Chapter 249: Why Is Snape So Mean?
Late at night, Professor of Muggle Studies office.
A crystal lamp hanging from the ceiling, three white porcelain teacups, one living person, one phantom, and a young snake joining in the fun; the three gathered around the walnut wood desk, sitting under the soft lights.
The evening breeze made the window frame tremble slightly, raindrops tapping on the glass, the rhythmic ticking echoing the grandfather clock by the wall; the atmosphere was somewhat eerie, wisps of white steam rising from the porcelain cups, adding a touch of mystery to the office, making the things in the suitcase even stranger.
Sixteen-year-old Riddle sniffed the scent of the tea: “This is truly unexpected. Inviting me to a late-night tea party at Hogwarts. The rare creature Dementor you mentioned last night has been invited over tonight.”
“As the Dark Lord’s most steadfast and reliable ally, do you think I’m the kind of insidious wizard who delays time to extract information from your memories for personal gain? I’m doing this to break into Azkaban and rescue your loyal servants, and I happen to be interested in the magic of Dementors.”
Melvin picked up the porcelain cup and took a sip, speaking candidly to the sixteen-year-old Riddle. “If you can help me quickly find a way to control Dementors and rescue those loyal servants, the Dark Lord’s return won’t be far off.”
“Rather than searching for someone whose whereabouts are unknown… I’d rather place my hopes in myself.” Riddle’s eyes flickered as he secretly observed Melvin’s expression.
“Hiss…”
Yurm was clearly also interested in that prey, slithering on the desk while flicking its tongue.
Melvin took a black suitcase from under the desk and placed it on the table. It was compact in shape, made of copper metal with black cowhide exterior, reinforced with metal fittings at the corners, and the markings proved it was a sealed suitcase produced by the Magical Menagerie.
Completely isolating magic power fluctuations and scents, it had passed through the Scottish Highlands all the way to Hogwarts without other Dementors noticing anything amiss.
Melvin knew exactly what was inside, yet he felt no magic power fluctuations at all, as if it were just an ordinary suitcase.
He took out a brass key, inserted it into the top keyhole, and turned it once. A faint sound of gears turning and the box opening came from inside. The seamless sealed box popped open a thin slit, and cold fog flowed out along the slit, making the office feel like it had plunged into a snowy night.
Melvin lifted the lid and softly called, “Dementor.”
Riddle had only studied it from afar before, and Yurm had never seen one; influenced by the office’s atmosphere, they both stretched their necks to peer in unison.
But there was only cold fog spilling out from the box, like dry ice props used in stage performances—cool and misty, indeed visually striking, but useless.
“Come out and show yourself.” Melvin crooked his finger and lightly knocked on the lid.
The external noise disturbed the Dementor inside. With even colder fog, a figure floated out from the box, wearing a tattered cloak, its grayish-white face hidden under the hood, shriveled skin, a faintly rotten stench, and an indistinct hiss, like a demon returned from hell.
Riddle reached out to touch it. One was an illusory body constructed by Memory-Revealing Potion, the other a special entity built from alien magic power; they passed through each other, only slightly pausing at the point of contact.
“It looks similar to a ghost. Legends say it drains souls and happy memories, immortal and indestructible, but when the living environment doesn’t meet breeding conditions, their population naturally controls itself within certain limits.”
Green light bloomed from Riddle’s fingertip, but as it was just an illusory figure, it had no magical effect on the Dementor.
“It looks like a seaside scarecrow. It’s said that fishermen and farmers in coastal villages also set up doll-like figures similar to scarecrows to drive away birds and guard their drying fields.” Melvin observed quietly.
“Hoo…”
The Dementor seemed to have been cooped up in the box too long, dazed and unresponsive to external sounds.
When Yurm drew near, the Dementor suddenly snapped awake, emitting a shrill, low roar from its throat. The room’s temperature dropped instantly, and a layer of white frost even formed on the outside of the white porcelain teacups.
Dementors don’t rely on sight to detect living beings but on a sense of smell akin to magic power perception. In this room, there was a young snake and a soul fragment emitting a foul odor; only the living being directly ahead gave off an enticing scent.
After all, it was just an incomplete creature born from emotions of despair, with almost no memories; its instincts to seek benefit and avoid harm were flawed. In just a few short hours, it had already forgotten the pain of being captured during the day.
