It was nearing afternoon when the air at the edge of the Forbidden Forest twisted and folded in on itself. With a sharp crack that echoed faintly among the ancient trees, three figures materialized near the worn path that led toward Hogwarts Castle. The forest loomed behind them like a silent darkness, its shadow stretching long even beneath the pale daylight.
The leading figure straightened at once, his broad shoulders stiff with irritation. He wore a long dark coat that bore the subtle authority of the Ministry of Magic, and his tawny hair, streaked faintly with gray, caught the light as he turned his gaze toward the castle rising above them. His expression was hard and impatient.
"Let's move," said Rufus Scrimgeour. "We are already late. I have no intention of wasting more time than necessary."
Behind him, a tall man adjusted the glasses perched on his nose, his movements calm and habitual. His hazel eyes followed Scrimgeour's gaze toward the castle towers, thoughtful but calm.
"Of course, sir," said James Potter, his voice respectful though familiar. "We'll keep pace."
At his side, a man with long dark hair tied loosely at the nape of his neck leaned in, nudging James with an elbow. His lips curved into a mischievous, boyish grin that time had failed to dim—his handsome face remained proof of that.
"See that?" he murmured. "Rufus is in a foul mood."
James did not bother hiding his smirk. "Wouldn't you be," he replied quietly, "after what happened yesterday?"
The man snickered softly. "Fair point."
This was Sirius Black, a senior Auror whose reputation teetered on the fine line between brilliance and recklessness. He and James fell into step behind Scrimgeour, beginning their ascent toward Hogwarts.
The castle dominated the horizon, its ancient stone walls aglow in the soft afternoon light. As they made their ascent, none of them spoke. The silence was broken only by the crunch of boots on gravel and the faint, distant calls of students echoing across the grounds.
As they passed beneath the shadow of the outer walls, Sirius leaned closer once more, his tone dropping to a murmur. "She will be here too, James."
James's expression shifted at once. The faint ease in his features tightened, replaced by something more complicated. "I know," he said quietly. "I knew before we arrived."
Sirius studied him from the corner of his eye. "She came for Harry."
James nodded, his gaze fixed ahead. "Yes. And that's not a bad thing. He should be close to his mother."
Sirius did not argue. He merely hummed in acknowledgment as they passed through the castle gates and into the wide courtyard.
The grounds were lively despite the absence of structured lessons. Students lounged beneath trees, their robes discarded or loosened. Some sat in small groups with books open, quills scratching lazily across parchment. Others laughed and chased one another across the grass, their voices echoing against the stone walls.
James glanced around with mild surprise. "Looks like they're free today."
Sirius grinned. "Lucky brats."
Their attention was abruptly drawn to a sharp noise nearby. Two red haired boys darted past a group of younger students, hooting loudly and climbing atop a low stone wall before leaping down again in exaggerated fashion. Their antics earned shrieks of laughter and a few startled protests.
Sirius burst out laughing. "Merlin's beard. Looks like there are still idiots like us roaming these halls."
James chuckled. "Those would be the Weasley twins. Arthur's boys. I've heard they're relentless."
"Well," Sirius said, wiping at his eyes, his voice rougher than usual, "as their seniors, I suppose it's our duty to corrupt the next generation at some point." He gave a small, crooked smile. "I want to meet them, have a chat… maybe exchange some good ideas. They deserve that much."
Their laughter faded as Scrimgeour shot them a sharp look over his shoulder. "Focus," he snapped. "This is not a social visit."
They sobered quickly and followed him through the arched doors and into the castle proper.
Inside, the air turned cooler, laced with the scents of old stone and warm food wafting up from the kitchens. Their footsteps echoed softly along the corridors as they climbed higher, past portraits murmuring to one another and suits of armour that stirred ever so slightly as they passed.
They encountered the caretaker at the base of the stairwell, his lantern swinging gently at his side. Argus Filch scowled at them suspiciously until Scrimgeour murmured something low and official. At once, Filch's posture changed. He grunted and gestured for them to proceed.
They climbed to the third floor, where a great stone gargoyle stood sentinel at the end of the corridor. Its wings were folded, its eyes sharp and knowing.
James stopped briefly to stare. "Still an eagle."
Sirius whistled softly. "Headmaster's office hasn't changed a bit."
"What did you expect it to change into?" James muttered. "A tea shop?"
Sirius shrugged, a glint in his eye. "We could donate. Spruce the place up a bit—if those greedy board members can't be bothered to pay for it themselves."
"Enough chitchat," Scrimgeour barked. "Inside."
The gargoyle shifted aside, revealing the spiral staircase beyond.
***************
On the opposite side of the castle, far from the Headmaster's office, the Hogwarts library lay steeped in quiet, studious concentration.
Sunlight streamed through tall windows, illuminating long rows of shelves packed with ancient volumes. At one of the central tables sat Ethan, his attention fixed firmly on a thick book entitled Advanced Principles of Transfiguration. His brow was furrowed, his fingers tracing the margins as he read with deep focus.
Beside him, curled comfortably atop his parchment, was Nina. The sleek white cat slept soundly, her tail flicking lazily back and forth. Occasionally, one eye would open just enough to observe the room before closing again.
