1: The Night Before
Lennon’s POV
There were two kinds of people in the world.
Those who enjoyed packing for Hogwarts.
And those who had the misfortune of being related to me.
I was sitting cross-legged on the floor of my room at the Leaky Cauldron, surrounded by robes, books, parchment, and one extremely irritated owl, trying to decide whether I actually needed three pairs of gloves when my father appeared in the doorway.
He took one look at the disaster surrounding me.
Then at me.
Then back at the disaster.
“Absolutely not.”
I frowned. “What?”
“You are not taking all of that.”
“I need it.”
“You have enough clothes there to dress half of Gryffindor.”
“That’s dramatic.”
“I’m an Auror. Dramatic is part of the job.”
I rolled my eyes and went back to shoving a pair of socks into my trunk.
Declan McCauley had a reputation.
A rather unpleasant one, depending on who you asked.
To some, he was one of the most dangerous Aurors in Britain. To others, he was reckless, unpredictable, and far too willing to throw himself into situations that sensible people would run away from.
My father preferred to call it dedication.
Mum had called it an inability to recognize self-preservation.
I tended to agree with Mum.
Unfortunately, Mum wasn’t here to argue with him.
Dad leaned against the doorframe, his arms crossed over his chest.
“You’ve forgotten your Potions textbook.”
I froze.
Slowly, I looked at the stack of books beside me.
“Oh.”
“And your Transfiguration notes.”
“Oh.”
“And your—”
“Dad.”
“What?”
“I’ve got it.”
“You clearly don’t.”
“I’ve got it.”
He raised an eyebrow.
I glared at him.
He smiled.
I hated when he did that.
“Third year,” he said, pushing away from the door. “You’d think you’d have learned how to pack by now.”
“I’ve learned that you enjoy criticizing me.”
“I enjoy preventing you from arriving at Hogwarts without half your belongings.”
I watched him disappear down the corridor.
“Same thing,” I muttered.
A loud knock sounded on the door.
Before I could answer, it opened.
Harry Potter stood there with his hair sticking up in every direction, as usual.
“You ready?”
“No.”
“Good.”
He walked in and dropped onto the edge of my bed.
“Ron says we’re all going to die tomorrow.”
I looked at him.
“Why?”
“Oliver.”
I immediately understood.
“Oh.”
Harry nodded solemnly.
“Apparently, he has a training schedule.”
I stared at him.
“How bad?”
Harry’s expression became haunted.
“He said we’re going to be the best team Gryffindor has ever had.”
I gasped.
“That’s not training. That’s a threat.”
Harry laughed.
“He’s been talking about the Cup all summer.”
“Of course he has.”
We both looked toward the door as another voice echoed down the corridor.
“POTTER!”
Harry winced.
“That’s him.”
Oliver Wood.
Gryffindor Quidditch captain.
Professional Quidditch fanatic.
Part-time human being.
The door flew open.
Oliver stood there with a grin that immediately made me suspicious.
“There’s my Seeker.”
Harry sighed.
“I’m not going to survive third year.”
“None of us are,” I agreed.
Oliver looked between us.
“Excellent. You’re both here.”
“Why is that excellent?” Harry asked.
“Because I’ve been planning our training schedule.”
Harry’s face fell.
I bit the inside of my cheek to stop myself from laughing.
Oliver pulled a piece of parchment from his pocket.
“Morning sessions before breakfast.”
Harry stared at him.
“Before breakfast?”
“Obviously.”
“And after classes?”
“Of course.”
“And weekends?”
Oliver looked offended.
“What else would we do?”
I raised a hand.
“Sleep?”
Oliver ignored me.
“Evenings will depend on weather conditions.”
Harry looked at me.
I looked at Harry.
We had the same thought.
Run.
Oliver continued.
“I want everyone in top form by the first match.”
“When is the first match?” I asked.
“Soon.”
“How soon?”
He smiled.
“Very.”
Harry groaned.
I buried my face in my hands.
“We’re going to die.”
Oliver clapped his hands together.
