The round otter floated in the air, emitting a silvery-white glimmer. Its limbs paddled lightly. Although it was in mid-air, ripples spread around it, and the shimmering silver light enveloped the Dementor.
The Dementor, having not eaten for a long time and separated from its group, was imprisoned in place.
Hermione fought back her exhaustion and looked again at the skeletal, lean creature under the hood, especially those hollow eye sockets. Legilimency had to rely on eye contact to activate.
"Legilimens..."
The young witch chanted the spell silently in her heart, concentrating on the gaze. Magic wrapped around her consciousness, flowing along her line of sight like invisible tentacles reaching into another dimension, finally disappearing into the Dementor's eye sockets.
Candlelight shone into the Dementor's hollow eye sockets, revealing only two patches of grayish-white shadow with faint, elusive light floating within.
Hermione's body trembled slightly. The Dementor's face surfaced in her mind, its skin glowing with a weak white light, exuding a cold, hard chill.
"I heard there are true natural Legilimens who can peek into others' hearts without any spells or wands."
Hermione was obviously not a wizard with Legilimency talent. She had tried repeatedly before, but so far hadn't captured any useful emotions. She had seen the gaze of true Legilimency masters: Professor Levent, Professor Snape, and Headmaster Dumbledore...
That gaze was extremely penetrating, able to read the other person's heart from a momentary meeting of eyes.
She could only repeat this process over and over, trying to capture some subtle changes and interpret them.
Hermione's consciousness entered the Dementor's head along with the magic of Legilimency, going deeper and deeper, as if trying to probe into the depths of that hollow soul.
Her perception traveled through the Dementor's cloak, leaving traces of magic where it passed.
Hermione opened her eyes, a nearly transparent silver light flowing in their depths. She probed the Dementor with magical perception. In her perception, the Dementor was a soulless, lifeless shell. That nearly Inferi-like shell emitted weak and ominous magic.
The little snake on the table raised its head, flicking its tongue. Yurm felt Hermione's magic becoming scattered, and the speed of travel slowed down rapidly.
This was due to relaxed consciousness and drowsiness attacking the mind.
The young witch's face became serene, her lively eyes drooped slightly. The otter swimming beside her became lazy, its paddling movements slower and slower, its silver-glowing body dimmer and dimmer, finally turning into shattered silver light that fell on the ground and disappeared.
Just as she was about to fall asleep, a chill suddenly erupted, and magic swept back against the current.
Hermione shuddered. The drowsiness attacking her heart vanished instantly. Her body reacted faster than her consciousness, subconsciously waving her wand:
"Expecto Patro..."
But the Dementor had broken free and was right in front of her. Hermione watched helplessly as the Dementor's mouthparts moved, taking a deep breath, long and slow, trembling slightly, as if trying to suck the air in the room dry.
Hermione couldn't complete the incantation. The intense cold made her teeth chatter. Dizziness like low blood sugar struck, and her consciousness gradually sank into the gray-white fog.
The young witch's remaining consciousness groaned: "Oops, the Professor is too irresponsible..."
Just as she was about to fall into a coma, the Horned Serpent on the table suddenly moved!
The coiled Yurm shot forward violently. Its tail, gleaming with a ghostly light, raised abruptly. The gray-white scales whistled through the air, whipping out viciously like a thin lash.
A small snake clearly only slightly thicker than a finger, yet when it whipped its tail, it actually produced a sonic boom, smashing onto the Dementor's head with a thwack.
The sounds of tearing fabric and shattering bone rang out simultaneously, crisp and pleasing. The Dementor was preparing to enjoy a long-lost delicacy impatiently, so it didn't have time to react at all before being whipped away by the snake's tail. The entire Dementor slammed into the wall like a broken sack, almost embedded in it.
Hermione blinked, looking bewildered.
So Yurm was the teaching assistant left by the Professor? She totally didn't expect that!
The sudden accident was like being called on in class, waking the young witch from her drowsy state. She gripped her wand tightly and summoned her Patronus again, slowly approaching the Dementor embedded in the wall. That pale, shriveled shell didn't look so gloomy under the candlelight anymore.
While remaining vigilant, she observed the Dementor's state.
