CHAPTER 3
The morning of September 1st had a different scent. It wasn't the comforting aroma of freshly brewed tea or the faint smell of burnt wood coming from the fireplaces of the Leaky Cauldron. There was something in the air, invisible yet present. Harry felt as if the weight of the date was pressing down on him, almost like a spectral presence, as real as the creaking wood of the floor beneath his feet.
He descended the stairs of the establishment, one hand balancing the heavy trunk, the other holding Hedwig's cage, the owl, irritated, pecking at the iron bars. The owl, accustomed to the free flight of the past few weeks, made low, restless noises, mirroring the agitation Harry felt. For him, the Leaky Cauldron was a refuge, a welcome break between the harsh reality of Privet Drive and the intensity of Hogwarts. But refuges, he knew, didn't last forever.
The Cauldron's hall was bathed in the soft morning light, filtered through the dusty windows. The glow touched the worn wooden tables, revealing marks from years of use—deep scratches, stains from spilled drinks, and even a few scars from poorly cast spells. The place seemed to breathe history, a space where the past clung to the walls and seeped into the air, a silent reminder that the wizarding world was as old as time itself and as deep as the mysteries it concealed.
Harry sat in a secluded corner, distancing himself from the small group of wizards chatting animatedly near the counter. He enjoyed the sense of anonymity there, even though he knew it was temporary. The world of the "Boy Who Lived" was filled with furtive glances, hushed whispers, and unwanted attention. But there, in that moment, he could just be Harry.
The peace was broken by the sound of quick footsteps.
"Harry! Finally found you!" Ron exclaimed, a wide grin on his face. He flung himself onto the seat opposite with such energy that the table shook, nearly knocking over a jug of pumpkin juice Edgar had left there earlier. The argument from the previous day seemed to have vanished.
"Good morning to you too, Ron," Harry said, a smile escaping his lips.
Ron huffed, grabbing a slice of toast from a nearby tray and shoving it into his mouth with the usual enthusiasm of the Weasleys. "Good morning? I'm starving! I don't even remember the last time I ate."
"You had dinner last night," Harry replied, amused, as he set Hedwig's cage on the floor.
"Oh, that doesn't count! It was just a quick thing..." Ron retorted with his mouth full, pointing at the toast as if it were the main course of a banquet.
Harry laughed, but before he could respond, he heard Percy's voice echoing from across the room. Ron's older brother looked particularly proud that morning, with the Prefect badge gleaming on his chest.
"This year will be different," Percy proclaimed, adjusting his glasses with a dramatic gesture. "Hogwarts will have the discipline it deserves!"
Fred and George, sitting nearby, exchanged knowing looks.
"Discipline? That sounds like an invitation for a big and wonderful challenge," Fred said with a mischievous grin.
George nodded. "Maybe we'll even brew a potion to celebrate the occasion. Something that turns Prefect badges into 'I love mountain trolls' plaques."
Harry chuckled softly, but his mind was elsewhere. He needed to say goodbye to Edgar.
The old bartender was at the back of the hall, organizing rows of glass bottles on a shelf. Edgar had strong hands, despite his age, but his movements were slower, almost meditative. When Harry approached, he didn't need to say anything. Edgar turned, as if sensing the boy's presence.
"Ah, Harry," the man said, with a quiet smile. "I thought you might slip away without saying goodbye."
"I would never do that," Harry replied sincerely.
"Hum," murmured Edgar, turning back to the bottles for a moment but not completely diverting his attention from the boy. "You've got something in your eyes, boy. Something... different."
Harry hesitated. Edgar was the type who saw more than he said, and his words often hit a point Harry hadn't even known existed.
"I'll miss it here," Harry said finally.
"Will you?" Edgar asked, now turning completely toward him. The bartender's smile was calm, but his eyes held a weight that seemed far older than he was. "Or will you miss what you found here?"
Harry didn't know how to respond.
Edgar placed one hand on Harry's shoulder, giving it a light squeeze. "Listen, boy. There are moments in life when you'll have to choose between what's easy and what's right. And you won't always have someone to guide you. But remember: what you do with your choices is what defines who you are. Got it?"
