Grimmauld Place was almost unrecognizable.
Morning sunlight filtered through spotless windows; the furniture gleamed, the air smelled faintly of lemon and old books, and Polly darted between trunks muttering her inventory like a sacred spell.
"Miss Shya's sketchpads, Miss Talora's potions vials, Master Cassian's gloves, Master Roman's cufflinks—" she huffed, snapping her fingers so each item tucked itself neatly into place.
Sirius stood by the fireplace, his coat open, hair tied back. There was something restless in the way his hand hovered over the mantle clock. "You've got everything?" he asked, for the third time.
"Everything," Talora assured him. "Checked and spelled."
He nodded, gaze flicking to the two dogs by their feet. "You two know what to do, yeah?"
Haneera wagged her tail once, solemn as a soldier. Pando's silver-white fur shimmered faintly in the light; she barked once, sharp and confident.
Sirius grinned. "Better trained than most wizards."
"Don't get jealous," Shya said, zipping up her hoodie. "They're just professionals."
Cassian glanced toward the clock. "We should go. Polly?"
"Yes, Master Cassian!" the elf squeaked. "Trunks will be on the train! Polly will make sure the… special guest arrives safely, too."
Sirius chuckled — and then, in a blink, he wasn't a man at all but a huge black dog, tail wagging. Padfoot looked up at them, ears perked, as though to say, Ready when you are.
"Still weird," Roman murmured.
"Still genius," Talora corrected.
"Still dangerous," Cassian added.
"Still happening," Shya finished, slinging her bag over her shoulder. "Come on. Let's not keep destiny waiting."
Polly apparated them quietly behind a parked taxi, and the four of them stepped out into the crisp London morning — four trunks, two magical dogs, and one black hound blending almost perfectly into the shadows.
The Gills were already waiting.
Mrs. Gill looked elegant as ever in a long camel coat, her arm looped through her husband's. Arya practically vibrated beside them, clutching a paper cup of cocoa and scanning the crowd until he spotted his sister.
"You're late!" he said, beaming despite the accusation.
"We took the scenic route," Shya said, crouching to ruffle his hair.
"You were gone all August," he complained.
"I know, bug," she said softly. "I missed you, too."
He hugged her fiercely, mumbling something about stealing her dog next summer.
Seconds later, the Livanthos' arrived — sleek silver sedan, Tristan hanging out the window before the car even stopped.
"Don't say it," Talora warned as she approached.
"I wasn't going to," Tristan lied. "You look nice. For someone leaving me alone with Mum."
She rolled her eyes, smiling. "You'll survive."
Their parents greeted the Gills with that quiet warmth born of long acquaintance — the old money shorthand of people who'd built empires and families in equal measure.
The goodbyes came fast: Mrs. Livanthos adjusting Talora's collar, Mr. Gill clapping Cassian's shoulder, Tristan hugging his sister dramatically, Arya tugging Shya's sleeve one last time.
Then, like clockwork, the parents turned toward the car park. "Write often," Mrs. Gill said.
"And don't blow anything up this year," her father added.
"No promises," Shya muttered.
They lingered just long enough to watch the four of them turn toward the barrier — their daughters leading, the boys following, the dogs trotting at their heels, and one large black hound that no one questioned at all.
✦ Platform Nine and Three-Quarters
The sound hit first — the whistle, the chatter, the scrape of trunks and laughter. Then the color: scarlet, gold, the shimmer of magic cutting through the steam.
"Every year," Cassian murmured. "Still feels unreal."
"Better than last year," Talora said. "At least no petrifications."
"Yet," Shya added under her breath.
Padfoot padded obediently beside them, tail wagging. To anyone else, he was just another student's pet. To them, he was the living embodiment of the world's most absurdly dangerous plan.
They climbed aboard, found an open compartment halfway down the train — and before they'd even sat, the door slid open.
"Finally!" Mandy Brocklehurst threw her arms wide like she'd been waiting hours. "The Ravenclaw royalty returns!"
"Do you practice that line?" Shya asked.
