The rhythmic clatter of the Hogwarts Express filled the compartment as it carried its young passengers north, cutting through green fields and forests on its way to the only place many of them ever truly called home.
In one of the middle compartments, Harry Potter sat across from Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger, the three of them mid-discussion, their voices just above a whisper. The Daily Prophet lay open between them on the seat, its front page dominated by a single name in bold, jagged letters:
"WANTED : ASHEN "
Beneath the headline, a blurred still-frame of the aftermath flickered—a circle of half-naked men marked with strange runes, faces contorted in pain. In the center, a single figure stood calmly with his hands in his pockets, surrounded by chaos. His face, frustratingly, was obscured by the angle and poor lighting.
Ron leaned forward, one arm draped over his knee, his freckles pulled tight across his nose as he spoke with obvious excitement.
"My dad says the Ministry's gone mad over it," he whispered. "They've got whole teams trying to track this bloke. One of the biggest bounties ever—a thousand galleons just for information leading to his arrest!"
Hermione huffed, crossing her arms tightly and narrowing her eyes at the photograph.
"It's disgraceful," she muttered. "He tortured people, Ron. Did you see what he did to them? And in front of Aurors! What kind of message is that supposed to send? Vigilantism like this—it undermines the rule of law."
Ron shrugged. "Still, you have to admit… bit of a legend move, isn't it?"
Hermione looked at him as if he'd grown a second head.
"I'm not saying I agree with him!" Ron added quickly. "Just—well—he walked into a group of Death Eaters, didn't he? And he won. Who even does that?"
Harry, who had been quietly watching the photo loop on the Prophet, finally spoke, his voice low and thoughtful.
"Sirius told me something weird," he said. "He said one of his Auror friends was actually there—said Ashen didn't even draw his wand until the end. Just stood there with his hands in his pockets, like it was nothing."
Hermione blinked. "That can't be right."
Harry nodded. "That's what I said. But apparently he used some kind of magic none of them had ever seen. Runes. Blood rituals. Shield spells that fed off the prisoners themselves."
Ron made a face. "Bit creepy, if you ask me."
"Dumbledore called it the work of a genius, " Harry added quietly. "Said it reminded him of… voldemort. But colder. More deliberate."
Before Hermione could speak, there was a knock at the compartment door.
Tap. Tap.
The door slid open.
James Dawson stepped inside with his usual casual confidence, one hand already raised in greeting. His expression was relaxed, but his eyes had that ever-watchful gleam—like someone constantly taking in more than he let on.
"Morning, everyone," he said smoothly, glancing at the open newspaper. "Looks like I missed quite the gossip."
Harry smiled and gestured to the seat beside him. "Hey, James. We were just talking about Ashen. He's all over the Prophet."
James gave a theatrical sigh and sat down, stretching his arms behind his head with lazy amusement.
"Ah, yes. The mysterious Ashen." He chuckled softly. "Terror of the Ministry. Darling of the underground. Poster boy for emo."
Ron grinned. "You've been rehearsing that?"
"Only in front of a mirror twice a day," James replied dryly.
Hermione leaned forward, still holding the newspaper. "It's not funny, you know. He nearly killed a dozen men in cold blood. And there were wards etched into their skin! That's not normal magic—that's Dark magic."
James raised an eyebrow. "Is it dark if it's used on Dark Wizards?"
Hermione frowned. "That's not the point—"
"Then what is the point?" James asked mildly, tapping the page. "They were Death Eaters, weren't they?"
She opened her mouth, closed it, then tried again. "There's still a system, James. Laws. Trials."
Ron snorted. "Yeah, because the last time that worked out great, didn't it?"
James turned to Harry. "So? What do you think?"
Harry hesitated, then glanced down at the article again.
"I think... I think he's dangerous. But he's not wrong."
There was a short silence.
Then Ron, leaning back with a grin, added, "Anyway, we'll probably never find out who he is. They say the Aurors checked known Muggle criminal who matched his face, not him. Face probably wasn't even his. Polyjuice, most likely."
"Yeah," Harry agreed.
Hermione looked at James then, squinting slightly, curious. "What about you? Who do you think Ashen is?"
James smirked and leaned back, arms resting comfortably behind his head.
"Who knows?" he said lightly. "Could be me, for all we know."
The trio stared at him.
Ron blinked. "What?"
James shrugged. "No one knows his face, right? Maybe I'm secretly a blood-ritual-wielding, Auror-intimidating vigilante."
There was a beat of silence—then the compartment erupted in laughter.
"Oh, please," Hermione said, wiping a tear from her eye. "You're brilliant, James, but Ashen? He's practically terrifying. You're… well, you."
James grinned. "Thanks, I think."
Harry shook his head, smiling. "Still, I can't imagine it. You'd have to be insanely powerful to do what he did. That shield spell alone…"
"Not to mention the part where the Aurors didn't arrest him," Ron added. "I mean, if you did that, McGonagall would have your head."
James chuckled and made a mock salute. "Well, if the real Ashen ever shows up at Hogwarts, I'll be sure to ask for an autograph."
As they continued to banter, the train gave a slight lurch, and outside the window, the Scottish countryside rolled past in golden hues. In the distance, a silhouette of towers and spires loomed larger with every passing second.
The warmth of the conversation, the laughter, and the teasing folded over them like a blanket.
But James' smile lingered just a second longer than the others'. And as the train curved gently northward, his eyes flicked once more to the paper left on the seat—at the shadowed figure standing in the circle of runes.
A figure who didn't need a real name.
Not yet.