Harry nodded slowly.
"Don't be in such a hurry to grow up, Harry," Edgar continued, now offering a more genuine smile. "And, above all, never forget: even shadows have a side worth understanding."
Before Harry could respond, Edgar pulled him into a quick hug, a gesture that surprised the boy.
"Now go," the bartender said, stepping back. "Life is waiting for you."
Harry returned to the Weasley group, where Hermione was watching him curiously.
"Are you okay?" she asked, furrowing her brow.
Harry looked at her for a moment, Edgar's words still echoing in his mind. He opened his mouth to respond, but realized he didn't quite know what to say. How could he explain what he himself didn't yet understand?
"Yes," he finally answered, his voice low but firm. "I'm fine."
As he left the Leaky Cauldron, the feeling of something undefined still lingered with him, as though the day hadn't just begun with a farewell, but with the promise of something larger lurking on the horizon.
Harry stopped in front of the brick barrier, the cacophony of the station becoming nothing more than a distant echo. The world around him seemed to recede, as if the sounds, colors, and shapes were transforming into mere memories of a dream long forgotten. He could feel the energy flowing from the wall before him, a faint but constant pulse, like the beat of a dormant heart. The tension in the air seemed alive, almost tangible, as if the barrier were more than stone and magic — a sentinel watching the moment. He took a deep breath. The familiar sensation of crossing that threshold was approaching. It was something between ecstasy and despair, a reminder that he was leaving one world behind to enter another.
When he took the first step, the universe seemed to falter. Crossing that barrier was like defying the laws that governed time and space. He felt the world give way, bending around him. Each breath seemed distant, a muffled sound echoing at the back of his mind. Then, in the blink of an eye, the resistance vanished. Gravity adjusted, and Harry emerged into the vibrant chaos of Platform 9 .
The thick steam from the locomotive curled into the air, blending with the bustle of farewells and the confusion of hurried witches and wizards. It was a scene that, to untrained eyes, might have appeared chaotic, but to Harry, it was a mosaic ordered by magic. The train, a crimson colossus, seemed like a beast ready to devour time and space, carrying those who dared to board. Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, and Ravenclaw students rushed by, each face a fragment of intertwined stories that formed the foundation of Hogwarts. And amidst it all, Harry felt at home once again.
A movement caught his attention. In the distance, Neville was struggling with his luggage while his grandmother, a figure as imposing as the feathered hat she wore, watched closely. Further along, Dean and Seamus waved, their smiles evoking a flash of nostalgia in Harry. The years gone by overlapped with that moment, memories of shared moments, victories, and losses, echoing like a silent chant.
But before he could lose himself in that whirlwind of emotions, a presence interrupted his thoughts. Ron appeared at his side, skillfully dodging a plump witch who had nearly knocked over his suitcase. "Can't these people walk in a straight line?" he muttered, fixing his messy red hair.
"Part of the charm of the chaos, Ron," Harry replied, somewhat distracted. But his smile was faint, almost gone, because there was something about that day he couldn't understand. A strange weight pressed on his chest.
Hermione soon joined them, her eyes taking in every detail of the platform as if she were absorbing information for some strategic plan. She was carrying Crookshanks, who looked just as irritated as she appeared focused. "If I can talk to McGonagall before classes start…" she murmured, as if plotting battle tactics.
Harry let out a muffled laugh. "Maybe you should rest a bit before you start planning how to save the world again."
Hermione looked up at him but didn't reply. There was something in her expression that reflected Harry's own anxiety, as if they both shared a silent unease.
Then he felt it. A chill. Like lightning shooting up his spine. His eyes instinctively turned, and then he saw her: Susan Bones. She was standing a few meters away, surrounded by the bustle of the crowd, yet oblivious to it all. There was something in her posture that captured Harry's attention — a subtle, yet deep sadness, as if it were consuming all the light around her.
Ron noticed Harry's silence. "What's wrong?" he asked.
"Uh... nothing," Harry replied, looking away, but the feeling lingered. Something about Susan's expression would stay with him for a long time.
