Note: Hello and welcome to this new chapter of Dementor kiss, I hope you like it. It took a lot of work to finish. Naw, about the moment Blaise tastes Hermione's blood, have in mind please, that the description is purely metaphorical, as in my universe vampires can taste their victims personality and memories in their blood. Thanks again, and have very good time.
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Dementor Kiss
Chapter 22- Dream.
The gate opened with a shuddering groan, almost like a metal sigh of relief at finally letting the vampire go.
Blaise stepped from the shadows of the cell, the dying light of the corridor touching his features and letting Potter see him clearly for the first time in years, now that the darkness of the tiny niche could not hide him.
Zabini was certainly attractive, his face smooth and flawless in its youthfulness… Maybe too youthful.
The old slytherin must not have been more than nineteen when he received the bite. Probably even younger. And the years in Azkaban had not done him well. The teenage he remembered had become emaciated, ashen pale, and exhausted looking.
The clothes, now rags eaten away by the dampness, were hanging of his body as the sheet of a ghost, stressing the reddish, hungry sheen, of his changeable pupils.
He was obviously starved.
Nevertheless, the tranquility he was moving with made obvious the sure grasp Zabini had on his instincts, as the vampire stopped three feet from Harry to offer his bare palm in a gesture of peace, not baring his fangs to the near and delicious fresh blood.
Potter observed all this and that which was being offered and inquired:
"Friends?"- as he pushed the mistrust to the bottom of his mind, for the need of an alliance, and the possibility of learning to tolerate someone who was so important for Draco.
Willing to try forgiving Zabini, for the italian bastard he remembered terrifying the weakest students at Hogwarts.
The vampire frowned.
"Alies" - he corrected finely.
Potter was not, nor could he be, his friend, ever.
The auror agreed.
"I can live with it. "- shaked the pale hand firmly.
(Hermione)
She stepped out the hearth and inside the guards room of Azkaban, the only place of the prison, according to her knowledge, that was connected to the floo network, though to use it you must be accepted by the barriers.
Now she felt grateful no one had remembered to erase her previous permit.
Hermione took in the environment raising her wand in defense, more as precaution, than because she really thought someone was to attack her.
The place was silent and empty.
Nothing had changed since they were here last month, and only the lack of the mattresses in the floor evidenced the pas of time.
On the table a couple of dirty cups and plates filled with crumbs showed where breakfast had been taken by the guards. The elves still had not come to gather them, so much time could not have gone by since their exit.
So far, so good.
Explaining her presence here could have turned out to be complicated.
Once sure she was alone, Granger did not amuse herself any more, and casted the charm that all the aurors learned in order to locate their companions.
From the tip of her wand appeared a thread of white light.
Hermione smiled.
It still worked with Harry.
(Draco)
The old wooden door yielded easily when he turned the knob.
Draco had not expected it to be so easy and fell inside when the weight of his body, which had been supported by the door, ceased to have a solid surface to hold it.
The impact with the ground opened scratches on his palms, making him feel utterly pathetic, weak, and unable even to take a few steps without falling apart.
Drowning in despair, he could only breathe in small drowned gasps, as tears dripped down his chin, and he tried to clench down the increasingly wrenching pain inside threatening to make him remember his nights with the Lord Dementor... or his only night with Harry, and right now, either of the two would have shattered him.
Slowly, trembling, Draco managed to get up, supporting himself in the stony wall, enough to look around through the veil of tears.
For a second, all he saw was the reflection of hundreds of crystals, until his mind took it all in and managed to understand what he was seeing; the glow of glass containers carefully catalogued on shelves that roamed the walls from floor to ceiling. Each small space occupied by a jar of ingredients, or already finished potions.
Dried leaves, body parts, creatures in formalin, polished stones, bones, fine milled powders, acids, and other elements that he could not recognize, were there at his fingertips, in delicate vials no larger than his index finger, or jugs as huge as a human torso.
A big and solid dark wood table occupied the center of the room, on which rested utensils and cauldrons that would have caused the most bitter jealousy of his godfather, Severus Snape, and that's saying something.
A new flip of the valves of his heart caused by the remembrance of his godfather, tore a groan from Draco's lips and made his already weak forces falter.
