The Dementor and it's companion drifted southward, to the place it had been compelled to go.

It did not know why.

It did not care why.

It knew that it was... permitted (it railed against the fact that it had to bow to these permissions and restrictions) to drain a particular life force.

It had existed for millenia. The only remaining... it felt no pleasure, but the only remaining rise it felt was from souls of unusual consistency. Even the experiences it drained from the captive life force near the chainstone was near-stultifying to it.

It felt no hope, no joy, but it knew it would experience a brief rise in existence if it drained such a soul.

It drifted southward.


Harry kicked his small student desk, hard. It had been dilapidated from the start (after, of course, Dudley had subjected it to his loving attention), and was even more so now.

He'd been in a ferocious fight with his aunt and uncle, after they'd found him listening to the news whilst lying on the flowerbed under the lounge window. Harry had been moments from storming out, to walk the streets, when he'd been ordered to his room.

The satisfaction of walking out was outweighed by the punishment Uncle Vernon would undoubtedly dole out later.


The Dementor encountered life force, contained in a body of unusual size for it's stature. It was dull, boring, but it still drained it greedily. Life force was hard to come by, now that it and it's brethren was bound by the Chainstone.

It drifted further towards the soul it had been directed to.


Harry felt cold. And sad, as if he'd never feel happy again.

Harry knew this feeling. He rushed to the door, rattling it as he realised that Uncle Vernon had locked the several catches on the hall side of it. He breathed sharply for a moment, before realising that this meant that the Dementor (why was a Dementor in Little Whinging? This was as muggle as it got!) was therefore locked on the other side too.

Harry whirled to dash to his wand, stored in his trunk under the window, before stopping dead.

The second Dementor that had swooped in through the window lowered it's hood.


An island of rock drifted, held close to a continent by chains of both gravity and ethereal power.

Green skinned orcs slaved on it, mining ore, chiseling free crystal.

Overseers soared around it on shadowy, translucent dragons, throwing punishment at orcs who attempted rebellion and collecting ore and shards.

Trainers whipped the shadowy dragons while young, training them through pain and fear to do as commanded. Some died. This was acceptable, as long as not too many did so.

Some free dragons rebelled against the orcs, taking action against them. One deliberately hid in orc form, giving the orc peons food poisoned with fel glands from the demon-tainted wildlife on the main continent.


When the Dementor drained Harry's life force, two forces came into contention. One was the Dementor. It drained Harry's life force, and severed the bond between body and soul. The second was Fate, the Prophecy, predestination. It declared that Harry would perform his role.

The Dementor was threatening to stand in the way of this.

The Dementor exploded, releasing the souls it had recently claimed.


Three poisoned orcs shook their heads, rising from their death-sleep.

"Potter? POOOOTTEEEER!" the largest screamed.

The smaller male looked at his hands before beginning to hyperventilate.

The female screamed uncontrollably.


A dead netherdrake rolled off the edge of the rocky island floating in space, before it shook it's great head.

"Where.. am I?" Harry asked, looking around. Reflexively his wings stretched out, beating frantically as he gained altitude.


A/N Yes, World of Warcraft, Burning Crusade. Netherwing Faction.

My original thought was Vernon, Petunia and Dudley as ogres, but couldn't figure out how to swing it.