“That’s the spirit!”
He marched away.
The door closed behind him.
Silence.
Harry and I stared at each other.
“Think we can fake our deaths?” I asked.
Harry considered it.
“Maybe.”
“Brilliant.”
A moment later, Hermione appeared with Crookshanks in her arms.
She took one look at us.
“What happened?”
“Oliver,” Harry and I said together.
Hermione smiled sympathetically.
“Oh.”
That single word said everything.
Ron appeared behind her.
“He’s made a schedule.”
“We know,” Harry said.
Ron walked into the room.
“It’s terrifying.”
Hermione shook her head.
“You three are supposed to be athletes.”
“We’re supposed to be students,” I corrected.
Ron dropped onto the bed.
“Not according to Oliver.”
Harry leaned back.
“Did you pack?”
Ron looked horrified.
“No.”
Hermione sighed.
“I knew it.”
She marched past us.
“Come on. I’ll help.”
Ron groaned.
“That’s worse.”
I laughed.
The four of us ended up sitting on the floor around my trunk, Hermione sorting my books while Ron attempted to convince us that one pair of socks was enough for the entire school year.
“It isn’t,” Hermione said.
“It could be.”
“No.”
“What if I wash them?”
“You won’t.”
“I might.”
“You won’t.”
I grinned.
Harry looked at me.
“Your father coming to dinner?”
“Probably.”
“Probably?”
“He’s working.”
Ron frowned.
“On the night before school?”
I shrugged.
“That’s Dad.”
Harry gave me a sympathetic look.
He understood.
His life had never been particularly normal either.
None of ours had.
But tomorrow, we’d be back at Hogwarts.
That was what mattered.
Whatever waited outside those walls, Hogwarts always felt like home.
Even if Oliver Wood was planning to kill us.
⸻
By the time we went downstairs, the Leaky Cauldron was crowded.
Mr. Weasley was sitting with my father at a table near the bar, talking quietly.
Molly Weasley was trying to keep Ginny from stealing food from Ron’s plate.
Fred and George were arguing about something that was almost certainly illegal.
Percy was reading.
Bill and Charlie were discussing something over drinks.
And Hermione was attempting to stop Crookshanks from climbing onto Ron’s head.
Normal.
Completely normal.
I slipped into the seat beside Harry.
Dad looked up immediately.
“Packed?”
“Yes.”
He glanced at Hermione.
She nodded.
“Mostly.”
Dad narrowed his eyes at me.
I smiled innocently.
“Excellent,” he said.
Mr. Weasley laughed.
“You’re hard on her.”
“Someone has to be.”
“She’s not a child anymore.”
Dad looked at me.
“Exactly why I’m worried.”
I kicked him lightly under the table.
He didn’t react.
Harry laughed.
Molly placed a plate of food in front of me.
“Eat, dear.”
“Thanks.”
The conversation quickly turned to Hogwarts.
Then Quidditch.
Then Oliver.
Ron dramatically dropped his fork.
“I’m telling you, he’s lost his mind.”
Fred nodded solemnly.
“He’s always been mad.”
George leaned forward.
“Last year he made us practice in the rain.”
“Last year?” Ron said. “He’s planning morning practices before breakfast!”
Charlie chuckled.
“He’ll make a proper Quidditch player out of you.”
“He’ll make corpses out of us.”
I raised my glass.
“To Oliver Wood.”
Everyone laughed.
Dad shook his head.
“You lot survived two years at Hogwarts. I’m sure you’ll survive Quidditch practice.”
I looked at him.
“You don’t know Oliver.”
“I’ve met Oliver.”
“Then you should know.”
Dad laughed.
Harry leaned toward me.
“Maybe we should tell him about the schedule.”
“I don’t think he can save us.”
Dad looked between us.
“What schedule?”
Ron immediately launched into an explanation.
Within thirty seconds, my father was laughing so hard that he had to put his drink down.
“That’s not funny,” Ron complained.
“It is,” Dad said.
“It isn’t.”
“You’re third-years. You’re supposed to have energy.”
