Chapter 25
Tim’s breaths came out as white puffs in the dimming compartment. He rubbed his hands together but it did nothing to stop the cold creeping into him. The distant sounds of students gossiping and the trolley’s wheels squeaking had died, leaving everything sounding oddly muffled.
Tim lurched forward when the train stopped with a jolt. Without warning, all the lights died.
“What’s going on?” Ron said.
“Shh,” Tim reached for his knife. He could cast Lumos but his Gothamites instincts to stay quiet and hidden overcame him.
“I’m going to ask the driver what is going on,” Tim saw Hermione’s dark outline against the window. He leapt up and dragged her back down into her seat. The compartment door slid open and Tim braced himself, ready to attack.
“Who’s that?” Hermione squeaked.
“Who’s that?” Tim recognised Ginny’s voice and pulled her into the compartment.
“I was looking for Ron,”
“Quiet,” Tim whispered and the compartment fell silent. The temperature kept dropping and Harry huddled close to Tim. He could feel the hairs on his neck rise and something dark coil in his chest, compressing his lungs and making it hard to breath. Mortimer stilled on the window sill, his black eyes widening.
Tim followed his gaze and saw the compartment door open once again. Standing in the doorway, was a cloaked figure that towered over them. A hood shrouded its face, leaving only its hands exposed. They were skeletal and scabbed like rotting flesh, curling around the door frame. The thing beneath the hood drew a long, rattling breath. It reminded Tim of those children in Crime Alley in the winter, hacking out their lungs on street corners.
Tim thought he could feel his blood freezing. The cold was so deep under his skin, creeping into his very bones and making his thoughts muddled. His grip around his knife weakened. He couldn’t think; he couldn’t breathe.
The thing reached up to its hood.
Tim’s vision blurred. There was a rushing sounds as though he was drowning in Gotham Harbour.
All other sounds died out and could only hear a distance voice. “I’m going to get her back.” It was Tim’s own voice, echoing from somewhere deep in his own mind. “I promise.”
“I’ll be safe,” that was Amelia. He could almost see her smile as she raised her pink finger, “I promise.”
More voices joined the others.
“It has taken me some time to find young Harry but I promise I only care about what’s best for him.”
“We’ll be back for Christmas this year, we promise.”
“I promise.”
“I promise.”
The voices rose into a crescendo and just as suddenly, vanished. Tim was alone, floating in a dark voice. He reached out for someone, anyone but his hands met nothing but air. Tim opened his mouth, desperate to hear anything but he choked on his words. There was nothing. He could almost feel himself fading into the darkness. Tim was alone.
“Tim? Harry?” Someone was slapping his face.
“W-what?” Tim opened his eyes. He was lying on the floor and there was a sharp pain in his hand. Looking down, he saw that he had clenched around his knife blade leaving a bloody line on his palm. His whole body was shaking, cold sweat drenching his robes.
“Tim?” Harry was slumped at his feet, his face a sickly white. Neville, Ron, Hermione and Ginny were kneeled over them looking worried.
“What was that?” Harry pushed up his glasses, struggling into a sitting position. “Where’s that thing? Who screamed?”
Tim twisted around to see the door, the small motion making bile rise in his throat. All the lights in the compartment had returned and he could feel the floor rumbling once more beneath him.
“No one screamed,” Hermione said.
“But I heard screaming,” Harry’s eyes met Tim’s.
“Dementors,” the word came out hoarse, “I think those were dementors.”
“The Azkaban guards?” Ron’s voice shook, “But we aren’t criminals.”
Tom used the seat to push himself into a standing position. He had read the Ministry sending dementors to find Sirius Black but he couldn’t see why they would search a train full of children. “What happened?” he panted, wiping sweat off his forehead. It didn’t look like any of the others had collapsed, beside Harry. He hadn’t read about that side effect.
“Well-that thing-the Dementor-stood there and looked around. I mean I think it did, I couldn’t see its face and you two-.” Hermione fumbled over her words, wringing her hands.
“We thought you were having a fit,” Ron said, “you both went sort of rigid and fell off your seat. It didn’t look like you were breathing. We couldn’t get you to let go of the knife and-.”
“And then Mortimer, he just attacked,” Hermione said.
Tim turned to look at the raven, quietly preening his feathers on the window sill. Mortimer glanced up and Tim that his claws were tinged with something black.
“He just kept,” Ginny stared at the raven, “I don’t know if the dementor realised but didn’t come closer.”
“It was horrible,” Neville’s voice wavered, “the dementor wouldn’t leave and we couldn’t do anything.”
“But then-there was this light,” Hermione said, “and it seemed to drive the dementor back. We’ve been trying to wake you up. We didn’t know-.”
“I’m alright,” Tim reached down to help Harry to his feet. He would need to investigate that light and why the dementors were on the train in the first place. Tim couldn’t allow himself to be caught in such a vulnerable position again. He had left Harry defenceless against that creature.
“But didn’t any of you fall off your seats?” Harry said, stiltedly.
“No,” Ron was looking at them like he was afraid they would keel over dead at any moment, “but it was awful. Ginny couldn’t stop shaking.”
“Nor could you,” Ginny pushed Ron but it lacked any force.
Tim let them bicker, sinking into his seat. Mortimer hopped over and rested on his knee, his beady eyes peering up at him. The weight was comforting.
No one spoke much for the rest of the trip. The train pulled to a stop at Hogsmeade Station and Tim made sure he had his trunk and Mortimer’s cage. They passed Hagrid calling the first years over to the boats and let the crowd sweep them towards a row of carriages.
“What are they?” Harry shivered beside Tim, his face still worryingly pale. The carriages were being pulled by winged, skeletal horses that no one seemed to be acknowledging. They walked right past the horses, clambering into the carriages and speaking in hushed voices.
“Let’s just get to the castle,” Tim pulled him over to a free carriage. “I need to visit the library.”