The Hogwarts Express let out a mournful, screeching whistle that echoed through the Highland valleys, and with a jarring lurch, the heavy iron wheels began to grind against the tracks once more. As the train regained its momentum, the flickering overhead lights surged back to life, casting a harsh, yellowish glow that felt far too bright after the suffocating darkness of the Dementor's presence.
"Allen... I don't even know what to say. You're always there when things go south, aren't you?" Penelope stood in the corridor, her chest still heaving slightly as she smoothed down her damp robes. Her eyes were fixed on him with a mixture of profound relief and something more intense—a spark of genuine wonder.
Allen leaned against the cold paneled wall of the carriage, trying to mask the slight tremor in his own fingers. "Don't sell yourself short, Penny. That Patronus of yours... it was something else. You didn't just cast it; you controlled it. Most adult wizards couldn't have done that under that kind of pressure."
Penelope shook her head, a small, knowing smile playing on her lips. "Maybe. But I know for a fact that silver fox wouldn't have appeared if you hadn't been standing right there. You have this way of making the impossible feel... reachable."
Allen went quiet. He could hear the weight behind her words, a subtext that suggested she wasn't just talking about a defensive charm. There was a shift in the air between them, a gravity that had been pulling them closer since the end of last term.
"Professor, Allen," Penelope said, breaking the moment as she tossed her damp, curly hair over her shoulder, her professional Head Girl persona sliding back into place like a shield. "I can't stand here all night. The younger years are probably terrified out of their wits. I need to do a full sweep of the train and make sure everyone's still in one piece. I'll see you at the feast."
She walked away with a stride that was noticeably firmer than it had been minutes ago.
"A remarkable young woman," Professor Lupin remarked, watching her go. He looked tired—unbelievably tired—as if the brief encounter with the Dementors had aged him ten years. "Hogwarts is lucky to have a student body with that kind of backbone."
"She's the best we've got," Allen replied, a hint of genuine pride coloring his voice. "The girls look up to her for a reason. She doesn't just hold the title; she earns it every single day."
Lupin nodded slowly, then gestured toward the compartment. "We should check on the others."
When they stepped back into the light of the compartment, the scene was grim. Harry had regained consciousness, but he looked like a ghost of himself. He was sitting upright, his glasses slightly crooked, but a sheen of cold sweat coated his forehead, reflecting the overhead lights. Ginny was still huddled in the corner, her small frame vibrating with tremors she couldn't control. Hermione sat beside her, an arm wrapped tightly around the younger girl's shoulders, though Hermione's own face was as pale as parchment.
"Is everyone still breathing?" Allen asked, his voice low and grounding. He looked at the chocolate he'd handed out earlier. "You guys didn't finish your medicine."
"Chocolate?" Lupin stepped in behind him, a small, approving quirk at the corner of his mouth. "It seems I've been outpaced. You're quite the prepared traveler, Allen. That's exactly what they need." He looked at the group, his eyes lingering on Harry with a flicker of something that looked like painful nostalgia. "Eat up, all of you. It's not just a treat; it's a necessity after what you've just been through. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to have a word with the conductor about our arrival time."
Once Lupin had vanished back into the shadows of the corridor, Allen sat down opposite Harry. "I promise it's not poisoned," he joked softly, trying to crack the tension. "It's the good stuff from Honeydukes. Eat."
Harry took a bite, and almost immediately, a bit of color returned to his cheeks. He let out a long, shuddering breath. "I don't get it," he whispered, his voice cracking. "Everything just... it went cold. Not just the air. Like... like I'd never be happy again. And then there were voices. Screaming."
"It was a Dementor, Harry," Hermione said, her voice trembling. "They're the guards of Azkaban. They feed on every good feeling you've ever had until all you're left with is your worst memories."
"But why just me?" Harry looked around the compartment, his frustration bubbling up through his exhaustion. "Ron didn't faint. Hermione didn't faint. None of you fell off your seats like a total liability."
Allen reached out and gripped Harry's shoulder. "Stop it. You're not a liability, and you're certainly not weak-nerved. The reason the rest of us stayed on our feet isn't because we're 'tougher.' It's because we haven't had to live through the things you have. A Dementor is a magnifying glass for trauma, Harry. You've got more history than the rest of us combined. Of course it hit you harder."
Harry went quiet at that, his gaze drifting to the dark window where the rain was now lashing against the glass. The rest of the journey passed in a heavy, contemplative silence. The initial excitement of returning to school had been thoroughly dampened, replaced by a lingering chill that no amount of chocolate could entirely erase.
When the train finally ground to a halt at Hogsmeade Station, the transition from the carriage to the platform was a shock to the system. The air was biting, and a torrential downpour was turning the station into a muddy mess.
"First years! Over here! Don't be shy, watch your step!"
Hagrid's booming voice was a welcome anchor in the chaos. His massive silhouette, draped in a moleskin coat that looked like a soaked bear, stood at the far end of the platform. He was waving a lantern, ushering the tiny, shivering first years toward the traditional fleet of boats.
