Harry Potter is property of JK Rowling. I write this out of pure personal pleasure, and the desire to bring happiness to other fans. And my pockets don´t want anything in return. Thanks.
Warning: This story contains yaoi, it means love between men. As much as drama and suffering, supernatural creatures and sex related scenes.
Summary: When seven years after the war, Draco Malfoy escapes from his cell in Azkaban, the ministry has no choice but to send his best Auror, Harry Potter, to capture him again. Between the walls of the world's toughest prison, Harry will discover not only the origin of the most terrifying creatures, but a love against time.
Dementor Kiss
Chapter 8- Start
Harry had just entered the tower, when an exclamation from one of the rooms made him stop. Something hit his shoe.
Lowering his eyes, he saw a chocolate frog escape jumping at three feet.
The eyelids closed again, covering gray irises.
Disappointed, Margaret let the air she had been holding, leave in a sigh.
"Draco?" - But her child didn´t move again. "I thought it had worked, but ..." Finally, her body flopped into the chair beside the bed, shoulders slumped. Careful not to harm him more, took one pale and lifeless hand in hers. Gently beginning to caress it, trying to console herself, thinking that at least he was still alive. But, how much more time, he would resist?
If Draco didn´t begin to recover soon ... the lady shook her head. She refused to think about it. Dementors couldn´t die. But Draco... "He's not a dementor, not entirely. And his soul is already in critical condition. Not quite free, not tied at all. If he dies now..." She didn´t know what could happen if he died. "What can I do?" Resting her head on the edge of the bed, she began to pry.
"Chocolate in a tower filled with Dementors?" Harry thought. It could only mean one thing. Someone who was not one of those creatures, was here.
"They have to be the guards… or Malfoy."
And looked in the direction the frog came from. One of the doors in the hall seemed ajar.
Silent as a shadow, Harry began to move towards it. Wand in hand, ready to attack or defend as needed. All his senses alert to any sign of danger. Showing all the grace, of a large feline predator.
Then, he felt it. In what was the very aura of the tower, another icy presence cold and eerie, was trying to infuse fear in his heart. He shook off the feeling.
"A dementor"
Putting the hand on the door frame, and opening it a little, the auror slid inside, hidden under the invisibility coat. Just pausing upon entering, scanning the room with his eyes, carefully studying the environment and its occupants.
The wan light of a cloudy day lit the chamber, making everything look grey and depressing.
In the stone seat under the window, blood stained bandages and towels had accumulated in a dirty white mess full of dull red. On the table that stood in the centre of the room, untouched dishes piled haphazardly, some already in a state of putrefaction. The chimney with its fire nearly of, covered in ashes, had leaved the worn carpet in front blackened and dirty.
He knew this room.
His blood chilled inside.
Since the war began, since he lost his godfather, Sirius. He had fought to prevent something like that to ever, ever, happen again. Had trained relentlessly, his magic, his mind, his body. To avoid having to feel one more time, the terrible void that produced the knowledge, that he could have done more. That he could have saved someone else. That he not doing the right thing, had caused the suffering of someone cherished. That he hadn´t been fast enough, hadn´t been attentive enough.
And he had made it.
He was the best Auror of the division. His reason for fighting; "To help people." And yes, he wanted to help all the people who lived outside Azcaban, but never, ever wanted to sacrifice an innocent for it. And certainly not him...
"This is the small white's room." Blame cruelly nipped his consciousness.
He took a deep breath, preparing for the worst. And slowly, he turned to the bed.
A dementor ... A common dementor was sitting in a chair beside the bed, curled up on i. "That dementor ..." reminded him of the dementor who had run to help the white, when he suffered the panic attack. He seemed to be keeping someone confined to bed, but from its position Harry couldn´t see who.
"Could ... could you come, to see me, at least once, please?" He remembered.
"It cannot be him." All himself revealed at the idea that the small dementor...
Began to approach the bed.
"If ... if you could ... I think I could stand it."
"Please don´t let it be him..." Harry prayed inwardly.
With each step he took, the clearer the memory of the little dementor became.
The delicate tremors that shook his body, as a sob after another raked him.
The cracked whisper of his voice. As if the words were an effort to his frail body.
The overwhelming smoothness of his robe. Softer than any silk, delicate as spider web. Warm and cold at once.
The fragility of his figure in his arms. His extreme thinness. The feel of the ribs under his hands.
"I swear, I will come every day." He had promised.
The sad light, just reached inside the curtains ... White ... The breath died on the aurors lips.
