~ chapter five: the dementor ~
hey, everyone. I'm back, after what has been a month. I'm super excited to be back and writing another chapter for you all, although updates on 'mine' and 'stereo hearts' will be slowed down significantly, because I am mainly going to be focusing on this book. at the rate this is going, I'm going to say it might be another full year until I finish this book? but it could always be sooner. it could also be later, too. this has been such a fun journey writing this for you all so far, and I hope you have just as much fun as reading it as I am with reading it. of course, I am always open to ideas, whether that might be yandere actions harry might do, or just normal ideas. what I will warn you about, though, is this year is when harry goes a little bit . . . crazy. and by crazy, I mean a quarter-way to off-the-rails crazy. it might not seem like it at first, but trust me, by the time you're, like, three-fourths into the chapter, you'll see exactly what I mean.
Tom woke me the next morning with his usual toothless trim and a cup of tea. I got dressed and was just persuading a disgruntled Hedwig to get back into her cage, Y/N stifling her laugh behind her hand, when Ron banged his way into the room, pulling a sweatshirt over his head and looking irritable.
"The sooner we get on the train, the better," he said. "At least I can get away from Percy at Hogwarts. Now he's accusing me of dripping tea on his photo of Penelope Clearwater. You know," Ron grimaced, "his girlfriend. She's hidden her face under the frame because her nose has gone all blotchy. . . ."
"We've got something to tell you," Y/N began, but we were interrupted by Fred and George, who has looked in to congratulate Ron on infuriating Percy again.
We headed down to breakfast, where Mr. Weasley was reading the front page of the Daily Prophet with a furrowed brow and Mrs. Weasley was telling Hermione and Ginny about a love potion she'd made as a young girl. All of them were rather giggly about it.
"What were you saying?" Ron asked us as we sat down.
"Later," Y/N muttered as Percy stormed in.
We had no chance to speak to Ron or Hermione in the chaos of leaving; we were too busy heaving all our trunks down the Leaky Cauldron's narrow staircase and piling them up near the door, with Hedwig, Hades and Hermes, Percy's screech owl, perched on top in their cages. A small wickerwork basket stood beside the heap of trunks, spitting loudly.
"It's all right, Crookshanks," Hermione cooed through the wickerwork. "I'll let you out on the train."
"You won't," snapped Ron. "What about poor Scabbers, eh?"
Mr. Weasley, who had been outside waiting for the Ministry cars, stuck his head inside.
"They're here," he said. "Harry, Y/N, come on."
Mr. Weasley marched us across the short stretch of pavement toward the first of two old-fashioned dark green cars, each of which was driven by a furtive-looking wizard wearing a suit of emerald velvet.
"In you get, you both," said Mr. Weasley, glancing up and down the crowded street.
We got into the back of the car and were shortly joined by Hermione, Ron, and, to Ron's disgust, Percy.
The journey to King's Cross was very uneventful compared with our trip on the Knight Bus. The Ministry of Magic cars seemed almost ordinary, though I noticed that they could slide through gaps that Uncle Vernon's new company car certainly couldn't have managed. We reached King's Cross with twenty minutes to spare; the Ministry drivers found us trolleys, unloaded our trunks, touched their hats in salute to Mr. Weasley, and drove away, somehow managing to jump to the head of an unmoving line at the traffic lights.
Mr. Weasley kept close to my and Y/N's elbows all the way into the station.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
"Right, then," Mr. Weasley said, glancing around them. "Let's do this in pairs—although I am going with both Harry and Y/N—as there are so many of us. Come on, you two."
Mr. Weasley scrolled toward the barrier between platforms nine and ten, pushing their trolleys and apparently very interested in the InterCity 125 that had just arrived at platform nine. With a meaningful look at both of them, he leaned casually against the barrier. Y/N and Harry imitated him.
In a moment, they had fallen sideways through the solid metal onto platform nine and three-quarters and looked up to see the Hogwarts Express, a scarlet steam engine, puffing smoke over a platform packed with witches and wizards seeing their children onto the train.
