A dream that exists for you.
Those words left Hannah frozen for a long, long moment. She looked at her own sleeping profile, then turned her head—Mr. Black Cat was nudging a dream-cluster, guiding it slowly toward her.
At the same time, the mist-balls around the black cat seemed almost alive. More than seventy of them drifted out, floating to Hannah's side.
She could see it—thin threads connecting her to her companions, faint but real.
Even the ones she'd argued with yesterday. Even the ones she hadn't spoken to in a whole week.
"Sleep sets a witch's soul free again. Reality and distance can't block it…
What daylight shuts away, dreams can bring back to us."
That was what the black cat said.
Of course it could sense the hidden links between the students' dream-clusters.
"I can see Susan… Ernie… and Neville…"
Still astonished, Hannah leaned in, studying the dream-clusters with bright-eyed excitement.
Through the images inside them, she could actually see her friends' dreams. How strange—how incredible!
"One, two, three… seventy-six…"
She counted on her fingers. The final number made the black cat's ears twitch.
It had its answer.
"Oh! Will you… will you answer my remaining questions?
Will you still appear in the castle?"
After she finished looking, Hannah asked carefully.
"I'm always there," the black cat replied.
"Merlin…"
Hannah's face flushed.
"Then we… we held a big event during the Valentine's holiday—seventy-seven people came… would you…?"
Her voice was tiny.
"Mhm."
The black cat nodded.
"That's wonderful…"
Hannah lifted her head and watched as the black cat drew the mist-balls back in, letting them settle again near the Victorian building.
"Then sleep well," it said.
Its tail flicked, and a faint mist-ball floated toward her.
Just like Hannah had asked: whose dream was this?
Hannah's, or the black cat's?
In truth, both were correct. But as the guiding force, it felt more like the black cat's.
You could see it in the details: the black cat could lightly steer mist-balls, tug at desire, separate out bits of wisdom.
Those two—desire and wisdom—were the magical parts of a witch's soul, the very reason a wizard could exist in the Borderlands at all.
Just like now: the black cat guided a handful of sweet dreams over to Hannah.
Tonight, the girl would have a good dream.
What the black cat didn't know was—she already was.
"Can I ask one last question?"
Right before the mist rose, Hannah blurted it out, nervous.
The black cat, having hopped down from the mist-ball, nodded.
"Will you always be here? When can we find you?"
Maybe because it was about to leave, Hannah's voice came out much louder.
"When no one needs me anymore, that's when I'll go.
At Hogwarts, people will always find that those who ask for help… tend to receive it."
The black cat thought for a moment as it spoke.
With a gentle swish of its tail, Hannah vanished into the mist, still wrapped in that unreal feeling.
…
The Borderlands grew whiter still.
Following a particular thread, the black cat moved through the endless world beyond the Veil.
Now it understood where the yarn-balls came from.
It looked like a special kind of ritual—something that bound the students to it.
Seventy-seven people. That particular number must be the key to the ritual magic.
Enough witches, producing enough magic, creating a shared belief, forging a deep connection.
A connection like that had to be tied to the greatest kinds of magic.
But Sean still didn't know the core mechanism.
He could only think, and guess…
The black cat's body felt lighter, its movements sharper, its speed faster.
Chasing the secrets of magic always made his blood sing.
Several minutes passed.
Then the black cat stopped in a place that felt… different.
This had once been a lakeside—quiet, but a little desolate.
Now, a cottage stood there.
Smoke curled steadily from the chimney. A front yard full of flowers sat snug against the wooden wall.
Curious, the black cat stepped into the yard—and saw several strange objects placed near the entrance.
A rust-stained sword, planted in the ground, set with gemstones.
A row of vivid plants, twisting along the wall like a living border.
And an exquisite staff carved in snake-like patterns.
The black cat moved farther into the garden. On upright pumpkin vines hung copper-based flowerpots.
Ferns and trailing plants dangled from them—and when the black cat passed underneath, they actually tried to groom its fur.
The garden felt a little like something Helga Hufflepuff might have planted.
After all, the Hufflepuff basement had plants like this, too.
It kept looking, and looking, until it reached the wooden door.
The black cat raised a paw and knocked—then noticed a small door beneath the main one, labeled:
[FOR BLACK CATS ONLY]
"Helena, did you hear that? The lucky black cat is knocking."
A voice came from inside.
The black cat paused. It wasn't going to crawl through a cat flap—it was a wizard.
"Come in, my dear druid."
The voice spoke again.
"I'm an Animagus," the black cat corrected.
"Green—"
Thankfully, a familiar figure opened the door.
"Helena."
The black cat's whiskers trembled with a sudden, long-missed joy.
Helena's once gray-white form had become solid. Sean could see her blue eyes, her teal dress.
"You can see it, Green. Because of you, part of me no longer stays in gray. It has color now."
Helena smiled.
The black cat blinked, at a loss for what to do with that.
In the end, it stepped into the cottage.
But what it didn't see was this: after it entered, a wizard happened to pass by.
He clutched a book, eyes wide, mouth open, watching the whole scene.
His quill never paused, scratching rapidly across parchment:
[Yes— I, the wizard Rite, have always believed the story of the lucky black cat is true.
But no wizard has ever known how to wait for it properly. Now I understand.
A wizard of the Borderlands, no matter when, must leave a small door in every sealed wooden door—
that is where luck enters.]
Wizard Rite didn't leave.
He held the parchment as if it were sacred.
He stared at the garden—because he remembered being here before.
There had been no cottage. No garden.
And in his mind, fireworks exploded. He lifted his quill again and wrote:
[This place was once barren, no grass, no life—yet after it came, flowers bloomed everywhere.
Wizard Rite thinks: where there are flowers, there is good fortune.]
~~~
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