Stepping out from the oak front doors of Hogwarts Castle, a winding path cuts across the sloping lawn.
At the edge of the grass, the path forks three ways. To the left lies the Black Lake, which in summer glows a green so vibrant it looks like a color-enhancing charm has been cast upon it. Straight ahead leads directly to the Forbidden Forest, flanked by a few scattered oak trees.
The path to the right leads to Hagrid's hut. Beside it sits a perpetually messy vegetable patch—Hagrid's pumpkin field.
Julien remembered the pumpkins sitting neatly on their vines at the start of the term. Now, they've gone rogue, growing wildly into massive, orange spheres half-buried in the soil, with leaves large enough to serve as umbrellas.
Julien emerged from Hagrid's hut carrying a basket of rock cakes. He was eyeing the pumpkins with interest, wondering if magically engorged food lost its flavor.
Suddenly, three figures appeared ahead.
As he drew closer, he saw Harry and Hermione supporting Ron between them, stumbling along. Every few steps, thick, slimy grey slugs surged from Ron's mouth, hitting the grass with a revolting splat.
"Julien?" Harry nearly crashed into him.
"Slug-vomiting Charm?" Julien asked.
"Bleurgh." Ron heaved up another one.
"It was Malfoy!" Harry said venemously.
"Malfoy called me a... a Mudblood," Hermione added, her eyes red. "Ron tried to stand up for me, but his wand is broken, so..."
"I get it. Backfire."
Julien recalled the situation. Lucius Malfoy had recently sponsored the Slytherin Quidditch team with brand-new Nimbus brooms, securing Draco's spot as their Seeker.
A confrontation had broken out over the training pitch. When Hermione pointed out that Gryffindor players made the team on merit rather than money, a humiliated Malfoy had lashed out with the slur.
Julien looked at the bedraggled trio. His gaze moved from Ron's ghostly pallor to the squirming slugs on the ground, his brow furrowing.
"You need to get Ron to Madam Pomfrey. Now. This curse isn't just gross; if it lasts too long, it'll damage his esophagus."
"What about you?" Harry asked.
Julien didn't answer. He simply patted Harry's shoulder and turned toward the Quidditch pitch. His pace wasn't fast, but there was an unsettling weight to every step.
"Julien!" Hermione called after him. "Don't do anything stupid!"
He waved a hand without looking back. While he often viewed life at Hogwarts as a spectator watching a story unfold, the sight of his friends being insulted ignited a cold, absolute fury within him.
---
On the Quidditch pitch, the Slytherin team was gathered around Malfoy, celebrating his "psychological victory."
"Good one, Draco!" Marcus Flint—the trollish captain—grunted. "Put that Weasley pauper in his place—"
He stopped mid-sentence, staring at the edge of the pitch.
Julien Black stood there, his blue school robes snapping in the wind. He wasn't on a broom; he just stood there, his emerald eyes like two bottomless wells.
"Black?" Malfoy smirked. "What are you doing here? Coming to avenge your Mudblood friend?"
Julien didn't answer immediately. He walked slowly onto the field, his gaze sweeping over the Slytherins before settling on Malfoy.
"I have one question," he said, his voice quiet but carrying clearly to everyone. "Where did you learn that word?"
"What word?" Malfoy asked instinctively.
"I won't repeat it. Is this the extent of the Malfoy family's breeding?"
Malfoy's face flushed, but his arrogance quickly returned. "What? Was I wrong? Even you are just a—"
He never finished the sentence.
A green blur streaked from the stands, moving so fast it was barely a silhouette. Malfoy only had time for a gasp before a massive force yanked him off his broom, sending him crashing onto the grass.
"Shut up."
Elizabeth Rosier stood over him, her deep green cloak billowing like a wave. Her wand was pressed against Malfoy's throat, the tip glowing with a dangerous red light. She was pale, her ice-grey eyes burning with a near-maniacal rage.
"If you say that word one more time," she hissed through gritted teeth, "I will make sure you never speak another word again for the rest of your life."
"Rosier!" Flint and the other Slytherins finally snapped out of it, raising their wands. "Are you crazy? Draco's on our side!"
"Your side?" Rosier sneered. Without looking back, she flicked her wand. "Protego Maxima!"
A translucent barrier erupted, throwing Flint and the others back. Her wand remained pinned to Malfoy's throat, motionless.
"I'll say it once more," she said, each word dripping like ice. "I don't want to hear that word in this school. Do you understand, Malfoy?"
Malfoy's throat hitched. Looking into Rosier's eyes, he saw something that truly terrified him for the first time—not anger or disgust, but a cold, mechanical resolve.
"I... I..." he rasped. "I understand..."
Rosier stared him down for a long moment while the Slytherin team stood paralyzed. Finally, she slowly withdrew her wand. But the moment Malfoy let out a sigh of relief, her fist slammed into his face.
"That's to make sure you remember."
She turned to Julien. "You're late. I've already handled it."
Julien looked at her, the corners of his mouth twitching upward. "It seems I am."
---
The shores of the Black Lake were thick with rushes and low willows, their branches brushing the water's surface. Occasionally, the giant squid's tentacles would break the surface lazily before slipping back down.
Rosier sat on a stone bench by the shore, clutching a cup of hot cocoa Julien had brought from Hagrid's. Her knuckles were red—the aftermath of hitting Malfoy.
"You didn't have to be so impulsive," Julien said, his tone devoid of any actual reproach. "Malfoy's father is a school governor."
"Let him complain," Rosier said dismissively. "If his family tries anything, my grandmother will handle it."
Julien arched an eyebrow. "Your grandmother? You went back to Germany over the summer?"
Rosier's fingers tightened around the cup for a second before she nodded slowly. "Yes. Grandmother... she wanted me to visit."
"Ophelia Rosier?"
"You've heard of her?" Rosier looked surprised.
"Read it in a book," Julien said vaguely. "The real power behind the Rosier family." He didn't mention that the book listed her as a follower of Grindelwald.
Rosier was silent for a while, the steam from the cocoa veiling her face. "I didn't expect it, but she was kind to me. Kinder than I imagined."
"That's good."
Rosier nodded with a small smile, but a hint of confusion lingered in her grey eyes. "She asked a lot about Hogwarts. About Dumbledore. Even about... you."
"Me? You mentioned me?"
"The name Black," Rosier said softly. "She's certain you are a true descendant of the House of Black, not just a Muggle coincidence."
Julien went to speak, but she cut him off.
"Don't deny it yet. Grandmother said the name Black appears many times in the Rosier family history. Our houses... we used to collaborate."
"What else did she say?"
"She said..." Rosier set the cup down and looked Julien directly in the eye, a faint, uncharacteristic flush rising to her cheeks.
"She wants me to invite my friends to Germany next holiday. She very much wants to meet you, Caelum Julien Black."
Julien looked at Rosier—at the girl who had just fought for him on the pitch—and felt a complex swell of emotion. He knew that behind this invitation lay deeper secrets, and likely more danger.
"Alright," he said. "Next holiday, I'll go to Germany with you."
Rosier's lips curved into a slight smile, one of relief and undeniable anticipation.
In a high castle window, a silver raven watched them silently. Its eyes glinted in the twilight, as if it had already seen the threads of fate weaving together.