A/N: And we're rolling! The year is beginning, and what better way to kick it off than with a Dementor attack? Let me know what you think, especially about the way the characters are interacting. I'm trying to emulate Rowling, who does a great job of capturing the interactions between all of the side characters, not just the Golden Trio. Does it work, not work, fail entirely? I'm all ears!

Lastly, I took some creative license with a certain character's Patronus, but since canon leaves it to our imaginations, it shouldn't be too much of a stretch.

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or Naruto

Chapter 22: The Hogwarts Express

The day before the Hogwarts Express was to take them to school, Harry and Hermione received permission from their guardians to stay with the Weasleys, who would take them to the train in the morning. To Harry's surprise and pleasure, Vernon still seemed reluctant to do anything that might anger Professor Sarutobi. He gave his permission without any trouble at all, merely a heavy grunt that was muffled by his walrus moustache.

So it was that Harry and Hermione arrived at the Burrow with all of their school things, happy to reunite with the boisterous family of redheads. Mrs. Weasley ambushed both of them with a crushing embrace before they had recovered from the dizzying effects of Floo Powder.

At their mother's urging, Fred and George took the newcomers' luggage. They played it up, bowing obsequiously, and holding out their hands for tips.

"None of that nonsense!" Mrs. Weasley said sharply. "Why can't you be more like your brother? I don't see Ron shirking his chores, even though he's working himself to exhaustion every day!"

Ron, who had just entered the kitchen from outside, blushed deep red.

"Watch out, Mum," George shouted over his shoulder as he lugged Harry's trunks to the stairs. "You'll give him a swelled head!"

"That's right," Fred agreed, sticking his head around the doorframe for a moment. "He's already got an Award For Special Services to the School. If you praise him too much, he'll get worse than Percy!"

Ron scowled at his brothers, but contented himself with mouthing dire threats under his breath. Mrs. Weasley left the kitchen, muttering something about "delinquent rascals."

Harry clapped Ron on the back. "Are they still giving you trouble about that?" he asked.

At the Leaving Feast last year, Dumbledore had awarded Harry, Ron, and Hermione Hogwarts' highest honor, to thank them for defending the students against Lucius. When Ron had received his reward, Harry could have sworn he was flying. As the youngest of six brothers, always looking to catch up or distinguish himself in some way, Ron had certainly managed to make a name for himself. Not even Bill, who had been Head Boy, had won such an award.

It was a mark of Ron's growing maturity that he had packed away his award immediately after the feast, never looking at it again that Harry could remember. Ron understood, as all of them did, that awards weren't important any more.

"They've been fairly decent about it, actually," Ron said, giving the twins their due. "Instead, they've been at me all the time to tell them who we were fighting in the Great Hall. I must have told them a hundred times that it was classified, and they should ask Dumbledore if they wanted to know. Finally, Dad had to have a word with them. It was one of the few times I've ever heard him raise his voice." Ron whistled, remembering. "He was scary."

"It serves them right," Hermione said fiercely. "They should have taken your word for it!"

Ron looked a bit taken aback by her vehemence, but pleased nevertheless. "Well, it did the trick. Now they only take the mickey out of me once or twice a week, 'so I don't get too full of myself,' they say. For the most part, they're holed up in their room, doing Merlin knows what. Their door has some suspicious new scorch marks, and every now and again some strange smells waft downstairs."

Before they could go upstairs to their rooms, Mr. Weasley asked the three of them to come into the living room. The middle-aged wizard was more serious than Harry had ever seen him, the lines around his eyes more pronounced, as if he had undergone much more stress than usual lately. But then, even with the little that Harry knew about Orochimaru and Voldemort, there was good reason for Mr. Weasley to look harried.

Molly was waiting for them in the living room as well, a worried frown on her face. Under her arm was the Weasley's special clock, which showed the faces of all the members of the Weasley household and what they were doing. But today, none of the hands pointed to "home" – according to the clock, every one of the Weasleys was currently in mortal peril. Perhaps Harry shouldn't have been surprised, but it gave him a nasty shock nevertheless.

"We wanted to talk with you three alone," Mr. Weasley began, watching as they took in the sight of the clock. Hermione quickly stifled a gasp, but Ron only looked resigned. He had doubtless seen this before. "Ever since the end of last year, our clock has been like this. So no matter what the Ministry says, we know the truth – we're already at war."

"It's a terrible thing," Mrs. Weasley agreed, her face drawn. "We'd hoped that our children would never have to live through the horrors we saw. But the world doesn't rearrange itself to suit our preferences."

"Dumbledore has briefed us about the role you three played in protecting Hogwarts," Mr. Weasley went on. "As members of the Order of the Phoenix, we also know about Orochimaru."

Hermione spoke up, barely refraining from raising her hand as if she were in class. "The Order of the Phoenix?"

"We fought against He Who Must Not Be Named in the last war," said Mrs. Weasley wearily. "Dumbledore was our leader. Harry, your parents were members, as were the parents of many of your classmates. Neville Longbottom and Susan Bones, just to name a few. We fought against the Death Eaters, although we were drastically outnumbered near the end. Then Harry… well, you know."

