Sirius Black, riding his enchanted motorcycle, soared into the sky without a backward glance, utterly dashing.
His furious father, standing by the window, cursed loudly, "He's just like his irresponsible grandfather! Does he look like someone who upholds justice? Does he even know that riding that flying motorcycle is illegal? What about right and wrong now, huh? How laughable!"
The family gathering ended abruptly, leaving a bitter taste. The children, no longer daring to play, behaved exceptionally well.
But they all knew, deep down, the profound impact this incident had on them.
The steadfastness of a Black.
The inherent evil, darkness, and ill omen of a Black.
The continuation of the Black legacy...
It all slowly spread through their souls like a drop of ink in water.
Lockhart once again used his magic to travel through time. Madam Mary carefully operated the Time-Turner, rapidly rewinding towards the 'present,' until they suddenly paused at a specific moment.
Time didn't seem to have passed for long.
Bellatrix, now a little older but still dressed in youthful attire, appeared before them. Yet, the Black family ancestral hall was forever missing a few figures.
Sirius Black's parents, who had been loudly cursing before, were now portraits hanging on the wall, covered by a light veil, swaying with the ominous wind blowing through the window.
Bellatrix stood alone, waving her wand to ignite the hall's fireplace. A drowsy figure appeared in an armchair by the fireplace, as if he had been sitting there all along.
The old man looked sorrowfully at the portraits on the wall, then at Bellatrix. "Blacks always end up like this, don't they? Dying young."
Bellatrix pursed her lips, sat opposite the old man, and nodded. "Yes, but perhaps the death of a loved one is also a terrible ill omen."
The old man's eyes lit up. "What an interesting notion!"
He scrutinized Bellatrix. "Child, did you come up with that yourself?"
Bellatrix shook her head, an indescribable admiration surfacing on her face. "It was a very, very powerful wizard. I told him about the Black family's problem, and he believes that the deaths of Blacks aren't a restriction of their magical bloodline on themselves, but rather an influence brought by the magical bloodlines of other Blacks."
"I've never realized that one could look at one's own magical bloodline that way," the old man marveled. "Blacks bring ill omens to each other, which is why they're always short-lived throughout millennia of lineage."
"I don't dare tell my sisters about this discovery," Bellatrix said, looking pained. "Andromeda and Narcissa would be devastated if they knew Mother's death was due to Father and the existence of us three sisters."
"So you choose to bear it yourself?" The old man looked kindly at his great-granddaughter. "You are a true Black, with the pride and responsibility inherent in a Black."
Bellatrix forced a smile, though it wasn't a happy one. She looked sadly at the old man. "I like that powerful wizard. I want to marry him, but Father wants me to marry into the Lestrange family. I don't know what to do."
The old man waved his somewhat shriveled, age-spotted arm, looking more energetic than Bellatrix herself. He grinned, revealing only two or three teeth, and shouted, "Go after it bravely! Love is always the most wonderful thing in a magical life; it will give you the strength to overcome anything!"
Bellatrix was amused by his childish antics and giggled along with him.
But as she laughed, the sadness in her eyes remained. "But I bear the Black bloodline. I don't know if I should do this—give birth to an ill-omened child for him. He has a great cause to pursue, and I can't bring him the Black ill omen because of me, because of any child we might have."
The old man fell silent, his gaze appearing to drift into the distant past. After a long while, he sighed. "Yes, life is always so difficult, isn't it?"
Bellatrix didn't expect an answer on this matter from her grandfather; she already had her own answer.
But she was so unwilling.
So, she came here, to her grandfather, attempting to explore more information about the magical bloodline she carried, hoping that perhaps Tom might have a solution!
"Because of its ill omen, it is eternal!" The old man offered a maxim. "Our ancestors contemplated this matter and arrived at this answer."
"You need to understand that death is not the end of life. When I embrace ill omen, my life still exists, even if it's in this ominous form of a 'ghostly shadow in the castle'," the old man explained his understanding of the maxim. "Of course, you might not understand my state; you can just think of me as a dark creature."