Several girls sat at a nearby table, whispering and giggling softly. Their glances flicked repeatedly toward Ethan and the cat, barely disguising their curiosity. Nina noticed every look. Her tail twitched with faint irritation, but she did not stir.
Ethan, for his part, seemed blissfully unaware. He turned a page carefully, absorbing every word.
"Mr. Thorne."
The voice cut through the silence like a blade.
Ethan blinked, momentarily disoriented, before lifting his head. Professor McGonagall was striding toward him, her expression brisk and purposeful.
He stood at once. "Good afternoon, Professor McGonagall."
Minerva McGonagall did not waste time. "You are expected in the headmaster's office. Please follow me."
Ethan hesitated only a second asked. "Is something wrong, Professor?"
"No," she replied, already turning. "The Ministry is here regarding yesterday's incident. They wish to speak with you."
Understanding dawned on his face. "Of course."
He closed his book carefully and tucked it under his arm. Nina rose, stretched, and leapt gracefully onto his shoulder as if this were the most natural thing in the world for her.
They moved quickly through the corridors, McGonagall's robes snapping faintly with each step.
"They have already spoken to several students and prefects," she said as they walked. "Your account is necessary."
"I understand," Ethan replied calmly.
They reached the stone gargoyle moments later. McGonagall spoke the password. The staircase revealed itself, and they ascended.
As they entered the circular office, Ethan felt the weight of the room settle around him. Shelves lined the walls, filled with strange instruments that ticked and whirred softly. Portraits of former headmasters watched with keen interest.
The circular chamber was already occupied. Professor McGonagall remained near the entrance behind him, her posture rigid and watchful, while several other professors stood quietly along the walls. Their faces were grave, eyes following Ethan as he entered. Among them stood Lily Evans, her hands clasped together in front of her far too tightly. Though she stood straight and composed, the tension in her shoulders betrayed her.
At the center of the room, before the great desk cluttered with delicate instruments and softly whirring silver devices, sat Albus Dumbledore. His expression remained calm, almost serene, yet his eyes—those piercing blue eyes—betrayed a different emotion: sharp understanding edged with quiet anger.
Opposite him were three wizards.
One sat in the chair directly before the desk, his posture straight, his presence commanding. The other two stood just behind him, arms loosely folded, their attention fixed squarely on Ethan as though weighing him with their eyes.
Ethan felt their scrutiny immediately.
He inclined his head politely toward Dumbledore. "Good afternoon, Professor."
Dumbledore smiled gently. "Welcome, Professor Thorne. Thank you for coming so promptly."
He gestured lightly toward the seated wizard. "These friends from the Ministry have come to inquire about yesterday's incident. They have a few questions they wish to ask."
Ethan nodded without hesitation. "Of course."
Dumbledore turned slightly. "Allow me to make introductions. This is Rufus Scrimgeour, Head of the Auror Office."
Scrimgeour inclined his head only slightly, his expression unreadable.
"And standing beside him," Dumbledore continued, "are Sirius Black and James Potter, both senior Aurors."
Ethan's gaze flicked briefly to the two men. He recognized them instantly from Olivia's briefing: closely tied to Dumbledore, two of his most loyal followers in the organization he had led, major contributors to the last war, and scions of two of the most powerful families in the British magical world. Ethan hadn't expected to encounter them this soon.
Black studied him with open curiosity, sharp gray eyes gleaming with something between interest and suspicion. Potter's gaze was calmer but no less penetrating, his expression thoughtful, almost analytical.
Ethan took a seat as indicated, folding his hands loosely in his lap.
At last Scrimgeour broke the silence, his voice deep, steady, and deliberately commanding. "We've already interviewed the students, the professors, and the witnesses. We've inspected the incident sites—aboard the train and where those attackers fled."
He leaned forward slightly. "According to our findings, you were directly involved in the confrontation. Is that correct, Mr. Thorne?"
"Yes, sir," Ethan replied evenly. "That is correct."
"Then recount everything," Scrimgeour said. "From the beginning. What happened, how you discovered it, and what actions you took."
Ethan inhaled slowly.
He had told the story more times than he cared to count since the night before. To professors. To prefects. To healers. Still, he did not hesitate.
He spoke clearly and methodically, recounting how the train had slowed near Hogsmeade, how the sudden violent shaking had thrown students from their seats. He described leaving his carriage, sensing immediately that something was wrong, and making his way toward the engine.
He told them of the driver frozen solid beneath a spell, eyes wide with terror, unable even to scream. He described the masked figure in black waiting inside the driver's cabin and the clash that followed. The spells exchanged. The precision of the attacker's movements.
He moved on to the second encounter in the carriage, another masked figure, coordinated, disciplined. He described how a spell thrown from behind by the head girl, striking with deadly accuracy, bringing the attacker down.
He explained how he restrained the captured assailant, returned to the cabin, and discovered the first attacker gone. How he disembarked the train to ensure no further danger remained, only to be confronted by two more figures emerging from the darkness.
