They arrived on Platform Nine and Three Quarters exactly seventeen minutes before the train would depart. Altair thought that the trick with the metal barrier was clever, but found it odd that not a single muggle ever noticed. Surely the muggles would question the constant stream of oddly dressed families pushing large trunks to the barrier?
In any case, all questions about the Platform barrier vanished at once, the moment he went through. Greeting him on the Platform was the by far the biggest crowd of students he'd ever seen. Even Diagon Alley, crowded as it was in the summer with students buying their school supplies, paled in comparison to this.
Students of all ages hurriedly pushed their trunks and pet cages around, running to reunite with their friends and classmates; "bye"s, "love you"s, and "stay out of trouble"s could be heard as parents bid their children farewell. Altair heard the mother of a particularly red headed family berate her sons about sending home toilet seats ("—If another one turns up you'll both be getting howlers before you can say "Merlin", mark my words!").
And behind it all was the train itself: dozens of carriages pulled behind a bright, scarlet red engine billowing up clouds of steam above it. His mom gave him a tight hug.
He felt his throat dry up for a moment, before he managed to speak.
"I'll make you proud, Mom."
"I know."
"And," Altair said suddenly, "I'll make Dad proud too."
This time, all his mom offered was a weak smile.
Turning around before he could tear up — his dad's letter tucked safely in his pocket — he approached the gleaming red train, stopping briefly to store his trunk away before entering. It was surprisingly spacious inside; he stood in a corridor flanked by compartments filled with laughing students (who looked to be a tad older than him) on either side. He walked for a while, scanning for an empty compartment to sit down in when he noticed a rather hilarious sight. It was Remus, alone, and looking to be sound asleep.
Altair entered silently, giving him a light tap on the shoulder which elicited no reaction. Taking that as an answer and promising to himself that he'd tease Remus about it later, he took the seat across from him and pulled out Prehistoric Potions: The Most Ancient Magical Cures.
He was just about to turn the final page of chapter four (The Origins of the Bezoar) when he was interrupted by the creaky sound of the compartment door opening. Peering through the crack was a skinny, bespectacled boy with untamed black hair, and a tall, red headed boy with lots of freckles scattered across his face (likely from the earlier "toilet seat" family).
"Is it alright if we sat in here?" Asked the boy with glasses after exchanging a look with his friend.
"'Course," Altair replied, gesturing to the empty seats next to him and Remus.
The two boys entered, quickly followed by a girl with wild brunette hair. They sat down and immediately huddled close together, discussing something in quiet, hushed tones, pausing only for the occasional gasp. Altair let them be, shifting his eyes back to his book. He was half way through chapter five when he was pulled out of it again.
"Who'd you reckon that is?" Said the red headed boy, nodding at Remus.
"Professor R. J. Lupin," replied the bushy haired girl.
"How'd you know that?"
"It's on his case," the girl said, pointing up at the luggage rack.
"Wonder what he teaches?"
"Defense Against the Dark Arts," responded both the girl and Altair, at the same time.
"There's only one vacancy isn't there? Defense Against the Dark Arts," reasoned the girl.
The red headed boy turned his head towards Altair questioningly.
"Oh, he's a family friend," explained Altair.
"Well, I hope he's up to it, he looks like a good hex could finish him off, doesn't he?"
Altair tried to suppress a laugh. "He does look like that. I promise you, he's actually very competent."
"Better be," the red head muttered, slightly disgruntled, "after the Defense professors we've had the last two years.." he trailed off.
"Who are you?" This time it was the bespectacled boy who'd spoken.
"Altair Widrum, third year."
"You did look a bit old for a firstie," considered the red head, "but how come I've never seen you in class before?"
"I'm a new student… I was homeschooled my first few years."
"Oh how interesting!" Exclaimed the girl, loudly. She was promptly elbowed by both her friends. "Taught by your parents?" She guessed earnestly.
"Just my mom."
"And your dad? Does he work at the Ministry? Ron's father does." She pressed on eagerly.
"No, he…" Altair stared out at the moving countryside, not quite wanting to turn the conversation into a pity party. "He died in the war, ten years ago."
"Oh!" The girl gasped, mortified. "Oh, I'm so sorry! I didn't know."
"It's okay, you couldn't have." He paused briefly to glance around at the three. They seemed his age. "Who are you?"