"Every summer," Mandy said. "It's tradition."
Lisa Turpin leaned forward from her seat, eyes lighting up. "Oh my god, they're soo cute!"
Haneera trotted in first — sleek black fur catching the light as she sniffed around approvingly — followed by Pando, who hopped gracefully onto Talora's lap, tail wagging.
Luna's voice rose immediately, delighted. "Oh, hello, lovelies!" She reached to scratch under Pando's chin. "You've gotten so big! I think you've been eating moonfruit. That's why your fur shines like that."
"She's just vain," Talora said fondly. "She likes brushing spells too much."
Mandy reached for Haneera, who allowed it after a suspicious sniff. "And you're so soft! What shampoo spell are you using?"
"Classified," Shya said solemnly.
Padma smirked from the corner. "Don't let her fool you. It's probably dragon oil."
"Self-defense," Shya replied.
Cassian chuckled, settling into the seat opposite. "You've just reunited, and we're already talking hair care."
"Some of us have standards," Talora said, petting Pando like a queen on her throne.
"You two and your dogs have matching personalities," Roman observed. "It's mildly terrifying."
"That's called harmony," Shya said. "Look it up."
Luna giggled. "They really are beautiful, though. The dogs, I mean. It's nice to see them again."
"They've missed you too," Talora said warmly. "Well—Pando has. Haneera tolerates."
Haneera, as if to prove the point, gave a low chuff and curled up possessively under Shya's legs. Pando, meanwhile, nuzzled Luna's sleeve before sitting up proudly, basking in the attention.
The train whistle blew, long and low, and steam rushed past the window.
Outside, the platform blurred — flashes of parents waving, owls hooting, the world stretching into motion.
"Here we go," Shya said softly, chin on her hand.
"Year Three," Talora murmured.
"Year Chaos," Shya corrected.
Cassian laughed quietly. "You say that every year."
"I'm always right," she said.
The train gathered speed, pulling them into another adventure — dogs dozing, laughter rising, Luna humming an odd tune about Nargles and starlight.
And somewhere in the luggage car below, a large black dog shifted slightly, tail thumping once, waiting for the signal.
By the time the countryside blurred into gold and green outside the window, the compartment felt like home again.
Snack wrappers, open Butterbeer bottles, and piles of parchment sprawled across every surface. Haneera had claimed half of Shya's lap and all of the floor beneath her boots, while Pando had turned herself into a white crescent of fur against Talora's thigh.
Lisa was mid-story, gesturing so widely she nearly knocked over Roman's Pumpkin Pasties. "—and then the mermaid bit Dad's wand! Right in front of the whole delegation! The Magical Congress official fainted."
"You went to Mexico," Shya said, deadpan. "And still managed an international incident. I'm proud."
Lisa grinned. "It's a gift."
"Did you actually get to see the Mayan ruins?" Talora asked, curiosity brightening her voice.
"All of them! The Ministry has a whole hidden wing underneath Chichen Itzá. My mum and I toured for days while Dad sat in meetings about wand-licensing. You'd love it, Shya — the glyphwork's like runes, just older and angrier."
"Perfect," Shya said. "I like my art like my coffee: cursed and ancient."
Padma laughed, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "Try Texan weddings for cursed and ancient. I spent my whole summer watching my cousins do line dances in lehengas."
Cassian blinked. "That's… vivid."
"Tragic," Roman corrected.
"They were huge," Padma said, flopping back against the seat. "Like five of them. My mum's Muggle cousins hosted this one reception in a cowboy-themed banquet hall. Imagine sequins, saris, and a mechanical bull."
Shya wheezed. "Please tell me you rode it."
Padma smirked. "Won a hundred dollars."
"Iconic," Talora said solemnly.
Mandy sighed dreamily. "Meanwhile, I was in Greece. Sun, sea, and my mum's relatives who think 'wizard' is a brand of wine."
"Did you go to Delphi?" Talora asked.
"Every ruin within my range," Mandy replied.
They all laughed, the sound filling the small space.
