The sun broke through the clouds and shone on Death, but cast no shadow beneath it.
The ghostly flames in its eyes burned on without end, as they had since time immemorial. In ancient Greece, people called it Hades, King of the Underworld. In ancient Egypt, they called it Anubis. The Scandinavians honored it as Hela. The Celts named it the Morrigan. It was Yama in ancient Indian legend, and Azazel in Jewish tradition.
In every age and every corner of the world, every fantasy and longing humanity had ever attached to death had gathered into this phantom, a shadow that did not truly exist in the real world.
Death ruled the Underworld, yet the barrier between the Underworld and the living world was not time or space. The Underworld was not on some distant star, nor in another dimension. It was a place of emptiness that existed only in imagination, hidden inside the soul of the universe.
That was why Death was immortal. It had always been nothing more than an illusion, a mirage and a reflection. How could something like that be defeated?
Only magical power born from imagination, such as a Patronus, could force Death to retreat.
Skyl had never learned the Patronus Charm. He had no need for protection from an ethereal guardian.
Death trembled before him.
"First you smashed my cauldron. Then you interrupted me while I was watching a game. Have you existed in this world for too long? Are you looking for me to put you out of your misery?"
"Wizard, resurrection is forbidden. Even you cannot break the iron law of life and death again and again. I merely punished those mortals who overestimated themselves."
"And who decided resurrection is forbidden? You?"
Skyl shook his head and laughed. "This world has sevenfold history. In the age when gods still walked the earth, resurrecting mortals was nothing unusual. The essence of life and death is clean and pure. The universe naturally allows mortals to return from death, while you are nothing but a thief who usurped death's throne, a phantom of fear created by the thoughts of living beings. And you want to obstruct this immortal miracle?"
From beneath Death's cloak came the moans of the dead, faint and intermittent.
"The iron curtain of death... was not decided by me... Mortals believe the dead cannot return. They believe all things in this world are brief and perishable, and that only death is eternal."
"Then why did you release Dementors and try to kill my classmates and professors?"
"I did not know you were here."
Skyl was amused. Faced with such an honest answer from Death, he did not know what to say for a moment.
"Then you should crawl back to the Underworld. From now on, do not interfere with the living world again."
Death's form slowly began to fade.
Skyl suddenly frowned. He had foreseen one possible future, after Dumbledore and the others died, Death would erase their souls, making it impossible for later generations to resurrect them.
"Dumbledore is a member of the Tower Covenant, and you dare touch someone under my protection? What courage."
The High Tower King's expression changed without warning. He reached out and seized Death by the throat. Turbulent eternal divine power flowed from his eyes as he activated the Transfiguration that had made him famous. At Skyl's current level of divine power, Death in the Harry Potter world had no ability to resist.
"You are still too vindictive, too spiritual. From now on, stop being a cloaked skeleton monster. Turn into a harmless little animal instead."
Death let out a wail.
"No!"
...
Thousands of Dementors appeared in the sky above Hogwarts and plunged toward the school. On average, every teacher and student would have to deal with three Dementors in order to survive.
A cluster of monsters that large could turn Hogwarts directly into an oversized Azkaban. If no one stopped them, those unrestrained Dementors would devour every soul in their path.
James, riding a flying broomstick, was burning with anxiety. He had already seen the Dementors filling the sky halfway there. They looked like a fall of black snow, and their target was dead center, the Quidditch pitch.
"Harry!" James's roar carried far across the air.
At that moment, Harry was chasing the Golden Snitch, with Malfoy following close behind.
"Potter!"
Draco Malfoy reached for Harry's broom again, trying to grab it and slow him down. He had already tried the same dirty trick once before. Although Gryffindor had earned a penalty shot because of it, as long as he could stop Harry from getting the Golden Snitch, the underhanded tactic was useful.
Harry looked back at Draco. There was not the slightest expression on his face, yet Draco felt a chill pierce him to the bone. He could not help pulling his hand back.
The Firebolt shot forward like a bullet leaving the barrel, closing in on the Golden Snitch at incredible speed.
The cunning little ball sensed danger. A moment ago, it had been drifting carefree near the ground. Now it suddenly shot upward, straight into the clouds.
Harry gripped the head of the broom as if a pilot were clutching a control stick and pulled up with all his strength. The flying broom carved through the air at an angle that made the crowd gasp, while the sharp wind it stirred up swept grass and dirt from the ground. Draco followed into the climb, but he still ate a mouthful of dust.
The Golden Snitch fired straight into the sky. Harry's gaze stayed locked on it until, at the edge of his vision, he noticed the black cloaks falling from above.
That familiar cold feeling came over him again. Harry had felt it once on the train at the start of the school year. Dementors awakened the most hopeless moment in every person's heart.
His mother's dying plea sounded in his ears again.
The mass of thousands of Dementors looked like Styx jellyfish floating in the deep sea, a surging, dense black cloud. The Golden Snitch was like a tiny sun burrowing into the swarm of Dementors.
In the stands, commentator Lee Jordan let out an ear-piercing scream. "Don't go! Harry! Come back!"
Professor McGonagall raised her wand, and a silver tabby cat Patronus flew out. Her expression was tense and filled with fear.
The power of a Patronus depended on the wizard. Professor McGonagall could protect the students in the pitch, or she could save Harry, but she could not do both.
Should she choose to save one student's life, or everyone else?
That cruel choice stood before her. Professor McGonagall's wand trembled as she moved it, and in the end, she chose to make her Patronus run around the pitch, forming a slowly expanding silver shield that blocked the descending Dementors. She ordered all students to gather near her, while Lee Jordan beside her continued shouting the savior's name.
But that student had risen too high and gone too decisively, as if he were willing to pay with his life just to catch the Golden Snitch.
Harry flew into the sky full of Dementors. He heard the shouts from the ground and saw the trembling cloaks of the Dementors above him, along with their mournful, ghostly bodies.
His eyes still followed the Golden Snitch without shifting. He charged straight into the dark sky.
He drew his wand like a knight raising a lance. In the next second, the tide of Dementors swallowed him.
"Purify the unclean!"
The people on the ground looked up. When Harry's figure disappeared into the field of deathly cloaks, some screamed and some froze in place. Even the Slytherin students could not help paling in horror, mocking Harry's stupidity while already mourning his death.
Then, deep within the black tide rolling like a vortex, a faint point of light suddenly appeared, like the morning star tearing open the night.
The spell from the High Tower King shattered the Dementors with ease. Harry did not spare even a glance for those silently wailing monsters. Part of his attention was on maintaining the spell, and the rest remained fixed on the Golden Snitch ahead.
The Golden Snitch had fled fast and far enough, but the icy air brought by the Dementors gradually froze its dragonfly-like wings, leaving it with no strength to keep flying. Harry rushed toward it.
One chased and the other fled. Before he realized it, the Dementors around him had scattered, revealing the clouds above. Harry caught a glimpse of a familiar figure faintly visible deep among the clouds.
"Mr. Skyl!" Harry was startled, and the figure high in the sky seemed to hear the call. He lowered his head and waved at him.
The Golden Snitch flashed past in front of Harry. He instinctively raised his hand and caught it in his palm. Then he turned his broom and dove downward, muttering in complete confusion, "Was that my imagination? Mr. Skyl looked like he was holding a black cat."
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