September 1st, 1993, Platform 9¾, King's Cross Station, 10:47 AM
The Hogwarts Express stood gleaming crimson against the platform's grey stone, steam billowing from its scarlet engine in great white clouds that smelled of coal and magic and the beginning of term. The platform teemed with students and parents—tearful goodbyes, last-minute instructions, trunks being heaved aboard by harried porters whilst owls hooted protest from their cages.
Harry navigated the chaos with Luna's hand firmly in his, their trunks floating behind them courtesy of a levitation charm Ethan had finally deemed him competent enough to maintain whilst walking. Hedwig sat contentedly in her cage atop Harry's trunk, her amber eyes half-closed in what might have been meditation or might have been judgement of the surrounding pandemonium.
They found an empty compartment halfway down the train and settled in—Harry taking the window seat, Luna beside him, their luggage stowed overhead with practiced efficiency.
"Third year," Luna said, her voice carrying that dreamy quality that somehow never diminished her perceptiveness. "The year electives begin. The year things become more interesting."
"Also the year escaped Death Eaters are apparently lurking about," Harry pointed out. "So there's that."
"Mmm. Though I suspect that will prove more complicated than the Ministry believes."
Before Harry could ask what she meant by that, the compartment door slid open and Hermione appeared, dragging her trunk with one hand whilst balancing Crookshanks's basket in the other. The half-Kneazle's amber eyes were visible through the wicker gaps, fixed on some point beyond the compartment with unnerving intensity.
"Oh good, you found a compartment." Hermione levitated her trunk up to join theirs—her wandwork was precise, economical. "Ron's coming... he stopped to talk to his brothers about something Quidditch-related."
She'd barely settled across from them when the door opened again, this time revealing Draco Malfoy. He looked different from last term—not physically, though there was something in his posture that suggested confidence rather than arrogance—but in the way he moved into the compartment, seeking permission rather than assuming it was his due.
"Room for one more?"
"Always," Harry said. "How was your summer with uncle Sam?"
Draco's face lit up in a way that would have been unthinkable two years ago. "Brilliant. Absolutely brilliant. I observed twelve different Healing cases, learned proper diagnostic procedures, and uncle Sam says if I keep progressing at this rate, I might qualify for a junior apprenticeship by fifth year—"
He was interrupted by a small blur of blonde determination that swept past him into the compartment.
Astoria Greengrass had grown over the summer—not dramatically, but enough that the first-year roundness had given way to something more angular, more defined. Her features still carried that Greengrass coldness, that aristocratic reserve that seemed bred into certain pure-blood families like eye colour or magical aptitude. But when her grey eyes found Luna, something in her expression softened fractionally.
"Luna!" Astoria's voice remained carefully modulated—no squealing, no excess emotion—but her body language told a different story. She crossed the compartment with barely restrained eagerness and settled beside Luna with the air of someone claiming their rightful place. "I hoped I'd find you. Daphne's in a compartment with the other fourth-years, but I thought—well, I hoped—"
"I'm glad you found us," Luna said warmly, making space. "How was your summer?"
Harry felt something shift in his chest—not jealousy, exactly, but a subtle territorial awareness that made him lean infinitesimally closer to Luna's other side. It was instinctive, unconscious, the same way one might shift position to maintain balance.
The compartment door opened one final time, revealing Neville Longbottom looking slightly harried and apologetic.
"Sorry, sorry—Gran kept talking and talking about Herbology expectations and I couldn't get away and then I had to find Trevor again because he'd escaped whilst we were saying goodbye—"
"It's fine, Neville," Hermione assured him. "Plenty of room."
There was, technically. The compartment could seat eight comfortably. But as Neville moved to sit beside Luna—the most logical empty space—Harry's hand moved before his conscious mind caught up. A small gesture, seemingly casual, directing Neville toward the seat beside Hermione instead.
"Sit there, yeah? Luna and I were looking at something in her notes earlier, might want to reference them again."
It was smoothly done. Natural enough that Neville simply nodded and settled where indicated. But Astoria's grey eyes tracked the movement with the sharp awareness of someone who'd spent a lifetime reading social cues and power dynamics. Her expression remained cool, controlled, but something flickered behind her eyes—understanding, perhaps. Amusement, definitely.
