No one likes to step into a dead graveyard.

Just like now, no one likes Azkaban's environment.

"Although Azkaban is under the jurisdiction of the British Ministry of Magic, the internal operation of Azkaban does not depend on the British Ministry of Magic and wizards."

The stone bricks snapped back to the wall, and Ranko took his wand, lighting up a space of about five meters around with a faint glow of fluorescent light.

Where the Dementors were, even the most ordinary light would be swallowed up, and the interior of the massive triangular structure was even darker than the world beyond Azkaban's cold walls.

The wind whined out of nowhere, lifting a few patches of crimson moss on the ground and drifting into the distance.

There was a faint smell of rancid smell in the air, and there were still a lot of black jelly clots left in the cracks of the blue-black floor tiles under his feet that had not been cleaned up.

This is the last trace left by the former prisoner, either dragged or killed.

Azkaban was quiet, and honestly it didn't have the slightest bit of a prison.

There are no officials from the Ministry of Magic here, and even if they come to Azkaban, the high-ranking officials of the Ministry of Magic will only judge and dislike this place that has long been recognized as the place of death.

No one can leave under the watchful eye of the Dementors.

Just as no one can trespass under the watchful eye of the Ministry of Magic.

It was the Dementors who brought food to the prisoners, the Dementors who guarded the prisoners, the Dementors who escorted the prisoners, and the same dark magic creatures that did not resemble human shapes, were cold, and full of life.

The Ministry of Magic didn't even want to take a look, the wizards who had been sucked up of all their joy and joy in the cold tombs, leaving shriveled bodies and desperate souls behind, were becoming new beings.

Dementors are dark magic creatures who cannot be satisfied or happy, they hate happiness and will suck on all the good and happy things in the world, while transforming all creatures different from them into something like them.

The Dementors were originally inspired by depression, which Ranko remembers very well.

Therefore, they will not heal on their own, but can only rely on constantly getting the happiness and beauty of others, and briefly let themselves reminisce about the emotions that they have never had.

It's like children who crave sugar, except that the way they get it is so cruel that they have to pay for the lives of others.

"Professor, where are we going?"

The silence in the straight corridor was terrifying, Diongo sniffled and asked.

After stepping into this notorious wizarding prison, Diongo found that even if he didn't use Occlumency, the rest of the beings were much quieter, as if they were afraid of being targeted by those terrible dark magic creatures.

Of course, he also understood this thought, the two in his mind could still hide out of sight, he watched a few Dementors float past him, and the hairs on his body were about to explode and he didn't have to choose to back down.

Dementors can suck memories, emotions, and even souls, and no book about this creature of the dark magic has ever been stingy to inflict on it with the most terrible words they have ever known.

Thinking of this, he had the intention of retreating, but before this idea could be put into practice, the dark magic professor next to him came with the eye knife.

Ranko smirked: "Mr. Gustavsson, is it cold?" ”

"No, no."

Diongo shuddered again, he felt that the dark magic professor around him was more terrifying than the Dementors.

Retracting his gaze, Ranko took his wand and strolled forward.

On both sides of the corridor were rows of stone doors, each with several large rusty locks, and under the door, there was a specially hewn hole about the ankle, and from the point of view, it seemed that the prisoners inside could only leave the cell through this exit, which was only the size of an adult's head.

The Dementors don't let the prisoners die easily, they are food for the Dementors, and the Ministry of Magic won't let the prisoners who have been imprisoned in Azkaban for life die until the final 'Dementor Kiss'.

In Azkaban, being alive is the most painful punishment.

As Ranko walked through a cell, a hand covered in mud reached out from under the stone door of the cell, trying to grab the ankle of the person who walked by.

But he was greeted by the Dementors who were already poised to attack.

The door of the cell was easily opened by the Dementors, one, two, three, the screams inside did not disappear without a trace for more than a second, Diongo looked at the prison cell, the almost stuffed Dementors were not satisfied and wanted to absorb more emotions from the men in the cell, but in the end, only the deepest despair was left.

and half-dead souls.