The little creature looked like a limp rag doll that had been abandoned in the giant bed. His beautiful white robe, torn, shredded, turned into a dirty rag, stained with blood and ashes. The pale skin barely seen, was covered with wounds again and again, bleeding, just closed, scabs, scars ... the little white must have been tortured for months ... The painful way in which he struggled for breath, as if he weren´t capable of taking oxygen to his lungs. The red spots that soaked the sheets around... trembling faintly feverish.
"You know it, so now promise me not to go after him again."
"Okay ... I promise."
The guilt hit him brutally. He stepped back. Felt vomit rising, but managed to contain it.
The little white had been so scared ... He knew something was happening ... And left him alone. He had begged him to stay, how could he let someone do that to him? Harry gritted his teeth, and put his hand on his chest where his heart was a rock that tried to pump ice. "I will not let him be hurt again." He knew it was impossible to pay for what he had done, but was determined to prevent further damage.
The white shuddered and began coughing violently. Margaret was quick to hold him when blood and bile were painfully emptied into a basin beside the bed. Harry's body shook with the effort of resisting the urge to go and hold his frail body, caress and soothe him until the attack passed.
The desire to protect that pale, wounded, exhausted, helpless, creature, rooted with the intensity of a flame inside his heart. A fire that he knew all too well. The same savage determination that had led him to enter the chamber of secrets and confront a basilisk with only twelve years, to save a girl he hardly knew, was what feed it.
He watched a moment, as the other dementor cleaned his charge with a dirty cloth.
Staring at them, he fervently wished to be the one who was cleaning those pale lips, barely glimpsed beneath the fabric of the hood. His hands trembled with the effort to keep them still; he wanted to wrap him in his arms so badly... But one certainty made his way into the aurors mind. The white was not getting the treatment he needed. If it followed like this, infections could kill him.
"Dementors can´t die." Had said his friend, but now he wasn´t willing to risk believing her words.
He could look after him, had received medical training in the Aurors division. At least, make sure he was better attended than here ... and more safe. "God ... if I had come as I promised, I could have prevented this." The thought only served to increase the guilt that consumed him.
The other, wrapped carefully the small white in the bed sheets, as he trembled, quivering again and again.
He seemed to be getting worse.
"Whoever did that, has to be another dementor. What other creature would be able to do something like this to one of them?" He looked up. The vision of the small in this state... The coldness in his green eyes would have frightened anyone who saw the auror at the time. "When I take the one who did this, he would want to be able to die." His eyes froze completely with the Avada Kedavras green reflection. The dishes on the table, the glass in the windows ... trembled, cracked and exploded almost immediately, scattering glass and crockery on the floor in a violent wave that shook the furniture. Margaret sat up with a cry on her lips.
Harry kept his power with steel reins, controlling it. Right now there was something much more important than revenge. "I cannot let the small remain in the tower, he is in danger here." It seemed that the other dementor wouldn´t harm the small one, but he could also inform the Dementor Lord if he saw him there, and Harry had the intuition that the Lord was guilty for the state the small white was in. He pointed his wand at the dementor that was looking in all directions in fear.
"Specto Patronum!"
The place was as silent as the last time she went down to the basement. The smell of dead algae, mildew on the walls, humidity, the waterlogged soil almost to the knees... all helped to turn the environment into something disturbing and unpleasant. Hermione wrapped her coat better around herself. Down here the temperature was colder than in higher plants. But the worst was the silence. Under the sea level were the vampires, sleeping during the day now. Looking so pale and motionless on their cots ... it was almost like walking through the morgue. Hermione shook her head to take off that stupid idea, before she started to get nervous.
"The sooner I talk to Zabini, the sooner I can get out of here." And started walking with more vigour, splashing loudly... until something alerted her.
"What's that?" She listened while walking. There was another sound behind her. Someone seemed to be following. Further progress, pretending she had not noticed, revealed it to don´t be a guard. But there wasn´t n anyone else with reasons to follow her in Azkaban. And she doubted Malfoy would be so stupid as to search for her.
"We'll see what you intend." Sue thought.
The auror walked as if she hadn´t noticed anything. The splash was becoming stronger. She could hear it coming, approaching her. -"Wait a minute ... is not being secretive. It´s coming ... to get me!" - Suddenly ...
"Auuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuhhh !" - She turned. Just in time to see Fenrrir Greyback at the other end of the hall. The monster also saw her... Hermione ran. The beast crouched showing yellow bestial teeth.
The hunt had begun.
