The next morning I woke early enough that the sun hadn't yet risen over the high peaks of the mountains that surrounded our village. However, tacked to the bathroom mirror was a note.

Amber,

You are old enough to see yourself off on the Hogwarts Express. Have a good term.

Mum

Swallowing against the stung of her words, I tapped the note with the tip of my wand. "Incendio."

The note burst into flames and disappeared in a cloud of ash.

I washed and dressed quickly. I knew it was against the law to use magic underage, but even if the Ministry did come knocking, how would they know how to pinpoint exactly who'd done it? Naomi would volunteer it in an instant. And if she didn't, I could lie.

I shut my eyes tightly, my head throbbing slightly. What was the matter with me? What had happened to my thoughts?

Shaking my head to clear the pain and the guilt, I waved my wand once and muttered, "Scourgify."

Instantly, my books and clothes sprang into my waiting suitcases. I felt a twinge of guilt for breaking wizarding law, but it wouldn't have been the first or second time I'd done something I would regret. The disastrous and mercifully short lunch with Mum yesterday still haunted me. Nothing could have excused my words to my mother. Nothing. Not even if every sin had been stacked up against her, I couldn't justify my harsh, evil words.

But where had they come from? I had thought I was moving on. Both of us. And besides, it wasn't her fault that Virginia was dead. It was mine.

I bit back tears, my emotions raw after the veiled rejection from my mother in her note. I pulled on a warm, oversized woolen sweater to keep out the mountain chill and quietly padded down the stairs. Dad was at the kitchen table, sipping a steaming mug of coffee, reading the Daily Prophet.

He glanced up at my entrance. "Where are you going?"

I raised a brow. "To school."

Dad blinked. Then he checked the date on the paper. "Merlin's beard! Is it really September already?"

I glanced at a water spot on the wall. "Aye."

Dad leapt to his feet, his chair scraping back. He was dressed for work. Soon he would be departing for the Ministry of Magic. He usually left at nine. It was still early enough that the sun had just broken over the mountains.

"I can take you." Dad said quickly. "What time does the train leave again? Nine? Ten?"

"Eleven sharp." I replied, swallowing against the now-familiar dryness that always came after a bout of guilt. "You don't have to. I'm thirteen now. I'm supposed to act my age."

Dad froze in the act of dumping his half-drunk coffee into the sink. "Who told you that? Your mother?"

I shuffled my feet. "I know she's right. Dad, please don't look like that. It's really not her fault. This time, it was all me."

But Dad had clamped a hand around the back of a chair and looked furious. "Lena…" he muttered.

I waited for him to cool down.

He exhaled and looked at me again. "Why are you up so early?"

I shrugged. "Couldn't sleep. I was excited."

Dad scratched the back of his neck, making some of his golden hair stand on end. I noticed flecks of gray for the first time.

If I was getting older, so was he.

Dad looked around the kitchen. "I really don't feel comfortable letting you go to London alone. Especially this early."

"Well, what if I took the commuter train? You know, the one that stops in Inverness? I could visit Grandma and Grandpa and then get on the next one to Hogsmeade Station."

But Dad wasn't having any of it. "No. I want you to be able to ride the Hogwarts Express. You only get to a few times." He glanced at the grandfather clock near the china cabinet. "I will have to drop you off at nine. I need to be at work."

"That's fine." I replied quickly. "Not a problem."

At that moment, Soren swooped down the chimney and fluttered to my shoulder. His talons dug in against my sweater. Attached to his pink leg was a letter.

"What's that?" Dad asked as he turned to wash his breakfast dishes.

I untied Soren's letter and stroked his feathers. My hand was slightly gray from the soot that had brushed against his body. Soren hooted and dipped his head, rubbing it affectionately against my temple.

The letter was written in elegant black calligraphy, addressed directly to me. But when I saw the return address, I felt my hands grow cold with dread.

It was from the Ministry of Magic. The Improper Use of Magic department.

Trembling slightly, I opened the letter. I was expecting a lengthy warning of my useage of magic just minutes ago, or maybe even a suspension from school.

