A day at Hogwarts.

Chapter 613 Who Will Voluntarily Come to Azkaban?

"The beef smells really good today."

Pull-tab took a deep breath, a satisfied expression on his face, as if all his fatigue and troubles had been dispelled by the fragrance.

Today, Harry's dish is Kreacher's roast beef stew, which is first pan-fried and then roasted. The beef shoulder pieces are seasoned with salt and pepper and then pan-fried in olive oil in a cast iron pot until golden brown on all sides to lock in the juices. Next, chopped onions and minced garlic are sautéed, tomatoes and flour are added to make a paste, red wine is poured in and reduced to half volume, and then beef broth is added to make a thick sauce. The pan-fried beef is placed in the pot, surrounded by yellow potatoes and carrot chunks, with bay leaves and fresh thyme added. The pot is then covered and roasted in the oven at a low temperature for 3 hours.

The cooked beef separated into shreds with a light touch of a fork, and the potatoes and carrots became soft and sweet after absorbing the meat juices. The thick broth had the aroma of red wine and the flavor of herbs. Finally, it was garnished with fresh parsley. I ate half the pot.

Since I started working in this cold and oppressive place called Azkaban, such warm, satisfying, and comforting moments have been few and far between.

He noticed Harry's furrowed brow, as if deep in thought, and casually asked, "Trouble? Didn't you finish your summer homework?"

Harry shook his head and said, "It's finished. But there's something I don't understand..."

He paused, then lowered his voice and said, "Can anyone who isn't from the Ministry of Magic just enter Azkaban?"

Pull-ring waved his hand dismissively and said, "How could that be? Who would willingly come to such a godforsaken place? Do you think your life is too comfortable?"

“But I did see someone come looking for Dementors yesterday,” Harry said, his voice filled with confusion.

Gripen's eyes widened suddenly, staring at Harry incredulously for a long while before finally shaking his head vigorously and saying with certainty, "You must be mistaken, kid."

"Looking for Dementors? What's the point? Are you tired of living your life and want them to kiss you?"

Harry didn't reply, but continued to think in silence, his eyes serious.

Pull-Ring continued, "You're probably seeing things. Sometimes Dementors float on the ground and look like they're walking."

That noon, he collected all the tableware and put it back in the cupboard, where there was an extra piece of parchment.

When he was delivering meals in the evening, he checked the food boxes and found that there was one extra one.

Pull-Hook would go home for dinner and rest after work in the evening, so Harry, being cautious, stuffed the Invisibility Cloak that had been delivered under his bed.

For the next few days, whenever he had a spare moment, he would lie by the narrow window in the kitchen, gazing at the gloomy, gray sea and the winding path leading to the prison gate.

Pull-ring thought he just wanted to leave, so she didn't pay much attention and often told him a few lame fairy jokes to cheer him up, which was actually also a way of comforting herself.

Then one day, Fletcher told Harry a crucial piece of information: "The man didn't come through the front door when he came in the evening."

“I heard footsteps coming from the corridor, going up the stairs next to it.”

"I heard that the top floor is where Dementors live, and very few people have ever been there."

Harry nodded, immediately having a clear plan in mind.

That evening, he finished clearing away the dishes as usual, then quickly put on his invisibility cloak and, like an invisible shadow, silently crept to the entrance of the dark staircase, where he waited, holding his breath.

Dementors perceive things in a completely different way than humans. The Dementors that silently patrolled the corridors had already noticed Harry under the Invisibility Cloak, but since they had been warned in advance, they ignored him.

Suddenly, clear footsteps echoed through the deathly silent corridor, reverberating between the empty stone walls.

Dementors float and never make footsteps; footsteps mean someone is coming!

Harry's heart skipped a beat, and he quickly pressed himself against the shadow of a cold cell door to hide.

He thought to himself that if someone were to sneak in, they certainly wouldn't want to get close to the doors where the prisoners were held. In the dim, flickering light of the oil lamp, a burly figure gradually emerged from the shadows. He warily scanned the ceiling, his movements clearly indicating he was on guard against the ever-present Dementors.

Harry held his breath; he could almost hear his own heartbeat.

As the other person drew closer, in the dim light he finally recognized the pale, distorted long face and dark hair. Combined with the figure, it was undoubtedly the Death Eater Antonin Dolokhov!
Dolohoff kept a wary eye on the shadows floating in the air, never expecting that someone would be hiding by the cold cell door, walking past Harry and heading straight up the stairs leading to the upper floor.

Harry waited a moment, estimated the distance, and then quietly followed.

The higher you go, the colder and more biting the air becomes, and the more Dementors drift around. The air around you feels colder than liquid nitrogen.

Harry felt that the defenses built by Occlumency were failing, and a chill ran uncontrollably from the bottom of his heart. He even began to have blurry hallucinations, seeing Dementors "eating" cookies.

He subconsciously took off his glasses, wiped them, put them back on, and stared intently.

I wasn't mistaken. Those Dementors did indeed use their bony, twig-like fingers to pinch a finger-shaped biscuit and stiffly and slowly put it into their mouths hidden in the shadow of their hoods.

The biscuit quickly turned into grayish-white powder, which it silently exhaled like the cold white breath exhaled in winter.

Each time the Dementor spits out a mouthful of cookie crumbs, a look of ecstasy appears on its face.

Harry was filled with doubt and unease, but he had no time to think about the strange sight and continued to move carefully upwards.

Just as they were about to reach the top floor, a Dementor suddenly landed in the middle of the stairs without warning, blocking their way.

Harry was startled and quickly dodged to the side against the wall.

His worst fears came true; the Dementor floated right in front of him, so close he could almost feel its chilling aura, completely blocking his path.

Harry felt a chill run through his body; his blood felt like it was freezing.

Harry suddenly felt his hands and feet go cold. He had been discovered. How exactly had he been discovered? Had the Dementors under the ceiling sprayed some cookie crumbs that landed on the Invisibility Cloak?
"Why...did you...hit...me..."

A cold, hollow voice, as if coming from the abyss, rang out intermittently from the mouth of the Dementor right in front of him.

Harry had imagined many things that might happen next in the blink of an eye, such as the Dementor summoning other Dementors or sucking his soul, but he never thought it would ask him questions.

"When have I ever hit you?" Harry asked, puzzled. He had been here for so many days and had never fought a Dementor.

“That day… I… brought… fish… to visit… a friend…” The Dementor’s voice was extremely slow, pausing after each word, and a hint of grievance could be faintly heard.

Harry blinked and realized that the Dementor he had knocked away with the Patronus Charm at the crossroads that day was this very one.

Now he was extremely anxious and just wanted to get rid of the entanglement as soon as possible and catch up with Dolokhov, so he said in a low and hurried voice, "I'm sorry, I thought you were attacking Dali, and I was punished for it."

As he spoke, he nervously glanced around. The other Dementors were still quietly slurping their strange biscuits, spitting out powder, seemingly oblivious to their presence.

The Dementor didn't seem to blame Harry. He began to slowly recount his story of how he started that day by catching fish to make a gift, then went to find his friend, saw a chubby boy fall down on the way, and was eventually beaten up.

Harry was extremely anxious, feeling like every second was like being tortured on fire.

Dolokhov had already disappeared above the stairs. He didn't have time to chat with a Dementor here; he needed to know what he was doing here and whether it was part of Voldemort's plot!
Just then, his worst fears came true: unusually light footsteps echoed from above the stairs.

Dolokhov had finished his business upstairs and was coming down.

(End of this chapter)