Harry shrugged uncomfortably. He knew how that story ended.

"The Order has been reinstated," Mr. Weasley said softly. "Dumbledore is warning everyone that he can trust, so that even if the Ministry isn't prepared, we'll be ready. We wanted to tell the three of you, because you should know that you have allies. We can't keep you away from the battles to come – and considering the events of last year, it would be stupid of us to try – but we want you to know there are adults besides Dumbledore and Professor Sarutobi on whom you can rely."

"Not only that," said Molly, "but be especially careful this year. The Ministry is targeting Dumbledore at the worst possible time, which puts you – not to mention the rest of the students – in a very vulnerable position. With Orochimaru, Voldermort, and the Ministry all working to consolidate their own power, it's entirely possible that Dumbledore will be fighting on three different fronts. There are too many variables to even think about controlling all of them."

There was a long silence, as everyone stared at Mrs. Weasley. "Ron," Hermione said speculatively, "did you by any chance learn to play Wizard's Chess from your Mum?"

Ron grinned proudly. "You bet I did. She still beats me at it, too, though I can't get her to play much these days."

Molly blushed delicately. "That's enough of that nonsense," she said gruffly. "We just… wanted to warn you, even though we know you're probably tired of hearing it. This year will be more dangerous than your last two years combined, and you mustn't be overconfident. Keep your friends close, and don't give the new Defence professor any excuses to label you enemies of the Ministry."

"Just call her what she is, Mum," Ron said, glowering at an imaginary Dolores Umbridge. "A filthy Ministry spy."

Hermione nodded agreement. "But one with all the power of the Ministry behind her," she added. "Don't worry, Mrs. Weasley – we'll be careful. We promise."

There was a long, tense silence, finally broken by Mr. Weasley. "Well, since that's taken care of, dear, why don't we gather up the rest of the offspring. There's still shopping to be done in Diagon Alley."

Hermione looked thrilled. "Ooh, I haven't been to Flourish and Blotts in ages! And this year, I think I'm going to get a familiar. Maybe a cat, they're so much nicer than owls…"

"I need to get a new pet, too," Ron mused. His face darkened. "Definitely not a rat." Hermione placed a hand on his shoulder sympathetically. Harry spared a moment to imagine using one of Sarutobi's nastiest curses on Peter Pettigrew – it was an immensely satisfying daydream.

Despite the promise of danger on the horizon, the trip to Diagon Alley turned out to be immensely enjoyable. The twins took it upon themselves to drive Percy up the wall, but they apologized to him later by buying him a new quill. Ron later shared with Harry and Hermione that Percy had been spending an inordinate amount of time holed up in his room, writing letters that he refused to show anyone. No doubt the twins were setting him up with a quill that had been charmed in some dastardly way.

The third year Gryffindors picked up their spellbooks from Flourish and Blotts, including three copies of the assigned Defence text: Dark Arts Defence: Basics for Beginners. Hermione took one look through the Table of Contents and snorted derisively. "This is utter bollocks," she declared. "There's nothing here but theory! If you didn't have a teacher actually demonstrating the spells, you'd never know how to perform anything in here. This book is worthless!"

Ron opened his own copy, his eyebrows rising in disbelief. "For a worthless book, it sure costs a lot… You know, I reckon Umbridge doesn't want us learning anything practical this year. It would make sense, if the Ministry is worried about Dumbledore using us like weapons."

Harry had wandered further down the Defence shelves, and returned with three copies of a new book with the promising title, Practical Defence Against the Dark Arts. "What do you say to a bit of supplemental reading, mates?" he grinned, offering Ron and Hermione a copy. "I'll dip into my parents' account – I doubt they'd forgive me if I failed to provide the means to further our education. I picked a Fifth Year text, so there ought to be plenty of spells in there that we haven't learned yet."

To Harry's relief, Ron accepted the book without a murmur about accepting charity. He knew it would only waste time, and Harry wasn't about to compromise. Hermione ran a finger down the cover, which featured a silver shield deflecting a green curse. "Now this is more like it," she said with satisfaction.

They went to the pet store next, with Ginny joining them after a quick stop at Madam Malkin's. They looked at countless familiars – owls, cats, toads, and even a few snakes – before Hermione settled on one she liked.

"His name is Crookshanks," said the store clerk, glaring at orange tabby with an astonishing amount of dislike. "He's part kneazel, and one tough bas- er, cookie."

Hermione was clearly smitten, though Harry thought Crookshanks was a bit of an ugly beast, with a squashed face and shrewd, beady little eyes. "He's such a sweetie," she cooed, echoed by Ginny, who also thought Crookshanks was the cutest thing since miniature ponies.

Harry and Ron traded knowing glances, mouthing "girls" in unison – but being very careful that said girls couldn't overhear them.

"What the hell, mate," Ron shrugged, "he looks like he can take care of himself. Look here, furball," Ron said, shaking a finger with mock sternness at the tabby. Crookshanks hissed at being so addressed. "You look after my friend, you hear? And if you ever see a rat missing a toe on its forepaw, you bite its head off. Understood?"