Before he could dwell on it, Fred and George appeared, as always, brimming with energy and mischief. "Ready for another glorious year?" Fred asked, helping Harry lift his luggage onto the train. Their smiles were a temporary relief, but Harry's mind was elsewhere.
Then came Mr. Weasley. His expression was serious, different from the warm look Harry was used to. With a gesture, he motioned for Harry to step aside, away from the crowd. "I need to talk to you, Harry," he said, his voice heavy with urgency.
Harry's heart tightened. "Of course, sir."
Mr. Weasley hesitated for a moment, running a hand through his thinning hair, as if trying to organize his thoughts. It seemed that each word he spoke carried more weight than usual. "I know the last few years at Hogwarts haven't been easy for you," he began, his voice quiet and cautious. "But I need you to promise me you'll try to stay out of trouble this year. I know you don't go looking for problems, but, Harry, they always seem to find you."
Harry laughed without humor, the sound bitter on his lips. "I think that's putting it mildly."
"I know it's hard, but I need you to be careful. This isn't just about school. It's about you, Harry. Have you heard of Sirius Black?" Mr. Weasley asked, his voice almost a whisper, as if trying to keep others from hearing.
The name "Sirius Black" didn't make immediate sense to Harry. He frowned, feeling the weight of the unfamiliar name. "Just what the Minister said at the Leaky Cauldron. A follower of Voldemort. He killed a lot of people."
Mr. Weasley flinched at the mention of the forbidden name, but, unlike most, he didn't correct it. "Sirius Black is insane. He believes you're responsible for Voldemort's fall. And he wants to finish what your master started."
A chill ran down Harry's spine. The fear in Mr. Weasley's eyes made him realize this was a real threat. "What do I do with that?" Harry asked, his voice low, almost hopeless.
"Promise me that, no matter what you hear, you won't go looking for him," Mr. Weasley said, with a firmness that contrasted with the fragility of his expression. "Black is dangerous, Harry. Dangerous and unpredictable."
Before Harry could respond, the sharp whistle of the locomotive cut through the air, signaling that time was running out. Mr. Weasley placed a hand on Harry's shoulder, squeezing it with reassuring strength. "Just… be careful. And remember what I said."
Harry nodded, the weight of Mr. Weasley's words echoing in his mind. His stomach tightened, and a whirlwind of thoughts seemed to form inside his head. As if everything he had to face wasn't already enough, the mystery of Sirius Black added to his own uncertainties about what awaited him that year. The weight of the threat hung over him, more real and imminent than he had ever imagined.
The train continued its journey through the winding corridor between stations, and Harry settled beside Ron and Hermione. The compartment was almost empty, except for a man sleeping in a corner, his clothes disheveled, as if he didn't quite belong there. Harry watched him for a moment but couldn't figure out who he was.
"Who do you think he is?" Ron murmured, eyeing the man with curiosity.
"Professor R. J. Lupin," Hermione replied with the certainty of someone who knew enough about the subject.
Harry didn't care much about the newcomer — or the possibly sleeping professor. The conversation about Sirius Black still echoed in his mind like a drumbeat, threatening to destabilize him with every thought. He leaned back in his seat, trying to push away what was forming inside him. What was wrong with this year? The feeling that the shadows were drawing closer with every step was undeniable. Mr. Weasley's words were still fresh, and the burden of responsibility on him seemed to grow, while the uncertainties hung like heavy clouds.
The train began to speed up, the rhythmic sound of the tracks against the wheels filling the silence between them. After a moment, it was Ron, with his usual energy, who broke the silence.
"So, are you guys ready for Hogsmeade this year? I heard Honeydukes has the best sweets in the world. Literally," he said, his eyes shining with excitement.
Hermione smiled, but her attention soon returned to Crookshanks, adjusting him carefully on her lap as if the conversation with the cat was a far more important distraction. "I want to explore the whole village. Hogsmeade is the only completely magical place in Britain. There must be a fascinating history behind every corner."
