Sirius had returned to reality, but the black cat had not.
It kept walking through the vast white realm, carefully sensing and searching for something.
During its wanderings, it noticed how the mist here would occasionally shape itself into something solid and real.
Like the hillside beneath its paws, or the iris flowers swaying gently on the slope.
As the black cat moved, it calmly calculated how long it had stayed in the Borderland this time.
Five hours and forty minutes…
It was getting longer every visit.
The longer it walked, the more wooden houses appeared.
Curious, it approached one. The black cat statue beside the oak door looked nothing like it.
Yet the witches and wizards of the Borderland seemed obsessed with creating them.
Whether it was paintings of black cats on the oak doors or the statues standing beside them, the truth was obvious.
And that truth had brought a clear change: the black cat now had far more thread balls.
At first they had been simple—tangled like real balls of yarn, each about the size of a cat.
Now there were many more. When they tangled together they formed fatter spheres, easily the size of a leopard.
The black cat suspected this wasn't only because of the souls already in the Borderland. Most of it came from the living witches and wizards of the magical world.
It wasn't sure whether it should thank its old Hufflepuff senior.
Still, Newt had revealed part of the Borderland's secrets to it—for example, the existence of reverse souls—and had helped it form connections with other wizards, whether the cat wanted them or not.
Now it could stay here much longer.
This gave the black cat a faint but growing hope.
Dream Tales had stated plainly: after seven hours, the sky would darken and the stars would fill the night.
The priest had told Merlin that the stars here shone the brightest… and that was how he had learned to divine the future…
Divining the future…
The black cat thought about how it had been stuck on the final step of Divination for so long. It felt certain there was some key magical secret it still didn't understand.
But none of that mattered right now.
The black cat watched as dusk began to fall—settling among the roots and leaves of the wild grass, between the yellow flower buds, across the endless green plains.
This was the first time it had stayed long enough to witness evening approaching.
It felt a quiet contentment, like waiting for the Hogwarts library doors to open.
To its slight disappointment, the mist began to rise again.
It hadn't reached nightfall, but the black cat quickly shook off the feeling of loss.
It had already been given a beautiful dusk.
And eventually, the perfect moment to study divination would come.
The longer the wait, the sweeter the anticipation.
The only thing that gave the black cat pause was that it still hadn't found Rita.
She seemed to be very far away.
That also meant it wouldn't be able to locate the witch who had troubled Dumbledore for many years anytime soon.
At the same time, the black cat became aware of one clear truth.
The way it walked through the Borderland seemed… special.
In Professor Dumbledore's eyes, the Borderland was an untouched, unknowable realm filled with unimaginable danger.
Even in Dream Tales, Merlin had explored it with great caution.
But for the black cat, the Borderland felt far too gentle.
The dangers that targeted wizards had never harmed it in the slightest.
It didn't know exactly why, though it had some vague guesses.
It also began to ponder the future.
The sudden appearance of the Wagadu headmistress had told it that Wagadu was waiting for the return of the Eldest Son.
Professor Dumbledore had said that only a wizard capable of bringing souls into and out of the realm could be considered the Eldest Son of Wagadu's god.
So the black cat began to wonder: why exactly could it bring souls into the dream? Did its special privileges carry special meaning?
Or did it simply align with the Borderland's own unique rules?
And if so… could it truly bring a soul back into the world of the living?
Although magic never followed the principle of equivalent exchange or the law of conservation of energy, this still felt almost too magical.
When the mist finally closed in, the black cat left the realm as well.
It thought that next time, it might finally find Rita.
…
It was the second-to-last week of summer vacation.
Diagon Alley was suddenly losing more than one wizard.
When Sean reached the entrance of the Leaky Cauldron, he saw the Weasley family busily carrying all their trunks down the narrow staircase.
Their luggage was piled by the front door. Hedwig's and Hermes's cages—Percy's long-eared owl—sat on top of the trunks.
Beside the pile was a small wicker basket from which loud purring could be heard.
That was Hermione's Crookshanks. With her parents' permission, she had stayed at the inn for the night as well.
"Sean! Good morning—"
Of course, Justin was there too.
"Good morning," Sean replied softly.
The young wizards and the Weasleys were all sitting around the tables, waiting for breakfast.
Sean stepped out of the inn and looked up. The window of Room 10 was open, and a black dog was gazing out toward the street.
The moment their eyes met, the black dog lowered its front legs slightly. A flash of fervent, almost human respect appeared in its eyes.
"Good morning, sir," Sean said.
He didn't say the name, but the black dog knew exactly who he was speaking to—and felt a warmth spread through its chest.
He didn't need it, but being cared for was always pleasant. Especially… when watched by a god.
At that moment, a hurried Mr. Weasley came out and walked onto the street where only Sean stood. Harry followed closely behind him.
"We're heading back to the Burrow for a bit, but before we leave, there's something I need to tell you—"
Mr. Weasley said tensely.
"No need, Mr. Weasley," Harry said quietly.
"I already know."
"You know? How?"
"I—uh—I overheard you and Mrs. Weasley talking last night. I couldn't help it," Harry added quickly.
"I'm sorry—"
"I didn't want you to find out like that," Mr. Weasley said, looking worried.
"Harry, you must have been terrified—"
"I wasn't."
Harry spoke seriously.
"Really," he added when he saw Mr. Weasley's doubtful expression.
"I'm not trying to act brave, but honestly… Sirius Black can't possibly be scarier than Voldemort, right?"
Mr. Weasley flinched at the name but didn't dwell on it.
"Harry, I know you're… well, braver and stronger than Fudge thinks.
Of course I'm glad you're not scared, but—"
"Arthur!"
Mrs. Weasley called from inside. She was already helping the others get ready to leave.
"Arthur, what are you doing? Hurry up!"
"Coming, Molly!"
Mr. Weasley replied, then turned back to Harry, speaking in a lower, more urgent voice.
"Listen, I need you to promise me…"
The conversation grew fast and intense. Not only did Sean frown slightly, but the black dog at the window also bristled.
Even Professor Snape, who had just appeared on the distant horizon of Diagon Alley, watched the scene with cold, dark eyes.