The Black Bloodline of Hogwarts

"Ron, what's going on?" Harry took out his glasses and put them on. The moment his vision cleared, he saw Ron kneeling on the ground, lifting his sleeping bag and throwing it off.

"Banban is gone!" After saying that, Ron climbed out of his sleeping bag and stepped barefoot onto the cold stone floor.

His gaze swept across every corner of the auditorium, the shadows elongated by the candlelight, the narrow gaps between the sleeping bags, and the backpacks and crucibles piled against the wall.

He hoped that the bald rat was playing nearby.

Simo poked his head out of the sleeping bag beside him, his hair a mess. He blinked sleepily, then quickly woke up: "Banban, are you sure? Maybe he's just looking for something to eat nearby."

"I'm going to look for him," Ron muttered to himself, his voice growing louder. "He must be nearby, maybe..."

"Mr. Weasley."

Snape's voice was like a cold knife, silently thrust out from the shadows, precisely piercing Ron's flustered breaths.

A figure in a black robe emerged from the shadows, a thin lip beneath a hooked nose bearing that signature, nauseatingly sarcastic smile, and dark eyes that gleamed with the patience of a cat hunting a mouse in the candlelight.

"In the dead of night," his voice was soft, yet it silenced the entire Great Hall to the point of being like a tomb, "where do you think you're going, given that Headmaster Dumbledore has explicitly ordered all students not to leave the Great Hall?"

"My mouse," Ron's voice trembled with tears, "Spotty is gone, I must—"

"Is that so, a rat?" Snape repeated, his tone as if he were savoring some inferior potion, rolling each syllable on his tongue before spitting it out.

"A dirty, mangy rat. Is that your excuse for disobeying orders? With Sirius Black possibly still in the castle?"

"He's no ordinary rat!" Ron's face flushed crimson, a red that burned from his neck down to the tips of his ears. "He's been with our family for twelve years, ever since my brother Percy..."

"Twelve years," Snape interrupted him, his voice filled with disbelief. The slow, cruel tone reminded Harry of every moment in Potions class when Snape destroyed the young wizards' confidence.

He took a step forward, his black robe trailing on the ground with a soft rustling sound.

"Interesting. Really interesting. An ordinary mouse usually doesn't live past three years. But yours... what, Spotted, lived for twelve years, and—"

His gaze fell on Ron's empty hands, a slow, deliberate scrubbing as if he were wiping something dirty. "And he just disappeared, on the same night Sirius Black infiltrated the castle."

silence.

"What—what do you mean, Professor?" Ron opened his mouth, but the words caught in his throat.

Snape took another step forward. His shadow completely enveloped Ron. The barefoot, red-haired boy standing on the stone pavement suddenly looked so small, so frail, like a frog being stared at by a snake.

"I mean, Mr. Weasley," Snape said, lowering his voice so that only a few awake students nearby could hear him.

"If Black sneaked into Hogwarts to find a mouse—" he paused, his lips twisting into an even more sarcastic smile, "that's... a dog chasing a mouse."

Several students, awakened by the noise—Dean Thomas and a few Slytherin girls—suppressed laughter. The laughter sounded particularly jarring in the empty Great Hall.

Ron's face turned bright red, and his fists clenched and unclenched.

“But of course,” Snape continued, his voice regaining its lazy indifference, “if Black is just trying to fill his stomach, then he’s really unlucky. After all, the food in Azkaban… isn’t ideal.”

"You—" Ron's voice trembled, filled with anger and something deeper—fear, "How could you—"

"Go back to your sleeping bag, Mr. Weasley." Snape turned, his black robes swirling in a crisp arc, like a black blade.

With his back to Ron, his voice carried a cold, unquestionable authority: "Unless you also want to be Sirius Black's next appetizer."

Ron stood there, his bare feet on the cold stone slabs, feeling an unprecedented loneliness.

His freckles, his companion of twelve years, vanished on this dangerous night.

"Krok Hill!"

Hermione's voice came from the other end of the Gryffindor area, filled with the same fear and anxiety. As if reminded of something by Ron, she sat bolt upright in her sleeping bag, her hair standing on end even more wildly.

"My cat—Crooked Hill—is still in the dorm! I keep him locked up in the dorm, but—if Blake could get through the portrait, if he could—"

Her voice trailed off as Snape turned to her, his dark eyes gleaming with an almost pleasurable light in the candlelight.

“Miss Know-It-All,” he said, his tone like announcing some kind of punishment, each word enunciated clearly, “let me sort out your logic: you worry about the safety of a cat, while right now, the disappearance of a mouse has already broken Mr. Weasley's heart. Perhaps…”

His lips twisted in a grimace. "Perhaps Sirius Black came to Hogwarts to collect pets? To build some kind of... animal army?"

Hermione's face went through the full spectrum of anxiety to anger in an instant. A fire ignited in her brown eyes that Harry knew all too well—the kind that only appeared when faced with Snape's unfair treatment in class.

"This isn't funny, Professor!" Hermione's voice trembled with tears, but even more so with anger. "The Crookshanks aren't ordinary cats, they are—"

"What is it?" Snape stepped closer. "A pet with 'special abilities'? Like Mr. Weasley's 'special rat'?"

"Perhaps it's going to find that rat, isn't that normal?" Snape said sarcastically.

Hermione opened her mouth, then suddenly realized something. Her gaze fell on Ron, on the barefoot, red-haired boy on the stone floor.

Spotted. Krug Hill.

This semester, Crookshank's pursuit of Spotted has been almost obsessive, an unwavering focus. She had always thought it was a cat's instinct, the hunting nature of the mixed-breed raccoon.

but……

"Now, go back to your sleeping bag, Miss Granger." Snape's voice returned to its cold tone.

Hermione turned stiffly and walked toward her sleeping bag. But her gaze met Ron's for a moment. That glance held a mixture of confusion and worry, and a heavy unease that neither of them could name.

---

In a corner of the castle, in a forgotten, dusty room, moonlight seeped through the broken stained glass windows, casting dappled, red and blue patches of light on the floor.

A large black dog was curled up in the deepest shadow of the room. It was much larger than an average dog, and its tangled black fur looked like a solidified mass of night in the moonlight.

Its ribs were faintly visible beneath its fur, a testament to long-term hunger. Deep-set eyes stared intently at the creature before it.

A large ginger cat sat opposite it.

Krug Hill.

Crookshank's flat face bore a strange, almost human expression. Its amber eyes were fixed unblinkingly on the black dog. Its tail swayed gently, sweeping across the dusty stone slabs and leaving a fan-shaped trail.

The black dog let out a low whimper, like a sigh or a question. Crookshanks responded with a soft purr, and then—incredibly—he took a step forward and nuzzled the dog's front paws with his head.

The black dog lowered its head and gently nudged Crookshank's neck with its nose. The cat purred contentedly, then—turned and walked toward the door, its tail held high, as if to say: Follow me.

They disappeared into the darkness of the corridor, their footsteps as light as ghosts.

Outside the window, the moon hid behind the clouds. The Hogwarts clock tower struck twice, its hollow sound echoing through the castle.

Julien opened his eyes and stared at the candles suspended on the ceiling. The eagle-headed hound totem felt slightly warm beneath his skin.

Sirius Black has left.