Nearly an hour after the terrible halt of the Hogwarts Express, the train finally hissed and groaned its way into the familiar station at Hogsmeade. Steam rose in pale clouds beneath the evening sky, curling around iron lampposts and stone platforms that had not known panic like this in living memory. One by one, the doors of the train opened, and students stepped down under the careful supervision of professors and prefects. Their faces were pale and their voices subdued; there was no laughter among them.
Some clutched their trunks as if afraid to let go. Others kept glancing back at the scarred carriages, as though expecting masked figures to emerge again from the darkness. It was only the steady presence of teachers, the calm repetition of instructions, and the familiar outlines of the village that slowly grounded them in the truth that they had arrived at Hogwarts safely.
At the center of the platform stood Minerva McGonagall, tall and straight backed, her tartan robes immaculate despite the chaos of the night. Her sharp eyes missed nothing as she surveyed the scene, checking names, counting heads, ensuring that no student had been overlooked in the confusion. When she was satisfied, she raised her voice, clear and commanding.
"Second-years and above, take the carriages to the castle. Prefects, assist where needed. No pushing. No wandering. Straight to the Great Hall."
The older students obeyed at once, forming orderly lines as the carriages rolled forward, drawn by unseen hooves. The younger students remained clustered together, nervous and wide eyed, until a massive figure stepped forward with a kind and reassuring grin.
Rubeus Hagrid lifted his lantern and waved gently. "First years this way. Nothin' ter worry about now. Yeh're safe."
Beside him stood Pomona Sprout, her hat slightly askew, her smile warm but her eyes still shadowed with concern. Together they guided the youngest students down toward the water, where the boats waited to carry them across the lake, just as they had for centuries.
Professor McGonagall remained on the platform long after the last boat departed, her gaze fixed on the train, her lips pressed into a thin line. Only when she was certain that every student had been accounted for did she allow herself to turn away.
It was then that Albus Dumbledore approached, his long silver beard stirring faintly in the cool evening air. At his side walked Ethan.
McGonagall's eyes flicked immediately to Ethan's bandaged hand.
"Mr. Thorne," she said briskly, though her voice softened despite herself. "You will report to Madam Pomfrey at once. That injury must be properly treated."
She turned toward a much shorter figure standing nearby.
"Please, Filius, would you escort him."
Filius Flitwick nodded eagerly. "Of course."
He smiled up at Ethan. "Come along, Mr. Thorne."
They climbed into one of the waiting carriages, the door closing with a soft click before the invisible horses began their ascent toward the castle.
Left behind, Dumbledore and McGonagall watched the last of the carriages depart.
"I think," McGonagall said after a moment, her voice low, "that tomorrow's classes should be suspended. The students have endured enough for one day."
Dumbledore inclined his head, his blue eyes thoughtful behind his half moon spectacles. "I agree, Minerva. Rest and reassurance will serve them better than routine."
They began walking toward the castle together, their steps measured, and expressions were calm but subtly grim.
"We have much to do," Dumbledore added gently.
On the opposite side of the castle, far from the noise and confusion that still lingered in the Great Hall, Ethan walked in quiet steps beside Professor Filius Flitwick. The corridors of Hogwarts stretched endlessly ahead of them, lit by floating candles and enchanted sconces that cast warm golden light across ancient stone walls.
Flitwick moved with a lightness that belied his age and stature, his hands folded neatly behind his back as he guided Ethan toward the hospital wing. Every now and then, the professor glanced sideways at him with a keen and thoughtful expression, as though measuring him not only as a colleague, but as a puzzle yet to be solved.
"Well," Flitwick said at last, breaking the silence, his voice gentle and musical, "this is hardly the way I would have preferred for our first proper meeting. Normally, introductions happen beneath the enchanted ceiling of the Great Hall, with applause and polite smiles. But circumstances, as they often do, have their own opinions."
Ethan smiled faintly, adjusting his pace to match the smaller wizard. "I suppose Hogwarts likes to make strong first impressions," he replied.
Flitwick chuckled softly. "Indeed it does. Allow me, then, to introduce myself properly. I am Filius Flitwick, professor of Charms and head of Ravenclaw. And I must say, I was delighted when I heard that a young wizard would be taking up the mantle of dueling instruction. It is a discipline long neglected here."
