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The Dementor wanted to present Neville and Ron as new toys for the black-robed skeleton.
It had to be said, the creature had truly grown intelligent.
It had understood a profound truth: letting the little wizards die was far worse than letting itself die. Such cunning was far beyond the mind of any ordinary Dementor. The black-robed skeleton, meanwhile, showed a clear interest in the two trembling boys.
"Good."
The skeletal woman accepted the two little wizards from the Dementor's chilling hands.
No one could say for certain how she intended to "play" with those unlucky souls. But one thing was sure, whatever awaited Neville and Ron, they would never again dare to sneak out for a midnight adventure.
Especially Ron.
Fortunately, there were no witnesses to their humiliation, particularly no Slytherin students lurking nearby. If there had been, Ron's… accident would have spread across the entire Hogwarts by sunrise.
Slytherins loved to gossip about Gryffindor embarrassments. And a Gryffindor wetting his trousers? That would fuel seven full years of taunts about "the courage of the lions." Maybe even longer. It might become legend, a timeless story passed down among generations of Slytherins to mock the Gryffindor House.
From a certain point of view, Ron, with his soaked trousers, had just become the Shame of Gryffindor.
Of course, Ron probably wouldn't care too much.
After all, since the start of the term, he had already created plenty of laughter at his own expense. Sometimes, a joke told often enough dulls the sting, perhaps even turns into a kind of grim acceptance, maybe even enjoyment.
Still, no matter how they tried to rationalize it, the ordeal of this night would surely leave a lasting scar in both Neville's and Ron's hearts.
Maybe, just maybe, this experience would help correct Ron's reckless nature, perhaps even temper his impulsiveness. No one could say whether this night would ultimately help or harm their futures.
In any case, one thing was certain: neither of them would ever want to be a black-robed skeleton's "toy" again.
Meanwhile, Far from Ron and Neville's "adventure," the night deepened like spilled ink.
A thin fog rolled along the edges of the Forbidden Forest, and under the meager moonlight, the trees looked especially monstrous.
Snape strode swiftly through the mist, gripping Hermione's wrist tightly. His black robes billowed behind him like the wings of a bat, no wonder the students had given him that nickname.
His steps were urgent.
In mere moments, he had already dragged Hermione to the outskirts of the Forbidden Forest. Hermione, lacking the long stride and endurance, was gasping for breath, clearly the kind of unathletic, bookish witch who rarely exercised.
"W–wait, wait!"
Hermione felt as though her lungs were about to burst. For a brief second, she found herself missing Ian's magic flying carpets.
Without a word, Snape's wand slid smoothly into his palm. The tip flared with a faint greenish glow, cutting through the dense underbrush ahead. The damp mist coiled like rotting cotton around the spruce branches.
The wandlight glimmered faintly on the spider webs, turning them an eerie silver-green.
"Which direction?" Snape's voice was cold as ice, slicing through the low wailing wind that drifted from the forest's depths. He didn't even glance at Hermione.
"Th-that way, Professor… I remember clearly, we came back from that direction." Hermione's trembling hand pointed toward the southeast, into the interlocking shadows of tangled branches.
The air there felt solid, even the smallest chirp of insects seemed swallowed by an unseen, devouring force.
It had to be said, Hermione truly lived up to her title as the Study Tyrant Girl.
That was probably why Snape chose to bring her along instead of Neville or Ron. At least Hermione remembered details and took notes; if Neville or Ron had come, they would've just stared blankly, unable to describe anything.
In the end, Snape would've probably been forced to use Legilimency to find the way. Clearly, the old fox knew what he was doing, choosing Hermione was a decision based on her attention to detail.
"Hmm."
The Potions professor nodded slightly, his expression guarded as he led Hermione into the Forbidden Forest.
Even now, this Head of Slytherin House couldn't resist taking a jab at the students of the house he despised most.
"You foolish Gryffindor whelps," he sneered, "so arrogant and clueless, with no understanding of how dangerous the Forbidden Forest truly is."
His boots crushed the dry leaves beneath them with sharp cracks, the sound startling a few shrill forest cries. "There's far more lurking in these woods than harmless creatures like Bowtruckles. Many beings that even adult wizards can't handle make their homes here."
"The bones buried under these roots," he continued darkly, "each one bears the name of an idiot who tried to challenge the laws of nature. Trust me, you don't want to know how many wizards have died in this forest."
Snape's voice was cold and sinister, like an adult deliberately trying to scare a child.
Truthfully, now that they'd reached the edge of the forest, he wasn't as frantic as before. From here, he could still hear whatever happened deeper inside.
And since no major disturbance had come from within, that meant either Ian hadn't found the Western Dragon yet… or he'd already been eaten.
Whichever it was, Snape knew there was no point in panicking anymore. Most likely, Ian was simply lost, after all, Snape knew his nephew didn't have the best sense of direction.
"I, "
Hermione started to defend herself, but Snape cut her off sharply.
"Don't argue with me," he snapped coldly. "If you walk out of here alive tonight, you should thank your ancestors for banging their heads on their coffin lids hard enough to earn you that luck."
His words dripped with acid.
"That's… exactly what Senior Ian said, too," Hermione blurted out before she could stop herself.
The moment the words left her lips, she saw Snape's jaw tighten sharply. Moonlight skimmed over his face, catching the twitch at the corner of his mouth. The tip of his wand flared violently, the pale green glow swelling until Hermione's shadow was pinned as a warped blot against a nearby tree.
He was furious, clearly furious, but couldn't take it out on a student.
So he just glared daggers at Hermione and turned on his heel, his cloak snapping through the air as he quickened his pace. Hermione had to jog to keep up.
"Professor, do you… do you think Ian is still alive?" she asked, her heart pounding both from fear and exhaustion.
"His life," Snape said flatly, "is a lot harder to take than you think."
", Hss!"
Before Hermione could respond, a thunderous crack echoed from deeper within the Forbidden Forest, branches snapping. Snape spun around, instantly stepping in front of Hermione.
From the canopy above, three spiders the size of hunting dogs dropped down.
Their dark red compound eyes reflected the wandlight with a demonic gleam.
(To Be Continued…)