20demayo Chapter 291 Communicating with Dementors
Chapter 291 Communicating with Dementors
Chapter 291 Communicating with Dementors (5.2K) (1/2)
Lin Qi gently closed the heavy oak door to the principal's office, shutting out the oppressive atmosphere behind him.
The calm mask he wore when facing Dumbledore and Snape loosened slightly, but not completely; only a barely perceptible hint of weariness flashed deep in his eyes.
He descended the spiral staircase steadily, the hard soles of his leather shoes making a slight echo as they touched the stone steps.
As soon as he stepped out of the entrance guarded by the water-dripping beast and turned a corner, he saw the figure pacing anxiously in the dimly lit corridor.
Professor Lu Ping seemed to have been waiting here all along. His already slightly haggard face was now filled with anxiety. His hands were unconsciously clasped together, and he suddenly looked up when he heard footsteps.
Upon seeing that it was Lin Qi, he immediately strode forward, his gray-brown eyes filled with urgency and inquiry.
"Lynch!" His voice was low, but the tension in it was palpable. "How did it go? What did Dumbledore—what did he say? Was Snape there too? What was your answer?"
A barrage of questions came at Lupin like a machine gun, revealing his extreme unease.
Lin Qi stopped and calmly looked at Lu Ping's face.
"Remus," his voice was steady, with a calming power, "don't worry."
Lupin paused for a moment, seemingly not expecting such a concise and affirmative answer.
"But—Snape—"
“Severus was indeed there, and as always—passionate.” Lynch’s lips curled into a very faint smile, but it quickly vanished. “However, I have convinced Headmaster Dumbledore. He has agreed not to interfere with our operations for the time being.”
"He—he believes us?" Lupin's voice was filled with unbelievable surprise and a sense of relief.
"He believes there's a possibility," Lynch corrected, choosing his words precisely. "That's enough. He's given us time and space, at the cost of his close monitoring. So, just proceed according to the plan we agreed upon, everything as usual, especially you, Remus."
He emphasized the last sentence, looking at Lu Ping with a meaningful gaze.
Lupin took a deep breath, trying to calm his racing heart. He nodded, his eyes gradually hardening. "I understand. Teaching, caring about Harry, showing—outrage. Being myself."
"That's right." Lynch nodded. "Stay calm and wait patiently. The bait has been laid; now it takes time and a bit of luck."
He made no further explanation, as if the dramatic exchange in the principal's office was nothing more than a routine official meeting.
He nodded slightly to Lupin, then turned and walked forward along the empty corridor. His straight back cast a long and lonely shadow in the flickering torchlight on the wall, and soon disappeared around the corner of the corridor.
Lupin stood there, gazing in the direction Lin Qi had disappeared. His tense nerves finally relaxed a little, but the heavy, oppressive feeling in his heart hadn't dissipated. He clenched his fists tightly, feeling the cold sweat on his palms, then turned around and started walking towards his office.
On the other side, Lynch walked out of the castle and stood on the steps. The cool evening breeze immediately brushed against his cheeks and stirred the hair on his forehead.
His gaze swept across the wide meadow, past the boundary that marked the safety limit, and straight toward the vast, shadowy expanse in the distance, its outline growing ever deeper and more blurred in the deepening twilight—the Forbidden Forest.
The distant horizon had been swallowed by darkness, and the Forbidden Forest, like a sleeping behemoth lying prostrate on the earth, exuded a primal, mysterious, and dangerous aura. The light in the forest seemed to vanish faster than elsewhere, the rich, dark green transitioning into utter blackness. But in that profound darkness, Lynch's gaze seemed to pierce through layers of foliage, precisely locking onto those who radiated despair.
He knew they were there.
It's always been there.
"Let's do it today."
As Lynch pondered this, he descended the steps and stepped onto the gravel path leading to the meadow.
Dumbledore is currently in a period of self-reflection and will be less vigilant. He should be able to remain silent at the furthest point from the castle.
So, that night...
