Chapter 49: Slug Club
August 31, 2003 – Sunday
The Burrow, Ottery St. Catchpole, Devon, England
After they returned to the Burrow, Harry, Ron, Dawn, and Hermione quickly steered Buffy into one of the small, cluttered rooms upstairs, ensuring they were well out of earshot from Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. The low hum of conversation and bustling activity from downstairs faded into the background as Harry shut the door firmly behind them. Buffy crossed her arms and leaned against the bedframe, her sharp gaze flicking between them as Harry began recounting everything, they had witnessed in Knockturn Alley.
Buffy listened intently, her face unreadable as Harry spoke, but her eyes sharpened with concern when he detailed Draco Malfoy's interaction with Borgin. When Harry finally fell silent, she tilted her head, her expression thoughtful.
"That is interesting," Buffy said after a moment, her voice calm but edged with seriousness. "But without knowing what he's got reserved or what he's planning, I don't think there's much we can do about it right now."
"Yes, I have to agree with Buffy," Hermione added, her brow furrowed as she leaned against the desk, one hand absently fiddling with the hem of her sweater. "It was definitely fishy, but there could be a lot of explanations."
"Maybe he's broken his Hand of Glory," said Ron vaguely, shrugging as he dropped onto the edge of the bed.
"Ron!" Dawn said, exasperation evident in her tone as she shot him a sharp look. "I don't think I want to hear that Malfoy has her hand."
Ron blinked in confusion for a moment before his expression shifted to amusement. "I doubt it was her hand, Dawn. But remember that creepy, shriveled-up arm Malfoy had back at Borgin and Burkes a couple years ago?"
"But what about when he said, 'Don't forget to keep that one safe'?" Harry interjected, his voice rising slightly in frustration. He began pacing the narrow space between the bed and the door, his movements tense. "That sounded to me like Borgin's got another one of the broken objects, and Malfoy wants both. He's up to something."
Dawn sighed; her arms folded tightly across her chest as she leaned against the wall. Her eyes softened slightly as she looked at Harry. "Something is definitely going on," she said, her tone quieter but filled with conviction.
"You reckon?" said Ron, raising an eyebrow at her.
"Yeah, I do," said Harry, stopping mid-pace to turn and face them. "Malfoy's father's in Azkaban. Don't you think Malfoy'd like revenge for that? Don't forget—Lucius was captured because of what happened in the Department of Mysteries."
Buffy nodded slowly, her expression darkening. "I do. Malfoy Senior's capture isn't just on Harry. Dawn backed him up, and I know how much family pride means to the Malfoys. Draco would definitely want revenge for it."
Ron leaned back on his hands, looking up at the ceiling as if trying to make sense of it all. "Malfoy, revenge? What can he do about it?" he asked, though there was a flicker of unease in his voice.
"That's my point—I don't know!" said Harry, his voice taut with frustration. "But he's up to something, and I think we should take it seriously. His father's a Death Eater, and there's no telling what Draco might try."
Dawn nodded in agreement, her expression mirroring Harry's determination. "I have to agree with Harry," she said firmly.
Harry's words seemed to hang in the air, his eyes fixed with an intensity that made the rest of them pause. His mouth was open, as if the realization had struck him like a bolt of lightning. His gaze remained transfixed on the window behind Hermione, but his mind seemed to be a thousand miles away, racing with a thought so startling, it left him breathless.
"Harry?" Hermione asked, her voice laced with concern, noticing the sudden shift in his expression. "What's wrong?"
Ron shifted uncomfortably; his usual laid-back demeanor gone, replaced by an anxious edge. "Your scar's not hurting again, is it?"
Harry remained motionless for a moment longer, as if wrestling with the enormity of what had just occurred to him. Then, slowly, his voice broke the silence, low and measured. "He's a Death Eater," he said, each word weighed down with the gravity of its meaning. "Malfoy's replaced his father as a Death Eater!"
The words fell into the room like a stone in water, creating ripples of disbelief and shock. Dawn's eyes went wide, her mind spinning to keep up with Harry's sudden declaration. She looked at Buffy, her voice tinged with doubt. "Do you think Harry's right?"
Buffy shrugged; her gaze distant as she considered the possibility. She wasn't sure of anything anymore, but the thought gnawed at her. The idea felt almost too terrible to accept, yet there was something in Harry's conviction that made her hesitate.
Ron, on the other hand, erupted in laughter, a loud, almost mocking sound that filled the room. "Malfoy? He's sixteen, Harry! You think You-Know-Who would let Malfoy join?" The skepticism in his voice was evident, as if the very notion was beyond belief.
"It seems very unlikely, Harry," Hermione added, her brow furrowed in confusion, though she couldn't quite suppress the thread of worry in her voice. "What makes you think…?"
Buffy, who had been listening closely, cut in, her voice calm but firm. "In Madam Malkin's. She didn't touch him, but he yelled and jerked his arm away when she went to roll up his sleeve," she explained, her eyes narrowing as she recalled the encounter. "It was his left arm."
Harry nodded grimly; his lips pressed together as the full weight of his realization hit him again. "He's been branded with the Dark Mark," he said quietly, but with an undeniable certainty.
Ron and Hermione exchanged a look that spoke volumes, neither of them willing to fully believe it yet, but both of them unsettled by the possibility.
"Well..." Ron started, his voice uncertain. "I mean, it's just… a little hard to believe, right?"
Hermione, still frowning, hesitated. "I think he just wanted to get out of there, Harry," she said carefully, as if testing the waters of another explanation, her tone laced with doubt. "It's possible he just didn't want anyone to see his arm, not necessarily because of the Mark."
Buffy thought about it for a moment. She could see Hermione's point, but there was something more to it than that. The way Malfoy had reacted, the tension in the air—something had felt off. She nodded slowly. "That's possible, of course," she said, her voice tinged with uncertainty.
But then, Dawn spoke up, her eyes sharp with focus. "He showed Borgin something we couldn't see," she said, her voice low, but filled with significance. "Something that seriously scared Borgin."
Harry's expression hardened; his gaze unflinching. "It was the Mark," he said with conviction. "I know it… he was showing Borgin who he was dealing with. You saw how seriously Borgin took him!"
Ron and Hermione exchanged another look, this one more guarded than before. Neither of them seemed entirely convinced, but the seed of doubt had clearly been planted.
"I'm not sure, Harry..." Hermione said, her voice hesitant, the doubt still lingering like an unsolved mystery in her tone.
"Yeah, I still don't reckon You-Know-Who would let Malfoy join..." Ron added, though his voice lacked its usual certainty, a slight frown pulling at his forehead as if even he was beginning to question his initial reaction.
Annoyed, but absolutely convinced he was right, Harry grabbed a pile of filthy Quidditch robes and stormed out of the room. His frustration bubbled beneath the surface as he thought about Malfoy and the dismissive responses he'd received. He barely noticed the heavy thud of his boots on the stairs or the distant hum of conversation drifting from the kitchen below. Mrs. Weasley had been urging them for days to get their packing done early, but now her words only added to his irritation.
"Harry, wait up!" Dawn called, hurrying after him. Her voice was light, but there was a trace of concern underneath. She caught up to him just as he bumped into Ginny in the hallway.
Ginny had a smirk playing on her lips as she stepped back from the collision. "I wouldn't go in the kitchen just now," she warned, her tone laced with amusement. "There's a lot of Phlegm around."
Harry gave a small snort, his mood momentarily lifted. "I'll be careful not to slip in it," he said dryly, exchanging a knowing look with Dawn. They both understood perfectly well that Ginny was referring to Fleur, whose presence had become a point of contention in the household.