I was not expecting just one sentence.

Remember my promise, Miss Amber.

I stared at the words, paralyzed. I knew that calligraphy anywhere. 'Miss Amber'. Only one person ever called me that.

Folsom knew where I was.

I clenched the letter in my hand. I wanted to burn it. I wanted to get rid of it and pretend I'd never opened it or seen it. Soren hooted and nudged me again. But I couldn't move.

Professor Smith had been right. Folsom hadn't forgotten. He was holding onto his grudge, and from his eerie words, he sounded like he didn't want me to forget.

I had to stay on my toes. I had to learn how to protect myself. Even with Professor Smith's tutelage, I knew my chances were much better I could learn the Patronus Charm.

But how could I without admitting my darkest secret?

"Well, are you ready?" Dad said, driving me out of my thoughts. I blinked. Dad knew the Patronus Charm. He could defend me.

"Yeah." I said in a forced voice. "Let's go."

We left the quiet house - Mum and Naomi still sleeping - and approached the old blue Ford that the Ministry had gifted Dad for his years of service. He jangled the keys. "What do you think? Should we drive?"

I raised a brow. "I don't think she could make the journey all the way to London and back, Dad. Magic or not."

Dad sighed. "You're right as usual. It's nice having a Ravenclaw around."

My breath caught in my throat. Only yesterday, Mum had told me that I wasn't good enough for Hufflepuff, the house of her and of every member of my family (on both sides). And yet here was Dad, praising me for being in the House that I had been narrowly Sorted into.

The bite of the early morning air made my eyes water. My eyes traveled to the high peak of the same mountain that Professor Smith had taken me to a few weeks ago. I knew now that a colony of Common Welsh Greens lived high in the clouds and cliff faces. I wondered how many others knew.

"We could fly." I suggested.

Dad chewed his lip. "I'm not sure. You've only just gotten your broom."

I knew he was worried that I would panic or fall off. But I shrugged nonchalantly. "If it's a problem, we can take Floo Powder. I'm a fair flyer now."

Dad bounced on the heels of his feet, thinking. Finally, he let out a gusty sigh, a sign that he had come to a decision. "Alright. We'll try flying. But if you get scared or want to use Floo Powder instead, let me know and we'll come back."

"Dad." I said, rolling my eyes. "I'm not a little kid anymore. I can handle this."

Dad nodded once and pulled out his wand. It was hawthorne, the same one that he had received from Ollivander's when he was eleven years old. The wand had clearly been through the mill. Little dings and scratches covered the wood, and it looked almost tired as Dad lazily flicked it at my luggage. It shrank to the size of doll furniture. He picked up the suitcase with great strain, his face red. Apparently, the size hadn't affected the weight.

"Dad," I said, "you can use the weightless charm. It's leve pondus."

"Oh." Dad puffed out his chest, shaking off the obvious stress he had been under. "Right."

"Swish and flick." I instructed.

Looking half-amused, Dad did as I suggested. He picked up the now-weightless bags and added them to his pocket, which he zipped up.

I pulled out my new broom. I couldn't help admiring it, blind to the slightly secondhand nature. It was my broom. And this would be our maiden flight.

My guilt and melancholy was swept away as I stowed Folsom's foreboding letter in my pocket and stroked Soren's wings. "I'll meet you there, buddy."

Soren pushed off lightly and soundlessly glided over the trees, northbound. He was a tiny white speck in a matter of seconds.

Dad had produced his own broom, a battered Shooting Star, with the Summoning Charm. I mounted mine, trembling all over with anticipation. My knuckles were white from holding it so tightly.

"Ready?" Dad said, sounding uncertain.

I nodded vigorously. "Yes!"

Apparently, the broom took that as a command.

I lifted off the ground, not as quickly as I had been going when I had careened down the side of mountain, but fast enough that Dad let out a warning yell. "Slow down!"

Laughing, half-hysterical with adrenaline, I obeyed and eased up. The Silver Arrow lost acceleration but stayed in the air, hovering fifteen feet above the ground. It was already a dizzying height, but I felt invincible up here.