The edge of the forbidden forest under the cover of night was deeper and darker than usual. The branches of the towering ancient trees, like twisted arms, cut the sparse moonlight into pale fragments, which were then scattered on the ground covered with decaying leaves.
Lynch chose a clearing in the woods, nestled among ancient oak trees, where a primal stillness pervaded the air, even the whispers of nocturnal creatures vanished, as if all things instinctively distanced themselves from what was about to happen.
Lin Qi stood in the center of the forbidden forest clearing, a dark red stone that had appeared in his hand without him noticing.
With a flick of his wrist, the Heshi stone was flung out. The moment the stone left his hand, it turned into fine powder. The powder was drawn by an invisible force and landed precisely on the ground, forming a near-perfect circle that surrounded him at the center.
The powder in the direction he was facing had a clear break—a deliberately made "door".
Lin Qi took out the dark-colored "Prisoner's Candle," which was surrounded by an ominous aura. With a slight thought, the candle defied gravity and floated in the air in front of him.
He raised his right hand, and a cluster of eerie blue flames shot up from his fingertips with a "poof," cold and devoid of warmth.
He used the flame to light the candle wick.
The pale blue candlelight flickered, becoming the only source of light in this deathly silent space, but it could not dispel the darkness; instead, it made the shadows even thicker.
Then, he took out a simple-looking silver pendant.
This pendant was a relic of a dark wizard from Knockturn Alley. During his long imprisonment, the wizard used it to bear all his regret and despair before finally disappearing quietly in a cold corner of Azkaban.
The surface of the silver jewelry was covered with bite marks and felt icy cold to the touch.
Lin Qi held the silver ornament in front of him and closed his eyes.
He directly and calmly recalled the real dark and violent moments in his life—the rage that wanted to destroy everything, the spells he didn't hesitate to cast to take lives, and the desperate and painful moments his enemies faced before they died.
He methodically mobilized these memories, as if organizing files. The coldness, decisiveness, and almost inhuman willpower contained within them transformed into an invisible dark aura, which was amplified and spread through the "Prisoner's Candle," a candle fueled by despair and fueled by suffering.
The temperature in the open space plummeted, and breath turned to ice.
A chill, originating from the depths of one's soul, quietly spread.
Lin Qi seemed to sense something and opened his eyes.
Right at the gap in the ochre ring, a tall figure wearing a tattered black cloak silently appeared.
It hovered a few inches off the ground, the darkness beneath its hood unfathomable, as if swallowing up all the light around it, and a sense of despair permeating the air, a feeling of everything withering away and hope extinguished.
The Dementors have arrived.
A chilling sense of despair washed over him like a tidal wave, penetrating the invisible boundaries of the ochre ring and seeping into every pore of Lynch's body.
This time, without the protection of his soul armor, the power that stripped away all joy and hope truly struck his soul, chilling him to the bone. His heart felt as if it were being gripped tightly by an invisible hand, and the most suppressed whispers of his heart began to echo in his ears.
However, Lin Qi's expression remained calm, though his breathing became slightly longer.
His gaze steadily passed over the flickering blue candlelight and landed on the dark figure that had stopped at the gap.
As he drew closer, an intuition that transcended visual perception brought a sudden clarity to his mind—this Dementor was the same one that had forcibly sucked his blood from the roof of the stone house.
The cycle of cause and effect continues here.
The Dementor stopped in front of Lynch, separated only by that cluster of cold flames.
The tattered cloak fluttered without wind, and the emptiness beneath the hood "watched" the candlelight, and even more so, "watched" Lin Qi behind the candlelight.
It was a mental fluctuation mixed with greed, vigilance, and a hint of indescribable "confirmation".
Lin Qi remained silent, raised his hand, and flicked his finger.
The silver ornament, carrying the endless despair of another soul, traced a delicate arc, passing through the eerie blue candlelight—the flame leaped an inch higher as the ornament passed through, its color deepening—and flew precisely toward the Dementor.
The Dementor neither dodged nor made any obvious attempt to receive the demention.
