The Black Bloodline of Hogwarts

Julien stood there, unable to move for a long time. The night wind blew through the hall, chilling his back.

Pee-pee's words fit together perfectly with the secret he had just read, creating a breathtakingly grand picture.

He, Shym Julien Black, a transmigrator who thought he was just here to experience the magical world and watch Harry Potter's fate unfold, was unknowingly pushed into the eye of a storm that concerned the very survival of the magical world.

Even before the Christmas bells have rung, Hogwarts Castle is already adorned in festive attire.

Ivy-entwined pillars were covered with holly and mistletoe, and magical snowflakes that would never melt floated on the ceiling of the auditorium.

Meanwhile, the enormous Christmas tree that Hagrid was struggling to drag emanated a warm aroma of pine needles and cinnamon from the corner.

Hogwarts has a two-week holiday for Christmas, but for Shym Julien Black it is a rather lonely time.

My parents are currently in London, overwhelmed with the crucial battle for Blackvine Winery's entry into the Asian market, and simply cannot leave.

So he had no choice but to embark on his journey home alone, returning to his home in Bordeaux surrounded by vineyards.

With a tremendous roar, the Airbus A320 rose from the end of the runway and disappeared into the boundless blue sky.

The flight time from London Gatwick Airport to Bordeaux Mérignac Airport in France is not long, about 1 hour 30 minutes to 1 hour 45 minutes.

After the plane reached level, Julien closed his eyes to rest, while simultaneously entering the magical resonance library in his mind to look at professional books in an attempt to induce sleep.

Suddenly, the black cat Murphy reappeared beside him, its large tail brushing against his feet. "Watch out, the girl in the left porthole has already looked at you six times."

"Is that so? Isn't that normal?" Even as he said this, Julien still lazily opened his eyes and looked to the left.

Even many years later, Julien still felt that she looked like a painting when she sat there.

The porthole is a picture frame, framing a gradient of blue—from indigo to aquamarine. The light at 30,000 feet isn't as direct as it is on the ground; filtered through the thin atmosphere, it seems to leave only a clear, silvery sheen, slowly flowing across her silhouette.

Her skin was so white it was almost translucent, like the finest porcelain. The light kissed her forehead, slid down the gentle slope of her nose, gathered at the tip of her nose into a small, undisturbed point of brightness, and then split at the cupid's bow, disappearing into the shadows at the corners of her mouth.

Black hair mixed with the warm color of flax, like wheat straw after the autumn harvest. A few strands of hair broke free from their restraints and fluttered by the porthole where the air was gently swirling.

Her gaze met Julien's directly without flinching, a hint of a smile playing in her cool eyes.

After exchanging seats with a friendly passenger, Julien sat down next to Elizabeth Rozier.

"Blake? What are you doing here?" His tone still carried an air of nobility.

Julien chuckled. "I'm going home, to Château Blackvine in Bordeaux. But how are you getting there? I remember you said you're living in Belgium now."

"This Christmas, my parents and I went to visit my aunt, who lives in Fontsarris, Bordeaux, which is roughly equivalent to Hogsmeade in England."

After a pause, Rozier added, "I know that Black Vine Winery is actually only twenty kilometers away from Funzari."

"Really? That's great! You can come visit me. I can treat you to the best Merlot."

"I'm not old enough to drink yet," Rozier said, her reproachful eyes revealing a hint of eagerness.

"It's alright, we have non-alcoholic specialty drinks. And let me tell you, winters where I'm from are absolutely beautiful..."

"That's strange, why have I never seen this guy talk so much before?" Murphy muttered to himself in the library.

After getting off the plane, Julien saw Rozier's two large suitcases. "How are you going to get there? It's inconvenient." Julien knew there were cars passing by Château Blackvine from the airport, but he didn't know how to get to Fonsari.

"I can take the public carriage that specializes in transporting wizards," Rozier glanced at Julien. "Didn't you know?"

"A public carriage?" Julien's interest was piqued. He had never heard of such a mode of transportation in France.

"You really don't know?" Rozier showed a hint of surprise, then switched to that teasing expression that said, "You really are a country bumpkin."

"This is a short-distance mode of transportation commonly used by wizards on the European continent. It is pulled by Thestrals and can only be seen by those who have witnessed death."

"I thought there were only wizard buses."

"That's only true in England," Rozier said, pursing his lips. "Most European wizards still think that carriages have a more aristocratic feel."

Julien's heart skipped a beat. He had heard Hagrid mention Thestrals, but he had never seen one himself. This was a good opportunity.

Julien hesitated for a moment, then went over. "I see you have a lot of luggage. Would you like me to help you get there, Miss Rosier?"

Elizabeth turned around abruptly, paused for a moment, then her lips curled into a barely perceptible smile before she gracefully raised her chin: "I would be most grateful if this would not cause you any trouble."

"My pleasure."

Following Elizabeth's instructions, the two arrived at a deserted parking lot outside the airport.

Perhaps it was under a Muggle banishment spell, for there was no one around except for a black four-wheeled carriage that seemed to be made of shadows, which was quietly parked there.

The four emaciated, black Thestrals with enormous bat wings were munching on something invisible in the air.

When Julien first saw these creatures, he couldn't help but hold his breath. They were beautiful and sorrowful, carrying a sense of loneliness that seemed otherworldly.

"You can see Thestrals too?" Rozier was slightly surprised, but didn't ask further. Actually, Julien hadn't seen the dead in this life, but he had in his previous one. Whether that was the reason, he didn't know.

Just as they were about to board the train, Julien caught a glimpse of a familiar figure out of the corner of his eye. It was the man with the severed finger who had checked tickets at King's Cross Station and later appeared on the Hogwarts Express!

He was wearing an inconspicuous gray trench coat, but his eyes were sharp as an eagle's, and he was walking briskly toward this side.

Julien and Elizabeth exchanged a glance, both seeing wariness in each other's eyes. But they said nothing, simply slipping quickly into the carriage.

The interior of the carriage is very spacious, like a large bus, but it is furnished with exceptional comfort, with soft velvet seats that you can sink into.

However, this comfort was quickly shattered. The car door opened again, and the man with the severed finger silently got in, sat in the corner, closed his eyes to rest, as if everything that had just happened was merely a coincidence.

"Don't be nervous," Elizabeth Rozier said in a low voice to Lian. "It's normal to have other wizards in a public carriage."

Julien nodded, but something still felt off. He secretly observed the man and noticed that his right hand was always pressed against something hard in his chest.

The carriage started moving and smoothly entered an invisible road paved with starlight, perhaps only visible to wizards. The scenery outside the window rushed past, and the buildings of the Muggle world were gradually left behind.

Suddenly, a violent jolt!