Luna smiled softly from the corner. "I went to New Zealand," she said. "Dad heard rumors of Moon-Kelp Serpents in the Tasman Sea. We camped for two weeks."
Shya leaned forward. "Any luck?"
"Not exactly," Luna said thoughtfully. "But I found a feather from a Storm-Wyrm. It sang when I touched it."
"That's beautiful," Talora murmured.
"It is," Luna agreed simply, eyes far away.
For a moment, the compartment was nothing but warmth: sunlight, laughter, and the quiet rhythm of tracks beneath them. Haneera stretched, pressing her nose against the cool glass. Pando's tail thumped once before she drifted back to sleep.
Cassian leaned back, smiling faintly. "This might be the first train ride we've had that's normal."
"Don't say that," Shya said immediately. "You'll jinx it."
Roman looked up from his Chocolate Frog card. "She's right. Statistically, whenever someone says 'normal,' chaos arrives within five minutes."
Talora rolled her eyes. "You two are so—"
The lights flickered.
The train gave a long, shuddering groan, wheels grinding against the track as it slowed. The laughter died instantly.
A cold whisper crept along the windows — frost blooming like silver veins across the glass.
Lisa shivered. "What—?"
The lamps sputtered out. Darkness swallowed the compartment.
Outside, the wind howled. Haneera sat up, hackles rising, a low growl rumbling in her chest. Pando's fur bristled white in the gloom, eyes glowing faintly blue.
"Stay close," Cassian said quietly, wand already in his hand.
The train slowed again, but this time there was no warning whistle, no gentle shudder.
Just a violent, metallic screech that set their teeth on edge.
The laughter, mid-breath, died.
Outside, the world went grey.
Not cloudy-grey — sick-grey.
The light didn't fade; it soured.
It crept in like infection — a damp, colorless fog crawling across the windowpanes and sinking claws into the air. Breath steamed and then turned to frost. The charm-light dimmed to a nauseous, dying hue.
Mandy reached for the door, but Cassian caught her wrist. "Don't," he whispered, voice raw. "Don't move."
Something soft and wrong scraped down the length of the train. Like the hiss of a dying kettle.
Then the temperature dropped.
The air wasn't just cold; it was unholy. It gnawed at the marrow, hollowing warmth out of bone.
"What's happening?" Talora's voice trembled — not from fear but from something older, instinctive. Her breath fogged the air. She pulled her new chenille vest tighter around her shoulders, but it did nothing.
Haneera rose, hackles raised, lips peeled back in a soundless snarl. The black of her fur seemed to deepen, shadows pooling thickly around her paws. Beside her, Pandora's white coat began to glow, every hair standing on end, light pulsing like a heartbeat — protective, furious.
For Cassian, it wasn't just fear. It was a blade of memory.
He gasped, slumping forward, face gone grey.
The smell of smoke and parchment hit him. Newspaper ink. Shame.
BLACK — the name echoed, a curse masquerading as a surname.
He saw Prophet headlines, pitying glances at galas, mothers who pulled their children away. Professors hesitating before saying his name.
The photograph — the laughing man holding a baby, who would later be accused of betrayal and murder.
His father's face blurred into the monster in the wanted posters.
And under that came the sick truth: if Sirius Black could become that, what would Cassian become?
The legacy was a toxin in his blood. Every look of pity, every whisper, every flinch said the same thing:
You'll be next.
Padfoot pressed harder against his leg — warm, trembling, alive. The big black dog whined low, curling himself around Cassian like he could physically shield him from the dark. Cassian didn't feel the tears freezing on his own cheeks or the way his own hands shook in Padfoot's fur. He only felt the weight of something broken trying to hold him up.
A hooded figure slid past their door. Not walking — gliding.
Frost bloomed across the compartment glass, branching ice like veins. The light dimmed further, devoured by its presence.
For Talora, the hit was tidal.
She flinched back as the window fogged, but the despair that swallowed her wasn't sharp. It was slow, inexorable, rising until it filled every inch of her.
It wasn't grief for one thing she'd lost; it was grief for everything.
