The Hogwarts Express.
A normal compartment.
Ivan Potter was leaning comfortably against the cushioned window seat. On the small fold-down table in front of him sat a plate of sliced, chilled watermelon, a glass of pumpkin juice with ice cubes, and a buzzing... Dementor?
No, accurately speaking, it was a Dementor bound by "Invisible Shackles" to the window frame, frantically sucking in air directly facing the compartment.
"Harder." Ivan tapped the Dementor's rotting skull with his wand. "If the watermelon isn't cold enough, I'll deep fry you until you're extra crispy."
The Dementor let out a wronged whimper. The "chill" it normally used to suck away happiness was currently being forcibly redirected by Ivan's "Reverse Operation of the Second Law of Thermodynamics" toward the plate of watermelon.
Harry, Ron, and Hermione were huddled in the corner, shivering.
Not because of the cold (Ivan had partitioned the corner with a warming charm), but because of sheer terror.
"Iv... Ivan," Ron's teeth chattered as he pointed at the fluttering black shadow outside the window. "Th... that's a Dementor! They're here to catch Sirius Black! We're going to get Kissed!"
"Catch Sirius?" Ivan speared a piece of watermelon and ate it with relish. "No, they're here to deliver 'A/C' for me. Look, this watermelon is perfectly chilled and crisp."
Just then, the compartment door was yanked open.
Professor Quirrell rushed in.
He was wrapped in a purple turban three times thicker than usual, his face as pale as frozen meat just pulled from a freezer.
He had originally come to execute Voldemort's order—to kill Ivan Potter on the train and take Harry to the Forbidden Forest.
But the moment he stepped through the door, a bone-piercing chill drilled into his marrow.
It was the Dementor's cold! And an enhanced version at that!
"Av... Avada—"
Quirrell raised his wand trembling, trying to utter the Killing Curse.
But his hand shook so violently, and his body temperature was so low, his tongue stiffened.
"Ah... ah... ACHOO!!"
Quirrell let out an earth-shattering sneeze, nearly sending his wand flying.
Ivan swallowed the watermelon and looked at him with disdain. "Professor Quirrell, if you're here to borrow the toilet, turn left. If you're here to cause trouble... I suggest you put some clothes on first before you catch a cold."
Quirrell was on the verge of tears.
He wanted to put clothes on too!
The soul fragment of Lord Voldemort on the back of his head was screaming frantically: "Kill him! Use Crucio! Burn him!"
But!
The temperature here was ridiculously low!
That Dementor had been forced by Ivan to suck all the heat out of the compartment; it was practically a meat locker!
Quirrell felt like his snot was freezing into icicles.
"Po... Potter..." Quirrell's teeth chattered, sounding like chewing glass. "Get... get that monster... away..."
"Away?" Ivan raised an eyebrow. "Then what if my watermelon melts? Will you compensate me?"
Quirrell took a deep breath (sucking in a noseful of freezing air) and almost froze his lungs.
He looked at the iced pumpkin juice in Ivan's hand, then at his own purple, frostbitten fingers.
In this moment, shame defeated murderous intent.
"Can... can you..." Quirrell shrunk his neck, his voice as quiet as a mosquito. "Turn... turn that 'heater'... down a bit? Or... lend me a... coat?"
Dead silence.
Harry dropped his Chocolate Frog.
Ron's jaw hit his knees.
Hermione's book fell on her foot.
What were they saying?
The servant of the legendary You-Know-Who, the terrifying dark wizard whose turban Ivan burned off at Halloween, the first-year Defense Against the Dark Arts professor...
Was asking a first-year student... to lend him a coat?!
Ivan looked at Quirrell's pathetic state and sighed.
"What a hassle."
He pulled a Slytherin robe off the luggage rack and tossed it to Quirrell.
"Put it on. Don't embarrass Slytherin." Ivan said flatly. "Also, tell the guy on the back of your head... if he wants to warm up, he can float out himself. I don't mind boiling an extra kettle of water."
Boom!
The sentence struck Quirrell's skull like lightning.