Fred leaned over.
“Not after Wood gets them.”
George nodded.
“Give it a week.”
“Three days,” I said.
“Two,” Harry added.
We shook hands.
“Traitors,” Ron muttered.
Hermione smiled.
“You’ll be fine.”
Ron pointed at her.
“You’re not on the team.”
“Exactly.”
Everyone laughed again.
For a little while, everything felt easy.
Warm.
Safe.
I didn’t know then how quickly that feeling would disappear.
⸻
Later that night, I stood outside the Leaky Cauldron with my father.
The street was quiet.
London hummed around us, Muggles completely unaware of the magical world hidden just beyond their sight.
Dad had his hands in his coat pockets.
He looked tired.
Not ordinary tired.
The kind of tired that settled into someone’s bones.
“You all right?” I asked.
He looked at me.
“I’m fine.”
“You’re a terrible liar.”
He smiled.
“Where do you think you got that from?”
I leaned against the brick wall.
“What are you working on?”
His expression changed.
Just slightly.
Enough for me to notice.
“Nothing you need to worry about.”
“That means it’s something I need to worry about.”
“Lennon.”
“Dad.”
He sighed.
“There are rumors.”
“About what?”
He looked down the street before answering.
“Sirius Black.”
My stomach tightened.
I’d heard the name.
Everyone had.
Sirius Black.
A murderer.
A traitor.
A man who had escaped Azkaban.
The first person ever to do it.
“They think he’s somewhere nearby?”
“They think he’s somewhere in Britain.”
“And you think—”
“I think people are frightened.”
That wasn’t an answer.
Dad looked at me.
“And frightened people make mistakes.”
I watched him carefully.
“Are you hunting him?”
His jaw tightened.
“I’m an Auror.”
That was answer enough.
“Are you going to be at Hogwarts tomorrow?”
He hesitated.
“I’ll be there.”
“Promise?”
His expression softened.
“Promise.”
I nodded.
For some reason, I believed him.
Dad reached over and tucked a loose strand of blonde hair behind my ear.
“Get some sleep.”
“I will.”
“And Lennon?”
“Yeah?”
“Stay out of trouble.”
I smiled.
“No promises.”
He groaned.
“That’s exactly what I was afraid you’d say.”
⸻
The next morning arrived far too quickly.
Kings Cross was chaos.
Owls hooted.
Trunks rolled across the platform.
Parents shouted last-minute instructions.
Students ran in every direction.
I stood beside my trunk, staring at the scarlet steam engine waiting ahead.
Platform Nine and Three-Quarters.
Home.
Harry stood beside me.
Ron was arguing with Percy.
Fred and George were attempting to convince Ginny that she had forgotten something important.
Hermione was checking her bag for approximately the fourth time.
And Dad stood behind me.
He looked at the train.
Then at me.
“Third year.”
“Don’t.”
“I’m only saying—”
“I know.”
He smiled.
“You’ll write?”
“Yes.”
“Every week?”
“Probably.”
“Lennon.”
“Fine. Every week.”
He pulled me into a hug.
For a moment, I was twelve again.
Not a Gryffindor.
Not the daughter of an Auror.
Just his daughter.
Then he stepped back.
“Go.”
I smiled.
“Love you.”
“Love you too.”
I grabbed my trunk.
Harry helped me onto the train.
Ron and Hermione followed.
We found an empty compartment and threw ourselves inside.
I dropped into the seat beside Harry.
Ron sat opposite us.
Hermione took the remaining seat.
For a while, everything was perfect.
The train began moving.
London slipped away.
Hogwarts waited ahead.
Ron pulled out a packet of sweets.
Hermione rolled her eyes.
Harry laughed.
I looked out the window.
I felt it then.
That strange excitement that always came with returning.
The feeling that something was beginning.
I just didn’t know what.
⸻
We’d been on the train for a while when the compartment door opened.
Professor Lupin stood there.
He looked tired.
Older than most of the professors I’d known.
His robes were worn.
There were shadows beneath his eyes.
