CHAPTER 4
The road from Hogsmeade to Hogwarts was shrouded in thick mist, stretching like a heavy cloak across the ground. The trees, tall and twisted, emerged from the fog like grotesque shadows, their black trunks and gnarled branches extending in chaotic directions, creating a labyrinth of darkness. The fine rain fell slowly, almost imperceptibly, but the air was saturated, filled with a penetrating humidity that seemed to reach deeper than the skin, as if it were digging into Harry's very being.
Inside the carriage, the slow rhythm of the wheels and the drag of invisible hooves pulling the vehicle were the only echoes of the night. There was something unsettling in the stillness. As if the whole world was suspended, waiting for something that Harry couldn't name. The castle, still distant, seemed to watch them, its towers rising like stone sentinels, gazing down at the students with a cold vigilance.
The windows were fogged, and the lanterns hanging on the sides of the carriage cast dancing shapes into the dense mist. But what caught Harry's attention the most was not the blurred view outside. It was what he felt inside himself — a sensation of being followed, of the night not being complete. The dementor attack on the train pounded in his mind like a distant drum, that icy chill down his spine, that piece of soul ripped away with invisible cruelty. He still felt the echo of the emptiness that had settled in his chest, the fear of no longer being whole, as if a shadow lurked within his soul, waiting to deepen.
His mind wandered through these thoughts, trying to shake off the sense of unease, when something pulled him out of his spiral. He felt it before he saw it. A heavy dragging, a presence that made itself felt in the dense air of the night. He looked out the window, and there they were: the creatures. Those strange creatures pulling the carriages. They weren't horses, that much he knew with an unsettling certainty. The outline of skeletal bodies moved with supernatural grace, their large black wings, more like those of a bat, beating against the air with a muffled sound. The vision was blurred by the mist and darkness, but Harry had no doubt. That was something he had never seen before. A chill ran down his spine, but he couldn't take his eyes off those creatures, which seemed to move not with muscles, but with a force not of this world.
On the other side of the carriage, Hermione and Neville were talking in low voices. Ron, as usual, seemed distracted, gazing out the window, unaware of the tension that had taken hold of Harry. The silence was broken by Hermione, who, after a pause, looked at him with an expression of concern.
"Harry, are you okay?" The question was gentle, but there was no hiding the unease in her voice.
Harry hesitated, feeling the weight of what he still couldn't explain. "Yeah. I'm just tired," he murmured, trying to push away the feeling that something wasn't right.
"It's about what happened on the train, isn't it?" Neville said, his eyes worried. "You're still feeling bad about that?"
Harry didn't answer immediately. The truth was that the dementor attack still haunted him, but there was something else now, something he couldn't identify. Finally, he just nodded, making it clear he didn't want to talk about it. Silence fell again. Hermione seemed like she wanted to say something, but held back. She looked at Harry with a mixture of understanding and apprehension, but didn't press.
The castle, in turn, was getting closer. Its towers, imposing, were still shrouded in the mist, as if rising from another world. With every step, Hogwarts became clearer, but the sensation it brought wasn't relief. The familiar outline of its stone walls, with the illuminated windows, felt more like a prison than a refuge. Something was wrong, and he didn't know how to deal with it.
When the carriage finally stopped in front of the great castle, Harry felt a brief, fragile sense of relief. The weight of everything that had happened still followed him like a shadow, and the cold air of the night seemed to embrace his skin more intimately, more threateningly. He didn't know exactly what he was waiting for as he got out of the carriage. The castle, with its imposing facade, seemed to hold more secrets than he could imagine. More than he had ever been accustomed to.
As he stepped down from the carriage, Harry's gaze was immediately drawn to the tall, imposing figure of Professor McGonagall, who was waiting for the students at the castle's entrance. She stood out against the darkness of the night, her emerald green cloak billowing in the cold wind as she observed the students disembarking from the carriages. The fixed gaze and upright posture indicated that she wasn't there just to welcome them. When her eyes met Harry and Hermione's, McGonagall gave a slight nod, as if she had been waiting for them. The gesture, though subtle, conveyed a clear message: there was something important to discuss.