Harry could have sworn that Crookshanks nodded, and he wondered whether Hermione hadn't made the right choice after all. Ron eventually gravitated towards the owls, lingering for a moment by a regal-looking barn owl with vicious talons. "Are there any hawks?" he asked the store clerk wistfully.

Then Ginny called him over, pointing to a tiny owl in an oversized cage. It was zooming about like a dervish, crashing into the bars only to fly to the other side and repeat the process.

"Why would I want that one?" Ron demanded. "He's mental!"

"He's cute!" Ginny insisted, pouting adorably. Ron argued half-heartedly, but Harry knew in advance what the outcome would be. Ron might act tough around Ginny and give her a hard time, but when it came down to it, she had him wrapped around her finger.

The four of them made their way lazily to Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor, Ron and Ginny arguing the whole way about his new owl's name. Ginny was trying to get him to name the owl "Pigwidgeon," of all things, which Harry thought was positively cruel of her.

Once inside the ice cream shop, Harry insisted that he buy his friends their favorite flavors. Ginny looked aside when he handed her a double scoop of mint chocolate chip, her cheeks flaming. Harry stared, a little puzzled. He had no clue why she was acting like that, but he really hoped she wouldn't turn back into the mousy girl from last year.

He really liked the Ginny he had seen develop after the incident with Riddle's diary – she had grown more confident, especially when she argued with her brothers, and her spellwork in the Dueling Club had been impressive. Harry wanted to be friends with the Ginny who had flushed the Dark Lord down the loo, not the Ginny who blushed and stammered for no apparent reason. Harry shrugged as he turned his attention to his own ice cream. Maybe Ginny wasn't feeling well or something – he was sure she would be back to normal soon.

They were soon joined by the Percy and the twins – Percy was yelling at the twins about something to do with a letter and "that blasted quill," but Harry tuned them out in order to enjoy his dessert.

By the end of the day they were all exhausted, but completely satisfied and carrying bags that were much heavier than when they'd arrived. Mrs. Weasley took them all back to the Burrow for dinner, where they stuffed their faces with what seemed like enough food to feed all of Gryffindor House for a week.

As Harry was wearily climbing the stairs to Ron's room, wanting nothing more than to fall into a soft bed, he found Fred and George waiting to ambush him.

"Mr. Potter," George said, sweeping him a courtly bow. "If you would please follow us."

Harry looked at them blankly. "Do I have a choice?"

"I'm afraid not, dear boy," Fred replied breezily. "You can either come with us, or tomorrow morning we Vanish your robes and let you ride the Hogwarts Express in your bloomers."

"You've persuaded me," Harry said, sending one last, longing look at the door. "Lead on."

The twins led Harry to their room one level up, and just as Ron had said, their door sported several intriguing scorch marks.

"Be welcome to our lair," Fred said with a mysterious smile. If he was honest with himself, Harry had to admit that the chance to see the twins' room was exciting. He could only imagine what horrors were contained within.

The room was definitely not what he'd been expecting. The first thing he noticed was the cauldron on a raised wooden platform against one wall. It fairly gleamed in the candlelit room, as if it had been scrubbed clean recently. The twins slept in bunk beds squashed into the corner, and the rest of the walls were blocked by shelves that reached almost to the ceiling.

Each shelf held a startling assortment of bottles, pouches, and flasks, labeled in the twins' scrawling handwriting. It was almost like walking into the apothecary in Diagon Alley. Harry was amazed.

"It used to be a bit messier," Fred admitted, "but we made some changes after the… incident… at the end of last year." He watched Harry knowingly.

"That's why you're here, Harry," George went on. "See, we may not know what happened then, or who you fought, but we know it's not over. Mum and Dad have been staying up late and going out at odd hours-"

"-plus there's the new state of our family clock," Fred finished. "That's a fairly big clue that something big is stirring – if you'll pardon the bad Potions pun."

The twins nodded to each other, and spoke in unison.

"We want in."

Harry sighed. He should have guessed that the twins, who were some of the smartest people he knew – even if they went to great lengths to hide that fact – would not be content to stay on the sidelines.

Seeing his hesitation, George spoke up again. "We know that school isn't important anymore – not that we ever thought it was," he added, grinning. "It's all about being prepared for what's coming. And judging by those shiny awards Dumbledore gave the three of you, you're more prepared than any of the rest of us. Since Professor Sarutobi isn't coming back, and the new Defence teacher doesn't seem likely to be much help, we figured you were the man to see."

"We're not counting Ron or Hermione out," Fred said hastily, "it's just, we didn't want to give Ron the satisfaction of knowing that we want his help. At least, not until we know if you are willing to teach us some of what you know."

"It's not that I don't want to," Harry began, "but it's a bit complicated. You know Professor Umbridge is from the Ministry, right?" They nodded.

"Well, the Ministry also thinks that Dumbledore is in league with Sirius Black. Probably the first thing that Umbridge is going to do is crack down on any students practicing combat magic. Which is terrible, because what with… what happened last year, combat magic is probably the most important thing for us to learn. But whatever practice we do has to be under the radar, and – no offense – you two aren't exactly known for that."