But he smiled politely.
“Do you mind if I join you?”
“Of course not,” Hermione said immediately.
He sat down.
Ron moved his things.
Harry greeted him.
I smiled.
“Professor.”
“Miss McCauley.”
“You know my name?”
“I know your father.”
I groaned.
“Of course you do.”
Lupin smiled.
“Your father has quite a reputation.”
“Unfortunately.”
Harry laughed.
Professor Lupin leaned back.
“You’re all third-years now?”
“Yes,” Hermione said.
“And how does that feel?”
Ron answered immediately.
“Terrifying.”
Lupin laughed softly.
“I remember that feeling.”
The train continued through the countryside.
Rain began tapping against the windows.
The sky darkened.
I watched the drops race down the glass.
Then—
The train slowed.
I frowned.
“What happened?”
Harry looked out the window.
“Why are we stopping?”
The lights flickered.
Once.
Twice.
Then went out completely.
The compartment fell into darkness.
Ron whispered, “What the hell?”
“Language,” Hermione whispered back.
Something cold moved through the compartment.
Not ordinary cold.
It seeped beneath my clothes.
Into my skin.
Into my bones.
My breath caught.
Harry was sitting beside me, suddenly very still.
Professor Lupin stood.
“Stay here.”
His voice had changed.
There was something serious in it now.
The corridor outside was silent.
Too silent.
Then the compartment door slid open.
A figure stood outside.
Tall.
Wrapped in black robes.
Its face was hidden beneath a hood.
My entire body froze.
I couldn’t breathe.
I heard something.
A woman screaming.
Someone begging.
A voice calling a name.
My father’s voice.
No.
Not my father.
Someone else.
But the sound was so full of pain that my chest tightened.
Harry made a strangled sound beside me.
Professor Lupin stepped forward.
“Stay back.”
The figure moved closer.
Cold.
So cold.
My fingers went numb.
My vision blurred.
I couldn’t hear Ron anymore.
I couldn’t hear Hermione.
I couldn’t hear the train.
Only screaming.
Only fear.
Only that terrible, empty cold.
Then Professor Lupin raised his wand.
“Expecto Patronum!”
A burst of silver light exploded through the compartment.
The creature recoiled.
The cold vanished.
The lights flickered back on.
I gasped, dragging air into my lungs.
Harry had collapsed against the seat.
Hermione was pale.
Ron looked terrified.
Professor Lupin lowered his wand.
For a moment, nobody spoke.
Then Lupin looked at Harry.
“Are you all right?”
Harry nodded weakly.
I turned toward the window.
Outside, several dark figures stood near the tracks.
Dementors.
Searching.
Searching for one man.
Sirius Black.
I swallowed.
The train began moving again.
Slowly.
As though nothing had happened.
But everything had changed.
Professor Lupin handed Harry a piece of chocolate.
“Eat this.”
Harry stared at it.
“What were those things?”
Lupin’s expression was grim.
“Dementors.”
Ron shuddered.
“They’re looking for Black.”
“Yes.”
I looked back toward the window.
The countryside was moving again.
But the darkness outside seemed different now.
Closer.
I touched the edge of my sleeve, trying to stop my hands from trembling.
Somewhere out there was Sirius Black.
A man who had escaped Azkaban.
A murderer.
A traitor.
A man dangerous enough to make the entire wizarding world afraid.
And for the first time, I wondered whether Hogwarts really was as safe as we’d always believed.
Professor Lupin looked around the compartment.
“Try to rest.”
Nobody answered.
Harry stared at the floor.
Hermione held Crookshanks tightly.
Ron kept glancing toward the door.
And me?
I looked out into the darkness.
I didn’t know it yet, but third year was going to be different.
Not because of Quidditch.
Not because of exams.
Not even because of Sirius Black.
Something else was waiting for me at Hogwarts.
Something I couldn’t see yet.
Something that would change everything.
And somewhere beneath all the fear, all the secrets, and all the things I didn’t understand—
I could feel it.
Something inside me was beginning to wake.
