The basement of Durmstrang.
Beads of water continually seeped from the cold, clammy walls. Vast patches of mold spread across them, crouching there like sinister ghosts.
A Dementor drifted through the air, its silhouette blending with the ghostly patches of mold on the walls.
Several men and women were bound with thick ropes, their tangled knots long since stained dark brown with blood.
They huddled in a corner, trembling incessantly, their eyes hollow and hopeless. Every breath brought not only a puff of white mist but a whimper of pain, as though breathing itself had become a punishment.
A workbench stood in the opposite corner of the basement. Beneath it, a pile of straw lay hidden in the shadows, with several Runespoor eggs resting on top.
On the workbench sat a cauldron that had just been taken off the fire, beside a cabinet of ingredients that reached the ceiling.
Herpo sat on a stone stool in the corner and yawned.
Torturing Muggles this way had long since become routine to him... he hoped to see something more interesting.
Voldemort appeared to be observing them carefully, his gaze sweeping over each bound captive.
Only when he had reached a satisfactory conclusion did he leisurely raise a hand and gesture. "Leave these four... as for the rest, you may feast."
The Dementor had been waiting for this moment. The instant Voldemort finished speaking, it sprang into action.
It raised a long, thin hand covered in sores and tore off its hood, revealing the gaping, black hole of a mouth that was all that remained of its face. A strange rattling sound came from within.
As it swooped down, its ragged cloak suddenly billowed outward.
The chill in the basement intensified abruptly. The droplets on the walls grew cloudy, on the verge of