Delphini's Dementors (Harry Potter and the Two Worlds)
The Wizarding World has been exposed and forced to reunite with the Muggles. Durmstrang has been conquered by former Death Eaters led by Delphini. Now, Delphini is reaching out to the banished Dementors of Svalbard to begin her conquest of Europe.
Click here for the full story: "Harry Potter and the Two Worlds, " by Birger, AO3.
Through the Arctic, moved Delphini without touching the ground. Around her walked a handful of her most loyal Durmstrang followers. Behind them, bound by enchanted chains, stumbled a smaller group of students who had dared question her new order. Their eyes were wide with fear, and their breaths were visible in the frigid air.
“Where are you taking us?” one of them stammered in Swedish. “Please, Headmistress, my Lady, Supreme Leader”
Delphini did not answer.
"Crucio!" A Polish teenage girl loyal to Delphini, cursed, and the bound Swede began to scream in pain. No one questioned Delphini again for the rest of the journey.
They descended from the cliffs into the frozen caverns by the sea, where salt and ice fused into shimmering walls. The deeper they went, the more the air changed.
Shapes moved in the dark, gliding between the icy columns.
For years, the Dementors had lived here after being banished from Azkaban following the fall of Voldemort. They had been feeding on polar bears, seals, and the souls of lost wanderers who ventured too far north.
Dozens of them circled Delphini’s group like vultures around a dying flame. Even her loyal students trembled. One collapsed to his knees, sobbing. None of them could conjure a Patronus; their wands shook uselessly in their hands.
Delphini, however, stood still.
“You remember me,” she said softly. Her voice echoed in the cavern, strangely melodic. “You remember him.”
The air seemed to vibrate as the Dementors drew closer.
“I am Delphini,” she said. “Daughter of the Dark Lord, whom you served. His blood runs in me. His will continues through me.”
A sound rolled through the cave like the rustle of ancient wings. It wasn’t language, but Delphini understood. It was recognition.
“You are dying,” she whispered. “The Muggles know you only as myth. The wizards you once guarded have turned their backs. You feed on beasts now, scraps of what you once had.”
She walked closer to them, unfazed by the cold that made the others gasp.
“But follow me, and I will give you souls again. Not scraps but feasts. I will remake the world in shadow. ”
The Dementors hovered, uncertain until Delphini raised her hand. Her chained prisoners whimpered in terror.
“You will have proof,” she said, voice like silk over steel.
Her eyes flashed violet. With a gesture, the chains dissolved. The students tried to flee, but the Dementors descended like a storm. Screams tore through the icy air as souls were ripped from bodies-
The students turned away. One vomited. Another pissed his pants while others were transfixed by awe. Delphini did not flinch.
“Eat,” she whispered. “Feed and grow strong. The world will soon need you.”
The Dementors circled her, recognising Delphini as their new master. She extended her arm, and one brushed its decaying hand against hers. Frost crept up her skin, but her eyes only glowed brighter.
“We are bound,” she said. “My father ruled through fear. I will rule through despair.”
The cavern erupted with a cold wind that extinguished every torch. When it cleared, the Dementors were gone, spreading outward into the world once more
“Let the world remember fear again,” Delphini murmured. “And let it start with me.”
-
The mining town of Barentsburg had so far remained completely unaware of the Revelation and the existence of magic.
Inside the miners’ canteen, a handful of Russian and Norwegian workers sat huddled around a battered table, their laughter echoing through the dimly lit room.
“Magic?” one of them scoffed, raising his glass. “My wife reads too many fairy tales.”
“Same with mine,” said another, shaking his head. “Wizards, spells! Pah! If they were real, they’d have come here long ago. Can’t be much gold in Svalbard for witches.”
“Aye,” muttered another. “We’ve got rifles, not wands. Let’s see them try.”
Hours later, the wind howled softly through the narrow streets. The last ship had left the harbor days ago. Barentsburg was alone. That night, the air changed.
Then it appeared: A green spectral bird, vast and blazing, spread across the sky above Barentsburg. Its wings shimmered like emerald flame, its cry a sound that froze blood.
Dogs began to bark. The miners woke up from their beds.
“Что это?!”
“Hva i helvete!”
By the time the first rifle shots cracked through the air, it was already too late.
Figures in blood red robes moved through the streets. Sadistic teenagers cursed everyone in sight.
They broke through the wooden doors of the workers’ houses with spells that shattered locks and splintered walls.
“Stay back!” a miner shouted, firing a rifle, blowing the head off one young wizard.
"THAT WAS MY BOYFRIEND MUGGLE SCUM!!" A girl shouted in Estonian. "CRUCIO!"
The man fell on the ground, screaming in unimaginable pain.
Screams echoed across the harbor as the invaders herded the survivors into the square beneath the statue of Lenin. The miners’ wives clutched their crying children.
Delphini arrived last, descending from the cliffs with her cloak snapping like a banner in the wind. Around her floated the Dementors, rising from the fog, drawn by the promise of souls. Even the Durmstrang students faltered as the creatures approached.
Delphini raised her hand.
“These,” she said softly, “mock what they cannot understand. Let them learn what true power is.”
The Dementors swooped forward.
The screams lasted only moments, then stopped, replaced by a silence so vast it swallowed the sound of the sea.
When the creatures rose again, they hovered before Delphini like a dark army.
“Remember this night,” she whispered to her followers. “The world will forget Barentsburg, but you will not. This is the dawn of our dominion.”
The Dementors scattered across the coast. By morning, the town was empty, houses torn apart, and lamps flickered over streets lined with frost. A few arctic foxes picked at what remained. High above, against the pale Arctic dawn, the Dark Mark Augurey still shimmered faintly, refusing to fade.
