Dementors and Soul Shards

The three of them travelled back to the temple in the Lord's carriage, allowing them the opportunity to eat a small lunch as they did so. Nerves were high, and conversation sparse, as they once more approached the glimmering white spire. The Ritual Master was waiting to greet them as they stepped out to join the ritual, as was the Commander of the Guard.

"All hail the Lord Caer Azkaban," they chanted, "Long may he rule!"

"Are we ready to get this done?" he asked them.

"As soon as the sun reaches it's peak." he was assured.

Harry nodded his understanding before summoning Kreacher with the pendant. Now that they knew they would be destroying a fraction of Voldemort's shattered soul they were all the more eager to see it done. The small band walked through the beaded curtain and down a spiral staircase set into the base of one of the pillars. Veins of the pillar's black stone followed them down through the rock of the clifftop, wrapping around the descending stairs in an elegant cage as rock gave way to air. Stepping out from the cage of root-like stone, Harry noted that trickles of water, still faintly silver from the morning ceremony, flowed from the 'roots' along channels in the floor. Two spread to the side, encircling the room together with the water trickling the other staircases. One flowed inwards, to the centre, were it joined the other four in a pool barely seven inches across.

The noon sun shone through the fountain pool set into the floor above, illuminating the room with a natural light that left the edge deep in shadow. Despite the concealing shadows, Harry could still see the nine Dementors that lingered there. Their familiar rattling breaths seemed quieter than he was used to, and there was a distinct lack of the chill that seemed to follow such creatures. The others, though, were affected more as he would expect, and the Ritual Master quickly conjured a shield patronus for their sake.

"The ritual is quite simple, in principle." he told them, "The chants and runes serve to channel the Dementors' Kiss against the Horcrux, pulling the Soul Shard free of it's casing. Obviously, we do not want one of the Dementors to consume the shard – that would transform the Dementor into a Horcrux – that is why we have nine Dementors working together. The combined force of their power should balance out, leaving the shard temporarily exposed. Finally, it must be banished by means of the Killing Curse before any of the Dementors consume it."

"I thought you said that having the Dementors working together prevented them from consuming the shard?" Hermione queried.

"That only delays the inevitable," he replied, "It buys us time, nothing more. If the Dementors were to release the pressure before the shard was either consumed or banished, it would seek out the nearest living creature to latch onto instead. Better to kill it outright."

"Damn!" the Commander muttered, "I hadn't noticed, but the locket has a parselock. As long as it remains closed, it will be difficult to extract the shard."

"May I?" Harry inquired, taking the locket from his Commander's hand.

The locket possessed a distinctly Slytherin aesthetic, he noted. Right down to the serpentine 'S' on the front. Focusing on that snake, he twitched the locket in his hand and hissed at it to open. It reacted immediately, snapping open to reveal a hateful red eye. As the eye glared at him, Harry felt it's alien presence in his mind, feeding his wrath. The silence after he snapped it closed was deafening.

"I don't think it wants to be destroyed," he commented, "Perhaps we should open it at the last possible moment?"

"If you could, My Lord..." his Commander hesitantly asked, "We are not sheltered from Azkaban's denizens as her Lord is."

"Of Course," Harry nodded his agreement, "Are we ready to begin?"

"At once, My Lord." the Ritual Master agreed, "Just place the locket in the small pool as it opens, and stand back. We shall do the rest."

Turning, Harry proceeded to carry out the suggestion. Reaching the small pool, filled by the five tiny streams, he knelt down and hissed the Command to open the locket. Once again the locket snapped open, once again that familiar red eye pinned him with it's hideous glare. All around him an ancient chant continued, but Harry was barely aware of it. The Dementors' rattling breaths grew stronger, a chill mist sweeping towards him, but he paid it no mind. Leaving the locket in the tiny pool he stepped back, only to collapse in pain.

His scar bled with the force of his agony as he struggled to his feet. The chant continued, as did the Dementors' efforts, but the haze of pain that drew over his eyes drew his attention instead. The bloody eye was being drawn from the locket as blood dripped down his own face. He staggered away, step by tiny step, his bleeding head still turned toward the centre.

He was barely aware as the ritual reached it's climax. An almighty scream from the locket barely pierced his consciousness as a similar scream erupted from his own skull and a faint black shade burst free in a spurt of crimson. Harry collapsed for the final time, sinking into unconsciousness. As his vision faded to a twin flash of green he heard the deadly curse sounding strange on familiar lips:

"AVADA KEDAVRA!"

. . .

He woke to fading daylight and soft covers, a warm body wrapped round his. Harry stirred with a groan, slowly pushing his horrendous headache aside to focus on his surroundings. Above him was the canopy of Lord's bed, which was slowly becoming familiar to him after the last few mornings. The fading light indicated that it was too late to be morning, though.