For the whole cruel, endless ache of existence.
For love that dies and people who fade and dreams that never mattered anyway.
Tears slid down her face, slow and soundless. She didn't sob or shake. She just… emptied out, the vibrant, determined girl from the gala hollowed into a vessel of rootless sorrow.
She barely noticed Pandora pressing closer, white light flaring harder against the creeping dark.
For Shya, it went straight for the throat.
The cold didn't just seep in; it invaded. It clawed past her chaos, her gold bangles, her custom robes, and went hunting for the little girl hiding underneath.
The world dissolved.
She was five again in the Moga mansion—hallways dark, marble floors too big for her small bare feet.
"Mummy? Daddy?" Her voice came out thin, swallowed by the high ceilings.
Gone.
For two years.
Arya hot and crying in her arms, a small shaking bundle she kept whispering to. It's okay, bug. I've got you. I've got you.
They came back.
But her mother's eyes were wrong—too bright, too wild. Her smiles cut like broken glass.
"You useless girl!" The slap stung, sharp and humiliating. "Why can't you be perfect?"
The words were whips, carving deeper than any hex. She learned to move faster, be quieter, be smaller—hide Arya in the folds of her shadow.
The broken cup was nothing. A slip, a sound, porcelain shattering.
Then hands around her throat.
Not in water this time, but in air that wouldn't come. She was on the floor, her mother's weight pinning her, fingers tightening, nails digging into soft skin. The world narrowed to pressure and light going white at the edges.
Arya was in the closet. She'd locked it. She'd locked it.
Thank God.
Her legs kicked. Her hands clawed at wrists that were supposed to hold her, not hurt her. The panic was animal and blind.
The last thought, right before everything went fuzzy, wasn't help.
It was Arya.
At least he can't see this. At least I did that one thing right.
Then, under the terror, something quiet bloomed: a thought so gentle it terrified her later.
If I just stop… it all stops. If I'm nothing, she can't hurt me. She can't hurt him.
Emptiness wasn't scary. It was safe. The only safe she'd ever known was nothing.
Back in the compartment, Shya went still.
No scream. No cry. Just the smallest broken sound — a whimper that made Talora's blood run colder than the air.
Her body locked up, hands clutching her knees so tightly her nails drew blood. Her eyes were wide and unfocused, staring into a place none of them could see.
Her lips parted in a small, soundless sob.
Talora lunged, grabbing her shoulders. "Shy—Shya!"
She might as well have been shouting at a photograph.
Haneera snarled — a deep, vibrating growl that made the air feel thicker. Her shadow stretched across the floor like smoke, wrapping around Shya's legs, absorbing the frost that crawled toward her.
Pandora barked once, loud and clear.
Light flared from her in a sudden pulse, pushing the fog back by inches.
Padfoot, still curled around Cassian, lifted his head and barked too — hoarse but furious. He stumbled forward, placing his body between the children and the door, hackles up, teeth bared.
Outside, something hissed — a wet, rasping sound — and then withdrew.
The darkness clung for a long, aching second before thinning, as though the Dementor had slid on to the next carriage.
The cold stayed.
No one spoke.
The lamps flickered weakly back to life — sickly, uncertain.
Mandy was crying silently. Lisa's lips were blue. Padma gripped the armrest so tightly her knuckles had gone white. Luna, pale and trembling, whispered something under her breath that sounded like a spell or a prayer.
Cassian gasped again — this time for air, not memory. Talora's tears still fell, slow and quiet.
Shya blinked once, twice, then curled in on herself, whispering something too low to catch.
Haneera held her semi-shadowed form, Pandora stayed standing guard, legs trembling with effort, light dimming.
Padfoot pressed close to Cassian's side again, still shaking, breathing ragged. His tail didn't move. His eyes stayed fixed on the frost-laced door until, at last, it cleared.
Far ahead, a whistle blew — thin and distant.
The train shuddered and began to crawl forward again.
And in that soft, mechanical motion, life crept hesitantly back into the compartment — fractured, fragile, and changed.
For a long moment, nobody spoke.