Percy and Ginny suddenly appeared behind Y/N and Harry. They were panting and had apparently taken the barrier at a run.
"Ah, there's Penelope!" said Percy, smoothing his hair and going pink again. Ginny caught Y/N's eye, and they both turned away to hide their laughter as Percy strode over to a girl with long, curly hair. Harry sent a questioning look to them both. Ginny jabbed a finger in the direction of them both, and Harry, too, looked at his feet to stop from laughing as Percy walked with his chest thrown out so that she couldn't miss his shiny badge.
Once the remaining Weasley and Hermione had joined then, Y/N, Harry, and Ron led the way to the end of the train, past compartments, to a carriage that looked quite empty. They loaded the trunks onto it, stowed Hedwig, Hades and Crookshanks in the luggage rack, then went back outside to say goodbye to Mr. and Mrs. Weasley.
Mrs. Weasley kissed all her children, then Hermione, Harry, and finally, Y/N. She was embarrassed, but really quite pleased, when she enveloped her and Harry in an extra hug.
"Do take care, won't you, you both?" she said as she straightened up, her eyes oddly bright. Then she opened her enormous handbag and said, "I've made you all sandwiches. . . . Here you are, Ron . . . no, they're not cornered beef. . . . Fred? Where's Fred? Here you are, dear. . . ."
"Harry, Y/N," said Mr. Weasley quietly, "come over here a moment."
He jerked his head toward a pillar, and Y/N and Harry followed him behind it, leaving the others crowded around Mrs. Weasley.
"There's something I've got to tell you both before you leave—" said Mr. Weasley, in a tense voice.
"It's all right, Mr. Weasley," said Y/N. "We already know."
"You know? How could you know?"
Harry paused for a moment, an expression on his face Y/N couldn't read. "We—er—we heard you and Mrs. Weasley talking last night. We couldn't help hearing."
"That's not the way I'd have chosen for you to find out," said Mr. Weasley, looking anxious.
"No—honestly, it's okay," Y/N added quickly. "This way, you haven't broken your word to Fudge and we know what's going on."
"You both must be very scared, especially you, Y/N—"
"I'm not," Y/N said sincerely, glancing at Harry only to see that same unreadable expression on his face. "Really," she added as she glanced back at Mr. Weasley, because he was looking disbelieving. "Harry and I aren't trying to be heroes, but seriously, Sirius Black can't be worse than Voldemort, can he?"
But why would she especially be scared of Sirius Black? Had she missed something?
Mr. Weasley flinched at the sound of the name but overlooked it.
"Harry, Y/N, I knew you were, well, made of stronger stuff than Fudge seems to think, and I'm obviously pleased that you're not scared, of course, but—"
"Arthur!" called Mrs. Weasley, who was now shepherding the rest onto the train. "Arthur, what are you doing? It's about to go!"
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
"They're coming, Molly!" said Mr. Weasley, but he turned back to harry and Y/N and kept talking in a lower and more hurried voice "Listen, I want you both to give me your word—"
"—that we'll be good children and stay in the castle?" Y/N asked gloomily.
"Not entirely," said Mr. Weasley, who looked more serious than Harry had ever seen him. "Swear to me you won't go looking for Black."
Harry stared. "What?"
There was a loud whistle. Guards were walking along the train, slamming all the doors shut.
"Promise me, you both," said Mr. Weasley, talking more quickly still, "that whatever happens—"
"Why would we want to go looking for someone we know wants to kill us?" asked Y/N blankly.
"Swear to me that whatever you might hear—"
"Arthur, quickly!" cried Mrs. Weasley.
Steam was billowing from the train; it had started to move. Harry grabbed Y/N's hand as they both ran to the compartment door; Ron threw it open and stood back to let them on. They leaned out of the window and waved at Mr. and Mrs. Weasley until the train turned a corner and blocked them from view.