Not without effort, Draco managed to take a step. He trembled, and his legs seemed about to become water, but they held him enough so he could get to hold on to the edge of the table, and so take a seat on the only chair before it.
An aged, but fluffy, soft red leather armchair.
Messily he cleaned the tears of his cheeks using the sleeve of his robe, trying quite pathetically to look around once more, and identify the different concoctions, before it was too late and he stopped looking for a sleeping draught to search for poison. Even if it would not kill him, as he was a dementor, it was worth trying for a little time of forgetfulness.
He felt exhausted, about to crumble under the weight of the memories, and perhaps that's why his mind took much more haste to find the potion needed.
He identified it in a shelf not far from him, it's bright blue color unmistakable under the dancing light of the torches.
As the fragile man extended an arm to catch one of the vials, his eyes, suddenly, caught sight of another vial a few levels above.
It was the size of a head of garlic, and had an hermetically sealed with wax, cap. There were very few, and all of them dangerous, potions, that needed such type of closure.
He frowned slightly.
Inside the crystal a lumpy substance the color of coagulated blood, bubbled quietly.
The old potions apprentice recognized it from one of the thick books on the subject he had so loved when he still had a life.
The knowledge made him feel out of breath.
"Betirako." - he muttered.
It was a forbidden potion. Dangerous, famous for its effects even among the muggles. Nobody had manufactured it in centuries, and its recipe was believed lost. However here it was a substance that completely matched the descriptions he read about it.
"The potion of eternal sleep"-the whisper broke shakily through between pale lips, almost as if he feared to see it disappear.
If what he had read was true... a few drops, only a few drops, and he would sleep forever.
The Apple of snow white, the use of the Princess aurora, the cup of Vivienne... all poisoned by this potion.
He swallowed.
Draco could feel the longing tickling his insides, as if he had had too much to drink.
If he wanted he could sink inside of a dream not to ever arise again. Nothing had ever seemed so tempting, as it was at that moment that potion. But the concoction had a remedy did it not?
"A kiss of true love."
He smiled sadly. As if Harry was ever to approach him again.
He hugged himself, glistening tears sliding again down his cheeks sunken curve. Harry never would.
"Never…" -sobbed.
His hand trembled to catch the vial. The substance was sticky like caramel syrup, sweet, awfully thick. He took a gulp.
It had an aftertaste like red passion, but underneath there was the feel of moist earth and lonely tears.
It glided down his throat freezing everything in its path.
He choked in thin hair, could not breathe.
Draco inclined the bottle and took another gulp, and another, and another. A few drops had said the book... Draco didn't want to wake up, ever.
His heart stopped beating.
(Harry-Blaise)
He had the sensation of walking along the edges of a spider's web, one false step could leave them trapped in the sticky silk to be devoured by the spider.
But until now they had been lucky, steadily ascending through basements without much trouble, even if they often lost their way, sometimes having to change route when they discovered a dementor on the corridor they intended to take.
It did not help that neither of them knew the way out.
Most of the hour they had been walking they did not speak, exchanging only a few words here and there to decide their next step.
And that had been all their contact… When already having climbed two levels, and looking for a way to move from the second to the first basement, Zabini broke the silence.
"Potter."
Harry turned towards the vampire,taking in his intensely red gaze, that seemed to want to open his skull and read all his thoughts.
A combination of discomfort and stubbornness made him return an equally sharp look.
"Yes?"
Blaise made like he was to speak but… What to say? Why had he spoken to begin with? Potter was not going to be able to answer his questions. He couldn't tell him the reasons for why his best friend had fallen in love with him to the point of suicide.
One moment more passed as he played in his head with all the unanswered questions. Maybe Blaise could have inquired about Potters intentions for with his friend, and demanded a promise under the threat of death, that he would take care of Draco.
But that was not what he wanted.
Potter had already proved that he was not, nor ever would be, appropriate for the fragile blonde.
His absolute inability to prevent all the pain that had befallen his friend, indeed, being the cause of it, turned him into someone undeserving…
Still, Blaise needed him.
He just could not get Draco away on his own.
However, once safe...
He opted for silence in the end.
Had already a bland answer on the tip of the tongue, thus to dispel the misgivings of the auror, when he noticed a shadow at Potter's back…
"Potter behind you!"
Harry turned in time to see the dementors claws descend upon him, unable dodge but managing to bring an arm between his neck and the sharp appendages at the last possible second.
