Dementor's Kiss
Ladtheove
Chapter 20-Dementor
"Hermione, I´m twenty-four, and in all my life almost no one has looked at me as I am. I, Harry. Not the guy who survived, the golden boy or a weirdo. I. You and Ron are two of the few who know me, and of those few people left none has ever loved me as a man. Until now. Hermione this is not something that's going to simply fade, I do not know how to explain it, but... every time I 'm with him I feel like something had been wrong until the very instant we came together, and suddenly, the world is better, clearer; beautiful. I can´t explain it... but I feel we're meant to be together. I know it sounds cliché! I know it sounds stupidly romantic! But Hermione ..." He put a hand to his chest, the gesture almost of pain, pleading eyes, begging her to understand. "That's what I feel. That's the truth."
Mione sighed. She knew she would regret this.
"... I'll help you."
oOo
Ron could not be happier.
His best friend was finally home.
They were in the bar the aurors always went to after work. A couple of butterbeers before them and talking about Quidditch, laughing here and there at remembered past stories, having fun.
The red haired auror took a big swig from his mug laughing heartily as he swallowed.
"You had me preoccupied back in Azkaban mate. I´m glad we are home." Ron gave his best friend an open punch on the shoulder, full of camaraderie and happiness.
Harry laughed at his antics. And though the sound came forced, Ron did not care; his friend was probably still recovering from that silly infatuation with Malfoy.
"Well, what do you say we go to the Canions game this weekend?"
"I'm sorry Ron, but I can´t." Harry apologized almost sadly, masking the melancholy in the sipping of his own beer, since he didn't think they would see a quidditch match together again. Not after he... changed.
At this thought, the need to tell his friend about the curse came hard, as it had these last few days. But just like then he stayed silent, knowing that revealing what he was about to do, to Ron, was impossible.
His male best friend would try to stop him if aware of his intentions.
And so, Hermione had already a farewell letter in her possession to be handed at the Burrow once Harry underwent the ritual. A somewhat sad way of saying goodbye... so sad in fact as to make the dark haired auror feel his breath catch in his throat, knowing this could be the last time he saw his very first mate. This last outing together, his most direct way to say goodbye.
Looking at his butterbeer to hide the gleam in his eyes, Harry gathered his senses and took another gulp of the beverage trying to loosen the sudden knot inside his throat, before Ronald suspected anything was wrong.
"Well ... - Ron frowned slightly- What about next week?" He insisted.
Years as an Auror helped Harry put on a cheerful exasperated façade over the sadness that wanted to burst out.
"We'll see, but I cannot promise anything."
OOO
They left the bar two hours latter still cheerfully discussing the best players of the new season.
By then the hiding sun went down slowly behind the roofs of Diagon Alley. Its reddish light bathing the people that came and went carrying the last shopping trips of the day; children with their mothers asking for this or that sweet, some teenagers admiring the new brooms through the quidditch shop windows, a couple who smiled secretly to themselves as they came out of Madam Malkins ...
Before his arrival at Azkaban Harry had always felt good when observing the people in Diagon alley go about their day. It filled him knowing their easy lives were possible thanks to himself and other aurors like him.
But now, the joy he felt was not a mere reflection of what happiness he could glimpse on their faces. It was his own, and as such, way more potent and fulfilling than anything he had had in a very long time. At last he didn´t feel like an outside observer, like a man out of place.
He smiled. Since now, he too, had his own joy in life; A happiness that was waiting in Azkaban.
"You looking at something?" Ron's curiosity took him out of his thoughts.
"No. I just thought that ... well, you're my best friend. And whatever happens, that will not change."
Ron realized, although he didn´t grasp the true meaning of the gesture until much later; that the faint smile that emerged to the lips of his best friend was full of saddened love. His green eyes shadowed in apology. Still, even in his apparent sorrow he also looked... at peace. Calm like he had never before seen Harry.
It frightened him.
"Harry ... you too are my mate, I mean, - he stammered- my best friend." Talking about feelings always made Ron uncomfortable, but he tried to communicate this emotion he had anyway. The need to reassure himself of Harry's presence and of the unlikeliness of him disappearing on Ron, pushing him to speak of things he usually left unsaid... not for lack of strong feelings, but for a misplaced sense of manliness and heavy shyness.