'He doesn't even realise he's doing it,' she thought, filing the observation away for later consideration. 'Interesting.'
Ron arrived moments later, slightly out of breath and carrying what appeared to be a bag of Cauldron Cakes. "Right, got food, got compartment, got friends—third year's off to a good start."
Once they were settled—the compartment now comfortably full with seven students and one half-Kneazle who'd been released from his basket and was regarding everyone with regal disdain—the conversation naturally turned to the subject that had been occupying everyone's minds since their letters arrived.
"Electives," Hermione said, producing her schedule with the efficiency of someone who'd been planning this moment for weeks. "I've signed up for all five available subjects."
Ron blinked. "All five? Hermione, that's—that's mental.. oh well it you. Still! That's fourteen total subjects with the core curriculum."
"Thirteen, actually. Astronomy shifts to observation-only in third year, no more written assignments." Hermione's tone suggested she'd already memorised the entire academic calendar. "And I've also signed up for flying lessons."
The compartment went silent.
"Flying lessons," Draco repeated slowly. "You. Hermione Granger. The girl who's terrified of heights and has never shown the slightest interest in Quidditch. Flying lessons."
Hermione's chin lifted defensively. "I'm not terrified. I'm cautiously respectful of significant altitude. There's a difference. And after this summer, after the martial arts training, I want to test my physical capabilities more broadly. Including aerial movement."
"You're trying out for the Quidditch team," Ron said, his voice caught between disbelief and dawning excitement. "You're actually going to try out."
"Maybe. If the flying lessons go well. If I don't die of terror first." Hermione's expression was determinedly neutral. "But yes. Maybe."
"That's brilliant!" Ron's enthusiasm was genuine. "We need a Chaser—Katie and Alicia are good but Angelina's more of a Beater temperament, and if you've got the strategy mind and the physical training—"
"Let's not plan my Quidditch career before I've successfully flown in a straight line," Hermione interrupted. "What about everyone else? What electives did you choose?"
Harry pulled out his own schedule. "Divination, Care of Magical Creatures, Ancient Runes, and Arithmancy."
"Four?" Neville looked impressed. "That's ambitious."
"Divination because I want to see how it compares to what Dad did," Harry explained. "Care of Magical Creatures because I'm hoping—really hoping—that I might be able to bring... Jasper to school legally if I'm in the course.... Ancient Runes and Arithmancy because..." He trailed off, feeling slightly embarrassed.
"Because you want to live up to Teacher's reputation," Luna finished calmly. "The 'gloomy genius' legacy."
"Something like that." Harry tried not to sound defensive.
Though Harry was going to discover very quickly that Hogwarts Divination, Ancient Runes, and Arithmancy are nothing like what Dad's been teaching him.
He thought privately. 'Dad's teaching is practical application and integration. Hogwarts is theory and examination. Different purposes entirely.'
"I'm taking Divination and Care of Magical Creatures," Ron announced. "Two subjects seemed reasonable. Gives me more time for Quidditch practice."
"Ron, you need at least two electives to maintain your academic standing," Hermione started.
"I've got two! Divination and Care of Magical Creatures. That's two."
"I meant two properly rigorous subjects. Divination is—"
"Oi! Professor Trelawney's supposed to be brilliant! Dad says she made a real prophecy once!"
Hermione's expression suggested she had Opinions about the reliability of Divination, but Luna spoke before an argument could develop.
"You are a witch, sitting on a magical train Hermione" she said casually.
Neville cleared his throat. "Herbology and Care of Magical Creatures for me. Professor Sprout says I've got real talent with plants, and I'd like to develop that properly. And Care of Magical Creatures just sounds fascinating."
All eyes turned to Draco, who'd been uncharacteristically quiet.
"Healing Magic—it's a trial programme Hogwarts is running with St Mungo's approval," he explained. "Madam Pomfrey will teach theory whilst I continue practical observation. Plus Herbology, because medicinal plants are essential to Healing, and Care of Magical Creatures because understanding magical creature injuries is part of comprehensive medical knowledge."
"That's brilliant, Draco," Hermione said warmly. "A focused specialisation path. Very professional."