Fred and George winced, acknowledging the truth of that observation.

"We understand your caution, Harry," said Fred seriously.

"But despite our admitted love for the spotlight-"

"-and perhaps a slight fondness for pyrotechnics-"

"-we can keep a secret if the situation demands it."

Fred pointed to a picture on the wall above their cauldron. It showed a younger Mrs. Weasley standing next to two slightly older men. "Do you see those two blokes? They're our uncles, Gideon and Fabian Prewett. They fought You-Know-Who in the war, before they were killed by Death Eaters."

George turned back to Harry. "They were heroes, just like our Mum and Dad – even ickle Ronnikins, I suppose, as of last spring. And if another war is coming, you can be damn sure that we'll be will be with you front and center. Weasleys don't cower-"

"-except when Mum's having a row," Fred broke in. "Then we cower like anything."

"Very true, brother mine. Anyway, we're smart enough to know that there's a lot of room for us to improve, and not enough time for us to get there on our own. So what do you say, Harry? Can you lend a hand?"

"Keep in mind," Fred added, eyes glinting, "that if you help us, we'll help you. We've been fairly busy this summer, and I think we've managed to brew up a few things that might be useful to you."

Harry eyed the twins speculatively, and then shifted his gaze to the treasure trove of unknown substances and potions on the shelves around him. If the twins had really shifted gears from pranking to military research and development, he could only imagine what possibilities for mayhem were contained in this room.

"I can't make any promises until I talk to Ron and Hermione," Harry told them, "but I wouldn't worry. We've already made some plans for training under Professor Umbridge's nose, and I'd guess that we can fit a few more people easily enough. Professor Sarutobi devoted his extra time last year to training us, but I think he'd want us to do our best to make sure our friends and classmates are prepared, too. He talks a lot about the 'next generation,' so I think he'd approve. In the meantime," he broke off, eyeing the twins' lanky bodies critically, "start doing push-ups. Lots and lots of push-ups."

He laughed at their horrified expressions, then headed down the stairs to Ron's room, where a blessedly soft bed awaited him.

oOoOo

Drip… drip… drip…

Charlie Weasley had lost all track of time. His cell was in a stone dungeon deep underground, with nothing to mark the passage of time except the maddening sound of water droplets hitting the floor.

Drip… drip… drip…

Not for the first time, Charlie wondered if the sound might drive him mad. His thoughts were already scattered, swirling and resolving into ideas only to shatter into fragments as the next droplet of water hit the stone floor.

He tried to remember who he was, why he was here, but it all fled before the pain. His entire body was one mass of agony. He'd lost count of the number of times he'd been tortured – probably almost as many times as he'd eaten meals, since the person who brought him food always applied the Cruciatus Curse for a while before feeding him.

But even worse than the Cruciatus Curse were the times when he visited Charlie in his dungeon cell. Charlie didn't even know the man's name, but he vividly remembered the day the man had shown up at the Romanian Dragon Preserve.

The first sign that anything was wrong was a nearby explosion that had driven the dragons wild. But Charlie had no time to calm them down, because the next thing he knew his boss, an Irish wizard named Murphy who had taught Charlie everything he knew about dragon-wrangling, had burst into flame right before his eyes.

With instincts honed by years of Quidditch and then dodging dragonfire, Charlie was able to draw his wand and Apparate to the other end of the clearing. Escape hadn't even crossed his mind – he would fight to protect his dragons and his coworkers. There were only two enemy wizards, and Charlie thought he could flank both of them by Apparating behind them. But his Stunner went right through the older man, revealing him to be an illusion. A second later Charlie was dangling in the air, helpless, bound by invisible ropes.

He could still remember the voice that spoke to him from behind, chilling the blood in his veins.

"You were foolhardy not to retreat when you had a chance, yet you fought well for a wizard. I believe you may be of use."

Then everything went dark, and Charlie had awoken in a dank cell – where, he did not know. The torture began soon after. Sometimes it was a blond boy, surely no more than seventeen years old, who performed the spell, and sometimes it was the man who had captured Charlie and killed many of his coworkers. But no matter who it was, the questions were always the same.

"Are there any unguarded entrances to Hogwarts?"

"What are the school's defences?"

"How many trained wizards live in Hogsmeade?"

Each time Charlie was tempted to break, he thought of his Percy, who had written to him what seemed like a lifetime ago, informing Charlie that he was Head Boy. He thought of the twins, and Ron, and Ginny just beginning her second year. He repeated their names in his head like a spell, clinging to the memory of their faces. Each time, he found the strength to persist.

Then his captor would go away, leaving Charlie alone with his pain and the never-ending drip of water falling from the ceiling.

That day – or night, or whatever it was – the man came again. Charlie tried to force his body to relax, since he knew from experience that tensing up before the Cruciatus often made you bite your tongue by accident.

"Don't fret yourself," said Charlie's captor. "I'm not going to torture you anymore. You've passed my test."

Charlie tried to spit at the man's feet, but his mouth didn't have enough moisture. "Go to Hell," he croaked.