Warm blood soaked his robe where the beasts nails got embedded in his flesh, but he didn't stop to see the damage, kicking the dementor furiously in the chest, and throwing it back a couple of metres, blaming his distracted mind for not sensing its presence sooner.
Unsurprisingly the creature recovered fast and attacked again.
Protecting his wounded arm, Harry barely managed to avoid being hurt this time.
"Zabini lend me a hand!" he shouted.
That's when he saw the vampire, paralyzed in place, his pupils dangerously contracted as he surveyed his arm..
"Fuk!"
The dementor took advantage of the distraction and with a flush motion at his legs, swiped him to the ground.
The ex-auror threw a punch as the monster fell over him hitting its jaw and making the bone creek, but that didn't stop the creature who made for his neck, crushing his trachea against the rock floor.
Half choking, Harry fought wildly trying to shake it off.
But the thing seemed immutable. Dry, black lips, began to descend upon his...
The dementor savaged his memories, as Harry, half paralyzed by the horror of the experience and the lack of air, couldn't react.
It was horrible feeling like toast eaten crumb by crumb.
When suddenly, the creature was savagely torn off of him.
Zabini threw the dementor against the wall where it crashed into the rock with a sickly broken sound.
Harry coughed violently managing to get up in time to see the monster straightening too, ready to attack again.
Blaise was dizzy... Merlin the smell of blood... it was intoxicating, alluring, impossible to ignore. And he was so thirsty… His beast roared inside, eager to be released. And his control weakened more and more, the longer he smelt Potter's blood.
HE WAS SO THIRSTY!
The dementor launched itself against him, thinking the vampire too taken by the spilled blood to defend himself in time, but Zabini's unnatural reflexes were much faster than anticipated, and Blaise dodged to brutally attack with his own claws in the same fluid movement, tearing the creatures forearm.
Blood, black and coagulated dripped down the wound. It had a disgusting appearance, but its mere vision on his claws, the feeling of it on his skin, was enough to make Blaise lean dangerously on the edge of the precipice of his will.
That moment of doubt gave the creature the opportunity to conjure his aura of terror, that he launched as a wave against both Potter and himself.
Harry was not affected, its intermediate nature allowing him to ignore the feeling. But to Zabini... it was like seeing the sun come out, the vampire took refuge in the farthest corner. His body quivering in instintual terror.
The auror attacked in turn wrapping his arms around the neck of the dementor trying to break the spinal cord, before it could do anything else.
No doubt that would not kill it, but at least it would disable the creature for a while.
The monster trashed like a fish out of water and suddenly lunged on his back against the wall, crushing Harry and pulling all the air from his lungs, managing to free himself, and was about to lunge at the auror, when someone shouted:
"Expecto patronum!"
A silver otter came against the dementor, who fled giving a horrible screech.
Harry stuck against the wall, terrified too, like he had never felt before, by the small translucent animal… luckily the spell faded quickly enough, allowing him to recover his breath.
"Are you injured?"
"Hermione?"
His best friend came out of the shadows of the corridor looking like she was again at war.
Dishevelled hair framed her tired, determined face, as the creased and frayed black dress hugged her body, and the wand posed threateningly on her hand.
Harry had never been so happy to see her pissed.
Mione was quick to take his arm matter of factly and cast a spell of diagnosis.
"What happened? And what are you two doing together? - asked without looking away from the wound.
Harry smiled crookedly.
"I needed help, he wanted to rescue Draco. More or less...that's it"
He gazed at the vampire who remained at the corner, trembling visibly, gaze on his wound and the blood still oozing from it.
"Okay, the gashes are not deep, stay still a moment while I heal you." Hermione said, taking the explanation in stride.
Harry studied Zabini while his friend cast the healing spell that fused his flesh, and let his arm good as new.
Mione had always been excellent with any spell that she deemed to learn.
The vampire looked torn, barely controlled.
"Thank you Mione." he offered kindly grateful, but not taking his gaze from Zabini.
She returned a small, tired smile, before turning towards the former slytherin.
"Do you need help?"
Zabini shaked his head no...but Hermione had already seen the tension lacing his body, and the dangerous red of his eyes. His gaze that of a madman ready to kill.
"Have you feed?" She asked and moved a couple of steps nearer.