"To the Dementors, mood swings are a stark indicator in their eyes."

Ranko didn't pause, and the Dementor didn't even lift his eyelids as the Dementor floated past him.

"Professor." Diongo's expression tensed, and he subconsciously clenched the wand in his hand.

Ranko glanced at him and suggested, "Don't think about using the Patronus Charm, this is the Dementor's lair, how much happiness do you have to squander?" ”

The Patronus Charm is a sharp sword against a few Dementors, but when it comes to a number far beyond its own capabilities, the Patronus Charm is just like these stupid prisoners, and in the eyes of the Dementors, it is a good piece of fragrant bun.

It's still the kind of 'fragrant bun' sprinkled with cumin and various spices, boiled over a large fire, and fragrant for ten miles.

"Don't worry about them now." Ranko chuckled, his footsteps still unstoppable.

The wand in his hand continued to glow warmly, but the Dementors around him were oblivious to his presence.

Diongo suppressed the fear in his heart and pursed his lips to quickly follow.

He didn't want to die yet.

At least not to die here.

As the man who didn't know whether to live or die provoked the Dementors, the coldness in Azkaban grew more and more solemn.

The seemingly impregnable fortress of death is divided into twelve floors, with a triangular structure with a row of stairs connecting upwards at the corner of each floor.

There are a lot of prisoners here, and most of them will leave after a few months, even if the place will leave a psychological shadow that they will never erase.

In the cell, there may be 'old men' who have long lost everything and who have long been tortured, or 'newcomers' who have just arrived, but in the end, everything here returns to dead silence.

As mentioned above, this is not the place where the living should be.

"We're going to get into the inner courtyard of Azkaban through the passage on the seventh floor."

Stepping up the stairs, Ranko and Mr. Gustavsson, visibly frightened, said.

"Why don't we go downstairs?" Diongo saw a stone door covered in red moss from where he had just walked, but the professor of dark arts on the side ignored it.

"You wouldn't want to go out, before the Ministry of Magic rectified Azkaban, built a tomb dedicated to storing corpses, and told the Dementors how to dispose of them, where do you think those dead here will be buried?"

Dementors don't care how dirty their environment is, maybe the dirt they care about is clean and hygienic for the Dementors?

In Ranko's account, Diongo brains make up the inner court floor full of corpses and dry bones.

This made him subconsciously shudder again.

Although he came from Durmstrang, he also encountered dangers large and small after entering the ranks of the saints.

But this is the first time I have gone deep into such a place.

Hordes of Dementors are far from being something that one or a few wizards can deal with, and any wizard who dares to step into Azkaban is called a revenant under the Dementors.

They never mind enjoying food that comes by accident.

For this reason, Diongo can only rely on his own experience to try to fit the thoughts in his head behind the closed wall that has been erected high.

'Coward! ’

'Kill him!' Kill him! ’

The voices of a man and a woman rang in their heads, and they became even more hysterical after the Occlumency was completed.

Diongo lowered his eyes, didn't say anything, and walked quietly like a puppet.

From the second to the third floor, from the third to the fourth floor.

Stairs in Azkaban are not found around the corner of every floor, so it sometimes takes a short distance to find the staircase to the upper floor.

Diongo felt that the temperature in the air was getting colder and colder, and the temperature of his body was also being lost.

It was a very uncomfortable feeling, but Diongo swallowed the words he wanted to say as he looked at the wizard who was walking forward evenly, even if his breath did not change in the slightest.

Maybe you need some help. ’

A memory crept silently through the walls erected by the Occlumency Technique and into his mind.

Diongo had long been accustomed to it, but still didn't like the quiet way.

In one of his memories, there was an extra wizard who was also wearing blood-red wizard robes, as if he were the one in that memory.

Gellert Grindelwald.