Harry smiled softly.
"I know Ron. - as he was speaking his watch rang a bell like sound making Harry start and apologize- I must go home, it´s late already." Going toward the area indicated for the disappearances.
"See you tomorrow then? At work?" Ron asked at his back still feeling anxious without motive.
"Sure." Harry smiled over his shoulder, eyes bright, one last time.
A group of wizards crossed the street hiding him from view, and when the redhead wanted to talk again, Harry was gone.
Ron did not grasp why, but deep inside knew he would never see his mate again.
oOoOoOo
(Harry)
He appeared in the clear patch of grass surrounded by forest, his home was constructed at, in time to see the building silhouetted against the last sunlight of day.
In the growing darkness, the only single small flame light inside the living room, gave the impression of a tiny orange eye looking outside with suspicion, angry and tired... Aged even, since the cream colour he had painted its walls in, a year ago, lacked its usual lustre. It seemed losing the magic woven around its walls over the years, had taken away its vitality.
Harry had removed the spells that very morning, knowing that when it was sold, his protections would only serve as a nuisance to the new owner.
Yet, it was still somewhat sad, to see a place he had called home for so long, wasted.
"Only until someone else buys it." He reminded himself. Then smiled faintly, somewhat in apology, stayed a moment longer keeping the image of that which had been his, in memory, and went inside.
The time was that Harry understood his home was no longer tied to a building.
As he closed the door at his back, a violent wind began to blow outside, making the tree branches moan, carrying the first signs of the storm that was suddenly, and rapidly, taking over the sky. Large clouds engulfing the last traces of dusk's red light, and giving way to an auspicious night for the darkest magic.
As he made his way to the lounge, thrown the windows he passed near of, Potter saw the storm come fast. Soon he could no longer even distinguish the stars, just complete darkness, the agonizing howl of the wind, and the growl of thunder ever closer.
Then the door to the living room creaked open, and Hermione, who had been waiting, turned to see her best friend enter.
Inside, the now bare (since Kreacher had emptied the place) dark wooden walls and floors, seemed almost black in the dim orange glow of the fire. Harry caught himself thinking about coffins, death, and lonely places.
Sinuous shadows in every corner of the room, danced to the sway of the flames with strange movements that made them seem almost alive. Nothing moved in the darkness beyond them, the very air breathed felt dusty and heavy, as if the house had been already abandoned for a long time.
To this place Harry came covered in black, long-formal robes; a set he had never put on since he purchased them for one the parties at the ministry. The lush material clung tight to his broad shoulders and waist, hanging lose around his legs, to stop with its edge brushing the dragon skin of his boots.
Such shady colour emphasized the ashen pallor of his usually golden skin, blended with his messy, almost like crazy hair, and made his green, determined eyes, glow darker inside the dark circles of tiredness around them. He looked almost feverish, ominously dark and dangerous. A truly dark wizard.
"Good night" Harry greeted, and his calm voice and gentle smile broke the image of evilness, easing Hermione's nervousness, though she would never speak of it.
"Good night Harry." She offered back almost sadly.
As if both had agreed on their way to take the spell, she too, had come dressed in black. Although in her case, the choice was not due to ceremony, but born from the depressing sense of assisting a funeral- her best friends funeral- she could not shake off. An ominous feeling that had painted around her eyes gloomy circles of tiredness, accounted, as it could be, for her lack of sleep, dishevelled hair and rumpled clothes.
Harry halted in his steps before he was a full meter from the door, took a moment to look back and ad, as a precaution, some very powerful locking spells. With the protections of the house absent, anyone could come in and interrupt; A very unlikely occurrence, true, but better safe than sorry, since he didn´t plan on learning the consequences to mind, body and soul, if such a complex process was interrupted.
The furniture had been removed from the area by Kreacher, and now all that remained inside, were them and the sack at Hermiones feet containing the necessary items for their activities.
"Harry ... Are you still sure about this?" – Miones inquiry sounded almost like a plea, as she laid her delicate hand on his arm, just as the first lightning flashed across the sky, briefly bating the room in icy blue light.
"I'm sure." – Harry answered placing his hand over hers.
