Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or any of the characters in the Harry Potter series.

Recognizable portions from this chapter have been taken from Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, by J.K. Rowling.

Chapter 5: The Return to Hogwarts

Previously, on The Marauders' Return…

'Miss Suzie is very sad about Master Bones' death,' said Binky morosely from near his knee. 'She misses him greatly, but rarely speaks about it to anyone. Poor Miss Suzie…' He shook his head slowly, his large ears flapping about.

Harry looked at Binky in surprise. 'Wait, she rarely speaks about it to anyone? How come?'

'Oh it was horrible, sirs,' said Binky as they walked inside his room. 'Very horrible, and she saw all of it, poor Miss Suzie… A little girl she was, and she saw everything.'

His self-control crumbled; curiosity got the better of Harry. 'What happened? Was it Vol – sorry!' he amended hastily, as Binky almost jumped in fright, breathing heavily. 'Was it his doing?'

It took Binky a good minute to calm down from the shock and fright of almost hearing Voldemort's name out loud, but he refused to elaborate on the subject even after that. After a number of attempts at coaxing out the information from the elf, Harry finally gave up; he shooed Binky out of the room, insisting that he needed his rest. He was so tired, he collapsed onto his bed without changing his clothes or removing his glasses, rolled right over and promptly fell asleep.

The three of them were early – as early as he and the Weasleys had been late for the train the year before. The clock on platform nine and three-quarters showed a time of quarter past ten on that overcast Wednesday morning of September first. Having received an urgent summons from the Ministry earlier in the morning, Madam Bones had decided to drop Harry and Susan at the platform earlier than usual, before reporting to her office.

The platform appeared deserted when they arrived through the barrier from King's Cross Station. Smoke from the idling scarlet engine of the Hogwarts Express permeated over the platform; the three of them covered their mouths to avoid choking on it as they made way down to one of the carriages in the middle of the train. After stowing their trunks in a compartment, the two teenagers jumped back onto the platform to say their goodbyes to Madam Bones.

'Now, you be safe this year, alright?' said Madam Bones. 'Don't do anything stupid, and don't go looking for any trouble.'

'We'll be fine, Auntie, don't worry,' said Susan as she hugged her Aunt.

'Thanks for letting me stay this summer, Madam Bones,' said Harry politely. He made to shake the older woman's hand, but Madam Bones surprised him with a warm, loving hug. He could not remember being hugged like this before…as though by a mother.

'I'm glad I did so, Harry,' she said kindly as she stepped back. 'I hope you enjoyed yourself?'

'Oh yes, definitely!' said Harry enthusiastically. 'This has been my best summer till date, Madam Bones, thank you so much.'

She gave him another kind smile. Her expression quickly became serious, however, just before she turned to go.

'Remember, both of you,' she said sternly. 'Don't do anything that could attract anyone's attention. You remember what Professor Fernandes said – it would be best if your skills and abilities are kept under wraps for the time being. Understood?'

She made sure the two of them gave their word that they wouldn't openly display their abilities in public, and would only practice in secret, before striding out of the platform through the barrier. The two of them then boarded the train and headed to their compartment.

'Hang on,' whispered Harry suddenly. Susan, who was ahead of him, had been about to unlock the door of their compartment; she turned and gave him a curious look, her hand still outstretched towards the door handle.

'Wha – Harry, no!' hissed Susan. Harry, in the time Susan had paused and turned around to look at him, had stretched out his own hand to unlock the door. The palm of his right hand was facing outwards, away from him, and within a moment, the tell-tale sound of the lock clicking open met their ears. Harry dropped his arm and grinned at Susan; she, however, was not pleased.

'Harry, you heard Auntie!' she scolded him as they entered the compartment together, Susan now manually locking the door. 'We mustn't use our abilities in public! What were you thinking?'

'There was no one there, Su,' said Harry defensively, sitting down opposite the auburn-haired girl, who had now crossed her arms across her chest, a scowl on her face. 'Besides, your hand was almost on the handle anyway, people wouldn't have been able to tell the difference if they had seen me.'

Susan glared at him, obviously unimpressed with his excuse. Harry sighed.

'Alright, alright' he conceded. 'I promise, no more public displays until we get the go-ahead from Professor Fernandes.'

She brightened up after that. They chatted about nonsensical things for another five minutes, after which Susan insisted that she wanted to read the book she'd brought from the Bones' Mansion. After a good deal of rummaging through her bag, she extracted a rather worn-out copy of Jane Eyre. As she settled down to read, Harry slid over to the window and looked outside.

Platform Nine and Three Quarters was slowly becoming the crowded place that Harry had walked onto for the first time, two years ago. Of course, with half an hour left for the train to depart, it wasn't as packed as it had been then, but there were still a fair number of excited students and anxious parents who Harry could make out – albeit with some slight difficulty, owing to the smoke issuing from the engine in front.

He could just make out Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas – his fellow Gryffindors – heaving their trunks onto one of the carriages in front and disappearing from view. They reappeared, trunk-less, after a short while, and headed towards Seamus' mother to say goodbye. Closer to his carriage, he spotted another of his Gryffindor year-mates, Neville Longbottom, standing next to an old woman – through the growing throng, he could discern her wrinkled face and a hat topped with what looked like a stuffed vulture.

