“How did I, a living, breathing human, end up as an ugly Dementor?”
A university student who had been lying in bed re-reading the classic novel Harry Potter had died from staying up too late, only to wake up not in an ICU fighting death, nor as a miraculous resurrection in a morgue.
Instead, she had transmigrated into a Dementor.
Wandering in Azkaban.
Regardless of her previous status or how much wealth she had, it was all meaningless now.
She had become a Dementor with a rotting body, draped in a black cloak that looked like it had been soaked in water until it rotted.
On her faceless head was only a hollow opening, which she would later use to consume human memories and souls.
Those in the know would recognize her as an official prison guard of Azkaban; those who didn’t might mistake her for a vagrant, a drug-addled, pustule-covered vagrant at that.
Fortunately, there were no mirrors here, or she would surely have been scared to death by her own ugliness.
It was also fortunate that she was blind now, so she didn’t have to worry about seeing the ugly faces of her colleagues.
Her appearance still drew the attention of other Dementors; although they didn’t understand how this Dementor had appeared, a newborn Dementor was still welcomed.
Although the other Dementors found this Dementor strange for being so dazed, they circled her a few times, effectively acknowledging her as their new kind.
The colleague relationships were actually quite friendly; they never fought or scrambled, and if one was beaten, they would stand shoulder to shoulder to fight back.
The other Dementors came over out of curiosity, then drifted away silently.
Gradually, as she clumsily learned the flying posture of a Dementor, she felt hunger.
It wasn’t an emptiness in her stomach, but a deeper, gnawing hunger, as if her soul had been hollowed out.
It was as if her entire existence was screaming: Eat, consume the soul, devour all memories.
The other Dementors made room for her, and she readily drifted toward a multi-person cell, where the aroma of food made her stop.
Thus, she chose a prisoner who seemed to have recovered a bit of spirit.
The moment she fed, she felt a wisp of warm, golden substance being pulled from the prisoner—that was happiness.
It wasn’t a specific image, but a pure feeling: sunshine, laughter, the warmth of being hugged.
That golden wisp passed through her hollow chest, a fleeting sense of fullness flashed by, followed immediately by an even deeper hunger.
But feeding alleviated the hunger that seemed impossible to ever satisfy in her hollow state.
It was like taking a sip of water in the desert; it was only enough to moisten her lips, and then her throat burned even more fiercely.
She also saw a memory of that prisoner: everyone at Hogwarts singing the school anthem in a disjointed way.
That didn’t belong to her.
But the feeling was wonderful.
The long, cold sound of feeding made the other prisoners instinctively lower their breathing.
Regardless of any previous conflicts, they were all grasshoppers on the same straw now, all hoping this plague god would leave quickly.
The prisoner beneath her was screaming, but unfortunately, she couldn’t hear or see it; she could only feel the prisoner’s despair, which pleased her like background music at a candlelight dinner.
She had fed a bit too much and felt the prisoner beneath her was about to faint; other Dementors stepped forward to stop her, and only then did she reluctantly cease.
Cells with multiple prisoners like this mostly held those with lighter crimes, who would be released after a few months or even weeks.
As a Dementor, one couldn’t go too far.
One had to know how to make things last.
She was briefly instructed by the senior Dementors; in short, who could be eaten, who couldn’t, who could be eaten often, who couldn’t, and who could have their souls consumed directly.
This counted as new employee orientation to prevent any mishaps, lest everyone end up with nothing to eat.
She followed the senior Dementors and walked through every nook and cranny of the prison.
This was a small island in the middle of the sea, surrounded by permanent storms and waves, keeping this gloomy fortress in perpetual darkness.
The narrow cells were enclosed by rough, heavy stones, filled with listless prisoners who didn’t even dare to curse, fearing they might attract a Dementor for an extra meal.
Besides the prisoners, who were the most numerous, there were Dementors wandering here; she had about a few dozen of her own kind here.
Everyone patrolled whenever they had the chance; after all, there were many monks but little porridge, and since many prisoners had been fed on too much, their output naturally decreased, leaving everyone on tight rations.
Therefore, to eat well, one naturally had to work diligently and act quickly.
Of course, no Dementor would be left without food; it was just a matter of how much one got.
It was understandable why Dementors wanted to work for Lord Voldemort; no matter what, Dementors really couldn’t get enough to eat in this prison.
Going hungry one day and full the next, barely maintaining a half-dead state, and patrolling 24 hours a day—it was truly a sweatshop.
She decided to use her intelligence to break out of this situation; even if she had to remain a Dementor, she didn’t want to go on like this.
Being a bit smarter and mixing into human prisons would be better than staying in this place, which was too competitive.
She had already learned how to be a Dementor.
One month later.
She had gradually figured out some of the rules here.
Everyone worked in shifts, and light-crime prisoners were naturally hot commodities; she had only spent a few days barely getting full before she was transferred to patrol the high-security area—the Death Eater who would be locked up for life.
A dozen years ago, they had really boosted Azkaban’s performance, which also led to a significant increase in the number of Dementors at Azkaban, creating more job openings.
Naturally, she also found Harry Potter’s expensive godfather here—Sirius Black.
Like a walking corpse, a self-exiled, self-punishing Gryffindor.
But what did that have to do with her, a Dementor?
She just wanted to be rotated back to the light-crime area as soon as possible.
However, she had gradually figured out the timeline; she discovered that the current point in time was after Lord Voldemort’s fall, and Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, hadn’t started school yet.