Hogwarts: I Became a God Through the Twelve Talismans
Chapter 1: The Last Look of Seventeen
First off, a disclaimer: this text includes some personal headcanons. It is a single-heroine story. The headcanons are used to better develop the plot and serve the story. The protagonist is not a saint, nor a babysitter. For the sake of the story, the four houses will have classes together. I will try not to make the original characters OOC, and the whole story will follow the novel's plot development. The outline is finished, and it will not be discontinued.
[Memory Repository]
The August wind carried scorching heat waves, blowing across the mottled roof of the orphanage.
Seventeen sat on the edge of the rooftop, his legs dangling in the air, watching the children chasing and playing on the playground below. They were so small, so noisy, their laughter sharp enough to pierce the sky.
He hadn't laughed like that for a long time.
Sixteen years ago, someone left him at the orphanage gate with only a note: "Please treat him kindly." The staff counted and found he was the seventeenth child abandoned that year—so he was named Seventeen.
Seventeen had no name, no birthday, no family.
What he did have was this five-story building, hot water that was never enough to share, and old books he flipped through over and over before the start of every school year. Last summer, he found a rain-soaked copy of "Harry Potterand the Philosopher's Stone" at a junk station. The pages were as wrinkled as an old man's face, but he painstakingly peeled them apart and finished reading it in the afternoon sun.
From then on, he found a world that belonged to him.
He used the pocket money he had saved for three months to collect the entire set of second-hand "Harry Potter" books online. The covers were worn, the spines cracked, and some were even covered in doodles by some unknown child. But Seventeen didn't care.
In that world, he met Harry, Ron, and Hermione; he learned about Hogwarts and Platform Nine and Three-Quarters.
They were his friends.
"Meow—"
A weak cat meow pulled him back from his thoughts.
Seventeen turned his head and saw a small orange and white kitten lying on the concrete ledge at the edge of the roof. The ledge was only a palm wide, with a drop of more than ten meters below. The kitten didn't know how it had climbed up, but it was currently curled into a ball, shivering, daring neither to move forward nor backward.
"How did you get up here?" Seventeen frowned and slowly stood up.
The kitten meowed again, its voice filled with fear.
Seventeen looked around. There was no one else on the roof; it was nap time, and no one would come up. He approached cautiously. The concrete on the edge of the ledge had weathered, and fine gravel rolled off as he stepped on it.
"Don't move," he said softly, "I'm here to save you."
He lay on the edge of the roof, one hand gripping the edge of the concrete ledge, the other slowly reaching toward the kitten. The kitten stared at him with wide eyes, seemingly sensing his kindness, and leaned forward slightly.
His fingertips touched warm fur.
"Alright, be good, come here—"
Just as he grabbed the kitten by the scruff of its neck, the concrete ledge under his feet suddenly collapsed.
Seventeen didn't even have time to react, losing his balance completely. The last thing he did was throw the kitten hard toward the center of the roof—
Then he fell.
The wind filled his ears, sharp enough to tear his eardrums. Seventeen fell face down, watching the sky move further and further away; that sun was so blinding it looked like the entrance to another world.
Strangely, he didn't feel fear.
He just thought: So this is what falling feels like.
Then he remembered many things. He remembered the auntie at the orphanage giving him an extra scoop of meat when serving food, the little chubby boy in the next bed sharing half a mooncake with him, and the young Chinese teacher writing "Keep it up" on his workbook.
He remembered the copy of "Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows" he had worn out, and the final sentence: "The scar had not pained Harry for nineteen years. All was well."
He hadn't seen the world nineteen years later yet.
He hadn't waited for "Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them" to finish.
He hadn't—hadn't truly lived yet.
"Fortunately..." he thought to himself, "Fortunately, I finished reading 'Harry Potter'. It's just a pity I don't know when 'Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them' will end..."
The thought had just flashed through his mind when white light swallowed everything.
The white light was as warm as a mother's embrace—though he had never known what a mother's embrace felt like.
Before his consciousness dissipated, the last thing he heard was the screaming of children on the playground. Those screams were far away, as if separated by a world.
Then, there was nothing.
—
Darkness.
Boundless darkness.
Seventeen's consciousness floated in the darkness like a feather, weightless, without direction. He didn't know if he was dead or alive, or in some strange zone between the two.
Then, a mechanical sound rang out.
Cold, emotionless, every syllable sounded like clashing metal.
[Soul binding to host detected...]
[Vital signs detection in progress... No vital signs.]
[Correction: Soul strength detected to be within standards.]
[Emergency protocol initiated... Initiation successful.]
[Holy Master System has responded.]
[Warning: No available carrier currently.]
[Searching for available carrier... Searching...]
[Search complete. Coordinates: Parallel World - Earth - magic Plane - Timeline July 31, 1980.]
[Carrier compatibility: 99.7%.]
[Transmission starting...]
Seventeen's consciousness was pulled by an invisible force, as if sucked into a vortex. He wanted to struggle but found he had no body to struggle with. He could only let that force drag him through the endless darkness, through countless flashing points of light—
Through the door between life and death.
[Transmission complete.]
[System hibernating... Will activate after host is born.]
[Hibernation countdown: 274 days.]
[Reminder: Occlumency has been automatically loaded, effective during soul fusion.]
[Good luck, new host.]
The mechanical sound disappeared.
The darkness also disappeared.
Seventeen's consciousness fell into a deeper sleep. That sleep was warm, peaceful, like an embrace he had never had.
—
Britain, Wiltshire, Black Manor.
On the morning of July 31, 1980, sunlight spilled into the bedroom through the floor-to-ceiling windows. Long Meixiu leaned against the headboard, a tired but gentle smile on her pale face. Her Black hair was soaked with sweat and stuck to her cheeks, but her eyes were as bright as stars.
"Push one more time, Madam," the midwife said softly.
Cepheus Black held his wife's hand, his gray eyes filled with worry and anticipation. His hands were trembling slightly.
Then—
"Waa—"
The crying of an infant echoed throughout the room.
"It's a boy!" The midwife smiled and picked up the child. "Congratulations, Mr. Black, Mrs. Black, it's a healthy boy!"
Long Meixiu reached out and tremblingly took the tiny life. He was so small, so soft, his wrinkled little face hadn't fully developed, but his deep contours were already visible.
Cepheus leaned over and kissed his wife's forehead gently, then kissed the infant's forehead.
"He is beautiful," he said, his voice choked with emotion.
"His eyes..." Long Meixiu looked at the infant's half-open eyes, "are gray, like yours."
The infant blinked, those gray eyes seemingly clearer than the average newborn's. He looked at his mother, then let out a small yawn and fell fast asleep.
Long Meixiu smiled gently and hugged the baby tighter.
"What name shall we give him?" she asked.
Cepheus walked to the window and looked at the sky outside. The summer sky was as blue as if washed, but the brightest thing was not the sun, but the star about to fade into the daylight.