A sudden thought struck Harry, and he glanced back at Susan. She appeared to be completely engrossed in her book. He smiled inwardly – he knew he shouldn't be doing what he was going to do, but the opportunity to test it was too good to pass up.

He stood up and moved towards the door. 'I'm just going to go and wait for Ron and Hermione outside,' he said, which wasn't a lie – he was, eventually, going to wait for Ron and Hermione outside on the platform. Susan didn't seem to have heard him; if she did, she gave no acknowledgement to what he said, even as Harry stepped out of the compartment, down the corridor and out on to the platform.

The crowd had increased substantially all of a sudden – Harry found it difficult to manoeuvre between the mass of bodies to the other side of the platform. He finally ducked behind a pillar at the far end of the platform, making sure that no one could actually see him. He was especially careful to ensure that he wasn't in Susan's line of sight – he was sure she wouldn't be pleased to see what he was about to do.

Harry looked at the wall in front of him. The bricks were of a reddish-brown colour, and at first sight, didn't seem extraordinary at all. He, however, was least interested in what was visible to naked eye. He glanced around once more; no one seemed to paying him any attention. He closed his eyes, placed his hand on the wall, and slowly ran it across the bricks.

For the first few seconds, nothing happened. Harry continued running his hand across the wall, concentrating, focusing… He'd done it before, just like the Professor had instructed them… It shouldn't be this difficult… He clenched his eyes tighter, now breathing heavily as he forced every bit of himself to concentrate on the wall…

'C'mon,' he muttered quietly, his teeth gritted. 'Come on…' And then –

A mixture of satisfaction, accomplishment and relief washed over him, just as he opened his eyes to stare at the brick wall. Only that, instead of its usual reddish-brown colour, it now resembled a small child's painting canvas. The wall was splashed with numerous colours – blue, red, yellow and orange, interspersed with a splatter of green and violet. Harry could even see a bit of pink in between the red and yellow patches.

He grinned broadly, elated with his success. No one seemed to have noticed him either, which was a good thing. It would have been a fine sight indeed – Harry Potter running his hand over the wall and smiling at nothing in particular.

Not a soul was supposed to know that he was able to detect Magical Imprints…

Fourteen days earlier – Wednesday, August 18, 1993

'Magical Imprints,' intoned Professor Fernandes in his deep voice. 'Ever heard of them?'

They were in the Duelling Room after lunch. Harry and Susan were seated on beanbags, looking up at Professor Bernard Fernandes, who was slowly pacing in front of them. A black-board stood behind him, the term 'Magical Imprints' written on it.

Harry shook his head, but Susan nodded.

'Ah yes,' said Professor Fernandes knowingly. 'I thought as much. Did Amelia tell you?'

'Err, not really,' replied Susan. 'I overheard her talking to Moody about something, and she kept mentioning the term Magical Imprints. I don't know what it means, though.'

She looked slightly sheepish at having to admit that she'd eavesdropped on what Madam Bones termed as 'extremely important Ministry information.' Professor Fernandes, however, seemed unperturbed by this.

'Ah,' he said again. 'Very well, then.'

He paused in his pacing, seemingly lost in thought as he gazed at the space above Harry and Susan's heads. Harry had the impression that Professor Fernandes was trying to figure out how best to explain this new concept to the pair of them.

Suddenly, without warning, Professor Fernandes drew his wand from his robes, turned towards the dummies at the other side of the room, and yelled 'Expelliarmus!'

A jet of scarlet light shot out of Professor Fernandes' wand, and hit the first dummy straight in the centre of the painted target. For an old man of two hundred and fifty-seven, the power generated by him was quite impressive – the dummy was knocked clean off its feet on the spell's impact and crashed against the wall with a loud clang.

The Professor turned back to them. 'Now, what colour was that spell?' he asked, as though this was a routine occurrence in his class.

'Red,' they chimed in chorus.

Professor Fernandes nodded, then walked over to the desk next to the bookshelf to extract from his suitcase a pair of what appeared to be swimming goggles to Harry. He walked over to the dummy, beckoning them to follow him.

'Now, put on these goggles and tell me what you see,' he said, pointing at the fallen, almost destroyed dummy. Harry put on the goggles first, looked down, and gave an involuntary gasp of surprise.

The area where the spell had hit the dummy was pulsing a vivid red, as though someone had splashed some blood onto it, and then enchanted the blood to glow menacingly. He looked up at Professor Fernandes, his amazed expression framed by the thick, dark goggles, and what he saw almost made him stumble backwards in shock.

The room was glowing. There were splashes of colour – everywhere. Vivid red just like the one on the dummy, soft pink, dark blue, pale turquoise, and, with a jolt of horrible familiarity, a patch of poisonous green on the wall just behind Professor Fernandes.

Harry ripped the goggles off his face, only just realizing that he'd been breathing heavily as he stared wildly around the room.

'What was that?' he gasped at Professor Fernandes. Behind him, he heard a squeak of surprise – Susan had grabbed the goggles and had seen what Harry saw on the dummy.

