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"A virtuous wizard is needed to handle the body before the funeral can begin. If they can conjure a Patronus, so much the better."
"The body needs to be rubbed with oil to prevent insects and wrapped in coarse linen to conceal the putrefaction with spices."
"We also need candles. Ordinary folk use small ones, while nobility can afford special whale-oil candles, or those made from spices."
"..."
In the dungeon corridor outside the Potions classroom, Nearly Headless Nick floated in mid-air, using his spectral voice to explain the medieval wizarding funeral rites to the students.
His translucent, silvery-white ghostly body felt chilling when the breeze passed through it, giving the atmosphere an eerie feel.
Ron listened intently, practically ready to pull out a notebook and jot down notes.
Harry's expression was complicated, but he stayed beside him, pretending to listen seriously.
He subtly glanced to the side. Hermione tilted her head up, genuinely interested in the customs of medieval wizards.
"Honestly, holding a funeral for a pet doesn't need all this fuss."
After speaking for ten minutes straight, Nearly Headless Nick grew a little impatient and waved a hand. "That's enough for now. The bell is about to ring, and you still have Potions class."
"Oh, alright..." Ron was still eager for more.
"Goodbye, Sir Nicholas."
"Have a pleasant Potions lesson, you three."
Nearly Headless Nick watched them enter the dungeon classroom, sighed, and floated toward the next room.
He couldn't fathom what students thought about nowadays, organizing a funeral for a pet rat. He needed to write this down to tell the ghost widows of Kent during the summer holidays.
Before passing through the wall, he turned and bumped into the Potions Master rushing to class.
Snape was expressionless. He gave Nick a brief, cool glance as he passed, his steps unbroken, and with a swish of his robes, he entered the dungeon classroom.
"That's how Slytherin wizards are. It feels like the whole world owes them Galleons..."
Nearly Headless Nick shook his head. As his form phased through the wall, in the final instant before his ghostly head disappeared, his peripheral vision caught sight of a bald-tailed rat around a distant corner.
A rat foraging in broad daylight?
Out in the open, that was simply outrageous!
Nick suspected the House-Elves in the school were getting a bit slack.
---
### 🌩️ Quidditch Mayhem
It was Saturday, November 6th.
Winter had arrived.
The pleasant weather of late autumn last month had ended. After several days of gloom, the temperature in the Scottish Highlands was steadily dropping into winter. Heavy, leaden clouds covered the sky, preventing any sunlight from breaking through even at noon. Herbology classes in the greenhouses required lamps, and the grounds froze over every morning.
This morning, thunder rumbled even before dawn. The North Wind howled, striking the castle walls. An old tree in the Forbidden Forest groaned under the strain, snapping with a mournful crack, and rain poured down in sheets.
After breakfast, Melvin, at Professor Flitwick's urging, arrived at the Quidditch pitch and took a seat in the Ravenclaw stands.
The Quidditch match was scheduled for today.
Gryffindor versus Slytherin—the old rivals facing off once more.
The Slytherin team had previously requested a postponement, suggesting Gryffindor play Hufflepuff first. The main reason was that they hadn't trained to cope with such extreme, foul weather.
Gryffindor, however, was fully prepared. They frequently trained in the rain, returning to the castle covered in mud, much to the fury of Filch, the caretaker.
However, the reason for postponement was deemed insufficient, and both Professor McGonagall and Madam Hooch dismissed the request.
That's the spirit of Quidditch, after all. Unless facing acts of God like earthquakes, floods, or volcanic eruptions, the match must proceed as scheduled.
"Oh, dear..."
Melvin wasn't particularly interested in Quidditch himself.
He opened a water-repelling, humidity-proof bubble-charm, extending it to encompass the entire spectator section, encasing all the Ravenclaw students in the protective sphere.
The cold, damp wind and rain swept over. Raindrops streamed down the bubble in rivulets, sliding along an invisible, transparent curve like tiny, clear worms.
"They're Plimpies!"
A little witch in the front row suddenly widened her bright eyes, showing surprise and the joy of finally seeing the real thing. A blend of emotions played across her young, fair face.
She ignored the match, leaning close to the transparent film, intently watching the raindrops slide down.
In the back, Cho Chang and Marietta and the others were also curious about the rain-repelling magic.
Melvin sat in his seat, listened to the students' praise and awe for a few minutes, then turned his attention back to the pitch.
