The Black Bloodline of Hogwarts

On a winter afternoon in Xiaohuijin District, the sunlight is as stingy as scattered gold hidden behind the clouds, barely penetrating the thin mist to sprinkle on the clean streets and gild the monotonous houses with a faint warm light.

Julien pushed Harry's arm, and the two walked side by side out of the Dursleys' courtyard. Behind them came Aunt Petunia's deliberately hushed complaints, like a series of discordant notes gradually being blown away by the cold wind.

Harry put on an old cotton coat that was still too big for him, the cuffs of which were rolled up several times but still covered half of his hand. His faded jeans were frayed at the hem and covered with some barely noticeable dust.

He walked with his head slightly lowered, his black hair hanging down to cover the lightning-shaped scar. Only when he occasionally looked up would his emerald green eyes flash with a glimmer of light, like stars quietly twinkling in the dark night.

"The winters here are much colder than in Bordeaux," Julien said, exhaling a puff of white breath that quickly dissipated into the air before turning to Harry with a smile.

Although Bordeaux winters are also chilly, there is always a moist wind carrying the lingering scent of the vineyards, unlike the damp and cold winds of England, which feel like tiny ice pellets on your face.

Harry paused, hesitated for a few seconds, and then whispered, "Yeah, it just snowed. I hate snow the most; the stairwell is especially freezing at night."

His voice was soft, with a calm that came with habit.

Julien's heart sank slightly. He had known for some time that Harry was not doing well at the Dursleys' house, but he hadn't expected them to be this harsh.

He looked at Harry's red, chapped ears and cracked fingertips, and recalled his childhood at Blackvine Winery, the warm fireplace, his grandmother's homemade hot chocolate, and his grandfather's gentle voice as he taught him magic in the Chamber of Secrets.

Two completely different childhoods, like a painting with a strong contrast.

"You're from France?" Harry asked this time. "Does it snow there too?"

"Yes, it's snowing too. Snow can be beautiful sometimes," Yu said, picking up where Harry left off and pointing to the clouds in the distance.

"In Bordeaux, when it snows, the vineyards turn into a white sea, with ice crystals hanging from the vines like diamonds. When the sun comes out, the ice crystals melt, and the whole estate is filled with steam and the air is full of the smell of earth."

Harry looked up and gazed in the direction he was pointing, a hint of longing in his eyes.

He had only ever seen snow in Little Huijin District in his entire life—cold, dirty, and always accompanied by Dudley's pranks and Aunt Penny's scolding. No one had ever told him that snow could be beautiful.

Seeing Harry's expression, Julien patted him on the shoulder. "Don't worry, Harry."

Time is like a ceaseless river, flowing through rugged valleys and eventually merging into open plains. Believe in the flow of time, and good things will always await downstream.

"Wow, how poetic, Julien! May I call you Julien?"

"Of course, Harry."

"Julien, you speak with such philosophical insight."

"Haha, these are all sentences copied from books."

"Hahaha!"

After saying goodbye to Penny's family, Julien returned with his parents to their home on Charing Cross Road. The old buildings were faintly visible in the evening mist, like a hazy oil painting.

Not far away, the bookstore owner and the record store owner were arguing heatedly about whether the Beatles were greater than Bach, while the Leaky Cauldron bar's leaky sign was crooked and looked as if it might fall down at any moment and hit some unlucky passerby.

The family business is progressing well, and Blackvine Winery's wines are beginning to make a name for themselves in the UK market, attracting strong interest from many distributors.

Even the Daily Mail did an interview with Julien's father, Altair, praising the Black Vines wine.

Clara was busy with Julien's school enrollment procedures. After some selection and comparison, she finally chose St. George's Primary School in central London.

This school has a long history and excellent teaching quality. Most of its students come from middle-class families and are not too far from their homes on Charing Cross Road.

On the first day of school after Christmas, Clara personally escorted Julien to the school gate.

The arched gate of St. George's Elementary School is covered with ivy. In winter, the branches and leaves turn yellow, but they stubbornly refuse to fall off completely, looking like a wizard's hat worn crookedly.

Red brick school buildings, pointed windows, and neat lawns—a typical English school campus. Even the children running around on the playground are wearing neatly pressed school uniforms, as if they could rehearse a children's version of "Pride and Prejudice" any second from now on.

"Study hard, call me if you need anything." Clara patted his head gently.

Julien nodded, slung his backpack over his shoulder, and walked into the classroom. His dark blue coat, white shirt, and tie, knotted so precisely it could be used as a ruler, combined with his emerald green eyes and the Blake family's quintessential upright posture, immediately drew whispers upon his arrival.

"Wow, who is he? I've never seen him before."

"Yes, he looks just like Oliver from the movie 'Oliver Twist'!"

"He doesn't seem like an orphan at all; he's clearly the Little Prince."

At this time, some female students from the community came over to greet Julien, and Julien answered all the children's questions.

"Is he from France? Does he eat snails every day?"

"His name is so long...Shillem Julien Black?"

Julien's homeroom teacher was a kind middle-aged woman named Madame Davis.

She led Julien to the front of the classroom and introduced him to the class: "Class, this is our new transfer student, Sherry Julien Black. He just moved to London from France, so please get along well with him."

A slight commotion arose in the classroom as the students curiously eyed Julien.

Julien nodded slightly, flashing a textbook-perfect polite smile: "Hello everyone, just call me Julien. It's a pleasure to be your classmate."

Mrs. Davis pointed to an empty seat at the back of the classroom: "Julien, you can sit there."

Julien walked to an empty seat and sat down. Next to him sat a blond boy who smiled warmly at him. "Hello, my name is Thomas. Are you really from France? Does France have many vineyards and wineries?"

"Yes, I used to live in Bordeaux, and my family ran a winery," Julien replied with a smile.

Thomas's eyes lit up: "Wow, you must have drunk a lot of good wine! My dad also loves to drink, and he always says that Bordeaux wines are the best in the world."

"No way, I'm not even old enough to drink yet. But my dad says Bordeaux wines are the best."

The two chatted for a few minutes before the school bell rang.

The curriculum at Saint George Elementary School differs somewhat from that of schools in France, but for Julien, the elementary curriculum was far too simplistic.

Having lived two lives, his previous life's knowledge, combined with his learning under the guidance of his tutors, allowed him to master these basic language, mathematics, and science courses with ease.

In class, the elementary school material that Mrs. Davis taught was not just simple for Lian Lai, it was far too simple. So he often drifted off, thinking about the magic his grandfather had taught him in the secret room, about the willow wand, and about the words carved on the wall: "It is not blood that makes a man, but choice."