“It all depends on the points — a margin of a hundred either way —”

“What?”

“Beaky!” said Hagrid huskily.

By the feeble light of his formless Patronus, he saw a Dementor halt, very close to him. It couldn't walk through the cloud of silver mist Harry had conjured. A dead, slimy hand slid out from under the cloak. It made a gesture as though to sweep the Patronus aside.

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