𝐆𝐄𝐓𝐀𝐖𝐀𝐘 𝐂𝐀𝐑 [g. weasley]

chapter three

CHAPTER THREE

SOMETHING TALL PASSED before our compartment, tall and gaunt, and a shiver went down my spine, drowning me in darkness. I could hear the muffled batter of my heart against my chest as it disappeared to the depts of the corridor.

     "What — was — that — ruddy — thing —?!" Cassius breathed out, and his terrified gaze fell over mine. All blood had drained from his face.

     "Dementor," I muttered, coming back to my senses. "One of the guards of Azkaban. Searching for Sirius Black."

     I did not know why the Dementor searched on a train filled with students. Perhaps my blood was too tempting to the one Sirius Black carried up in his veins.

     The strangeness ended as quickly as it began, and soon, the lights flickered back to life, and so did the train's engine.

     I sank to my seat, counting my breaths. Cassius was scratching his head, disoriented as I was.

     Soon, the journey was over, and the train slowed to a stop at Hogsmeade station, icy sheets of rain pounding the windows.

     The wind restlessly howled on the muddy platform crowded with students rushing out of the train as the rain whipped our cloaks. I was no exception. My skin tingled from the unforgiving cold as the gale blew my cloak in firm movements.

     At last, we managed to spot Adrian and his brown hair battered under the heavy rain. "You're freezing, Daph," he said. "Here, put my cloak over yours. It's not much, but it should be enough to warm you."

     "No, Adrian. I'm fine. You need it more than I."

     He crossed his arms, not charmed by my reply.

     "I'm serious. Really. It's all fine as long as we get on the stagecoaches in one piece."

     Then, he nodded, and the three of us trailed after the older students to the rough mud track, trying our very best not to get swayed by the wind.

     On the track, wrapped in heavy rainfall, awaited at least a hundred stagecoaches, all grand. We hopped into the first one we found as the rain persisted in pounding the muddy ground through the thick clouding of the trees.

     Then Adrian cleared his throat, and I noticed a stranger too old to be a student sitting with us. And it hit me. The light brown hair, freckled with grey strands; the shabby robes; the tired, sunken face; it all was that stranger at Yorkshire.

     I shared a side glance with Cassius — silenced by the knowledge mounting over our tongues.

     The stranger tore his gaze from the tiny window to us, and I caught a glimpse of the weariness laying over the hazel of his eyes. He must have felt our awkward stares if not heard the creaking sound of the door.