On the Hogwarts Express, Harry, Ron, and Hermione were dragging their suitcases down the corridor, one carriage at a time.
The carriage was already full of people, and each compartment was crowded with four or five familiar faces.
When they looked through the glass window, they could see Dean and Seamus playing Magic Cards in one box, and Neville and two other Gryffindor boys playing Wizard's Chess in another box.
Further on, you can see several Ravenclaw girls huddled together flipping through some books; the cover looks like the newly bought copy of " The Prisoner of Azkaban."
"It's completely full." Ron switched the suitcase to his other hand and squeezed past the window of a compartment. "Why is this train so crowded?"
"It's the same every year," Hermione said behind him. "Didn't you squeeze through last year too?"
"Last year? Have you forgotten? Last year, Harry and I went to Hogwarts in a magical car."
Harry carried Hedwig's cage at the very back, his gaze sweeping over the glass windows of each box.
He saw Malfoy sitting in a box by the window, next to Crabbe and Goyle. The newly published third volume was open in front of them, and Malfoy was pointing at something on a page and talking to Goyle.
Harry and his friends didn't stop, but continued walking forward, passing through the entire train car, but every car was full of people.
By the time they reached the last carriage of the train, it seemed there were no empty carriages left.
"There's one more room here." Ron stopped at the door of the last private room, put the suitcase on the ground, and reached out to pull the door open.
The door wasn't locked; he pushed it open gently.
There was already one person sitting in the private room.
The man was wearing an old, patched wizard's robe, the color of which had faded to gray from washing, and the collar and cuffs were frayed.
He leaned against the window with his head tilted to the side, a few strands of white hair mixed in with his gray hair, his face showing the weariness of a long journey, his eyes closed, his breathing steady.
Beside his feet lay an old suitcase, its leather surface torn in several places, the edges wrapped with hemp rope several times.
A faded label was affixed to the front of the box, with the words: Professor Lupin printed on it.
Hermione peeked at the suitcase, then turned back to Harry and Ron, whispering, "Is he the new Defence Against Dark Magic teacher this year?"
"How did you know?" Ron also lowered his voice.
"That suitcase," Hermione gestured slightly with her chin towards it, "It's written on it."
"Oh." Ron glanced at the label, then at the sleeping man. "Should we wake him up?"
"No need," Harry said. "He's sleeping soundly."
The three of them tiptoed into the private room, trying not to make any noise.
Harry put Hedwig's cage in the gap under the seat, Ron stuffed the suitcase under the shelf on the other side, and Hermione sat near the door with her backpack on her lap.
The compartment fell silent, save for the rhythmic clanging of the train wheels on the tracks and the occasional whistling of the wind outside the window.
The man named Lupin remained motionless, his breathing as steady as if he were sleeping in his own bed.
Ron tried mouthing a sentence to Harry, and it took Harry a while to decipher what he said, "Is he really asleep?"
Harry shrugged, indicating he didn't know either.
Hermione took a book out of her bag, opened it to the page with the bookmark, and started reading.
The train continued forward, and the fields and hills outside the window slowly receded into the distance.
Sunlight streamed in at an angle through the window, casting warm yellow patches on the floor of the private room.
The person who was sleeping still hadn't woken up.
The view outside the window gradually changed from the grey-green fields of the London suburbs to open meadows and low hills.
Ron leaned back in his chair, dozing with his eyes half-open.
Hermione was still reading, her fingers occasionally turning a page, the movement so light it was almost silent.
Harry looked out the window, his mind replaying the scene of Aunt Marge floating up to the ceiling.
Harry had thought he would be expelled for misusing magic, but to his surprise, the Minister for Magic named Fudge was very kind to him after he arrived at the Leaky Cauldron on the Knight Bus.
He told Harry that the Ministry of Magic had sent people to restore Marge to her original state and alter her memories, and that Harry was allowed to stay at the Leaky Cauldron until the start of the school year without having to return to the Dursley family.
Why would someone treat themselves like this? Is it because they think they're a " The Chosen One "? Or is it for some other reason?
Harry suddenly remembered Stan showing him the newspaper on the Knight Bus, telling him that Sirius Black had escaped from Azkaban and was supposedly coming to find him.
Just as Harry was lost in thought, the train suddenly stopped.
Immediately afterwards, the entire train jolted violently, and the clanging sound abruptly disappeared.
The lights in the private room flickered, then went out completely after a brief, unpredictable flash.
The darkness came so suddenly that Harry's eyes hadn't had time to adjust, and the dim, gray light outside the window was the only thing he could see.
"What's going on?" Ron's voice came from the darkness, muffled and sleepy. "Have we arrived yet?"
"I don't know." Harry placed his hand on the seat, feeling the train slowing down, slower and slower, until it finally came to a complete stop.
The light outside the window was fading rapidly, as if something had fallen from the sky and enveloped the entire field.
The temperature inside the carriage is dropping.
The cold came too quickly; one second it was still the warmth of September, and the next it felt like someone had poured the chill of an entire ice cellar into the private room.
Harry's breath began to condense into white mist.
"Can you feel it?" Hermione's voice was low, carrying a tension that Harry rarely heard in her voice.
"It's so cold." Ron seemed to have been completely awakened by the cold. "Why is it so cold all of a sudden?"
No one answered his question; in the silence, the door to the private room creaked open.
His gaze was drawn to something approaching through the doorway.
By the dim, pale light from the window, Harry saw a tall figure blocking the doorway.
It was wrapped in a long, black cloak with the hood pulled low.
Harry could only see a patch of scabbed, sticky gray skin protruding from the folds of his cloak.
The figure slowly slid into the private room, and the air suddenly turned bone-chillingly cold.
A long, slow, wet inhalation sounded, as if the thing was trying to sniff something.
Harry felt a wave of fear creep up his spine—his ears were ringing.
He tried to shout, but no sound came out. His vision began to blur...
The thing's hollow, hole-like eyes peeked out from under its hood.
It opened its mouth—and let out a long, piercing, gurgling breath.
Just then, Harry heard it.
A woman's scream, sharp and terrified—he had heard this sound before—
The sound came from a very far place, as if it were separated by an entire world.
A woman is screaming.
"Don't touch him! Please—don't touch Harry— "