Sure enough, when Harry and Dawn stepped into the kitchen, they were greeted by Fleur's lilting voice, carrying on about wedding plans. She sat at the kitchen table, her perfect posture and shimmering blond hair giving her an almost ethereal glow. She gestured elegantly as she spoke, her accent thick and melodic.
"... Bill and I 'ave almost decided on only two bridesmaids," Fleur was saying, a thoughtful expression on her flawless face. "Ginny and Gabrielle will look very sweet togezzer. I am theenking of dressing zem in pale gold, pink would of course be 'orrible with Ginny's 'air!"
Harry felt a twitch of a smile, but before he could say anything, Mrs. Weasley cut across Fleur's monologue with an unnaturally loud voice. "Ah, Harry! Dawn!" she said brightly, her tone cheerful but strained. "Good, I wanted to explain about the security arrangements for the journey to Hogwarts tomorrow."
Harry handed over his Quidditch things as Mrs. Weasley bustled around the kitchen, busying herself with pots and pans. "We've got Ministry cars again," she continued briskly, "and there will be Aurors waiting at the station."
"Is Tonks going to be there?" Harry asked, trying not to sound too eager as he leaned against the counter. He was still worried about her after their brief encounter earlier in the summer.
Mrs. Weasley's face softened slightly, but there was a trace of hesitation in her voice. "No, I don't think so," she said. "She's been stationed somewhere else, from what Arthur said."
Before Harry could respond, Fleur chimed in with a dreamy air that was somehow cutting. "She 'as let 'erself go, zat Tonks," she mused, as though she were discussing a poorly arranged bouquet of flowers. "A big mistake, if you ask."
"Yes, thank you," Mrs. Weasley said sharply, her tone clipped as she gave Fleur a pointed look. The tension between them was almost palpable, but Mrs. Weasley didn't linger on it. "That said, Sirius will be there to see you off," she added briskly, redirecting the conversation. "Now you'd better get on, Harry, Dawn. I want the trunks ready tonight if possible, so we don't have the usual last-minute scramble."
Harry gave a nod, his earlier irritation fading as Mrs. Weasley's words reminded him of the journey ahead. He exchanged a glance with Dawn, who seemed just as eager to leave the kitchen and Fleur's commentary behind. Together, they turned to head upstairs, already thinking about the tasks waiting for them before morning.
September 1, 2003 – Monday
The Burrow
Their departure was smoother than usual, a rare achievement considering the usual chaos of leaving the Burrow. The Ministry cars glided up to the crooked little house with a quiet elegance, their polished exteriors gleaming under the early morning sun. The Weasleys, along with Harry, Hermione, Dawn, and Buffy, were already assembled outside, their trunks packed and neatly stacked by the door—a testament to Mrs. Weasley's determination to avoid the usual last-minute scramble.
Nearby, the collection of magical pets was also ready for the journey. The Summers' family cat, Crookshanks, sat primly in his traveling basket, his golden eyes surveying the scene with an air of regal disinterest. Harry's snowy owl, Hedwig, hooted softly from her cage, her feathers puffed up against the crisp morning breeze. Ron's hyperactive owl, Pigwidgeon, flitted anxiously inside his enclosure, his high-pitched chirping adding a note of chaos to the otherwise serene moment. Ginny's new purple Pygmy Puff, Arnold, let out a cheerful squeak from his cage, his tiny form bouncing as though already excited for the journey ahead.
"Au revoir, 'Arry," came Fleur's lilting voice, breaking the hum of morning activity. She stepped forward, her flawless features glowing in the sunlight, and leaned toward Harry in her usual dramatic fashion, her intentions unmistakable.
But before she could close the distance, Fleur froze. Dawn was standing just behind Harry, her arms folded and her eyes narrowed in a glare that could rival Mrs. Weasley's most withering looks. Though Dawn said nothing, the message was clear: Harry was her boyfriend, and Fleur's overly affectionate farewell wasn't welcome.
Fleur hesitated, her poise faltering for just a moment before she straightened and smiled, the gesture now somewhat forced. "Eet was nice to see you again," she added, her tone a touch cooler than before. Harry, oblivious to the silent exchange, mumbled an awkward farewell, already distracted by the thought of the journey ahead.
Dawn smirked as she slid her hand into Harry's, giving his fingers a gentle squeeze.
King's Cross
Sirius and two grim-faced, bearded Aurors in sharp, dark Muggle suits moved forward the moment the cars came to a smooth halt outside King's Cross Station. Their presence was commanding, their stern expressions warding off any potential interference. Without a word, the Aurors flanked the group and began marching them briskly toward the station entrance. Their silence and no-nonsense demeanor seemed to set the tone, and even the usually boisterous Weasley twins refrained from making jokes.
Sirius, walking between Buffy and Harry, cast an amused glance at his godson and girlfriend, his raised eyebrow and smirk practically saying, Typical Aurors, all business and no personality. Buffy rolled her eyes with a small, knowing smile, while Harry simply shook his head, suppressing a grin. As they reached the barrier between platforms nine and ten, the bustling Muggle station noise faded into the background, replaced by Mrs. Weasley's commanding voice.
"Quick, quick, through the barrier," Mrs. Weasley urged, waving her hands as she tried to herd everyone in an orderly fashion. "Harry had better go first, with…" She paused, glancing expectantly at one of the Aurors.
The Auror gave a curt nod, stepping forward with purpose. Without warning, he seized Harry's upper arm in a firm grip and began steering him toward the barrier.
"I can walk, thanks," Harry snapped, jerking his arm free with an irritated look.
Dawn immediately stepped up, her protective instincts kicking in. She glared at the Auror, her voice icy. "Keep your hands off my boyfriend."
The Auror blinked at her, but before he could respond, Sirius intervened, his tone light but resolute. "I'll walk him through. He is my godson, after all." He shot the Auror a look that brooked no argument. The Auror nodded stiffly and stepped back.
Harry adjusted his grip on the trolley carrying his and Dawn's trunks along with Hedwig's cage. Dawn stayed close beside him as Sirius led the way toward the barrier. Together, the three of them passed through in a flash, emerging on the bustling platform nine and three-quarters. Steam hissed from the gleaming red engine of the Hogwarts Express, and the familiar clamor of students and families filled the air.
Hermione, Buffy, and the rest of the Weasleys appeared moments later, quickly followed by the ever-watchful Aurors. Harry didn't wait to consult with anyone. He immediately motioned to Ron, Dawn, and Hermione to follow him up the platform, his eyes scanning for an empty compartment.
"We can't, Harry," Hermione said regretfully, falling back as she exchanged an apologetic glance with Ron. "Ron and I've got to go to the prefects' carriage first and then patrol the corridors for a bit."
Harry looked at Dawn, who gave him a quick nod of encouragement. "Oh yeah, I forgot," he said with a small shrug, brushing off his disappointment.
"You'd better get straight on the train, all of you," Mrs. Weasley called out, consulting her watch with a worried frown. "You've only got a few minutes to go!"
Sirius turned toward her with a pointed look, his voice firm but laced with charm. "You will give me a chance to say goodbye to both my girlfriend and my godson, Molly."
Mrs. Weasley hesitated for a moment, clearly wanting to keep them on schedule but conceding with a brief nod.
Sirius pulled Buffy close, his usual smirk replaced by a rare, genuine tenderness. "You know the drill, Summers," he murmured, brushing a strand of her hair behind her ear. "Keep out of trouble... or at least as much as you can manage."
Buffy smirked back at him; her eyes gleaming with affection. "I'll try, but you know me—trouble just has this habit of finding me."
