Durmstrang basement.
The cold, damp walls kept seeping beads of water, and great patches of mold spread across them, crouching there like ghostly shadows.
A Dementor drifted through the air, its figure blending into the ghostlike patches of mold on the wall.
Several men and women were bound with thick ropes, the knots ragged and long since stained dark brown with blood.
They huddled in the corner, trembling nonstop, their eyes hollow and despairing. Every breath sent out white mist, accompanied by pained whimpers, as if even breathing itself had become a punishment.
In the corner on the other side of the basement stood a workbench. Beneath it, hidden in the shadows, was a pile of straw with several Runespoor eggs resting on it.
Above the workbench sat a cauldron that had just been taken off the fire, and a cabinet of materials that reached all the way to the ceiling.
Herpo sat on a stone stool in the corner and yawned.
Tormenting Muggles this way had long since become nothing unusual to him... He was hoping to see something more interesting.
Voldemort seemed to be observing carefully, his gaze sweeping over every person who had been bound.
Only after he obtained a satisfactory result did he leisurely raise a hand and gesture. "Leave these four... As for the rest, you may enjoy them."
The Dementor had been waiting for this moment. The instant Voldemort's words fell, it moved sharply.
It raised its long, skinny hand covered in sores and tore off its hood, revealing the only thing left on its face—a great black hole of a mouth, from which came a strange "clacking" sound.
As it swooped down, the tattered cloak around it suddenly billowed open.
The chill in the basement also intensified abruptly at that moment. The droplets