The girl gladly took the lifeline. "Hermione Granger."
"Ron Weasley," answered the red headed boy.
"And you?" Altair asked the boy with glasses.
"Harry Potter."
Altair raised an eyebrow in consideration. He'd heard of the Boy Who Lived of course, it was impossible not to, growing up a wizard and all. His mom had spoken about him in the same subdued manner she had with the rest of the war.
"You said your dad died in the war?" Harry had spoken for the first time since he had entered the compartment, and there was a sudden intensity that was surely not there when they had discussed the compartment's availability mere minutes ago. Altair supposed it made sense that Harry would ask, after all he'd suffered the same fate.
"Yeah... I never really knew him, just that he was a kind, loving man who died a hero. My mom doesn't him like to talk about him."
An expression that Altair was quite familiar with appeared on Harry's face. It was the one his mom always had on whenever anyone mentioned the war. She would go from her usual cheery self to a far-away look in an instant; a mix between grief and anger. It only flashed for a quick moment however, before it receded from Harry's face.
"I suppose they must've worked together against Voldemort," said Harry, quietly.
It took Altair a second to get past the surprise of Harry saying You Know Who's actual name, and then he nodded slowly. Wanting to change the topic, he asked, "What were you three talking about just now?"
There was a moment of silence while Harry, Ron and Hermione shared a long look, then Harry spoke. "Sirius Black."
Altair's eyes immediately swung back to him from where they'd drifted off to the huge orange cat stored above them. "Sirius Black?"
"Yes," Harry said hesitantly, "we think... we think he might be after me."
"How do you know?"
"They said — the Azkaban guards I mean — that he kept saying "he's at Hogwarts" in his sleep." Altair's jaw dropped, and the potions were bubbling in his head. No wonder his mom had been so worried about him going to Hogwarts, it's where Black was heading! Remus must've had some inside information, being a Hogwarts Professor now and everything, and that's what they were talking about in the kitchen that day after they'd gotten his supplies.
That broke the dam.
"Harry, you have to be careful this year!" Hermione said, her face slightly paler than it'd be been a moment ago, "Don't go looking for trouble Harry..."
"I don't go looking for trouble," said Harry, looking mildly irritated. "Trouble usually finds me."
"To be fair, how thick would Harry have to be, to go looking for a nutter who wants to kill him?" Said Ron, shakily. "No one knows how he got out of Azkaban."
"He's right, you know," Altair added, "the prison is in the middle of the sea, and the Azkaban guards are apparently some of the worst creatures in the wizarding world. The books I've read don't even use their real names."
"But they'll catch him right?" said Hermione, with what might've been slightly forced positivity, "they've even got the muggles looking for him…"
"What's that noise?" said Ron suddenly.
There was a faint whistle, a bit like a tea kettle about to explode, coming from somewhere in the compartment.
"It's coming from your trunk, Harry," said Ron, who'd stood up to pull a small glowing orb out of the luggage rack.
"Is that a Sneakoscope?" said Altair, intrigued. Tonks had mentioned them before.
"They're quite rare in Britain aren't they?" Asked Hermione, matching his interest.
"Yeah, mind you a cheap one," said Ron. "It went haywire while I was tying it to Errol's leg to send to Harry."
"And were you doing anything untrustworthy?" said Hermione shrewdly.
"No! Well… I wasn't supposed to be using Errol."
"Ron's family owl Errol looks like it could die at any moment," Harry explained while Ron and Hermione started to bicker. "My owl, Hedwig, had to drag him up to my window."
"You have an owl?" Altair asked, curious.
"Yeah, right up there," Harry pointed to a large snowy owl that sat in the luggage rack. "Pretty isn't she?"
"She really is," Hedwig preened. "I want an owl too, I think. I'll see if I can get one while I'm home for the winter break."
They eventually managed to muffle the whistling sneakoscope, by shoving the (possibly) rogue device into some monstrously thick, ugly woolen socks from Harry's trunk. Ron suggested they get it checked at Hogsmeade.
"Do you know much about Hogsmeade?" Hermione asked keenly. "I heard its the only entirely non-muggle settlement in Britain—"
"Yeah," Ron replied offhandedly, "but I really just want to get inside Honeydukes!" It was a magical sweet shop apparently, which Ron continued to profess his excitement over. Altair thought it was rather impressive that anyone could know so much about sweets, or about a shop they'd never been to.