Ethan inclined his head respectfully. "The pleasure is mine, Professor. I have heard quite a lot about you, actually. Even during my time teaching at Beauxbatons, your name came up more than once."
Flitwick stopped walking, his eyes widening with unmistakable curiosity. "Oh? And who, may I ask, was spreading stories about me across the Channel?"
Ethan let out a small laugh. "Professor Bourgeois, mostly. He spoke at length about your dueling years. Especially the match where you defeated him in three spells."
For a moment, Flitwick stared at him. Then he burst into laughter, a bright, ringing sound that echoed down the corridor. "Bourgeois still remembers that? Merlin help me. I was young, energetic, and far too eager to show off. A dreadful combination, really."
They resumed walking, the stone floor cool beneath their feet. As they passed a tall arched window overlooking the darkened grounds, Flitwick's expression grew more serious.
"I heard from the prefects and several students," he said carefully, "that there were three attackers on the train."
"Yes," Ethan replied. "Three of them."
"Unusual," Flitwick murmured. "Attacking the Hogwarts Express is no small thing."
"They did not behave as I would expect," Ethan said after a pause. "They attacked suddenly, with coordination, but withdrew just as abruptly. They caused damage, yes, but they could have done far worse."
Flitwick glanced pointedly at Ethan's injured arm. "They did injure you. And frightened the students. And destroyed a train that has served Hogwarts faithfully for nearly two centuries. That is not insignificant harm."
Ethan nodded. "I know. I only mean that their intentions remain unclear."
They reached the hospital wing soon after. Flitwick pushed open the door gently, and the familiar scent of potions and antiseptic herbs washed over them.
Madam Poppy Pomfrey had been seated at her desk, carefully stirring a potion. The moment the door opened, she looked up sharply, then stood at once.
"I heard there was an incident," she said briskly. "An attack, they say. Are the students all right?"
"Yes, unfortunately," Flitwick replied. "But the students are unharmed."
Her relief was immediate, though brief. "Thank Merlin. And injuries?"
Flitwick gestured toward Ethan. "Our new professor was less fortunate."
Pomfrey's sharp eyes landed on Ethan, assessing him in an instant. "Come along, then. Sit down. No, lie down. Immediately."
Ethan barely had time to protest before she guided him firmly to a bed and pressed him flat against the mattress. With practiced efficiency, she removed the bandages from his arm. Her lips pressed into a thin line as she examined the injury.
"Did you apply any potions?" she asked.
"Yes," Ethan replied. "A coagulating draught and a bone stabilizer. Temporary, of course."
She nodded approvingly. "That was sensible. The bleeding has stopped, but the bone is displaced. This will be unpleasant."
"I expected as much," Ethan said calmly.
Pomfrey lifted her wand, poured a shimmering potion over his arm, then began the delicate work of reconstruction. A silver, glue like substance flowed from her wand, enveloping his arm completely. A sharp, crawling sensation followed, accompanied by a deep, uncomfortable ache.
"Horrid business," she muttered. "Attacking a train full of children. Are we regressing into war again, or have people simply lost their minds?"
Ethan did not answer. Instead, he felt a familiar weight settle onto his chest. He looked down to see Nina, his cat, hopping onto the bed and curling herself atop him. She stared intently at Pomfrey, tail flicking.
"It's all right," Ethan whispered, stroking her back with his uninjured hand. "She's helping me."
Nina ignored him and remained where she was. Pomfrey, surprisingly, said nothing.
The healing took nearly an hour. By the end, Ethan's arm felt numb and oddly light, wrapped carefully in fresh bandages.
"You will not use that arm until tomorrow," Pomfrey said sternly. "Preferably longer."
"I feel fine," Ethan began.
Her glare stopped him cold. He swallowed and nodded.
"You will stay here tonight," she continued. "At least two days of observation."
Before he could respond, the doors opened again.
Several professors entered, led by Albus Dumbledore. Their voices were hushed but urgent, fragments of concern and speculation overlapping one another. Among them was a man Ethan did not recognize, tall and broad shouldered, with black hair, brown eyes, and a face carved into permanent severity.
"The Aurors are already investigating," the man was saying. "They will interview witnesses tomorrow."
Dumbledore stepped forward, his eyes kind behind half moon spectacles. "Mr. Thorne, how are you feeling?"