"We need to talk to you in private," Y/N muttered to Ron and Hermione as the train picked up speed.
"Go away, Ginny," said Ron.
"Oh, that's nice," said Ginny huffily, and she stalked off.
Y/N, Harry, Ron, and Hermione set off down the corridor, looking for an empty compartment, but all were full except for the one at the very end of the train.
This had only one occupant, a man sitting fast asleep next to the window. Y/N, Harry, Ron, and Hermione checked the threshold. The Hogwarts Express was usually reserved for students and they had never seen an adult there before, except for the witch who pushed the food cart.
The stranger was wearing an extremely shabby set of wizard's robes that had been darned in several places, and he looked ill and exhausted. Though quite young, his light brown hair was flecked with gray.
"Who d'you reckon he is?" Ron hissed as they sat down and slid the door shut, taking the seats farthest away from the window. Y/N was sitting next to Harry, the both of them across from Ron and Hermione.
"Harry?" Y/N hissed.
"Hm?" Harry looked at her, and she sent a quick look at their still-intertwined hands. "Oh, right." Reluctantly, he let go.
"Professor R. J. Lupin," whispered Hermione.
"How d'you know that?"
"It's on his suitcase, Ronald," Hermione said annoyedly, pointing at the luggage rack over the man's head, where there was a small, battered case held together with a large quantity of neatly knotted string. The name Professor R. J. Lupin was stamped across one corner in peeling letters.
"Wonder what he teaches?" said Ron, frowning at Professor Lupin's pallid profile.
"That's obvious," Hermione answered. "There's only one vacant spot, isn't there? Defense Against the Dark Arts."
"Wonder how Snape's gonna take that?" Y/N whispered to Harry. She, Harry, Ron, and Hermione had already had two Defense Against the Dark Arts teachers, both of whom had lasted only one year. There were rumors that the job was jinxed. Nonetheless, it was common knowledge among the students that Snape wanted the job.
"Well, I hope he's up to it," said Ron doubtfully. "He looks like one good hex would finish him off, doesn't he? Anyway. . . ." He turned to Y/N and Harry. "What were you going to tell us?"
Y/N and Harry took turns explaining all about Mr. and Mrs. Weasley's argument and the warning Mr. Weasley had just given them. When they'd finished, Ron looked thunderstruck whereas Hermione had her hands over her mouth. She lowered them to say finally, "Sirius Black escaped to come after you? Oh, Harry, Y/N . . . you'll have to be really, really, careful. Don't go looking for trouble, especially with him loose—"
"We don't go looking for trouble," argued Y/N. "Trouble usually finds us."
Privately, Harry felt like some aspect of him agreed with Hermione. Sirius Black wanted something extra with Y/N. What he wanted with her, he didn't know, but he wasn't taking any chances. He'd do whatever it took to keep her out of his clutches, even if it meant sacrificing some people. Anyone at Hogwarts could be a spy for him. It was a long shot, but it was possible. Anything was possible, after all.
"How thick would they have to be, to go looking for a mutter who wants to kill them?" said Ron shakily.
They were taking the news worse than Harry had expected. Both Ron and Hermione seemed to be much more frightened of Black than they were.
"No one knows how he got out of Azkaban," said Ron uncomfortably. "No one's ever done that before. And he was a top-security prisoner, too."
"Some top-security prisoners in Muggle prisons have gotten out," Y/N said.
"Well, those are Muggle prisons, aren't they?" said Ron, almost sounding smug. "Their security is nothing compared to Azkaban."
"But they'll catch him, won't they?" said Hermione earnestly. "I mean, they've got all the Muggles looking out for him too. . . ."
"What's that noise?" said Ron suddenly. A faint, tinny sort of whistle was coming from somewhere. They looked all around the compartment.
"It's coming from your trunk, Harry," said Ron, standing up and reaching into the luggage rack. A moment later he stopped for a moment. "What's this scrapbook doing in here, mate?"
