The Black Bloodline of Hogwarts

The lights in Hagrid's cabin were already on, their glow distorted and warped by the thick twilight.

The sky was a sickly orange-purple, the sun had sunk below the treetops at the edge of the forbidden forest, but the last rays of light still struggled in the clouds, immersing the whole world in an ambiguous hue between day and night.

Julien and the others crouched in the shadows behind a boulder on the hillside, the adaptive spell on his dragon-skin jacket blending his body temperature into the surrounding environment.

Just recently, right here, Hermione from the first timeline punched Malfoy in the nose while he was watching the commotion.

Suddenly, two figures quietly approached from the direction of the pine forest.

"They're here." Elizabeth's voice came from the right. Her Star Ranger suit was almost completely invisible in the dim light, with only her icy gray eyes occasionally reflecting the faint light from the distant cabin.

"Two minutes earlier than expected," Liria added, her long, silvery hair already tied up with glowing moss from the North, her aurora armor shimmering faintly in the twilight. "Hermione's time-twister seems to be very accurate..."

“It’s not a matter of precision,” Julien said in a low voice, “it’s the elasticity of the timeline itself. When they start to intervene, the first timeline will create… ripples.” This was something Grindelwald had taught Julien.

---

Harry Potter never imagined that he would stand twice on the same evening by Hagrid's pumpkin patch.

Hermione gripped his wrist tightly, her nails almost digging into his skin—it was tension, but also confirmation, confirmation that this was not a dream.

"Look," Hermione's voice was as soft as a falling leaf, "that's us." She herself felt that her words were a little strange.

Harry followed her gaze, and his blood seemed to freeze in that instant.

On the other side of the giant pumpkin, inside Hagrid's hut, three familiar figures stood. To be precise, two were familiar backs, because he wasn't entirely familiar with his own back.

But Harry recognized Ron's red hair, the outline of Hermione's dark blue sweater, and even his own Quidditch uniform stained with pumpkin juice.

That's them. They were here three hours ago.

"This is so strange," Harry muttered to himself, but Hermione stopped him with a look.

Harry saw another Hermione arguing quietly with Ron, who was holding Scabbers. It seemed Hermione wanted Ron to apologize to her.

Just then, footsteps sounded at the front door of Hagrid's hut. Dumbledore's voice was like a warm spring breeze, yet it carried a deliberate, almost imperceptible, delay.

"Minister Fudge, look over there. Back when you were studying, that area was a grove of peach trees. Of course, regarding the disposal of this hippogriff, I think we still need to..."

"Albus, the verdict has been delivered." Fudge's voice carried the weariness of a bureaucrat. "Mr. Walton McNeil is ready..."

"Yes," McNeil, carrying a giant scythe on his back, replied in a deep voice.

"Of course, of course," Dumbledore's voice remained calm, "but allow me to point out that, according to Section 12 of the Fantastic Beasts Protection Act, any execution must be carried out after sunset. And now..."

He paused deliberately, looking up at the rapidly darkening sky. "The sun hasn't completely set yet, and that hippogriff is tied up there. Why don't we go to Hagrid's hut for a cup of hot tea?"

"Very well, Albus, as you wish." Fudge also turned to look at Buckbeak. "However, the verdict has already been handed down and cannot be changed."

"That's right, that's right," Dumbledore replied casually as he knocked on the door of Hagrid's hut.

Harry felt Hermione's hand tighten. She knew what Dumbledore was doing—he was stalling for time, buying himself room for a pre-planned scheme.

But three hours ago, they clearly didn't understand. Ron was urging them on, another Hermione was hesitating, and another version of himself was saying something to Hagrid.

"We should go," Hermione whispered, her voice trembling with anxiety. "If we don't leave, how will we—"

Harry: "?"

Suddenly, Hermione had an idea. She picked up two stones from the ground, weighed them, and then…

The first stone traced an arc, precisely shattering the bottle Hagrid had placed on the table three hours earlier.

Seeing that the three were still stunned, the second stone was thrown with even greater precision, hitting Harry Potter directly on the head.

"Oh." Harry instinctively touched the back of his head, as if the pain was still there.

Hermione from the first timeline reacted the fastest. Her gaze swept towards the pumpkin patch; she could already hear voices outside the door.

"Someone's coming," she warned Harry and Ron. "Go out the back door, quick!"

The trio from the first timeline darted into the twilight like startled rabbits. Ron's curses, another Harry's panting, another Hermione's hushed urging—all the sounds distorted and overlapped in the evening breeze, like a strange polyphonic melody.

Hermione could see her face clearly now—a young, tense face, puffy from lack of sleep. She could see the loose thread on the collar of her sweater, the one from when she was caught by Crookshanks last week. She could even smell her usual lavender shampoo wafting on the wind.

When the trio from the first timeline arrived at the giant pumpkin, Harry and Hermione from the second timeline had already retreated into the pine forest.

But Hermione, observing Hermione's back up close, also felt something was off. "Is this what my hair looks like from behind?"

Hermione, who was ahead, seemed to hear something and turned around abruptly, but the twilight was too dark, and she could only make out the hazy shadows at the edge of the pine forest.

Seeing her past self take one last look at the dim scene three hours ago before turning and leaving, Hermione now held her breath until the footsteps completely disappeared before daring to breathe again.

After the three ahead had run far ahead, Hermione pulled Harry out of the woods. "Quick, let's go save Buckbeak while we can."

As Julien watched Hermione from both timelines brush past each other at the edge of the pumpkin, the sense of temporal displacement sent a chill down his spine.

"They almost interacted." Elizabeth's voice came from the shadows, carrying the anxiety for precision characteristic of an alchemist. "The safe distance for a time converter is fifteen feet. They just—"

“Ten feet,” Liria affirmed, her Tears of Eternal Night glowing warningly on her chest—the Northern measurement magic might be more sensitive. “I can feel… the wrinkles of time are thinning.”

In the second timeline, Harry and Hermione crouched forward, shrinking their bodies into the gap between the pumpkin and the ground, the scent of moss and earth filling their nostrils.

The two men's robes rubbed against the rocks, making a faint, almost inaudible rustling sound.

"You...she almost found us." Harry's voice trembled slightly.

"Yes, thankfully," Hermione said hoarsely. "According to the Time-Turner's instructions... we can't interact with ourselves, otherwise—"

"Otherwise what?"

"Otherwise, the timeline will collapse." Hermione's robes were already covered in mud. "Or worse, it will branch out. Two Hermione Grangers, or two Harry Potters, will forever exist in the same timeline..."

"What would happen?"

"Actually, I don't know either," Hermione shrugged. "That's what the book says."

At this moment, Harry and Hermione from the second timeline burst out from the other side of the pumpkin patch and headed straight for Buckbeak.

Buckbeak looked up, its orange-yellow eyes gleaming in the twilight. It recognized Harry—but not the Harry from Julien's previous life novel.

Buckbeak was also somewhat dazed; the boy in front of it seemed to have just made eye contact with it. But it was certain that this was a stranger who had not yet gained its approval and had not yet ridden on its back.

Although Harry and Hermione were teasing Buckbeak with a ferret, the hippogriff only let out a low, almost questioning cry.

Its wings were slightly spread, but it did not lower its head, make any gesture of invitation, or follow the two people.

At this moment, Julien, who was following behind, also noticed the problem and immediately understood the reason. In this world, he was the one who had obtained Buckbeak's approval in place of Harry, and he was the one who had ridden Buckbeak through the skies.

"Alas, my plan to watch the show has been ruined," Julien thought to himself.