"Quite well, thanks to Madam Pomfrey," Ethan replied.
Professor McGonagall looked at Nina and then looked up at Ethan.
"I'm sure you've already given us a brief account," she said evenly, "but now I'd like you to tell us, in detail, what happened today."
Ethan looked toward her and then at Dumbledore.
"Of course," he said. "It all started when the train suddenly stopped and jolted violently—something highly unusual for a train…..."
Dumbledore nodded, then listened as Ethan recounted the incident in full. When he finished, the unfamiliar professor spoke.
"It seems suspicious," the man said coolly. "They attacked and damaged the train, yet stopped it near Hogsmeade Village—not in the middle of nowhere, where help would have been difficult to reach. From what you've described, it almost sounds like a prank. They had every opportunity to hurt the students, or even blow the train to pieces with the force you mentioned, and yet they avoided harming anyone. What if it was all a performance?"
Madam Pomfrey bristled, but it was Minerva McGonagall who spoke first.
"Professor Crave," she said sharply, "mind your words."
Crave's gaze returned to Ethan.
"You are young. How old are you—twenty-three?" he said. "And yet, based on your account, you fought three skilled adult wizards alone. That strains credibility. After facing them, you suffered only minor scratches on your hand. No offense intended, but either they were putting on an act, or you are an exceptionally powerful wizard—which seems unlikely at your age. I find it difficult to believe you truly fought three high-level wizards."
Pomfrey snapped, "His bones were exposed—his entire hand twisted into an unnatural position. Do not belittle that."
Albus Dumbledore raised a hand, and the room fell silent.
"Enough," he said quietly, though the word carried unmistakable weight. "The truth has a habit of revealing itself in due time, and this is neither the moment for accusations nor for the careless discrediting of those who have already suffered."
His blue eyes moved from face to face before settling briefly on Ethan.
"Speculation, however cleverly framed, remains speculation. We will allow the Aurors to conduct their investigation with the thoroughness and objectivity this matter deserves. Until then, restraint—and wisdom—are required of us all."
He lowered his hand slightly.
"As for Mr. Thorne, he has endured more than enough for one day. Healing, not interrogation, must come first. Answers gained at the cost of compassion are rarely worth having."
After a short pause he continued.
"Let us proceed carefully, and let us remember that our greatest failing would be to lose our humanity in the pursuit of certainty."
Ethan hesitated, then asked, "Professor, may I ask something?"
Dumbledore nodded.
"Was I asked to be on the Hogwarts Express because of any prior suspicion that such an incident might occur?"
Albus Dumbledore's eyes gleamed faintly. "No. Merely circumstance."
Minerva McGonagall inclined her head in agreement.
"Indeed," she said. "As you are a new professor—and one who never had the opportunity to experience Hogwarts as a student—we felt it would be beneficial for you to accompany them and gain that perspective."
She paused, lips thinning slightly.
"And, frankly, the students have been somewhat… spirited on the train in recent years. We believed an older, experienced wizard should be present, just in case."
Her gaze sharpened.
"It appears we made the correct decision—albeit unknowingly. Had you not been there today, the outcome could have been far more severe."
"Then we should increase security," Ethan said. "For the students."
Dumbledore smiled. "Indeed."
Pomfrey clapped her hands sharply. "Enough! Out with you all. My patient needs quiet and rest."
One by one, the professors and Dumbledore left, until only McGonagall remained. She turned to Ethan.
"Now, you should rest," she said. "I will instruct a house-elf to bring you a meal. Your office and classroom are already prepared. Tomorrow, I will bring you your class schedule and take you to both your office and your classroom. For now… rest."
Ethan nodded. "Thank you, Professor."
With a final nod, McGonagall left the hospital wing.
At last, only Ethan, Nina, and the quiet hum of the hospital wing remained.
After some time, a house-elf delivered a meal: soup and a fish. Nina immediately pounced on the fish.
"Oh, you wound me, Nina," Ethan said with mock indignation. "Don't you want to share your fish with me?"
Hearing his words, Nina hissed, snatched the fish, and leapt toward the window, beginning to munch on it happily.
"Greedy girl," Ethan muttered, shaking his head, and turned to drink his soup.
Once he had finished, he looked around the quiet hospital wing and spoke softly to his cat. Then, finally, exhaustion claimed him, and he lay back, letting himself rest.