"Polaris," he said. "Polaris. The North Star, always pointing north, always guiding the way for the lost."
He turned back to look at his wife and son, a light in his eyes.
"Polaris Black. We can call him Ris."
Long Meixiu nodded and touched the infant's cheek lightly.
"Polaris," she whispered the name like a blessing, "Welcome to this world."
—
Meanwhile, in Godric's Hollow thousands of miles away, another baby was born on this very day.
That boy had a pair of green eyes and a head of messy Black hair.
But at this moment, he didn't know what kind of fate he would carry.
At this moment, he was just lying in his mother's arms, sleeping quietly.
—
Black Manor.
The infant slept in a delicate little bed, breathing evenly.
If he were to wake up at this moment, if he had memories of his past life, he would surely be surprised to find—
July 31, 1980.
Born in the same year, same month, and same day as Harry Potter.
But he did not wake up. He slept, and in his dream, he seemed to hear a voice in a distant place calling "Seventeen".
That voice was very far away, very light, like a dream fading away.
He thought in his dream: Who is Seventeen?
Then he couldn't remember.
Only one thing was buried like a seed deep in his not-yet-fully-formed soul—
Family.
He was going to have a family.
This time, he was no longer an orphan.
This time, he would cherish everyone who hugged him.
—
In the darkness, the sleeping soul moved unconsciously.
As if responding to something.
As if promising something.
The North Star outside the window flickered with a faint light, as if watching this newly arrived life.
A new life had begun.
Chapter 2: The North Star
Light.
When he first opened his eyes, light came flooding in.
It was not the blinding white light from falling off the rooftop, but a soft, warm light that filtered through some kind of translucent fabric, diffusing into a gentle orange hue before his eyes.
The baby blinked.
He did not know why he was aware of the word "baby." But he did know—this body was too small, so small that even turning his head was an effort, so small that his field of vision was limited to the lace canopy above his head and the blurry, swaying figures outside it.
Someone was speaking.
The voice was very distant, as if separated by a layer of water.
"... Cepheus, look, he's opened his eyes."
Then, a face appeared in his field of vision.
A young woman, with Black hair and grey eyes, her eyes rimmed with red. She held him carefully, as if holding the most fragile treasure in the world.
"His eyes are like yours," she said, her voice trembling slightly, "Grey, the grey of the House of Black."
Another face leaned in. A man, with the same deep contours and the same grey eyes, was looking tenderly at the baby in his arms.
"Polaris," the man said softly, his finger gently touching the baby's cheek, "My little North Star."
The baby looked at him, and suddenly remembered something—The North Star. Polaris. The star that always points North.
This name... he knew it. But why did he know it?
He wanted to ask, but his throat only produced a string of incoherent babbling.
"He's answering you," the woman smiled, though tears slid down, "Cepheus, he's answering you."
The man leaned down and placed a light kiss on the baby's forehead.
The baby froze.
A kiss.
This was... a kiss?
In his memories—if they could even be called that—no one had ever kissed him.
The aunt at the orphanage would pat his head, the grandmother in the canteen would give him an extra spoonful of food, but a kiss? That belonged to children who had a home.
He suddenly felt his eyes sting. But he was too small, so small that he couldn't even control his tears, and could only blink, letting that bitterness be swallowed up by the instinctive confusion of an infant.
— —
After that day, he gradually figured out a few things.
The woman who held him was named Laila, his aunt. The man was named Cepheus, his father. There was also a gentle Black-haired woman, his mother, named Long Meixiu.
The place where he lived was called "Star-Swirl Manor," it was huge, so huge that when he lay in his cradle, he could only see the star chart on the ceiling—those silver stars would slowly rotate at night, just like a real starry sky.
He had his own room, his own cradle, incredibly soft bedding, and a short little thing with big ears, who would lie by his cradle every day, staring at him with round, wide eyes.
"Little Master," the little thing said, its voice shrill, "Bangbang's Little Master, Bangbang is watching over you."
Bangbang.
House-elf.
The baby stared at the big-eared creature, and this word suddenly popped into his mind.
House-elf. A House-elf from the Harry Potter world.
Wait.
Harry Potter?
— —
[System detected host consciousness is awake, loading basic information...]
That voice appeared again. Cold, mechanical, exactly the same as the one he had heard in that darkness.
The baby was stunned.
[Loading complete. Hello, Host. The Saint Lord System has been activated.]
[Current status of host detected: Newborn, physical development 0.3%, brain development 8%, soul fusion 97%.]
[System Prompt: Due to the host's extraordinary soul strength, Occlumency has been automatically loaded. This ability will protect the host's mind from any magical intrusion and cannot be traced back to its source.]
The baby—or rather, the soul of Seventeen, now the soul of Polaris Black—in that instant, all his memories came flooding back like a tide.
The orphanage.
The rooftop.
That orange and white kitten.
The fall.
The white light.
And...
[Memory restoration detected. Gentle reminder: A newborn's brain has limited capacity, so the system will automatically compress and store memories. The host can currently access about 5% of past life memories, which will be unlocked gradually as you age.]
[System core rules loading...]
[Rule 1: Ability unlocking requires active participation in key plot nodes of the original work. The system will gradually unlock the Twelve Talismans, eight demons, and Ten Masks based on the host's emotional fluctuations and plot participation.]
[Rule 2: Twelve Talismans reach peak state upon unlocking, no proficiency required. The abilities of the eight demons are divided into Primary/Intermediate/Advanced levels and must be improved through use. The Ten Masks are unlocked based on events, one at a time.]
[Rule 3: Occlumency is permanently active, cannot be turned off, and cannot be broken.]
[Rule 4: The Tiger Talisman is the power of balance; only after it is unlocked can multiple abilities be used simultaneously, and it prevents demonic power from eroding humanity.]
[Rule 5: Pseudo-Talisman production technology must be developed by the host after mastering the essence of the Talismans; the system does not provide direct assistance.]
The baby stared wide-eyed, listening to the string of cold voices in his mind.
He wanted to ask many questions: Who are you? What is the Saint Lord? Why me? Where have I transmigrated to? What year is it now?
But he couldn't make a sound, only babble and wave his little hands.
The system seemed to sense his thoughts.
[Analyzing host's questions...]
[System self-introduction: This system originates from the Jackie Chan Adventures world and is the core management program for the Saint Lord power system. After the Saint Lord was sealed by Lo Pei, the system detached from the main body and drifted through the multiverse. Detecting high compatibility between the host's soul fluctuations and this system, it has bound itself to you.]
[Current world: Harry Potter parallel universe. Time point: August 1980.]
[Host's current identity: Polaris Black, a member of the House of Black, one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight. Father: Cepheus Black, Mother: Long Meixiu, Aunt: Laila Black, Grandmother: Cassiopeia Black.]
