London, Charing Cross Road.
Julien stood at the entrance of the Leaky Cauldron, looking up at the weathered sign swinging gently in the wind.
To Muggles it was just a faded brick wall, but to wizards it pulsed with lively magic. This pub had witnessed too many secrets and carried too many farewells.
The burning sensation on his wrist had lasted all day. The eagle-headed hound totem stirred restlessly beneath his skin, as if answering some ancient call in his blood. Julien tugged his sleeve down, pushed open the creaky wooden door, and stepped inside.
The interior was dimmer than he remembered. Afternoon sunlight filtered through dirty windows into a murky yellow haze, casting shifting shadows across the worn wooden floor.
It must have been lunch hour—the air was thick with the mixed scents of butterbeer and old gin.
"Julien! Over here!"
Harry's voice came from a corner. Julien looked over and saw three familiar figures squeezed around a round table against the wall—Harry, Ron, and Hermione.
Their table was a mess of empty plates and cups. They had clearly been there for a while.
"You got here fast," Harry stood up, his green eyes shining with that familiar mix of excitement and anxiety. "I thought you wouldn't show up until tomorrow morning."
"I'm staying somewhere close by in London." Julien smiled as he walked over and hung his bag on the back of an empty chair. "I came early as soon as I got your letter."
He sat down next to Harry, his eyes discreetly scanning the rest of the pub. Nothing seemed out of place.
The Leaky Cauldron was busier than usual today. Many Hogwarts students' parents had brought them early so they could head to the station without rushing tomorrow.
"So," Julien lowered his voice, "you really blew up your aunt?"
Harry's face turned red. "She was bad-mouthing my parents. I didn't mean to… I just got so angry, and then…" He made an exploding gesture with his hands.
"You broke the Decree for the Restriction of Underage Wizardry," Hermione jumped in, her voice carrying that familiar slightly scolding tone. "Harry, you need to learn to control—"
"Control what?" Ron cut in, still chewing a piece of pumpkin pasty. "I think it was brilliant. I would've done the same. The Dursleys had it coming. Hermione, you know what they're like."
"That's not the point," Hermione glared at him before turning back to Julien. "The point is, right now is a special time…"
She paused and dropped her voice even lower. "You probably haven't heard yet. There's a murderer named Sirius Black who escaped from Azkaban. Funny coincidence—he has the same last name as you."
The moment Julien heard the name, the totem on his wrist gave a violent twitch. The burning sensation surged through his veins straight to his heart.
He calmly slipped his right hand under the table and glanced around the pub again.
Two witches in black robes were smoking long pipes and whispering, occasionally glancing their way. A young wizard at the next table was reading a book while his cocktail stirred itself, though he hadn't turned a page in ages.
"I already know," Julien said. "I saw the wanted posters on my way in."
"They say he was You-Know-Who's most loyal follower," Ron added quietly.
Harry's expression stiffened. His fingers unconsciously brushed the lightning scar on his forehead—the mark Voldemort had left, his most direct link to that dark history.
"Hey, Harry." Arthur Weasley walked over from the bar, carrying a steaming mug.
His robes were stained with what looked like engine oil—Julien guessed he'd been tinkering with Muggle machines again. The flying Ford Anglia was probably still wandering around the Forbidden Forest. But Mr. Weasley's face was unusually serious.
"Dad," Ron looked surprised, "didn't you say you had to go back to the Ministry for overtime?"
"Yes, I'm leaving right away. I won't be able to see you off tomorrow—you'll have to get on the train yourselves."
Mr. Weasley stopped beside Harry and pushed the hot drink toward him. "Drink this, Harry. The Leaky Cauldron's special hot cocoa—it's really good. By the way, can I have a quick word with you alone?"
Harry glanced at Ron, who just shrugged—he had no idea what was going on either.
"I've got a bad feeling about this," Hermione said after Harry was pulled away by Mr. Weasley. She turned to Ron. "I bet it's about Sirius Black."
"That escaped prisoner? What does he have to do with Harry?" Ron asked, puzzled. "Dad never mentioned anything to me."
"I don't know," Hermione frowned, "but Mr. Weasley looked really serious."
"Let's not guess," Julien said. "We'll just ask Harry when he gets back. I don't think he'd hide anything from us."
A few minutes later, Harry returned with a grave expression and sat back down.
"All right, kids, I have to go," Mr. Weasley said, addressing the group. "Remember, tomorrow at nine-thirty—don't be late."
He turned to Harry one last time. "Harry, remember what I told you. Take it seriously."
"What's going on, Harry?" Ron asked the second his father left.
"He's coming for me," Harry said quietly, his voice carrying an unsettling certainty. "Mr. Weasley says Sirius Black broke out of Azkaban because of me."
"Who?"
"Oh Merlin—you mean Sirius Black!" Hermione caught on immediately. "He escaped to come after you?"
"No wonder Dad was so serious," Ron muttered. "Escaping Azkaban isn't easy. He might be the first one ever. That place is guarded by Dementors. Most people go mad just being there."
Julien nodded silently. He had seen it—only in a dream, but even then he hadn't dared get close.
"But he did it," Harry said, staring at the table. "That shows how much he hates me, how badly he wants to—"
"Don't worry, Harry," Hermione said quickly. "I heard the Ministry's Aurors are all out looking for him. They'll catch him soon. And once you're at Hogwarts, you'll be perfectly safe."
Julien glanced at Hermione. After two years, she still didn't realize that—for Harry at least—Hogwarts might be the most dangerous place of all.
"I'm not scared," Harry said softly. "It's just strange. Both Mr. Weasley and Minister Fudge yesterday told me the same thing: no matter what happens, I shouldn't try to go after him."
"Obviously everyone can guess why," Ron said. "He's You-Know-Who's loyal follower. If he escaped, of course he'd come after you—you're the one who stopped You-Know-Who. But why would you go looking for him? You should be hiding."
The four young wizards fell silent. The mood at the table grew heavy.
Hermione started flipping through a scrapbook of Daily Prophet clippings. Ron went back to chewing his pasty. Harry stared blankly at his now-cold hot cocoa.
Julien turned his gaze toward the pub window. Outside, London's evening was settling in. Muggles hurried past on Charing Cross Road, completely unaware of the old pub.
In the reflection on the glass, he caught something strange—a figure standing in the shadows across the street.
Tall and thin, wrapped in a dark cloak that seemed to swallow light. The figure didn't move closer. It simply… watched.
When Julien blinked, the figure was gone. As if it had never been there.
"Julien, what are you looking at?" Harry asked.
"Oh, nothing. Forget about all this. You were saying something about Quidditch this year…"
In a corner none of them could see, a wanted fugitive watched with eyes burning like fire—staring at the person he believed was his last, and only, living relative.