'A Magical Imprint,' said Professor Fernandes simply, taking the goggles back from Susan and slipping it into a pocket of his robes. 'The remnants of a spell, if it is to be crudely described. Just like how each spell has its own distinctive colour, each of them have their own Imprint. Think of it as the fingerprint of a spell, if you will.'

He began to pace again in front of them. Harry was still breathing heavily, still in shock at the multitude of colours that were splayed around the walls. Professor Fernandes continued.

'Magical Imprints, like fingerprints, are permanent – they never change,' he said. 'Every Imprint tells the story of a spell that was cast. They do fade, however, but very slowly. Extremely slowly, actually. Most Imprints stay for as long as fifty years.'

Harry and Susan had calmed down sufficiently now, and were listening to every word of his with rapt attention. 'The concept is fairly simple. When a spell is cast – like the Disarming Charm just there – an Imprint is formed upon contact with a physical, tangible object. In this case, it was the dummy. After the initial impact, most of the Imprint is formed on that particular object. But,' he raised his finger, and Harry knew he was making an important point just then, 'the Imprint is also formed in the area around the object, particularly right beneath the object itself.

'Susan, could you please raise the dummy a little?' he asked kindly. Susan drew her wand from her jeans, pointed it at the dummy, and said, 'Wingardium Leviosa!'

The dummy rose to the air and floated, its metal limbs still grotesquely spread out as a result of the crash. Harry looked around at Professor Fernandes, who was now digging the goggles back out of his pocket. He handed them to Harry, indicating that he should put them on again. With a slight bit of trepidation at what he thought was about to see, Harry donned the goggles again and looked down at the floor below the floating dummy.

This time, however, it was less of a shock, and more of an odd feeling of disgust at the sight. The floor was pulsing with the same vivid red colour, exactly like the splash on the dummy, and precisely where it had been at the time of impact. But that wasn't the only one. Here and there were splotches and blotches of colour, not unlike the ones splayed across the walls of the Duelling Room. Most of these seemed to be near the area where the dummies stood, while a fair few were on the other side of the room. Harry could recognise some of the spells he and Susan had cast – which had either hit their mark or hit the floor – during their other sessions.

'You recognise the red colour, don't you?' asked Professor Fernandes, waving his wand so that the dummy remained floating in the air; Susan lowered her wand and took the goggles from Harry to have a look. 'It's the same, the exact same colour as the one on the dummy. Not the same dimensions of course, but almost similar, don't you think?' They both nodded, Susan still wearing the goggles and looking around the floor interestedly.

'These Imprints,' continued Professor Fernandes, taking the goggles back from Susan and lowering the dummy back to the floor, 'are extremely useful for the Ministry of Magic. They form a crucial part of the evidence collected by Aurors when they investigate a scene. Something you would have overheard from your Aunt,' he added with a nod towards Susan. 'If I'm not mistaken, they would have been determining which spells were cast at that scene, and at what time. It takes a certain bit of skill and experience, however, to ascertain when the spell actually hit – not something that can be done on your first day.'

They moved back to the beanbags and the blackboard; behind them, there was a loud POP as the mangled dummy vanished, only to be replaced by a completely repaired dummy, looking as though nothing had ever happened.

The lesson continued for another quarter of an hour – Professor Fernandes had them casting a variety of spells at the dummies one by one, and putting on the goggles to identify the colours splattered on the dummies and the area around them. Harry tried the Tickling Charm ('Rictusempra!'), the Dancing Feet Spell ('Tarantallegra!'), and the Disarming Charm, at which he had become, in Professor Fernandes' words, 'particularly impressive'.

Despite the distraction of the workout, and the concentration that was required of them to cast and identify the spells, Harry couldn't help thinking back to a little while earlier when he'd first observed the Duelling Room through the goggles. The patch of poisonous green which he'd spotted on the wall next to the dummies kept invading his mind – it was too familiar for him to drive it away. He knew he'd seen that shade of green before, but try as he might, he just could not remember…

Present day – Wednesday, September 1, 1993

The colours that grotesquely decorated the brick wall in front of him slowly faded away, leaving only the reddish brown tint behind. Harry let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding, as the memories of his first ever class on Magical Imprints played before his eyes.

The green, he thought desperately, where have I seen that green before?

About thirty seconds later, Harry decided to give it up – his mind and memory were refusing to cooperate with him. He heaved an irritated sigh through his mouth, dislodging the dust on the wall in front of him and making him cough. Hastily trying to cover the sound with his upper arm over his mouth – lest anyone see him lurking behind a pillar for no apparent reason – Harry slipped out into the sizeable crowd that was now swarming the platform.

Fifteen minutes to eleven, said the giant clock hanging at the front of platform nine and three-quarters, its hands partially obscured by the smoke that was now swirling from the scarlet steam engine of the Hogwarts Express. Harry found himself buffeted by the crowd as he made his way over to the carriage where he'd left Susan behind. His desire at placing himself at the far end of the platform – so that Susan could not see what he was doing – was a decision he was half-heartedly regretting at the moment; he was forced into doing spins and twirls in order to avoid colliding with people – actions that would certainly have not looked out of place on his Nimbus 2000 at the Quidditch Pitch.

He was almost near the carriage when he realised that he'd given Susan the excuse that he wanted to look out for Ron and Hermione when they arrived. A perfectly plausible excuse – except for the fact that he had not seen two best friends at all.