Sirius chuckled softly, squeezing her hand. "Just be safe. And keep an eye on these kids for me."
"Always," Buffy said, her voice resolute.
Sirius turned to Harry, his expression shifting to something more serious but no less warm. He placed his hands firmly on Harry's shoulders, looking directly into his godson's eyes. "You take care of yourself, Harry. Keep your head down and your instincts sharp. And if anything—anything—feels off, you send word. No hesitation, understood?"
Harry nodded, feeling the weight of Sirius's words. "I will. Thanks, Sirius."
Sirius's lips curved into a small, reassuring smile, but there was a flicker of worry in his grey eyes. "And take care of her," he added, glancing meaningfully at Dawn.
"I will," Harry promised, glancing at Dawn, who gave him a grateful smile.
"Good," Sirius said, stepping back as the Aurors began to shuffle closer, clearly signaling that time was up.
"Alright, you lot, get on the train before Molly has a heart attack," Sirius said, his smirk returning.
Buffy gave him one last lingering look before turning to shoo Hermione, Dawn and Harry toward the train.
"Well, have a lovely term, Ron..." Mrs. Weasley said, her voice tinged with maternal affection as she gave her son a quick pat on the shoulder, her eyes scanning him as though memorizing every detail for the months ahead.
"Mr. Weasley, can I have a quick word?" said Harry, stepping forward. His tone was serious, his expression set in determination. Dawn, standing close to him, mirrored his resolve, a furrow creasing her brow.
"Of course," said Mr. Weasley, his mild, ever-curious expression giving way to something more focused as he motioned for Harry and Dawn to follow him. The trio moved slightly away from the bustling group, the hum of the platform fading just enough to allow for a more private conversation.
"When we were in Diagon Alley," Harry began, the weight of his words evident in the pause that followed.
"Am I about to discover where you, Dawn, Ron, and Hermione disappeared to while you were supposed to be in the back room of Fred and George's shop?" Mr. Weasley interrupted, his tone a blend of exasperation and dry amusement, as though he had expected no less from this group.
"How did you…?" Dawn began, blinking in surprise at the quickness of his deduction.
"Dawn, please," Mr. Weasley said, his lips twitching into a knowing smile. "You're talking to the man who raised Fred and George."
Harry nodded, conceding the point. "Yeah, we weren't in the back room," he admitted, his tone carrying just a hint of sheepishness.
Mr. Weasley sighed, shaking his head lightly. "Very well, then, let's hear the worst," he said, bracing himself, though his posture remained patient.
"Well, we followed Draco Malfoy. We used Harry's Invisibility Cloak," Dawn said, cutting straight to the point. Her voice was calm, but there was an undertone of tension, as though she already anticipated the disapproval this revelation might invite.
Mr. Weasley frowned, the deep lines on his face creasing further. "Did you have any particular reason for doing so, or was it a mere whim?" he asked, his tone more serious now, his earlier humor replaced with concern.
"Because we thought Malfoy was up to something," said Harry, stepping in firmly. "He'd given his mother the slip, and we wanted to know why. Buffy knew. She even had us report to her what we found out."
"Of course you did," said Mr. Weasley with a resigned sigh, glancing between Harry and Dawn. His expression was one of someone who had seen this kind of determination—and trouble-seeking—before. "Well? Did you find out why?"
"He went into Borgin and Burkes," said Harry, his voice lowering slightly as though recounting something secretive. "And started bullying the bloke in there, Borgin, to help him fix something. And he said he wanted Borgin to keep something else for him. He made it sound like it was the same kind of thing that needed fixing. Like they were a pair. And..." Harry paused, drawing in a steadying breath as if summoning courage for what he was about to say.
Harry's green eyes locked onto Mr. Weasley's. "There's something else. We saw Malfoy jump about a mile when Madam Malkin tried to touch his left arm. I think he's been branded with the Dark Mark. I think he's replaced his father as a Death Eater."
For a moment, Mr. Weasley's reaction was unreadable. Then his face broke into a look of utter astonishment. "Harry, Dawn, I doubt whether You-Know-Who would allow a sixteen-year-old…" he began, clearly trying to reason it out aloud.
"Does anyone really know what Voldemort would or wouldn't do?" Dawn interjected, her voice steady but insistent, her gaze fixed on Mr. Weasley. "I mean, think about it, Mr. Weasley. If Muggles are willing to make a teenage girl a Slayer, what might Voldemort do?"
Her words hung in the air for a moment, heavy with implication. Mr. Weasley's expression shifted as he considered her argument, his brows furrowing deeper, though he said nothing immediately, leaving a charged silence between them. The distant sounds of the platform—the calls of train conductors and chatter of families—seemed to underscore the weight of their conversation.
"Isn't it worth investigating? If Malfoy wants something fixing, and he needs to threaten Borgin to get it done, it's probably something Dark or dangerous, isn't it?" Harry asked, his voice laced with urgency as his green eyes searched Mr. Weasley's face for any sign of agreement.
Mr. Weasley looked thoughtful, though his brow creased with doubt. "I doubt it, to be honest, Harry," he said slowly, his tone calm but firm. "You see, when Lucius Malfoy was arrested, we raided his house. We took away everything that might have been dangerous."
Harry's jaw set stubbornly, a flicker of defiance in his gaze. "I think you missed something," he said, his voice unwavering.
Mr. Weasley sighed, his shoulders lifting slightly in a gesture of reluctant concession. "Well, maybe," he admitted, though his tone carried skepticism. He opened his mouth to say more, but a loud whistle pierced the air behind them, signaling the imminent departure of the train.
"You both better hurry!" Mrs. Weasley cried out, her voice carrying over the din of the bustling platform.
"Dawn!" Buffy called sharply, her voice cutting through the noise like a whip, her hand gesturing urgently toward the train.
Harry and Dawn broke into a jog, their trunks rattling on the trolleys as they pushed them toward the scarlet engine. Sirius and Mr. Weasley moved swiftly to meet them, their practiced hands lifting the heavy trunks onto the train with efficiency.
"Remember, write me," Sirius said, his tone firm but tinged with a softness reserved for Harry. His gray eyes lingered on his godson with a mixture of protectiveness and pride.
"I promise," Harry said, nodding solemnly.
Mrs. Weasley bustled closer to the window as the train began to rumble to life, her cheeks flushed from the effort of hurrying. "Now, dear, you're coming to us for Christmas," she said, her voice slightly breathless but resolute. "It's all fixed with Dumbledore, so we'll see you quite soon. We talked to Buffy, Dawn, and we expect you, Hermione, and Buffy also." Her words tumbled out in a rush, her motherly concern evident in every syllable.
Harry leaned out the window, his face softening as he nodded.
"Harry, you make sure you look after yourself and…" Mrs. Weasley called, her voice rising slightly as the train began to gather speed, its rhythmic chugging growing louder.
She started to jog alongside the train, her hand clutching at her skirt as she struggled to keep up. "…be good and…stay safe!" she cried, her voice fading as the train pulled further down the platform.
Hogwarts Express
Dawn glanced around the train, scanning for any sign of Buffy or Hermione, but neither of them was anywhere in sight. A small frown crept across her face as she mulled over their absence. For a fleeting moment, she wondered if Buffy had skipped the train entirely and apparated straight to Hogwarts instead. That would have been highly unusual, not just because it went against tradition, but because Buffy had ridden the train with them every year since they'd started at Hogwarts two years ago. The thought didn't sit right with her. As she and Harry weaved through the bustling crowd of students, she figured that Buffy was probably with Hermione somewhere, possibly discussing one of Hermione's countless preparations for the term ahead.