The Dementor took a light inhale and immediately locked onto Melvin’s position. Grayish-white hands hidden in the cloak reached forward, the whooshing inhalation filling the entire room as the air faintly stirred. A strange magic power enveloped Melvin, attempting to drain something.
Melvin frowned slightly and didn’t immediately summon a Patronus. Instead, he tried the method Riddle mentioned for controlling Dementors, but with minimal effect.
【Cruciatus】
【Soul Ejection】
Two Unforgivable Curses in succession sank into the Dementor’s body, only making its movements lag slightly for an instant. The Cruciatus Curse and Imperius Curse had no effect at all, and the spells’ impact force failed to repel the Dementor.
The roaring monster grew even more brazen, even bringing its foul-smelling orifice close to the professor’s face.
Melvin’s eyes sharpened, silver light bursting forth. The powerful impact instantly sent the Dementor flying, crashing into the wall and shaking the crystal chandelier on the ceiling.
The Dementor was about to flee when it suddenly realized the entire room was sealed by silver light. It had become a cage constructed by Patronus light, trapping it in place, barely able to move.
“The malice isn’t pure enough. When casting Unforgivable Curses, you must embrace the resolve to commit unforgivable sins, make enemies wail in agony, make them remember eternally. Even the kindest wizard ascetic, enduring such pain until death, wouldn’t forgive.”
Riddle shook his head. “Since you can still use the Patronus Charm, you can’t unleash the full power of the Unforgivable Curses.”
Melvin showed a thoughtful expression, waving his wand again to cast one final piece of forbidden Dark Magic. Green light flashed and sank into the Dementor’s abdomen, making the monster emit a pained roar, but that was all.
“The Killing Curse doesn’t let enemies feel pain; they should die unaware.” Riddle muttered beside him. Considering his talent in Dark Magic, these critiques were reasonable, though Melvin couldn’t master them in a short time.
Yurm’s eyes widened, having watched demonstrations of three forbidden Dark Magics, each meaning a crime worthy of Azkaban.
At this moment, the Dementor was bound by guardian silver radiance around it. This professor’s office seemed transformed into a grand church, the monster a demon awaiting trial, but the current power couldn’t punish it.
“These monsters were first bred by the evil Dark Wizard Extis on an isolated island in the North Sea. He built a gloomy, sealed fortress on the island, continuously luring Muggle sailors and nearby fishermen there, subjecting them to unimaginable torture, letting them die in despair and pain. The pain twisted those poor souls, despair brewed evil magic power, and Dementors were born from that magic power.”
Melvin lightly tapped the desk, recounting Dementor materials. “In a sense, these creatures’ birth shares similarities with an Obscurus. I even suspect that among the refugees tortured to death back then, there were young wizards whose unstable, highly malleable magic power mutated into this thing.”
“But I think Extis transformed into a Dementor.” Riddle proposed a completely different guess. “Immune to most magic, immune to physical attacks, freed from a heavy, frail body—immortal and indestructible, growing stronger by draining others’ happy emotions and souls. It’s simply another shortcut to conquering death.”
Melvin surprisingly found it somewhat reasonable: “He was also pursuing eternal life and ultimately failed?”
“This is just my guess.” Riddle said softly. “Perhaps he succeeded, but an accident happened. Dementors drain others’ memories and souls, lacking wisdom or independent consciousness. This lesser creature only propagates and survives by instinct, his consciousness extinguished in the conflict between foreign memories and primal drives.”
The office fell quiet, only the ticking of the grandfather clock’s hands remaining.
“True power isn’t just magic, but conquering death and staying sane through a long life. Melvin, when I return from death’s shadow, I can share eternal life’s secret with you.”
Riddle seized the chance to tempt him.
Melvin just nodded: “Of course, aren’t we working toward that? I’ll try if Legilimency can communicate with the Dementor.”
Riddle gave him a deep look and said no more.
Summoning a breeze to lift the cloak and hood, the Dementor’s face was revealed—like a crudely made rag doll, or an inferius bloated and rotten from soaking in water. Its eye sockets were deeply sunken, no eyeballs visible, just two faint points of gray mist; no nose, only two slender hollows; mouth connected to an orifice like an emptied pipe.