Not even Folsom could get me now.

The ride to London was smooth except for when I almost fell off the broom four different times. James made it look easy, like the broom was just a part of him. Riding a broom for myself felt something like trying to control a dragon and my own body.

I was thankful I hadn't eaten breakfast, because I was so riddled with nerves by the time we landed that I took a single step off of the Silver Arrow and promptly dry-heaved over the ground.

Dad hurried to my side, worrying and fussing. "Amber! Amber, are you alright?"

I came up straight after a few painful moments, giving him the thumbs-up.

Dad stowed our brooms and ushered me inside of the building we had landed in front of: The Leaky Cauldron. A hunchbacked, nearly-toothless bartender waved at us and shuffled over.

"Pixie dust water for her." Dad instructed. "Quickly."

"Right away, sir," the barman vowed, ducking away. A moment later, he brought a cup of merrily bubbling clear liquid. I drank deeply, closing my eyes against the soothing burn and fizzle.

"Better?" Dad asked.

I nodded, still drinking.

Dad sighed. "I vomited the first few times after I started flying. I guess you got that from me."

I surveyed the main room of the Leaky Cauldron. It was made from rough-hewn stones and wood. A large fire crackled in the hearth, a huge cauldron hanging over the licking flames. A wonderful aroma of stew issued in little clouds of steam from the surface.

"What's that?" I managed, my throat still tight.

"That would be Hungarian Mushroom Soup, my lady." The barman said. He set one of the empty tables with a battered-looking bowl and silverware. "Care for some?"
"We'll take two bowls." Dad said, guiding me to the table. We sat on opposite sides of each other. I couldn't look him directly in the face. The memory of last summer's fight still lingered in my mind. So instead I took frequent, small sips of pixie dust water.

"So." Dad said finally, looking awkward. "What classes do you have this year?"

I shrugged. "The usual load for third years. Potions, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Herbology, Astrology, Divination, Care of Magical Creatures, Transfiguration, Charms."

"That's a lot." Dad observed. "Think you'll add or drop any?"

"Maybe Divination or Potions. Potions is my worst subject."

Dad sipped water from a glass that the barman had left for him. "Well, Potions is a class you need to have. It's like mathematics, for Muggles. You can't get away from it in the real world."

I shrugged again. "I guess so."

The barman slid two steaming bowls of orange soup in front of us. Chunks and slices of dark gray mushrooms floated among various spices like dill and parsley.

"This is vegetarian, right?" I asked as the barman turned to leave.

"Of course, my lady." He bowed slightly. "Do you need anything else?"

"No thanks, Tom." Dad said.

Tom left.

I sipped my soup, avoiding looking at my father's face. The silence sat between us like a hippogriff on the table. Finally, I put my spoon down, palms slick with nervous sweat. "I need to ask you something."

Dad lifted a blonde brow. "Alright."

I swallowed hard. "Do you remember what you said to me last summer? When you were drunk?"
Apparently this had been the last time Dad had been expecting. The color drained from his face and he dropped his gaze to the surface of the gritty table. "I… I remember some of it."

Now that I had let the first bomb fall, I felt almost dizzy with trepidation. My hands were shaking, so I hid them under the table so Dad couldn't see. "Yesterday, Mum mentioned how I wasn't good enough for Hufflepuff." I hesitated. "Do you two really think I'm that much of a disappointment for not being in your House?"

Dad looked anguished and embarrassed. He took a deep gulp of his water, draining it. Tom refilled it and disappeared in an instant.

"I said a lot of things that night that I regret." Dad said carefully, still not meeting my eyes. "I was… I was drunk. When I was a teenager, my friends and I were… mischeivious. We liked to drink. It was a habit your mother knew about when we dated and eventually married. She made me promise to stay dry if we were going to have a family. And I was dry, for a long time. But losing Virginia…" he looked into the flickering flames of the fire and rubbed his temples with one hand. He looked so tired. In the light of the fire, I could see the lines lining his young face. He was in his thirties, but looked like a man who had lived a hundred years.

