I moved quickly through the bustling streets of Diagon Alley, searching for Hermione. I heard her voice before I saw her: “I’m telling you, something went wrong! My friend should have been here by now!” She was nearly shouting at a Floo-pow clerk, her frustration obvious. I knew their front door was typically locked, so she must have used Alohomora to let herself in.

  Her hair was frizzed and her face flushed, making her look almost wild, like an avenging spirit. I could see she was working herself into a fervor. I decided it was time to intervene before she unraveled completely. “Hermione, calm down. I’m here now.”

  She turned abruptly, her eyes flashing with a mixture of relief and irritation. “Where were you?” she demanded, her voice thick with frustration.

  “I ended up at the wrong destination,” I admitted, raising my hands in a placating gesture. “It was a… miscalculation.”

  “I knew it!” she said, her voice carrying a note of triumph as she glared at the clerk, who looked very relieved to see her anger diverted.

  “It’s not his fault, Hermione. I should’ve accounted for… well, my ‘unique’ situation,” I added with a wink to signal her to hold her questions until later.

  She nodded, her cheeks flushed, “Alright, then.”

  With that, Hermione’s temper eased, and I turned back to the now visibly relieved clerk. “Thank you for your patience. Could you refill my Floo powder satchel, please?”

  The clerk hastily measured out the powder and handed it over after I paid. We stepped out, Hermione’s curiosity piqued and hovering over me like a brewing storm.

  “What happened?” she asked as soon as we were out of earshot.

  I sighed. “I underestimated how much my nature would affect the magic. The Floo powder drew from my reserves, draining everything in the bag, and only brought me partway here.”

  Her eyebrows shot up. “That’s an insane amount of magic to consume over such a short distance.”

  “I know. I didn’t fully understand how much would be needed.” I shifted, and a sharp sting in my ribs reminded me of my haphazard landing.

  “Are you hurt?” Hermione’s face immediately turned from curiosity to worry, her hand on her wand.

  “It’s just a bruise or maybe a cracked rib; I landed a bit roughly…”

  She didn’t wait for me to finish. “Sanatio Ossio!” she cast, and healing energy surged through me before I could stop her.

  Pain exploded through my entire body like fire and ice, ripping through my bones. I fell to my knees, a cry escaping as the spell felt like knives twisting through every nerve.

  “Ben!” she gasped, horrified. “I thought… Why didn’t it work?”

  My vision swam, but I managed to steady myself, breathing deeply as the pain began to recede. “Healing magic… doesn’t work on me. It’s more like… Cruciatus in effect.”

  Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

  Hermione stared, her face drained of color as she looked down at her wand, horrified. “I… I didn’t know! I didn’t mean to…”

  “It’s okay,” I managed, my voice strained but sincere. “I should have warned you. You’ve mastered a difficult spell at your age. That’s something to be proud of.”

  “Thank you, but… why doesn’t healing magic work on you?”

  “Affinity,” I replied, noticing her confusion. “But I’ll explain more another time. Let’s focus on our list. Since Floo powder’s unreliable for me, we’ll need extra time to get back on foot.”

  She nodded, refocusing on the task. “Alright. We need a Boggart’s bone, some pure silver, unicorn hair, cherry wood, and an enchanted ruby of high quality.” She read each item aloud with a sigh. “Where on earth are we supposed to find any of this?”

  “We’ll check every shop if we have to. Someone here is bound to have them,” I replied with a shrug.

  After hours of searching, we’d finally gathered almost everything but the enchanted ruby. Hermione’s resourcefulness and her knowledge of Diagon Alley’s hidden shops were impressive. I might have spent all day on my own, but she knew of a few out-of-the-way places that had what we needed.

  “You know what?” she said suddenly, her eyes brightening with excitement. “I think I know one place that might have an enchanted ruby—a jeweler that specializes in enchanted gemstones.”

  “Perfect,” I said, handing her the bulk of our funds. “You handle that, and I’ll grab us something to eat.”

  She nodded and flashed a quick smile. “Deal.”

  I made my way to the nearby vendors, eventually choosing Cornish pasties that smelled rich and savory. I waited a few moments longer, expecting Hermione to reappear soon, but a sense of unease began to prick at me. She should have returned by now.

  Suddenly, a chill settled over the air, unnatural and bone-deep. The faint but unmistakable rattle of a Dementor sent a pulse of dread through my veins. I ran toward the jeweler, fear heightening with every step. This wasn’t some random attack—it was planned. The pieces fell together, horrifyingly clear: Voldemort was already back, silently building his power and eliminating potential threats before the world even knew he had returned. Hermione, with her potential, was someone he saw as a future threat, even now. Out of all of us, she was crucial in this fight against him.

  When I reached the shop, my worst fears were confirmed. Hermione lay collapsed on the steps, her wand gripped tightly in one hand, a ruby clutched in the other. Above her loomed a Dementor, its skeletal fingers reaching out as if savoring its claim over her very spirit.

  Fury surged through me. I grabbed a nearby stick and stormed toward the fiend. “Get away from her, you miserable wretch!” I shouted, voice thick with rage.

  The Dementor turned its eyeless gaze toward me, and for a split second, it hesitated. I swung the stick at it, the hollow smack giving me no satisfaction, but it was enough to break its focus on Hermione.

  It reeled back, momentarily dazed, but then it shifted, and I felt the chill intensify as it began trying to feed on me instead. I could feel its emptiness tugging, searching for something it could never consume.

  It let out a terrible screech, a sound that clawed at the edges of reality itself. “You are…Death,” it rasped, the words slow and garbled as if they hadn’t spoken in centuries.

  “That’s right,” I snarled, gritting my teeth. “And she’s with me, so back off!”

  The creature, oddly, shook its head slowly. “The Dark Lord commands…”

  My blood ran cold as the final pieces of the puzzle clicked into place. Voldemort wasn’t merely hiding; he was orchestrating, sending his dark forces to hunt down anyone he deemed a threat. Hermione wasn’t just a random victim—she was targeted.

  In my current form, there was little I could do to banish this thing, and Patronus charms were beyond my reach. Dementors, twisted remnants of dark wizards who’d tried to escape death, were beyond my command. Though a single Dementor couldn’t destroy me, it could still harm Hermione and drain what little time I had.

  A raw determination blazed within me. I raised the stick, hoping to keep it at bay. “Enjoyed the taste of death, did you? Here, have some more!” I struck again, my voice echoing through the alley as I prepared for a final stand.

  Perhaps she used Alohomora?