"Filius, you come with me to the Hogwarts Express and examine the train," Dumbledore said, his voice calm but firm. "Minerva, Severus, Pomona, go to Hogsmeade Village and gather all the students back at Hogsmeade Station."
"Hogsmeade Station?" Professor McGonagall asked at once, her brows drawing together. "You don't intend to bring them straight back to the castle?"
In her mind, there was no question about it. If there was even a chance that someone had deliberately targeted the Hogwarts Express, then the safest place for the students was inside Hogwarts itself. The castle had survived wars, dark magic, and generations of reckless children; it was far safer than leaving hundreds of young witches and wizards scattered around the village.
"The first years still need to make the traditional journey to the castle," Dumbledore said. "Every Hogwarts student has passed through that first ceremony, and I would rather not break the custom unless we have no other choice."
Professor McGonagall pressed her lips together, clearly unhappy, but she did not argue further. The tradition of the first years crossing the Black Lake had existed since the earliest days of the school, a symbolic path into Hogwarts that no professor treated lightly. Even now, with danger hanging over them, Dumbledore was not willing to discard it too easily.
"Very well," she said. "Then we should inform Hagrid as well. He guides the first years every year."
She lifted her wand and summoned her Patronus, a silver cat that sprang lightly from the tip and landed soundlessly on the office floor. The cat darted away with McGonagall's message, slipping through the castle toward Hagrid's hut. It returned soon after with no success, and Professor McGonagall's frown deepened.
"He isn't at his hut," she said. "Of all possible times for him to be absent."
"We will deal with that as well," Dumbledore said. "For now, the students come first."
The professors moved quickly. Dumbledore and Flitwick prepared to head toward the station and inspect the Hogwarts Express, while McGonagall, Snape, and Sprout made for the entrance hall. The castle still had the strange quiet of a school waiting for its students to arrive, but that quiet now felt tense rather than peaceful.
"Professor McGonagall! Professor McGonagall!"
The shout came just as McGonagall and the others reached the grounds outside Hogwarts, where they could Apparate without the castle's enchantments interfering. Percy Weasley came running toward them, red-faced, out of breath, and visibly furious. His prefect badge bounced against his chest with every step.
"Mr Weasley," Professor McGonagall said, stopping sharply. "What has happened?"
Percy bent over, hands braced on his knees, struggling to pull enough air into his lungs. He had clearly run all the way from the station, and his neat prefect composure had been completely destroyed. "Professor, there was an accident. The Hogwarts Express arrived at Hogsmeade Station early, and now many of the students have gone into Hogsmeade."
"We already know, Mr Weasley," Professor McGonagall said. Her stern expression softened slightly, because at least one student had thought to inform the staff rather than treat the situation as a holiday. "Thank you for coming to tell us. We are going to handle it now."
Percy straightened, relief flashing across his face. "You know already?"
"Yes. You may rest in the castle for now, or go to the hospital wing if you need to recover." Professor McGonagall glanced over his flushed face and unsteady breathing. "You have done the right thing."
Percy nodded quickly, looking deeply pleased despite his exhaustion. If Professor McGonagall already knew, then he no longer needed to worry that everyone would blame him for failing to stop the entire school. That, at least, was something.
The professors did not linger. With three sharp cracks, McGonagall, Snape, and Sprout Disapparated from the edge of the grounds, heading for Hogsmeade as quickly as magic allowed. Walking would have wasted too much time, and none of them were willing to leave the students unsupervised a moment longer than necessary.
At the same time, Tyler Blake and the group of young witches and wizards who had followed him were already exploring Hogsmeade. None of them looked particularly worried about professors, school rules, or the possibility of punishment. The village lay open before them, all crooked roofs, warm windows, hanging shop signs, and narrow lanes that seemed built entirely out of secrets and temptations.
Hogsmeade was the only all-wizarding village in Britain, tucked close to Hogwarts and steeped in centuries of magic. Its history ran deep, old enough that the village was said to have grown alongside the school itself. According to magical history books in the Hogwarts library, Hogsmeade had even served as a headquarters during the Goblin Rebellion of 1612.
That kind of history meant very little to the first years wandering its streets for the first time. They were far more interested in the shopfronts, the smell of sweets drifting from somewhere ahead, and the sight of older students moving confidently through places they had only heard about. For them, Hogsmeade was not a historical site; it was proof that the wizarding world had more wonders waiting beyond Diagon Alley.