"Hermione!" Harry took her arm, stopping Mione from going closer, concerned for her lack of fear at a starving vampire.
However she gestured her friend to remain quiet, and although worried, Harry let her depart from his side.
"When did you last feed Zabini?" Asked again, now only a few steps away.
Blaise couldn't look away from the female auror. She smelled soo good… like cream cake and freshly made toast. And he had to nail his claws on the stone of the floor he was sitting on, just to keep them away from her.
"I don't know. It is not easy to calculate the time here." voice low between clenched teeth.
Hermione nodded, as confirming something she already knew.
"You need to feed." rose, baring her own forearm.
Blaise hissed.
"No! If I bite you now I will lose control."
He didn't need to say what could happen, if so came to be.
"Calm yourself, I have no intention of allowing you to bite me."
Granger pointed her wand at her own self, and spoke an easy enough spell.
"Inodorous" The magic clung to the female auror taking away her smell, and thus, Blaise's hunger for her.
Zabini swallowed, now slightly more relaxed at her nearness, even so, when she conjured a bowl and put it in his hands, the connotations called forth his inner beast.
"Hold still while I fill it."
Blaise's pulse trembled in want. The luscious desire of sinking his fangs deep into that creamy rosy skin. Of knowing the taste of her blood taken directly from her lips.
Wanting to tear the battered dress and explore the soft feminine curves while he sank into her, hardness and fangs both, again, and again, and again.
He wondered where that thought had come from. But at that moment the sensual longing that filled him was such that little mattered the answer.
Hermione threw a small cutting spell on her wrist and let the bowl fill up with her inodorous blood, while she observed Blaise. Attentive to any dangerous move, that could call for her to knock him out, least he lost his mind to the hunger. However, the vampire managed to control himself, distracted maybe by the deep red colour of her blood, he could not take his eyes off since the first drop fell on the bowl.
The blood of Granger was still hot when Blaise took it to his lips, and it quickly heated his insides.
It was unlikely anything he had tried before, tasted like old books, freshly made cookies, cello melodies and toast dipped in honey.
It tasted like home.
He felt a deep yearning screw him inside, and wondered what would be like, to be able to bite the auror. To experience her flavor directly from the source. To smell her skin as well as listen to her heartbeat as he shipped from Granger's veins… But he dismissed the notion before it could take root.
Now that he had a clear and free of hunger mind, he could no longer forget his concern for Draco, nor let his own desires distract him.
He would not remain still while his best friend suffered.
Blaise's thoughts seemed to blend in with the voice of the auror.
"We have to rescue Draco."
Hermione healed her cut before putting a hand comfortingly on Harry's shoulder.
"I understand your want to depart immediately, Harry." -she said gently- "But in your state you can't face the Dementor Lord."
"Then all I need is to complete the transformation."
The determination and the intensity of his words took his friend by surprise… but only for a second.
"You're right."
"Good. And what we need for that?" Blaise intervened.
A pity having to renounce the idea of killing Potter, since Dementors were immortal, but after the recent attack, he knew Granger was right.
Potter could not take even one Dementor on his own, how would he face the Lord of the tower in such a estate? To get Draco safe, the idiot would have to fully change.
Both aurors looked at him.
"What we need to complete the transformation.. is a soul."
A soul.
Looking back, there had never been any doubt about who would be the sacrifice whose soul he would take, even if Hermione and him had never agreed about a sacrifice.
In insight both had known that if someone had to pay for the salvation of Draco, it would have to be the one who had condemned him.
Tomas.
Usually she would have objected. Who were they to take justice into their own hands? Tomas`s punishment should be imposed by the law both aurors had made an oath to protect. But for once…
The guard had been sentenced, for the time being, and until further review, just to a couple of years in prison. As he testified, he did not know of the effects of the curse. And as there was no evidence of torture or rape, as Draco was not even considered human any longer... Thus the sentence had been substantially mild.
That such a Monster would escape retalibelly unscathed...
If there was a thing she did not tolerate it was injustice. And perhaps she shouldn't take it in her hands to administer punishment, but if someone should be sacrificed for Draco, surely, it must to be the ex-guard.
(The Dementor Lord)
Night in the tower was always quiet. Full of the soft whispers of the Dementors, and the dim light of the moon.