Harry, still silent, looked out the window, watching the landscape blur as the train sped away. His frustration wasn't just about Hogsmeade or the Dursleys. It was something deeper, a feeling he couldn't explain but that was taking shape inside him — an unease that wouldn't go away. He wanted to be part of it all, but there was an invisible wall separating him from the fun of his friends, an obstacle that seemed to be growing as the train moved further away from London.
"Well, I hope you guys have a lot of fun," Harry said, a slight desolation in his voice.
Ron frowned, confused by Harry's tone. "What do you mean by that?"
Harry hesitated. The words were heavy, ready to be spoken, but he didn't know how to express the frustration he felt. "I couldn't get the Dursleys to sign my form for Hogsmeade."
Ron burst out in disbelief. "What?! That doesn't make sense! Every third-year student has the right to go! They can do something! You can talk to McGonagall, Dumbledore, or anyone!"
Harry sighed deeply. The weight of the frustration seemed greater than words could carry. "I've already tried. I even spoke to the Minister at the Leaky Cauldron, but it seems even he can't change the rules."
Hermione, who had been listening quietly, nodded with a sympathetic look, her eyes soft with empathy. "The rules are clear, Ron."
Ron crossed his arms, furious at the injustice. "This is ridiculous! What do they expect? That you just sit there while everyone else has fun?"
Harry felt the weight of their frustration and his own inability to change anything. He muttered, without looking at them, "Things aren't always fair."
Then Hermione placed her hand gently on Harry's arm, offering the only comfort she could in that moment. "Let's wait until we get to Hogwarts. Maybe something can still be done. McGonagall is fair, and Dumbledore always knows how to make things work."
Ron sighed but agreed. "We'll figure it out. Don't worry, Harry."
Harry didn't respond immediately. He grabbed his potion book and opened it to the first page, but his hands couldn't focus on the words. His eyes skimmed the sentences without absorbing anything. His friends' attempts to cheer him up were in vain. Harry's heart was elsewhere, trapped in a darker place, where Mr. Weasley's words and the name Sirius Black continued to resonate, louder with each passing minute. What did this mean for him? How would this change the course of his year? He still didn't know.
But one thing was clear: he had no control over what was to come, and the mystery of Sirius Black seemed to be just the beginning of something much bigger, something he couldn't fully comprehend but that left him restless and unsettled.
The Hogwarts train cut through the green fields with fierce speed, like an arrow shot from an invisible bow, tearing through the pristine snow that stretched as far as the eye could see. The wind, like a vengeful entity, whipped the trees, now dressed in a thin layer of water from the season. The scenery seemed frozen in time, a painting of tranquility that clashed with the restlessness consuming the train's passengers, their hearts heavy with thoughts moving at an impossible speed to keep up with. The sound of the tracks, that incessant metallic creaking, filled the space, interrupted only by the muffled murmurs of students immersed in their own worlds.
Harry, sitting by the window, felt the weight of the universe pressing down on his shoulders. His fingers, pale and stiff, were spread across his knees, as if the lightness of his posture was the only thing preventing him from succumbing. The cold that invaded the landscape reflected the emptiness he carried inside. A growing, silent, and insidious dread lodged itself in his chest, like an unrelenting shadow watching him from a distance. The sound of the tracks, Ron and Hermione's distant laughter—everything felt distant, muffled, as if it weren't real. His friends were there, yet he felt farther away from them than ever. Mr. Weasley's words about Sirius Black echoed in his mind, a threatening whisper, as if each letter was a sharp blade ready to cut him. He couldn't shake the feeling that a dark presence was watching him, waiting for the right moment to reveal itself.
With a deep sigh, Harry tried to shake off the weight, but it was in vain. He stood up, his muscles stiff and sore from sitting too long, and walked toward the corridor. He needed something, anything, to divert his mind from the storm inside him. The train swayed gently, the sensation of movement almost hypnotic, and the corridor was filled with a constant flow of people moving back and forth. But for Harry, everything seemed in slow motion, as if the world around him were a blurred, distant screen. He was there, but at the same time, he was somewhere else, lost in his own thoughts.
When he reached the back of the car, where the snack trolley always passed, Harry thought that maybe, just maybe, a brief distraction was exactly what he needed. The idea of savoring something sweet, even if just for a moment, seemed like the only possible escape.