The two teams, clad in their respective robes, greeted each other in the rain. Although they could barely keep their eyes open, they still exchanged pre-match trash talk with grim faces.
He couldn't help but smile. With about ten minutes left before the match began, he turned to chat with Flitwick.
Before they could even delve into the topic of improving the Bubble-Head Charm, he noticed Dumbledore and Professor Sprout were also approaching.
"What are you doing here?" Professor Flitwick asked, surprised.
"Coming to get out of the rain."
"But haven't you also cast water and damp-repelling charms on yourselves?" Professor Flitwick pointed to the Headmaster's dry, fluffy beard and Sprout's robes, which were perfectly dry.
Sprout waved her hand. "I just don't want to sit next to Minerva and Severus. They watch the match with such stern faces that the temperature around them is colder than being soaked in the rain. And Remus, well, Severus is still brooding over that night and thinks Remus helped Black escape."
"That final Knockback Jinx was a bit peculiar."
"If you ask me..."
The two decades-long partners found a topic in mere seconds, leaning together to whisper, adding a charm specifically to prevent the surrounding students from overhearing.
"A very sophisticated Bubble-Head Charm," Dumbledore said with a chuckle, seating himself next to them.
"Actually, I'm more interested in the Headmaster's control over the Patronus—the ability to flexibly control the Phoenix's size and leave a voice message," Melvin asked sincerely.
His Patronus was very unusual. He practiced repeatedly while at Ilvermorny but failed to solidify its form until he graduated, left the school, and said goodbye to the Horned Serpent.
He even suspected that his original Patronus might not have been the Horned Serpent, but something else entirely, which later underwent some unknown change due to the Serpent's influence.
Because of this, he was extremely curious about Dumbledore's phoenix.
"The principle is not complex; it just requires a little trick."
---
"The storm is too much. This match will be brutal!"
"Don't worry, Oliver. We don't care about a little rain."
"Hey, this isn't a little rain, Alicia."
"..."
Harry stood in the middle of the pitch, listening to his teammates' pre-match chatter. He wanted to offer a witty retort but felt too drained to open his mouth.
His scarlet robes were soaked and heavy, clinging to his body. The rain poured down, stripping away his body heat and soaking into the ground. Water droplets hammered his glasses, making it impossible to see anything clearly.
"The match begins!"
Faintly hearing Madam Hooch's whistle, Harry struggled to grip his broom and soared into the sky.
Rain poured down in torrents. His usually flapping cloak was too heavy to billow. Harry zoomed past the edge of the pitch on his broom and saw the Quaffle wobbling in mid-air, its speed sluggish. The continuous rainfall sapped its momentum.
Beaters swung their bats with dull thuds. The Bludgers and the Quaffle only flew a short distance.
It was the stockier Slytherin players who had an advantage in weight, enabling them to hit the balls much further. When they occasionally collided with the opposing players, their advantage was clear. Alicia and Angelina struggled to cope.
Harry forced himself not to focus too much on the field situation; he was the Seeker, and his attention needed to be on the Golden Snitch.
The lean Seeker pressed his lips together, feeling the rain draw away his body temperature. His view through the blurry lenses was completely obscured. Forget the Snitch; he could barely make out Malfoy's position.
He would have to rely on a chasing tactic.
Harry softly let out a breath, relaxing the muscles that were tight from cold and tension. Then, gripping his broom, he trailed behind Malfoy, maintaining a modest distance.
An excellent Seeker must always watch the opponent's movements, preventing them from catching the Snitch while he flew around aimlessly like a headless chicken.
Harry stayed just at the edge of Malfoy's vision, attracting his attention by being near-yet-far, preventing him from focusing entirely on the Snitch and buying time for his teammates to increase the score.
Time passed slowly. The sky grew darker, as if night had decided to arrive early.
Harry nearly crashed into players several times and couldn't tell if they were his teammates or the opposition; he could only vaguely see things when lightning flashed across the sky.
"Rumble!"
In the front row of the Gryffindor stands, Seamus and Dean waved at him.
"Rumble!"
In the Ravenclaw stands, Dumbledore sat beside Professor Lewent.
"Rumble!"
On the highest level of the Gryffindor stands, there was a large, shaggy black dog.
"!!"
Harry was startled. He turned his broom and focused his gaze on the stands again. The black dog had vanished, replaced by two cloaked figures.
A howl emerged from one of the hoods—a sound unlike any issued by a beast's throat, more like a weird vibration that pierced through the heavy rain, traveling across half the pitch to Harry's ears.
