Alphard told his grandson everything.
He spoke of the wizarding world, the ancient pure-blood families, the wars that had torn it apart. He recounted his own disownment—the day his name was burned from the tapestry, the final severing from Grimmauld Place and everything it stood for. For the first time in decades, the words he'd kept locked inside poured out to the one person who could truly understand.
At the end, he looked at Julien with a complicated expression.
"Whatever—or whoever—you were before, the magic has chosen you now. That means you have to learn to control it. Otherwise, it will only hurt you… and the people around you."
He took out a small vial of deep-blue potion.
"This is a Calming Draught. It'll settle the wild fluctuations in your magic. Drink it."
Julien obeyed without hesitation. The liquid slid cool and soothing down his throat, spreading through his body like a gentle tide, quieting the restless energy inside him.
"The original plan was for your family to head back to Britain after Christmas," Alphard continued. "Your parents have business there, and they were going to enroll you in one of the better boarding schools—aristocratic, Muggle, of course. But now…"
He paused, voice turning solemn.
"From tonight until you leave, I will teach you. Basic spells, control over your magic, the history of the Black family—both the darkness and the light. But I need you to promise me two things."
"What are they?"
"First: never use magic in front of Muggles unless your life—or someone else's—depends on it. The wizarding world and the Muggle world each have their own rules. Don't try to tear down the wall between them. At least, not you."
"Second: next year, you will go to a proper magical school for systematic training. Not an ordinary Muggle secondary school. I know you're mature beyond your years, that you've always had your own mind. But the plan has to change now. Of course I respect your choice… but I hope you choose magic."
Julien was quiet for a long moment. Then he nodded.
He already knew—this was the Harry Potter world. And he had secrets of his own.
Alphard finally smiled. He took his grandson's hand and led him to the skylight. Moonlight poured over the vineyard, turning the whole landscape silver, as though the earth itself had been steeped in liquid moonlight.
"Look," he said, pointing toward the constellation soaring overhead. "That's Altair—your father's namesake. And you, Caelum… there. The Sculptor. The one who carves the very stars."
That night the celebration carried on upstairs—champagne flutes clinking, laughter drifting through the halls.
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But down in the hidden chamber, ten-year-old Caelum Julien Black held his grandfather's old wand for the first time and spoke the word:
"Lumos."
A soft glow bloomed at the tip, illuminating a line of almost-worn-away Latin carved into the wall:
"Sanguis non facit, sed eligit."
(Blood does not make a man; choice does.)
—
Autumn faded from 1990 Bordeaux. The vineyards slipped into winter stillness. Time flowed quietly between the worlds of magic and reality.
From that day on, Julien's life split cleanly in two.
By day he was the quiet young gentleman of Château Vigne Noire, working through Muggle lessons with a private tutor brought over from England. The tutor adjusted the curriculum so Julien could transition seamlessly into the British system later.
But when night fell—or during quiet afternoons when no one was around—he followed Alphard down into the star-charted, rune-carved secret chamber and began his true education.
Alphard taught with patience and precision. They started with the basics: sensing magic, gathering the scattered energy inside his body, learning to draw it in and release it on command.
At first Julien's magic refused to behave. His "Wingardium Leviosa" barely lifted a feather half an inch off the ground before it trembled and fell; sometimes it jerked wildly up and down with no control.
When he tried "Scourgify," the Cleaning Charm, he kept overdoing it—once he accidentally swept every book off the table along with the dust.
Alphard never scolded him. He simply took Julien's hand in his own, guiding him to feel the subtle pulse traveling through the wand.
"Magic is resonance with your heart, Caelum—not brute force. Quiet your mind. Feel it the way you feel a breeze moving through the grape leaves."
Under that steady guidance, Julien improved fast. Within a single month he could keep a pebble hovering and spinning smoothly in midair. He could tidy the entire chamber with a precise Scourgify.
He even mastered his first defensive spell, "Protego"—the shield charm. The barrier was still thin, but it held against light impacts. According to Alphard, plenty of third-years at Hogwarts couldn't even produce a complete one.
Alphard also gathered books for him: the beginner-friendly Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1) and A History of Magic, the eye-opening Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them and Magical Drafts and Potions, and even a few rare Black family copies—ancient manuscripts about star-based magic and forgotten celestial rituals.
Late into the night Julien would read in the chamber, the spells and creatures he'd once known only as fiction now tangible and real. The excitement was electric, but so was the awe.
His wand was willow—chosen and purchased by Alphard in Paris, along a narrow, twisting alley called Ruelle des Étoiles Filantes (Shooting Star Lane).
It was the French equivalent of Knockturn Alley—shady, unregulated, and exactly the sort of place a disowned Black would know how to find. France had no official Ollivanders, and the Blacks had never been ones for following proper channels anyway.
What Alphard didn't know was that Julien's rapid progress came from something else entirely.
Ever since the accidental magic outburst, a library had appeared inside his mind.
At first, with all the memories crashing in at once, he'd been too dazed to make sense of it. Only that night, alone and sorting through his thoughts, did he finally see it clearly: it looked exactly like the university library where he used to spend entire days back in his previous life.
He wasn't even that surprised.
Come on—I've transmigrated. Who doesn't get a cheat?
It didn't take long to figure out how to enter. No complicated ritual—just a shift in focus, and he was there.
The shelves, though… completely empty. Not a single book.
"Cheat? Cheat system!" he called out.
No answer.
"System? Yo, system!"
Silence.
"Golden finger? You there?"
Nothing.
"Come on, get out here, you little system brat!"
Still nothing.
"Daddy's here! System daddy?!"
Dead quiet.
Seriously?
"Grandpa!"
"Meow~" came a soft reply.
"Hogwarts!"
Out of nowhere, a pitch-black cat appeared. It sat primly on the empty shelf in front of him, looking like a long-haired Maine Coon mix—except this black was on another level. The kind of black that could lend shadows to a Dementor and still have some left over.
Its fur drank light like velvet made of night. The long tail curled elegantly in front like an unrolled scroll waiting to be read.
But the eyes—those were impossible to ignore. Huge, round, mismatched: left amber, right silver-gray. In the dim light the pupils narrowed to slits, yet they still gleamed with uncanny brightness, as though they could see straight through his skull.
The cat tilted its head with an expression that clearly said, You're three hours, forty-two minutes late.
"Uh… hi?" Julien gave a tentative wave.
The black cat didn't move. It simply flicked its tail once.
Behind it, the empty shelves rattled—and glowing golden words formed in the air:
Magical Resonance Library
Your librarian is currently learning how to speak.