She knew that spells wouldn´t be effective. She had seen Greyback in action during the war. It took four Aurors only to immobilize him.
"I have to get to the next level. If I cross the barrier between them, he isn´t going to be able to follow me." She knew this was her only chance. A wolfs laughter, and some screeching sounded behind her. Hermione sprinted. "Run!"
Her legs ached, her lungs were burning. Behind her she could hear Fenrrir coming closer and closer. Her heart beat like crazy. "Just a little more" Just had to turn the corner to reach the stairs… They were in a deep zone of the fourth basement, near the cell of Zabini. Here was another way out, she knew from the Azkaban map that Henry had shown them. She struggled even more ... It was almost over.
"No way out!" The place where the door should be was occupied by a wall of rock.
A blow sent her brutally against the wall. The shock of cold water at hitting the flooded floor, paralyzed her for a moment. Hermione emerged coughing and spitting. A low wild growl...
"It´s behind me!" Struggled to sit up, dodging the razor-sharp claws by a hair. They struck the stone with a horrible grinding noise, scratching up rock and mildew. She managed to stand up stumbling.
"Stupefy!" - The blow threw Fenrrir back bariums meters. The Auror began to run again. "I have to return to the main entrance." But that meant retracing her steps, and passing over the werewolf. "Think Hermione, think."
"Specto Patronum! Search for Ron!" -Shouted to the misty otter as she ran. Fenrrir was already behind her. Mione turned back ready to fire like she had before. But he had predicted it, crouching. Her spell ran over the Death Eater and hit the opposite wall without touching him... The coup against his chest, threw her against the bars of a cell taking the air from her lungs... Something began to slide down her temple ... dizzy, Mione put a hand to her face.
"Blood ..." - He left the gate just in time. The vampires, hungry, imprisoned, fed on potions, without having tasted a drop of blood in years ... began to awaken to the smell of blood.
Claws slid out from each cell, trying to catch her, inhuman hissing and snarling, savage elongated fangs, faces full of hunger sticking to the bars, wanting her blood, struggling to get out.
Ferrir laughed merrily, the sound sharp and incongruous coming from his throat.
"What will you do now, Auror? If I don´t kill you, they will do it."
Hermione stepped back watching him, wand in hand, determined not to be intimidated. Her hair was wet and it stuck to her forehead and neck, slipping from her shoulders to mid-back. The wrinkled and soggy clothes showed some tears. Blood trickled down her forehead to the neck, staining the hem of his coat. Her gaze steady. She knew she was in a very difficult situation, but was unwilling to surrender. "If Ron does not come soon ..." She had to buy time.
"You know that if you kill me, you will be executed. Your soul eaten by a dementor. Is not a pleasant experience."
Greyback's laugh was his answer.
"I will worry about it when you die, What do you think?" -He lunged, dodging her defensive spell. Hermione tried to pull away, but wasn´t fast enough. The monster's hands closed around her throat, leaving her breathless.
"I would have liked to play some more with you. But unfortunately, I have jobs to do." Hermione supported the tip of her wand on his chest.
"Stupe... fy." - This time Greyback withstood the pull without moving. Although it was obviously painful.
"That you will regret." - Squeezed harder, enjoying the pleasure of the moment, the slow agony of his victim. Hermione struggled to get loose, but she was running out of strength fast. The vampires roared, shouted, hissed ... shouting?
"Open the door Granger!" - ... "Zabini" The dark vampire grabbed the bars as hard as the rest, but his gaze was not lost in bloodlust.
"Open it!" - The Auror was running out of breath, small black spots began to appear in her vision. The red intensity of Blaise's eyes...
"Hermione!" - Blaise... She raised the wand with a trembling hand.
"Alf .. gray .. dor ..."- murmured weakly, felling like she was, finally, falling into unconsciousness.
The rusty creaking of a door opening.
What was that? She looked frightened in all directions. The glass crunched underfoot.
"Specto Patronum!"
Suddenly a magnificent deer lunged at her.
Laughter.
The joyous laughter of a woman, and the depth one of a man.
A baby...
Remembered happiness cruelly assaulted her, reminding her of ... "Mama I'm in love." The smile of happiness of Eba ... "Aaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhh!" Raven hair in flames... being consumed by fire.
She couldn´t stand it. With a hiss of despair, Margaret ran to the door.
The dementor fled like a soul running from the devil.
Any moment now, the rest of the towers Dementors would come to punish those who had dared to enter their ground, uninvited. He had to pull the little out of here. Now!