The only sounds were the clack of the tracks, the faint rattle of the window, and the too-loud breathing of eight people who'd just forgotten how to inhale properly.
Then came the knock.
Sharp, brisk, official.
The door slid open a few centimetres and a Ravenclaw prefect peered in — Penelope Clearwater, hair slightly frizzy from the damp in the corridor.
Her eyes swept the compartment once.
They lingered on the frost still fading from the glass, the pale faces, the way Shya's knuckles were white where her hands dug into her knees.
"Oh," she said quietly. "You had one come right past."
She held up a small metal tin. Wrapped chocolate squares floated out and hovered, waiting for someone to take them. "Professor Lupin says everyone is to eat chocolate," she recited, but her voice was softer than her words. "It helps after… them."
Mandy swallowed. "What were they?"
Penelope hesitated. "Dementors. Guards from Azkaban. The Ministry has them patrolling the train 'for safety'." The way she said it made it sound like a bad joke. "They don't just guard. They feed. On every good thing you've got."
Lisa stared. "That's allowed?"
"Apparently." Penelope pressed her lips together. "Eat, please. Properly. Professor Lupin said the spellwork is useless without the sugar."
Her gaze flicked once more to Shya. Something tightened in her expression, but she didn't ask. She just nudged one of the chocolates a little closer with her wand, then slid the door shut again and moved on to the next compartment.
For a beat, nobody reached for the sweets.
Then Roman cleared his throat and snagged one out of the air. "Orders from a professor," he said, voice rough but trying for normal. "Wouldn't want to be insubordinate."
He snapped the square in half and shoved a piece at Cassian.
"Eat," he said.
Cassian did, chewing like he wasn't entirely convinced his mouth knew how. The warmth hit slow, then all at once — like light through dirty glass. His shoulders loosened a fraction. His grip in Padfoot's fur eased.
Mandy took hers with shaking fingers. Lisa followed. Padma forced herself to eat slowly, as if she could ration the comfort. Luna popped the chocolate into her mouth in one bite, closing her eyes like she was listening to something only she could hear.
Talora didn't touch hers yet.
She reached first for Shya's, unwrapped it with careful fingers, then pressed it lightly to Shya's lips.
"Bob," she said, low. "Chocolate."
Nothing.
Talora shifted closer on the bench until their knees bumped. "It's from a professor," she added, as if that would help. "Remus Lupin. Defense. He knows what he's doing."
Shya's eyes were still distant — glassy and unfocused — but the word professor seemed to snag on something familiar. Slowly, her gaze tracked down to Talora's hand.
Talora didn't push. She just waited, chocolate hovering, her other hand wrapped around Shya's wrist — not restraining, just there.
Eventually, Shya's mouth opened a little. Talora tucked the piece in gently, like feeding a stubborn, shell-shocked bird.
For a second, nothing happened.
Then the sugar hit.
It wasn't dramatic. There was no sudden gasp of "I'm fine now."
Just the tiniest shift: a flicker of colour at the edge of Shya's cheeks, the tiniest twitch of her fingers in Talora's grasp.
Haneera's ears pricked. Pando's light steadied to a soft, constant glow.
Padfoot, who had been sitting statue-still since the Dementor moved on, inched closer. He nosed at Shya's knee once, then rested his head there, heavy and solid, as if volunteering his entire body as an anchor.
Talora's thumb traced small circles against the back of Shya's hand. "Stay here," she murmured quietly enough that only Shya and the dogs could hear. "With us. With me. Breathe."
One breath.
Another.
A third, deeper than the last.
It wasn't much, but it was more than before.
On the opposite bench, Mandy sniffled, wiping her nose on her sleeve. "I felt like I was going to fall through the floor," she whispered. "Forever."
Lisa nodded, eyes wide and red. "I couldn't remember anything good. Not my mum, not Greece, nothing. Just… nothing."
Padma swallowed hard. "I thought about Dad. After the… riots. When we had to leave. I haven't thought about that in years."
She sounded almost offended that the memory had been dragged back up without her consent.