"I knew we were probably going to lose her before she was an adult. She was such a sick child. But then,when she was getting better… well. We all thought she was in remission for good. And then one night, she was just…"

"Gone." I finished quietly, my hands clenched into fists underneath the table.

Dad sighed. "We all miss her. It's not fair of me to drink myself into oblivion over my grief." He offered a sad smile. "We all lost her, not just me. And I know she was proud of you for being a Ravenclaw. So am I."

I couldn't speak. If I did, I would let the secret slip out. I stared at him, frozen.

"I am proud of you, daughter." Dad said. "I said things I shouldn't have. Things I didn't mean. It was the drink speaking."

I studied him, biting my lip. "But what about Mum? She wasn't drinking. She was sober."

Dad looked sad. "Grief can be as powerful as any drug, Amber."

I didn't know what to say to that, because I knew it was true. Grief was strong, but guilt was even more powerful.

Even though my hunger was gone, I finished my bowl of soup in silence. Dad paid for our meals and rose. "Will you be alright on your own? I need to get to work. The train leaves at eleven from King's Cross Station."

"Got it." I said.

Dad handed me a few extra coins. "You can take the Knight Bus or a cab to King's Cross Station. Why don't you stay in Diagon Alley for a bit and explore? I'm sure it's almost vacant on the first day of September. Everyone's already finished shopping."

"Great." I said again, hesitating. "Dad, I am sorry about Virginia."

It wasn't admitting it, but it was as close to it as I could come. Dad's eyes flickered. He put a hand on my shoulder. "It wasn't your fault, Amber. She's at peace now."

Stricken, I couldn't say anything else. I merely dipped my head. Dad exited the Leaky Cauldron and Disapparated with a sharp crack.

Sighing, I made my way through the brick wall that led into Diagon Alley. Dad was right. The main road was almost deserted, except for a few elderly witches gabbling together as they shuffled down the stone walkway. A few shops were open, but most were closed at this early hour. It was barely nine in the morning.

I was passing the Quidditch store that Professor Smith owned when there was a yelp. Frowning, I tilted my head, trying to catch the sound. It sounded like someone was hurt.

There was a scuffling noise. I followed the noise to a narrow alley between Quality Quidditch Supplies and Flourish and Blotts. I narrowed my eyes to see through the inky gloom. Three shadows moved roughly. I drew my wand and muttered, "Lumos!"

The tip of my wand burst into bright, iridescent light. It revealed the ugly scene before me. Two boys were towering over a cowering shape on the ground, which was sobbing. As my eyes adjusted, I could make out their features. The bigger boy was over six feet tall and had light stubble. Logan Avery. The boy next to him was William Mulciber.

On the ground, covered in his own blood, was Peter Pettigrew.

"What the hell is going on?" I yelled, trying to muster up courage in spite of the cold feeling of dread that surfaced like a body rising from a grave. Avery and Mulciber were nasty Slytherin thugs that had nearly landed me in the hospital wing last year. Clearly, they hadn't forgotten our fight.

"Well, well." Avery sneered. "Look who's come to save the day. The little fox."

"More like a weasel." Mulciber growled. He especially held a grudge towards me.

I gulped but held my wand steady, refusing to back down. "Get away from him."

"Who, you mean the little rat?" Avery said, aiming a kick at Peter. His foot made contact with Peter's ribs with a sickening thud. Peter gasped in pain.

I brandished my wand, the fear melting away in a flood of rage. All of my summer training resurfaced in an instant. I could feel the knowledge of my new spells practically burn my hand with anticipation.

"I suggest you back off now." I snapped. "Final warning. Get lost!"

"Amber!" Peter moaned. "Help me!"
Mulciber had made to draw his own wand, but I flicked my wand like a whip. "Expelliarmus!"

Both wands went flying deep into the depths of the alley. Instead of chasing after them, both boys gave me murderous looks.

"Folsom might be gone." Avery said quietly. "But we're still here."

"And boy, do we have plans for you." Mulciber added menacingly.

I pretended not to feel the awful wave of horror that crashed down over me like a waterfall. "I'm so scared." I scoffed.