Legilimency carried by gaze connected the two magic powers. The wizard’s consciousness probed into the Dementor’s mind—empty brain, soul lighter than a feather, almost nonexistent.
Grayish, dim mist emerged from the depths of the eye sockets, like its hollow soul. Faint, strange magic power was injecting the wizard’s consciousness into its shell.
Melvin’s brow furrowed slightly. He actually found it somewhat strenuous—not the Legilimency itself, but understanding the Dementor’s hollow soul; directing and communicating felt laborious, like a university professor guiding an intellectually disabled toddler.
It was hard to make the other understand ideas far beyond its limits.
“Now recall the feeling of the Imperius Curse and convey your consciousness to it.” Riddle said. “Don’t make instructions too detailed, don’t try to manipulate its body. Command it, like commanding an inferius! Use only commands like attack, hold position, and leave.”
Melvin gave up commands like left or right, transmitting only the attack command, and released the Patronus Charm’s binding.
The Dementor hesitated for an instant, then issued a fierce exhalation from its throat again, charging at the room’s only living being. Before it got close, it was repelled by silver light once more.
Lunge, repel…
This process repeated several times. The Dementor seemed to finally fully discard that command’s influence, establishing the cognition that this wizard was not to be provoked.
Melvin rubbed his brow.
Good news: Dementors could be commanded. Bad news: This Dementor was unbelievably stupid.
Unclear if the Dementor species was all like this or just this one case.
……
Breakfast time, school auditorium.
The four deans, with the help of prefects from each house, distributed paper course schedules. Professor McGonagall walked between the house tables: “Everyone can see the locations of the corresponding subjects on the course schedule. First-year students, arrive at the classroom fifteen minutes early. Third-year students taking electives, if you’re not familiar with the staircases, please set off early too. I hope no one is late or the first to lose house points in the new school year.”
Then she called over a few fifth-year students to explain notes on the advanced classes.
“Divination, Arithmancy, Ancient Runes, Transfiguration, Care of Magical Creatures…”
Hermione carefully checked the course schedule, packed full. Other students in her year had gaps to rest, but she not only had no rest—during the morning elective slot, she had to attend three classes at once.
Actually, Muggle Studies in previous years was also during the elective slot, but Muggle Studies had become essentially mandatory, with the whole year taking it. Professor Levent didn’t want to split into multiple classes, so Professor McGonagall adjusted, allocating a separate time slot for Muggle Studies.
At this point, Ron leaned over to look at that exceptionally dense course schedule, exclaiming in disbelief: “Blimey, three classes at nine! I mean, Hermione, I know you’re brilliant, but no one is that brilliant. How can you attend three classes at once?”
“Don’t be silly, of course I can’t attend three classes at once!”
Hermione glared at him irritably, quietly glancing at Professor McGonagall in the aisle, touching the chain around her neck with a guilty look. “Don’t ask! Pass me the jam!”
Professor McGonagall had emphasized to her that the Time-Turner involved taboo magic. Though not as severe as Unforgivable Curses, it was specially applied for from the Ministry of Magic, and leaking it could lead to serious consequences.
Course schedules distributed, students chattered in discussion. Professors sat at the high table, eating while smiling down at them.
Melvin sat between Lupin and Snape, in an unbelievably clever position: “Remus, did you sleep well last night?”
“Yes, in fact, I haven’t slept in such a comfortable bed for a long time. And the stormy night weather—Hogwarts’s winds are reassuring, perfect for sleep.” Lupin expressed sincere gratitude. “It’s practically blessed by the goddess of luck.”
Last night, thick clouds hid the full moon, so he hadn’t suffered transformation pain.
“It sounds like the students’ first Defence Against the Dark Arts class will have a good start.” Melvin smiled and raised his cup in toast.
“Thank you for the blessing.” Lupin nodded and clinked cups.
“The goddess of luck won’t favor forever.” Snape said coldly beside them. “The Scottish Highlands’ rainy season won’t last long. When the clouds clear, hmph…”
His words cut off abruptly as he lightly glanced at Melvin.
Melvin hesitated—this was hinting at provocation, right? Trying to use ambiguous words to make him suspect Lupin, incite him to investigate Lupin’s werewolf identity, trigger an incident to expose him, just like with the previous two Defence Against the Dark Arts professors.
This Snape was so malicious!
If this continued, he would incite Snape to investigate Wormtail!