Harry threw down his coat of invisibility, as he ran quickly to the bed. Dropped to one knee on the edge of the mattress, almost as if making an offering to the pale and tortured creature, and carefully wrapped the young with his auror coat. Watching helplessly as blood stained the material.
"He's so tired, so weak ... he didn´t even complain when I moved him." The fierce desire to protect him, coiled in his stomach like a snake. Guilt fed the flame in his chest, with a wild and steady beat.
He picked him up. Just weighed the same as a child, and looked as innocent.
Attracted him protectively to his chest, and wrapped both of them in the invisibility coat.
"No one will hurt you again." – harry whispered in the dark.
The store was completely filled with dust and cobwebs, but a quick scorguffay dealt with it. Carefully, Harry deposited his precious cargo in a pile of freshly cleaned and stacked pallets, and quickly took an armful of old blankets to cover him.
They were on one of the abandoned storage rooms on the first floor. The place was occupied by the old furniture of the rooms of the guards, unused pallets, dusty blankets and pots. The warm atmosphere, very rare in Azkaban, was precisely why he had chosen this old room. It´s back wall was in contact with the rear wall of the kitchen, so that heat from one, filtered to the other.
"He doesn't stop shaking." He watched how around some of the wounds, had begun to form dark circles, signs of infection. And along with the fever and chills... This meant that the disease was already advanced. "I have to clean the wounds and keep him warm, make him sweat to flush out the infection." The tunic fabric had adhered to the wounds with dried blood.
"Kreacher" – Harry called.
The cantankerous old elf, appeared with a pop in front of his master.
Because the Auror had the magic key for the barriers of the prison, the old elf also had permission to enter. Harry hadn´t been sure it would work with all the protective magic of Azkaban in the middle, but inwardly thanked his assumption for being correct.
"Master." - He bowed ceremoniously. Since Harry took him under his hand, and showed him how much power he had... the little devil had learned to respect his new master. And finally, after a time, also to appreciate him. Kreacher was proud of the power and strength of his master, but regretted he didn´t employ it for more useful things.
"What can Kreacher do to help his master?" - Smiled from ear to ear, clearly happy to have been called, an evil and macabre smile, but that was how he was.
"I need you to bring the first aid kit, a bowl of warm water and bandages. Make sure that no one sees you while you're at it." - Said quickly and authoritatively, knowing that Kreacher would handle everything efficiently.
"Yes master." - And disappeared with another Pop.
Kreacher returned faster than Harry expected, making everything float behind himself; the kit, bandages and the basin filled with warm water. Deposited the load by the makeshift bed with a snap of fingers and awaited.
"Here it is, Master Harry." – The auror nodded.
"Thanks Kreacher. Did you see anyone when you were at it?" - Asked as he returned the medicine kit, to its original size. The kit was an auror one. Looked like a white box no bigger than a hand, until it was enlarged. Actually, it was almost the size of a suitcase, containing rows of potions of various uses; for regenerating blood, bones and organs. Pain relievers of various intensities. Fever, infections, and some of the most common disease treatments. Ointments for bumps, scrapes and scars. It also had bandages, but judging by the many wounds the white had, he had thought they wouldn´t be enough. Hence, asking Kreacher for more.
"No, master, Kreacher has not been seen. As you ordered."
"Well done, you can go." - He had no time to stop and explain why he needed all that material, or why he had a wounded dementor there. Anyway, he knew that Kreacher didn´t need explanations.
The old elf made another bow.
"If you need anything, Kreacher will be happy to help master." - Harry dismissed him with a wave of his hand, and the elf disappeared with a slight pop.
He turned to the small dementor.
She broke the water surface, and hit the bottom. Desperate for some air, opened her mouth. The putrid stagnant water entered her lungs suffocating her. Mione knew she was only inches away from the surface, but couldn´t move. Her conscience began to fade. Suddenly, a sharp pain in her skull suddenly roused her. Someone pulled her by her hair, dragging her to the surface in one brutal movement. Hermione began to cough violently expelling the water she had swallowed, and taking the welcomed oxygen. The pulls culprit pushed her aside when something hit the wall, where she was only half a second ago, blowing shards of rock and moss.
A wild roar.
"Stay out of this vampire! She´s my prey!" - The auror pulled the hair of her face, panting, just in time to see an enraged Fenrrir, just three feet away, showing sharp yellow teeth while saliva dripped down his chin, eyes gleaming gold. His height and the powerful muscles... the death eater looked like a beast about to kill. And all that stood between the monster and she, was the crouching body, slender and fibrous, of Blaise Zabini. Curled very dark black hair, showing the fangs in a wild and threatening manner, and his eyes shining blood red...