Harry tensed up. "It's nothing," he said quickly. "It's just some boring stuff. School stuff and all that."
Ron made a face before pulling the Pocket Sneakoscope out from between Harry's robes. (Harry let out a sigh of relief.) It was spinning very fast in the palm of Ron's hand and glowing brilliantly.
"Is that a Sneakoscope?" said Hermione interestedly, standing up to get a better look.
"Yeah . . . mind you, it's a very cheap one," said Ron. "It went haywire just as I was tying it and another one to Errol's leg."
"Were you doing anything untrustworthy at the time?" said Herione shrewdly.
"No! Well . . . I wasn't supposed to be using Errol. You know he's not really up to long journeys . . . but how else was I supposed to get their presents to them?"
"Stick it back in the trunk," Harry advised as the Sneakoscope whistled piercingly, "or it'll wake him up."
He nodded toward Professor Lupin. Ron stuffed the Sneakoscope into a particularly horrible pair of Uncle Vernon's old socks, which deadened the sound, then closed the lid of the trunk on it,
"We could get it checked in Hogsmeade," said Ron, sitting back down. "They sell that sort of thing in Dervish and Bangers, magical instruments and stuff. Fred and George told me."
"Do you know much about Hogsmeade?" said Hermione keenly. "I've read it's the only etirely non-Muggle settlement in Britain—"
"Yeah, I think it is," said Ron in an offhand sort of way, "but that's not why I want to go. I just want to get inside Honeydukes!"
"What's that?" said Hermione.
"It's this sweetshop," said Ron, a dreamy look coming over his face, "where they've got everything. . . . Pepper Imps—they make you smoke at the mouth—and great fat Chocoballs full of strawberry mousse and clotted cream, and really excellent sugar quills, which you can suck in class and just look like you're thinking about what to write next—"
While Ron ranted on and on about the sort of sweets Honeydukes had—and Hermione recited facts she'd found out about Hogsmeade that she found interesting—Harry had to reach up to wipe the sweat on his forehead. He had been so close to being found out. The scrapbook was something that none of his friends should ever find out. If he hadn't made up an excuse right on the spot . . . well, he shuddered when he thought about that. He'd have to be more careful in the future.
And he would.
"Harry! Y/N!"
"Huh?" Harry snapped back to reality to see Hermione staring at him, smiling apologetically. "Sorry—what were you saying, 'Mione?"
"I was saying, wouldn't it be nice to get out of school for a bit and explore Hogsmeade?"
"S'pose it will," said Y/N bitterly. "Fill us in when you've found out, will you?"
"What d'you mean?" said Ron.
"We can't go. The Dursleys didn't sign our permission forms, and Fudge wouldn't either."
Ron looked horrified.
"You're not allowed to come? But—no way—McGonagall or someone will give you permission—"
"Really, Ron?" Harry gave a hollow laugh. Professor McGonagall, head of Gryffindor House, was very strict.
"—or we can ask Fred and George, they know every secret passage out of the castle—"
"Ron!" said Hermione sharply. "I don't think they should sneak out of school with Black on the loose, goodness knows what would happen to them if they ran into him—"
"I'll tell you what would happen," Y/N spat, staring at her feet. "We'd be dead."
"And I'll bet that's what McGonagall will say when we ask for permission," Harry said bitterly.
"But if we're with them," said Ron spiritedly to Hermione, "Black wouldn't dare—"
"Oh, Ron, don't talk rubbish," snapped Hermione. "Black's already murdered a whole bunch of people in the middle of a crowded street. Do you really think he's going to worry about attacking the two of them just because we're there?"
She was fumbling with the straps of Crookshanks's basket as she spoke.
"Don't let that thing out!" Ron said, but too late; Crookshanks leapt lightly from the basket, stretched, yawned, and sprang onto Ron's knees; the lump in Ron's pocket trembled and he shoved Crookshanks away angrily.
"Get out of here!"
"Ron, don't!"