As they continued along the train, they couldn't help but notice the unabashed stares directed their way. People craned their necks, some leaning out of compartments to get a better look, while others pressed their faces against the glass, their eyes wide with curiosity. Dawn shifted uncomfortably under the attention, and she could feel Harry stiffen slightly beside her.
Harry tapped Ginny on the shoulder as they reached her. "Fancy trying to find a compartment?"
Ginny turned to them; her expression cheerful but apologetic. "I can't, Harry, Dawn, I said I'd meet Dean," she said brightly. "See you later."
"Right," Harry said shortly, trying to mask his disappointment.
Before they could dwell on it, a familiar voice sounded behind them. "Hi, Harry! Hi, Dawn!"
They turned in unison to see Neville grinning at them, and just behind him was Luna, her dreamy expression as serene as ever.
"Neville!" they exclaimed together, smiling at the sight of their friends.
"Hello, Harry," Luna said, her voice calm and airy as usual.
"Luna, hi, how are you?" Dawn asked, her tone warm.
"Very well, thank you," said Luna, her pale eyes sparkling with genuine contentment.
"Quibbler still going strong, then?" Dawn asked, an amused lilt in her voice.
"Oh yes, circulation's well up," Luna said happily, her serene tone carrying a hint of pride. "I hear congratulations are in order for Buffy. She took over and is turning the Prophet around."
Dawn's lips curled into a small, proud smile. "Yes, she did. Circulation is up for it as well. Seems many people appreciate what she is doing with the paper. She appointed Sirius, though, as Managing Editor while we're at Hogwarts."
Luna nodded approvingly, her radish earrings swaying slightly as the train lurched.
"Let's find seats," Harry suggested, his voice cutting through the hum of the train.
They quickly located an empty compartment and wasted no time stepping inside. Dawn exhaled in relief as she slid the door shut behind them, muffling the noise of the train. The four of them settled in, stowing their things.
"They're even staring at us?" Neville remarked, his voice carrying a hint of disbelief. He gestured to himself and Luna, who both looked somewhat uncomfortable under the weight of the stares. "Because we're with you!" he added, almost as if the attention was a bit too much to bear. Dawn nodded in agreement, her eyes flitting over the faces of the students watching them with a mix of curiosity and awe. The tension in the air felt palpable, and it made her uneasy. It seemed that being associated with Harry, and by extension her, drew more attention than anyone ever wanted.
"Are we still doing D.A. meetings this year, Harry?" Luna asked, her voice as soft and dreamy as ever, though there was a genuine interest behind the question. She twirled a strand of hair around her finger as she spoke, clearly unfazed by the attention.
Harry leaned back in his seat, folding his arms as he looked at Luna. "No point now we've got rid of Umbridge, is there?" he replied, but there was a note of finality in his voice. The thought of continuing the D.A. seemed less urgent now that the oppressive presence of Umbridge had been removed from the school.
Neville looked disappointed, though, a slight frown tugging at his lips. "I liked the D.A.! I learned loads with you!" he said earnestly, his voice filled with the sincerity that made him such a loyal friend.
"I enjoyed the meetings too," Luna said serenely, her voice carrying a certain calm assurance. "It was like having friends." She glanced at the others as she spoke, her dreamy smile making it clear that the experience had meant something deeper to her.
Dawn's gaze softened as she looked at Harry, her eyes full of concern. "Harry, we really should consider continuing," she told him earnestly, her voice gentle but firm. She turned to Luna then, a small smile playing on her lips. "Luna, you have friends."
Luna's eyes lit up at the compliment, and she gave a small nod, as if the idea had just occurred to her. It was clear that, despite her often aloof and otherworldly demeanor, Luna was deeply grateful for the bond she shared with her friends.
Suddenly, the peaceful moment was broken by a ruckus from outside the compartment. Loud voices could be heard arguing, followed by the sound of the door sliding open.
"You ask them!" one voice said, practically shrill with impatience.
"No, you!" came another voice, tinged with irritation.
"I'll do it!" a bold voice declared, and then the door to their compartment swung open with a confident flourish.
Standing there, a girl with sharp eyes and a self-assured air smiled brightly at them. "Hi, Harry, Dawn, I'm Romilda, Romilda Vane," she said, her voice booming with overconfidence as if she were about to announce something important. She eyed them expectantly. "Why don't you join us in our compartment?" Her eyes flicked to Neville and Luna, and she leaned in with a conspiratorial whisper. "You don't have to sit with them," she said, her tone dripping with something that felt like superiority.
Harry's gaze immediately hardened, and he stood up, his tone icy. "They're friends of ours," he said flatly, his voice leaving no room for argument.
Dawn's eyes narrowed, the discomfort from earlier turning into a slight edge in her voice. "Yeah, good friends," she added, her words sharp and deliberate.
Romilda blinked, caught off guard by the quick rejection. She looked from Harry to Dawn, her smile faltering for a brief moment. "Oh," she said, her tone now awkward and unsure. "Oh. Okay." She quickly withdrew, closing the door behind her with a soft click that seemed to echo in the sudden silence of the compartment.
"People expect you to have cooler friends than us," Luna said with a curious tilt of her head, her voice carrying a gentle, nonchalant honesty that made the words sound almost philosophical. She studied Harry intently, her eyes wide and unblinking, as if she was trying to understand the world through his gaze.
Harry's response was quick, almost instinctual, and carried with it the raw sincerity that seemed to emerge whenever he spoke about the people he cared about. "You are cool," he said, a hint of finality in his voice. "None of them was at the Ministry. They didn't fight with us."
Luna's expression softened, and she smiled brightly, her face lighting up in a way that seemed to make the whole compartment feel warmer. "That's a very nice thing to say," she beamed, her gratitude clear in the simple words. It was a reminder that Luna, despite her quirks and unorthodox way of seeing the world, understood the depth of their bond. The sincerity in Harry's voice was something she appreciated on a level that only someone like Luna could.
Neville, who had been unusually quiet, spoke up, his voice carrying a touch of hesitation. "I wasn't there, though," he said, looking down at his hands for a moment, as if ashamed of his absence during the chaos of the Ministry.
Dawn turned to him, her eyes softening with understanding. "No, you weren't, Neville," she said, her voice gentle but firm. "But you helped in your own way and we both appreciate it." She reached out to give his shoulder a reassuring pat, her touch grounding him in the knowledge that, while he hadn't been physically present, he had been part of the journey in his own right. It was a reminder that everyone contributed, even when they couldn't always be there in the thick of it.
The moment of shared understanding passed quickly, but Neville's concern still lingered. His brow furrowed slightly as he observed Harry, his attention shifting to his friend's unusual expression. "You all right, Harry? You look funny," he asked, the worry clear in his voice. It wasn't like Harry to act out of sorts, and Neville couldn't help but feel a little concerned.
Dawn, ever observant, noticed Harry's eyes still fixed on Neville, a contemplative look on his face that she recognized from the moments when his thoughts were far away. She leaned in closer, her voice barely above a whisper as she spoke to him. "Thinking about what Dumbledore said about you and Neville?" she asked, her words hanging in the air between them, soft but insistent.
Harry's gaze flicked to her, and for a brief moment, there was something in his eyes that said everything without him having to speak a word. He nodded slowly, the unease settling into his features as he looked back at Neville, his face drawn with thought. "Sorry… I…" he started, his voice trailing off. It was clear that the weight of Dumbledore's words still lingered, and for a moment, Harry seemed at a loss for how to articulate the confusion and the burden of his thoughts.