"Trying to be." Draco's smile was slightly self-deprecating. "Sam says proper Healers need solid foundations, not just enthusiasm."
Astoria had been listening with that particular quality of focused attention she brought to most things.
The conversation flowed on—speculation about professors, comparisons of schedule conflicts, Ron's increasingly elaborate theories about what Divination might involve. Outside the window, London's sprawl gradually gave way to countryside, the Muggle world receding as the Hogwarts Express carried them northward toward Scotland.
September 1st, 1993, Hogwarts Express, Somewhere in Northern England, 2:34 PM
The rain started as a whisper against the windows—tentative drops that grew rapidly into sheets of water blurring the landscape beyond recognition. Thunder rumbled in the distance, not threatening but atmospheric, turning the world outside into study of grey and shadow.
Inside the compartment, various activities had distributed themselves naturally. Ron and Neville had fallen asleep, Ron snoring softly with his head against the window, Neville curled awkwardly with Trevor clutched protectively in one hand. Hermione read Intermediate Transfiguration Theory, her quill occasionally making notes in the margins. Draco studied what appeared to be another Healing text borrowed from Sam, his expression intent. Astoria organised her school supplies with methodical precision.
And Harry and Luna watched the rain.
There was something hypnotic about it—the way water streaked across glass, the way the landscape beyond dissolved into impressionistic suggestion rather than clear detail. Luna's hand had found Harry's at some point, their fingers interlaced with unconscious ease, and they sat in comfortable silence whilst the storm painted the world grey.
"It's beautiful," Luna murmured. "Like the world is being rewritten. Washed clean."
"Feels ominous," Harry said. "Like something's coming."
"Perhaps. Or perhaps it's just rain, and we're reading meaning into weather because humans always seek patterns."
Before Harry could respond, the train lurched.
Not dramatically—not a crash or derailment—but a definite, unscheduled deceleration. The sort of slowing that meant something had stopped them deliberately rather than mechanically.
Ron jerked awake. "Wha—are we there already?"
"We're hours from Hogwarts still," Hermione said, setting down her book with a frown. "Why are we stopping?"
The temperature dropped.
It wasn't gradual. One moment the compartment was comfortably warm, insulated against the September chill. The next, Harry's breath misted in the air, frost beginning to form on the window's edges, spreading across glass like accelerated decay.
And with the cold came something else. A feeling. A weight pressing down on Harry's chest, making breathing difficult, making everything feel heavy and hopeless and wrong.
Hermione slumped forward. Ron's eyes rolled back, his body going limp. Neville collapsed entirely, Trevor tumbling from his slack grip. Draco swayed, managed one confused "What—" before his knees buckled. Even Astoria, who'd risen with her wand drawn, went down hard, her usual composure shattering into unconsciousness.
Only Harry and Luna remained upright.
"Dementor," Luna said quietly. Her voice was steady but her hand tightened on Harry's. "That's a Dementor, isn't it?"
The compartment door slid open.
What entered wasn't human. Couldn't be human, despite the vaguely human-shaped outline beneath ragged black cloaks. It was tall—too tall, its presence filling the compartment in a way that defied physical space. The edges of its cloak seemed to blur into shadow, into cold, into something that existed between sight and nightmare.
And it radiated wrongness.
Harry had felt fear before. Had faced a troll, fought a basilisk, stood in a burning house whilst his parents died. But this was different. This wasn't fear of physical danger. This was fear of the soul itself, the cold certainty that warmth and hope and light were illusions and beneath everything was only despair.
Beside him, Luna had gone very pale. But her wand was in her hand—when had she drawn it?—and her voice, though shaky, remained controlled.
"Lumos!"
Light bloomed from her wand. Not the simple illumination of a basic Wand-Lighting Charm, but something warmer, brighter, imbued with will and intent. The sort of Lumos that understood light meant more than just absence of darkness.
Harry followed her lead, channelling everything Ethan had taught him about meaning and intent into the spell. "Lumos!"
His light was different—golden rather than white, carrying warmth that pushed back against the unnatural cold. For a moment, the Dementor actually paused, its hooded head turning toward their combined illumination as though confused by resistance.