At least, until that moment.

'Harry! Hey, Harry!'

There he was: tall and gangly for his age, Ron stood next to the second carriage in front of Harry's, waving his arm frantically at him, a wide grin threatening to split his face, and his red hair barely discernible in the smog that was now slowly permeating all over the platform.

Harry grinned broadly, and made his way over to Ron. From up close, he noticed that Ron's face had become, if possible, even frecklier. He'd also shot up quite a bit – but the effect was considerably lessened by Harry's own growth spurt over the summer. The extra helpings at meals, and the restorative potions provided by Tom, during his stay at the Leaky Cauldron, had ensured that Harry was quite close to becoming a healthy, good looking thirteen year-old boy.

It was only then that he noticed that the rest of the Weasleys were there as well. Tall, balding Mr Weasley was staring around as though looking for someone – but a second later, he realised the look on the older man's face as that of someone who was dearly looking to avoid being drawn into a conversation that they had no interest in joining.

Exactly what that conversation was about became quite clear just another second later, as he heard the rather loud voice of plump little Mrs Weasley as she berated her twin sons – Fred and George – for something they had done. No doubt another prank of theirs, as Fred and George did not appear to be the least ashamed of themselves. On the contrary, they seemed to be quite proud of whatever they'd achieved – identical, small grins gracing their faces despite the scoldings of their mother.

'…completely irresponsible, the two of you!' Mrs Weasley was saying, an angry glint in her eyes.

'Calm down, Mum,' placated Fred – or was it George? Harry had always had trouble in identifying the twins – in what he hoped was a soothing voice. 'It's a simple charm, it'll go off after –'

'Go off?' repeated Mrs Weasley sharply, her eyes narrowing. 'He's not waiting until it goes off – you put it right this instant!'

'What did they do?' muttered Harry to Ron as he sidled up to him. Ron smirked.

'Charmed Percy's Head Boy badge to read 'Bighead Boy',' sniggered Ron, careful to avoid having his mother's indignation directed towards him. 'Shame, really. No one else pointed it out except his girlfriend,' Ron grimaced, as though it was something of a foreign concept to him, 'Penelope Clearwater.'

Percy Weasley was Ron's third eldest brother – after Bill and Charlie, who Harry had never met – who was due to start his final year at Hogwarts this year, and had been appointed as Head Boy. Harry had not interacted with him much, but he appeared to be someone who was a stickler for following the rules, and maintaining a sense of order and decorum at any given occasion. Tampering with his badge like that would have probably embarrassed Percy a great deal – something which, he was sure, was Fred and George's intended goal.

A movement from his right caught his eye, and he saw Ginny Weasley descend onto the platform from the carriage behind her and make her way to join the rest of her family. She was panting slightly – Harry surmised that she had been lugging her trunk through the corridors of the carriage to their compartment.

Egypt seemed to have done her a lot of good – she was as freckly as Ron, but she looked refreshed and relaxed – the holiday evidently alleviating the pressures and stress of her turbulent first year. She'd let her long, fiery hair down, which fell to just below her shoulders, instead of the ponytail she'd usually sported last year at Hogwarts. Her brown eyes, which he remembered being so lost and confused, were now sparkling, and full of life.

Suddenly, as though aware that someone was observing her, Ginny turned to look at Harry from her position next to her father. 'Harry!' she exclaimed happily, a big grin on her face as she walked towards him and Ron.

'Ginny,' he said, grinning back at her. He was relieved to see that she was not blushing or getting embarrassed merely at the sight of him anymore; it looked like she had really gotten over her crush on him, and was now nothing more than a good friend.

Ginny's shout had drawn the attention of the rest of the Weasley family to Harry's presence; soon, Harry found himself being crushed by a hug from Mrs Weasley, a genial handshake from Mr Weasley, a rather formal greeting from Percy, and the usual vigorous salutations from Fred and George.

'Harry, old boy!' said Fred, who'd elbowed Percy out of the way and was shaking Harry's hand heartily. 'How absolutely marvellous to see you!'

'Simply spiffing!' said George, who pushed his twin out of the way and wrung Harry's hand delightedly.

'Fred, George,' acknowledged Harry, as he tried not to laugh at their antics. Trust the twins to cheer anybody up with their jokes and comments. 'Looks like Egypt agreed with you two.'

And it had – Fred and George, who had been shorter and stockier than Percy or Ron, now looked to be as tall as their immediately elder brother. Just like the rest of the family, their faces had only become more freckled – but rather than becoming like pockmarks on their visage, it added to their mischievous looks and smirks.

Harry made a mental note never to give either of them a reason to prank him at all that year.

'Indeed,' said Fred, in an imitation of a deep baritone.

'You looked like you did good this summer too, Harry,' said George, looking him up and down. 'You're almost as tall as Ron!'

'Our ickle Harrikins,' said Fred proudly, 'growing up so fast.' He wiped a fake tear from the corner of his eye.

'Alas, 'tis true, brother mine!' George gave a huge fake sigh. 'Soon he will be old enough to –'

'That's enough, you two!' snapped Mrs Weasley. 'Oh, Harry dear,' she said, in a much calmer voice as she addressed the boy in question. 'I hope your summer was good?'