He loved Mione, and would miss her... part of him wanted to forget everything and go back to his old life. But even that part winced at the thought of never seeing Draco again, of not being able to contemplate his beautiful silver hair, his sad gray eyes, his almost broken smile...
It was a brief shock to realize that, if necessary, he could live without his friends... but not without Malfoy.
A warm smile made its way across Harrys lips.
"I'm sure." – He repeated, unmovable now.
Hermiones hazelnut eyes became resigned and impossible sad.
"I just wish you would reconsider."- She inhaled shakily, and suddenly looked away, but not before Harry could glimpse the telltale glint in them.
"Hermione..."
"It's okay." - She interrupted before he could try to apologize. - "I knew you would not change your mind. But I had to try, right?" – The smile she made herself put on, was shaky, but still there, just as warm as her hand against the fabric of his cloak.
Harry sighed affectionately at this.
"Yes, of course you had to. Come here."
The male auror caught his female best friend in an awkward goodbye hug. Hermione smelled fresh and homely; like cookies and cinnamon. Her presence a warm indefinable weight against him; a heat that always made him wonder if his mother would have felt the same.
"Do not forget us, please?"- Mione said not-crying with her face in Harry's coat, the smile still a fragile thing on her lips.
"I couldn´t even if I tried."- He returned with his own sad smile. -"Thank you so much Hermione, for doing this for me."
He gave her a little playfully nudge as they parted, so she could use the banter to dry her tears and regain some poise. Even so, and as was usual with Hermione, she didn´t only take that last minute to regain her control, but to further think on the matter as well.
She couldn´t help but wonder if this really was right. Was Harrys happiness worth his soul? After all he had been through throughout his life ... of losing parents, fighting a war, facing a dark creature whose power alone could have destroyed them all, and having lost so many loved ones, after helping so many people...
He deserved to be happy. She wanted her best friend to be happy.
And if what he needed to attain that, was Malfoy...
It was a conclusion that had sat heavily in her heart for some days now. Hermione still didn´t know if it truly was the right choice, but... she would do this for Harry, because he had asked and she didn´t have the heart to refuse.
As it was, she took out the diary guarded inside her coat, and opened it. The old yellowed pages, slightly blackened by a fire happened long ago, cracked while she searched for the appropriate words, conjured a tripod and spread the book on it, so she could better see the diagram of a man covered by trademarks.
It was a picture of body, soul and magic superposed. Those areas that should anchor the three elements together highlined in brownish aged red, and ancient curses. Curses to craft dark thread that would sew meat, bone, essence and spirit as one. Mingle and merge them into a single form.
Below the grotesque drawing, dark ink notes spoke a spell of ancient languages long forgotten. Darker than she dared to think, less it tied her tongue with revulsion.
The man about to be sacrificed pulled from the bag a knife, a small pot, a bottle of fine musky soil, and other containing ashes. The soil belonged to the tomb of his parents, the ashes where from Draco's house. Malfoy Manor was burned during the war, now only ashes and blackened walls.
Although in truth, the earth and ash could have belonged to anywhere. These elements together with the blood of his best friend, would make for stronger bonds and a faster spell, for the three contained powerful ties to his soul.
"Hermione ..." - he muttered placing the jars next to the pot. She looked up and met the serious and intense eyes of her best friend – "It would be better if you trapped me, but not with a spell that could interfere with the magic unleashed by the curse... The wood floor is easy to transfigure, you could ensnare me in it most effectively, and not depend upon restraining charms."
Hermiones face took on a pained look at his words.
"I don´tt think that's necessary..."
"Mione." – Harry cut short her protests- "It's a very painful process, we both know that I could lose control of my body, probably turn violent trying to take away the pain. I could hurt myself, and you too if I went wild enough... I don´t want to hurt you Hermione."
"Harry ... "- She wanted to argue that that would not happen, but... she was too logical to assume the best.
"Hermione, please." – He gave her a look that bordered on a plea... and she could not longer try to disagree.
"... Okay." Her voice tired and soft accompanied the motion of her hands, as Hermione drawn her wand.
Harry walked to the centre of the room.
