Chapter 246: The Lost Dementor
Ten in the morning, Hogwarts Express.
This train, absent for two months, had been cleaned, its bright red exterior paint gleaming like new. Harry and the others had too much luggage to carry, Hermione and Ron had been arguing about their pets the whole way, delaying them and making them late to board.
Mrs. Weasley kissed each child goodbye, then watched them go with a pair of moist eyes.
“We wasted too much time on the road; now even seats are hard to find,” Harry complained inwardly.
They walked along the corridor toward the rear carriages. The front carriages were full; occasionally familiar faces waved, and some invited them to squeeze in together. Harry forced a smile to respond to his classmates’ greetings.
Then they walked all the way to the last carriage, where in the final compartment they saw a strange adult wizard.
The strange wizard wore an extremely shabby wizard’s robe, patched in several places, with a pale, gaunt face that looked utterly exhausted. He seemed fairly young, but his light brown hair was already streaked with gray.
“Professor R.J. Lupin,” Hermione said, slightly surprised.
“You know him?”
“It’s written on the trunk.” Hermione pointed to the small trunk on the luggage rack; a few small letters were printed in the corner, already peeling off. “The new Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor. I hope he can break the curse and stay on successfully.”
The three sat down quietly in the empty seats, placing their luggage and pet cages on the rack one by one. Ron deliberately stayed away from the willow basket where Crookshanks was sleeping, observing Professor Lupin in the seat while whispering among themselves.
Their time together at the Leaky Cauldron had been too short, with parents nearby, so some things couldn’t be discussed conveniently. All three had a lot to say, even feeling impatient about it.
Ron’s trip to Egypt had been thrilling; ancient Egyptian wizards had once created brilliant magic. Hermione’s trip to Paris had been equally exciting, involving Purifiers and New Salem cultists; her adopted little sister turned out to be an Obscurus.
Harry, who had stayed in London the whole summer vacation, also had experiences to share: inflating relatives at the Dursley’s home, riding the Knight Bus to tour London, and finally staying at the Leaky Cauldron. Last night he had even overheard Mr. Weasley and Mrs. Weasley’s conversation.
Ron’s eyes widened in shock. “You mean all those patrons at the Leaky Cauldron last night were Aurors disguised by the Ministry? My dad took a mission too, so he could commandeer a Ministry car?”
“Remember that purple Death Omen book we saw at Flourish and Blotts?”
Harry touched the train seat, feeling safe as soon as he sat on the Hogwarts Express. “It said a black dog is a death omen. I’ve seen black dogs several times these days; it always makes me feel uneasy inside.”
Seeing Harry still a bit scared, Hermione shrugged. “I heard the shop assistant mention that book. It’s like a medical textbook—after reading it, you think death is everywhere, but it’s all psychological, scaring yourself.”
“Is that so?”
Harry scratched his head and sighed.
The witch pushing the food trolley began calling out along the corridor. They bought some scones and hot pumpkin juice, eating snacks and drinking pumpkin juice while chatting about less thrilling but equally interesting matters.
The Hogwarts Express steadily headed north. The scenery outside the window grew greener, the sky darker. It had been sunny when they left London, not yet lunchtime, but thick clouds now blanketed the sky.
In the afternoon, drizzle began. The hills beside the tracks blurred, the window glass showing a thick, sticky gray. Dense clouds and fog swallowed all daylight; small lights in the corridor and on the luggage rack gradually lit up.
The train rocked, the backward-flying mountain scenery outside slowing. Brakes and tracks screeched harshly.
“Have we arrived?” Ron asked, craning his neck.
Hermione checked her wristwatch. “Impossible. It’s not even four o’clock yet.”
“Then why did it stop?”
“I’ll go check…”
Harry, sitting by the door, stood to look into the corridor. Heads poked out from compartments, chattering in discussion; the train was in chaos.
“Why so noisy up front? There are girls screaming too—I think I heard Ginny’s voice?”
A deafening bang shook the entire train. Glass windows rattled, luggage fell from racks, all lights flickered and went out, darkness falling.
“Did the train hit something?” Harry grabbed the compartment door handle. “Ron, Hermione, are you okay?”
“Quiet.” A steady voice came from inside the compartment.
A soft popping sound rang out, followed by a trembling flame that lit up several feet around. Harry turned; Professor Lupin, inside, had woken at some point, holding his wand. The firelight illuminated his tired face.
The professor drew a breath. “Stay where you are and don’t move.”
Harry followed his gaze to the corridor outside the compartment; his pupils suddenly dilated. The moment he saw that figure, a piercing chill swept over him.
It was a cloaked monster, nearly reaching the carriage ceiling, its face hidden in the hood. One hand extended from the cloak, emitting a faint cold glow, like a specimen soaked in Snape’s office—gray and emaciated, a corpse wrinkled from water but still moving.
The monster inhaled deeply, like an elderly person struggling at death’s door—slow, prolonged, and trembling.
Harry felt his head spin, breath caught in his chest, bone-chilling cold engulfing body and mind. His pupils rapidly dilated, the pull dragging his consciousness into darkness.
In the instant he collapsed unconscious, his gaze caught a glimpse outside the window—a fleeting picture that became his last memory.
No longer the pitch-black rain curtain; a Pegasus soared in midair, black scales gleaming faintly over its skeletal wings, its horse-head eyes indifferent.
On the saddle on its back, the young professor quietly held the reins.
The storm clouds were dense black as ink; the pouring raindrops parted around the professor’s airspace, as if afraid to soil a god’s robe, sliding along some transparent spherical outline.
……
The Express Train stopped at the tunnel entrance, ahead a deep dark cave. Headlights and windows were dim and lightless; only faint firelight flickered in the last carriage.
A silver light flashed and vanished; a wolf Patronus slammed the Dementor flying out of the carriage.
“Patronus Charm.”
Melvin murmured softly; he guessed who had cast this spell.
At this time, the Express Train was stopped at the Inverness border, not yet in the Scottish Highlands. This area was originally not on the Dementors’ patrol route, but the rainy weather intensified the cold fog’s spread, enhancing the Dementors’ senses. The happy emotions from the little wizards chatting permeated the fog, drawing over the Dementor from the patrol squad.
Thick fog obscured vision, rainwater washed away traces; even if this lone Dementor mysteriously vanished, the Ministry of Magic would find no clues.
Melvin tugged the reins and signaled to the Thestral beneath him.
The Thestral understood, flapped its wings, and chased after the fleeing Dementor.
