Voldemort's Gift

In the restaurant at 12 Grimmauld Place, the morning light was cut into long, dark golden strips by the heavy curtains, falling on the long black wooden table.

The air was filled with the savory aroma of fried eggs and bacon.

(→??????????.?????? website,)

Orion sat in the main seat, holding the Daily Prophet open in his hand, his gaze sweeping over the brief report on the third page about the Ministry of Magic's new regulations for censoring Dark Arts items.

Walburga sat opposite him, meticulously fiddling with the fried eggs on his plate using a silver fork.

"The yolk is too overcooked, Kreacher." Her voice was exceptionally clear in the empty dining room. "I told you I wanted it soft-boiled, soft-boiled, you understand?"

Sirius, standing by the fireplace, smacked his lips loudly.

He was slumped in the high-backed chair, wearing a black Muggle band T-shirt with a picture of a long-haired man yelling into a microphone.

He didn't touch the food on the plate, but instead repeatedly scraped the edge of the Porcelain Plates with the tip of his fork, making a continuous and sharp scraping sound.

Regulus sat on the other side of the long table, furthest from the fireplace.

The plate in front of him was clean; the fried egg and bacon were gone, leaving only half a slice of toast.

He rested his hands on the edge of the table, sat upright, and stared at the empty plate in front of him.

He was planning his trip to the Cornwall Herb Garden.

Orion said this morning that the local management had been notified and were ready to receive them at any time.

He planned to set off in the afternoon and use Apparition to get directly to the Plantation.

Suddenly, the flames in the fireplace shot up high.

The flames turned from orange-red to dark green, shooting up to the top of the fireplace, and Mars landed on the carpet, burning several charred spots.

Orion put down the newspaper.

Walburga raised his head, the fork hovering in mid-air.

Sirius stopped scraping the plate.

Regulus's gaze sharpened instantly, his right hand hanging down naturally, ready to grasp the wand at any moment.

A figure stepped out of the flames with swift and decisive movements.

The hem of his black travel cloak was still stained with unburnt green Mars, and the heavy heels of his boots kicked up a small cloud of dust on the carpet.

Bellatrix Black.

She hadn't yet taken her husband's surname, knew the address of the old house, and entered through the passageway with the Black family's fireplace.

However, it was very impolite.

She steadied herself, shook her head, and her long, dark, curly hair fell loose, with a few strands clinging to her temples.

His face bore the weariness of a long journey, but his eyes shone with an alarming brightness, a kind of intense, burning excitement.

"Bellatrix!" Walburga stood up, ignoring the napkin that had fallen to the ground.

She opened her arms wide, her voice rising with surprise. "My child! How could you—"

Bellatrix hugged her first, quickly and with a perfunctory intimacy, then turned to Orion, a smile that barely smacked her lips.

"Uncle."

Orion looked at her, said nothing, and simply nodded very slightly.

His gaze fell on the hem of Bellatrix's cloak, where there was a small dark red stain, like dried blood or the residue of some kind of Potions.

Sirius snorted and leaned back, the chair legs scraping against the floor with a harsh screech.

He crossed his arms, his face radiating utter schadenfreude.

Bellatrix didn't look at him. From the moment she appeared, she hadn't given Sirius a second glance, as if he were dirtier than House-elf.

She walked straight up to Regulus, so close that Regulus could smell her scent—fishy, pungent, and hot.

"Regulus," Bellatrix's voice was a little hoarse, but her tone was high, "My dear cousin."

Regulus looked up, his face showing surprise and politeness.

He didn't stand up, but simply adjusted his posture slightly, lifting his back off the chair to show that he was listening attentively.

"Cousin," he said, his voice tinged with barely concealed enthusiasm, "I didn't expect you to come. Have you had breakfast? Do you need Kreacher— "

"No need," Bellatrix interrupted him, her smile turning eerie, the corners of her mouth curving upwards so wide that the muscles around her eyes twitched slightly. "I didn't come here to eat."

She reached her hand inside the cloak, her movements slow and deliberate, as if savoring some kind of ritual.

The restaurant fell silent, save for the occasional crackling of the fireplace flames.

Orion put his hands under the table.

Bellatrix pulled out a box, the material of which at first glance looked like bone.

It is roughly rectangular in shape, about the size of an adult man's palm, with natural textured surfaces and has been finely carved.