"I'm not going to step aside, Greyback. So get yourself another dam, this is mine." - Hissed.
The werewolf attacked him. If Blaise moved away the hit would take Hermione. But to the surprise of Mione, Blaise didn´t avoid the attack, instead came to meet it. Both opponents hit a barred cell receiving scratches from its occupant. Blaise further pushed against the bars and the sharp claws of another vampire, sinking his fangs in Greyback's throat, ripping and tearing at the same time, with the firm intention of cutting his throat out. Fenrrir roared and grabbed the dark vampire, wrapping his chest with his arms, using all his strength to try to break the thorax box, and plunge the ribs in his heart. All the while being torn apart again and again, by the sharp claws of the prisoner.
Hermione watched in shock as blood ran down the neck of the werewolf bathing Blaise. Heard the painful cracking of the ribs of the vampire. The roars of one and other, the maddening sound of all vampires now awake and thirsty. The claws on the stone and metal, hissing, screaming, howling...
Suddenly the two opponents stood still. The dead like bodies slid languidly to the ground, partially sinking in the water. Hermione got up, she had lost his wand during the combat, but still took a couple of steps toward them. Zabini didn´t move. And then, suddenly, the vampire opened his eyes. They were dull, without the murder gloss that she had just seen, his skin a pale grey, he looked exhausted.
"Are you okay?" - He asked. Hermione snorted, coming to herself.
"I'm fine. You should care for yourself. You could have died." -Approached the vampire, and began to help him get free from the lifeless body of Greyback. With a groan of pain, Blaise finally got out of the imprisoning embrace.
"Now that's funny. - He gasped. - I'm already dead." - Coughed raggedly.
The comment infuriated her.
"That's not what I meant and you know it."
The vampire laughed softly.
"A, the brave Auror worrying about me, the vile prisoner." - The wounds on his back and sides were already beginning to close. He cracked his shoulders to finish repositioning the bones.
Mione became serious.
"Why did you save me? You risked your life." - The eyes of both locked together. Softly, very gently, Blaise pushed a lock of the aurors curly soaked reddish hair, with the tip of a finger, barely touching the skin of her forehead.
"Should I answer that?" - His voice serious and slightly hoarse, made Mione's breathing quicken slightly.
"If you're looking for prison release, I can´t give it." – She said trying to gather as much coolness as possible. What other reason could he had to help? The vampire smiled slightly, as if mocking himself.
"I know you wouldn´t; you're too attached to the rules for that."
"What then?" – She almost feared the answer. Zabini nodded thoughtfully.
"Look, what do you think of answering me a question, in reward for my help." - Finally he said, abruptly changing the subject. Hermione studied him a moment, but finally let it go.
"About what?"
"I wonder… how a dementor comes to be? - She frowned at that. -What were you thinking I was going to ask?" – The Italian vampire said, with a wolfish grin. Hermione blushed to her hair.
"Nothing. Nothing ...like… "it""- Vehemently denied.
"I ... "- and came perilously close to the auror, who pulled back trying to hide her discomfort.
"Why dementors?" – She tried to change the subject, and Blaise seemed to shrink on himself, stepping from her, suddenly took by memories.
"Because, when you take seven years to living with these monsters, you end just wondering who released their damn presence." - Hermione noted wasn´t a very large request after what he had done for her. Although quite a strange one.
"I will look at it, it's the least I can do." - The dark smile that he gave her caused the acceleration of her pulse. He sat up and went back into his cell, closing the gate behind himself. Hermione also rose.
"I thought it would take more persuasion to convince you to go back there." - Blaise turned to face her.
"Not that I like it here, but your buddy Wesley is approaching."
"Ron?" - She had forgotten about the patronus she sent after him.
"I... "- Mione did not know what was in his eyes at that time. –" I'd appreciate that you don´t tell him that I helped."
"I ..."
"Hermione! What happened? You okay?"
Gently, being careful not to damage him more, Harry began to separate the fabric of the wounds to which they had stuck with the dry blood. A clean cloth, soaked in the bowl, soaked the area to make it easier.
Touching the pale and battered skin... it took his breath away. A shudder ran through him, almost as if electrocuted. A sigh of pleasure escaped the aurors lips. It was so soft ... like velvet, like the most perfect silk, like wind in a dive when flying in his broom. Frosty, electrifying. Sensual, much more sensual than the rustle of his tunic.
