The Black Bloodline of Hogwarts

"The essence of the Patronus Charm is not expulsion, but transformation. It transforms the 'despair' represented by Dementors into 'hope'."

He closed the book and muttered to himself, calling out Murphy's name in his mind.

"Are there any enhanced versions of the Patronus Charm?" he said, "and... a specific idea about the Raven Form."

"Have you become this lazy? Do you expect me to deliver this to you?" Murphy flicked his tail at Julien's rear, but still answered.

"It's already being generated," the black cat's voice carried a hint of languor. "The Deep Morphology of the Guardian Charm: From Animal Spirits to Conceptual Incarnations... Generated. Go get it yourself."

"Okay!" Julien scurried off to the next bookshelf.

"Julien, are you sure you want to practice this on the train? Grindelwald said your Patronus isn't stable yet."

“Instability is better than nothing,” Julien replied, “and I have a feeling… we’ll need it today.”

"Playing tricks."

---

"Besides, besides..." The Hogwarts Train moved along its established tracks at a leisurely pace, the monotonous rhythm making Harry Potter drowsy.

At this moment, the valley the train was traveling through was no longer the docile place it had been in the afternoon.

The wind suddenly picked up, and the distant bushes seemed to be pressed down on their heads by a giant hand, forcing them to bend over; the nearby wild grasses swayed in waves, revealing the pale backs of their leaves, like ripples spreading across the surface of water.

The clouds hung extremely low, almost brushing against the mountaintop, their color gradually deepening from grayish-white to light gray, leaden gray, and finally becoming inky black, piled up thickly as if they might collapse at any moment.

The daylight retreated inch by inch, as if night had fallen prematurely. The lights in the carriage came on, their dim yellow light turning the glass into a blurry mirror.

Suddenly, a raindrop drew a crooked diagonal line across the glass. Then came a second, a third, as if someone had spread a fine net across the sky, gradually enveloping the entire world.

The rain was light, but very dense. It hit the windowpane without making a sound, but quietly wove a layer of moving mist outside the window.

With a "clunk," the train suddenly stopped.

Harry woke up groggily. "Is it already dark? Are we almost at our stop?"

"It's just raining, so we shouldn't have arrived at the station yet. Strange, why did the train stop?" Hermione asked, equally puzzled.

Harry stared out the window, his face pale, his fingers gripping the armrests of his seat tightly, as if something terrible was about to happen.

"What's wrong, Harry?" Hermione asked.

"There seems to be something outside," Harry said softly. "Don't you guys feel a sudden chill?"

Indeed. The temperature in the cubicle was dropping rapidly, and a thin layer of frost was forming on the windows. It wasn't just ordinary cold; it was a bone-chilling cold that seemed to freeze even the soul.

Ron peered out the window, too afraid to open it. It was pitch black outside; he couldn't see anything, only feel the chill creeping closer. Ron felt like his hands were freezing to the windowpane.

The person in the carriage who had been sleeping soundly with his head covered since boarding seemed not to have woken up yet, but had simply wrapped his tattered cloak even tighter around himself.

"Bang!" The car shook. "It looks like something got on the bus." Ron turned around, his expression grim.

With a few "buzzing" sounds, all the lights on the train went out.

The young wizards inside the carriage were all nervously watching the transparent compartment door.

"They're here."

Before Ron could finish speaking, the cubicle door slid open by itself.

A hunched figure floated in the doorway, draped in a very tattered cloak, the hood obscuring its face—but it was clear from the blur that it was not a human face at all.

A hollow, all-consuming sense of existence emanated from that direction.

The black figure seemed to scan the room once, then leaned forward, its head reaching towards Harry Potter.

"Harry Potter~" a hoarse voice came from under the cloak, perhaps calling Harry's name, or perhaps just a meaningless roar.

Harry let out a painful groan, his body curling forward. His glasses slipped down to the tip of his nose, his green eyes wide open, but all he could see was a round mouth sucking at him—it felt as if all the energy in his body was being drained away, and in a daze, a woman's scream rang in his ears.

"No—" Ron tried to stand up, but before he could even draw his wand, he felt an overwhelming sense of despair wash over him, and his body stiffened and he was unable to move.

Hermione wasn't in much better shape; a scream was stuck in her throat, and books were scattered all over the floor, but she didn't have time to care about that right now.

"Guardian God! (Expecto Patronum)"

Suddenly, the man who had been sleeping since boarding the bus stood up, quickly pulled out his wand, and chanted the Patronus Charm.

The man's voice was not loud, nor were his movements violent. But then, a powerful silver light burst forth from the tip of his staff.

The light, like a stream of water, rushed directly towards the face and even the entire body of the dark figure in front.

The dark figure retreated with a shriek—perhaps it made a loud sound, but human ears couldn't hear it—the edge of its cloak receded like spilled black water.

The same scene happened next door.

As soon as the train stopped, Julien had his wand in his hand, and the familiar feeling emanating from the silver linden wood dispelled much of his chill.

Seeing Julien's action, Elizabeth and Lyria also drew their wands without hesitation.

The Greengrass sisters, standing nearby, seemed astonished by the synchronized movements of the two.

"It's coming," Elizabeth whispered. No sooner had she spoken than Liria pressed her hand to the carriage floor, uttering a brief chant, and a green thorny stalk blocked the doorway to the compartment.

"It's no use, it's a Dementor."

"What! Dementors! How is this possible?" Daphne's voice trembled as she looked at Julien in disbelief. As the daughter of an old-school wizard, she naturally knew what Dementors were.

Just then, the cubicle door opened by itself, and a rotten, dilapidated Dementor floated in.

Except for Julien, who was mentally prepared, the others were so frightened that they froze and couldn't move.

The Dementor drifted closer, the thorns on the ground offering no resistance. It looked around, then approached Astoria, who was nestled in Daphne's arms.

Astoria's face was pale, her lips were purple, and even nestled in her sister's arms, she felt icy cold all over.

Just as the black hood was about to touch Astoria's face, Julien darted forward and stepped in front of Astoria.

"Guardian God! (Expecto Patronum)"

A silvery-white light burst forth from the tip of the staff, its shape initially unclear—it was blurry, fluid, and resembled a nebula in the process of coalescing.

However, gradually, at the core of that light, a certain outline was emerging: a sharp beak, outstretched wings, a form somewhere between a raven and some more ancient creature.

Raven. A symbol of Ravenclaw, Pixis's Animagus form.

Perhaps Julien's magic wasn't as strong as the man next door's, so the blurry light that rushed towards the Dementor at the door didn't collide, but rather circled around it—it was some kind of ancient, almost ritualistic expulsion.

The Dementor retreated, a hissing sound emanating from the hole under its hood, before being pushed out of the compartment and escaping down the train passageway.

The temperature in the cubicle began to rise, but the chill had not completely dissipated.