Chapter 185: Remus Lupin

"Merlin's socks! Your Disarming Charm has reached Level 4, and you hadn't even mentioned it before!" Ron exclaimed, his mouth wide open in astonishment. "Is that true? I mean—the bloke who's aiming to be an Auror, and he's only at Level 2 for the Disarming Charm."

Harry attributed all of this to his magical outburst. "Professor Lupin said it would make my magic more active, which... well, it seems to have sped up my learning of spells."

Ron looked expectant. "If only I could have a magical outburst too."

"Ron, Professor Lupin said magical outbursts are the result of extreme emotions, and they mostly happen to young wizards before they enter Hogwarts. Once we're at Hogwarts and learn to control our magic, these situations almost disappear."

Hermione chimed in, matter-of-factly, "Just like Harry. His case is quite rare. It might be because his aunt insulted his parents—oh, sorry, Harry."

"No worries," Harry replied, but Hermione looked at him apologetically.

"I know~ Can't I just daydream?" Ron seemed to have thought of something, suddenly excited. "Besides, it's not impossible, right? There were one or two times during the summer when Percy was showing off his Head Boy badge, and I had the urge to make it explode."

"Is there much difference between making something explode and making it swell? Maybe my emotions weren't strong enough at the time," Ron speculated playfully, believing it to be a shortcut to learning.

Hermione stared at him wide-eyed, even Harry was quite speechless.

"But speaking of it," Harry looked at Ron thoughtfully, "I do seem to have a better grasp of the Disarming Charm. With other spells, it's like I'm just a bit off."

Ron looked puzzled. "Isn't that because you spent the most time on the Disarming Charm?"

Harry explained, "It's a feeling! Like... it's just..." he gestured with his hand, "Well, I'm not sure either. Maybe it really is just an illusion." He said somewhat dejectedly.

Hermione provided theoretical support, "Harry, it's not impossible—there are always some young wizards who learn specific spells faster."

"Where did you read that?" Harry asked with interest, perhaps he could include this viewpoint in his essay?

The thought of the essay made his head ache a bit. He had spoken without thinking, not considering the consequences at all.

While he had accumulated a bunch of random notes during the training process, he had no idea how to turn these things into a presentable essay—out of certain considerations, he didn't want to just bluff his way through.

Hermione's answer was a bit different from what he expected. She smiled with her eyes narrowed in a pleased manner, resembling the ginger cat in her arms: "Do you remember the assignment from the Dueling class, those forms? I helped Professor Lupin organize a part of them, and he proposed this idea then, but..."

She made a helpless expression, "There were too few samples, and a lot of the submitted data was fabricated. I could tell at a glance!"

Ron's gaze suddenly became evasive, and Harry also lowered his head guiltily.

Hermione looked at the two of them indignantly, they shared some responsibility for the false data.

At this moment, a hoarse, weary voice joined their conversation.

"Forgive me—"

The three of them looked anxiously towards the small table. The professor seemed to have just woken up, his face looking as worn as his patched robes and heavily worn suitcase, giving off an air of destitution.

But his eyes were bright and sincere. The professor spoke gently, "I just overheard some of your conversation, it wasn't intentional, but I did become curious."

"Professor Lupin?" Hermione asked in a hushed voice.

"Yes, I am Remus Lupin," Lupin said with a smile, "Did you see the markings on my trunk? Quite observant. If this were in class, I'd give you extra points."

"Yes, it's me. It suddenly got dark outside. Do you know what's going on?"

More people rushed in, speaking all at once in a chaotic manner.

"Is Ron here? I'm looking for Ron."

"I'm here, Ginny!"

"Oh dear, that's my face."

"Who are you?"

"I'm Neville, Neville Longbottom..."

"Quiet!" Lupin shouted loudly, raising his wand. A burst of flames poured down from the wand tip, illuminating the panicked faces.

The light also illuminated his tired, grayish face, but with an adult wizard present, everyone felt a bit more reassured.

Hearing Lupin say, "Stay in place and don't move. I'll go out and take a look," he opened the compartment door and stepped into the aisle.

Harry thought for a moment and followed him outside.

"Harry?" Hermione said urgently.

"I'll see if I can help." Harry passed through the compartment door and followed behind Lupin.

A chill swept over them, and Lupin quickly stepped back, saying, "Go back, Harry!"

But Harry didn't hear; his entire attention was captured by something draped in a black cloak with a hood. The thing floated in mid-air, a decayed, ashen hand emerging from the cloak. Following that, an intense coldness rushed over him, freezing his lungs, making it impossible to breathe.

A distant female voice sounded, terrifying, terrified, and pleading.

"I want to help her!"

He didn't know why he had this thought, but it was so strong. Even as he was about to lose consciousness, he instinctively responded.

A dazzling red light illuminated the entire train.

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