"It'll pass," Luna said softly. Her voice was dreamy, but very firm. "They never get to keep it all. Not if you don't let them."
Mandy sniffed. "You didn't look scared."
"Oh, I was," Luna said mildly. "But fear is just a feeling. It doesn't own me."
Roman stared at her for a second, then huffed out a shaky laugh. "Remind me never to underestimate you."
"You already did," Luna said. "It's all right. Most people do."
Cassian finally leaned back, chocolate finished, colour slowly returning to his face. "They shouldn't be on a school train," he said, very quietly. Rage made his voice calm.
"No," Talora agreed. "They shouldn't."
Silence settled again, but it was different now. Less like a tomb, more like a held breath.
The frost melted fully from the window. Outside, fields rolled past again, washed-out green beneath a dull sky.
Shya's voice, when it came, was barely more than a rasp. "How long… until we get there?"
Cassian checked his watch, more for her than for himself. "Half an hour, maybe."
She nodded once.
Talora watched her closely. "Do you want to lie down? I can shrink the trunk; you can use it as a pillow."
Shya shook her head. "If I lie down, I won't get up."
"Then sit," Talora said simply. "And breathe. That's enough for now."
Shya let her head tip sideways until it rested lightly against Talora's shoulder. It wasn't something she usually did in front of everyone. No one commented.
Haneera curled tighter against her legs, shadow wrapping itself neatly around Shya's boots like a second pair of socks. Pando finally sank down as well, the glow of her fur dimming to a soft, steady pulse at Talora's feet.
Padfoot stayed where he was — pressed up against both Cassian and Shya, leaning his full weight into them as if he could hold them in place by sheer stubbornness.
Outside, the sky hung low and grey over the speeding fields. Inside, eight kids and three not-quite-normal animals sat in brittle, borrowed warmth, eating chocolate like a prescription, pretending not to watch each other too closely.
No one asked what the others had seen.
No one needed to.
The train rattled on toward Hogsmeade, carrying them into a year that already felt heavier than it should.
The train hissed as it pulled into Hogsmeade, a long exhale of steam that rolled white across a sky the color of bruised slate. Rain fell in thin, cold sheets, beading on the windows and turning the platform outside into a blur of umbrellas and cloaks.
"Coats," Talora said automatically, her voice hoarse from disuse. She stood, gathering her satchel and glancing toward Shya—who hadn't moved since the train began to slow.
Haneera whined softly, pressing her head under Shya's limp hand. The motion broke through the stillness.
Shya blinked once, twice, then looked down at the black dog's shadowy fur like she'd forgotten how it got there. She moved mechanically, wrapping her fingers in the thick ruff of Haneera's neck.
Pandora stepped forward, circling once around Shya's legs before stopping—light against shadow, glowing faintly in the dim.
The compartment smelled of wet wool and sugar and fear beginning to fade.
Cassian and Roman exchanged a look over the girls' heads.
Neither spoke, but both moved to stand near the door, a silent wall of presence.
Cassian lifted Shya's bag down without asking, slinging it over his own shoulder. Padfoot pressed against his leg—silent, watchful, nose twitching toward the window. Even in dog form, Sirius looked older, exhausted, and fiercely protective.
When they stepped out, the rain hit like pins—cold and needling. The platform was chaos: voices calling, trunks sliding, the whistle cutting through the grey.
"Careful," Talora murmured, keeping one arm around Shya's shoulders.
Shya leaned into her slightly, not because she wanted to but because her legs had forgotten how to stand alone.
Pando trotted at her heels, tail down, head up—eyes flicking between Shya and the world beyond.
Haneera stayed close on her other side, brushing against her knees, the faint shimmer of shadow still clinging to her paws.
Padfoot padded at Cassian's side, body pressed close, hackles half-lifted as if daring anything to come near the children again.
Together, they moved through the blur of students toward the carriages.
It was there—between breaths, between the hiss of rain and the steam—that Shya saw them.