'Very good, Mrs Weasley,' replied Harry, with a broad grin.

He barely had a chance to continue the conversation, however; there were only five minutes left for the Hogwarts Express to depart. Mrs Weasley hugged him once again, her eyes oddly bright, before shepherding him and the rest of the Weasley children onto the train.

'Hang on,' said Harry right before he got into the carriage. 'Where's Hermione?'

Right on cue, as though fate had decided to answer his question, he spotted his second best friend hurtling through the barrier that separated platform nine and three-quarters from the Muggle world. The contents of her trolley – her Hogwarts trunk and a small wickerwork basket – rattled as she pushed it in front of her, running as fast as she could to their carriage. Harry leapt down from the carriage onto the platform, just as she pulled up, her face red and sweaty.

'Harry!' she panted, rubbing her side to get rid of what seemed like a stitch. 'Got – stuck – jam –'

'Explain later, Hermione!' he said hurriedly, and with surprising strength, lifted her trunk straight up with both hands and clambered onto the train. Hermione, still clutching her side, followed him, the wickerwork basket in her hands, just as a shrill blast of a whistle rang throughout the platform.

With a shudder, the train began to move forward; Hermione, who was standing without holding onto any support, lost her balance and almost fell over, but Harry managed to catch her just in time, and set her on her two feet once again.

'Thanks,' she said breathlessly. She gave a moan of pain, and bent over to get rid of the stitch.

'Easy, Hermione,' said Harry, patting her back. 'C'mon, let's get to the compartment.'

He began hauling her trunk down the corridor, looking around for Ron – or any tell-tale sign of red hair. Hermione followed him, the basket still held tightly in her hands. Harry noticed that whatever was inside was emitting some hissing noises; he half wondered if Hermione had actually gotten a snake as a pet, but then, the thing inside let out a pitiful mewing sound.

'It's alright, Crookshanks, I'll let you out soon,' said Hermione soothingly.

'Crookshanks?' asked Harry in a puzzled tone, as they proceeded down the corridor.

'He's a cat,' said Hermione, as though that explained everything. 'I got him from Magical Menagerie at Diagon Alley. Poor Crookshanks, the witch there said that no one had ever wanted him.'

From the angry hissing noises that Crookshanks was emitting once more, Harry privately thought he understood why no one had bothered to buy a cat like that, but he wisely kept his mouth shut and did not comment.

They finally found Ron in the last compartment of that carriage – but he wasn't alone. Harry stared at the man sitting fast asleep next to the window. His light brown hair was flecked with strands of grey, and his face – or at least what Harry could see of his face – was prematurely lined. It gave the man the appearance of being much older than he actually was. Harry dimly noted that his robes were shabby too – they were darned in a number of places. The man looked ill and exhausted, as though he'd just stepped on the train after running a full marathon.

Harry glanced at Hermione, who glanced at Ron, who shrugged. 'Everywhere else was full,' he whispered, motioning them to come in.

Harry stopped at the threshold, suddenly remembering that he'd first boarded the train with Susan. She was probably wondering where he'd gone. 'I've already got a compartment,' he said, beckoning Ron to grab his own trunk and exit the compartment. 'It's about two carriages down – Susan's there.'

'Really?' asked Hermione interestedly. 'You came with her? I thought you were with Ron.'

Harry, who'd been in the process of manoeuvring his trunk out in the slightly narrow corridor, looked at her in surprise. 'Whatever gave you that idea?'

'Well, I heard from Ron that you'd blown up your Aunt or something –'

'I didn't tell him!' said Harry quickly. 'I don't even know how he found out.' He looked back at Ron, who'd managed to pull his trunk down from the luggage rack above the seats, and was dragging it out of the compartment with the least amount of noise. 'How did you know I blew up my Aunt?'

'You're not saying you actually did blow up your Aunt!' said Hermione, shocked. 'I thought Ron was joking!'

'Dad,' said Ron simply, ignoring Hermione for the moment. 'I think Fudge might have told him – word spreads pretty quickly in the Ministry if you want it to, anyway.'

Harry nodded. As a Ministry employee, Mr Weasley was bound to have found out about the incident, even if he wasn't directly in the department that responded to the situation. The Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office only dealt with objects that wizards charmed to affect Muggles, and not necessarily charms placed on Muggles themselves.

'Harry…' began Hermione.

'I'll tell you in a bit, Hermione,' he said, moving down the corridor to the end of the carriage. Harry could see the last few urban structures flash past in the windows, and knew they were just about to exit London itself. Sure enough, by the time they crossed over to the next carriage, the high-rise buildings had made way for farmhouses dotted on the landscape of large green fields.

The two carriage journey took a bit longer than expected, owing to the fact that there were plenty of students moving about in the solitary corridor that ran the length of the train. The three of them had already run into Dean, Seamus, Lavender and Parvati, who'd stepped out of their compartment to look for Fay and Christine, their fellow Gryffindors. Further down the carriage, they exchange pleasantries with Anthony Goldstein, their year-mate in Ravenclaw House who they'd interacted with a few times during their Charms lessons at Hogwarts.