These dark creatures were different from ghosts. They had tangible bodies but were lighter than all known magical materials. Without wings or flight magic, they could make their bodies drift with the wind just by agitating the white fog around them.
Such a light, soft yet tough shell made them immune to physical attacks like sword slashes and unaffected by magic like fire spells and cutting curses. Only the Patronus Charm could harm them.
It was such a peculiar existence, yet it was whipped by Yurm's tail until it couldn't get up.
Hermione extended her magical perception again. She didn't immediately go deep inside through the eye sockets but hovered at the edge. She clearly felt some white fog rapidly draining from this Dementor. Its breathing seemed to become weak, and the heaving arc of its mouthparts was imperceptible.
The faint light in the nearly skeletal eye sockets grew dimmer.
For some reason, Hermione felt her Legilimency was working. She sensed some emotions from the Dementor, understandable emotions.
"It feels... wronged right now?" Hermione didn't know whether to laugh or cry.
...
The waves outside came and went.
In the break room of the fortress at the heart of the Azkaban island, the young witch, still shaken, held her teacup and took small sips of warm pumpkin juice. A small snake was coiled in front of her.
In the opposite corner of the room, a faint cloud of white fog lingered. The heavily injured Dementor showed a state never seen before, like it was dying or healing itself. Its cloak was torn into rags, barely hanging onto its Inferi-like shell.
Hermione carefully recalled her insights from Legilimency, but the harvest was sparse, and progress was worrying. It was her first contact with such magic, and the practice subject was a non-human creature.
The Professor was still grazing outside and hadn't returned.
Hermione narrated that paper about Azkaban to Yurm, comparing the content in the paper with the scenes she saw in reality. Sirius had escaped a year ago, turning into a black dog and swimming across the entire North Sea. Peter Pettigrew had escaped a few weeks ago, his whereabouts still unknown.
"The Professor seems to know a lot of secrets but always hides them from us, letting us investigate ourselves, or only telling us when he can't hide it anymore."
Hermione chattered to the little snake in front of her: "Yurm, you are also a Horned Serpent. Can you see emotions? Did you Horned Serpents sign some contract with Professor Levent to protect each other, just like the phoenix and Dumbledore..."
"Are Horned Serpents also related to Slytherin? You live in Mount Greylock, and Slytherin's descendant Isolt Sayre left that wand there. Professor Levent has Slytherin's mark on his ring..."
The little snake's eyes were round, revealing no expression, unknown if it understood.
Hermione snickered twice: "I noticed it in my first year. On my birthday that day, the Professor gave me candy. I didn't know about the Undetectable Extension Charm then and thought that ring was some magical item. But it turned into your snake nest on the spot."
Yurm's tail wagged occasionally, listening to the young witch's chatter indifferently.
She was curious about the origin between the Horned Serpent and Melvin, curious about the story of Voldemort's parents, curious about the state of Dementors.
Yurm yawned lazily, narrowing its eyes at Hermione. Seeing she was going to continue, the little snake was somewhat troubled.
Thinking for a moment, Yurm turned back and grabbed a loose scale at its tail, pulled it, and tore it off without much effort, handing it to the dumbfounded young witch.
"This..." Hermione was shocked.
Yurm wagged its tail indifferently.
It doesn't matter. Snake scales during the shedding period were going to fall off anyway.
...
"Do you know that professors wandering at night without permission is also a violation of school rules?" Professor McGonagall said seriously.
The round glasses on Trelawney's face were askew as she leaned dejectedly against the corner of the sixth-floor staircase. Aberforth stood with his back straight against the wall, his posture and expression looking stiff, his brain spinning fast.
Aberforth hadn't expected to run into Professor McGonagall coming downstairs before he could trick the guide into leading the way. He was somewhat at a loss: "M... Minerva, Sybill, she..."
Professor McGonagall walked closer, glanced at him quickly without speaking, and came to Trelawney.
The strong smell of alcohol hit her nose. The fastidious Deputy Headmistress frowned in disgust.
Trelawney noticed the change in her eyes and felt wronged immediately: "Oh, Minerva, I know, you've always wanted to drive me away. You also want to cancel Divination class and give the hours to Melvin's Muggle Studies."
