Okay, here's the second chapter. Hopefully there are no typos. The disclaimer from the first chapter still applies, and will do so for all the chapters.
Over the next few days, as I tried to repair a very valuable, slightly illegal antique flying carpet, my mind kept drifting back to my visit to Azkaban and the short conversation with Stevie. I had never had much of an interest in Dementors before, being mainly preoccupied with staying away from them as much as possible, but now I started wondering all kinds of things relating to them and their activities. For example: were they immortal? If not, then how would one kill a Dementor? What, exactly, did they do with the happy memories and the souls that they sucked out of people? I was so absorbed by these musings I failed to notice that I was thinking much less often of the previous, nightmarish year which had been plaguing my thoughts and my dreams so frequently.
One dull, rainy day I traveled by Floo powder (although I was able to apparate, doing so in crowded areas was often less than advisable) to Knockturn Alley, in London. The Dark Arts counterpart of Diagon Alley looked very different than it had during my school years; many of the more sinister shops were closed, and the ones remaining had taken down most of the darker aspects of their window displays. At last, I reached a small, rather grim storefront sandwiched between two larger buildings. Its sign read 'Used Bookstore' in peeling gold paint on a cracked black background.
I entered the establishment, looking around curiously. I had never been in here before, preferring the newer, larger bookstores in Diagon Alley. It was narrow, but the room in which I stood extended quite far back from the street, and I glimpsed another door at the end. The walls were lined with tall, dusty bookshelves filled by crumbling tomes with odd, foreign titles. I could read passably in several different languages and could recognize many others, but a good percentage of the ones represented here in the titles were totally unknown to me.
"Can I help you?" asked a voice, and I turned left to see a slender, brown-haired man step out from behind a shelf. He was giving me a friendly smile, but there was something slightly creepy about him. It took me a moment to figure out what it was – the man's age was almost impossible to guess at. He could have been anywhere from my own age of eighteen to perhaps thirty-five years old.
Why are all the people who work in Knockturn Alley strange? Is it because they're dark wizards who've experimented one too many times with dangerous magic? Or do they become dark wizards because people treat them oddly due to their peculiarity? I wondered to myself.
"I'm not entirely sure, actually," I said, smiling faintly back at the man.
"You're Draco Malfoy, no?" he asked unexpectedly.
"Yes – I'm sorry, have we met?"
"I doubt it, but your father came in here once. You look a lot like one another."
"Ah. Who are you?"
"Vincent," he replied, and I felt a twinge in my chest. One of my two best friends had been named Vincent, but he had died, in the final battle between the Dark Lord and the forces supporting Harry Potter.
"Vincent Wulfgar," he finished, and the feeling faded a little. This man looked nothing like Crabbe, anyway. "Are you looking for anything in particular, or a genre of thing, or what?"
"I'm looking for information about Dementors," I told him. "Do you have any books that might have that?"
"I do. What kind of information? I've got historical accounts of when they've influenced major events, I've got fiction (though that doesn't sound like what you want), I've got studies of their life… existence, and their powers."
"The last, I think. I'm looking for accuracy over readability, so whatever the most reliable texts you've got on the subject are, they're what I'm looking for."
"Interesting," he said, and then proceeded off down the shelves. He selected volumes every once in a while, eventually returning to the front with a stack of five very old books, which he placed with a thump on a desk near the door. "These top three," he said, "are all pretty detailed studies on different aspects of Dementors; the next one's an account of people who've been affected by them. The last one's a bit dotty, it's centuries old, but it has some interesting theories on the Kiss. It's not specifically about Dementors, focuses more on souls in general. It's got horcruxes in it," he added, glancing at me.
I nodded and paid for the books, which Vincent Wulfgar deposited in a bag so they wouldn't get rained on. Thanking the slightly creepy, but very helpful bookseller, I exited the shop and proceeded back to the manor by way of Borgin and Burke's. Once there I leafed through the books I'd just purchased. They were not pleasant reading, but I became more and more intrigued, albeit in a morbid fashion, by what I found in them; the one about souls was especially fascinating. I also spent several hours working on Legilimancy, a skill taught to me by Severus Snape, but which I had not practiced since his death.
The next time I went to visit my father in Azkaban, I asked the Aurors if I could retain my wand. They didn't confiscate wands from everyone; high-ranking Ministry officials were not typically disarmed. Dawlish was not particularly happy with the idea, but informed me I could keep the wand provided I had two Aurors with me at all times. I accepted the condition, though as I did not need the wand to talk to my father I left it with the two Aurors while I proceeded to his cell.
We spoke for a while about various topics, but eventually he again brought up the issue of my future.
"Have you not thought of anything yet? It doesn't need to be a career, it can be a hobby if you wish – you know we have enough money for that, and the investments the family has made are still paying us well. You can do nothing at all, if you want; I'm just concerned that you're stuck dwelling on the past."
"I know. I'm not, honestly. Actually I have a hobby of sorts now." I explained about my research of Dementors and souls.