'Where have you been?' asked Susan, as Harry opened the door to the compartment and stepped inside. He could detect a faint worried tone in her voice, something that surprised him. Surely she hadn't thought that he'd missed the train?

'I went to find Ron and Hermione, I told you,' explained Harry, after shoving Hermione's trunk up onto the luggage rack next to his. He then turned to help Ron with his own, before flopping onto the seat next to Ron, while Hermione sat next to Susan. 'It's not my fault you got engrossed in Jane Eyre.'

'Jane Eyre?' Hermione perked up at this, looking sideways at Susan with surprise. 'You read Muggle literature?'

Susan eyed him suspiciously, but accepted his explanation without question, before turning to Hermione. 'Auntie has always encouraged me to read Muggle literature, so that we can understand how they live. Jane Eyre is one of my favourites.'

Hermione clapped her hands enthusiastically. 'That's wonderful, it's one of my favourites as well!' And with that, the two girls began an excited discussion about the book and its characters, all but ignoring the two boys.

Harry and Ron looked at each other, and sighed. 'A game of chess, then?' suggested Harry.

'I'm glad you asked,' said Ron, a relieved look on his face. 'I was half afraid that you were going to join them in the discussion.'

Harry grinned at Ron. 'I've already had this discussion with Susan, I just don't want to participate in it once more.'

Ron gaped at him, but Harry paid him no mind as he pulled out his wizard's chess board and his own pieces.

'What exactly did you do this summer, Harry?' asked Ron, still looking at him in amazement.

Harry gave him a mysterious smile. 'You'd be surprised at how much you could accomplish in the space of three weeks, Ron.'

It was at least a good three hours later when Hermione and Susan finished their dissection of Charlotte Bronte's masterpiece, by which time Harry had lost, rather spectacularly, in three chess matches to Ron. They were packing the pieces away – Harry slightly grumpier than Ron after his losses – when the door to the compartment slid open, and the witch pushing the food trolley looked inside.

'Anything off the trolley, dears?' she asked kindly.

Harry quickly bought some Pumpkin Pasties, Chocolate Frogs, Cauldron Cakes, and a rather large box of Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans, his slightly sour mood at losing three matches in a row to Ron dissipating at the realization that he was extremely hungry. He brought everything back into the compartment and tipped it onto an empty seat, whereupon Ron immediately seized a Chocolate Frog, ripped open the wrapping, bit off the head, and sat back with a relieved sigh.

'Hungry, are you?' asked Susan as she picked up a Cauldron Cake for herself.

'Famished,' replied Ron, his mouth still full of chocolate.

It was a few minutes later that Harry remembered something, which the witch pushing the food trolley reminded him off. He had never seen any other adult on the Hogwarts Express before – granted, he'd only travelled on it three times before this – but he was pretty sure the train was reserved for students. So, after swallowing a particularly tasty Bean he'd picked out from the box, he turned to Ron.

'Who was that man?' asked Harry; when Ron looked a bit confused, he elaborated, 'The man who was in the compartment you'd picked out.'

Before Ron could answer, however, Hermione said, 'Professor R. J. Lupin.'

Harry gaped at her.

'It was on his case,' she said, with the tiniest hint of exasperation. 'Honestly, don't you two look?'

'I was a bit surprised to see the man, to be honest,' said Harry defensively, and it was true.

'Err – what's going on?' asked Susan, clearly lost. Harry quickly filled her in on who they'd seen sleeping in the compartment two carriages ahead.

'Are adults allowed on the Hogwarts Express?' asked Harry interestedly, after he'd finished. 'I thought it was reserved for students only.'

Everyone looked at Hermione, who looked thoughtful for a moment. 'I'm…not sure, to be honest,' she said slowly. 'There's nothing mentioned about the Express in Hogwarts: A History –'

'A tragedy if I ever saw one,' interjected Ron, with a grin at Harry.

'– but I'm sure there must be something in the Hogwarts library about it,' finished Hermione, glaring at Ron. 'In any case, the witch with the lunch trolley is allowed, isn't she?'

'That's what I thought,' said Harry. 'She reminded me of Professor Lupin's presence.' He suddenly grinned. 'Imagine if she wasn't, though. A tragedy if I ever saw one, right Ron?'

Ron smirked at him. 'Touché, Harry.'

The green fields and farms outside disappeared as they ate their way through the Cakes, Pasties, Beans and Frogs; the train was now passing through woods, crossing over twisting rivers, and zooming past dark green hills. Harry, chewing on his third Pasty, looked outside interestedly at the scenery, just as the clouds overhead began to thicken ominously. In what seemed like no time, the sky had darkened so much that the lanterns in the corridors and above the luggage racks flickered into life.

As the train zipped along, small droplets of water began to land on the windows – which then became larger and larger as the rain increased in its intensity, hammering down on the train and obscuring the scenery outside. Harry turned away from the window, and found that everyone else had finished with their lunch as well. Hermione, ever the organized one, was moving the empty wrappings and boxes to a corner of the compartment. Susan was gazing out the window, despite the near-zero visibility, lost in thought.

Harry saw Ron fumbling a bit in his chest pocket with what looked like a large lump; a second later, he'd pulled Scabbers, his pet rat, who seemed to be snoozing peacefully.

