Harry Potter and the Dementor's Kiss

**********

Notes: After reading OotP several times and toying with a few ideas I had, I've decided to create my own sort of Year 6. I apologize that I am not British, so I may have the completely wrong idea going on with the accents I've tried to emulate, but I'm sure you can bear with me because I'm staying as true to the books as possible. Yes, sorry for all you fans expecting H/H or D/G or something of the sort. Also, if anyone is kind enough to point out continuity errors or anything of the sort I'd appreciate it.


For anyone curious (highly unlikely) I've done this in WordPerfect 10 and used a very simple feature where the program automatically changes the document to HTML format. That's how I managed to get in the italics, boldface, etc.


Also, for anyone who has read my previous (now void) work (also highly unlikely) you'll find that my writing style has largely changed, some, of course, influenced by reading Harry Potter and The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy quite obsessively...


After this chapter updates might be slow for a week, during which I'll be typing up some extra chapters to work in foreshadowing, etc. After that updates should be steady, at least one chapter every three days.


Chapter One

Back to the Burrow

**********

Harry's feelings of intense hatred toward the Dursleys had cooled somewhat over the summer. He expected that part of it must have been because of Uncle Vernon's little encounter with Mad-Eye Moody at the beginning of the summer, the other part being the howler sent to Aunt Petunia from Professor Dumbledore at the end of the last summer, practically a year ago.


Yes, Harry remembered very well the attack from the dementors the previous year quite vividly. The funny thing was that Dudley didn't seem to remember. Dudley was stubborn in his argument, insisting that Harry had attacked him maliciously. Vernon and Petunia definitely believed him, but there was nothing they dared do; evidently they were mortified of their mental images of Nymphadora Tonks walking up their front driveway and knocking on the door.


This summer was not nearly as hot as the last, therefore Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia took every opportunity they could to get out of the house—but more importantly, away from Harry Potter. Whether it was a trip to the mall, a long stroll through the park, or a visit to their (quite imaginary) relatives in Germany (this was just an excuse they gave to inquiring neighbors, who wondered why they were pulling out of the drive at ungodly hours in the morning); Vernon and Petunia made sure they put many miles between them and Harry. Dudley, left on his own, took to vandalizing local recreation centers more than ever.


This left the whole house to Harry, who made sure to capitalize on the occasion. Now he spread himself on the couch, reading the latest edition of The Daily Prophet (which Hermione most forcefully insisted he subscribe to) which was loaded up, it seemed, with more bull than The Quibbler. However, Harry had to admit that it was interesting, watching photos of a quite unnerved Cornelius Fudge pacing his press room, muttering something to himself and wiping his brow with a soaked handkerchief. It wasn't Cornelius's choice whether the photos looked like this or not, the photos were magically enhanced to display the actual mood of whoever it was capturing.


Harry stuffed himself with the multiple pies Mrs. Weasley had sent him and sipped his butterbeer through a straw (the butterbeer had been charmed so that it couldn't spill while Hedwig carried it). The television was on and turned to the news, which was now covering children's opinions on foreign relations. Humorous as it was to see the kindergartners struggle with the word, "Yugoslavia," Harry's frustration mounted. No signs of Voldemort taking action. No deaths, explosions, disappearances, no nothing. Not even The Daily Prophet had anything good to say, despite the fact that Fudge had gone public about Voldemort's rise to power. Harry wasn't sure if the Ministry of Magic was still trying to cover it up or if they honestly had no news.


Meanwhile Ron and Hermione were flooding him with letters asking how he was (well, not so much Ron's letters; Ron wasn't great at writing letters... Hermione usually wrote anything Ron wanted to say in her letters), and there was a letter from Hagrid promising new and exciting creatures and explaining how Grawp had "cutely" ripped up a few trees from the Forbidden Forest and laid them out to spell HUGR. Hagrid added that he wasn't sure whether Grawp was trying to spell "Hagrid" or "hungry." He had also received a letter of apology from Fudge. The letter, in Harry's opinion, reeked of dishonesty and quite bluntly sounded like a re-worded version of a form letter addressed to someone who was politely being put down for a job application. It read simply:



Dear Harry Potter,

We deeply regret doubting your word on He-Who-Must-Not-Be-

Named's return, and we apologize. We here at the Ministry of Magic once

again apologize at this inconvenience, and do hope feelings are not tense. You

must understand our reluctance at admitting such a powerful threat is active

once again.