"Will you two just—just quit it, all right?" Y/N asked exasperatedly. "Can you just not go at each other's throats just for a couple of moments?"
Ron and Hermione both looked ashamed, but they reluctantly nodded.
The Hogwarts Express moved steadily north and the scenery outside the window became wilder and darker while the clouds overhead thickened. People were chasing backward and forward past the door of their compartment. Crookshanks had now settled in an empty seat, his squashed face turned toward Ron, his yellow eyes on Ron's top pocket.
At one o' clock, the plump witch with the food cart arrived at the compartment door.
"D'you think we should wake him up?" Ron asked awkwardly, nodding toward Professor Lupin. "He looks like he could do with some food."
Hermione cautiously approached the sleeping professor.
"Er—Professor?" she said. "Excuse me—Professor?"
He didn't move.
"Don't worry, dear," the witch said as she handed Harry a large stack of Cauldron Cakes. "If he's hungry when he wakes, I'll be up front with the driver."
"I suppose he is asleep?" said Ron quietly as the witch slid the compartment door closed. "I mean—he hasn't died, has he?"
"I think we'd know if he was dead, Ron," said Y/N, taking the Cauldron Cake Harry had passed her.
He might not be very good company, but Professor Lupi's presence in their compartment had their uses. Midafternoon, just as it had started to rain, blurring the rolling hills outside the window, they heard footsteps in the corridor again, and their three least favorite people appeared in the door: Draco Malfoy, flanked by his cronies, Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle.
"Well, look who it is," said Malfoy in his usual lazy drawl.
"Leave us alone, Malfoy," Y/N snapped.
"I heard your father got his hands on some gold this summer, Weasley," said Malfoy, ignoring Y/N. "Did your mother die of shock?"
Ron stood up so quickly he knocked Crookshanks's basket to the floor. Professor Lupin gave a snort.
"Who's that?" said Malfoy, taking an automatic step backward as he spotted Lupin.
"New teacher," said Y/N, standing up as she smirked. "What were you saying, Malfoy?"
Malfoy's pale eyes narrowed; he wasn't fool enough to pick a fight right under a teacher's nose.
"C'mon," he muttered resentfully to Crabbe and Goyle, and they disappeared.
Harry, Y/N, and Ron sat down again, Ron massaging his knuckles.
"I'm not going to take any crap from Malfoy this year," he said angrily. "I mean it. If he makes one more crack about our families—any one of our families—I'm going to get hold of his head and—"
He made a violent gesture in midair.
"Ron," hissed Hermione, pointing at Professor Lupin, "be careful . . ."
But Professor Lupin was still fast asleep.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
The rain thickened as the train sped yet farther north; the windows were now a solid, shimmering gray, which gradually darkened until lanterns flickered into life along the corridors and over the luggage racks. The train rattled, the rain hammered, the wind roared, but still, Professor Lupin slept.
"We must be nearly there," said Ron, leaning forward to get a better look at the now completely black window.
The words had barely left him when the train started to slow down.
"Fantastic," said Ron, getting up. "I'm starving, I want to get to the feast . . . ."
"We can't be there yet," said Hermione as she checked her watch.
"So why're we stopping?"
Y/N wished she could answer that question.
The train was getting slower and slower. As the noise of the pistons fell away, the wind and rain sounded louder than ever against the windows.
Y/N, who was nearest the door, got up to look into the corridor. All along the carriage, heads were sticking curiously out of their compartments, all having the same confused expression.
The train came to a stop with a jolt, and distant thuds and bangs told them that luggage had fallen out of racks. Then, without any warning, all the lamps went out and they were plunged into total darkness.
"What's going on?" said Ron's voice from behind Y/N.
"Ouch! Ron, that was my foot!"
Y/N felt her way back to her seat.
"D'you think we've broken down?"
"Dunno . . ."
"It must be serious," Harry commented.
There was a squeaking sound, and Y/N saw the dim black outline of Ron, wiping a patch clean on the window and peering out.