"I need a distraction," he thought to himself. "I can't keep going like this, immersed in this whirlwind."
But as he walked, something in his perception shifted. He noticed the faces around him, the students laughing, the colorful coats, the bags gently swaying with the movement of the train. Everything seemed so... normal. So safe. But Harry knew this wasn't part of his reality at that moment.
And it was then, without realizing how, that he found himself bumping into someone.
"Ah!" A surprised exclamation from a feminine voice. Dazed, Harry stepped back, instinctively reaching out to help the person up.
The young woman fell with an almost supernatural lightness, as if gravity had no hold on her, seeming more like part of a choreography than an accident. She quickly rose, her piercing blue eyes fixed on him with a mixture of surprise and something else. It was an expression Harry couldn't quite identify, but it made his blood race.
"Sorry, I was distracted," he murmured, trying to sound polite, but his voice came out rougher than he intended. He extended his hand, attempting to cover his confusion.
Now that he looked at her more closely, he noticed details he hadn't before. Her long, wavy blonde hair fell gently to her shoulders. Her face was beautiful, but her expression had something unshakable about it, something older, more enigmatic than any other Hogwarts student's. It was as if she belonged to another world. Not bad, but unsettling.
She smiled softly, almost indifferently, accepting his help with a graceful motion. "It's nothing, really. I was just passing through here." Her eyes sparkled with a light Harry couldn't quite describe. "You seem worried."
The feeling of discomfort grew in Harry, but he tried to hide it, offering a smile that barely touched his lips. "You... seem familiar," he said, trying to focus. Something in the softness of her voice, in the way she moved, made him feel like he had seen her before, but he couldn't remember where. "I think I've seen you before."
The young woman raised an eyebrow, more like a challenge than a simple reaction. She looked at him as if making a silent assessment. "Many of us know each other, but don't remember, right? Hogwarts has that effect." She smiled again, but it was an enigmatic smile, almost as if she were teasing him. "And it's impossible not to know you, Harry Potter."
Harry tried to maintain his composure, but he couldn't stop the frustration in his voice. "Sorry, I don't remember you. I'm not really involved with students from other houses."
She looked at him with a cold smile, as if his words were insignificant, and then said, without leaving much space for further explanation: "Ah, of course. I'm from Slytherin. Daphne." She inclined her head slightly, as if that was enough to clarify everything. But something in her posture, something almost imperceptible, made Harry feel even more uncomfortable.
"Harry," he corrected automatically, feeling the weight of the word "Slytherin" hang over him like a curse. Daphne... She wasn't a standout student, at least not in the way he was used to. She wasn't like Malfoy, who always stood out in an undesirable way. She seemed more like a shadow within her own house.
"Well, I hope you have better luck with the other people at school," she said with an empty, almost uninterested smile, and walked away, her presence dissipating into the corridor. Her elegant step and calculated gaze left Harry with a growing sense of discomfort. She disappeared quickly, without caring for what he thought. And for a moment, Harry stood there, staring at the empty space where she had been.
Taking a deep breath, he tried to focus again on his mission: to find a distraction. At the snack trolley, he bought some chocolates and juices, and when he returned to his compartment, something in the atmosphere had changed. Ginny and Neville were sitting, talking in a serious tone, as if the world had suddenly become heavier.
"Hey, guys. What's new?" Harry asked, sitting beside them. But the tension in the air was palpable, and a sense of unease took hold of him, as if something was about to happen.
Ginny spoke first, her voice low and tense. "We were discussing Sirius Black. The news spread fast. Did you know he was spotted in northern England?"
Neville was visibly more nervous. His eyes were fixed on the window, as if searching for something outside. "If he's up north, he could be closer to Hogwarts," he said, his voice trembling. "And that... that's not good."
Harry felt a chill run down his spine. Mr. Weasley's words returned with force, instantly erasing the memory of his encounter with Daphne.
