The next day, Aiden cheerfully carried his beloved textbook, heading to class with a spring in his step.
But at a corridor corner, a pair of slender hands grabbed him. Recognizing his captor, Aiden didn't resist as he was pressed against the stone wall.
"Do all Slytherins prefer to chat this way?" Aiden laughed, his eyes sparkling with mischief.
"I know who you're referring to, but I don't have time for games. Why did you have to drag me into this mess?" Astoria looked at him with serious intensity.
"But this involves the Savior, little miss," Aiden replied with feigned helplessness.
"Stop deflecting. Tell me about your arrangements," Astoria sighed, studying his mischievous expression.
"Because of prophecy, little miss. As people whose names are written in the Misty Realm, we're naturally drawn into prophetic events."
Aiden twisted his neck, silently requesting his release.
Astoria's grip remained firm, her expression clearly saying 'I'll let you go when I'm satisfied with your answer.'
"If we don't make a choice, we'll be forced to join one side anyway, and we'll have to bear the consequences of backing the wrong horse," Aiden said, his tone turning serious.
"But didn't many people before manage to play both sides successfully?" Astoria asked, genuinely puzzled.
"Because I joined the game, little miss." Aiden raised his beautiful heterochromatic eyes to meet hers.
Astoria found herself momentarily distracted by his striking gaze. Her grip loosened just enough for Aiden to slip free.
"The Director of the Department of Mysteries once told me that my 'mass' is too enormous. When I become involved in a prophecy, the intensity and scope of its influence become immeasurable."
"Then you really are a walking disaster," Astoria teased, though her tone carried genuine concern.
"I'll take that as a compliment," Aiden replied, reaching out to pat her head affectionately.
On Thursday, the Quidditch match officially began. Gryffindor and Slytherin, as eternal rivals, were destined to clash once again.
But for mysterious reasons, a violent storm erupted that morning. To avoid the harsh weather, Slytherin captain Flint used Draco's "injury" as an excuse to postpone their match.
The first game became a competition between Gryffindor and Hufflepuff instead.
This year, Hufflepuff had changed both their captain and Seeker. Their new leader was none other than the charismatic Cedric Diggory.
Before the match began, Cedric shook hands with Wood in a display of good sportsmanship, even offering a genuine smile. Wood's response was considerably less warm.
The match commenced with fierce competition on the rain-soaked pitch.
"Ah, how disappointing that it's Hufflepuff instead," Astoria complained from the stands.
"You enjoy Quidditch?" Aiden asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Of course—our entire family are devoted fans," Astoria replied enthusiastically.
"Oh, what a pity. There won't be much of a match today," Aiden said with ominous undertones.
"What do you mean?" Astoria asked, confusion creeping into her voice.
"Don't you sense them? Those things floating in the sky—dead souls."
Anger seemed to drift from Aiden's words, making Astoria suddenly aware of something deeply wrong in the atmosphere.
She drew her wand and cast a perception-enhancing charm on herself.
Soon she felt something terrible gathering in the storm clouds above.
"Dementors?" Astoria gasped.
"Yes, my lady. Carefully sense what lurks beneath their rotting forms—those wailing, twisted remnants of minds."
Aiden's draconic aura spread outward, causing discomfort among the young wizards nearby.
"Ugh—" Astoria sensed what Aiden described and couldn't suppress her nausea.
"What are those things? Why do I feel such overwhelming revulsion when I perceive them?" she asked after recovering.
"I'm not certain, but the death of consciousness should correspond to final extinction. Yet Dementors can somehow be born from it. Dumbledore and I speculate this might be the result of someone attempting to touch eternity," Aiden said, clenching his fists.
"What do we do? Should we call for them to stop the match?" Astoria asked anxiously.
"It's too late." Aiden released his grip, his staff materializing in his hand.
From the canopy of storm clouds, countless Dementors began their descent, diving toward the stadium to feast on the young wizards' happiness and hope.
Simultaneously, Harry was falling from his broomstick, his body limp and unconscious.
Dumbledore raised his hand, catching Harry with wandless magic before he could hit the ground.
Beside the headmaster, butterflies began gathering in a shimmering swarm, and Aiden emerged from their center.
"Headmaster, how should we handle this?" Aiden inquired, his voice deadly calm.
"Leave none alive," Dumbledore replied, his aged voice carrying righteous fury.
"I've been waiting for you to say that," Aiden smiled with wild anticipation.
"Expecto Patronum!" they cast in unison.
Two voices rang out with devastating power. The panicked young wizards looked up in awe.
In the sky above, a magnificent silver phoenix danced through the air, constructing a massive dome that trapped all the Dementors within its boundaries.
Inside the luminous prison, a silver dragon carried unstoppable beams of pure light, systematically annihilating every Dementor caught within.
Under the combined might of Aiden and Dumbledore, every single Dementor that had dared invade Hogwarts was utterly destroyed.
"So Dementors can be killed," Professor Flitwick murmured in amazement.
With the field cleared of the dark creatures, the unnatural storm they had brought quickly dissipated.
Sunlight fell upon Hogwarts after what felt like an eternity of shadow.
"Take good care of the teachers and students," Dumbledore instructed Aiden before departing—apparently to have words with certain Ministry officials.
Aiden signaled to Edmund, who nodded and tied a crystal communication stone to an owl before releasing it into the clearing sky.
The remaining professors began organizing the young wizards' orderly departure while cleaning up the pitch.
Cedric, who had been struck by lightning during the chaos, had somehow managed to catch the Golden Snitch in his confusion, technically winning the match.
Afterward, he approached the professors' platform to request a rematch.
Aiden patted his shoulder reassuringly. "No need, honorable Hufflepuff. It's over. Congratulations on your victory."
"Oh, you're the president of the Dueling Club. Hello, I'm Cedric Diggory," Cedric said, extending his hand.
"Hello, I'm Aiden Prewett," Aiden replied, shaking it firmly.
"Well, I need to return and check on my team. I'll take my leave now."
Cedric bid farewell and departed the field with dignity intact.
Meanwhile, in the hospital wing, Harry awakened from unconsciousness to find his friends gathered around his bed, their faces etched with concern.
Several injured Quidditch players occupied nearby beds.
"How did it go?" Harry asked groggily.
"You fell off your broomstick," Ron explained gently.
"I meant the match result," Harry said, propping himself up against the headboard.
"None of us blame you, really. Dementors aren't supposed to enter the school grounds. Dumbledore was absolutely furious—he and Aiden destroyed every single one of them," Hermione said, trying to comfort him.
"There are going to be consequences for someone," Aiden's voice interrupted as he entered the ward.
Strangely, the large black dog beside him seemed extremely excited, preparing to bound toward Harry before Aiden caught him by the scruff.
"Look who's here," George said, draping an arm around Aiden's shoulders.
"It's our powerful little brother," Fred continued seamlessly.
"Aiden, your Patronus is actually a magical creature like the headmaster's," Ron said with obvious envy.
"Alright, everyone, give Harry some space to rest," Aiden advised diplomatically.
As if summoned by his words, Madam Pomfrey appeared, using her legendary death glare to efficiently clear everyone from the hospital wing.