A dementor rose slowly from the box, its hooded face turned toward Harry, one glistening, scabbed hand gripping its cloak. The lamps around the classroom flickered and went out. The dementor stepped from the box and started to sweep silently toward Harry, drawing a deep, rattling breath. A wave of piercing cold broke over him— "Expecto patromun!" Harry yelled. "Expecto patronum! Expecto—" But the classroom and the dementor were dissolving
Harry was falling again through thick white fog, and his mother's voice was louder than ever, echoing inside his head—"Not Harry! Not Harry! Please—I'll do anything—"