He knows!
How does he know the Master is on my head?!
Quirrell clutched his turban in terror, the red eyes underneath flashing wildly.
Voldemort's soul fragment was equally bewildered and enraged.
This Potter... not only can he see souls, but he can pinpoint their location?!
"Get out." Ivan waved his hand as if shooing a fly. "And close the door on your way out. You're letting the cold air escape."
Without a word, Quirrell wrapped the robe—still carrying Ivan's body heat—tightly around himself and scrambled out of the compartment.
Before leaving, he didn't even forget to close the door—because he was truly too cold and needed to preserve that bit of warmth.
The compartment returned to tranquility.
Only the Dementor continued to work diligently as an air conditioner.
Ivan looked at the dumbstruck trio.
"What are you looking at? Eat the watermelon."
He flicked his wand, and a watermelon rind flew out the window, accurately hitting the back of Quirrell's head as he reached the end of the corridor.
[System Alert: Quirrell (Extreme Humiliation + Bone-Chilling Cold + Fear of Voldemort): Emotion Value +600!]
[System Alert: Voldemort (Soul Fragment) (Anger at being ignored + Psychological Shadow of "A/C"): Emotion Value +400!]
[System Alert: Harry/Ron/Hermione (Worldview Collapse): Emotion Value +150!]
"Ivan..." Harry swallowed, pointing at the Dementor still floating outside the window. "Won't they... suck away our happiness?"
"Happiness?" Ivan scoffed, pointing at the Dementor.
The Dementor currently wore a "my life is over" expression, staring blankly out the window, even wiping non-existent tears with a rotting hand.
"It just wants to go back to Azkaban to find its mom right now." Ivan said calmly. "It tried to suck my happiness earlier, but I stuffed it so full of 'Advanced Calculus' and 'Quantum Mechanics Formulas' that it almost had a cerebral hemorrhage. It's currently in a state of 'Mental Overload'. It can only refrigerate; it can't suck souls."
Ron blankly picked up a piece of watermelon. "So... we are currently having afternoon tea under the protection of a Dementor?"
"Bingo." Ivan snapped his fingers. "And it's VIP seating. Ordinary people can't enjoy this kind of 'Supreme Chill'."
Just then, the train announcement sounded.
"Attention all students. The train is arriving at Hogwarts. Professor Quirrell, please report to the conductor's office immediately, someone is looking for you..."
Ivan listened to the broadcast, a playful smile curling his lips.
"Looks like Dumbledore realized the 'A/C' over here was turned up too high."
He stood up and patted the Dementor on the shoulder.
"Alright, clock out. Remember to give a five-star review, or next time I'll remodel you into a refrigerator."
The Dementor, feeling like it had been granted amnesty, let out a shrill shriek and vanished into the night instantly, flying ten times faster than when it arrived, as if a dragon were chasing it.
The train slowly pulled in.
On the platform, Dumbledore held a lantern, looking with a complicated expression at the students disembarking.
He saw Professor Quirrell wrapped in a robe that clearly wasn't his—embroidered with a silver Slytherin snake—squatting on the ground warming himself over a magical fire, muttering: "Too cold... that monster... isn't human..."
And Ivan Potter walked out last, refreshed and energetic, holding half a watermelon, discussing with Hagrid how to catch a Dementor to cool down the Blast-Ended Skrewts in the Forbidden Forest.
"Albus," Professor McGonagall walked up to Dumbledore, watching the scene with throbbing temples. "I need an explanation. Why can Ivan Potter use a Dementor as an air conditioner? And why is Professor Quirrell wearing his clothes?"
Dumbledore bit into a lemon sherbet, mumbling indistinctly. "This is... a 'Technological Gap', Minerva. Just like you can't understand why someone can turn Potions class into Demolitions class."
He looked at Ivan's back, a gleam flashing in his blue eyes.
"Tom's host this time... is afraid he's going to catch a cold."
"However, that kid Ivan can even use 'happiness' as a weapon..."
"It seems this year's Defense Against the Dark Arts... might have to be taught by him."