— — — — — —
"This is Remus Lupin, my good friend."
Once everyone had taken their seats, Sirius and Lupin sat across from Tom and Astoria.
Sirius grinned as he made the introductions. "Lupin's going to be teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts at Hogwarts next term. I figured I'd bring him along so everyone could meet him early. If you run into any trouble with your studies, he's the man to ask."
Thanks to Sirius's reputation and Lupin's own polite, mild-mannered nature, everyone treated him warmly—though they couldn't help noticing he looked rather frail.
Considering the so-called curse on that teaching position, a few people wondered privately whether he'd even last the full year.
Molly frowned. "Didn't you say you were bringing Harry? Where is he?"
Sirius gave an embarrassed laugh and scratched the back of his head. "I, uh, might've taken him out to play a little too often this summer. He didn't touch his homework till yesterday. So right now, he's locked in his room, writing like his life depends on it."
Molly shot him a sharp glare—the kind only a mother could deliver. "Honestly. You're his godfather, not his playmate!" Then she turned to her own children, her tone instantly shifting to strict authority. "And what about you lot? Are your assignments finished?"
She folded her arms. "I'm friends with Professor McGonagall, you know. If I find out any of you didn't finish, I'll drag you home myself—and you won't be leaving the house for a month!"
The power of maternal intimidation was absolute. Everyone froze—except Percy and Hermione, of course.
Even Daphne and Astoria gave nervous nods.
Finally, Molly smiled again and called everyone to the table.
Dinner was lively and full of chatter, with the adults sharing wine and stories late into the evening. It was past eight by the time things finally wound down.
Out in the garden, Tom, Sirius, and Lupin lingered for a breath of fresh air. Sirius turned to Tom. "School starts soon. When are you coming over to pick up those books I promised you?"
Tom thought for a moment. "Probably not till Christmas. No rush."
Sirius nodded, then sighed and clapped Lupin on the shoulder. "You know, I actually wanted to apply for the DADA job myself, but Dumbledore said I wasn't ready. Told me to rest and recover instead of throwing myself into stressful work."
Lupin chuckled softly. "He's not wrong. You spent years in Azkaban, Sirius. That kind of damage doesn't go away after one summer. He's just looking out for you."
Tom agreed. "It's not just the body—it's the mind. Dementors do a number on your sanity. You look fine now, but I bet your temper's shorter than it used to be. If some student got under your skin, who knows what might happen? Dumbledore's being cautious, not cruel."
Sirius fell silent. He knew Tom had a point.
Since getting out of Azkaban, his emotions had been all over the place. Even after Pettigrew was captured—and later conveniently disposed of by some overzealous Death Eater—Sirius never really felt closure. There was still a weight pressing on his chest, a storm he couldn't release.
Then Tom made the mistake of adding, "Besides, you and Professor Snape don't exactly get along. If you two ever clashed, Dumbledore would have a real mess on his hands. He's protecting you, really."
"What? Protecting me? Who says I'd lose to that greasy git?" Sirius's face turned red. "I could take him with one hand tied! Back in school we had him running in circles!"
"You said it yourself—we had him running in circles," Tom reminded him calmly. "And that was years ago. You've been in prison, and Snape hasn't exactly been slacking off."
"I... well...I'm—" Sirius stammered, running out of retorts. "Fine! I'll just turn into a dog and bite him!"
Tom couldn't help a smirk. Everyone at Hogwarts knew that in the old days, the Marauders had mostly relied on teamwork. James Potter had been the powerhouse of the group, roughly equal—or maybe even superior—to Snape in skill. Sirius and Lupin were strong too, but it was the four of them together that made them unbeatable.
"Sure, sure," Tom said airily, clearly humoring him. Then he pulled a few potion vials from his cloak, as if performing a magic trick. "You know, I was going to sell you these recovery and mind-restoration potions, but looks like you don't need them after all."
"Wait, hold on!" Sirius instantly sobered up, grabbing Tom's arm. "You're right. I do need to recover. Are those potions really effective?"
"Guaranteed results. If you don't feel better in a month, come to Hogwarts and call me a fraud in front of everyone."
Sirius believed him—Tom's confidence was hard to argue with. He ended up buying a full month's supply for two thousand Galleons.
"Funny," Sirius said as he popped one open, "Dumbledore told me you weren't short on money. But you sure look eager to make a sale."
Tom froze, smile stiffening. "He said I wasn't short on money?"
"Yeah." Sirius swallowed a mouthful of the bitter potion and made a face. "I was actually planning to give you some gold myself, but Dumbledore said you didn't need it. If I'd known—ugh, this stuff's awful…"
He trailed off, grimacing at the taste.
Tom, meanwhile, clenched his fists.
'Dumbledore, you damn old man, you owe me for that one.'
Annoyed and no longer in the mood to talk, Tom gathered the girls and headed home.
Since they'd all be leaving together the next morning anyway, they decided to stay the night at the Riddle manor. The Grangers and Lady Greengrass were used to it by now and didn't object.
---
September first arrived under a blanket of fog. London was soaked in mist so thick it felt like breathing water.
At King's Cross, plenty of oddly dressed people stood out—sweaters with beach shorts, tattered coats over slippers. Obvious wizards.
Mixed among them were others in crisp suits, scanning the crowd with sharp eyes. Each had a wand holster and a rune-marked wristband ready to summon it at a moment's notice.
Aurors—here for Lockhart and Bellatrix, no doubt.
The Minister himself, Fudge, had spoken privately with Tom not long ago, offering Auror protection.
