It would still be several days before Harry went to the Forbidden Forest. Professor Lupin had returned.
He came back without a sound, and no one knew exactly when. Afterward, he shut himself in his bedroom, drew the curtains, and refused to see anyone.
Only Snape brought food to their door and made sure he took his Potions.
Dumbledore was also refusing to see anyone.
After spending an entire afternoon talking with Harry, he had made a new discovery. Once he'd gone out and returned, he locked himself in his office and casually told the stone statue outside his office not to come looking for him unless it was something serious.
What counted as something serious?
"Dementors attacking Hogwarts,"
Dumbledore said.
The stone statue outside the Headmaster's Office was very dedicated.
It remembered Dumbledore's words perfectly and followed them to the letter.
No matter who came, it said the same thing.
"Headmaster Dumbledore is not seeing anyone. If you have a problem, you can ask Madam Minerva McGonagall. She's the Deputy Headmistress and will take care of things. She's in charge of all of Hogwarts's day-to-day affairs."
Humans were basically recording devices, and stone statues were no different.
It repeated the same thing every time, unhurried and placid, making people want to blow the stubborn beast apart with a spell.
Meanwhile, green light kept flashing inside the Hit Wizards' tent outside Hogwarts.
Dewey looked travel-worn. He wore a khaki hat and trench coat, and held a wand in his hand.
As he lowered his head and entered the tent, he even politely removed his hat, pressed it to his chest, and bowed slightly.
"Voldemort sends his regards!"
In that instant, Walker felt his blood run cold. It wasn't because the man had spoken You-Know-Who's name, but because he'd seen Dewey Jones here!
They had never imagined this could happen. They had never thought this man would show up outside Hogwarts now.
Wasn't he afraid Dumbledore would come out?
"Full Body-Bind Curse!"
The moment he saw Dewey, Walker practically shrieked as he yanked out his wand and tried to cast a spell at him. The other Hit Wizards were no better. They screamed and drew their wands, fear seizing their hearts and making it hard to breathe.
They moved fast, but Dewey was faster.
He lowered his head and spoke, but his wand was already moving.
He didn't need to shout the incantation to cast Expelliarmus.
With a wave of Dewey's hand, the Hit Wizards felt their wands bite them like snakes, forcing them to let go.
The wands flew toward him. All six landed neatly in Dewey's hand.
Dewey seized them and pulled his hat back onto his head.
He lifted his head, revealing a smiling face—a terrifying smile.
His teeth showed as his muscles pulled his mouth into a grin. He looked like a marionette being made to smile, or a dried-up mummy. His skin had shrunk, creasing his face into something resembling a smile.
He smiled, but tears streamed down his face.
Sobbing, his words broken and halting, Dewey wept as he said, "Now, allow me to grant you a sweet death with all the elegance of Voldemort."
Looking at the disarmed Hit Wizards, Dewey smiled sweetly.
The emotions he'd held back for so long exploded in that moment!
He pointed his wand at one of the Hit Wizards, looked at his despairing face, and shouted the chilling curse.
"Avada Kedavra!"
A despairing green flash appeared, striking one lucky Hit Wizard.
The Hit Wizard stared blankly at Dewey, then fell to the ground with a thud.
"No!"
The people there let out desperate roars. Some pulled out their communication devices, while others dropped to their knees in despair. Walker charged at Dewey with his bare hands.
The tent had been enchanted. From the outside, it looked like a single-person tent, but inside it was as big as half a football field.
The Hit Wizards usually stayed inside and never went out.
Hogwarts didn't welcome them, either. Ever since they'd stationed Dementors along the road leading in and out of Hogwarts, no one from the school came out unless absolutely necessary.
The Dementors were still roaming outside Hogwarts. They were already dissatisfied, having gone so long without feeding, and were growing restless.
But inside the tent, there was no hint of joy.
There was only fear.
The Dementors didn't come near.
Dewey looked at the despairing Hit Wizards and let out a deafening laugh.
Laughing wildly, he waved his wand and knocked the Hit Wizards to the ground with ease. He watched them flee in despair, then, just as they were about to escape the tent, hit them with Avada Kedavra. He gave each of them hope, only to snuff it out at the last moment and plunge them back into despair.