"Potter, Granger," she said, her voice firm and authoritative. "You need to come with me. The rest can go on to the Great Hall."
Without hesitation, Harry and Hermione followed McGonagall through the dark corridors of Hogwarts. The castle seemed even more imposing at that hour of the night, its stone walls absorbing every sound of their footsteps, creating an unusual silence that made everything more tense. The light of the torches on the walls cast distorted shadows, creating an unsettling play of light and darkness. Harry's emotions were so raw that he felt each step heavier than the last, every breath filled with a discomfort he couldn't explain.
Hermione was by his side, but unlike her usual curiosity, she was more introspective. Her steps were more measured, and her eyes, which usually shone with questions and thoughts, were fixed ahead, as if trying to focus on something beyond McGonagall's words or the surroundings.
"Are you okay, Harry?" Hermione finally asked, her voice soft, but full of concern that Harry could clearly hear, even without looking at her.
"I don't know," he replied, still looking down, as if he didn't want to face the panic that was overtaking him again. "It's all a blur, Hermione. I can't shake the cold from my head. That darkness was so real."
She didn't answer immediately, just held his hand for a moment, giving it a light squeeze, as if trying to offer silent comfort. Harry felt the touch, but he was distant, lost in his own thoughts.
The trio finally stopped before a heavy wooden door, which stood out in the darkness of the corridor. McGonagall looked at Hermione, and although her gaze was stern, there was something else there — perhaps a hint of care.
"Granger, go in here," she said, gesturing to the door with an almost solemn movement. "Potter, you'll stay with Madame Pomfrey in the infirmary. Don't worry, she's already been informed."
The wooden door closed softly behind Hermione, and Harry walked a little further until he stopped in front of the other door. The sound of rain still fell relentlessly outside, and the castle seemed darker than ever. He touched the door handle of the infirmary, his fingers feeling the cold metal, and entered.
Inside the infirmary, the air was thick with the smell of potions and medicinal herbs, a smell Harry had come to associate with calm, but now it only made him feel more nervous. Madame Pomfrey was turned away, sorting bottles and jars on the shelf, but quickly turned when she heard the door open. Her expression was grave, but not hostile, and the look she gave Harry was filled with a mix of authority and a hint of concern.
"Potter!" she said, her voice firm but with an underlying softness. "I've been informed about what happened on the train. How are you feeling?"
Harry hesitated. He wanted to explain what had happened, but the words seemed to escape him. He didn't know how to put into words the panic that had consumed him when the dementors appeared, nor how to describe the unbearable cold and the darkness that had taken over everything. He had never heard of dementors before, and now he was trying to understand what had really happened.
"I don't know," he replied, struggling. "I felt this intense cold, like everything around me was disappearing. Darkness. I can't remember it all. I just know I got dizzy and passed out."
Madame Pomfrey watched him closely, analyzing every word carefully. She seemed to sense that there was more in his expression than he was willing to say.
"That's okay, Potter," she said, her voice softening a little. "Those dementors have a terrible effect. I know how you must have felt; they don't cause physical harm, but they have a very peculiar way of affecting people. I'll check if you're physically alright, but I understand you might not be fully recovered mentally."
Harry looked at her, expressionless. He just nodded.
Madame Pomfrey began her examination with her wand, moving it around him with precision. The soft light from the wand illuminated his face, and Harry felt the tension in his body begin to ease, but not the sense of emptiness that still haunted him.
"You're right to be scared," she commented as she checked his heart rate and temperature. "Dementors are terrible creatures. They feed on sadness and despair. They cause intense cold and make you relive your worst fears. And in more severe cases, they can even suck out your memories or tear your soul from your body."
Harry furrowed his brow, still not fully understanding. "They tear your soul?" A cold shiver ran down Harry's spine. That was something he didn't remember Lupin mentioning.
Madame Pomfrey nodded, her look serious. "Yes, Potter. Dementors are dangerous precisely because of this ability to affect people's minds. They feed on negative emotions, pain, and suffering. What you felt was a reflection of that. The cold, the darkness, everything you experienced was a sign of their presence."
Harry was shocked. He didn't know how to react to that information. The idea that something so terrible existed, and that he had experienced it firsthand, seemed incomprehensible. "I never knew. No one told me about them."
