The Dementors

Task 1: Imagine the following scenario: You are walking your dog and you see two boys (Harry and Dudley) being chased through the streets and into an alley by two flying ghosts (Dementors). What would you do? Would you follow and try to help or turn your back and walk away? Write a story or a poem about your response and what happened next in 250-500 words.

Written for "Harry Potter and the Writers' Spell "  (Harry Potter and the Writers' Spell)


"Pip."

I tug at the leash, but the dog seems frozen. Darkness rolls in on clouds heavy with rain. It was just sunny. I don't study hard at Hogwarts. Turns out wizarding requires more studying than expected. But if I've learned anything in my two years there, it's that when the sun disappears for no reason, it's best I do, too.

The wind picks up nearby leaves and a paper scrap, shoving them roughly like a playground bully.

Pip alerts to a sound. Running--two sets of footsteps coming from Magnolia Crescent's park. Turning, I see who is chasing and who is chased. It's Harry--Harry Potter. And some other fellow, pudgy. But neither is chasing the other--they are being chased--by 10 foot ghosts!

Run, Harry! Run, pudgy! I don't know him, but at Hogwarts, everyone "knows" Harry Potter. I'm torn between helping and running, myself.

A chill crosses me, deep inside, penetrating. Pip pulls, barking frantically.

"Shhh--They'll hear!"

Cold settles into my soul. Dementors. I've only heard of them from the older kids. I wasn't there when they were outside Hogwarts or when they invaded the Quidditch match and nearly killed Harry.

I pull out my wand, searching for a spell, any spell that might...do something. But it all escapes me. Every spell, as if I were at platform 9 3/4 in Kings Cross Station again, waiting to begin my first year at Hogwarts. It's just as well. Underaged wizards aren't allowed to use magic outside school. I'd likely get expelled...if I didn't get myself killed.

"Pip, Come!"

I can see my breath, Pip's breath. Crystals form on nearby objects impacted by the cold and mist brought by these guards of Azkaban Prison. That pudgy one must be a muggle. He doesn't seem to know why he's running--he's running because Harry's running.

Then the sadness comes...slow, then overwhelming despair--like I'll never feel cheerful again. This is it. The end is here and I don't know that I even care. Why should I? There is no goodness left in the world, no happy memory left inside.

The boys turn into an alley, a blind alley, and I watch them running to their doom, but I don't care. I can't care. The heaviness of my emotions pulls me down. Every joyful memory has left me, even as the dementors pass me, ignoring.

There's a brief sound of scuffle. "Dudley, run!" A choked voice. Harry. This is it, the end of Harry Potter and of pudgy Dudley...if he can't run fast enough. There's another sound, like someone has fallen.

Harry calls out something, a spell. A spell I don't recognize and then I see light coming from the alley. A moment later the dementors, bound together like knotted rags, are hurled into the sky and I feel weak, but I begin to breathe. I pull at Pip who then leads the way. We sprint home.

Muggles can't see dementors--lucky. August 2, 1995--I'll never forget the day I decided to take my wizarding education seriously.

Word Count: 500