Dementors' attack at the Hogwarts Express

The rhythmic clatter of the train wheels against the tracks had always been a comforting sound. A reminder that we were heading back to Hogwarts, back to the safety of the castle, back to magic and mischief. But this time, something was different. The warmth of laughter and chatter had started to fade, replaced by an eerie silence that spread through the compartments like a creeping fog.

I felt it before I saw it—the temperature dropped, sharp and sudden, as if someone had sucked all the warmth from the air. The windows, which had been fogging up with the train's steady motion, turned icy, frost crackling along the edges of the glass. A shiver ran down my spine, and I exchanged a glance with Kenny and Sree, who sat beside me. Kenny rubbed her arms as if trying to shake off an unseen chill, while Sree's usually cheerful expression twisted into something uneasy.

"What the hell—" Draco started, but then the lights flickered and died.

The train lurched slightly, a heavy stillness settling over us. Pansy let out a shriek as the compartment door suddenly slid open with a slow, grating creak. And then we saw it.

A hooded figure loomed in the doorway, its form draped in black, skeletal hands gripping the edges as it hovered just inside. Its face—or what should have been a face—was hidden beneath the hood, but the presence alone was suffocating, pressing down on my chest like an iron weight.

A Dementor.

The cold was unbearable now, seeping into my very bones, leeching the strength from my limbs. My breath came in ragged gasps as a sensation unlike anything I had ever felt gripped me—a drowning pull, like my soul was being tugged from within. Around me, my friends were reacting in different ways. Pansy had gone stiff, her eyes wide with terror, while Blaise gritted his teeth, his fists clenched so tight his knuckles turned white.

Draco, beside me, had gone pale, his usual smug confidence drained away. His hand twitched toward his wand, but he hesitated.

I could hear something—no, feel something. A scream, distant and faint, echoing in my ears. It wasn't in the train. It was in my head.

A memory, twisted and cruel, rising from the depths of my mind like a nightmare come to life. A voice—my mother's voice—sharp with anger, fading into sobs. A slamming door. Darkness. Cold.

I tried to shake it off, to fight, but my limbs felt like lead, my vision swimming. Then I heard a dull thump—Crabbe had collapsed, his massive frame slumped over against the seat. Goyle wasn't far behind, his body tilting dangerously. Kenny had squeezed her eyes shut, murmuring something under her breath, while Sree clutched my wrist, her nails digging into my skin.

"Do something," she gasped.

But I couldn't move. I couldn't think.

The Dementor glided forward, and with it, the overwhelming despair grew stronger. My breath hitched as the edges of my vision blurred. The air felt too thick, too heavy to breathe. The screaming in my head grew louder.

Then, a voice cut through the haze.

"Expecto Patronum!"

A flash of silver-blue light erupted in the compartment. The Dementor recoiled, letting out a shriek like nails on glass. The warmth that had been stolen from the air returned in a flood, the unbearable pressure lifting just enough for me to suck in a deep breath.

I turned my head sluggishly, my vision still swimming, and saw the source of the light.

"Professor Lupin." he introduced himself.

He stood at the doorway, his wand raised, his expression grim yet controlled. Another burst of silver light shot from his wand, and this time, the Dementor fled, its cloak billowing as it disappeared into the corridor, chased away by the Patronus.

The second it was gone, the world shifted back into place.

I gasped, feeling warmth rush back into my fingers, my legs, my chest. My heart pounded wildly in my ribcage as if trying to make up for lost time. Around me, my friends stirred, some still pale, some still shaking. Pansy was sobbing quietly, clutching Draco's sleeve. Kenny had sunk down, pressing the heels of her hands into her eyes, while Sree was still gripping my wrist so hard I thought she might snap it.

Crabbe groaned as he regained consciousness, Goyle blinking blearily as if waking from a nightmare.

Lupin lowered his wand, scanning the compartment with sharp, assessing eyes. "Is everyone alright?"

No one answered immediately. It was Draco who finally broke the silence, his voice lower than usual. "What the hell was that?"

"A Dementor," Lupin said simply. His eyes flicked to me, then to Kenny and Sree, then to the rest of the group. "They feed on fear and despair. You were all incredibly lucky I was nearby."

I swallowed hard, my throat dry. The sensation of helplessness, of drowning in my own mind, still clung to me like a shadow. I had read about Dementors before, but nothing—nothing—had prepared me for this.

"They're supposed to be guarding Azkaban," Blaise muttered, his voice uncharacteristically shaken. "Why are they here?"

Lupin's expression darkened slightly. "They've been stationed at Hogwarts this year, searching for Sirius Black."

My stomach twisted at the name, but I was too drained to react.

Lupin pulled out a small bar of chocolate from his robes and snapped it into pieces, handing one to each of us. "Eat this. It'll help."

I hesitated, staring down at the piece of chocolate in my trembling fingers. Then, slowly, I bit into it. The warmth that spread through me wasn't just physical—it was something deeper, something that pushed away the lingering cold in my mind.

