Chapter 412: A Lucky Dream
The world outside was a swirl of chaos, but the wizard within the dream was oblivious.
The ink-black Wampus Cat, its fur patterned with silver-white clouds, raised a paw. The mist within its form surged, and in the blink of an eye, the creature had shifted back into the shape of a small black cat.
Soul-Transfiguration was a thing of wonder. Just as certain wizards could slip between their human skin and their Animagus forms at will, Sean could now cycle through his magical beast identities with effortless ease.
The black cat gazed across the stark white void of the Lands Between. With another flick of its paw, several "Yarn Balls"—the clusters representing the dreams of the living—began to coalesce.
He saw the dream-clusters of the Hogwarts staff; the hazy, distant cluster of the Hollysey orphanage; and, further away still, the large, vibrant bubbles originating from Ilvermorny. To the black cat, summoning these clusters felt much like a feline toying with a ball of string. He batted a few closer and pushed others away, observing and searching.
Professor Snape and Professor McGonagall were not yet asleep—a curious thing. Headmaster Dumbledore was also nowhere to be found, even though he had expressed a desire to speak in the dream world. Sean wondered what was waylaying him. This was Hogwarts, after all...
Setting aside the Headmaster for now, the cat organized the faint, flickering threads belonging to the Ravenclaw Tower. These were unique; they didn't point toward the Victorian house anchor but reached deeper into the soul realm.
These were the threads of the Ravenclaws.
Following a subtle, internal guidance, Sean could sense that both Rowena and Helena were nearby. This meant he could potentially attend to other matters first. He reached out and pulled another group of Yarn Balls toward him.
These clusters were smaller than the others and far more kaleidoscopic. They made up nearly half of his total collection. These were the threads of the Hogwarts Kneazle Society.
The cat looked at them thoughtfully. He needed to understand how a wizard's connection to this realm changed once they established a link, and he needed to identify the exact catalyst for these threads appearing. The club had existed for a long time, yet only now had their threads become strong enough to manifest.
Was it a matter of numbers, or something more?
Meanwhile, at Hogwarts Castle.
Behind the large barrels in the corridor leading to the kitchens, the entrance to the Hufflepuff common room remained hidden. Although the holidays had only just ended, the students were already dreaming of the next break.
Inside the common room—a circular space filled with low tables and squashy armchairs—the fire crackled warmly. A few students were still awake, whispering or playing the "Night Edition" of Whimsical Wizard Chess.
This was a brand-new expansion where the pieces only "woke up" after sunset—featuring specialized figures like Werewolf Wizards and Vampire Kings. According to an unofficial study by Fred and George, the Night Edition had caused the "Early-to-Bed" rate at Hogwarts to plummet by a hundred percent. The students believed it implicitly; the game had been a sensation for weeks.
But despite the rowdy players, the President of the Kneazle Society, Hannah Abbott, was tucked away in her bed. She had organized night patrols during Valentine's weekend and the days following. Seventy-seven club members had practically scoured every inch of the castle. Alas, the Lucky Black Cat had failed to appear.
She had been crushed, yet her own theory sustained her: the Guardian only manifested during moments of great import—like guiding Harry to the truth or protecting Ginny. Why would he show up for a simple patrol?
Still, disappointment was like a seed carried on the wind; it sought the softest soil of the heart to take root.
"Just a glimpse... just once," she murmured her habitual evening prayer. "O messenger of the Christmas night, guardian of our luck, the castle is your ears, the stairs are your breath..."
With that half-hopeful whisper, she drifted off.
When Hannah opened her eyes within the dream, her jaw practically hit the floor. She had never experienced a dream like this.
Mist swirled everywhere—kaleidoscopic, radiant, and pure. And there, sitting atop a cluster of vapor, was a stark splash of black. A cat with vivid green eyes was watching her.
"Good evening, Hannah," the cat said.
"G-g-good evening, Mr. Kneazle!" Hannah stuttered, fighting the urge to let out a hall-shaking shriek of joy.
The cat gave a human-like nod and stole a glance at Hannah's thread. It had swelled significantly in a matter of seconds. Sean understood now: a direct interaction with a soul in this realm acted as a massive catalyst for the connection.
"Mr. Kneazle!" Hannah blurted out, unable to contain herself. She had a thousand questions, a million things she wanted to tell him. "I... may I ask you something?" she said, quickly trying to regain her composure.
"There is no need to rush. In the dream, we have all the time in the world," the cat replied.
Hannah didn't know why that made sense, but it felt profoundly right. She allowed her words to tumble out—her hopes, her worries, her excitement.
"Is this real? Is this my dream or yours? Am I truly seeing you? Will you come back to the castle? Do you like our club? Oh, goodness, I'm rambling..." She clapped her hands over her mouth.
"You may ask as much as you like," the cat said, using a paw to pin down its own twitching tail. "This dream exists specifically for you tonight."
"Truly?!" Hannah gasped.
"Truly."
The cat's whiskers twitched in what might have been a smile. He pulled a silver thread toward her. Within the mist of the cluster, a vision of a shy young witch was lying in her bed with a faint smile on her face. It was her.
The magic of the moment left Hannah speechless. She looked at the cat, and the cat offered a final, steady nod.
Tonight, the wind had stirred the stubborn branches of the tree. The talkative little witch had finally found her lucky dream.
[End of Chapter 412]
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