Then it moved forward.
The lights dimmed. Harry felt his grip on the spell weakening, felt the cold pressing in despite his will, felt memories surfacing—his mother's screams, green light, the smell of burning wood, despair so absolute it had no bottom—
A new voice cut through the darkness.
"Expecto Patronum!"
Silver light exploded into the compartment—not the soft glow of Lumos but blazing, incandescent radiance that drove back shadows with the force of absolute certainty. A wolf—silver, spectral, beautiful—bounded into the space between the Dementor and the students, its form solid enough to seem real despite being woven from light and memory.
The Dementor retreated. Not fled, exactly, but withdrew with the deliberate care of something that knew when to abandon pursuit. It drifted backwards through the door, into the corridor, leaving behind only slowly warming air and the lingering sense of violation.
Remus Lupin stood in the doorway, his wand still raised, his shabby robes somehow transformed into something commanding by the silver light of his Patronus. The wolf held position for another moment, then faded, its purpose fulfilled.
"Are you two alright?" Remus's voice was tight with concern and carefully controlled anger.
Harry managed a nod. His hands were shaking, he realised. Luna still gripped his wrist, her knuckles white with pressure.
"What—what was that?" Luna's voice emerged smaller than usual.
"Dementor. They're guarding the school." Remus moved into the compartment, checking the others with swift efficiency. "Ministry's brilliant idea of protection. Unconscious but unharmed, mostly. The effect should wear off in a few minutes."
He pulled chocolate from his pocket—actual Muggle chocolate, Cadbury's, slightly melted—and broke off pieces. "Here. Eat. Both of you. It helps with the after-effects."
Harry took the chocolate automatically, the sweetness grounding him back in physical sensation. Beside him, Luna did the same, her colour slowly returning.
Around them, the others began to stir. Ron groaned, Hermione blinked confusion, Neville sat up clutching Trevor with renewed desperation.
"What—" Ron started.
"Dementor," Harry said flatly. "The Ministry's 'enhanced protection' for Hogwarts apparently includes creatures that suck the happiness out of everyone nearby and make you relive your worst memories."
"That's insane," Hermione said, her voice still shaky. "That's—they can't put those things near children—"
"The Ministry," Remus said with barely concealed disgust, "has decided that the threat of escaped Death Eaters justifies extreme measures. The Dementors are stationed around Hogwarts grounds, searching anyone who approaches. We're lucky that was just a search rather than a feeding."
Astoria had recovered enough to speak, her usual composure reasserting itself though her hands trembled slightly. "Some protection. I've heard stories about Dementors. Nothing good."
"There are no good stories about Dementors," Remus confirmed grimly. He was tucking the chocolate away, preparing to leave. "I need to check the other compartments, make sure everyone's alright. Stay here. Eat the chocolate. And—" he looked at Harry and Luna specifically, "—well done. Both of you. Lumos against a Dementor isn't conventional defence, but it was brave thinking under pressure."
He left, the compartment door sliding shut behind him.
The silence that followed was heavy.
Ron was the first to break it, his voice rough with anger. "For Merlin's sake! So that's the Ministry's brilliant protection plan? Subject us all to creatures that make you want to die just from being near them? Brilliant. Absolutely brilliant."
"I couldn't agree more," Astoria said, her cultured tones sharpening. "Father complained about the measure when it was proposed, said it was excessive and dangerous. For once, I actually agree with him."
"There's more," Luna said quietly. She'd been staring out the rain-streaked window, her expression distant. "I heard the Aurors talking whilst we were boarding. Something about why the Dementors are searching so thoroughly."
"What did you hear?" Hermione leaned forward.
"The Ministry received intelligence—divination-based intelligence, apparently—that Mordred Slythra was spotted in the vicinity of Hogwarts." Luna's grey eyes were thoughtful. "That's why the Dementors are here. They're not just guarding against theoretical threats. They're actively searching for him."
Harry felt something cold settle in his stomach that had nothing to do with Dementor exposure. "Divination-based intelligence. That means—"
"That means someone used Seeing to locate him," Luna finished. "Someone with genuine Seer abilities tracked Mordred Slythra and reported his location to the Ministry."
