The Black Bloodline of Hogwarts

Charing Cross, London.

Julien stood at the entrance of the Leaky Cauldron, looking up at the signboard that swayed slightly in the wind.

To Muggles, this sign is nothing more than a weathered brick wall, but to wizards, it radiates a vibrant, magical aura. This bar has witnessed too many secrets and carried too many farewells.

The burning sensation on his wrist had persisted all day. The eagle-headed hound totem stirred restlessly beneath his skin, as if sensing some kind of bloodline call. Julien pulled his sleeves down and pushed open the creaking wooden door.

The bar was darker than he remembered. The afternoon sunlight was filtered through the dirty windows into a murky yellow, casting flickering shadows on the worn wooden floor.

Perhaps it was lunchtime, but the air was thick with the aroma of butterbeer and gin mixed with orange peel.

"Julien! Over here!"

Harry's voice came from the corner. Julien looked in the direction of the sound and saw three familiar figures huddled around a round table against the wall—Harry, Ron, and Hermione.

The mess of cups and plates in front of them clearly indicated that they had been there for some time.

"You came quickly," Harry said, standing up, his green eyes gleaming with that familiar mix of excitement and anxiety that Julien already knew. "I thought you wouldn't arrive until at least tomorrow morning."

"I live not far from here in London," Julien said with a smile, walking over and hanging his backpack on the back of an empty chair. "I came here ahead of time after receiving your letter."

He sat down next to Harry, his gaze subtly sweeping across the other corners of the bar, but he didn't notice anything unusual.

The Leaky Cauldron was busier than usual today. Many parents of young Hogwarts wizards had brought them here early so they could make their way to the station at their leisure the next day.

"So," Julien lowered his voice, "you really inflated my aunt's ego?"

Harry's face flushed red: "She said bad things about my parents, and I didn't do anything... I was just so angry, and then..." He spread his hands, making an explosion gesture.

"You've violated the Regulations Governing the Management of Underage Wizards," Hermione interjected, her voice carrying that habitual, slightly reproachful urgency. "Harry, you need to learn to control yourself—"

"Control what?" Ron interjected, still chewing on a baba yakka pie. "I think it's so cool, I'd do it too. The Dursleys deserve it. Hermione, you should know what kind of people they are."

"That's not the point," Hermione glared at him, then turned to Julien. "The point is, this is a special time..."

She paused, lowering her voice even further: "You don't know yet, do you? A murderer named Sirius Black escaped from Azkaban. Oh, coincidentally, he shares your last name."

Upon hearing the name, Julien felt the totem on his wrist throb violently, and the burning sensation spread along his veins to his heart.

He subtly placed his right hand under the table and looked around again.

Two black-robed witches were smoking long pipes, whispering to each other, and glancing over every now and then. A young male witch sat at the next table reading a book, his glass automatically mixing cocktails, but he didn't turn a page for a long time.

“I know about this,” Julien said. “I saw several arrest warrants when I came in.”

"He's said to be the most loyal follower of the Mysterious Man," Ron whispered.

Harry's expression stiffened. His fingers unconsciously traced the scar on his forehead, Voldemort's mark and his most direct connection to that history.

"Hey Harry, hello." Arthur Weasley walked over from the bar, carrying a steaming drink.

His robes were stained with some kind of mechanical oil—Julien guessed he was probably fiddling with Muggle machinery again, after all, that Ford might still be wandering around in the Forbidden Forest—but his eyes were unusually serious.

"Dad," Ron said, somewhat surprised, "didn't you say you were going back to the department to work overtime?"

"Yes, I'll be leaving right away. I can't give you a ride tomorrow, you'll have to get on the bus yourselves."

Mr. Weasley stopped beside Harry and pushed the hot drink towards him. "Have some, Harry. The Leaky Cauldron's signature hot cocoa is really good. By the way, can I speak with you alone?"

Harry glanced at Ron. Ron shrugged, indicating he didn't know anything.

"I have a bad feeling," Hermione said, turning to Ron after Harry was dragged away by Mr. Weasley. "What your father and Harry were talking about might be related to Sirius Black."

"That fugitive? What does that have to do with Harry?" Ron asked curiously. "I haven't heard Dad mention him."

"I don't know either," Hermione frowned, "but Mr. Weasley looked very serious."

"Stop guessing," Julien said. "We'll just ask Harry later. I don't think he'll hide anything from us."

A short while later, Harry returned to his seat with Mr. Weasley, his expression serious.

"Alright, children, I have to go now," Mr. Weasley said to them. "Remember, be on time tomorrow at 9:30."

Finally, he turned to Harry and said, "Harry, remember what I'm saying. Take it seriously, don't ignore it."

"What exactly happened, Harry?" Ron asked first after Mr. Weasley left.

“He will come for me,” Harry said softly, with an unsettling certainty. “Mr. Weasley said he escaped Azkaban for my sake.”

"Who?"

"Oh my god! You mean Sirius Black!" Hermione immediately realized, "He escaped to get back at you?"

“No wonder my father was so cautious,” Ron understood. “Escape from Azkaban is no easy feat. He’s probably the first person in history to do so. It’s guarded by Dementors; it’s a miracle if an ordinary person doesn’t go insane there.”

Julien nodded. He had seen it before, though only in his dreams, but back then he hadn't dared to even get close.

"But he did it," Harry said, head bowed. "That shows how much he hates me, how much he wants to—"

"Don't worry about Harry. I heard the Aurors from the Ministry of Magic have been mobilized and they'll catch him soon," Hermione quickly reassured him. "Besides, you'll be at Hogwarts soon, which is the safest place."

Julien couldn't help but glance at Hermione. Hadn't she figured out after two years? At least for Harry, Hogwarts was probably the most dangerous place.

"No, I'm not scared," Harry said softly. "I'm just a little confused because both Mr. Weasley and Fudge, the Minister for Magic I met yesterday, told me not to try to go to him no matter what happens."

"Actually, everyone can guess that this loyal follower of the mysterious man, once he escaped, might come after you. After all, you thwarted the mysterious man. But you're trying to avoid him, why would you go looking for him?" Ron asked.

For a moment, the young wizards fell silent, and the atmosphere at the table became heavy.

Hermione began flipping through a clippings of the Daily Prophet, Ron continued munching on his pie, and Harry stared blankly at his now-cold hot cocoa.

Julien turned his gaze to the bar's window. Outside, London was shrouded in twilight, and Muggles from Charing Cross hurried past, oblivious to the dilapidated pub.

In the reflection of the glass, he caught a glimpse of something unusual—there seemed to be a figure standing in the shadows across the street.

Tall and slender, draped in a dark cloak that seemed to absorb light. The figure didn't move, didn't approach, but simply... gazed.

In the blink of an eye, Julien vanished. As if he had never existed.

"Julien, what are you looking at?" Harry asked.

"Oh, it's nothing. Don't think about that. You were talking about this year's Quidditch..."

In some unseen corner, a wanted prisoner is staring with eyes burning with flames at what he believes to be his last, and only, family.