Chapter 170: The Attack of the Dementors and the Change in Flames

Under the gloomy sky, dark clouds gathered like ink, obscuring the last ray of daylight.

The air was filled with a damp and decaying odor, as if even the wind had ceased to move, leaving only the distant, muffled sound of thunder, making the silence even more oppressive.

Suddenly, without warning, the train came to a halt, and the lights on the roof abruptly went out, plunging the entire train into darkness.

Except for one compartment where someone had lit a candle in advance.

The faint candlelight illuminated the small compartment.

"Have we arrived?" Ron asked uncertainly.

"It should be a breakdown. Don't be fooled by the dark outside; it's actually only five-thirty."

Hermione raised her smooth wrist, revealing an exquisite ladies' watch.

As she spoke, a chilling coldness enveloped them from all directions, causing everyone to shiver involuntarily.

"Damn weather, it's only September..." Ron tightened his robe around himself.

At that moment, Ino drew his wand and slowly stood up. "We got so caught up in talking, we almost forgot about them. Stay put in the compartment and don't let the candle go out. There are Dementors outside!"

With that, he opened the door and walked out.

Hearing the mention of Dementors, Ron shuddered again, then pressed his face against the window to look outside.

In the distant sky, a large number of floating figures appeared silently. They looked like ghosts stripped of all color, their forms blurry and twisted, drifting through the clouds.

These figures appeared even more terrifying against the backdrop of the rainy sky. They hovered above the train like soul-reaping monsters, making one's blood run cold.

It seemed Ron wasn't the only one looking outside. From an outside perspective, one could see that every window on the train had a small wizard pressed against it, all gazing out in fear.

The entire train was in chaos.

But the panic and noise were fleeting, as everyone felt an intense cold, as if all happiness and hope were slipping away. In this despair, even shouting and struggling seemed futile, and the carriage fell silent again.

Ino, walking in the train's corridor, also felt the long-forgotten fear. It reminded him of his childhood in the orphanage during a winter flu outbreak when he was isolated in the storage room, a place the children called the "death room."

Lacking medicine, children with infectious diseases had only one option: to be locked in the storage room and wait for death.

The storage room's walls were covered in various graffiti, small handprints, and twisted names. Over time, these markings had turned different colors, dark red or black-purple.

Being alone in the storage room, lying on the cold floor, waiting for death was an unbearable experience.

Now, Ino realized he might have underestimated the Dementors. These creatures that fed on emotions seemed naturally designed to prey on wizards, as if they were deliberately created as their nemesis.

However, in his thoughts, Ino hadn't noticed his own transformation.

If there had been a mirror, he would have seen that his amber eyes had vanished, replaced by ice-blue ones.

As clear as the sky and as deep as the ocean, but devoid of any emotion.

If compared, one would find these eyes more terrifying than Dementors. Dementors only devoured emotions and souls, leaving the body intact.

But in the ice-blue purity of Ino's eyes, there was no sign of life, as if they aimed to extinguish all life—sky, ocean, and land, all without exception.

In this atmosphere of despair, Ino quietly gripped his wand.

As he prepared to cast a spell, a faint light appeared behind him, making him turn his head.

Hermione, holding a burning candle, was walking towards him, followed by the other three from the compartment—Harry and Ginny side by side, with Ron at the back.

In the candlelight, Hermione's face looked more beautiful, embodying a combination of courage and trust.

As he gazed at the burning flame, the ice-blue in his eyes receded like a tide, as if melting away in the warmth of the fire.

"Incendio!"

Ino raised his wand, and a ball of fire emerged from its tip, reminiscent of his first arrival at Hogwarts when he lit a torch alone on a wet, dark path.

In the glow of the fire, the surrounding darkness and despair seemed gently dispelled, bringing a sense of warmth and peace.

He began to understand the ancient reverence for fire. Fire not only resisted the cold and kept beasts at bay but also provided solace, allowing people to find hope in despair.

Holding the lit wand, Ino walked through the corridor like a lamplighter on a rainy night, bringing light to the young wizards in the compartments.

Compartment by compartment, car by car.

Where the fire passed, the young wizards seemed revitalized, and the compartments began to stir.

As the first brave young wizard opened a compartment door, more doors followed, with frightened faces peeking out, curiously observing everything outside.

Everyone saw an unforgettable scene: in their most desperate, helpless moment, someone walked through the darkness with a torch, bringing a glimmer of hope.

Seeing the candlelight behind the torch, some quietly joined in—Draco, Pansy, Daphne, Percy, George, Fred, even second-year Colin.

Some used fire-making spells, others used illumination spells, and some awkwardly transformed objects into candles, all following behind.

The light grew brighter; the group grew larger.

The train wasn't long, but it wasn't just a few carriages either.

The young wizards gathered, silently advancing from the rear to the front. As they passed each carriage, the lights overhead flickered back on one by one.

Ino, holding his wand, led the way but didn't notice the silent change in the flame at his wand's tip.

It seemed only in the deepest despair could the most sincere and pure emotions arise.

Everything seemed to be improving.

But stories often don't end this way, for intense emotions are the most deadly poison to Dementors, yet also the most delicious delicacy.

Moths to a flame, this phrase sometimes serves not only as a simile but also as a verb.

One by one, the Dementors in the sky suddenly accelerated, swooping down towards the train below as if receiving some command.