"You won't get away with this."
Walker kept backing away. A chill ran through him as he watched the madman approach. He saw the madman toss his wand in front of him, saw him laugh through his tears, saw him double over with laughter.
"So what?"
The madman replied.
Walker watched the madman roll up his sleeves, preparing to fight hand-to-hand. Blood still stained his teeth—he'd just bitten off one of his colleague's ears at close range. Walker clenched his teeth, knowing this was a chance.
His last chance.
Get the wand.
If he could just get the wand, he could subdue this criminal. If he got the wand, he could turn the tables, kill the madman, and survive.
There was no other way!
Walker tried to encourage himself. He roared inwardly as he watched Dewey still laughing, then lunged at him, sprawling face-first onto the ground!
He'd done it.
His fingers touched the wand.
He grabbed it.
Delight spread across his face.
He raised the wand.
He saw Dewey.
Confusion appeared in his eyes.
Dewey was pointing at him with one finger.
Dewey was faster than Walker. It was as though he'd known all along what Walker would do and had been waiting for him.
"Stupefy."
Dewey spoke to Walker, who was holding the wand.
Walker realized in despair that the man before him was like the devil described in the accounts, skilled above all at tempting people. He'd given Walker a glimmer of hope, only to snatch it all away when Walker thought he was about to win.
He couldn't win. He'd never had a chance!
"No!"
He cried out the most heart-rending word he'd ever uttered. He felt blood spurting from his hoarse throat.
The emotional whiplash left him numb.
After that roar, he didn't even have the strength to feel angry at being toyed with.
That was all it took.
He collapsed to the ground and passed out.
Maybe this was a kind of release.
He thought he was tired. He wanted to die.
The spell hit him, and Walker passed out.
Unfortunately, Dewey couldn't kill anyone. Killing wasn't the cruelest kind of torture. In Azkaban, he'd wanted to die countless times.
"It'd be better if I were dead."
"Then I'd finally be at peace."
"Then I wouldn't have to suffer anymore."
"Dying would be wonderful. It'd end everything."
He'd told himself this countless times. Many times, he'd almost succeeded.
But he hadn't died. Since he was still alive, he would make others feel the torment he had once endured.
There was no right or wrong in this.
I just want revenge.
Dewey told himself.
After the battle, not a single enemy there could still stand.
Only then did Dewey slow down.
He wiped away the tears with his thumb and crouched down.
With difficulty, he stripped off their clothes, baring their broad backs.
No one had died in this fight.
Avada Kedavra was still at level one; it couldn't kill anyone. They had only passed out.
Dewey struggled to take a utility knife from his pocket. He extended the blade and "tattooed" the back of every unconscious Hit Wizard.
Blood flowed. The words emerged.
He couldn't use magic to do this, so he had to carve them in the most primitive way.
"Darkness is soon to return, and all things will wither in the end.
My lord, Voldemort, will visit each traitor and enemy in turn."
The message wasn't short.
Dewey carefully carved the words into each person's back.
Blood ran freely.
And with the sight of all that blood came real fear: fear of the Dark Lord.
Dewey looked utterly serious.
Walker alone was the luckiest of them. After wiping away the blood, Dewey carefully carved a different message into his back.
[A gift for the Ministry of Magic—Dewey Jones]
"Darling," he said tenderly to Walker, who'd woken several times only to be knocked out again with magic. "You'll always be the special one."
After shaking the blood off the knife, Dewey tucked it into his clothes. He snapped every wand he'd confiscated and tossed them to the ground. Looking at the wreckage, he suddenly lost control of his emotions again.
He rushed over and kicked and punched the Hit Wizards on the ground. His wild roars were even more frenzied than before.
A few minutes later, Dewey, still shouting wildly, grabbed the suitcase he'd left outside the tent and Apparated away.
"I'll be back. Remember, I'll be back! No matter where you run, I'll find you. I'll find you!"
He shouted at the tent, then vanished in an instant.
Only the tent remained, still and silent.
Dead quiet.
Like a graveyard.
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