Before he could continue, Luna, who had been listening attentively, suddenly broke the silence with a question that was both unexpected and utterly fitting. "Wrackspurt got you?" she asked sympathetically, her tone light as if it were the most natural thing to inquire about.
"I… what?" Harry blinked, clearly thrown off by the sudden shift in conversation, his confusion evident in the way he stared at Luna.
"A Wrackspurt... They're invisible," Luna explained, her voice almost dreamlike as she described the creatures with a mixture of fascination and nonchalance. "They float in through your ears and make your brain go fuzzy," she added, as if explaining the behavior of the creatures was the most normal thing in the world. "I thought I felt one zooming around in here."
Dawn raised an eyebrow, her lips curling into a smile despite the tension in the air. Harry and Neville exchanged glances, both of them somewhat perplexed but amused by Luna's whimsical explanation. Her way of seeing the world, so wildly different from anyone else's, was always something that took a moment to adjust to. But then, in that moment of shared absurdity, the heavy thoughts from earlier seemed to lighten.
Without missing a beat, Dawn leaned back, her mood shifting as she noticed Harry and Neville looking at each other. She could sense the conversation was about to change, and before anyone could say anything more, they began talking about Quidditch.
0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0
The weather beyond the train windows seemed to be in a constant state of indecision, as if the sky couldn't quite decide on its mood. The landscape outside shifted between patches of heavy, eerie mist that seemed to stretch endlessly over the fields and forests, and fleeting moments of weak sunlight that barely seemed to touch the earth. It was during one of those rare clear spells, when the sun broke through the mist and cast its pale light directly overhead, that the quiet inside the compartment was interrupted by the sound of the door sliding open.
Buffy, Ron, and Hermione entered the compartment in a rush, bringing with them a burst of energy. Their faces were flushed, and Buffy looked slightly out of breath, clearly having just finished some sort of sprint or struggle against the crowded hallways. The air in the compartment seemed to shift at their arrival, the silence quickly filled with the familiar hum of their chatter.
"Wish the lunch trolley would hurry up, I'm starving," Ron said longingly, his voice filled with the kind of desperation only a teenager with an empty stomach could convey. He looked around, eyes lingering on the seat opposite him, as if hoping the trolley would magically appear just because he said so.
"Hi, Neville. Hi, Luna," he added absently, before his words seemed to land. "Guess what? Malfoy's not doing prefect duty. He's just sitting in his compartment with the other Slytherins. We saw him when we passed."
The mention of Malfoy instantly drew Harry's and Dawn's attention. They exchanged a quick glance, a silent understanding passing between them. They both knew how significant this was. Malfoy's behavior always seemed to be a bit too erratic, but hearing that he wasn't out causing trouble made them both pause.
"What did he do when he saw you?" Harry asked, his tone curious, as though trying to figure out the puzzle that was Draco Malfoy.
"The usual," Ron said indifferently, as though he had seen it all before and wasn't fazed anymore. "Not like him, though, is it? Well… that is, but why isn't he out there bullying first years?"
Harry frowned, rubbing his chin as he tried to piece it all together. "Dunno," he muttered.
Buffy, however, broke in with her usual bluntness, her voice laced with the kind of authority that only she could deliver. "Maybe he finally got it through his thick skull not to mess with anyone while I'm watching."
"Maybe he preferred the Inquisitorial Squad," Hermione offered with a slight shrug, her brow furrowing in thought. "Maybe being a prefect seems a bit tame after that."
"I don't think so," Harry replied quickly, his voice thoughtful and serious, as if he had a suspicion he couldn't quite put into words. "I think he's…"
Before Harry could finish his sentence, the compartment door slid open again, and a third-year girl stepped in breathlessly, clutching a bundle of parchment tightly in her hands. Her cheeks flushed bright red as she met Harry's eyes, and she seemed to momentarily lose her train of thought.
"I'm supposed to deliver these to Neville Longbottom, Dawn Summers, and Harry P-Potter," she stammered, her voice faltering slightly as she turned a deep shade of scarlet. She held out three scrolls of parchment, each tied with a vibrant violet ribbon, the paper pristine and elegant.
The girl handed them over, practically stumbling out of the compartment without another word. There was a brief moment of silence as Harry, Dawn, and Neville exchanged confused glances, the peculiar nature of the delivery not lost on any of them.
"What is it?" Buffy asked, leaning forward with her usual curiosity, the question hanging in the air. Her eyes flicked from one of them to the next, as if waiting for someone to open their scroll and reveal its contents.
Dawn, still a bit bewildered, unrolled the parchment addressed to her, her fingers gently tugging at the ribbon before carefully smoothing the paper open. Her eyes skimmed the words, her brows raising slightly in surprise as she read aloud. "An invitation," she said slowly, still trying to understand why anyone would send such a formal request by scroll.
The invitation, written in elegant, flowing script, read:
Dawn,
I would be delighted if you would join me for a bite of lunch in compartment C.
Sincerely,
Horace
"But what does he want me for?" Neville asked, his voice a little higher than usual, filled with unease. His eyes darted from Harry to Dawn, clearly nervous about being summoned by someone as imposing as Horace Slughorn. He had always felt out of place in such high-profile situations, and this invitation only seemed to highlight his insecurities. He fidgeted with the edges of his robe, his anxiety growing with every passing second.
"I wonder what he wants with Dawn?" Buffy mused aloud, her brows knitting together as she glanced over at her sister, who seemed just as confused. Buffy had a knack for picking up on subtle cues, and the whole situation felt off to her. She couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to Slughorn's invitation than met the eye. But what exactly was it?
"No idea," Harry replied with a shrug, but his eyes narrowed slightly, clearly deep in thought. Dawn did the same, her shoulders lifting in a nonchalant gesture. Neither of them had any more insight than Neville did, and that only added to the growing tension in the air. It was clear that whatever was going on with Slughorn, it was anything but ordinary.
"Listen," Harry continued, his voice lowering to a more conspiratorial tone. "Let's go under the Invisibility Cloak, then we might get a good look at Malfoy on the way, see what he's up to." His idea was met with a small nod from Dawn, though she was less convinced it would work.
The moment they stepped into the crowded corridors, however, the plan began to fall apart. The narrow spaces were packed with students jostling for position, all clamoring for a glimpse of the lunch trolley. It was impossible to move through such chaos while cloaked—every bump and shove would give them away.
"I think I will join you as I am curious what he wants," Buffy said after a moment, her tone still edged with curiosity. With that, she led the way down the train, her presence naturally parting the crowd ahead of her. Neville, Harry, and Dawn followed closely behind her, but even without the cloak, they couldn't help but notice how the students seemed to lean back when they passed, as though sensing something unusual. Buffy had that effect on people—a quiet, commanding aura that made it clear she wasn't someone to be trifled with.
When they finally reached compartment C, they were met with an unexpected sight. Slughorn's compartment wasn't just a quiet little meeting place—it was bustling with an air of energy that felt both welcoming and oddly expectant. As they stepped inside, it was immediately clear that Neville, Dawn, and Harry weren't the only ones Slughorn had invited. The room was filled with a small group of students, all of whom had a look of mild surprise when they noticed the newcomers. The most noticeable thing, however, was the warmth with which Slughorn greeted them.
"Harry, m'boy!" Slughorn boomed, his round face breaking into a wide grin. "Good to see you, good to see you!" His voice practically oozed with excitement as he waved them in, his plump hands gesturing enthusiastically. He seemed delighted by Harry's presence, as though Harry's very arrival validated the event. "And you, Ms. Summers! Good to see you as well. And you must be Mr. Longbottom!" Slughorn's eyes twinkled with amusement as he gestured towards Neville, whose face was now a shade of red that almost matched his hair.
