Chapter 511: Leaving the Leaky Cauldron

Sirius returned to reality, but the black cat had not.

It walked across the snowy expanse, carefully sensing and searching for something.

During this time, it observed that the mist here occasionally took on tangible forms.

For instance, the slope beneath its paws, the iris flowers swaying upon it.

As it walked, the black cat skillfully calculated the time it had spent in the borderlands.

Five hours and forty minutes…

It was growing longer and longer.

The longer it walked, the more wooden cottages the black cat began to see.

Curious, it approached one of the cottages—the black cat statue beside the oak door bore no resemblance to itself.

Yet the wizards of the borderlands seemed obsessed with doing this.

Whether it was the black cat painting on the oak door or the statue beside it, both clearly revealed this fact.

The consequence of this was that the black cat’s balls of yarn kept multiplying.

At first, they were simple, tangled masses no larger than a black cat itself.

Now, they had multiplied, twisting into ever fatter spheres, as large as a lynx.

The black cat thought this was likely due not only to the borderlands’ wizards, but also to wizards from the magical world at large.

The black cat wasn’t sure whether it should thank Professor Hufflepuff’s senior.

But regardless, Professor Newt had revealed to it some secrets of the borderlands—such as the existence of inverted souls—and had helped forge bonds between it and other wizards, whether it wanted to or not.

Now, it could remain for longer periods.

This gave the black cat a quiet, lingering hope.

“The Dream Tales” had plainly stated: after seven hours, the sky would darken, and stars would fill the night.

The priest told Merlin that the stars here were the brightest… and that he had learned to divine the future from them…

Divining the future…

The black cat thought of its own stalled progress in Divination and felt certain there was some crucial magical secret it had yet to uncover.

But none of that mattered now.

The black cat saw dusk descending—over the roots and leaves of wild grass, over the yellow flower buds, over the endless green expanse.

For the first time, it had stayed so long; for the first time, it truly felt night was coming.

It felt a sense of comfort, like waiting for the doors of Hogwarts Library to open.

Yet to the black cat’s disappointment, the mist began to rise again.

It had not waited for night, but it soon ceased to feel disappointed—it had already experienced a dusk.

And it would surely one day find the perfect moment to study Divination.

Thus, the necessary waiting became a kind of happiness.

As time stretched longer, so too did the anticipation.

The only thing that gave the black cat pause was that it had not found Rita.

She seemed to be very far away.

This meant it could not quickly locate the witch who had haunted Headmaster Dumbledore for years.

At the same time, the black cat realized one definite thing.

Its way of traversing the borderlands seemed unusual.

To Headmaster Dumbledore, the borderlands were an untouched, unknown realm, fraught with unimaginable danger;

Even in “The Dream Tales,” Merlin cautiously explored this place.

But to the black cat, the borderlands were surprisingly gentle.

The dangers meant for wizards had never harmed it in the slightest.

The black cat did not know why, only harboring vague suspicions.

It also began to reflect on its future.

The sudden appearance of the Beauxbatons headmaster had told it that Beauxbatons awaited the return of its eldest son;

And Headmaster Dumbledore had told it that only a wizard capable of bringing souls in and out could be considered Beauxbatons’ eldest son.

Thus, the black cat began to wonder: why could it bring souls into dreams? Did its special privilege hold deeper meaning?

Or was it merely in harmony with the borderlands’ unique rules?

Could it truly bring souls into the world of the living?

Though magic never adhered to the principle of equivalent exchange or the law of conservation of energy, all this was still too magical.

As the mist enveloped it, the black cat left this place.

It thought that next time, it might finally find Rita.

……

The second-to-last week of summer.

Diagon Alley had suddenly lost more than one wizard.

As Seamus approached the Leaky Cauldron’s entrance, he saw the Weasleys frantically carrying all their trunks down the narrow staircase.

Their belongings were piled at the door, with Hedwig and Hermes—Percy’s long-eared owl—in cages atop the stack.

Beside the trunks sat a small wicker basket, from which loud purring emanated.

That was Hermione’s Crookshanks; with her parents’ permission, Hermione had spent the night at the pub.

“Seamus, good morning—”

Of course, there was Justin too.

“Good morning.”

Seamus murmured.

The young wizards and the Weasleys were all seated around chairs, waiting for breakfast.

As Seamus stepped out of the pub and looked up, he saw that the window of Room 10 had opened, and a black dog was gazing out.

In the instant their eyes met, the black dog slightly bowed, its eyes gleaming with human-like, fervent reverence.

“Good morning, sir.”

Seamus did not say whose name, but the black dog knew—and felt warmth in its chest.

Though it didn’t need it, being cared for was always pleasant, especially… when watched by a god.

At that moment, Mr. Weasley hurried out, stepping onto the empty street where only Seamus stood, with Harry following closely behind him.

“We’re heading back to the Burrow for a bit—before we leave, I must tell you something—”

Mr. Weasley said nervously.

“No need, Mr. Weasley,”

Harry whispered,

“I already know.”

“You know? How?”

“I—I heard you and Mrs. Weasley talking last night. I couldn’t help listening,”

Harry quickly added,

“I’m sorry—”

“I’d rather you hadn’t found out that way,”

Mr. Weasley said, visibly worried,

“Harry, you must have been terrified—”

“No.”

Harry said firmly.

“Really,”

Seeing Mr. Weasley’s skeptical look, he added,

“I’m not trying to be brave, but honestly—Sirius Black can’t be more terrifying than Voldemort, can he?”

Mr. Weasley flinched at the name but didn’t take it to heart.

“Harry, I know you’re, uh, braver and stronger than Fudge thinks.

I’m glad you’re not frightened—but—”

“Arthur!”

Mrs. Weasley called out; she was already helping others prepare to leave,

“Arthur, what are you doing? Hurry up!”

“Coming, Molly!”

Mr. Weasley said, then turned back to Harry, speaking in a lower, more urgent tone,

“Listen, I need you to promise me—”

Their rapid exchange made Seamus frown slightly, and the black dog by the window bristled.

Even Professor Snape, who had just appeared on the distant horizon of Diagon Alley, watched coldly from afar.