"Amber…" Peter whimpered.

I jabbed my wand threateningly at the two Slytherins. "Go. The other way. You can get your wands after we've gone."

They gave me measured looks. When they didn't move, I said, "Protego" and cast a shield charm between Peter and I. I helped him to his feet, the shield shimmering between us. Even though I refused to look at them, I could feel their venomous stares on my back as we hurried out of the alley and into Quality Quidditch Supplies.

"What happened?" I asked as soon as the door shut.

Peter burst into fresh tears. Even though he was thirteen, he still reminded me a fat, lost boy who was too young to attend a boarding school. His round cheeks quivered, his tears mixing with blood. I frowned, remembering two years ago when he had fallen from the Ravenclaw stairs and I had found him in a similar predicament.

"Peter." I urged. "Talk to me."

He shook his head hard. "N-no." He gasped. "It's awful, Amber! They… they told me… told me…"

"Told you what?" I inquired, trying to be patient.

Peter wiped his bloody nose. One eye was already swelling. "They told me that if I didn't join them… they were going to hurt me. And they did."

I sighed heavily. "I know. They have this creepy little band. They got Regulus to join it last year, and I reckon Severus may have to. Hold on," I said as I hurried to the front counter. Dennis was busy polishing a broom.

"Excuse me." I said after a few seconds when he didn't look up. "Excuse me."

Dennis raised a brow. "Yes?"

I stood taller. "We need bandages and something antiseptic. Do you have any essence of murtlap?"

Dennis rolled his eyes. "What do you think this is, an infirmary? If you need supplies, go to the apothecary across the street." He went back to polishing his broom. I recognized it as the same Moontrimmer he had tried to sell to me yesterday.

Frustrated, I banged my fist on the counter, startling Dennis and Peter, who let out another yelp from behind me. "I know that every shop in Diagon Alley has a first aid kit." I pointed to the small white box sitting innocuously in the corner of his counter. "Stop trying to be manly by being sexist. It's actually not attractive. My friend is hurt and needs those supplies. Either you give those to me, or I'm telling Willow Smith about this."

Dennis gave me a long, measured look, and then slid the box to me. "No wonder that scarred boy looked disgusted by you." He muttered. I ignored him and hurried to Peter with the kit. I opened it and handed him several cotton balls. "Start cleaning yourself up. I'll help."

Peter was still sniffling when I finished placing a final bandage on his arm from a scrape. The boy was covered in them. But he wasn't badly injured, just shaken. I put the kit back on the counter and left without another word to Dennis.

Peter shivered as we walked back into Diagon Alley. More people were trickling in as the morning wore on.

"Why were you here alone?" I asked. "Did your parents come?"

Peter nodded. His cheeks were drying now that his tears had finally ceased. "Th-they're in Flourish and Blotts. Getting me my books."

"Alright. Let's go find them and get to the train station." I knew there was safety in numbers and didn't want to be exposed in the alley with Avery and Mulciber on the loose.

We made quick time to the store, in spite of Peter's shuffling gait due to his pain. He was calming down even more when we entered Flourish and Blott's, but let out a small whimper when we entered the store.

Standing near the rack of shelves, perusing the books, was Folsom.

I could feel the heat of fear grip me by the throat. I almost turned and fled through the doors we had just entered, but I knew doing so would only draw attention to ourselves. So instead I ducked behind a tall stack of books snatched my wand. My hands were shaking. Badly.

"Was that…?" Peter breathed.

"Shush!" I hissed. I focused everything I could on creating a mental block. But I felt no attempt at penetration. From my hidden vantage point, I could see Folsom's back, but nothing else. He was wearing a deep purple, almost black cloak, and his unnatural blond hair was pulled back into a severe ponytail. His pale skin looked dead and ashen underneath the lights of the store. He was looking through a thick book. I could hear the rustle of papers every few seconds as he skimmed through it.

I moved at a glacial pace with Peter in tow. Finally, we made it undetected to the back of the store, where a plump little woman with extremely curly red hair and her equally large husband were talking to the clerk. Peter bolted from my side and crashed into his parents with the force of a bowling ball. They stumbled a little but quickly regained themselves in a loud display of hugs and squeals. It was like watching a family of pigs together.