No one spoke for a long time. We just sat there, wrapped in the aftermath of what had just happened, as the Hogwarts Express continued its journey through the darkened countryside. The world outside was the same. But we weren't.

As we arrived at the station, the oppressive weight that had settled over us in the aftermath of the Dementor attack slowly began to lift. The warmth of the torches lining Hogsmeade Station flickered invitingly, casting long, golden beams across the platform. It was a stark contrast to the icy darkness we had just endured.

I took a deep breath, feeling the tension in my chest loosen. The air here was crisp, fresh—untainted by the soul-crushing presence of those wretched creatures. By the looks of it, my friends were starting to feel better too. Kenny was rubbing warmth back into her arms, Sree kept glancing over her shoulder as if half-expecting another Dementor to appear, and even Pansy, who usually never let her composure falter, looked rattled.

Then, we heard it—whispers rippling through the crowd like a current.

"Did you hear? Potter fainted!"

Draco, standing beside me, let out a short laugh, his voice laced with amusement. "Fainted? Well, we were attacked too, but I don't recall anyone except Crabbe hitting the floor."

I chuckled, nudging him lightly. "Poor Crabbe. To be fair, he does love a good dramatic moment."

Draco smirked. "Oh, absolutely. But really, Potter fainting? The insufferable urge to make everything about himself—it's almost impressive at this point."

Pansy, finally recovering enough to regain her usual sharpness, scoffed. "Honestly, is anyone surprised? He always needs to be the center of attention. I bet by breakfast tomorrow, the entire school will be worshipping him for 'surviving' a Dementor attack."

Blaise, who had been standing silently with his hands in his pockets, raised an eyebrow. "Can't deny it was a bit odd, though. None of us fainted. I mean, it felt horrible, but passing out?"

For a brief moment, a thoughtful silence settled between us. Even I had to admit, the Dementors had drained the very life out of us, but I had stayed conscious. We all had. Except Potter.

Draco, ever the opportunist, grinned. "Maybe it finally caught up to him—his hero complex, I mean. So much pretending to be the 'Chosen One' must be exhausting."

The whistle of the train blew behind us, steam curling into the night sky. A reminder that we had arrived. The Dementors were gone, and whatever had happened, whatever reasons they had for boarding the Hogwarts Express in the first place, didn't matter now.

We were home.

After the Sorting Ceremony, the enchanted ceiling of the Great Hall shimmered with candlelight as the Hogwarts choir performed their song, their voices weaving a haunting yet mesmerizing melody through the air. The flickering glow reflected in the golden plates set before us, and the scent of freshly prepared food wafted through the hall, signaling the long-awaited feast.

Once the last note faded, a hush fell over the students as Dumbledore rose from his seat, his twinkling eyes scanning the hall with quiet amusement. "Welcome, once again, to another year at Hogwarts," he began, his voice effortlessly commanding attention. "Before we begin our feast, allow me to introduce our new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, Professor Remus Lupin."

Scattered applause followed, though I noticed a few murmurs among the students. The man at the staff table looked oddly disheveled compared to the usual Hogwarts professors. His robes were worn at the edges, his face a little gaunt, yet there was something quietly assured about him.

Draco, however, was unimpressed. Leaning toward me, he muttered, "Looks like he just crawled out of a trunk. Merlin, do they even try to hire decent professors anymore?"

I stifled a laugh. "I don't know... he looks—competent," I mused, watching Lupin as he gave a small nod to the students.

Draco scoffed. "Competent? He looks like he couldn't afford a new set of robes."

While Dumbledore continued his speech about school rules and the usual warnings about the Forbidden Forest, Draco suddenly turned his head toward the Gryffindor table, his smirk widening with mischief.

"Psst, Potter! Potter!" he called in a hushed but clear voice, his silver eyes gleaming with amusement.

Harry barely reacted at first, but Ron, sitting beside him, stiffened.

Blaise, who had been silently observing, decided to join in, clutching his chest dramatically before falling back in an exaggerated swoon. "Oh no, not the Dementors! Someone catch me, I might faint!" he gasped, earning chuckles from our table.

Draco grinned, turning back to Harry. "I mean, you actually fainted," he added, a mockingly incredulous tone laced in his voice.

I giggled along with the others. "To be fair, I wasn't expecting that, Potter," I said, tilting my head. "Are you sure you're the famous Boy-Who-Lived?"

Ron, face already red with frustration, snapped, "Shut up, Malfoy," before turning away, glaring down at his plate.

Harry, however, didn't rise to the bait. He merely stared at Draco for a moment, his expression unreadable. There was something different about it—something that made Draco's smirk falter for just a second before he quickly masked it with another amused chuckle.

I tapped my fork against my plate, still smiling. "Well, that was anticlimactic. I was expecting more of a reaction."

Draco rolled his eyes. "Oh, give him time. He'll have another dramatic moment soon enough."

With that, the chatter in the hall resumed, and the feast began, but in the back of my mind, I couldn't shake the feeling that something about that exchange had been... off.