The narrow confines of the Shrieking Shack were instantly filled with a swirling silver mist. Within the flowing fog, something leapt and prowled—it was a cat, and its shape was much clearer and livelier than it had been in the History of Magic classroom. Its features, though still hazy, were starting to take form.
If his Patronus back in the classroom had only been worth forty points, this one easily reached fifty. It looked like it could become a fully-formed corporeal Patronus at any moment.
"As I thought—learning the Patronus Charm really does require facing a Dementor directly," Harold murmured, stowing his wand and taking out Silvermane.
He gave the wand a flick.
A blue unicorn appeared out of thin air.
Perhaps it sensed the presence of the Dementor. As it stood in the middle of the Shrieking Shack, the unicorn's expression was clearly one of disdain.
But still, it followed Harold's command and herded the crumpled Dementor in the corner into a large wooden crate.
Right then, the door burst open, and Sirius Black barged in, only to freeze at the sight of Harold struggling to shove a heavy box across the floor.
A tattered strip of black cloth stuck out from the lid—Sirius knew exactly what that was.
The room suddenly felt much colder. Sirius's knees began to shake instinctively, and he had to grip the back of a chair just to stay upright.
"Merlin's beard!" he gasped. "Did you seriously catch a Dementor?!"
"You're mistaken," Harold said calmly, patting the crate. "That's a Boggart in there."
"Rubbish. That's a Dementor!" Sirius said flatly.
His legs were trembling too hard for it to be anything else. That bone-deep dread only happened near a real Dementor.
"Alright, it is," Harold admitted.
"Not yet," Harold shook his head. "Catching one isn't difficult. Making sure the Ministry doesn't notice? That's trickier. You can't keep showing your face in Hogsmeade either."
"So, what are you planning to do with it?" Sirius asked warily.
"I'm going to use it to finish mastering the Patronus Charm."
The moment he heard it was still alive, Sirius instinctively backed away, horror all over his face.
"Merlin's beard… don't tell me you're keeping that thing here in the Shrieking Shack!"
Even the idea made Sirius go pale. Memories of sharing space with Dementors in Azkaban flooded his mind, and he sank weakly into a chair.
If that were true, he'd be packing up. Even sleeping in the Forbidden Forest was better than sharing a building with a Dementor.
"No need," Harold said as he heaved the crate into position, shoving it toward his lizard-skin pouch.
It was a tight fit. Understandable—this wasn't an alchemically enhanced bag, just the raw, basic kind. Space inside was limited.
After rearranging a few things, Harold finally got the box to fit. He exited the Shrieking Shack.
By now, it was fully dark. Moonlight filtered through thick clouds, casting shifting shadows across the castle's towers.
Curfew was surely in effect, but Harold had the Marauder's Map. Dodging Filch and the patrolling professors wasn't difficult, and he slipped back into Gryffindor Tower without issue.
Harry was in the common room when Harold arrived. He looked like he wanted to say something, then changed his mind. "Professor McGonagall came looking for you. I told her you were in the library. Don't let it slip."
"Yeah," Ron added. "Luckily, it was an hour ago, so it wasn't curfew yet."
Harold guessed that was when he'd still been getting "acquainted" with the Dementor.
"Got it. Thanks." He nodded. "Did she say what it was about?" Check latest chapters at Nove1Fire.net
"No," Ron replied. "But she said it wasn't urgent—you can go see her tomorrow after class."
"Perfect." If it wasn't urgent, it probably wasn't too serious.
"There's something else," Harry added. "Next time you see McGonagall… can you ask if she's done inspecting the Firebolt?"
"We've got the match against Hufflepuff soon, and we can't afford to lose. That broom is really important."
Harold didn't stay in the common room long. Practicing the Patronus Charm was mentally exhausting, and even though he had ways to resist a Dementor's influence, the cramped shack didn't offer much ventilation. Just breathing near it could sap away some of his joy.
Now he felt dizzy and sluggish. He'd planned to discuss something with Fred and George tonight, but he was too drained. He collapsed into bed and fell into a deep sleep almost instantly.
The next day, after Transfiguration class, Harold found Professor McGonagall.
"It's not urgent, but I think it's worth trying," she said. "You're familiar with Transfiguration Today, I assume?"
"Of course. I have a subscription."
He remembered how helpful it had been when she helped him find articles during his Animagus studies—many of them had come from that very journal.
"I think you should submit a paper," McGonagall said. "Try for the 'Most Promising Newcomer' award. It's one of the most prestigious honors in transfiguration. Even the Headmaster and I have won it."
"It's something that'll help your career after graduation…"
Because she suddenly remembered Harold's full name—Harold Ollivander.
Awards, certificates—things other students would kill for—probably didn't mean much to someone named Ollivander.
"Of course, this is just a suggestion," she added quickly. "Writing for an academic journal takes time. Third-year coursework is already demanding. If you'd rather not, I understand."
"No, Professor. I'd be happy to try for the award," Harold said.
He hadn't originally planned to write an academic paper—but he quickly changed his mind.
"That's wonderful!" McGonagall looked genuinely pleased. "I can't help you with the actual content, but I can recommend a few excellent topics. You'll be able to find the relevant materials in the library."
"Thank you, Professor—but I've already decided on a topic."
"You have?" McGonagall looked surprised. "May I ask what it is?
"Actually, several sixth- and seventh-years are also submitting papers this year. I just want to make sure there's no overlap. They've been working on theirs since last term."
"I'm writing about how wands influence transfiguration," Harold said. "I doubt any of them are covering wands."