Chapter 413: Good Luck Is Knocking

A dream that exists for you.

These words left Hannah frozen in place; she gazed at his sleeping profile, then turned her head—Mr. Black Cat was nudging the dream dumpling, slowly drawing it closer to herself.

At the same time, like sentient beings, over seventy mist dumplings drifted from beside the black cat and floated to Hannah’s side.

She could see that her companions, each faintly, had reconnected to her with a thread.

Even those who had argued just yesterday, even those who hadn’t spoken in a week.

“Sleep grants the wizard’s soul freedom; reality and distance impose no barrier…”

“What daylight closes, dreams will return to us.”

Said the black cat.

Of course it knew the hidden connections between the little wizards’ dream dumplings.

“I saw Susan, Ernie, and Neville…”

Surprised, Hannah eagerly observed the dream dumplings.

Through these dumplings’ images, she could see her friends’ dreams—how strange!

“One, two, three… seventy-six…”

She counted on her fingers; the final number made the black cat’s ears twitch.

It had received its answer.

“Oh! Will you answer my remaining questions?

Will you appear in the castle again?”

After observing, Hannah asked cautiously.

“I have always been here.”

Said the black cat.

“Merlin—”

Hannah’s face flushed red.

“We… we held a large event during the Valentine’s break, with seventy-seven people attending… will you…”

Hannah’s voice grew very soft.

“Mm.”

The black cat nodded.

“Wonderful…”

Hannah looked up as the black cat drew the mist dumplings back, letting them settle near the Victorian building.

“Then, have sweet dreams.”

The black cat flicked its tail; a faint mist dumpling floated over.

Perhaps, as Hannah had asked: whose dream was this?

Hannah’s? Or the black cat’s?

In truth, both were correct—though as the dominant force, it more closely resembled the black cat’s.

This was evident in how the black cat could easily manipulate the mist dumplings, steer desires, and extract wisdom.

These two abilities were the magical components of a wizard’s soul, the foundation of a wizard’s existence in the Threshold.

Just as now, the black cat guided pleasant dreams toward Hannah.

The little witch would have a good dream tonight.

But the black cat did not know—she was already dreaming.

“May I ask you one final question?”

Before the mist rose, Hannah asked nervously.

The black cat, leaping from the mist dumpling, nodded.

“Will you always be here? When will we find you?”

Perhaps sensing departure, Hannah’s voice grew louder.

“I will leave only when no one needs me anymore.

At Hogwarts, wizards always find that those who ask for help are always helped.”

The black cat thought, then said.

With a flick of its tail, Hannah vanished into the mist, feeling unreal.

…

The Threshold grew whiter and whiter.

The black cat followed a particular thread, weaving through the endless veil behind the world.

It understood the origin of those threads.

It appeared to be a special ritual, forging bonds between the little wizards and itself.

Seventy-seven people—that peculiar number—must be the key to the ritual’s magic.

Enough wizards generated enough magic, forged a unique faith, and established a profound connection.

This connection must be deeply tied to the greatest magic.

But Wizard Sean still did not grasp its core.

He could only ponder, speculate…

The black cat’s form grew more agile, its speed increasing.

Unraveling magic’s secrets always stirred his heart.

After several minutes,

the black cat halted at a peculiar place.

Once a lakeshore, quiet yet slightly desolate.

Now, a small cottage stood there.

Smoke curled from the chimney; the wooden walls bordered a front yard blooming with flowers.

The black cat stepped curiously into the yard and noticed several peculiar objects placed before the gate.

A rusted sword, embedded with gems, stuck into the ground; colorful plants curved in a line along the wall; and a fine staff carved with serpentine shapes.

The black cat entered the garden, where raised pumpkin vines bore copper-bottomed pots.

Hanging from the pots were twisted ferns and vines; as the black cat passed beneath them, they tried to groom its fur.

The black cat thought this garden resembled one planted by Helga Hufflepuff.

After all, Helga’s basement held similar peculiar plants.

As it studied, the black cat reached the wooden door, raised its paw to knock—then noticed a small door beneath it, inscribed:

【For the Black Cat Only】

“Helena, did you hear that? It’s the Lucky Black Cat knocking.”

A voice emerged from inside.

The black cat paused at the door, motionless—it knew entering through the small door was impossible; it was a wizard.

“Come in, dear Druid.”

The voice spoke again.

“I’m an Animagus.”

Said the black cat.

“Green—”

Fortunately, a familiar figure opened the door.

“Helena.”

The black cat’s whiskers trembled with the joy of a long-awaited reunion.

Helena’s once-gray form had solidified; Wizard Sean could see her blue eyes, her blue gown.

“You see, Green—because of you, part of me is no longer trapped in gray. It has color.”

Helena smiled.

The black cat froze, flustered.

It finally stepped inside the cottage.

But it did not see that, just after it entered, a wizard passed by.

He held a book, eyes wide, mouth agape, watching the entire scene.

His quill never stopped, scratching on parchment:

【Yes, I, Wizard Rite, have always believed the story of the Lucky Black Cat is true.

But no wizard ever knew how to wait. Now, Wizard Rite understands.

A wizard of the Threshold, at any time, must leave a small door for a closed wooden door—there, luck enters.】

Wizard Rite did not leave; he held the parchment as if it were a sacred relic.

He gazed at the garden—he remembered having been here before.

Once, there had been no cottage, no garden; now, fireworks seemed to burst in his mind, and he quickly wrote:

【Once, this place was barren, lifeless. But after it came, flowers bloomed everywhere.

Wizard Rite thought: to have flowers is to have luck.】