The Black Bloodline of Hogwarts

Emerging from the oak gates of Hogwarts Castle, a winding path leads across the sloping lawn.

The path forks into three at the end of the lawn. The left path leads to the Black Lake, which is so green in summer it seems to have been enchanted; the path continues straight ahead to the Forbidden Forest of Hogwarts, with a few oak trees standing sparsely on either side.

The road to the right leads to Hagrid's cabin, and the vegetable patch along the roadside, which is always rather unkempt, is Hagrid's pumpkin patch.

Julien remembered that when school started, the pumpkins stayed obediently on the vines, but now they had become unruly, growing wildly, their round, orange-yellow bodies half-buried in the soil, their leaves so big they could be used as umbrellas.

Just then, Julien emerged from Hagrid's hut carrying a basket of rock-skinned pumpkins. He examined the pumpkins with interest, wondering if the expansion spell would affect their texture.

Suddenly, three figures appeared ahead.

As he approached, he saw Harry and Hermione supporting Ron on either side, stumbling and running towards him.

Every few steps Ron took, slimy gray slugs would gush from his mouth, landing on the grass with a nauseating "plop."

"Julien?" Harry almost lost his footing and bumped into Julien.

"Is this the Slug Curse (Slug Eructo)?"

"Huff." Ron vomited again.

"It's Malfoy!" Harry said angrily.

"It was Malfoy who called me a Mudblood, and Ron wanted to stand up for me, but his wand was broken, so..." Hermione added, her eyes reddening.

"Understood, wand rekindle."

Julien remembered that it must have been Draco Malfoy's father, Old Malfoy, who sponsored the Slytherin Quidditch team with brand-new Nimbus brooms, which made Draco Malfoy the Seeker for Slytherin.

They got into a fight with the Gryffindor students over the Quidditch practice area. During the argument, Hermione pointed out that Gryffindor students didn't need to pay to join the cadets, which angered Malfoy, who then verbally abused her.

……

Julien looked at the three disheveled figures before him, his gaze shifting from Ron's pale face to the wriggling slug on the ground, his brow furrowing.

"You should take Ron to Madam Pomfrey, now. This spell is not only disgusting, but it will also damage your esophagus if you delay."

"And what about you?" Harry asked.

Julien didn't answer. He simply patted Harry on the shoulder and turned to walk toward the Quidditch pitch.

His pace was slow, but each step carried a certain unsettling quality.

"Julien!" Hermione called after him, "Don't do anything foolish!"

He waved his hand without turning back. Although he always viewed life at Hogwarts as a novel, the humiliation inflicted on his friends still filled him with immense anger.

On the Quidditch pitch, Slytherin's teammates are celebrating Malfoy's "psychological victory" around him.

"Well done, Draco!" Marcus Flint—the troll-like captain—said gruffly, "You made that Weasley pauper look bad—"

His words abruptly stopped as he looked at the edge of the field.

Julien Black was standing there, his blue school uniform fluttering in the wind.

He wasn't riding a broom; he just stood there quietly, his emerald green eyes like two bottomless ancient wells.

"Black?" Malfoy frowned. "What are you doing here? To avenge your Mudblood friends?"

Julien did not answer immediately. He walked slowly onto the pitch, his gaze sweeping over the Slytherin players before finally settling on Malfoy.

"I have only one question," his voice was soft, yet clearly heard by everyone, "where did you learn that word you just used?"

"What word?" Malfoy asked instinctively.

"I don't want to repeat myself, is this the kind of upbringing you Malfoys have?"

Malfoy's face flushed red, but he quickly regained his arrogance: "What? Did I say something wrong? Even you are a..."

He didn't finish his sentence.

A green blur shot towards them from the direction of the stands, moving so fast that its outline was almost invisible. Malfoy only had time to let out a cry of surprise before he was pulled off his broom by a tremendous force and slammed heavily onto the grass.