"There's something moving out there," he said. "I think people are coming aboard. . . ."
"Why would people be coming aboard in the middle of nowhere?" Y/N asked.
"I dunno . . ."
The compartment door suddenly opened and someone fell painfully over Y/N's legs.
"Sorry—d'you know what's going on?—Ouch—sorry—"
"Hi, Neville," said Y/N, feeling around in the dark and pulling Neville up by his cloak.
"Y/N? Is that you? What's happening?"
"No idea—sit down—"
There was a loud hissing and a yelp of pain; Neville had tried to sit on Crookshanks.
"I'm going to go and ask the driver what's going on," came Hermione's voice. Y/N felt her pass her, heard the door slide open again, and then a thud and two loud squeals of pain.
"Who's that?"
"Who's that?"
"Ginny?"
"Hermione?"
"What are you doing?"
"I was looking for Ron—"
"Come in and sit down—"
"Not here!" said Y/N hurriedly. "I'm here!"
"Quiet!" said a hoarse voice suddenly.
Professor Lupin seemed to have woken up at last. Y/N could hear movements in his corner. None of them said a word.
There was a soft, crackling noise, and a shivering light filled the compartment. Professor Lupin appeared to be holding a handful of flames. They illuminated his tired, gray face, but his eyes looked alert and wary.
"Stay where you are," he said in the same hoarse voice, and he got slowly to his feet with his handful of fire held out in front of him.
But the door slid slowly open before Lupin could reach it.
Standing in the doorway, illuminated by the shivering flames in Lupin's hand, was a cloaked figure that towered to the ceiling. Its face was completely hidden beneath its hood. Y/N's eyes darted downward, and what she saw made her stomach contract. There was a hand protruding from the cloak and it was glistening, grayish, slimy-looking, and scabbed, like something dead that had decayed in water. . . .
But it was only visible for a split second. As if the creature beneath the cloak sensed Y/N's gaze, the hand was suddenly withdrawn into the folds of its black cloak.
And then the thing beneath the hood, whatever it was, drew a long, slow, rattling breath, as though it were trying to suck something more than air from its surroundings.
An intense cold swept over them all. Y/N felt her own breath catch in her chest. The cold went deeper than her skin. It was like it was inside her chest, inside her very heart. . . .
Her eyes rolled up into her head. She couldn't see. She was drowning in cold. There was a rushing in her ears as though of water. She was being dragged downward, the roaring growing louder. . . .
And then, from far away, she heard screaming, terrible, terrified, pleading screams. She wanted to help whoever it was, but couldn't . . . a thick white fog was swirling around her, inside her—
"Y/N! Y/N! Can you hear me? Are you all right?"
It was Harry's voice, and someone was slapping her face.
"W-what?"
Y/N opened her eyes; there were lanterns above her, and the floor was shaking—the Hogwarts Express was moving again and the lights had come back on. She seemed to have slid out of her sat onto the floor. Harry, Ron, and Hermione were kneeling next to her, and above them she could see Neville and Professor Lupin watching. She suddenly felt very sick; when she reached up to wipe her forehead, she felt cold sweat on her face.
Ron, Hermione, and Harry heaved Y/N back onto her seat.
"Are you okay?" Harry inquired again.
"Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine." Y/N looked quickly toward the door, only to see that the hooded creature had vanished. "What happened? Where's that—that thing? Who was the person that was screaming?"
"I heard two people," Harry said, troubled.
"Nobody screamed, Harry, Y/N," said Ron nervously.
"No one? But—but—I heard—who. . ." Y/N couldn't finish.
A loud snap made them all jump. Professor Lupin was breaking an enormous slab of chocolate into pieces.
"Here," he said to Y/N, handing her and Harry both particularly large slabs. "Eat it. It'll help."
Y/N and Harry took the chocolate, glancing at each other before looking at Professor Lupin.
"What was that thing?" he asked Lupin.
