Chapter 287. Return to School and Thestrals
After a long journey, the Hogwarts Express finally pulled into Hogsmeade station at dusk.
As Harry and the others stepped off the train, the rain grew heavier. Sheets of water poured over the entire platform, drumming against their faces until they could hardly keep their eyes open.
"This bloody weather!" Ron bellowed, trying to shield his head with his robes, to no avail.
Fortunately, they were at Hogwarts now.
Hermione flicked her wand and cast three Rain-Repelling Charms. A transparent barrier immediately unfurled over the trio's heads, keeping out the torrent.
"When did you learn that?" Ron craned his neck to look at the hovering magical shield, astonished. He reached up to touch it, only for his hand to pass straight through; apparently it only kept off the rain. "We didn't cover that in class, did we?"
"Over the summer," Hermione said with a pleased little smile. "Professor Wesson knows a lot of practical domestic charms."
Harry glanced back and noticed the older students all had their own ways of staying dry—some had turned their wands into umbrellas, others, like Hermione, used similar Rain-Repelling Charms.
Oh, and a few Slytherins had conjured a mobile dark cloud to follow several Gryffindors and rain on them—old rivals.
"How childish!" Hermione shot a warning look at the giggling Slytherins, then swished her wand. A streak of golden light flashed, and the cloud promptly turned into a pink candyfloss shape, setting off peals of laughter.
Harry suddenly noticed Draco Malfoy at the edge of the crowd, sheltered between Crabbe and Goyle and holding an extravagant black-and-gold umbrella.
Come to think of it, Malfoy hadn't come to pick a fight today for once, which struck Harry as odd.
He glanced at Crabbe and found him glassy-eyed and dazed, as if his soul had gone wandering.
Poor bloke, Harry thought silently.
Crabbe must have already received the news of his father's death—it was just unclear whether he knew the truth.
"Come on, Harry," Ron shouted from a distance. "What are you doing?"
"Coming."
Not far from the station, the Thestral-drawn carriages had been waiting for some time.
When Harry reached one of the carriages, the Thestral in harness turned its head.
Harry could see Thestrals, of course, and he'd come into contact with them during Care of Magical Creatures as well.
The Thestral stepped closer, nuzzling his hand. Its breath was cold against his palm, carrying a peculiar chill.
"It's taken a liking to you," came an airy voice through the rain.
Luna Lovegood stood in the downpour, her long silver hair plastered to her cheeks, her prominent eyes fixed unblinking on Harry.
"Luna? Why aren't you getting in?" Harry asked, a little surprised. "Do you want a Rain-Repelling Charm?"
"Oh, no," Luna said with a smile. "I like the smell of rain. It smells like the moon."
Harry had no idea what the moon smelled like, but clearly they ought to get in rather than stand around getting soaked.
Luna, however, didn't seem in any hurry.
"You know," she said suddenly, "the closer you are to death, the friendlier Thestrals become. They like the scent of death."
"What?" Harry didn't quite follow. "Who told you that?"
"No one," Luna shook her head. "That's just how I feel. Goodbye."
She turned and drifted away at once, leaving Harry standing there, thoroughly puzzled.
"Hey, what are you standing there for?" Ron's urging came from inside the carriage, and Harry scrambled up.
Perhaps the rumours at Hogwarts weren't wrong—this girl was definitely a bit dotty.
The carriage rolled steadily towards the castle through the deluge. Watching the sheets of rain outside, Harry couldn't help worrying about the first-years—they'd have to cross the Black Lake in boats in this weather. If one overturned…
The carriage soon came to a smooth stop, and Harry followed the crowd up the steps.
Professor McGonagall was already waiting at the doors to the Great Hall.
"Quickly now, everyone."
As she spoke, she swept her wand; everyone's robes became dry and warm at once, and the droplets vanished completely from their hair.
Harry entered the Great Hall. It was the same as ever: floating candles, the four House tables, and a roof like the night sky. After he sat down, his eyes strayed of their own accord towards the staff table; all the professors were in their seats—Professor Wesson included.
Of course, the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher always drew the most attention.
Sure enough, after a brief look, Harry spotted a stranger at the staff table, seated beside Wesson.
He looked like a middle-aged wizard—perhaps older. The most striking thing about him was the bright blue magical eye rolling and swivelling in its socket. His face seemed covered in scars, and a chunk looked to be missing from his nose: a rather alarming sight.
"Do you see him?" Harry whispered to Ron. "The new professor—he's got a false eye."
"I think I know who that is." Ron squinted, then suddenly brightened. "Oh! That's Moody—Mad-Eye Moody."
Harry was just about to ask who Moody was when the doors swung open again.
Professor McGonagall led in a group of drenched, shivering first-years. They looked miserable; a few children's lips had even turned purple.
"They must have run into trouble on the lake," Hermione said sympathetically.
Fortunately, Professor McGonagall didn't leave them to suffer. She dried their clothes on the spot.
Once the first-years had straightened their robes and hair, she guided them to the front of the Hall.
Next came the Sorting Ceremony, of course.
Under everyone's gaze, Professor Wesson rose from the staff table, brought over a three-legged stool, and set it before the new students. Then he placed the battered Sorting Hat on top.
Ah yes—this year's Sorting Ceremony would be conducted by Wesson; Dumbledore had personally entrusted the task to him.
Wesson had thought Dumbledore's urgent summons meant something important. It turned out to be just this—well, that was fine; at least it was more interesting than sitting at the staff table clapping.
"Ahem," Wesson cleared his throat. "Now then, first-year students, please…"
"Hey," the Sorting Hat interrupted peevishly, "aren't you forgetting something vital? I haven't sung yet!"
"Oh—my apologies. Do begin."
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