"Shut up."

Elizabeth Rozier stood before him, her dark green cloak billowing like waves in the wind.

Her wand pressed against Malfoy's throat, its tip flashing a dangerous red light. Her face was pale, and a near-mad rage burned in her icy gray eyes.

"If you say that word again," she said, her voice barely audible, "I'll make sure you never utter another word in your life."

"Rosier!" Flint and the other Slytherins finally reacted, raising their wands. "Are you crazy? Draco is one of us!"

"One of our own?" Rozier sneered, casting a spell without turning his head, "Protego Maxima!"

A semi-transparent barrier instantly unfolded, repelling Flint and the others. Her wand remained firmly pointed at Malfoy's throat, unmoved.

"I'll say it again," she said, emphasizing each word, "I don't want to hear that word in this school. Understand, Malfoy?"

Malfoy's throat bobbed. He looked into Rozier's eyes and, for the first time, saw something in them that truly terrified him—not anger, not disgust, but a cold, almost mechanical resolve.

"I, I..." his voice was hoarse, "I understand..."

Rozier stared at him for a long time, and the Slytherin members dared not make a move.

Finally, she slowly withdrew her wand, but just as Malfoy breathed a sigh of relief, her fist slammed into his face.

"This is to teach you a lesson."

"You're too late," Elizabeth Rozier said, turning to Julien. "I've already taken care of everything."

Julien looked at her, a slight smile playing on his lips: "Looks like I really am late."

---

Large patches of rushes and low willows grow along the shore of Black Lake, their branches drooping down to the water's surface and swaying gently.

Every now and then you can see the giant squid's tentacles lazily extending out of the water and then slowly retracting.

Rosier sat on a stone bench by the shore, holding a cup of hot cocoa that Julien had gotten from Hagrid. Her knuckles were slightly red—marks left from beating Malfoy.

“You didn’t have to be so impulsive,” Julien said, without any reproach in his tone. “Malfoy’s father is a school board member.”

"Let him sue," Rozier said nonchalantly. "If they dare to do anything, my grandmother will handle it."

Julien raised an eyebrow: "Your grandmother? You went back to Germany for summer vacation?"

Rozier's fingers tightened on the rim of the glass for a moment, then he slowly nodded. "Yes, I went. Grandmother... she told me to go back and check on her."

"Ophelia Rozier?"

"You've heard of her?" Rozier asked, somewhat surprised.

"I've read it in a book," Julien said vaguely, "the actual head of the Rozier family." He didn't mention that the book described him as a follower of Grindelwald.

Rozier was silent for a moment, the steam from the hot cocoa rising in a hazy white mist before her: "I didn't expect her to be so kind to me. Kinder than I imagined."

"That's good."

Rozier smiled and nodded, then a hint of confusion appeared in his icy eyes: "She asked a lot of questions about Hogwarts, about Dumbledore, and even about...you."

"Me? You mean the me you mentioned?"

“It’s the surname Black,” Rozier said softly. “He’s certain you’re from the Black family, and it’s not some Muggle surname coincidence.”

Just as Julien was about to say something, Rozier interrupted him.

"Don't deny it yet. Grandmother said that the name Blake has appeared many times in the Rozier family history. Our two families... have cooperated before."

"What else did she say?"

"She said," Rozier put down her glass, looked directly at Julien, and blushed unnaturally.

"Next holiday, let me invite a friend to Germany with me. She really wants to meet you, Schiller Julius Black."

Julien looked at Rozier, at the girl who had helped him on the field, and a complex emotion welled up inside him.

He knew that this invitation must hide more secrets, and even more dangers.

"Okay," he said, "I'll definitely go to Germany with you next holiday."

Rozier's lips curled up slightly, a smile that carried a hint of relief and an indescribable anticipation.

At a window of the castle, a silver raven silently watched all this, its eyes gleaming in the twilight, as if it had already seen through the trajectory of fate.