"How did they get here?!"
Ron shouted in panic.
The crowd was in an uproar now. Nobody had any mind left for watching the match.
Sean noticed some witches and wizards getting to their feet, apparently trying to leave the stands.
The Dementors were still drifting closer, neither too fast nor too slow.
"We have to warn the professors!"
Hermione said, forcing her voice down despite the panic in it.
Sean already knew the professors were on their way.
But before they got here, the Dementors would probably have time to give one lucky wizard a kiss.
"To the entrance."
Sean spoke slowly, though that may simply have been because his voice was still hoarse from being sick.
They hurried down from the stands and headed for the entrance to the Quidditch pitch.
The crowd, after noticing the slight pallor in the young wizard's face, instinctively made way for him.
"Are you going to use that, Sean?"
Hermione asked in a low voice.
"But there are so many of them this time."
As she spoke, they were passing the changing rooms and moving toward the growing cold.
Now that they were closer, they could see black smoke seeping from beneath the hoods of those cloaked faces.
"The Patronus Charm is a Dementor's natural enemy…"
Sean still sounded slow and measured.
Even though the boy before them looked like someone who needed to be looked after just to keep walking in a straight line, the others still felt something steady and dependable rise inside them.
They gathered around him and stayed there until they had become the wizards in Hogwarts standing closest to the Dementors.
The Dementors were moving faster now.
Creatures like that could not resist the temptation of such a great crowd gathered around the Quidditch pitch.
All that excitement… all that anticipation… all those heightened emotions…
To them, it must have looked like a feast.
"It isn't feeding time yet…"
Sean murmured to himself, then raised his wand.
"Expecto Patronum."
[You practiced the Patronus Charm once at Master standard. Proficiency +300]
The young wizards saw something burst from his wand tip.
Not a vague cloud, but a dazzling silver animal.
It wasn't very large. It sped silently away from them, racing over the field.
They watched it lower itself and charge straight into the mass of Dementors… now circling the foremost of the black figures at tremendous speed, driving them backward, scattering them… until they vanished.
Then the Patronus turned and slowly came back toward the young wizards.
It was a silver-white cat, pure as the moon.
"Oh, last time I didn't get a good look, but this time I didn't blink,"
Justin whispered to Hermione.
"So it really is a cat."
"Mhm."
Hermione made no real comment. Her smile was replaced a moment later by worry.
"Professor Flitwick said it was especially complex magic. How's yours coming along?"
"Oh…"
Justin gave an embarrassed little smile.
Then he turned and looked back at the Quidditch pitch.
As everyone knew, Quidditch matches weren't canceled over "small matters."
Out on the Gryffindor side, Harry was weaving through the storm on his broom, looking everywhere for the Snitch.
He dodged a Bludger, then ducked low under Diggory as the other Seeker came straight at him… then a crack of thunder, followed by a jagged flash of lightning.
The weather was getting worse and worse, and Harry knew he had to catch the Snitch quickly—he turned, intending to head back toward the center of the field.
Strangely, the entire stadium had fallen into a weird silence.
The wind was still just as violent, yet it had somehow forgotten to howl, as though someone had turned the volume off, as though Harry had suddenly gone deaf—what was happening?
Then he realized there was something moving on the field below—
before he could think, he looked away from the Snitch and glanced down…
At least a hundred Dementors were standing there below him, all those hidden faces lifted toward him.
It felt as though icy water rose into his chest, slicing through his insides.
Then he heard it again…
someone screaming, screaming inside his head…
"Don't touch Harry, don't touch Harry, please don't touch Harry!"
"Stand aside, you silly girl… stand aside now…"
"Don't touch Harry, please… kill me instead, kill me…"
A numbing white mist spread through Harry's mind…
What was he doing? Why was he flying?
He had to help her…
She was going to die…
She was going to be killed…
"Don't touch Harry! Please… have mercy… have mercy…"
A harsh voice was laughing madly, a woman was screaming, and Harry knew nothing more.
"Are you alright, Harry?"
Harry opened his eyes. He was lying on the grass.
A crowd was gathered around him. Sean was nearest, and it had been his voice.
"What happened?"
Harry asked blankly.
"You fell."
Sean explained simply.
"From at least fifty feet up,"
Ron added, still badly shaken.
"Lucky for you, Sean pointed at you and cast some spell I don't even know the name of, or you'd have died."
"Oh. Thanks, Sean."
Harry wanted to ask about the match, but then he heard the sound signaling that the Snitch had been caught and the game was over.
The Gryffindor Seeker was lying right here, so figuring out who had won didn't exactly take a genius.
"The Dementors…"
Harry saw the Gryffindor Quidditch team running toward them. Up in the stands, people were still clapping.
He hesitated, then the question burst out of him before he could stop it:
"Why? Why do they affect me like that? Does that mean I—?"
"You think it means you're weak?"
Those green eyes seemed to see straight into his thoughts.
Harry nodded silently.
"The reason the Dementors affect you more strongly than they affect others is because you've lived through a kind of fear no one else has."
Sean explained.
The wind was dying down now, and through the blur of rain Harry could see those eyes—calm, neither sorrowful nor glad.
His face was still pale, but for some reason, Harry felt steady.
"Dementors are among the foulest things in the world. They haunt the darkest, filthiest places. They live in decay and despair. They drain peace, hope, and happiness from the air around them.
If they can, Dementors will reduce you to something like themselves… soulless, full of evil. All that remains to you is the worst experience of your life.
And your worst experience, Harry, is enough to knock anyone off a broomstick. You have nothing to be ashamed of."
Harry swallowed, seeming to want to say something.
"You don't have to tell us, Harry."
Those green eyes seemed to say it for him, gently stopping him.
And then, naturally enough, they saw a white-haired old wizard striding toward them.