Sirius Black had returned to the physical world, but the Black Cat remained.
It padded across the blinding white expanse, its senses sharp, searching for
sothing hidden within the fold of the mists. Here, the fog would occasionally
coalesce into solid shapes—a rolling hill, a cluster of swaying irises, a lone
oak tree.
As it walked, the cat ticulously tracked the ti it had spent in this realm.
Five hours and forty minutes...
It was staying longer and longer with every visit. As the duration increased, so
did the number of structures erging from the mist. The cat approached one such
cottage made of weathered oak. Beside the door sat a statue of a black
cat—though it looked nothing like Sean.
It seed the wizards who wandered into the Lands Between were obsessed with
this imagery. Whether it was a painting on a door or a stone carving on a porch,
the evidence of a "Cult of the Cat" was undeniable.
One side effect of this widespread belief was that the "yarn ball"—the mass of
magical threads the cat played with—was growing. At first, it had been a simple
tangle, no larger than a standard cat. Now, it had swelled and thickened until
it was as massive as a Wampus Cat.
Sean suspected this wasn't just due to the residents of the Lands Between, but
because of the wizards in the living world who were reading Newt's new book.
He wasn't sure if he should thank his upperclassman or not. Regardless, Newt's
research had revealed crucial secrets: the existence of the Inverse Soul, and a
way to forge bonds with other wizards—whether Sean wanted them or not.
Now, with his ti in the realm extending, a faint hope began to stir in the
cat's mind.
The original Dream Stories had claid that after seven hours, the white void
would finally dim, and the sky would be filled with the most brilliant stars in
existence. The high priests of old had told rlin that these stars were the key
to true Divination—the ability to see not just possibilities, but the absolute
future.
The absolute future...
Sean's progress in Divination had been stalled for so ti. He felt he was
missing one final, crucial piece of the puzzle. But he was patient. He watched
as a twilight hue began to settle over the Dreamscape, touching the roots of the
wild grass and the yellow flower buds of the infinite green plains.
This was the first ti he had stayed long enough to see a sunset here. It felt
peaceful, much like waiting for the doors of the Hogwarts library to swing open
in the morning.
Ultimately, the seven-hour mark remained out of reach. The mists surged again,
forcing him back before the stars could appear. But Sean didn't feel
disappointed. He had experienced a twilight. He knew that the stars were waiting
for him. The wait itself was a kind of happiness—a promise that the final
mystery was within his grasp.
The only thing that gave him pause was Leta Lestrange. He still hadn't found
her. She seed to be drifting in a region far beyond his current reach. This
ant he couldn't yet resolve the grief that had haunted Dumbledore for decades.
He also realized sothing else: his way of walking this realm was unique. To
Dumbledore, the World Behind the Veil was a place of unthinkable danger, a
trackless waste that no one understood. Even in rlin's notes, the legendary
wizard had moved through this place with extre caution.
But to the Black Cat, the Lands Between was gentle. The dangers that hunted
other wizards never so much as brushed against his fur.
He didn't know why, but he had his suspicions. He thought of the words of the
Headmaster of Uagadou: that the African school was waiting for the return of the
Eldest Son. Dumbledore had told him that only a wizard who could lead souls
across the threshold of life and death was worthy of that title.
Was his ability to bring souls into dreams more than just a trick of Alchemy?
Did it represent a fundantal rule of this realm? And if he could bring them
in... could he truly bring them out into the world of the living?
Magic rarely followed the laws of equivalent exchange or the conservation of
energy, but even for magic, that felt like an impossible leap.
As the mist finally closed in, the cat departed. He promised himself that next
ti, he would find Leta.
The Final Week of Sumr Break.
In a single morning, Diagon Alley felt noticeably emptier. As Sean walked toward
the entrance of the Leaky Cauldron, he saw the Weasley family in the middle of a
chaotic departure.
Trunks were piled high near the door. Hedwig's cage and Hers—Percy's
screeching screech owl—were perched atop the luggage. Beside the trunks was a
small wicker basket that emitted a very loud, rhythmic purr. That would be
Hermione's cat, Crookshanks. With her parents' permission, she had spent the
final night of the holidays at the pub with the others.
"Morning, Sean!" Justin called out, looking bright-eyed and ready for the term.
"Morning," Sean replied softly.
The students and the Weasleys were huddled around the tables, finishing a
hurried breakfast. Sean stepped outside for a breath of air. He looked up and
saw that the window to Room 10 was open. A large black dog was sitting on the
sill, gazing down at the street.
The mont their eyes t, the dog gave a subtle, respectful bow. Its eyes shone
with an intensity that was purely human—a look of fanatical reverence.
"Morning, sir," Sean whispered. He didn't use a na, but the dog knew. Sirius
felt a surge of warmth in his chest. Being noticed by others was one thing, but
being acknowledged by his "Deity" was another entirely.
Suddenly, Mr. Weasley ca hurrying out of the pub, looking remarkably tense.
Harry was following close on his heels.
"We're heading back to the Burrow for a final night, but before we go, there's
sothing I must tell you—" Arthur began, his voice low and urgent.
"It's all right, Mr. Weasley," Harry interrupted quietly. "I already know."
Arthur froze. "You know? How?"
"I... er... I overheard you and Mrs. Weasley talking last night. I didn't an
to, but..." Harry looked sheepish. "I'm sorry."
"I didn't want you to find out that way," Arthur said, his brow furrowing with
worry. "Harry, you must be terrified—"
"I'm not," Harry said firmly. He saw the disbelief on Arthur's face and added,
"I'm not trying to be a hero, but honestly... Sirius Black can't be more
dangerous than Voldemort, can he?"
Arthur flinched at the na but didn't correct him. "Harry, I know you're
brave—far braver than Fudge gives you credit for. And I'm glad you aren't
scared, but still—"
"Arthur!" Molly's voice rang out from the pub. She was ushering the younger
children toward the door. "Arthur, what are you doing? We have to move!"
"Coming, Molly!" Arthur called back. He turned back to Harry, his voice dropping
to a frantic whisper. "Listen to . I want you to promise ..."
The conversation between them was sharp and fast. Sean watched with a slight
frown, and up in the window of Room 10, the black dog's fur bristled.
None of them noticed a figure erging from the shadows of a far alleyway.
Professor Snape stood there, his dark robes billowing slightly in the morning
breeze, watching the scene with a cold, unreadable expression.
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