[Special prompt: There is a key figure in this world born on the same year, month, and day as the host—Harry Potter.]
The baby's heart gave a sudden jolt.
Harry Potter.
Born on the same year, month, and day.
July 31, 1980.
Was he... born on July 31, 1980?
Then was Harry Potter born today too? No, a few days ago? He had only been born a few days, he wasn't quite sure of the exact date.
But the system had clearly stated—born on the same year, month, and day.
He had transmigrated into a person in the Harry Potterworld, and was born on the same day as Harry Potter. And into a pure-blood family at that.
The House of Black.
He had read "Harry Potter" in his previous life, and he knew what the House of Black meant—pure-blood, ancient, dark history, and also Sirius, that tragic godfather.
Would he also have a fate like Sirius?
No, that's not right.
What did the system just mention? Father Cepheus, mother Long Meixiu, aunt Laila, grandmother Cassiopeia.
These people... they didn't seem to be in the original work?
In other words, he had transmigrated into a branch of the House of Black that existed outside the original story?
— —
"Ris?" A gentle voice interrupted his thoughts.
Long Meixiu's face appeared above the cradle, she leaned down, gently picked up the baby, and rested his little head on her shoulder.
"Daydreaming again," she said softly to Cepheus beside her, "He's always like this, staring wide-eyed, as if he's thinking about some big matter."
Cepheus smiled, walked over, and put his arm around his wife's shoulder.
"Maybe he really is thinking about big matters." He looked down at the baby, "Children of our House of Black are intelligent from an early age."
Long Meixiu shook her head, but her eyes couldn't hide her pride and affection.
"He is smart, but I always feel..." She paused, as if weighing her words, "The way he looks at people, it's not like a normal baby. It's too clear-headed."
Cepheus was silent for a moment, then gently squeezed the baby's little hand.
"Perhaps that's a good thing," he said, "In this world... being clear-headed helps you live longer."
Long Meixiu's smile faded slightly. She knew what her husband was talking about.
In 1980, the magic world was at war. Lord Voldemort and his Death Eaters were running rampant, the Order of the Phoenix was resisting in the shadows, and bad news arrived every day. They were both members of the Order of the Phoenix, and could receive a mission at any time, could at any time—she didn't let herself finish the thought.
The baby lay on his mother's shoulder, listening to their conversation, and a strange emotion suddenly welled up in his heart.
It was worry.
It was the fear of loss.
In his previous life, he had no family and didn't know what it felt like to have one. But at this moment, being held in the arms of this gentle woman, being watched by the warm gaze of that grey-eyed man, he suddenly felt that this place, these people, were things he did not want to lose no matter what. He wanted to protect them. But he was just a baby.
— —
[Detected host emotional fluctuation: Strong attachment and protective desire.]
[Emotional value met, unlocking progress initiated.]
[Prompt: The first ability unlock will be triggered when the host participates in a key plot node of the original work. Current unlock progress: 0/12 (Talismans), 0/7 (demons), 0/10 (Masks).]
The system voice disappeared. The baby lay on his mother's shoulder, his little face buried in the crook of her neck, smelling the faint scent of herbs on her.
Outside the window, the August sun was just right.
He suddenly remembered a description of the House of Black from "Harry Potter" he had read in his previous life: "The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black."
Back then, he had just skimmed over it, thinking it was nothing more than background setting. Now, he had become a member of this family.
Chapter 3: The First Loss
The nursery in Star-Swirl Manor was large—large enough to fit three beds, yet it only held one.
Polaris Black—everyone in the family called him Rhys—sat by the railing of his crib, pulling himself up to look out at the garden.
One year old.
He had already lived in this world for a whole year.
Three hundred and sixty-five days, enough for him to learn to walk, to speak, and to find his own corner in this pure-blood family's manor. It was also enough for him to confirm one thing—
His family truly loved him.
His father, Cepheus, would take time every day to keep him company, lifting him high and letting him ride on his shoulders as they wandered around the manor. His mother, Long Meixiu, would always hold him and hum songs—some were in English, others had an Eastern lilt, said to be taught to her by her mother. His aunt, Lyla, would rush into the nursery after finishing her work for the family business, spin him around, and say he looked more and more like his older brother. His grandmother, Cassiopeia, though stern, would bring an ancient magic book every time she visited and point to the pictures to tell him the history of the House of Black.
And then there was Bangbang.
That short House-elf would lie by his bed every day, staring at him with round, rolling eyes, asking, "What would Little Master like to eat? Bangbang will make it for you."
Rhys had never imagined he would have a life like this.
To have family.
To have warmth.
To have... everything that could be lost at any moment.
Because he knew, it was now 1981.
The era when Lord Voldemort was at his most rampant.
The Order of the Phoenix and the Death Eaters were fighting in the shadows, and people were dying every day.
And his parents were members of the Order of the Phoenix.
—
[System] He whispered in his mind, [I want to talk to you.]
A cold, mechanical voice sounded in his mind.
[Host has initiated contact with the System for the first time. Consciousness clarity check passed. Official communication channel opened.]
[Hello, Polaris. I am the Shendu System, at your service.]
Rhys shifted his position in the crib to sit more comfortably. He had already grown accustomed to these conversations in his mind, just as he had grown accustomed to his own precocious thinking—Bangbang would occasionally stare at him in surprise, saying he was "like a little adult," but the House-elf wouldn't gossip, and his family simply thought he was naturally clever.
[I have questions I want to ask.]
[Please speak.]
[You said that unlocking abilities requires participating in key plot points of the original work.] Rhys slowly organized his thoughts in his mind, [But I am only one year old now, and there are still ten years until Harry Potter enters school. How am I supposed to participate in the plot during these ten years?]
The system was silent for a second.
[Host has misunderstood. "Key plot points of the original work" are not limited to the Hogwarts period. The current timeline is at the end of the First Wizarding War, and many key events mentioned but not described in detail in the original work are happening now.]
Rhys was stunned.
The First Wizarding War.
Right, how could he forget?
The story of Harry Potter began in 1991, but before that, Lord Voldemort had been rampaging for a full decade. LilyPotter and James Potter were killed on October 31, 1981—which was this year.
During this time, how many battles occurred that weren't written in the books? How many members of the Order of the Phoenix sacrificed themselves? How many families were shattered?
His parents...
[My parents are members of the Order of the Phoenix.] Rhys's voice became heavy in his mind, [System, will they... die?]
[The system cannot predict the future.] The system's answer remained cold, [But according to the original timeline, 1981 will be the key turning point of the First Wizarding War. A large number of Order of the Phoenixmembers will sacrifice themselves this year.]
Rhys's heart clenched violently.
[Then what should I do?] He shouted in his mind, [I am just a baby now, I can't do anything! How am I supposed to protect them? How can I make them survive?]
[Host's emotional fluctuations are severe; it is recommended to remain calm.]
