The Tragic Tale of the Boy Who Lived and the Boy Who Wanted to Die [ON HIATUS]

A cloaked figure made its way through the door, and the room went cold. A hand was sticking out of the cloak, and it looked like it belonged to a dead body.

It took a deep, loud breath in, and suddenly, the air all around them seemed to be stabbing at them like ice cold needles. He could hardly see, the room was sliding out of focus. Then, he heard yelling. But it didn’t sound like somebody in the compartment was yelling, it sounded distant and muffled. He strained to try and decipher the words, but stopped once he recognised the voice. It was his dad.

He felt empty, as if somebody had taken every positive emotion he had ever had and thrown it away. He felt not emotionless, but like every emotion he tried to feel just wouldn’t happen. As suddenly as the noise came, it went.

He blinked, and the creature was gone. He looked around the room, wondering if he had imagined it, but he clearly had not. Blaise looked like he felt, with a blank, emotionless stare into the opposite wall. Pansy and Daphne both looked scared, and were clinging to one another for emotional support. Theo looked hesitant, as if he wanted to say something but was unable too, and Luna’s face was almost exactly the same as before, except for the light behind her eyes had gone out, and she seemed almost sad.

Ginny was shaking uncontrollably, while Luna held her hand. Draco felt like he had seen that thing before, and then he remembered.

When he was 8 or 9, he had gone exploring around the house, and had stumbled across one of his fathers books on the Dark Arts. He had looked through the pages, and had noticed one page that had a picture of a creature identical to the one that had just been in the compartment.

“W-what was that thing?” Theo stammered.

“A dementor. The Azkaban guards. They must have put them on here since that prisoner escaped. They- they feed on happy emotions, and leave you with every horrible memory you have.” He then realised why Ginny was affected so badly. The diary. The diary that his father had given her, that he had helped her to get back.

Getting possessed by The Dark Lord definitely counted as a horrible memory. One that could have been avoided if Draco had refused to steal back the diary. He looked out the window, which was fogged up from the cold. Nobody spoke. The train lights soon came back on, and the train started going again. They were all silent for the rest of the trip.