"It's natural, Potter. They're rare and not often discussed, even at Hogwarts," Madame Pomfrey said as she put her wand away. "The truth is, it's often better not to talk about them until someone has a chance to encounter them firsthand. But what you're feeling, this fear, this sense of emptiness, is something that may take time to overcome. It's not simple."
Harry shook his head, absorbing the gravity of her words. He felt like his world had gotten a little darker. It wasn't just what he had experienced — it was what these creatures did to people. He had never known something like this existed.
Madame Pomfrey, noticing his discomfort, spoke in a softer, almost comforting voice. "I know this is hard to understand, Potter. But you'll learn to cope with it. The most important thing now is that it's over, that you're recovering. And whenever you need help, don't hesitate to come to me. Magical healing isn't just about potions, but about time, patience, and understanding."
Harry felt a lightness in her words, as if she were really trying to help him understand all of this. But he still felt lost.
"Do you think... I'll be okay? I mean, after this... after everything I felt?"
Madame Pomfrey looked at him with a serious but gentle gaze. "You will be, Potter. It's not a quick process, but you have time. And, more importantly, you have people like me, like your friends, to help you. That makes all the difference."
Harry looked at her, feeling more relieved than before, though still marked by the memories of what he had lived through. He didn't know what the future held, but he knew that, for now, he wasn't alone.
Madame Pomfrey, noticing Harry's visible discomfort, began organizing some bottles on the counter, but before returning to her work, she paused and observed him for a moment. Harry, still sitting on the bed, absentmindedly looked at the potion bottles on the shelf, feeling a little calmer but still uneasy inside. He wasn't exactly sure what he wanted, but a feeling of curiosity began to stir.
"I never imagined magical healing was so interesting," he said. "During the holidays, I spent some time reading about what healers do. The potions, the spells... I don't know, it seems like something I'd like to learn. Something that could be useful, you know?"
Madame Pomfrey raised an eyebrow, surprised by the confession. She hadn't expected a student like Harry to show such interest, especially someone who was so focused on other aspects of magic or who spent more time getting hurt than really studying. She watched him closely for a few seconds before responding, her voice softer now, reflecting a hint of surprise.
"Well, it's not common for students to show this kind of interest," she said, with a discreet smile. "But if you're truly interested, I can assure you that magical healing is an area of great responsibility. It requires more than just knowledge of spells and potions. It requires patience, empathy, and a deep understanding of human suffering. It's not an easy path, but it can be incredibly valuable."
"I understand," he said, thoughtfully. "I've always thought magic was more about fighting, more about doing something... grand, you know?"
Madame Pomfrey nodded with a gentle smile, as if she knew Harry was beginning to understand a new facet of what magic really meant.
"Exactly, Potter," she replied, as she continued arranging the bottles with more care. "Magical healing isn't about power, but about helping. And often, healers are the true heroes, even if their deeds aren't as visible as those of an Auror, for example. Sometimes, the most powerful magic is the kind that brings relief, not pain."
Harry thought about her words for a moment, a sense of clarity beginning to form in his mind. He wasn't sure where this path would take him, but something in this field seemed to make sense. Maybe, after all, it was a way to help, a way to use magic for something more.
"It's not something you'd decide overnight," Madame Pomfrey added, with a light laugh. "But it's good to know you're thinking about it. The field of magical healing is always welcoming to those who approach it with respect and dedication."
Harry nodded, absorbing everything she said. The idea of getting involved in magical healing now seemed more plausible, almost comforting. The feeling of emptiness and discomfort he felt when recalling the dementor attack was still there, but the idea of helping others in some way felt like a way to direct his pain into something productive.
"I'll keep that in mind, Madame Pomfrey," he said.
She nodded, her expression now more approving. "I'm sure you will. Now, you should rest. But don't worry. We'll keep an eye on you, Potter. You're not alone in this."
Harry and Hermione walked down the corridor, the sound of their footsteps echoing softly on the cold stones of Hogwarts. The night seemed denser than usual, an inexplicable stillness hanging in the air. Although the torchlight on the walls illuminated the path, the sense of unease still lingered in Harry. However, as they neared the Great Hall, a wave of familiarity and comfort began to wash over him. The castle, with its ancient walls and the distant murmur of other students, seemed to somehow offer him a small sense of relief.