The skeletal horses stood waiting in the fog, skin stretched tight over bone, wings slick and black as obsidian. The other students stepped around them without notice, laughing, complaining about the weather, blind to the creatures only a few could see.
Shya froze.
Their eyes—milky, endless—met hers.
And for a heartbeat, she understood them.
The void wasn't frightening.
It was familiar.
A mirror.
The silent acknowledgment of something shared:
they had seen death, too.
They carried it quietly, like she did.
One of the Thestrals shifted, tilting its head. The motion was almost curious. Almost kind.
Cassian didn't speak—he didn't need to.
He only reached out, brushing her shoulder lightly with his fingertips.
Grounding her.
She blinked, the rain stinging her lashes, and nodded once.
The spell broke.
Noise returned.
The platform sharpened into color again.
Talora ushered the younger girls forward.
Luna said something soft and dreamy about the rain making their wings shine.
Roman called for Pando to heel.
Padfoot whined once—low, instinctive—then moved closer to Shya's legs, as if sensing the shift in her breathing.
They climbed into the carriage together.
Shya slid into the corner seat, Haneera pressing close, Pando curling at her boots. Padfoot hopped in after Cassian and lay at his feet, eyes never leaving Shya.
Her friends filled the space around her—talking, shivering, alive—but she barely heard them.
She stared out the rain-streaked window as the carriage lurched into motion, the castle's distant lights blurred by mist.
When she caught her reflection in the glass, she didn't recognize her own eyes.
They looked hollow.
Polished to glass.
Beautiful and empty.
She adjusted her collar, fixed her braid, and turned back to the group—masking it all with a small, easy smile.
"Almost there," she said.
Talora smiled faintly back, but the worry in her gaze said she knew the truth.
The rest of the ride passed in silence but for the sound of rain and the quiet, steady breathing of the three animals lying at the children's feet—guardians against the dark.
The carriages rolled through the gates with a soft, shuddering creak, wheels splashing through shallow puddles. The rain had thinned to a mist—fine droplets clinging to hair and eyelashes, blurring the lanternlight into soft halos.
Shya didn't react to the cold.
She only watched the castle grow closer, its windows glowing gold behind the veil of rain. A place that was supposed to be safe. Warm. Steady.
Her hands lay still in her lap. Too steady. Too still.
Talora kept one knee pressed lightly against hers, the kind of contact that didn't demand anything—just offered presence.
Cassian watched her reflection in the carriage glass, not the scenery.
Roman kept his long frame angled protectively, blocking any sudden jostle from the younger students in the next carriage.
Haneera lay across Shya's boots like a living shadow.
Pandora curled into her other side, a small crescent of muted white.
Padfoot stayed pressed against Cassian's legs, but his dark eyes kept drifting back to Shya.
The moment the carriages stopped, Padfoot was the first out—standing guard at the step, watching each student pass with quiet intensity.
Cassian stepped down, then reached a hand for Shya without thinking.
She didn't take it.
She just stood.
Graceful. Silent. Mask in place.
But she wobbled.
A fraction of a fraction of a second.
Only Talora and Cassian noticed.
Both moved in at once—Talora steadying her elbow, Cassian positioning himself so no one could see.
Shya blinked.
Her spine straightened.
She stepped forward like nothing had happened.
Rain immediately found her cheeks, sliding down like tears she refused to shed.
Together, they made their way toward the castle.
Students buzzed around them—complaining about the weather, laughing about the feast, arguing about electives. Loud, alive, oblivious.
Shya walked through them like a ghost wearing her own face.
Talora stayed anchored at her side.
Cassian hovered close enough to catch her if she faltered.
Roman walked behind, steering traffic away with subtle shifts of his shoulders.
Padfoot trotted along Cassian's other side—watchful, silent, the hair along his spine faintly raised.
As they approached the castle steps, the rain thickened slightly, spattering against the stone. Prefects held the doors open. Lamps glowed warm inside.
But just before they crossed the threshold, Padfoot paused.
His ears pricked.
His tail stilled.
He pressed his nose briefly into Shya's hand—just once, as if passing a message or taking her emotional temperature—and then looked up at Cassian.