"I most assuredly would," the man laughed, "if I were ever to die. But I have no time for theology. First, let me applaud you. Your strength of will is impressive, especially considering how soft and weak the majority of wizards are. I suppose it might be a product of your chosen profession – or perhaps it is the reason you chose that profession in the first place."

"You're only wasting your time," Charlie rasped. "I'll never betray Hogwarts."

His captor waved a hand dismissively. "Oh, you did that ages ago. You may have a strong mind, but apparently no one ever taught you Occlumency. I've plumbed your mind for every scrap of information regarding Hogwarts' defences, although you didn't know much. The torture was simply my way of measuring your inner strength, and determining if you are worthy to serve me."

Charlie roared with rage, straining against the chains that held him, but of course they didn't budge an inch. "You might as well kill me," he whispered. "I will never serve you."

"It's amazing how few people say that, when they come face to face with their own death. But whenever I encounter those people, I find that there are usually other levers one can pull to bring about a change of perspective. You may be willing to sacrifice yourself, but what about your family?"

"You can't touch my family," Charlie whispered praying that it was true. "They are under Dumbledore's protection. He's the greatest wizard alive, and he will squash you like a bug the moment you step out from under your rock."

"Believe what you like," the man said comfortably. "I can see I won't persuade you with words alone. But be patient – and in the meantime, try to remember as much as you can about raising baby dragons. I've located as many eggs as I could, and they ought to hatch any day now."

He made as if to leave, but turned back at the last moment. "I hope you've been enjoying your cell. It's roomy, isn't it? But it must get lonely… I suppose it would be kind of me to find you a roommate, yes? Someone you know, preferably someone you care about… As a matter of fact, I've been planning a trip to Egypt for a while. Perhaps I can find a suitable prospect while I'm there."

Understanding dawned, and it hurt Charlie worse than any Cruciatus Curse possibly could.

No… Bill!

His anguished cries echoed off the rocky walls of his cell, but the man was already gone.

oOoOo

Sarutobi brought Draco to King's Cross Station, watching over him until he had safely passed through Platform Nine and Three-Quarters. Draco didn't look back as the bustling London station disappeared from sight. He and Sarutobi had said everything they needed to say. Draco had his orders, and he knew exactly what to do once he got to Hogwarts. He was looking forward to it, actually. Professor Snape might not be on Sarutobi's level, but Malfoy knew the Potions professor would have a lot to teach him.

First things first, however. Before he could learn from Snape, he had to figure out his new position within Slytherin House. Draco hadn't seen any of his classmates since the spring, and they were doubtless wondering how the summer had changed him. There were many secrets he would have to keep from them, most notably the fact that he had spent every waking hour of the last month practicing magic with blood traitors and Mudbloods. Remembering Hermione's ludicrous skill with complex charms and curses, Malfoy couldn't even think the word 'Mudblood' with the old venom.

Draco went in search of the third-year Slytherin compartment. The usual crew was there: Vincent Crabbe, Gregory Goyle, Pansy Parkinson, and Theodore Nott. Draco watched them all carefully, keeping track of their initial reactions as they noticed him standing in the entrance.

Pansy was overjoyed, yelling "Draco!" at the top of her lungs. Crabbe and Goyle looked slightly guilty, as if he had caught them doing something wrong. And maybe he had, for he could see the way they flanked Theodore Nott, the same way they had once flanked him. It seemed that without Lucius Malfoy's reputation or wealth to keep them in line, the elder Crabbe and Goyle had urged their sons to transfer their loyalty to the Nott family. Now that Lucius was dead, as well as powerful former Death Eaters such as Rookwood and Macnair, Theodore's father was the head of the most influential Pureblood family left with ties to Slytherin House.

Theodore's expression was the most interesting of them all – it was a mixture of fear, confusion, and resentment. Draco wagered that Theodore had hoped he wouldn't be coming back to Hogwarts. Now the pecking order would have to be reestablished, but Draco had no intention of reclaiming his position at the top. Not only were his loyalties different, but the restrictions on his magic were a significant risk. None of his Housemates could learn about the Vow he'd sworn, so discretion would certainly be the better part of valor this year.

Draco gave them his best level-eyed stare, channeling his father at his most disapproving. "I see things have changed since I've been away."

"But now you're back!" Pansy declared, completely missing his point. She had never been the most observant of Slytherins, Draco remembered. In her own way, she was as much a follower as Crabbe or Goyle.

Nott scooted down on the plush seat, somewhat reluctantly making room for Draco. "Where… where were you? My father made inquiries at the Ministry, but Fudge only said you were somewhere safe."

Draco shrugged. "That's true enough. After the attempt on my life, Dumbledore found a safe place for me to spend the rest of the summer. I don't even know where it was – there were a lot of trees, but that's all I can tell you."

Crabbe and Goyle kept shooting him worried glances. Clearly, they expected him to confront them about their split loyalties. Draco thought it best to clear that issue up immediately – the upcoming year would be much easier if he didn't have to worry about Crabbe and Goyle following him around like they used to. He would miss having his own personal henchmen, but it was probably time that Draco got used to taking care of his own problems. After all, Crabbe and Goyle would be worse than useless when he fought Orochimaru.