He described the fog, thick and unnatural, created by alchemical means rather than magic alone. How the attackers withdrew in perfect coordination, vanishing before reinforcements could arrive.
Throughout it all, Scrimgeour did not interrupt. He listened with the stillness of a predator, eyes never leaving Ethan's face.
When Ethan finished, silence filled the office.
Scrimgeour finally nodded. "Your account aligns with what we have gathered from other witnesses and from our own inspection."
He turned slightly toward Dumbledore. "The physical evidence supports his testimony."
Professor McGonagall spoke then, her voice firm. "Have you identified who might be responsible?"
Scrimgeour shook his head. "Unfortunately, no. We have no records matching their methods or appearances. This is the first time we have encountered such figures."
Sirius Black let out a short laugh. "That's not entirely true."
Scrimgeour's jaw tightened. "Explain."
Black tilted his head. "We have seen similar attire before. Similar discipline. Similar coordination and similar cowardly attacks on innocents."
James Potter nodded. "We did."
Sirius glanced around the room, eyes narrowing. "Come off it. You're not seriously telling me you've forgotten the Death Eaters? They wore masks just like these bastards—and they were a deadly force back then."
Scrimgeour's voice hardened instantly. "They were disbanded. No sightings of them have been reported for over a decade, Black. Don't spread unnecessary rumors."
"And we never caught most of them," James countered calmly. "Only the disposable ones—the thugs of Knockturn Alley. The ones who didn't matter, just petty criminals. We never heard from those who really did the damage at the time, sir—the ones in the close circle of 'him'."As he said it, the whole office filled with a strange, heavy atmosphere. Everyone knew exactly who he was talking about: the Dark Lord.
Black's eyes darkened, voice low and edged. "We never caught Barty Crouch Jr. Or the Lestrange brothers. And we never caught Severus Snape."
The name struck like a curse. Lily's hands trembled violently; she clasped them behind her back in an instant, her face a mask of stone as raw pain and hatred blazed in her eyes.
A chill settled over the room. Ethan studied the faces he could see—war-hardened veterans, every one scarred by battles against Death Eaters and the loved ones they had lost at their hands.
"Enough," Scrimgeour snapped. "If they were those people, the train would have been a slaughterhouse. Their behavior does not match."
James frowned slightly. "Or it means something else. A return. A sign maybe."
Dumbledore stayed silent throughout the heated conversation and the swirling speculations, his face serene in its familiar calm. His piercing blue eyes, however, were fixed on Ethan—quietly cataloguing every subtle reaction. And Ethan, even as he followed the words flying around the room, felt the weight of that gaze and met it briefly.
"They are nothing," Scrimgeour said coldly. "Their master is gone. Without leadership, they scatter like powerless flies. This incident is unrelated."
He turned his attention back to Ethan, his gaze steady and piercing. "Describe their fighting style, Mr.Thorne. The spells they employed. And how coordinated were they—how seamlessly did they fight together?"
Ethan complied, detailing the efficiency of their movements, their reliance on teamwork rather than brute force, the absence of reckless casting.
When he finished, Black whistled softly. "Seasoned fighters."
"Either foreigners," Black continued, "or Death Eaters."
Professor McGonagall folded her arms. "Then why attack students?"
Black answered without hesitation. "Who do they hate most?"
James spoke at the same time. "Harry."
"No," Scrimgeour snapped. "If that were the case, they would have targeted him directly."
"Or they wanted to send a message," James said quietly.
Ethan said nothing. He watched Lily from the corner of his eye. Her breathing was shallow now, her composure a thin mask of fear and anger.
Scrimgeour stood. "We will continue the investigation. Aurors will escort the train from now on, though resources are limited."
He turned to Dumbledore. "The Ministry is stretched thin right now—elections, internal strains. Most of our people are tied up with that, so I can't promise anything beyond what we've already committed."
Dumbledore rose slowly from his chair. "Any additional protection is appreciated, Rufus. I will also ensure my professors accompany the students on the train from now on."
Scrimgeour nodded curtly. "That is all."
He turned sharply and exited. James lingered for a moment, his eyes resting on Lily with unmistakable concern, before following. Sirius paused last.
"Good work," he said, clapping Ethan lightly on the shoulder. "You did well."
Then he also followed his friend towards the exit.
Outside, as they descended the corridors, James asked quietly, "What do you think?"
Scrimgeour's voice dropped low. "His story checks out—lines up with the other witnesses. But the man still seems suspicious."
"Ethan Thorne," Sirius mused, rubbing his chin. "Never heard the name, but everyone who saw him fight yesterday says he's bloody talented. Looks far too young for that kind of skill, though."
"A foreign wizard no one's ever heard of suddenly lands a job at Hogwarts," Scrimgeour said flatly. "He's heading there full of confidence, ends up on the train, and—coincidence?—an attack happens right then. Those attackers could've slaughtered everyone in minutes, but they didn't. They waited for him to arrive before making their move." He gave a curt nod. "If anything, Thorne was the real target. The students and the train were collateral. Keep an eye on him."
James nodded. "Understood."
They exited the castle, the stone doors closing behind them as Hogwarts returned to its uneasy calm.