The surface is covered with Rune that do not belong to any of Regulus's known systems. The Rune marks are filled with a dark golden substance that gleams with a golden light, but the texture is distorted and ferocious.

The moment the box appeared, the air temperature plummeted.

The flames in the fireplace suddenly dipped, their color changing from orange-red to dark red, as if something had drained their heat.

Several silver Tableware on the long table vibrated slightly at the same time, emitting a high-frequency hum.

Walburga gasped and covered his mouth.

Sirius, who had been sitting casually, became alert, his eyes fixed on the Bone Box.

Orion frowned, no longer trying to hide it.

Regulus's gaze lingered on the box for a moment before returning to Bellatrix's face.

His expression remained unchanged, but his Magic Perception had already spread out.

The feedback was very disorganized.

A powerful surge of soul energy, shattered and twisted, like countless people screaming simultaneously while their mouths were covered.

The concentration of dark Magic Power was abnormally high, and it also exhibited obvious guiding characteristics.

Its structure is complex, with at least seven nested layers of Magic protection inside, and the core area is completely shielded from detection.

"That Dark Lord has heard about what happened at Hogwarts." Bellatrix's voice was low, yet every word seemed to carry a inflammatory tone.

"By upholding Black's dignity and suppressing dissenting voices, he believes you have demonstrated potential far beyond your years."

She looked into Regulus's eyes. "There's still the right inclination."

Regulus didn't reply, but simply tilted his head slightly, gesturing to listen.

Bellatrix pushed the Bone Box forward, almost touching Regulus's chest.

"This is the essence of knowledge he salvaged from an ancient, cursed ruin during his travels around the world in his youth."

She licked her lips, her eyes shining with an eerie light. "This is a Dark Enlightenment."

The restaurant was so quiet you could hear Walburga's rapid breathing.

"Dark Enlightenment?" Regulus repeated, his tone tinged with doubt and caution. "Cousin, I don't quite understand—"

"It has no fixed incantation, no standard gestures," Bellatrix interrupted him, her speech quickening.

"It is a seed, a seed of dark Magic. When you touch it, it will resonate with your soul, memories, and Magic Power, and then show you a path."

"A road?" Regulus asked.

"The path to true power." Bellatrix's voice was almost a whisper, her breath hot on Regulus's face.

"It will show you the possibilities that are obscured by worldly morality and cowardly common sense."

How can pain be transformed into Magic Power more efficiently? How can the curse be perpetuated in the bloodline? How can pure power be extracted from despair?

She stared at Regulus's face, observing his reaction.

"Of course, it comes at a price. Those with weak wills will be consumed, indulging in a false sense of power, and ultimately suffering a mental breakdown, or..."

Bellatrix laughed, revealing her teeth. "Completely corrupted by darkness, turned into a monster that only knows how to chase power."

The Dark Lord said, "This gift is only for those who dare to face the darkness and have the confidence to bring strength back from it."

Regulus fell silent.

His gaze returned to the Bone Box, this time examining it more closely.

He could feel the Magic Power surging within the box actively enticing him.

Then he looked up at Bellatrix, his face showing the expression of a young man—awe and hesitation.

"Cousin, thank you for that Dark Lord's kindness." He spoke slowly, with a hint of hesitation.

"However, I worry that my knowledge is insufficient for such a profound Magic creation."

If I approach this rashly and do not do it properly, I will not only waste this gift, but I may also, due to my incompetence, offend that Dark Lord's good intentions.

Bellatrix's smile froze for a moment.

Then she laughed again, this time in a shrill voice, with undisguised sarcasm.

"Scared?" She took a step closer, the Bone Box almost touching Regulus's chin.

"My dear Regulus, what are you afraid of? Are you afraid of power? Or are you afraid of the expectations that Dark Lord has for you?"

Regulus leaned back slightly, avoiding direct contact with the Bone Box, his eyes lowered. "I simply believe that such a precious gift should be treated with the necessary reverence and—"

"Awe?" Bellatrix's voice rose. "That Dark Lord gave you the chance to touch true power, and you're talking about awe?"

Regulus, you're twelve years old, not two. The Heir of the Black family shouldn't be so timid.

Walburga finally couldn't hold back any longer.

"Reggie!" Her voice trembled, whether from excitement or nervousness, "Take it! This is an honor! That Dark Lord thinks highly of you!"