"How have you two been?" he asked pointedly, making Gregory jump. "Spent some time at Nott's manor this summer, have you?"

"Ah, about that, Draco," Gregory stammered, but Draco cut him off.

"That's good. I have new protections in case the man who killed my parents returns to finish the job, but Theodore is probably in danger too. I hope you watch his back as well as you did mine."

It was true enough, in a way, even if Draco's so-called "protections" were nothing more than the skills he had acquired from Sarutobi. Vincent nodded, relief plain on his features, while Theodore regarded Draco with cautious speculation.

"How are you feeling, Draco?" Pansy asked, either ignoring or oblivious to the shifting loyalties currently realigning in the compartment. "I mean, now that your parents-"

The expression on his face silenced her mid-sentence. "I'd prefer it if we didn't talk about my parents." His voice, perfectly bland and emotionless, nevertheless made Pansy turn white with fear.

"Can we at least ask about who killed them?" Theodore asked, showing a certain amount of daring. Draco raised one eyebrow, wondering what Theodore was playing at. "My father says the Ministry blames Sirius Black. They reckon that after Black escaped from Azkaban, he began hunting down Death Eaters who renounced the Dark Lord after he fell. After all, including your parents, over a dozen former Death Eaters died last year, though none of the others had children at Hogwarts. My father brought a security team in from the Ministry to upgrade the wards on our manor, and he wasn't the only one." Nott shivered. "I hope they capture that lunatic quickly."

Draco quickly stifled his surge of anger at the Ministry, and Cornelius Fudge in particular. Only a few weeks ago when they had met for a brief meeting at the Ministry, the Minister had refused to examine Draco's memories of Orochimaru, saying that they had doubtlessly been tampered with. Draco wondered when the Minister thought that had happened – when his mother was killed, or after Draco had gone to live with Sarutobi. It was maddening, but Fudge still had his uses, since he believed that Draco was willing to spy on Dumbledore for the Ministry.

"He didn't look like Black," Draco said shortly, repressing his memories of Orochimaru. "But the Minister reckons he was disguised, or else I was Confunded during the attack. I don't really know, and that's another topic I'd appreciate if we left alone."

Nott acquiesced instantly, hands spread wide as if to say he'd meant no disrespect. Pansy showed surprising thoughtfulness by setting up a game of Exploding Snap, and the five Slytherins moved away from more dangerous topics for a while. Draco even managed to enjoy himself, and they focused solely on the game as the Hogwarts Express carried them closer and closer to school. When the snack trolley came by, Draco tried to earn some goodwill by purchasing a ton of sweets and giving them to his classmates.

He thought that the grandmotherly witch pushing the trolley gave him a searching glance, and he wondered if she remembered him from last year, when he had ordered Crabbe and Goyle to buy him sweets with their own pocket money.

Several minutes later, the Hogwarts Express started slowing down, far too soon for them to have reached Hogwarts.

"What's going on?" Pansy wondered, peering out the window. "We can't be at school yet."

Draco's instincts told him that something was very wrong. "Wands out," he ordered, gratified when even Theodore obeyed instantly. "Form a circle, but stay away from the window. I'll watch the door."

Inwardly, Draco was cursing himself for a fool. Of course the Hogwarts Express was vulnerable to attack! A train moving through the countryside at a fixed speed, carrying all of Hogwarts' students with no adults to protect them. If Orochimaru was responsible for the train stopping, they would be at his mercy. Draco had no illusions that his scant months of training could help him against the monster who had killed his parents. For a moment, he wished that Ron, Harry, and Hermione were in the compartment with him. At least he trusted the three of them in a fight – Merlin knew they'd proved their worth a hundred times over while dueling in Black's manor.

Draco's breath crystallized in front of him, the air growing inexplicably cold. Pansy moaned with fear as frost spread icy fingers across the window. We're fish in a barrel here, Draco realized. We need to move, maybe join forces with some older Slytherins, even if Potter and his friends are too far away.

"Come on," he said, moving to open the door of the compartment. Waiting just outside, floating a foot off the ground, was a creature that Draco had only ever heard during bedtime stories from his childhood nurse. It was a Dementor, tattered black cloak swaying in a nonexistent breeze, low hood obscuring its face except for a scabbed, horrifying maw.

The chill bit deeper, and Draco fell backwards, unable to raise his wand. His vision went dark, and he could hear voices, which began muffled but grew louder.

"Avada Kedavra!"

That was his mother's voice, clear as the day she died, trying to protect him. Draco knew what came next, and sure enough Orochimaru's voice echoed in his head, too distinct to be a mere memory. Draco tried to fight, to stand up, to do anything, but the cold leeched him of his strength and he was fading, falling…

"Wake up, lad!" A woman's voice woke him, one he didn't recognize. It was too low to be his mother's, and it held a level of exasperation that Narcissa would never have expressed openly.

"Come on, blast you, open your eyes!" Draco felt a spark zap his hand, and he jolted upright. To his great astonishment, the witch who pushed the trolley was standing over him, her grandmotherly face showing both concern and annoyance.

"Did I… did I faint?" Draco asked, furious with himself.