[I can't be calm!] Rhys gripped the crib railing, his small fingers turning white from the force, [That is my family! The family I didn't have in my previous life! I can't... I can't lose them again...]
He didn't manage to finish.
Because the door to the nursery was suddenly kicked open.
—
When Lyla Black rushed in, she was shaking all over.
Her face was covered in tear stains, her eyes were red as if they were bleeding, and her lips had lost all color. She didn't even care about knocking or maintaining the proper demeanor of the House of Black; she stumbled into the nursery, grabbed Rhys from the crib, and held him tightly in her arms.
"Rhys—" Her voice was so broken it was almost inaudible, "Rhys—"
Rhys was held so tightly he could barely breathe.
He felt his aunt's body trembling violently, felt her tears wetting his hair, and felt her heart beating so fast it seemed about to jump out of her chest.
Then he heard it.
He heard the footsteps coming from outside the door.
He heard his grandmother Cassiopeia's low and restrained voice: "Lyla, don't frighten the child."
He heard—
He heard the incoherent words from his aunt's mouth.
"Brother... Sister-in-law... They..." Lyla's voice was broken, as if she had been torn apart alive, "Just now... Death Eaters... Lord Voldemort himself..."
Rhys's mind went blank.
His grandmother's footsteps stopped at the door.
He lifted his head, looking over his aunt's trembling shoulder, and saw Cassiopeia Black standing by the door. That old lady, who was always serious, reserved, and valued the dignity of the House of Black above all else, was as pale as paper at this moment. One hand held the door frame, while the other tightly clutched her wand, her knuckles turning blue-white.
She wasn't crying.
But in her eyes, something had shattered.
"Edmund and Aurora are also..." She started, her voice as hoarse as sandpaper, "The Selwyns... in the same battle."
Lyla's sobbing caught in her throat, turning into a sound that was almost suffocating.
Rhys froze in his aunt's arms.
Edmund and Aurora Selwyn.
His maternal grandparents.
He hadn't seen them many times, but every time they met, that kind old lady would kiss him and say he looked like Long Meixiu when she was little. That taciturn old gentleman would secretly slip him candy, and when Long Meixiu discovered it, he would pretend to be innocent.
They...
Were dead too?
[Key plot point detected: 1981 Order of the Phoenixmember attack event.]
The system's voice sounded in his mind, the cold mechanical tone sounding particularly harsh at this moment.
[Host's parents: Cepheus Black, Long Meixiu Blackconfirmed deceased.]
[Maternal grandparents: Edmund Selwyn, Aurora Selwynconfirmed deceased.]
[Event matches original timeline: 1981 Lord Voldemortincreases attacks on the Order of the Phoenix, multiple members killed.]
Rhys couldn't hear what the system said afterward.
He only heard his aunt's crying.
Only heard his grandmother's suppressed breathing.
Only heard his own heartbeat—
Thump, thump, thump.
As if something had shattered inside his chest.
—
He had no family in his past life.
Sixteen years, all alone.
He thought he was used to it.
After transmigrating, he had parents, an aunt, a grandmother, and those warm hugs and kisses. He thought this was compensation from heaven, thought that this time, he could have a complete family.
But he had forgotten.
This was the world of Harry Potter.
This was a world where even the protagonist would lose his parents.
Why should he be an exception?
Why?
—
Rhys opened his mouth, wanting to cry, wanting to scream, wanting to vent the emotion that was almost tearing him apart—
But no sound could come out.
He just kept his eyes open, his gray eyes reflecting his aunt's tear-stained face, reflecting his grandmother's crumbling figure standing at the door, and reflecting the gray sky outside the window.
Those eyes were too quiet.
So quiet that it didn't look like a child who had just turned one.
Lyla held him, crying hysterically, but didn't notice the little person in her arms, looking at all this with such eyes.
Cassiopeia saw it.
That old lady, at this moment of losing her son and daughter-in-law, at this moment of holding on to her last breath and refusing to collapse, saw her grandson's overly quiet eyes.
There were no tears in those eyes.
Only something she couldn't name.
It was as if... he understood something.
—
[Warning: Host's emotional fluctuations exceed limits!]
[Abnormal soul fluctuations detected...]
[magic talent awakening conditions met...]
[Host's strong resistance to "loss" detected, triggering resonance with Shendu's residual magic source...]
The system's voice kept ringing in Rhys's mind, but Rhys couldn't take it in.
He just looked at his aunt, looked at his grandmother, looked at this family about to lose half of its members.
Then, he felt something wake up inside his body.
Not a spell.
Not a demon.
Not a mask.
But something more fundamental—
The talent for magic.
An affinity for all magic.
Just as Shendu himself was the Fire Demon, the source of power, naturally capable of mastering all forms of magic.
At this moment, under the immense emotional shock, under the strong obsession of "wanting to protect," "wanting to become strong," "wanting to stop all this," the magic source belonging to Shendu awakened deep in his soul.
Not just one kind of ability.
But a natural understanding of all magic systems.
Spells, understood at a glance.
Potions, the recipe known by a single sniff.
Runes, the meaning read by touch.
Dark Arts, White magic, Ancient magic, Elemental magic—
Everything, at this moment, opened its doors to him.
—
[Awakening complete.]
[Shendu's magic talent activated.]
[Host gains passive ability: magic Affinity MAX. Learning speed for all magic systems increased to the limit, depth of understanding exceeds conventional norms.]
[System prompt: This ability is Shendu's innate ability, independent of the Twelve Talismans, eight demons, and Ten Masks; it belongs to the host's own talent.]
[Cost: The host will be more susceptible to the impact of strong emotions; the perception of magic is deeply bound to emotional fluctuations.]
Rhys closed his eyes.
He felt those magical knowledges pouring in like a tide, no need to learn, no need to practice, just naturally becoming a part of him.
These knowledges were just there, as if he were born with them.
But he wasn't happy at all.
Because he also knew one thing—
These powers came too late.
If it had been a day earlier, even a day earlier, could he have saved his father? Could he have saved his mother? Could he have saved those two old people who slipped him candy?
No.
He was only one year old.
He couldn't do anything.
—
"Lyla."
Cassiopeia's voice broke the silence.
The old lady walked over, reached out, and gently placed her hand over Lyla's hand, which was holding Rhys. That hand was cold, but very steady.
"Give the child to me."
Lyla raised her tearful eyes, looking at her mother.
Cassiopeia wasn't crying. Her eyes were dry, but they had a reassuring power.
"You are his aunt, you have to support this family in the future." She said word by word, "Now, you finish crying first. Once you're done, then take the child back."
Lyla looked at her blankly, then lowered her head, gently placing Rhys into her grandmother's arms.
Cassiopeia held Rhys, looking down at this little grandson.
Those gray eyes were looking at her too.
Quiet, deep, as if hiding something.
"Your father and mother..." She paused, her voice trembling slightly, "They are heroes. They sacrificed themselves to protect others."
