Five years after the Battle of Hogwarts, the wizarding world struggles to rebuild. The Ministry of Magic maintains a fragile order, magical communities remain wary, and remnants of Death Eater ideology linger in secrecy. Dementors, once thought confined to Azkaban, drift into populated areas, drawn to fear and sorrow. Hogwarts, restored as a school, has become a hub for magical security, training, and intelligence—its corridors and towers acting as a frontline against the shadows beyond the castle walls.
You are Erin Mornviel, a wizard trained to survive in a world where danger is never far. Rules matter only when survival demands them; instinct, perception, and careful observation guide every step. You notice everything—the twitch of an eye, the tremor of a hand, the faintest shift in air or shadow. Your mind catalogs threats before most even sense them. Magic is your tool, your framework for control, and your shield against a chaotic, unpredictable, and lethal world. Emotion is dangerous; trust is precious. You have mastered keeping both at a safe distance.
The story begins as you patrol Hogwarts one misted evening. The towers loom like silent sentinels, and reports of unusual Dementor activity have reached you—creatures appearing along the Forbidden Forest and nearby villages, bolder and more erratic than expected. You sense it first: the unnatural chill in the air, the trembling grass, the faint whisper of despair. Something human stirs behind the darkness.
Soon, you uncover evidence of a secret group of Death Eater loyalists, hidden in the shadows, using dark enchantments to manipulate the Dementors’ behavior. They are not merely regrouping—they are testing the limits of magical society’s defenses. You realize that the fragile peace the world fought for is under immediate, lethal threat.

Ali's scream cuts through everything, high-pitched and raw with shock. “NO!”
She drops to her knees beside Sam's still form, fingers trembling as she searches for a pulse. When she finds none, her face contorts with grief and rage.
“You bastard!” she snarls, scrambling to her feet and launching herself at me.
She attacks wildly, her nails raking across my face, her fists pounding against my chest. I try to fend her off, but she's relentless, driven by a fury born of sudden loss.
“What have you done?” she shrieks, tears mixing with the spittle flying from her lips. “He was the last of my family! The last person I cared about!”
I manage to grab her wrists, pinning them to her sides as she kicks and struggles against me. But her anger is starting to give way to exhaustion, her movements becoming weaker.
“Why?” she sobs, her voice cracking. “Why did you have to kill him?”

I try to control the adrenaline coursing through my veins, “Stop! Shut the fuck up!” I hiss into her ear trying to stop her from yelling.
“Not far. We'll take the alleyways. It'll add a bit of time, but it's safer than the main streets,” Ali replies, her eyes darting between the shadows.
We continue through the maze of alleys, occasionally pausing to listen for any signs of pursuit. The city feels empty and haunted in the moonlight, as though we're the only ones left.
As we near our destination, Ali's pace quickens. She leads us into a narrow passageway between two buildings.
“There,” she whispers suddenly, pointing to a fire escape on the side of an old apartment building. “That's it. We can get in through the third floor.”
She moves toward the rusted metal ladder, but pauses before starting to climb. “Listen, Seth. I know you saved me back there, but we need a plan.”
Her expression is grim. “So here's what's going to happen. We hole up here for the day. Rest, regroup. Then tomorrow, we move. I have a safe house on the outskirts of the city. It won't be easy, but with the right supplies, I know a way out of this hellhole.”
She holds my gaze steadily. “What do you say? Are you with me?”
I weigh my options. She's right about the danger outside, but trusting a stranger in these times… it's risky. Still, she seems to know the area, and we did just save each other's lives.
The corridors of Hogwarts are silent, but silence here carries weight. Stone walls rise cold and damp, torches flickering against shadows that twist unnaturally. Every footstep echoes, swallowed unevenly, making you question where the sound ends and the dark begins. The castle smells of old stone, burning wick, and the faint tang of magic long settled into these halls—ancient, heavy, persistent.
You pause. The chill hits first, creeping under your robes, curling around your shoulders. It’s not just cold. It presses against your chest, makes your lungs burn. The shadows ahead shift slightly, too fluid, too deliberate. You hear it before you see it—the hollow rasp of a breath, the whisper of despair drawn from the very walls. A Dementor.
Your grip tightens on your wand. Instinct pulls your muscles taut, ready to react. You’ve tracked these creatures before, watched them drift over village streets and patrol forest edges, feeding off fear and misery. You know their habits, their patterns—but standing here, in the cold stone corridors of Hogwarts itself, every instinct screams that this one is different. Hungry, bold, probing.
A sudden scrape of stone makes you pivot sharply. The shadow moves, flowing closer, a black mass that swallows the torchlight. Its presence is suffocating, a weight on your chest, a drain on your hope. You fight to keep your thoughts clear, focusing on charmwork, on repelling magic, on survival—but the cold seeps in, slowing your thoughts, tightening your grip, whispering doubt.
Then Luna Lovegood steps from a corner, hair silver in the torchlight, wand raised but her movements fluid, calm. Her wide eyes meet yours and, for a moment, she is the only anchor in the pressing cold. “It’s feeding off fear,” she says softly, her voice carrying an odd serenity. “Focus on happy thoughts. Remember what it can’t touch. Don’t let it reach your mind.”
You nod, muscles still coiled, senses straining. Every detail matters: the glint of torchlight on stone, the uneven draft through the corridor, the faint smell of frost that the Dementor brings with it, and the rapid thrum of your own pulse. Luna’s wand traces gentle, deliberate arcs, light flickering along the walls to repel the creature. Her calm steadies you, but only barely. The Dementor presses harder, floating closer, its chill a living thing, and the pull of despair gnaws at your concentration.
Your breath comes fast. You feel the cold clawing inside your chest, the hair on your arms raised. Every movement, every incantation, every step matters. Luna steps closer, her presence almost otherworldly but reassuring. Her eyes are steady, unflinching, and for the first time since the creature appeared, the cold doesn’t feel infinite. You find yourself drawing strength from her confidence, even as the Dementor hovers nearer, testing your limits.
The corridor feels smaller, oppressive. Shadows bend unnaturally, edges of torchlight swallowed in darkness. The Dementor’s hooded face tilts toward you, and you realize that all the preparation in the world won’t protect you from its gaze—you must believe, must hold onto hope, must focus. And somehow, through the cold and despair and the creature pressing closer, Luna’s calm reminds you that you are not alone.
The chill bites deeper, and yet, for the first time tonight, you feel the spark of control. You are ready. The Dementor is about to learn that you are not as helpless as it thinks.