Chapter 247: I Don’t Eat Dog Meat
The entire mountain range was shrouded in a curtain of rain, with cold mist dispersing. The Dementors’ senses thrived in such weather like fish in water. Almost the instant the Thestrals flapped their wings, the Dementors detected their presence.
The young professor rode a Thestral to approach. The Dementors hovered in mid-air, waiting quietly.
Melvin slowed to a stop. He gripped the reins connected to the Thestral. Wings covered in scales flapped in the storm. His gaze caught a figure standing by the track, and his expression suddenly became somewhat odd.
A gaunt black hound, the stalker on this return journey to school.
Though surprised by Sirius Black’s appearance, Melvin did not abandon his plan to capture the Dementors. Reporting an escaped fugitive to the Ministry of Magic was out of the question.
He continued approaching on the Thestral.
The Dementor sensed hostility and grew annoyed. It had just been repelled from the train, unable to feast on a carriage full of delicious food. Now provoked by a wizard, it only wanted to give this suicidal wizard a fatal deep kiss.
The black ashen monster raised its head. A sound of inhalation came from its throat. The cold mist emanating from its body dispersed, and a soul-sucking pull enveloped them.
Before the Dementor could taste pleasure, a brilliant silver light suddenly flared, like lightning splitting dark clouds or impenetrable darkness illuminated by silver moonlight. The entire world instantly became bright and clear.
The Patronus’s radiant glow lit half the mountainside as bright as day. Every inch of space was filled with silver radiance. The colossal, serpentine Patronus coiled its lower body, lowered its head slightly, and gazed down imperiously. The round silver glow, like a full moon, began emitting vast power.
The Dementor floating in the mist was horrified into stillness. Reason and instinct both issued warnings, but its body was firmly bound in place. The cloak formed of alien magic power fluttered in the wind, its frayed sleeve and hem strips shaking violently as if about to tear.
The gale inflated the hood, revealing half an Inferius-like face. The skull’s eye sockets were deeply sunken, with only two narrow slits for nostrils, no teeth or lips—more like a mouthpart. A tube connected from the throat to the chest, like a vacuum cleaner’s rubber hose.
Silver light illuminated the Dementor. The murky fog in its eye sockets boiled like ice water thrown into magma. The gray-white cold mist swirling around it surged, echoing the silver light spreading from outside.
Melvin gently shook his wand-holding right hand.
The overwhelming silver radiance suddenly contracted. The concentrated light blazed nearly blindingly. The silver moon turned into a scorching sun. The Dementor, immune to ordinary spells, had nowhere to escape. Gray mist continually evaporated from its mouth and nose. Its chest rapidly caved in. Gas rushed out of the mouthpart tube, emitting a near-wailing sound.
The sound of rain and mist evaporating hissed.
Sirius watched the near-miraculous magic in mid-air and suddenly recalled a Muggle movie he had seen. In Muggle imagination, vampires exposed to midsummer sun had their flesh ignited like prime fuel, gradually burning to ashes.
In his memory, Dementors were immortal monsters like vampires, but against such magic, these dark creatures born of despair seemed exceptionally vulnerable.
The downpour continued unabated. The Dementor struggled bitterly under the Patronus Charm. Just as its consciousness was about to fade, it suddenly noticed a gap in the surrounding blaze. A cool, comfortable breath came from below.
Survival instinct drove the remnant body. With almost no thought, it darted through. The Dementor slipped into a pre-set trap like a rat.
The suitcase lid snapped shut. The silver light faded, and the space fell silent.
Scattered dark clouds closed up. Affected by the earlier shock, the rain intensified. The downpour washed away traces between heaven and earth. The stalled Express Train had unknowingly restarted and left the mountain range, officially entering the Scottish Highlands.
Melvin carefully scanned, confirming no Dementor presence nearby on the hills or in mid-air. His magic power sensed no traces. He tugged the Thestral’s reins and landed by the track.
