Chapter 469: Rita Lestrange

“Do you think death can truly separate us, dear Bastet?”

Newt walked through thin mist, past trees, across fields, beside the Black Lake.

Some cold, transparent, shimmering points drifted through the white expanse.

The borderland had begun to snow.

The black cat’s agile form ahead paused.

It turned, leapt onto Newt’s shoulder. The path ahead was clear: they only needed to follow the winding trail forward—the wooden cottage surrounded by Gabriel flowers was their destination.

“Do those we love truly leave us? Or do we remember them most clearly when we face choices?”

Newt liked talking more to the black cat, not just because of the current tension and awkwardness.

“Perhaps, on the contrary, death brings wizards closer… especially those who were parted in life.”

The black cat said, its whiskers trembling.

Newt smiled, shyly.

Bastet looked like a student reciting an answer, yet he could not suppress his satisfaction.

That Bastet, who governs dreams and traverses life and death, wished to understand wizarding emotions—nothing could be more captivating.

“We’ve arrived, Mr. Scamander.”

The black cat’s emerald eyes pierced through the mist; amid a haze of blurred colors, it spoke quietly.

“Ah…”

Newt hurried to look ahead—amid the white expanse, a cottage with smoke curling from its chimney appeared abruptly.

It stood on a soft, vast shoreline, where Gabriel flowers bloomed thickly along the entire embankment.

The cottage lay at the center of these Gabriel flowers, nestled among Cengcengdiediede creamy-yellow petals.

The crisp, herbal scent drifted into the black cat’s nose, and made Newt feel slightly dazed.

Rita seemed to have just returned from a journey—the black cat sensed her presence had just reentered the cottage.

At the door, Newt carefully stepped past the soft flowers, his hand reaching out to knock, then pulling back.

The black cat lay on his shoulder, watching him repeat this small motion again and again.

“The timid Mr. Scamander—even approaching happiness hurts it…”

The black cat whispered.

“Forgive me, dear Bastet—please don’t urge a mortal heart any further.”

Newt said shyly.

The black cat, embarrassed, leapt off Newt’s shoulder—now the timid Mr. Scamander seemed even more tense.

Until the black cat studied the small door on the wooden door, until it realized this tiny door was meant for it, Newt remained motionless.

“When is there a moment more joyful than approaching happiness?”

The black cat understood this, but their time was not abundant.

Guiding a soul into the borderland was difficult, let alone manifesting the Pensieve and the Resurrection Stone.

“I must urge you, Mr. Scamander.”

The black cat said.

It lay atop a rising puff of mist, and idly noticed a small hole in the wooden door—through it, a pair of bright, mischievous eyes peered out.

“I understand.”

Newt, as if summoning great resolve, knocked three times softly.

The door creaked open.

A smiling face greeted them—Newt froze instantly.

“The legends of the borderland are true—the lucky black cat has come to knock.”

Rita naturally lifted the black cat from the mist puff before Newt, just as they had done before.

“I never thought that even in death, you’d still be welcomed by magical creatures.”

“Please put me down.”

The black cat struggled to say.

“Sorry.”

Rita startled, letting the black cat dart onto Newt’s shoulder.

“Rita…”

The aged Newt simply repeated the name—his friend’s appearance matched exactly the photograph in his suitcase.

“No—you’re not dead—”

Rita suddenly widened her eyes.

“Is it… you?”

Rita turned to the black cat.

The black cat now sat elegantly on Newt’s shoulder, nodding with human-like grace.

“Yes—dear Bastet brought me here.”

Newt smiled shyly.

“How could this be…”

Rita fell silent.

Crossing the boundary between life and death, allowing a living wizard to speak with a soul of the borderland—no such tale had ever existed in tens of thousands of years.

As she fell silent, snow fell softly.

It landed on the petals of Gabriel flowers, on the warm smoke of the cottage, on the hair of the reunited.

Rita suddenly realized her behavior was inappropriate—they might be facing a magical creature of unimaginable power.

Bastet, who governs war and family—were the ancient wizarding legends truly true?

“You…”

Rita first pulled Newt behind her, fixing her gaze sharply on the black cat as it leapt from his shoulder.

She did not believe in luck; she had left the small door only because her friend had asked.

A witch like her, never once favored by fate, believed everything in the world demanded payment.

She was a monster, a freak in everyone’s eyes—only monsters could rely on each other, like her and Newt.

No, Newt deserved love more than she did… only her sins were unforgivable.

“What did you give up?”

Rita asked Newt subtly.

“I’m ashamed—I gave nothing.”

Newt knew Rita too well—he understood her fears.

“A cat that asks for nothing in return?”

Rita was utterly astonished.

“Dear Bastet is exactly that.”

Newt replied shyly.

Rita believed Newt—and believed the black cat. She could not avoid realizing: they had reunited.

Under the magic of a black cat, they had met.

Only now did she feel that vague, moving emotion—she looked at Newt’s aged face, then lowered her head.

“Please come inside.”

She said to the black cat.

“Thank you for your invitation.”

The black cat stepped into the house.

Rita thought it was a polite cat.

The carpet inside reflected the firelight of the hearth; distant horizons glowed faintly with twilight. Outside the window lay the endless ocean of the borderland; inside, the fire crackled, butterbeer bubbled, and Newt smiled faintly, avoiding her gaze.

The entire borderland was snowing.

Snow fell on every inch of the dark central plains, on treeless hills, gently on lakeside marshes.

They listened as snow drifted through heaven and earth,

Drifting as softly as their own fate—falling upon the living and the dead of the borderland.

“I never dreamed of luck.”

Rita said.

“But it always comes.”

Newt smiled.

The borderland has three fundamental directions.

Soul, mist, and eternity—here, the distance between hearts is closest.