Even if only memories are left of the decomposed, this memory is also terrifyingly contagious and assimilating.

It involuntarily turns the person who actively understands it, his memories, his emotions, his thinking, into Grindelwald.

Fortunately, the effects of the mental thickener soon became apparent.

In Diongo's memory, the image of the memory seemed to be coated with a layer of beeswax, and it seemed that the wizard in the blood-red robe was standing on the beeswax, out of place.

'Now is not the time for you to show up. ’

Diongo had no interest in becoming someone else.

Even if it was the object of his adoration, Gellert Grindelwald.

It's an opportunity, isn't it? Grindelwald, much younger, stretched out his hand and walked towards him.

We don't need to kill him, it's not good for him or for you. ’

'But Azkaban is a place of death, and it only takes a little accident to make things go the way we want them to, and all you need to prove your worth is here......

Grindelwald's appearance is the same, but the voice is like a demagogic demon, layered on top of each other, and there is no end.

Psychotropic thickeners have worked again, and the degree of perfection of Occlumency, which has counteracted the silent mental pollution.

"I said."

Ranko turned his head to look at Diongo in a daze.

'Tsk. Seeing this, Grindelwald went into hiding again.

Ranko looked at Diongo and felt that he still underestimated the Dark Lord.

Memory, emotion, and thinking are so divided by him that they can still become like this, Grindelwald, how many layers of murder books did you stack to create such a monster?

Ranko was a little unsure if this Grindelwald's spiritual fragment was reborn with the help of the power of the Resurrection Stone, would it sound the clarion call for war again.

Thankfully, the Resurrection Stone is in his hand.

"It's about to be on the seventh floor." Ranko turned his head back.

"Okay, Professor." Diongo lowered his head, hiding his face from the pain in his head.

Ranko nodded, and stepped up the last flight of steps to the seventh floor.

There are twelve floors inside Azkaban, and the higher you go, the more Dementors there are, and the more vicious the prisoners you need to hold.

The number of Dementors on the seventh floor is already twice as large as the number of Dementors on the first floor just patrolling the corridors and finding two unlucky people to 'feast' from time to time.

Ranko ignored the Dementors as was customary and walked in the direction he remembered.

Dementors are not interested in a piece of 'rotten meat', and their instincts tell them that if they bite into a piece of 'meat' that doesn't look very fresh, they will be poisoned to death.

So, when a Dementor suddenly stopped, its body pressed down, revealing a face with no flesh under the hood, only a hollow mouth, Ranko was also stunned.

"Huh?"

Immediately afterward, Ranko felt a strange suction force in that big mouth, not the suction acting on the body, but a further spiritual and spiritual force.

A yellow-green cloth covered in oil floated out of his cheek.

Immediately, Ranko poked the piece of cloth with a finger and stuffed it into the Dementor's mouth.

"You know, I can smell your bad breath from so far away."

The moment the shroud touched the Dementor, it was like the most powerful adhesive tape in history, sticking to the opponent's mouth.

The smell of decay then escapes.

The Dementor's mouth opened wide, and in anger he reached out his scarred, scabbed, rotting hand and grabbed at Ranko.

"Looks like someone doesn't welcome me."

Before Diongo could utter an exclamation, a black light flashed across the Dementor's chest.

The tall monster flew upside down, bumping into many of its companions along the way, but strangely enough, the companions didn't even glance at the dementor flying upside down, and remained lazy and didn't show much hostility.

Ranko withdrew his wand, stingy with a glance at the Dementor.

"Do you know who are the saints in Azkaban?"

Seeing Mr. Gustafsson's sluggish expression, Professor Malfoy asked.

With this question, Diongo also came back to his senses.

Saint?

"I don't know." He said with some urgency.

"I think so."

Ranko wasn't too disappointed by the result, and with his wand in hand, he slowly pushed open the door in the middle of the hallway, facing the inner court.

"The raw materials for the spiritual thickener are here."