"But Hogsmeade is a very interesting place isn't it?" said Hermione eagerly. "In Sights of Historical Sorcery it says the inn was the headquarters for the 1612 goblin rebellion."
"Yes!" said Altair, surprised but pleased that she was clearly interested in magical history. "Apparently, the Hog's Head was also the founding spot of the Royal Potions Society; it was where Robin Firolstone created the Draught of the Living Death!"
"Oh!" Hermione exclaimed while Ron gushed to Harry about sherbet balls. Remus coughed and Hermione glanced over at him warily, before continuing in a hushed voice, "I really must read more on Potions history. Did you know, there were also a number of Defense experiments carried out in Hogsmeade in the fifteenth century? It was where the first manual on dark creatures was written."
"Can't say I've heard of that," Altair replied dryly, a little embarrassed. "I'm pretty terrible at Defense."
Hermione tilted her head. She looked like she was about to ask but turned to Harry instead, who'd been oddly silent throughout. Her curiosity over Harry's silence evidently won over her interest in Altair's Defense talent, because she asked "Won't it be nice to get out of school for a bit and explore Hogsmeade?"
"'Spect it well, you'll have to tell me when you find out," said Harry rather dejectedly.
"What do you mean?"
"The Dursleys didn't sign my form. Fudge wouldn't, either."
Different levels of horror and disbelief ensued on the faces of the other two boys.
"You're not allowed to come?" Said Ron, eyes wide, "But — no way — McGonagall or someone will give you permission!"
"Yeah! Maybe you can ask the headmaster? You live with a muggle family right?" said Altair, reasonably. "He'll understand."
Hermione however, mentioned that Harry might've been safer off in the castle, to both boys' vehement disagreement.
"But it says in the Prophet that they've got Dementors guarding every nook and cranny of the village!" Altair said disbelievingly. "And its Hogsmeade Hermione. My mom said its a crucial part of the Hogwarts experience."
"And we'll be with him," Ron added, spiritedly. "Black wouldn't dare—"
Hermione, however, remained entirely unconvinced.
Ron opened his mouth — most likely to make a scathing review of Hermione's opinion — but was nterrupted by her rather large, intensely ginger cat who had barreled into Ron's head, paws outstretched, as if Ron's head had somehow offended him.
"They started on the wrong foot, Ron and Crookshanks," Harry explained while Ron and Hermione bickered. "He might also have a weird obsession with Ron's rat, Scabbers, don't tell Hermione but I reckon Ron might be right." Harry nodded to a faint lump that was showing through Ron's breast pocket.
At one o'clock, an old, plump witch came by, pushing a trolley of food and snacks. She didn't have any Chocolate Cauldrons (the only chocolate sweet Altair liked), but she did have Cauldron Cakes, which Ron assured him were basically the same thing. He also got a Pumpkin Pasty for Remus, just in case.
As they spread out their rather large and varied assortment of snacks over the spare compartment seats, Ron brought up Quidditch, which quickly sprouted into a very animated discussion. Altair told them about his hopes of making the Quidditch team, for whichever house he ended up in, and about his Nimbus 2001.
"Wicked," said Ron, with wide eyes, "I wish my dad worked in broom development."
Altair was mightily impressed when he learned that Harry was seeker on team Gryffindor and had made the team in his first year ("The youngest in a century!").
"What do you play?" asked Harry, curious.
"I'll be trying for chaser. I've never played proper Quidditch before, only pick-up games, but I've been flying since I could walk, with my mom doing what she does and all."
"Flying is just as important for seeking though, reckon you could try that?" Ron suggested.
"No, he doesn't have the build." said Harry, looking him over with a suddenly analytical air. "He's not light enough."
"Scared, Potter?" Altair said, with faux superiority.
"You wish, Widrum," Harry smirked.
The discussion then moved onto the League, where Altair bonded with Ron over their shared distaste for the Tornados, who had just beaten Altair's team: the Arrows, the week before.
"They shouldn't have even won last week; the Arrows got twice as many calls as the Tornados, the referee should be investigated," said Altair, shaking his head in righteous frustration. "And now their fans act like they just won the World Cup."
"They're only good now because they're new owner's rich and buying up all the talent," agreed Ron, nodding apprehensively. "Not like the Cannons," he added, in afterthought.