Harry made out the shapes of the two figures. They looked like tall, slender wizards, yet beneath the hoods were grotesque faces. Their exposed, deformed hands resembled the pale, waterlogged hands of Inferi.
Two Dementors, swiftly gliding toward him!
"Harry! Above you!"
Captain Wood's voice rang out from the scoring hoop. Harry looked up. A golden flash streaked past; the Golden Snitch was rapidly climbing.
Another flash of lightning conveniently illuminated the space beneath the clouds, aided by the light from the Snitch and the lightning strike. Hundreds of Dementors hovered above the pitch, their presence engulfing the area in a chilling white mist interwoven with the rain.
A strange silence enveloped the pitch. The howling wind and rain seemed to pause. The familiar cold seized him, pulling his consciousness downward.
He heard the witch's piercing wail in his ear again.
"Not Harry, not Harry, please—not Harry!"
"Get out of the way, you foolish girl, get out of the way!"
Harry desperately fought to stay conscious.
Prying open his eyes to a slit, he saw Dumbledore and Professor Lewent standing side-by-side in the Ravenclaw stands. Headmaster Dumbledore held his right hand level, pointing his wand at Harry, and his voice boomed across the stadium, chanting a spell.
$Aresto Momentum!$
His descent paused. The feeling of falling weightlessness vanished, as if he were suspended by soft cotton.
Professor Lewent looked up at the sky. He made no movement and uttered no spell, merely standing there, quietly observing the swarm of Dementors filling the air.
The high-flying Dementors also looked down at the young professor.
Everyone on the Quidditch pitch could see a soft, silver glow erupting in the darkness.
The Patronus Charm.
In the final instant before losing consciousness, Harry saw an incredible sight. The downpour across the entire pitch suddenly slowed. The raindrops, the flags whipping in the wind, even the players on their brooms, and the Snitch cutting across the sky—all were suspended in the soft, silver light.
The World Serpent, conjured from the silver glow, encircled the pitch and shrieked.
The Dementors were swept out of the school grounds as if they were withered leaves caught in a whirlwind, unable to struggle against it.
Harry fell toward the ground but felt no pain.
"Harry!"
Ron and Hermione scrambled over the stands and rushed toward him.
---
### 🏥 The Aftermath
On the bedside table, there was a silver metal tray holding a pale-green potion. Next to it was a freshly opened box of Chocolate Frogs, and a faint sweet smell lingered in the air.
In a private room on the second floor of the Hospital Wing, the patient hadn't woken up yet, and the professors kept their voices low during their conversation.
As soon as the match ended, the Headmaster had called them to an emergency meeting to discuss how to liaise with the Ministry Aurors and protect the rights of the staff and students. Although this was the duty of the four Heads of House, as an elective course professor, Melvin felt he had been dragged into overtime yet again.
"Minerva is primarily handling the matter—contacting the Board of Governors to put pressure on the Ministry and deal with the out-of-control Dementors," Professor Flitwick said. "Tell us about your Patronus. It was truly impressive."
"We can discuss that at dinner. The patient is still unconscious..."
Melvin gestured to Harry on the bed, quietly concluding the topic, and surveyed the professors standing by the bedside.
Professor McGonagall's lips were pressed into a tight, straight line. Professor Sprout looked indignant. Snape remained his usual expressionless self—it seemed that Wormtail was still under observation and hadn't yet knocked on the door of the Potions Master's office.
Only Madam Pomfrey, the school nurse, was examining Harry's injuries while muttering under her breath.
"Holding a match in a storm, I don't know what you were thinking... They are students, not professional players."
"Those Dementors should have been cleared out ages ago! You all kept putting it off, and now look, a catastrophe has happened!"
"..."
At the head of the bed, Dumbledore systematically assigned tasks. "I believe this is the second time, isn't it? Harry encountered Dementors on the express train and fell unconscious then, too."
"Yes," Lupin slightly nodded.
"Remus, during your free time between classes, I entrust you with teaching him the Patronus Charm."
"Yes, Headmaster."
---
Harry slowly opened his eyes. Before him were neat white curtains, the candlelight was soft, and the bed was warm and comfortable.
He slowly turned his head, and his vision gradually cleared. He was lying in a private room in the Hospital Wing. The night light seeped through the glass window, and a faint sweetness of chocolate still lingered in his mouth.
"Harry, are you awake?"