In spite of the imminent danger, a smile twitched at my lips. I remained half-crouched behind a towering display so that Folsom wouldn't be able to see me.

"Oh, Peter!" His mother cried. "Look at you! What happened?"

"Did you fall again, son?" his father asked jovially. "We ought to get you a helmet, you know."

"Sorry." Peter apologized. "I'm just clumsy." He glanced over at me, about to wave me over, but I vehemently shook my head. I did not want to move from my hiding place. Peter's eyes widened and he gave a tiny nod of understanding.

"I um… well, I'm ready to go." Peter said, as his mother hugged him again.

"Oh, my precious Peter!" She gasped. "Are you sure you want to go back to school this year? We can keep you at home and teach you ourselves! You don't have to go all the way past Inverness! Oh, Billy, does he have to go?"

I was starting to see why Peter was so needy. How could he not be, with an overbearing, overwhelming mother always caring for him or bemoaning his absence?

Billy Pettigrew chortled. "Now Donna… he can handle himself. He's a big boy, aren't you now son?"

Peter looked sheepish. "I guess so. Can we just… go now?"

"If that's what you want." Donna Pettigrew choked out.

I rolled my eyes, thinking of Mum and Virginia.

The Pettigrew family departed the store, breezing right past Folsom, whose cloak ruffled in their wake but otherwise didn't give any indication of their presence. I mirrored their steps from behind the screen of books and shelves. I held my breath as I passed by. I waited for him to turn and stare at me with those cold, soulless blue of eyes of his, colder than glaciers and straight from Hell. But he remained occupied by his reading. I passed by without him even moving his head.

I snuck quietly out of the front door and left him behind. My pulse, which had been racing, thrummed slower, making me dizzy with the aftershocks of adrenaline. Peter glanced back and waved at me. I hurried to the side of the Pettigrew family.

"Dad, Mum, this is my friend, Amber," Peter introduced as I hastened to match their pace.

Mr. and Mrs. Pettigrew looked at each other in surprise. "You have a friend?" Mum exclaimed. "A female friend?"

"Atta boy, son." Mr. Pettigrew congratulated. Peter's face turned the color of the bricks in the walls.

"Actually, I was on my way to the Hogwarts Express." I said, trying to ignore Peter's clear embarrassment and the delight of his parents. "Mind if I tag along with you?"

"Not at all!" Mrs. Pettigrew crowed. "Oh, how lovely! You're gorgeous. Peter, I'm proud of you!"

For the second time that day, I rolled my eyes.

"Mum, please." Peter mumbled, not meeting my gaze.

"We always take the Floo Network to get there." Mrs. Pettigrew said. "I can't wait until you're seventeen, dear. Then we can finally Apparate places again."

"Dear." Mr. Pettigrew said.

"Let's just go." I interrupted. "Please. I need to… uh… you know."

"Of course!" Mrs. Pettigrew yelped. "We can take the Knight Bus. How silly of me." She led us out of Diagon Alley and back to the front of the Leaky Cauldron. Tom waved at us as we left his restaurant. I gave a half-hearted wave back. Peter saw his garish appearance and pressed closer to his mother.

Once outside, Mrs. Pettigrew threw out her arm. Instantly, a triple-decker, violently purple bus screeched to an unceremonious halt. I jumped back in alarm.

"There you go." Mrs. Pettigrew said sweetly. "The most reliable form of emergency transportation around. On we go."

Hesitant, I followed the Pettigrews onboard. An old, wiry man with tufty white hair sat in the driver's seat, eating a sandwich. His gigantic Coke-bottle glasses magnified his eyes to make them gargantuan and startling. I averted my gaze and took a seat on a cot with a mattress as thin as a block of cheese.

A pimply faced woman with teased up hair yawned and punched four tickets for us. "Where to." She said in a bored voice.

"King's Cross Station." I said at the same time as Mrs. Pettigrew.

The conductor nodded and took our money. "Kiddies going back to school, Ern."