The black hound stood there brazenly. Its fur was soaked, looking like a drowned rat, yet it calmly watched the young wizard approach.
It seemed oblivious to the brilliant magic just now. After all, he was playing an ordinary hound without magic power. With poor eyesight, it couldn’t see Dementors or the overwhelming silver light.
Watching the other dismount, the scale-winged Thestral idly pawed the ground. The young wizard approached with a faint smile.
From chasing the train, its body was covered in rainwater. Hot breath puffed from its mouth and nose. Combined with its gaunt ribs and spine, it gave a wretched, pitiable look. Considering this dog had swum the North Sea, wandered to London, protected Harry from Privet Drive to Diagon Alley, then chased the Express Train to Hogsmeade…
Melvin suddenly admired his perseverance.
“You’re as tenacious as Andy Dufresne.” Melvin stopped a dozen feet from the black hound, looking at the thin dog. A mischievous impulse arose. “Such sturdy dog meat would make a delicious soup.”
This was a dog-eating perverted wizard!
Sirius’s dog eyes widened in shock. Intense panic surged. He immediately wanted to drop the Animagus disguise.
Exposure no longer mattered. Better a live dog than a captured one!
But before he could act, white light spat from Melvin’s wand in his right hand, instantly sinking into the black dog’s body.
“Oh no!”
The Stupefy made his thoughts sluggish. Sirius’s last view was the Thestral’s sharp teeth in its mouth and the young wizard’s odd smile. Then, amid intense panic, he lost consciousness.
Melvin looked down at the collapsed black dog. Its fur was sparse, bald in places. Rain seeped to the roots, dripping as murky muddy water along the hairs.
A stray dog unwashed for years, even over a decade, soaked in the sea for half a month, then wandering the city for a month. Melvin shook his head. He had no intention of Apparating with this black dog.
He pulled out a piece of dragon meat from somewhere and fed it to the Thestral, patting its head:
“Take this dog to Hogsmeade for me. Drop it in some remote alley, then return to Diagon Alley yourself. Got it?”
The Thestral swallowed the meat, nuzzled his arm with its lowered head, and made a low, gentle whinny.
Melvin rubbed its head. “Don’t worry. I’ll Apparate there myself.”
The Thestral relaxed, pawed over to the black dog, lowered its head to grip the taut nape, swung it twice like picking up a chick, spread its wings, and flew toward Hogsmeade.
“Sweet dreams, Sirius Black.”
Melvin watched them depart, smiled faintly. With a ripple in the air, his figure vanished from the world.
…
“Huff… huff…”
Wet hot breath came from behind.
There was also stinging pain. Something sharp was tearing and scraping his nape.
According to Muggle science, hazy consciousness weaves bodily sensations into dreams. Sirius was experiencing this now, though the dream was far from pleasant.
The hot breath was a beast salivating. The nape-tearing was Thestral teeth, and the young wizard’s knives and forks. He felt himself roasting and portioned, skin and flesh peeled back, remaining sinew and meat being devoured.
“Huff… huff…”
The hot breath slowed, pain easing, as if eating had slowed.
Panic intensified in him. That figure had gone to add fuel. After escaping Azkaban through trials, enduring hardships to reach Harry, he thought he could expose Wormtail, avenge James and Lily. Instead, he became food on the dining table.
“Patter patter…”
Wet warm sensation on his face, like basting oil and honey during roasting, occasionally with a foul odor—unclear if his own or some odd spice.
“No, I can’t be eaten like this. Wormtail is still lurking. Harry needs me to save him!” He jolted awake.
The black dog curled in the dim light. The rain had stopped. Its soaked fur had dried, except face and nape. In view was that Thestral, wings folded, standing before him, head lowered inspecting his state.
“Where’s that wizard?”
Sirius immediately looked around. Soft lights lit his eyes. He found himself lying at the door of a roadside old shop. A battered wooden sign hung above, depicting a severed pig’s head with blood soaking the white cloth.
“Hog’s Head Inn?”
