The train sped northward, rain lashing down harder and harder, turning the windows into a blur of watery gray.
Lights flickered on in the corridor and above the luggage racks.
Outside, the wind howled and rain hammered the glass.
After Draco Malfoy and his cronies spread the news throughout the train that the previous Defence Against the Dark Arts professor was Harry Potter's uncle, the Weasley children finally dropped all reservations. They'd worried before that Douglas and Harry might not want their family connection broadcast, but now, as they were in the middle of animatedly recounting their adventures in Egypt, they just exchanged a knowing look.
They replied with a touch of disdain,
"Oh, we've known about that for ages."
"We heard it over the telephone—you know, that Muggle thing..."
A few students tried to corner Harry with questions, but the moment they saw the new Defence Against the Dark Arts professor sitting in the compartment, they scattered like frightened birds.
Just as Harry, Ron, and Hermione were congratulating themselves on snagging such a prime compartment, the train began to slow.
Ron's eyes lit up,
"Are we there? Brilliant! I'm starving—can't wait for the feast..."
Hermione glanced at her watch, frowning,
"I don't think we've arrived yet..."
The train slowed further, until even the sound of the wheels faded away.
Harry, closest to the door, stood up to peer into the corridor. All down the train, heads poked out of compartments, curiosity written on every face.
Then, without warning, every light went out, plunging them into utter darkness.
Ron scrambled to his feet and accidentally stomped on Hermione's foot. Both yelped in surprise.
Harry fumbled his way back to his seat, peering into the gloom at the shadowy shapes of Ron and Hermione.
"D'you reckon the train's broken down?"
Ron wiped condensation from the window, squinting outside.
"No idea... can't see a thing...
Wait—hang on, something's moving out there. I think... I think someone's boarding the train..."
Just as Harry leaned toward the window for a better look, the compartment door slid open and someone tripped over Harry's leg, collapsing to the floor with a painful thud.
Hermione whipped out her wand.
"Lumos!"
In the sudden glow, they saw Neville Longbottom sprawled on the floor.
Harry and Ron both realized, with a jolt, that they were away from home now—they could use magic. They hurried to help Neville up, but another shriek rang out as Neville nearly sat on Crookshanks.
Hermione frowned,
"Stay put, all of you. I'll go ask the driver what's going on."
She'd barely opened the door when she nearly collided with Ginny in the pitch-black corridor.
Ginny, seeing Hermione's wand lit, smacked her forehead and laughed,
"I almost forgot—we can use magic now!"
She drew her own wand and cast Lumos as well.
Other students in the corridor, seeing this, suddenly remembered their own wands—soon, points of light began to bloom all along the train as students cast the charm.
The glow of Lumos spread steadily from Harry's compartment down both sides of the corridor.
But before long, students farther away realized something was wrong. Some invisible force seemed to choke off their spells. Their Lumos fizzled, and some even glimpsed a ghastly face in the shadows...
Ginny and Hermione, though, had already slipped back into the compartment, missing the growing panic outside.
Just then, a hoarse voice rang out:
"Quiet!"
Professor Lupin, who'd been sleeping since boarding, finally stirred. In the glow of their wands, his tired, grey face looked even paler, but his eyes were sharp and alert.
With a faint crackle, a trembling flame sprang to life in his hand, flooding the compartment with warmth that felt far more comforting than any spell.
Suddenly, Lumos seemed pitiful—on a cold, dark train, a real torch was what you wanted.
He rose slowly, holding the fire aloft, his voice rough but steady,
"Stay where you are!"
But before Lupin could reach the door, it slid open with a slow, ominous groan. The light from their wands flickered, and even the flame in Lupin's hand wavered.
Everyone could see, though—a towering, cloaked figure loomed in the doorway, nearly brushing the ceiling. Its face was lost in shadow beneath its hood.
Harry's eyes darted to the hand protruding from the cloak—greyish-white, slick with something that gleamed in the light, mottled and rotten, like a corpse left to soak in water...
Before Harry could even feel sick, something at his chest grew scorching hot. Suddenly, a blinding white light erupted from his chest, wrapping the Dementor in bands of brilliance. Before anyone could react, the light yanked the creature back toward Harry's chest and vanished.
Everyone's gaze snapped to Harry.
But before anyone could speak, sounds erupted from the corridor.
They watched as dozens of Dementors fled in a mad rush past their compartment.
A group of seventh-year students, marching in step with wands drawn and Lumos blazing, pointed at the Dementors and shouted,
"Back! Back! Back!"
Whether it was the special light of their spells or simply the force of their presence, the Dementors clustered together and retreated.
Behind them, Percy and Penelope, the Head Boy and Girl, called out,
"These are Azkaban's guard Dementors! Don't hurt them!"
Several sixth-years who'd learned the Patronus Charm last year watched, swallowing hard, hands itching for their wands. Should they try it too...?
Just then, one unfortunate Dementor was shoved into Harry's compartment by its panicked fellows—and locked eyes with Harry.
In front of everyone, a silver bird burst from Harry's chest. The Dementor was struck and sent flying, and the others in the corridor retreated even faster.
Those sixth-years recognized the bird immediately—it was the same form Professor Holmes had shown them when demonstrating the Patronus Charm.
They didn't know why the former professor's Patronus was appearing here, but if the professor was acting, so would they.
Perhaps it was the confidence from the seventh-years' special spells, but not a single Patronus failed. Silver animals soared over the heads of the older students, charging after the retreating Dementors.
Thunderous applause broke out along the corridor.
The silver bird that had shot from Harry's chest didn't go far before dissolving into white light and returning to him.
Lupin hurried forward, gripping Harry's shoulders, his voice tense,
"Harry, are you all right?"
Harry had no idea why this new professor seemed so familiar with him, but he shook his head,
"Thanks, I'm fine..."
Hermione spoke up,
"That thing that bound the Dementor—why did it look so familiar? It was a bit like one of Professor Holmes's spells..."
Harry snapped out of his daze and quickly pulled out the wooden plaque from under his robes—it was still hot to the touch.
He exclaimed,
"It was him! It's the plaque my uncle gave me. He said it'd protect me if I was ever in danger. I thought he was joking—he even gave one to my Muggle cousin...
I can't believe it really worked. Did it just eat that Dementor?
And what was that silver bird?
Oh, and were those really the guards from Azkaban—Dementors?"
Everyone stared at Harry with open envy. Not even pure-bloods like Ron, Ginny, or Neville had anything that could protect them like that.
Lupin finally seemed to relax, but still looked worried,
"Harry, I'd suggest you keep that plaque somewhere else. After all, it just trapped a Dementor—you never know where it's gone."
Harry shook his head. His uncle had told him to wear it close to his body at all times. He never imagined his uncle would give something so precious—even to a Muggle.
Everyone watched as Harry tucked the plaque back inside his robes, and couldn't help but swallow.
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