They were almost at the grand staircase when Harry, unable to suppress his curiosity, broke the silence.
"Hey, Hermione," he said, keeping his gaze on the floor ahead, as if the words were heavy. "What did McGonagall want with you?"
Hermione quickened her pace slightly, and for a moment, Harry thought she wasn't going to answer. She looked away, as if searching for something in the distance, before shaking her head lightly.
"Oh, nothing," she replied quickly, her expression one Harry knew well, almost as if she were trying to downplay anything that might be bothering her. "She just wanted to talk about the new schedules… Professor stuff. Nothing important."
Harry observed her closely, but he knew Hermione didn't want to talk about it any further at that moment. She had this ability to avoid the subject, to change the topic when she didn't want anyone to know something was bothering her. He wouldn't push it. Still, somehow, this only piqued Harry's curiosity more. But he held back and continued walking silently beside her.
By the time they reached the Great Hall, the place was buzzing with activity. Dinner had already started, and the tables were full of food. The delicious aroma of roast chicken, golden potatoes, and fresh vegetables filled the air. The sound of conversation and laughter filled the room, creating a warm, vibrant atmosphere. As always, the magic of the food seemed to transcend the simple act of eating. It was as though everything in the Great Hall was more intense, more comforting.
Without saying a word, Harry sat down next to Ron, who was laughing at something Neville had just said. Ron had his mouth full, as usual, but didn't seem to mind. He made a face, a wide grin stretching across his face.
"Harry, Hermione! Where were you? What happened with McGonagall?" Ron asked, still chewing. He looked at Hermione, who was now nervously fiddling with her utensils, trying to avoid any further conversation.
"Oh, it's nothing. Just some stuff about the schedules and electives," she said, making a vague gesture with her hand, trying to ease the tension in the air. She didn't look at Harry or Ron, as if wishing the subject would be resolved quickly.
"She just wanted to know what happened on the train, with the Dementors. I went to the infirmary, Madame Pomfrey already knew and did some tests," Harry explained, not wanting to go into more details. The subject was still fresh in his mind, but he didn't want to think about it anymore at that moment.
Ron frowned, understanding that there was something more serious behind it all, but as usual, he chose not to insist.
"Oh, that must've been really awful," Ron said, before quickly changing the subject, now with a smile on his face. "But guess what! The House Sorting is over. And Dumbledore announced two really interesting things. The new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher is actually Remus Lupin! That guy from the train, you know?" He paused, watching Harry's reaction before continuing with a mischievous grin. "And Hagrid! Hagrid's going to be the new Care of Magical Creatures professor!"
Hearing Hagrid's name made Harry feel a wave of happiness and relief. Hagrid had always been more than just a professor to him. He was a friend, someone who had always been by his side when things got tough. The idea of Hagrid as a teacher seemed perfect. He couldn't help but smile.
"That's amazing!" Harry exclaimed, unable to hide his excitement. "Hagrid's going to be a great teacher! He's the best for this, there's no comparison."
"I think so too! Who else could teach Care of Magical Creatures besides him? He has a way with the creatures that no other professor has," Hermione commented.
Harry, still excited, couldn't help but add:
"I just hope he doesn't bring that dragon back, or anything else big and dangerous," he said with a playful smile. "But deep down, I think it's going to be great."
The three of them laughed together, and for a moment, the weight of the day seemed to lift. The conversation continued casually, but the relief Harry felt knowing that Hagrid was there, in such an important position, was palpable.
During dinner, as they kept chatting, a look of disdain crossed the table. Draco Malfoy, who was with the Slytherin group, was watching them challengingly. He leaned across the table, addressing Harry with a cruel smile on his lips.
"Is it true what they say, Potter?" Draco asked, with that superior tone. "You fainted because of the Dementors? And I thought nothing could shake the famous Boy Who Lived."
Some laughter from the Slytherins accompanied his words, and Harry felt a surge of anger rise within him. He wasn't going to let Draco get away with it. Not this time. Edgar's words echoed in his mind.