Rhys didn't speak.
He couldn't speak.
He was just a one-year-old baby, he shouldn't be able to understand these words.
But he reached out and gently touched his grandmother's face.
Those small, soft fingers touched Cassiopeia's cold cheek.
The old lady shuddered.
She lowered her head, looking at this child, looking at those eyes.
Then she closed her eyes and held Rhys a little tighter.
—
That night, Rhys lay in his crib, eyes open, looking at the star map on the ceiling.
Those stars were still turning, the same as always.
But his world was already different.
[System.]
He called out in his mind.
[I am here.]
[You said unlocking abilities requires participating in the original plot.]
[Yes.]
[Does the death of my parents count as original plot?]
The system was silent for a moment.
[It does.]
[Then shouldn't I have unlocked some ability at this time? A talisman? A demon? A mask?]
[System checking...]
[Detection result: Host's emotional fluctuations did not trigger any talisman unlocking.]
[Reason analysis: Talisman unlocking requires the host to actively participate in the event, rather than passively endure it. In the current event, the host is a "sufferer" rather than a "participant," not meeting the unlocking conditions.]
Rhys was silent.
He understood.
The system wouldn't give him power just because he lost his family.
He had to strive for it himself.
He had to participate himself.
He had to change it himself.
—
[System.]
[I am here.]
[If I... become strong enough in the future, can I protect the remaining people?]
[Theoretically, yes.]
[Then that is enough.]
Rhys closed his eyes.
In the darkness, he saw his father lifting him high, saw his mother holding him and humming, saw his grandfather secretly slipping him candy, saw his grandmother kissing his cheek.
Those images gradually blurred, but they didn't disappear.
They sank to the bottom of his heart, becoming a seed.
A seed called "Protection."
—
[Host's current status assessment complete.]
[Suggestion: Hide talent, grow low-key. Use magicaffinity to learn in secret, wait for the First Wizarding War to end, wait for Hogwarts enrollment.]
[Warning: Dumbledore may notice a child with extraordinary talent. The identity of a branch of the House of Black is not enough to fully protect the host, need to act cautiously.]
[Reminder: Grandmother Cassiopeia is an Honorary Deanof St. Mungos, Aunt Lyla manages the family business, both are reliable protectors. Can show precociousness moderately, but not excessively.]
Rhys listened to each point.
He knew the system was right.
He was too weak now.
Too weak to do anything.
But he would grow up.
He would become strong.
He would wait for that day—
Wait until he was strong enough, so that no one could ever take anyone away from him again.
—
Outside the window, the North Star was still twinkling.
In the crib, the child who had lost his parents opened his eyes, looking at that star.
That was his name.
That was his direction.
He wanted to become the North Star.
Always pointing North.
Always guiding those who were lost.
And always—
Protecting the people he wanted to protect.
Chapter 4: Bangbang
Morning at Star-Swirl Manor, sunlight poured into the room through the floor-to-ceiling windows, spreading a warm golden glow across the floor.
Two-year-old Lis sat by the window, holding a picture book in his hands.
It was "Magical Creatures for Little Wizards," which Bangbang had dug out from the manor library, saying it was "something the young master should read."
Lis had actually finished it a long time ago—given his current reading speed, he knew the contents of such children's picture books after flipping through them once.
But he still flipped through it every day because Bangbangwould lean over whenever he turned the pages, staring at the pictures with those large, round eyes and making all sorts of exclamations.
"Young Master, what is this?"
Bangbang pointed to a small, winged horse in the book, its high-pitched voice full of curiosity.
Lis took a glance: "An Abraxan. It can fly, and it runs very fast."
"It can fly!" Bangbang's eyes widened even further, "Bangbang can fly too! Bangbang can use Apparition!"
Lis held back a laugh.
Apparition and flying were two different things, but he didn't correct it.
Bangbang's proud tone made him unable to bear shattering its illusion.
"Bangbang is very impressive," he said seriously.
Bangbang's ears twitched, and its whole little face lit up.
"The Young Master praised Bangbang! Bangbang is happy!"
Then it waved its hand, and with a pop, a colorful bubble emerged from between its fingers, drifting lazily into the air.
Lis looked up at the bubble.
Sunlight shone on the surface of the bubble, refracting seven-colored light, as if a rainbow had been captured inside a transparent sphere.
"Do it again," he said.
Pop. Another bubble.
Pop. Pop. Pop.
Bangbang conjured a string of bubbles, large and small, floating, rotating, and colliding in the sunlight.
Some floated high, almost touching the ceiling; others floated low, sliding slowly past Lis's eyes.
He reached out to poke them, and the bubbles burst, turning into fine, sparkling specks of light that fell down.
"The Young Master laughed!" Bangbang jumped up excitedly, "Bangbang made the Young Master laugh!"
Lis was stunned.
Did he just laugh?
It seemed so.
Since his parents left, he hadn't laughed in a long time.
His aunt and grandmother never mentioned that incident in front of him, but he could feel a cautious pity in their eyes every time they looked at him.
They were afraid he would be sad.
But he was a two-year-old child—or at least, he looked like one.
He couldn't show that he understood everything, couldn't tell them, "I'm fine, I'm just thinking about how to become strong enough to protect you all."
So he could only stay quiet, reading books, daydreaming, and occasionally babbling a few simple words.
But Bangbang was different.
Bangbang didn't know what he "should" be like.
Bangbang just kept him company, made bubbles, took him on "adventures," stared at him with those large, round eyes, and asked him, "What would the Young Master like to eat?"
Bangbang was his only friend.
"Bangbang, let's make bubbles again."
Lis closed the book and looked at Bangbang.
Bangbang nodded vigorously: "Okay! Bangbang will make lots and lots of bubbles!"
It took a deep breath and waved its hands—
Pop!
A large swarm of bubbles surged from the air, as if hit by an expansion charm, instantly filling half the room.
Some were the size of a fist, others the size of a fingernail; some drifted fast, others slow; some stuck together in twos or threes, like a cluster of crystal grapes.
Lis stood up and reached out to catch the bubbles.
He stepped on the soft carpet, chasing the bubbles all over the room, while Bangbang followed behind him, continuing to conjure new bubbles as it ran.
"The Young Master runs so fast!"
"Bangbang is fast too!"
Two figures darted through the ocean of bubbles, their laughter scattered across the floor.
As they ran, Lis suddenly remembered something.
"Bangbang, why are you called Bangbang?"
Bangbang stopped and tilted its head to think.
"Bangbang... used to be called Bobo," it said, "But the Young Master called me Bangbang when he was little, so Bangbang became Bangbang."
Lis was stunned.
When he was "little"?
He was only two years old now.
But he soon understood—Bangbang was talking about when he was first born, when he couldn't talk yet and could only babble various sounds.
Back then, he called it "Bobo," but it sounded like "Bangbang," so the House-elf changed its name from then on.