Have a good year at Hogwarts,

Sincerely, C. Fudge & Staff


Now opening a packet of Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans and propping The Daily Prophet open on the coffee table with his butterbeer, Harry gave a start as there was a loud knocking at the door.


Harry's first impression was that the Dursleys had arrive home early for the day, but he realized that the Dursleys had no reason to knock at the door, since they had the key and could unlock the door. Harry hastily hid the evidence of magical items, stuffing the butterbeer in the refrigerator and stuffing The Daily Prophet and The Quibbler on the magazine rack, covered up by Vernon's copy of Drills Weekly and Petunia's edition of Celebrity Marriages. After wolfing down Mrs. Weasley's pie he ran over to the door and finally opened it.


"Oh, er, hello, Mrs. Figg!" Harry exclaimed, stunned. What in the world was she doing here?


"Why hello, Mr. Dursley. Listen, I've decided to take Harry off your hands for the day—err, you're not Mr. Dursley, are you?" Mrs. Figg's obviously well-thought-out speech was cut off as she glanced at Harry. "Well then," said Mrs. Figg, straightening herself up, "is your Uncle home?"


"No," replied Harry, "I think he's at the park... or the mall... well, I'm not quite sure, actually."


"Nevermind, then, we'll leave a note. Come on, then, be quick, pack your things, I'm on a tight schedule." She looked at her wrist, evidently forgetting that she wasn't wearing a wristwatch.


"My things? What? Where are we going?" Harry said, half scared. "Listen," he added, "I'm sure your cats aren't that thrilled about seeing me... I mean, I'm kind of busy..."


"No, no, no," Mrs. Figg said, exasperated. "Get your things. I have to take you to the Weasleys'. Dumbledore's orders, you know. He would have sent someone else but they're quite busy with... well, anyhow, you need to hurry."


"Oh!" Harry suddenly lit up. "Oh, right, of course... well then, I'll get my stuff..." He pranced off, and a few minutes later returned with a large amount of clothes and books in his hands, at the top of which Hedwig tittered angrily from her cage; she had just been disturbed from one of her three midday naps.


"Off we go, then," said Mrs. Figg after she scribbled a small note and stuck it on the refrigerator (where, she assured Harry, Dudley was sure to spot it).


A few times along the short walk to Mrs. Figg's house Hedwig had fluttered about so much in her cage that Harry couldn't keep balance and fell over, undoubtedly attracting the indignant stares of many of the neighbors, to which Mrs. Figg paid no heed. As Mrs. Figg unlocked the door the dreaded smell of cabbage and cat litter invaded Harry's nostrils again. Hedwig had been dreading it too; she fluttered about in her cage to madly that Mrs. Figg had practically urged Harry to put a freezing spell on Hedwig, but Harry politely declined.


But Harry's jaw dropped when he saw Mrs. Figg's fireplace. "Cramped" couldn't even begin to describe it. It was two feet tall and four feet wide, Harry had to lay on his side to fit inside of it, and his belongings were shoved uncomfortably in with him. Harry dropped the Floo Powder weakly (if at all possible to drop anything weakly) and felt his surroundings change and whirl.


"Do fare well!" he heard Mrs. Figg's faint voice cry, and suddenly as the whirling started it stopped. Harry had a strange feeling like jetlag, and he tried not to breathe as much as possible lest he inhale ashes. He had experienced the inhalation of ashes before, and could be the first to tell you it was quite unpleasant.


Harry saw a ring of unmistakably red-haired Weasleys standing around him eagerly. He stood up and some of the ash fell off him, but none of them seemed to mind.


"About time you arrived, Harry!" said Fred, brandishing some kind of Skiving Snackbox in his face and grinning devilishly.


"Yeah, we need you to test some of these. Ron had some quite unexpected results while testing them..." cut in George.


"And Hermione refused to touch 'em," Fred said, frowning.


"Can't blame her," Harry distinctly heard Ron mutter, scratching at a lump on his bottom. Harry pretended not to notice—he had heard Fred and George complaining about the same sort of lumps the year before.


"Oh, no," said Harry, "I... er, I'll pass..."


"Come on... they can't hurt..." said George, pretending to be hurt.


"Yeah, we won't feel a thing!" added Fred, grinning.


