Sirius had returned to reality, but the black cat had not.
It walked through that endless white expanse, carefully sensing, searching for something.
As it wandered, it noticed that the mist here would occasionally take shape and become something tangible.
A hillside beneath its feet, for example. Irises swaying on that hillside.
As it walked, the black cat skillfully kept track of how long it had remained in the Borderland.
Five hours and forty minutes...
Longer and longer.
With more time to walk, the black cat began to see more wooden cottages.
Curious, it padded up to one of them. The black cat statue beside the little oak door looked nothing like it.
But the wizards of the Borderland seemed strangely fond of doing that.
Whether it was the black cat painted on the oak door or the black cat statue beside it, both made that fact perfectly clear.
And the change brought by that fact was simple: the black cat's yarn balls were getting more and more numerous.
At first, they had been quite simple, tangled together like ordinary balls of yarn, about the size of a real black cat.
Now there were more and more of them, wound together into an ever fatter sphere, already as large as a cat leopard.
The black cat thought this was probably not just because of the Borderland's wizards, but even more because of the wizards of the magical world.
It did not know whether it ought to thank that old Hufflepuff senior.
But no matter what, Senior Newt had revealed part of the Borderland's secrets to it, such as the existence of counterpart souls, and had helped it form certain bonds with other wizards, whether it had wanted those bonds or not.
Now, it could remain here for longer.
And that made the black cat quietly harbor a faint expectation.
Dream Stories had once stated plainly: after seven hours, the sky would darken, and the night would fill with stars.
The priest had told Merlin that the stars here shone the brightest... and that from them he had learned the power to divine the future...
To divine the future...
Thinking of its Divination studies, forever stuck at the final step, the black cat could not help feeling that there had to be some crucial magical trick it still did not know.
But that no longer mattered.
The black cat watched dusk descend—settling among the roots and blades of wild grass, among the yellow flower buds, across the boundless green fields.
This was the first time it had stayed this long, the first time it truly felt that night might come.
It felt a kind of contentment, like waiting for the Hogwarts library to open.
What disappointed the black cat a little, however, was that the mist still rose in the end.
It had not waited long enough for nightfall, but the black cat soon stopped feeling disappointed—it already had a dusk of its own.
And sooner or later, it would wait for the best possible moment to study Divination.
So the waiting that had once felt necessary gradually became a kind of happiness.
As time stretched longer, so too did anticipation.
The only thing that left the black cat somewhat hesitant was that it had not found Rita.
She seemed to be somewhere very far away.
Which also meant it would not be able to find that witch who had weighed on Headmaster Dumbledore's mind for so many years anytime soon.
At the same time, the black cat became aware of one certain fact.
The way it moved through the Borderland seemed to be rather unusual.
In Headmaster Dumbledore's eyes, the Borderland was a realm untouched and unknown, full of dangers beyond imagination.
Even in Dream Stories, Merlin had explored this place with extreme caution.
But to the black cat, the Borderland was far too gentle.
Those dangers meant for wizards had never harmed it in the slightest.
The black cat did not know why. It only had a few vague guesses.
And it also found itself thinking a little about the future.
The suddenly appearing headmaster of Uagadou had told it that Uagadou was waiting for the return of the Firstborn Son.
And Headmaster Dumbledore had told it that only a wizard capable of bringing souls in and out would be recognized as the Firstborn Son of Uagadou's god.
So the black cat began to wonder why it was able to bring souls into dreams at all. Did its special authority carry some special meaning?
Or was it simply suited to some unique law of the Borderland?
And if so, could it really bring souls into the world of the living?
Even though magic had never obeyed the principle of equivalent exchange, nor the law of conservation of energy, all of this still felt far too magical.
When the mist closed in, the black cat left as well.
It thought that next time, perhaps it would be able to find Rita.
...
The second-to-last week of summer vacation.
In a single instant, more than one wizard moved out of Diagon Alley.
When Sean reached the entrance of the Leaky Cauldron, he happened to see the Weasley family busy carrying all their trunks down the inn's narrow staircase.
Their things were piled by the front door, with Hedwig and Hermes—Percy's long-eared owl—resting in cages on top of the luggage.
Beside the trunks sat a small wicker basket, from which came a loud purring sound.
That was Hermione's Crookshanks. With her parents' permission, Hermione had also spent the night at the inn.
"Sean, good morning—"
And of course, Justin was there too.
"Morning,"
Sean said softly.
At the moment, the young wizards and the Weasleys were all sitting around on chairs, waiting for breakfast.
When Sean stepped out of the pub and looked up, he could see that the window of Room 10 was already open, and a black dog was gazing outside from within.
The moment his eyes met Sean's, the black dog bent its legs slightly, and a fervent, almost human reverence flashed in its eyes.
"Good morning, sir."
Sean did not say anyone's name, but the black dog knew, and warmth spread through his heart.
He did not need it, but being remembered was always pleasant—especially when... it meant being noticed by a god.
Just then, Mr. Weasley hurried out and stepped onto the street, where only Sean was standing, with Harry following close behind him.
"We're about to head back to the Burrow, but before we leave, there's something I have to tell you—"
Mr. Weasley said nervously.
"You don't need to, Mr. Weasley,"
Harry said quietly.
"I already know."
"You know? How do you know?"
"I—er—I heard you and Mrs. Weasley talking last night. I couldn't help overhearing,"
Harry quickly added,
"sorry—"
"I'd rather you hadn't found out that way."
Mr. Weasley looked deeply worried.
"Harry, you must have been terrified—"
"No,"
Harry said seriously.
"Really,"
when he saw the disbelieving look on Mr. Weasley's face, he added,
"I'm not trying to act tough, but honestly, Sirius Black can't be scarier than Voldemort, can he?"
At the sound of that name, Mr. Weasley flinched, though he did not dwell on it.
"Harry, I know you're, well, braver and stronger than Fudge thinks.
Of course I'm glad you're not frightened, but—"
"Arthur!"
Mrs. Weasley called. She was already seeing to the others and getting everyone ready to leave.
"Arthur, what are you doing? Hurry up!"
"Coming, Molly!"
Mr. Weasley answered, then turned back to Harry and said in a lower, more urgent voice,
"Listen, I want you to promise me..."
Their conversation was so quick and tense that not only did Sean frown slightly, even the black dog by the window gave a shiver through its fur.
Even Professor Snape, who had just emerged over the distant horizon of Diagon Alley, was staring this way with a cold, shadowed gaze.
~~~
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