The silver ornament struck its tattered cloak, which seemed to be woven from pure darkness and cold, without making a sound, like a drop of water merging into an inkwell, instantly swallowed up and disappearing by the dense darkness.
The next moment, the Dementor's figure seemed to solidify slightly, and the icy aura emanating from it that sucked away life force also paused for a very short time, as if it was "digesting" this "food" containing intense despair.
Seeing that the Dementor had accepted the silver ornament, Lynch flipped his left hand, and a small silver mirror with hidden runes engraved on its edge appeared in his palm.
His right thumb nail, like the sharpest blade, lightly scratched the pad of his index finger, and a few drops of bright red blood immediately seeped out, carrying the fresh breath of life, and dripped onto the smooth silver mirror surface.
The blood swayed slightly on the cold mirror, reflecting the eerie blue candlelight, creating a strange and beautiful effect.
With a slight thought, he caused the suspended [Prisoner's Candle] to slowly descend. He flipped the silver mirror so that the few drops of blood on its surface faced the candle flame below, until the cold, eerie blue flame almost licked the mirror.
A strange sight occurred: without any sizzling sound, the few drops of blood, under the "scorching" of the eerie blue flames, began to boil and churn silently, their color rapidly changing from bright red to dark red, and finally turning into a viscous inky black. This inky black quickly enveloped the entire silver mirror, from which wisps of highly textured black smoke rose.
The black smoke did not dissipate; instead, it seemed to possess a life of its own, swirling and condensing between the mirror and the candlelight.
Lin Qi looked up and gazed once more at the Dementor that had remained unusually "quiet" in front of him the entire time. Its tattered cloak fluttered without wind, and the nothingness beneath the hood seemed to be "staring" at this bizarre scene.
Without further hesitation, he took a deep breath and inhaled a wisp of black smoke that was billowing around him.
At the same time, another wisp of black smoke seemed to be drawn by an invisible force, suddenly disappearing into the deep darkness beneath the Dementor's hood.
The cold, black smoke, mixed with despair and the stench of blood, entered his body. Lin Qi's eyes widened suddenly, his pupils dilating rapidly due to the intense sensory impact, making the candlelight seem distorted for a moment.
The moment Lynch inhaled that wisp of black smoke, a mixture of burning blood and the despair of prisoners, his senses were abruptly pulled away from reality.
The cold, forbidden forest clearing, the eerie blue candlelight, the smell of decaying leaves—all physical perception abruptly ceased.
He felt as if he had fallen into a bottomless abyss, surrounded by pure, thick darkness devoid of any light.
This is not an ordinary night, but an absolute void on the level of consciousness, the realm where the essence of Dementors dwells.
Here, the cold no longer affects the skin, but freezes the mind directly.
Countless broken, sharp, and painful whispers surged from all directions like a tide, attempting to erode his will. These were countless fragments of despair carried by the silver ornaments and by the Dementors themselves.
Lynch stood in the center of this wasteland of consciousness.
He could clearly "sense" the approach of another being—the Dementor.
Its consciousness was like a writhing, greedy darkness, carrying a familiar aura. In this shared spiritual realm, it seemed even larger, and even more—hungry.
It no longer conveyed a vague craving, but a more concrete idea, mixed with the "reminiscence" of the silver ornament from before, and a strong desire for Lynch, this special "connector".
Lin Qi endured the discomfort of being overwhelmed by negative emotions and the cold sensation of his soul being slowly drained of warmth.
He concentrated all his will, as if firmly grasping the helm in a raging storm.
He made no sound, because here, will itself is language.
A clear, cold, and undeniably powerful mental wave pierced through the surrounding chaotic whispers and waves of despair like a sharp sword, pointing directly at the darkness representing the Dementors: "What place do you occupy in your kind?"
The darkness opposite surged, and a thought, a mixture of darkness and death, came through it. It wasn't spoken, but a direct concept: "The Rulers—The Leaders—They—obey me."
Lynch wasn't surprised and continued to press for the core question: "Why do you show such unusual interest in me?"
