The conversation about Dementors had mercifully faded, leaving the train compartment bathed in a fragile calm. Even Professor Lupin, seasoned and battle-worn, seemed uneasy discussing those unkillable embodiments of despair. His voice softened as he shifted the topic.
"So, Ethan, how was your summer?"
The question hung in the air, and Lupin's eyes drifted, lost in a cascade of memories. Gringotts' cold stone halls, the clash of wands against goblin steel, the chaos of an ancient battle, and then—his own transformation into a snarling werewolf, only to be battered back to humanity. It had been a summer of impossible victories.
Men had fallen silent, women had wept, but history, thankfully, remained unscarred. The chronicles now spoke of a warrior named "Wright," who, with his loyal companions, descended like a thunderbolt to repel the goblin horde and secure the camp. What was once the "Battle of Provisions," a slaughter with no survivors, was now reborn as the "Battle of Dawn." The history books praised it as a turning point, a moment when humanity crippled the goblin forces, paving the way for later triumphs and sparing countless lives.
Lupin exhaled, a quiet warmth settling in his chest.
"My summer was excellent," Ethan Vincent said, his voice clear and bright, snapping Lupin back to the present. "I'm currently helping an old father reunite with his wayward descendant for a proper family gathering."
Translation: dragging Sirius Black back to his ancestral home.
Ethan's lips curved into a smile, warm as a spring breeze yet tinged with something unsettlingly playful.
"Oh, that's wonderful! A truly kind and noble act," Lupin said, blinking in surprise. It was as if he'd just seen a Blast-Ended Skrewt politely escorting an elderly witch across Diagon Alley.
Ethan's still human at heart, Lupin thought. His nonchalance about the Dementors must come from ignorance of their terror. I'll have to keep an eye on this young spark of the wizarding world.
As they spoke, the Hogwarts Express rumbled to life, its slow churn cutting through the chatter outside. The corridor buzzed with students, some clumsily sliding open compartment doors. But the moment their eyes landed on Ethan, they froze, as if spotting a sleeping dragon. With exaggerated care, they'd ease the door shut and tiptoe away.
Lupin raised an eyebrow. Must be Ethan's reputation as a stellar student. His brilliance probably intimidates them.
The new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor sighed inwardly. This job might be tougher than I thought.
Just then—Whoosh!—the compartment door flew open.
"Thank Merlin! An empty compartment—Gulp!"
The newcomers choked on their words as their eyes locked onto Ethan.
But Ethan wasn't letting them slip away this time. "Oh—Ron, long time no see!" he called, flinging his arms wide like a world leader greeting a summit delegate. His grin was equal parts charming and menacing, a signature Ethan Vincent blend.
Ron's jaw dropped, his hand instinctively covering the suspiciously lumpy pocket of his robes. He took a half-step back, eyes wide.
"Ethan!"
A bright voice cut through Ron's panic. Hermione Granger, her face lit with a warm smile, shoved Ron aside like he was a sack of flour and plopped down across from Ethan. Her cheeks were faintly pink as she leaned forward. "How was your holiday, Ethan?"
Before he could answer, she barreled on, words tumbling out in an excited rush. "Over the summer, I memorized all the Ancient Runes! At first, they seemed so complex, but once you study them closely, the patterns emerge. It's fascinating! I might even get the top score this year, Ethan…"
Ron rolled his eyes, muttering "Merlin's beard" under his breath, and exchanged a knowing glance with Harry Potter. Meeting a bloke like Ethan on the first day of term? Not exactly a good omen.
Still, they were late, as usual, and this was the only compartment with seats left. Ron's gaze flicked to the stranger in the corner—shabby robes, haggard face, but a calm, steady presence. The man introduced himself as Professor Remus Lupin, the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher.
With a professor here, what's the worst that could happen? Ron thought, settling into his seat with a touch of relief.
The snack trolley rattled by, and the sky outside darkened, fields giving way to desolate moors. Ethan leaned against the windowsill, his gaze fixed on the inky night. In his vision, faint traces of magical energy flickered, growing sharper by the second.
"They're coming," he murmured, a smirk curling his lips.
Ron, mid-sentence in his thirty-eighth retelling of battling enchanted mummies, froze. "Coming? What's coming? The trolley just—"
Clang!
The train lurched to a violent stop, hurling everyone forward. Trunks and bags crashed in the distance. The lights flickered and died, plunging the compartment into darkness.
Only Ethan remained steady, cradling Luna Lovegood in one arm, his eyes glinting with anticipation. A card materialized in his hand, and he held it like a predator eyeing its quarry.
A bone-chilling cold seeped into the carriage. Frost crackled across the windows, sealing them shut.
"Ow, ow, ow…" Harry groaned, fumbling for his crooked glasses on the floor. He shoved them onto his nose and squinted at Lupin, who was now on high alert. "W-what happened…?"
"Stay where you are. Don't move," Lupin said, his voice low and firm. He raised his wand, moving toward the door.
But before he could reach it, the door creaked open with an agonizing slowness.
A skeletal, gray arm reached inside, cloaked in tattered black rags. It was like something dredged from a grave—thin, decayed, and gnarled.
Harry's blood turned to ice, his breath catching in his throat. A long, rattling inhale echoed from beneath the creature's hood, as if it were trying to devour something far heavier than air.
"—Ahhhhhh!!!"
A scream tore through Harry's mind, shrill and desperate, laced with pleading and despair. A blinding green light flooded his vision, searing and terrible—
Bang!
A warm hand clamped onto Harry's shoulder, yanking him from the nightmare.
"E-Ethan…!" Harry gasped, heart pounding, gratitude flooding his chest.
Ethan's smile was gentle, but his words carried a sting. "When we get to Hogwarts, extra training."
Fainting? Pathetic.
"A true warrior punches a Dementor in the face," Ethan continued, his tone half-joking, half-deadly serious. "Only then can you call yourself a member of the Enlightenment Society."
Harry blinked, suddenly finding the Dementor's black cloak far less terrifying.
Lupin brandished his wand, his voice a growl. "None of us are hiding Sirius Black under our cloaks!"
But the Dementor didn't budge. Its hollow gaze fixed on Harry, greedy and unyielding.
Lupin's brow furrowed, his wand arm tensing to cast Expecto Patronum. But before he could, Ethan stood, stepping boldly in front of the creature.
"Come on," he said, pointing at himself with a grin that was equal parts reckless and deranged. "Suck mine."
Lupin's jaw dropped. What in Merlin's name—?!
The Dementor, never one to refuse a willing target, inhaled sharply. "Hiss~~~ Hiss?!"
Its skeletal form stiffened, then began to tremble violently. A torrent of emotions—dense, writhing darkness, ecstatic joy, a kaleidoscope of laughing and weeping faces—surged through it. The purity of Ethan's essence was overwhelming, a hundred times richer than the hollow souls it scraped from Azkaban's cells.
The lead Dementor let out a hoarse, guttural growl that echoed through the carriage. It thrust a twig-like finger at Ethan.
"Brothers! This one's a prize!"
Lupin gaped. How in the world did Ethan become a fugitive?!
On the floor, Ron muttered, dazed, "Bloody hell… I knew Ethan's true colors would come out eventually…"