'Dad,' Harry thought. 'That has to be Dad. He's the only Seer I know with that kind of capability. But why would he tell the Ministry? Why lead them toward Hogwarts?'
September 1st, 1993, Location Unknown, 2:47 PM
Mordred Slythra stood in the ruins of what had once been a gamekeeper's cottage, his wand tracking the perimeter with automatic vigilance.
He was thirty-seven but looked older—Azkaban did that, carved lines into faces and stole colour from hair and eyes. The scar running from temple to jaw was courtesy of an Auror's curse during his original capture, eleven years of Dementor exposure having done nothing to fade it.
But his mind remained sharp. His magic remained potent. And his mission remained clear.
Except something had changed.
He'd felt it an hour ago—a sudden, invasive sensation like being observed from a great distance. Not physical surveillance. Something deeper. Something that touched the edges of probability itself, that pulled at the threads of possible futures in ways that made his scar ache with remembered pain.
Divination. Someone with genuine Seeing had focused on him, had tracked him through the maze of probable outcomes, had pinpointed his location with the precision that came from true talent rather than tea-leaf reading.
'Who?' Mordred thought, his jaw tight with controlled fury. 'Who's capable of that level of Seeing? The Ministry's diviners are frauds and charlatans. This was surgical. Professional. Someone who knows what they're doing.'
His original plan had been simple: approach Hogwarts carefully, observe patterns, wait for opportunity. The Dark Lord's instructions had been clear before his... disruption... eleven years ago. The boy. Watch the Potter boy. Assess his capabilities. Report back through the contingencies left in place.
But now someone knew he was here. Had tracked him, had reported him, had almost certainly alerted the Ministry to his proximity.
The game had changed.
Mordred stared out at the rain-soaked landscape, his mind working through possibilities, adjusting plans, accepting that perhaps—just perhaps—he'd underestimated the opposition.
Someone with Seer abilities that precise wasn't just talented. They were dangerous.
And they'd just declared themselves his enemy.
September 1st, 1993, Hogwarts Great Hall, 7:23 PM
The Great Hall blazed with candlelight—the Runic Lamps shaped like floating candles, casting warm illumination that pushed back against the rain-dark evening beyond the enchanted ceiling. Thunder rumbled overhead, lightning occasionally flashing across the ceiling's clouds, creating dramatic backlight to the usual September feast.
Harry sat at the Gryffindor table between Ron and Hermione, Luna visible at the Ravenclaw table. The usual chatter of hundreds of students filled the hall, but beneath it ran currents of unease. Everyone had felt the Dementors during the journey. Everyone understood that this year would be different.
Dumbledore stood at the staff table, his blue eyes serious behind half-moon spectacles.
"Welcome," he said, his voice carrying through the hall with easy authority, "to another year at Hogwarts. Before we begin the feast, I must address what I'm sure is on everyone's minds—the Dementors."
Silence fell.
"The Ministry of Magic, in their wisdom, has stationed Dementors around Hogwarts grounds as a security measure. They are searching for Mordred Slythra, an escaped Death Eater whose recapture is considered highest priority." Dumbledore's tone made his opinion of this decision clear without stating it explicitly. "The Dementors will remain beyond school boundaries. They will not enter the castle or grounds proper. However, I must warn you that their presence affects the atmosphere around Hogwarts. You may experience... discomfort... when near the boundaries."
"Discomfort," Ron muttered. "That's one word for it."
"I have been assured by the Ministry that the Dementors will not interfere with students going about their normal activities," Dumbledore continued. "However, I strongly advise against approaching the school boundaries unnecessarily. And if anyone experiences severe distress from Dementor proximity, please report to Madam Pomfrey immediately."
He paused, letting that settle, then smiled slightly. "On a more positive note, I'm pleased to introduce your new Defence Against the Dark Arts professor... Remus Lupin!"
Remus stood, his shabby robes somehow managing dignity through sheer force of character. Applause rose from the tables—tentative at first, then warming as students recognised genuine competence.
"Thank you," Remus said, his voice quiet but carrying. "I'm honoured to teach at Hogwarts. But before we begin, I believe in honesty with my students. I am a werewolf."
The hall went silent.