"That's… different," he said at last. "I wish you well with it, but even the Dark Lord lacked knowledge about a great portion of soul-related lore, and he had six horcruxes. Or seven, if you believe that rumor about Potter being a horcrux."
"I know, Father, but I don't think he was that interested in it. His aim was immortality, not investigating the mysteries of the soul."
My point was valid, and I think Father was somewhat reassured as to my psychological well-being. We spent the rest of the time conversing on other subjects. Eventually I left and walked down the staircase to the basement, recovering my wand from the Aurors on the way.
Stevie was standing guard again – I assumed she, like Dawlish, was on duty certain days of the week. I always visited on Friday, so it was natural I would run into the same personnel every time.
I walked over to her somewhat nervously. The request I had to make of her was, like last time, distinctly odd, and I was worried she might say it was unethical. I personally had thought about this aspect on the way to Azkaban, and had concluded that, while it was certainly unusual and possibly really twisted, it was alright morally.
"Hi, Stevie. How are you?" It was a unique characteristic of the young Auror that one's mind automatically labeled her as 'Stevie' and not 'Paulson' or similar. She simply was a Stevie.
"I'm fine, thanks. You?"
"Fine as well. I was wondering if you'd let me do something."
"If it's 'read me 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea', then the answer's no. I may be bored, but I'm not that bored." She grinned. I didn't get it, probably because it was a muggle reference or something, but I smiled in reply, and felt slightly less anxious about the request.
"It isn't that. Actually, I was wondering if I could have another look at Crouch, and possibly try some Legilimancy on him."
Stevie didn't look angry, but she did look very surprised. After a few seconds an expression of concern joined the surprised one.
"I – well, I suppose there's nothing wrong with it, they already used Veritaserum before the Dementor's Kiss, and for all intents and purposes he's dead anyway – but seriously, why would you want to? You do know that someone who's been given the Kiss is stuck reliving the worst memories of their life over and over again? Which means if you try Legilimancy it isn't going to be pleasant?"
"Yeah, I know. I read up. It's for academic purposes."
She shook her head doubtfully. "Your funeral."
Both Stevie and my Auror escorts accompanied me over to Barty Crouch Jr.'s cell. I noticed that he was resting against the opposite wall from last time, and assumed Stevie had moved him there.
"Do you want to go in?" asked Stevie. I nodded. She took out her wand and muttered a complicated sequence of spells, before using an old fashioned key to open the lock itself. I went in and sat down across from Crouch. Drawing out my wand, I said, "Legilimens."
We were alone in a dark bedroom, and he was crying because his father was disappointed with him again, had told him he wasn't trying hard enough again… We were surrounded by happy, celebrating people, and he was standing there in blank shock. They'd just told him the Dark Lord had been defeated… We were in a courtroom, and Crouch was being carried off by Dementors. He looked back and saw his father's face, which held nothing but disgust… We were here, in Azkaban, a different cell, and he was rocking back and forth and feeling his mind slip away from him while Bellatrix laughed madly in the next chamber over… We were in the Defense Against the Dark Arts office, and the Dementor was leaning down over him, and sucking in a slow, rattling breath…
I think I lost my head a bit at that point. The things I was seeing were bad enough, but the emotions that stabbed through me while I watched were too much for me to take – Barty Crouch Jr.'s emotions, presumably, but the spell made them feel like my own.
I jerked my wand down, but my mind was stuck, it wouldn't snap out of it, only it was my own memory that I was trapped inside now.
The Vanishing Cabinet had to work this time, I'd spent so long on it, and I stepped back, every muscle tensed, as I waited, forcing myself to count to ten. I jerked the cabinet open, but the bird I had tested it on was dead, and a wave of despair flooded over me… Harry Potter laughed at the Dark Lord and said that Snape hadn't owned the Elder Wand, that I had, and so killing Snape had been entirely unnecessary, and I realized that it was my fault that Snape, my best and only friend among the Death Eaters, was dead… The body of the Muggle Studies professor rotated slowly over the –
"Mr. Malfoy!"
Over the table, at which the Dark Lord sat, pointing his wand up at –
"Mr. Malfoy! Hello!"
And there was a flash of green light and then the snake –
"Mr. Malfoy!"
My eyes flew open. Someone was shaking my shoulders very hard. With difficulty, I focused and identified the person as Stevie.
"What?" I mumbled, realizing as I said it that my cheeks were wet, and that my hands were clutched together around my knees so hard it hurt.
"Are you alright?" She looked anxious. The other Aurors, peering in from their positions outside the cell, shared similar looks of alarm. I slowly uncoiled myself and stood up, leaning on the wall. Across from me, Crouch's apathetic expression had not changed in the slightest.
"Yeah, I'm fine. No, that's a lie. I'm not fine, but I will be in a minute." I shut my eyes and leaned against the wall, listening to my heart slow down as I considered what had just happened. I supposed that I had been simply overwhelmed by the sheer concentrated force of all that negative emotion, and my mind had been trapped in a pattern, or something, of bad memories.
After a few moments I opened my eyes again and looked at Stevie.
