Chapter 219. Ferocious
After Adrian Wesson said this, the corridor fell silent again.
Harry's expression grew grave. He knew exactly what the Dementors were—utterly evil beings.
He turned to his two companions.
Hermione had already lifted her head from her book, and Ron was looking at him curiously.
"What did you hear?" Hermione asked.
"Dementors," Harry replied succinctly. "People outside were saying the Dementors will pass along the corridor."
"Dementors?"
"Dementors!"
They cried out at the same time.
"What are those?" Ron sounded puzzled.
"A kind of monster that sucks away a person's happiness. Once you come into contact with one, your happiness vanishes at once," Harry explained. "Remember how Hagrid was taken away by the Ministry of Magic last term? He was sent to Azkaban. That place is full of Dementors, used to torment the prisoners inside."
Ron gave a shudder. He certainly knew about Azkaban.
It was the most infamous, and most perilous, prison in the wizarding world—the very place Sirius Black had escaped from.
"So what are they doing here?" he asked.
"Isn't it obvious?" Hermione set her book aside. "They must be here to take that criminal called Black back."
"But," Ron scratched his head in confusion, "he's already escaped from Azkaban—would he still be afraid of the Dementors?"
"That's for the Ministry of Magic to consider," Hermione said, shaking her head. "We'll just stay put right here. Professor Wesson just said not to wander about outside. We're safe inside the compartment."
Listening to Hermione, Harry nodded to himself.
Even so, a sense of foreboding kept circling in his mind.
After a while, faint strange noises came from the corridor outside, like the rustle of robes.
"I feel a bit cold," Ron said, hunching his shoulders as he looked at the fine rain outside the window.
"Me too," Hermione agreed.
In fact, Harry felt it as well. The temperature inside the compartment seemed to have dropped all at once.
No doubt there was something drifting about in the corridor outside.
Fortunately, they wouldn't suddenly burst into the compartment.
"Squeak… eek…"
Just then, the rat Scabbers in Ron's pocket suddenly started making a fuss.
In the blink of an eye it leapt onto the table and dived headfirst into the box of Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans.
"What's wrong, Scabbers?" Ron jumped, hurriedly scooping his rat out of the jelly bean box and cupping it in his hands, gently stroking it.
But no matter how he tried to soothe it, Scabbers only curled into a ball and kept trembling.
"You should take him to see a doctor," Hermione said. "Crookshanks isn't here now, so you can't blame my cat this time."
"Scabbers doesn't like strangers getting close," Ron said, face full of worry. "I took him to a pet hospital once, but he bit the doctor. And the doctor said he was healthy—just a bit old."
"How old is he?" Hermione asked.
"Not sure," Ron shook his head. "But Percy took him to school from the start."
"A normal rat can't live that long," Hermione said, a little surprised. "He must be a magical rat, or carry some magical creature blood—like my Crookshanks, who has some Kneazle ancestry."
"Stop showing off about your cat."
Ron stroked Scabbers' head.
Even so, Scabbers only curled up tighter.
"Creak."
At that moment, their compartment door rattled.
The three inside stopped what they were doing and looked at one another.
Clearly, no one ought to be coming by at this time.
"Who is it?"
Harry called out loudly.
No one answered from outside.
Just as the three let out a breath, thinking they must have misheard, the door was yanked open.
A figure cloaked head to toe in heavy black robes stood in the doorway.
The three froze. They didn't know this person; he was clearly not a Hogwarts professor.
"Who are you?" Harry demanded.
The stranger turned aside in silence and made a gesture.
Harry saw a black, shadowy thing drift in.
He had never seen one before, but he could guess—this had to be a Dementor from Azkaban.
For with every inch the black thing drew closer, Harry felt his heart squeezed tighter.
He glanced at Ron and Hermione. Ron's face had turned ashen; Hermione's fingers were clamped hard around the edge of her seat.
At last the thing floated into the compartment. A withered hand showed faintly beneath its tattered cloak, and an asphyxiating chill spread through the air.
For a moment, Harry felt he couldn't breathe.
Just then Hermione suddenly stood up and shouted, "Get out!"
But the Dementor ignored her rebuke and pressed even closer to Harry.
Harry felt nightmare sounds beginning to echo in his ears—the shatter of glass, a woman's screams…
At that moment—
"That is not in accordance with regulations, sir."
A gentle, familiar voice reached Harry's ears.
He felt himself recover a little and forced his head up.
What he saw startled him.
Professor Wesson had appeared in the doorway at some point, his slender fingers lightly pinching the Dementor by the "scruff of its neck," and, as if it were a disobedient cat, he hauled it out.
"Look after Harry," he said to Hermione. "I'll be back in a moment."
Hermione nodded woodenly.
As the compartment door shut, the three of them collapsed back onto their seats.
Out in the corridor, Wesson held the struggling Dementor in one hand while neatening his rumpled cuff with the other.
The Dementor's cloak flapped in mid-air. It seemed to want to struggle, but when Wesson's fingers tightened slightly, it went rigid at once, as if crushed by some invisible force.
Seeing this, Wesson felt a touch of relief—ever since he had received those mysterious energies from the Tree of Wisdom,
Dementors could no longer harm him.
Those powers seemed innately to counter Dementors.
Like the one before him now—it dared not move at all in his grasp.
With that seen to, Wesson narrowed his eyes at the Azkaban guard beside him, speaking mildly. "Now then, sir. I believe I told you not to let Dementors near the students' compartments. I require a reasonable explanation."
The Azkaban guard said nothing for a moment, staring fixedly at the Dementor in Wesson's hand,
utterly incredulous.
Plainly, he had never seen such a show of force.
So ferocious.
"Hey, sir," Wesson reminded him again. "Answer my question, or I'll take measures that neither of us wants to see."
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