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HRHL# CHAPTER 222
🕑 Added 2025-06-24 22:23:45 +0000 UTCThe Dementors hovering on the horizon had little to do with them. Truth be told, even if Harry knew he was being targeted by Dementors, he might not care much.
Would you care if a few grasshoppers tried to nibble at you?
“These carriages…” Hermione said, frowning, “they seem to move on their own, don’t they? Otherwise, why can’t we see the horses pulling them?”
“Because they’re pulled by Thestrals, Hermione. It’s normal that you can’t see them,” Harry explained.
“Thestrals?” Hermione’s brow furrowed deeper. “I think I’ve read about them somewhere. Aren’t they creatures only those who’ve witnessed death can see?”
“Here,” Ron said quickly, already flipping to a page in a book about magical creatures. He pointed and read aloud to Hermione, “Thestrals are a breed of winged horse. They resemble reptiles, gaunt and skeletal, with dragon-like faces and broad, bat-like wings.”
“They’re extremely rare and classified as dangerous by the Ministry of Magic. Thestrals have a chilling reputation. For centuries, they’ve been seen as omens of misfortune due to their frightening appearance and the fact that only those who’ve seen death can see them.”
“So, you can see them?” Hermione asked Harry.
“I’ve seen death, Hermione,” Harry said nonchalantly. In truth, he’d seen so much death it had almost numbed him.
But Hermione misunderstood, assuming Harry was referring to witnessing his mother’s death as a child.
“I’m sorry, Harry,” she said cautiously, her voice tinged with regret.
“It’s fine, Hermione,” Harry replied with a gentle smile.
The carriage fell silent. Hermione felt she’d said the wrong thing.
“I wonder what Professor Lupin’s classes will be like,” Ron said suddenly, breaking the quiet. “I hope he’s more competent than Professor Rosier.”
“So far, Professor Lupin seems capable,” Harry replied.
The carriage rolled forward, approaching a magnificent pair of wrought-iron gates flanked by stone pillars topped with winged boars.
Two tall, hooded Dementors stood guard on either side of the gates, as if watching over Hogwarts itself. As the carriage drew near, the Dementors seemed to lean forward, only to swiftly retreat, as though recalling some prohibition.
“They’re scared,” Ron observed. “Look, they’re backing off. If this were like on the train, they’d have swarmed us by now.”
“Do Dementors even know fear?” Hermione asked curiously. “I’ve heard they are fear itself. Can fear feel fear?”
“Fear comes from the unknown, Hermione,” Harry said casually, reaching for a piece of chocolate and handing it to her. “You two, have some chocolate. It’s chilly.”
The carriage picked up speed along the sloping driveway, heading toward the castle. Hermione leaned out the window, watching the turrets and towers grow closer.
Finally, the carriage swayed to a stop, and the trio disembarked.
“They’re really beautiful, aren’t they?” a dreamy voice said from nearby.
Harry turned to see a pale blonde girl with slightly puffy eyes—Luna Lovegood from Ravenclaw.
“Are you talking about the Thestrals?” Harry asked uncertainly. No matter how he looked at it, Thestrals didn’t seem to fit the word “beautiful.”
“Yes, Thestrals are truly beautiful,” Luna said, her voice almost musical.
“Is something wrong?” a gentle voice inquired.
It was Professor Lupin, stepping down from the carriage behind them.
“We’re looking at the Thestrals, Professor,” Harry said politely.
Lupin looked at Harry warmly, his heart noting how much the boy resembled Lily—polite and kind, unlike his father, James, who was always so boisterous.
Yes, boisterous. That was Lupin’s word for James.
“Let’s go. We should head into the castle,” Lupin said, glancing at the sky. “It looks like rain is coming, and it wouldn’t do to get soaked.”
They entered the castle together. As they passed the entrance, Harry overheard Professor McGonagall and Madam Pomfrey talking. Madam Pomfrey was complaining to McGonagall.
“Stationing Dementors around the school—I can’t fathom what Fudge and Dumbledore are thinking. Do they not use their brains at all? Merlin’s beard, I’ve told Dumbledore before, haven’t I? Eating sweets does nothing for clear thinking… Those creatures are dreadful, the effect they have on fragile people—”
“Perhaps you should cut off his supply of Toothflossing Stringmints, Poppy,” McGonagall said sternly. “Let him experience tooth decay and the misery of not being able to eat!”
“You should take that up with Severus. He’s the one secretly brewing those Toothflossing Stringmints for Dumbledore,” Madam Pomfrey muttered under her breath.
Harry and his friends walked down the corridor, heading toward the Great Hall.
The Great Hall was a sea of pointed black hats, with students crowded around long tables. Thousands of candles floated in midair above, casting a warm glow on their faces.
Soon, Professor McGonagall entered, carrying the Sorting Hat by its pointed tip.
They knew the Sorting Ceremony for the new term was about to begin.
“You lot finally made it,” the Weasley twins said with grins. “We thought you’d been cornered by Dementors—especially our little Ronnikins.”
“Don’t worry, Dementors aren’t nearly as terrifying as you two,” Ron said, rolling his eyes—a habit he’d picked up from Hermione.