"That's quite enough!" Mrs. Weasley interjected. "Go on now... he has to get cleaned up. Right this way, Harry." Harry knew where the shower was perfectly well, but he allowed Mrs. Weasley to guide him there while Ron and Ginny helped take his ash-covered stuff up to Ron's room (which Harry felt rather guilty about, seeing as how Ron's room was cramped enough already).


Harry turned on the water, or at least he tried. Nothing happened. He reported this to Mrs. Weasley, who frowned and nodded. "Yes, it has been acting up a bit. I'm not sure what the problem is." Harry thought he heard a clanking in the pipes, but dismissed it. Perhaps the water heater was warming itself up. Then he thought again. In a magical place like the Burrow, were water heaters necessary?


He had no more time to ponder this as a small trickle of water began to drip from the faucet. It quickly became a steady stream, and Harry was satisfied.


After showering Harry ran downstairs, eager to converse with Ron and Ginny. But before he could reach them Mr. Weasley cut him off, looking happy about something.


"Ah yes, Harry, er... listen, I've been meaning to talk to you for some time... follow me, please."


Harry faltered. He opened his mouth as to say 'no,' but the look of raw enthusiasm on Arthur Weasley's face made Harry change his mind. "Sure, alright, then."


He followed Arthur Weasley down into a section of the Burrow that Harry had never seen before—the basement. Harry could tell immediately that this was Mr. Weasley's workshop. The walls were covered with various muggle artifacts, things that up until Harry was eleven he had considered items of everyday life. Lightbulbs, radios, pencils, and toilet seats lined the shelves, all labeled with poor but understandable writing: "Litebulbs, raydeeo's, pensills, toylit seets..."


In the center of the large basement was something caught Harry's eye. It looked like a sloppy, enlarged version of one of Dudley's computers. Of course, to even begin to call it a computer would be wrong. "Mathematical apparatus" would be more correct.


"Excuse me..." Harry said, tapping Arthur's shoulder. "Er, what's —"


"Yes, Harry, it's a... er, what do the muggles call it? A commuter, I believe."


"That's a computer?"


"Yes, really genius, isn't it, Harry? It runs on magic."


"Er, yeah, genius," Harry pushed forth a light smile. "Er, how do you turn it on?"


"Turn it on?" Mr. Weasley repeated, puzzled. "Whatever are you talking about?"


"I mean," said Harry slowly, "how does it work?"


"Very simply like this," Mr. Weasley demonstrated, waving his wand with three flicks and saying, "Indicium." The "monitor" began to glow, and Harry saw that Mr. Weasley used his wand to direct a miniature hand on-screen. "Yes," said Arthur, looking extremely proud of himself. "Yes, I've got all of the latest case data stored on here. Look Harry, remember Sturgis Podmore? Well we convicted him finally, with permission from Fudge." He looked rather sour at the name of Fudge—over summer Albus Dumbledore had explained to him who exactly Umbridge had been, and it was very clear who, between Dumbledore and Fudge, Mr. Weasley preferred. Harry grinned.


"That's fantastic," he said.


"Yes, isn't it?" Arthur was making no effort to contain his glee.


"What did Molly think of it?" Harry wondered, accidentally aloud.


"Oh, promise you won't tell," Arthur whispered urgently, looking around as if to make sure Mrs. Weasley wasn't eavesdropping on them. "She really doesn't approve, you know. She says she doesn't want another explosion in the house..."


"Explosion...?" began Harry, but he was cut off as he heard Mrs. Weasley shriek.


"Ahem, best be off then," Mr. Weasley said quietly, shooing Harry out of the basement.


As Harry entered the kitchen he could her Molly Weasley upstairs, hollering at Ron with an almost hoarse voice. Harry immediately knew what she was yelling about.


"WHAT DO YOU MEAN, YOU HAVEN'T GOT ANYTHING ON YOUR BOTTOM? I CAN SEE IT! COME HERE, RON! OH, STOP BEING A BABY, IT'S CLEAR AS DAYLIGHT!"


He heard scuffling upstairs, and decided it best not to investigate. Instead he sat down at the table, eyeing an article from The Daily Prophet that had been cut out.


"RON, STAY STILL, I'M NOT TRYING TO KILL YOU! ALTHOUGH, IF YOU DON'T STOP SQUIRMING MAYBE I WILL!"


Trying as best as he could to ignore this, Harry examined the article curiously. It read:


Yesterday the Ministry of Magic arrested two men for using magic in front of muggles.


