Haute Cuisine
A Dementor and Xenophilius Lovegood, 100 words.
This one's memories were delicious.
The Dementor feasted upon the memory – flooing to his living room after an interview, a bouquet of daisies in his hand for his wife. The woman who kept him grounded. Kept him sane. Walking to her laboratory. Seeing her, prone on the floor. The smell of charred flesh. Smoke rising from a gaping wound on her chest. Their precious daughter in her neat gingham dress, and neat blond hair, whispering faintly, "Wake up, Mum," over and over. The flowers dropping to the floor. The wail forcing its way out his throat.
It was exquisite.