"Do you like this name?" he asked.
Bangbang nodded vigorously, its ears swaying along.
"I like it! A name given by the Young Master is what Bangbang likes best!"
Lis looked at it, and a wave of warmth surged in his heart.
This House-elf had been by his side since he was born, taking care of him, protecting him, and playing with him.
House-elves didn't need names; they didn't have their own names to begin with—they only had the names their masters gave them.
But because of his mispronunciation, Bangbang happily changed its name and cherished it like a treasure.
"Bangbang," Lis walked over and took Bangbang's hand, "Let's go on an adventure."
Bangbang's eyes lit up.
"Adventure! Bangbang loves adventures!"
"Adventure" was a game invented by Bangbang.
In reality, it was just walking around the manor, seeing what new flowers had bloomed in the garden, counting how many fish were in the pond, or looking for fallen acorns under the old oak tree.
But for two-year-old Lis, this was an adventure.
Bangbang held his hand, and the two walked out the back door.
The August sun was warm, and the roses in the garden were in full bloom, red, pink, and yellow, clustered together as if holding some lively party.
"Look at this, Young Master!" Bangbang squatted down and pointed to a rose, "This flower hadn't bloomed yesterday, but it opened today!"
Lis leaned over to look.
Dew still clung to the petals, sparkling in the sunlight.
"Beautiful."
"Bangbang thinks it's beautiful too!" Bangbang said happily, "Does the Young Master like flowers? Bangbangcan conjure flowers!"
With a snap of its fingers, a tiny daisy appeared from between its fingers, white petals and a yellow center, trembling as it stood in its palm.
Lis took it and examined it carefully.
It was a real flower.
Not an illusion, a real conjured flower.
The magic of a House-elf was different from a Wizard's.
It didn't need a wand, didn't need incantations; it was more like an instinctive, innate ability.
"Bangbang is very impressive," he said again.
Bangbang's ears twitched, and it looked as if it might float away.
They continued forward.
Passing through the garden, skirting the fountain, they arrived at the old oak forest.
The oak trees were tall, their branches intertwined, casting mottled shadows on the ground.
"There are acorns here!" Bangbang let go of Lis's hand, ran to a tree, and picked up a brown acorn, "Look, Young Master!"
Lis walked over and took the acorn.
Small, hard, and wearing a "hat."
He remembered picking acorns in autumn back when he was at the orphanage in his past life.
There were no toys back then, so acorns were their best playmates.
A few children would gather together, comparing whose acorn was bigger, whose was rounder, or whose acorn's hat wouldn't fall off.
He had "friends" back then too.
But those friends would get angry if he ate an extra bite of food, would be jealous if he picked the biggest acorn, and would scramble to show off when someone came to adopt a child.
Those weren't real friends.
He looked down at the acorn in his hand, then looked up at Bangbang.
Bangbang was squatting on the ground, frantically searching for more acorns, muttering to itself: "This one is big, this one is for the Young Master... This one is big too, also for the Young Master... This one doesn't look good, don't want it..."
Lis watched its busy back and suddenly spoke: "Bangbang."
Bangbang turned its head: "Hm?"
"You are my friend."
Bangbang froze.
Its large eyes blinked and blinked, then its whole face slowly turned red, from its cheeks all the way to the tips of its ears.
"Fr... friend?" Its voice became tiny, "Bangbang is the Young Master's... friend?"
"Yes."
"Bangbang is a House-elf... House-elves can't be friends..." Bangbang lowered its head, its voice growing quieter, "Bangbang is a servant..."
Lis walked over and stood in front of it.
"You are my friend," he said, enunciating every word, "Not a servant, a friend."
Bangbang looked up at him.
Those grey eyes were quiet and earnest, like two small stars.
Tears suddenly welled up in Bangbang's eyes.
"Young Master..." it sobbed, "Bangbang... Bangbang..."
It didn't know what to say, could only wipe its tears frantically, but the tears kept coming, no matter how much it wiped.
Lis didn't mind its crying, just stood there, waiting for it to finish.
After a long while, Bangbang finally stopped crying.
It sniffed, wiped its face clean with its sleeve, and stood up, looking at Lis.
"Bangbang is the Young Master's friend," it said, its voice carrying a strange solemnity, "Bangbang will always be the Young Master's friend."
Lis nodded.
"Then," Bangbang suddenly remembered something, "Bangbang needs to find more acorns for the Young Master! Friends must find acorns for friends!"
It squatted down again and began to search frantically.
Lis couldn't help but laugh.
They stayed in the oak forest for a long time, until Bangbang's pockets were full of acorns, and the sun slanted westward, dyeing the entire manor in warm orange.
"Young Master, we should go back," Bangbang said, "Mistress Leila said to go inside before the sun sets."
Lis nodded and stuffed the last acorn into his pocket.
They walked back.
Passing through the oak forest, skirting the fountain, they walked into the garden.
As they walked, Bangbang suddenly stopped.
"Young Master, Bangbang just remembered something."
"What is it?"
"Bangbang needs to go to the kitchen to see if dinner is ready. The Young Master wait here for a moment, Bangbang will be right back."
Lis nodded.
Bangbang smiled at him, and then—
Pop.
It disappeared.
Lis stood in place, blinking his eyes.
A moment ago, Bangbang was in front of him, and now there was nothing there.
Only the air, the evening breeze, and the scent of roses from afar.
He waited for a while.
One second. Two seconds. Three seconds.
Bangbang didn't come back.
He waited a while longer.
Five seconds. Ten seconds. Twenty seconds.
Bangbang still hadn't returned.
Lis began to look around.
"Bangbang?"
No one answered.
"Bangbang?"
Only the wind blowing through the rose bushes, making a rustling sound.
Lis's heart suddenly panicked.
He knew Bangbang had gone to the kitchen, he knew Bangbang could use Apparition, he knew Bangbang had said "be right back"—
But why hadn't it come back yet?
He took a few steps forward, looking toward the kitchen.
The manor was large, and from this angle, he couldn't see the kitchen windows at all.
"Bangbang!"
He shouted even louder.
Still no response.
Lis started to run.
His little legs moved fast, stumbling as he ran along the garden path.
Rose branches brushed against his clothes, one almost scratching his face, but he couldn't care about that.
"Bangbang!"
He ran past the fountain.
"Bangbang!"
He ran past the edge of the oak forest.
"Bangbang—!"
His voice echoed in the empty manor, but no one answered.
Lis stopped, breathing heavily.
The sun was almost down, only a streak of orange-red light remained on the horizon.
The shadows of the manor grew longer, and it was getting darker all around.
He suddenly thought of his parents.
That day, they also said, "Going out for a moment, be back soon."
And then there was no "after that."
He never saw them again.
"Bangbang..." his voice began to tremble, "Bangbang, don't go... don't be like Mom and Dad..."
Tears welled up.
