SOLSTICE

053

The rocking of the boat on the cold, dark lake should have been frightening, but Asher only felt... tired. Not the kind of tired one feels after a long day, but the kind that settled in his bones, heavy and dull like fog. The kind that comes after holding your breath for too long.

He sat still, alone in his little boat, avoiding the eyes of the other first-years clumped in groups, whispering excitedly or clutching their cloaks against the chill. His own hands, pale and trembling, were buried deep in his sleeves.

He hadn’t spoken since the train incident.

“Now that I think on it,” Isabella said, her brow furrowing as she glanced toward the direction the first years had been led off, “those poor little mites, their whole Hogwarts journey began with that ghastly business on the train. What a dreadful first impression…”

“Don’t fret, Bells,” Sirius chimed in with a smirk, lounging back in his seat. “Bet they’ll be dining out on that tale for years,”

It replayed in his mind like a cracked record — the abrupt halt, the eerie flicker of lights, the unnatural cold that seeped into the marrow of his bones. He remembered how the windows had frosted, how silence had fallen across the train like a smothering blanket. And then… he saw it.

A figure.

No. A creature.

Through the glass window of their compartment door, cloaked in black, gliding soundlessly. Asher remembered the sensation vividly — how the very air seemed to vanish, how a pressure clamped over his chest like an invisible hand. The creature hadn’t moved like a person. It floated. It didn’t breathe. It didn’t speak. But somehow, he knew it was searching.

Then one of them had stopped. Right outside their door.

He had gasped — a small, sharp sound — and before he could move or think, he felt a familiar hand wrap around his wrist and tug him backward. Cyril.

“Behind me, little star,” he’d said, his voice quiet but fierce. 

“Little star? That’s so cute,” Marls cooed with a grin.

Ron blinked, looking like he’d just seen a Blast-Ended Skrewt knit a scarf. “Merlin’s saggy pants,” he muttered. “Never thought I’d live to see the day he used a cute nickname. Next thing you know, Snape’ll be handing out cupcakes.”

Cyril’s tall frame had nearly filled the compartment, blocking the view, standing between Asher and the thing that was reaching for the handle.

The handle had turned — so slowly, like a predator taking its time.

And then—

A flash. Brilliant and blinding. Silver light surged from somewhere down the aisle. The creature reeled back, shrieking without sound, and vanished.

“It must have been Moony.” 

“Just imagine if Remus hadn’t been on that train,” someone muttered grimly. “Professors don’t usually travel with students. What then? Would they have let those creatures suck the souls out of children? How much worse could it have gotten?”