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Chapter 355: Dementors Approach!!
Harry hated Snape more than ever.
Yet the next morning, he still woke before dawn.
At four in the morning, lightning tore across the sky outside the window and thunder shook the walls of Hogwarts. Heavy rain smashed against the glass as if the storm were trying to swallow the castle whole.
It was the worst possible weather for a Quidditch match.
Strong wind would throw off their balance. Rain would blur their vision. Finding the Golden Snitch in this kind of storm would be almost impossible.
Harry stood by the window, staring out into the darkness.
They really did this on purpose…
Slytherin had delayed their match on the excuse of Malfoy's "injury." Then, once bad weather arrived, they instantly announced they couldn't play Gryffindor—and instead forced Gryffindor to face Hufflepuff.
And Hufflepuff's Seeker?
Cedric Diggory.
Fast. Sharp. Reliable.
Harry felt pressure building in his chest.
Then his heart skipped.
Outside the castle gates, standing silently in the rain, was an enormous black dog.
Its shape was clear even through the storm.
And then…
It vanished.
Harry's breath hitched.
Professor Trelawney's prophecy echoed in his mind.
A great black dog… a sign of death…
He tried to tell himself it was meaningless—but the last time he had seen that dog, terrible things had followed.
Unease crept through his veins.
A warm brush against his leg pulled him back.
Crookshanks had slipped inside.
Harry scowled. "Get out! Scabbers isn't here!"
He lifted the cat and dumped it outside the dormitory. If Ron found out Crookshanks was wandering around again, another fight would be inevitable.
He sat alone for a long time after that, unable to sleep.
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By morning, Wood dragged him into the Great Hall and forced him to eat.
Then Harry grabbed his broom and headed to the pitch.
In the corridor, Malfoy appeared.
Smug as ever.
"Playing Quidditch in this weather?" Malfoy sneered. "Scarhead, do you even plan on staying conscious this time?"
Harry's anger snapped.
"Better than lying and getting punched so hard your face swelled up like a balloon."
"Rolling on the floor and begging Darren for mercy."
Gryffindor erupted with laughter. Malfoy stormed away, humiliated.
Harry barely noticed.
The Quidditch pitch loomed ahead.
Rain fell in curtains. The field was waterlogged. Wind howled like a living thing.
The match began.
Harry took off immediately, eyes searching the sky—but the rain ruined everything. Water streamed down his lenses, turning the world into a smear of gray and shadow.
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From the stands, Darren watched silently.
Wrapped in warmth and wards, he observed Harry struggling through the storm. He shook his head slightly.
Flying in weather like this was madness.
If he were anyone else, he would have laughed like the other Slytherins.
But Darren wore only concern.
When Harry descended briefly, Darren rushed down from the stands.
"Brother," he asked quickly, "are you feeling unwell?"
Harry wiped rain from his face, frustrated. "I can't see. My glasses are useless in this storm!"
Darren raised his wand and tapped Harry gently.
"Waterproof. Moistureproof."
The world sharpened instantly.
Rain slid off Harry's lenses like oil on glass.
He stared at Darren in shock. "That's incredible!"
Darren lowered his head. "I should've done it earlier… I slowed you down."
[Ding, Holy Father value +100]
Harry frowned deeply. "Go back. You'll catch a cold out here."
Then he turned and launched into the rain again.
Darren watched him go.
With pity.
Because he knew what was coming.
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Half an hour later, the atmosphere shifted.
The wind died.
The laughter vanished.
An unnatural cold swallowed the pitch.
High above…
Dark shapes drifted through the sky.
Towering.
Faceless.
Horrifying.
Dementors.
The stadium went silent.
And then—
Harry's broom faltered.
Stopped.
"Brother!" Darren shouted. "Come down!"
But Harry was too high.
And then—
He fell.
Darren raised his wand instantly.
Power drained from his body.
His vision darkened.
But his wand did not lower.
When Harry hit the ground, Darren finally exhaled.
His legs shook.
Cold and exhaustion tore through him—
But then he saw Dumbledore raise his wand.
Now… or never.
Darren forced himself upright.
Forced rage.
Forced fear.
Forced desperation into his voice.
And shouted with all his strength:
"EXPECTO PATRONUM!!!"
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