"Thank you for shaking me. Would you be so kind as to wait outside the cell?"
"You're welcome. Why?"
I took a deep breath. "I'm going to have another go."
"You can't be serious." She stared at me in disbelief.
"Apparently I can. Yes, I know, I'm barking, but there it is." I was feeling slightly hysterical. Drawing out my wand, I slid down the wall until I was facing Crouch once more. Stevie shook her head, but she stepped out of the cell again, giving me some room.
"Legilimens."
More memories, different than the ones I'd seen before but no more enjoyable, flashed through my head. This time, though, I focused, sorting through the images until I'd isolated just one; I had seen this one before.
The Dementor leaned down over him, sucking in a slow, rattling breath…
Dimly, I heard someone calling my name, and waved my hand at them to signal that I was alright. More tears were coursing down my face, but I held on to the memory, forcing it to play out again in my mind.
The Dementor leaned down over him… I could see its face, and this time I was still watching as Barty Crouch's soul drifted up out of his mouth and disappeared into the black, sucking darkness beneath the Dementor's hood. I watched as the spark vanished, but took careful note that it did not dim as it floated out of sight.
I opened my eyes and smiled. It was not a happy smile, but it was a grimly satisfied one. I stood up, pocketing my wand, and turned to the Aurors.
"I've got what I wanted. We can go." They looked askance at me but nodded. Before I left the cell to follow them back out of Azkaban I paused, and, turning, gave Barty Crouch Jr.'s shoulder a squeeze.
We reached the bottom of the stairwell, Stevie catching up after she'd renewed the spells on the door and locked it.
"You're mad, you know," she told me.
"Possibly," I admitted. It was true I had a reason for putting myself through the experience I'd just undergone, a reason she was unaware of, but it was really nothing more than a whim. Perhaps she was right, and I was mad, but at least it wasn't in the way that Bellatrix had been mad. At least I didn't kill people for the fun of it; the only person getting hurt was me.
Back at Malfoy Manor, I paced back and forth in the drawing room. I picked up a book, the really old one I'd bought in Knockturn Alley, and leafed through its yellowed pages. At last I found the part I was looking for.
The book had presented three hypotheses for what happened to a soul taken by a Dementor. The first, that the Dementor consumed the soul as nourishment, I dismissed out of hand. Far too few people were Kissed to possibly satisfy the number of Dementors that I knew existed.
The second and third options were more plausible. One was that the Dementor consumed the soul out of enjoyment rather than necessity, as if it were a drug of sorts. The other was that the Dementor simply kept the soul within itself, never consuming it, but drawing strength and… and whatever else Dementors wanted or required, from it.
Now, having seen Barty Crouch's memory, I was inclined to believe the second hypothesis. The soul had not dimmed as the Dementor sucked it in, and I doubted that the creature had to… digest a soul. Of course, I could very easily be mistaken. I was far from an expert, and even the ancient witches and wizards who had written the books I consulted had admitted they knew very little about Dementors for certain.
I decided to return to Knockturn Alley. Arriving at the used bookstore, I pulled open the door and entered, greeting Vincent Wulfgar as he appeared from behind a shelf.
"Have the books you got last time been helpful?" he asked me.
"Yes, enormously. Actually, they're the reason I'm here – they gave me an idea and I was wondering whether you have any books that might give me the information to confirm or disprove it."
"I'll do my best. You're my most valued customer, you know."
"I am?" I said, baffled.
"Yeah; no one else has ever bought five books from this place. Plus, you're back again. That's unusual. My bookstore mainly contains books on pretty obscure subjects. Most people aren't interested in them. Anyway, what kind of information are you looking for?"
"Specifically? I want to know what happens to a person's soul after it's been sucked out by a Dementor."
He raised his eyebrows. "How interesting. Yes, that is pretty specific. I might have a few books that deal with it –" he was already proceeding down the lines of shelves "– but that's a theoretical subject at best. I can't promise you cold, hard facts."
I nodded as he pulled three books off the shelves.
"This one speculates that the Dementor consumes the soul as a source of power. It talks about what type of… no? Okay, this one here gets a little weird, says the soul just drifts right through the Dementor and into death, or whatever… no. I reckon it's a bit barmy myself." He held up the last book, a very thin volume bound in black dragon skin. "This one claims the Dementor retains the soul. The beginning is pretty convincing, but it gets bizarre towards the end – chap who wrote it had a wife who was Kissed, at the end he explains how he's setting out to get her soul back for her."
"Did he?"
"No. He got Kissed as well, and eventually some kind-hearted cousin killed both of them." He was serious about the kind-hearted thing, too; I gathered that someone so knowledgeable about Dementor lore knew exactly how bad the effects of the Kiss were.
"I'll get that one, then," I decided. Vincent Wulfgar nodded, and I left the bookstore with the happy thought that I was really getting somewhere with this project. It was only after I'd arrived back at the manor that I realized this was the first really happy thought I'd had since the end of my fifth year at Hogwarts.
Well, there it is. Depressing, yes? Oh well. As always, I'd appreciate any reviews.