"I'm ready." - He said calmly. And when Mione finally looked at her friend, she saw that his body language was one of confidence and pride, as if the curse was an honour for him to receive. No fear, no uncertainty, just pure determined love. It clicked for her then, that this was the right path, the only choice acceptable.
The first drops of rain began to hit the glass, leaving behind clear streaks silent like tears.
Hermione brandished her wand.
"Up Incarcelusragara." Guided the spell to enfold the legs of her friend, climb up his arms and wrap his neck. The wooden floor turned to something liquid, winding like a snake through Harry's body, solidifying again moments later to completely catch him in its embrace.
Enveloped by thick roots, caught and yet quiet, Potter looked like a sacrifice to some primordial deity long forgotten. He tested the bonds squirming slightly. They did not give an inch.
Satisfied, Hermione watched as her friend laid at her mercy. If something, Harry had shown her his decision was unmovable. Such strong love deserved an opportunity, as dark and terrible as it was, to reach a happy outcome. She took a breath to steady her nerves and fluttering heart.
Reaching for her griffindor courage Hermione raised again her wand ... and began to chant.
oOo
Cold.
He could not move.
It was very cold, so cold... Someone was talking ... or singing? He did not know. It felt as if his mind was disconnected from his body. Everything around him was dark. He could only hear a woman's voice ... a familiar voice.
The knife slid down her wrist with the ease of a needle. There was barely any pain as thick crimson blood trickled down her arm dripping ominously into the small clay pot.
He managed to just part his eyelids. Everything looked distorted and strange. The light of the flames danced in the dark fabric of a dress, and shined on impossibly tangled hair. There was a woman, eyes closed, a knife in her hand ... singing... and blood dripping on the floor...
Why was her so familiar to him? All he felt was the chill taking his body. Unable to remember his eyes closed again.
The pot was quickly filled with deep crimson, until it lapped at the edge of the small ceramic vessel.
That was when Hermione improvised, tearing a piece of her black dress to tightly bandage her wounded wrist. It should help stop the flow, but the fabric soaked pretty fast.
In her distress before tonight and the knowledge about what she would have to do, the female auror hadn´t thought about the time she would need to end the chant before stopping to cast a healing spell.
So now, the wound throbbed in tune with the magic of the curse and the cadence of her chant.
She turned the page and continued singing new and strange syllables, beginning to feel the consequences of blood loss. Hermione was dizzy; the edges of her vision were starting to become blurry... So she grabbed the tripod as a help to stand and not wobble, ignoring as best she could, the pulse that was becoming painful, of her wrist.
"Et sanguisamicis." She intoned. The blood started to boil in the pot with nothing to heat it. A bead of sweat trickled down her temple, as her magic was drained into the container.
"Et terra earth famulus." She poured the soil inside, felt how its essence was drawn within.
The mixture turned a black and putrid blend of steaming bubbles and foul odours that clung to the skin like fingers. She staggered revolted, but was soon righting herself, as her auror training helped her stomach settle.
"Etcinis amore." Mione uttered without pause between clenched teeth, as she added the ashes.
The potion thickened like tar, the bubbles died leaving a silvery reflective surface like a mirror. The beautiful appearance didn´t deceive her, as Granger knew how lethal the mix was.
She inhaled shakily.
"Et corpus, anima et magic." A thread of silver emerged from the pot at the coming gesture of her wand. – "Oreon is arion, in capula." – It wire wrapped Harry...
He screamed a muffled groan like torn from a wounded animal.
Hermione shuddered, God ... What had she done? What was she doing? The desire to stop this madness almost made her stop ... but she did not, could not. If she did now, Harry could die ... or worse.
Shakily, glassy eyed from unshed tears, she struggled to continue.
One after the other, thread after thread, a cocoon was taking shape around her best friend. The air surrounding him glowed with the wires taking his body in their embrace.
Harry couldn´t breathe.
His lungs were frozen, his veins pumped ice.
Something was invading and possessing him, but did not feel like a foreign body. It was as if ... as if someone was trying to get into his body a new dimension of him, that he wasn´t able to assimilate. It ached tearing and changing everything to be taken in. Harry felt his skin crack, his bones melt...
He tried to scream again, but his choked breathing allowed just a strangled whimper.
Harry was drowning; dying ... spots began to float before his eyes.