Neville nodded, his discomfort obvious, but he gave a polite, almost shaky greeting in return. He still wasn't used to being addressed with such formality, especially not by someone like Slughorn, who had a reputation for lavishing attention on students he thought had potential.
Slughorn then turned his gaze toward Buffy, who had been standing quietly at the back of the group. "I'm sorry, I don't know you," he said, clearly trying to place her in the whirlwind of students he had interacted with over the years. "I thank you for escorting them." There was a slight pause as he gave Buffy a curious, appraising look.
Buffy stood tall, unfazed by the scrutiny, and gave him a calm, straightforward answer. "I'm Buffy Summers, the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, the Slayer, and Dawn's sister," she said, her voice clear and steady. There was no need for introductions to be anything less than confident—Buffy had lived her life in a way that demanded recognition. And Slughorn, like most people, couldn't help but take note of that.
Slughorn's eyes widened with pleasant surprise as he processed the information. "My, my," he murmured, a smile playing at the corners of his lips. He turned back to Dawn, clearly intrigued. "I was not aware your sister was the Slayer. This is truly an interesting turn of events." He chuckled to himself, clearly pleased by the unexpected connection. "Why don't you join us?" he suggested, gesturing to the seats around the table, his hospitality flowing freely as though nothing could be more natural than having Buffy join their small gathering.
Buffy gave a small nod, glancing over at Dawn with a subtle raise of her eyebrow. "Assuming..." she started, leaving the question open.
Dawn met her sister's gaze and smiled, shaking her head in amusement. "I don't mind," she said, her voice light but warm. She wasn't bothered by the invitation—if anything, it was a welcome distraction from the awkwardness that had accompanied the strange summons.
Slughorn made a grand gesture with his plump hands, indicating that Harry, Neville, Dawn, and Buffy should sit. The table was warm and welcoming, with an atmosphere that made it clear Slughorn was intent on making them feel at ease—despite the occasional unease Harry and the others felt being surrounded by so many well-connected students.
"Now, do you all know everyone?" Slughorn asked, directing the question toward Harry, Dawn, and Neville. "Blaise Zabini is in your year, of course—" His words hung in the air as he casually gestured toward the student in question, whose sharp gaze swept over them briefly. Harry had a faint recollection of Zabini—he was one of those students who kept to himself, often surrounded by an air of mystery, yet was undeniably well-known among the Slytherins.
Buffy, ever observant, scanned the rest of the group with a mixture of curiosity and slight caution. She had seen all of them in Defense Against the Dark Arts classes over the past two years, though their personalities had only seemed to surface in bits and pieces. Some were polite, others more self-assured or aloof. The group was a mix of familiar faces—some she trusted, and others she wasn't entirely sure about.
Slughorn continued, "This is Cormac McLaggen, perhaps you've come across each other…? No?" He looked at Harry, Dawn, and Neville with a friendly smile, but there was a slight glint in his eye. Cormac McLaggen had a reputation for being boastful and overly confident, especially about his Quidditch skills. Buffy could tell that the way Slughorn had introduced him was meant to provoke some kind of reaction, but Cormac only seemed to puff up with pride, eager to be noticed.
"…and this is Marcus Belby, I don't know whether…?" Slughorn trailed off as he gestured toward a quiet, reserved young man seated at the table. Marcus looked like he'd rather be anywhere but here, his posture rigid and his eyes occasionally flickering nervously to the others. Slughorn seemed to enjoy his role as a connector, casually mentioning Marcus' famous uncle, Damocles Belby, the renowned inventor of the Wolfsbane Potion.
The introduction was hardly complete before Slughorn turned toward a familiar face—the one who'd caught Harry, Dawn, and Buffy's attention from the moment they entered the compartment. Ginny Weasley was standing behind Slughorn, her face twisted into a slight grimace. She had clearly overheard something Slughorn had said and wasn't exactly pleased about it. She looked at Harry, Dawn, and Buffy with a mix of discomfort and a trace of annoyance, but she kept her expression hidden from the others, unsure of how to react. Slughorn's cheery tone seemed to make everything sound more amiable than it might have been.
"Well now, this is most pleasant," Slughorn said, the warmth in his voice carrying an air of self-satisfaction. "A chance to get to know you all a little better." He beamed around the table as he picked up a napkin, wiping his hands with exaggerated care. "Here, take a napkin. I've packed my own lunch; the trolley, as I remember it, is heavy on licorice wands, and a poor old man's digestive system isn't quite up to such things… Pheasant, Belby?" He smiled widely at Marcus, who blinked in surprise at the sudden attention.
"I was just telling young Marcus here that I had the pleasure of teaching his Uncle Damocles," Slughorn continued, his voice taking on a nostalgic tone. "Outstanding wizard, outstanding, and his Order of Merlin most well-deserved." His eyes gleamed as he spoke, clearly proud to have known such an influential figure. "Do you see much of your uncle, Marcus?"
"Not... not much of him, no," Marcus stammered, visibly uncomfortable with the conversation. He shifted in his seat, clearly wishing the topic would change. His discomfort was palpable, and even Slughorn seemed to realize he was pressing too hard.
"Well, of course, I daresay he's busy," Slughorn mused, not picking up on Marcus's subtle desire to move on. "I doubt he invented the Wolfsbane Potion without considerable hard work!" The comment seemed to both praise Marcus' uncle and inadvertently highlight Marcus's own silence, making it feel like he was being overshadowed by his family's achievements.
"I suppose..." Marcus murmured, his voice trailing off as if he were lost in thought. "Er... he and my dad don't get on very well, you see, so I don't really know much about…" His voice faltered, and he looked down, visibly relieved when the conversation turned elsewhere.
"Now, you, Cormac," Slughorn said, turning to the next student, his eyes lighting up with fresh interest. "I happen to know you see a lot of your Uncle Tiberius, because he has a rather splendid picture of the two of you hunting nogtails in, I think, Norfolk?" Slughorn's voice practically sang with pride as he referred to the infamous Tiberius McLaggen, a celebrated wizard who had left quite an impression on the magical world.
"Oh, yeah, that was fun, that was," Cormac grinned, showing his white teeth, clearly pleased to be the center of attention. "We went with Bertie Higgs and Rufus Scrimgeour; this was before he became Minister, obviously…"
"Ah, you know Bertie and Rufus too?" Slughorn beamed, his smile widening at the mention of two notable figures from the magical world. "Now tell me…"
Dawn leaned in closer to Buffy, her whisper a soft murmur beneath the buzz of Slughorn's conversation. "It seems everyone was invited because they are connected to somebody well-known or influential… everyone except Ginny." Dawn's words hung in the air, a quiet observation that struck a chord with Buffy. She had noticed it too—the way Slughorn seemed to handpick his guests, each of them connected to a notable name or legacy. Ginny's exclusion from this circle was no accident, and Dawn's pointed observation only made it clearer.
Buffy nodded, understanding Dawn's unspoken meaning, and leaned in to whisper back. "Or you and Harry," she added.
Dawn's lips curled into a small, knowing smile as she leaned closer to Buffy, her voice low and conspiratorial. "I think I know why Harry's here," she whispered. "It's obvious, isn't it? He's 'The Boy Who Lived.' That's his ticket to fame. But as for me, well, it could be a number of reasons—some of them, though, I don't expect Professor Slughorn to know. Maybe it's because of the whole deal with Glory?" Her words trailed off, her gaze flicking across the room before settling on Buffy, seeking a silent confirmation of what they both knew.
