History became story, story became legend, legend became myth...
Just as Dumbledore said: What happened in the underground chamber between Harry Potter and Professor Quirrell was a complete secret, so, naturally, the whole school knew.
Some said Harry Potter had single-handedly defeated the dark wizard Quirinus Quirrell; others claimed he had stopped Voldemort's resurrection.
The stories grew more and more fantastical with each retelling, but when it came to the Savior, no tale seemed too miraculous to believe.
(Julien: You're welcome, cousin.)
---
On a summer morning at Hogwarts, sunlight streamed through the tower windows, casting mottled shadows across the corridors.
Final exams were over. A mix of excitement and faint melancholy filled the castle; the year had flown by in the blink of an eye, and the summer holidays were finally here.
Julien leaned against a second-floor railing, looking down at the bustling courtyard. Young wizards were dragging their trunks, heading toward the main gates in groups of twos and threes. The air was alive with the noise and laughter of farewells.
"Julien!"
He turned to see Hermione hurrying up the spiral staircase, clutching a stack of books, with Harry and Ron trailing close behind. All three looked exhausted, yet radiated an indescribable sense of satisfaction.
"There you are," Julien smiled, stepping forward to meet them. "I heard Dumbledore had a word with you last night?"
Harry nodded, his lightning-bolt scar partially hidden in the morning light. "You know about the Sorcerer's Stone, right? Nicolas Flamel's Sorcerer's Stone."
"Yeah, you were the one who told me Nicolas Flamel's name in the first place," Hermione chimed in.
"Right, I know about it."
"Well, Quirrell was trying to steal it, and we stopped him," Harry's face lit up with pride.
"And what about the Stone?" Julien asked carefully.
"Dumbledore said it's been destroyed. But Nicolas Flamel never really intended to use it anyway... plus, he'll have enough time to set his affairs in order."
"That's a shame." Julien subconsciously brushed a hand against the hidden pocket inside his robes. Tucked safely inside was a fragment of the Stone—his sole spoil of war, snagged from behind the mirror during the chaos.
"What else?" Julien noticed Harry hesitating.
"He said..." Harry's voice dropped. "Voldemort will return. He told us to be ready." Harry's demeanor gave off distinct child-soldier vibes.
"Oh, by the way, Julien," Ron suddenly leaned in. "It's a massive shame you missed the House Cup feast last night!"
Julien smiled wryly. He knew exactly what had happened—Dumbledore had awarded last-minute points to Harry, Hermione, Ron, and Neville, vaulting Gryffindor from dead last to first place and shattering Slytherin's dream of a seven-year winning streak.
He had been lying in a bed in the hospital wing at the time. A sudden, severe cold had spiked into a high fever. He had powered through his exams, but ended up bedridden for the entire day afterward.
Madam Pomfrey had scolded him, saying a simple Pepperup Potion would have cured it instantly if he had just come in sooner. Julien, however, maintained that it wasn't his fault; the virus was just exceptionally cunning.
"Julien." Liriya walked slowly up the stairs. Her long, silvery-blonde hair was woven into intricate braids that draped over her feather-trimmed cloak. She looked even paler than usual, but a firm, unwavering light burned in her ice-blue eyes.
"Why haven't you finished packing?" Her voice was soft, yet it clearly cut through the surrounding noise.
"Are you heading back to the North this time?"
"Yes, I'm going back to Winterspring. Where else would I go?"
"Ah, right. You know, you're always welcome to visit France."
"Maybe next time. I have some important things to discuss with the tribe first."
"Oh, before I forget," she pulled a small object wrapped in animal hide from her robes. "This is for you."
Julien untied the leather cord. Inside was an irregularly shaped ice crystal. A wisp of ghostly blue light was sealed within it, looking like a fragment of a frozen aurora. "This is..."
"The Tear of Evernight," Liriya explained. "It's my tribe's amulet. When you... when you get close to certain ancient powers, it will warn you."
"Ancient powers?"
"I don't know the exact details, but this Tear reacted to the stone tablet I delivered," Liriya lowered her voice.
"Alright, I need to get ready to board the train. Someone else is waiting to see you." With that, she grabbed the hand of the little witch named Susan and walked away. As she passed Julien, the little witch shot him a mischievous wink and subtly pursed her lips toward the corridor behind him.
Julien turned around to find Elizabeth Rosier standing in the shadows of the corridor. She wasn't wearing her usual Slytherin silver and green today; instead, she wore a simple, dark grey traveling cloak, with the starburst brooch gleaming faintly at her collar.
"Rosier... Elizabeth," Julien corrected himself. "Are you all packed too? Heading back to Belgium?"
"Yes, Belgium first."
"First?" Julien looked confused.
"Mhm, perhaps..." Rosier sounded a bit uncertain. "Perhaps we'll return to our ancestral home in Germany for a visit. Ever since Headmaster Dumbledore mediated on our behalf, they've welcomed us back. Besides, I only have one younger cousin in my generation. They're hoping..." Rosier shrugged.
"Well, as long as Dumbledore is aware of it, it shouldn't be a problem."
Rosier took a few steps closer, her gaze lingering on his face for a moment. "I came to... say goodbye. And to give this back to you. The train will be too crowded later."
She pulled an ancient map from her sleeve. At the top, written in flowing script, were the words: The Sources of European Magic. "I thought this might be useful to you. It's just a rubbing anyway, so you can keep it."
Julien took the map. As his fingertips brushed the edge of the parchment, he could feel the lingering traces of magical fluctuations.
He gave it a quick scan. Several points were marked on it. Aside from the three magical nodes he was already familiar with—or could at least guess—controlled by the Source Steles in the Scandinavian Mountains within the Arctic Circle, the Dinaric Alps in Albania, and Hogwarts in the Scottish Highlands, there were several other red circles.
For instance, there was one on the French Riviera; one at the border of Germany, Austria, and Switzerland; one in central Romania; and another one located directly behind Britain, out in the vast, open ocean.
"Thank you." Regardless of whether it would be useful or not, he carefully put the map away. "By the way... will you write to me over the summer?"
The corners of Rosier's mouth twitched upward. The smile carried her usual aristocratic reserve, but there was also a trace of an almost imperceptible softness. "Only if you write first."
She turned and walked away. Her dark grey cloak flashed around the corner and disappeared, like a drop of ink dissolving into water.
---
With a piercing whistle, the Hogwarts Express belched white steam and slowly began pulling out of Hogsmeade Station.
Julien sat by the window, staring blankly out at the scenery. In the compartment with him, Edgar and Casen were fiercely debating wizard's chess tactics.
Outside the window, the silhouette of the castle steadily shrank, eventually disappearing entirely behind the lush, rolling mountains of the Scottish Highlands.