"..." Professor McGonagall pursed her lips tight, looking at her faintly.
"You can't do this. I've been teaching at Hogwarts for more than ten years. This is like my home!" Perhaps under the influence of alcohol, Trelawney was delirious and revealed her true feelings, her voice somewhat choked.
Professor McGonagall's lips pursed even tighter. After a moment of silence, she pulled a handkerchief from her sleeve: "Alright, Sybill, I never said that, and none of us ever thought that. Especially Melvin, he already thinks there are too many current courses."
"Oh, really, Professor McGonagall?"
"I can swear I'm not lying."
"Heh..." Trelawney let out a delighted laugh, took the handkerchief, and blew her nose hard.
Professor McGonagall turned her head away in disgust, unable to watch: "Go back and have a good sleep. Think about how to make the class more interesting instead of showing off those charlatan tricks, scaring students, and getting fooled on homework and exams!"
"Oh..." Trelawney nodded obediently and left clutching the handkerchief.
Professor McGonagall turned around, gave Aberforth a complex look, and glanced at the stairs: "Let's go. We're going to the Headmaster's office. You need to have a good talk."
Aberforth froze, realizing she was speaking to him.
She didn't seem to see through his disguise?
He saw the witch start climbing the stairs without waiting for a response. He remembered the tavern patrons' evaluation of the Transfiguration professor: strict but kind, the true pillar of Hogwarts.
Following behind the Deputy Headmistress, the stairs under his feet seemed to become docile. Wherever they walked, a rotating staircase happened to meet them, sending them to the next platform. The connection was seamless, without time-wasting waits or worrying about rotation patterns.
While the stairs rotated, Aberforth looked around and suddenly realized it was a fine night. The bright full moon rose above the clouds, casting light obliquely through the castle windows, projecting water-like shadows on the corridor. The entire castle was quiet.
But it was too quiet here.
As a tavern owner, Aberforth was used to the noise of the tavern. Such a castle, such high towers, and strange stairs—he only found it silent and empty, like a prison.
"Easter holidays are over. Sent out Easter eggs and candies, and have to start preparing Christmas gifts again. Centenarian wizards live long, know many friends, and need to prepare many gifts." Professor McGonagall was slightly ahead, only the back of her head visible. It was late at night, yet her bun was still meticulous, just mixed with some gray.
"Me?"
Aberforth thought his disguise hadn't been seen through and couldn't help feeling a bit smug. He nodded and put on a deep voice: "I know."
"..."
Professor McGonagall turned from one staircase to another, looking back at him with a complex and incomprehensible meaning in her eyes: "Every year when talking about Christmas gifts, the Headmaster always says jokingly that he wants warm wool socks, not various obscure and profound books."
"Ah, oh, really?"
"We colleagues have heard it many times and kept it in mind. We have all given wool socks and sweaters before. The Headmaster always looked happy, but we could all feel that he wasn't actually that happy. We guessed the pattern was wrong, or the knitting stitches were wrong..."
Aberforth's mind raced, thinking about the meaning of these words.
Like small talk, but also like some hint, and the tone was weird... Did she really not see through this disguise?
"Later we all figured it out. It wasn't that the wool socks were wrong; it was that the person giving the wool socks was wrong."
Unknowingly, they had arrived at the eighth floor. Turning right at the fork and passing through the corridor, they came to two stone gargoyles. Professor McGonagall stopped and looked straight into those bright blue eyes: "Mr. Aberforth Dumbledore, I think you should have a good talk. Albus, he..."
Professor McGonagall opened her mouth but stopped: "We just finished discussing financial matters ten minutes ago. He hasn't slept yet. You can think about it properly, think clearly before going in."
"Okay... Minerva."
So I was discovered from the beginning.
Aberforth answered hastily, recalling those self-righteous concealments on the way, his old face feeling hot for no reason.
Watching her back disappear behind the corner, Aberforth looked back at this office. The large door carved from oak, two stone gargoyles in front, the style nondescript, without the luxurious gold and diamonds he had imagined.
At the door, just a hand raise away from knocking, Aberforth suddenly hesitated.