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With that, Lockhart raised his wand and tapped the teacher's desk.
The effect was instantaneous. The sturdy wooden surface shimmered, its texture liquefying as if it had been transfigured into molten wax. Before their eyes, it collapsed into a swirling pool of dark brown liquid.
Revealing the massive, iron-barred cage concealed within.
"No!"
"We're going to die!"
"Aaaahhh!"
Panic erupted among the students. The moment the cage appeared, the temperature in the room plummeted. A damp, suffocating chill swept through the air, turning breath into mist. The atmosphere grew unbearably heavy, pressing down on their chests like an invisible weight.
Dark and cold.
The kind of cold that seeped into bones, chilling not just the body but something deeper— something 'primal.'
Fear.
It was unseen, yet felt by all. A phantom grip tightening around their minds, their instincts screaming at them to flee.
"What…?! What 'is' that?!" William shouted, instinctively reaching out to grab Ian and Michael, prepared to make a run for it.
But as they turned toward the exit, a terrifying realization struck them.
The classroom door had shut. Locked. Sealed tight.
It was not just them. No one was getting out.
Michael's face was ashen with fear, and many students collapsed to the ground, scrambling backward in terror. Even Ian wore an expression of disbelief.
There was no mistaking it.
Ian had never expected to see such a presence in Defense Against the Dark Arts— a towering, hooded figure hunched inside a cage, its face entirely shrouded in shadow. Its skeletal hands, gray and withered like those of a long-dead corpse, curled around the iron bars.
"Dementor!"
Ian's eyes widened in shock.
How in Merlin's name did Gilderoy Lockhart think this was remotely acceptable? Did he not understand his own limitations? Was he trying to turn the classroom into a miniature Azkaban?!
A glance around at his classmates told him everything.
Fear. Pure, undiluted fear. Young wizards were trembling violently, some already unconscious, others rolling their eyes back as they fought against the soul-chilling despair.
The light in the room seemed to wane.
Not just the torchlight— joy itself was being drained from the space. Ian found it incomprehensible. How had Lockhart managed to smuggle a Dementor into the school?
Where was Dumbledore?!
Frantically, Ian yanked out his Marauder's Map. As he suspected, the Headmaster's name was nowhere to be seen.
Snape's, too.
"This has to be illegal!" Ian muttered, gripping the map tightly. There was no way Dumbledore had sanctioned this. Lockhart must have pulled some ridiculous stunt to make this happen.
Hogwarts really did have more security gaps than a sieve.
"This is Defense Against the Dark Arts, Mr. Prince," Lockhart declared smoothly, standing closest to the caged Dementor. Even he seemed slightly affected, his eyes closed, his voice unusually cold and distant.
"You're completely mad!"
Ian no longer cared about staying on Lockhart's good side. He was likely the only student still standing unaffected, and as he scrutinized the Dementor more closely, a horrifying realization struck him.
This was the same one he had seen near the Owlery before.
Lockhart had somehow stolen a Ministry-assigned Dementor just to make himself look impressive!
How? Bribery? Persuasion? Something worse?
There was no time to dwell on it. His two roommates were already growing disoriented, Cho Chang and several other students barely breathing. The Dementor's presence alone was rapidly siphoning their hope, their will to resist, their very sense of self.
And once the fear reached its peak, paralysis would set in.
The Dementor could not leave its cage— perhaps a deliberate precaution— but even from within, its mere glance was unbearable for the young witches and wizards.
Driven by instinct, it exuded its insatiable hunger, stretching its influence like unseen tendrils that smothered the room in darkness and despair.
"They can't take much more of this! What kind of lesson do you think this is?!" Ian shouted. He was beginning to wonder if Lockhart was under the Imperius Curse. The real culprit behind the previous professor's death was still at large, after all...
"They will learn," Lockhart intoned, his voice eerily composed. "And so will you. This is reality, child. Do you think true enemies wait for you to come of age before striking?"
"After today, they will loathe their own weakness. And they will strive to become stronger."
"Lumos!"
The brilliant light burst forth from Ian's wand, piercing the gloom, forcing back the Dementor's suffocating aura. The air warmed slightly, but it wasn't enough. No mere light spell could banish such a creature.
Ian locked eyes with the Dementor.
For the briefest moment, he felt something— an understanding, an unnatural connection. But before he could process it—
"Impressive Lumos," Lockhart murmured, suddenly opening his eyes.
Ian froze.
Those eyes— blue, piercing, unreadable.
For the first time, Lockhart's usual vanity was absent. Instead, he radiated an unnerving sharpness, a presence that sent a shiver down Ian's spine. For a fleeting second, Ian questioned everything— was this truly Lockhart? Or had someone far more dangerous taken his place?
His unease deepened.
"The Lumos Charm, however brilliant, cannot repel a Dementor," Lockhart continued, raising his wand. "No matter how bright the light of your heart is, it is not enough. The correct way—"
Ian tried to aim his wand at him.
But his left arm was suddenly frozen mid-air, locked in place as though trapped in invisible chains. His wand remained in his grasp, yet he couldn't move it to attack Lockhart.
"Protego Diabolica!"
A circle of eerie, spectral flames erupted around Ian, a technique taught by his Friend's grandfather, Gellert Grindelwald, in 'Secrets of the Darkest Art'.
The searing flames offered some protection, their wild, living forms twisting hungrily, keeping any magic at bay. But Ian didn't just intend to defend.
"There!"
With a flick of his fingers, the cursed flames lashed toward Lockhart, who stood perilously close to the Dementor's cage.
Was it someone with an Imperius Curse victim or a Polyjuice imposter— it didn't matter. Lockhart had brought a Dementor into a classroom full of children. That alone justified Ian's actions.
Strike first.
Then he will think about the consequences of his actions.
After all, attack was the best defense.
"Ha. Well learned." Lockhart deflected the flames with a smooth flick of his wand as he spoke.
"But that is not today's lesson. Watch closely, child. The correct way to counter a Dementor..."
He lifted his wand higher.
Ian tensed, prepared for anything.
Then—
"Expecto Patronum!"
Lockhart's voice rang through the classroom, steady and unwavering.
At the tip of his wand, a silvery mist gathered, thick and luminous. A warmth unlike anything else filled the air, pushing back the suffocating dread.
The wand pulsed, activated by something deeper than mere magic.
A force ancient, powerful.
And beautiful.
(End of this chapter)