"ZigoriaEtheriumaelota." Hermione whispered...
The world lost shape around her as the curse swallowed her magic to power itself. So sudden and violent, that she didn´t even feel the exhaustion before it took her under.
The last thing Herione heard as she fell unconscious was a strange, thunder like sound, much to near to be from the storm.
Then nothing more.
oOo
DRACO
Griever embraced his lover a little tighter against his body, and wrapped him carefully in his arms shielding him on his chest. But Draco seemed unable to stop his tears. For three days he had been in this state. Three days of a sadness that threatened to consume what little was left of the blonde.
He was so thin and seemed so delicate ... as if he could shatter in small pieces of himself.
His thin pale skin stretched over bones as fragile as the skeleton of a bird. His hair was dull without the silvery sheen of its strands, and his skin was cracking like fine chipping porcelain...
But what the Lord could not bear to notice was the dull gray of Dracos eyes. They seemed mirrors, reflecting everything, showing nothing; Lifeless. He could almost thank the constant tears that flowed from them, since by crying, they showed that something must still exist behind the dead surface.
Not for the first time in recent days, the King of the tower cursed in the silence of his thoughts the night that brought Draco to this state.
He could remember accurately...
Finished his responsibilities Griever had returned to their rooms too early, to find Draco curled against the headboard and reading a crumpled paper note. When the young man saw him ... he had tried to hide the paper.
But Griever had demanded it imperiously, and like all Dementors, Draco could not refuse.
Giving away the piece of parchment seemed to make the blond sick. He trembled as he tried to disobey, his breath coming in ragged drowned gasps... but the will of the Lord Dementor was stronger.
He had expected many things, but to read those words of love from the auror...
They enraged him beyond clear though.
Draco was his! Even his thoughts must have been his! HIS LOV...!
He got up and walked to the fireplace.
Draco begged, pleaded ... but he paid no attention.
The Dementor Lord tossed the note in to the flames ... and he had to hold the little white before he lunged to save it. Once trapped, Griever continued to hold Draco caged in his arms despite his cries and tears, as he was forced to watch the words disappear into ashes...
Until finally, when the note was nothing more than cinder, Draco was thrown to the ground. His robe teared away, his legs forced open... Griever took him wild and violently, burning malicious whispers of possession into white skin.
When The Lord was finished, Draco was little more than a broken puppet under him.
From that moment on the little white had not moved, had not spoken. And every day he seemed a little more fragile, a little more brittle.
And for some reason to see it so ... Griever could not help but feel a strange pain in his chest every time he looked at the tears on that face.
He gently brushed away a strand that had fallen over Dracos forehead, almost tenderly kissing his cheek. But he received no response.
In the end, he took a sleeping potion from the nightstand, and with slow care helped Draco swallow.
The pale lashes fell, and the silent tears dried. When he slept Griever could pretend that everything was well. Sometimes he wished for Draco to never wake.
The Auror was the one to blame! If he had not intervened, stealing a heart that belonged to the Dementor Lord, then Draco would not have ended in this state.
... Griever did not even understand his own feelings ... never before had he cared for anyone. But with the little blond he could not make himself unfeeling.
Suddenly, he sensed...
There was a strange ripple in the threads that connected the other Dementors to him. It was caused by the presence of a new entity among them and its power ... a power comparable to his.
Griever felt this unbalance his control, but not break it. The other Dementors would be confused about whom to follow. With an angry hiss the old Lord rose from the bed.
There was only one man with such power and a reason to become one of them.
It could only be...
"Potter." The one guilty of Dracos pain ... and his.
A sadistic smile bloomed on thin charred lips. Now the Auror was fair game. Nobody got into the affairs of the tower.
Straining his senses seeking his presence, he could feel Potter close in Azkaban.
Gently tucking the little white in bed, he placed a kiss on his hair. "Don´t be afraid Draco, soon the reason for your pain will stop to exist. Soon you will not need to grieve..." A cruel poisonous chuckle escaped his throat.
It will continue.
I have been horribly devoid of inspiration and time as of late. I apologise for the wait, but I have a life of my own to work on. ;) I hope to be able to translate more soon. See you and thanks for giving time and care to this small fic, and its very tired author. ^^