Under Hogwarts rules, students were not normally allowed to visit Hogsmeade until their third year, and even then only on certain weekends with a signed permission form from a guardian. That restriction made the village feel even more alluring. A place forbidden for two whole years naturally became twice as exciting the moment they found themselves standing inside it.
The group soon reached Dervish and Banges, a shop at the end of the High Street that sold and repaired magical equipment. The windows were packed with curious items, from polished instruments and odd brass devices to replacement parts whose purposes were not immediately clear. A few enchanted objects twitched or clicked behind the glass, giving the impression that the shop was quietly alive.
"Look at this," Ron said, pressing close to the display. "They've got Quidditch gear."
Inside, the shelves held broom-care kits, team pennants, practice balls, and gleaming sporting supplies that drew every wizard-born student like a magnet. A display Snitch fluttered inside a small glass case, darting from side to side in bright golden flashes. Nearby, a Quaffle rested beside a pair of Bludgers secured with heavy straps that looked as if they were barely holding.
"They've got brooms too," another first year said excitedly. "Not the very best ones, but still."
Ron immediately launched into a passionate explanation of Quidditch teams, broom models, and famous players, speaking so quickly that Harry could only catch half of it. Several other wizard-born students joined in, arguing over teams and positions as though the matter were life and death. The Muggle-born and half-blood students listened with wide-eyed curiosity, trying to understand how a game played on flying broomsticks could have so many rules and still sound so dangerous.
"So which team do you support?" a boy asked Ron.
"The Chudley Cannons," Ron said at once, with the fierce loyalty of someone used to defending a hopeless cause. "They're brilliant."
Someone snorted, but Ron ignored it. His ears went a little pink, yet he stood firm, clearly prepared to defend the Cannons against any insult. Harry watched with interest, still trying to picture seven players in the air, three kinds of balls, and a tiny golden Snitch that could end the match.
"Tyler, Jamie," Harry asked after a while, turning away from the display, "do you like Quidditch?"
Tyler shook his head without hesitation. "Not really. I know it's the most popular sport in the wizarding world, but I've never been able to get excited about it."
Jamie nodded in agreement, glancing at a broom in the window with mild amusement. "Flying around on a broom while people throw balls at you doesn't sound as dignified as everyone pretends. Useful, maybe, but not exactly elegant."
Tyler smirked. "Exactly. Even a flying carpet has more style than a broomstick. Whoever decided a cleaning tool should become the symbol of magical sport had a very strange imagination."
Ron looked scandalised. "You can't say that about Quidditch."
"I just did," Tyler said cheerfully.
Harry smiled despite himself. He did not know enough about Quidditch to take sides, but Ron's outrage was funny, and Tyler's complete lack of guilt made it funnier. Around them, the other students continued talking over one another, comparing players, broom speeds, and famous matches Harry had never heard of.
"Harry," Tyler said after a moment, "Jamie and I are going to look around the other shops. Do you want to stay here and listen to them talk Quidditch, or come with us?"
Harry hesitated. Part of him wanted to follow Tyler and Jamie, because they always seemed to know things no one else did. But another part of him was already hooked by the idea of Quidditch, even if he barely understood it. There was something thrilling about the whole sport, something fast and bright and dangerous that reminded him of the train ride without the terrifying lack of control.
"I think I'll stay here," Harry said. "I'm interested in Quidditch."
Jamie looked at him thoughtfully. "Seems you really did inherit your father's instincts. Your father was the Seeker for the Gryffindor Quidditch team at Hogwarts. You might have inherited his talent too."
"My father?" Harry asked, startled.
"Yes," Jamie said. "You'll learn more when you reach Hogwarts. Your father once helped Gryffindor win the Quidditch Cup."
Harry stared at him, his curiosity flaring so suddenly it almost hurt. No one at the Dursleys' had ever told him things like that about his parents. They had spoken of them only with resentment or contempt, if they spoke of them at all, and now every casual mention felt like a missing piece of his life being placed in his hands.
"Well, good luck, Harry," Tyler said, already turning toward the door. "We'll go on ahead."
Harry still wanted to ask more about his father, but Tyler and Jamie had already left the shop. He held back the question and turned slowly back toward the Quidditch display, telling himself that once he reached Hogwarts, he would find out sooner or later.
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