"Yes, but there's no shame in that," the witch assured him. She handed him a bar of Honeydukes' best chocolate, tearing the wrapper efficiently. "Eat up. It helps with Dementor attacks."

Draco stared at the chocolate, uncomprehending. "Eat it," the witch snapped. "There's no time, Merlin take you!"

Draco obediently took a bite, and gasped as warmth spread down to his toes. His protector nodded with satisfaction. "That's more like it. Now come with me – I may need your help."

Draco was not stupid, and he was quickly realizing that there was more to this witch than met the eye. Sarutobi had taught him to react quickly in combat situations, so he got to his feet immediately, picking his wand up from where it had dropped to the floor.

The trolley witch pointed a threatening finger at the other Slytherings, who were cowering against the far wall. "You lot stay there, and don't move a muscle!" she warned, sounding uncommonly fierce for such a placid-looking lady. "Honestly," she muttered, "there's not a single one of you with a spine… follow me, Mr. Malfoy."

Draco hurried out into the corridor after her, rapidly running through his repertoire of spells. Was there anything he knew that could hurt a Dementor? He wasn't sure, but he promised himself he wouldn't faint again.

"Don't be ashamed about before," the witch called over her shoulder. "You're not weak. Dementors bring out your worst memories and make you relive them over and over. They affected you like that because you've suffered more than most. They're some of the most dangerous Dark creatures alive, but you can fight them if you know how. Just pay attention, and stay behind me."

The frumpy witch showed surprising strength as she barreled down the length of the train, effortlessly carving a path through confused students from all four Houses. Draco ran behind, determined to learn all he could by watching her.

Near the opposite end of the train, there were no students at all in the corridor. Instead, four hooded Dementors floated in front of an open door, pacing back and forth with a frustrated air, like a pack of wolves cheated of their prey. Draco could see a bright light blocking the doorway, which he recognized a moment later as the Shield Charm, Protego. It flickered in places, showing that whoever held it in place must be getting tired, but for the moment the Dementors couldn't pass.

"That's Potter's compartment," the trolley witch said with grim satisfaction. "I figured they'd gravitate there. If only your little Pureblood friends had half their guts!"

Draco could only agree. The witch rolled up the sleeves of her robe with a business-like air.

"Watch closely, Mr. Malfoy. This is how you deal with Dementors. Expecto Patronum!"

There was a blinding flash, and then a giant grizzly bear made of silver light erupted from her wand. The grizzly thundered down the narrow confines of the corridor, bearing down on the Dark creatures like a silver-furred avalanche.

They let out unearthly shrieks and fled before it, flying out of the nearest exit and disappearing into the gloom. The witch led Draco to the door, gesturing to the students inside the compartment. The Shield Charm winked out of existence, revealing a second Shield Charm that held a moment longer before disappearing.

Ron and Hermione stood side by side, faces pale but determined, while in the back of the compartment Neville Longbottom crouched protectively in front of Harry Potter's motionless body.

Oh thank Merlin, Draco thought, relieved. Potter fainted too. Then he flushed, embarrassed to be happy about something so petty.

"Everyone inside," the witch urged, herding them like sheep and sliding the door closed behind them. "Shake him awake," she told Neville, pointing to Harry, "and make him eat this." She tossed him another chocolate bar, which Neville fumbled a bit before catching.

"First of all," the witch began, eyeing Ron and Hermione with respect, "excellent work. It takes a powerful Shield Charm to hold four Dementors at bay, and a quick mind to think to try it."

"All Hermione," Ron admitted, looking sheepish. "I would still be wasting time with Diffindo if she hadn't suggested Protego."

"Praise each other on your own time," the witch snapped, looking for all the world as if she hadn't been praising them herself. "For now, shut up and listen. Those were Dementors, guardians of Azkaban, the wizard prison. As you know, they'll be at Hogwarts this year. Make sure you have some chocolate on you at all times – it counteracts the draining effect to some extent. Next thing to know is the Patronus Charm. It's the only spell we know of that drives Dementors away. Look it up the moment you get to Hogwarts, and practice it in secret until you have it down."

Hermione's eyes flashed. "Why did they board the train?" she demanded. "Doesn't that constitute an attack on minors?"

"The Ministry will no doubt claim that they were only doing a routine security check," the trolley witch responded, spitting derisively. "And since no one was harmed, they'll get away with it. Dumbledore will lodge an official complaint with the Minister, but I doubt it will have much effect. That's why you need to be prepared for the next time – I won't always be here to pull your bacon out of the fire."

"We're right grateful to you, ma'am," Ron said. "But… who are you?"

To everyone's considerable shock, their savior's right eye rotated completely in its socket, revealing a completely different eye on the other side. The pupil was a brilliant blue, and larger than any normal eye. It even looked like it was made of... glass. She winked slyly, and the eye whizzed around like a dervish, looking in every direction at once.

"Greetings from the Order of the Phoenix," said Mad-Eye Moody, his face and voice still those of the witch who had pushed the trolley on the Hogwarts Express for time out of mind. "And don't call me 'ma'am.' Dumbledore thought it best to have someone guarding the train, and I guess he was right. I'm just glad I didn't have to drink this bloody Polyjuice Potion for nothing."

