Yulian stood rooted to the spot, unable to move for a long time. The night wind swept through the corridor, chilling his back.
Peeves' words fit together perfectly with the secret he had just read, forming a vast and suffocating picture.
He, Shiloh Yulian Black, a transmigrator who had thought he was only here to experience the Magical World and enjoy watching Harry Potter's fate unfold, had somehow been thrust into the center of a storm that threatened the survival of the entire Magical World?
Christmas hadn't yet arrived, but Hogwarts Castle was already dressed for the holidays.
Holly and mistletoe adorned the ivy-wrapped pillars, while enchanted snowflakes that never melted drifted across the ceiling of the Great Hall.
And the enormous Christmas tree Hagrid had struggled to drag inside filled a corner with the warm scent of pine needles and cinnamon.
Hogwarts had a two-week break for Christmas, but for Shiloh Yulian Black, it was a somewhat lonely time.
His parents were in London, caught up in the crucial push to bring Black Vine Winery into the Asian market, and simply couldn't get away.
So he had to make the journey home alone, returning to his house in Bordeaux, surrounded by vineyards.
With a tremendous roar, the Airbus A320 lifted off from the end of the runway and soared into the boundless blue sky.
The flight from Gatwick Airport in London to Mérignac Airport in Bordeaux, France, wasn't long—about an hour and a half to an hour and forty-five minutes.
Once the plane leveled off, Yulian closed his eyes to rest, while also visiting the Magic Resonance Library in his mind to browse some professional books and lull himself to sleep.
Suddenly, the black cat Murphy had slipped over to his side again at some point. His great tail brushed Yulian's foot. "Heads up. The girl by the left window has looked at you six times already."
"Really? Isn't that normal?" Yulian said, but still lazily opened his eyes and glanced to the left.
Even many years later, Yulian still thought that she had looked like a painting sitting there.
The window was the frame, enclosing a gradient of blue, from indigo to aquamarine. The light at thirty thousand feet wasn't as direct as it was on the ground. Filtered through the thin atmosphere, it seemed to become nothing but clear, silvery light, flowing slowly over her outline.
Her skin was so pale it was almost translucent, like fine, thin porcelain. The light kissed her temple, slid down the gentle slope of her nose, and gathered at its tip in a tiny, unobtrusive gleam. Then it split at the curve of her upper lip and disappeared into the shadow at the corner of her mouth.
Her black hair was touched with the warm color of flax, like wheat stubble after the autumn harvest. A few loose strands had escaped their tie, fluttering beside the window in the faintly stirring air.
Her gaze met Yulian's without wavering, a hint of amusement glimmering in her cool eyes.
After trading seats with a friendly passenger, Yulian sat beside Elizabeth Rosier.
"Black? What are you doing here?" Her tone still carried an air of nobility.
Yulian smiled. "I'm going home, to Black Vine Winery in Bordeaux. What about you? I thought you said you were living in Belgium."
"Both my parents and I are visiting my aunt for Christmas this year. She lives in Town of Fonsali, near Bordeaux—it's roughly the equivalent of Hogsmeade in Britain."
After a pause, Rosier added, "I know Black Vine Winery. It's only about twenty kilometers from Fonsali."
"Really? That's great. You can come visit me, then. I can treat you to the best Merlot."
"I'm not old enough to drink yet." Rosier's reproachful look held a hint of eager anticipation.
"That's all right. We have special drinks without alcohol. You know, winter is beautiful where I live..."
"Strange. How come he never used to talk this much?" Murphy muttered from the library.
After they got off the plane, Yulian saw Rosier's two large suitcases. "How are you getting there? That looks inconvenient." He knew there were buses from the airport that went past Black Vine Winery, but he had no idea how to get to Fonsali.
"I can take the public carriage that transports wizards." Rosier glanced at Yulian. "Didn't you know?"
"Public carriages?" Yulian perked up. He'd never heard of that kind of transport in France.
"You really don't know?" Rosier looked surprised, then quickly adopted a teasing expression that said, Typical country boy.
"They're a common means of short-distance transport for wizards on the European mainland. Thestrals pull them. Only people who have witnessed death can see Thestrals."
"I thought there were only wizarding buses."
"That's only in Britain." Rosier pursed her lips. "Most European wizards think carriages are more aristocratic."
Yulian's interest was piqued. He'd heard Hagrid mention Thestrals, but had never seen one himself. This was a good opportunity.
Yulian hesitated, then walked over. "I noticed you have a lot of luggage. Would you like me to help you get it there, Miss Rosier?"
Elizabeth turned around sharply. She paused, then the corner of her mouth lifted almost imperceptibly. Raising her chin gracefully, she said, "If it won't be too much trouble, I'd be most grateful."
"My pleasure."
Following Elizabeth's directions, the two of them made their way to a desolate parking lot outside the airport.
Perhaps a Muggle-Repelling Charm had been cast over the place. It was deserted, save for a black four-wheeled carriage that seemed made of shadow, standing silently by itself.
Four gaunt black horses with enormous batlike wings—the Thestrals—were harnessed to the carriage. They lowered their heads to nibble at some invisible morsel in the air.
It was Yulian's first time seeing the creatures, and he couldn't help holding his breath. They were beautiful and sorrowful, with a lonely air that seemed to belong to another world.
"You can see the Thestrals too?" Rosier asked, slightly surprised, but didn't press him. The truth was, Yulian hadn't seen anyone die in this life, but he had in his previous one. He didn't know if that was why he could see them.
Just as they were about to get into the carriage, Yulian caught sight of a familiar figure out of the corner of his eye. It was the man with the severed finger who had checked tickets at King's Cross Station and later appeared aboard the Hogwarts Express!
He wore an unremarkable gray trench coat, but his eyes were sharp as an eagle's. He was striding toward them.
Yulian and Elizabeth exchanged a look, both seeing the caution in the other's eyes. Neither said a word; they simply climbed into the carriage at once.
The carriage had a spacious interior, almost like a large bus, but it was furnished with remarkable comfort. The velvet seats were soft enough to sink into.
But their comfort didn't last long. The door opened again, and the man with the severed finger climbed aboard in silence. He took a seat in the farthest corner and closed his eyes, as if everything that had just happened were a mere coincidence.
"Don't be nervous," Elizabeth Rosier murmured to Yulian. "It's a public carriage. It's perfectly normal for other wizards to be on board."
Yulian nodded, but something still felt off. He watched the man discreetly and noticed that his right hand remained pressed against some hard object inside his coat.
The carriage set off, gliding smoothly onto an invisible road, perhaps visible only to wizards, paved with starlight. Outside the windows, the scenery rushed by, and the buildings of the Muggle world gradually fell behind.
Suddenly, the carriage jolted violently!
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