Buffy smiled back at her sister, the bond between them unspoken but deeply understood. There was a history behind Dawn's presence at this table, a history that went far beyond Slughorn's ever-expanding list of influential connections. Buffy couldn't help but wonder how much Slughorn would truly understand if he knew the full extent of Dawn's past, of her role as the mystical Key and the battle she had fought to find her place in the world. It wasn't just about bloodlines or well-placed connections; Dawn's presence here was something else entirely.
"Harry Potter!" Slughorn exclaimed, his voice ringing out with unmistakable enthusiasm. He turned toward Harry with a look that was both admiring and eager. "Where to begin? I feel I barely scratched the surface when we met over the summer! 'The Chosen One,' they're calling you now! Of course, there have been rumors for years… I remember when… well… after that terrible night… Lily… James… and you survived… and the word was that you must have powers beyond the ordinary…" His voice trailed off, the words thick with reverence, but there was something almost predatory in the way he leaned forward, as though savoring the idea of delving into the mystery of Harry's power and past.
Zabini, however, wasn't so moved by Slughorn's enthusiasm. He gave a tiny cough, one that barely made a sound, but was laden with thinly veiled sarcasm and skepticism. It was a gesture so small, yet so telling. He didn't believe in all the hype that surrounded Harry. Not that it mattered much, for Slughorn wasn't about to let any signs of dissent spoil his mood.
Before the conversation could move on, however, an unexpected voice broke out from behind Slughorn. "Yeah, Zabini, because you're so talented… at posing…" Ginny's voice was sharp and full of fire, her eyes locking onto Zabini with an intensity that made the air crackle. There was no mistaking the bite in her tone; she was not about to let his cynical cough go unnoticed. It was clear that Ginny, with her fierce loyalty to her friends, was not going to stand by quietly while someone undermined Harry.
"Oh dear!" Slughorn chuckled in response, clearly enjoying the drama that had unfolded. His tone was light, almost jovial, but there was an underlying edge of warning. "You want to be careful, Blaise!" Slughorn said, half teasing, half serious. "I saw this young lady perform the most marvelous Bat-Bogey Hex as I was passing her carriage! I wouldn't cross her!" His words were warm with humor, but his eyes flickered to Ginny with a knowing respect, as if he understood just how dangerous it could be to provoke her.
Zabini, however, remained unimpressed. He merely shot Ginny a contemptuous look, his posture stiff and unyielding. He wasn't one for the sort of petty squabbles that seemed to ignite the others, but it was obvious that he wasn't about to back down either.
"Anyway," Slughorn continued, turning back to Harry with a more measured tone, as if savoring the moment of tension. "Such rumors have floated around for years. Of course, one doesn't know what to believe. The Daily Prophet has been known to print inaccuracies, make mistakes…" He gave a knowing glance, aware of the past scandals and the erratic nature of the press. "But there seems little doubt, given the number of witnesses, that there was quite a disturbance at the Ministry and that you were there in the thick of it all!" He leaned back in his seat, his eyes gleaming with anticipation as he waited for Harry's response. It was clear that Slughorn was fascinated by the young man's role in the wizarding world's most recent drama.
Buffy, ever aware of the undercurrents of the conversation, let out a pointed cough, drawing attention to herself. "The Daily Prophet no longer slanders Harry or Dawn's names," she said, her voice smooth and calm, yet firm with authority. "Not since I took control of it." Her words hung in the air like a subtle declaration. "The writers of those articles were promptly placed on probation and told to shape up or ship out. Many of them didn't shape up, and so they are no longer under my employ." Buffy's statement was a quiet but powerful reminder of the changes she had made to the paper—changes that had reshaped its narrative and its treatment of Harry and Dawn, among others.
Slughorn, momentarily taken aback, quickly nodded with approval. "Of course, Professor Summers," he said with a gracious smile. "It is nice to see someone who has the ability to make the changes that the Prophet should have made ages ago." He paused for a moment before turning to Dawn, his smile softening. "And of course, Dawn Summers. Former Mystical Key, sister of the Vampire Slayer as we already found out. Abducted by a Hell God to open the doorway between dimensions and rescued by several of Hogwarts' own Professors and a group of Muggles."
Dawn simply nodded, her expression calm but guarded. She had been forced to live with the weight of her past for so long, and Slughorn's blunt recognition of her history, while factual, made her uncomfortable. She was used to it, but it didn't make it any easier to hear it spoken aloud. "And my sisters," she added, her voice quiet but steady. "Hermione and Buffy led the group that came to rescue me from Glory."
Slughorn's eyes widened in understanding, and he quickly adjusted his previous statement. "Yes, I stand corrected. Both sisters were there," he said, his voice tinged with awe.
0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0
The afternoon dragged on, each minute laden with yet another one of Slughorn's seemingly endless anecdotes about the illustrious wizards he had taught throughout the years. These were tales of brilliance and accomplishments, of magical feats that had secured their places in history. Each name he dropped came with the inevitable flourish of his self-imposed, golden title for his handpicked students: the "Slug Club," as he so fondly called it. His voice swelled with pride as he spoke of these "distinguished" individuals, all of whom, it seemed, had been thrilled to join his inner circle at Hogwarts. Harry, Dawn, and Buffy exchanged quiet, strained glances, each of them silently wishing for the conversation to end, though none of them could figure out how to exit politely. Slughorn's charm—his ability to draw people in with his flattery and constant references to "connections" and "networks"—was at once captivating and suffocating. As the minutes ticked by, each passing second felt heavier than the last.
Finally, as if sensing the growing restlessness in the air, the train lurched slightly, pulling out of yet another misty stretch of landscape. The last stretch of the journey unfolded before them in a gradual shift as the golden hues of the sun dipped below the horizon. A brilliant red sunset bathed the compartment in warm, fading light, casting long shadows that seemed to stretch and stretch across the walls. Slughorn blinked in the twilight, his eyes growing wide as he registered the growing dimness.
"Good gracious, it's getting dark already!" he exclaimed, as if just noticing the evening settling in. His voice, usually so deliberate and practiced, now held a hint of surprise. "I didn't notice that they'd lit the lamps! You'd better go and change into your robes, all of you. McLaggen, you must drop by and borrow that book on nogtails. Harry, Dawn, Blaise… any time you're passing. Same goes for you, miss," he added, throwing a twinkling glance at Ginny. "Well, off you go, off you go! And Professor Summers, it was a pleasure meeting you before the start of term."
Buffy's polite smile softened with a hint of relief. "Likewise," she replied, nodding her head as she began to rise. With a subtle gesture, she led Harry, Ginny, Dawn, and Neville back toward their compartment, each of them eager to escape the clutches of the professor's attention. The train seemed suddenly too small, too stifling. Buffy could feel the relief in the air as they all stepped away, the weight of Slughorn's charm finally lifting off their shoulders.
"I'm glad that's over," Neville muttered, his voice low as he cast an uneasy glance behind them. "Strange man, isn't he?"
"Yeah, he is a bit," Harry agreed, his eyes narrowing slightly as he thought back on the lunch. It had been a bizarre experience, one he had no real desire to repeat. "How come you ended up in there, Ginny?"
Ginny, who had been walking just ahead, turned her head to answer with a shrug, her face lighting up with the trace of a smile. "He saw me hex Zacharias Smith," she said, her tone almost amused now, though there was a tinge of annoyance underneath. "You remember that idiot from Hufflepuff who was in the D.A.? He kept on and on asking about what happened at the Ministry, and in the end, he annoyed me so much I hexed him… when Slughorn came in, I thought I was going to get detention. But he just thought it was a really good hex and invited me to lunch! Mad, eh?"
