Headmaster's Office.
A copy of The Daily Prophet was laid out on Dumbledore's desk, a look of satisfaction on his face.
Although old Barty harbored wariness toward him, he had still remembered his advice.
Dismissing the Dementors meant that the chances of Voldemort seizing Azkaban had been drastically reduced.
"This isn't exactly good news," Snape said in a low voice. "Some of the Death Eaters escaped."
"Some of the Death Eaters, Severus," Dumbledore corrected as he set the newspaper down. Snape had brought him the news immediately upon hearing it.
Dumbledore knew what was troubling Snape. His eyes sparkled with wisdom as he said kindly, "It's never too late to mend the pen after the sheep are lost."
More than the decision to expel the Dementors, what truly comforted Dumbledore was that old Barty was willing to listen to others' advice.
Back during Harry's last trial at the Ministry, Dumbledore had doubted whether Barty would simply ignore his words because of it.
Thankfully, old Barty wasn't a fool—this pleased him greatly.
When it came to dealing with Voldemort, it would be best if the Ministry could lend a hand.
"If I may speak frankly," Snape said, still looking sour, "Barty Crouch's attitude toward you has made his stance quite clear."
"So long as he's willing to contribute to the magical world," Dumbledore replied calmly, "I'm willing to set aside the trivial things."
Snape responded in a voice dripping with sarcasm, "Let's hope he understands your noble intentions."
Dumbledore flipped through the paper again but found no mention of how the Dementors had been dealt with.
A trace of doubt flickered in his eyes behind the half-moon spectacles. Surely the Ministry wouldn't have simply driven the Dementors away?
They deserved a better form of handling.
...
Azkaban.
Ten Aurors stood outside a cell, their wands continuously emitting a silvery mist that kept the Dementor trapped inside.
"Rotate the team—have the next group take over," said Piers, glancing at his pocket watch and signaling the others to switch shifts.
Restraining a Dementor was an exhausting task. The only known spell effective against them was the Patronus Charm.
And that spell was notoriously difficult to master—even among Aurors, not everyone could cast it.
Sustaining the spell for long periods drained the Aurors heavily, so Piers had arranged for three teams to take turns, each covering a one-hour shift.
Luckily, Dementors didn't have the ability to pass through walls. Otherwise, keeping one confined for even a day would be impossible.
"Expecto Patronum!"
The fresh team of Aurors stepped forward to cast the Patronus Charm, while the ones being relieved slumped back, drained of energy.
Half an hour later—
"How much longer do we have to keep this up?" one Auror asked Piers.
Almost all of the Ministry's Aurors had been pulled in for this task. If this continued, it could very well throw the Ministry into chaos.
Piers glanced over at Tommy. Tommy had just lifted his eyes from his watch and smiled. "I think it's about time."
He figured his boss had probably finished class by now.
Piers' face lit up, and he motioned for the others to withdraw outside.
He turned to the last ten Aurors still casting the Patronus Charm and said, "Leave this place."
"But... the Dementor—" one Auror hesitated.
Piers said impatiently, "Leave. Someone else will handle it."
Reluctantly obeying their superior's order, the Aurors gritted their teeth and dispelled their Patronus Charms simultaneously.
Three seconds after the silvery glow vanished, a terrifying scream erupted from the cell.
The Aurors' scalps prickled, and they bolted from Azkaban without daring to look back.
A young Auror, drained of magic, stumbled during the retreat and fell flat on the ground.
The cell door burst open, and a dense swarm of Dementors poured out.
The moment they spotted the Auror, they surged toward him like a black tide, ready to engulf him.
"No—no, please!"
The young Auror let out a scream. Just as he was about to be swallowed by the black tide, he heard footsteps.
Unlike the panicked, chaotic scurrying from earlier, these footsteps were steady—calm and unhurried—as they approached.
The once-surging Dementors suddenly halted.
The young Auror couldn't believe it. The footsteps kept drawing closer.
He jerked his head around—and saw the wall and floor behind him being overtaken by countless black threads, spreading like ink soaking into canvas.
The Dementors recoiled, as if facing their natural enemy.
The young Auror thought he'd be consumed by the darkness behind him—but instead, it flowed around him and ensnared the fleeing Dementors.
One thread after another latched onto them, forcing the Dementors to retreat even faster.
