The next day, Hermione and Ernie brought the collected information to Charlie.
Both of them looked exhausted.
"This is all there is," Hermione said, placing a stack of parchment on the table.
"Information on Dementors is pitifully scarce; almost no one is willing to get close to them."
Ernie also nodded.
"I've searched through every book I could find, and this is all the information there is about Dementors."
Charlie took the documents and flipped through a few pages.
"You worked hard."
After they left, Charlie returned to his dormitory and locked the door.
He took out the silver square box from under his bed and placed it on the table.
A faint rustling sound came from inside the box, as if something was struggling.
Charlie didn't rush to open the box; instead, he first spread out the documents.
The handwriting on the parchment was neat, but the content was fragmented.
Dementors feed on human happiness. When people approach them, their worst memories resurface, gradually causing them to lose the ability to feel joy. In severe cases, even their thoughts begin to blur, eventually leading to complete madness.
They can communicate with humans, but they rarely do so.
Charlie paused when he read this.
This was easy to understand.
Humans are just food in the eyes of Dementors; who would bother chatting with a loaf of bread?
He continued reading.
The origin of Dementors can be traced back to the 15th century. They first appeared on a small island in the North Sea, which later became known as Azkaban.
The island was home to a Wizard obsessed with Dark Arts named Ekrizdis.
This madman lured passing sailors to the island, then used Dementors as weapons to torment those poor Muggles.
It is widely believed that he created these terrifying creatures.
Charlie frowned.
Dementors were actually man-made?
Charlie drew his wand and softly chanted, "Expecto Patronum."
A silver light surged from the tip of his wand, condensing into a small dragon that coiled on his shoulder.
Charlie reached out and opened the silver square box.
A cloud of black mist floated out of the box, slowly expanding in the air.
Tattered cloaks, decaying hands, and bottomless hoods—the Dementor reappeared in its complete form.
As soon as it formed, it instinctively recoiled, trying to distance itself from Charlie's Patronus.
Charlie patted the little dragon's head.
"Go."
The silver dragon soared into the air, opened its mouth, and pounced on the Dementor.
The Dementor let out a piercing shriek, trying to escape. But the dormitory space was too small; it had nowhere to hide.
The silver dragon bit into the Dementor's cloak and pulled hard.
The Dementor's body was instantly torn in half, and black mist splattered everywhere.
Charlie narrowed his eyes, observing carefully.
The black mist swirled in the air for a few seconds, then re-gathered, and the Dementor returned to its original state.
Charlie raised an eyebrow.
"Again."
The silver dragon pounced again, this time tearing the Dementor directly into shreds.
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