Relaxing into the mattress with another groan, Harry cast his mind back. Memories of the Dementor fuelled ritual bubbled to the surface of his mind, and he shuddered. The protections of Azkaban had not prevented him from feeling the piercing agony the moment the Dementors had begun their efforts. His soul still seemed to belong to him, however, although his body felt thoroughly bruised. His brief shudder also seemed to have disturbed the body beside him.

Wait, what?

Harry's mental processes seemed to freeze for a moment before he slowly turned his head to stare directly into the chill blue eyes beside him. Sable stared back, unconcerned for her position though worry coloured her tone.

"My Lord, how are you feeling?"

"I've had worse," he replied, which was perfectly true, "Sable, why are you here?"

"Where else would you expect to find the Lord's mistress but her Lord's bed?" she inquired, "I have no other duties to attend to at this time, if that is what worries you.

"Hermione?" Harry thought with a quiet moan.

"Master!" she replied through the rings immediately, delight evident in her tone, "You're awake!"

"Yes, Hermione," he thought in reply, "And now Sable is telling me she's supposed to be my mistress...What is that?"

"Oh, Harry." he thought that he detected a hint of amusement in her thoughts before obedient subservience took over, "Traditionally, Lords married for political reasons which often led to loveless marriages. A mistress is tasked with supplying her Lord with affection, if not genuine then at least physical."

"Fuck." Harry thought wearily.

"To put it bluntly, master." Hermione replied as Harry groaned aloud.

"And how can I persuade her that I neither need nor want this?" he managed.

"Unlikely," she replied, "You can order her away, but you are human. Whether you accept it or not, you do need affection. Sable would just think that you are objecting to her personally, and probably offer to find a replacement."

"Are you well, My Lord?" Sable interrupted, worried by Harry's obvious distress.

"When is it?" her replied, ignoring the question, "And what happened whilst I was out?"

"It is still Monday," Sable assured him, "You were only unconscious for a few hours. Your healer and the Commander of your Guard both gave you a thorough examination after you collapsed. Your Commander apologises for missing the Horcrux in your scar during her initial examination."

"It was a rushed, cursory examination," Harry reminded her, "That it missed things was only to be expected, and the fault for that is mine. I'm the one who ordered her to do it like that."

"Very well, My Lord," Sable replied, "I shall tell her you said so. Both your Healer and the Commander got some strange readings from their spells that they would like to examine in more detail before committing themselves. That said, they did discover several binds and taps that had been placed on your magic. They want to proceed to release them as soon as you are ready, but also think that some of the damage may be permanent. The physical damage to your body can be compensated for – you have potions to take every morning for a week."

"Is there any way to find out who put those spells on me?"

"Yes, My Lord. We can take them off, and see if anyone complains. If nobody notices, then we can check the magical signature and compare it to individual suspects one by one."

"No way to trace the spell directly to the source then?"

"Not that I'm aware of, My Lord." Sable apologised.

"What happened with afternoon lessons?"

"The Commander cancelled to run her scans, and the Headmistress was here earlier." Sable replied, "She met with Hermione for something."

"Hermione? What did Headmistress Ribbeck want?"

"She left a test for the two of us to complete," she thought back at once, "So that she can start the lessons at the level we have already reached. I've finished mine, did you want your copy?"

"I'll come out for it," he assured her, reaching for the covers.

"Hermione said she left a test for me to complete so that we can get started on more appropriate lessons tomorrow." he explained as he climbed out of the bed, "I'd best make a start."

"You should rest, my Lord" a sky clad Sable objected as she helped him back into his Robe.

"I know from experience that I will feel much worse without something to distract me," he replied, "I won't be doing anything strenuous, Sable, but I need to do something."

With that, her strode into his private sitting room to find the test Hermione had left out for him.

. . .

Harry was still aching at breakfast the following day. He felt that he had done terribly at the test, but he had sent it off and hoped that the headmistress would not think too poorly of him. Hermione gently reminded him that he had not studied Arithmancy or Ancient runes at all, so it should come as no surprise to anyone if he did poorly on those sections, to say nothing of the semi-passive magics that were never even mentioned in the Hogwarts syllabus.

"I don't think either of us was meant to do very well at that test, master" she added, "Some of the questions were late NEWT level, so she probably just wanted to see how far ahead we had read."

"Well, we'll find out this afternoon." Harry sighed, dispirited, "What is on our schedule for today, Sable?"

"If you have the time, My Lord, your Healer and Commander have asked that you meet with them to remove the bindings and taps they discovered yesterday." Harry nodded, and Sable continued, "At noon, we have the next step in the Ritual of Hrafnsmál and the flock's chance to speak with you. This afternoon, you have training with weaponry, magical dulling, and tactics, followed by a session with a teacher from the squib school."

"I've finished my research into the families and titles you inherited, master." Hermione added, "I can give you the summary over dinner, or this evening."

"How about in the infirmary?" Harry suggested, "I am unlikely to have much to do except listen and wait."