Harry recognized this article, he had just been reading it. Harry had not stopped to consider this particular article important (he had passed over it very quickly, not taking in any of the details), but as he continued reading, it became more and more obvious that this article could be related to Voldemort and the Death Eaters.


The two men were caught performing levitation spells in front of an audience of more than 10,000 muggles.

"I was just trying to make a bit of extra money, and have a bit of extra fun," claims one of the wizards, a thirty-year-old man named Brian Bennington. "There was really no harm in it."

The other wizard, Stephen Blitz, also denies that the muggles were in any danger whatsoever. "It was just a bit of sporting," he insists. "The muggles loved it."

However, the Ministry of Magic has reason to believe that the two men were involved in a deeper scheme, dealing with the widespread murder of muggle parents who had given birth to magical children. The two wizards faced charges of murder, illegal treatment of muggles, and of revealing the presence of wizards and witches to non-magical-related muggles.

During an interview regarding this subject, Arthur Weasley, head of the Department of Muggle Artifacts, stated that, "We are currently pressing charges, and are sure that these two men are indeed involved in what we here at the Ministry are calling the 'Muggle Assault.'"


Harry stopped, startled. Surely Hermione's parents weren't...? But of course, they couldn't have been. They had to be smart enough to smell trouble. Besides, what were the chances?


"Oh, Harry!" said Mrs. Weasley, who was done fussing over Ron and not came down to greet Harry again. "Have you had a good summer?"


Mrs. Weasley asked this question every year, and every year Harry always replied, "It was okay."


But this year, the thoughts and memories of a terrified Petunia, Vernon, and Dudley brought a smile to Harry's face. "Couldn't have been better."


"That's nice, dear," said Mrs. Weasley, "Ron and Ginny are upstairs waiting to see you. I'll start on the supper, okay?" Harry looked at his watch. It was only four, but he didn't argue.


"Alright," said Harry, excusing himself and going upstairs. He took the article and put it in his pocket. It might be an interesting discussion point...


Upon entering Ron's room Harry found that his things had been neatly organized, including clothes, toothbrush, and bedcover. "Thanks," said Harry, blinking.


"It was Ginny's idea," said Ron, plainly disgruntled, shifting uneasily on his bed.


Ginny smiled. "Ron would have helped, but mum was too busy prying that whopping boil off of his– "


"Where's Hermione?" interrupted Harry rather rudely, but he was used to seeing Hermione's bushy hair somewhere in the house.


Ron muttered something that sounded like, "Advertising SPEW," and Harry decided he need ask no more.


"Anyway," Harry said, "look what I found downstairs." He showed them the article.


Ron took a glance at it, and nodded. "Yeah," he said grimly, "I saw that. Makes me sick. I mean, I don't care much for muggles, but murdering them just because they gave birth to magical children..." He didn't say it, but Harry could tell that he was thinking about Hermione's parents just like he had been.


"Dad's investigating this case," Ginny added, "but he wouldn't tell us much about it. He didn't even say anything about the case on the computer... believe me, we looked."


Harry raised his eyebrows. It looked as though Fred and George were starting to rub off on her.


As if on cue, Fred and George apparated into the room, landing neatly on Ron's bed and causing Ron to topple off, howling in pain as he landed on his rear-end.


"Hey there, Harry!" said Fred cheerfully. "We were just making sure that you didn't want to test some of our Deluxe Skiving Snackboxes."


"It's free, you know," nodded George, beckoning toward the box Fred was holding.


"Only costs a bit for shipping and handling, of course..." said Fred.


"Yes, it will be quite a pain to carry you around everywhere," agreed George.


"Oh, but we understand if you say no," admitted Fred.


"After all, we're sure Percy will have the stomach for these pills," George grinned devilishly.


"Whether or not we have to force them down."


Harry knew that they were certainly looking forward to force-feeding Percy the pills, whether or not Harry agreed to test the Deluxe Snackboxes.


"No, I value my rear end, if you please," said Harry honestly.


"Okay, since you're out financial backer, we'll let it slide," said George smoothly. In fact, they didn't seem at all upset that Harry hadn't wanted the snackboxes... indeed, it seemed quite the opposite. Fred and George disapparated at the same time.


"Scary, those two," Ron said glumly. "If you don't watch yourself they'll slip you a knock-out pill in your pumpkin juice, and next thing you know you'll be rolling around uncontrollably on the ground."


If Harry had to make a choice, he'd definitely assume that Ron was citing from experience.