"A dementor," said Lupin, who was now giving chocolate to everyone else. "One of the dementors of Azkaban."
Everyone stared at him. Professor Lupin crumpled up the empty chocolate wrapper and put it in his pocket.
"Eat," he repeated. "It'll help. I need to speak to the driver, excuse me . . ."
He strolled past them both and disappeared into the corridor.
"Are you sure you're okay, you both?" Hermione asked, watching them both anxiously. "Especially you, Y/N, you were out for a longer time than Harry . . ."
"I don't get it. . . ." Y/N replied, not answering her question as she wiped sweat off her face. "What happened?"
"Well—that thing—the dementor—stood there and looked around (I mean, I think it did, I couldn't see its face)—and you—you—"
"I thought you and Harry were having a fit or something," said Ron, who still looked scared. "You both went sort of rigid and fell out of your seats, and then you started twitching like mad—"
"And then Professor Lupin stepped over you, and walked toward the dementor, and pulled out his wand," said Hermione, "and he said, 'None of us is hiding Sirius Black in our cloaks. Go.' But the dementor didn't move, so Lupin muttered something, and a silvery thing shot out of his wand at it, and it turned around and sort of glided away. . . ."
"It was horrible," said Neville, in a higher voice than usual. "Did you feel how cold it got when it came in?"
"I felt weird," said Ron, shifting his soldiers uncomfortably. "Like I'd never be cheerful again. . . ."
Ginny, who was huddled in her corner looking nearly as bad as Y/N felt, gave a small sob; Hermione went over and put a comforting arm around her.
"But none of you—fell off your seats?" Y/N asked awkwardly. "Other than Harry and I?"
"No," said Ron, looking anxiously at Y/N again. "Ginny was shaking like mad, though. . . ."
Y/N didn't understand. She felt weak and shivery, as though she were recovering from a bad bout of flu; she also felt the beginnings of shame. Why had she gone to pieces like that, when nobody else except Harry had? Was she really that weak? That pathetic?
"I haven't poisoned that chocolate, you know. . . ."
Y/N gave a start. She hadn't even noticed Professor Lupin come back into the compartment, and now he was staring at her and Harry with something like a soft smile on his face. Tenderly, she bit into the chocolate and to her surprise felt warmth spread suddenly to the tips of her fingers and toes. Harry also bit the chocolate.
"We'll be at Hogwarts in ten minutes," Professor Lupin told them both. "Are you all right, Harry, Y/N?"
"Fine," Y/N mumbled. Harry just nodded.
They didn't talk much during the remainder of the journey. At long last, the train stopped at Hogsmeade station, and there was a great scramble to get outside; owls hooted, cats meowed, and Neville's pet toad croaked loudly from under his hat. It was freezing on the tiny platform; rain was driving down in icy sheets.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
"Firs' years over this way!" Mateo heard the familiar voice of Hagrid say. He was a new student, yes, but his parents knew who Hagrid was, because they had gone to Hogwarts before. He had spent the last two years at Ilvermony, though.
Hagrid eyed Mateo curiously as he approached the giant along with some tiny first-years. (Well, of course they were tiny, they were first-years!) "Say, yer migh'y tall to be a firs' year . . ."
"Oh, that's because I'm not," Mateo explained quickly. "I'm thirteen—I'm supposed to be in my third year here. I'm—er—Mateo. Mateo Aragron."
"Ah, so yeh'll be Tom and Jadis' son, right?" Hagrid inquired, scratching his beard.
"Yes, that would be me," Mateo answered politely. "You'd be—er—Hagrid, right?"
The giant stared at him with—confusion, was it?—as his movements ceased for a moment, but he continued scratching his beard, a twinkle of something he couldn't place in his eyes. "Yeah, tha'll be me. Yeh'd get into Ravenclaw with those smarts of yers . . ."
Not sure whether Hagrid was sincere or if he was just pulling his leg, Mateo made do with a polite smile. "Thank you?"
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
"Aragon, Mateo!"
