The Black Bloodline of Hogwarts

In France, the first snow of late 1990 came later than usual. But according to my grandfather, it was still more punctual than the Hogwarts Express.

After a white Christmas filled with Christmas pudding and mulled wine, Julien's parents, Altair and Clara, finally packed their bags and embarked on their journey back to England with him.

Château Blackvines wines have firmly established themselves on high-end dining tables in Bordeaux, with some Muggle food critics even describing them as having a "velvety palate and a finish like moonlight."

Grandparents and father Altair saw the opportunity and decided to bring this "magical flavor" to England—after all, what place needs a touch of elegant acidity more than a country that adds three sugar cubes to its tea?

Julien was not surprised by this decision. Only he understood his grandfather's true intentions. Business was one aspect, but more importantly—Hogwarts was in England.

Grandfather Alfard had hinted on several occasions: "Beauxbatons? Ha, those girls in blue dresses even need music to accompany their levitation spells, how tacky."

Julien wholeheartedly agreed with this.

Besides, what time traveler would go to Beauxbatons? What would they call their memoirs? "My Years as the Campus Heartthrob at Beauxbatons" (that sounds good too, maybe the next one?)? The sales would probably be so bad that even Diagon Alley used bookstores wouldn't buy them.

After saying goodbye to his grandfather Alfander and grandmother Elodie, who secretly gave him a jar of "anti-seasickness mints," Julien boarded the ocean liner bound for Southampton with his parents.

Black chimneys spew wisps of white smoke, gradually blurring the rolling vineyards and red-tiled roofs of Bordeaux into a watercolor painting, until only a blurry silhouette remains, eventually merging into the gray-blue of the horizon.

Julien leaned against the cold deck railing, the salty sea breeze brushing against his face, his slightly curled hair plastered to his forehead. Yet, images of Château Black Vine kept flashing through his mind:

The coppery red grapevines in autumn, the bench under the oak tree in the backyard where his grandfather taught him to identify constellations, the arc of Léa's skirt as she stomped away, and the neighbor girl who always said dandelions could sing.

Ten years have passed, and those everyday moments he once thought were just "ordinary childhood" have now been gilded with a layer of gold—or more accurately, a layer of glowing magic runes—because of the unveiling of the magical world.

"Already homesick after just leaving?" His mother, Clara, came over and draped a thick shawl over his back. The wool fabric carried the faint scent of gardenias emanating from his mother, dispelling the chill of the sea breeze.

Father Altair stood at the bow of the ship not far away, talking with the crew. His dark green suit fluttered slightly in the sea breeze, and his every move still carried the unique uprightness and pride of the Black family.

However, his eyes were not as deep and unfathomable as his grandfather's; instead, they revealed the competence and gentleness of a refined businessman.

He is "Black, who grew up in the Muggle world," who has never held a wand or touched the secrets of magic, yet he is a trendsetter in the wine market, able to sell a bottle of wine for Galleons.

Julien nodded, his fingertips unconsciously stroking the buttons on his coat cuffs. "Hmm, I'm a little reluctant to part with them." These cuffs were his grandfather's unique design; with a gentle pull, the willow wand hidden in the back of the sleeve would automatically pop out.

Julien thought the design was great and said he would try to imitate it when making the school uniforms.

He paused, then asked casually, "By the way, Dad said the Black family has no relatives left in England. Mom, do we know anyone else in England?"

Actually, his grandfather had told him about the Black family.

He knew that Malfoy's mother, Narcissa, was Black, and so was Azkaban Bellatrix—but both of them were among the "madmen" his grandfather had forbidden him from getting close to. Sirius, for some reason, his grandfather hadn't mentioned.

As for the other Andromeda who was removed from the list... it is said that she married a Muggle and her whereabouts are unknown (Grandpa did not know that Andromeda's daughter Tonks was also a wizard).

Alphad himself had his name burned off the family tree, so naturally he didn't want his grandson to get involved in the old feuds of the magic world. "Just live your own life," he often said.

Clara's gaze softened, tinged with a hint of nostalgia. She raised her hand and gently touched Julien's head, the warmth of her palm seeping through his hair.

"Yes, it's my distant cousin, Penny Evans. She married a Mr. Dursley and lives in Little Huigkin, Surrey."

At this point, she paused slightly, a hint of melancholy flashing in her eyes. "I know she had a younger sister, and you two used to play together when you were little... but she passed away a long time ago. Penny never wanted to talk about the specifics. By the way, Aunt Penny's family should have a boy about your age. When you get there, you can make friends with him."

Evans? The Dursleys? Little Huigling?

These words were like a key, clicking open a treasure trove buried deep in his memory—no wonder he seemed to have heard his mother's surname before.

Harry Potter! The boy who lived! The savior! Voldemort's terminator!

The grandfather, despite his meticulous planning, never anticipated that his daughter-in-law was related to Harry Potter's mother. And his grandson, Shym Julien Black, turned out to be Harry's distant cousin.

(By the way, Draco Malfoy is also his cousin—the wizarding world is truly a large family chat group, as fan fiction has to say.)

He suppressed the disbelief surging within him, his fingertips slightly curled, and he lowered his head without showing any emotion, obediently nodding: "Okay, Mom."

The sea breeze still howled, but Julien felt his blood rushing through his veins. Countless days and nights he had spent in the magical world in his past life overlapped with the reality before him.

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

Deep within a massive ancient castle in the Scottish Highlands.

His long, silvery-white beard almost touched the open pages of the book, and Dumbledore's slender fingers were slowly stroking the names of the newborns in the Book of Admission.

Suddenly, his fingers stopped. "Shillem Julien Black" was clearly imprinted on the parchment, the ink still fresh, appearing on the last line.

His deep blue eyes widened slightly behind his half-moon shaped lenses.

The Black family? That ancient, pure, and fading family tree, its last branch broken. Sirius is in Azkaban, Regulus is already dead… The elegy for “The Last Black” has long since been sung.

So, this child...

His gaze shifted to the Pen of Acceptance beside him, which had just finished recording and stood contentedly next to the inkwell. A faint trace of magic lingered on the nib—a unique glow resulting from its resonance with ancient protective magic.

The pen of acceptance never fails. Could it be that this child truly carries Black's blood, yet has been completely forgotten or hidden by the magical world?

He was just a Muggle kid with the surname Black, which wasn't uncommon among Muggles. But Shiller… what a name…?

Let Severus take a look then. Oh no. Severus might just brew a pot of poison the moment he hears the word "Black."

So he shook his head with a wry smile and decided to let Minerva make the trip.