Altair quirked an eyebrow. "You support the Cannons?" he asked incredulously.
"Yeah, well," said Ron defensively, "they've just gotten a new keeper and he's supposed to be good. They've seriously got a chance next season, and you're only a real fan if you support a team before they're good."
"Can't fault you there; not like those Tornados fans eh?" They both snickered.
They were going over the finer points (or more specifically, the many unjust foul calls) of the Arrows v. Tornados game to Harry when the compartment door opened. At the door, was a boy with pale blond hair, flanked by two buff boys who both looked like a weird mix between a gorilla (they both had a mildly confused expression on their faces) and a security guard (their muscles bulged).
Altair could immediately feel the atmosphere get colder.
The blond boy spoke first. "Well, look who it is," he said in a lazy drawl. "Potty and the Weasel."
The two boys behind him chuckled.
"I heard your father finally got his hands on some gold this summer, Weasley. Did your mother die of shock?"
Ron stood up so quickly he knocked Crookshanks' basket to the floor. Crookshanks hissed threateningly, and Remus gave a snort in his sleep.
"Who's that?" Asked the blond boy, taking a step back.
"New professor," answered Altair.
The blond boy looked over at him, noticing that he was in the compartment for the first time.
"And who are you?" The boy asked. Altair wondered if he was imagining the disdain in his voice. He hoped so; it'd be a shame to make enemies before he even stepped foot in the castle.
"Altair Widrum, new third year. And you are?"
"Ah," the boy nodded appraisingly, "Widrum. Yes, father did say you would probably be coming this year. I'm Malfoy, Draco Malfoy," he added importantly.
Well, that certainly explained the smug, holier-than-thou attitude. His mom had mentioned the Malfoys before, when Lucious Malfoy had ordered a team's worth of Nimbus 2001s just the year prior. She had seemed oddly disgruntled about the large order, and when he asked, she had explained that the Malfoys happened to be an old, pureblood family, that believed that they were better than everyone else. Their family trait was a chronically upturned nose, she had said.
He stuck out a hand, which Altair shook warily. "You don't want to be making friends with Potty and his little weasel before you even make it to Hogwarts," said Malfoy, arrogantly.
"I think I can chose for myself who I'll want to be friends with," Altair replied evenly.
Malfoy turned his nose up. "Suit yourself if you want to be friends with that dirty little muggle-born" he said, with a scornful glare at Hermione.
Harry jumped up, wand in hand. Altair followed suit, any previous attempt at restraint forgotten. Ron, who was already up, clenched his fists, seemingly a mere second a way from decking the blond.
Remus snorted again, and clearly not stupid enough to pick a fight in front of a teacher, slammed the compartment door shut — but not before giving the four of them one last contemptuous glare.
"I'm not going to take any rubbish from Malfoy this year," said Ron. "Not about my family, and definitely not about Hermione. If he makes one more crack and I get ahold of him…"
Ron made a violent, strangling gesture in the air.
"Ron, be careful," hissed Hermione, pointing at the sleeping professor, though Altair noticed that her pale cheeks were now lightly dusted with pink.
They went back to regular conversation after that.
Hermione had noticed Prehistoric Potions: The Most Ancient Magical Cures laying next to him and was very interested. Apparently, it was on her reading list and she had lots of questions, which Altair was of course more than happy to answer. While they discussed, Ron regaled Harry with the tale of the Cannons' last League finals game (which had been twenty three years ago).
It began to rain outside. Starting with a light drizzle that quickly thickened into such heavy downpour that they were all surprised that Remus was still asleep despite the constant hammering. The windows had fogged up, and the compartment slowly began to darken, eventually brightening again when lanterns lit up the corridor. Altair thought it was a clever piece of magic, and was quite sure he'd read it in Hogwarts: A History and Hermione confirmed it ("Page four hundred and twenty six").
"How long till we're there?" asked a famished Altair.
"We must be close," said Ron, glancing at the window.
He had barely finished his words when the train began to slow.
"Lovely," said Altair, brimming with the excitement of finally getting to see Hogwarts.
Ron agreed. "Let's go, I'm starving," he said as he made to open the compartment door.
"We can't be there yet," said Hermione, looking down at her watch.
The train was now barely moving.
