Dementor's Kiss
Azkaban, the black monolith of despair jutted out from the stormy seas. The number of those who had escaped could be counted on your hands, even if you'd lost both. Tarquin McTavish had been imprisoned after a small misunderstanding. Well, it wasn't so much a misunderstanding as a disagreement on what constituted unlawful behavior. Unfortunately his opposition in the matter was the ministry, who felt that imprisoning a muggle in a teakettle was a matter worthy of this wretched place. Luckily his true intentions weren't revealed, or they would have executed with an Avada Kedavra and been done with it.
A dementor passed, its tattered shroud fluttering in an unfelt icy wind. Tarquin staggered to the bars, fighting against the despair. He needed to know, knowledge was power and it would be his, no matter the cost. Reaching weakly out of the bars, he grabbed the cloak of the dementor.
In response the creature let out an unearthly howl that he could feel, but not hear. Approaching him, it wrapped its withered hands around the bars, leaving a coat of ice. Pressing its face close to his, Tarquin felt his world go faint.
Now he floated in blackness, but he still was. He knew he was because he could think. But why was he here in this terrible place? Because he killed? No that wasn't right he hadn't killed anyone. He was…who was he? In a flash he realized his mistake and folly.
My name is Tarquin McTavish, a spell developer specializing in the magic of souls. I hypothesized that the Dementor's Kiss merely takes in souls and does not necessarily destroy them. My name is Tarquin McTavish, I imprisoned my muggle neighbor to be put in Azkaban. I accosted a dementor so it would give me the Kiss. My name is Tarquin McTavish, and I am trapped with other souls. Without any physical self my soul is being 'digested' and mixed with the others. My name is Tarquin McTavish…