The Black Bloodline of Hogwarts

Harry Potter sat in the corner of the table, his steak already cold, the knife and fork neatly arranged on either side of the plate—he hadn't touched it.

Ron and Hermione sat on either side, exchanging worried glances.

In today's Defense Against the Dark Arts class, Harry faces a Boggart, a Dementor.

When his Boggart transforms into a Dementor, that bone-chilling cold from the school train returns.

He seemed to hear a woman's scream again, and he was certain it was his mother's dying scream. The fear nearly made him faint again, but Professor Lupin stepped in front of Harry in time.

Professor Lupin's explanation remained that Dementors are the most evil creatures, and they are currently unable to defeat them. Lupin then took the opportunity to announce the end of the day's lesson.

Although due to time constraints, a large number of young wizards were unable to practice, Harry Potter was still the only one who did not solve the Boggart problem on his own.

Just now, when we entered the restaurant, Malfoy and his friends were there, cloaked and pretending to be Dementors, trying to scare Harry.

"Ignore Malfoy," Ron said, his mouth full of Yorkshire pudding. "He's just a..."

“I know,” Harry interrupted him, his voice low, “not because of Malfoy.”

His gaze passed over Hermione and landed on a table in the distance. Julien Black was talking in hushed tones with Elizabeth Rozier and Lyria, as relaxed as if they were discussing tomorrow's weather.

Harry recalled the scene from Defense Against the Dark Arts class. He had almost fainted when facing the Boggart, while Julien had simply smiled and uttered "Funny, funny," turning everything into a joke.

"It shouldn't be like this," Harry said suddenly.

"What?" Ron asked.

“Julien dealt with Dementors on the train to school,” Harry’s voice was tinged with suppressed anxiety, “real Dementors, not Boggarts. Professor Lupin said it was a special case, that we’re too young, but—”

He paused, a stubborn flame burning in his green eyes: "But if I can't even handle a Boggart transformed into a Dementor, how can I deal with a real Dementor? How can I deal with Sirius Black?"

"What do you mean by dealing with Sirius? Don't get the wrong idea," Hermione quickly said, then she and Ron exchanged a glance.

They knew Harry was under a lot of pressure lately—the rumors from Duff, Black's approach, Trelawney's prophecy, and so on.

"Perhaps..." Hermione hesitated, "Perhaps you could ask Julien?"

"That's what I think too." Harry didn't hesitate and immediately stood up, walking quickly towards Julien's table.

Ron was about to chase after her when Hermione grabbed him, saying, "It's better for Harry to handle this himself."

"However, Harry's reaction to the Dementors was a bit too much," Hermione said, listlessly poking at the potatoes in her bowl with her fork; she really had no appetite.

"Indeed, we all have our own fears. Like me, I still think spiders are the scariest thing; like you, you're most afraid of failing exams; and Neville... wait? Why would Professor Lupin be afraid of the moon?"

"What?"

"Professor Lupin's Boggart is a moon."

"The moon, oh right, it's a full moon."

---

Harry and Julien sat on a stone bench by the Black Lake. The autumn wind swirled the withered leaves, creating delicate ripples on the lake's surface.

"I'm sorry, Julien," Harry's voice was a little hoarse, "I've disturbed your dinner."

Julien turned around, his emerald eyes appearing exceptionally deep in the twilight. He seemed to have anticipated Harry's arrival, a knowing smile playing on his lips: "What nonsense are you talking about, Harry? We're not just friends, we're brothers."

Harry smiled, nodded, and unconsciously rubbed his wand. "I want to learn from you. The real spell. Not the one used against the Boggarts, but the one you used on the train when school started—"

"The Guardian Charm," Yu Jie continued, "this is called the Guardian Charm. I don't know why, but it's not in the third-grade textbook. Maybe it's too difficult."

“I’m not afraid of difficulties,” Harry interrupted him, his voice tinged with pleading. “What I’m afraid of is… fainting again. I’m afraid of hearing that voice again, seeing that green light again, and being unable to do anything about it.”

Julien fell silent. He looked at Harry. This was a boy chosen by fate, a boy chosen by Trelawney, a boy chosen by Voldemort, and finally a boy chosen by Dumbledore.

As the saying goes, everything is a choice. At least, fate chose Harry, not Neville, who was born at the same time as him.

"Alright," Julien finally said, "I've already prepared something for you." With that, he pulled a folded parchment from the inner pocket of his robe. On it:

"Look, this is the incantation for the Guardian Angel. I've marked the intonation and rhythm for you."

Then Julien pointed to the complex wand trajectory diagram drawn next to him and said, "This is the spellcasting morphology of the Patronus Charm."

Julien pulled out his wand and gestured in the air, leaving a pale golden trail at the tip of the silver linden wand: "But most importantly, when casting a spell, you must imagine your happiest memory, and let that happiness flow from within you, not from the wand—"

"From inside the body?" Harry repeated, puzzled.

"Yes. It's genuine joy." Julien put away his wand. "It absolutely cannot be fear. The reason Dementors make you faint is because you've faced fear since birth. Dementors not only drain your joy, but they also make you recall your fears and amplify them."

After a pause, Julien continued, "But if the pleasure within you is powerful enough, so powerful that it cannot be absorbed, but instead can—"

"What can I do?"

“We can defeat them,” Julien said softly, recalling the Dementors that had been completely wiped out on the train, “but it’s dangerous, Harry. Very dangerous. If your pleasure isn’t pure enough, if your will wavers even slightly—”

"I'll be drained dry," Harry replied, his voice unusually calm. "I know. But I'm willing to try."

“Oh, and one more thing,” Julien added, “your guardian spirit form. It’s not just an animal, but a projection of your soul. Don’t force it into any particular shape; let it manifest naturally—”

"Like your raven?"

Julien paused for a moment, then laughed: "How did you know it was a raven?"

“I saw it,” Harry said, “on the train, a silver light…” He hesitated, “the symbol of Ravenclaw, right? No wonder you were sorted into Ravenclaw. But I feel there’s something else about you—”

"Alright, alright," Julien waved his hand to interrupt him, "Stop analyzing me. Remember the key points: the happiest memories flow from within, don't force them into any form. And—"

He lowered his voice, his emerald eyes gleaming in the twilight: "You can practice your pronunciation and gestures on your own, but if you want to deal with anything, go to Professor Lupin first; his Boggarts are the best teaching aids. But don't go looking for Dementors alone, promise me."

Harry opened his mouth as if to say something, but in the end he just nodded.

But Julien saw it. He saw that fleeting, stubborn glint in Harry's eyes.

---

Harry, Ron, and Hermione followed Percy, climbing up the familiar route with the other Gryffindor students.

The post-dinner drowsiness made the group seem a bit sluggish. Lee Jordan was imitating the Fat Lady's operatic singing in an exaggerated low voice, which made a few younger students chuckle.

"Quiet!" Percy turned and glared at him, his prefectural badge gleaming in the candlelight. "Please keep quiet!"

"Come on, Percy," one of the twins muttered, "I bet you're the loudest one. Besides, it's still early, not even here yet..."

His words came to an abrupt end.

The spiral staircase reached its end, and a familiar passageway appeared before them. Scarlet and gold tapestries swayed on the walls, and the torchlight bathed everything in warm hues—except for the painting.

That portrait should have been inhabited by the fat lady.

"Merlin's shoes..." Neville Longbottom's voice came from the back of the group, filled with terror.

"The fat lady has disappeared."