The bus gave a huge lurch and plowed forward. It sprang between other cars filled with Muggles and made several physics-defying maneuvers before finally grating to a stomach-rolling stop in front of the train station.

I wasn't sure which had been worse. Encountering Folsom or riding the Knight Bus. I departed hastily, the Pettigrews following behind. King's Cross Station loomed ahead, the giant clock indicating it was nearly ten.

"You still have almost an hour before the train leaves the station." Mrs. Pettigrew fretted. "We can stay with you if you'd like."

"No, thanks." I said at the exact same time that Peter uttered, "Yes, please."

Peter gave a nervous chuckle as his parents fussed over him. My own parents hadn't taken me to the station. Perhaps at thirteen, it was more of a coming-of-age transition than being unwanted. Peter, who still retained his boyish, prepubescent looks, seemed daunted by the thought of separating from his parents just yet.

Platform 9 ¾ awaited us, the ordinary brick wall standing stoic and unremarkable in the watery sunlight that filtered down through the domed glass ceiling. I walked through without hesitation, though my pulse quickened a second before I stepped into the mirage. But instead of hitting solid wall, I passed easily through like the wall wasn't even there. Instead, the platform that was invisible to Muggle's eyes unfolded before me. The black and red train that would take me and hundreds of others deep into the wilderness sat immobile on the tracks, a cloud of steam issuing from its pipe every minute or so. Already, the platform was filling with students and parents. I could see a few overly-excited students onboard, chatting with their friends or reading books. Much more stood with their families, unwilling to say goodbye.

Thankfully, I had already bid my farewells to mine.

The Pettigrews materialized behind me. Peter was looking better, more sure of himself. Mulciber and Avery's intimidation tactics hadn't worked as long as they'd hoped. I searched the pockets of witches and wizards for any sign of the thugs, but was unsuccessful. I only recognized a few others, and only because we shared classes. Aside from Peter, I was alone.

"I don't see anyone." Peter said uncertainly. "Where's James and Sirius?"

"I don't know." I replied, scanning the crowd fruitlessly. "I'm going to wait on the train. Maybe the food trolley will be going around early."

"Maybe." Peter said nervously. He looked like the last thing he wanted was to be on his own, even for a moment. I sighed. "You can stay with me, if you'd like."

"No, no." Peter said quickly. "I'll stay with Mum and Dad. See you on the train?" He added hopefully.

"Maybe." I said evasively, because I knew I would likely sit with Lily and Severus again.

Peter was swallowed up by his parents. The station was filling with more families by the second. The first stages of claustrophobia were settling in. Antsy, I pushed and weaved my way through the pedestrians and climbed aboard. The first compartment I came across was empty. Thankful, I hurried inside and shut the door. The glass was frosted for privacy. No one would find me here. I decided to watch from the bare window for Lily's telltale red hair. But since it was still so early, it was unlikely that she would make an appearance any time soon.

I drummed my fingers against my thigh. Someone had left a tattered copy of Witch Weekly wedged between the seat and the wall of the compartment. It was the summer edition from months prior. I opened the first page and scanned the advertisement for Amortentia, the world's most powerful love potion. I was on page four, reading the third paragraph of an article about mermaids and veelas, when a crash like thunder throttled the train so hard that I toppled to the ground. I was in a crumpled, dazed heap when a second explosion burst, shaking the train so hard that the wheels squealed against the rails. I could barely see as the door to my compartment was wrenched open and a figure stood in the space, dark smoke swirling around his feet.

"Come on," he said in a gruff voice, coming closer, "we've got to get out of here."

"Why?" I managed, already choking on the rising clouds of smoke. "What's going on?"

The figure came closer. It took me a moment of confusion and hesitation to recognize him. Scars ran across his face in violent pink-and-silver slashes. Sweat beaded on his brow. A fresh cut oozed red blood on his left hand. His intense green eyes surveyed me a moment before he reached down, grabbed my hand, and drew me to my feet with surprisingly strength and grace.

"There's no time to explain." Remus said urgently. "Come on! Run!"