Black family at No. 12 Grimmauld Place.
From the outside, the house looked ancient. Its black-painted door was scratched and weathered, with a silver snake-shaped handle. No keyhole. No mailbox. As a pure-blood wizarding home, such things were unnecessary — the door could only be opened by magic, and letters were delivered by owls.
The basement housed the kitchen — surrounded by rough stone walls and lit only by a distant fireplace. It also contained a small dining room and a storage space for two.
The first floor, at ground level, opened into a long corridor lined with peeling wallpaper, threadbare carpet, gas lamps, and snake-themed chandeliers. Blackened portraits of ancestors lined the walls, along with an umbrella stand made from troll legs — all symbols of an ancient pure-blood lineage.
The second floor's stairwell was lined with the mounted heads of deceased house-elves — proud servants who had given their lives to the Black family. Kreacher, too, looked forward to one day joining their ranks. This floor also held the drawing room, several bedrooms, and a bathroom.
The drawing room stood in contrast to the rest of the house. It was elegant and stately, with a tall window overlooking the street. Two fine glass display cabinets flanked the fireplace. And most notably, one wall bore the ancient tapestry of the Black family tree — filled with names and faces of past family members, though some had been burned away and removed.
The third floor contained only two rooms. One of them was the child's bedroom — high-ceilinged, with a bed, wardrobe, and an empty portrait frame. That frame once held an image of his ancestor, Phineas Nigellus Black, a former Headmaster of Hogwarts — and the one whose name the boy shared.
He was Phineas Walburga Black Jr.
The fourth floor mirrored the third. The fifth floor, however, was different. It held three rooms: once belonging to his eldest brother Sirius Black, his second brother Regulus Black, and his mother, Walburga Black. But all of them were gone now.
From any perspective, the house showed its long years of decay and neglect.
Its ruin could be traced to Walburga Black — the boy's recently deceased mother, who had become increasingly unstable in her final years, fanatically supporting the Dark Lord before his downfall.
But all that is a tale for another time.
Now, Kreacher carried young Phineas into his bedroom and gently set him down.
"Third Master," Kreacher croaked, "according to the lady's last wishes, you will be leaving for Sguller in a few days."
Phineas frowned. Sguller — a special school in the wizarding world — was reserved for members of ancient, noble pure-blood families. Only those who had experienced a magical outburst before their seventh birthday could enter.
Families like the Blacks, Selwyns, and Longbottoms were eligible.
Sguller wasn't a typical magic school — it was more like a military academy. A place of high-level, disciplined magical training.
(Note: Some elements here, such as the rivalry between the Selwyn and Longbottom [originally: Richie] families and the concept of Sguller School, are respectfully inspired by "Big Boss in the Harry Potter World" by Half a Biscuit. These references are tributes and will not feature heavily later in the story.)