The Hogwarts Express let out a loud hiss, followed by a long whistle, and began its journey with a heavy lurch, its wheels clacking into a steady rhythm as it pulled away from the station.
Inside the train, faces pressed up against the glass as windows flew open with a rattle of old frames and creaky hinges. Little hands waved out eagerly—some with big smiles, others, mostly the first-years, trying hard to hold back a few tears.
Harry, seated beside the window, slid the glass halfway open as well, and leaned out to wave at Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. Ron squeezed in beside him and added his own energetic wave, while Hermione opened the window across from them to wave at her parents.
They waved until the train curved gently around the bend, and soon the station disappeared from view in a cloud of smoke and distance.
Harry slid the window shut and sat back in his seat. "Well… we're off," he said with a smile, inwardly looking forward to another year.
"So, what do we do during the trip?" Jean asked, looking curious as she glanced around at the trio.
"Sleep. And eat," Ron answered instantly, sinking deeper into his seat. "Mostly sweets. The trolley lady has some brilliant stuff."
"Don't listen to him," Hermione shot him a sharp glare. Then turning to Jean, she said, "there's plenty we can do. Like a quiz! We can stick to first-year stuff to keep it easy."
Harry rolled his eyes. "Don't say 'we,' Hermione. Besides, she literally hasn't even set foot in school yet."
Jean gave an awkward smile as well. She, too, wasn't exactly looking forward to spending the ride buried in lessons, even if she was excited about learning all about magic.
Harry picked up on her expression and quickly changed the subject. "So, who do you think the new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher is going to be?"
"Anyone but Lockhart," Ron muttered.
"Or Quirrell," Hermione added, exchanging a look with the redhead.
"Why? Were they not good?" Jean asked curiously.
There was an awkward pause inside the compartment at her question until—
"They weren't exactly the best," Harry said vaguely, scratching the back of his head. "But don't worry. I'm sure the Headmaster will hire a solid professor…"
Hermione nodded. "Anyway, did you all get your permission slips signed for Hogsmeade?"
The conversation moved on as they talked about Hogwarts, their favorite sweets, and all the things they were looking forward to this year. In the relaxed atmosphere, little Jean Grey also got the chance to clear up many things about the school that she hadn't managed to ask when she first met Harry and Hermione weeks ago.
Outside, the countryside rolled past, changing slowly as the train travelled farther north. The fields gave way to rocky hills and wild moorland. Clouds thickened overhead, and by late afternoon, heavy rain splattered against the windows.
The view outside turned into a blur of grey, and shadows deepened as the sky darkened. One by one, lanterns flickered to life above the luggage racks and down the corridors, casting a warm, sleepy glow.
The train rattled on through the storm. Rain hammered the windows, and the wind howled against the sides, but inside the compartments, it was quiet now. Most of the students had already dozed off, lulled by the rocking motion and steady rhythm of the journey.
Jean was curled up next to Crookshanks, who purred like a motor by her side, while Ron had dozed off with his head tilted against the window, mouth slightly open.
Hermione sat reading beside Jean, her eyes skimming over the pages, while Harry kept staring with a slight frown at the grey blur beyond the glass.
A creeping unease was tightening in his chest, one he couldn't quite explain, and... he was starting to feel a strange chill.
He glanced at Hermione across from him and saw she, too, was likely feeling the same, seeing her rubbing one hand over her arm.
"Are the warming enchantments broken?" he asked quietly, careful not to wake the sleeping duo.
Hermione frowned, thinking the same. "Should we call the attendant?" she suggested.
And just then, the two of them glanced up at the same time, hearing the faint crackle of the flickering lights, and saw the enchanted lanterns above them begin to flicker—once… twice… before an eerie stillness settled around them.
Harry sat up straighter, feeling the unease he was sensing spike all of a sudden. "Did you feel that?" he said quietly.
Hermione became alert as well and nodded.
More strangeness followed. Outside the corridor, they saw the glass on the door fogging over, and the rattling of the train gradually slowed.
"Are we stopping?" Harry muttered, glancing around, now more alert than ever.
Before Hermione could say anything, they heard the hiss of the train slowing to a stop, and then all the lights inside and out went out completely.
"Get your wand!" Hermione said, leaning over Jean and gently pushing her inward into the seat.
Lumos!
Their movement woke the other two as well.
Ron blinked at the sudden darkness and the light that followed from Hermione's spell as soon as he opened his eyes.