The footsteps stopped just behind the young Auror. A deep, raspy voice spoke—it sounded like sand being dragged across the shore by the tide.
"Leave this place."
There was no room for argument. The young Auror looked back—and saw a silver mask.
He stammered, "J-Johnny Silverhand… sir."
He gasped for air, realizing he had survived that terrifying tide of darkness.
Then, scrambling and stumbling, he fled from Azkaban.
Even after leaving Azkaban's cellblock, the young Auror was still shaken.
He turned back to look, and a terrifying aura was still seeping out from within.
The Dementors—who had taken dozens of Aurors just to barely contain—now looked like frightened brides, entangled in black threads.
John, who had come from Hogwarts, held a box in his hands.
Inside it was something like a bottomless black hole, pulling the Dementors in one by one.
One after another, the Dementors in Azkaban were visibly cleared out.
The magical crystals embedded on all sides of the box glowed faintly, though cracks had begun to appear along the surface.
When the final Dementor was drawn inside, John's silver arm turned pitch-black, spreading over the entire box.
The spreading of the cracks began to slow.
"It should hold until we get back."
Clutching the box in his hand, John walked out of Azkaban.
That suffocating pressure from earlier had been enough to make even the most battle-hardened Aurors hold their breath.
Seeing him emerge, Piers immediately stepped forward with respect.
"Lord Johnny Silverhand."
John gave a slight nod. Noticing that Piers' gaze was fixed on his hand, he chuckled lightly and said, "Tell Minister Crouch—I've taken my payment."
Piers was momentarily stunned, then looked at the black box with a horrified expression.
The Dementors... were just taken away like that?
"Sir, allow me to escort you back."
Seeing that Johnny was about to leave, Piers hurried to catch up.
John chuckled again. "No need—I think I've got a faster way."
"Faster?" Piers looked completely baffled.
There were Anti-Apparition Charms all over the island... Was he using a Portkey?
But he hadn't seen any vehicle or flying creature when the man arrived.
Just as confusion clouded Piers' face, a massive figure descended from the sky.
"It's a Zouwu!"
The Zouwu, catlike in appearance, landed softly. Its large peony-like tail swept out, clearing the surrounding area with a single motion.
Piers was stunned. John leapt lightly onto the Zouwu's back.
The creature immediately activated its spatial travel ability, diving into a dimensional rift and vanishing without a trace.
"..."
Such a rare magical creature, yet it had been tamed to this degree of obedience.
Piers couldn't help but once again feel a chill at the sheer mystery surrounding Johnny Silverhand.
Tommy, meanwhile, watched as his boss left him behind and felt a pang of silent grief in his heart.
But he didn't show it. He simply bid Piers farewell.
Then, together with the wizards from Silverhand Shop, he boarded the carriage and left Azkaban.
As for John, he didn't return to Hogwarts.
Instead, he arrived at Silverhand Manor. The massive Zouwu's landing stirred a commotion, drawing the attention of the security team.
John waved them off.
Letting the Zouwu roam freely in the lavender garden for a while, he stepped into the manor.
The box in his hand was on the verge of breaking apart. Unhurried, John passed by a room where the golden cup was kept.
Stopping before a container shaped like a dragon, John sliced open his palm.
Blood dripped into the container, and the dragon's eyes turned crimson.
A hidden door opened, revealing a space behind it filled with tangible darkness.
This was the prison he had created.
A room that was utterly unbreakable.
Magical crystals were embedded all around the perimeter, forming a powerful magical magnetic field.
John tossed the black box inside.
The box shattered, and countless Dementors surged out.
The magnetic field activated instantly—none of the Dementors could break through.
At the same time, the darkness inside the room thickened into viscous black threads. One Dementor that came into contact with them was slowly unraveled, its body disassembled strand by strand.
A mass of pure soul essence emerged and was instantly absorbed.
The Dementors let out terrified shrieks as John stepped out of the room. Outside, he saw the dragon-shaped container spit a soul into its reservoir.
After a short while, another soul followed.
He had left a Soul-Devouring Curse in the room—it would continue refining the Dementors into soul essence.
John watched for a moment, then turned to leave.
Just before exiting, he stopped and glanced at the Horcrux golden cup trapped in its container.
A thoughtful and faintly surprised look appeared in his eyes.