It was at that moment that the train stopped abruptly. The impact caused the passengers to steady themselves, but what really made Harry freeze was the feeling that something was wrong. Something very wrong. The air grew dense, as if an invisible presence was approaching, and an overwhelming, indescribable fear overtook him.
Suddenly, the compartment door slammed open violently, and the cold intensified. A dark shadow filled the space, and Harry felt his body freeze, unable to move. Fear seized him with immeasurable strength. He felt a tightness in his chest, a presence that made it hard to breathe. And before he could resist, the darkness swallowed him, and the memories of the past disintegrated in an explosion of terror.
The emptiness, the dread, the pain—all fused into an overwhelming sense of suffocation, and Harry screamed, struggling against the darkness that enveloped him. But everything went black.
The dense fog of unconsciousness began to dissipate, but what remained was not relief. Harry felt his mind emerging from the depths of a nightmare, but the world around him still seemed like a blur, the outlines of his reality wavering and undefined, as if time itself were out of sync. His eyes were heavy, as if an invisible force was pressing them downward, making every movement a struggle. The bitter, metallic taste was the first sensation to stand out, a harsh reminder of what he had just lived through. He tried to move, but his body was stiff, as if his muscles had frozen from fear. The gentle, constant rocking of the train felt like a distant echo, a reminder of the world that kept moving while he remained suspended in the void.
"Harry?"
The voice was soft, but with a weight he couldn't ignore. It was a familiar voice, tinged with concern and care. With effort, he turned his head, finding Remus Lupin at his side. The professor's gaze was serene, but there was an intensity in it that made Harry realize something had happened. Something more than what he was prepared to face. Remus was there, smiling in a way that tried to be comforting but carried undeniable gravity. He extended a chocolate bar to Harry with an almost unsettling nonchalance, as if it were the most ordinary thing in the world. The simple gesture, yet full of meaning, seemed to try to bring Harry back to reality, even if it was a small consolation in light of what he had just experienced.
"Are you okay?" Remus asked, his voice firm yet with a softness that only the wisest could achieve. He didn't expect an immediate answer; he observed Harry's every movement, like a teacher who understands the internal struggle of a student, even without words.
Harry tried to sit up, but the dizziness made him stumble. He had to lean on his knees, feeling the warmth of his body beginning to spread, as though the comfort of his soul was slowly returning. The chocolate, sweet and comforting, melted in his mouth like a healing potion, restoring his strength. But the memory of what had happened still haunted him. What he had felt... It couldn't simply be described as pain. It was something deeper, darker.
"I... Where are we? What happened?" He forced his voice out, hoarse and tense, as if he were still swallowed by the nightmare he had just lived. The effort to form words seemed too great, as if his mind couldn't adjust to reality immediately.
Remus smiled faintly, his expression softening a little but still serious. "We're on the train, Harry. You had an encounter with a Dementor."
The word echoed in Harry's mind like a sentence. He shut his eyes tightly, trying to piece together that nightmare. The cold, the despair, the feeling of being consumed by darkness... And then, the pain. That pain that felt like it was tearing pieces of his soul away. He swallowed hard, trying to gather the fragments of memory. The vision of his parents, the fear in their eyes. The explosion. The death. The scream. The emptiness.
"Dementor?" Harry repeated, the word coming out almost like a whisper, as if he couldn't believe what he was hearing. He knew what they were, theoretically, but feeling that experience on his own skin was something else. The cold wasn't just physical. It was an ice that invaded the soul, that tore at the mind. "I... I felt like I was dying. Like everything bad in my life had come back, but in a... more real way. What exactly are these things?"
Remus seemed to reflect for a moment, his expression becoming even more serious. He took the chocolate bar again and broke it calmly, as if the simple act was a reminder that, in the midst of chaos, there were still moments of humanity. "Dementors are creatures of the worst kind, Harry. They feed on suffering, on people's sadness. They're like shadows, the darkest manifestations of the world. And when they get close, they pull out the most painful memories. That's what creates this feeling of emptiness. What you feel... is their effect."
Harry nodded slowly, absorbing those words, but the sensation he had experienced still had no name. What Remus said made sense, but what he had felt was more than just a fleeting sensation. It was as if he had been ripped from reality, transported to a place where pain and fear took over everything. He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to make sense of it.