Cassian gave the smallest nod.
Padfoot turned and slipped into the shadows beside the doors—where Polly was waiting, half-hidden by the stone arch.
She whispered, "This way, Master Padfoot," and with a soft pop of air, they vanished.
To the rest of the world, it looked like a stray dog wandered into the night.
To their group, it was a man they loved going into hiding.
Shya didn't look back.
She couldn't let herself.
Talora squeezed her hand once.
Shya's fingers didn't squeeze back.
Warmth swallowed them the moment they entered—the glow of thousands of candles, the smell of roast chicken and spiced pumpkin, the hum of chatter rising like music. Enchanted ceiling stormy, matching the sky outside.
And for a moment…
It almost felt normal.
Mandy waved them over frantically from the Ravenclaw table.
"Shya! Talora! Over here before the first-years steal all the good seats!"
Lisa scooted aside, making room.
Padma patted the bench.
Luna gave a small, dreamy little smile, eyes gentle in a way that made Shya look away almost instantly.
Talora sat first, the motion smooth, practiced.
Roman took the space on her other side.
Cassian slid in beside Shya—and did so silently, without fanfare, like he'd always belonged there.
Shya lowered herself gracefully into her spot.
And that was the moment the mask flickered.
Just a blink.
Just a tiny crack where her eyes went unfocused again—cold light reflecting from the candles like polished crystal.
Cassian saw it.
Talora saw it.
Luna quietly, softly, absolutely saw it.
Shya inhaled.
Mask snapped back into place.
Perfect posture.
Small, easy smile.
Eyes bright but hollow around the edges—a diamond with no warmth behind it.
Mandy leaned in. "You okay? You look—"
"I'm fine," Shya said lightly.
Too lightly.
Talora's hand slid under the table to grip her knee.
Cassian's foot tapped gently against her ankle in a steady rhythm—grounding, guiding, silent reassurance.
Lisa whispered something about the storm.
Padma mentioned her summer weddings.
Luna watched Shya with soft understanding and didn't push.
Haneera and Pandora slipped under the bench, lying pressed against Shya's calves, their presence a wordless shield.
The hall buzzed around them—alive, bright, demanding nothing from her except existence.
Shya gave it exactly that.
Nothing more.
The hush fell like a spell the moment Dumbledore rose.
"Good evening," he said, his voice warm enough to soften the edges of the storm still lurking on the ceiling. "Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts."
Eyes lifted.
Shya kept her face neutral, hands folded neatly, gaze directed upward but not seeing.
"You have already met the Dementors," Dumbledore continued, his gaze sweeping across the room like a tide. "They are stationed here on the Ministry's orders, despite strong objections from your professors, your governors—and myself."
The hall murmured.
Shya didn't blink.
"And though they are meant to protect," he added, "they drain warmth and joy indiscriminately. Therefore"—and here his eyes drifted, slowly, deliberately, toward the Ravenclaw table—"remember that safety comes not only from wards and spells, but from each other."
His gaze stopped.
On them.
Then—on her.
Just half a heartbeat.
A flicker of recognition.
A quiet, subtle: I see you.
Shya smiled back.
Perfectly.
Flawlessly.
And utterly empty.
Dumbledore dipped his head slightly—respect or reassurance or warning, impossible to tell—before continuing the speech to the rest of the hall.
Applause rose.
The feast appeared.
The candles flickered brighter.
Shya clapped with everyone else, her expression impeccable.
Talora leaned closer, whisper-soft:
"You're with us. Okay?"
Shya didn't look at her.
She didn't break her smile.
"I'm fine," she said again.
Talora and Cassian exchanged a glance over her bowed head.
The same, unspoken truth crisp in both their eyes:
She isn't.
And under the table, the two dogs pressed tighter against her legs—warm, grounding, living reminders that she wasn't alone, no matter how deep into the void her mind had slipped.
Above them, the candles burned bright.
Outside, the storm whispered at the windows.
And the true beginning of the year settled over them like a cold, inevitable promise.