"As you wish, master."

"Have you finished going through the stack of books I gave you last week?"

"Of course, master. I've read my notes on the things I think might be useful to you, and shelved the books in the Black library."

"Write up a neat set of your notes when you get the chance," he instructed, "We will both need a reference copy."

"Yes, master."

. . .

The council meeting was quite short that morning, despite the desperate apologies of his Commander, and the trio proceeded to meet with the Healer and Commander in a small room adjacent to the Infirmary. It was explained that procedures such as the one they were about to attempt could be quite violent, and that it was best to perform it in an isolated or contained location. Hermione and Sable were banished from the room for their own safety whilst the Healer performed a final check.

"My Lord," he said, "You have a strange magical energy imbued into your skin that disrupts most spells."

"I was told that it was my mother's loving sacrifice," Harry replied, "That saved me from Voldemort's curse."

"That does seem likely," he agreed, "At least partially. That combined with a few other factors appears to have granted you a mild spell resistance."

"I've been fed pickled Murtlap daily since I got here," Harry pointed out.

"That is only a temporary effect, what I' m seeing is permanent." The healer shook his head in amazement, "It appears that the Murtlap effect is exaggerating the ancient magic to grant you a perpetual resistance to minor spells. This is not an immunity, My Lord, most spells will work just fine with their effects so blunted, though exceptionally weak charms such as the ones corrupting Miss Lovegood's thoughts would dissipate before they could settle."

"Which would explain why the Psychiatrist did not find any on me."

"An astute assumption, My Lord." his Commander agreed, "Any spell subtle enough to go unnoticed would be weak enough to fail against you. Stronger charms would be more blatant in their effects, visible even to those who are not trained to detect magical tampering. Even then, your resistance would likely erode them over time, inevitably leading to their eventual failure."

"Why are these spells still in place, then?" Harry asked.

"If I am reading this correctly, My Lord," his Healer suggested, "The blocks and taps were placed before the protection in your skin. As a result, rather than being eroded by it, they are protected by it."

"We are going to have to bypass your resistance to remove these curses," the Commander agreed, "That will make this procedure more violent than is typically the case – hence our current isolation. We will let you know what we find as we break it."

. . .

A few hours later, Harry took to 'recovering' in his training room. The first tier of golem already proving too easy for him to best, he picked up a pair of rapiers and approached the second.

"Thanks for the lecture, Hermione," Harry told her as he began the fight with a lunge, "It really helped keep me focused amongst the explosions,"

"As you commanded, Master, I obey." she replied, "Though I am glad it proved helpful."

"That bastard has a lot to answer for," Harry growled, parrying the golem's riposte and returning one of his own.

"Who, Master?"

"Whoever cast those compulsions on you and Luna," Harry replied, settling into the flow of the duel and focusing on his opponent, "It's the same person who got both of you and me. The same magical signature – makes me wonder who else he got."

"I think that it was Dumbledore." Hermione suggested.

"What makes you say that?"

"Your resistance makes you immune to the subtle compulsions which made me spy for him – who else would compel me into doing that?" Hermione pointed out, "I think that when he realised he could not control you directly he looked for ways to control you through those around you."

"Like you." Harry realised, dropping his guard which allowing the golem to score a hit, "Ow!"

"I'm sorry, Master," Hermione contritely remarked as the golem resumed a guard stance, "I should not be distracting you."

"Actually, I need to learn to do this despite distractions," Harry reminded her as he started the next bout, "You're helping."

"Did you discover what the curses did, master?"

"There was one designed to constrict my magical core's growth," he replied, "To prevent me having much magical power. Another that would have disrupted wandless, silent and point casting by preventing my core from learning spells."

"That would also have made magic in general harder, master."

"Yes, because I was going off of my brain and the patterns recorded in my wand," Harry agreed, "There was also a block against developing innate powers, Metamorphagus, Parseltongue, that sort of thing. Even after they removed it, it is still to late for me to develop whatever natural talents my childhood would have thrown up."

"But you are a Parseltongue?"

"So is Voldemort, and I had a chunk of his soul jammed into my skull for years," Harry pointed out, "I doubt that I picked up that skill naturally. There was also a health block, that prevented my magical core from reinforcing my physical condition, leaving me frailer than most wizards, and two taps. One apparently fuelled a ward around a house in Godric's Hollow, though the ward has since died, and the other fuelled a Ward around the Dursley residence."

"Bastard." Hermione muttered in agreement as she watched Harry parry and riposte, "It's a wonder you survived with all that on you."

"Oh, the best part is that they were tied to my life." Harry added, "The moment I died, all evidence of the spells would have vanished, making it obvious that I had died in a sad accident that was not caused by any curses or blocks that may have been cast on me as a baby. He probably wanted me dead, but not to get his hands dirty."

Hermione shook her head in disgust. Dumbledore had a lot to answer for.