With a sarcastic smile, Harry stared back at him.
"It's true, Malfoy," Harry replied, in a calm but firm tone. "I fainted. It's no big deal, is it?" He looked at Draco with an ironic smile. "I guess I'm not as brave as a Gryffindor. Maybe I should've accepted the Sorting Hat's choice and gone to Slytherin."
The laughter from the Slytherins immediately quieted, and the tension in the air increased. Some Gryffindors, and even students from other houses, looked at Harry in surprise, as if the comment had been stronger than they expected. It wasn't every day that someone confronted Draco Malfoy with such courage, and even more, with such an unexpected response. Most fell silent, watching the exchange, while Draco seemed speechless, his expression of contempt slowly turning into an uncomfortable frown.
Ron, astonished, looked at Harry with an expression of disbelief.
"You almost went to Slytherin?" he asked, his eyes wide, clearly shocked by what he had just heard.
"But you're nothing like them, Harry," Ron continued, his voice full of distaste. "You're not like the snakes. You're a Gryffindor, you've always been that way. Slytherins are all the same. They have no principles, no honor. They're all dark wizards."
Harry watched him for a moment, feeling a sudden discomfort rise. He hadn't felt the need to defend another house before, but Ron's words didn't make sense. He remembered Quirrell. He was from Ravenclaw and still allied with Voldemort.
"Ron, a house doesn't define who you are. The Sorting Hat takes into account the qualities you have inside. If I'd gone to Slytherin, it wouldn't have been because I'm like them, but for other reasons. It's not the name of the house that matters, it's what you choose to be afterward. The Hat saw something in me that it thought was interesting, something that's not just about courage or bravery." He took a deep breath, keeping his eyes on Ron, who seemed a bit uncomfortable. "I don't think you understand what I mean, but that's it. We can't judge a person just by the house they're in."
Ron made a face, still looking suspicious. "But they… Slytherin is a house of treacherous people!"
"It's not like that," Harry replied, in a more serious tone. "I'm not saying that every Slytherin is good, Ron. But it's not fair to generalize like that. We shouldn't assume that everyone in a house is the same, just like we shouldn't believe that all Gryffindors are heroes. The Sorting Hat chooses based on what's inside each person. I, for example, could've gone to Slytherin because it saw something in me that caught its attention. It's not the name of the house that defines me, it's my choices."
Ron still looked uncomfortable, but he didn't say anything else, his gaze still fixed on Harry.
As the conversation unfolded, the exchange of glances between Harry and Ron became silent, full of unspoken words, while students from other houses continued to watch.
Daphne Greengrass, sitting at the Slytherin table, was staring intently at Harry, as if trying to figure something out. He held her gaze for a moment before shifting his attention back to his friends.
"I just didn't want to be in the same house as him," Harry added with a sigh, as if commenting on the atmosphere.
Ron fell silent for a moment, trying to process Harry's words.
"What matters is that you didn't go to Slytherin. You're a Gryffindor, Harry, for sure."
Harry smiled at his friend, grateful for his loyalty, but deep down, something was stirring in his mind. The Sorting Hat had seen something in him that even he didn't fully understand. If he had gone to Slytherin, he couldn't imagine how things might have been different. But he was happy he stayed in Gryffindor.
As the night went on, the air of tension didn't completely dissipate. Harry knew that this simple conversation about the Sorting Hat hadn't ended. Something was starting to unfold, and he didn't know where it would lead. But for now, he felt a little lighter, realizing that even with Draco's provocations, he wasn't alone. His friends were there to support him.
Harry's bed was cold, and the atmosphere in the dormitory seemed quieter than ever. His friends were all already asleep, their soft snores filling the room with a peaceful background sound, but Harry couldn't rest. He was lying there, eyes open, staring at the ceiling. The sound of rain outside, tapping against the dormitory windows, was a constant companion, as if the world outside was also stuck in that moment.
