The children's cries startled the guests in the main hall.
The first to realize something was wrong was Yulian's mother, Mrs. Clara Black.
Clara had been born an Evans. She came from County Surrey, near London, where many members of the Evans family lived at the time.
Clara was now a professional consultant specializing in winemaking. While still in university, she had traveled to France and met Yulian's father at a Bordeaux wine gathering. They fell for each other quickly and married in a whirlwind romance.
Not long afterward, their love bore fruit: Shiloh Yulian Black was born.
This time, she was in charge of arranging the wine gathering and helping her husband entertain the guests. But part of her attention was focused on the children in the back garden.
As for Yulian, he had been clever and well-behaved since he was little—so well-behaved, in fact, that Clara barely got to act like a mother.
But he had been acting strangely these past two days, seeming dazed and spending all day either drawing or lost in thought.
Could he be sick?
When Clara suddenly heard a scream from the back garden, her heart clenched. She hurried toward her son.
By then, Leah's parents and the other guests had also come running.
But by the time the adults arrived, everything had returned to normal. No one had seen anything—except the owner of the winery.
"Yulian? What happened?" Clara crouched down and put an arm around his still-trembling shoulders.
The little boy was pale and seemed exhausted, as if his strength had given out, but his eyes were unusually clear.
"It's nothing, Mom... I just... felt something strange. No, I mean, I got a little... worked up."
Leah's parents asked their daughter what had happened, too. Leah said timidly, "I just said I wanted to break up with Yulian, and then he..."
"Oh, dear! Heartbreak really can be devastating," one society lady said sympathetically. "Poor little gentleman."
"Yes, tasting the bitter wine of love so young," her friend added with a teasing lilt.
"Get him some hot chocolate." His grandmother Elodie came over then, bent down, and gently patted her grandson's head. Smiling, she said, "It's all right, Yulian. Love comes and goes, but grapes bear fruit every year."
Everyone watched little Yulian and Leah with either sympathy or amusement.
They had realized nothing serious had happened. It was just a tender little crush and some childish play.
Only one person stood rigid at the back of the crowd.
Alphard Black.
He had seen it—the floating stone, the water flowing backward.
He had heard his grandson say, "I felt something strange. I got a little worked up."
He had felt the magic inside Yulian surge and ebb like the tides.
His heart nearly stopped.
Decades had passed.
After he had been burned off the family tree—the names on the Black family tree tapestry appeared automatically when a member was born, and being burned off meant being cast out of the family in every sense, unable to return to the ancestral home—he had eventually made his way to France and married a Muggle woman.
His life had become wonderful. He got along splendidly with his in-laws and loved his wife dearly. The family's old scheming and infighting were behind him.
He had also used his magic to improve the quality of his wife's family's wine, bringing them great success. After his in-laws passed away, he became the owner of the winery.
His only regret was that when he had a son, the boy showed no magical talent. He had thought the Black magical bloodline in his branch had ended with him.
But today, his grandson—a ten-year-old boy—had experienced a magical outburst in full view of everyone.
Alphard didn't approach at once. He quickly scanned the area. No one had taken out a wand or spoken an incantation. They were all Muggles.
That meant everything was completely under control.
He took a deep breath and held back the tears threatening to spill. Then he walked over at an unhurried pace. "Excuse me," he said calmly. "Let me see my little heir."
He crouched so he was eye to eye with Yulian. His eyes were alight with a storm of emotion, but he asked in the calmest voice, "Tell me, child. What happened just now?"
Yulian looked into his grandfather's eyes. There was no fear in them, only... expectation.
"The stone flew up," he whispered, in a voice only his grandfather could hear. "The water flowed backward... And I think that was magic, right?"
Alphard trembled slightly. He suppressed the turmoil within him, stood up, and smiled at everyone. "Sorry, everyone. The little one was startled and got overexcited today. He must have imagined it. Elodie, please see to the guests. I'll take him to the sitting room to lie down for a while."
Then he leaned down and murmured a spell so softly only Yulian could hear: "Finite Incantatem." The spell that restored everything to normal.
Then he took Yulian to the private study at the deepest part of the winery. The complex scent of old books, cedarwood, and a trace of aged wine hung in the air—a perfume unique to the passage of time.
The study wasn't large, but its ceiling was high. The rough texture of the exposed limestone walls was softened by floor-to-ceiling shelves of dark walnut.
The shelves weren't orderly. One section recessed to make room for geological samples; another jutted out, holding an open, hand-drawn map of the vineyards.
Most of the books were leather-bound, their gilded titles faded. They were mostly about soil science, the history of winemaking, and local poetry.
Two faded burgundy velvet sofas faced each other in the center of the room.
A crystal decanter and several ISO-standard wine-tasting glasses sat casually on the solid-wood coffee table between them. The bottom of each glass still held a lingering trace of the previous night's tasting.
The rug was oriental, with a subtle dark stain on its deep-red tapestry—a permanent signature left by a 1982 Margaux on some night of revelry.
At the very back of the room stood an oak wine cabinet built into the wall.
Alphard turned the label on the seventh bottle in the third row, a 1953 vintage. The wall slid open silently, revealing a flight of stone steps leading down.
"Come with me, Shilam." This time, he didn't use the name he usually called him by: Yulian.
Yulian followed him into the Chamber of Secrets. It wasn't large. A walnut table stood in the center, and the walls were covered in star charts, serpentine runes, and the Black Family Crest.
A Yew Wand lay on the table, its tip glowing faintly.
"This is the wand I used to use," Alphard said, his voice thick with emotion. "I thought... I'd never need it again."
He drew Yulian close and cupped his face in both hands, tears streaming down his cheeks. "You experienced a magical outburst. It can happen to magically gifted children before they turn eleven. It means the purest Black blood runs through your veins—even stronger than Sirius's."
"Sirius? The brightest star in Canis Major?" Yulian blurted out.
Alphard froze. "Oh, that's the name of one of your uncles. You know that the children in our Black family are named after constellations. Yours is, too."
"Mm." Could things really be just as I'd imagined? Yulian thought.
"Child, you don't need to be surprised or afraid of what I'm about to tell you."
Yulian didn't answer. He just nodded eagerly.
"You need to know that this is a world of magic."
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