Sirius stared blankly at the bar sign, eyes filling with tears.
…
Dusk at Hogwarts.
This was the Great Hall’s most splendid time outside Christmas banquet. Lights blazed, ribbons fluttered. Melvin knew these were leftover warehouse materials. Professor McGonagall loved clearing inventory before term, low cost yet dazzling the hall.
As a professor of two years, Melvin’s return seemed late. Entering the Great Hall, he faced colleagues’ wide-eyed silent reproach.
He was just an elective professor, not a heavily responsible dean.
Melvin silently protested, apologizing verbally while taking his seat at the high table side.
Dumbledore and the four deans were there. Other elective professors had arrived. By past experience, the Express Train would arrive in half an hour.
“Melvin, congratulations on the Order of Merlin. We’ve all heard of your Paris adventure…”
Professor Flitwick spoke first. Other professors followed with congratulations. Everyone knew Paris incident details, as if Paris wizard newspapers circulated worldwide.
Melvin set down his suitcase, smiled helplessly. “I just happened to encounter a Dark Wizard.”
After fielding colleagues’ teasing, chatter returned to normal. Traveling professors shared summer sights. Babbling’s Ancient Runes Yucatan Peninsula trip was most thrilling. Melvin listened while observing the school and colleagues after two months apart.
Everything seemed unchanged. Everyone was the same. Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall discussed school affairs quietly, occasionally mentioning Dementors and escapees.
Normally boisterous Hagrid seemed reserved. He hadn’t worn his mole skin coat but carefully dressed in a navy notched lapel formal wear, combed his messy beard and hair.
Nearby Flitwick and Sprout stifled laughs. “You look great, Hagrid.”
“Oh, thanks. First day of term, wanted to dress formally, leave a good impression on the students.”
Hagrid, excited, nearly overturned the table and chairs rising, face flushing. “The kids should be here. I need to meet the first-year students at the platform.”
“Haha…”
…
“Harry! Harry! Are you okay?” Someone patted his face.
“What? What’s wrong?”
Harry opened his eyes and sat up. The carriage shook slightly. Lights came back on. The train resumed normal. His little friends crowded around. The crisis was over.
His body just felt dreadful. Harry exhaled, relaxing to find himself weak all over, forehead and back chilling, as if covered in fine cold sweat.
Harry shrugged, breath trembling.
“Eat some chocolate. This’ll make you feel better.” Professor Lupin broke off a bar, handing the largest piece to Harry.
Harry ate the chocolate silently. Warmth flowed through him. Weak chill faded. Recalling pre-blackout memory, he stammered, “Just now… I… what was that thing?”
“Dementors, Azkaban guards.”
Professor Lupin distributed remaining chocolate to other students. “Likely a patrol hunting the escapee. They targeted the Express Train in the storm…”
His brow furrowed slightly. He crumpled the wrapper, pocketed it, and headed to the corridor. “I’ll talk to the driver, prevent more trouble. Stay in the carriage and don’t wander.”
Harry watched him vanish down the aisle, feeling the name familiar. Frowning in thought, he recalled Professor Levent mentioning it—his father’s old friend.
Noting the patches on his clothes, Harry scratched his head, sighed. “Can someone tell me what happened?”
“I think you fainted. We just saw you stiffen, fall from your seat, convulse, maybe scream…” Ron still looked scared but recounted his best friend’s embarrassment fluently and clearly. “Then Professor Lupin dealt with the Dementor.”
Ginny and Neville were in the room too. Harry flushed. “Anyone else on the train faint?”
“No, not a one.” Ron was firm.
“Don’t overthink it, Harry.” Hermione explained softly. “Those are Dementors, very dangerous dark creatures. Can’t be killed or destroyed. Ordinary magic doesn’t work on them. Only the Patronus Charm can.”
“Patronus Charm?”
Harry heard the familiar name again. Professor Levent’s handsome, mysterious face appeared. He rubbed his brow in distress.
The school year hadn’t started, yet it already seemed doomed to unrest.
