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Outside the Hogwarts castle.
The night wind howled; the thin moonlight was completely swallowed by thick, black clouds.
Ron and Neville sat limply on the ground.
They had just watched Snape vanish into the direction of the Forbidden Forest, dragging Hermione by the collar, and for a fleeting moment, they actually felt relieved.
However… Their legs soon began trembling uncontrollably again.
Even worse than when they'd been facing Snape earlier.
And honestly, who could blame them? Terrifying as Snape was, at least he was still a professor of Hogwarts.
Ron had always had a vivid imagination, but even so, when it came to Snape, fear was as far as it went. Now, though… both he and Neville were filled with pure, undiluted terror.
One hundred percent fear.
Most wizards would have reacted the same way.
The damp night breeze carried with it the stench of rotting leaves, sweeping past their feet. Suddenly, a piercing shriek split through the night… like countless tormented souls crying out in agony all at once.
A shadow wrapped in dark, swirling mist floated around the corner of a tower. A suffocating wave of cold and absolute despair rolled toward them, its hollow eye sockets radiating an unspeakable dread.
It was a Dementor!
Its entire body was covered in skin that looked like it had been soaked and rotted in water; its scabbed, skeletal hands extended forward. It floated more than three meters off the ground, faceless save for a gaping, lipless hole… the "mouth" that devoured souls.
Just its appearance alone was enough to make one's blood run cold.
And that wasn't even the worst of it.
Among all magical creatures in the wizarding world, none inspired fear quite like the Dementor. They typically moved in groups, and wherever they passed, the air would grow cold and damp. Even Muggles could sense the invisible aura of despair that surrounded them.
Wizards were no different.
There was no escape from it.
The truth was… most wizards simply didn't have the means to fight a Dementor. In fact, the majority were completely defenseless against them.
After all… What many didn't realize was that the Patronus Charm was an exceptionally advanced piece of magic. Not every wizard was lucky enough to learn it, and even those who could perform it often failed under pressure.
Casting a Patronus required powerful, happy memories. But when a Dementor appeared, its very presence drained those memories away, making it exponentially harder to summon the needed emotions.
A Dementor forced its target to relive their most painful memories. When Harry had first faced one, he'd heard his mother's dying screams… it was nearly impossible to cast the charm under such torment.
That was why… Even wizards who had mastered the Patronus Charm often failed to perform it effectively in a Dementor's presence. This was also why courage mattered so much when facing one of these creatures.
Of course… Whether they had courage or not didn't change a thing.
Neither Neville nor Ron had any means of fighting back.
After all, they were both just first-year wizards.
Even Hermione, if she'd been there, could have only told them the theory of how to resist a Dementor… not actually performed the spell herself.
Not every first-year was like Ian. Even Dumbledore, if he had faced a Dementor as a student, would likely have been powerless. As for Riddle… he couldn't cast a Patronus at all… he was born with a weakness against them.
"How is that even possible!"
After Neville pointed out the direction, Ron finally caught sight of the terrifying figure. His body went rigid, and Neville was trembling so violently his teeth were chattering they sounded like castanets.
"D-D-Dementor!"
Neville's words came out broken and breathless, each syllable leaking through clenched teeth.
At his feet, his "loyal" pet toad, Trevor, was nowhere to be seen.
Not that anyone could blame it.
After everything that had happened tonight, the fact that Trevor had only now decided to bolt was already proof of its remarkable, if belated, loyalty to Neville.
"Merlin's beard! How could there be a Dementor at Hogwarts?!" Ron scrambled backward, half rolling, half crawling, retreating several feet in panic. The hem of his robe snagged on a clump of plants, but he didn't even notice.
Poor Ron.
He'd already been wearing his older brothers' hand-me-down robes, and now those tattered robes had gained yet another rip. But right now, he couldn't care less about that.
"Neville…" Ron's voice trembled. "D-do you feel… suddenly really cold?"
He clutched his robe tightly around himself.
Cold though it was… a chill of sweat still seeped down his back, soaking his shirt, the damp fabric sticking uncomfortably to his spine. His breathing came fast and ragged, as if every breath he took turned to shards of ice in his lungs.
"I… I thought it was just me! It's freezing!" Neville was already crying, his face streaked with tears and snot. "My grandmother said… if a Dementor catches you… it'll eat your soul!"
"We're gonna die horribly!" Neville wailed, clearly not understanding much about Dementors. Perhaps his family had once used the idea of them to frighten him into obedience.
Just like Muggle parents sometimes scare their naughty children with stories of imaginary monsters, wizarding families often did the same...except the difference was, in the wizarding world, those "monsters" were real.
Of course, not every detail was accurate. For instance, the idea that Dementors literally devoured souls was mostly a misunderstanding passed down from older generations of wizards.
Because Dementors drained every ounce of happiness from their victims...leaving them like hollow shells...people in the past had assumed this meant the loss of the soul.
However… as wizarding knowledge advanced… it became known that Dementors didn't feed on souls at all, but on the surrounding joy and positive emotions, leaving their victims paralyzed by despair.
"No way… we can't just sit here waiting to die! We have to run!" Ron croaked, his voice high-pitched and frantic like a cat with its tail stepped on. He sprang to his feet and bolted toward the castle gates.
"Run, Neville!"
He shouted so hard his throat burned. Dry branches and dead leaves crunched loudly underfoot, snapping and crackling, jolting Neville… who had been frozen in sheer panic, thinking only, we're doomed, we're doomed… back to life.
"W-wait for me!" Neville yelped, stumbling after him.
His heart was pounding so hard it felt like it would leap out of his throat.
Their frantic footsteps echoed through the empty courtyard… but beneath that sound came another: the chilling, metallic clatter of chains dragging across stone.
When they glanced back, they saw the Dementor pursuing them, its rotting hands outstretched, reaching through the darkness.
Under its hood, the black mist churned like boiling tar.
"Quick… think of something!" Ron gasped, fumbling for his wand as he ran… only to realize the pocket had been torn wide open. His old, battered wand was gone, probably dropped back where they had first started running.
Should he go back for it?
The thought flickered through his mind. That wand was his most precious possession… the only thing in his life that was truly his.
(To Be Continued…)