Harry couldn't help but laugh. "Better reason for inviting someone than because their mother's famous," he remarked dryly, glancing at Ginny, "or because their uncle…" He trailed off, not needing to say more, as his gaze met Dawn's, both of them silently acknowledging the strange, often ridiculous nature of Slughorn's criteria for who was deemed worthy of his attention.
Dawn sighed softly, her voice tinged with a quiet frustration. "Or because of stuff we had no control over." Her words were laced with a bittersweet edge, the unspoken weight of her past always present in her thoughts. Neither she nor Harry had chosen the circumstances that had thrust them into the spotlight; it was something they had been forced to navigate since the very beginning.
Harry nodded in agreement, his expression darkening slightly. "Yeah, you and me both." He gave a small, fleeting smile, then seemed to shake off the heaviness in the air. An idea sparked in his mind. "I'll see you all later," he muttered under his breath, the words barely audible. As he pulled out his Invisibility Cloak, his intent became clear.
Buffy's hand shot out instinctively, but she was a moment too late. "Harry, no," she warned, her voice a blend of concern and exasperation. However, before she could stop him, Harry had already flung the cloak over himself and disappeared from sight, the shimmering fabric engulfing him entirely.
Dawn rolled her eyes, a resigned smile tugging at her lips. "I love him, but sometimes he does the stupidest things." She shook her head, frustration and affection mixing in equal measure. "I bet he's gone to spy on Malfoy."
Buffy sighed, her shoulders sagging slightly as she realized there was no way to stop Harry now. She had known, of course, that once Harry got a notion in his head, there was no changing it. But this? This felt like the beginning of trouble. "I'll go check on him," she said with a deep sigh. Without another word, she turned and made her way back along the length of the train, determined to keep an eye on her impulsive boyfriend.
After a few minutes of walking, she found herself in front of Malfoy's compartment. Her instincts told her she was about to hear something she wasn't going to like, but Buffy pushed the door open anyway, preparing herself for whatever lay beyond.
Inside, she immediately caught the tail end of Malfoy's sneering voice. "Potter, precious Potter, obviously he wanted a look at 'the Chosen One,'" he drawled mockingly, his voice dripping with contempt. "And Summers… I bet he wanted to see if she actually glowed green. But that Weasley girl! What's so special about her?"
Buffy's eyes narrowed as she slid into the compartment, folding her arms across her chest. She didn't like where this was going.
"A lot of boys like her," Pansy Parkinson said, her voice full of malicious amusement. "Even you think she's good-looking, don't you, Blaise? And we all know how hard you are to please!"
Zabini's dark eyes flicked over to Pansy with a look of disdain, his lips curling into an icy sneer. "I wouldn't touch a filthy little blood traitor like her whatever she looked like," he said coldly, his words sharp enough to cut.
"Well, I pity Slughorn's taste," Malfoy sneered, his words dripping with a mixture of disdain and disbelief. "Maybe he's going a bit senile. Shame, my father always said he was a good wizard in his day. My father used to be a bit of a favorite of his," he added, his voice carrying a trace of something that could have been nostalgia—though it was quickly overshadowed by his evident frustration. "Slughorn probably hasn't heard I'm on the train, or…" His voice trailed off, the sentence left hanging in the air like an unfinished thought, a hint of bitterness in the silence.
Zabini, who had been leaning casually against the compartment wall, snorted dismissively. "I wouldn't bank on an invitation," he said, his tone mocking. "He asked me about Nott's father when I first arrived. They used to be old friends, apparently, but when he heard he'd been caught at the Ministry, he didn't look happy. Nott didn't get an invitation, did he? I don't think Slughorn's interested in Death Eaters."
Malfoy's face darkened at the mention of Nott, his jaw tightening. He looked angry, but there was something forced in the way he let out a humorless laugh. It was the kind of laugh that tried too hard to cover up his frustration. "Well, who cares what he's interested in?" he said, trying and failing to sound indifferent. "What is he, when you come down to it? Just some stupid teacher. I mean, I might not even be at Hogwarts next year, what's it matter to me if some fat old has-been likes me or not?" The words were bitter, but there was a strange finality in his tone, as though he was trying to convince himself of something he hadn't quite accepted yet.
Pansy, who had been sitting in the corner, seemed taken aback by Malfoy's words. "What do you mean, you might not be at Hogwarts next year?" she asked, her voice tinged with genuine curiosity.
Malfoy's shoulders lifted in a nonchalant shrug, but there was a hint of something darker in his eyes. "Well, you never know," he said slowly, his gaze flickering momentarily to the window, as though the words were harder to say than he wanted to admit. "I might have… er… moved on to bigger and better things."
Buffy, who had been listening from a distance, was starting to feel a sense of dread building in her chest. Harry's suspicions about Malfoy had always been unsettling, but now, hearing the words straight from Malfoy's mouth, there was no longer any room for doubt. Her instincts told her Harry was right, and that Malfoy was involved in something dangerous.
Pansy looked at Malfoy, her confusion evident. "Do you mean…?" she began, but Malfoy's dismissive wave cut her off.
Malfoy shrugged again, this time with more finality. "Mother wants me to complete my education, but personally, I don't see it as that important these days. I mean, think about it…" He paused, his voice lowering as though he was sharing a secret, he knew would shock the others. "When the Dark Lord takes over, is he going to care how many OWLs or N.E.W.T.S anyone's got? Of course, he isn't. It'll be all about the kind of service he received, the level of devotion he was shown."
Zabini, who had been watching Malfoy with a critical eye, raised an eyebrow and let out a sharp, disbelieving laugh. "And you think you'll be able to do something for him?" he asked, his voice dripping with scorn. "Sixteen years old and not even fully qualified yet?"
Malfoy's eyes narrowed dangerously, but his voice remained quiet, almost too calm. "I've just said, haven't I?" he said, his words measured but full of a dark certainty. "Maybe he doesn't care if I'm qualified. Maybe the job he wants me to do isn't something that you need to be qualified for."
Buffy's stomach twisted as the implications of Malfoy's words sank in. This wasn't just about some boy's misguided sense of importance. This was far worse. Malfoy's quiet confidence felt like a harbinger of something terrible—something that Harry and his friends would have to face sooner than they might think. Buffy could feel the weight of the moment press down on her, and she knew it was time to act.
She stepped forward into the doorway, her presence cutting through the tension in the compartment like a knife. "Mr. Malfoy," she said firmly, her voice carrying the authority that only years of experience could lend. Malfoy's eyes locked onto hers, the familiar sneer curling at the corner of his lips, but he wisely remained silent. Buffy didn't wait for him to respond. "I believe you should be getting changed. We are almost to Hogwarts. You need to be putting on your robes, not gossiping."
Her words were sharp, no-nonsense, and as she turned to leave, she could sense the shift in the air. Malfoy's arrogance faltered, just slightly, under the weight of her gaze.
It was only then that Harry, who had been quietly listening from the luggage rack, made his move. He slipped out from behind the stack of bags and quickly approached Buffy's side, his hand moving to remove the Invisibility Cloak. As it slid off, he joined her just as they started to walk down the corridor together.
"Did you hear?" Harry asked in a low voice, his eyes darting toward her as they walked.
Buffy nodded, her mind racing with the implications of what they had just overheard. "Most of it," she said, her voice quiet but firm. "It looks like your suspicions are right." Her face tightened with concern. "I'll talk to Dumbledore."