He smiled, pointing at the magical portraits of his son and other Blacks on the wall. "But I am different from them."
Bellatrix softly murmured the phrase, "Death is not the end of life..."
"Yes," the old man chuckled, explaining, "How do we determine that our own life still exists?"
"How do we say that these people hanging on the wall are no longer themselves, while I am still me?"
"Physical immortality? Oh, we can use Resurrection spells, can't we, to reconstruct a body, though most people can't do that. My answer is that the immortality of the soul is the continuation of life."
"All components of the soul: our memories, our thoughts, our will, our emotions..." He gestured to himself. "All of this—the me now, and the me who once had a body—are the same, so I am still me."
"To take it a step further," he continued.
"We always say, 'Some people die, but they live forever in everyone's hearts.' If someone carries on my memories, my thoughts, my will, my emotions, doesn't that mean my life continues in another way?"
Bellatrix nodded, but she was already finding it difficult to grasp. Such abstract concepts inherently required extremely complex and profound thought and understanding. She could only try her best to remember it, intending to tell Tom later.
"And even further?"
The old man raised his ancient arm, sweeping it as if touching core of time. "My will and all of this, continuing through individuals, generation after generation..."
Seeing his great-granddaughter's somewhat confused expression, he prompted, "Where does magic boil? Where does magic blossom? It is in my will, my memories, my emotions, and so on."
"Such magic, passed down through generations, blossoming through generations, integrating into the souls of each generation, into the bloodlines of each generation..."
"That," he declared, "is the magical bloodline!"
"Bellatrix!" He looked earnestly at the confused young witch. "The glory of the Black family exists within the magical bloodline, within your body and your soul. It has always been there. If you can make it blossom, you will possess infinite magical power to fight against your own destiny."
"The magical bloodline is not a curse; it is a test!"
"If you are capable of bearing it, you shall possess it!"
"This is how the Blacks immerse themselves in the meaning of ill omen, moving from being cursed to being blessed, enduring the tempering of blood and fire, undergoing the exploration of wisdom, to raise the inherent greatness within their bloodline."
Bellatrix couldn't be great.
She wasn't actually that strong. Beneath her noble exterior lay a fragility. She only hoped that Tom could save her, and she would repay him with everything she had.
Unfortunately...
She probably wouldn't live long enough for Tom's salvation.
Lockhart watched all of this with an indifferent expression, knowing that Bellatrix went mad in Azkaban, willingly and desperately enduring its torment, attempting to twist her own soul—either to be destroyed or to find salvation.
She had clearly understood the Black ill omen but didn't know what 'self' truly meant.
Lockhart understood self.
He always had.
This was the fundamental reason why he wasn't affected by the dozen memories in his mind, nor by the memories of his original body.
At this moment, his expression was somewhat peculiar, because he suddenly realized that, in a sense, he had devoured a part of the Forest Witch's life, which amounted to integrating the Forest Witch's magical bloodline.
Fascinatingly, this bloodline might not inherently be the magical bloodline the Forest Witch herself inherited from her ancestors through her physical body, but rather transmitted to him in such a wondrous way.
Oh, and it wasn't just the Forest Witch.
There was Tom, too.
Integrating a part of the extreme joy and beauty of magical power, similar to that of an Obscurus, was a magical bloodline that even Tom himself didn't possess.
"How truly interesting."
Lockhart suddenly had an epiphany. He tried shaking his wand.
In an instant, Tonks and Madam Mary suddenly felt a surge of relief, as if they had finally broken free from the walls, no longer experiencing that sticky, oppressive discomfort. They could finally breathe freely.
But they still found it somewhat bizarre, as they weren't in human form; they felt like mottled human-shaped mold on the wall.
"The magical bloodline power of the Forest Witch is truly fascinating!" Lockhart exclaimed beside them. "Yes, this is the feeling!"
For the first time, he cast a spell beyond the Forest Witch's own magical framework, more completely entering the state of a 'Forest Darling.'
And this was only cast from the shallow state of 'mold.'
Perhaps he really needed to thoroughly explore the field of Care of Magical Creatures after all!
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