The Black Bloodline of Hogwarts

When the snow falls at Hogwarts, it makes a sound—a very light and dense rustling sound, like the footsteps of thousands of cats simultaneously treading on velvet.

The snowflakes were small but dense, pouring down endlessly from the leaden sky, as if the sky had a hole in it, and the silence that had been stored inside all winter was pouring out.

"Hey, Harry."

In the corridor, the Weasley twins called out to Harry Potter, who was walking with his head down.

"Ah, why is our little Harry so gloomy?" George or Fred would tease.

"What else could it be?" Harry said dejectedly. "Professor McGonagall still won't let me go to Hogsmeade today because I don't have a guardian's signature. You know the Dursleys won't sign for me."

The twin brothers exchanged a glance, a mischievous smile playing on their lips.

"It's such a shame, today is your first Hogsmeade Day."

"So, our savior needs our help."

As he spoke, George pulled a folded piece of parchment from his robes and handed it to Harry.

Harry took it with a puzzled look, opened it, and saw that it was blank. "What's this?"

"Watch us!" The twins simultaneously drew their wands and tapped them on the parchment.

"I solemnly swear that I will not do any good deeds."

……

The tea house of Madame Padve was filled with an overly sweet aroma, as if someone had poured a whole jar of honey into a lavender diffuser and then accidentally spilled a bottle of expired rose perfume.

The pink lace curtains were layered on the window, each adorned with small heart-shaped decorations, shimmering with an ambiguous glow in the firelight of the fireplace.

Julien sat at a small round table that could barely fit three people, with Elizabeth on his left and Liria on his right.

They were surrounded by couples and many acquaintances. These included, but were not limited to:

Cedric of Hufflepuff is sharing a Butterbeer with Cho Chang of Ravenclaw; Daphne Greengrass of Slytherin is so close to a seventh-year boy that they're practically sharing a scarf; Percy Weasley is sitting upright, explaining the Ministry of Magic's administrative structure to Penelope Crivart.

"My three little sweethearts," Madame Padif swayed over, her pink robe making her look like a giant, walking cotton candy.

"Would you like anything special? Our special drink today is 'Heart to Heart Hot Cocoa'—two cups share one straw."

Her gaze swept back and forth between the three of them, a knowing, unsettling smile playing on her lips: "Or... do you need a straw that can be split into three? We do have those."

"Three cups of hot apple cider with spices, three straws, please." Julien said without changing his expression. "Also, madam, the decor here... is quite unique."

Madame Partif's smile froze for a moment, then brightened even more: "Oh, you're so sweet, my dear. I'll go prepare your—hot drinks—with three straws."

As she turned to leave, Elizabeth finally couldn't help but laugh out loud, a rare mischievous glint in her icy gray eyes: "See, it's your own fault for insisting on bringing us here. Even the landlady finds it strange."

"There was no other way. Honey Duke was packed with people, and Three Brooms was too noisy. I thought it would be quieter here."

“I find it quite interesting,” Liria replied, her long, silvery-white hair shimmering strangely under the pink light. “In the North, we never have this…” she chose her words carefully, “…a pink culture.”

"As long as we don't feel awkward, it's others who will feel awkward." Julien lowered his voice. "Hey, look over there—"

He pointed to a table in the corner, where Neville Longbottom sat alone, a cold cup of tea in front of him, staring blankly out the window. Opposite him was an empty chair with a Gryffindor scarf draped over it.

"Poor Neville," Elizabeth said softly, "I heard he had an appointment with Susan, so he must have waited in vain, so—"

"So he created an imaginary date for himself?" Julien shook his head. "I think he has a better chance of getting Hannah on the date. I'll give him some pointers later."

"You're not Cupid, so don't shoot arrows randomly."

The group chatted and laughed, and time flew by.

Just then, a familiar figure flashed across the snow outside the window.

It was a large, ginger-colored cat, ridiculously big, with a strange, pigeon-toed gait.

It was carrying something in its mouth—it looked like a large oil paper package—and was wobbling along the snow-covered path toward the north of Hogsmeade.

"Isn't that Crook Hill?" Liria squinted. "Hermione's cat? It's carrying—"

"It should be food," Julien's voice suddenly turned serious. "Judging from its route, it's heading towards the Screaming Shack."

Liria's fingers unconsciously traced the surface of the pink ceramic mug: "The Screaming Shack? That haunted house?"

"Most of the ghosts in this world are made up by Muggles who don't understand certain phenomena in the wizarding world," Elizabeth said, guessing that this was also a case of misinformation.

"But there might really be 'ghosts' here now," Julien said thoughtfully, staring at the screaming shack.

"What do you mean?" Elizabeth seemed to know something and nervously grasped Julien's hand.

"If you were Sirius Black, and you were near the school, where would you hide?" Julien asked in a low voice.

"Oh my God!" Elizabeth exclaimed, drawing the attention of Madame Parthenon, who gave Julien an approving smile.

"Wait," Lyria grabbed his wrist, "you mean Crookshanks is sending...snakehead food?"

Julien nodded, his gaze following the ginger-yellow figure that had disappeared into the snow, and the eagle-headed hound totem on the inside of his right wrist began to feel slightly warm.

"Then what do we do?" Liria asked Julien.

"Let's go and see," Julien said hesitantly. "He's my uncle, after all. Besides, I want to ask about Azkaban..."

Although Elizabeth and Liria had already heard Julien say that he was not only Harry's cousin, but also a member of the pure-blood wizarding Black family, they were still shocked to hear Julien's explanation again.

At the same time, Julien also explained to them the grudges and affections between Sirius, James and his wife, and Peter Pettigrew.

While the two women were still in a daze, Julien had already taken out a few silver sieves and tossed them on the table. "Let's go. Madame Patif, keep the change—"

They pushed open the teahouse door, and a biting wind, carrying snowflakes, rushed towards them. In the distance, the pointed roof of the Screaming Shack could be seen from afar. No one knew that it was owned by Dumbledore.

Behind them, Madame Parth watched their retreating figures through the window, thoughtfully stroking her chin: "Three straws... still too young indeed."