"So what are we stopping for?" asked Altair, puzzled. He glanced around but the other three seemed no less confused than he.
Harry peeked out the compartment to check but gave no response.
Suddenly, the train halted with a jolt, creating loud thuds as the luggage came falling off the rack. Then the lights went out too, covering the train in complete darkness.
"What's going on?" Ron said, sliding past Altair's leg before—
"Ouch!" That was Hermione. "That's my foot Ron!"
Altair tried to feel for his wand but had no luck finding it. He then tried to go wake up Remus but crashed directly into Harry.
"Have we broken down?" It was Harry's voice, a second later, now from an area vaguely to Altair's left.
"Dunno…"
"Should I go ask the driver?"
Altair heard the compartment open.
"Sorry! D'you know what's going on…" a boy he didn't know was speaking.
"Hello Neville," said Harry, helping Neville into the compartment by the sounds of it.
"Harry? That you?"
"Yeah sit down."
"What's going on?"
"We don't know. Hermione's gonna ask."
Altair felt Hermione's bushy hair brush past his face and heard her open the compartment door, before the thud of two people colliding was heard, and then a squeal and a loud moan of pain.
"Who's that?" Hermione asked painfully.
"Who's that?" Responded an unfamiliar female voice.
"Ginny?"
"Hermione?"
"What're you doing here?"
"I was looking for Ron—"
"Come in, sit down—"
Someone's foot cracked.
"Not here, I'm here," said Harry, desperately.
There was another crack, followed by a pained squeak.
"Ouch," cried Neville(..?).
He heard more movement, and then Altair felt a small weight fall square into the middle of his lap.
"Oof!"
"Oh sorry!"
He helped guide her to the seat to his right.
"Quiet!" Said Remus, very suddenly.
He had finally awoken, and with a swish, a roaring fire — cracking and flickering — came to life in his hands. Thank the Founders, thought Altair. He had a feeling in his gut that something terrible was about to happen.
"Stay where you are," Remus cautioned hoarsely, making for the door.
But the door opened on its own.
A tall hooded figure stood where the door had been as its robed hand slowly pushed it aside. A harsh cold swept through Altair, down to the very roots of his hairs and the marrow of his bones. He stared into the dark nothingness beneath its hood; there was something deeply horrible, something deeply wrong about it. And yet, he couldn't tear his eyes away.
It felt like he was falling into an endless void, struggling desperately for something, anything to cling onto in an ocean of despair and nothingness. It was like the world around him had blurred into nonexistence, his life: meaningless and completely devoid of any hope of happiness— thud.
Harry had collapsed into a clump on the floor. He was vaguely aware of the looks of absolute terror on the others' faces, something wet clinging to his right arm, and Remus muttering something under his breath, but his eyes were glued to Harry's unconscious form.
Suddenly, Harry wasn't on the compartment floor anymore. Suddenly, Harry was laying on damp, muddy grass. Suddenly, he was writhing uncontrollably, like he was being stung by a hundred wasps, being pierced by a thousand blades. His face was covered in a sheen of sweat and tears, and blood streaked down his arm. Harry screamed out in blistering pain, and Altair heard a high, haunting laughter in the back of his ear. The laughter got louder and louder, higher and higher; he saw Harry's bleeding arm bend unnaturally towards him, as if reaching for—
He felt a wand poke his chest painfully.
He blinked his eyes, took a few deep breaths, and felt that his jaw felt rather sore. He was still sitting in his seat, but now body drenched in sweat and hair matted. He looked around; the girl who'd just come in, Ginny, was still besides him, looking extremely pale, Hermione was standing over him and Ron was kneeling by a still-collapsed Harry.
"Sorry…" Hermione said, rather apologetically as she stored her wand away in her pocket. "You stayed completely frozen no matter what I said or what I did."
"Yeah," said Ron, glancing back over his shoulder as he helped Harry stand up. "It was a little creepy mate, your eyes and mouth were open, but, you where just… it was like you were petrified."
Hermione went over to help Ron heave Harry into his seat.
"Are you alright?" Ron asked Harry nervously.
"Yeah," said Harry unconvincingly. "What happened? What was that— thing? Who screamed?"
"You did!" Said Altair; at the same time Ron said, "No one screamed."
They looked at each other. Altair chewed the inside of his mouth.