So when the Dementor Lord was returning to his room, and heard a sound; that of a million tiny bells ringing at the same time, the musical sigh of expensive glass breaking into a thousand pieces like faceted jewels. The strangeness of it led him to approach its source.
Anywhere else the sound would have not attracted attention, but here it broke the silence for a moment, like a flash of lightning in the night.
It wasn't difficult to locate the way it had come from, and recalling that his lab was down the same path... The connotations made him hiss like a serpent.
Who could be so mad as to challenge him, entering a space that all the Tower knew, was forbidden?
It had never happened before.
Internally he cursed his father, whose new incarnation was the cause of the loosening of his power threads over the dementors,and thus the responsible of this act of disobedience.
Griever advanced furiously freezing the slabs in his path, swallowing the light with his mere presence.
The door was ajar when he arrived. Inside the laboratory was in mortuary silence, but there was something in the atmosphere... something strange in Azkaban, and much more inside the tower...
A tiny hard to perceive glow.
His nostrils dilated to identify the fresh trail of a happy feeling. What was it doing here? The sensation devastating in its almost extinct beauty. And Griever felt the desire to drink it all in one gulp, like a strong liquor chupito.
He opened the door, almost licking his lips, almost tasting the sweetness in his tongue. But when he entered... Hundreds of tiny glass fragments shone under the light of the torches. Pieces of a vial that had been shattered against the floor. The chair was overturned, and some of the instruments that had been on the huge table also rested on the ground, apparently dragged in his downfall by the only other present creature.
The Lords breathing got stuck in his throat. His heart seemed to waver a moment... when his eyes fell on Draco's inert body laid at the center of the small disaster.
The soft iridescent tone of the blonds skin, fragile as papyre, looked like a thin shell covered by the delicate cracks of his veins shadows under it. So delicate… almost on the verge of collapse. A toy of glass so broken and lacking of luster that only needed one touch more to break in pieces, like the vial on the ground.
Pale strands of hair covered his face, buried in their silver shade. But Griever didn't need to see it to realize that his chest was not moving.
Draco wasn't breathing.
However the tiny light that he had perceived radiated from him.
And the Lord understood that it was that tiny ember, the only thing sustaining this thin shell Draco's body had become.
Suddenly he wanted to protect it with all his strength. For a moment he was overwhelmed with the very extrange notion of wanting to take care of someone. But then, with a sudden inhalation, he managed to shake off the paralysis that had invaded him, and relegated the notion to the depths of his mind refusing even to recognize it.
He leaned over Draco, and passing arm under his body, incorporated him against his chest, pushing aside the soft hair on his face, noting the deep eyecups and sunken cheeks, as seeing for the first time the devastation caused by the sadness in that thin, almost childlike young face.
A reddish substance already dry, much like blood, stained his pale lips... Griever rose his gaze, scanning the shelves. Trying to figure out which of the substances had been the one he had ingested. He knew all and each one of the antidotes to his potions, he just had to find out which he had taken, and could return Draco to life. Dementors could not die after all, so even if he had drinked a poisson the process should be reversible.
One by one he ruled out most of them... until he found an empty place in the old dark wood shelves.
A place that the remembered full.
One of the vials of the potion Betirako was missing.
"No…"
Draco had ingested the only potion he could not treat. A poison that could only be cured by a kiss. A kiss that could only be offered by a single person. And he was not the chosen one. Because he was not Dracos true love. His true love was Potter.
Draco would sleep forever... unless he allowed the auror to kiss him.
Anger and rage darkened his gaze, a shining black vacuum of the most visceral hatred. He looked at the boy in his arms, and for a moment wanted to crush the fragile body in retaliation. His claws closed around the delicate throat... but he could not exert any pressure.
Trying to harm him was like trying to tear himself. Finally... defeated... Griever let the delicate neck go, wrapping Draco in his robe. Cradling him like a child, protecting him with his body.
The little white felt so fragile and was so torn... but he was his.
Draco was his. And Griever would never, never, let him go.
The Lord raised him in his arms, and silent as a shadow, instinctive as all the creatures of the night, returned to the shelter of his den. Where he could wrap around his partner, and take care of him. Where he could plan the death of his enemy.
The death of the one who had pushed Draco to the verge of suicide.
Harry Potter, the auror… and his father.
It will continue.