The Prisoner's Flight
A man in rags and muck stumbled through the countryside, eyes wandering here and there as if expecting an ambush behind every stone, shrub, and tree. His face resembled a skull, his body the definition of fragility, and his hair a jungle without end. He approached a village with trepidation before hardening his resolve. His skin darkened, his body shrank, and his limbs transformed, leaving a dog of Death where the man once stood. The dog limped into the village, grabbing the attention of the shopkeepers. Some took pity and threw him a scrap or two, others glared at him as if daring him to steal their food, but one boy beamed at him and dashed to his mother, begging to take the dog home. The mother stared at the dog with distaste, but hesitated at the boy's excitement. Then, the frost crept in.
The shopkeepers covered their stations and scurried away, locking their doors and closing their blinds; passerby took refuge wherever the Samaritans offered; the woman took her son's hand and dragged him to a sweet shop around the corner. The dog followed.
Waiting in the shop, a small crowd huddled together, peeked through the windows and whimpered when the glass fogged. The dog whined, placing his paws over his head, and the boy squeezed his mother, burying his face into her robes. Outside, dementors glided over the cobblestone and their cloaks billowed with the wind; each cloak had tears in their fabric, exposing the wraith's skin. One after another, they passed through without interruption. Minutes later, the warmth returned; they were gone.
After a lifetime, the crowd dispersed but the dog refused to leave, to the mother's relief. A handful of people remained and among them, a woman without eyes faced the dog with a smile as if to say that she knew his secret and he should thank his luck that she had kept the peace. The discomfort won over, and the dog left the shop to resume his journey.