He fished a flask out of his robes and took a deep swig, scrunching up his face in disgust. "Phaugh, that stuff is awful. Anyway, I have to keep making my rounds, in case any more of the slimy creatures try to board before the train starts up again. Stay sharp, you hear? Constant Vigilance!"

The fake witch stalked out of the apartment, and this time Draco thought he detected a faint limp. The third-year students looked at each other, stunned.

"Merlin's Beard," Draco said, raw envy in his voice. "Did you see that bear?! We need to learn this Patronus Charm first thing."

"Malfoy?" Neville said hesitantly, as if he couldn't believe his eyes. "Why, um… are you here?"

Harry Potter coughed weakly, saving Malfoy the trouble of answering. "Probably came to gloat," Harry wheezed, shivering uncontrollably. "Seeing as how I fainted like a little girl."

"Eat that chocolate," Draco advised. "It helps. I was feeling pretty terrible after I fainted, but the chocolate fixed me right up."

Harry stared at him, surprised, then nodded hesitantly. "Here goes, then." He took one bite, then another, amazed at how effective it was. The Gryffindors shared the rest of the chocolate amongst themselves, senses still alert in case any more Dementors showed up.

"I guess we're friends with Malfoy, then," Neville said to no one in particular.

"Not friends, Longbottom," Draco drawled. "More like reluctant allies. Try to keep up, will you? Oh, and sorry for cursing you so many times last year… and the year before… won't happen again."

Neville was too shocked by his apology to respond. Soon a low rumbling signaled that the train was on its way again.

"If that fight was an indication of how the school year is going to go," said Hermione, shaking her head, "then I'm beginning to think things will be even worse than we thought."

No one disagreed.

Thankfully, the train made it the rest of the way to Hogwarts without any further disruptions. As they were preparing to embark, Harry turned to Draco.

"Do you want to take one of the carriages up to the castle with us? There's strength in numbers, after all."

"I appreciate the offer," said Draco, realizing to his astonishment that he actually did. "But I'm not supposed to let people see me with you guys. The Slytherins would think I've changed sides, and it might get back to Cornelius Fudge. As it is, I've got a good chance to get on Dolores Umbridge's good side, which could be a significant advantage for all of us."

And when did it become us? Draco wondered. But looking around the compartment at the earnest Gryffindors, he realized that somehow it had.

All of the Gryffindors, even Neville, regarded him with a respect that was weirdly gratifying. "So you're the inside man, eh?" said Ron, nodding. "It makes sense. Just be careful, you know? We can't watch your back very well without blowing your cover."

"I'll watch my own back," Draco said gruffly – but truthfully, knowing they were worried about him was actually… pleasant. "I won't be as alone as all that," Draco assured them. "I have orders to report to Professor Snape, and I have another ally that no one will suspect." He grinned conspiratorially at them, and Harry in particular. "Remember a cute House Elf named Dobby? Turns out his family freed him, so he took a job in the Hogwarts kitchens."

"That's great," said Harry sarcastically. "He can steal your mail, keep you from taking the Hogwarts Express, and break your bones while trying to keep you safe!"

"He did all that to you?" Draco demanded, startled into laughing. "I knew there was a reason I liked him!"

"We should go," Hermione said worriedly, watching the stream of students through the window. "We'll miss the carriages."

"Go on ahead," Draco told them. "I'll wait a bit, then come out after so nobody sees me with you." Remembering what their disguised protector had told them, he grinned. "Constant Vigilance, right?"

The Gryffindors laughed again, then departed with their trunks, schoolbooks, and various magical pets. Draco was left on his own in the compartment, reflecting that he felt far more at home with the Gryffindors than he had with the Slytherins. That was… troubling, to say the least.

Draco waited long enough that when he finally exited the train, there was only one carriage left. He walked over to it, noting with shock that it was attached to a pair of skeletal creatures that he definitely didn't remember from last year.

"They're thestrals," came a feminine voice from the carriage. "Beautiful, aren't they?"

Draco looked up in surprise. The girl who had spoken was a second-year Ravenclaw that he vaguely remembered from the Sorting last year. Her pale skin and white-blond hair, eerily similar to his own, made her stand out in his memory. What was her name again? …Luna, that was it. Luna Lovegood.

"Luna, right?" he said, looking away from her to the skeletal winged horses in front of the carriage. "Those things are called thestrals? Why couldn't I see them last year?"

"Thestrals are only visible to those who have seen death," Luna replied matter-of-factly. Draco froze, his throat tightening painfully. "I am sorry for your loss," she continued. "It has been many years since I lost my mother, and I still miss her very much. It must be very painful for you."

Luna's sincere sympathy, free from any hint of pity or condescension, threatened to erode Draco's self-control, so he distracted himself by loading his trunks on the back of the carriage. When he was confident that his expression was under control, he climbed up to sit beside Luna.

"It's nice to meet you, Luna," he said, holding out his hand. "I'm Draco Malfoy."

"Draco," she replied, stretching out his name as if savoring each syllable. "It's nice to meet you, too."