Lockhart alone wouldn't have been much trouble. As long as you stayed ready for his surprise Obliviate, he was easy to handle.
The real problem was Bellatrix.
According to the Ministry's tracking reports, the two had been spotted lurking around London for days. They were obviously up to something. Revenge was the most likely motive.
Bellatrix, Voldemort's most fanatical servant, had only one target in mind: Harry Potter.
And Lockhart? Well, he blamed Tom for ruining his life. That didn't need much explanation.
Fudge's offer had been politely declined. Tom's reasoning was simple: term was about to start, and Hogwarts was the safest place in Britain.
That answer didn't sit well with Fudge. It stung to realize everyone trusted Dumbledore's protection but not the Ministry's. Every time he heard someone say it, it was like a slap in the face.
The Hogwarts Express whistled and hissed, steam billowing as it pulled out of Platform 9¾.
Tom found an empty compartment. When Ginny saw him, she decided to join him and even brought Luna along.
"So," Tom asked, looking at Luna, "how was your summer?"
The girl had added a new butterfly clip to her hair. It shimmered prettily—but on closer look, it was an actual preserved butterfly. Beautiful, yet unsettling.
Luna nodded dreamily. "It was wonderful. Though I didn't find any Crumple-Horned Snorkacks. Daddy says we probably went too late—they might've migrated to the Arctic."
Hermione groaned softly, rubbing her temple. "There's no such thing as a Crumple-Horned Snorkack, Luna…"
She sounded half-asleep. The girls had stayed up nearly all night before—pillow fights, whispered gossip—and only managed to fall asleep around dawn.
Luna didn't seem offended. She simply said, in that calm, faraway tone of hers, "They do exist. Just like Wrackspurts. They're always around people, but most never notice them. You have to be patient and keep your mind open, or you'll never feel them."
Normally, Hermione would've launched into a ten-minute rebuttal, citing at least three textbooks. But right now, she just opened her mouth, thought better of it, and leaned against Tom's shoulder with her eyes half-shut.
Tom picked up where she left off. "So, what about me? Do I have any Wrackspurts floating around?"
Luna tilted her head, studying him with those wide silver eyes before shaking her head slowly. "No. None."
Tom chuckled. "Really? I'd have thought I'd attract plenty. I've got more than enough to stress about."
His mind was always running—projects, experiments, politics, the artificial bodies, the Phoenix trial, and everything else piling up behind it. He often felt like Dumbledore had it easy by comparison. The old man only had Voldemort to worry about.
"That's because you already have solutions," Luna said softly. "Confidence and patience keep Wrackspurts away. If you know you'll succeed eventually, they can't bother you."
Her voice was airy, almost musical—half seer, half philosopher. And weirdly, Tom found himself thinking she might be right.
He turned his senses outward, extending Merlin's magical perception. Threads of energy shimmered around every girl in the compartment, faint and lively—but no sign of the so-called Wrackspurts.
"Could Luna's magical sensitivity really surpass Merlin's?"
The thought was absurd, but it wouldn't leave him. He glanced at Luna again. Her magic wasn't strong, just slightly above average—about on par with Astoria's. Still, the mystery tugged at him.
"No rush," he thought. "She's not going anywhere. I'll study her later."
---
A few cars down, Harry was hunched over his desk, a piece of toast in his mouth and Ron's homework spread out in front of him. He was copying line by line, comparing as he went.
"How much do you have left?" Ron asked lazily.
"History of Magic right now," Harry muttered. "Then Transfiguration, Potions… damn it, I'll have to write the Potions one myself. Snape'll spot a copy in a heartbeat."
From the corner, where he sat wrapped in his cloak, Lupin gave a weary smile. "Harry… copying homework in front of a professor and insulting another one in the same breath doesn't make the best impression."
Harry shot him a sheepish grin. "Term hasn't started yet, Professor. I'll keep my opinions about Snape to myself once we're at school."
Lupin chuckled. They'd grown comfortable with each other over the summer. After reconciling with Sirius, Lupin had met Harry and often joined him for dinner. Their friendship came naturally, easy and warm.
When Harry found out Lupin would be teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts, he'd been thrilled. Finally, he thought, someone who might actually take his side when Snape started being a git.
Still, even Harry missed Laos; this guy had become a legend among the students. They were practically praying he'd teach at least one class this term.
After all, aside from his unusual teaching style, the drama that followed him was just too entertaining.
...
Hours passed. The train left England behind, the rain outside thickening into sheets. The air inside the carriage grew steadily colder.
Creak… creak…
The rhythm of the wheels slowed, the sound fading until it was swallowed by the rain.
"Why'd we stop?" Harry shivered, peering out the door. He wasn't the only one—heads were poking out all along the corridor.
Then, with a heavy clunk, the train came to a complete halt. The temperature plunged. Raindrops froze against the glass, spreading into webs of frost. The lights flickered once… then went out.
"What's going on?" Ron's voice wavered behind him.
"I don't know," Harry said, backing toward his seat. "Maybe the train broke down?"
"No," Lupin said quietly. "Stay calm."
He had been dozing in the corner, but now his voice carried a weight that silenced both boys. They couldn't see his expression in the dark, but they heard the scrape of wood as he drew his wand.
Before he could cast a spell, a strange, piercing wail rose from outside—high and distorted, like metal screaming underwater.
The frost on the windows melted instantly. One by one, the lights flared back to life.
Harry pressed to the glass, staring. Dark, shapeless figures were flying—no, fleeing—into the distance.
And above the train, unseen by anyone inside, two enormous eyes formed from silvery mist hung in the sky, watching coldly as the creatures scattered into the storm.
.
.
.