"So soft ..." - That word couldn´t ever describe it, but Harry didn´t seem able to find a better one. He wished to extend the palm and caress every inch of skin, explore all his length, from feet to face. But when he saw the wounds that marked him... immediately came to himself. Embarrassed and feeling guilty about the desire, he had felt for the poor and ailing creature, he pushed all notions about it to the depths of his mind.
"I'm supposed to care for him, no take advantage of his state!" Determined to protect the young white, even against himself, he retook the work of healing. Every touch, every skin contact, urged him to let go, to surrender to the touch of almost porcelain. But just thinking about the pain it would cause ... he ground his teeth. Never, never, was he going to hurt him again. Never!
Every time he retired a piece of cloth, a wound opened again and bleed, deep red stains in contrast with a skin as white as snow.
Draco shuddered. Something ... no, someone was touching him. It was like a balm for his shattered body. It seemed a lifetime ago, since the last time he had been aware at a minimally discernible level, but the warm touch of those hands had returned his mind to the surface, from the nightmarish world in which he had been submerged. The pain was still terrible, and if his stomach weren´t empty, even of bile, he probably would have vomited.
All his muscles seemed to be burning with pain, as if he had exercised far beyond their resilience, and their lungs were flooded with something that was definitely not air, making breathing a maddeningly laborious and agonizing drill. But the worst were the needles, he could feel every inch of each under his skin, in his flesh, sending excruciating pain downloads at regular intervals. Each time the pain of a wave faded enough to allow for a more quiet breathe, the next hit him with renewed intensity. Mostly Draco appreciated the fever that dulled his senses, because it deadened a little the push. But there was something more, calming his suffering far more effectively.
The pleasant sensation, of another hot and horny skin on his.
Definitely not a dementor. That was certain. He recognized the difference with the icy touch of the person, who had been caring for him before. He thought it was Lady Margaret, but couldn´t be quite sure, in those moments, agony had erased any logical perceptiveness of his mind. But these hands ... their mere touch was a relief. As if the heat spreading from them, calmed his very core. As if through the gentle touch, he could feel the concern of that person for him, his desire to protect him, like a flame burning inside. At his heart, he had the tingling feeling that he knew who owned the touch, but his dull mind seemed unable to think, and actually, just wanted to enjoy it ... so he allowed his mind to be lulled by the pleasant sensation.
He opened eyes of a dull red, and sighed. Granger and Wesley had just left. Luckily, the red haired idiot had not realized he was awake.
He had blindly believed the story of his friend, who said she had been the one who had managed to throw Greyback against the bars, using a stupeffy. And the werewolf was slained by the vampire who was inside. A terrible accident, that thanks to Merlin, had saved her life. How could Wesley be so obtuse? As if such a wound in the neck, could have been caused by someone through a fence. He snorted in exasperation. The only good thing, was that the incident didn´t transcend beyond the female auror and him. He rolled onto his back with his eyes on the ceiling. Granger had improved over the years, that was undeniable, and surely, surely, he had thought, for a moment, about asking for a bite as payment for his help. He was sure she would have been tasty, like homemade muffins, pudding and cinnamon.
But that was just a twinge instigated by hunger, nothing more. He had saved her, only for one reason.
To save his best friend. Draco. She would find out for him the way to stop the process, and then... well, he may find a way to manipulate her in helping him a little more.
But he still could not understand why had Fenrrir been loose. Certainly, not in the area of the vampires. He had his suspicions, of course. But really he would have gone so far?
Harry saw a picture ... that he knew, later, would return to his mind. The Dementor's naked, beautifully white, body.
He had removed the tattered robe, all of it except the hood. He had not wanted to touch it, remembering the only time he had, and the panic it caused.
And what was under the cloth was simply beautiful. He had never thought, that word would ever been say, about something like one of those nightmarish creatures. But this was. The extreme thinness, multiple injuries, the gray tone of the skin ... didn´t manage to cover the perfect proportions, the graceful elegance of the long limbs. The incredibly narrow waist, sensual curves and the creaminess of the pale skin.
Carefully, deliberately ignoring all other matters, he began to clean the wounds.
"What's that?" - There was a golden drop on the marblish skin, like a fine ornament. It seemed a trickle of blood was flowing from it. "A piercing?" He didn´t know the Dementors may be interested in these things. But it seemed that torture should have reopened the wound of the ornament. "I better take it out." Very gently, tugged at it.
A needle, a needle long as his hand, bathed in blood, glistening under the candlelight. A small masterpiece of torture.
It will continue.