Everything that had happened kept spinning in his mind. The attack on the train. The fear he felt with the arrival of the dementors. The discomfort of having fainted in front of everyone. The conversation with Madame Pomfrey. And lastly, the revelation about Slytherin. He had never spoken so openly about it with anyone. Even with Ron and Hermione, who he knew would always be by his side, the topic was delicate. How would he have felt if he had gone to Slytherin? What would his life have been like there?
But he knew it was pointless to question it now. What the Sorting Hat decided was done. He couldn't change the past. Instead, he had to focus on the future, on what was yet to come, on what he still needed to learn and discover. It wasn't just about what had happened on the train. It was about everything. About him, about his friends, about the mysteries of Hogwarts, the secrets of his own parents.
Suddenly, the sound of a mattress being pressed interrupted his thoughts. He looked to the side and saw Neville getting out of bed.
"Harry?" Neville whispered, still with tired eyes but a genuine curiosity in them. "Are you still awake?"
Harry gave a small nod, sitting up in bed and placing his feet on the floor. He rubbed his eyes, trying to shake off the feeling of exhaustion that still seemed to take hold of him.
"I can't sleep yet," Harry replied with a sigh. "I was just thinking about everything that happened today."
Neville nodded, as if understanding, and then hesitated for a moment before asking, in a more cautious tone:
"Is it true that you almost went to Slytherin?"
Harry looked at him for a moment, surprised by the question, but also relieved that someone had finally brought it up. He gave a small smile and answered sincerely:
"Yeah, I almost did. The Sorting Hat almost put me there, but I didn't want to go. And, well, Draco's presence was a big factor in that."
Neville was silent for a moment, as if trying to process what Harry had just said. He made a face, thinking about the idea of Harry in Slytherin, and said:
"I can't picture you there, Harry," he said with a sigh. "You... you don't have anything Slytherin about you."
Harry chuckled softly, sensing that Neville was trying to understand the situation, and he really appreciated how his friend always spoke his mind, without hesitation.
"I don't think I would have felt right there either," Harry replied. "But the Hat saw something in me. And you know, it doesn't just choose based on what we want."
Neville shrugged, seemingly thinking it over, and then flashed a smile.
"Well, at least you're where you belong, right? Gryffindor," Neville said with a slightly shy smile. "Here, at least, you have friends who... well, who really have your back."
Harry smiled, feeling grateful to be surrounded by people like Ron and Hermione. "Yeah, and they don't leave you hanging when things get tough."
Neville shrugged again, looking a bit thoughtful. "You know, I almost went to Hufflepuff," he revealed, in a tone of confession. "The Sorting Hat saw something Gryffindor-like in me, but I have no idea what it could have been. I keep wondering... maybe I was chosen for some detail I don't even realize."
Harry looked at Neville, feeling a slight surprise but also a sense of empathy. He didn't know what it was, but he could see Neville's discomfort at having questioned it for so long.
"You were chosen for Gryffindor because you're brave, Neville," Harry said firmly, trying to comfort him. "Courage isn't just about doing grand things all the time. Sometimes, it's just about keeping on trying, even when things seem hard. And you... you've always been there for me. You've always been brave, even when you didn't believe it."
Neville smiled shyly, his expression softening a bit. "You really think so?"
"I'm sure," Harry replied, giving a faint smile. "I think we all have our own qualities. And the Sorting Hat, well, it knows what it's doing."
Neville thought for a moment, seeming more relieved. "Yeah... I guess you're right. In the end, we're all where we should be."
"Yeah, and where we are, we have the chance to be who we really are," Harry replied with a sincere smile. "And I think that makes all the difference."
Neville gave one last smile and snuggled back into bed, closing his eyes. Harry, in turn, lay back down, pulling the covers up to his chin. The soft sound of rain outside now seemed a little more comforting, and his thoughts were quieter. The questions and fears that had haunted him during the day began to fade, and he felt the exhaustion finally take hold of his body.
As sleep enveloped him, he knew that Hogwarts' future, the mysteries surrounding his past, and even the challenge he would have to face with the dementors still lay ahead of him. But for now, he was at peace, at least for one night.
The night was silent. And, somewhere between dreams and reality, Harry surrendered to sleep, knowing that the next chapter of his story at Hogwarts was just beginning.
A/N:
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"In case I don't see ya, good afternoon, good evening and good night."