He stood in place, his small figure appearing exceptionally lonely in the twilight.
He cried and shouted, calling the name of his only friend—
"Bangbang—!"
Then, a pair of small hands reached out from behind him and gently hugged him.
"Bangbang is here."
That familiar voice rang in his ears, high-pitched and soft.
"Bangbang is here! Young Master, don't cry!"
Lis turned around abruptly.
Bangbang was standing right in front of him, those large, round eyes looking at him worriedly, filled with helplessness.
"Bangbang went to the kitchen, Grandma said dinner would be a little while, so Bangbang ran back to find the Young Master—why is the Young Master crying? Didn't Bangbang say I'd be right back?"
Lis looked at it, looked at those eyes, looked at those twitching big ears, and the little face scrunched up with worry.
Then he lunged forward and hugged Bangbang tightly.
"You scared me to death..." he buried his face in Bangbang's shoulder, his voice muffled, "I thought... I thought you too..."
Bangbang froze.
Then it gently patted Lis's back, just like his grandmother did when Lis cried.
"Bangbang won't leave," it said, its voice soft, "Bangbangis the Young Master's friend. Friends don't leave."
Lis didn't speak, just hugged it tighter.
After a long time, he let go and looked up.
His eyes were red, and tear tracks still hung on his face, but he was smiling.
"Bangbang," he said.
"Hm?"
"Don't disappear suddenly in the future; you have to tell me."
Bangbang nodded vigorously: "Bangbang will remember! Bangbang will tell the Young Master wherever I go in the future!"
"Pinky swear."
Lis extended his little finger.
Bangbang was stunned for a moment, then extended its little finger, hooking it with his.
"Pinky swear, promise for a hundred years, no going back," Lis said seriously, "Whoever breaks it is a puppy."
Bangbang blinked, not understanding what this ritual was, but it knew it was very important.
"Bangbang won't break it!" It nodded vigorously, "Bangbang will always be the Young Master's friend!"
The evening breeze blew gently, bringing the scent of roses.
The last streak of orange light on the horizon disappeared, and stars began to light up in the night sky.
Bangbang held Lis's hand, and they walked back slowly.
"Young Master, there's pudding for dinner!"
"Really?"
"Really! Bangbang saw it with my own eyes! A very big one!"
"Then let's go back quickly!"
Two small figures walked further and further away in the twilight.
Their shadows were stretched long by the last glimmer of light, overlapping each other, indistinguishable.
That night, Lis lay in bed, recalling the afternoon's events.
He knew Bangbang had just gone to the kitchen.
He knew Bangbang would come back.
But at that moment, he was still afraid.
Because he had lost people before.
Because he knew that some people, once they leave, really don't come back.
[System.]
He called out in his heart.
[Present.]
[Am I too fragile?]
The system was silent for a second.
[Host's emotional state detected: Self-doubt caused by separation anxiety.]
[System analysis: The host lacked stable emotional connections in their previous life, leading to excessive sensitivity regarding "loss." This reaction is consistent with the host's past experiences and does not constitute "fragility."]
[System prompt: Emotion is one of the core driving factors for the unlocking of the host's abilities. Over-suppression of emotions may lead to the obstruction of ability awakening.]
Lis was silent.
[Are you comforting me?]
[The system is stating facts.]
Lis couldn't help but laugh.
This cold system was actually comforting him in its own way.
Outside the window, the North Star twinkled in the night sky.
He thought of what Bangbang said today—"Bangbangwill always be the Young Master's friend."
Always.
He didn't know how far "always" was.
But he knew that from today on, he would cherish this friend well.
The Bangbang who could conjure bubbles.
The Bangbang who went on adventures with him.
The Bangbang who was panicked and helpless because he was crying.
The Bangbang who said, "Bangbang is here."
He would cherish it.
Just like he cherished his aunt and grandmother.
Just like he cherished everyone who was good to him.
Because this time, he was no longer alone.
Chapter 5: Regulus's Eyes
In the autumn of 1983, Star-Swirl Manor welcomed a special "guest."
Or rather, an inheritance.
Aurors from the Ministry of Magic and officials from the Department of Inheritance spent an afternoon in the living room, dealing with various documents for half the day, and finally left, leaving behind a thick stack of contracts and a dirty House-elf.
Three-year-old Reese stood at the corner of the stairs, looking at the House-elf.
He was short, about the same height as Bangbang, but much older than Bangbang. His skin was wrinkled like a dried orange peel; his two large, murky eyes had long, drooping bags under them; the hair on his ears was white and drooping, looking listless.
He was wearing a filthy tea towel, embroidered with the crest of the House of Black—but it was so dirty it was almost illegible.
"Kreacher." Aunt Lyra's voice came from the living room. "From today on, your master is Polaris Black. Reese, come here."
Reese walked down the stairs and came to the living room.
The old House-elf—Kreacher, raised his head to look at him.
Those murky eyes lingered on his face for a second.
Then—
"Hmph."
Kreacher turned his head and started muttering: "Another half-blood... defiling the Mistress's house... Kreacher's poor Mistress... Kreacher's poor Master Regulus..."
Reese stood where he was, listening to the muttering.
Half-blood.
He knew what the word meant.
His mother, Long Meixiu, was an Eastern Witch, not from a pure-blood family. In the eyes of those stubborn pure-blood supremacists, he was an existence that "defiled the bloodline."
Kreacher clearly thought so too.
"Kreacher." Aunt Lyra's voice turned cold. "Watch your attitude."
Kreacher lowered his head, but the muttering did not stop: "Kreacher knows... Kreacher knows... But Kreacher cannot lie to himself... This is no longer the House of Black's house... This is a half-blood's house..."
Lyra frowned and was about to speak when Reese suddenly spoke up.
"It's okay, Aunt."
He walked forward and stood in front of Kreacher.
"You can keep muttering," he said, his gray eyes looking at Kreacher calmly. "But this is my house, and you are my House-elf. You can mutter, but you must work."
Kreacher froze.
He raised his head and looked at this three-year-old little master.
Those gray eyes...
"Kreacher..." His voice hitched, and he lowered his head again. "Kreacher understands."
—
But Kreacher did not truly "understand."
In the following days, he still muttered incessantly. Muttering while cleaning, muttering while cooking, and every time he passed by Reese, he would mutter a few words about "half-blood" and "defiling" and "poor Mistress."
Bangbang was so angry his ears twitched.
"How can you say that about Little Master!" He blocked Kreacher, his little face flushed red. "Little Master is the best Little Master! You, you, if you say that again, Bangbang will, will—"
He hadn't thought about what he would "do," but he had plenty of momentum.
Kreacher looked down at him—although they were about the same height—and snorted.
"A newcomer House-elf, knows nothing." He walked away, muttering, "Thinking this half-blood is the best... pitiful, pitiful..."
Bangbang was so angry he wanted to chase after him but was held back by Reese.