'What's with him?' asked Harry, gesturing at Scabbers, who he noticed was looking thinner than usual. As he looked closer, Harry could see a definite droop to his whiskers.

'He's been like that ever since we got back from Egypt,' said Ron with a slightly worried look. 'I don't think he liked the place that much.'

Hermione, meanwhile, was fumbling with the straps of the basket; finally managing to get it open, she removed the lid, and lifted out her cat, Crookshanks. The cat had thick, fluffy, ginger fur, but it was bow-legged and had a grumpy looking face, which, for some reason, also seemed oddly squashed – as though it had run headfirst into a brick wall.

Crookshanks began hissing quite fiercely as soon as he spotted Scabbers, much to the alarm of both Ron and Hermione. The latter grabbed him tightly around the middle – and it was a good thing she did too; the cat had been readying himself to pounce on the sleeping rat, who was as yet oblivious to the danger around him.

'Where did you get him?' hissed Ron fearfully, as he shoved roughly Scabbers back in his pocket. Crookshanks' yellow eyes were fixed on the pocket, as though evaluating the best time to pounce on Scabbers.

'Diagon Alley,' said Hermione, who looked a little worried. 'I think I'll put him back inside now.'

'Yeah, that's probably a good idea,' said Susan. She helped Hermione in placing Crookshanks back in the wickerwork basket and securing its straps. Crookshanks meowed rather pitifully.

'Sorry, Crookshanks,' said Hermione through the wickerwork. 'As much as I love you, I can't have you eating Ron's rat. I'll let you out at Hogwarts, all right?'

The tension that had arisen in the compartment at Crookshanks' readiness to presumably swallow Scabbers slowly eased out. The rain, however, did not let up one bit; sheets and sheets of it continued to hammer on the train as it sped further north towards the Scottish Highlands. Harry could dimly make out the rolling hills fading away, with bare, grim-looking moors appearing in their place.

Susan's voice broke into his thoughts. 'How was Egypt, Ron?'

'Brilliant!' said Ron happily, glad for a change in topic. 'We got to see Bill after ages, I hadn't seen him since the summer after he graduated from Hogwarts. My eldest brother,' he added, seeing the slightly confused look on Susan's face. 'He works as a curse-breaker for Gringotts' branch in Cairo.'

'I thought you said you went to Giza?' asked Hermione.

'Technically, we didn't go to Giza. Not the city, anyway. We visited the Giza Plateau – you know, the one with the pyramids and the Sphinx and all.' The other three nodded in understanding; Harry vaguely remembered a history lesson in his primary school regarding Egypt and the Pyramids of Giza. 'Bill's main job is to help in breaking the curses those old pharaohs placed on their tombs. Some of them are pretty gruesome, mind you – one of them had mutant skeletons in them, Muggles who'd broken in for digging out some gold and had grown extra limbs and stuff.'

Harry remembered Ron mentioning this in the letter he'd received for his birthday in July. He tuned out the conversation for a bit as Ron went on about the horrific curses on the Egyptian tombs, but re-focused as the Sphinx became the topic of conversation.

'No one really knows who made it, and when it was made, do they?' asked Hermione interestedly. 'I mean, there are so many conspiracy theories floating about –'

'What are you on about?' asked Susan, nonplussed. 'Conspiracy theories on when it was made? And by who? Surely you've read about Egyptian wizards, Hermione!'

The bushy-haired Gryffindor blushed scarlet, and mumbled something that sounded like, 'Not really.'

Harry stared at her. So did Ron. Never had they known Hermione to have not read a book, especially on a topic as fascinating as this.

'You're joking, right?' asked Ron, incredulity spreading over his face. 'I mean, everyone knows that it was built for the Pharaoh Khafra, the ancient Egyptian wizard! He even had a pet Sphinx, didn't you know?'

The compartment door slid open, and a drawling voice spoke, 'Well, well, Weasley knows something that Granger doesn't? That's an unprecedented situation, to say the least!'

Harry did not even need to turn his head to identify the owner of that voice. He gave a mental groan as he looked around and saw the pale, pointed face of his school rival, Draco Malfoy, standing just outside the compartment, his lips curved into a malicious, sarcastic smirk. His two bodyguards, Crabbe and Goyle, stood behind him, waiting to do his bidding.

'What do you want, Malfoy?' asked Harry.

Malfoy ignored him, and turned to Ron.

'Seven hundred galleons, eh, Weasley? Did you mother die of shock at seeing so much gold?'

Ron stood up so fast he almost banged his head against the luggage rack above him. Harry stood up too, just in case he needed to hold Ron back from punching Malfoy, despite how tempting the idea was. The girls were watching Malfoy carefully – Harry dimly noted, out of the corner of his eye, that Susan had drawn her wand.

All of a sudden, there was a shudder as the train began to slow down. The seven of them looked around at the window outside – which wasn't telling much, as it was completely blackened by the rain outside. Susan, who was closest to the window, tried rubbing a patch on the window clean, so that she could peer outside.

'We can't be there yet,' said Malfoy with a sneer. 'What do you expect you could see outside, Bones?' Susan ignored him, still staring outside, her breath fogging the glass.

'Why are we stopping then?' asked Harry.

