Chapter 163: Bellatrix
Tonks is also an outstanding graduate of Hogwarts, obtaining certificates in multiple subjects, and after graduation smoothly became a trainee Auror, surpassing most wizards her age through various rigorous trainings, having seen many excellent Aurors and Strikers.
Although she had heard that this young professor had outstanding grades, powerful strength, subdued a raging fire dragon and a gang of dark wizards, and received the Order of Merlin, Second Class, she was more inclined to believe that the professor had outsmarted them. Even if his magic level exceeded hers, the gap wouldn’t be too large.
No one expected to see the young professor take action in person in Azkaban.
Tonks looked up at the brilliant silver radiance, gazing at the giant snake Patronus ravaging the Dementors, her expression somewhat dazed. Perhaps feeling the chill permeating the surroundings, the hairs on her body stood on end.
The rat Scabbers in her pocket shrank into a ball in horror. Wasn’t this guy a cunning and ruthless dark wizard? How could he know the Patronus Charm?
Levent does have a good reputation among the students—kind and gentle, things like that—but after the rat Scabbers was rescued and revived, it had always been kept in a glass jar, experiencing various means of coercion and inducement. The Dark Mark had even been branded on Peter.
Peter completely didn’t believe he was an ordinary friendly professor, thinking his ruthlessness and insidiousness even exceeded many Death Eaters. But now, the young professor could easily summon a corporeal Patronus—that was one thing—but that giant snake stirring the silver radiance was clearly not a conventional animal.
In the entire wizarding world, wasn’t Dumbledore the only one whose Patronus was a magical creature? How was this young professor’s Patronus also unique?
The surging light and shadow just now was completely an adult Horned Serpent. Compared to the young snake raised by the young professor, it was larger in size, with longer sharp horns, and even more terrifying in majesty.
The Patronus Charm is a famous defensive spell, said to be ancient magic passed down, a profound magic, and also a symbol reflecting the heart and soul. Most wizards can only summon a blob of silver radiance, and dark wizards are even unable to cast it.
A few wizards can summon corporeal Patronuses, which are basically ordinary animals.
The Dementors in the room fled in panic, leaving only one or two at the skylight.
If the previous Dementors were in an intermediate state between illusion and entity, closer to real monsters, then the current Dementors’ state was more like ghosts without entities, overall semi-transparent, their cloaks seeming somewhat faded and grayish.
Weak and powerless, movements slow, even the chill swirling around them had faded a lot.
Melvin, waving his wand, noticed the Dementors had been dispersed and immediately stopped casting. The endlessly surging silver radiance stagnated for a moment, turning into scattered specks of light that dissipated.
The criminals in the cell were still slumped on the floor. Some wizards with weak wills had already fallen unconscious, some were still twitching, their tattered clothes covered in filth, with a layer of ice formed from condensed cold sweat on top of the filth.
Melvin wanted to say something but didn’t know where to start.
These prisoners were criminals and should be punished.
But treating them as food for the Dementors didn’t seem quite right.
Melvin wasn’t a compassionate witch like Hermione; he just felt a slight melancholy seeing humans become food for monsters with his own eyes, sighed almost imperceptibly, and turned to walk outside:
“Let’s go, we’ll visit the next place.”
“Alright, Professor Levent.” Tonks hurried to catch up.
Walking out of the cell door, Tonks rubbed her arms. The Dementors had stayed too long inside, making the room temperature too low, and stepping out suddenly, she felt a bit unadapted.
“Professor, is your Patronus a magical creature?”
“Horned Serpent, a magical creature from North America.”
Melvin noticed the witch’s curiosity, shook his head and said, “I only summoned a Patronus recently. Before, when I cast the spell, it was just a blob of silver radiance. As for why it’s a Horned Serpent, I still haven’t figured out the principle.”
“I see…” Tonks didn’t pursue further.
Every wizard’s Patronus is unique, usually related to the wizard’s personality and inner mapping. Different Patronuses reflect different emotions, usually ordinary animals like cats and dogs, but history has also seen many unique Patronuses.
A Greek wizard in the Middle Ages had a fire dragon Patronus. Britain once had a Thestral Patronus, and even a mammoth that had gone extinct. The most recent real example is Dumbledore, whose Patronus is a phoenix.
Now there’s another Horned Serpent Patronus, and Tonks felt like she was witnessing a miracle.
“What’s your Patronus?” Melvin suddenly asked.
“A wild rabbit.”
Tonks waved her wand and incanted, summoning a nimble rabbit that ran with trails of silver radiance, its movements extremely swift.
Melvin watched the wild rabbit hop away and disappear from view, his eyes flickering with a faint light as he quietly sorted through some very distant memories.
He wondered if this wild rabbit would turn into a coyote this time.
“Tonks, do you know? Patronuses can actually change. Some scholars believe that the Patronus is a mapping of the soul and heart. When a wizard experiences major changes, or their personality changes…”
The two walked and chatted. Sometimes Melvin spoke, like a Charms professor; sometimes Tonks spoke, introducing Azkaban as the guide.
They continued along the rugged stone path, passing a cemetery. After Tonks’s introduction, Melvin realized it was where prisoners were buried. He glanced at the carved names on some tombstones, recognizing none.
“Some died of illness, some couldn’t endure the Dementors’ torment and committed suicide. Few relatives come to claim the bodies.” Tonks paused, as if recalling something. “A few years ago there was one. Other Aurors said it was Mr. Crouch from the Department of International Magical Cooperation who personally came to claim his son’s body.”
“Death Eater little Barty Crouch?”
“Yes, he was still defiant at the tribunal, but after being locked in Azkaban, he died of illness not long after.”
“…”
Melvin fell somewhat silent.
If he remembered correctly, not long after incarceration, Mrs. Crouch used Polyjuice Potion during a visit to swap identities with little Barty. The one who died in prison was actually the gravely ill Mrs. Crouch.
Azkaban was leaky like a sieve.
Melvin’s expression was odd. He paused, then said again: “Azkaban’s security measures seem a bit lax.”
“As I said, Azkaban doesn’t need high walls or waves. For criminals without wands, Dementors are the best jailers.” Tonks waved her hand. “You’ll see soon enough.”
In the midst of speaking, they had returned to the fortress in the center of the island.
Entering from another door, the corridor furnishings were slightly different. The passage was fairly spacious, like Hogwarts’ underground corridor; the two could walk side by side without crowding. Kerosene lamps were embedded in the walls, their lights barely illuminating the floor.
At the end of the corridor was a pair of black iron double doors, inscribed with “Azkaban,” heavy and cold, just like the jailers stationed here.
“Inside is where the Death Eaters are imprisoned.” Tonks’s voice echoed in the passage.
Pushing open the door, there was a fork in the road ahead. The passages led in different directions, with cells on both sides, laid out much like Hogwarts’ underground classroom—front and back doors, square observation windows cut above, brass nameplates hanging on the doors.
「Anthony Dolohov」
「Augustus Rookwood」
“Trevor, Mosby…”
Melvin scanned the names above, searching for the target of this trip, passing cell after cell, footsteps echoing in the corridor.
「Rodolphus Lestrange」
「Rabastan Lestrange」
「Bellatrix Lestrange」
Melvin stopped, leaning close to the observation window of this door, seeing a bed and table and chairs inside.
A witch lay on the ground, her black hair disheveled, eyelids swollen, cheeks sunken, her severely worn robe hanging on her, appearing somewhat oversized. Her emaciated, withered body couldn’t fill out the originally well-fitted robe.
She looked like a madwoman, prying at the moss on the floor, gathering a small handful, stuffing it into her mouth and chewing slowly, as if savoring some delicacy.
