The Aurors assigned to Azkaban rotated guard duty on strict schedules, but no wizard remained on active duty for more than three consecutive days. It was an absolute operational necessity—any longer exposure, and even trained Aurors would inevitably succumb to psychological breakdown and potential madness. It was a grim, extensively documented fact of service here.
The senior guard's intent had been transparently clear: the reassigned Auror wouldn't be relieved on schedule. He was being deliberately left to deteriorate as punishment for his perceived insubordination.
The unfortunate Auror glanced desperately at his departing colleagues, gritted his teeth in決resolution, and hesitated only briefly before turning and sprinting directly toward Erwin's position. His survival—and sanity—depended entirely on leaving this frozen hell alongside the Cavendish heir, or he would very soon become a raving lunatic like the prisoners he guarded.
He skidded to an abrupt halt beside Erwin and dropped immediately to his knees on the cold stone floor.
"Lord Cavendish! I pledge my complete loyalty to you—my life itself as bond! Please, I beg you, take me away from this cursed place!"
Erwin looked down at the kneeling man, his lip curling with barely concealed disdain. The Auror was reasonably competent by ordinary professional standards, certainly. But compared to Erwin's experience with the raw power of true pure-blood retainers and the disciplined, terrifying might of his own household forces, this man was barely worth serious consideration. Accepting a nominal Ministry Auror into his service would create bureaucratic complications, and Erwin generally avoided unnecessary administrative headaches.
He was preparing to dismiss the man outright when his eyes caught the drifting shadows of Dementors hovering overhead. A sudden thought crystallized.
If he ascended to pursue and capture them directly, the operation would prove difficult and energy-intensive. But if they willingly descended to ground level...
Erwin looked back at the still-kneeling supplicant. "You swear you would genuinely give your life in my service?"
The Auror's eyes lit up with desperate hope. He interpreted the question as implicit acceptance of his offer. "Yes, my lord! Everything I possess—everything I am—belongs to you!"
"Excellent," Erwin nodded with apparent satisfaction. "Then prove your worth immediately. I require you to lure the Dementors down to this level."
The Auror's blood ran cold. He looked up at the hovering specters in undisguised terror. "Lure them? How exactly am I supposed to accomplish that?"
"By deliberately recalling your happiest memories with complete focus and intensity," Erwin explained with clinical calm. "Begin now. Concentrate exclusively on joy and positive emotion. Don't worry about the consequences—I give you my word I'll protect you from serious harm."
Cold sweat immediately beaded on the Auror's forehead. Deliberately drawing Dementor attention was an absolutely terrifying prospect—it violated every survival instinct developed through years of service here. However, the promise of finally escaping Azkaban proved a overwhelmingly powerful motivator. He chose to trust in the Cavendish reputation—or more accurately, in the Cavendish family's well-documented pattern of substantially rewarding genuinely useful subordinates.
He closed his eyes tightly, desperately searching through his accumulated memories for moments of authentic happiness. Unfortunately, after years immersed in the wizarding world's perpetual conflicts and political maneuvering, genuine joy had become an increasingly rare commodity in his life. His clearest happy memories dated back to his Hogwarts student days—a rather pathetic testament to the trajectory his adult life had followed.
As he deliberately immersed himself in those distant, precious feelings of youthful contentment, the Dementors hovering overhead suddenly went absolutely still. Their hooded, eyeless heads tilted downward in perfect synchronization, drawn irresistibly by this sudden beacon of warmth and positive emotion manifesting in their cold, dark domain.
Erwin subtly gestured for his Patronus to retreat strategically, deliberately removing the imposing protective presence that had been keeping the Dementors at cautious distance. The moment that supernatural barrier lifted, the creatures descended rapidly, sweeping toward the kneeling Auror like starving vultures spotting fresh prey.
"Lord Cavendish, save me! Please!" the man shrieked desperately, his fragile resolve shattering instantly under the approaching terror.
Erwin remained perfectly motionless, observing with detached clinical interest. The optimal time to successfully capture a Dementor was precisely while it was actively feeding, completely distracted by consuming its prey's emotional essence.
The Auror collapsed completely, his panicked screams cutting off into choked, strangled sobs as the supernatural cold enveloped him entirely. His eyes glazed over as the Dementor began its feeding process.
Erwin moved with perfect timing.
He gestured sharply to Ebony, his shape-shifting familiar. The creature instantly transformed into its massive panda configuration and lunged forward with surprising grace, pinning one feeding Dementor firmly to the frozen stone floor with a single enormous, glowing paw.
A tremendous surge of concentrated silvery-white Patronus energy exploded outward from the point of contact, violently scattering the other opportunistic Dementors back into the protective shadows. The captured creature writhed desperately, its tattered dark cloak actually sizzling and smoking where the paw maintained contact.
The traumatized Auror lay twitching on the ground nearby, eyes vacant and radiating pure, primal terror—the psychological aftermath of partial Dementor feeding.
Erwin casually tossed a piece of high-quality chocolate onto the snow-covered stone beside the man. "Eat that. It will help considerably."
The Auror scrambled for the chocolate with shaking hands, tearing frantically at the wrapper and wolfing down the restorative treat as though his life depended on it—which, psychologically speaking, it rather did.
Erwin paid him no further attention whatsoever. He crouched beside the trapped, struggling Dementor, studying it with intense clinical curiosity and scientific fascination.
He used a conjured rod to carefully lift the creature's tattered, grayish-black outer cloak. The fabric looked like thoroughly waterlogged, rotting cloth—utterly repulsive to touch. Beneath it lay a skeletal frame covered in scabbed, decaying flesh, and a face completely devoid of recognizable features—just an empty, perpetually sucking void where a mouth should logically be.
Erwin wrinkled his nose at the overwhelming stench of advanced decay and metaphysical corruption. Despite the revolting appearance, this creature was genuinely fascinating from a research perspective. It fed exclusively on positive emotions and joy, yet was itself composed entirely of concentrated despair and darkness. How exactly did it process that consumed emotional energy? How did it successfully siphon power from purely intangible, non-physical sources?
The mechanism bore similarities to casting Avada Kedavra, which required a specific, intensely amplified emotional state—concentrated murderous intent channeled through proper wand movements. Dementors seemed to operate on comparable principles, relying on harvesting raw, primal emotion as their sustenance. It was a field of magical theory Erwin hadn't fully explored or understood yet. These creatures would make absolutely excellent research subjects for advancing that knowledge.
He beckoned to Ebony, who had been observing from a short distance.
The small, dark figure detached itself elegantly from the surrounding shadows and approached with eerie, predatory grace, ready to begin the experimental feeding process Erwin had planned.