The Dementor patriarch's consciousness fluctuations revealed a naked greed: "Darkness—lingering in your soul—sweet—but deeper—a more alluring scent—death—pure death—not the scent of dying, but—always there—you walk on the edge of life and death—your taste," far surpasses ordinary pleasure—"
Lynch seized upon this point and delved into the nature of the other party: "What exactly are you? Where were you born?"
This time, the thought that came through carried an instinctive, hollow echo: "We—born in the despair of the final breath—born in the gap between the living's unwillingness to let go and the dead's inability to rest—we are the abandoned end, the dregs of an unfinished death—we exist on the other side of 'life,' yearning for the warmth of 'life' to fill our own emptiness—"
Lynch then inquired about the practical constraints: "What is your agreement with the Ministry of Magic?"
The chieftain's intention carried a pragmatic, almost transactional tone: "Obey orders—guard the prison—in return—they provide—a steady supply of food"—those gradually withering souls—a continuous stream—
"The consequences of breaking the agreement?" Lin Qi asked incisively.
"Loss—the feeding trough." The transmitted thought was simple and cold, carrying a clear sense of dread. "Return—to aimless wandering and hunger—"
Having grasped all the key information, Lynch made his request, his will forceful and clear: "Very well. Then, for the next period of time, I need your people to obey my command once when I issue a summons. Just this once."
The Dementor chieftain's consciousness fluctuated violently, clearly weighing his options. After a moment, a question rang out: "The price—what is it? The price of ruling the tribe once—"
Lynch's response was cold and specific, like finalizing a deal: "Ten souls. Ten souls utterly soaked in despair, marked for you by my own hand. You can drain them—completely."
This offer is clearly very tempting.
The dark consciousness conveyed a strong sense of desire and satisfaction, but ultimately added a condition: "Deal—but, it must not conflict with the Ministry of Magic's agreement—it must not cause us—to lose our food trough—"
"Yes," Lynch replied resolutely. "Remember your promise."
The moment the words left his mouth, the connection of consciousness snapped like a taut bowstring.
Lin Qi suddenly opened his eyes, and the senses of reality rushed back like a tidal wave—the damp, cold air of the forbidden forest night, the earthy smell...
And the lingering, chilling aftertaste of the Dementor.
The first thing he saw was the "Prisoner's Candle" in front of him.
It has burned to its end.
The original seven-inch-long, dark candle body is now reduced to a small ring of solidified, darker-colored grease residue around the edge of the candlestick.
The last eerie blue flame made a weak, almost struggling leap before being extinguished with a soft "poof."
The last wisp of smoke rose, twisted briefly in the pale moonlight, and then vanished without a trace.
As the candlelight went out, the boundary drawn by the ochre powder seemed to lose some kind of binding power, and the magical fluctuations on it quickly diminished and returned to normal.
Lynch's gaze passed over the extinguished candlestick and landed outside the gap.
There was nothing there.
The Dementor chieftain with whom he had engaged in a long battle of wits had vanished.
There was no farewell, no trace, as if it had never existed. Only the lingering, subtle magical ripples in the air and the bone-chilling cold proved that the surreal conversation had not been an illusion.
Lin Qi slowly lowered his head. The small silver mirror lay quietly on the ground. The originally bright red bloodstains on the mirror surface had now turned black and dried, and could no longer reflect any image.
He expressionlessly put away the silver mirror and straightened his body.
The burning out of the prisoner's candle signifies that the channel of communication has naturally closed, and the contract has been established.
He didn't leave immediately, but stood quietly for a moment, as if savoring the moment or confirming something.
Then, he waved his hand, casually wiping away the circle of ochre marks that had already lost their effectiveness on the ground, as if brushing away a speck of dust.
Having done all this, he turned around, the hem of his suit jacket tracing a clean arc in the silence, his figure silently disappearing into the deeper darkness of the Forbidden Forest without looking back.
The place was left behind only an empty space that was even more desolate than the surrounding area.
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