"Bangbang, let it go."
"But Little Master! He said you—"
"I know." Reese patted his hand. "Let him talk. He'll stop when he gets tired of talking."
Bangbang stomped his feet unwillingly, but obediently did not chase after him.
Reese watched Kreacher's disappearing back, deep in thought.
Every time Kreacher muttered, he would mention a name.
Regulus.
Master Regulus.
Who was that?
—
That night, Reese had insomnia.
He lay in bed, watching the star map on the ceiling slowly rotate, thinking about Kreacher's murky eyes.
In those eyes, there was sorrow.
Very deep, very deep sorrow.
Deeper than the sorrow of anyone he had ever seen.
Why would a House-elf have such a look in his eyes?
He turned over and closed his eyes, trying to fall asleep.
But something kept him awake.
It was a strange intuition—as if someone was watching him.
He opened his eyes suddenly.
A figure stood by the bed.
No, not a person—it was Kreacher.
The old House-elf stood by his bed, hunched over, his two large eyes staring straight at him.
Moonlight shone in from the window, falling on Kreacher's face, and also on Reese's face.
Kreacher was looking at his eyes.
In those murky eyes, there were tears now.
"Master Regulus..." Kreacher's voice was as hoarse as sandpaper, so soft it was almost inaudible. "Master Regulus..."
Reese did not move.
He lay quietly in bed, watching Kreacher, watching the tears sliding down that wrinkled face.
After a long time, he spoke softly:
"Who is Regulus?"
Kreacher shuddered.
He seemed to have suddenly woken up, blinked, and the tears rolled down even more fiercely.
"Kreacher..." His voice trembled. "Kreacher is not... Kreacher should not..."
"It's okay."
Reese sat up, the moonlight shining on his small body, shining on his gray eyes.
"You can be in my room. You are my House-elf, you can go anywhere here."
Kreacher looked at him, looked at those eyes.
In the moonlight, those gray eyes were as clear as two stars.
Very much like another person.
"Master Regulus..." Kreacher muttered, repeating, then suddenly knelt down, kneeling by Reese's bed, covering his face with those withered hands, and burst into tears.
Reese did not move, nor did he speak.
He just sat there, waiting.
Waiting for Kreacher to finish crying.
—
After a long, long time.
Kreacher's crying gradually subsided, turning into sobs, then into trembling breaths.
He lowered his hands, raised his head, and looked at Reese.
"Does the Little Master want to know about Master Regulus?" He asked, his voice hoarse.
Reese nodded.
Kreacher was silent for a while, then began to tell.
Telling of a boy named Regulus Black.
Telling how smart, how proud, and how much his mother liked him when he was young.
Telling of him entering Slytherin, telling of him joining the Death Eaters, telling of him taking Kreacher with him to that cave by the lake.
Telling of that cave, full of dark water with Inferi.
Telling of that stone basin, with the green Potionshimmering inside.
Telling of Regulus ordering him: "Take me away. Then, you go home."
Telling of when he left by Apparition, the last thing he saw was Regulus's back as he walked toward that stone basin.
"Kreacher... Kreacher did not want to leave..." The old House-elf's voice trembled violently. "But Master Regulusordered it... Kreacher must obey..."
His tears welled up again.
"Kreacher went home... Kreacher waited and waited... Master Regulus never came back..."
Reese listened quietly.
He did not interrupt, did not comfort, just listened.
Upon hearing the end, he suddenly understood why Kreacher was always looking at him.
Because of his eyes.
Because his eyes were like the Regulus who never came back.
—
[Detected key plot information: The truth of Regulus Black's sacrifice.]
The system's cold voice suddenly sounded in his mind.
[Original work key plot node: Regulus Black's Horcruxtheft incident. Time point: approximately 1979. Location: Lord Voldemort's cave.]
[Detected host emotional fluctuation: Respect for Regulus, sympathy for Kreacher, strong willingness to "bring him home."]
[Tip: This event is a core plot foreshadowing for the sixth year, it is suggested that the host record the information, and go to the cave when capable.]
Reese responded in his heart.
Then he looked at Kreacher, looking at that old House-elfkneeling by his bed, crying until his whole body trembled.
"Kreacher."
Kreacher raised his head.
Reese reached out, that small, soft hand, and grasped Kreacher's withered hand.
Kreacher froze.
"I will find him." Reese said, his gray eyes quiet and earnest. "I will find Regulus and bring him home."
Kreacher's tears welled up again.
But this time he did not cry out, just looked at Reese, looked at those eyes, looked at that promise.
"Little Master..." His voice trembled. "Little Master really... really will..."
"I will."
Reese tightened his grip on his hand.
"He is a person of the House of Black. So am I. People of the House of Black do not leave their family behind."
Kreacher lowered his head, buried his face in that small hand, and cried silently.
The moonlight shone quietly on them.
Outside the window, the North Star flickered in the night sky.
—
The next morning, Bangbang rushed into Reese's room and saw Kreacher placing a set of neatly folded clothes by Reese's bedside.
"Little Master's clothes." Kreacher muttered, his voice still very hoarse, but the content of his muttering had changed. "Clean clothes... Which one does the Little Master want to wear today?"
Bangbang widened his eyes, looking at him.
Kreacher turned his head, saw Bangbang, and snorted.
"A newcomer House-elf, standing there dazed." He muttered as he walked away. "Breakfast is almost ready... Little Master cannot be hungry..."
Bangbang blinked, looked at his back, and then looked at Reese.
Reese was sitting on the bed, looking at the clothes Kreacher had folded neatly, the corners of his mouth slightly raised.
"Little Master," Bangbang leaned over and asked in a low voice, "Kreacher he... how come he..."
"It's nothing." Reese climbed down from the bed. "Bangbang, let's have breakfast together today."
Bangbang's eyes lit up.
"Okay! Bangbang will have breakfast with Little Master!"
He hopped and skipped behind Reese, looking back once before leaving the room.
Kreacher was tidying up Reese's bed, his movements slow and careful.
In those murky eyes, something seemed to be different.
—
After that day, Kreacher never muttered about "half-blood" or "defiling" again.
He still muttered, but the content of his muttering changed to "Little Master's clothes need to be ironed," "Little Master's meal needs to be hot," and "Little Master's room needs to be cleaned."
He still didn't have a good attitude toward Bangbang, but occasionally, when Bangbang was overwhelmed, he would silently help out.
He would still stare at Reese's eyes in a daze.
But now, in those murky eyes, besides sorrow, there was something else.
That was hope.
—
Many years later, when Reese stood by the lake in that cave, looking at the Inferi all over the lake, he would remember this night.
Remember how Kreacher knelt by his bed and cried.
Remember himself holding his hand and saying "I will bring him home."
Then he would jump into that dark water.
Because that was a promise.
Because that was family.
Because—
People of the House of Black do not leave their family behind.