The train came to a stop with a jolt; loud bangs and thuds told them that various trunks and cases had fallen out of the racks above; Ron narrowly avoided getting hit by Harry's trunk as it slid out and thudded to the floor. And then, without warning, all the lamps went out, plunging the entire train into total darkness.

For a moment, no one moved, or made a sound. The rain hammering onto the roof and windows of the train was louder than ever, especially since the sound of the train's pistons had died out. Oddly, Harry could also sense a faint whistling noise coming from somewhere in the compartment; a second later, he realised it was coming from his trunk on the floor.

'What's happening?' asked Malfoy, who was still standing at the door to the compartment. 'What's that noise, Potter?'

'It's coming from your trunk, Harry,' said Hermione, and she reached down to open it, only to pull out the Pocket Sneakoscope out from between Harry's robes. It was glowing brilliantly, and it was spinning very fast on the palm of Hermione's hand. The light from it faintly illuminated the compartment, showing Hermione's interested face. Susan was still looking outside the window.

'A Sneakoscope, Potter? Why on earth would you have a Sneakoscope?' sneered Malfoy.

Harry, Ron, Hermione and Susan ignored him.

'I wonder who the untrustworthy one around here is,' mused Hermione. As one, the three of them – minus Susan – turned to look at Malfoy, who glared at them, his grey eyes glinting in the light from the Sneakoscope.

'There's someone coming aboard,' announced Susan, and for some reason, she sounded a bit frightened – a tone only Harry could discern.

'What is it, Susan?' asked Harry, looking back at her.

And then, without any warning, the temperature in the compartment dropped, as though a frigid blast of icy cold wind had swept over all of them. Their breath was fogging up in front of them, and they automatically wrapped their arms around themselves to stave off the cold that was now spreading across the train.

'W-what's going on?' asked Malfoy, who sounded quite scared – even more than he had been when they'd been taken into the Forbidden Forest for detention in their first year. His face was paler than usual, and his eyes darted around the compartment, wide and fearful. Crabbe and Goyle, to the surprise of everyone else, including Malfoy, backed out of the compartment and headed down the corridor to the next carriage.

'Oi, you idiots!' called Malfoy angrily, but they paid no attention to his shouts. He made to follow them, but just as he stepped back into the corridor, Harry caught sight of a large cloaked figure that towered to the ceiling, standing just beyond and partially shrouded in the darkness.

Harry seized the front of Malfoy's robes and pulled him back into the compartment. Malfoy stumbled forwards, caught off balance, and nearly fell onto Ron, who was standing next to Harry, who immediately slid the door shut with a loud thud, just as Malfoy looked to regain his balance by grabbing onto the nearest seat.

'What the – what's going on, Potter?' demanded Malfoy as he straightened up, glaring daggers at the Gryffindor. His hair, usually sleeked back, was a bit disarrayed, while his robes looked a bit crumpled from where Harry had grabbed them.

Harry ignored him, and made to lock the door, but it slid open just before he could reach the latch.

Standing in the doorway was the same cloaked figure Harry had sighted out in the corridor. Its face was completely hidden beneath its hood. Illuminated by the glow from the still spinning Sneakoscope, the figure towered menacingly over the five teenagers, all of whom were slowly backing away from it. Harry looked down, and immediately knew it was a mistake to do so; there was a hand protruding from the black cloak, a human hand, but it looked…dead, decayed; slimy and greyish, it glistened in the faint light as it slowly moved – no, floated – over the threshold.

All this while, the cold had been steadily increasing – it now seemed as though the compartment was suffering from its own private and severe winter season, but without any snow, or wind. The air itself was just so cold, and thick; Harry found it an absolutely struggle to raise one foot after the other, just to step backwards.

The creature – for what else could Harry call it? It definitely wasn't a human – swung its face from left to right, as though looking for something, or someone. Clearly it did not find what it was searching, for it gave a jerk of its head, as if it was annoyed.

And then, the thing beneath the hood drew a long, slow, rattling breath, as though it were trying to suck in more than just air from the surroundings.

With that breath, Harry felt the last vestiges of warmth evaporate from his skin; he stumbled back as the cold intensified…it was spreading into his nerves, right into his very heart; he was finding it difficult to breathe clearly, his vision was being obscured, it was becoming dimmer…

His eyes rolled up into his head; vaguely, he felt himself fall onto the floor of the compartment, but he couldn't see anything…he was drowning in the cold, falling through the mist and fog that threatened to envelop him in its embrace…a rushing sound filled his ears, as though he were being dunked into a cascading river – the sound grew to a roar, even as he fell, still further down…

And from somewhere, a place far away, he heard someone screaming, a woman's screams; they were terrible, terrified, pleading screams – screams that were begging for death, for release, for mercy…

'Not Harry, please no, take me, kill me instead –'

'Stand aside, you silly girl, stand aside, now…'

'Not Harry, not Harry, no, please…have mercy, have mercy!'

He wanted to help her, he had to! He tried to move his arms, but he couldn't – it was as though they were made of lead, they were so heavy – and the fog was making it difficult beyond anything he'd ever experienced – he was sinking into the thick mist that swirled around him, inside him…

'No, please, no, not Harry!'

A shrill laughter rang in his ears, and Harry knew no more.