"Upper years, follow the path! Move along!" Percy Weasley was shouting, his prefect badge gleaming even in the gloom. Allen caught Penelope's eye for a split second across the crowd; she gave him a sharp, professional nod before turning back to guide a group of sobbing Hufflepuffs.
Allen found himself jostled along a narrow, treacherous path that led away from the station. The mud was thick, threatening to suck the shoes right off his feet. Waiting in the darkness were the carriages—over a hundred of them, lined up like a funeral procession.
And then there were the creatures hitched to them.
To anyone else, the carriages seemed to move by themselves, but to Allen's eyes, the scene was far more macabre. Standing between the shafts were the Thestrals. They were skeletal, their black, leathery skin stretched so tight over their bones that every rib was visible. Their heads were reptilian, resembling dragons but without the majesty, and their eyes were wide, white, and pupil-less, staring into the void with a haunting intensity. Great, tattered wings, like those of a prehistoric bat, were folded against their backs. They stood perfectly still in the freezing rain, eerie sentinels of the threshold.
Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Neville piled into one carriage, the wood groaning under their weight. Allen was about to follow when a sudden surge of students separated them.
"Go on, I'll take the next one!" Allen shouted over the wind. He stepped toward a carriage where Ginny was already sitting, shivering.
Just as he climbed inside, a voice drifted in from the rain—a voice that sounded like it belonged in a dream, or perhaps a different dimension.
"Excuse me... is there a tiny bit of room left for one more?"
A girl was standing by the door, completely drenched. Her blonde hair was waist-length, matted, and tangled with bits of what looked like moss. Her eyebrows were so light they were almost invisible, and her eyes were protuberant, giving her a look of permanent, mild astonishment. Around her neck was a string of Butterbeer corks, and a wand was tucked securely behind her ear like a pencil.
Allen recognized her instantly from the descriptions in the Ravenclaw common room: the 'Loony' one. Luna Lovegood.
"Of course, Luna. Get in before you melt," Ginny said, reaching out to pull the girl inside.
"Allen, this is Luna. She's in my year, but she's one of yours—a Ravenclaw," Ginny introduced her, sounding protective.
"Wit beyond measure is man's greatest treasure," Luna sang out, her voice airy and detached as she took a seat.
"And this is—" Ginny started to introduce Allen, but Luna cut her off, her large eyes fixing on him with an intensity that was almost uncomfortable.
"Allen Harris," she said dreamily. "The boy who talks to the stars. Everyone in the tower knows you. The Nargles stay away from your bed, you know. They don't like the way you think."
Allen blinked, then smiled. It was impossible to be offended by someone who sounded like they were reciting poetry to a ghost. He raised his wand and gave it a sharp flick. A warm, dry breeze swirled around Luna, instantly evaporating the rainwater from her robes and hair.
"Thank you," she said, her gaze never wavering from his face. "That's much better. The damp makes the Wrackspurts restless."
"I think that's the last of us," Allen said, ignoring the comment about invisible pests and closing the carriage door.
The carriage began to move, swaying rhythmically as it climbed the hill toward the castle. The interior smelled of old straw and the faint, sweet scent of Ginny's damp hair.
"It's so weird," Ginny muttered, looking out the front window. "Every year I wonder what kind of magic makes these things move. They just... go. No horses, no engines. Just invisible force."
"They aren't moving by themselves," Luna said softly, her silvery eyes reflecting the flickering lanterns of the carriages ahead. "There are horses. Very large, very thin ones. Can't you see them?"
Ginny turned to Allen, her brow furrowed. "Is she joking? Allen, are there really horses?"
Allen looked out at the Thestrals, their leathery wings glistening in the rain. "She's not joking, Ginny. They're called Thestrals. They've been pulling the carriages for centuries."
Ginny's face paled even further. "Then why can't I see them? Am I... is there something wrong with me?"
"You're perfectly sane," Luna said, her voice surprisingly gentle as she stared at Ginny. "In fact, your mind is probably a lot clearer than mine. Most people can't see them because they haven't seen the one thing that unlocks them."
"Death," Allen finished for her. "Thestrals can only be seen by people who have witnessed someone die. It's a bit of a grim requirement, but they're actually quite peaceful creatures once you get used to them."
Ginny looked horrified, her gaze darting between the empty air outside and the two Ravenclaws sitting in the dark with her. She looked like she was reconsidering whether being 'sane' was all it was cracked up to be.
Allen watched Luna. She didn't look sad or burdened by the sight of the death-omens. She looked curious. It was a level of insight and acceptance that most adults in the wizarding world lacked, and Allen found himself genuinely intrigued by the girl with the cork necklace.
"You have a very interesting way of looking at the world, Luna," Allen noted.
"It's the only way to see what's actually there," she replied, and for a moment, the dreaminess left her voice, replaced by a sharp, crystalline clarity that made Allen realize she was seeing much more than just the horses.