Harry, Ron and Hermione were forced to take the only compartment that wasn't full on the Hogwart's Express for their third year of magical schooling. It already had two people in it, but beggars couldn't be choosers.
One was not very threatening in appearance. He was wearing a very shabby set of robes, and though young, looked tired and sick.
The second, on the other hand, did look very threatening. All that the trio could make out was a set of black armour, with a dusty black cloak thrown on top. Leaning in the corner between the seat and the wall was a long black sword.
"Do you think one of the other compartments'd let us share?" Ron said hopefully.
"I'm sure we'll be fine," Hermione said. Doubt tinged her voice.
"The others are all full," pointed out Harry, with a sigh.
The three schoolchildren sat at the other end of the compartment. They would have left for another, but there wasn't any available. Hermione shared that the shabby man's name was probably R. J. Lupin, owing to the suitcase stored in the rack above him, but they had no clues as to the man in armour.
They'd quietly talked, mostly about the escape of Sirius Black, and the Hogsmeade visits they'd be allowed this year (or, in Harry's case, allowed if he managed to get around Professor McGonagall, which all three admitted was not very likely.)
The train had slowed down, and the three were expecting that they were pulling into Hogsmeade Station, and were quite distressed to find the lights went out. Neville came into their compartment, tripping over Harry in the confusion, and the nonthreatening man woke up.
"Quiet!" he said in a hoarse voice. "Stay where you are!"
A soft blue light suffused the compartment, only giving minute amounts of illumination, but enough to be known. They all looked around to see two points of light coming from the shadows underneath the armoured man's crown-like helm, as he rose, buckling his sword on.
The sliding door opened slowly before Lupin could reach it, and an unarmoured, cloaked figure towered in the open doorway. A hand rose, glistening, greyish, scabbed, and was cut off in a swift slash that the three children could not follow.
/"Leave,"/ the armoured man rasped. /"Before I get upset. The murderer is not on this train."/
/"Who am I?"/ the figure asked, seemingly amused. /"Once I would have said Alexander L. Harris, but now I'm more of a grey than a white. And it's the streaky kind, with streamers of black and white paint mixing badly, not a uniform grey."/
"Wicked," Ron breathed. "What are you?"
"Ron!" Hermione snapped, appalled at how rude Ron was being. Harry wisely remained silent on his curiousity.
/"I was dressing for Halloween as one of the Ringwraiths, and a so not cool asshole called Ethan Rayne cast a spell that turned everyone into their costumes,"/ Harris said. His helm tilted slightly, and Harry got the amazing impression of a wry smirk, despite the only facial features being two pinpricks of blue light in the black shadows. /"It seems that you can't stop being a Nazgul as easily as Jojo the Dogfaced Boy."/
"Have you got... it?" Harry asked timidly.
Harris wordlessly held up his right hand. A simple gold ring could be seen worked into the black steel gauntlet. /"So not funny, but that's the only bit of the costume I bought from Rayne, the Green Lantern knock-off, I mean. I scabbed the rest of the costume from my school librarian. Uh, uh, he collects medieval weaponry, and found a suit of armour I could borrow."/
"Introductions are probably in order," Lupin abruptly said, quite briskly. Probably to change the mood. "I'm Professor Lupin, and I'll be your Defense against the Dark Arts professor for this year."
"Hermione Granger."
"Ronald Weasley, and call me Ron."
"Harry Potter."
/"Xander, like I said before. Hey kid, you know you're kind of famous?"/
"I know," Harry said, resignation plain in his voice. Fame was a fickle mistress.
The black helm tilted again. /"Say... I showed you mine, are you gonna show me yours?"/
Despite himself, Harry grinned as he raised his fringe up, showing the... man? Wraith? his curse scar.
"Why are you coming to Hogwarts, anyway?" Hermione asked.
/"Two reasons,"/ Xander said. /"One, because it seems that Dementors have no option but to listen when Ringwraith Witchkings with rings of power order, and two, to see if the head honcho there can figure out a cure for this."/
A/N: I'm not entirely happy with this snippet. Xander doesn't have the right tone of humour in this. I'll chalk it up as shock from Halloween, and the Witchking's influence.
/"What does that idiot want now?"/ Xander rasped on his way to the Headmaster's Office. He rubbed his throat absently with his left gauntlet.
"I suspect it involves some dark suspicion of involvement between y'self and the Headmaster," Professor McGonagall offered. She'd been summoned as well, but by Dumbledore rather than Fudge.
/"Twinkie,"/ Xander rumbled, gaining some of his balance back at the gargoyle.
It was just as well that he did, since Minister Fudge started in on him the moment he entered the room.
"Dumbledore! Here is that... that abomination! What excuse do you have for it being here?"
/"You know, you should probably see Madame Pomfrey about that purple skin,"/ Xander offered slyly. As Fudge went reddish purple, he added, /"If you behave nicely, I hear she gives you a chocolate frog. To the first years, anyway."/
"I believe the First Years get a muggle lollipop in addition to a Chocolate Frog, Alexander," Dumbledore cheerfully added.
"Don't sidetrack me!" Fudge roared. "The Dementor you attacked dispersed itself a week later, costing the Ministry of Magic a valuable slave!"
Two blue points of light turned upon Fudge. Everyone got the impression of a face losing all expression, despite the only expressive points in Xander's face being the two points of light. /"Funny thing for you to say. Considering that you yourself assigned soul eaters around children, I mean."/
"I don't see a problem with the destruction of a Dementor," Dumbledore said cheerfully. "Considering how they came about."
"How did they?" Fudge said dumbly, sidetracked completely.
"I believe it was from when Dark Lord Snapcase cursed an enclave of wizards and witches," Dumbledore said, unsticking two lemon drops. "Very few have been able to communicate with them since, but then, wraiths find it very hard to communicate with anyone."
/"If they are like myself, as a wraith, then if we brought back the one that I destroyed, he'd be kissing my feet for the brief mercy of death,"/ Xander hissed. /"I'd rather have Jenna Jameson kissing my feet, but given that in my current state the only thing I'd be able to do would be look on in despairing lust, I'll take what I can get."/
"In fact," Dumbledore continued, popping one lemon drop in his mouth and putting the other back in the dish, "I suspect that a canny man could spin this to the press as the Ministry discovering a new method by which to control the Dementors, and utilizing it to make sure that the Dementors act in a law-abiding fashion while around the young, impressionable students residing at Hogwarts."
Fudge opened his mouth. Xander briefly focussed his fear aura upon Fudge - normally, he held it as tightly controlled as the doors to the mall ten minutes before opening time on Black Friday.
Fudge reconsidered. He wasn't going to win this one. "Yes... yes... I see what you mean, Dumbledore. Yes. I'll be in touch with the Prophet. But don't think I'll forget about this!"
