The Black Bloodline of Hogwarts

Nurmengard.

He looked older than in historical photographs, his long, silvery-white hair disheveled over his shoulders, and his once sharp blue eyes were now cloudy.

But his posture remained upright, as if it were not he who had been imprisoned for decades, but the tower itself.

"Dumbledore, you've chosen the wrong piece..."

"Mr. Grindelwald, don't hesitate any longer." A witch dressed entirely in black robes stood in the shadows of the room.

The black felt hat was pulled low, with a silver badge pinned to the brim. If Elizabeth were present, she would recognize it as the Rozier family crest, with withered rose branches entwined with stars.

"Both stone tablets are at Hogwarts, and I have one. We are the most likely to open the Stargate. As for the bloodline, I've already sent my granddaughter to get close to that Black."

"The Fountain of Eternal Night in Scandinavia, the Cursed Mountain in Albania, the Sleeping Dragon's Lair in the Scottish Highlands. Three stone tablets... You've had a tough time all these years, Ophelia."

His voice was like sandpaper rubbing against ancient tree bark, but a simple word of comfort brought tears to the eyes of the old woman before him.

"But I am old, Ophelia."

"No, as long as it can..."

The old man raised his hand to stop the witch from speaking. "I didn't agree with Dumbledore's choice at the time, but I didn't want to be his enemy. You know me, I just want a greater future for wizards."

"And now, I've lost the motivation to move forward..."

"No, you..." the old witch said, her voice choked with emotion.

"Ophelia, do you know why I've stayed in Nurmengard all these years?"

"Of course I know! No one can lock you up! You're here to protect this world!"

"Protect? Ha, how ironic. I've followed in Dumbledore's footsteps, simply because our world has too many wounds, like Azkaban, like Nurmengard, like the French Riviera..."

-----------------

France, the French Riviera.

At 6:30 a.m., sunlight seeped out from the horizon, not the dazzling gold that would later appear, but a very pale, almost transparent pinkish-purple.

The seawater was also that kind of blue that had just woken up, not azure, but lighter and thinner, as if it had been washed by morning dew.

The waves rolled onto the beach with a touch of shyness, surging up and receding, leaving a thin, trembling white edge on the sand, gently brushing towards that young toe.

Julien withdrew his left foot, rubbed it against his right calf, and stretched casually.

Since returning to Bordeaux, he didn't spend his vacation working hard like other time travelers. Instead, he lay on the biggest and softest sofa, eating and sleeping, and then eating again to get through the month.

Even Alfard couldn't stand it anymore, so he asked his grandmother Elodie, who was on a business trip to Nice, to take Julien to the French Riviera to stretch his muscles.

Although her grandmother had married out of the family, she was still the eldest daughter of the Moreau family, and there were still many family affairs to attend to. Therefore, Julien spent most of her time living alone.

He was either lying on the beach or strolling around the beautiful town of Nice.

Just like now, Julien came to a narrow street where the Mediterranean sun made the cobblestones scorching hot.

His grandmother was negotiating business at a nearby gallery, while he, having just filled his stomach with French-style boiled mussels, wandered off alone towards the east.

Suddenly, a burly man in black caught his attention among the tourists. The man was in a hurry, and a hideous scar on his left cheek made Julien feel that he had seen him somewhere before.

Wolfgang!

Wasn't he arrested by Cassian of the Department of Mysteries at the British Ministry of Magic? How did he end up here?

Julien tiptoed and quietly followed.

As we walked through a grove of trees forgotten by tourists, the sea breeze suddenly turned fierce.

Julien's wand vibrated within his sleeve, and Murphy's voice, faintly heard in the library, echoed with magical resonance: "Beware, spatial folds ahead..."

Then he saw the bay.

A semi-circular white sand beach, flanked by ochre-red cliffs.

A half-collapsed stone domed building stretches from the beach into the sea and eventually disappears into the azure waters.

The building's surface is white, and constellation-shaped reliefs shimmer in the sunlight.

Suddenly, Julien remembered the map Elizabeth had given him. Next to the marker on the French Riviera, there was a note: Nice - Bay of Falling Stars.

A door, a large door the same color as the cliffs on either side, was half-submerged by the sea, its surface also covered with star patterns. There were several unintelligible runes on the lintel.

"Falling Star Bay?" Julien murmured the name.

Without any apparent reason, he took off his shoes and socks and stepped into the seawater.

The icy seawater went up to his ankles, then his knees. By the time he finally stood before the door, the water was chest-deep.

Just as his right hand touched the stone door, the runes on the door suddenly lit up, and a faint blue light seemed to emanate from the crack in the door.

Julien felt a burning pain on the inside of his right wrist again, and the eagle-headed hound totem emerged beneath his skin. At that moment, the eerie blue light from the crack in the door suddenly surged, engulfing him completely.

Julien opened his eyes.

He was suspended in... air. No, not air. He could feel the saltiness of the seawater, yet he could breathe freely.

He was surrounded by a pale blue light of unknown origin. He was standing on a street in a city—not ruins, but a complete city, as if time had been frozen.

The building is constructed of translucent white stone, with domes, arches, and spiraling towers, all bathed in a soft blue glow.

But what's most striking is the city's location.

He looked up: above him was the rippling sea, sunlight filtered into dappled golden spots. Schools of fish swam among the spires of buildings, and an octopus lazily clung to a distant clock tower.

This city is located underwater.

"The reflection of Falling Star Bay".

A female voice came from behind. Julien turned around, and his wand slid into his hand—

It was a ghost, the ghost of a witch.

Her translucent body shimmered with a faint blue glow. She wore an ancient-style wizard's robe, and her face bore a striking resemblance to Elizabeth Rozier, yet she appeared more mature and weathered.

Her eyes were a rare, icy gray, retaining a certain sharp intelligence even in death.

"Are you Rozier?" Julien asked tentatively.

“Evanna Rozier,” the Ghost nodded slightly, a bitter smile playing on her lips, “you are more perceptive than I thought, a child of the Black family. Or should I call you… a descendant of Pyxis?”

"Do you know me?"

"I recognize your bloodline."

Bloodline again?

The ghost named Evanna drifted closer, its translucent fingers gently touching Julien's right wrist.

The hawk-headed hound totem emitted a silver light upon contact, intertwining with her eerie blue glow. "Pyxis Black, my dearest friend."

Her voice lowered, carrying a weariness that seemed to have transcended millennia: "We discovered this place together, we studied the secrets of those three stone tablets together. Then, we made different choices."

Julien's heart raced: "What choice?"

She chose the exit, while I chose the entrance.

"What?"

Evanna turned and pointed to the tallest tower in the center of the city.

At the top of the tower, a black stone slab floats in a deep blue light, the star patterns on its surface worn away to the point of being almost blurred.

"The gateway from other worlds to us."

"Door?"

The ghost looked directly into Julien's eyes. "Our world is not the only one. Beyond those worlds, there are other... beings."

"I can feel it," the ghost said, closing its eyes as if it were truly sensing something. "Some of them crave communication, some crave conquest, some..."

She paused, her dark blue body trembling slightly: "Some are just hungry."