"Mateo Aragon?" Harry repeated the name to himself. He'd never heard the name 'Mateo Aragon' before. (Well, of course he hadn't—he was new.) He watched the boy—who looked too old to be a first-year, so he could only assume that he had come here this year—walk up, sit on the stool, and try on the Sorting Hat.
For some reason, he found himself begging for the boy not able to get into Gryffindor. Something pulling at the back of his mind was telling him that this boy could not, under any circumstances, be trusted.
There were a few moments before the hat called out, "Ravenclaw!"
The applause that came from the Ravenclaw table was almost deafening as Mateo, looking—strangely—relieved took off the Sorting Hat, stood up, and walked over to the Ravenclaw table, looking over to the Gryffindor table.
"Did you see that, Y/N?" Hermione almost squealed, her hands over her mouth. "He looked at you?"
'What?'
"What?" Harry and Y/N exclaimed at the same time.
Y/N shook her head immediately. "No, he wasn't, Hermione, he was probably looking at someone else—"
"No, he was looking at you!" Hermione shook her head violently. "He was looking at you, Y/N, I swear!"
"Huh." Y/N shrugged, not having an opinion on the whole thing. "What do you think, Harry?"
Harry was thinking a lot of things, but he didn't figure any of them would be appropriate to say out loud.
'KILL HIM.
KILL HIM.
S H E I S M I N E.'
"Harry!"
"Ow!" Harry had just received a slap to the head from Hermione. Coming back to reality, he shook his head and turned to look at his friends. "What?"
"What do you think?"
"Think about what?"
"Merlin, Harry, were you even paying attention?" Hermione groaned. "She was asking what you thought about Mateo looking at her."
"I don't think he was," Harry responded immediately. He didn't have to put any thought into the response whatsoever.
Ron laughed. "You're just saying that because you're jealous, mate."
Was he? Partially.
He just hoped for Mateo's sake that he was right and the latter hadn't been staring at his girl.
"Oh, don't say that," Y/N protested, turning Harry's attention back to her. She was looking down at her lap, fumbling with her fingers, but he could see the tips of her ears turn red. "I'm sure he's not saying that because he's . . . jealous or anything. . . ."
'But I am,' he wanted to say. But he didn't. With tremendous effort, he kept his mouth shut. He'd do what his father would do in this situation—keep calm and don't scare her way. It wouldn't do any good to rush things now, not when Ron had been so close to uncovering his darkest secret just hours prior. No, if Harry rushed things now, it would ruin everything. No matter how much he wanted to skip to the marriage process already, he had to form a plan logically.
'Hermione would be so proud of me for using logic to solve my problems.'
Tuning out Dumbledore's speech, he hummed dreamily under his breath as he rested his chin on his palm, already thinking about ways he could get rid of Mateo, occasionally snapping back to reality to clap for Hagrid and Lupin before drifting back into his imagination to scheme. There were so many ways he could get rid of Mateo—and something at the back of his mind told him that Mateo would have to be eliminated lethally. Allowing his mind to drift into a part of his consciousness that had never been there before—or maybe it had always been there, maybe he'd just never had the chance to explore it before—he stared into space, thinking. Only when Y/N nudged him did he snap back to reality.
"Harry!"
"H-huh? What?"
"Are you not hungry?"
'Oh.' Harry looked at the table to see that food was now there. Helping himself to some food (he did need it, after all), he chewed slowly, trying to make it seem like he was interested in the conversation the other three were having. Over the summer, he'd learned to have half of his focus on the conversation while the other half of his focus was trying to figure out ways to dispose of threats.
After finishing dinner and congratulating Hagrid, Harry found himself in the boys' dormitory of Gryffindor Tower. But he didn't feel at home like he usually did. He felt . . . unhappy. Angry. Bitter. Resentful.
Right then, he knew what he had to do. He knew what he was going to do.
Harry was going to murder Mateo.
That would teach him to not look at things that weren't his, right?