"Are we there yet?"
Jean also stirred and opened her eyes slowly.
Hermione sat down and met her gaze.
"You stay seated unless I say otherwise, okay?"
Harry fished through his robes for his wand and quickly gripped it, ready for action as well. His breath misted in the cold air, and he could feel it now—something terrible pressing in on them… or drawing closer.
"What the bloody hell's going on?" Ron voiced, squinting at them. "Why do you two look like you're about to go hunt an Acromantula or someth—"
His words stopped, and his eyes widened as he looked at the door to the compartment. There, behind the frosted glass, stood a shadow—tall as the door, and unlike anything human.
The four of them turned their heads and saw the same thing, freezing at the sight just like Weasley. Especially Jean, as this was the first time she was experiencing something so... utterly creepy.
They saw a grey, rotten-looking hand curl around the edge of the doorframe, and then, with a low creak, the compartment door began to slide open very slowly before a towering black figure loomed into view.
Its hood hung low over its face, hiding whatever lay beneath. Tattered robes swept across the floor as it glided inside without a sound. To the four of them, it felt as though death itself had stepped into the compartment.
Harry's heart thudded wildly in his chest, and for a moment, the pulsing fear left him paralyzed—unable to think properly.
But he was no longer the powerless boy who had only just discovered the extraordinary side of the world anymore. And more importantly, this wasn't the first time he had come face to face with something that, in his mind, was out for his life.
"No. No, you don't."
Muttering grimly under his breath, he clenched his jaw, summoned every ounce of courage he had, and shoved the negative thoughts aside. He would not cower.
His thoughts cleared, and he came to understand exactly what this thing was and what to do when faced with one. And it wasn't only him—so did Hermione.
Their training over the holidays hadn't just been about duelling; they had picked up a fair bit of new knowledge as well, including a handful of spells they normally wouldn't have learned at Hogwarts until their NEWT years.
As luck would have it, one of those spells was precisely meant for dealing with creatures of pure darkness—just like the one now gliding into their compartment.
But still, knowing what to do and actually acting in the moment were two very different things.
----
Some time earlier...
Inside one of the front carriages of the train, in one of the private compartments arranged for staff, Maverick lay relaxed on the bed with his eyes closed, enjoying the rhythmic sound of rain tapping against the windows.
Seemingly, of course. By now, he had figured out something he hadn't quite understood when watching the Harry Potter movies in his previous life. Exactly why the Hogwarts Express had come to a stop in the middle of its journey, and why Dementors had boarded the train like some bizarre version of magical traffic police.
It turned out that, aside from the train's operating staff, there were also Ministry officials on board. And when he had listened in on their conversation, everything made sense—especially what was going to happen midway through the journey.
It was, essentially, a security inspection—personally arranged by Cornelius Fudge to check whether Sirius Black had boarded the train disguised as a student. To that end, they were bringing along Dementors who, aside from serving as mere deterrents to boost the menacing prestige of that ominous prison, were also known to be capable of distinguishing individual magical signatures.
Polyjuice Potion, full-body Transfigurations—none of the usual disguise methods would fool their senses. If Sirius was on board, they would know.
To Fudge's credit, it was a solid arrangement—but only if he had absolute confidence that the creatures in question were, in fact, under his full control.
Maverick didn't believe that was the case. As far as he understood, the only thing keeping the Dementors in check was a simple agreement—a word of promise between the British Ministry and the creatures. In exchange for being allowed to feed on the emotions of Azkaban's prisoners, they were expected not to run rampant across the country.
A convenient arrangement—a win-win for both sides—but nothing official on paper. There were no concrete safeguards, no real means of enforcement if either party broke their word.
All of this, Fudge should have been well aware of. But his obsession with capturing the fugitive—the first ever escape from Azkaban, and one that had happened under his watch—must have bruised his reputation badly. And to restore it, the idiot was, whether knowingly or unknowingly, risking the lives of schoolchildren.
What exactly gave him the confidence that no accidents would occur, Maverick couldn't say. But the fat man had at least convinced the two officials carrying out the inspection that everything would go smoothly.
Foolish, Maverick thought, mocking the obese moron. And just as the thought crossed his mind, his eyes slowly opened and focused on the ceiling above. He wasn't exactly looking—his senses had simply picked up movement overhead. Most likely, it was the very creatures he had just been thinking about.
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