(Hermione's POV)
The train lurched violently, throwing Hermione against the compartment wall with a bone-jarring thud. She cried out, clutching her arm as a stack of books tumbled from the overhead rack, narrowly missing Ron's head.
"Bloody hell!" Ron roared, scrambling to his feet. "What in Merlin's name was that?"
Harry, who'd been gazing out the window, his forehead pressed against the cool glass, whirled around, his green eyes wide with alarm.
"I don't know," Hermione said, her heart pounding against her ribs. "But something's wrong."
The train, which had been chugging along at a steady clip just moments ago, was now slowing, its progress marked by a series of unsettling shudders and groans. The lights flickered ominously, casting the compartment in a sickly yellow glow.
"Maybe it's just a mechanical failure?" Harry offered, though his voice lacked its usual confidence.
Before Hermione could reply, a cold draft snaked through the compartment, so icy and penetrating that it felt like a physical presence. The air grew heavy, charged with a strange, unsettling energy. She shivered, despite the fact that it was a warm summer's day.
"Do you feel that?" Ron whispered, his freckled face pale. "It's freezing."
And then, a sound cut through the uneasy silence—a bloodcurdling scream, high-pitched and filled with raw terror. It seemed to come from somewhere near the front of the train, echoing through the carriages like a harbinger of doom.
Hermione's blood ran cold. "What was that?"
Before anyone could answer, the lights went out completely, plunging the compartment into an oppressive darkness.
"Lumos," Harry muttered, his wand already in his hand.
The tip of his wand glowed faintly, casting a meager circle of light in the otherwise pitch-black compartment. But it did little to dispel the feeling of dread that had settled over them like a shroud.
Then, a new sound reached their ears – a slow and dragger moan approaching their compartment.
Terror, primal and instinctive, coiled in Hermione's stomach. She gripped her wand tightly, her knuckles white against the polished wood. She didn't know what was out there, but she knew, with a certainty that defied logic, that it was something evil.
The footsteps stopped right outside their compartment door. For a heart-stopping moment, there was only silence, thick and heavy with anticipation.
Then, the compartment door slid open.
A figure stood silhouetted in the doorway, its form obscured by a thick, dark cloak that seemed to absorb the meager light from Harry's wand. Hermione couldn't make out any features, only the vague outline of a skeletal hand clutching what looked like…a scythe?
"Who's there?" Harry demanded, his voice remarkably steady despite the tremor that ran through him.
The figure didn't answer. Instead, it took a step into the compartment, the air growing colder, heavier, with each movement. Hermione felt a strange pressure building in her chest, making it hard to breathe.
Just as the figure took another step, a blinding white light erupted from the end of the corridor, so bright it was almost painful to look at. The pressure in the compartment lifted, replaced by a wave of warmth that spread through Hermione's limbs like a soothing balm.
The shadowy figure let out a low, guttural moan, a sound filled with such despair and anguish that it made Hermione's hair stand on end. Then, with a final whisper of cold air, it vanished, melting back into the darkness as if it had never been.
The white light, however, lingered for a moment longer, swirling and shifting, taking on a vaguely birdlike form before it too faded, leaving behind a faint tingling sensation and the lingering scent of ozone.
Hermione, still shaken, lowered her wand, her hand trembling uncontrollably. She looked at Harry and Ron, their faces as pale and bewildered as her own.
"What…was that?" Ron finally choked out, his voice barely a whisper.
Before Hermione could hazard a guess, a figure stirred from the corner of the compartment.
"Merlin's beard! What in blazes just happened?"
It was the man that was sleeping inside their cabin, his face creased with worry, his hair even more disheveled than usual. He looked at the three of them, his gaze lingering on Harry for a moment.
"Are you alright?" he asked, his voice filled with concern.
"We…we think so," Harry stammered. "What was that thing?"
"A Dementor," Lupin said grimly.
"A what?" Ron asked, his voice incredulous. "A…Dementor?"
"Guards of Azkaban," Lupin explained, his voice low and urgent. "They drain all the happiness, all the good feelings, from anyone they get near. They're here to find Sirius Black."
Hermione shuddered, the memory of the creature's presence still fresh in her mind. "But…what was that light? The one that chased it away?"
Lupin's eyes, usually warm and inviting, took on a distant, haunted look. "That," he said softly, "was a Patronus. Very powerful magic. Difficult to conjure, even more difficult to master."
He didn't elaborate on who had conjured this Patronus, as he left the cabin to talk to the driver.
The rest of the train ride passed in a blur of anxious whispers and nervous glances. The Dementor attack had cast a pall over the usual start-of-term excitement, a chilling reminder that darkness lurked even in the most unexpected of places.
As the Hogwarts Express finally pulled into Hogsmeade Station, Hermione found herself scanning the disembarking students, searching for a familiar face. She spotted Vincent, a head taller than most of the other third-years, his hair gleaming in the fading light. He was talking to Blaise Zabini and Daphne Greengrass, his expression, as always, calm and neutral.
She felt a familiar flutter in her chest—a strange mix of admiration, curiosity, and something…more. She wanted to talk to him, to ask him about the patronus, if he had seen that Dementor. But before she could gather her courage, Pansy Parkinson materialized at his side, her perfectly manicured hand resting on his arm.
Hermione felt a pang of something that might have been jealousy, but she quickly pushed it down. It was ridiculous, really. She barely knew Vincent Van Doren. They'd shared a few conversations, a handful of smiles. It meant nothing.
The Great Hall, aglow with enchanted candles and the chatter of hundreds of students, felt strangely subdued that evening. Even the usual feast, laden with mountains of food and rivers of pumpkin juice, failed to lift the pall that had settled over the assembled students and teachers.
Dumbledore's announcement, delivered with his usual gravitas, did little to ease the tension. The news that Dementors would be stationed at all entrances to Hogwarts, their soul-sucking presence a constant reminder of Sirius Black's escape and the ever-present threat of danger, was met with a wave of uneasy murmurs, but he also mentioned that the a new DADA professor would be joining hogwarts and it was none other than the man that was sleeping in the cabin, Remus Lupin.
It was during Dumbledore's closing remarks, his usual pronouncements about the importance of courage and unity in the face of adversity, that Hermione overheard the whispers, hushed and reverent, spreading like wildfire through the Gryffindor table.
"…did you hear? Someone cast a Patronus on the train."
"A real one, not just a wisp of smoke."
"Who was it?"
"Vincent Van Doren, of course."
The words hit Hermione with the force of a physical blow. Vincent. It made sense, she realized. The power she'd sensed in him, the quiet intensity that seemed to radiate from him like an aura.
She stole a glance at the Slytherin table, her heart pounding in her chest. Vincent sat amidst his usual cohort, his expression carefully neutral, a mask hiding…what?
She couldn't help but wonder what secrets he carried, what darknesses he battled beneath that cool, composed exterior. And as Dumbledore concluded his speech, they ate and went back to their common room.