Sagres carefully pulled it out and gently opened it, his fingertips tracing the ancient and elegant cursive script.
On the cover of the book were several bloody words: "Bloodline Grafting and Purification."
The bloodstains actually looked quite fresh. A glance at the signature revealed: Quinin Baelish Gaunt.
He raised an eyebrow.
"Interesting. It's someone from the House of Gaunt..."
Sagres muttered to himself, tapping the surname with his fingertip. "This book was probably written a very long time ago."
Sirius leaned over for a look and immediately wrinkled his nose in disgust. "Gaunt? Tch, it seems they're extinct. And this book just feels uncomfortable; you'd best be careful. Who knows what evil knowledge is hidden inside."
Sagres nodded, but then immediately shook his head.
"Knowledge itself has no good or evil; the key lies in how it is applied."
He said calmly, his gaze still fixed on the complex magical creature diagrams on the pages.
"And by whom it is applied," Harry suddenly interjected.
Sagres shifted his gaze from the book in his hand to Harry, then offered a rare smile.
"You're right. It's often not the knowledge that's evil, but the people who misuse it."
He held up the heavy tome in his hand. "For example, some principles in this book might allow us to reverse-engineer methods to break certain evil blood curses. And... to graft the magical abilities of one magical creature onto another."
Harry listened, a mix of curiosity and wariness. "That sounds very dangerous, Professor."
"All powerful magic is dangerous, Potter."
Sagres finally looked up at both of them. "Controllable risk is the driving force of progress."
He closed the book, holding it in his hand, his gaze sweeping across the vast study. A flicker of satisfaction appeared in his eyes.
"The books here need systematic classification, organization, and risk assessment."
He turned to Sirius, saying calmly, "Some of them are quite valuable. Black, may I stay here for a while? In return, I will complete this sorting work."
Sirius was momentarily stunned, seemingly not expecting such a request, then immediately burst into hearty laughter. "Of course! I'd be delighted! Stay as long as you like! Honestly, these things are just wasted on me; they just annoy me to look at. If you can organize them and even find something useful, that would be wonderful!"
He paused, as if remembering something, and turned to call into the shadows of the corridor. "Kreacher! Did you hear that? Whatever Professor Greengrass needs, you get it for him!"
A very faint whimper came from the shadows, but there was no response.
"Thank you."
Sagres nodded, seemingly unsurprised by the lack of reply. "Well then, perhaps we can start by establishing a basic set of protective and retrieval magic..."
As he spoke, he took out his wand and waved it in the air towards the massive bookshelves. "This way, we can avoid accidents when browsing certain particularly sensitive collections."
...
Once Sagres immersed himself in the vast sea of books in the House of Black, he completely forgot the passage of time and his initial purpose as a guest.
He had originally only come at Sirius's invitation for dinner, but his eyes, upon encountering those dusty, rare editions, could no longer be torn away.
In the early evening, as Sirius and Harry set the table in the dining room, waiting for their main guest, they found the study door still tightly shut.
"Is he still in there?" Harry asked, a little uncertainly.
Sirius shrugged, with a mix of understanding and helplessness. "I should have known. That room is a nightmare for us, but for him... it's probably like Honeydukes' sweet shop."
He looked at the empty seat by the dining table, sighed, and said to Harry, "It seems our guest is temporarily unavailable."
He then turned to the corner. "Kreacher!"
The old house-elf appeared, not by Apparition, but by grudgingly shuffling out of the shadows.
"Go take some dinner to the Professor in the study," Sirius ordered.
A flicker of fear crossed Kreacher's large eyes, and his bat-like ears flapped weakly.
"Kreacher go... go give food to that terrible wizard? Is this an order?" he asked, craning his neck. "If it's not an order, Kreacher will not go!"
Sirius immediately frowned. "That's right! It is an order!"
He pointed to the study. "And I also order you to be polite to the Professor. Now go!"
"But... that wizard... that Professor..."
As he spoke, Kreacher began to bang his wrinkled forehead on the floor, over and over. "It is not that Kreacher is cowardly, nor that Kreacher wishes to disobey orders, but Kreacher truly cannot go..."
A flicker of understanding immediately passed through Sirius's eyes.
It seemed Kreacher had suffered quite a bit during his first encounter with the other party.
"Alright!" He stopped the house-elf's self-abusive behavior. "Go on."
Kreacher, as if granted a great pardon, vanished without a trace.
"I'll go instead."
Harry stood up, offering to go.
He skillfully loaded roast beef, Yorkshire pudding, and peas onto a wooden tray, then carried the tray and carefully knocked on the study door.
The scene inside the door made him pause, clearly not what he had expected:
Sagres was not sitting at the desk, but directly on the floor, surrounded by a dozen open, ancient tomes.
The faint glow from his wand tip flickered in the dim room, and a self-writing quill floated in the air with a parchment scroll that trailed to the floor.
"Professor?" Harry called softly.
Sagres looked up, his eyes momentarily lost. He saw the tray in Harry's hand, then realized something with a start, a rare hint of apology crossing his face.
"Sorry... Potter."
He rubbed his temple, a touch of weariness in his voice. "I lost track of time."
He motioned for Harry to place the tray on the only empty small tea table nearby, then quickly and simply ate a few bites, his gaze never fully leaving the magic book spread on his lap.
"Most of the content," he explained quickly while chewing his food, "is filled with useless pure-blood rhetoric, absurd family myths, and Dark Arts conjectures that have long been proven false—utterly worthless."
"But occasionally," his voice paused, a spark of pleasure in his eyes, "some extremely unique, even brilliant, unconventional views and methods will emerge."
"They are hidden among a large amount of junk information, like gold specks in sand, requiring great care to find."
At this point, he added, "Hmm... some of these ideas are very inspiring to me."
He felt very apologetic, but his thirst for knowledge clearly outweighed social etiquette.
Harry completely understood the feeling—just as focused as he would be before a crucial duel or a Quidditch match.
"It's alright, Professor," Harry quickly said. "If you need it, I can bring it to you again tomorrow. There's no rush; Sirius said you can read here anytime."
"Thank you." Sagres nodded, his attention clearly about to be drawn back to the contents of the book.
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