"No one was screaming," Ron repeated, even more nervously. "Harry fell and didn't make a sound."
"But I heard screaming—"
Altair was about to agree when a loud snap came from the compartment doorway. Remus was breaking up a massive piece of chocolate. He handed the two biggest pieces to Altair and Harry.
"Here," he said, "eat it, it'll help."
Neither of them ate it.
"What was that thing?" Asked Harry.
"And was there really no screaming?" Added Altair, still feeling chilled to the bone.
"A Dementor, one of the Dementors of Azkaban," Remus replied, now handing out the remaining chunks of chocolate. "And no Altair, I didn't hear any screaming."
Everyone stared blankly at him till he left to find the driver.
"Are you sure you're okay Harry?" Said Hermione. "And you Altair?
"I don't get it, what just happened?" Asked Harry, wiping sweat off his forehead.
Ron and Hermione told the two about how Harry had fallen to the floor in a fit, and how Remus had summoned a silvery thing to drive it away.
"What about me?" Asked Altair, still feeling as if he'd been through six portkeys at once.
"We don't know," said Hermione, wringing her hands. "You were fine one second, and then the lights went on and we found you staring at Harry and frozen like…"
"Like you were petrified," Ron finished.
"It was horrible," squeaked a high voice. Altair turned his head to see a boy, Neville, in the corner. "Did you feel how cold it was when they came in?"
"It was weird, like I'd never be cheerful again," said Ron, uncomfortably.
Altair heard a sob, and felt Ginny grip her hands tightly around his arm again.
"Everything's okay now," he said, leaning down and putting his head against her's, trying his best to comfort her but not quite knowing what to do.
Thankfully, Hermione came and sat to the other side of her, wrapping an arm around shivering girl.
"But, didn't any of you fall off your seats?" said Harry awkwardly, looking as confused as Altair felt.
"Or freeze up?"
"No," answered Ron anxiously. "Ginny was shaking like mad, though…"
Altair shifted closer in his seat towards the distressed red headed girl. Glancing down at his still uneaten chocolate, he took a bite and immediately felt the chill in his bones vanish. Thank Merlin for Remus, truly…
Just as he thought that, Remus poked his head back into the compartment. He looked around.
"Good to see you're eating the chocolate, Altair, you look much better." Remus said, entering the compartment. Then turned to Harry. "Eat it, Harry," he said with an amused chuckle, "I haven't poisoned it, you know."
Harry had taken a bite of his chocolate and was indeed rewarded with some color returning to his face. Remus asked, "Are you two alright?"
"Fine," they chorused quietly.
Just as Remus left, Altair thought of something.
"Remus!" He called after him.
The door opened again and Remus looked back inside, at Altair.
"Yes?"
"Please don't tell my mom about it, I don't want her to worry."
"Of course," replied Remus, kindly.
The rest of the ride was spent in relative silence. Altair listened to the sounds of the train's moving pistons in the stillness, and with a few occasional words of comfort to Ginny. The red head was much less pale now, after the chocolate, but she was still leaning weakly against Altair's shoulder.
Altair was deep in thought. What had he seen? The image of Harry, writhing in the mud, reaching out to him with a wordless scream was seared into his mind's eye. He knew dementors had something to do with fear, but he'd never seen this before. In fact, he'd only met Harry that same day. How could he be afraid of something he'd never seen before?
Eventually, the train stopped (much gentler this time), and they walked out. Altair barely noticed as they descended onto a long muddy track, a far cry from the excitement that had been bursting in him previously. His eyes were glued to someone's back — Ginny's most likely — still unable to forget what had happened.
Harry had heard screaming too, so was it possible that he simply didn't realize that it was himself? None of the others had heard it, but Harry did. That wouldn't have been the case if he had just been sucked into some sort of delusion. Something had happened on that train. Someone had screamed. Maybe it was a ghost that no one else could see? Or maybe the others were the ones in trances? Or maybe—
Altair nearly bumped into Ron, who had suddenly stopped in front of him. here about a hundred stage coaches were waiting.
Altair and Harry (who was no doubt having the exact same internal conversation) had trailed to the end of the group, and as the others climbed into the coach one by one, Altair put a gentle hand on Harry's shoulder, stopping him.
Altair now spoke in no more than a hushed whisper.
"Harry, I've been thinking about it and… someone definitely screamed."