Professor McGonagall stepped forward, placing the Sorting Hat on its stool.
The old hat opened its brim and began to sing its usual nonsensical tune.
“Who taught it that melody?” Hermione said, covering her ears. “It’s dreadful.”
“I reckon it made it up out of boredom,” Ginny said seriously. “Look, at least it seems pleased with its own tune.”
Ron smirked. “What kind of taste does a hat have?”
Luckily, the Sorting Hat couldn’t hear their conversation, or it might have been heartbroken.
This year’s Sorting Ceremony went smoothly, without any mishaps like calling out “Hannah Abbott” by mistake. McGonagall had the correct list this time.
Harry noticed a black-haired girl during the Sorting. Draco’s eyes were practically glued to her.
When the ceremony ended, Professor Flitwick grabbed the Sorting Hat by its tip and carried the stool out of the hall.
At that moment, Dumbledore stood up.
As the widely acknowledged greatest wizard in the world, Dumbledore’s appearance fit the stereotype perfectly. His hair and beard stretched several feet long, and he wore half-moon spectacles over a sharply crooked nose.
Only those who truly knew Dumbledore—or those who didn’t know him at all—would see him as a formidable wizard. Unfortunately, most at Hogwarts thought the headmaster was a bit eccentric.
“Welcome!” Dumbledore said, the candlelight glinting off his silvery beard. “Welcome to another year at Hogwarts! I have a few words to share, one matter of which is quite serious. I’d prefer to address it before you’re all dazed by this splendid feast…”
Dumbledore cleared his throat and continued, “As you likely know, after their search of the Hogwarts Express, our school is currently hosting several Dementors from Azkaban, here on Ministry of Magic business.”
He paused, his expression betraying a hint of displeasure.
“They are stationed at every entrance to the grounds,” Dumbledore went on. “While they are here, I must make it clear: no one is to leave the school without permission. Dementors are not fooled by tricks or disguises—not even Invisibility Cloaks.”
At this, Dumbledore gave a pointed look at Ron and Hermione, who, as members of the Duelling Club, were known to sneak around under Harry’s Invisibility Cloak.
“Dementors do not understand pleas or excuses, so I warn each of you: give them no reason to harm you. I expect the prefects, as well as our newly appointed Head Boy and Head Girl, to ensure no student crosses paths with a Dementor.”
Percy, sitting a few seats away from Harry, puffed out his chest and looked around impressively.
“He’s such a power-hungry prat,” Ron whispered to Harry. “Remember that book he read last year? Prefects Who Gained Power. His obsession with authority outstrips his interest in magic.”
“I think magic matters more than power, Ron,” Harry whispered back. “With Dumbledore’s strength, who needs to worry about power?”
“Why?” Ron asked quietly. “Even Dumbledore has to follow the Ministry’s orders and let Dementors into the school, doesn’t he?”
“Because he’s patient, Ron,” Harry replied. “If he wanted, the Ministry wouldn’t dare force him to do anything. The Ministry? How many of their Aurors could stand against Dumbledore?”
Ron thought about it and nodded. It made sense.
“That sounds familiar. I think Assistant Professor Gale said something similar,” Ron whispered to Harry. “I exchanged a few letters with him over the summer. He told me a lot.”
Harry was surprised. He’d thought Gellert was just being whimsical, but it seemed he’d taken a genuine interest in Ron.
“Is that so?” Harry didn’t press further.
With Veratia keeping Gellert in check, Harry wasn’t worried about him causing trouble. Besides, boys at this age could be sensitive, and prying might do more harm than good.
Harry trusted Ron had his own sense of judgment.
Dumbledore surveyed the hall and continued, “On a happier note, I’m pleased to announce a new addition to our staff this year. Professor R.J. Lupin has kindly agreed to fill the vacancy for Defence Against the Dark Arts. Let us welcome him.”
Professor Lupin stood, offering a polite nod to the hall.
Perhaps because Professor Rosier had left such a strong impression last year, or because Lupin’s appearance was unremarkable, the applause was sparse.
Harry clapped enthusiastically and gave a cheer for Lupin, spurring others to join in.
Lupin smiled gratefully at Harry.
Unsurprisingly, Snape’s gaze lingered on Lupin from the staff table. It was no secret that Snape coveted the Defence Against the Dark Arts post. But the twisted expression on his sallow face—beyond mere annoyance—shocked the students. It was pure loathing.
The last time Harry saw Snape look like that was in his mother’s memory, by the Black Lake, when Snape glared at Harry’s father, James Potter.
“Well, I believe that covers the important matters,” Dumbledore said, raising his hands. “Now, let the feast begin!”
The golden plates and goblets before them filled instantly with food and drink. Having barely eaten on the train, Harry, Ron, and Hermione felt ravenous. They grabbed whatever was within reach and dug in.
Ron, in particular, attacked a pair of chicken legs with gusto, devouring them with abandon.
Hermione didn’t bother correcting Ron’s manners anymore. In her eyes, he was a lost cause—why bother?
The feast was sumptuous, the hall filled with laughter and the clinking of cutlery.
T/N: If you find any typos or incorrect names, please leave a comment. Thanks, and enjoy reading!
