Ch 69
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The whole line slowly moved forward at a steady pace. The people who finished their business left, and more newcomers lined up at the back.
As time passed, the girl in the line drew closer and closer to the counter. She already felt embarrassed about the scene earlier, but her proud temperament wouldn't allow her to lower her head and apologize.
"Please take out something that can prove your identity," the boy behind the counter said politely. In the blink of an eye, she was already standing before him. Malfoy addressed her as if nothing awkward had happened.
His indifference annoyed her even more. She was confident in her beauty, and the attention she'd received earlier had pleased her. At school she wasn't very popular—mostly due to other girls' jealousy—so when she went out, she cherished these rare moments.
But she misunderstood: this particular boy hadn't looked up at all. If he had, he might have stolen a few more glances… and perhaps even guessed her identity.
"Oh—a rare foreign visitor. Your vault is number 413."
Malfoy finally raised his head, his eyes flickering with brief surprise, but he concealed it well.
Everyone appreciated beauty, but staring was rude.
"Miss? Are you listening?" he prompted when she drifted into a daze.
"Thank you. I was a little distracted," she muttered.
Two small defeats in front of a boy younger than her—her pride took another blow.
Because of her distraction, she failed to notice the abnormal silence spreading behind her. The once-noisy line had gone dead quiet.
Suddenly Malfoy snatched a wand from beneath the counter and pointed it at her.
Her instincts screamed that he wasn't the threat—but years of Defence Against the Dark Arts training made her react automatically.
"Expecto Patronum!"
"Stupefy!"
A blue glow shot from her wand toward Malfoy, while silver mist burst from the tip of Malfoy's wand.
Her pupils contracted sharply.
No one used the Patronus Charm to attack.
There was only one explanation.
She spun around—and froze.
Dozens of people in line were collapsing like wheat beneath a scythe.
"D–Dementors…" she whispered, remembering the lesson vividly:
> "Cloaked figures… bodies like decaying corpses… scabbed hands… and beneath the hood, a mouth that sucks the soul. They guard Azkaban. Only the Patronus Charm drives them away."
Two Dementors glided along both sides of the hall, drifting like grim reapers harvesting life.
This year she was completing her fifth year at Beauxbatons. As one of Madame Maxime's favorite students, the headmistress had hinted many times that the Triwizard Tournament might return soon. She wanted her to bring glory to the school, and so had trained her privately—her reaction speed was one result.
But the Patronus Charm was her greatest weakness.
She could never summon it properly. In school she was ostracized—girls' jealousy, her own proud nature—it left her with few friends. Her everyday memories brought no light powerful enough to form a Patronus.
Only thoughts of her beloved little sister, Gabrielle, produced a faint wisp of silver mist—never enough for a corporeal Patronus.
And now she realized her mistake.
She had stunned the only person here capable of casting the Patronus Charm.
Her aim was flawless—she prided herself on her delicate wand control. A boy her age might block it with Protego, but not while casting a spell simultaneously. He should have been knocked flat.
She turned back, ready to cancel her spell—
—and froze as if she'd seen a ghost.
Malfoy was completely unharmed.
And he was already raising his wand to cast again.
"Ma'am," he said calmly, eyes fixed on the approaching Dementors, "if you still want to drive those things away, we can't afford to stand here in shock. I promise, I'll answer your questions later."
She nodded quickly. For someone only a few years younger, he was remarkably composed—much more mature than the preening show-offs at school.
She caught sight of Malfoy's Patronus forming—a bright white rooster. As a French witch, seeing one of her country's symbols made her feel strangely reassured.
"If possible, you should cast your own Patronus Charm," Malfoy said. "Even if it won't drive them away, it will protect you."
He flicked his wand, sending his Patronus sprinting toward the Dementors.
Dementors fed on peace, hope, happiness. They loved despair, decay, darkness. But with enough inner strength, a wizard could keep their own emotions from being swallowed.
The Patronus wasn't about its form—historically, even a rat-shaped Patronus had once been the strongest on record.
Malfoy's rooster had helped him defeat the Basilisk recently—a strange, miraculous coincidence—but today it shone again.
The white rooster bounded in mid-air toward the Dementors. They recoiled violently, like beasts fleeing a natural predator, yet unwilling to abandon the delicious human emotions saturating the hall.
Then the rooster blazed brighter, becoming more solid, its whiteness searing.
The Dementors fled.
Malfoy blinked, surprised. The sudden surge of power in his Patronus was clearly thanks to the girl.
He glanced at her.
"Thank you."
Her face flushed scarlet, making her even more striking—but he had no time to notice. He continued driving the creatures out. One careless moment could mean death.
Moments later, the Dementors retreated from the hall entirely.
"Is it safe now?" the girl asked softly.
"No. We need a Banishing Charm. Never underestimate how greedy these things are. What we did only drove them away. We still haven't found a way to destroy them."
"But I only know Muggle-Repelling Charms…" she murmured, embarrassed again.
"You won't need to worry about that. But—could you help me with something?" Malfoy snapped his fingers, startling her.
"Of course."
"Straight through that passage. Left fork, two meters, then right to the end. There's an unlocked room with a mahogany desk. Third drawer on the right—bring all the packages. I can't leave."
"Okay." She hurried off, trusting him implicitly now.
"You really didn't slow me down," Malfoy murmured, watching her run. Except for the nearly-misfired Stunning Spell, she'd been a remarkable help.
Now that he had a moment to think, his confusion returned.
The Dementors.
Nothing about this made sense.
Dementors were under the control of the Ministry of Magic. They guarded Azkaban. The Ministry had no proper wizarding army—only the Aurors, who were really just elite police.
As Dumbledore always said, it was one of the Ministry's greatest flaws.
Yet today, the Ministry had clearly released Dementors into the world—likely to hunt Sirius Black.
And once released, they had no discipline, no restraint, preying on anything they liked: Dudley on Privet Drive, students on the Hogwarts Express, and now Gringotts.
When had the Ministry ever imposed real control?
"Return to Azkaban"?
Was letting a criminal go home supposed to be punishment?
They looted happiness freely; their Kiss was worse than the death penalty.
And somehow… these undisciplined, unstable monsters were later expected to defect to Voldemort?
Creatures that cowered before Patronuses, bullied helpless prisoners, and were impossible to control?
Malfoy exhaled slowly.
He truly could not understand why the Ministry trusted Dementors more than ordinary witches and wizards.
It was, in the truest sense—
Ironic.