I do not own Harry Potter, the Wizarding World, or any canon characters.

Note: This was my original response to the prompt, the little short that started everything.

Original A Dance of Dementors

For once in his life, Harry Potter was glad people were avoiding him.

As the Boy-Who-Lived, he was constantly being approached by strangers. Wizards and witches that wanted to shake his hand, touch him. To tell him things, ask for things, to offer under facades of force.

Earlier in the year, a lot of people were avoiding him. They thought him a liar, one that wanted to be in the spotlight. They thought, despite his protests, that he had cheated the system and entered himself into the Tri-Wizard Tournament. None save for his best friend Hermione and a few Professors believed him. They were eager to stay away from him, to insult him at every opportunity.

After he lived through the First Task, they were back. They wanted to show their new-found sincerity, that they believed him. All of a sudden he was accepted again, wanted again, desired even.

He hated them for that.

The Yule Ball had been an insurmountable sudden task. Girls flocked to him, wanting to be seen on his arm, to bask in reflected glory. The one he wanted to ask was unavailable to him. His best friend had promised to go with another. Harry had been desperate, despondent, dejected, and many other things.

Then he had an idea. It was not a good one. It was one that might work, might amuse him.

He succeeded beyond his wildest dreams.

People gave him a wide berth but to be fair, he was not the main reason for people avoiding him.

The girl on his arm was the source of people's distress. On the surface she seemed normal. Her skin was a bit too pale, her features a bit too sharp, her figure a bit too thin almost wasted. She was dressed in archaic black dress robes, the edges seemingly tastefully frayed. Long grey hair fell elegantly down her shoulders. Large black eyes without pupils peered about with interest. Physically she appeared like a student.

Her aura showed she was not a student. She was not truthfully human either. She was a Dementor, in a temporary borrowed form. One that could exist around others without causing the full effects a Dementor made people feel. Yet it could not be completely eliminated and people could feel their skin crawl around her, their spines shivering, their good cheer slowly being chipped away and drained.

Harry was loving every single moment.

He grinned from his seat at the top table, relishing the looks of disquiet people threw his way. He barely resisted the urge to wink cheekily, toasting them all with dripping insincerity.

She giggled, a spectral sound that was somehow charming and deeply disturbing. "You are enjoying this far too much."

He could not disagree. "If you saw how most people were treating me just a few weeks ago, you would understand."

"I can see," she said. A shockingly pink tongue licked her thin lips. "I can see their surface thoughts, see how they acted around you." She looked at him with her empty pupil-less eyes. "I can see your memories of them. I do not blame you at all."

He shuddered slightly.

She looked slightly ashamed. "My apologies. I promised to not peer into your thoughts, however your anger at them rests at the very surface of your mind. You radiate your indignation, it is difficult to filter out." She smiled. "Luckily your class mates are not as guarded. I can sup from their feelings more easily."

He gave her a look. "Remember our deal."

Her smile grew wider. "Of course. I do not Feed from them, nor will I Kiss them. Same as I do not peer into your thoughts and inspire the Dread in you. You sharing your magic with me this night is more than equal compensation for that." She sighed and somehow her eyes became dreamy. "However, this much emotion? This much raw energy? I cannot avoid it all. Imagine you not gaining pleasure from your meal when you are bathed in it."

Harry snorted. "I don't bathe in food." He looked at his dessert wistfully. "If I could bathe in treacle tart though, I might. It'd be sticky but worth it."

She laughed. The sound caused all around to shudder from deep primal fear. Harry was not immune to it, but he realized the shuddering was not just from fear.

The band began to play and everyone watched the dance floor expectantly, waiting for the Champions to open the ball. For a moment Harry sat unmoving, unwanting to put himself on display.

She rose first. She waited patiently, hand outstretched. Finally Harry took her hand, rising to his feat. Her skin was deathly cold but not completely unpleasant, like touching a popsicle on a summer day. An extreme temperature but oddly welcoming.

They danced in front of the school and he somehow was able to not make a fool of himself. She danced gracefully, moving as if just floating on her feet. Her touch was light but firm, her motions sure and guiding.

"You are enjoying yourself."

He grinned. "More than I thought I would. You're a great dancer."

Her laughter made him shiver from something different than fear. "Dancing is emotion. Dementors are creatures born from emotion. It is a part of us."

"Really?"

Her hair billowed about her. "Admittedly, raw and darker emotions, but emotions nonetheless. The moans we make are music, music to enthrall and to devour. We reach out to grasp and capture, as elegant as any predator. We hunger..." she shrugged, "...much like any human does. We hunger for what we do not have, what those call warmer and wholesome emotion. Perspective I suppose."

He thought about that for a long moment. "Guess, perspective really does make a difference." He smiled shyly. "Imagine my surprise at a Dementor that didn't try to Kiss me last year. One willing to fight the others."

"Imagine my surprise at being sated by a young Wizard's spell." She giggled once more. "A Patronus that should have chased me away, instead of awakening something within me. Magic truly is a wonderous thing."

Eventually the night drew to an end. None save Hermione were able to brave the Dementor's aura, and she only withstood it for a few minute before fleeing. Harry had felt the aura, he was not completely immune, but he found himself being bothered less and less by it as the night went on. Towards the end it simply was a part of the air, something he could feel but it did not bother him.

He walked her to the gates of the school and watched as her dress robes swallowed her form, growing darker and more ragged. Her skin paled further, her limbs shrouded by the robes. Before her cloak rose, her face drew towards his.

He stood stock still as her face touched his and retreated. His cheek burned where her lips touched it. His face flushed and while he knew some of it was from the intense chill, it was from something else as well.

"I thought you weren't going to Kiss anyone," he stammered.

The hood came up and her face disappeared. Her voice was just as playful however, not even the rasping moan could hide her humor. "Oh Harry. There is Kissing, and then there is kissing. I did not break my promise."

The gates opened and closed and she was no longer there. Yet as Harry walked back to the castle, his cheek tingled and the sensation did not fade.