"I was bitten at age four. I transform at every full moon. However," Remus continued steadily, "I take a potion—an improved version of Wolfsbane Potion developed by Atid Stella in cooperation with Damocles Belby—that allows me to maintain my mind during transformation. I become a harmless wolf rather than a dangerous werewolf. The potion takes effect within an hour and tastes, for those curious, like cold tea with a hint of aconite."
At the staff table, Severus Snape's expression was studiedly neutral, but something in the set of his jaw suggested extreme displeasure.
Student reactions varied wildly. Some looked shocked, others sceptical. But scattered through the hall, Harry noticed students whose expressions shifted to hope, to relief, to something like validation. Other werewolves, perhaps. Or students with affected family members.
A small group at the Hufflepuff table actually cheered.
"I mention this," Remus said, "because I believe knowledge dispels fear. I'm not hiding my condition. I'm not pretending to be something I'm not. And I hope that openness about what I am will help all of you understand that lycanthropy is a condition, not a character flaw. That those affected can still contribute meaningfully to society when given proper support."
He sat down to considerably louder applause than when he'd stood.
"Additionally," Dumbledore said once the noise settled, "we have one more staffing change. Rubeus Hagrid will be taking over Care of Magical Creatures, as Professor Kettleburn has decided to enjoy his remaining limbs in peaceful retirement."
Hagrid stood from his place at the staff table—a massive figure even among adults, his wild hair and beard making him look like a friendly mountain. His face was bright red with emotion as applause washed over him.
At the Gryffindor table, Harry felt his mood lift for the first time since the Dementor encounter.
"Hagrid's teaching," he said to Ron and Hermione. "That's brilliant. That's—do you know what this means?"
"That we'll actually learn about real magical creatures instead of theoretical diagrams?" Hermione suggested.
"That too. But also—" Harry grinned, "—if I'm taking his class, and he's teaching about creature care, I might actually be able to bring Jasper to Hogwarts. Legally. As a class project or research subject or something."
Ron's eyes widened. "Your Golden Snidget? Mate, that would be amazing. Though you realise everyone will want to see it."
"Worth it if I can have Jasper here." Harry's mind was already working through possibilities. "Maybe Osian too, though a Re'em on Hogwarts grounds might be harder to justify..."
Further down the table, Oliver Wood was holding court about Quidditch prospects with the passionate intensity of someone discussing matters of life and death.
"—seven years!" he was saying, his Scottish accent thickening with emotion. "Gryffindor hasn't won the Quidditch Cup for seven years! Last year doesn't count—no Cup was awarded because of the Chamber business—so officially, seven years since we've had that trophy in our common room. But this year—" his expression turned fierce with determination, "—this year we've got a real chance. Ron's the best Seeker Hogwarts has seen in decades. The Weasley twins are developing strategies that would make professional teams jealous. And if we can fill out the Chaser positions properly—"
"Oliver," Angelina Johnson interrupted gently, "maybe save the motivational speech for actual practice?"
"This is me being restrained," Oliver insisted. "You should hear what I'm planning to say at practice."
Harry caught Hermione's eye across the table. She was watching Oliver with a mixture of terror and fascination, clearly reconsidering her flying lesson decision.
The feast appeared—roast beef, Yorkshire pudding, vegetables in quantities that suggested Hogwarts' house-elves believed in abundance, puddings and tarts and trifles for dessert. The hall filled with the sounds of eating and conversation, students relaxing into the familiar rhythms of school life despite Dementors and escaped prisoners and Defence professors who transformed monthly.
Harry ate mechanically, his mind elsewhere.
On Dementors and their unnatural cold. On divination-based intelligence about Mordred Slythra. On his father's manipulations and careful plans. On the electives waiting to begin tomorrow, and how they'd compare to Ethan's teaching. On whether Hagrid would actually let him bring Jasper to Care of Magical Creatures.
Across the hall, Luna caught his eye. She smiled—small, private, just for him—and Harry felt some of the tension ease from his shoulders.
It was then a sudden thought came to his mind. 'How was Luna in Ravenclaw? Why was she eating so quietly... so alone...'
Third year had begun.
With Dementors and danger and uncertainty.