"I didn't know they existed," he murmured, his voice low, laden with a bitter revelation.
Remus looked at him with a sad smile, but without condescension. "Yes, it's like the worst of your life is suddenly thrown in your face. The fear, the pain, the memories. And when the Dementor touches you... it's as if you start to lose everything. It's not just the cold, Harry. They're a presence... they destroy hope."
On the bench beside him, Ginny shifted, her expression tense, concerned. She seemed to be processing what had just happened, her words careful. "I... I felt the cold too. And something strange, like I had lost something. It wasn't exactly a memory. It was like I had lost a part of myself."
Neville, in the corner, still pale-faced, was trying to control himself, swallowing the fear that consumed him.
Hermione, ever focused, who had remained silent until now, spoke clearly, as if explaining something complex to a class. "Dementors don't just take memories, Harry. They affect a person's very essence. The fear, the despair... They take the best of you and throw it away. It's not just about bad memories, it's a psychological attack, an invasion of the deepest parts of you."
Harry murmured, his eyes distant, as if he were still trapped in what he had just lived through. "Yes... I've realized that." He looked at Remus now, more focused, with doubt in his gaze. "But... do they all feel the same? Because it seemed like I saw something... more. I don't know."
Remus adjusted his glasses calmly, his look more serious now. "I won't lie to you, Harry. That's normal. Every person feels it differently. The Dementor pulls out the deepest things in you, your most painful memories, your deepest fears. What you saw... is what they managed to access within you."
Harry bit his lip, trying to process the words. "But is there anything we can do against them?"
Remus looked at him seriously, his answer coming quickly. "Yes. There are defensive spells, but the most important one is the Patronus. A powerful charm that can drive the Dementors away. It creates a form of positive energy, a protection against their darkness. But it's not easy."
Harry looked at him, a mix of skepticism and hope. He didn't know how he would do it, but the trust that Remus had in him brought a kind of comfort. Maybe, just maybe, he could face his own fears.
The conversation continued in soft murmurs, but Harry was distracted. Ginny, Neville, Hermione, and Remus were still talking, but he was immersed in his own thoughts. Until Ginny, with a concerned look, asked:
"What did you see, Harry?"
He hesitated, swallowing hard before responding, his voice trembling but direct. "I don't want to talk about it."
Remus looked at him with silent understanding, but his words were firm and comforting. "It's something every wizard must face, Harry. It's not easy. But remember, you're not alone in this."
The train stopped with a loud screech, and the change in rhythm made Harry startle. He looked out the window and saw the first houses of Hogsmeade, all covered with a light layer of rain. The scene seemed peaceful, but distant, like a dull painting. Something was about to happen, something that would change everything.
"We're almost there," said Remus, looking out the window. "Get ready. Things might be a little different in Hogsmeade this year."
Before anyone could say anything, the train started to slow down even more, and the air inside the carriage seemed heavier, as if an invisible pressure was hanging over everyone. When Harry looked out the window, he saw the first houses of Hogsmeade appear in the distance, but it was something else that caught his attention.
The carriages were there, already parked at the station. And with them, creatures. Harry looked, incredulous, as he saw them move with an unsettling grace. Skeletal creatures, with wide black wings, as though they were waiting for something. Or perhaps, for someone.
He frowned. He wasn't sure what he was seeing, but an uncomfortable feeling surrounded him. He couldn't understand how those creatures were there.
Ron, Hermione, Neville and Ginny were talking excitedly to each other, but Harry was absorbed in the sight of the creatures. He didn't want to ask, didn't want to be the only one to notice, but something inside him suggested there was more to them than he could see or understand.
The train finally stopped, and the fine rain over Hogsmeade reflected off the windows, creating a sense of tranquility. But deep down, Harry knew something was about to change, something was about to begin. The creatures were there, but he still didn't know what that meant for him.
"Let's go, Harry," said Ron, trying to distract him.
Harry nodded, standing up slowly.
A/N:
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"In case I don't see ya, good afternoon, good evening and good night."