Screams split the air like ripping silk.
The train car was in chaos. Doors slammed open and shut as terrified students poured into the corridor, their faces twisted in fear, some crying, some shouting incoherently. Smoke drifted through the broken windows; the acrid scent of burning velvet filled the coach.
James stepped into the corridor, boots thudding against the vibrating floor. His face was calm, unnervingly so, in the middle of the storm. Behind him, Harry crouched beside Hermione and Ron, frantically checking their pulses, his knuckles white around his wand.
Ahead, Neville and a few others stood frozen mid-step, caught between fight and flight. They looked like startled deer, eyes flicking from wall to door as though salvation would appear if they just stared hard enough.
James' jaw clenched. He didn't waste time with pleasantries.
He raised his wand, voice slicing through the noise.
"Silencio!"
The panic broke like a bubble. The shrieking ended in an instant—replaced by the distant crack of spell from somewhere deeper down the train.
He took a step forward, eyes sweeping across the stunned students. "Help the wounded. Get them inside the compartments. I'll look for Aurors—see what's happening."
A few nodded. Most still looked like they'd been slapped. But motion returned. Daphne guided a girl with a cut forehead into a cabin. Neville knelt beside a limping third-year. The students began to move, clinging to the direction James had given them like a raft in a storm.
Then came the sound.
Footsteps. Heavy. Deliberate. Approaching fast.
James turned sharply.
From the rear of the train—just past the last visible cabin—two figures appeared, striding out of the smoke like wolves from mist.
They wore black travel robes, slightly singed, and silver masks glinting in the corridor's flickering lights. The train rocked slightly, but their steps were balanced.
One of them grabbed a fifth-year boy by the collar, pressing him hard against the compartment door.
"Where is Harry Potter?" the man growled.
The boy, terrified, pointed—straight past James.
The two Death Eaters advanced.
James didn't move. His right hand held his wand low by his thigh. His left dipped slowly into the inner lining of his coat, brushing the smooth surface of a glass marble, swirling with a thick, inky black liquid—his hidden trump card. Dangerous.
He gripped it—then paused.
Eyes. Too many eyes.
Neville was watching. So was Daphne. Half a dozen others peered from between doors or broken glass. This wasn't the place for secrets.
He let go of the marble.
"Not now," he thought. "No lethal spells either. Not with students everywhere."
The Death Eaters kept coming, flanking each other naturally in the narrow corridor, eyes flicking between the compartments.
Then—James struck.
He raised his wand in a blur and fired.
"Expelliarmus!"
The red flash tore down the corridor, but the Death Eaters moved fast. One ducked, the other twisted aside, and the spell shattered a wall sconce behind them.
The taller of the two stopped, standing poised with eerie calm.
"Well, well," he drawled. "Who has the nerve to challenge us?"
Then his gaze locked on James. A flicker of recognition twisted beneath the mask.
"It's him. Dawson."
His partner growled. "Let's get rid of this arrogant little scum."
But James was already on the move.
His knees bent slightly, wand tip angled just beneath eye-level, feet spread shoulder-width—duelist stance. His expression didn't change.
A second spell lashed toward them—this time a silent bolt of light, so quick and sharp it seemed to hum.
The Death Eater leaned to dodge it—
—but it was a feint.
James pivoted on his heel, hand snapping back around in a tight arc. His wand cut a second spell in tight conjunction—a delayed impact hex—which slammed straight into the second Death Eater's chest.
Boom.
The man flew backwards like a puppet with cut strings, crashing through the corridor and hitting the far wall with a sickening thud, his mask cracking.
"You dare! YOU DARE, BOY!" roared the first Death Eater, wand snapping up.
"AVADA KEDAVRA!"
Green fire screamed across the corridor.
James stepped left, just once—not to dodge.
Instead, his wand flashed and the wooden frame of a nearby compartment door liquefied, twisting midair into a thick wooden plank. It sprang into place like a shield.
The Killing Curse hit it dead-center. The plank exploded in a shower of burning splinters, raining fire across the hall.
James ducked under it, rolling low as another jet of blue light sizzled past his head.
The Death Eater was relentless, advancing with heavy footfalls, firing spell after spell—Cutting Charms, Blasting Curses, things not even taught at Hogwarts.
James blocked one. Sidestepped another. But he was backing up—limited by the corridor's narrow width and the closed compartments behind him.
A flash of movement behind him. A compartment door burst open.
Harry.
His eyes burned with fury. "Bombarda!"
A concussive blast roared from his wand.
The Death Eater barely had time to flinch. The spell caught him in the side, hurling him back like a rag doll into the wall, where he slid to the floor, stunned and smoking.
"Are you alright?" Harry asked, stepping forward beside James, wand raised.
James didn't answer.
His eyes had already shifted—because the first Death Eater was rising.
His mask was cracked, robes scorched, but the man's rage burned hotter than any curse.
He raised his wand.
So did James.
They fired simultaneously.
Red and violet collided midair in a blinding surge of sparks, the force blasting the air from the corridor like a pressure wave. Both stumbled, boots sliding on the scorched floor.
James didn't hesitate. "Harry! Stop gawking and cast!"
Harry blinked, nodded, and fired.
"Stupefy!"
The Death Eater turned to dodge harry and just in time to see the purple flash crash into his chest. He froze—eyes wide—as the spell surged through him, his limbs locking stiff.
He dropped like a stone, crashing beside the second man who still hadn't moved.
The corridor fell still again.
James exhaled, the tension finally leaving his shoulders. His wand lowered .
Harry leaned against the wall, panting slightly. "Next time," he muttered, "warn me if you're about to get murdered."
James gave a ghost of a smile. "Next time, stay in the bloody compartment."