Chapter 102 — Silver Fire Beneath the Storm
"Oh my God—what are those?!"
A wave of panic rippled through the stands as the crowd erupted in alarm. Creatures that should never have appeared within the Quidditch stadium were floating above the pitch. Dark beings meant to be kept far beyond Hogwarts' gates now filled the sky.
Dementors
Their dense black cloaks blotted out what little light remained, turning the sky into a suffocating canopy of darkness. Withered, claw-like hands protruded from their sleeves, grotesque and unmistakable. The moment students laid eyes on them, a bone-deep chill spread through the stands. It felt as though every trace of warmth and joy had been sucked from the air. Legs weakened. Some students nearly collapsed where they stood.
Malfoy watched in silence.
He wasn't worried about Pansy. She could protect herself.
And more importantly—the strongest light wizard alive had already moved.
With a casual flick of his wand, Albus Dumbledore lifted Harry's falling body with an invisible force. The plunge slowed, then stopped, as if a layer of soft air had caught him mid-fall.
The school's medical team reacted almost instantly. Stretchers were carried onto the pitch at a run. In a way, they had Ron to thank—since the previous incident, Hogwarts had trained emergency responders specifically for situations like this. No one had expected them to be needed so soon.
Then Dumbledore raised his wand.
Thunder cracked overhead. His long silver beard whipped violently in the storm, his robes billowing as raw magic surged outward. The students felt it immediately.
This was not the calm, smiling headmaster they knew.
This was wrath.
The last time many had seen such power was in stories—tales of battles against Death Eaters, where Dumbledore had remained unshaken and composed. But now, monsters had dared threaten his students.
The sky blazed.
For a brief instant, the darkness shattered into blinding white light, so intense that many shielded their eyes.
Then it appeared.
A colossal silver-white Patronus burst forth, radiant and unmistakable.
A phoenix.
Flames of pure light spread from its wings, illuminating the storm-torn sky. The students stared, breathless. They had never seen Dumbledore like this—never seen him truly angry. Not school pranks, not broken rules, not even the worst mischief had ever wiped the gentle smile from his face.
Until now.
An ordinary Patronus could drive Dementors away.
But Dumbledore was not ordinary.
His name itself was power.
The silver phoenix screamed—a sound that seemed to echo in the soul—and dove.
Wherever its flames touched, there was only one outcome.
Death.
Silver fire scattered across the sky like falling embers. The moment it brushed against a Dementor, the creature ignited, glowing white-hot before erupting in a burst of blinding light—like a firework exploding in reverse. One by one, the Dementors disintegrated, leaving nothing behind. No ash. No trace. As though they had never existed.
Panic swept through the remaining Dementors.
For the first time in their wretched existence, they felt fear.
Black cloaks scattered wildly in the wind and rain. A few desperate creatures fled toward the stands—only to be driven back by flashes of silver light from the tip of Remus Lupin's wand.
Minutes passed.
Then it was over.
The sky cleared.
Those that survived fled—no, fled in terror—back to wherever they had come from. Of the countless Dementors that had darkened the stadium moments earlier, only a handful remained.
They had paid dearly for their mistake.
The farce ended far faster than anyone had expected.
---
"What a charming kitten," Dumbledore said gently.
His voice sounded behind Pansy, calm and warm once more.
She stiffened.
At the tip of her wand hovered a silver-white cat, fur sleek and luminous. Its intelligent eyes fixed on Dumbledore. Suddenly, it bared its teeth at him and flicked its tail sharply, bristling with defiance.
Dumbledore chuckled softly.
By now, every trace of his earlier fury had vanished, as though it had never existed at all. Only those who had witnessed the storm knew what he had unleashed.
"This… this is just something someone taught me," Pansy said hurriedly, eyes darting away. She didn't dare meet his gaze.
Though many Slytherins claimed to dislike Dumbledore, being praised by him still left her flustered. His presence carried a weight few could ignore.
"Oh?" Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. "And you caught the Golden Snitch as well. Very well done."
Pansy's face turned red instantly. She lowered her head, wishing the ground would swallow her whole.
Around her, Slytherin students finally understood—truly understood—what Dumbledore's reputation meant. Stories and exaggerations paled in comparison to what they had just witnessed with their own eyes.
For the first time, many of them found the "annoying old headmaster" far more agreeable.
"Other than Harry, none of you were injured," Dumbledore continued, scanning the teams. "That is something to be grateful for."
Angelina opened her mouth to speak, but Wood stopped her with a raised hand. His face was pale, his focus forced.
"I know what you want to say," he said hoarsely. "But a loss is a loss. Do you want them to look down on us even more? Gryffindor doesn't complain when we lose."
Despite his words, the bitterness in his voice was unmistakable.
The Gryffindor team fell silent. They knew—no one felt this defeat more deeply than Wood.
"The match is over," Dumbledore announced.
His voice carried effortlessly across the stadium, steady and authoritative, easing the lingering tension. He watched as students filed out in orderly lines, then turned, his grey robes trailing behind him as he walked toward his office.
There was only one thing on his mind now.
He needed to speak with Fudge.